#even though shes generally not all that worried | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minkieater · 2 days ago

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one dream, one city, two boys, endless possibilities ✮

FIVE ➺ the friendsgiving

masterlist

thanksgiving is about expressing gratitude for what you have, who you love, all of the blessings in your life that make it worth living. friendsgiving was a tradition to your group, a time to be together, to celebrate one another and cherish the bond you’d made over the years — does choi san want to be included, or change the meaning of friendsgiving for the rest of your lives?

w. angst, shit show below the cut good luck! also weed lol 7.3k

jeongin’s apartment was spacious, that much was clear — but fitting fourteen people in one place for a sit down dinner deemed itself near impossible. you’d done it last year, but you only had ten compared to this year’s addition, four extra people that you had invited.

yunho, his girlfriend and wooyoung who insisted he bring san, despite your argument. he yelled he’s so miserable he needs to be surrounded by people over the phone and you argued, saying he didn’t look too miserable in my apartment the other day, but wooyoung insisted, fuck the logic of it all. you agreed after a moment of silence — everyone could act like adults for a couple hours, right?

the tree lighting ceremony which you attended after dinner was the real celebration anyways, friendsgiving was just the pregame. being on november twenty ninth, it was after thanksgiving yet far before christmas, a night that held the beloved tradition you’d created amongst the ten of you. for you and jeongin especially, but also for you, riley, and the other seven boys you’d grown to look at like siblings over the past three years.

last year it was hectic, especially trying to get anyone to try and cook in the massive kitchen of the loft. you and riley attempted a turkey even though the two of you had never cooked one – riley just helped her dad who reigned the kitchen all her life and your mother had kept herself in the kitchen for hours ignoring anyone’s attempt to help your whole life — just like she did with everything. always to herself, worried only about herself, not a single care for anyone around her, even her family.

you had no idea what it took to roast a turkey. you’d read tons of recipes, watched youtube videos, last year you really thought you had it in the bag. that was until you realized you hadn’t thawed the turkey properly… it did not cook in time for dinner, and you were not missing the tree lighting ceremony. you all feasted on side dishes instead, store bought and handmade (thanks to hyunjin and changbin), you had a plethora of options spread out across the entire kitchen and living room.

the tradition of the tree lighting ceremony was a big deal for your group. riley and chan hated the entire idea when it was initially discussed, the crowd, the volume, just being in manhattan in general — with the rest of you besides felix begging the two to go the next year, for the ceremony to be the one thing they bend their rules for, they agreed. they found it heartwarming after some thought to have something so special, an entire event just for your friend group, to celebrate your years of friendship despite the discomfort of it all. plus… yours and jeongin’s anniversary, the place where you’d started dating, the event that he asked you to be his girlfriend at two years ago.

you should be ecstatic, filled to the brim with excitement to spend today with your closest friends, your boyfriend. there was christmas music playing throughout the apartment, the four roommates had decorated the space with snowmen and fairy lights and mistletoe, the apartment was filled with every holiday-induced feeling: joy, love, laughter filling the air. this holiday was huge for you and your friend group, the most special one of them all, yet one issue stood tall for you. there was a massive elephant in the room and it was not the lifesize reindeer chan bought from an estate sale months ago.

you and jeongin weren’t exactly on good terms but you weren’t necessarily on bad terms, either. you hated gray, you hated in between, you hated whatever the fuck was between you right now. when you arrived, you’d received a happy two years with a kiss on the cheek, but no longer than a second of eye contact, no hug, no smile. you’d left last night after hours spent groveling damn near at his feet, begging for forgiveness for not putting him first, swearing to him that you’d change. he forgave you, but how much can be done with any actual proof of your efforts – any action?

only time would tell, and the real issue still stood – the one place where you couldn’t agree. in hindsight, it really was simple – but mingi’s words sat heavily in the back of your head.

you deserve better – more. if he doesn’t get it now, he never will.

the words rang in your head like a catchy commercial, a sing-song of dread that wrapped around your head like the soundtrack to a carousel. you agreed with him, it made sense – if jeongin doesn’t understand your schedule now, it will only get worse, if he can’t put himself in your shoes then why would you give him any more pieces of you? why are you beating around the bush if he’s not in it until the end, he said he wanted to marry you – but he can’t handle your schedule? the schedule that will just only get worse? mingi said it, hongjoong said it, it had to be the truth, coming from two people who have experienced this already.

does he listen to your songs, give you advice, tell you how good he thinks you are? did he push you to get an internship? does he give you advice about your schoolwork? does he even know you’re falling behind in school?

you still couldn’t see it clearly, this wasn’t black and white. the gray area you hated so much was how much you love him, how you know every single part of jeongin that makes him himself, every trait you’ve spent the past two years falling in love with. he knows the same about you, he’s your other half – and you’re arguing about a fucking schedule change? mingi said it himself, you spent too much time at the label already, you need to create boundaries. these people are your life, your best friends, your family… how are you going to give that up? it was fucking war in your mind.

“girl, you haven’t stirred the potatoes in at least three minutes, what’s good with you?” han came up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, putting his hands over yours that held the wooden spoon and the bowl, beckoning you to relax.

“jesus, ki, it’s not going to run away from you,” he continued, loosening up your fingers’ grip on the spoon. you let go of both the bowl and the spoon, then quickly wiped your hands on the bright pink apron you found in the pantry – felix’s.

“i’m sorry, i was distracted,” you shook your head, shaking him off of you, letting a controlled breath out from deep in your lungs. you didn’t know how long you were standing there, staring straight ahead, tight grip on the utensil.

“you okay?” he asked as you both turned to face each other, he moved to your side with his eyebrows furrowed, big doe eyes staring at you with concern.

“i’m fine,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, definitely not a convincing one, you hoped he didn’t notice. you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, letting out a forced chuckle, “no biggie, don’t worry. i’m just in my head.”

“i heard about you and jeongin,” han frowns, leaning his hip against the counter – there was fortunately no one else in the kitchen, everyone dispersed throughout the apartment, maybe out smoking on the rooftop.

“word travels fast, huh?” you gave another forced smile, turning your attention back to the potatoes, grabbing the spoon to keep stirring. it was a clear display of disinterest in the topic at hand, you hoped he’d drop it, but knowing him – he did not.

“with us? yeah,” he paused, racking his brain to figure out how to articulate himself properly, “i don’t think you guys have ever fought like this, but me and minho went through something similar the first time he had intensives – he was so exhausted he barely had time for me for a month, i nearly lost my fucking mind.”

you watched as tattooed fingers grip around the spoon a little harder, white knuckles a hard contrast against the deep wood, the digits not seeming much like yours anymore. “hanji, no offense but this is the last thing i want to hear–”

“you didn’t let me finish,” he put a hand on your shoulder, and your neck craned to see him, keeping your body facing the bowl. he had a weak smile, his eyes still filled with uncertainty, maybe a bit of apprehension as he spoke. “i expressed my concern and he changed. he made the time, when intensives were over he made sure to spend almost an entire week with me, nearly uninterrupted.”

a pit grew in your stomach, white hot rage bubbling up inside of you, “isn’t that beautiful? how kind he is to you, jisung.” sarcasm dripped from your words, a fake smile sitting on your cheeks, you could feel your ears turning red – somehow you gripped the spoon harder, wood threatening to snap under your grip.

“he fucking loves you, dude, he’s told us too many times, too many drunken nights spent up there saying i love ki i’m going to marry her,” han shrugged, turning away from you, walking around the marble island with his eyes trained on yours. last christmas flowed through the kitchen, the sweet melody of the song a harsh contradiction to the rage that consumed you, the song somehow making you angrier.

you continued stirring the side dish again, whipping the potatoes a little too aggressively as your blood pumped in your ears, “did he send you here to talk to me or something?”

“no, god no,” han shook his head, standing across from you, both of his arms stretched out across the island, leveling him as he stood at the counter that came just above his hips.

you snapped – you think it would’ve been better if jeongin had sent him. “so you’re just sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” your tone was just as harsh as your words – you could see han’s face twinge, his eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting to speak. you cut him off. “did he tell you he threatened to break up with me because i’m not sleeping with him enough?”

han stayed silent, shaking his head back and forth, those big doe eyes full of shock – you’ve never snapped at any of them before, never spoken with such anger. you needed air.

you took a breath before you spoke, calming your tone to ease both han and yourself, “i’m glad minho made you feel better and made more time for you after his intensives but my job is a little bit different,” you made a pinching motion with your fingers on your free hand, “i’m in a transitional period, that’s all. trying to figure out time for school and myself and jeongin, it’ll get better, we won’t break up. don’t worry.”

han nodded, not giving you much of a verbal answer, his eyes still full of worry and surprise. your head sank with your eyes shut tight, your patience was running thin – you were tired of talking about this, with jeongin, with riley, with mingi – now han? you dropped the spoon, let go of the bowl, then wiped your hands on your apron again.

“i’m sorry for snapping, hanji, i’m just stressed,” your words were choked, hands reaching to cup your makeup-covered cheeks, praying your cold palms would cool down the heat in your face. you left the kitchen in a hurry, not waiting for his answer, ignoring everyone in the living room, making a beeline for the back door. you raced up the steps to the rooftop, the cold november air slapping you across the face, pulling your anger from deep in your core right to the surface.

“you alright?” riley was quick to approach you, feet skipping in your direction from where she stood along the rooftop with chan, hyunjin and changbin. the white in her eyes had turned red, they were smaller, glossed over — they were definitely smoking.

you let the door shut behind you, letting your head fall back against the metal, letting a breath out from deep in your lungs. you were tired of this topic of conversation – jeongin wasn’t even around and you were still discussing the status of your relationship. tears quickly stemmed, traveling to the front of your face with a passion, dancing along your waterline.

“oh shit, what the hell happened? jeongin?” she asked, hands on your biceps with a concerned look, small eyes wide, searching yours for an answer. you lifted your index fingers under your eyes, trying to stop the tears from ruining your makeup, you didn’t need everyone to know what you were doing up here. you didn’t answer, you focused on steadying your breathing, trying to stop the breakdown before it really started.

you took another deep breath before answering, “i just snapped at hanji in the kitchen, he was talking to me about jeongin.”

the confession only made the tears fall quicker, they piled over your waterline, over your fingers, skipping over your digits and onto the ground beneath you. you tried not to cry cry, letting the tears fall but you kept your breathing steady, fighting not to break into a full out sob.

“why was he giving his two cents on your relationship?” riley scrunched up her face, rubbing your arms, “that’s not his place, your snap was valid.”

you bent forward, hands braced on your knees, keeping your face level to the ground – if tears were going to fall, better they fall directly to the ground.

“fuck,” you cursed under your breath, “i’m so over it, ri.”

riley moved to your side, her back against the door, rubbing small circles on your back. “you’re under a lot of stress dude, that’s perfectly understandable. you talked to jeongin at all today?”

you shook your head, “he kissed my cheek when i got here and said happy anniversary, but he’s been drinking with san and minho and the rest of them in the living room since.”

riley sucked in a breath through her teeth. “we’re both in trouble today,” her words were quiet, almost under her breath, no doubt so chan couldn’t hear. you took a pause, thinking about her words, then a laugh escaped your lips.

you both paused for a moment and you turned your head to look up to her, the both of you falling into giggles. you were in this together, in more ways than she knew.

christmas music continued to fill the air of the apartment, the lingering stench of skunk from your clothes mixed with the smell of the stuffed turkey cooking in the oven, you were feeling a million times better. chan approached you apprehensively on the rooftop, the joint in his hand, a peace offering to show you he wasn’t on either side nor in the middle. no, chan was a friend, and you needed as many of those as you could get right now. you took a hit to relax you, the weed filling your lungs was much better than the breaths you were forcing, the brief high grounded you.

you were able to head back to the kitchen, tears long gone, apron still tied with hyunjin following you around like a lost puppy. he didn’t approach you on the rooftop until you were smiling, your eyes red and slightly smaller, he let riley and chan whip you back into shape until he felt it was okay for him to take his turn to cheer you up. he stood with you at the stove, a pan full of vegetables in front of you, handing you each ingredient you asked for with a hushed giggle because the appearance of oregano was similar to what you’d just been smoking – “do you think seungmin keeps his stash here to hide it from the others?”

it was just oregano, that you knew, but you bursted into a fit of giggles anyway at the silliness of his question. if anyone could help your mind drift somewhere else, it was hyunjin.

riley and chan joined you in the kitchen, riley had picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and finished what you had started, mixing the bowl while her and chan giggled to themselves. changbin, yunho and aera lingered in the kitchen looking for snacks but ended up in a deep discussion about the history of EDM music. yunho glanced at you with a weary eye every few minutes, knowing exactly what was up even if you didn’t explicitly say it. knowing han, he probably told everyone in the apartment the second you ran up the stairs.

and still, jeongin has not spoken to you – hadn’t even glanced up from his spot on the couch when you returned from the rooftop.

“are there more millers in the fridge?” you turned around at the easily recognizable voice, riley looking up at the same time you turned. san stood in the empty space that was the entrance to the kitchen, empty bottle in his hand, looking around the room with raised eyebrows.

“yeah, man, in here,” yunho said from his spot next to changbin, the pair stood next to the stainless steel. yours and riley’s eyes both seemed to follow him from his spot all the way to the fridge, you cringed, the hairs on your arms threatening to stand tall.

it was so… uncomfortable. riley and chan have been harmonious all day, you’ve always known chan is a perfect gentleman but seeing him with riley was something else entirely. holding doors open, drinking from her straw, finishing her sentences, moving a stray hair from her face, it was so domestic – like they’d been together for years. to put yourself in san’s shoes, to watch her with someone else after he’d spent so much time with her was painful.

to make it all worse – san knew every single detail, but chan did not. riley probably felt how you did whenever mingi was on the rooftop – that feeling you knew all too well.

“don’t forget to stir, princess,” hyunjin said from beside you and it snapped you back into reality, you quickly moved the vegetables around on the pan, scooping the liquid from the pan and draping it over the vegetables. by the time they were done, you were tired of standing and your mouth was dry – the weed had done more than just calm you down. you quickly walked over to the fridge, past yunho, aera and changbin to crack open a beer for yourself.

“keeks,” changbin wandered over to the fridge, his voice hushed as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him. in a brown sweater that hugged every single muscle on his broad chest, he looked delectable. he put one arm up on the fridge, using it as leverage as he crossed one leg over the other, standing tall against the height of the fridge.

you raised your eyebrows, sipping your beer, prompting him to continue without a verbal response.

“about jeongin…” he started, looking everywhere but in your eyes, his voice soft but uneasy. your eyes shot wide – this cannot be fucking happening again.

“ah!” was yelled across the kitchen, a sound of annoyance, a sound that meant shut the fuck up. riley had a finger up in front of her, wiggling it back and forth – her eyes just as wide as yours but full of assertion. “we will not be doing that anymore tonight, get over here and cut up some butter.”

a wide smile racked across your face, your cheeks feeling sore at this point. god, you fucking loved that girl. you shot her a grateful look, nodding with a tight lipped smile, and made your way right back to hyunjin.

“...and that’s why i told you to keep your mouth shut about it, it’s none of our business,” minho said, his voice coming clearer as he walked into the kitchen right behind han.

everyone’s heads turned to look at the pair who stopped in their tracks, everyone’s expression utterly fucking blank. a laugh bubbled in your throat, one you couldn’t help from spilling out, one that filled the open space of the room that was just so uncomfortably silent. everyone’s heads turned to you, all sixteen eyes wide.

“should we sit in a circle and discuss it as a group at this point? someone call jeongin in here, too,” the words slipped from your lips so carelessly, irritation clear in your words, your entire body vibrating as you spoke. if everyone was going to talk about it amongst themselves, without the two people the situation was even about, fuck it – why not talk about it with everyone instead?

you couldn’t stub your toe without everyone knowing, it was the only negative part of your friend group, an aspect that wasn’t inherently negative all the time. here, today, on the most important day for everyone… it felt like your friends really fucking sucked.

jeongin’s head popped right around minho’s, copper curls a stark contrast to minho’s dark ones. his eyebrows were raised at the mention of his name, clearly not knowing at all what you guys were talking about.

“call me for what?” he asked as he made his way through the kitchen, no one moved an inch, eight pairs of eyes trained on his red tee as he made it to the fridge. “just need a beer,” he still had an eyebrow raised, and yet no one spoke a word. “why are you guys acting so fucking weird?”

everyone went back to what they were doing moments prior, as if nothing happened at all. you turned around, facing hyunjin again, hands immediately going to cool down your cheeks again. you whispered what the fuck under your breath about six times, then ran a hand through your hair.

hyunjin put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it before he whispered, “he’s gone now.” he looked around the kitchen before his eyes settled on changbin, then his eyes went wide, “oh shit, bin, please tell me you remembered the apple pie, i think we forgot it on the table.”

the turkey was ready on time this year – you were shocked. the air smelled so delicious, it was as if martha stewart herself came to this apartment and cooked you all a gourmet thanksgiving dinner. from all the barefoot contessa episodes of food network you’d been watching before bed the last week, you felt as if you really learned something, you couldn’t believe you planned out everything perfectly with ingredients, timing, the amount of food, everything. this had to be your and riley’s best work yet.

it wasn’t just you and riley in the kitchen all day — there was also felix, seungmin, yunho and aera when they arrived, changbin, hyunjin, wooyoung even came in the kitchen to whip up the cranberry sauce. from stuffing to sweet potato casserole, you felt like you were doing the true american thanksgiving, not only participating in it but you actually cooked a lot of it from scratch. if your parents knew, they’d be shocked, too, maybe even proud of you.

one more problem still remained: fitting fourteen people to sit down and eat it all. the apartment was massive, there was an incredible amount of space, the roommates fit tons of people on the rooftop every other weekend – but fitting them inside?

there was one dining table that seats six, eight if you brought over the lawn chairs from the rooftop, but that still left six people standing or in a whole other room. the open floor plan of the apartment made it so there weren’t really rooms, but the living room was still far enough from the dining room that it was awkward. last year, you all ended up standing, only seungmin and han sat down at the table – with just appetizers it didn’t give off the sit-down vibe. this year you had a display of food, the plates themselves took up most of the table space.

seungmin, felix, yunho, aera, han and minho were already seated – you left the other two seats up to hyunjin and changbin. that left riley, chan, san, wooyoung, jeongin and you in the kitchen, a terrible combination, probably the worst mix of people that could’ve ended up together.

wooyoung’s cheeks were bright red and his chest matched, his button down shirt that had three buttons left open exposed the amount of beers he had already consumed – also the fact that he was the only other person in the room that knew everything. he kept catching your eye, trying not to smile, but you could tell he was about to burst. you just prayed he kept it in.

“are we just gonna stand awkwardly around the table, or eat in here?” riley asked, her eyes continuously darting around the room. you could see in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks that matched wooyoung’s, she was feeling the same way as you were, discomfort, uneasy about what comes next. she kept shifting her weight from leg to leg, bouncing back and forth from each side of the island, cleaning up the area that had already been cleaned as best it could.

“it’s like the kid’s table,” wooyoung giggled to himself, “but instead of the kid’s table it’s the outcast island.”

you raised an eyebrow toward him, you were sure everyone did, your heart picking up a beat. maybe you were being paranoid – he wouldn’t expose anything, not here, not now.

“what do you mean?” jeongin asked from across the island – you hadn’t even pulled out plates for yourselves yet.

“this is a crazy group of people,” wooyoung shrugged, sipping the beer he held in his hands, chipped nail polish perfectly matching the frayed label of the bottle. san laughed from his side, turning around to face the fridge so no one caught his chuckle – everyone did. your heartbeat quickened, widening your eyes in a please shut up kind of way, and wooyoung just laughed as he caught your eye.

“why is it crazy?” chan asked, looking around the room before he bent down to riley’s ear and whispered way too fucking loud, “is he talking about jeongin and ki? i thought that topic was off limits for the rest of the night?”

your head went into your palm, eyes shut tight, muttering a jesus fucking christ under your breath.

riley looked around the room, completely ignoring chan, “you guys should go get some food.” she nudged chan’s side, her eyes saying that means you, too. she looked to you with wide eyes and used her head to nod toward the hallway leading towards jeongin and chan’s bedrooms, you gave one nod of your chin back in understanding, following her through the space of the apartment as the others left for the dining room.

“i can’t do this,” her voice was hushed, shaky and stressed. her eyes were wide, her hands sat on the sides of her head pushing her hair back, “chan and san both in the same room, i can’t do it. then wooyoung made that comment and san laughed? i’m freaking out, ki.”

“i know, i know, i’m sorry, breathe,” you kept your eye contact strong as you breathed with her, taking a soothing breath from all the way in your stomach before you continued, “i’ll tell wooyoung to shut the fuck up and stop being so obvious. i don’t know what’s going on, i’m sorry.”

“chan isn’t ready to date yet and i know that, i–” she shut her eyes, taking another deep breath, “this is the last place i want him to find out i’m still sleeping with san.”

“he doesn’t want to date yet?” your eyes were wide with surprise, you didn’t know this, you and riley still haven’t discussed the whole thing. she whined, a high pitched noise slipping from her lips, her hands immediately going back in her hair.

“he’s still freaked out about that eden girl who cheated on him,” she answered quickly, “but i’m not even mad because i can’t exactly let go of san, either.”

“oh shit, ri,” a laugh escaped your throat, “we really need to talk this shit out.”

“i know, but now isn’t the time or place,” she sighed, “now i’m panicking that his plan was to expose me or something by coming here.”

“i really don’t think san would do that,” you shook your head, your eyebrows furrowing. you couldn’t begin to understand how san felt, but knowing san, he wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone – it’s not in his character.

“then why would wooyoung say that? they’re playing with fire, ki, you heard them,” she was whisper-yelling now, her hand shooting out in the direction of the living room outside of the hallway.

“i do not think wooyoung and san would come here just to expose you to chan, ri,” you put your hands on her shoulders, “wooyoung wouldn’t do that to me and san wouldn’t do that to you.”

“i hope you’re right,” her eyes closed, a hand going through her hair again, “i can’t handle losing chan for this stupid of a fucking reason, i think if chan found out it would push him over the edge and he’d never trust a woman again. i need to end things with san – again.”

“i don’t think i was supposed to hear any of that.”

your heads whipped behind you, a figure stood at the end of the dim hallway, and the whole world went silent. chan stood with his jaw locked, his hands in fists at his sides, his eyes unreadable – you’d never seen chan anything but happy, maybe stressed during midterm and finals season, but never this. never anger.

“chan,” riley choked out, a hand clasping over her mouth, “i–”

he took a step closer, you felt so fucking small between them. you took a step back toward the wall, giving them space, removing yourself from their eyeview, from the situation entirely.

“i came over here to see if you were okay,” he hissed out with furrowed eyebrows, “did not expect to find out you’re fucking the guy that was just snickering in the fucking kitchen.”

“chan, i did not want you to find out this way,” riley started, and you side stepped, wanting to get out of the hallway – this was between them now. her eyes panned to you, wide and full of shock, fear, something else you couldn’t decipher. it meant please don’t go.

“you didn’t want me to find out at all,” he laughed, a sarcastic chuckle so dark you’d never heard anything like it leave his lips before.

“that’s not true,” riley shook her head, her voice small, “i’m so sorry.”

“i spent hours telling you how terrible she made me feel, how fucking awful it was finding out she cheated on me, i went in detail on what that did to me, ri,” his voice cracked, his shoulders slumped. chan wasn’t just angry – chan was sad.

his words stuck with you – your eyes couldn’t leave him. his words hit directly in your gut, your soul – chan and eden were together for something like six months? and her cheating on him affected him this much… guilt sat in your stomach.

“i know, i should’ve been honest from the start, i’m so sorry,” tears welled up in riley’s eyes, “i should’ve told you.”

“what goes on?” seungmin’s head peeked around the corner, eyeing the three of you, his eyes curious. you all turned to look at him and his eyes widened, “oh shit, what the hell happened?”

“riley’s been fucking san,” chan didn’t look at seungmin as he said it, he kept his eyes trained on riley as he spoke, his jaw locked again.

“come on, chan,” you interjected, “gonna let the whole house know?”

they both turned to you, riley’s eyes full of tears, chan’s pained expression told you that you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“why not? she did it,” he looked at you as if that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, his words still coming out choked. how could you forget? if one of them knows something, they all know it. seungmin, like a messenger pigeon, was gone from the hallway the second the words left chan’s lips.

you shut your eyes tight – this was so fucking bad. you didn’t know how you were going to go out there and face everyone after this, were you even going to make it to the tree lighting? you wouldn’t do it without riley, it was too important, she was the one who introduced you to them in the first place.

“i really thought you were it, ri. thought we were it,” chan shook his head, snapping you back into focus, and a sob left riley’s lips, her tears free falling now.

“you don’t even want to date me, chan, how were we it?” she asked through her sobs, a fire of her own starting to burn, her face increasingly more red as the conversation continued.

“i want to, i’m just not ready, it doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen,” his voice got louder, it was strained, full of frustration, the veins in his neck becoming more visible. he was trying to keep his own emotions to a minimum.

“and what, i’m just supposed to wait for you to get over it? wait for you to be sure about me?” the volume of her voice matched his, a sharp edge to it, she was getting pissed. a smile threatened to break on your face, that’s your riley.

“no, riley, what? there was no waiting, i– we’re together every fucking day. i just wasn’t ready for a title,” he was talking with his hands now, stumbling over his words. she caught him, she hit checkmate.

“if we’re together every day then we should’ve had a title, chan. if there’s no title then i’m single,” her smile was victorious through her tears, “if i’m single i can do as i please, right now i just want to eat the dinner i just spent hours making.”

with that, she maneuvered past him, grabbing your wrist to pull you through the end of the hallway. you stayed quiet – you didn’t know what to say other than what the fuck just happened? a sadness sat in your stomach, a mixture of the thought of riley going through all of this alone and the pain chan was feeling from not only eden but also riley sleeping with someone else.

you made your plates in silence, the dinner table eerily quiet as riley slammed food on her plate, not at all careful about hitting the metal spoons against the ceramic. makeup stained her cheeks in lines of tears, her sniffles the loudest thing in the room. you followed along quietly, your face blank, santa claus is coming to town by justin bieber lingering in the background, tension so painfully thick in the air the situation was almost laughable. almost. chan followed momentarily after, standing to the side with his jaw locked again, his eyes red and glossy. everyone already knew, but even if they didn’t, it was so fucking obvious what had just happened – you wanted to grab riley and make a run for it.

as she put a biscuit on her plate, she turned to the table and smiled, “should we all say what we’re thankful for?”

everyone stared at her for a moment before they nodded in agreement, small mumbles of ‘yes’ and ‘totally’ slipping through. you were on edge, you didn’t know how to handle her right now, didn’t know what she was thinking and that made you panic.

“i’ll go first,” she smiled, standing at the head of the table, the warm, dim lighting catching the streaks on her face that were still wet, “i’m thankful for being alive, being healthy, and especially thankful for choi san’s stroke game.”

you gasped, everyone fucking gasped, a snort left your nose. her face was blank, she was so serious, you glanced to chan whose gaze was so pointed at san you were grateful looks couldn’t kill.

“i’ll go next, then,” chan declared from his spot to the side of her, behind han, and everyone’s eyes moved together – this was so not good. “i’m thankful for my friends, my family, the meal, and i’m thankful to be single, not dating another fucking cheater.”

“cheater?” a laugh escaped riley’s lips, “we were never fucking dating!”

“ki, do something,” jeongin quietly said from beside you, when he got there you weren’t exactly sure. your face grew hot under his gaze, you hadn’t looked at him in the eyes in so long.

“ki can’t do anything,” san said from across the table, stood behind hyunjin and changbin, then sipped his beer casually. all of the blood drained from your face, you stayed quiet.

“can’t call out your friend for cheating when you’re a cheater yourself, right?” your world fucking stopped when the words left san’s lips. wooyoung turned to him with wide eyes, yunho’s head snapped up from the table. everyone else gasped again.

“i– what the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, your eyebrows furrowed. you looked to jeongin beside you who’s eyes wouldn’t leave san, the blood drained from your face, you couldn’t breathe. you needed to stay calm.

“continue,” jeongin’s chin jutted up to san, his voice entirely too natural. he didn’t seem stressed or upset at all. you glanced to riley who stared at you with wide eyes, her lips parted. you couldn’t read her.

“wooyoung and i are roommates, ki, you think i don’t know?” san laughed to himself, sipping his beer again. his stance was casual, one hand in his pocket and one hand wrapped around his beer as if he wasn’t ruining your life. riley was right about san coming here to expose, but she wasn’t right in who he was exposing.

“i didn’t tell him anything, whatever he’s about to say is a lie,” wooyoung’s words came out fast, rushed, shaky – a lie no one would believe.

“that night you spent in the studio with mingi? you know, your coworker?” san raised his eyebrows, his head cocked to the side, “come on, ki, i know you know what i’m talking about. you just told wooyoung on thursday.”

your breathing quickened, your face probably beat red with how much heat you were feeling. your reply came out just like wooyoung’s rebuttal, too quick, too shaky to be true, “you’re a liar.”

“no he’s not,” jeongin sipped his beer, “makes sense why you’re at the label so much then, huh? spending time with your other boyfriend?”

he finally looked at you – his eyes were cold as ice. so detached, so far away, there was no anger – there was just a wall. you could throw up everywhere.

“jeongin, he’s fucking lying–”

“you and yunho both, actually, i guess riley, too. bunch of cheaters,” san shook his head with a tsk, “aera, if you didn’t know, yunho cheated on his girlfriend of four years to be with you.”

aera turned to yunho with an eyebrow raised, “i knew it, that’s why we went to a hotel? you never had roommates, did you?”

you turned back to jeongin who’d already begun walking toward his bedroom, too much leisure in his step, too much calm compared to what you felt – you were going to be sick. mingi’s words hang in your head again.

you deserve better – more. if he doesn’t get it now, he never will.

“jeongin, please listen to me,” you pleaded, stomach hot, “san doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“then what is he talking about?” jeongin asked, his voice too casual, too cool. he stood in his doorway, the light of his bedroom dim behind him, the hallway even darker, he leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. maybe he believed you, maybe he wouldn’t believe san at all.

“i don’t know, nothing happened with me and mingi,” your shoulders were slumped, your face stoic. you placed the end of a piece of hair between your fingers, jeongin’s eyes immediately catching the action. a laugh escaped his lips.

“i knew it was some shit like this,” he ran a hand through his hair then shook his head, “please get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“jeongin, wait,” you moved closer, hand reaching to grab his forearm. he snatched it back, looking up to you with those cold, icy eyes once more.

“you don’t want to fucking be with me, ki. you don’t want a boyfriend. you want to be a producer, you want to go to shows, hangout with your record label friends, drink at bars in brooklyn on weeknights when you should be doing your fucking homework that i know you haven’t done in weeks, you want to be single. you need to be single.”

you stared at him, your lips parting to speak, but you had nothing to say. no words would come out, even after you willed them to, begged them to. there was nothing you could say to fix this – no words to use as a bandage, a splint, a cast, nothing to hold up a relationship that had already been utterly destroyed. there was no coming back from this.

you whimpered, a sound of despair, a sound that came from so deep in your chest you didn’t really know if it came from yourself. “i’m so sorry,” you whispered, tears welling up in your waterline, “i’m so fucking sorry.”

“have fun in LA, safe travels. delete my fucking number please,” he stepped back into his room, a fingers wrapped around his door. he paused, icy eyes meeting yours again, “i would’ve given you everything, you know that right? would’ve made you happy, done anything for you. i hope he can do that for you.”

he shut his bedroom door, his voice didn’t waiver once. you stood, facing his closed door, the dark wood staring at you, mocking you. the walls closed of the hallway closed in on you as you stared back, so many nights you’d spent behind that same door, in bed with him, playing games on his computer, watching tv, so much of your life you’d spent enclosed in the four walls of his bedroom. you’d miss it.

your eyes were trained on the floor as you walked back towards the living room, you thought maybe you were in shock – two years today. you really weren’t going to the tree lighting after all.

“ki,” riley whispered, immediately approaching you, wooyoung at her side.

“i didn’t know he was going to say all of that, i’m so fucking sorry. i thought we were just messing around in the kitchen, i didn’t know that would happen, i’m so sorry,” wooyoung was speaking fast and hushed, words only you and riley could hear. you looked up at him, then realizing your face was wet, tears you didn’t know you had spilled.

“we have to go,” you choked out, your eyes trained on the floor in front of you again. riley had gotten your bags from the living room, and you were on the sidewalk before you could process how you got there.

two years. he’s a middle child, he can sing, his favorite food is chicken, he hates beans. he was a child model, he’d be a preschool teacher if he wasn’t in school to write musicals. he loves ASMR, he loves watching mukbangs, his favorite color is pink, he loves quality time. he hates being touched by anyone else that isn’t you. you’d spent two years learning all of this, loving all of this – you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t think. you fucked up.

your phone was ringing, buzzing in your purse, you couldn’t answer it. you couldn’t even reach for it.

“hey yun, yeah we’re taking her home, i don’t know she hasn’t said a word. okay, meet us there,” wooyoung’s voice felt so far away, you could’ve sworn he was right next to you.

you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up.

i would’ve given you everything, you know that right? would’ve made you happy, done anything for you. i hope he can do that for you.

perm tags @chimivx 😙

#skz x reader #ateez x reader #jeongin x reader #jeongin angst #i.n skz #i.n angst #skz #stray kids #stray kids angst #skz angst #wooyoung x reader #choi san x reader #yunho x reader #han jisung x reader #hyunjin x reader

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raimispiderman · 5 hours ago

Note

Yeah, I feel that people have not engaged with this poll in good faith. Looking through the blog, it seems that people really seem to vote depending on what movies are fashionable at the time, so old Marvel blockbusters are right out.

But no, the Raimi Spider-Man movies don't hate women. The Raimi Spider-Man FANDOM (present company excepted) hates women, and I feel people are conflating the two.

In Raimi Spider-Man fandom, you can barely go a day without encountering a Reddit post or YouTube video calling Mary Jane a whore, a bitch, promiscuous and so on. It's frustrating as hell and I worry that the hatred for her bleeds into general perception of the character and makes people think she's badly written. But she's not, because here's the secret: MJ is promiscuous! It's a major part of her character in the films! She likes to be in relationships and, presumably, likes to have sex. Her comic book counterpart was much the same. In the movies MJ darts about from Flash to Harry to John to Peter to Harry again, never finding what she wants to help her overcome the abuse her father subjected on her. MJ is a messed-up, traumatized, self-centered, not always very nice person...

...and the film never judges her. Not once. She is a woman who has a lot of sex, who cheats, and yet at every turn the film demands she be treated with respect. (This, I feel, may be the exact reason why fandom hatred for her is so commonplace.)

The whole ending of the second movie is about Peter treating MJ with respect, in fact.

Norman/Green Goblin does not treat MJ with respect, and loudly implies she's a gold-digger and a whore during the Thanskgiving scene.

When Norman does that to MJ, we're meant to be on her side. The moment is about her and her feelings, not Peter. She tells Harry off for not standing up for her (even though he did!) and storms off. Her rage is validated.

I've always found it fascinating how the Raimi Spider-Mans keep Norman the same misogynist he was in the comics. Look, I made a whole gifset about it! When Norman makes a rape threat towards MJ later - and a rape threat is exactly what he made - that is the point of no return for him. He's punished with a blade through the crotch. (I resent massively that No Way Home walked back on Norman being a monster with or without the Goblin persona, but I suppose there's nothing I can do about that.)

MJ is not punished for cheating on Peter. When Peter pushes her and hurts her in Spider-Man 3, the audience is meant to be APPALLED. I mean, watch the scene!

youtube

But maybe don't read the comments.

Peter's hitting MJ is his lowest possible point, and he needs to redeem himself from that point on. Basically: all the male characters in Spider-Man are judged by the narrative when it comes to how they treat MJ.

Peter shoves MJ to the floor? Narrative's gonna make you work to redeem yourself for that one.

Harry grabs MJ by the throat while dosed up on goblin juice? Death. But redemptive death, because we like Harry.

Norman threatens to rape MJ? No penis or life for you.

Eddie/Venom sexually assaults MJ by web-slinging her out a taxi and commenting on her body? Deaaaaath. The Spider-Man films give absolutely no quarter to misogynists and this is all done via the character of MJ. She is the film's moral center - while also being a messy, selfish, impulsive gal. She's not pure. She's not innocent. She has a lot of sex. But Peter and the narrative hold her up as someone valued and important.

The Venom thing brings me to Gwen. Gwen also suffers misogyny (and sexual harassment) at the hands of Eddie. In Spider-Man 3 it's established that Eddie and Gwen went on one date and it didn't really go anywhere. They didn't have sex (Gwen is firm on this point) but Eddie feels entitled to sex from Gwen anyway. (Sorry, Venom fans. Spider-Man 3 is not easy on him). Eddie declares his intent to marry Gwen when she is not around and seems to be practically stalking her. But!

Gwen never once actually tells Eddie to go away. She's unaware of his true intentions towards her and when he approaches her with a camera at the Spider-Man festival, she smiles and poses. The closest she comes is telling Eddie "not tonight" about a date. But in the Raimi Spider-Man films (and this means a great deal to me) Gwen's lack of a firm no still actually means no. Eddie is still in the wrong for stalking her, and the narrative takes great pains to make this clear. Eddie never gets a redemption, and as soon as he starts talking about Gwen and MJ as if they're property, MJ drops a cinder block on his head.

This isn't even getting into Aunt May. Aunt May is frankly one of my very favorite things about the Spider-Man movies and if MJ is the moral center of the story, May is the beating heart. She's a support and mentor to Peter but the movies always make it clear that she has her own issues and problems to deal with. The movie doesn't shy away from her anger. She's allowed to be furious at Peter for his part in Ben's death, but I always thought the best scene with May is at the beginning of Spider-Man 2, when Peter refuses to take a few dollars from her and, just for a second, she absolutely loses her cool with him.

I would like to mention Ursula as well but this post is long enough already. I'll just say I love her and I love how they were able to cram plenty of characterization into her five minutes of screentime. For example, although she has a crush on Peter, she still encourages him to call MJ.

ANYWAY.

I feel like the result of this poll is a result of several things:

People mistaking depiction for endorsement. The Spider-Man movies depict A LOT of misogyny and sometimes this is done well and sometimes it isn't. For example, I do not think the attempted rape scene in Spider-Man 1 was done well, even though I guess it ties in well with the misogyny mini-arc that ends with Norman losing his knob. But hopefully this little essay explains why the movies don't support the views of their most misogynistic characters and actively go against them.

MJ being a really messy character. She's not always a good person and I think people mistake that for bad writing. Nope, she's just traumatized and difficult and (understandbly) selfish. That scene of her father screaming at her and calling her "trash" is in the movie for a reason. Her not being able to accept bad reviews of her acting because she hears them in her father's voice is also in the movie for a reason. Oh, you want more complex female characters? You couldn't even handle her!

The aforementioned misogyny of the fandom bleeding into public perception of the actual work (see also: Star Wars)

MJ needing to be rescued (sometimes from rapists) a lot. I've never thought a female character needing to be rescued a lot is sexist. Yeah, it would be cool if MJ grabbed a tire iron and defeated Norman in combat, but she's not that person. She's not a strong female character - she's a weak female character. And the narrative wants you to respect her anyway.

Spider-Man? (The Sam Raimi trilogy)

Spider-Man (Film Series, 2002)

Explain your reasoning in the tags!

#mary jane watson #gwen stacy #aunt may parker #meta #Youtube

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masterjedilenawrites · 1 day ago

Note

Hi!!! I listening to the Florence and the Machine song “girl with one eye” and it got me in a super angsty mood, and I had this idea that what if reader saves Rex from being tortured like a heroine and does the dramatic bridal carry and everything, instead of the usual reader being saved like a lot of fics end up writing in terms of super angst (absolutely no hate, I love those too) I just think it would be nice to see the reader being extremely capable!

You obviously do not have to write anything like this, I just had the idea and you are by far one of my favorite writers (my dyslexic ass cant write for shit)

Anyways, hope you have a wonderful day!

Saving Rex

Rex x reader | 4.4k words

Content: torture (not shown but discussed), injuries, general angst, reader with some physical strength/stamina, friends to lovers, hope and love prevail

Note: I'd really like to believe I could carry Rex down a flight of stairs if I needed to. Maybe I'll use that for motivation during my next workout 😝 (Also this got really emotional in some places, please don't hate me)

To say you were panicking was an understatement. Rex had never been this late to a rendezvous. And with comms jammed, there weren't many options to figure out what could be keeping him. It was one of your only nightmares coming true. Something happening to that noble, wonderful man you called a friend.

You paced restlessly between the walls of the bunker, an eye on the door at all times. Any noise, any howl of the wind or scrape of someone's boot on the concrete floor, made you twitch in alarm. You had never experienced the seconds ticking by so slowly. Kriff, where was he?

"You should get some rest."

While you watched the door, Anakin watched you. Normally he would tease over any emotion you showed for his Captain; no matter how much you tried to keep such feelings under wraps, the Jedi always seemed to sense the truth anyway. But now he put jokes aside and did what he could to quell your anxieties.

You only shook your head in response and continued your pacing.

Anakin sighed and fell back in his chair. The other men in the bunker were anxious, too. Even if he couldn't feel it, he could see it all around. Bouncing knees. Fiddling with random objects. Untouched food and unspoken words. No one was going to sleep, even though everyone needed it. It was going to be a long night. Unless Rex found his way back.

Anakin could admit he was worried for the clone, too. They had fought alongside each other for so long now, it didn't seem possible that there'd be a day where one of them was no longer standing. But what he couldn't admit, at least not to anyone else, was that he had a very bad feeling this time. He kept trying to reach out in the Force, find some trace of his comrade out there, and he kept coming back with an even worse feeling than before.

A sudden sound at the door caused everyone to sit up, tense and hopeful. Three knocks with a very specific rhythm. Someone from your team. You could barely breathe as you waited for Anakin to open the door.

Ahsoka hurried through, along with a gust of wind that fluttered some of the more lightweight objects around the room. Anakin quickly shut it behind her. You'd almost forgotten she had been out, too. Gone to look for Rex, help him get back. But she hadn't brought anyone back with her. Now you really couldn't breathe.

"What'd you find?" asked Anakin, noting the urgent expression on the young girl's face.

"They've taken him to the fortress across the south bridge. I followed a... trail," she quickly glanced over at you, omitting what the trail was composed of for your sake, though you could make an educated guess if you had to. "They have him in a tower. I couldn't get eyes on him, but... Well, I could hear him."

Her face screwed up in distress at the memory and everyone in the room knew exactly what she meant.

"Any way we can carry out an extraction?" asked Anakin.

"If not now, then when?" You marched forward, determined and resolute. You could breathe again, though just barely. "Nighttime. Storm. Now is the only time."

Anakin still looked to his padawan for confirmation. She'd seen the fortress and would know whether it was a risk worth taking, even for someone as dear to them as Rex.

To your satisfaction, Ahsoka didn't hesitate to nod quickly. "That's why I hurried back as fast as I could. I couldn't get to him on my own, but with a small team...."

"It'll have to be really small. We can't risk blowing our cover here," Anakin agreed and finally uncrossed his arms. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been holding himself this whole time. But now there was some hope, and all that was needed to reach it was a bit of daring action. Something he was never in short supply of, and something hew knew Rex wouldn't hesitate to do for him if the roles were reversed.

"You, me," you motioned to yourself and Anakin. "Ahsoka can keep guard here."

"And me," came a clone's voice by your side. All of them were intently listening to the conversation, and while any one of them would have been eager to volunteer to save their Captain, one knew he was needed more than any other. Kix.

"There may not be time to administer first aid on sight," Anakin cautioned.

Kix puffed himself up a bit. "I'll do what I can. You two focus on getting us out without a fuss."

Anakin smirked and you cast him a grateful smile of your own. This was not an ideal outcome, learning that Rex was in distress. But at least he wasn't dead yet, and you could work with that. Now his fate was in your hands. And with a burning fire in your heart, you knew you would save him.

- - -

Rex waited until the echoing of their footsteps was gone before allowing himself to collapse. His knees hit cold stone but the jolt was barely felt amongst the rest of the pain radiating throughout his body. He curled in on himself, arms gently folding around the worst of the injuries in his middle, and his head hung low in exhaustion.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take of this. He hated the thought, but it was true. An entire day of torment and torture, relentless and unforgiving. Even with all his training, this situation was proving difficult to bear.

There was only one thing keeping him alive, he was sure of it. You. The memories of your smile, your laughter, all the lovely things you somehow said at just the right times. The thought of you continuing on without ever knowing how he felt. You were strong and capable in your own right, but he still wanted to be there for you. To protect you. To love you.

Gods, how he loved you.

He couldn't be broken in this place. No, not before seeing you one more time. He would give you his heart, and then he could finally let go.

- - -

Your feet thunked against each step of the spiraling stone stairs. Anakin's and Kix's were not far behind. Only a few guards and droids had had to be taken care of thus far, done swiftly and discretely by the two soldiers while you focused on navigating through the labyrinth of the fortress to the tower that held Rex. But as soon as you'd reached the door leading upward, Anakin had voiced his unease. Worse was coming, he insisted. And if they proceeded, they'd be just as trapped in that tower as their Captain was.

You pushed forward without a second thought.

And they reluctantly followed.

You weren't dumb. You knew it was foolish to rush into an enemy's territory with no plan and no backup. You knew you could be condemning Rex with your impulsive actions rather than saving him. But somehow, those sensible thoughts were overwhelmed by a deep and desperate need to find him at any cost. If you could just see him, then everything would be okay.

Thunk, thunk, thunk. One step and then another and another. Your lungs heaved and your thighs burned but you kept climbing. You weren't sensitive to the Force, but you swear you could feel yourself getting closer to him.

The sudden sound of a lightsaber igniting behind you finally gave you pause. You stumbled on the next step as you slowed and turned. Anakin had stopped several steps below and was staring downward, waiting for something.

"What is it, sir?" Kix huffed beside him.

Anakin only held up a finger as if he were trying to listen. You were panting, too, and tried to hold in a breath so you could hear whatever he could. There was only the hum of a lightsaber and the wailing of the wind from the other side of stone walls.

And then suddenly there was pounding. The whole tower seemed to shake with the thunderous footsteps of soldiers making their way upward, blocking your only way back out. Anakin jerked his head toward you.

"Go. Find him. I'll push them back."

As Anakin rushed downward, Kix wavered in between. Rex would need his aid, but his aid would be worthless if they couldn't escape. He finally looked back at you, too.

"You've got this," he stated before raising his blaster and following General Skywalker.

You resumed your trek upward, your attention slipping back to its previous singular focus of finding Rex. Of seeing him again. Alive.

You finally reached the top of the tower and were met with a simple wooden door. Again, you knew you should slow down and think through a strategy. What if there were guards on the other side? What if their blades slipped because you startled them? But you couldn't help yourself. You'd come too far to not burst right through.

There were no guards. There were no blades. But there was, thankfully, distressingly, Rex.

He was slumped against the far wall. Motionless. You crossed the room with a few bounding strides and gently pulled him away from the wall.

You'd anticipated him being in bad shape, but not to this extent. His armor was stripped and the tattered clothes they had him in instead did nothing to hide his condition. Bruises along his arms. A sickly pallor to his skin. Dark circles beneath his eyes and cracks along his lips. His head swung toward you listlessly as you turned him. You quickly positioned his body against yours and your hand cradled his head in support.

"Rex," you coaxed, willing your voice to remain strong. Panic wouldn't help him like this. "Rex, it's okay. We're going to get you out of here. Okay?"

His eyelids fluttered but couldn't seem to stay open. He did turn toward your voice, and through a series of near-unintelligible mutters, you managed to make out your name.

"Yes," you smiled, moving your hand to cup the side of his head so you could run a soothing thumb along his cheek. "Yes, it's me. I'm here. I've got you. You're okay now."

He shifted his arms, and at first you thought he was ready to try standing. You made to move, too, but then noticed he was doing something else. He held his hand over his chest, on the side of his heart. And then slowly, his other hand reached out to rest onto your chest.

You shook your head at him, not understanding. Was he hurt there? Did they do something to his heart?

Then Rex's worn face contorted into what could only be a smile. A small but serene smile, like he'd finally found peace. The smile slowly slipped away and his body started to feel heavier in your arms.

Now you couldn't keep the panic at bay. It came out in full force, along with tears and desperate squeezing.

"No no no. Rex. Wake up, Rex. Please. You can rest soon but we have to leave first. Okay? We have to go now. Please."

You didn't know what to do beyond pleading and shaking him. He couldn't slip away now, not when you'd just gotten here. A part of you had hoped that maybe, just by seeing you, his spirits would lift. That you would be that little kickstart to his heart that'd help him keep going. But sadly, it seemed your fantasies of him returning your affections were only that. In reality, you could have been anybody coming to his rescue, and you'd be too late either way.

No. You shook yourself now. No, it didn't matter how he felt or didn't feel. You loved him. That fire in your heart was still burning, and you were going to get him out of here alive.

You carefully but swiftly got your legs back under you, still keeping Rex's body supported as you maneuvered each other into the right position. You weren't a soldier. You didn't have the same build as the clones. But damn if you weren't just as determined and capable. So with a deep, steadying breath, you heaved his body across your back. One of your arms wrapped around his closest leg, keeping it tight against your side as you reached across to grab at his arm. He was heavy, but secure, and you knew you could carry him this way for as long as it'd take to escape. And as an added bonus, you'd heard a soft grunt from him as he'd bent over your shoulders. He was still alive.

You wasted no time standing around with the extra weight. You were back out the door and heading down the stairs faster than you could register. One hand running along the wall for balance and the other firmly grasped on Rex's forearm. Your thighs had done the most work to get you up the stairs; now it was your knees taking the brunt of effort going down. In your mind you alternated between prayers for your joints and prayers for Rex's life.

The sounds of your steps were drowned by the reverberating sounds of combat. The echoes made it hard to tell their distance away as you continued your descent. You braced yourself for the inevitable, feeling more and more grateful the further you went without sight of any blaster fire. You estimated only a quarter of the way left by the time you met some of the carnage on the stairs. Sizzling metal and blaster marks on the walls. It was another several of floors of picking your way between it all before you then came across Kix and Anakin. They'd made good progress pushing the onslaught back.

You hovered just beyond their reach so as to keep Rex away from the crossfire. Anakin's lightsaber did most of the work to keep the enemy at a distance, though occasionally a shot would ricochet onto the wall by your head. But slowly and surely, you were all able to make it down to the next step. Lower and lower. Closer and closer to the end.

Eventually Kix was able to pause in his help and scurry up to check on Rex. He nodded at you when he confirmed a pulse but was just as unsuccessful as you in his efforts to get the Captain to wake.

"Dehydration, possible blood loss from these wounds here," the medic chattered, more to himself than anyone, as he dug through his pack. He tore open a bacta patch and slapped it across an oozing mess of scabs on Rex's shoulder and then handed you a stim while he continued to rummage.

You jabbed the stim into the back of Rex's thigh, thrilled that you managed to elicit another groan from him. Any sign of life was a good one at this point.

"Need me to take over?" Kix asked once he'd found a breathing mask and stood back up. You shook your head, already heading back down the stairs. Anakin had managed to get through a good amount more of the droids. Kix shrugged and then rushed ahead to continue laying down blaster fire.

The fight to escape took far longer than anyone would have wanted. Even once you'd made it out of the stuffy tower, there was the maze of hallways to run back through, and more enemies to fight along the way. All hopes of a stealthy rescue were long gone. It made you nervous, wondering if you'd be able to make it out at all, at this point. The further you moved into the open, the harder it was to keep fighting. If you were lucky enough to make it outside the fortress of droids, then you'd be surrounded by a storm. You were but a Jedi, a medic, and a civilian staff member carrying a near-unconscious soldier. The path forward was looking rather grim.

You eventually got yourselves into what seemed to be a supply closet. You knew there was a service door leading outside down one end of the hall, and the front entrance to the fortress itself was only around another corner as well. But you were flanked by droids on either side. Anakin kept the door to the closet open so he could continue to pick off the droids, while you were finally able to take a break from carrying Rex as Kix more properly tended to some of his injuries.

"How's he looking?" Anakin asked over his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. He was glad Rex was alive, but they were all running out of options. From his estimates, they'd either need to surrender and think through a better escape plan later, or barrel forward with a Hail Mary and hope for the best. Either option would be difficult with Rex in this state. If he was getting worse... if he wasn't going to make it... Anakin shuddered at the thought of having to make that call.

Kix didn't immediately answer. He'd removed the breathing mask which seemed to have sparked some energy back into Rex. He was groaning and huffing, clutching at his midsection and rolling his head back and forth restlessly. Kix tried getting his attention but the Captain only continued to fidget and groan.

"Was he like this when you found him?" Kix asked you.

"No, he was quieter. He knew who I was, though."

Kix motioned for you to come closer. "See if he'll respond to you again."

"Rex." You quickly saddled up by his side, ignoring the pain in your back and legs from crouching. "Rex, look at me. It's okay. Just breathe. You'll be okay."

Surprisingly, your voice seemed to work. Rex stilled, turning his head toward the sound. That weird little smile crept back on his face.

"Rex?"

He responded with your name, small and rasping, but clear all the same. You couldn't help but smile in return.

"Oh good, you are awake enough."

With lightning speed, Kix was back in view with a vial of... something. He tipped it into Rex's mouth and held his hand over to keep the Captain from spitting it back out. Rex sputtered and writhed against Kix's hand but eventually swallowed the liquid down with a hard, painful gulp. Rex's eyes had shot open in the process. They were red, but alert.

"It's okay," you tried soothing again. Rex relaxed against the wall he was propped against and locked his eyes with yours.

"You... came... for me?" he croaked out.

You nodded. For a second, you could have sworn tears were brimming in Rex's eyes. Maybe it was only the medicine.

"Hate to ruin the moment," Anakin called back out. The blaster fire from the hall had grown louder, closer. "But we're out of time here. Kix, anything in this closet we can fashion into a grenade?"

The medic scrambled up to look amongst the shelves.

"Rex, you able to stand? I need you both shooting blasters if you can manage it."

"I will try."

Rex was already trying to push himself off the wall. You wrapped an arm around his back and help hoist him up. His legs shook wildly from the sudden weight. You kept him leaning against you, one arm over your shoulder.

"It's okay, I've got you."

Rex smiled down at you, far too softly for what the situation allowed. You held his gaze with surprise.

Kix was pouring random bottles into each other, hoping they'd make the desired effect. Anakin was cursing as the droids drew nearer. Rex seemed to be trying to tell you something with his eyes. And just when you were about to suggest looking into the air vent situation of this place, there came a large and reverberating kaboom.

You all froze. Including the droids, who then appeared to have been given new orders as they neatly turned in the opposite direction and marched away. Something had happened by the entrance. After a few moments, you could hear their blasters firing again, along with the sounds of other weapons. Familiar weapons. Anakin grinned.

"Obi-Wan," he said before running after them.

You could've cried. Instead, you looked back up at Rex and smiled.

"Ready to go home?"

- - -

You hadn't left Rex's side for a second, much to Kix's chagrin. It was that much harder to heal a battered brother with a stubborn civvy sitting in the way. But, despite his many grumbling complaints, he still let you stay. He knew your heart. And Rex's. It'd be best for both of you to keep close, until you knew each other's.

Though when Rex did wake, you could barely get out one tearfully happy hello before seemingly everyone else on base came to his side, too.

"Thank the gods you're alive!"

"Glad you're okay, brother."

"Good to have you back."

"Can't keep a good man down."

Rex appreciated their words, he really did. He tried not to notice how silent you'd fallen amongst them. It was your words he wanted to hear most.

"How did we get out of there?" he instead asked Anakin. He remembered waking in a dark room, Kix shoving something down his throat, your voice as you sweetly called his name. Beyond that was a blur. He was pretty sure he'd passed out once he tried walking.

"I kept think about the storm," Ahsoka was the one to answer instead. "And how it would give them cover getting to the fortress. And then I thought if they happened to get caught, that'd provide just enough distraction for us to start with a good attack."

"And by us, she of course means the 212th," smirked Cody. Obi-Wan was busy sending word back to Coruscant on the mission, though they all owed it to the Jedi's decision to go looking for General Skywalker and the missing 501st. Without the added reinforcements, Ahsoka's plan wouldn't have stood a chance.

"We're just really glad you're alive, Rex," Ahsoka said softly.

"Yeah, we don't know what we would have done without you," said Anakin, though he was looking toward you as he said it. Everyone else followed his gaze, causing you to blush at the sudden attention.

"They carried you the whole way, you know," Anakin added, now directed toward Rex.

Rex's eyes grew wide, impressed.

"Don't you remember?" prompted Kix.

"I... remember you finding me," Rex told you. "In that cell. I remember feeling hope again."

Your ears were still hot from Anakin's obvious insinuations of your feelings, and now everyone was giving each other looks at Rex's words. You decided to deflect with some humor.

"Right before you tried to cop a feel," you smirked.

That did the trick. A chorus of salacious oohs and laughter rang through the rank of clones gathered. Fives went up and clapped Rex's shoulder, his bad one. Rex's wincing caused Kix to hastily shoo away Fives and everyone else making a ruckus. You remained, noticing that through it all, Rex had a blush rivaling your own.

"I... I didn't..." he stammered once most of his visitors had disappeared. Anakin gave you one last look before then coaxing Ahsoka to leave as well.

"It's okay," you reassured. "You were out of it."

"No, I wasn't, I... I was..." Rex huffed. He was having a hard time finding the right words. "Never mind, it's silly."

He fell back against the pillows with a sigh. You scooted your stool forward and rested your hands on the bedside.

"Please tell me, Rex. I feel like you've been trying to tell me something ever since I found you. But I was so focused on trying to keep you alive, I didn't understand. I'm sorry."

Rex smiled back at you, encouraged. "It's alright. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I would make it out alive. But I... well... I didn't want to let go without..." He paused, embarrassed again. This was going to sound ridiculous if you didn't feel the same.

"Without...?"

"Without giving you my heart first."

He looked at you hesitantly to find your lips had parted in surprise.

"I know. It was a silly thought--"

"No," you breathed. Your hands now slid from the blanket onto his. The memory of him in your arms, beaten and bruised, using what strength he had left to gesture between his heart and yours... you wished you'd understood then. You'd thought he hadn't cared for you in that way at all.

Rex's eyes watered along with yours as your hands clasped together and a newfound understanding settled in between.

"You can't ever disappear on me like that again," you said with a wobble in your voice. "Anakin's right, I don't know what I would have done without you. I... I love you too much to even think of it."

Rex brought your hands up to meet his lips. He kissed your knuckles softly.

"I love you, too. And... I think I'm going to need to reconsider some things, knowing that you love me back."

He gazed over your clasped hands and met the eyes of Anakin, on the other side of the medbay looking in on the other patients. He wasn't the only injured soldier from the mission. General Skywalker was a good man for checking on them, just as he would do once he could stand on his own feet again. The look he now shared with the Jedi was one of agreement. A lot had changed from this mission, and a lot would need to still change. Love, sometimes, took priority even in war. Anakin knew that better than most.

"I don't want you to--" you started to say as realization dawned. But Rex quickly shook his head.

"We have time to discuss it. Right now, just let me hold you."

You didn't need to be asked twice. Helping him carefully scoot over, you then slipped under the hospital blanket and tucked yourself in at his side. It felt right, like where you were always meant to be.

Your worst nightmare had played out in a harrowing day of panic and fear. And now your greatest dream was nestled at your side, safe and sound and alive. It had been a frightening price to pay, one you hoped you'd never have to spend again, but the heart you now held was surely a worthy reward.

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#star wars #the clone wars #captain rex #rex x reader #angst #rescue #reverse damsel in distress trope #january fics

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auraisereigh · 1 day ago

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"One chance"

chapter ten

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson reader Blurb: When finally reunited with her brother Star finds herself overwhelmed by the state he is in. wc: ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. Wounds/injury. Yelling, False accusations? Uses pronouns: she/her. i use Star as a nickname as y/n sounds weird, and i'm awful with names.

I am working on the requests you lovies put in but I'm currently extremely stressed and busy with school. ☆

Masterlist ☆ Dragon guide ☆ Star's story ☆ Empyrean guide ☆ Support me

I look at my brother for the first time in over than two months. He looks almost the same as before but he has visible bags under his eyes, and the way he's leaning against our father's throne is tense, like he's in pain.

Aethan pats my back before leaving us alone. The nauseousness is my stomach turns to pure relieve. He's alive.

"Xaden." I whisper. "Star." He responds but even his voice holds a note of pain.

I walk closer to him. I go to hug him but his hands keep me at a small distance. "Don't." He says. His voice is breaking. My worry skyrockets. "What's wrong?" I ask, my face twisted in worry. "Tell me." I urge. I need to know what's wrong, I need to help him.

"It's my back." He responds and his voice wavers as I see a tear fall. I frown and walk around him. I grab a hold of his shirt and the sweater he's wearing and slowly pull it up. I make sure to be gentle, what's on his back must hurt a lot of he's on the verge of crying. I never see my brother cry, the last time was when mom left.

When I lift the shirt and first see his back, I gasp, covering my mouth in shock. My body trembles, the sight overwhelming.

It's covered in cuts.

I lift his shirt up higher, almost to his neck. His entire back is covered in cuts. Some look fresh as if they were reopened, some actually look like they're healing. I lower his shirt carefully. i take a deep breath, calming my own emotions.

"How?" I whisper. "I made a deal to ensure the safety of all the rebellion children. At the age of Twenty we have to go into the Riders Quadrant. I took responsibility for all of them. If they do something that's against Navarre, my life is forfeit." He explains through the pain even though I can see he's trying to hide it.

Damn him. Damn his deal. This moron, I swear. For the love of the lord. What was going through his mind. Yeah sure, let me take responsibility for all those children.

"Each cut… it represents one child. All 107 of them." What? I blink, trying to get my mind to cooperate. "Who did it?" I ask, my voice cold. I have an idea, I just hope it isn't that person but deep down I know it is.

"General Sorrengail." He says. My mind turns to pure cold ice. "Get to the healers. Now." My voice leaves no room for discussion. "I'll find you after that." That's the last thing I say before I walk out the room, my anger visible on my face as I walk past by the assembly members.

I make up to the third floor. I don't even bother knocking, I just hope it's unlocked. I push the door open and slam it behind me.

Brennan flinches from the sound. "Your mother is a wretch. A cruel wretchful woman." I bite out as I restrain myself not to yell. He frowns and he gets up from where he sits on his desk chair. "What do you mean?" He ask softly. Why is he always that soft? Does he also think I'm that fragile that if you bite back I'll tremble and shatter?

"Your mother dragged a knife hundred and Seven times through my brothers back!" I scream but there's more pain in it than anything else. His hands go to my shoulders to ground me. "Don't touch me." I brush his hands off. "I didn't know, I swear." He assures me, letting go of me and giving me some space. "She burned down my home, my city, my people. She executed my father, my family. She cut into my brother a hundred and Seven times! For you! She did that for you. Her son, who she thinks is dead. She's willing to wipe my culture, my home off the map, for you! To avenge you. And for what? For a son who just ran away, who's not even dead." Most of it is pretty much true. All of this was not his intention, but it still happened.

"Why don't you go back, huh? Go home. To your mother. Tell her she did all of that for nothing. Tell her that Fen Riorson shot you with an arrow. Tell her you survived and that you didn't go home because you don't stand by what she does. By the lies she tells. And maybe, in one go, tell her that Fen's daughter is alive so she can come and kill me too." I yell the last part. I put all my pent up emotions in those words. I can feel my eyes glow their red hue.

I'm so tired. Of all this, every little thing that goes wrong pushes me into an even darker corner. Where there's good, bad usuals follows. When I want to open myself up to him, this stuff happens, which seems to backfire all the progress I had made to even get to the point of considering opening up to this man.

He takes a step back and my heart aches. Where there's good, bad follows, Xaden is back but now Brennan is further gone.

I take a step back myself, until I lean against the door I slammed not even five minutes ago. I slide down the door till I hit the ground. He also takes a seat on his chair again. We don't say anything for a while. It's just a quiet, tension filled room. But then Brennan speaks up.

"I didn't mean for any of it." He says quietly. "I didn't know what my mother would do when she'd found out I was....gone." He explains. "But she hurt you, in more than one way. And even if it's not my fault, you wanna take it out on someone, and the closets to her is me so that makes it understandable that you'd yell at me but do not think for a second that this is something I wanted." His voice is soft but he holds a stern tone at the end. That's fair, to defend himself.

I don't respond, I don't see the point. I've said what I wanted to say.

I sit drained on the floor, completly exhausted by emotion "yeah... Fair." I mumble. I don't even have the energy to argue with him anyway. He holds a fair point, none of this is his fault. All of this is weirdly connected in a way he could have never guessed was possible. Then why does it hurt so damn much? Why does it all have to hurt so much?

I grab the door handle to help me stand up. Once I stand I lean against it before standing back on my own legs now that they don't feel like jelly anymore. I rub my temple, a rough headache forming, my throat dry and aching from yelling.

I open the door when he speaks up. "Where are you going?" He asks, getting off his chair and walking to me. "I have to help my brother." I mumble, headache pounding.

"I know you do." He replies softly, putting a hand on my arm. "You don't trust me. Every time you try to something happens that makes you distant. Give me a chance to prove I can be trusted. One chance is all I ask." His voice is soft and pleading. "Why do you wanna know me? I'm not even that special." I question. What is it about me that he keeps trying to know me? "Because Naolin always said you were special. From what I heard you were an amazing friend to him and maybe that's what I want for us." He explains. I can hear the vulnerability in his voice.

"I'm not a good friend." I state, my voice drained. "One chance." He repeats, his eyes look straight in mine. Those same eyes that glowed red not that long ago. "One chance." I whisper.

His eyes light up at my whispered words. "Thank you." His words are sincere, genuine. "I'll come to your room. Friday night, then you can still get some time with your brother, is that okay?" I nod and something in my heart grows fuzzy at the thought of spending time with him.

"Okay, good. I'll see you then." He smiles. I manage to give him a small, genuine smile back.

☆

Taglist: @honethatty12 @smashee0789 @awkardnerd @randomperson1234sblog@bangtanxberm@hyperactive-bookworm-0 @littowl

#brennan x star #brennan sorrengail x reader #xaden riorson x reader #the empyrean #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #mira sorrengail #violet sorrengail #brennan sorrengail #fen riorson #garrick tavis x reader #bodhi durran #liam mairi #bodhi durran x reader #emprean story #xaden riorson

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alicefromwhichplanet · 2 days ago

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(For the kids)How do you feel being your parents’ child? What kind of person is your carrier/sire?

Skystrophe:

Oh, these questions are… unusual. (Look around anxiously) So am I allowed to say anything..? Will they watch this show…? Ok…

I wanna say that many bots say it’s lucky for me to have Optimus and Megatron as my parents… but the truth is, having them as parents really brings me a lot of pressure. It’s… not so easy to be the only child of two extraordinary people, and you know you’re not so extraordinary yourself. I mean, I am only “just ok” at many things they can easily do great. It’s just… I’m still trying to figure out.

My carrier is a very strong bot. By that, I mean he’s powerful, not only in battles and strategies, but in the will. I think there’s nothing in the world that can defeat him, or make him feel defeated. When he’s with us, he’s always happy, confident, full of energy. When sire feels unsure, he is there to boost his spirits. When I feel insecure, knowing that he is there for me, always makes me feel better.

My sire, on the other hand, is umm, stricter. I know he means well. He told me all about those stories of heroes and primes, and responsibility comes with strength. He’s a lovable bot, of course. And he’s gentle with me. It’s just, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way he talks. He makes me feel… nervous.

Jinglestorm:

Being my parents’ child, it’s a lot of fun! They both like to play, so I’ve got plenty of time playing with them. We go racing on the plains, have a picnic in the woods, or play chess and other board games at home. Oh! And they love video games too! We also play video games.

And my sire, he’s a wonderful bot. He’s fun, energetic. He talks a lot, which is sometimes a little bit annoying. Hmm. But he’s actually the decision maker in our house, kind of? Him and my carrier take turns being the brain. But because of my carrier’s “unstable” issue, sire did play the brain most of the time, though he sometimes came up with bad ideas and I had to stop him from dragging us all in.

My carrier is— very well known among us kids. The cool triple changer, the only one alive by now.* He is also not very stable, and we know that. Besides that, my carrier went through a lot in past wars. Sometimes he’s still haunted by his past ghosts. But he doesn’t need to worry, because I am always there for him.

*It’s my headcanon and part of the plots of Heroic Nonsense, where Blitzwing’s triple changer form came from a secret experiment project carried out by autobots. The project failed because most of the subjects suffered serious complications— they developed split personality disorders and became overly aggressive and easier to get killed in the battlefield. Blitzwing is the only survivor.

Clobber:

Hmm, I don’t know. I guess I’m lucky to be my parents’ child. I’m happy and comfortable living with them. My parents knew each other for very long before I was born. They have a tacit understanding that made everything simple. We three are quite alike as well.

My carrier is the brain of our family. It’s easy to tell. Sire even calls her “General” as a loving nickname. And also, she’s really my role model. Her talents go beyond military strategies. She has wisdom and courage to deal with a lot of trivial stuff as well. As for my sire, he’s more of a kind-hearted, good tempered bot. He cooks really well and takes all the gardening work. By that I mean, work like making a fishpond in our backyard. More delicate job like planting is done by me. I heard that they were notorious decepticon war machines in the past. I always imagine how badass they can be! But I don’t have the luck to witness that. All I got are two big bots fond of their own hobbies and get along well with the neighbors.

Just for the reminder:

Skystrophe— Megatron and Optimus’s son, Megatron is the carrier

Jinglestorm— Blitzwing and Bumblebee’s daughter, Blitzwing is the carrier

Clobber— Strika and Lugnut’s daughter, Strika is the carrier

More worldbuilding see my fanfic Old World, New World

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sufferu · 1 day ago

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What are Anastasia's feelings towards Subaru after what happens in the Omellas ficlet?

Frightened, angry, and VERY upset, but slowly cooling off after Wilhelm’s intervention successfully stripped him of his title. She does still sympathize with him a lot, but she just — needs a minute.

Her current concerns are twofold. The first is that Subaru now has a reputation that he Absolutely Cannot be expected to uphold, because being forced into this situation again would just be horrible. He’s not a knight anymore but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s out of the woods. She’s happy that Priestella is safe, but now everyone keeps praising Subaru for saving everyone and it ties her stomach into a knot whenever she hears them.

The second is — what’s gonna happen to Subaru NOW?

With the knighthood situation settled, there’s much less of an issue with him going back to the Emilia Camp, even if she’d insist on sending an ambassador or arranging frequent visits or the like to make sure that a Rem Situation doesn’t happen again — but Emilia needs space right now, and she honestly might not want Subaru near her anymore after All That because he just keeps getting hurt. So what do they do with him now?

Emilia SHOULD be the one making arrangements for Subaru’s living situation right now, but she’s honestly really fucked up at the moment and while she’s trying her best she’s having a lot of trouble. So Anastasia is the one who’s actually taking the lead in that regard to try and…figure something out. Subaru fell pretty ill after his duel due to the accumulated stress so he can’t really be consulted right now, so Anastasia is just making a list of possible options that he might be able to pick from once he’s better. Halibel would probably be willing to let him stay with him if she were to ask, she’s got some business deals that could allow her to give him a good leg up on getting his own Estate, Crusch has some trusted generals that she’d allow Subaru to stay with, there are a couple of esteemed mental asylums where nobles are sometimes sent to heal if they experience severe mental breaks (though that would require some background checks)…they’ve got options, but they’ve got to be careful.

(Anastasia is growing more and more worried about Emilia, really. She hadn’t really thought about it before, but Emilia didn’t really ask to be thrown into her position as a Royal Candidate either, did she?)

#ds!anastasia #ds!emilia #now that’s what I call a dogshow #my inbox

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itstobias149 · 1 day ago

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Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

#punch out #oc #soda popinski #little mac #character blog #punch out oc #Spotify

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