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bailey-writes · 4 years

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So You Want Your OC to be Jewish

So you’re writing a story and you want to make a Jewish character—great! I’m here to help. I always want more Jewish representation but I want good Jewish representation, so this is my attempt to make a guide to making a Jewish character. What are my credentials? I’m Jewish and have been my whole life. Obligatory disclaimer that this is by no means comprehensive, I don’t know everything, all Jews are different, and this is based on my experiences as an American Jew so I have no idea, what, if any, of this applies to non-American Jews.

If there’s anything you want me to make a post going more into detail about or if there’s anything I didn’t mention but you want to know please ask me! I hope this is helpful :) Warning, this is long.

Jew PSA

If you are Jewish you can use the word Jew(s), e.g. “She’s dating a Jew.” If you are not Jewish you cannot use the word Jew(s). This is not up for debate. Non-Jews calling us Jews has a negative connotation at best. Don’t do it and don’t have your characters do it.

Basics, Plus My Random Thoughts that Didn’t Fit Anywhere Else

A confusing enduring issue is, what is Judaism? It’s a religion, but some Jews aren’t religious; is it a race? A nationality? A culture? A heritage? The only constant is that we are seen as “other.” There’s a lot of debate, which makes it confusing to be Jewish and as such it’s common for Jews to struggle with their Jewish Identity. However many people agree that Jews are an ethnoreligious group, aka Judaism is a religion and an ethnicity.

Temple/Synagogue/Shul = Jewish place of worship. Shul is usually used for Orthodox synagogues.

Keeping kosher = following Jewish dietary rules: meat and dairy can’t be eaten together and you can’t eat pork or shellfish. Fish and eggs are pareve (aka neutral) and can be eaten with meat or dairy (but again not both at the same time.) When eating meat it has to be kosher meat (e.g. kosher Jews are allowed to eat chicken, but not all chicken is kosher. I know it’s kinda confusing I’m sorry.) Kosher products in stores will have symbols on them to identify them as kosher. If someone is kosher they’ll probably have separate sets of utensils/plates/cookware/etc. for meat and dairy

Shabbat/Shabbos/Sabbath = holy day of the week, day of rest, lasts from sundown Friday to sundown Saturday. Depending on observance Jews might have Shabbat dinner, attend Shabbat services, or observe the day of rest in its entirety (making them shomer Shabbat)

Someone who is shomer Shabbat will refrain from any of the prohibited activities. These can easily be looked up but include: working, writing, handling money, cooking, and using technology.

Bat/Bar/B’nai Mitvzah = tradition where a Jewish boy/girl becomes a man/woman. Celebrated at 13-years-old for boys, 12- or 13-years-old for girls. Girls have Bat Mitzvahs (bat means daughter in Hebrew), boys have Bar Mitzvahs (bar means son in Hebrew) and twins or two or more people having one together have a B’nai Mitzvah. They will study for this for months and then help lead services and, depending on observance level, read from the Torah. The ceremony is often attended by family and friends and followed with a celebration of sorts (in America usually this means a brunch and/or party.)

Goy/gentile = non-Jew. These words are not slurs, they are literally just words. Plural of goy is goyim and is a Yiddish word, plural of gentile is gentiles.

Jewish holidays follow the Hebrew calendar, meaning that according to the current solar/Gregorian calendar the dates of our holidays are different each year.

Jewish law recognizes matrilineal inheritance. This means that Jewish law states your mother has to be Jewish for you to be Jewish. This is because of reasons from biblical times that I can explain if you wanna come ask, but as you can imagine is a bit outdated. While Orthodox Jews might embrace this idea and only consider someone Jewish if their mom is Jewish, many Jews are more flexible on the idea (and yes, this does cause tension between Orthodox Jews and other Jews at times.)

Judaism =/= Christianity

Some people think Judaism is just Christianity without Jesus (some people don’t even realize we don’t believe in/celebrate Jesus so newsflash, we don’t) and that’s just wrong. Yes both religions share the Old Testament, so they also share some history and beliefs, but the entire ideologies of the religions are different. In brief, they are similar in some ways but are not the same.

What seems to me to be the biggest difference is that Christianity (from what I understand) has a heavy focus on sins, more specifically repenting for/gaining forgiveness for your sins. In Christianity you are born tainted by original sin. In Judaism we believe everyone is born pure and free from sin and everyone is made in God’s image. Judaism has some concept of sin, but doesn’t focus on them and instead focuses on performing Mitzvot (plural, singular form is mitzvah. Direct translation is “commandment” but basically means good deed or act of kindness. It also relates to the commandments, so following the commandments is also performing mitzvot.) Examples of mitzvot include anything from saying a prayer or lighting Shabbat candles to helping a stranger or donating to charity (called tzedakah). One of the main tenets of Judaism is tikkun olam, which directly translates to “repair the world” and means exactly what it says on the tin. Instead of focusing on being forgiven for doing bad Judaism focuses on doing good. The only day we focus on past wrongdoings is Yom Kippur, one of our most holy holidays, discussed below.

Holidays

Rosh Hashanah – The Jewish New Year, occurs around September and lasts for two days, though Reform Jews often only celebrate the first day. Day of happiness and joy, celebrated by eating sweet things for a “sweet new year” (often apples dipped in honey) and circular challah to represent the end of one year and beginning of another. Also celebrated with services and blowing the shofar (rams horn.) Some spend the day in prayer and/or silent meditation. Possible greetings: chag sameach (happy holiday; can be said on almost any holiday), Shana Tovah, or happy new year (which is what Shana Tovah means, some people just say it in English.)

Yom Kippur – Day of Atonement. Occurs ten days after the start of Rosh Hashanah. One of if not the most solemn day for Jews, but also the most holy. The day is spent reflecting on yourself and any past wrongdoings and atoning. The day (sundown the night before to sundown the day of) is spent fasting, a physical way of atoning. We do this in hopes of being “written in the Book of Life” and starting the year with a clean slate. The shofar is blown at the end of the holiday. Most Jews will end the fast with a grand meal with family and friends. Most common greeting is “have an easy fast,” but happy new year is still appropriate.

Sukkot – Celebrates the harvest, occurs on the fifth day after Yom Kippur and lasts seven days. Celebrated by building a temporary hut outdoors called a sukkah and having meals inside it, as well as shaking palm fronds tied together (called a lulav) and holding a citrus called an etrog. Very fun and festive holiday. Possible greetings include chag sameach or Happy Sukkot.

Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah – Some Jews (mostly Reform Jews and Jews living in Israel) combine both holidays into one day while some celebrate them as two separate days. Either way they occur immediately after Sukkot. Shemini Atzeret is similar but separate from Sukkot and features a prayer for rain; Sukkot is not mentioned in prayers and the lulav isn’t shaken but you do eat in the sukkah. Simchat Torah celebrates finishing reading the Torah, which we will then begin again the next day. It’s a festive holiday with dancing and fun. Some Temples will roll the entire Torah out and the children will run under it. Appropriate greeting for both would be chag sameach.

Rosh Hashanah through Simchat Torah are referred to as the High Holidays.

Chanukah – We all know about Chanukah, celebrating the reclaiming of the Second Temple and the miracle of the oil lasting eight days. The most represented Jewish Holiday there is. Unfortunately it’s one of the least significant holidays for us. Occurs around November or December and lasts eight days and nights. Celebrated by lighting candles in the Menorah each night with a prayer and kids usually get gifts each night. Also celebrated with spinning tops called dreidels, fried foods like doughnuts (sufganiyot in Hebrew; usually the jelly filled ones) and potato pancakes called latkes. Greetings: happy Chanukah or chag sameach.

Tu B’Shevat – Birthday of the trees, basically Jewish Arbor Day. Minor but fun holiday, sometimes celebrated by planting trees. Occurs around January or February.

Purim – Celebrates how Queen Esther of Persia defeated Haman and saved her people, the Jews. Occurs in Spring. Festive holiday traditionally celebrated by dressing in costumes, eating sweets, and giving tzedakah (it’s also technically commanded you get drunk so woohoo!) Whenever Haman’s name is mentioned you make a lot of noise, booing and using noisemakers called groggers. Greetings: happy Purim, chag Purim, or chag sameach.

Passover/Pesach – Celebrates the Jews being freed from slavery in Egypt. Occurs in Spring and lasts eight days. The first two nights (some only celebrate the first night) are celebrated with seder, a ritual meal with certain foods, practices, prayers, and readings from a book called the Haggadah and often attended by family and friends. Most famous prayer/song of the holiday is the four questions, which ask why that night is different from all other nights and is traditionally sung by the youngest child at the seder. The entire holiday is spent not eating certain foods, mostly grain or flour (the food restrictions are complicated and differ based on denomination so look it up or ask a Jew.) We eat a lot of matzah during Pesach, which is like a cracker kinda. I personally hate it but some people actually like it. Greetings: happy Passover, chag pesach, or chag sameach.

Tisha B’Av – Anniversary of the destruction of the Temple. Occurs in Summer. Very sad, solemn day. Some celebrate by fasting from sunrise to sunset. Not the most widely celebrated holiday. Some also commemorate the Holocaust (also called the Shoah) on this day as it was the destruction of a figurative temple.

Denominations

There are a bunch of denominations in Judaism, we’ll go into it briefly.

Religious denominations:

Reform/Reformed: This is the least religiously observant level. Often Reform Jews don’t keep kosher or observe Shabbat, their services on Shabbat will use instruments. Reform Jews probably attend services for the high holidays at the very least and probably had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah. Might say they consider themselves more culturally Jewish. Their Temple/Synagogue will be the most “liberal”—aka have more female/diverse Rabbis and a more diverse congregation. I’m Reform and my Temple’s lead Rabbi is a woman and we used to have a Rabbi who’s a queer single mother.

Conservative: More religiously observant and more generally traditional. Might keep kosher or observe Shabbat, but not necessarily. Services likely won’t use instruments (not supposed to play instruments on Shabbat). Most likely had a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, but girls might not read from the Torah, though this depends on the congregation. They do allow female Rabbis, but in my experience it’s less common.

Modern Orthodox: Very religiously observant but also embrace modern society. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot (singular=kippah) and tzitzit under their shirts. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married), most likely with a wig, and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Parents will likely have jobs. Might have larger families (aka more children) but might not. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and female Rabbis are very rare. Children will most likely attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

note: there are some people who fall somewhere between modern Orthodox and ultra-Orthodox, or between any two denominations really. as you can imagine people don’t all practice the exact same way.

Ultra-Orthodox: Very religiously observant and not necessarily modern. Will keep kosher and observe Shabbat. Men will wear kippot or other head coverings and tzitzit under their shirts, and are also often seen wearing suits. Women will cover their hair (if they’re married) with a wig or scarf and wear modest clothing (only wear skirts that are at least past their knees and long sleeves). Emphasis on continued study of Torah/Talmud. Men might have jobs but might instead focus on Jewish studies, while women most often focus on housework and child-rearing. Don’t believe in contraception (but this is kinda nuanced and depends). Will often have very large families because having children is a commandment and helps continue the Jewish people. Might be shomer negiah which means not touching members of the opposite sex aside from their spouse and some close family members. Services will be segregated by gender, girls won’t read from the Torah publicly, and there won’t be female Rabbis. Children will attend a religious school. Will attend shul services every Shabbat and for holidays.

Ethnic denominations (the different denominations do have some differences in practices and such but tbh I don’t know much about that so this is just the basics):

Ashkenazi: Jews that originate from Central/Eastern Europe. Yiddish, a combination of Hebrew and German, originated from and was spoken by Ashkenazim and while it’s a dying language it’s spoken among many Orthodox Jews and many Jews of all levels know/speak some Yiddish words and phrases. Majority of Jews worldwide are Ashkenazi.

Sephardi/Sephardic: Jews that originate from the Iberian Peninsula, North Africa, and southeastern Europe. Ladino, a combination of Old Spanish and Hebrew, originated from and was spoken by Sephardim. It is also a dying language but is still spoken by some Sephardim. After Ashkenazi most of the world’s Jews are Sephardic.

Mizrahi: Jews that originate from the Middle East and North Africa.

Ethiopian Jews: Community of Jews that lived in Ethiopia for over 1,000 years, though most have immigrated to Israel by now.

Stereotypes/Tropes/Controversies/Etc.

There are so many Jewish stereotypes and shit and I ask you to please be mindful of them. Stereotypes do exist for a reason, so some people will fit stereotypes. This means your character might fit one or two; don’t make them fit all of them. Please. Stereotypes to keep in mind (and steer away from) include:

All Jews are rich.

All Jews are greedy.

All Jews are cheap/frugal.

All Jews are [insert job here]. We’ll go into this more below.

All Jews hate Christians/Muslims/etc.

All Jews are white.

First of all Ethiopian and Mizrahi Jews exist, many Sephardi are Hispanic, and today with intermarriage and everything this just isn’t true.

All Jews have the same physical features: large and/or hooked nose, beady eyes, droopy eyelids, red hair (this is an old stereotype I didn’t really know existed), curly hair.

Many Jews do have somewhat large noses and curly hair. I’m not saying you can’t give these features to your characters, but I am saying to be careful and don’t go overboard. And don’t give all of your Jewish characters these features. As a side note, it is common at least among American Jews that girls get nose jobs. Not all, but some.

Jews are secretly world elite/control the world/are lizard people/new world order/ any of this stuff.

STAY AWAY FROM. DO NOT DO THIS OR ANYTHING LIKE THIS. If you have a character that’s part lizard, do not make them Jewish. If you have a character that’s part of a secret group that controls the entire world, do not make them Jewish.

Jews have horns. If you have characters with horns please don’t make them Jewish.

Jews killed Jesus.

The blood libel. Ew. No.

The blood libel is an antisemitic accusation/idea/concept that back in the day Jews would murder Christian children to use their blood in religious rituals and sometimes even for consumption (did I mention gross?) Not only did this just not happen, but it’s actually against Jewish law to murder, sacrifice, or consume blood. Yes these accusations really happened and it became a main reason for persecution of Jews. And some people still believe this shit.

Jews caused The Plague.

The reason this conspiracy exists is because many Jews didn’t get The Plague and the goyim thought that meant it was because the Jews caused it/cursed them. The real reason Jews didn’t get it is because ritual hand-washing and good hygiene kept them from getting it. Sorry that we bathe.

Jewish mother stereotype.

Ok, listen. I know stereotypes are mostly a bad thing but I have to admit the Jewish mother stereotype is not far off. Jewish moms do tend to be chatty and a little nagging, are often very involved in their children’s lives, and they are often trying to feed everyone (although they don’t all cook, my mom hates cooking.) They also tend to be big worriers, mostly worrying about their family/loved ones. They also tend to know everyone somehow. A twenty minute trip to the grocery store can turn into an hour or two long trip because she’ll chat with all the people she runs into.

Jewish-American Princess (JAP) ((I know calling Japanese people Japs is offensive. Jews will call girls JAPs, but with a completely different meaning. If that’s still offensive I am sorry, but just know it happens.))

This is the stereotype that portrays Jewish girls/women as spoiled brats basically. They will be pampered and materialistic. Do these girls exist? Definitely. I still recommend steering away from this stereotype.

Names

Listen. Listen. There are some names that Jews just won’t have. I won’t speak in definites because there are always exceptions but you’ll rarely find a Jew named Trinity or Grace or Faith or any form of Chris/Christopher/Christina etc. Biblical names from the Old Testament? Absolutely Jews will have those names they’re actually very common.

I’m in a Jewish Sorority. My pledge class of ~70 girls had five Rebeccas and four Sarahs. Surprisingly only one Rachel though.

When it comes to last names I have two thoughts that might seem contradictory but hear me out: a) give your Jewish OC’s Jewish surnames, b) don’t give your Jewish OC’s the most Jewish surname to ever exist.

By this I mean I would much rather see a character named Sarah Cohen or Aaron Levine than Rachel Smith. Just that little bit of recognition makes a happy exclamation point appear over my head, plus it can be a good way to hint to readers that your OC is Jewish.

On the other hand, please don’t use the most stereotypical Jewish names you’ve ever heard. If you have five Jewish OCs and one of them is Isaac Goldstein then fine. If Isaac Goldstein is your only Jewish OC I might get a little peeved. There are tons of common Jewish surnames that are recognizable and easy to look up, so don’t revert to the first three that come to mind. Maybe it’s just me, but I find it yucky, for lack of a better word.

Jobs

We all know there are certain jobs that are stereotypical for Jews to have. We’re talking lawyer, dentist, doctor, banker type stuff. To an extent these stereotypes exist for a reason, many Jews go into those careers. Do not make these the only careers your Jewish OCs have. Stereotypes might have reasoning behind them but it doesn’t mean they aren’t harmful. If you have multiple Jewish OCs some of them can have these careers, but not all of them. I do know a lot of Jewish lawyers, dentists, and doctors. I also know accountants, people involved in businesses (“mom, what does Brad do?” “he’s a businessman” sometimes there just aren’t more specific words), people involved in real estate. I don’t actually know any bankers personally, and with money and stuff being one of the most common and harmful Jewish stereotypes I would suggest steering away from that.

These are common fields for Jews, but Jews can have literally any job. Please feel free to get creative. And if you have more than one Jewish OC you can think about making one of them a Rabbi, but DON’T do this if they’re the only Jewish OC. Please.

Yiddish

So I mentioned Yiddish earlier. Like I already said, it’s not a very widely used language anymore but there are some words and phrases that are still used by a lot of Jews (in America at least.) Here’s a list that is absolutely not comprehensive:

Oy vey = oh no

Shvitzing = sweating (but not just a little bit. Shvitzing is like SWEATING)

Kvetch/kvetching = whine/whining or complain/complaining

Mazel tov = congratulations; this is the same in Yiddish and Hebrew

Chutzpah = nerve or gall (e.g. “He’s got a lot of chutzpah for breaking up over text like that”)

Kismet = fate; I just learned this is Yiddish

Bubbe and Zayde = grandma and grandpa

Schelp/schlepping = drag/dragging, can also mean carry or move (e.g. “I had to schlep the bag all around town” doesn’t mean they literally dragged it)

Schmutz = dirt or something dirty (e.g. “you have schmutz on your face”)

Schmatta = literally means rag but can be used to refer to ratty blankets or clothes

Plotz = collapse (usually used in the sense of “I’m so tired I might plotz” or “she’s gonna be so excited she’s gonna plotz”)

Schmuck/shmendrick = both mean more or less the same, a jerk or obnoxious person

Shtick = gimmick, routine, or act (can be used like (“I don’t like that comedian’s shtick” or “he always makes himself the center of attention it’s his shtick”)

Spiel = long speech, story, or rant

There’s so many more so look them up and think about using them, but don’t overdo it. A Jewish person isn’t gonna use a Yiddish word in every sentence (or even every day or every few days.)

Israel

In my community at least it’s very common that by the time your college-aged that you’ll have been to Israel at least once.

Israel is a controversial topic within the Jewish community and in the world. It’s sensitive and complex. I really, really suggest not getting into it. Just don’t bring it up because no matter what you say someone will be unhappy. Just don’t do it.

Ashkenazi Disorders

Ashkenazi Jews have some sucky genes (I’m Ashkenazi so I can say this, you cannot.) These sucky genes cause certain disorders to be more prevalent for us. Children only get the disorder if both parents are carriers of the disorder, so Jews usually get genetic testing done before having children. If both parents are carriers the risk of the child getting the disorder is high, so parents might reconsider or have some indecisiveness/fear. Some of these are:

Tay-Sachs

Cystic Fibrosis

Canavan Disease

Familial Dysautonomia

Gaucher Disease

Spinal Muscular Atrophy

Fanconi Anemia

Mucolipidosis IV

Niemann-Pick Disease

Torsion Dystonia

Bloom Syndrome

Ashkenazi Jews also have a high prevalence of the BRCA1 and BRCA2 genes, which increase the risk of breast and ovarian cancer in women and increase the risk of breast and prostate cancer in men.

Crohn’s Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, and Lactose Intolerance are also very prevalent

In a dorm of like 40 Jews, six of them had Crohn’s.

Ways to Show Your OC is Jewish

Wears Jewish jewelry, e.g. Star of David (also called Jewish Star and Magen David), Chai symbol (means life), jewelry with Sh’ma prayer, or hamsa (but beware this symbol is used outside of Judaism).

Mentions their temple, their Rabbi, having a Bat/Bar Mitzvah, going to Hebrew School, Shabbat, or a holiday coming up.

Have someone ask them a question about Judaism.

Have someone notice they have a mezuzah on their door.

Most Jews will have a mezuzah on the doorframe of the front door of their house/apartment, but they could even have one for their dorm room or whatever. It’s traditional to kiss your hand then touch the mezuzah when walking through the door, but most Jews don’t do this every time, at least not most Reform or Conservative Jews.

Have them call out antisemitism if you’re feeling spicy

The end! I hope this helped and if you have any questions my ask box is always open!

#writing advice #writing tips #writing help #jewish characters #judaism #writing resources #writeblr community #wtwcommunity #i said i would make this post literally months ago but i finally did it!

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13uswntimagines · 4 years

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Chanukah party (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

This isn’t a request but @literaryhedgehog and I thought it would be fun. The basic premise is that reader is at camp during Chanukah, and the team feels bad (especially Lindsey) so they throw her a party. (thank you @notmia101 for betaing this for us).

You smiled at Alyssa as she described her winter plans after training camp. How she was going to visit her sister and her family for Christmas. How they were hoping for snow and how they were going to kill an innocent tree and desecrate its body with lights for their amusement. Her words, not yours. It was a game she and the other girls played every year, trying to make their Christmas plans sound as horror-movie-ish as possible. It was a way of trying to make fun of themselves so you could share the amusement and join in laughing at them.

But despite their efforts, a little piece of you always felt left out because you couldn’t (wouldn’t?) participate. See, you were one of the few who didn’t celebrate Christmas. You were proud of your Jewish heritage, even if your family wasn’t the most ~religious~. But you were proud of the culture you had been raised in. You held its traditions very near to your heart and weren’t AT ALL bitter that the rest of the team had time designated to visit their family during their winter holidays while you still had training camp through the third week of December.

You were kinda zoning out because you could only take so much of their cookie baking, their stalkerish man that watched kids while they slept, and their hiding of a stupid stuffed toy you were sure would give you nightmares (who the fuck thought having an ‘elf’ stalk your family all month was cute?!?!? Capitalism was a weird man). (Though you may or may not have paid attention to Lindsey’s plan to dress Ferguson like a little elf…)

“What about you kid?” Tobin asked, nudging you out of your daydream.

“What?” You shook your head, making everyone around you laugh.

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” Lindsey repeated, her smile showing off her dimples.

“Oh, um. Chanukah started a few days ago. It’s cool, they have an app with a menorah and everything. My family has been face timing me most days, but it will be over before training ends.” You shrugged, hoping they couldn’t see how much being away from your family during this time of year sucked (though you were glad to be included on the camp roster).

Most of the veteran's jaws dropped, how had they not known that you were missing something so important to you? How had US Soccer overlooked a holiday (and inadvertently given you an ultimatum- celebrate or make the national team).

“Then why did they schedule training camp this week?” Tobin mumbled. Again you shrugged.

“There’s 23 of you and only one of me… it’s really not that big of a deal,” you smiled briefly and gave the same speech you had given since middle school, “It’s not like the ‘Jewish Christmas’ even though it happens around the same time some years, my family doesn’t even exchange presents, so I’m really just missing the party they’re throwing on the 18th.”

“That still isn’t fair though. I mean, we get Christmas off automatically, even if we don’t celebrate it!” Christen huffed, throwing her hands up.

“I mean, this isn’t like a new thing. We’re always at camp during this time. And next year the holiday starts in November, so it’s not something that can consistently be scheduled around. I guess it’s just a sacrifice I have to make to be the best right?” You said earnestly, shaking your head. You knew all of the arguments, you had heard them for all of your life.

“But-“ Emily started to protest, but before she could get the words out you cut her off. “Don’t make a big deal guys, it’s fine. Really,”

The team stared at you for a few seconds, several women opening and closing their mouths several times. You shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, breathing a sigh of relief when your phone rang, glad to have an excuse to get out of this situation.

“Ok so we’re totally going to make a big deal out of this,” Lindsey said turning back around to face the team the second you were out the door.

“I’m guessing you have a plan to woo your girl?” Emily smirked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“It’s not to. No. We are doing this as a team to be supportive of our teammate who is part of a traditionally marginalized culture that we need to be more supportive of,” Lindsey grumbled sternly, smiling when Christen nodded in return. “I’m googling “Chanukah for Dummies” right now.

They were going to make this camp different from the others (and if she got to impress you that was just a bonus).

…..

“Umm, why does it smell like something is burning?” Becky asked, walking through the hotel corridor towards the dining room.

“Because Latkes are apparently more difficult to make than I expected,” Kelley said, tossing what looked like a stack of burned hockey pucks into the trash. “I didn’t realize the whole room was going to smell like fried food- do you think they’re going to fine me when we check out?”

“If they fine you, they better fine Em too. The stench from such a little jar is kind of amazing,” Lindsey huffed.

“What did she do, get her sardines or something?” Becky asked, shaking her head, remembering the smell that she couldn’t quite place.

“No. Something called ‘Gefilte fish’”.

“But isn’t that usually for Passover?” Kelley asked, looking up from where she was trying to scrape burned potatoes off her pan.

“They said it was traditional, isn’t that what we’re going for?” Emily huffed, pouting. Lindsey rolled her eyes at her best friend.

“I’ve got music!” Chrystal called, walking through the door in a star-patterned sweater. “It turns out there are not a whole lot of Chanukah songs. There’s a Spotify playlist that’s only 3 hours long, or so, so I supplemented it with a lot of Leonard Cohen and Paul Simon.”

“And I brought the sour cream and applesauce as requested!” Sam called, walking in after her, “also some apple juice and honey bourbon. I know apples and honey are a thing for Rosh Hashana, so I thought maybe we could make some cocktails?”

“I won’t tell coach if you don’t,” Kelley said taking the bottle and pouring herself a shot. “Someone else needs to take over the latke making. My attempts have all either looked like lefse, hashbrowns or just burned.”

“Lefse?”

“I had an ex-girlfriend from Minnesota. It was a potato tortilla thing her family sent her at thanksgiving. The point here is that someone else needs to cook or we are just going to be eating sour cream and applesauce on their own.”

“We could make french fries?” Rose suggested tentatively.

“With bacon and cheese! Those are the best,” Emily exclaimed, only to have Lindsey (gently) slap the back of her head.

“No, Sonnett. She can’t have bacon and I don’t think she’s allowed to have cheese and meat on the same plate…”

“I think if we just batter potato pieces in egg and flour and fry them it would taste nice with the apple sauce and sour cream. And we’ve made french fries before so it won’t be so much of a… learning curve. Though you did a great try, Kelley!” Rose said, patting Kelley’s arm.

“You guys are useless. Did you even look at a recipe?” Megan shook her head.

“If you think it’s so easy you try it.” Kelley scoffed. Megan raised her eyebrow at the woman, stealing the spatula from the defender's hand.

“Tasty made here we come,”

*****

“Happy Chanukah!” came from all around as you walked in. Lindsey was very proud. Not only had she gotten the team on track and ensured that they had all of the stuff google said would make the perfect Chanukah celebration; she had also kept you off their trail until this moment. The shock on your face made all the work on their day off entirely worth it.

The room was decorated in tinsel with a shiny plastic menorah in the center of the table. Several people were wearing ugly sweaters with different “decorations” taped on. A sign on the back wall said “We survived, let’s eat!” Lindsey had decided against hanging up the posters Rose and Mal made saying “Stick it to the (ro)Man!” and “MaccaBEe mine.” The first one because she wasn’t sure it was appropriate, the second one because she knew it wasn’t.

“Ooo who brought the hotdog of the sea?” You asked, biting your lip to suppress a giggle as you walked over to the table to see the food on display.

“What?” Lindsey’s eyes tried to follow yours, utterly confused. They didn’t get hotdogs. They most certainly weren’t on the list that Chanukah for dummies had given her.

You smiled softly and shook your head, pointing to the tan balls that Emily had provided.

“That’s what my siblings and I call it during Passover. Gefilte fish is kinda a love it or hate it thing…” you trailed off, scrunching your nose just slightly.

“And you’re not a fan?” Lindsey smirked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Umm, I plead the fifth,” You mumbled, shaking your head slightly. It wasn’t your favorite item in the world.

“That was all Emily,” Kelley snorted, clapping you on the back, and you grinned devilishly back at her.

“Well, it was very nice of her to be so thoughtful. She can try a piece with me,”

Emily cringed at the idea, but nodded nonetheless. It was your party and if eating the smelly thing out of a jar made you happy, then that’s exactly what she would do. (She also stealthily shot Lindsey the middle finger while you were surveying the rest of the items on the tables).

“Honestly the sufganiyot is my favorite,” you said, taking a step towards the platter, your lips ticking up at Lindsey’s adorable confused face. “sorry, the donuts,” you clarified, picking up one of the many powdered sugar-covered donuts in the stack, inspecting it to see what kind it was. The Jelly ones were particularly important for the celebration.

Lindsey blushed a little. “We didn’t know if you wanted jelly or custard,” She said hesitantly, watching as your eyes got impossibly brighter.

“Both are amazing, thank you,” You smiled softly at the midfielder, brushing a stay bit of powdered sugar off her pink cheeks. You held her gaze for a moment before seeming realizing you had an audience, and turning towards the rest of the team. “thank all of you,”

It wasn’t the traditional Chanukah you usually shared with your family, but the friends who had become your family made it special nonetheless.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #literalhedgehog

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invisibleraven · 3 years

Text

'Cause I just want you here tonight (holding on to me so tight)

Pairing: Luke/Reggie

Rating: E

Summary: A rare Christmas concert opportunity leads to Reggie and Luke enjoying more than a white Christmas together...

This fic is a Secret Snowman gift for @bethsmash, they wanted some friends to lovers fluff with a touch of angst and smut, so I hope this delivers!

Happy Holidays hun!

AO3 link

"Good news boys, I've booked us a holiday gig!" Luke exclaimed as he entered the studio one afternoon. The rest of the band looked up, their expressions ranging from unimpressed (Alex), to indifferent (Bobby), to excited (Reggie). "Seattle WinterFest had some last minute drop outs, and ours was the next name on their list!"

"Seattle?" Alex asked. "Since when are we doing shows in Seattle? Also how did our name get on their list in the first place?"

"Well I put us down months ago, but they were full up. It's supposed to be a who's who of punk bands giving classic holiday songs their own twist plus sharing their own stuff. I thought it would be a good way to get our name out there," Luke explained.

"And how, pray tell, are we getting to Seattle?" Bobby asked, and the puppy dog eyes Luke sent him answered that. "No. No way. Lola will never let us drive all the way to Seattle. Plus you know I can't leave her alone during the holidays dude."

"Well we could always bring her with us. Not in the van, but if we pooled our cash we could fly and she could have a white Christmas for once," Luke reasoned. "They are providing us with rooms once we get there, so I'm sure I'd be no problem. We just say she's our manager and no one is the wiser."

Bobby sighed. "Fine, I'll ask. That isn't a yes!" Luke first pumped anyway, and turned to the other two.

"Lex? Reg?"

"Anything to get out of another judgmental holiday gathering with my family, I'm in," Alex said.

"Chanukah is already over, so I'm cool. It's just another weekend for me," Reggie replied with a shrug. "But what about your folks? I thought you promised to stay home for the holidays this year?"

Luke grimaced, he had promised that, but since returning home last summer after almost dying of food poisoning, things hadn't really changed. If anything his mom was even more protective, and still not incredibly supportive of the music thing. She was not going to take it well if he took off to another state for a show and missed the holidays. But things had been so strained last year and Luke wasn't anxious for a repeat. "We'll be back by Christmas Eve, it's cool."

They sent him a look that meant they didn't believe him, but they let it go. They were all the family they really needed, but they tried to stay out of stuff with each other's parents unless it got really bad. They were all nineteen now, so they had been floating the idea of getting a place together, close enough so Bobby could check on lola regularly but also far enough away that they were closer to the music scene.

They spent the rest of the day going over logistics for their trip, and soon they found some thankfully cheap flights once Celia offered to help with the price since she was keen to tag along. Bobby shook his head at that, knowing that lola had no idea what she was getting into, but kissed her temple regardless, and smiled at his band. "Alright, get ready Seattle, here comes Sunset Curve!"

The day they were set to fly out, Reggie was standing by the door of the airport, eyes searching frantically for Luke, the last call for checking in was due any second and the guitarist still wasn’t there. Their instruments were already loaded, Alex and Bobby were waiting by the gate, with Reggie tasked with ensuring Luke got through on time. Reggie was about to give up when a cab screeched to a halt in front of him. Luke rushed out, tossing the cabbie a handful of bills, grabbed his bag and started pulling Reggie towards the counter to check in. “Dude, where have you been?”

Luke was still panting for breath, but pulled himself together, giving the airline attendant his most charming smile so she wouldn’t admonish him too hard for arriving so close to the cut off, and once he was set up to go, turned to Reggie as they made their way towards the gate. “Got into it with Mom. She basically told me if I went not to bother coming back. So I had to grab all my stuff and store it at the studio first and then find a way here.”

Reggie pulled them into a little nook, pulling Luke into his arms, Luke returning the hug almost immediately. “Dude, we don’t have to do this gig if it’s gonna mess things up with your folks like that.”

“It’s been coming for a while, you know it has. Probably better to do it now than keep believing it will change.” Luke’s tone was firm but his eyes were full of unshed tears, so Reggie held him all the tighter, Luke gripping his back as he took in some deep breaths. They slowly and reluctantly pulled apart, sharing small watery smiles. “We-we should go, before Alex has a conniption.”

They ran off towards the gate, thankfully seeing the boys awaiting them, and Reggie sent Alex a look so he wouldn’t berate Luke for his tardiness. Celia beamed at them, and brought Luke in for a hug. The others stood back, and she rolled her eyes at them “Come on my lalaki, come get a hug.” They all rushed in, loving when lola gave them hugs, something they all lacked from their own parents. They soon broke apart, shy smiles and bouncing limbs as they waited for their flight to start boarding. Before they knew it, they were all sitting on the plane, getting ready for take off. Alex was gripping the armrest in a white knuckled fist, Luke had his headphones on already, Reggie was sitting back with a book, Bobby had his eyes closed, determined to sleep, and Celia had broken out her knitting.

Part way through the flight, Luke got up to go to the bathroom, and Reggie began to worry when he hadn’t come back after some time. “I’m gonna go check on him,” he said to Alex who had finally relaxed his grip on the arm rest but was still anxiously glancing out the window every few seconds.

“Probably getting sick from the nasty airline food. Told him to pack snacks. But go ahead.” Alex waved him off, focusing on his breathing, willing the three hour flight to pass quicker, and he made a mental note to tell Luke that any tours they had needed to be by bus in future.

Reggie made his way to the front of the plane, knocking lightly on the locked door he had seen Luke go through. “Luke, buddy? You okay in there?”

The door opened a crack, giving Reggie a flash of red rimmed eyes before a hand reached out and pulled him into the cramped quarters. Luke smothered his face into Reggie’s chest, small sobs and hot tears leaking out every so often. Reggie immediately embraced Luke, making soothing sounds as he rubbed down his back. They stayed like that for a few moments, and Reggie knew they needed to get out of the bathroom soon, but comforting Luke was more important right now. Luke finally dislodged his face from Reggie’s chest, at the wet spot he had left, looking at Reggie, an apology on his lips when Reggie shook his head. “Don’t apologize, it’s what friends are for.”

Luke sniffled, then popped up on his toes, pressing a kiss to Reggie’s lips. Reggie almost fell backwards, but they were so squished together he didn’t really have the ability to move. So he stood there, stock still while Luke kissed him. Only Luke started deepening the kiss, pawing at Reggie, whimpering in the back of his throat. “Reg… Reggie please,” he murmured against Reggie’s lips.

Reggie finally took a hold of Luke’s biceps, separating them. He cradled one of Luke’s cheeks in his palm, thumbing away an errant tear. “Luke, you’re not thinking right. You don’t want this right now, and you definitely don’t want it with me. You’re upset. Come on, we’ll go sit down, and if you need to talk, I’m here for you.”

Luke whispered a tiny okay, and an even smaller apology as Reggie pulled them out of the bathroom, blushing at the unimpressed steward standing right outside the door, and pulled Luke to their seats. “Told you, no apologies needed.” But internally, Reggie was replaying the kiss over and over in his mind, the flavour of Luke still on his lips and he had to fight himself not to lick over them. He had always hoped that one day Luke would want more with him, want him, but not like this. Not half out of his mind with grief, or trying desperately to erase the numbness with the closest warm body. He buried his face back into his book once they were sat down, steadfastly avoiding Luke’s gaze and Alex’s questions.

Once they landed in Seattle, thankfully someone from WinterFest was awaiting them, and offered to escort them to their hotel. It was more of a bed and breakfast, but the guys weren’t picky, given it was being provided for free. That was of course, until they found out they would be sharing two rooms. Celia tutted at them, telling them to be grateful it wasn’t the one room, and thanked the hotel employee. She claimed the bigger of the rooms, which had a futon for her, and Bobby would take the bed. Alex jumped to share with Bobby, given Luke was a restless sleeper at best and Reggie tended to octopus whoever was closest when asleep. Bobby was also the only one who could abide Alex’s snoring, so Reggie wasn’t really complaining.

Well, until he realized that he and Luke would be sharing a bed. It was nice of course, and it would only be for a few nights, but still. Luke seemed unbothered by the prospect, so Reggie sucked up his qualms and began unpacking. They had a late dinner and bed planned for the rest of the evening, so he wanted to get it done before the stress of the day caught up with him. By the time they were all fed and ready for sleep, Reggie was exhausted, face planting hard and almost immediately drifting off.

When he awoke, Reggie blinked open his bleary eyes, taking in the quaint room, the sight of gently falling snow outside the window, and Luke sprawled out underneath him. Reggie startled back, almost falling off the bed in the process, thankful he hadn’t woken up poking Luke awake as well, but of course they had to have slept tangled together. Luke didn’t seem to mind, given he was still passed out, but Reggie was mortified. He silently extracted himself from the bed and got ready for the day. He and Alex had plans to get some window shopping done, and explore around Seattle. Celia and Bobby were doing the more touristy things, and Luke was planning on getting some writing done before the first acts took the stage that night.

Alex noticed that Reggie was off, distracted, but whenever he tried asking, Reggie changed the topic, or dragged him off to another cool store display, obviously deflecting. He was especially jumpy whenever Alex asked about Luke, and he had to wonder if something had finally happened between the two of them. Alex and Bobby were frankly tired of watching the two pine after each other unknowingly, and he wondered if there was any way he could just… lock them in their room until they figured it out.

That night the boys gathered for the first night of shows, bouncing and thrashing to the band up on stage. Celia had stayed out of it, electing to stay back in her room with a book, given she wasn't a fan of punk music and mosh pits. She had insisted the boys bundle up, as the temperature was rapidly dropping, and while the mosh pit was a bit warm in their flannels, once the set was over, they were all grateful for the extra protection from the chill.

Reggie finally felt normal again, Luke seemingly back to himself, though the kiss still hung heavy between them. Furtive glances were shared between them as they ambled off back towards the hotel. Yet they kept chatting about the show, about their set planned for later the week, anything but the moment that occurred between them.

In bed, Luke dropped off almost immediately, able to sleep anywhere but Reggie was more restless. The moon was bright, shining in through the thin lace curtains, highlighting Luke in a wash of silver, and Reggie felt his heart ache. He could have given in, joined the mile high club with Luke, they could be having fun together right now if he had. It could have finally kicked off something between them, even if it was just physical at first. Reggie could have lived with that, sure feelings would follow.

Yet he knew if he had taken advantage of Luke, no matter what happened afterwards, it would be tainted by that. And who was to say that Luke wouldn't have felt betrayed at best, ending their friendship? Reggie shook himself, knowing he had made the right choice, and resolutely turned over, determined to sleep. But it was as if every creak of the hotel, every gust of wind sounded like a gunshot, and Reggie found himself unable to settle. He tossed and turned, finally rousing Luke.

"Reg?" Luke mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. "Can't sleep babe?"

"No, sorry. I might get up and read or something."

Luke threw his arm around Reggie's waist, bringing him in as he smacked his lips together. "Sssssh, you just need snuggles. Snuggles make you sleepy."

Reggie was sure his face was on fire as Luke drifted back to sleep, his breath hitting Reggie's neck. But despite himself, Reggie yawned, and finally allowed himself to relax into Luke's hold, and fell asleep.

Warm bodies writhed together, arms grasping at whatever they could reach, legs entertained. Mouths battling as tongues lashed against one another. Hardness met hardness, and groans rang out, letting their hips rub and thrust together, unable to hold back from how good it felt. Panting into each other's mouths too much to kiss. Winding up higher and higher, they could hold back no more, finally tipping over the edge of release together.

Luke startled awake as he crested into orgasm, eyes flying open as he took in Reggie's gasping face below him. The rapidly cooling wetness between them, their panting breaths. Luke was sure they hadn't fallen asleep on top of each other, and neither of them had the intention of humping each other awake, but here they were. "Crap, sorry Reg. I have no idea what happened."

"Can you get off me please?" Reggie whispered, and Luke grimaced at the state of the mess between as he rushed to do so. Reggie ran to the bathroom, and Luke slumped back onto the bed. He knew it was an accident, and eventually Reggie would forgive him, but Luke felt so bad right now he didn't know if he'd ever forgive himself. Yet he couldn't find it in himself to regret it. Him and Reggie, there had always been this thing between them, and he had hoped that maybe one day he'd have the courage to pursue it. Maybe now was the time.

Reggie came out of the bathroom, clothes clinging to damp skin, towelling his hair, "All yours."

"Reggie-"

Reggie kept his eyes turned away, "Look, can we not? I know you didn't mean… it happened, let's leave it. Please."

"O-okay." Luke was sure his expression was crestfallen, not that Reggie could see it, given he was resolved not to look at him. Luke ambled off to the bathroom and tried not to flinch when he heard the bedroom door close firmly behind Reggie as he left.

Luke met up with the guys for breakfast, Reggie steadfastly avoiding his eyes, but engaging with Bobby in an animated fashion about going to a local park to enjoy the snow. Alex was all in, and Celia was very excited, as growing up in the Philippines and then living in California she had never experienced the phenomenon.

"What about you Luke? You gonna join us in frolicking in the snow?" Bobby asked.

Luke hesitated, he had wanted to get some songs hammered out, but with everyone giving him their best pleading faces he gave in. Hell, they were overdue for a band bonding session anyway. "Sounds good to me, as long as everyone bundles up, we can't catch colds before we perform tomorrow."

Alex rolled his eyes a little, muttering under his breath how that advice was rich when it came from a guy allergic to sleeves, but gave Luke a sickly sweet smile when Luke questioned him. They all rushed to pull on their winter gear, racing to the park, faces lighting up as they kicked up piles of snow. Celia was in her glee, making snowballs to cheekily throw at Bobby who cried foul but didn't retaliate, instead encouraging her to try her hand at a snowman instead, the two of them working together.

Alex had wandered off to the nearby skating rink, renting skates as he glided over the ice. Reggie looked like he was contemplating joining him, but thought better of it, since he was tragically uncoordinated at times and he didn't want to risk breaking something before a show. Luke was steering clear of it, preferring to stroll through the lane, enjoying the quiet ambiance of the park. Well until he felt a snowball hit his back.

He whirled around, fully expecting to find Celia, but instead saw Reggie, another ball in his hand, a devious smirk on his face. Luke grinned, scooping up a handful and packing it tight, but missed Reggie by a mile while an explosion of white hit him square in the chest. Reggie had years of softball to back him up while Luke had always been more of a basketball guy.

Luke tried valiantly to nail Reggie, but he failed more times than not, while every one of Reggie's projectiles found their target. Luke soon had enough of target practice with him being the bulls eye, so he rushed at Reggie, landing them both in the snowbank, flakes flying up and coating their hair and eyelashes. Reggie grinned at Luke, but all Luke could do was flash back to that morning when they had been in a very similar position. He took in the bright green of Reggie's eyes, the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. The faint flush that never seemed to leave Reggie's pale skin. The lush state of his lips which were giving him Reggie's trademark crooked grin.

Reggie looked up at Luke, his hazel eyes looking almost grey today, his bottom lip red from being bitten so often, his cowlicks escaping the beanie he had shoved on his head. Reggie knew he should push Luke away, especially after they had woken up today in the throes of pleasure, but some part of him didn’t want to. He tentatively reached up, fingering the scarf coming loose around Luke’s neck, tugging him down a little, eyes trained on where Luke licked over his lips. On the look, searching for permission, for more that Luke was giving him. Reggie let his eyelids flutter shut, just for a moment, and felt the briefest brush against his lips before a shocking cold as Luke ran away giggling. Reggie wiped the snow from his face, sputtering, embarrassed, and resolving not to let his guard down again. He grabbed a pile of snow, chasing after Luke, determined to shove it down his neck so far that their families back in LA would hear his squeal.

By the time they returned to the hotel, both boys were soaked through from their snowball fight, faces flushed and a little wind burnt, but their beaming smiles betrayed how much fun they’d had. The rest of the gang had come back earlier, as Celia wanted a nap, and the other two boys had determined that it sounded like a great idea.

"Dibs on the first shower!" Luke yelled as he barrelled into the bathroom, leaving Reggie's indignant squawks behind him. His wet things soon hit the floor, forming a sodden heap as steam soon poured from the shower. Luke sighed as the temperature soon abated the chill in his bones. Then he heard the door open, and peaking out he saw Reggie picking up his clothes, hanging them up as best he could all while shivering. "Reggie, what are you doing?"

"Your stuff will never dry if you leave them like this, and I know you were excited to go see the set tonight."

"I have another coat, but I meant more so why are you still in your wet stuff? Take it off man, I'm almost done, and you gotta warm up before you get sick."

Reggie already had the sense to shed his outer layers, so he reluctantly pulled off his clothes. Luke knew he should duck back under the spray, and not watch, but he was enraptured. Reggie was so damn pretty, and it was rare he wasn't covering that prettiness with layers of flannel and leather. His arms alone sent Luke's mind reeling, given they were way more buff than they had been the last time Luke had really taken notice. In fact Reggie's torso was full of subtle definition, his legs the same. And he had this cute little butt that Luke was dying to sink his hands into.

"You done dude?" Reggie asked, breaking Luke of his reverie. He was blushing bright, standing there in his tight black underwear and Luke had to shake himself from letting his eyes linger over that area of Reggie's anatomy. He ducked back under the spray to rinse the last of the suds, turning off the water, and was about to step out, but thought the better of it, shyly asking Reggie for a towel.

After a cursory towelling off, Luke made sure he was covered and stepped out of the shower, noting how Reggie's eyes swept over him, how his blush brightened, but he didn't apologize for ogling. He stammered a bit, then got in the shower, tossing his underwear out before the water started once more. Luke was tempted to say fuck it, and get back in, but walked away, pulling on some dry clothes before settling down with his notebook.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in companionable silence, broken by Luke's occasional humming, Reggie counterpointing with his own melody until it devolved into a song writing session that made them almost late for dinner. The set that night was electric, made even better by the kindly employee who looked the other way at their terrible fake IDs while handing them a few beers.

Barely even tipsy, the four of them strolled back to the hotel, wishing each other good night's as they went off to bed. Reggie stared at the bed, at Luke, and he knew they would end up wrapped around each other, but maybe the beer made him bold, so he decided to chance it. He pulled off his clothes, lying back in only his underwear, his pyjamas a tad bit ruined from that morning. "Good show tonight," he commented, arm flung over his eyes.

"Y-yeah." Reggie felt the bed shift next to him and lifted his arm to glance over, seeing Luke in a similar state of undress, assuming his jammies were also not in a wearable state. Luke was looking at him almost shyly, shuffling closer, then a tentative touch to Reggie's jaw, a thumb over his flushed cheekbones. Luke leaned in, brushing their noses together, then pulled back. "Is… is this okay? This morning-"

"This morning I was scared. Not scared now," Reggie whispered, brushing their lips together.

"How many beers did you have?" Luke asked, their lips still touching lightly as he spoke.

"Enough to make me brave enough to take what I want. Not enough to make you feel bad about it."

"Oh thank fuck." With that, Luke surged forward, the kiss hard and forceful for a moment before he gentled it, still cupping Reggie's face as he swiped over his lips with his tongue. Licking into each other's mouths, hands trailing down backs, clutching at shoulders as the intensity and passion grew.

They lost themselves in kissing for some time, an almost blissful eternity, until Luke rolled over on top of Reggie, smirking down at him "This position feels familiar."

Reggie rolled his eyes before pulling him down for another kiss, grabbing Luke's ass to grind them together, and Luke gasped into his mouth. He knew he was already affected, had been since Reggie flopped down in the bed in those damn black briefs. But Reggie was hard as well, and well, fucking hung from what Luke could feel pressed against him. He rolled off Reggie, and reached for his waistband, sending up a looking, silently asking permission.

Reggie bit his lip, feeling the blood pounding between his legs, the want coursing through his veins. Part of him wondered if this was a good idea, if it meant anything, but he smothered that thought down and gave Luke a subtle nod, lifting his hips as the underwear were pulled off, and heard Luke's sharp inhale.

"Damn Reg."

"What?"

Luke gestured to where Reggie's cock lay, hard and ruddy. Luke then unceremoniously pulled off his own underwear, and while he was no slouch in the size department, Reggie could see there was an obvious size difference between them. "Oh." There was also the fact that Luke was clearly uncut, and well, given Reggie only had experience with his own cock, found the idea kind of fascinating. He reached out tentatively, a finger brushing against the foreskin, Luke sucking in a breath, his eyes urging Reggie on. Reggie sat up, letting himself explore, the way Luke reacted to every twist of his wrist, every tug of his fingers. The way liquid started to bead at the head, and Reggie swiped a finger through it, the taste bitter as he brought it to his tongue, giving Luke the sultriest smirk he could.

“Reggie…” Luke pleaded, and Reggie pounced, pushing Luke down on the bed, their mouths fusing together for a moment before Reggie tore his away, trailing kisses and nips of teeth down against Luke’s jaw, neck, chest, the v of his hips. He gave the head of Luke's cock a shy lick, then suckled at it when Luke moaned to the ceiling.

Reggie's taste buds were filled with the flavour of Luke, salty and bitter, but not so unpleasant that he pulled off. He let his hand work the base as he engulfed even more, sucking and licking as he went, throwing an arm over Luke's thrashing hips as he went. Luke had a death grip on the sheets below him with one hand, the other gently running through Reggie's dark hair. He could feel himself rushing towards the end, so built up by their kisses and Reggie's impressive mouth. "Reg… close…"

Reggie glanced up at Luke, winking before redoubling his efforts, and Luke found he couldn't hold back, neck taut as his head fell back onto the pillow. His hips were straining against Reggie's hold, and he tipped over the edge, a strangled groan of the bassist's name erupting as he went. Reggie only pulled off when Luke started whimpering with oversensitivity, wiping over his mouth as Luke groped for him lazily, pulling him down for a kiss, not even flinching at the brackish taste in Reggie's mouth.

Luke's hand drifted down, stripping Reggie's impressive length, never ceasing their kiss, even when Reggie nipped at his lips, then cried out while painting Luke's abs with release, shaking and shuddering until he was spent. He slumped down for a moment, spreading the mess between them before kissing Luke softly. He pulled away, the two of them cleaning each other with tenderness, then cuddling together, no words between them as they fell asleep lips brushing together.

When Reggie awoke the next morning, it was to an empty bed and panic immediately rushed through him. Where was Luke? The bathroom door was open, so he wasn't in there, and there was nowhere else in the room he could be. Did he regret last night? Was this his way of telling Reggie he wanted nothing more to do with him? His thoughts were starting to spiral when the door to the room opened and Luke walked in, shaking a few flakes of snow from his coat before he laid down the coffees he was carrying.

"Oh, you're awake! Just in time for java! I got yours with peppermint because I know you like it." Luke leaned down, pressing a sweet kiss to Reggie's mouth before handing off his coffee, leaning back to throw back his own sugar filled concoction. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Y-yeah." Reggie sipped his drink, smiling at the minty taste and then set it aside. "Last night…"

"I'm so glad it happened, even if I wish the beers hadn't spurred us on. I… Reg I've wanted us to be more for ages. And now…"

"Now we are," Reggie finished. "That's what I've wanted too Luke. For so long, you have no idea." He leaned up, pressing a sweet kiss to Luke's mouth, squeaking when Luke pushed him down on the bed to ravish him further.

"Well I must have been good this year, I got a boyfriend for the holidays," Luke quipped. Reggie snorted and playfully swatted at his chest before pulling him down for another kiss.

They arrived at sound check a little late, clearly dishevelled, lips swollen, and beaming smiles on their faces. Alex and Bobby took one look at them and simultaneously exclaimed "Finally!"

"Was wondering how long you two idiots were gonna make us suffer through your pining before you got it together," Bobby remarked, but offered Luke a fistbump before pulling Reggie in for a hug. "Don't let it fuck the band though."

"No plans to," Luke replied with an eye roll, then pulled on his guitar, signalling it was time to play. They launched into Now or Never, bouncing all over the stage and playing their hearts out. The techs applauded when they were done, and they went off to the hotel to eat before their set. Celia had agreed to come tonight, since it was them playing, pulling a Sunset Curve shirt over her parka, and Bobby pulled her into a hug.

The set was amazing, playing their songs with the utmost enthusiasm, and the electrified crowd were loving them. They sprinkled in a few holiday songs they had adjusted to their style, until it was time for their final number. Luke let Reggie take this one given he could hit the high notes of Mariah Carey better than he could. Yet when Reggie sang that all he wanted for Christmas was you, the you part was always directed at Luke. Luke beamed, sure he was blushing, but he didn't care. Not with his boyfriend serenading him, bouncing over to his mic, then sneaking a peck to his cheek at the end of the song as the crowd exploded.

"Thank you, we're Sunset Curve, tell your friends!" Reggie yelled, winking at the screaming crowd. The boys ran off the stage after their bows, raucous with how well the set went, accepting compliments from Celia. A few managers approached them, and handed them cards for their California branches, leaving Luke gobsmacked. They had done it, they were finally going to be legends! He pulled Reggie into a fierce kiss, whooping as they parted.

They were flying out the next morning, on Christmas Eve, and though Luke was still buzzing with adrenaline from the night before, he was also exhausted. He and Reggie had stayed up late celebrating, talking, and kissing over and over again. Yet, even with everything he ever wanted, Luke felt like there was something missing. He yawned as he laid his head on Reggie's shoulder once on the plane, not wanting to admit that what he wanted was to tell his mom everything. He soon drifted off, Reggie softly running his hands through his hair.

Luke was understably groggy once he woke, Reggie gently guiding him off the plane, collecting their bags and into his car. Luke only really woke up when he saw Reggie had pulled into the Patterson's driveway. "Reg…"

"You know that you don't wanna leave it like you did babe. Come on, it's Christmas, go home like you promised you would."

"Only if you come with me."

Reggie nodded, and came around to grab Luke's hand as they walked up the driveway, hearts in their throats. Luke took a deep breath, and knocked on the door, waiting until it opened and he smiled softly. "Hey mom, can we come in?"

Emily didn't answer, simply rushed in to envelope the both of them in a hug. Tears were shed, and though Luke knew this didn't solve everything, he sent Reggie a grateful look. 'Best Christmas ever' he mouthed as they were pulled into the house.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #ruke #peterpatter #julie and the phantoms

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ironhusband · 4 years

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For @mostlystuckony @starspangledtightsman @followingsnotreallymystyle @sweetvoiceofdoom. You asked for it haha. Happy Chanukah everyone! Hope you have a nice day lighting the first candle!

~~~

Tony was Jewish but celebrating Chanukah in his family was very different than how Rhodey celebrated Chanukah. Rhodey’s family was all dreidel spinning tournaments, stomach aches from too many sufganiyot every night and lit candles while singing Maoz Tzur off key. Tony's holiday were spent... not celebrating. Once every five years or so Howard would light the candles and then brush past Tony but usually that was it.

Tony preferred Rhodey’s version.

Still, Tony and Rhodey liked to create their own traditions (the first time they realized that was what they were doing, they both giggled and started singing Tradition from Fiddler on the Roof).

~~~

“You ready for your gelt, honeybear?”

Rhodey raised a brow, “are you my parents suddenly?”

“I thought I was your sugar daddy,” Tony waggled his eyebrows and pulled Rhodey down on the couch on top of him.

Rhodey snorted, “you’re younger than me, genius. You’re such a dork.”

“Your dork.”

“My dork.”

“So that means I can’t show you my gratitude through money?”

Rhodey smacked him with a pillow, “no.”

Tony pouted, “what if you win it at a game of dreidel?”

“...Maybe.”

~~~

Tony lost every time the following years where they went by this tradition, and Rhodey had no idea how, since it was impossible to cheat in dreidel. “Physics, honeybear,” Tony would tease, “not that I’m admitting to cheating. But it is possible. Another round?”

~~~

“We should make the menorah,” Tony suggested as they lit candles on the second day.

Rhodey huffed, “is this about my menorah? It’s not boring and I take offence in you insulting it.”

“It’s not,” Tony promised, not wanting to get on his boyfriend’s bad side. Although if he was honest, the menorah was kind of plain and boring. “I just want to make one. I think I could make a good one.”

Rhodey hesitated, “I wouldn’t recommend it. I made one when I was five and my mom still uses it. It’s embarrassing.”

“Yeah, but you were five, I’m sixteen. I’ll make a good one, promise.”

~~~

Tony made new menorahs every year. Using his “blacksmith skills” (Rhodey’s words) they were always beautiful and useful. Tony sometimes used different metals to make the menorah more colourful, and sometimes included little lights embedded into the menorah to make it sparkle. Rhodey occasionally helped him make them and once even made one on his own, but he was mostly proud to light candles on his boyfriend’s amazing handmade menorah. Rhodey’s favorite one was the menorah he made using the metal from Tony’s very first Iron Man suit.

~~~

“You want to make the sufganiyot?” Tony asked, “duvshanit, I love you more than life itself, but not even you cook that well.”

“You thought my mom’s were good.”

“Are you saying you are your mom?”

“It’s in my genes.”

“I don’t think it’s genetic.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes but pecked Tony’s lips, “you’ll just see.”

Four hours later, Rhodey handed him a plate filled with sufganiyot. Or at least, sufganiyot in theory.

Tony raised a brow, “this is the wrong shape.”

“It’s round,” Rhodey insisted.

“Ish. It’s also the wrong color.”

“It’s orange.”

“It should be yellow.”

“Counting by store bought?”

“You know, now that you mention store bought-”

“Just eat it.”

Hesitantly, Tony picked one up and took a bite.

“Well?” Rhodey asked anxiously.

Tony took another bite and then said around mouthful, “could be improved.”

“But it’s good?”

“Yeah,” Tony admitted.

Rhodey beamed and leaned down to kiss Tony. Startled, Tony swallowed his food and then put his hand around Rhodey’s nape to deepen the kiss.

“Wow, if i knew you were this easy...” Tony joked and then chuckled at Rhodey’s face, “you have sugar on your lips.”

“So do you,” Rhodey huffed, “I got it from you. You also have jam on your cheek.” And then, without further ado, he licked the jam off Tony’s cheek, “mmhm. You’re insane, this is good.”

“You’re insane,” Tony shot back, “the jam is the worst part of it. Too sweet.”

“I’m not making you ones without.”

Tony smirked, “not even if I threaten with store boughts?”

~~~

Rhodey made the sufganiyot every year. He was improving more and more every year, although he hadn’t managed to get putting the jam just right (“Buy the tools, mothek.” “Never.”). He also made the latkes, which were always flawless.

Tony didn’t figure it was Rhodey’s scheme to get him to eat healthy until years later.

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding.

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict.

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge.

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday!

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep.

I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband.

Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service.

“I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier.

I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod.

Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood.

Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color.

“Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah.

There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah.

“Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles.

“There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back.

This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family.

The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky.

The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half.

Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable.

First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights.

Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,”

He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.”

His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced.

My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.”

Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night.

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.”

He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second.

My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night.

I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together.

When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should!

Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah.

The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!”

“I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room.

Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun.

Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece.

The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick.

I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

“So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

“That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

“Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair.

“Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

“Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?”

“Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins.

“Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys.

“I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

“I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

“No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

“Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

“Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

“We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

“It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud.

“Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

I almost choke on my cookie.

Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

“Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

“Not to…” the twins mumble contritely.

“Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!”

The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

“Haymitch…” I ground a low warning.

It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between…

Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell.

“Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!”

I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

I giggle at the memory.

I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.”

I happen to agree.

I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in.

Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other.

My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

“But, Mamme…we know the story!”

Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?”

I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM!

“Yes, Mamme.”

I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has?

Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude.

I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

I was 11 then.

That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army.

Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected.

Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments.

Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who’s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others.

“Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes.

“Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!”

“Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot.

The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

Prim takes a deep breath and nods.

Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically.

“Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages.

Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

“Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

“‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

“Purified!”

“Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring.

Aspen continues the narration after a second.

“At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

Hushed voices comment their approval.

The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

“Eight days…” corrects Thom.

“Eight days straight!”

“It was a miracle!”

Everyone claps, excitedly.

“The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

“That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

“And won back the Holy Temple,”

“And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!”

The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration.

After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces.

The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made.

“Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

“For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.”

My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!”

My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?”

I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

“I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.”

My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?”

“I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early.

Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children.

My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results.

Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman!

Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse.

Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!”

Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair.

“Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes.

I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat.

“Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own.

“I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek.

It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund.

Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents.

Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did.

Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can.

While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet.

I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles.

Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg.

It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in.

I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.”

Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

Peeta and I survived against the odds.

It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming.

It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.

It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for.

“Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on.

“Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!”

“What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly.

Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!”

“Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

“Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip.

He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor.

“Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.”

I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob.

Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week.

“Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

“Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

“Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle.

I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn.

Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago.

My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff.

My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully.

Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays.

After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!”

“Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!”

“Together?” My voice wavers.

“Together!” he vows.

“Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back.

“Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears.

“It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape.

Peeta is crying.

I’m crying too!

My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her.

“Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

“Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it.

Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

“Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief.

“Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?”

“No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

“We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table.

We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!”

The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s!

“Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim.

“Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!”

The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess.

After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her.

Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag.

Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely.

I fall asleep after a while.

When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light.

Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not.

“Peeta?” I call softly.

My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,”

No, I wouldn’t.

I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family.

I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect.

“Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

“Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between.

My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah.

Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift.

I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange.

“Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle.

He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy.

I nod, accepting his explanation.

Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly.

“Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!”

I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically.

He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on.

I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow.

We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah.

Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby.

Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

“I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.”

I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

“I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

“Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

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hkblack · 3 years

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I’ve posted my final entry to the Chanukah Omens 2021 prompt list. You can find it here: A Light in the Darkness: Our Own Community I’ve really enjoyed writing for this prompt event for several reasons. First, I am very newly back into the fandom groove of things. And forcing myself to just throw things at the wall and write without overthinking was fun, and needed. It was great to take the first thought that came to head and run with it, and remind myself that “you can stop writing now, that’s an easy natural conclusion, don’t force it.” Actually, I think the ability to do that got me over some block I was having with my big WIPS, but we’re not going to look too closely at that right now, because also I think beta’ing for the DIWS gift exchange has been a huge help in that too. Second, this final piece in particular makes me feel some feelings. My family has not ever been super religious, and has a habit of leaving the nest early, and not really returning. So there’s not a lot of extended family hoop-lah The big happy communities of people gathering in Winter for whatever holiday they celebrate has not been something I’ve ever been lucky enough to really have and hold. Whether that’s Chanukah or Christmas (even a secular Christmas!), I’ve always felt like an outsider looking in. I knew I’d have an ally in Crowley in writing from this “Outsider looking in” perspective, and I think his attempt at a Prayer from one of the first days of this prompt list really solidified that for me. What I wasn’t expecting was for Aziraphale to bring it on home at the end and showing a different type of outsider. Where Crowley tries a few times and otherwise accepts “that’s not for me” Aziraphale desperately longs for it to be for him. My partner asked me if I felt more like I identify with Crowley or Aziraphale once and my response was “what day is it?” because I think for me, it waffles. Sometimes I over decorate like Aziraphale, other times I just let it wash over me and create my own thing like Crowley. And I think that’s pretty cool. Anyway, sappy feelings DONE. I really loved writing for this prompt list, and I hope that if there’s anyone else out there feeling a bit like an outsider during the holiday season, you’re able to find your own community.

#ChanukahOmens #outsider looking in

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2ambiace · 4 years

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At night when light is fading

Aziraphale/Crowley, Good Omens

Crowley and Aziraphale prepare for their first Chanukah in their new home and as newly married beings.

Preview:

There was something different about Chanukah this year. Crowley wasn’t sure what, yet, but he could feel it in the air around them. Aziraphale had the Hanukkiyah set up, the candles nearby waiting to be placed and lit. In the kitchen, a fresh set of sufganiyot were cooling. Crowley had done his part of the decorating. Several different “Happy Chanukah” hanging signs hung on several different walls, each with a different spelling. Crowley had never claimed credit for the different spellings of the holiday, no matter how many times Aziraphale accused him. He wasn’t sure if he’d had a hand in it or not. Humans weren’t always the best with words and language, so it didn’t surprise him that different variations of the same word. And each one was valid in its own right, as far as Crowley was concerned.

There were also various blue and silver tinsel garland strung along the bookshelves in the living room. A Star of David wreathe made from similar tinsel and blue and silver ornaments hung on the cottage front door. Wreaths were a Jewish thing, that was solely for Christmas, but Crowley stated they needed something on the door. An announcement to all their neighbors what holiday was currently underway in the Fell household. They would change it for one of the Christmas wreaths a few days before Christmas Eve. Every holiday was given equal time within their walls. Even a few holidays that had long since fallen out of favor or human knowledge. Crowley and Aziraphale remembered though. They would always remember.

“Almost ready, dear?” Aziraphale asked, looking up from the Hanukkiyah.

Continue reading on ao3.

Written for #ChanukahOmens prompt "Dedication (Blessings)" for the second day of Chanukah.

#shayz cactus posts #shayz writes #ineffable husbands #good omens #ace omens #vicsfam #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #chanukahomens #jewish omens #chanukah

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asparklethatisblue · 5 years

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A very happy second day of Chanukah and also: does an image exist in which a Lampent has eight little Litwicks on it’s arms to shape one Pokemon Chanukiah? Cause... cause I want that. Either as art or an actual physical object

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jemelle · 4 years

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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

#ncis #ncis fanfiction #ziva david #abby sciuto #evas holiday special #ziva x abby #shippy if you squint #*mine #*fic

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sophieakatz · 4 years

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Thursday Thoughts: Hanukkah Thoughts

One

The past two years, I’ve lived in a house where the landlady banned candles. She also put up a Christmas tree every year in the living room. I didn’t really mind that the tree was there; it didn’t mean anything to me. I didn’t really think I minded not being able to light the menorah, either.

At the beginning of this month, I moved to a new place. I got a menorah and candles, and I lit the shamash and sang the prayers.

It felt like getting a piece of myself back.

Two

I’m using “Hanukkah” in this blog post. I could just as easily use “Chanukah” instead; I’d feel the same way about it.

They’re both wrong. That’s how I see it. Sometimes you’re just stuck with using the wrong word as a label so that you can communicate with people who can’t understand you. It will always be spelled correctly – in Hebrew – in my heart.

Three

Last year I told myself that every time someone at work told me “Merry Christmas” when it was Hanukkah, I would reply, “Happy Hanukkah!” I didn’t end up doing it every time, but I got braver about it the further into the week I got.

There were never any outright negative reactions, thank G-d. Mostly people seemed confused. They would do a double take as they walked away from me, as though wondering if they’d heard me correctly.

“Merry Christmas!” one woman said late in the week.

“Thanks, Happy Hanukkah!” I said.

“That’s right!” she said with a big grin and a little laugh. “And Kwanzaa!”

It was not Kwanzaa.

Four

I’ve never made latkes before, and in hindsight, it’s a little bit funny just how nervous I got about it.

I didn’t have an exact recipe to follow; my mom’s more of a trial-and-error cook than one with exact recipes. I’ve never deep fried anything in my life – I usually don’t eat fried things at all – and I don’t have a sense of smell to tell me if something’s burning. I hovered over the oven, equally afraid of flipping the pancakes too soon and too late and wondering if I could tell the difference. I hate wasting food. I hate being wrong. I preemptively hated creating latkes that tasted wrong.

My latkes were soft, but beautiful and sweet, and every bite I took made me want another.

For the second round of latkes I made, a couple nights later, I brought over a chair and let the latkes – and myself – sit for a while. They were even better than the first batch.

Five

This year, I decided to take a step up in courage, and make “Happy Hanukkah” my casual greeting for people at work during these eight days.

On the first day, a woman told me, “Merry Christmas,” and I automatically replied, “Happy Hanukkah.” She looked at me like she thought I was being snide with her. I wasn’t… not intentionally, at least.

Another woman got very excited when I told her, “Happy Hanukkah.”

“You said the thing that applies to you; I love it!” she said, as though it had never occurred to her before that someone might do that. She turned to her husband. “Did you know it was Hanukkah?”

I got one enthusiastic “Thank you!” from a man wearing a kippah, who told his children to say “Thank you” as well.

The most common reaction I’ve gotten this week by far is laughter. It’s never been malicious laughter, thankfully. It’s more of an “oh how silly” laughter, as they walked away. How silly of that strange young woman at Disney World to say, “Happy Hanukkah” instead of “Merry Christmas.”

How silly of me indeed.

Six

Each night, we use the shamash – the helper candle – to light the other candles. Each night, the shamash is used to light more candles than the night before.

The shamash is never lessened by this work. As it lights each candle, its light remains as bright as ever, and soon there is enough light for everyone, as together, the candles light the room around them.

I don’t think I need to spell out the metaphor, but I think we could all benefit from seeing ourselves as like the shamash.

Seven

I don’t see the point of saying “Happy Hanukkah” when it isn’t Hanukkah. I don’t see the point of saying “Merry Christmas” when it isn’t Christmas. It seems like the only reason to do that is to tell everyone that you think Xmas is the most important thing in the world this time of year.

I’m not interested in telling anyone that Hanukkah is the most important thing in the world. It’s important to me and my people. I don’t need it to be important to anyone else.

I’ll say Hanukkah when it’s Hanukkah, and I’ll say Christmas when it’s Christmas. For the rest of the month, I’ll stick to “Happy Holidays.”

Eight

Every year, someone points out that Hanukkah isn’t actually an important Jewish holiday. I’m guilty of this, too.

When we say this, though, we don’t really have anything against Hanukkah. We’re reacting to our frustration that Hanukkah is the only thing that Christians and culturally Christian atheists usually know about Judaism. As we react to their excitement about Hanukkah, we also react to their lack of interest in anything else in our culture.

My elementary school teachers asked my parents to come teach my class about Hanukkah. My parents replied that they would come if they could also teach about Shabbat and the High Holy Days, and other important things in Judaism. So, my parents never came to teach my class about Judaism, and I’ve known my whole life that this is the only part of my culture that the gentiles pretend to care about.

Hanukkah is Hebrew for “dedication.” When the Seleucid Empire banned the practice of Judaism, they invaded Jerusalem and desecrated the holy temple there. They claimed our temple for themselves, setting up idols to their own gods. After the war was won, the Maccabees had to rededicate the temple to our own religion.

Gentiles’ excitement about Hanukkah feels like they’ve claimed it for themselves. They’ve decided that it’s the “Jewish Christmas.” They have one character wear a Hanukkah sweater in their Christmas specials, they put Hanukkah decorations on one of the many Christmas trees they put up in public places, and they sing one Hanukkah song on their Christmas albums. They’ve even put a Jewish family in a Hallmark Christmas movie – and they act like they’ve done us a favor by “including” us in their Xmas cheer.

It’s no wonder that many Jews today feel the need to distance themselves from Hanukkah. It feels like it’s no longer ours.

We need to rededicate Hanukkah. We – the Jewish people – need to remember and identify what makes it special to us, separate from how it makes the gentiles feel. We need to, for just a moment, forget about the rest of the world and think about why we light these candles, why we say these prayers, why we tell these stories, why we eat this food, why we play these games.

We need to reclaim this part of ourselves, this part which is too often taken away from us. I believe this will make us happier than putting it down year after year, and that it will be more spiritually fulfilling than simply going with the flow of Xmas cheer.

#hanukkah #chanukah #judaism #thursday thoughts #jumblr #jewish holidays #christmas #xmas #holidays #happy holidays #happy hanukkah #merry christmas #chag sameach #dedication #rededication #latkes #menorah

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always-andshewrites · 4 years

Photo

This is how I imagine Madge’s “Box” looks like in “Another Way Out”. This particular box belongs to my son, a Hanukkah gift from his grandparents a few years ago. In place of “Happy Chanukah - 2018 - Love, Papa & Grandma”, imagine Madge’s initials... M. A. U.

| Madge |

“Madge, hey Madge, wait up!” I turn my head to see who is calling my name. After Katniss and Peeta left, I stopped by the mayor’s house for Kizzie’s piano lesson. Mayor Kadinski offered to give me the day off because of all the festivities today, but I insisted it was okay. Really, I did it more for myself than for Kizzie, as selfish as that is. But with the stress of what my friends will be faced with, I needed my music. I needed for my fingers to press the familiar keys and for my mind to be inundated with the soothing melody of Nocturne #20 in C Sharp Minor. It is my go-to piece when I am stressed out.

“Hey Rye, what are you doing all the way out here?” I ask him, slightly confused. We are on the edge of town, almost in the Seam and pretty far from the bakery.

“Sorry— let me— catch my— breath!” He huffs. I stop walking to give him a minute to regain control of his lungs. His hair is a disheveled mess, and he has that same goofy grin that he always wears. “Geez, you walk fast.” He finally says after a moment.

I raise an eyebrow, not sure what he means. “I do?” ‘Well, I was on the track team, back when Katniss and Peeta were in school.’ I smirk silently to myself.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to catch up with you since the fourth house past the mayor’s mansion— which is when I finally decided to yell your name.”

“Oh, okay. Well, what’s up?”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Um, so Peet said I could come find you and you would give me a key to his house. He said I could stay there some while he was gone.”

“Oh yeah. Peeta told me you would probably ask for it. If you want to follow me to my house, I can give it to you.”

“Okay, cool.” Together we continue walking, making our way to my house. I am thankful for Rye’s constant joking banter, keeping away from any serious talk until I can just barely make out the silhouette of my house.

“Madge, something is going on with Katniss and Peeta, and I think Haymitch might be in on it, I’m not sure. But I’m worried about my little brother. I know you have been friends with them for a long time, so . . . I don’t know, maybe this is a long shot, but do you know anything? I swear, I’m not trying to be nosy, I’m just worried. I’m actually— Madge, should I be worried?”

His question takes me by surprise, it was the last thing I ever expected to hear from the school's number one jokester, Rye Mellark. The shock freezes me in place for a split-second, but I quickly resume walking, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Rye, it’s not safe to speak right here.” I whisper, keeping my eyes trained forward. “When we’re in class tomorrow, I will tell you where we can meet to talk.” I never look over to see if he heard me and then my heart accelerates when I realize my house is within a few steps. “I really love the cookies at the bakery!” I chirp, finally meeting his eyes. He nods, understanding the message I was trying to convey.

I reach into my pocket, retrieving my house key and unlock my door. Rye follows me inside, closing the door behind him.

“This is really nice Madge.” Rye says, trying to be polite when he looks around at the tiny home. I roll my eyes and make my way into the kitchen where I stowed Peeta’s key. He asked me to keep it in a secure location in case either Rye or his dad were to ask for it.

“It’s okay Rye, I know it’s shit here. But I’m making it work. I don’t need much.” I tell him, discreetly pulling the key from its secret location. Just in case Rye saw it, I’ll have to move my box somewhere else. I can’t risk anyone finding out about its contents.

I walk over to Rye and hand him the key to Peeta’s house. “Here you go. Don’t lose it, I don’t have another one.”

“Thanks Madge. See you at school tomorrow?”

“See you at school tomorrow.” I confirm.

Once Rye is gone, I plop down on my couch and look around the house. Where can I move my box? I ask myself. My tiny little box, handcrafted by my very own father from the wood of an oak tree is no more than seven and a half inches wide, four and a half inches long, and about two inches deep. For the moment, it only houses Katniss’ house key, my special book, a letter my father wrote me and two letters I found that my mother wrote me. Rose gave me the first letter from my mother after they died. In each letter, mama has left a trail of breadcrumbs leading to another letter; scattered throughout the district. Oh, and there is also this coin my father left me. I haven’t figured out its purpose, but it must be important, otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered keeping it a secret.

I am constantly moving my box, afraid of someone finding it. I alternate between a few hiding spots in a few select trees but having it in my house makes me feel safer. Somewhere within reach.

I stand up and begin pacing the floor of the living room. “Why is Rye worried? Did he see something? Hear something? Did Peeta tell him anything?” I ask myself, still looking for a new hiding place for my box. Just then, the floorboard creaks under my foot. I take a step back and it creaks again. Curiosity overtakes me and I get down on my knees to inspect the plank, only to find it loose. It’s loose, but not that loose. Eventually, I am able to pry it up.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim when I see what is hidden underneath the floorboard. It is a hidden compartment, a perfect place for my box. But there is something else here too. It looks like someone else had the same idea as me. It is a box, almost the exact same dimensions as mine, except it has a mockingjay carved on the face of it, where my box displays a tree, with my initials engraved on the inside.

I switch the boxes out and replace the plank, sliding my couch over it. No one ever comes over here, and if Gale happens to pop in, he will just think I rearranged the room. As if on cue, the moment I am done, there is a knock at the door.

“Gale.” I say, surprised when I see him.

“Everything okay?” He asks, raising a brow.

“Yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” I tell him, trying to play it cool.

“Can I come in?” He asks me.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course.” I widen the door for him to come in and then wrap my arms around his neck, needing the security of his touch.

Something is wrong though; I can sense the tension in the air. I pull back to meet his eyes and ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Vick said he thought he saw Rye Mellark over here.”

“He saw right.” I confirm, nodding.

“What was he doing over here?” Oh, I see, jealous Gale is coming out to play.

“He came to get Peeta’s house key.” His eyes narrow at my statement; I do not like where this is going.

“Why did you even have it?” He demands, his eyes narrowing as he glares daggers at me accusingly.

“What’s with the third-degree Gale?” I demand, narrowing my own eyes and furrowing my brows. I can glare just as efficiently as he can; better even.

“I don’t like Rye Mellark; I don’t want you talking to him. He’s a townie, and bad news at that.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say? You don’t want me talking to him? Who are you, my father? And just in case you forgot, I’m a townie too Gale!” I scream at him, feeling the blood in my body begin to simmer.

“He’s an asshole and I don’t want you talking to him Madge. And you’re not a townie, you live here in the Seam, same as me.”

“Okay, first of all Gale Hawthorne, I was born and lived in town up until six months ago. I have “townie” friends that I’m not just going to abandon simply because of a change in venue.” I don’t realize it, but with each word that escapes my mouth, my voice seems to get higher; louder; angrier. “Second of all, you do NOT tell me who I can or cannot talk to. I am a big girl Gale; I can take care of myself and I think it’s time you left.” I walk over to the door and open it, motioning for him to leave.

“Madge, I—”

“GET OUT!” I scream even louder.

His shoulders are hunched over as he walks out the door and then I slam it behind him just as he turns around and says my name.

“Fucking shithead. Asshole, mother-fucker!” I scream to no one. “Who does he think he is, telling me who I can talk to? I don’t think so, Rye is my friend and I’ll talk to him whenever I damn well please!” I rant; although no one is listening, it feels satisfying to yell the words out loud. I wish Katniss was still here, I bet she’d march over there and slap him or something.

“Pgh. Tell me what to do, Gale Hawthorne? I don’t think so.”

Read the whole story on my A03 page: (I hope I did this right!)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28679952/chapters/72665136#workskin

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