#I don’t like thanksgiving so it wasn’t really intended for that

[moraent-keys]

Mk but he’s eating one of my favorite desserts (chocolate eclair cake)

I don’t really like this tbh I gave up lol

[nolita-fairytale]

don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea. 

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like. 

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make. 

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he��ll make the call. 

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects. 

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

*

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation. 

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time. 

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests. 

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip. 

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness. 

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors. 

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.” 

And expensive ones too. 

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf. 

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile. 

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip. 

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him. 

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes. 

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat. 

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store. 

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?” 

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare. 

“Marcus, 

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad. 

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him. 

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days. 

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

*

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes. 

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement. 

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right. 

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air. 

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation. 

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent. 

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through. 

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction. 

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod. 

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.” 

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work. 

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them. 

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead. 

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares. 

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence. 

And how is his heart? 

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone. 

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces. 

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together. 

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land. 

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer. 

He waits. And then he waits. 

Until finally, he can answer. 

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity 

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to. 

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos. 

But this. But you. 

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient. 

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out. 

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created. 

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been. 

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry. 

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you. 

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen. 

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date. 

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval. 

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper. 

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor. 

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity. 

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room. 

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim. 

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart. 

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress. 

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff. 

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around. 

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time. 

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly. 

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus. 

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through. 

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in. 

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling. 

*

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you. 

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently. 

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night. 

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan. 

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently. 

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against. 

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully. 

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs. 

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours. 

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation. 

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies. 

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body. 

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend. 

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him. 

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment. 

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing. 

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision. 

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman. 

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life. 

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person. 

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark. 

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug. 

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it. 

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working. 

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes. 

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook. 

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board. 

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction. 

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours. 

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off. 

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left. 

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here. 

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice. 

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.” 

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation. 

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday. 

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling. 

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light. 

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.” 

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier. 

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious. 

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you. 

“Deal,” you agree with him. 

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously. 

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms. 

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales. 

He waits a beat. 

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands. 

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue. 

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.” 

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him. 

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out. 

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.” 

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat. 

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.” 

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.” 

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly. 

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present. 

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?” 

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh. 

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.” 

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly. 

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start. 

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes. 

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy. 

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca. 

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously. 

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

[lvrrgirlll]

Tolerate It (series)

Synopsis: Life as Patrick Zweig’s controversially young girlfriend should have been a dream, but it was anything but. He was a broken man. You were a girl who knew all too well. Who’s to say whether you’ve got it wrong now…

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: angst, reader is jealous and somewhat paranoid, references to cheating, creepy old men hitting on reader, both Patrick and reader get much needed wake up calls…

Notes: This entire part is kind of frustrating BUT it’s so necessary in the progression of the story y’all! It will all come together trust!! (Also I’m on Thanksgiving break soon so I’ll be able to write more)

Previous part

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Part 3: Things fall apart

2029:

Weeks before you two had agreed to the interview, you already knew Patrick was going to retire. It hadn’t been announced at that point, but you knew. It had come after a particularly bad fight.

“But you don’t understand, Patrick! You’re not listening to me! It’s not easy for me, I feel like I drop everything to be there for you all the time. When was the last time you honestly did anything for me?” You shouted at him, frustrated at the fact that you were even having this fight. He had complained that you didn’t seem so supportive of him going for a spot in Wimbledon in the upcoming season, which you hadn’t been because you were tired of traveling all the time and being alone during the day while he practiced incessantly. That didn’t seem so hard to understand to you. He had won several titles over the past few years. What was one other?

“Oh, I don’t do anything for you? Who payed for the house we’re in right now? Who bought you that dress? Who bought that huge fucking rock on your finger?” He fired back angrily. You hated fighting like this. It always reminded you of the power imbalance between the two of you.

2020:

After finding out what you did, you decided not to confront Patrick. It must’ve been your mistake. You wrote it off as foolish assumption on your part. In your gut, though, you knew better.

You two went on like normal for a while. He went back on tour for a bit. With this newfound information, you definitely called him more often than before. He didn’t seem to mind though, which honestly surprised you for a bit. You half worried about annoying him, seeming like just some ridiculous kid, but at the end of the day, you did really care about him, and would do anything to make sure he stayed with you.

On a cool, Spring Saturday evening you called him, knowing he shouldn’t be busy given the time. Much to your dismay, though, no answer. Fuck. So you called him again. Still no answer. Doing what any rational person would, you checked his location. He was at some bar. You felt defeated. Surely he was with some whore. Then a terrible, horrible idea came to you. What if you drove out to where he was playing? What if you drove out to that bar? …No, you couldn’t. But then again…it was a Saturday night. You weren’t busy. And he was far, but realistically, not that far. A 4 hour drive. So maybe he wouldn’t be at the bar by the time you got there…but then again, maybe he would be? Your curiosity jealousy got the best of you as you grabbed your keys, slipping on your shoes and heading out to your car.

You drove like a bat out of Hell, surely speeding, but you hardly cared. You were fueled by your paranoia. What was he doing at some random dive bar? Why wasn’t he answering your calls? You intended to get answers to both of these questions.

Driving so quickly, you shaved a whole hour off the drive, arriving at the run down looking bar a little past midnight. When you got there you parked, slamming the door before marching into the building with purpose. Upon entering, you took in your surroundings. It was dim, most light coming from neon signs for different beer brands. There were a few pool tables off in one corner, an empty stage, and the bar, which looked to be the type that really only served beer or whiskey. Why on earth would Patrick even be at a place like this? He’s gotta be with some girl…

It wasn’t too busy. There were a few older looking guys at the end of the bar, not “older” like Patrick— actually older— and several ladies who looked to be in their 40s, loudly cheering with margaritas in hand. Still no sign of Patrick. You were still stood by the door, looking down at your phone to check his location, which still pinpointed him right at the bar, when you noticed the older men leering at you.

“Hey princess, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing here,” one of the men hollered. You tried to avoid eye contact, walking further into the bar and therefore away from them. There were several guys who looked to be closer to Patrick’s age crowded around the pool tables, so you walked in that direction, hoping Patrick was among them. With your luck, however, none of the dark, curly haired men were Patrick.

“What’s your name sweetheart,” one of them purred, leaning on his pool cue and eyeing you up and down. You felt uncomfortable, but definitely safer here than with the old guys from the front.

“Um- I’m looking for my, uh, boyfriend. He’s been here for a while, supposedly, and I was just kind of worried about him. H- have you seen a guy like this?” You turn your phone, then, showing off your lock screen which is a picture of you and Patrick cuddling in bed.

The man laughs in response, nodding his head in the direction behind you. “There’s your man, but uh, I don’t know if you’ll wanna see him…” he said smoothly, with a sense of pity filtering through his words. Your heart sank before you even turned around, and everything felt like it had just become slow motion. You turned around, seeing Patrick in a dark corner making out with another girl. You could hardly see her with his hands all over her face, but she looked to be sort of young like you. What the fuck?

“Hey, I’m sorry-“ the man behind you offered, but you walked away from him without another word. You approached Patrick quickly, reaching him finally. Despite your loud steps against the creaky wooden floor, neither he nor the girl he was currently kissing turned in your direction. Before you could even think of a strategy, you just let out a defeated assertion.

“Patrick.” His eyes immediately opened as he practically pushed the girl off of him, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Fuck, uh, what are you doing here?” That was all he could offer?

“You didn’t answer my call,” you replied as if it was the simplest thing in the world. You weren’t even sure why this hurt so much. You knew he was fooling around on tour…it was just something about him avoiding you to do so that really got you. The whole thing got to you, honestly, but you had been kidding yourself for months. It just finally fell apart.

“So…you came to my fucking location,” he questioned, looking at you with wide eyes. ‘He thinks I’m crazy…’ you thought. You looked up at him, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry here in this stupid dive bar in the middle of nowhere in front of him and his girl of the night.

“I didn’t know what else to do…I- I was worried,” your words were shaky as you spoke, your lip quivering. The girl he was with had walked away at this point, presumably assessing the situation enough to decide that it was best for her to leave. Patrick’s expression had changed from shock to pity.

“Baby, c’mere I’m so sorry…come on,” he tried to pull you into a hug, but you pushed him away.

“No Patrick, I don’t- I don’t want to just hug and forgive you all over again,” you sniffled, looking at him not with anger, nor sadness, but betrayal.

“Again?” He asked, looking confused.

“I saw your texts with that other girl from Savannah months ago when you came to visit. I’ve known for a while…” you murmured quietly. His eyes widened again, clearly shocked by this information.

“Shit- uh, you saw that? Fuck- why didn’t you say so sooner, oh my god.” You looked at him and no longer saw that man who could’ve hung the moon and stars. Now when you looked at him, you saw him how he saw himself: a pathetic loser who was in need of a serious reality check.

“Fuck you Patrick. I’m done.” With that, you moved to leave the bar, but he gripped your wrist as you turned, stopping you. “Let go of me,” you ordered, looking at him sternly as tears rolled down your cheeks. He did as you said, letting you go before chasing after you. In the parking lot he met you by your car, leaning on the door to keep you from leaving. “Move,” you muttered angrily.

“Baby, come on, just tell me what I can do. I can change, really, I promise. Please, I don’t wanna lose you.” It felt like bullshit, but it was honestly the truth. You were the most consistent thing he’d had in his life for a long, long time. I mean, hell, you two had been together for 9 months now. For him, that was like forever.

“You want to change, Patrick? Really, you want to change? Well here’s some advice then: get your shit together. I don’t care what you have to do. Go talk to your rich old daddy, ask him for a loan, and actually get back to where you deserve to be in your career. Fix your fucking relationship with your friends, because I know there’s still something there that you won’t tell me about, and I’m sick of it. And finally, actually learn how to be a good boyfriend. Don’t be such a man whore, it’s really not as attractive as you think it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving. Give me a call when you’re a changed man.” And with that, he silently moved out of your way, watching you get in your car and reverse, leaving him standing there alone in the parking lot.

[belovedspector]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: Pre-outbreak, fluff, use of pet names (sweetheart)

A/N: It’s been a minute since I posted any of my writing! Honestly, I just wasn’t feeling inspired at all and didn’t want to force myself to write. This idea suddenly popped into my head, and I ran with it. Enjoy, and Merry Christmas! :)

Masterlist

The tree goes up the day after Thanksgiving. It’s a nice tree, not too big or too small. It sits in front of the living room window that faces the street, the mix of colorful and white lights reflecting softly against the glass. It’s almost perfect, except…it doesn’t seem to have any ornaments.

Joel steals glances at his neighbor’s house throughout the day, but nothing changes. Days pass, and the tree stays bare, save for the lights.

That just won’t do, Joel thinks to himself.

Joel wouldn’t say that he knows you very well. You’re friendly with one another, sure, but in a surface-level, neighborly kind of way. He knows you moved in across the street less than a year ago and that you live alone. He knows that you’ve been feeding the stray cat that roams the neighborhood. He knows you’re cute, though he tries not to think about that too much. He’s got his hands full with Sarah, anyway, he tells himself.

It’s still November, but the stores have had their Christmas displays up since Halloween, so he has no trouble finding what he’s looking for. He finds a cute, little ornament that bears a striking resemblance to that stray cat you seem to like so much, with a Santa hat adorned on its head. He can’t help but smile softly as he buys it, and he puts it in a box, intending to give it to you on December 1st. That should be the end of it.

He doesn’t mean for it to get as out of hand as it does, really. He thought he’d get you the one ornament and leave it at that. But, every time he goes out, a new, sparkly object catches his eye, and he can’t help himself.

Sarah catches on quickly. “Since when are you so full of Christmas cheer?” she asks him when he stops to look at ornaments during their weekly grocery shopping trip.

He tries to brush it off, but she won’t let it go, so he tells her his plan.

“Finally,” Sarah says with what sounds like relief.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Joel asks.

“You’ve had a crush for months. It’s about time you made a move.”

Joel feels the tips of his ears heat up. Had he really been that obvious? Or is his daughter just too damn nosy?

He quickly picks out an ornament—a simple snowflake—and changes the subject, asking Sarah what she wants for dinner that night as they head down the next aisle.

The night of November 30th, Joel pulls out the little box that contains the cat ornament. He feels like a creep as he crosses the street to leave the gift on your doorstep. He spares a glance at your tree through the window, still without decorations. He nods firmly to himself once, then carefully places the box on the center of your welcome mat, before making his way back to the safety of his own home. He hopes no one saw him.

You almost don’t see it. You’re rushing out the door, travel mug full of coffee in hand and still not fully slid into your shoes. Honestly, it’s a miracle you don’t trip over it. But, it does catch your eye, and you pause for a moment to pick it up, taking the time to get your shoes the rest of the way on while you’re stopped.

It’s a little, green box with a red bow. Your curiosity piqued, you carefully lift the lid. There, nestled among crumpled, white tissue paper, is a cat figurine wearing a Santa hat, with a loop of ribbon adhered to its head—an ornament. You pick up the cat and find a note folded underneath it.

Happy December -your Secret Santa

You look around, as if you expect this Secret Santa to jump out and shout, “Surprise!” The street is quiet, though, and you return your gaze to the note and its cramped handwriting.

You have no idea who could have done this. It’s not like you’ve really made any friends since moving to Austin over the summer, and none of your family lives close by. The move had been sudden, and you hadn’t been able to bring everything with you—like, for example, your holiday decorations. You had gotten a tree and new lights as soon as you were able to, but it just didn’t look right without the ornaments. You’d been meaning to get some, but the thought of filling the whole tree felt daunting, and you didn’t just want to cover it with generic baubles.

You can’t help but feel a rush of excitement run through you as you grasp the little cat ornament. The calico fur pattern looks exactly like your Bean (full name: Green Bean Casserole). Well, she’s not really yours yet, but you’ve slowly been gaining her trust in hopes of making her your own pet.

Smiling, you quickly go back inside to hang the Bean look-alike on your tree, making sure that it’s visible from the window.

You’re grinning as you double-check that your front door is locked and get into your car. The only thing that makes your smile waver is a glance at your car’s clock. Shit, now you really are late for work. You start your commute, feeling lighter than you have in months.

When Joel gets back from dropping Sarah off at school, he’s happy to see that, not only is the box off your step, but you’ve already hung up the cat ornament. You must have liked it, then. That’s good. Joel had been second-guessing himself, despite Sarah’s reassurances that his little plan was “adorable.” He’s smiling like a fool as he gets himself ready for his work day and heads off to the site to meet Tommy.

It happens again the next day. You’re doing much better on time this morning; you had time to drink your coffee in the kitchen, and your shoes are even all the way on your feet as you head out the door.

You look down at your mat, and, sure enough, there is another little box—this time, it has red and white stripes with a gold bow. You feel positively giddy as you open up the present. Today, you find a simple but elegant snowflake ornament, paired with another note.

There isn’t much snow in Austin, so this will have to do -your Secret Santa

Again, you go back inside to hang up your new ornament before heading off to work, more than ready to face the day.

“So, what’s tomorrow’s ornament?” Sarah asks during dinner.

Joel considers this for a moment before answering, “The gingerbread man, I reckon.”

Sarah’s face lights up. “Can we make cookies to go with it?”

“Well, I–” Joel sputters.

“Come on, Dad,” she pleads. “It’ll be great!”

“Would you eat cookies from a stranger?” he asks, pointing his fork at her.

“I mean, probably, if they looked good.” Sarah shrugs.

Joel puts his face in his hands and groans. “We’ve gotta work on your stranger danger skills, young lady.”

Sarah seemingly ignores him, getting up to clear the table before rummaging around in the kitchen cabinets.

Joel looks up, not at all surprised to see her gathering the ingredients to make cookies. With a sigh, he stands up to preheat the oven.

On the third day, you find a slightly bigger box on your doorstep. You open it to find three things: a gingerbread man ornament, another note, and a Ziploc bag of what look to be homemade gingerbread cookies. The note reads:

Had my little elf help with the cookies. Enjoy -your Secret Santa

You can’t help yourself; you immediately open the bag and take a whiff of the cookies. They smell delicious. You throw them in your work bag, intending on eating them during your lunch break.

“Those look good,” a voice calls from across the break room. It’s Angela, your work friend. Okay, “friend” is a strong word. Maybe she’s more of an acquaintance? It’s not like you ever hang out outside of work, but she’s friendly enough with you during work hours.

You pause with a cookie halfway to your mouth.

“Did you make them?” she asks as she takes a seat across from you.

“Oh, no,” you laugh. “My, um, Secret Santa made them.”

Angela’s eyes sparkle. “Oooh, who’s your Secret Santa?” she asks, leaning in.

“I don’t know,” you say. “It’s a secret.”

“It’s not a work thing, is it? I hadn’t heard anything.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Honestly, I have no idea who it could be. It has to be one of my neighbors. That’s all I can figure.”

“Wait, some random person made you cookies, and you’re eating them?”

“Well, I haven’t eaten one yet, but, yeah?” you say, your voice tilting up in question.

“What if they’re poisoned?” she gasps.

“I really don’t think any of my neighbors want to poison me.” You take your first bite of cookie. They taste even better than they smell, the warm spices dancing across your taste buds. With a shrug, you swallow and say, “I’ll take my chances, I guess.”

The ornaments keep coming. Every day, you find a new one waiting for you, and it’s becoming your favorite part of your morning routine. Today’s ornament was a glittery candy cane that you happily add to your growing collection.

It’s Saturday, and you’re outside getting your mail. It’s nice, the possibility that a Christmas card could be mixed in among the never-ending bills and junk mail. You quickly flip through the stack of envelopes and smile as you spot one from your aunt.

You’re about to head back inside when you hear a voice call your name. You look up to see your neighbor’s daughter, Sarah, on her bike. She comes to a stop on the street in front of you.

“Hey, Sarah,” you greet.

“Hi!” she says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I love your Christmas tree.”

You follow her eyes to your living room window. “Oh, thank you,” you say, turning back to her with a smile.

“I love the ornaments,” she continues. There is a look in her eye that you can’t quite place. She looks almost mischievous, but that doesn’t make any sense. She’s just being polite.

“Yeah, me, too.” You debate getting into the whole Secret Santa thing, but before you can say anything further, a truck comes down the street and parks in the Millers’ driveway.

“Oh, that’s my Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says. “I’ve gotta go. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” you call back as she pedals across the street and into the driveway, making like she’s going to run over her uncle as he exits his truck. Their laughter is infectious as they head inside. You feel the slightest pang of sadness as you watch them, but quickly shake it off and return to your own home.

It’s the evening of December 23rd—“Christmas Eve Eve,” as Sarah calls it. Joel is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the final gift box. He feels as nervous as he did that first night at the end of November.

“Are you gonna chicken out?” Sarah asks as she pours herself a glass of water.

“No, I ain’t,” Joel insists, shaking his head.

“Then quit staring at that thing and go deliver it,” she says, rolling her eyes. Her expression softens as she adds, “It’s gonna be fine, Dad.”

Joel looks up at her earnestly. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

With a grunt, Joel stands up from the table, box in hand. Sarah whoops as he heads out the front door.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, you once again find a present waiting for you at your front door. Still in your pajamas, you quickly grab the box and close the door, heading over to your couch to examine it.

You open the box and gasp. Staring back at you is a wooden heart with the year engraved into the center. Based on its slightly rough edges, it appears to be hand-carved. Eagerly, you unfold the note that’s underneath it.

This is the last ornament. Hope you like it. I made it special -your Secret Santa

Along with the message, a phone number has been carefully scrawled across the bottom of the paper. Your heartbeat quickens as you stare at the digits. After twenty-four days, you can’t believe that you are finally going to find out who your Secret Santa is.

You feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you pick up the phone, your hand shaking slightly as you dial the number.

On the third ring, a voice answers, “Hello?” It’s a man’s voice, but you can’t place it.

You don’t know what to say. Your mouth feels very dry all of a sudden.

“Hello?” the voice says again, a little louder.

You exhale shakily. “Hi,” you manage to squeak out. “I’m, uh, trying to find out who my Secret Santa is?” God, you sound ridiculous. What if he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about? What if you dialed the wrong number? What if—?

Before your mind can spiral too far, the man on the other end of the line chuckles. “That would be me,” he admits sheepishly.

“And who would you be?” you ask breathlessly.

“Joel,” he says. “Joel Miller.”

Joel? Joel Miller is your Secret Santa? Sure, you’ve always tried to be friendly with him and his daughter, but you didn’t think you were at gift-giving levels of closeness with him. Secretly, you’d been crushing on Joel since you first moved into the neighborhood, but you’d done your best to tamp those feelings down.

“You still there, sweetheart?” Joel asks.

You realize that you’ve been silent for too long as your thoughts have been racing. “Um, yeah, Joel, still here,” you say.

Joel chuckles again, and you can tell there’s no malice behind it.

“The heart, did you make that yourself?” you blurt out, still turning the ornament over in your hand.

“I did,” he admits. “What’d you think?”

“I love it,” you tell him. “I’ve loved all of them. This has been my favorite Christmas in a long time.” Before you can lose your nerve, you add, “Could I treat you to dinner sometime? As a thank you?”

“Aw, you don’t have to—” Joel starts.

“But I want to, really.”

You can swear you hear the smile in Joel’s voice as he says, “Yeah, I’d like that. Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas, Joel.”

As the phone call ends, you let out a breath and lean back against the couch, head tilted up towards the ceiling.

Joel Miller was your Secret Santa. You were going to go on a date with Joel Miller. Okay, maybe you couldn’t call it a date, but still, it was something.

You hang up the phone and stand from the couch, heading over to the tree to add your newest ornament. As you finish hanging the wooden heart, you hear a meow from under the tree.

“Oh, hey, Bean.” You smile softly down at the cat lying on the tree skirt. You’d finally coaxed her into the house last week, and she was settling in quite nicely.

You admire your beautifully decorated tree, then sneak a glance to the Millers’ house across the street. The lights are on, making the space look warm and inviting. You smile again.

Yes, this was definitely shaping up to be your best Christmas yet, and you had a feeling there were many more to come.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[xaeyrnofnbe]

waitttt ok so the og avatar (the blue cat people one not the elements one.) it’s a fine movie. right? it’s got some serious problems, but it’s a movie i really enjoy and have for a long time. i’m not saying i excuse or don’t care about the problems the movie has, i actually think that those problems are what hold the movie back. and bc i’m tired from a stressful thanksgiving vacations with my family and my creative brain if’s finally switching back on, i’m now gonna explain how i, personally, would have done the avatar movie. (and in doing so, made it better) this plan may or may not involve a time machine

beginning with the problems it has,

they chickened out every chance they got and made their fantastical alien world less alien and in doing so made it feel like a bizarre allegory for native americans

the white guy protag saves the day and it’s just kind of. weird.

avatar 2: way of water

of course these problems are more complex and nuanced than that but that’s the general idea.

following that, here is how i would fix it

first, actually go for it with the whole alien world thing that was planned. so many people were hired to construct this complex world with its own plant and animal life, solar system, people, and culture. let the alien people look like goddamn aliens.

if i remember correctly, the na’vi were intended to be a mishmash of cultures from all around the world, but especially in their music. and what did they do with their music? not nearly enough, if you’ve seen Sideways’ video on it. generally speaking, so much of the worldbuilding ideas were wasted for the sake of the movie feeling familiar, western, and comfortable. and i say to hell with that. i think the movie would have been so much better should all these ideas be more heavily embraced, and hell, there could still be a romance! i honestly think a human/alien romance could actually be really interesting if the aliens actually looked properly alien.

second, the main character should be less important.

while it may have muddied the story a bit, i think a shift in perspective to the actual na’vi people, or at least a shift of focus onto them through sully’s eyes, would have felt better. they should get to protect and rescue THEIR OWN home, don’t you think? rather than this random dude? he can still be the protagonist, sure, but let the weird chosen one prophecy thing be about his alien girlfriend instead. it’d make sense for her, the heir or whatever, to be given that responsibility.

the main character could certainly play an important part in supplying insider information on humanity’s plans, risking himself by doing so, but he shouldn’t be the one leading the charge against them. let neytiri do it.

third, just don’t make that second movie. i mean i certainly enjoyed watching it late at night with my mom, but it wasn’t good and definitely didn’t need to have been made.

[captain-daryn]

This…. Explains so much.

(Going back to add, I did not intend for this post to get so freaking long, and it’s kinda a trauma dump (I know that’s not the correct way to use it but I’m repurposing the term to say I go on a long tangent about childhood trauma))

I’ve been reflecting on my childhood a lot recently, and like, it kinda sucked. It wasn’t always directed at me, but some of my biggest memories are of my mom constantly complaining about something. Or being drunk and saying very brutally honest (“this movie is stupid, I don’t get it.” Or “This music sucks.” When I tried to share something I liked with her, and then she would pass out in her seat a few minutes later).

Or my parents yelling either at each other or at me. When it was directed at me, if I told them what was the truth to me (because being an undiagnosed ADHD kid, I really DIDNT know why I didn’t do my homework), and said, “I don’t know” then they would say “I don’t know isn’t an answer.” And they would corner me until I came up with something to get them off my back. It made me a chronic liar who abhors doing homework and hates school.

They let me opt out of things when I probably shouldn’t have had the choice (getting my wisdom teeth out, therapy, or other doctor visits), but when I asked them about doctor visits when I was in pain or sick, my dad would say no called me a hypochondriac or my mom complained about how expensive the doctors is, even though we are not financially struggling at all and have health insurance. Or vice versa, they let me choose things that I was not mature enough to choose (like going to church with a neighbor at 6 years old, and getting baptized at 8 because that’s what the church expected of children without really letting them choose, but made them think was their choice).

They never let me make mistakes. My dad was constantly telling me exactly how things are done, and held my hand all the way through things. If I didn’t do something, he would jump right in and fix it instead of giving me the tools and teaching me skills to fix it myself. When I had to transfer from honors math into regular math because I was bad at doing my homework on time, even though I understood the material, my mom threw a huge fit.

I had a lot of freedom and no structure to my childhood. Unlike my siblings, I never had expectations to keep my room clean. I was not taught how to properly clean my face, hair, or teeth (those habits involved a lot of yelling and scare tactics that actually made me scared of the doctor and the dentist). I didn’t learn to do laundry until I was much older. I was allowed to eat whenever and whatever I wanted (so you know I ate cereal, chips, and cookies all day if I wanted to). By the time I was born, my mom had given up on cooking every night so we usually eat out or “fend for ourselves”, and so I’ve only really experienced the “Sit down dinner with the fam” on thanksgiving and Christmas, and struggle with proper eating habits.

Every once in awhile my mom would say “clean your room” but I never had an example of what a clean version of my room looked like, so I would get overwhelmed easily. I remember my closet being piled high with toys I was never taught to let go of. Of half finished craft projects and dirty clothes and toys waist high. Of half my bed being unusable because it was piled high with stuff, books and papers and craft projects and whatever you could think of. About once a year or every other year while I was at school, my mom would drag everything out from my room and spread it out around the living room and hallway and say “you can’t go to bed until it’s all put away and organized.” But she never taught me how to do that, so then I would just shove things into boxes and they would go back under my bed or in my closet and then I would get in trouble for something I didn’t know how to fix and wasn’t taught how to fix.

I remember begging for chores and rules because I knew I was disorganized and lacked structure. I remember being embarrassed because my mom was drunk when friends came over. I remember secretly begging to have my friends parents because they were involved in a healthy way in their kids lives. I remember crying to my mom that I had no friends, or how there are different groups of people and they don’t like me, and she just said like I’m not trying or I just need to ask them to play with me.

I felt very invalidated as a child, and now I’m feeling I was very neglected too. I didn’t get family photos done. I didn’t experience back tickles from my mom in church. I didn’t get to sit at the kitchen table to do homework while mom made dinner. I wasn’t expected to have my chores done before I left to play with friends.

And I’m trying hard now to get into those habits. To brush my teeth once a day. Shower frequently. Make my bed or tidy my room daily. Eat actual food (not just cookies and candy) multiple times a day. And it seems impossible. I know what I want my life to look like but I can’t get there. I just want to lay in bed all day and cry or sleep.

I know this seems like Im saying I had the worst childhood, or whatever, but these were small individual moments mostly. It wasn’t every day bad, and there were definite moments that were better than others, or times that relationships were better or worse. But of course that also doesn’t mean these moments haven’t added up over time as well. One of the few pieces of wisdom I hold onto from Dr Phil: it takes 1000 atta girls to make up for one negative comment. And boy is there a lot of backpay I’m owed. But again, it wasn’t all bad. There can be both good and bad. It’s just the negative stands out a lot more than the positive sometimes once you get thinking about it.

It's wild that you don't necessarily need to even be abused to have childhood trauma. Like just having an excessively negative, spiteful, toxic and mean-spirited parent is enough, even if they never do it at you, or on purpose. Imagine being a doctor and explaining that to a parent.

"Hey you know how you don't have any friends because people find you unpleasant to be around? Well it turns out that your child is also a person, and finds you unpleasant to be around. Growing up in an environment where they are constantly subjected to your opinions technically counts as torture, since the situation was both continuously distressing and inescapable. You are literally so annoying that you gave your child brain damage."

[rxgnor0k]

Lover’s Escape — E.Munson

Masterlist➢𖤓

summary | <It’s decided that you’re running away soon after the upcoming holiday without telling anyone… and you’re taking Eddie Munson with you>

tags | <Eddie Munson x reader, fluff, angst?, eddie and reader are 18+, wheeler!reader, make out session, grinding>

warnings | <NOT PROOFREAD, sexual tension, Nancy slander???(kind of)>

⚠️ i will not allow anyone copy and pasting my work into any other social platform or site without consulting with me first ⚠️

───────────────────────

Upon it’s arrival, the rain showered down as the wind howled through the open window of the trailer window. The sun stayed hidden by the gloomy, grey clouds, while the town of Hawkins remained indoors for the day. The trees’ leaves glistened with ran drops, as for the road as well.

There wasn’t much to do on a day like this. All the fun things were far and required actual effort. Luckily, you were at Eddie’s before the weather’s dramatic change.

Kissing each other hungrily, you straddle Eddie’s lap for a more comfortable position, rather than practically being on top of him. Eddie’s hands flew to your waist, gripping them for more support. Your hand were kept at his shoulders, slowly creeping up to his hair, grasping it. Along with the intimacy, came a loud thundering noise from the outside. You moaned into his mouth as he squeezed your thighs, aware of the erection that had suddenly appeared.

“Runaway with me,” you whisper onto his lips, your hips grinding into his.

“What?” Eddie questions, pulling away from the heated kiss, still keeping his hands in your waist. You stop grinding and peer into his eyes.

“You heard me,” you started. “Runaway with me. After thanksgiving, you and I will runaway to a place far from here.”

“As much as I’d love to, I’m pretty sure your parents would call the cops.”

“They won’t care, they never do,” you say, placing your hands onto Eddie’s shoulders. “All they talk about is Nancy and her stupid dream. I don’t think they’d notice if i’m gone. I’m never home anyways, it won’t matter.”

That was somewhat correct. You were always second to Nancy, never the first. It was like your parents intended to have only one child, but unexpectedly had two. You were the extra, and always would be. Sophomore year of high school, you won the prize of first place for an national writing competition. Nancy also entered, but unexpectedly won top five, instead of first. Your parents never congratulated you, all they did was comfort Nancy after her dramatic melt down, complaining that her life was ruined.

It was at that moment that you realized your importance in the eyes of your parents. Since then, you’ve completely went off path, and changed your whole life. Meeting Eddie was perhaps the best thing to happen in three years . Aware of your relationship with your parents, he made sure you felt seen. Which is why, you wanted to take him with you on your escape from Hawkins.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, think about the hardships you’d have to go through. What about money? How would you deal with that?” Eddie asked, truly engaged with the conversation. He did want to join you, but it definitely was a complicated subject.

“What do you think I do when I’m not with you? I don’t prance around all day and sing songs. I work at a tattoo parlor in Ohio. I’ve saved up enough money to live off of for the both of us. I’ve really though hard on this, Eddie, I know what I want to do.”

It’s not like you and Eddie haven’t discussed your futures. The both of you were set on leaving Hawkins, and perhaps get married, but running away? Isn’t that a bit harsh? The look in your eyes said it all, you really wanted to leave. He knew you were unhappy, and all he wanted to do was to make you the happiest woman alive, so maybe just this once he could sacrifice everything and leave.

“Please say something before I change my mind and leave you be,” you said, anxious to hear about Eddie’s response to your plan.

“Sure, princess, I’ll go with you, but you have to promise me one thing,” Eddie started, taking you me hand into his.

“Of course, I’d do anything for you, Eds.”

“You’ll never give up, because something like this requires a lot of time and effort,” he said.

You nodded, “I promise.”

From that moment on, all you could think about was the time you’d spend with Eddie, planning the escape. At one point, though, you did think about your parents.

“How would they react to me missing?” you thought, not that it mattered in the slightest bit.

Eventually, time passed, the leaves on the trees turned to warm colors, while the temperature became cooler. Your planned escape was creeping closer and closer as time flew by.

You were nervous, yet excited. Life truly began when you took Eddie’s hands, and promised him to never give up. The moment the two of you shared a loving gaze after that was when you knew you weren’t worried about anything that threatened you. Eddie was there to protect and vice versa.

After all, it was you and Eddie against the world.

───────────────────────

a/n: hey y'all!!! Sorry if i haven't posting as much as i did before, I went on a little hiatus. I do hope you like this fic, it's base off of one of my many day dreams. byeee!

Reposts and requests are always welcomed! Make sure to go check ou my other stuff! My masterlist is linked at th top of the page! Thank you for reading my fan fic!

[fkinavocado]

In which you’ve got textbook daddy issues and when your tool of a younger brother brings a sweet doe eyed girlfriend home for Thanksgiving and you end up offering her a ride home, you meet just the man to fix them.

Daddy issues- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

Chapter 10 / alternatively, read on wattpad

Chapter 11 (Word count: 2.5K)

You walked into the living room to find a pouty Harry waiting for you on the sofa. He’d at least put some pants on.

You scoffed “Quit sulking. You can hop in the shower while I fix your project. Oh and please give me a change of clothes first?”

He squinted his eyes at you sitting up from the sofa and grabbing you into his arms, your exposed skin erupting into goosebumps, the little towel you’d wrapped around yourself after your shower barely covering the tops of your thighs “You’re lucky I’m desperate to get this project up and running. I really didn’t trust you not to collapse right to sleep had I gone in for that shower with you” he tightened his arms around you, roaming his eyes all over you and you wondered how this man wasn’t tired of you already. If anything he only seemed more insatiable now that he’s actually slept with you.

You pushed him away playfully and he chuckled heading into the master bedroom, and as soon as you heard the door to the en suite close behind him you walked back inside and found a worn out Pink Floyd t-shirt on the edge of the bed, bed which he’d changed while you’d showered. No pants, though. So it would have to be the t-shirt. Just the t-shirt. Also, was this the only band this man listened to? You realized you didn’t even know what kind of music he liked. Something was telling you it probably wasn’t what you were into.

You purposely left your panties to dry in the shower, for old time’s sake, as well as, well, because they definitely needed a wash after you’d gotten them all wet.

You went back to the sofa and decided to sort out his project before anything else came up (pun intended). It was a quick fix and part of you was upset that you hadn’t gotten it done before things between the two of you escalated. You could’ve been in that shower with him right now, passing out, but oh well. You worked fast, doing the simple few things that got Harry’s autoCAD project finally rendering while you got lost in thought.

You still refused to think about what had just happened. You couldn’t process it, not yet. The mindblowing sex as well as what he’d said right before. He wanted a relationship. And you… you felt utterly terrified. You wanted it with your whole being. And that was absolutely terrifying.

Something wet and soft hit your head and made you yelp, flinching you out of your reverie. You grabbed the towel from over your face, readying yourself to throw it back at Harry but he was already striding back to the bedroom with a pep in his walk, completely naked and full of himself. You huffed as you heard his amused chuckle resonating through the hallway “Don’t think so hard darling, you’re about to have steam blow out of your ears”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your career, huh?” you muttered loud enough for him to hear you

“I thanked you in advance, didn’t I?"

You could hear the smirk in his voice and you rolled your eyes, choosing not to reply and skyrocket his cockiness even further but your plan backfired when you were hit square in the face with something even wetter and you gasped when you realized he’d just slingshot your wet panties at you from across the hallway “You’re such a manchild!” you shouted incredulously, earning a hearty laughter from him

He’d actually put on some clothes which you were thankful for, but he was wearing shorts and your eyes went right for his thigh tattoo, of a tiger, no less, and you really didn’t know how your pussy even had the audacity to react to that after all it’s been through in the past hour alone.

He walked to the back of the sofa and leaned over it, his hands on either side of your shoulders looking at his laptop over the top of your head “Oh, hey! You did it! That was fast!” he added the last bit incredulously. You also didn’t miss how he grabbed the panties from next to you on the sofa and placed them in his pocket. Old habits.

“I told you it was an easy fix. You can relax now”

He kissed the top of your head “Thank you, sweetheart”

You sighed dramatically, muttering “...Saved your ass”

He chuckled “That you did. Have you had anything to eat before you drove here?” he squeezed your shoulders

“Uhm, yeah. Haven’t had much if I’m being honest but I’m really not hungry”

You tilted your head back to see him furrowing his brows at you “I don’t like the sound of that”

“Please don’t make me” you pouted and he squinted his eyes at you again before sighing in defeat

“Off to bed with you then, missy. I’ll just upload this and be right with you”

You hesitated getting up and squirmed in your place before looking back at him “Harry?… I didn’t mean to assume that I’d be staying over. But if I’m being honest, I dunno if I could make the trip back, I’m honestly sp-”

“Are you serious right now?” he interrupted you, an edge to his voice which was now quieter and it really sent chills up your spine

“I just. I don’t want you to think that I was… assuming anything”

“Y/N? Shut that pretty mouth of yours right now before I really get upset” there was a bit of a lighter tone to his voice but you knew he was serious.

You gave him a timid half smile and then walked to the bedroom, getting under the crisp new bedsheets. You’d always enjoyed the feeling of freshly changed bedding. Reminded you of when you used to visit with your late grandmother from your mother’s side. She lived far away and you hardly ever got to see her but when your parents sent you away for spring break or other vacations was when you felt like you had a normal family life, even if briefly. She always treated you with utmost love and affection, and she spoiled you as best she could with your favorite home cooked meals and pastries, and she used to braid your hair without pulling on it, and she didn’t make you wash your own dishes, she had a cuddly cat that you’d carry around the house with you as if it were a toy plushie… and most of all, you usually only went to visit her by herself as your brother couldn’t be “persuaded” to leave home. You loved it at grandma’s and couldn’t wait to visit her, especially since she made you feel like you were an only child, and actually loved and appreciated. Each time you had to go back home you’d cry and beg her to keep you.

You were jolted awake when a strong arm wrapped around you, and Harry pulled you flush against him and he nuzzled the crook of your neck “Sorry. You’re such a light sleeper” he whispered

“It’s all right” you sighed contentedly, melting against him “I waited up, didn’t mean to fall asleep before you turned in”

“You didn’t have to wait up”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at me… I didn’t mean to upset you”

Harry gently turned you around to look at him, his voice soft “What’s going on? Just earlier you were calling me a manchild and now you’re worried about upsetting me?” he gave you a dimpled smile and you groaned, nestling against his chest to avoid having to look at him “Hm?” he nudged you playfully, not letting up

You played with his cross necklace, he’d removed his t-shirt to bed and you wished he’d have dropped the shorts as well but, all in good time. You were sleepy though, and you tended to get really… emotionally vulnerable when you were like that, so words just kind of flowed “I guess I’m just… waiting for the bubble to burst”

He tightened his arms around you “Y/N… just hours ago I was telling you how much I want you in my life. Where’s this coming from?” his voice was gentle and soothing as you listened to him with your cheek against his chest. When you didn’t reply right away he added “I feel like you’re not really getting where I’m coming from. Did you not take me seriously? I’m trying… not to come off too strongly”

He tilted your head, nudging his knuckle under your chin and you had no choice but to finally meet his gaze and you were once again taken aback by the intensity in his eyes “I… It’s not that I didn’t take you seriously… it’s just that... “ you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to force yourself to open up a bit, because you could see the vulnerability in his eyes and you owed him that much, you owed him honesty “I wish I could find the words to tell you what’s going on inside my brain without having you freak out. I’m not very good with… words”

“Try me” he raised an eyebrow playfully, and you knew he was trying to get you to relax and open up a bit, so you worried your lower lip searching his eyes before finally ripping the proverbial band aid

“I just… I’ve never done this before”

He furrowed his brows slightly “Done what?”

“This… us… getting real? I’ve never done that. Never really let anyone in before” your voice was infinitely small but you forced yourself to hold his gaze. You saw his eyes widen slightly in surprise but other than that, he kept silent for a long moment

He pushed you gently onto your back as he rested on his elbow, hovering over you “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had a relationship before?”

You just nodded, feeling like you’ve let him down. You knew it wasn’t normal, you knew at 25 it was unheard of, but there it was. The truth. You’d never had a proper boyfriend. Never been in love. Never had anniversaries, flowers, romantic dates, none of that. You’d only ever hooked up and went on your merry way.

“Please say something…” you exhaled, not realizing you’d been holding your breath

He shook his head slowly, running his eyes across your features “I can’t tell you what I’m really thinking. Then, you’re gonna be the one to freak out”

“Try me” you retorted, using his own words

He lowered his head so that he was impossibly close to you, staring right into your soul seemingly “I know it’s wrong of me, but I’m fucking ecstatic. I may have not been your first...” he touched you then, cupping your naked pussy gently, taking you aback a bit “... but I'll be your first in the only way that truly matters” he trailed his hand upwards, under your t-shirt and over your sternum to your left, placing his hand over your heart “I’ll not let up til you let me in” he caressed your skin there as he nuzzled your nose with his “Let me in, baby?…”

His determined tone and the intensity of his gaze were doing you in and before you could second guess yourself you threw your hands around his neck, never breaking eye contact “You’re already in, Harry. That’s what terrifies me”

You felt him inhale sharply and then immediately felt his lips crashing onto yours “Say it again” he pleaded between kisses

You couldn’t help but smile “You’re in”

He grunted, pressing himself against you and you gasped at how hard that’d gotten him “Again!”

You grabbed hold of his shoulders as he groped you more intently, biting on your lower lip so hard that you knew it’d probably bleed a little. You tugged his hair, bringing his ear to your mouth and whispered languidly “You’re in”

That really must’ve done something, because next thing you knew he was nudging your legs apart and you automatically grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and pulled it over your head, throwing it aside as he pushed his shorts down and freed himself. You had a brief moment of clarity where he looked into your eyes for approval and you nodded, thanking your lucky stars that you were already on the pill, and then he sank into you blissfully, having the two of you moan out in unison at the feeling.

“Fuck, Y/N... “

“I know” you whined. “Please…”

He started moving, slowly, tenderly, but intently, and you felt every delicious inch of him hit you just right time and time again, and you honestly couldn’t decide what you liked best, him fucking you mercilessly or him… making love to you, because this is what it felt like. You’d never had this, with anyone. The way he just stared at you, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his eyes searching yours and tilting his head to the sides every time you did, just so that you never broke eye contact, skin to skin, impossibly close, his hands having grabbed yours lacing his fingers with his. You’d never felt like this before. It felt better than anything prior to this.

“What are you doing to me?” he blurted out under his breath, eyes tightly shut, after a particularly hard thrust and you moved along with him, your bodies perfectly in sync

“What am I doing to you?” you threw your head back, you were close. So close.

“Got me wrapped around your little finger” he glued his lips to the shell of your ear “Gonna let me in, baby? Am I really in? Are you giving this a chance, a real chance?”

“Yes, yes!” you gasped as he redoubled his efforts, grinding even heavier against you so that your clit was now perfectly stimulated “I want this. I want you. Am I… fuck! Am I...in, too?”

He chortled then his eyes softened and he snaked his hands underneath you holding you to him as he fucked into you steadily, bringing you closer and closer to your peak “Baby, you’ve been in all along” your breath caught and you moaned loudly “That’s it. Come for me, sweet girl. Say my name, wanna hear you say my name when you fall apart. Don’t wanna be daddy tonight. Just us, just you and me. Y/N and Harry”

You smiled at him and he relaxed his features, smiling back at you before biting his lower lip and pounding into you with intent “Oh God! Yes, yes! Just us. Oh God, Harry. I’m gonna come”

“I’m right there with you, baby. C’mon, wanna see your pretty eyes roll to the back of your head, gonna fucking lose it. God, you’re so beautiful. And you’re mine. Mine”

“Yours” you gasped, the first wave hitting you “Harry!” you cried out, clutching at his shoulders, sinking your nails into him making him groan animalistically “Fuck, Harry!”

He followed immediately, burying his head in the crook of your neck, marking your flesh there as he shot rope after rope inside of you, his release sending aftershocks through your whole body. He then rested his temple against yours, panting heavily “And I’m yours. All of my fucked up, broken heart… is yours. If you’ll have it.”

Chapter 12

A/N: don't worry. part 12 is following shortly. just felt like this one should end here ❤

💕 like & reblog if you’re enjoying this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

[beyondspaceandstars]

Alone For The Holidays

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: N/A Summary: Neighbors!AU - You and Bucky realize you both are alone on Thanksgiving A/N: this is just a little holiday fic i whipped up to go with the season!! i’m thinking of making a Christmas part 2 so keep your eye out for that next month <3 I hope you enjoy, i love writing holiday-themed stuff 

Masterlist

You looked down at the trash bag in your hands and chuckled. It was Thanksgiving morning and you were…taking out the trash. That was your big plan for the morning. Trash first, then the Thanksgiving parade on television. Maybe you’d make some coffee, maybe you’d eat a whole pumpkin pie by yourself. You didn’t really care. There were no rules when you were alone on Thanksgiving.

Everything felt quite comical as you threw the bag down the chute. You waited, listening as it hit the bottom with a bang. You tried to ignore how pathetic this all fell as you closed the chute door and turned back around. But just as you did, your neighbor’s door swung open. A tired, annoyed-looking Bucky joined you in the hall.

"Morning," you said, quietly. He jumped, looking at you quite stunned. You didn’t blame him. You were actually amazed to see him here.

Part of you had assumed the Avengers were having some big Thanksgiving feast. By how extravagant they could be, you thought they’d have breakfast and dinner, festivities all around. But judging by the fact Bucky was leaving his apartment in an old, stained t-shirt and sweatpants, you didn’t think he was actually going anywhere today. Your gaze dropped and that’s when you noticed he too was taking out his trash.

"Good morning," Bucky eventually said. He shifted awkwardly, clutching the bag tightly.

You tried shooting him a warm smile but it felt a bit faltered. You and Bucky had always had an odd relationship. When he first moved in, he seemed to almost…despise your presence, like he expected to have a whole apartment floor to himself. Eventually, though, he warmed up to you and actually joined in on the small talk you tried to engage him in.

Over time, you actually came around to enjoying having him as your neighbor. He was kind and thoughtful. In little to no time, you found yourself slowly developing a burning crush on him. But just when you felt you were getting somewhere further with him, he retracted, leaving you a bit heartbroken and confused. Still, you persisted with civility and he tended to make most conversations worthwhile.

You tried to put on your best smile. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Oh, yeah," Bucky chuckled then glanced at the dusty hallway floor. "That’s today, isn’t it?"

You frowned. "You didn’t know today was Thanksgiving?"

"Guess not," Bucky shrugged. "Must’ve slipped my mind."

You didn’t really know what to say to that. You stood there in front of the garbage chute, staring awkwardly at your neighbor. He took a few steps down the hall towards you, no doubt wanting to just throw away his trash and head back inside. You didn’t know why you were preventing that from happening.

When you didn’t say anything in response, Bucky spoke again. "I’m guessing you’re probably getting ready to head out somewhere."

You raised your brows in surprise. Is that what he really thought? You stopped yourself from staring down at your own outfit: an old college sweater and a pair of faded leggings.

"Got nowhere to be beside my couch," you laughed. It probably came out a bit more sad than you had intended but at least you weren’t hiding anything. Bucky’s eyes finally landed back on you. His surprised expression was back.

"Really? No family dinner?" He asked.

"I don’t really have any family in town," you admitted.

As much as you didn’t want to confess that out loud, it almost felt good to tell someone. Your family members were few and far in between. Your mother was gone, your father M.I.A. You had some cousins who called occasionally but it wasn’t like any of you were close. So, that just left you to make your own Thanksgiving. Parade, pie, the whole nine yards. You had a couple of those frozen turkey dinners to complement it all.

"I-I’m sorry," Bucky said with the utmost sincerity. It warmed your heart. That fluttering crush was coming back in waves. You didn’t know how he always managed to do it.

"It’s fine," you shrugged, waving a hand in dismissal. "I’m going to go out on a limb and say you didn’t have anything planned."

He smirked but there was nothing behind it. "Not really. Sort of in the same boat as you, I guess."

As much as it should’ve pained you to hear, there was something comforting in knowing someone else was having just as much of a lonely holiday as you were — even if he hadn’t realized today was a holiday. Still, there was someone like you and… A little light bulb went off in your head.

This was going to be bold but where was the harm in asking?

"Would you like to come over and have Thanksgiving dinner with me?"

Bucky looked physically taken aback by that question as if he had never seen it coming. Which, granted, maybe he hadn’t. You worried for a minute that you had gone too far. Was he going to shrink back, take a million steps away, let your crush fizzle off just to spring it back on you? You spent too much time contemplating as you waited, watching him process the request.

Eventually, he broke the dreadful silence. "Sure." Bucky nodded. "I’d love that."

*** You had told Bucky to come by your apartment around one that afternoon. You figured that’d give you enough time to make your apartment, well, presentable. The Thanksgiving Day parade played in the background as you tidied up your rooms and began to worry about what you actually should feed your neighbor. Why had you done this?

While your pumpkin pie was going to be perfect, all that was left for dinner in your freezer were the frozen meals. The grocery store had a sale on the turkey ones. (Who knew why? You wondered with such ridiculous sarcasm.) Would that be okay with Bucky? Or was he expecting a five-course meal? Maybe you were just making this Thanksgiving more pathetic than it already was. You scrubbed at your bathroom sink trying to ease your nerves.

When you finally got done cleaning, there was no beating around the bush: frozen meals would have to do. You didn’t have time to run to the store given that you had cleaned and dusted from head to toe. And even if you did had time, who could whip up a turkey in mere minutes? Let alone all the sides? If you paired the frozen dinners with enough wine, maybe they’d taste better. Thankfully your wine cabinet was not running low. From whites to reds, you were set for whatever this Thanksgiving was going to turn out to be. All else fails, you knew someone else would be as annoyed with the day as you were.

You tried to remind yourself that Bucky probably was not expecting anything as you preheated the oven and began reading the back of the frozen meal box. Usually, you would just pop these suckers in the microwave, but you decided to pull out the big guns. It was a holiday after all.

Just when you popped the meals in the oven and set your timer, there was a knock at the door. You felt overwhelming giddy as you walked towards the door. Bucky had never really been in your apartment before and you never really knew how to go about inviting him over in a platonic way. You couldn’t believe the spurt of confidence you got this morning and almost, just for a second, you thought you were in over your head. But you didn’t have a chance to weigh on it any longer. Bucky knocked again.

You called out, "Coming!" You put a little pep in your step to get to the door. You were greeted by much more awake Bucky than this morning. He had swapped his t-shirt for a knit sweater and his sweatpants for slacks. He was also cradling a bottle of wine which almost made you laugh.

You greeted your neighbor with a smile and stepped aside, letting him enter. "Welcome to my humble apartment."

He stepped in a bit cautiously and looked around as if assessing the situation. You tried not to be offended, mentally reminding yourself of his background. You went over to your kitchen and grabbed two wine glasses, trying not to act like you were at all staring. Bucky eventually came to join you, apparently deeming your apartment safe.

"Thanks for inviting me," he said and then motioned towards the deep red bottle of wine. "I-I hope this wine is okay."

You nodded and pushed the glasses towards him. It took Bucky little effort to get uncork the bottle. That certainly made you feel something.

You tried covering your blushing by forcing yourself to talk. "I don’t think I’ve ever met a wine I didn’t like."

Bucky seemed to visibly relax at your comment. He poured you each some wine then passed you your glass.

"So," Bucky said after he sipped his wine, "what does Thanksgiving with you entail?"

You took a big gulp of your wine. "I have turkey dinners cooking in the oven," you admitted. "Along with pumpkin pie, fresh whipped cream, and plenty of wine."

Bucky chuckled. "Did you say turkey dinners? As in more than one?"

"Yeah," you sighed, turning your eyes to your wine. You watched it swish around in the glass. It was a fine beverage. Maybe a bit on the bold side but that was probably what you needed. "These turkey dinners may just be frozen meals I had on hand."

Bucky hmm’d, considering. You waited, defeatedly, for his reaction.

"I think that sounds nice."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Simple and on theme. I’m also certainly not above eating those frozen dinners."

You just about let out a sigh of relief but instead opted to shoot him a grateful smile. He really did always know what to say, whether he realized it or not. It was one of the many things that kept you falling for Bucky like a snowball picking up downhill speed.

"Still, I’m sorry it’s not glamorous," you said. "How do you usually celebrate Thanksgiving?"

There was an uncertainty in your voice when you asked the question but you were genuinely curious. Had he celebrated Thanksgiving since regaining his life? You weren’t about to ask that outright but you could tell he knew what you meant.

"A friend invited me to dinner last year with his family but it didn’t feel right being such a big holiday and all," Bucky said after an eerie moment of staring into his wine. You knew the feeling. "Back in the day, my mom would make a whole feast and invite the entire family around. She’d make us all go around and say what we’re thankful for. We all had to say something before we could eat. It was pretty hectic, from what I remember, but it was also…fun." He paused as if unsure and gave it a thought. "Yeah, it was fun. It was a good time."

You watched him recall the deep memory with wonder. "That sounds lovely."

Bucky leaned closer and tapped your wine glasses together. The sound of the glass ringing reverberated throughout the apartment. "This is lovely, too."

As if on some weird cue, the oven timer went off. You scoffed. "Maybe you should make that declaration after you taste this food."

Bucky didn’t say anything as you carefully pulled the two frozen dinners out of the oven but you certainly felt him watching you. You just about dropped the food when your eyes met again. You motioned for him to take a seat at your kitchen island while you began plating the food. You slid Bucky a meal and topped off his wine. Once you did the same for yourself, you sat next to him.

At first, Bucky wasn’t really touching the food. He was just moving some green beans around in the gravy flowing off the sliced turkey. Your heart just about sank. Your worst fears about today were coming true. He didn’t like the food or… or something…

But then he unexpectedly turned to you. You were very still in your seat, barely holding onto your fork.

"I don’t need to taste the food before deciding anything," Bucky said seriously. "Just being here with you has already made this an amazing holiday."

"Oh, Bucky…"

"You’re so wonderful," Bucky continued, "and I don’t just mean inviting me over and cooking dinner… I mean how you also talk to me. You see me. You make me feel like the person I once was is still there." He took a shaky breath then turned back to the food steaming away. "Sometimes I’m not sure how to handle all that. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve your kindness or attention. I can’t hide that it worries me. But you never give up and I’m so thankful for that. I’m so thankful for you."

You seriously didn’t know what to say. You sat there, stunned and silent like an idiot, but your mind was going blank. Bucky was usually very kind to you but this…this was a whole new level. It felt like he was opening up a part of him to you, just for you.

If you were to be honest, you hadn’t thought you were doing anything spectacular. You two were neighbors and you felt neighbors should be friendly with one another even when the other didn’t always reciprocate. Even when you began developing a crush. A crush that had exploded like a firework within you. You didn’t think it could be suppressed ever again after this.

Bucky looked back over at you, his eyes pleading for you to say something. When your mouth couldn’t come up with something, he began taking back his words. "I-I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that. You… You were just being nice and inviting me for dinner and now here I’ve gone—,"

In an impulsive move, you grabbed Bucky’s hand. He jumped at the action, staring down at how your hand rested above his.

"I’m thankful for you, too," you said as you let a smile spread across your face. "I’m glad you let me talk to you, I’m glad you talk to me… and I’m especially glad you agreed to come over. I won’t pretend to understand any of the self-doubts you have but I will say that I’m here when you need me. I enjoy our moments."

It took a few seconds for even you to process the words that had come out of your mouth. You were being so bold today and somehow, it felt like it was actually paying off. Now you saw why your crush never went away fully. There was unfinished business.

Slowly, Bucky’s eyes flicked back to you and he matched your expression, looking relieved and relaxed.

"I think we should do this again."

You chuckled. "What? Thanksgiving?"

Bucky ate a few green beans finally while you tried the mashed potatoes. Not as fluffy as you would’ve liked but certainly edible. And you didn’t have to slave over it all day.

He shook his head. "No. Dinner."

You felt your face getting warm. "Dinner? Like a date?"

He squeezed your hand, smiling as he took a bite of the turkey. "Exactly like a date," he said in between bites.

Scratch that, your whole body was on fire. Burning up like this steaming dead bird drowning in brown gravy on your plate.

Your smile only kept growing, if that was even possible. "Now, that sounds lovely."

"I’m relieved," Bucky said with a smile a mile long. He disconnected your hands and grabbed his wine glass. He tapped his with yours for the second time that afternoon. Bucky spoke your name like it was his favorite prayer then said, "Happy Thanksgiving."

You blushed. "Happy Thanksgiving, Bucky."

[abluescarfonwaston]

No death au where Miles grows up and becomes a defense attorney but after a few trials decides its not for him. Wants to switch to Prosecuting, give that a try. Gregory’s extremely supportive and offers to help connect him to a mentor but Miles says he wants to do it on his own. Which Gregory respects and is very proud of. Right up until the moment he finds out who Miles is studying under.

Manfred Von Karma.

Gregory puts his foot down. Absolutely not. It’s forbidden. Miles asks him what the punishment is for breaking said law. ‘It’s- you... I won’t have that man or his ideals under my roof!’ ‘when do you want me out by then?’

Safe to say Gregory folds on his terms. Miles refuses to stop studying under Manfred. He refuses to explain Why he needs to study under Manfred Von Karma specifically. Gregory keeps a close eye on him and tries to be there for Miles and do damage control. He enlists his friends to help keep a handle on the situation.

Faraday, Badd, Raymond and him have a terrified group chat where they discuss what’s happening and what they need to do to stop it. Gregory has no idea what to do with Miles rebellious phase that includes studying under the evidence forging God of Prosecuting. Faraday regularly suggest kidnapping Miles to get him away from Manfred. Phoenix cries to Ray about how he’s the reason that Miles switch careers and is working for someone so awful now. They all reassure him he’s mistaken. Miles takes to bringing Franziska home for dinner and socialization because she is a feral traumatized little 13 year old.

Miles starts Tearing through the legal system. Leaves a pile of corrupt officials in his wake. Hasn’t lost a case and doesn’t fucking intend to. At one point Miles gets arrested and Gregory and Raymond have to find out from a little boy named Sebastian. They get to the prison and Miles borderline blackmails Manfred into taking down the Chief Prosecutor. Sebastian and his Mother join the very crowded thanksgiving table at the Edgeworth’s.

Manfred teaches Miles how to drive. (or rather enables Miles to learn and pays for the cost)  Gregory is so upset at having lost a bonding experience (Father you don’t even have a car-) that he takes Franziska and teaches her what supportive and loving parenting feels like. So take that Manfred.

Phoenix eventually sets down an ultimatum. Either explain whats going on or I’m out. He looks very serious. Gregory and Ray are cheering for him from behind the wall. But he’s also Feenie and 2 seconds from crying if Miles refuses.

Which he does.

Gregory and Ray take Phoenix home to comfort him cause he won’t stop crying. Ice cream is devoured. Miles goes to the Von Karmas. For a few hours they think all is lost.

Until Franziska shows up and demands Phoenix take Miles back because ‘She did not do all of this paperwork for Phoenix to decide that he is breaking up with Miles. That does not matter because she already has it all planned out and he is Not allowed to back out over some stupid reason like not loving Miles anymore. They already have the rings foolish fool!”

“Rings?”

Turns out Phoenix was right. Miles did decide to study under Manfred because of him. Phoenix said “I love you” And Miles thought “I want to marry you.” And then realized he couldn’t. And that was Unacceptable.

So he was going to sue the government and make it legal.

But he couldn’t afford to lose. He had to do this Right. Which prosecutor never loses? Why the God of Prosecuting who wears gay little earrings. (I’m EUROPEAN NOT GAY. I HAVE A WIFE FOR GODS SAKE. I understand my boyfriend is also bi. ARGH) So he began studying under Manfred.

Manfred realized this gay little tart wasn’t going to really get him his revenge but it Would freak Gregory out so he’s counting that as a win. Also he gets to inflict physic damage on Miles at work. Miles hits back very hard. Its unclear who is winning. (They’re both losing.)

Phoenix finding Miles as he stumbles back home. “You didn’t need to do this you know.” Pulling out a ring pop from when they were children married under the slide. “I already said yes.”

“... This is why I couldn’t tell you. I knew you’d say it was Fine. But it’s not. I don’t want to settle for Partners or Husbands* with an asterisk. I want it all. I want to be Married to you Phoenix Wright. I refuse to settle for anything less than that.”

“Well then breaking up with me doesn’t seem like a Great move.”

“I realized along the way I had to do this. That... there were others who deserved this too. That this was bigger than me and you. And if it came down to choosing between my duty and you... Phoenix...”

“Franziska’s right. You are a fool.” Covered the distance and held Miles face in his hands. “You don’t have to choose Miles. I just wanted to know why. I expect my future husband to talk to me.”

“Ngh... mmhmm.”

“Did you really already get rings?”

“... Perhaps.”

[dearamericaroyaldiaries]

I might be a few books ahead. I make no commitment to continue this.

Love Thy Neighbor,  1774-1775, Prudence Emerson

By: Ann Turner

Protagonist Age: 13

Started- 7/21/2022

Finished- 7/26/2022

Summary:

Prue’s whole family is loyal to the Crown in the days lading up to the American Revolution (except for maybe an older brother?) Her father’s shop struggles to do business and the Tory children are ostracized in school. After one too many incidents all of the family, except for her oldest brother and aunt, move to Boston to live with her uncle’s family in the hopes of finding more safety. After a few months in Boston both families make the decision to move once more, this time to Nantucket.

#ReadingThoughts

By this point she should be been in stays of varying stiffnesses (not corsets) for most of her life. Stop trying to make corsets an issue for most historical people. It’s like wearing a bra. Get over it. (Spoiler: they did not get over it.)

I don’t feel like the average 18th century teacher would be super focused on spelling. There wasn’t really standardized spelling so spelling anxiety phonetically probably wouldn't have been a huge deal I wouldn’t think.

I probably should have expected the house divided politics thing but big oof. I suppose this will be the case for a good chunk of the Revolution and Civil War books.

When did George III get the rep of being mad? I thought his first episode was after the Revolution but I could be wrong. (Internet indicated a potential episode in the mid 1760s but nothing concrete until the late 1780s so after the end of the Revolution.)

The recipe listed on page 12 is better than 90% of what I find online because I don’t have to skim past someone’s life story for a million years first.

I understand that it’s listed out for the reader but the list and the “Meh, I hate all of these chores” comes off as a very modern attitude. Granted, I don’t think that any kid ever had enjoyed all of their chores.

How quick is the 18th century mail service? Also, a white silk pocket? For a child? How bougie are these people?

Boston makes sense for the short mail turn-around. Would Tories have called themselves Tories or would they have referred to themselves more consistently as Loyalists? Would a Tory have called those on the other sides “Patriots?” I think not.

I think the American intended audience means that even Tories refer to this conflict as a revolution, not a rebellion (or insurrection), because hindsight tells us we won. Had it gone the other way, I’m sure the Empire still would have fallen apart, we’d just refer to the 1770s as a failed rebellion or insurrection.

Would Thanksgiving have been celebrated at this point? The internet indicates maybe but probably not like we’re thinking.

More anti-corset propaganda. You can breathe in stays. The point wasn’t to reduce or constrict for most people. It was to support and give a conical shape. I am not here for this nonsense and Emma Watson can bite me.

Was the lavender soap yummy? (The best Gif I could find with minimal effort.)

I wonder at what age most midwives learned their trade.

How frustrating it must be for someone to come to you for a vital service at which you are skilled and have them be embarrassed to come to you. Kudos to Mama Emerson for how she handled that situation and shame on Mr. Jeptha’s Dad. (We do not stan this dad.)

I’m kinda amused that big bro is hiding pro-Revolution newspapers under his mattress like a porn stash.

Corset nonsense x 2!

Would Papa, a shop owner, know cobbling? That is a skilled trade and not easy as far as I know.

And on your left you’ll see a variety of trauma responses.

How old is Cousin Betsey? I don’t think most 13 year olds would be seriously contemplating matrimony as anything but far off, something for a few years down the line.

Corset nonsense

Waltzing? In 1775? In the colonies? That doesn’t sound right to me.

Corset nonsense.

Thoughts on the Afterward

The epilogue was fine. I liked that it noted that Mama delivered all 5 of Prue’s babies

Overall Thoughts After Reading

I feel like this was an unusual choice for publication in 2003 but it would be an even more unusual book to publish today. I thought it was interesting that the Emersons were seen as too Papist (Catholic) for decorating for Christmas.

Overall this book was fine. I rolled by eyes at every instance of Corset Nonsense (All 6 times. Stay tuned for this exciting new segment. *cue another eye roll*) and there were a few items that I need to check into a bit more. I remember reading this one when I was younger but have no strong feelings or memories about it.

Rating Scale

7/10 Papist Pine Boughs

Other Possible Contenders: Golden Stars (too basic) and Corset Nonsenses (this is an actual number and thus should not be confused but also being a rating scale)

Photo Credit:

Cover: Still me!

[barrygeuse]

𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈

Summary: Beetlejuice celebrates the first day of Hanukkah with Lydia and the Maitlands.

Tags: Fluff, post-canon, fix-it implied but not written, no ships (beetlelands if you squint, but it wasn't my intention). Beet1ebabes dni!

Word count: 1346

When his time in the Netherworld began, it marked the end of holiday celebration for Beetlejuice. It wasn’t something he particularly minded–time spent with family was a lost cause, anyways, considering his mother–and not a lot of holidays were ever really his thing. Life became a sort of full-time Halloween, and all the others got left behind. 

As he spent more time at the Maitland-Deetz family house more often, he started to join them for the holidays. The first one they invited him was for Thanksgiving, which he brushed off. “Too busy for turkey day,” he had said, but Barbara made a plate for him to have anyway. When he picked it up the day after, he felt the pang of regret for the first time in what felt like decades.

Adam invites him to celebrate Hanukkah the same year, and he spends days in his head about the whole thing. From what he can remember, Hanukkah is the holiday he misses the most, and to spend it with these people–his family? He tries not to think about that word–is daunting. 

He’s reluctant, but on the first night of the festival, he shows up, lurking in the corner of the living room. Lydia passes by while Adam’s up in the attic searching for candles. She looks him up and down skeptically. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he says immediately, pausing in picking at a spot on the wallpaper to scowl at her.

She lowers her eyebrows skeptically and stares for a long second. “Really?”

“Okay, yes, I am,” he says, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I don’t wanna fuck this up. What if I do something wrong?” The words come out fast and harsh, and a piece of the wallpaper tears off into his palm. “Shit.”

“Dude,” Lydia says, reaching out to pat his shoulder and pulling away to see dirt on her hand. She rubs her fingers together and wipes her hand on her jeans, face scrunched with annoyance. “Gross.” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Real helpful advice,” he gripes, sticking the piece of paper in his pocket and moving across the room so he can pretend that it wasn’t him if needed.

Adam’s voice echoes from the stairwell as he comes back into the kitchen. “Found them!” He emerges with a big grin on his face, holding a box of white stick candles.

“Oh, great, honey,” Barbara says, coming into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel that she drapes over her shoulder. “You ready to get started?”

Lydia sits on the couch, pulling her knees up and leaning over the backrest to look at the side table that the menorah is set on. There’s a hand-knitted blue and white cloth laid underneath that Barbara spent time making when a particularly bad snowstorm hit. Barbara switches off the lights while Adam takes out two candles, placing the opened box on the windowsill. “Where’s the–”

Barbara cuts him off, handing him a lighter. “Here,” she says, smiling, and he kisses her temple.

“Thanks.” He turns to look at Beetlejuice, who has been cowering in the corner while this played out, trying to make himself as small as possible. “Come here, BJ.”

He scuffs his feet on the floor a little while heading over. “Am I just gonna sit around an’ watch?” He asks, sounding more grumbly and harsh than he intends. He bites his tongue to keep from apologizing, cursing himself even as the sentence leaves his mouth.

“Well, no,” Adam laughs. “Of course not.” Beetlejuice feels the relief as he reacts normally, even to his gruffness.

Barbara takes one of the candles as Adam offers, placing it in the center. “We want you to light the first candle,” she tells him gently.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, quickly attempting to play off the shock that he feels. “I am the most important member of the family.” 

“Booo,” Lydia calls from the couch, tossing a throw pillow at him. She misses. Adam and Barbara laugh, and Beetlejuice takes a deep breath while they’re occupied to steady himself, shoving his hands in his pockets. He rips the piece of wallpaper in two.

Barbara hushes Lydia amiably with a finger to her mouth, as Adam opens a little drawer on the table and takes out two kippot, handing one to Beetlejuice. He accepts it, his hands shaking a little as he unfolds it and ducks his head, resting it in place. The last time he wore one of these, well.. He doesn’t like to think about it. It’s suddenly hard to look at Lydia, so he keeps his back to her. Barbara seems to notice his nerves, giving him a sympathetic look.

Adam hums as he lights the shamash, a song that sounds familiar to Beetlejuice but one that he can’t quite place; an old hymn, maybe? When he’s finished, he rests the lighter on the table next to the menorah and moves a bit to the side. They pause there, looking at the single candle, and the Maitlands begin to quietly recite blessings.

Beetlejuice mumbles along to what he can remember,

“בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה, יְיָ אֱלֹהֵינוּ, מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם,”

lapsing into silence for the latter half of each of the prayers, awkwardly shifting on his feet. When they’ve finished, after another second, Adam gestures for him to move forward.

He glances to Barbara again, who nods encouragingly. Beetlejuice feels unsteady on his feet as he moves to the front of the table while Barbara places the next candle on the rightmost side of the menorah. He picks up the shamash, willing his hands to stay still, and cups his hand around the flame to prevent it from blowing out. Adam resumes his quiet humming, and Barbara leans into his side. He wraps an arm around her.

Wax drips onto Beetlejuice’s thumb, warm, hardening quickly against his cold skin, as he tilts the candle to the wick of the other. It lights, and Beetlejuice replaces the shamash, stepping back again to be in line with the Maitlands.

They stand for a moment, watching the flickering of the candles, as Adam gradually quiets his humming until it’s silent in the room. Beetlejuice holds his breath, waiting for something terrible to happen, feeling like it could at any moment.

But nothing does. Adam moves his arm away from Barbara’s waist to take off his kippah, and the silence is broken. “Good job,” Barbara says kindly to Beetlejuice, patting his forearm. 

“You’ll be back tomorrow?” Adam asks, taking the other kippah from Beetlejuice’s outstretched hand.

“Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat. “Yeah, but just remember that Hanukkah will never be the same without me in the future.” He raises his arms in mock defense. “Don’t blame a guy for his natural charm and likability.”

Lydia groans. “Oh, shut up,” she complains, and another throw pillow flies across the room, landing square against his back.

“Lydia!” Barbara chastises, but she’s giggling. “Be careful, there are candles over here!”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem, Beej.” Adam says, smiling at him. “It’s not like we won’t invite you back next year.”

“Oh,” he responds, and then rolls his eyes. “I mean, of course.” He amends, as if this was the most expected news in the world, giving Adam a rough pat on the back (earning a little ‘oof’ at the blow). “You’re all stuck with me. Your decision, not mine.”

Lydia makes a gagging sound on the couch. “Stuck like gum in hair, maybe,” she says, sticking her tongue out, and he grins at her, all sharp teeth.

“Stuck like a tick on a dog.” 

He lunges for her and she shrieks, rolling off the couch, and after a few minutes they’ve begun tussling on the floor, amidst complaints of hair in his mouth and, “NO BITING!” shouted from Lydia.

Adam draws his wife close again, watching them. “Happy Hanukkah, Barb,” he says to her, and she leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek, resting her head against his arm.

“Happy Hanukkah, honey.”

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

I have a theodicy-adjacent question if that's alright. How can I offer prayers of thanksgiving without implying that God "likes me better" than They like other people? For example, I often want to thank God for keeping my loved ones safe through this pandemic, but it feels weird when so many have lost dear ones. I've learned a lot about how to wrestle with God through your ministry, but how to bring your positive feelings to God without toeing the line of a prosperity gospel-esque mindset?

Anon, I feel you! Some point a few years ago I had a similar unsettling realization. I knew that gratitude is important not only for our relationship with God, but for our psychological wellbeing — yet I felt so guilty for thanking God for things i knew others didn’t have. Did attributing the good things in my life to God imply that God wasn’t with those who lacked those good things? 

I brought that guilt and discomfort to God (and still do, whenever it arises anew). asked Them to help me sit with it, accept it, and then transform it into something more fruitful.

guilt transformed to motivation. discomfort transformed to commitment. what i was left with was an understanding that i did not need to stop my prayers of thanksgiving, but to expand them.

i take time to really feel and express my gratitude for the abundance i experience. and then i ask God to help my gratitude move me to a desire for others to experience that abundance too. I ask for guidance in how i can help make that abundance happen in the the lives of those around me and far from me. 

___

i also make time for lament. many of us are taught how to ask God for things and how to thank God for things, but grief and lament are not taught. however, thanksgiving and lament are not opposites, but work together. they enrich one another. we need to take time for both.

a book that helped me embrace lament was Barbara Brown Taylor’s Learning to Walk in the Dark. You can read quotes and whole passages from it in my tag over here.

one of my favorite songs/psalms to sing/pray in lament is this one. The psalmist empowers us to question God, to ask why and how and when? and then the psalmist leads us to praise God anyway — to praise in spite of and with our doubts and our questions. 

when we look at all the pain in the world — in our own lives, the lives of loved ones, the lives of those we don’t even know, and in the struggling pulse of all Creation — we feel all sorts of things. Distress, despair, anger, grief. But some of us are afraid to bring those feelings to God. We’d rather avoid the feelings in general, repress them, not sit inside them for a while. (And certainly, we should not wallow in the bad all the time.) Bt when we dare to assign intentional time to sit in those feelings, God sits in them with us. 

And there is a strange thanksgiving in there, too — that we aren’t alone in the lament. We come to see that it is true that God does not will suffering upon any one of us — that the fact that sometimes i experience blessing while you struggle, or you find success while i go without, is not because God is choosing which happy few to bless that day. God really does will abundant life for all, and grieves when sin (individual, systemic, the rot that eats at this world) blocks that abundance for anyone. 

___

in continuing to make time to feel and express gratitude, and then to make time to lament and to both desire and participate in abundance for others, thanksgiving does not elevate me above others as “better” or “more blessed” than they are. instead, gratitude reminds me of how interconnected we are with one another. In the Body we all share, “If one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it” (1 Cor 12:26).

___

When abundance wins out in spite of sin, we rejoice! When it is we who enjoy that abundance, our gratitude should not lead to smugness or self-congratulations, but to humility. it should shape us, move us to bring similar abundance to others.

A book that has really helped me understand that concept is Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass (which you can read online for free).

Christian texts have told me that the appropriate response to all God’s gifts is gratitude, but it’s Kimmerer’s book that helped me digest and embody just what that means. We acknowledge abundance, and we use that gratitude to connect us to the giver, and to others to whom that giver would also share Their gift.

Here’s one passage from her chapter “The Gift of Strawberries,” starting on page 33 of the webpage linked above:

Even  now,  after  more  than  fifty  Strawberry  Moons,  finding  a patch  of  wild strawberries  still  touches  me  with  a  sensation  of surprise, a feeling of unworthiness and gratitude for the generosity and kindness that comes with an unexpected gift all wrapped in red and green. “Really? For me? Oh, you shouldn’t have.” After fifty years  they  still  raise  the  question  of  how  to respond  to  their generosity.  Sometimes  it  feels  like  a  silly  question  with  a very simple answer: eat them. 

But I know that someone else has wondered these same things. In  our Creation stories  the  origin  of  strawberries  is  important. Skywoman’s  beautiful daughter,  whom  she  carried  in  her  womb from Skyworld, grew on the good green earth, loving and loved by all the other beings. But tragedy befell her when she died giving birth to her twins, Flint and Sapling. Heartbroken, Skywoman buried her beloved daughter in the earth. Her final gifts, our most revered plants, grew from her body. The strawberry arose from her heart.

In  Potawatomi,  the  strawberry  is ode  min, the  heart  berry.  We recognize them as the leaders of the berries, the first to bear fruit.

Strawberries first shaped my view of a world full of gifts simply scattered at your feet. A gift comes to you through no action of your own, free, having moved toward you without your beckoning. It is not a reward; you cannot earn it, or call it to you, or even deserve it.  And  yet  it  appears.  Your  only  role  is  to  be open-eyed  and present.  Gifts  exist  in  a  realm  of  humility  and  mystery—as with random acts of kindness, we do not know their source.

...Gifts  from  the  earth  or  from  each  other  establish  a  particular relationship,  an  obligation  of  sorts  to  give,  to  receive,  and  to reciprocate. The field gave to us, we gave to my dad, and we tried to give back to the strawberries. When the berry season was done, the plants would send out slender red runners to make new plants.

Because I was fascinated by the way they would travel over the ground looking for good places to take root, I would weed out little patches  of  bare  ground  where  the  runners  touched  down.  Sure enough, tiny little roots would emerge from the runner and by the end of the season there were even more plants, ready to bloom under  the  next  Strawberry  Moon.  No  person  taught us  this—the strawberries  showed  us.  Because  they  had  given  us  a  gift, an ongoing relationship opened between us.

...It’s funny how the nature of an object—let’s say a strawberry or a pair  of  socks—is  so  changed  by  the  way  it  has  come  into  your hands, as a gift or as a commodity. The pair of wool socks that I buy at the store, red and gray striped, are warm and cozy. I might feel grateful for the sheep that made the wool and the worker who ran  the  knitting  machine.  I  hope  so.  But  I  have no inherentobligation  to  those  socks  as  a  commodity,  as  private  property. There is no bond beyond the politely exchanged “thank yous” with the clerk. I have paid for them and our reciprocity ended the minute I handed her the money. The exchange ends once parity has been established, an equal exchange. They become my property. I don’t write a thank-you note to JCPenney.

But what if those very same socks, red and gray striped, were knitted  by  my grandmother  and  given  to  me  as  a  gift?  That changes everything. A gift creates ongoing relationship. I will write a thank-you note. I will take good care of them and if I am a very gracious grandchild I’ll wear them when she visits even if I don’t like them. When it’s her birthday, I will surely make her a gift in return. As  the  scholar  and  writer  Lewis  Hyde  notes,  “It  is  the  cardinal difference  between  gift  and  commodity  exchange  that  a  gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people.”

That  is  the  fundamental  nature  of  gifts:  they  move,  and  their value increases with their passage. The fields made a gift of berries to  us  and  we  made  a  gift  of  them  to  our  father.  The  more something is shared, the greater its value becomes. This is hard to grasp  for  societies  steeped  in notions  of  private  property,  where others are, by definition, excluded from sharing. Practices such as posting  land  against  trespass,  for  example,  are expected  and accepted  in  a  property  economy  but  are  unacceptable  in  an economy where land is seen as a gift to all.

Lewis  Hyde  wonderfully  illustrates  this  dissonance  in  his exploration of the “Indian giver.” This expression, used negatively today as a pejorative for someone who gives something and then wants to have it back,  actually  derives from  a  fascinating  cross- cultural misinterpretation between an indigenous culture operating in a gift economy and a colonial culture predicated on the concept of private property. When gifts were given to the settlers by the Native  inhabitants,  the  recipients  understood  that  they  were valuable and were intended to be retained. Giving them away would have been an affront. But the indigenous people understood the value of the gift to be based in reciprocity and would be affronted if the  gifts  did  not  circulate  back  to  them.  

Many  of  our  ancient teachings counsel that whatever we have been given is supposed to be given away again. From the viewpoint of a private property economy, the “gift” is deemed  to  be  “free”  because  we  obtain  it  free  of  charge,  at  no cost. But in the gift economy, gifts are not free. The essence of the gift is that it creates a set of relationships. The currency of a gift economy is, at its root, reciprocity. In Western thinking, private land is understood to be a “bundle of rights,” whereas in a gift economy property has a “bundle of responsibilities” attached.

...

In  material  fact,  Strawberries  belong  only  to  themselves.  The exchange relationships  we  choose  determine  whether  we  share them  as  a  common gift  or  sell  them  as  a  private  commodity. A great  deal  rests  on  that choice.

For  the  greater  part  of  human history, and in places in the world today, common resources were the rule. But some invented a different story, a social construct in which everything is a commodity to be bought and sold. The market economy  story  has  spread  like  wildfire,  with  uneven  results  for human well-being and devastation for the natural world. But it is just a story we have told ourselves and we are free to tell another, to reclaim the old one.

One  of  these  stories  sustains  the  living  systems  on  which  we depend. One of these stories opens the way to living in gratitude and amazement at the richness and generosity of the world. One of these stories asks us to bestow our own gifts in kind, to celebrate our  kinship  with  the  world.  We  can  choose.  If all  the  world  is  a commodity,  how  poor  we  grow.  When  all  the  world  is  a gift  in motion, how wealthy we become.

[knchins]

Not Your Friend - Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Tsukki invites you over for Thanksgiving dinner after a day at the Labor Thanksgiving festival. But things start to fall apart when he introduces you to his family as his friend instead of his girlfriend.

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k (not 206 omfg ally get it TOGETHER)

Server Collab: @haikyuucreations - Home Sweet Home

Warnings: Angst (w/ a happy ending), Very brief mention of sex, stuffed animal abuse (jkjk)

Notes: Anon I hope you don’t mind a happy ending because I totally intended to leaving it open ended but then my heart hurt too much and I had to make them happy in the end. Anyway first collab piece for hqc! Please enjoy <3

 Even though you had been dating Tsukishima Kei for a little over six months now, you were still surprised when he invited you to a Thanksgiving Day dinner celebration with his family and closest friend Yamaguchi Tadashi. He had mentioned the festival that would take place earlier in the day and that after the two of you explored a bit, you’d go back to his home and have dinner with his mother, older brother, and best friend.

 It was a little odd because Tsukishima had disagreed on group dates or meeting your own family multiple times. He always found excuses to not do it. He would only say that he liked to keep his love life private, and asked that you would respect that. And so far you had. You didn’t talk about what went on between the two of you with anyone outside of your relationship, even your friends. You would be vague about your dates and if you had a fight then you’d pretend like nothing was going on. He wanted privacy and you wanted to give that to him.

 Despite that, you were really excited to finally meet his family. He had told you a lot about them and you had always wanted to meet them. You didn’t think he would have agreed if you had simply asked, so you never voiced your wishes to him. Luckily it seemed that time made him comfortable enough in your relationship to want to introduce you to the other people in his life finally.

 That morning you put on one of your best outfits, something that was cute but suitable for meeting your boyfriend’s family. Once you were finished getting ready, you went outside to meet Tsukki at his car. He would never go up to the door, no matter how many times you told him it was okay. He smiled softly at you, approving of your attire. “You look cute.” He said before driving you to the festival.

 The day was spent playing games and enjoying each other’s company. A few people recognized him from seeing his games with the Sendai Frogs and told them how they were big fans of him and the team. You knew he didn’t really care for the attention, always making an excuse to pull him away from the intruding person so he could relax by your side again. Tsukishima was always appreciative of how well you seemed to be able to read him. Despite his usual cold demeanor, people just seemed so eager to aggravate him. It was incredibly annoying.

 Luckily, the fans bold enough to interrupt your time together were few and far between today. Tsukki won you a stuffed brontosaurus, making sure you tell you how inaccurate the plush was as you hugged it close to snuggle with it happily, listening to him list why it was improbable for a dinosaur to be neon pink with orange spots. Of course he added how the head wasn’t shaped quite right and the proportions were a tad off. It was enough to make you giggle as he took you back to his car to take you to his family home.

 Anxiety fluttered in your chest as you watched the scenery pass you by in the window. What if they didn’t like you? You wondered to yourself. What if they thought you weren't good enough for him? A million negative scenarios and interactions raced through your mind as you thought of every conceivable way that you could screw this up. If this didn’t go well, then he’d probably never let you see them again. The thought of that hurt more than anything.

 After failed scenario number five hundred and thirty seven, Tsukki pulled up to his family home and parked out front. He opened the door for you and you stepped out, choosing to leave your new beloved (though inaccurate) dino behind. You didn’t want them to think you were childish because you loved stuffed animals.

 As he shut the car door behind you, Yamaguchi arrived with a wide smile. He greeted you enthusiastically, hugging you before giving Tsukishima a look that you couldn’t quite decipher.The three of you headed inside and deposited your shoes at the door as Kei’s mother came to greet you.

 “This is my friend,” Tsukki began before telling her your name. You couldn’t stop your eyes from widening in shock, looking at him with hurt as you tried to reel in the fresh set of tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. Friend? That’s all you were to him? Since when?

 You managed to compose yourself enough to bow to her as she told you it was nice to finally meet you. She then told Yamaguchi that she missed seeing him every weekend like she did when they were in high school together. The two began a friendly conversation as they retreated into the next room.

 Still frozen in place, you tried to grasp hold on your shattering heart. After everything, the ups and downs, the hiding you away, the confessions of love, the sex, he still somehow thinks of you as only…a friend? There was a lump in your throat, making it painful to swallow. Tsukishima didn’t seem to be pressed by the state you were in, he simply walked further into the house to catch up with his mother and friend.

 You took a deep breath to try and regain control of yourself. You attempted to numb the pain in your heart, simply thinking that if he just wanted to be friends then you’d simply treat him as a friend and nothing more. Two could play this game, not matter how much it hurt.

 Tsukki introduced you to his older brother and his significant other. You and Yamaguchi chatted with him while Tsukishima went to help his mother with something in the kitchen. You tried to keep yourself in the moment and to not think too much about the greeting. Though, he repeated himself again when introducing you to Akiteru. Being friendzoned on what you thought was a date was possibly one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. You wish you could go back in time and decline his invitation to come over in the first place.

 Yamaguchi could read you like an open book. Not that you were incredibly hard to read in the first place, but it was easy to see that something was bothering you. Of course he knew exactly what was on your mind. He took you to the side after you finished chatting with Akiteru. “I’m sorry, I probably should have warned you I had a feeling this would happen.” He said to you in a quiet voice so that no one else could hear him.

 “I just want to go home.” You confessed. Despite how delicious the food smelled, you had no desire to even be near Tsukishima after what he had just done to you. The pain was simply too fresh, the wound too new. “I think I’m going to be sick…”

 He rubbed your back in an attempt to comfort you. “I think this is just his way of testing you.” Yamaguchi said, hoping that it would make you feel better. Alas it only made you feel worse. Why the hell did you need to be tested? Had you not gone through enough together in the past six months? Anger was starting to overwhelm your hurt and Tadashi attempted to backpedal. “I could be wrong though. Sometimes I don’t know what goes on in his head.”

 You dabbed at your eyes with the end of her shirt sleeve to try and keep the tears from falling. “Can you sit between us?” You asked, “I don’t want to be next to him right now.” He nodded, understanding how you were feeling. He wished he could pull Kei aside and ask him himself what was going through that head of his. Why was he doing this to the girl that he said he loved? Sometimes he could be such an enigma.

 Akiteru informed them that dinner was ready and the table was set. Tsukishima as already seated, Yamaguchi stayed true to his word and sat down next to him while you sat next to Yamaguchi. You could feel Kei’s eyes on you, wondering just what you were doing, but you ignored him totally. You told his mother that everything looked and smelled wonderful and she thanked you happily.

 The six of you began to eat, and everything tasted as good as it looked. It was almost worth the heartache that Tsukishima was putting you through, though you had already decided if he was so ashamed of you then you didn’t need to be in a relationship any more. You were hurt, angry, and at this point didn’t know what else to do. If he wanted to break up with you, then he could have found an easier way.

 The dinner was tense to say the least. You did your best to ignore Tsukishima, even though his family kept asking you questions about one another. How you met, did you hang out often, and many other questions that made it obvious that they were trying to see if the two of you were just friends or not. You kept your answers polite, but made it clear that you weren’t in an intimate relationship with Kei, at least not anymore.

 The slipup caused everyone to stare at you with wide eyes, even Kei himself. You not being together anymore was certainly news to him, though he played it off like it was no big deal. He wondered if this was because he didn’t claim you as his significant other right away or if maybe you’d been wanting to break up for some time now. His own mind was clouded with doubts and anxieties as he became even quieter at the table. It was obvious that there was something going on between you two, it was just unclear what exactly that was.

 Once everyone had finished eating, you helped Tsukki’s mother clear up the dishes and put extra food away. “You know, my son has a very interesting way of handling information he doesn’t want his family to know.” She said as she passed you a dish to dry off. “He has always been a very private person, even as a small child. I never quite understood where he got it from.”

 You weren’t sure what her point was, drying off another dish with the towel in your hand. “He never tells us when he has a girlfriend because he’s afraid we’ll bother them.” She said admittedly, “He thinks we’ll pry too much. I think he keeps it a secret more due to his own insecurities than anything else.”

 “Sometimes being kept a secret doesn’t feel very good.” You replied, not knowing what else to say to her. “Being kept in the dark isn’t that great either.”

 “Well, no.” She said back as she finished the last plate and handed it to you. “But he doesn’t have a whole lot of practice with that sort of thing either. I don’t think he reads women very well.”

 You nodded, wanting to believe that his denial of their relationship was simply due to him being an insecure idiot, but it was a little hard to believe. It still felt more like he was ashamed of you. “He’s never actually brought anyone over besides Tadashi before.” His mother said, “I think this was a big step for him.” She left to go tackle another chore as you stayed in the kitchen, nibbling on your lower lip. Did you possibly jump the gun?

 Tsukishima walked into the kitchen and you realized the two of you were alone. He had an apathetic look on his face. “So we’re not together anymore?” He asked, as if the conversation at dinner was unclear.

 Your eyes narrowed and you threw the dishrag at him. “I don’t know, Kei, you tell me.” You hissed before crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you please just take me home?”

 He was frowning, which although wasn’t totally unusual, it was more pronounced than normal. He nodded his head, letting out a soft disappointed sigh before letting everyone know he was going to take you back to your apartment.

 You walked with him to his car, allowing him to open the door for you. You got in, putting the stuffed dinosaur in the backseat. Honestly you didn’t even want to look at it anymore, you had already decided that you’d pretend to forget it there.

 Tsukki got into the driver’s side, buckling his seat belt and starting the car. Already he knew things were worse than he thought. For as long as he’d known you, he’d never seen you abandoned a stuffed toy. You’d always keep it in your lap or in your arms, somewhere close because you wanted it to feel loved (he really didn’t understand this but chose to let it go). He swallowed hard, trying to figure out a way to fix things before they were beyond repair.

 The drive was extremely tense. He caught you sniffling back tears a few times, the need to console you growing more and more despite the fact that now his heart was breaking too. “Listen,” He said, addressing you by your name, “I was going to tell them, but I wanted them to get to know you first without any pressure.” He was inwardly hoping that the truth was enough to heal your hurt, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was or not. “I knew they’d pry and I thought it would be easier on you if I just said you were a friend.”

 “Kei we’ve been dating six months now and they didn’t even know you were seeing someone?” You asked, though his explanation did help somewhat, it was still unacceptable that you had been kept such a secret. “Why are you so ashamed of me?”

 “I’m not ashamed of you.” He said back, his voice raising a hair at the accusation. “I never said that I was. I just don’t like them butting into my private life, that’s it. It had nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

 You shied away at his loud volume, sinking into the seat like a child that had just been chastised. “That’s what it feels like…” You mumbled back meekly. “That you don’t care enough to tell them about me.”

 He glanced at you before looking back at the road. “How many times have I told you that you mean more to me than anything in the entire world?” He asked, sounding tired. “I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.” He always hated saying those words, but sometimes the moment did call for it. Moments such as this. “I just didn’t want my family to pester me about you nonstop. They get carried away and it's overwhelming.”

 You were quiet, unsure what to say. “Why didn’t you just tell me that beforehand so I wouldn’t have gotten hurt?”

 His cheeks turned a light shade of pink, “I was going to tell them right away but I panicked at the last moment. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, really.”

 You blinked slowly, reaching into the backseat for the dino and hold. The action made Tsukishima let out a sigh of relief. It was at least a sign that he hadn’t ruined everything completely. “So are we still broken up?”

 “No,” You muttered back to him awkwardly. “I’m sorry I made you leave early.”

 He shrugged, “I’d rather just be with you anyway. Akiteru can be such a pain.”

 A small smile broke on your face as you rode the rest of the way in a happy silence.

Mobile Masterlist || Request Rules || Collab Masterlist

Tag List: @dabi-hates-fish​, @hawkward​, @writeiolite​ (I think you wanted to be tagged Io, I don’t exactly remember ad;lfkja;dlfja;sdlfj)

[hockeylvr59]

Collide Part 2 || Sidney Crosby

Summary: Life as a single foster mom and a pediatrician didn’t leave much time for dating. But when Dr. Erin Lancaster becomes the pediatrician for Pittsburgh Penguins Defenseman Brian Dumoulin's baby boy, her association and quick friendship with his wife Kayla turns her crazy but quiet life upside down. 

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Apparently my brain is just on a Sid kick lately. First a blurb update, now this one. Let me know what you think. 

Warnings: alcohol consumption        Word Count: 2,001

~~~~~

The weeks leading up to the holiday season were usually some of the best as a foster mom. The kids that I called my own, even temporarily, generally didn’t have a great experience with family holidays in the past and it was always exciting to teach them the magic of the season. The joy of watching the Macy’s parade and then football before having a big meal, going looking at Christmas lights, and everything else that filled the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

This year though, this year was tough. A few weeks ago, just days after my trip to the hospital, the seven year old I was fostering was moved to another placement. More biological siblings had popped up in the system and taking them would have placed me over my permitted limit. So instead, the rambunctious boy I was finally starting to make strides with was moved so that he could be with siblings he had never met, all because of the preference of keeping siblings together. A week later, my five year old was transferred back into the care of his mother who had successfully completed a rehabilitation program. I wasn’t sure the woman could be trusted but the court had decided she was fit enough to regain custody and there was nothing I could do about it. 

Finally, yesterday, my newborn had been deemed stable enough to be placed with a paternal grandmother now that he was completely off the drugs. I had done my limited job of making sure that he got elevated care and now he was in the placement I knew he’d end up in all along. 

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and for the first time in a long time I didn’t have any kids under my roof. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t have any kids placed with me, it had been that long. Yesterday, it had been easy enough to ignore, I went into the office to catch up on paperwork, I picked up dry cleaning and went grocery shopping before drinking half a bottle of wine and falling into bed exhausted. 

Today though, things were quiet and now that the world had stilled around me, my normally thick exterior cracked and I found myself sobbing steadily. I loved being a foster mom, I really did, but it was heartbreaking to know that these kids would never be mine for one reason or another. That while most days my house was full of laughter and as much love as these kids could manage, days like today would always be waiting at the end of it all. 

While drowning my sorrows with a pint of ice cream I definitely didn’t need to be eating at 11am, my phone buzzed beside me with a message from Kayla Dumoulin. She had texted more than once over the past few weeks with worries such as whether Brayden’s cord was healing normally and whether she could cut his nails because he didn’t like the mittens but she didn’t want him to cut himself. Through our text conversations she had learned of my rapidly emptying house and her message this morning was just to check in and see how I was doing. 

She was such a sweetheart and I replied with a shrug emoji declaring that if sobbing over a pint of ice cream at 11am was normal then I was doing just fine. The phone rang a moment later and I sighed seeing her name pop up because the message wasn’t intended to make her feel guilty or anything, it was just genuine honesty. Still, I answered the phone, setting the pint of ice cream aside for a moment. 

“It sounds like you need some baby cuddles.” Kayla stated, the sound of soft chatter coming through the line. “Why don’t you come over. Brayden wouldn’t mind seeing his favorite doctor.” She suggested. 

“That’s sweet but I’ll be okay.” I assured her. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can find something to do.” 

“You’re not imposing.” Kayla insisted. “Me texting you at 2am with a breastfeeding question was imposing.” Her voice was teasing and I sighed softly remembering being up with my own newborn when she had a question about hers since Brian was on the road. 

“Seriously.” She continued. “Come over, snuggle Brayden, and give my husband a second opinion on this bottle of wine he just got since I can’t drink.” She suggested. Sensing that she truly meant it, I sighed and agreed reluctantly telling her to send me the address. 

____

45 minutes later, I had cleaned myself up so it didn’t look like I had spent the last few hours sobbing. After putting on some light makeup, I had thrown on some black jeans, a striped long sleeve tee, and a tan pullover before deeming myself decent enough to head out. 

Plugging the address in my phone’s gps, I drove over to Kayla and Brian’s neighborhood, parking down on the street in front of their house. It didn’t even register that there were approximately a half dozen cars spread between the driveway and the street already as I made my way up to the front door. 

Kayla greeted me after just a minute and I gently teased that if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t believe she just had a baby as she let me inside. That made her smile, and as she guided me to the kitchen for a glass of wine I realized that there was a significant amount of noise coming from the living room. It wasn’t until she was murmuring for me to make myself comfortable that I realized the living room was occupied by almost a dozen Penguins players, football pregame on tv. 

“Alright Muzz, you can give my baby back now.” Kayla declared half-joking, half-serious. As soon as the goalie handed the baby over, Kayla was crossing the room back to me and handing off the little boy who just snuggled into my chest as soon as he was placed there. “There...baby snuggles.” She murmured. 

“Thanks.” I whispered, resting a hand over the infant’s back before taking a sip of wine feeling slightly uncomfortable as eyes slowly landed on me. 

“Hey doc.” Brian greeted appearing from somewhere else in the house. “Let me know what you think of that wine, not sure if this brand is a keeper or not.” He stated simply portraying the feeling that I wasn’t at all anywhere I didn’t belong and that this was a normal occurrence. Nodding I promised to do so before just focusing back on the baby in my arms. The physician portion of my brain noted that he was doing well and had certainly been growing while the rest of me just found myself relaxing at the feeling of a baby’s steady breaths. 

Most of the guys paid me no mind as the game started. Yet I felt one pair of eyes linger. As I stepped outside after handing Brayden off to feed just before halftime, a four legged companion joined me and I chuckled petting the Dumoulin’s dog Roo while sitting on the steps of their patio nursing my second glass of wine. 

The patio door slid open and then shut before a body slid down next to me on the steps. 

“So where are your foster kids?” A familiar voice asked and glancing over my eyes met those of the Penguins Captain. 

“With another foster family, with their mother, and with their paternal grandmother.” I whispered, quickly taking another sip of the wine to try and push back another round of tears. “The sucky thing about being a foster mom is they always go away in the end.” 

“I...I didn’t know.” Sid mumbled after a moment and I waved him off petting Roo and wiping at my eye with the back of my hand. 

“I didn’t expect you to.” I stated simply. 

“So that’s why…” Sid trailed off, stopping when I nodded. 

“Baby cuddles to try and make everything better.” I shrugged. “To fill the three new cracks in my heart. It’s been a long time since I was childless.” I whispered. “I’ve been trying to recall when it was and I honestly can’t remember. I feel like it had to have happened at least a few times but I really can’t recall not having anyone since I became a foster mom in the first place.” 

“How long is that?” Sid asked, tone softer now than it had been that day at the hospital. 

“Two...almost three years. I applied to become a foster parent toward the end of my residency.” 

“Can I ask how many?” Sid questioned. 

“36.” 

“In three years? That’s...wow.” Glancing over I could see the genuine shock on his face. 

“I don’t know what the turnover rate is generally but I’m fairly certain my rate is higher than average. I get a lot of the drug addicted babies because of my skills and they’re generally only with me 2-3 weeks until it’s safe to move them into a more permanent placement, often with other family members.” 

“How do you handle that?” He murmured, reaching down to pet Roo as well who had rolled over onto her back for belly rubs. 

“Usually I just focus on my patients, on the kids that I do still have with me because they deserve all of my love and attention. This time? Crying over Ben and Jerry’s at 11am until Kayla insisted I come over.” A smile cracked Sid’s face and he apologized quickly declaring that this isn’t something to smile about. 

“No it’s okay. You can find it amusing, I know it wasn’t the most healthy coping method.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” He inquires softly. 

“Yeah. Well, I should probably lay off the wine. Dumo has really good taste.” Sid’s eyes crinkled a little bit and he looked at me like be serious. “I will be. I mean it’s only a matter of time before I get the call that another child needs me.” I assured him. “I just...sometimes...days like this...they make me wonder whether I still want to do this, you know…” 

“Go on…” Sid urged. 

“I just...it’s so hard. Never knowing whether I’m going to wake up and have to say goodbye again. Constantly giving away pieces of my heart that I’ll never get back. Days like today make me just want to be a mom. Not a foster mom but a mom. To have my own kids who won’t be there one day and gone the next.” 

“I get that feeling.” Sid murmured after a moment. “Not the ‘here one day gone the next’ part, but uh, wanting your own kids part, that I get.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke before dropping his hand back down to pet Roo, his fingers brushing against mine. Immediately my mind flashed back to the feeling of his hand wrapped around mine and I quickly pushed that aside. 

“There you are!” Kayla exclaimed, popping her head out the door, her eyes shifting back and forth between you and Sid and noting how close you were sitting. “We just put out some food if you’re hungry and want something other than ice cream.” She grinned, dipping back inside looking like she was about to burst with what she just saw even if it was absolutely nothing. 

When Sid stood he offered a hand out to help you up, murmuring for Roo to come inside and he’d see if he could find her a treat. The bulldog was eager for that and followed after him as you brushed yourself off and picked your wine glass up moving to rejoin the group. 

Ridding of your buzz with some food and water and more baby snuggles you finally headed home with the feeling that there was something more to your conversation with Sid that you hadn’t put your finger on.

Outfit: 

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

Sorry if these are repeats. I'm behind on catching up on everything: For the WIP game. Dance on fire as it intends and We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

Nope! Neither of these are repeats! Thank you for the asks!

Dance on fire as it intends

This is from the Scott Summers Bingo 2022, and the prompt is O3: Rough beard on smooth skin.

This is a Scott Summers/Thor fic that hit me out of the blue because it just fits for the prompt. The premise is that Scott wakes up in bed with Thor and has his memories sparked by having drank a bit the night before and wound up flirting with Thor and being flirted with by him and wound up in Thor's ginormous bed together. It's not going to be angsty. Just some really sappy, silly fond moments.

Snippet:

When the soft warm sunlight spilled through the opening in the heavy scarlet curtains and caressed Scott’s face, pulling him into a partially awake state, he thought one of the Asgardian royal hounds must’ve crawled into the bed with him and now curled up against his back, nuzzling its hairy face against his shoulders.  Scott would have to be deaf not to hear the sleep-contented whimpers and the snoring that indicated the brazen lack of concern over any goings-on in the palace so long as sleep and a warm, comfortable bed was involved. 

That furred face moved back and forth across his naked skin, but when very human lips pressed into the back of his neck, Scott realized that he wasn’t sharing a bed with a dog at all.  It was then the hand on his hip smoothed up and over his belly, thick fingers curling against the muscles that went taut from surprise, and he felt the evidence of a night well-spent in passion flaking away under his bedmate’s nails. 

How the hell much did I drink last night?  And why don’t I remember that Asgardian ale is stronger than anything I drink on Earth, especially since I never imbibe in Banner’s Hulk-brew? 

Scott tilted his head to see if he could catch a glimpse of who he was with without having to completely dislodge himself from the pleasantly strong grip of whomever big spooned him in the most comfortable bed he’d ever had the joy of crashing in. 

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

This is the next part in the Break of Day in the Trenches series; Scott Summers/Steve Rogers, and will likely be used for my Steve Rogers Bingo square in the Scott Summers Bingo. I don't have quiet enough to give a long snippet, but this is a good intro to it to remind any readers of the first part:

“Pie Patrol’s here!” Scott announced as he and Steve carried two boxes full of home-baked pies into the kitchen.  He set the box he carried onto the counter while he waited for Steve to catch up, and he regarded the group arranging dish after dish of roasted vegetables that smelled almost too amazing to be as healthy as they were. 

Essentially, Part 2 is actual Thanksgiving Day with the Avengers and X-Men enjoying the large meal together that Emma put together. The meal, some football, some silliness that eventually leads to Steve staying the weekend at the school with Scott (and Bucky with Emma).

WIP Game.