#this might be my favorite menorah night so far

[challahbeloved]

Sixth Night

[ghost-proofbaby]

wishing you a festive period that is kind to you. I think about 24hours eddie and reader constantly - all the things and occasions he would want to make up for, having missed out spending them with reader. you know how this time of year can feel very nostalgic and a time for guilt and reflection to creep in.. sigh - I know they’d both want to make up for it 🖤

thank you, nonnie <3 i am wishing you the very same.

it truly would be. something in the december air is just naturally laced with guilt and eddie would be so far from being immune to it.

the first holiday season would be the worst, as everyone in the group just knows what to get you for gifts, but he realizes he doesn't know as much as they do about you. he'd have to ask about your favorite show, your favorite movies, your favorite albums. he can't just casually buy you a cute pullover for your favorite franchise like robin has - he didn't even know that that had been your favorite franchise until she'd excitedly showed him. not only that, but then there's the aspect of not only hearing now about traditions set in stone between you and the others, but watching them set into motion. movie nights that were apparently your favorite part of the season, a specific flavor of coffee from your favorite coffee shop that was seasonal only and he'd never caught on to. regardless of the holiday you celebrate, he wouldn't know; he wouldn't know if you preferred white christmas lights or colored, he wouldn't know what day of the year you burn yule logs, he wouldn't know the story behind your menorah gifted to you in your youth that you treat as fragile as crumbling ashes. all the little things, all the big things, and he's just lost.

he might ignore you at first without meaning to. start to recede into himself, lash out when he doesn't mean it, pick arguments without knowing the root of his sour mood. but when you finally confront him? when the two of you do what you do best, and have a truthful conversation?

oh.

oh it all clicks into place for him.

"who cares if you know those things?" you'd ask with a scrunched nose, carrying over trying to extravagantly wrap argyle's gift in a fashion that the shape completely derails him from actually guessing what you had gotten him.

"i care," and god. he'd sound desperate. broken. and it'd make you look up, a bit shocked, not expecting to find a broken eddie munson looking back at you, "i... fuck, i care about those things. i should know those things. if i hadn't been such a dick, i would know tho-"

and you'd interrupt him, so quickly, so fierce to stop him from going down that pathway, "parks and recreation."

he'd stand there so confused, blank face that slowly contorts into sheer befuddlement. "what?"

"my favorite show," you'd double down, "parks and rec. i also have a soft spot for gilmore girls, if we're keeping score. don't tell steve though. he spent weeks trying to convince me to secretly watch it with him, only to go and watch it with some chick he met on an app, so to get revenge i was hate watching it only to end up loving it."

and in one clean sweep, you've managed to accomplish two things he'd yearned for: knowledge of a basic fact, and a secret just between you two.

from there, it just avalanches.

you do away with the gift for now, giving him your full attention, sitting on the floor of the apartment and exchanging all those missed details. he tells you stories about holidays with wayne, you finally explain that god awful pair of faux diamond earrings you never wear but will never, ever get rid of. the two of you talk about the gifts you've wanted in the past but never received. talk about the favorite gifts you've been given. your favorite year for the holidays, when you were children and the magic was still there. maybe you let it slip how you miss that magic; the feeling of being a little kid and everything being more about the love and electricity in the air rather than the stress and pressure of the holidays.

"i want to wake up on christmas morning," you'd say, leaning back your head wistfully against the couch you'd sat up in front of, "and for it to feel like the movies again. you know? being giddy and oblivious and- i don't know. is that stupid?"

he'd shake his head, smiling softly, sharing that same sentiment.

"no, i get it. just... missing the magic."

naturally, eddie goes out of his way to give you the greatest gift of all - somehow, against all odds, he'd bring back the magic.

small things. when you bring up wanting to go out and see lights on the neighborhood lights, he's bundling you up in one of his sweaters and loading the two of you onto his bike to go slow crawl through the twinkling streets. even gives you his only pair of riding gloves, despite his hands freezing to the point of cherry red, just to let you enjoy it all comfortably. when there's a baking recipe you're interested in, he buys the ingredients on his way home, and you get so excited you cancel plans with the group to stay in with him and fail at it miserably. flour across both your cheeks, but it doesn't matter, because you're too busy laughing to notice the imperfections. you both try to say that milk helps the burnt cookies - it doesn't, but the softness in his eyes when he watches you embarrassingly snort on your glass at how terrible the taste is does. more home-cooked meals than the two of you have had in years, some tasting as divine as you remembered, and others being put away in a "better left alone" envelope.

in the end, it doesn't matter that robin was the one to get you the pullover, or that steve has tasted your family's 'award-winning' pie recipe before him. eddie's the one making you laugh as the clock strikes midnight, scolding you about being quiet or else the elves or some shit will hear you, as you just cackle louder and smack his chest, shutting him up with a kiss.

december air is a little bit sweeter after that year. a little less guilty, and a little bit more magical.

[phillipdiffy]

i love mean girl characters too. are there any other disney channel mean girls you like? what about other character archetypes? also i hope you've been having a good hanukkah so far! have you done anything special? - 🤶

sharpay is definitely a favorite, she's iconic.

I really like pacifica from gravity falls too!

I also really like the himbo characters a lot lol. launchpad, ethan craft, and pj duncan might be favorites there (london gets a shoutout as honorary herbo lol)

hanukkah has been good so far! we haven't really done anything special this yeah, just my family lighting the menorah each night. my mom did make latkes though and they were good

[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

[wannaliveattheholidayinn]

First lines

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have fewer than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag some people to take part.

thanks for the tag @janelevy!!!

1. Tandy froze for one minute before she robotically handed the badge over.

there's a land that is fairer than day, and by faith we can see it afar (we shall meet on that beautiful shore, in the sweet by and by) (cloak and dagger, tandy/tyrone)

2. Katy was twenty-nine when she had her first baby.

(all i need darling) is a life in your shape (shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings, katy/shangqi)

3. Shaun just stared at her.

Impact and Icepacks (shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings, katy/shangqi)

4. Alas, i has't not yet hath reached this mitely town ms. Bennet hast toldeth me of.

Take My Hand (Wreck My Plans) (zoey's extraordinary playlist, tobin/leif + zoey/simon + rose/max)

5. Peter Parker comes in every Tuesday and Thursday.

you can hear it in the silence (you remember it all too well) (spiderman: no way home, michelle "mj"/peter)

6. She hadn’t thought about how uncomfortable the job might make her.

(the holy) or the broken, Hallelujah (evil, kristen & david & ben)

7. "Move your butt, I’m making latkes!" Ellie said when she entered the house.

Day 8 - Latkes (third shift society, ellie/ichabod)

8. Luz had been nervous to approach Eda about the matter, that by the time she decided to bring it up, it was day seven, and it felt too late.

Day 7 - Family (the owl house, luz & eda & king)

9. Rory had to say, that despite not really understanding anything that was happening, she was having a pretty fun time.

Day 6 - Sufganiyot (gilmore girls, paris & rory)

10. Natasha stared at the small flames in front of her.

Day 5 - Flames (mcu, steve/&natasha)

11. "Earth to Jessicaaaaaa."

Day 4 - Menorah (marble hornets, jessica & tim)

12. "Hey, Mom? How come we don’t celebrate Hanukkah or Kwanzaa?" Lynn asked after school one day.

Day 3 - Celebrate (evil, kristen & lynn)

13. "Stan, we have a message from Mabel and Dipper," Ford said one night, lying on the twin bed across from him.

Day 2 - Candles (gravity falls, ford & stan)

14. "Hey. Hey. Earth to Simon. Whatcha doing?"

Day 1 - Wax (zoey's extraordinary playlist, zoey & max & simon)

15. Introduction: The following clips are raw footage excerpts from Leif Donnelly.

"burn them" (was there ever anything more than your lies) (marble hornets & zoey's extraordinary playlist fusion, tobin batra)

16. Sylvie had never wanted to shoot the messenger as much in the seconds after she found out she was playing Juliet.

whisper low, kiss me sweet (and we’ll go) (loki & mcu, sylvie/loki)

17. The thing was, Maya was surprised Josh didn’t see through the bullshit.

one thing leads to another, too late to run for cover (girl meets world, riley/maya + maya/&zay)

18. Most would probably think a marriage, one kid, and a divorce later might make her pause, not start immediately looking for love.

so near and yet so far from me (reaching for the moon and you) (zoey's extraordinary playlist, zoey/tatiana)

19. "They’re dating."

the right or a clue (I wouldn’t know if I knew) (mcu & loki, young avengers + sylvie/loki)

20. Sylvie gave him a once over.

an indentation in the shape of you (your mark on me, a golden tattoo) (loki, sylvie/loki)

I'm not a particularly large fan of any of these, they are all rather bland, however if I was told to choose, i'd probably pick #6, 15, 16, or 17. i just think they draw you in the most or kinda let the character shine through. Maybe, maybe not, but idk, i like them the most. as for patterns,,, i really like song titles as lyrics, and the only reason eight of these have "day __" there is bc i decided to do Chanukah fics. also, all my opening sentences tend to be very expository.

tagging @swinging-stars-from-satellites, @ingridgradient, @myheartissetinmotion + anyone else who wants to participate! obviously, no pressure to participate if you don't want to! 💗💗

[and-then-the-trash]

Judaism and Animal Crossing

YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE JEWISH TO READ THIS, IN FACT, PLEASE READ REGARDLESS OF WHETHER YOU’RE JEWISH OR NOT

i’m going somewhere with this i swear

actually probably multiple places because i’m ADHD and don’t often stay on just one thought but like,,,bear with me here

OK SO i am Jewish, ya know? like, i was raised in a conservative Jewish household, my mom and dad both come from Jewish families, i attended religious school at my synagogue twice a week in K-7th grade, i had a Bat Mitzvah, i went through confirmation class (though still haven’t technically been confirmed because of covid), i participate in Jewish youth group events and activities and even hold leadership positions in both my chapter and my region. most importantly, i believe in many of the stories and traditions of Judaism and consider these aspects of my life to be very important to me. i am a Jew.

i care about representation. i feel a bit left out during this time of year when i go out to a shopping center or really just anywhere in public, and i see Christmas wreaths and decorations and lights on every streetlamp, every building, every store. last night, my family went to help light the electric menorah that stands on the lawn of our local courthouse, and i commented on how there was a large Christmas tree, a scene of cardboard cutouts depicting the birth of Jesus, wreathes all around on the fence and gate surrounding the courthouse, and a Santa decoration standing right next to the menorah that was as large as the simple electric menorah that stood overshadowed by what was around it. Chanukah lasts for 8 nights. Christmas is one day, but it lasts for over a month. 

this is going somewhere i swear. i’m gonna get to Animal Crossing.

the abundance of Christmas decorations and media and representation doesn’t surprise me; it never has. i expect it. expecting it doesn’t mean i’m not still disappointed when someone puts out a single tiny menorah next to a large Christmas tree and thinks that that’s representation. 

i like to play Animal Crossing, specifically Animal Crossing New Horizons, though i did use to play New Leaf back when i had a DS. i like to participate in the festive days and celebrations and events in Animal Crossing. i participated in the festivities of Bunny Day earlier this year, though i’m still not really sure why, and that’s part of what this whole rant is about. Animal Crossing calls December 25th Toy Day, and leading up to it there are wreathes and festive decorations and announcements and twinkling lights. today, as i was playing, one of my islanders gifted me a Festive Wreathe and told me that they thought “everyone should have one of these during this season”. 

i am a Jew. i celebrate Chanukah with my family every year. we light a menorah every night and we play dreidel and we fry latkes and we exchange presents. on Christmas, we do what many Jews in America do and we go to the movies and eat American Chinese food, sometimes even driving a few hours out to get kosher Chinese food so that i can eat something other than vegetarian lo mein, since i’m the only one in my family that still keeps kosher. i am saddened by the fact that i have yet to see any kind of Chanukah-like decoration or festivities in Animal Crossing. the holiday means Festival of Lights, something that i think would be a great name for a celebration in the Animal Crossing world!

so after all of this, can someone tell me why it is that i still want to display this festive wreathe that my islander gave me? why i bought a festive tree and fireplace back on my old copy of Animal Crossing New Leaf years ago? why i want to shake the pine trees that are draped in colored, twinkling lights, and find ornaments and craft the ornament wreathe DIY that Isabelle sent me?

i take pride in my Judaism. i tell others who are interested about my culture and my religion and what i know about the history and stories of my people, and i answer the questions they ask, and the ones i don’t know the answers to i ask my rabbi or my uncle who is also a rabbi. i share my traditions with others, inviting non-Jewish friends to come eat in my Sukkah during Sukkot, and play dreidel with me during Chanukah, and join my family’s seder during Pesach. i talk all the time about how much i want to be seen and represented and not be constantly overshadowed by Christianity. and i know that my religion is FAR from the only one to be overshadowed in this way. i know that Chanukah gets more attention than many other holidays and festivities of other religions, and Judaism gets more representation in the media than many other religions. 

so why do i still want to participate in this same thing that i complain about once it’s brought into one of my favorite video games. am i becoming part of the same problem that i so badly wished could be fixed here in America? am i being brainwashed into thinking that as long as it “isn’t too religious” it should be fine, even though i know that it’s a tradition that stems from a specific religious holiday that isn’t mine? why do i want to participate while also wishing there was a menorah shining through the window of my ACNH house? 

i know this is long and anyone who might’ve started it probably stopped reading by now, but if you made it to the end and might have answers as to why i want to participate in the game’s festivities and whether that’s okay or makes me part of the problem, please comment or reblog and tell me because i legitimately want to know. if you don’t have answers but think someone else might, please ask them or reblog or do SOMETHING because this is eating away inside of me. 

i don’t want to abandon my beliefs and values because of a game, and i don’t want to feel like an event in a game is making me abandon those beliefs and values. i just want to be seen.

[flowerfan2]

We’re getting close to the end, folks!  Chapter 17 of 20 is up.  This one features some cuddles/comfort, a trip to NYC, a sparkling holiday party, and a romantic dance.  Enjoy!

David x Patrick, A03, 5k this chapter.

Chapter 17

David is sitting outside on the lanai, drinking his coffee and ignoring Alexis’ texts.  He doesn’t know how to answer her question.  He’s not sure why she thinks that texting him about the same thing over and over will make any difference, when he clearly told her, three days ago, to stop bothering him about it.

The problem is that he’s running out of time to make a decision, although in a way that’s a decision in itself.  He knows that the adult thing to do is to talk to Patrick about it, but if a little more time goes by, he won’t have to.

It’s only a few days away from one of his family’s most honored traditions, their annual holiday party, which has now become the Rose Motel Group holiday party.  This year, it’s at a trendy club in New York City, and it promises to be even more spectacular than ever.  David is expected to attend, whether he’s working remotely in Florida or not.

Of course, his parents would understand if he didn’t come… but he’ll pay the price, he knows it.  His father will have that sad look of disappointment, and his mother will be hurt, but hide it under fancy words and an extra ridiculous outfit.  And he really can’t stand the thought of upsetting Alexis.

It’s not only guilt, either.  David misses his family.  For better or worse, they have continued to be close since their days in Schitt’s Creek, and it’s not all due to concern about David’s mental health.  David genuinely enjoys their company, most of the time, and he’s come to rely on them.  Especially Alexis.

David had managed to put the holiday party completely out of his mind until Alexis started texting him about it.  Apparently his father finally caught on to the fact that he hadn’t committed, and put her on the case.  It’s been easy not to think about it, or anything to do with his old, sad, non-Patrick life, here in sunny Florida where the Christmas decorations look wildly out of place on the palm trees.  Even Patrick’s thoughtful gift of a menorah hadn’t overcome David’s willful not-thinking-about the holidays, annual festivities included.

He’s so happy here, with Patrick and no one else, in their bubble of suburban domesticity.  They pretty much do whatever they want, no one stopping in to put demands on them, no one asking questions.  Sure, they spend some time working during the day, but they’re never more than a few feet apart, unless one of them leaves the house to run a quick errand.  It’s not very realistic, and it might well have backfired, but so far it hasn’t.

Frankly David finds it comforting that Patrick is here, safe from all the demons that have been troubling him.  Although now he has to rewrite that story a bit, seeing as Marcy’s heath scare happened here in Florida.  But at least Patrick is far away from the site of his employment melt-down and his ill-fated night on the town with his cousin, cocooned in this little bubble where David can keep a close eye on him.

He worries about Patrick.  Over the past few weeks the Patrick he used to know is making his appearance more and more, but he’s still not the same.  Almost worse than the quiet sadness he sees in his eyes when he thinks David isn’t looking is the tentative surprise he shows when something goes right.  

It’s ironic, David thinks, that now, more than three years after their break-up, Patrick is the more damaged one.  It’s not what he ever imagined, when he thought about their future.  In the hazy mist of his imagination, Patrick was always and forever steady, guiding David through the stormy waters of his turbulent life.  (David acknowledges that his imagination is prone to purple prose.)  But life didn’t turn out that way, and he can only thank the universe that fate and shitty weather in Milwaukee brought them together again.  

David finishes his coffee and goes into the house, toeing off his shoes just inside the door.  He makes a cup of deliciously scented jasmine tea for Patrick, and heads back into the bedroom.

Patrick is still in bed, curled up in a ball with the duvet almost covering his face.  He hadn’t wanted to get up when the alarm went off, muttering to David that he didn’t have to do any work until the afternoon, and burrowing back down into the blankets.

David puts the tea down on the nightstand and slides under the covers, spooning up against Patrick’s back.  He moves slowly, trying to gauge whether his presence is welcome or not.  He knows Patrick isn’t actually asleep – his eyes flickered open when David entered the room.  The fact that he’s still in bed despite this isn’t a tremendously good sign, but David knows all too well how sometimes just getting out of bed can seem overwhelming.

To an outsider, he thinks that Patrick probably seems fine.  He is taking care of himself, doing what needs to be done in the house, and even starting a new job.  He gives the impression to others that he is completely in control, friendly and capable – and David thinks that more and more, it’s not a façade.  But David sees these moments, too, when it’s all just too much.

He curls his hand around Patrick’s arm, gently.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “I brought you some tea, if you want it.”

No reaction.

“Or you can just nap for a while.”

Patrick stirs, inching back towards David.  

“Okay if I nap too?”  David asks.

Patrick takes David’s hand and pulls it to his own chest, tucking his arm around David’s.  David can feel Patrick’s heartbeat against his palm.  

“Mmm.”  David presses a kiss to the back of Patrick’s neck.  “Sweet dreams, baby.”  David closes his eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of Patrick’s skin.  There are a lot worse things to do than cuddle his boyfriend through a difficult morning.  David can handle this.  He’s starting to think there’s quite a lot he can handle, when it comes to Patrick.

He knows Patrick was up late last night, going down rabbit holes on the web.  At some point David had woken up and peered at the screen of Patrick’s laptop, so he knows he was reading about depression.  He hopes it helped.  The internet can be a scary place; he’d probably be better off talking to someone.  David would talk to him about it, if he let him, but ever since their first few conversations Patrick hasn’t wanted to discuss it.  

David has almost fallen asleep when Patrick turns over and squints his eyes open.  

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he says, blinking at David.

The sentence seems to carry more weight than he intended, and David shakes his head and puts his arm around Patrick, pulling him close.  “I’m not going anywhere.”  David shifts on to his back, and Patrick tucks himself against David’s chest.

“You have work.”  It’s a half-hearted protest at best, mumbled against David’s sweater.

“I already told Rory to move my meetings to the afternoon.  I’m fine.”  David presses a kiss to Patrick’s head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.  It’s a perfect day for sleeping in.”

Patrick is quiet, while David rubs his back and shuffles closer until they are entwined just right, legs and knees and arms all pressed together.  

After a few minutes David feels Patrick’s breath slow, and his hold on David relaxes.  He’s about to drift off himself, when Patrick jerks himself awake again.

“You okay, honey?”

Patrick nods, his chin digging into David.  “Yeah.  Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.  It’s all right.”  David strokes Patrick’s shoulder and back, making lazy circles, hoping it will help.  

“Thank you,” Patrick whispers, his hand flat against David’s stomach.  It’s the last thing David hears before he falls asleep.

When David wakes up, Patrick is gone, but the shower is running so there’s not much of a question as to where he went.  David drags himself upright and checks his phone.  Rory has indeed moved his meetings, one to this afternoon, one to tomorrow, and one he had taken care of all by himself.  Maybe there won’t be coal in his Christmas stocking after all.

David is in the kitchen sniffing various take-out containers to figure out if he can stand eating any of them for lunch, when Patrick shows up.  He’s wide awake and smells delightfully like David’s favorite body wash, so naturally David has to kiss him before anything else.  When they separate, Patrick is smiling sweetly at him, and David feels his whole body light up.  If there’s something better than Patrick’s fond attention, he has yet to discover it.

Patrick insists on making lunch, and they pull together a salad with some bagged lettuce, leftover grilled chicken and an overlooked cucumber.

“We have got to get something better for dinner,” David says, as they lean against the kitchen island and eat their food.  

“There’s an Italian place in a new shopping center that I haven’t tried yet, but it looks good.”  Patrick sends David the link to the restaurant’s menu, and David is checking out their desserts (they have cannoli, which is a definite mark in their favor), when Patrick’s phone chirps several times in a row.

“David?”

“Hm?”

“Why does Alexis want my measurements?”

David freezes, his good mood draining out of him.  “What?”

“Alexis wants to know my-”

David yanks the phone out of his hand.  “Let me see.”  He scans the messages.  The party isn’t directly mentioned, but there’s no getting out of it now.  He’s going to kill Alexis for pulling this shit and going around him.  “I can explain.”

“Okay, go ahead.”  Patrick takes a bite of his salad, then looks up at David.  “What’s going on?”

Time to bite the bullet.  “This Saturday night is the RMG holiday party.”

“Okay…”

“And my parents want me to come.”

Patrick looks… disappointed.  “Oh.”

David realizes his mistake instantly.  “Us – they want <i>us</i> to come.  But – you don’t have to.  I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“Do you want me to?”

David stands up from his chair and paces, to the patio and back, wishing it wasn’t raining so he could go outside and pace there too.  

“David?  Is that a hard question?”  Patrick is standing now, too, and there’s a tinge of anger in his tone.

“I don’t want you to feel like you <i>have</i> to come,” David says, coming towards him and gripping his arms. “I don’t want to rock the boat.  We’re good here.  There’s no reason to risk it.”

“To risk what?”  Now Patrick just sounds confused.

“Anything.”  David tilts his head back.  “I know I sound crazy, that’s why I didn’t bring this up.”

Patrick pulls them towards the couch, and they sit down.  David leans his head in his hands.

“David. Tell me what’s really going on.”

He sighs.  “What if you don’t like it?”

“The party?”

David looks up and rolls his eyes at him.  “No, not the party.  What if you’re mad, about why I didn’t say anything?”

“I don’t mean to dismiss your concerns, David, but you might be overthinking things.  Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Fine.”  David straightens his shoulders and looks at Patrick.  “I like being here with you. I like the <i>us</i> we have.  I don’t want anything to mess that up.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent,” Patrick says, winding his fingers through David’s.  “Go on.”

“I don’t want to go to New York without you, and have people… talk at me about it.  Put thoughts in my head, about how it might not work.  And I don’t want you to come and have the same thing happen.”

“So, you’re afraid that if we leave here, and see anyone else, they’ll be able to convince us that what we have isn’t going to last?”

“All right, all right, I know that’s silly.”  David squeezes his eyes shut.  “Also I don’t want you to get upset.”

There’s a pause, and when Patrick speaks, his voice is quiet, his slightly teasing tone gone.  “Upset about what?”

David shrugs, his eyes still closed. “Things that might… upset you.  Strangers.  The city.  A crowded club.”  He can feel Patrick go still next to him.  “I don’t know if that’s why we keep to ourselves down here.  But if that was any part of it, if this is your safe space, I don’t want you to feel you have to leave.  Not for something as dumb as a holiday party.”

Patrick breathes in and out, audibly, and David opens his eyes.  Patrick’s looking down at where their hands are entwined, studying them, his lips pressed tightly together.  David reaches over and cups Patrick’s head with his hand, bringing them closer.  “I hope that was okay to say,” David says softly.

Patrick nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “yeah.  That was okay to say.”  He looks at David, and his eyes are wet.  “You’re right.  This is my safe space, here, with you.”

David feels his chest clench, and he nods back.  “I’m glad.”

Patrick inhales deeply, and blinks away a tear.  “But I don’t think your family’s holiday party is necessarily a dumb reason to leave.”

“No?”

“No.  I think it might be good for us.  Especially since Alexis is apparently finding me a really nice suit.”

*****

It sounds easy – Patrick says sure, they should go to the party.  But there are a dozen decisions to make after that, and by the next night, David is really wishing he had found a way to just say no.

When to leave is easy enough – there’s no way he wants Patrick to have to take Friday off, not with a brand-new job, so they’ll fly into LaGuardia on Saturday morning.  But will they come back on Sunday – Christmas Eve?  Or spend that night with his family and come back on Christmas itself?  Spend yet another night to avoid traveling on Christmas?  And how is it fair to Patrick’s parents, to make this special trip to be with David’s family, and not see them?

Add to that figuring out where they’ll stay (one night on Alexis’ pull-out couch is barely tolerable, but more than that, forget it), what social events David will agree to while there, and who is going to pay for the whole charade, and it’s a giant mess.

“Ok, I’ve had enough,” David says, when their dinner of take-out sushi has been completely dominated by debating the pros and cons of the various options, each of them trying to anticipate what the other wants and as far as David can tell, defeating the point of the entire conversation.  “Let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”

“What?”

“I can’t stand it anymore.  Whoever wins, chooses.”

“That won’t solve it.”  

Patrick’s right, it still doesn’t mean whoever wins will actually pick something reasonable, and not just what they think the other person wants.

“But you might be on to something,” Patrick continues, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Please, tell me, and put an end to this so we can get on with our lives.”  And pack, David thinks.

“On the count of three, put out a finger for how many nights you want to stay in New York.  No more debate, no more thinking about it.”

“Each of us puts out a finger for how long <i>who</i> wants to stay?”

Patrick glares at him.  “Don’t make this harder than it is.  The conversation is over.  Ready?”

David nods.  Whatever happens, at least then they can move on.

“One, two-”

“Wait, do we put out a finger on three, or are you going to say one, two, three, go?”

Patrick smacks David on the arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m going to say one, two, three, go.” There’s a twinkle in Patrick’s eyes when they meet David’s.  “Ready?  One, two, three, go!”

Both of them put out one finger.

“Oh, thank god,” David says, sagging forward, his forehead against Patrick’s.

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Can we please not talk about this anymore?”  David didn’t want to stay in New York any longer than necessary; he didn’t want to have any other days to worry about what his parents might want him to do versus what Patrick might want to do, he didn’t want to have to manage any of it any longer than he had to.  But he also didn’t want Patrick to feel like he was cutting David’s time with his family short, or that David was giving something up for him.  Because right now, all David really wants is whatever is best for Patrick, and what’s best for him and Patrick together.  And his gut is telling him that getting back to Florida on Sunday, and then spending Monday (even though it’s Christmas?  Because it’s Christmas?) together, alone, with no work and no family for a whole day, is what’s best for them both.

Patrick laughs.  “Sure.  And you know what’s great about our decision?”

“That it’s done?”

“Yes, and now we can just stay at Alexis’ place, since it will only be one night.”

“Thank god for small mercies.”

*****

They wake up at a painfully early hour Saturday morning and drag themselves to the airport, which is packed with Christmas travelers.  But everything goes smoothly, and by noon they’re in an Uber on their way to Alexis’ place.  When she opens the door she ignores David completely and envelops Patrick in a hug that goes on for so long, Patrick signals to David for help.  It’s unbearably sweet, and David is suddenly, overwhelmingly happy that they decided to come to New York.

Alexis gives Patrick a tour of her tiny apartment, and Patrick appropriately oohs and ahs over everything.  Alexis is especially proud of the little corner of her room that serves as an office, with its mood boards and tastefully decorated shelves.

“So this is where the magic happens,” Patrick says, and Alexis beams.

“Yes, Patrick!”  She sits down at her computer and pulls up a file to show him her latest spreadsheet achievement, when David sees a glossy looking envelope on her counter with Patrick’s name on it.

“What’s this?”  He picks it up, admiring the heavy paper, when he recognizes the ice blue logo.  “Alexis, why do you have-”

She plucks it out of his hand and does a little shimmy.  “It’s not for you, David.”  With a flourish, she hands it to Patrick.

Patrick exchanges a “what can you do” glance with David, and opens the envelope.  David crowds close, too excited to wait.

“It’s from your mom,” Patrick says.  

“It’s a lil’ couples massage,” Alexis says, practically bouncing on her toes.  “She specifically said to tell you that <i>there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself</i>.”  Alexis points with an impeccably polished nail to where it says that on the card, and David rolls his eyes, remembering the day Patrick reassured his mother that she wasn’t responsible for the dead guy in Room 4.  He <i>knew</i> she was being purposefully obtuse about the scone.

“Do we even have time for this massage thing?” Patrick asks.  “It’s for today.”

“Um, yes, we have time.  We absolutely have time.  This is one of the most exclusive spas in the city.”  David grabs Patrick’s coat off the couch; his own leather jacket is barely warm enough for New York in December, but at least it’s appropriate, unlike Patrick’s down monstrosity.  “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Alexis says, linking her arm through Patrick’s.  “Maybe we can make it a trio.”

“Not unless you are ready to walk out this door in thirty seconds.”

“Ugh, David.”  

Luckily Alexis takes only fifteen minutes to get ready to go, and they’re on their way.  Despite the fact that David has never heard of a trio massage (and he shudders to think of how expensive that might be), he doesn’t dissuade her from coming along.  He’s got barely twenty-four hours to hang out with her, and he’s going to soak up every one of them.

In the end Alexis drops them at the spa to do some shopping of her own, while David and Patrick are pampered to within an inch of their lives.  During the initial consultation with the massage therapists, they are fed chocolate covered strawberries and cucumber water.  They agree on the massage oils, and the music, and then are led to a dim room which smells delightfully like eucalyptus and jasmine.  David tries to keep his eyes open so he can watch Patrick melting into jelly on the table next to him.  It’s without a doubt the best massage David has ever experienced.  He can practically feel the oxytocin swirling in the air between them.

Afterwards they are helped into fluffy white robes, and then collapse together onto a wide, padded lounger.  “That was really nice,” Patrick says.

“Nice?”  David asks.  “Just nice?”

Patrick snuggles into David’s shoulder.  “Mmm.  I can’t think of words right now.  Full review later.”

David noses at Patrick’s hair.  “Okay.”

“Love you,” Patrick says muzzily.

“Love you too.”

They dose together, boneless and content, until a soft chime wakes them.  Reluctantly they find their way to the changing rooms, and then out into reality.

Alexis is buzzing with excitement and wants to immediately go back to her place to get dressed, but David insists that they find something to eat first.  It’s still hours away from when dinner will be served tonight, and as lovely as the chocolate covered strawberries were, he needs some real food or things will get ugly.

Luckily, they spot one of his favorite places to get a quick snack (it’s a chain with pretentious communal tables, but David has spent many hours here and he loves it anyway), so they load up on quiche and avocado tartine and mochas before returning to Alexis’ apartment.

When they arrive it’s fashion show time.  Because Alexis loves dressing up, she had agreed ages ago to let David keep some clothes in her closet – just a few choice outfits for when they were in New York together and felt like going out.  But David can feel Patrick hovering next to him, all the afternoon’s relaxing threatening to disappear, so he suggests they look at his options first.

Alexis beams and starts chattering about what she got for Patrick, and David leans in close, a hand on the small of his back.  “You don’t have to wear any of that if you don’t want to,” he whispers, as Alexis pulls out a silver shirt with a shiny gleam.  “You can wear what you brought.  Or what you’ve got on right now.”  David gives Patrick’s jeans-clad ass a little slap, and Patrick snorts out a laugh.

“What?  You don’t like this one?”  Alexis asks.  “You’re right, it’s too flashy.  How about this?”  She reaches airily into the closet, and David can tell by the way she’s standing, like she’s posing for a photo, that she’s presenting her top choice.  It’s a dark navy blue suit (Tom Ford? How did she get a Tom Ford suit for Patrick?) with a deep, rich purple shirt.  She holds it up to Patrick, and he nods carefully, then looks over to David for approval.

David pets it, and looks inside for a label.  The suit isn’t a Tom Ford, although it looks damn good.  And now that he examines the jacket more closely, he can see it has its own distinctive style.  “Where did you get this, Alexis?  And who made it?”

Alexis preens.  “One of my friends has a connection with an up and coming designer,” she says.  “She’ll be at the party tonight.  I’ll introduce you.”

“And we don’t have to pay for this, right?”  David asks.  The cut is classically elegant, and he thinks it’s going to fit Patrick like a glove.

“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p’.  “She’s just happy to have someone wearing her clothes.”

“I’ll try it on,” Patrick says, and Alexis shows him to the bathroom.  When he comes back out, David can’t help but go to him, running his hands up and down his shoulders and arms.

“You like it?”  Patrick asks.  

“I like <i>you,</i>” David says, and presses a quick kiss to Patrick’s lips.  “And you look amazing in this suit.”  He unbuttons another button of the shirt, liking the way the open neck shows just a little bit of Patrick’s skin.

“It doesn’t need a tie?” Patrick asks.

“No, you’re perfect just like this.”

“Yay!”  Alexis cheers, coming over and booping Patrick on the nose.  “I knew this was going to work!”

David decides on his black and white Armani short jacket, with a sharp collared white shirt underneath and slim black ankle-length trousers.  He likes the contrast with Patrick’s rich colored but still traditionally styled suit.  Alexis twirls for them in her dress, a silky blush colored gown that makes her look like a 50’s movie star. They’re finally ready, and they pile into a waiting Uber and head uptown.

The back room of the club is already crowded, and David can’t help but feel a little swell of pride at how RMG has grown.  Stevie waves to them from where she’s standing across the room with Ruth, but David doesn’t have a chance to get over to her before his parents descend.  There are hugs all around, and when the wave of familial affection finally recedes, David can’t help but notice that Patrick looks a little overwhelmed.

He weaves his arm through Patrick’s and leads them away, finding an alcove where they can catch their breath.

“You okay?” he asks, a palm to Patrick’s chest.  He can feel his heart beating a mile a minute.  This is exactly what he was worried about, this is too much for Patrick, too many people.  “We can leave anytime, we made our appearance, I’ll call a car-”

“No, David, I’m fine,” Patrick says, taking David’s hand.  “Really.”

David searches his face.  “Are you sure?  Because you seem a little…”

“David,” Patrick says firmly.  “I’m fine.”  He slides his hands around David’s waist, under his jacket, and David can feel the warmth of his fingers pressing against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.  David slings his arms around Patrick and leans his head against his shoulders.  “Your parents are very enthusiastic, but it’s great to see them,” Patrick says.  “Everything’s okay.”

“You’re fine,” David repeats, willing himself to believe it.  Patrick really is.  Nothing’s wrong.  

“Could it be, maybe, you’re a little nervous too?”  Patrick says, his voice gentle.

David wants to deny it, but realizes instantly that Patrick is right.  He feels a little fizzy, a little unsteady.  “Maybe.”  Patrick isn’t the only one who has been enjoying their little Florida bubble.  

Patrick hugs him closer, and then steps back, inclining his head out towards the party.  “Come on.  Alexis said there’d be crab puffs.”

“Crab cakes,” David corrects.  

“Crab cakes, then.  And baked brie.”

“I still don’t see any coherency in the hors d’oeuvre selection,” David gripes, back on solid ground.

“But you’re going to eat all of them anyway.”

“I am definitely going to eat all of them anyway.”

They’re grazing by the cheese platters when David sees a few familiar faces coming towards him.  This is going to be fun, he thinks, a smile tugging at his cheek.

“David, hi!”  

“Vanessa, you look radiant.”  She does, her dark skin set off by a metallic pantsuit and glimmers of gold around her eyes.  

“Most beautiful woman in the room,” rumbles her companion, a huge man with a barrel chest who towers over both David and Patrick.

“Patrick, meet Vanessa, my favorite gallery employee from back in the day, and her husband Rory, my current favorite employee.”

Rory laughs, his deep voice probably setting off small earthquakes somewhere.  “I’m not your employee, Rose.”  He holds out his hand to Patrick.  “Nice to meet you.”

Patrick turns to David, and the reveal was definitely worth it.  “This is your assistant Rory?  The one you bother all day long about your schedule?  The one you sent to pick out your clothes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  David <i>knows</i> Patrick thought “Rory” was some college kid, he just knows it.  Instead he’s a thirty-five year old sculptor who wanted a day job for a steady paycheck.

“What, you don’t think I can be trusted with David’s clothes?”  Rory asks.  “I admit, I was surprised, too.  But I guess he had a good reason to ask me to go through all of his drawers.”

“Drawers?  My knits aren’t in drawers, where did you-” David sees the look on Vanessa’s face, and abruptly changes course.  “You made Vanessa do it, didn’t you.”

Vanessa laughs, and tucks her arm through her husband’s.  “I’m sorry, David, but come on – you send Rory an emergency text telling him to Fed Ex you extremely specific selections from your warm weather clothing, and you think I’m not going to get involved?  I’ve known you for years and you never let me into your closet before. It was an experience I was not going to pass up.”

Patrick is giggling into his glass of seltzer, and David has had quite enough of this.  “Fine.  Tease me if you want.  But I think we can all agree it was a successful mission.”  He hooks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder, his arm snug around him.

“From the way you two look together, I’d say so,” Vanessa says.

“Here here.” Rory raises his glass, and they all follow suit.  “To David and Patrick.”

“Oh my god, enough with that,” David says, and buries his burning face in Patrick’s neck.

Rory and Vanessa excuse themselves, but David has hardly had a chance to visit the buffet again when Patrick tugs at his arm.

“What?” he says, looking up from a particularly delicious egg roll.

“Come dance with me,” Patrick says, his eyes wide and warm, and David drops his plate on a table and follows him.  

“What brought this on?” David asks, as he loops his arms over Patrick’s shoulders and starts to move in time to the music.

Patrick shrugs a little and pulls David closer.  “My parents always dance to this song,” he says into David’s ear.

David feels his chest expand, and he presses a kiss to Patrick’s cheek.  “It’s a nice song.”  

<i>Moon river, wider than a mile</i> <i>I'm crossing you in style some day</i>

<i>Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker</i> <i>Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way</i>

David listens for a moment to the bittersweet melody.  “Is it a love song?” he finally asks.  It’s not as if he’s ever given <i>Moon River</i> much thought before.  

Patrick slides his fingers up the back of David’s neck, into his hair.  “I think it’s love for the journey, rather than a destination.”

<i>Two drifters, off to see the world</i>

<i>There’s such a lot of world to see</i>

David glances around, and now his parents are dancing too, along with a handful of other couples.  He nuzzles against Patrick.  “Not to quote my sister or anything, but… I like this journey for us.”

Patrick turns his head and finds David’s lips, kissing him sweetly.  “Me too, David.  Me too.”

[jemelle]

reflections {ncis}

rating: g

pairing: n/a, ziva david & abby sciuto

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

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

my masterlist

you can also read this story on ao3 here!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tags: @robins-gf, @chmpgneprblms

[argylemnwrites]

Traditions

Pairing: Seth Levine x MC (Jessica Parker)

Book: Red Carpet Diaries (about one year after Book 3)

Word Count: ~1100

Rating: PG-13 (some adult language)

Summary: Seth gets to experience “holiday” Jessica when Hanukkah rolls around.

Author’s Note: Happy Hanukkah to all those who celebrate! Thought I’d write a little fic about my favorite Jewish character in Choices in honor of the first night of Hanukkah. This piece is for Day 22 of both the Choices December Challenge (Hanukkah) and 41 Days of Cheer (Holiday).

“Here, taste these,” Jessica said, shoving a plate of latkes across the kitchen island.

Seth glanced up from the script he was flipping through. Ethan Blake had been sending him a lot of scripts lately, but honestly, none of them had resonated with Seth. He knew he should have capitalized on his increased name recognition after Ninradell, but he just wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to focus on for his career. Should he be trying for more big-franchise blockbuster type roles, even though that wasn’t really his passion? Should he be looking at the comedic parts, even though those tended to be more supporting roles? Should he stick to movies, or would television be a better fit? Or should he return to his roots, focusing on his standup now that more people might be interested in him?

Unsure of what he truly wanted, he’d only taken a couple of recurring guest spots in some TV shows and a highly billed supporting role in an action comedy over the past year. Instead of acting, he’d spent more time focused on his writing, much to Ethan’s chagrin. Oh well, that had meant that he’d been able to travel with Jessica when she’d been filming on location in Australia, which had been much nicer than when they were both frantically busy throughout their entire engagement, barely seeing each other when they lived in the same city. Plus, he’d gotten to host SNL, so as far as he was concerned, that alone made the year since the release of Ninradell a professional success.

However, if Jessica kept feeding him fried food, his career options might be a moot point, as he was going to put on so much weight and would only get hired as the fat funny friend. Growing up, his mom had only made special foods for the first night of Hanakkuh, the rest of the nights often consisting of lighting the menorah and him and Caleb quickly opening their gifts between homework and clubs and sports. But Jessica had been frying and baking for five nights straight at this point, and that was in addition to the dozens of Christmas cookies she’d been baking and stocking the freezer with over the past few weeks. If he only gained 10 pounds over December, it would be a miracle.

Sighing, he grabbed the fork off the plate and started in on yet another batch of latkes. They were tasty - Jessica’s cooking always was - but he was getting a little tired of having to serve as her Jewish food critic. He felt like an ass for even having thoughts like that, but after four nights of latkes and sufganiyot and fritters and donuts, Seth just wanted a damn salad. But he couldn’t complain about his wife’s cooking, particularly when it was all for his holiday, so he dug in dutifully.

After a couple of bites, he looked over at Jessica, standing behind the stove top, staring at him expectantly.

“They’re good, Iowa,” he said between bites.

“Are they better than yesterday’s? I’m trying to get them crispier.”

“They were both good. They’ve all been good.”

Jessica sighed heavily at that. Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

“Jessica, I don’t know what to tell you. You know you’re a great cook. Literally everything you’ve made for Hanukkah has been amazing.”

“But these are the foods you grew up with, and I’ve never made them before.”

“And I’m telling you, you did an awesome job. What else do you want me to say?”

“I just want to be sure I’m replicating your childhood Hanukkahs.”

“Jessica, I love you, but that is an insane goal.”

She scowled at him, so he pressed on, trying to explain himself before things devolved into a fight.

“First, I was raised in a very liberal Reform home. My parents essentially transformed Hanukkah into Jewish Christmas, so you could serve me eggnog and some of those cookies you’ve been baking and it would feel normal to me. Second, unless you want to fly my brother out so he and I can get in a fight before he leaves for a shift at Jungle Jims and you drive me to the Y for swim class, you won’t be able to truly capture the essence of my childhood Decembers. Third, and most importantly, the day I compare any aspect of you to my mother is the day you should file for divorce. So please, Jessica, do not make me compare your latkes to my mother’s.”

Jessica bit her lip and smiled at that, pausing for a few moments before she spoke up.

“I know how important holiday traditions are, and I just… I just want our kids to look back on my holiday meals with fond memories.”

Ah, well that explained a lot. They had been talking about trying to get pregnant starting sometime in the new year. And while the thought both simultaneously excited and scared the shit out of Seth, Jessica was clearly viewing this holiday season as a trial run for the future. A future where she obviously envisioned herself as some Hallmark movie version of a mother.

“Jessica, they will love your holiday meals because you’ll be the one making them. You could serve them frozen pizza and they would love it. Whatever you want to serve, that will be our tradition, okay? Or if you want me to handle the Jewish crap, that’s fair too. We’ll figure it out year by year, alright?”

“No way are you allowed to cook any holiday meals, Jewish or otherwise.”

“I’m a decent cook!” Seth retorted, but Jessica just cocked an eyebrow at him. “Fine, I’m an adequate cook,” he amended.

“The Valentine’s dinner debacle of 2018 says otherwise.”

“The steaks were just a little overly charred.”

“And the rolls were not cooked through and the vegetables were beyond rubbery and you forgot about dessert in the oven so the sprinklers went off-”

“Alright, alright, I concede that meal did not turn out well. Are you ever gonna let me live that down?”

“Nope,” she said, shaking her head as she flipped the rest of the latkes onto another plate, walked around the island, and joined Seth on the stool next to his. And while he knew that it was just in Jessica’s nature to go a little nuts about this sort of thing, that she would always be the type to go all out for the holidays, well sitting here, enjoying a home-cooked meal with her was more than festive enough for him. Whatever the future held for them and their family, spending it together would always matter more than what was on the menu.

Tags: @mfackenthal @octobereighth�� @choicesbyjade​ @jlpplays1-41daysofcheerchallenge​ @choicesdecemberchallenge​

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Home for the Holidays: Bonus “CIWYW” Story (Trans!Steve and Pan!Bucky Modern AU)

Eight:

"Is it someone's birthday?" Eddie naively questioned as the menorah sat on the dining room table and everyone gathered around.

Sarah winced at her son's comment while Darlene clarified, "No, baby. It's the first night of Hanukkah."

"Hanukkah?" Eddie tested and turned to look up at Sarah who stood behind him, smoothing his auburn hair. He shook his head to get away from her motherly touch and asked her, "What's Hanukkah?"

"It's a Jewish holiday," Mandy explained, setting her phone face down on the other end of the table.

"We get presents," Tibby excitedly added, "And gelt!"

"Really?!" Eddie eagerly looked over at Joseph as he asked, "Do we get to open Christmas presents too?!"

"No, sweetie, those are for Christmas," Sarah quietly stated, trying to keep her son quiet and not seem any ruder than she was fearful they already seemed.

"But you get to open Hanukkah presents," Winifred told him, before looking mildly ashamed for not asking the Rogers if they wanted to participate in Hanukkah to begin with. Sheepishly, she looked at Sarah and Joseph, and amended, "If that's okay."

"Of course, it is," Joseph reassured with a large grin on his face. Of course, Steve knew that Joseph was probably relieved since both his parents had also bought Christmas presents for the Barnes' family.

Winifred's grin grew then, showing off the rainbow piercing that peeked out from beneath her upper lip. Only taking a moment before taking the first candle and placing it in the furthest right spot. Then, she recited the blessings, "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

"Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha'olam, she-asah nisim la'avoteniu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.

"Baruch atah Adonai, Elohenu Melech ha'olam, shehecheyanu, v'kiyimanu, v'higiyanu la'zman hazeh."

Picking up the shammash from its center spot, Winifred lit the candle and used it to light the first candle. Placing the shammash back in its place, Sarah softly complimented, "That was beautiful, Winnie."

"Thank you," Winifred smiled at Sarah. After making sure that the menorah could be seen in the window, she asked the group, "Who wants to play dreidel?!"

"Me!" Eddie eagerly agreed even though he had no idea what a dreidel was, let alone how to play it.

"Me too!" Tibby loudly proclaimed in her excitement as she hopped up and down with Eddie.

"Easy," Darlene warned and ushered them away from the dining room where they couldn't possibly knock over the menorah. On her way out of the room, she pressed a sweet kiss to Winifred's lips and said, "Happy Hanukkah, love."

"Happy Hanukkah, darling," Winifred replied, still smiling before affectionately patting Darlene's bum as she left the room.

Playfully, Darlene narrowed her eyes at her wife and warned, "Watch it. Or I won't share any of my gelt with you."

"You should all just give me your gelt right now, since we all know that you're going to lose anyway," Sam arrogantly teased as he followed his mom and sisters out of the room.

"Who says that you're even going to win this year?" Becca questioned.

"Yeah," Mandy added, "This year, Steve's playing."

"That's right," Steve feigned arrogance, mocking Sam as he followed the group out of the room, "I might just beat you."

"You might be just what this family needs," Bucky ducked his head and whispered directly into Steve's ear.

Blushing, Steve pressed his lips together to stop himself from smiling too big. Even more so once Bucky kissed his cheek. Out of all the good memories that Steve had about the holidays, he could've never guessed that they would just keep getting better. Wanting to believe so desperately that this was the start of something wonderful. Something that would continue on, not just this year, but every year after.

Despite all his anxieties and insecurities and dysphoria, Steve knew that no matter what, this would be his favorite Hanukkah by far. Hoping that there would be more to come. But understanding that even if him and Bucky didn't have the romance he dreamed of nightly, that he'd always have this.

With the way that Bucky looked at him though, Steve was sure that this was only the beginning. He was willing to put all his gelt in the pot on that one. After all, Bucky was here now. And that was after months of thinking that there'd only ever be a long distance relationship for them.

But may god strike down whoever bet against Bucky. From what Steve could tell, Bucky was the type to do whatever he set his mind to.

And right now, Bucky seemed to have his mind set on Steve. Especially when he patted the spot on the floor beside him as they all gathered around the coffee table. A festive pastel blue dreidel sat in the middle of the table while Sam divided the gelt.

"Wanna share?" Bucky asked, grinning at Steve.

Like Scrooge McDuck, Steve held the chocolate coins close to his person as he teased, "Why? Are you bad at this or something?"

"No," Bucky lovingly bumped his shoulder against Steve's, "I just know that you'll be good at this too. Like with everything else you do.

Heart stuttering, Steve smiled as he leaned in and kissed Bucky's cheek, "Just because you're cute, I'll share my riches."

Bucky's grin grew at that while he asked, "You think I'm cute?"

Playfully, Steve rolled his eyes and complained, "I take it back. I'll keep it all for myself."

"Oh, you don't mean that," Bucky called Steve's bluff. Leaning in, placed his hand behind Steve to steady himself and rested his chin on Steve's shoulder as he whispered, "You think I'm cute."

"Okay," Sam clapped his hands together to get the attention of all those playing.

Quickly, Bucky kissed Steve's check again before retreating back to his own spot, listening as Sam went over the instructions. And it was a good thing that Bucky knew how to play, because Steve couldn't hear anything over his pulse racing in his ears as he looked over at Bucky, wondering how he got so lucky.

[themutantunderground]

Let Your Heart Be Light Ch. 10

John is home on leave from the Marines and Clarice is home on winter break from grad school. While they used to date in high school, Clarice and John haven't been together in a long time... But it's Christmas time, and it seems like everything and everyone in their small, holiday-obsessed hometown is trying to get them back together. Modern Thunderblink AU!

AO3

“Can I use the axe?”

John responded to James’ question with an incredulous laugh, not even bothering to turn around to ask him if he had lost his mind. Maybe if they were off on their own and James wasn’t surrounded by his friends, John would consider letting him use the axe. But this seemed like a prime moment for James to show off, and there was also the waiver that John had signed that said no one in his party besides him would use the axe.

The group was making their way through the rows of Christmas trees, meandering through the smaller trees as they headed for the larger ones on the next hill. There were families and couples and groups scattered throughout the farm, and arguments and laughter popped up from random places. They were getting far enough from the entrance that there were less people now. Overhead, the flat grey clouds threatened to open up into a steady snow shower at any time.

“What about me?” Riley asked, tugging on John’s free hand. She looked up at him with a winning smile. “I’m more responsible.”

“You’d tip over if I let you hold it,” he said, squeezing her hand.

She grinned. “No way, I’m strong.”

“Right. Just a reminder, you can hardly open a water bottle for yourself,” James said, earning him a frown from Riley.

“What would you even do with the axe, James?” Romeo asked. A dark-haired young man, he was walking between Bobby and James, bundled up in a puffy black coat.

“I doubt he’d actually cut down a tree,” Ali said.

Bobby grinned mischievously. “There’s so much we could do. Limitless potential.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Ali said, “The last time you said something had limitless potential, three windows got broken at school and the fire department showed up.”

“It was fun, you gotta admit,” James said.

Bobby nodded. “Definitely worth a couple days of suspension.”

“And that’s exactly why John’s the only one who gets to use the axe,” Marcos announced, his tone firm and final.

“If John’s the only one who gets to hold the axe, I think he should have to do something extra,” Clarice said. She and Norah were walking toward the front of the group, looking for the perfect Christmas tree for their foster parents’ house. Part of John wished Clarice would hang back toward him so they could talk more. They still had a lot of catching up to do.

“Ah,” John said, “And what would that be, exactly?”

“I don’t know yet,” Clarice said before turning around to address the others. “Any suggestions?”

“I don’t think this should be up for a group discussion,” John said, or at least tried to. It was hard to be heard over the ideas that seemed to explode from everyone.

“He should sing a song every time he swings it, maybe?” Norah said tentatively.

“He has to be shirtless!”

“He has to cut down the tree blindfolded.”

“He has to cut the tree down in five strokes or someone else takes over. I nominate me.”

“No, no, I think I’ve got this,” Lorna said, holding up her hands. “Before he cuts down the tree, he has to go, ‘Heeere’s Johnny!’”

“And make a psychotic face,” Marcos added.

“I don’t get it,” Riley said as half of the group started laughing.

“You’re too young for that movie,” John said. He rolled his eyes. He didn’t even like The Shining all that much. Horror movies weren’t his favorites (he preferred action movies and sci-fi), but they had watched a bunch of them back in high school. Clarice always had been a movie connoisseur, and she had liked holding impromptu movie nights at her house where everyone stayed up until four in the morning and slept over until the afternoon. “Here’s an idea. I should get to hold the axe based on the fact I signed for it, and I’m the one who will get in trouble if anything goes wrong.”

“Scared of a lawsuit?” Clarice teased.

“More like scared James will chop his own leg off,” Marcos said.

Lorna snorted. “Or someone else’s leg.”

“Why does everyone think I can’t work an axe?” James demanded, “It’s not like it’s hard.”

“All right, all right,” John said, shaking his head, “Let’s all just focus on finding these Christmas trees.”

“Yes, sir!” Bobby said, snapping a salute at John. He grabbed Romeo and James by the arms and yanked them toward the left. “To the trees!”

Alison followed after them, and John wondered if they would all get lost out there or cause him to lose the damage deposit he had put down when he signed for the axe. There wasn’t that much for them to destroy on the Christmas tree farm…right? Who was he kidding, they would find something. James had a skill for that sort of thing, and Bobby had always been good at dragging his brother into chaotic situations where things got shattered. At least a couple of James’ previous bone breaks were the result of Bobby Drake’s schemes.

The remaining group wandered through the trees, looking for some choices that weren’t enormous. Still, the allure of looking at the biggest trees became too much, and they found themselves in the rows of trees that furnished houses that had fifty foot high vaulted ceilings.

“There’s no way this one fits in a house,” Lorna said, craning her head back to look up at a twenty-footer.

“You could cut a branch off this thing and it could be a whole tree,” Clarice said.

The top of the tree seemed to brush the snow-laden sky. It was hard to imagine it in an actual house. Riley and Norah were playing in the massive fluffy branches, disappearing halfway into the needles before coming back out again.

“Can we get this one?” Riley said, partially buried in the tree. “It’s so big!”

“How about we get one that isn’t almost as big as the house,” John said, “I think Aunt Evelyn might like that better.”

“Aww…fine…” Riley reluctantly stepped out of the tree and wandered over to Marcos, grabbing both of his hands. “Marcos, can you get this tree?”

Marcos snorted and scooped her up. “Sure. I’ll get this, and that pony you asked me for, and a diamond necklace, and those long-haired guinea pigs, and I’ll set aside a college fund for medical school.”

“Really?”

“No way,” Marcos said, laughing as she frowned at him. “But I think we can let you help pick out our much smaller tree, okay?”

“Did you already put out your memnorah?” Riley asked.

“Hanukkah’s already over,” Lorna said with a small smile, “And it’s a menorah.”

“Oh, right,” Riley said. “I forgot.” She looped her arms around Marcos’ neck. “How big is your tree going to be?”

“Only about five feet,” Marcos said, “So we’ll get ours from up at the front.”

“Charlie Brown tree, huh?” Clarice said.

“A little bigger than that, but not too much,” Marcos said, “We’re saving all our money so we only go broke for a few years once the baby’s here.”

John followed along behind the others as the discussion turned to the baby and renovations at Lorna and Marcos’ house. Lorna dropped back and walked alongside him.

“I want to name the baby Kickass Danger Dane-Diaz, but Marcos keeps saying no,” Lorna said, smirking.

“You’re giving birth, so I feel like you get final say,” John replied.

“That’s what I said. We could call her Kadie.”

John laughed. “So it really is a girl.”

“Did you think I was lying?” she said, lifting an eyebrow at him. During the last video chat he had had with Marcos and Lorna, they had told him the baby was a girl. But then Lorna had said she was having an alien parasite and the conversation had devolved from there into an argument about the Alien movies and which one was the worst. Everyone had very different opinions.

“What do you really want to name her?” John asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, “We’ve thrown around some names. Like John Jr.”

“That’s a really solid name, it gets my vote,” John said.

“I thought you’d like that one.”

[olicitysecretsanta]

William's First Hanukkah

Dear @fistis,

I hope you have a very happy holidays!!! This exchange helped me get over a specific writing fear of mine, so in a way you gave me a gift as well. I hope this season and next year bring you joy and dreams coming true :-)

Best,

@imusuallyobsessed

XXX

Also extra thanks and love to @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline who gave me the idea that led to this fic! And as a disclaimer, I do not celebrate Hanukkah. My knowledge came from the Internet and some Jewish members of the Olicity community who’ve helped me out. If I got anything wrong, please kindly point it out and I will be more than happy to change it! It isn’t ever my intention to offend anyone, and any errors are only from ignorance.

Rated T - light M

William’s First Hanukkah

Felicity’s phone buzzed on the massive island in the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder, only diverting her attention from the stove for a brief second to confirm it was Oliver texting. She’d been expecting him, since sunset was mere minutes away and her boys still weren’t home.

After the… crisis with Earth-X, Felicity and Oliver had come back from Central City and fit their lives together seamlessly. William was extremely receptive to her having married his dad unexpectedly, and Felicity moved in the next weekend.

Sizzling oil brought Felicity back to the present and she had just enough time to save the last two latkes before turning off the flame and picking up her phone.

‘Sorry hon, traffic jam. Accident on Jefferson. Be home ASAP ;-*’

The Green Arrow using emojis still made Felicity’s heart flutter.

She glanced out the window. Sunset was coming soon, but she could wait to light the menorah if she was waiting for members of her family. William had an after-school program for advanced students – the swell of pride she felt for him left no doubt that he was her son, whether or not she called him mom – and Oliver always picked him up after work for some father-son bonding time. They were running late, and Felicity could practically feel Oliver’s stress through the phone. He hated being late or anything running off schedule, but especially today.

This year would be the first year they did Hanukkah together, as a couple. And William wanted to participate. The apartment was decorated in a mix of blue and silver, and red and green. The Christmas tree sat in a corner by the TV, happily draped in rainbow lights and ornaments. Her mezuzah had gone up on one of the pillars that stood at the edge of the kitchen and framed her and Oliver’s bedroom door. The menorah sat opposite it, since the apartment was too high to have it placed in the windows, on a table Oliver had bought specifically to showcase it.

They’d begun decorating on the first of December, and Oliver had presented her with the table. He’d been bashful and unsure, which was absolute kryptonite for Felicity. But of course, he had nothing to worry about. The table was at the perfect height for lighting and was mostly decorative, but along the legs and edges were carvings that told the story of Hanukkah. She’d cried for about half an hour when she opened it, even video chatting her mom so they could marvel over it together.

Once she’d calmed down, the three of them finished making the apartment the perfect Christmas/Hanukkah hybrid. She tried to tell her boys that Hanukkah wasn’t even one of the major Jewish holidays, but they’d looked so distraught at her not being represented equally that she gave in to Oliver’s tendency to overshop for others. The apartment was now an even 50/50 split between the two winter holidays.

She looked back to her phone, a soft smile dominating her face.

‘I hope William is texting or you’re using the voice feature. No texting and driving! Be safe! See you both soon.’

Felicity went back to her Hanukkah feast, laid out on the island. She couldn’t cook anything to save her life, except for latkes, brisket, and sufganiyot. She’d left work early that day – perks of working with one of her best friends and being her own boss – and gotten to work on the time-consuming dinner.

Her phone buzzed again, and Felicity couldn’t suppress another smile when she saw the message.

‘Don’t worry, it’s William. Gotta keep dad on the straight and narrow. He made me add the emoji. We’re a few minutes away!’

Felicity settled against the island with a nice glass of her favorite anytime-wine. (She wasn’t entirely kosher. Sue her). Oliver might insist they bring out the fancy stuff for tonight, but she’d save that for when they were together.

A few minutes later, the last dying rays of the sun were filtering through the apartment windows and her boys hustled through the front door.

“Hi Felicity!” William said, puttering halfway past the island before he froze and looked at the counter. “Did you cook?”

“Hon?” Oliver called from the door, having overheard his son. Worry sharpened his voice. Felicity couldn’t blame him. Her cooking ventures didn’t usually go well.

“Don’t worry, my love!” Felicity went to her husband – she was still giddy she could call him that – and went up on her toes to kiss his lips. He returned the affection – always did – but Felicity saw his worried eyes flicker to the kitchen.

Felicity took his hand and led the way. “No fire alarms, no smoke damage, and all your pans made it out alive. I promise.” When the counter came into view, Felicity swept her non-wine-glass hand out like Vanna White. “On your left, you’ll find the three dishes in all the land I can actually cook.”

William was already poking around, sniffing at the food suspiciously (Felicity couldn’t be offended after the Great Pancake Reckoning), but his eyes began to clear of worry and brighten.

“Are these donuts?” he asked.

“Sufganiyot. But yeah, basically jelly donuts.”

Oliver absently kissed her head, his arm wrapping around her waist. “This looks great, hon. I’m impressed. But shouldn’t we…?”

“Yes, of course! Follow me, boys.”

Felicity went to the menorah and began to assemble the accoutrements. She still had her old menorah from college in a place of honor on the coffee table, but it was encouraged to have the best menorah possible to show deference to God. Donna had applied her tried-and-true Jewish mother guilt to get Felicity to buy a new, gleaming silver one. “The shamash candle is the one in the middle, and we light all the other candles from it. Begin by placing the candles from right to left.” Felicity placed the first candle of Hanukkah in the far-right receptacle. “Each night we add a new candle from right to left, but light them left to right.”

Oliver knew all this already, but he and William watched her with identical expression of rapt concentration. It was times like these when Felicity saw the resemblance between them.

“First we light the shamash candle.” Felicity did so, picking it up in her right hand. “Then before we light the Hanukkah candle, we recite the blessing. Ba-ruch A-tah Ado-nai…”

She’d practiced this with her boys, but made sure to still speak slowly and clearly so they could follow along. They also recited the special blessing for the first night, then Felicity lit the Hanukkah candle and replaced the shamash candle.

Oliver had dimmed the lights on their way over to light the menorah, so the two dancing flames lit their faces in a warm glow.

After a few moments of relishing the lights, William asked, “What now, Felicity?” His voice was low and something like reverent. Felicity felt a swell of happiness and love that he took her traditions so seriously.

Oliver held out his arm and Felicity slotted into her place against his side. Then, she held out her hand to William and pulled him in. He was still very preteen-boy about affection, but in the privacy of their home he was much more open to hugs from his dad and step-mom.

“Now, we admire the lights for a little while, sing songs, and maybe I can tell you two the story of Hanukkah. Then, after half an hour, we eat.”

“We have to wait half an hour?” William asked, and Felicity could see visions of sufganiyot dancing in his head.

“This is Felicity’s show,” Oliver interjected, using his best Dad Voice. It got to Felicity almost as much as his Green Arrow Voice, which had been an unexpected pleasure. “She’s teaching us, and we’re learning. So if she says we have to wait half an hour, we have to wait.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay Dad.”

Felicity looked up at her husband and saw that special type of happiness settle over his face that he got whenever William called him ‘Dad.’ She went up on her toes and he met her halfway, their lips sharing a brief caress before she went flat-footed again and ruffled William’s hair.

“We admire the lights to remember God’s miracle and protection. More than 2000 years ago, the land of Israel was taken over by Antiochus III, the King of Syria…”

Thirty minutes later, after the story was told, Felicity shared some funny Hanukkah memories of her own, and they sang songs, it was finally time to eat.

Her boys told her to go sit and they would set the table. Father and son worked as a team to lay down the plates and cutlery while Oliver carried the heavy platters laden with food. Felicity watched the meal take shape around her, and grinned when Oliver poured her a glass of her favorite middle-expensive Malbec.

Oliver had bought a table when Felicity moved in, since three people couldn’t fit at the breakfast bar. It was a circle and on the smaller side, but Felicity liked being able to see everyone without turning her head too much.

Oliver and William marveled at her cooking, and Felicity let herself have one night to preen over successful food creations. It would likely be the only night of Hanukkah where she cooked, unless they wanted to have the same meal for eight nights. Oliver had been feverishly practicing other dishes, and Felicity was his willing taste tester. They were all delicious, of course.

But tonight was Felicity’s night, and she was going to embrace it.

“You’re moving in on my turf with this, Felicity,” Oliver pretended to complain.

Felicity laughed. “Don’t worry too much, my love.” She took his hand. “Unless both of you want to eat this same meal every night or takeout for the rest of forever, we still hopelessly rely on you.”

That made Oliver and William laugh, but Felicity knew the truth in her husband’s eyes. He liked knowing that his family needed him. Relied on him. Watching his family enjoy something he created with his own hands fulfilled him.

Near the end of dinner, after a few too many sufganiyot, Oliver and William kept exchanging pointed looks.

“Why do I feel like my favorite boys are keeping secrets from me?” Felicity asked, taking a lengthy sip of wine.

They shared another long look, then turned to Felicity with two identical pairs of big, pleading blue eyes. “I know we said no gifts…” Oliver began, and Felicity immediately groaned.

“Oliver, Hanukkah isn’t really a big Jewish holiday! And traditionally there’s no gift giving. And I already got to marry you and be in both your lives and – ”

Oliver leaned over and kissed her. Normally he wasn’t in the habit of silencing her babbles since he loved them so much, but occasionally she got off track. And this time, he wanted something from her.

Felicity leaned back. “I know what – ”

He kissed her again, lingering a little longer this time.

Finally, they parted and Felicity sighed. “I’m not winning this one, am I?”

William just widened his eyes further. “We love you, Felicity. And we want to show you. With gifts.”

Felicity’s heart melted. So, this was their plan. Ply her with kisses, then her stepson unleashed the puppy eyes and heart-warming declarations. Suddenly, her eyes started to water.

“Oh, baby,” Oliver said, taking her head. “Never mind. We don’t have to give gifts if you don’t want. I didn’t – ”

Felicity shook her head, wiping her eyes with her free hand. “No, it’s nothing like that.” She turned to William. “Did you mean that, or are you just saying that so I agree to gifts?”

William laughed and shook his head. “Felicity, come on.” She could tell he was struggling between his desires to reassure her and maintain his cool-kid persona. Finally, he cracked and rounded the table to envelop her in a hug. Felicity thought her heart might burst. “Of course, I love you.”

Tears. They were unstoppable, now. Tears of happiness and joy. The little girl who’d been abandoned by her father, celebrating Hanukkah in dingy, miniscule Vegas apartments, never could’ve imagined she would end up here, her husband and step-son with their arms wrapped around her and a heart so full of love.

“Okay, okay,” Felicity said after a few moments of relishing the hugs. “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes. “I promise! I’m fine. No more water works.” William went back to his seat, and Oliver moved back until just his arm was slung across her chair.

“Want to go get our gifts, buddy?” Oliver asked, and William nodded and disappeared into his room.

Felicity stood and moved to the kitchen, a confused Oliver trailing behind her. “I may be a bit of a hypocrite,” she said, opening the cabinet that housed her one allotted shelf of junk food that Oliver never touched. Behind a box of hot fudge sundae poptarts sat a hand-sized box wrapped in blue paper with a silver ribbon.

Oliver was a warm presence at her back, hand on her waist as she came down from her toes and turned in his arms to show him the box. “It’s for William,” she said, looking up at her husband from under her lashes. They were bare inches from each other, sharing the same air, the same heat, and Felicity saw Oliver’s eyes go black.

She tilted her head up, bringing their lips closer together. “Your gift isn’t exactly…” Eyes down, then up. Locking on Oliver’s, “fit for public consumption,” she murmured, hooking a finger in the collar of her Hanukkah sweater and pulling it down.

Her husband’s burning eyes dragged down her face and neck like a caress before he saw what she had under her sweater. He took a deep breath, pulling Felicity in even as he moved closer. He turned her to the counter, pressing his leg between hers, bending his head down…

“Here they are!”

They didn’t spring apart, but they did move to a more PG position. This wasn’t the first time William had walked in on Oliver and Felicity in some state of affection, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Felicity thought it probably did him a bit of good to see his father in a happy, committed relationship. Surely that was in some parenting book somewhere?

“Guys, seriously?” he asked, standing in the living room with two gifts in each hand and an exasperated expression.

Oliver and Felicity laughed, returning to the living room and taking spots on the couch. William sat on the ottoman, Oliver sat on the couch, and Felicity sat close to him, her legs draped across his lap. William eyed the present in Felicity’s hand and raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Felicity mock-growled. “It’s been a big year. And you’re a kid. And it’s your first Hanukkah.”

“I’m not a kid – ”

“Pardon me, young adult. Either way, it’s customary that the younger members of the family get gifts.”

“Sure, sure. Do you want to open first?” William asked, holding out the gifts in his hands.

Felicity shook her head and held out the box in her hand. “You first.”

William’s face lit up and he tore into the metallic blue paper. Inside the box he found a disc, and once the initial confusion passed his face lit up.

“You… made me a video game?” he asked, turning the disc so Oliver could see it. Original artwork showed a digitalized version of William and the words “The Adventures of Will the Wise.” Oliver didn’t say anything, but his tightened grip around Felicity’s shoulders. His eyes said more than his mouth ever could. They shined with love and a little disbelief, like he couldn’t believe the life in front of him.

Felicity nodded. “I know Will is your favorite in Stranger Things, so I coded this game with an original story. It’s part Steven King, part Bioshock, with some D&D elements, and options for multi-player or story mode. It works on your existing consoles.”

William’s face fell. “Now I feel like my gift for you isn’t cool enough,” he groused. Felicity was already shaking her head.

“Whatever you got me, it’ll be perfect. Because it came from you,” she said with a smile.

William’s face went red, high on his cheeks, but he nodded sharply and pushed the two gifts into her hands.

Felicity opened William’s first, and found a USB drive disguised as a tube of lipstick. It was her aesthetic and absolutely perfect. She thanked William profusely and gave him a kiss on the cheek he pretended he hated.

Oliver’s gift was next, and he surprised her with a ninety-minute massage at one of the premier spas in Star City. She hadn’t given up her heels despite working with only Curtis from the old loft, and she often complained about her legs and feet hurting. It was intimate, sweet, and entirely Oliver. If Felicity knew anything about her husband, the gifts would only get more extravagant as the days went by. He liked to spoil the people he loved.

The trio put their gifts away and settled back in the living room to watch William play his new game. After several hours, it was time for bed.

“It might be the first night of Hanukkah, but it’s also a school night,” Oliver said, hustling the preteen through his night routine. Felicity began putting the dishes and leftovers away, still floating through the warm glow of one of the best first nights of Hanukkah on record.

Once William was down and his door was closed. Oliver turned to Felicity. Their eyes locked across the apartment, and Oliver stalked to her. There was no other word for it. His eyes went dark, and he moved soundlessly through the apartment. Felicity stayed still, more than willing to be caught, and Oliver met her in a rush of dark eyes and heat.

Felicity went up on her toes, expecting a kiss, before she somehow ended up ass over tea kettle, slung over Oliver’s shoulder and staring at his delicious butt in his jeans.

“Oliver!” she whisper-shouted, doing her best to keep quiet for William’s sake. Her husband began to carry her through the apartment. “What the frack? Put me down!”

Oliver had one arm holding her lower back to keep her on his shoulder, and used his free hand to pat her ass. Slightly harder than necessary. “Don’t worry, hon. I gotcha.”

Before she could protest again, they were in their room, Oliver kicked the door shut, and dropped her on the bed.

“Now, Mrs. Queen. Let’s revisit what’s under this sweater.” He stood in front of her, body between her parted legs, his hands running across her neck and shoulders.

Felicity threw her head back and sighed contentedly, reveling in the feeling of Oliver’s hands on her. Her own roamed across his powerful thighs, climbing up the back of his pants to one of her favorite parts of him.

“You know, you’re the only one who gets to call me that, Mr. Smoak,” she said, grinning when Oliver growled at her ministrations.

Oliver’s hands dipped below the neck of her sweater, running across the smooth satin and smoother skin he found. “We agreed you’re Mrs. Smoak-Queen everywhere else, but Mrs. Queen in our bed,” he growled.

“Hmm.” Felicity tilted her head, pursing her lips. “I seem to remember something about that.” Felicity leaned back and somehow – in a flash of unexpected grace – got her sweater and leggings off in mostly the same go.

Underneath was Oliver’s present: a dark green and black corset and panty set that just happened to match the exact green of his suit.

“Felicity,” he breathed, his eyes so dilated there was nothing but a thin ring of blue as he took her in from head to toe. When he looked at her like that, like she was everything good right in front of him, she really felt the precious gift of his love, his tremulously beating heart, placed tentatively yet boldly in her hands. “I love you.”

That was all he needed to say. No sweeping metaphors or grand declarations. His tone said it all, deep and true and filled with love.

“I thought you’d like it,” she said, moving further up the bed to make room for Oliver crawling after her. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. She knew what was going to happen. He knew what was going to happen. Everyone was happy with the projected outcome.

“Come on, my love.” She laid on the pillows, arching her back and keeping her eyes on her husband. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He didn’t.

After they spent the first night of Hanukkah wrapped in each other’s arms, Felicity curled up naked against her equally naked husband, thinking about the gift for Oliver she was saving for the last night of Hanukkah. It was mostly sentiment, since Felicity used the implant, but she was sure Oliver would understand what the empty birth control packet meant.

Timing would never he right. And she wanted to grow her family with Oliver.

This was gearing up to be the most memorable Hanukkah yet.

###

[vetivrr]

Christmas drabble

@quacksies u know exactly what this is you got this stuck in my head lmao

Merry Christmas to all the shippers, I had v little time to edit so apologies for mistakes

Oh, the things one does for the sake of a lover.

Dipper Gleeful stood, flat-faced and bare chested in front of his open armoire, hands resting on both of the polished handles and contemplated contracting some sudden end of the year flu to avoid having to go back downstairs.

But they're waiting for you, dammit.

He turned and pushed a small huff of a laugh out through closed lips to consider his options...on one hand, he could go back down to the library and spend the last night of Hanukkah with his family under their obscenely overdecorated tree, or he could stay here in the hopes that Will would come looking for him and let himself be roped into some alone time beneath the canopies of the youngest Gleeful's four poster bed.

The four poster bed that, he was very quickly reminded, was also obscenely overdecorated.

Tinsel and matte polished ornaments of navy and gold hung in rich clusters wound across the canopy supports, wreaths hung over the fireplace and doors, a menorah that still softly burned, it's light reflected in the mirror atop his dresser, tabletop Christmas trees replacing flower vases and a small sprig of mistletoe, two freckled red berries nestled into the spiked leaves hung above the headboard (personally Dipper's favorite addition, though he would have died several times over rather than say that out loud).

William adored the holidays.

Enough, apparently, to pull such an completely unfair move.

Blocking out any further thought because Dipper Gleeful doesn't pout, he turned back to his wardrobe with an expression of rueful distaste.

The armoire was almost completely emptied, his normal selection of crisply pressed suits and vests, caplets and slacks was simply gone and a quick check in the dresser yielded a similar result.

All empty except for the lone, wool-woven sweater that the resident dream demon, by all appearances, very much wanted him to wear.

He pulled the piece out on its wooden hangar and inspected it with a wince. The large, boxy weave and badly designed graphics clashed against every single fashion sense the man owned, and had that breast pocket been placed on the left side? What did it even say? Was 'challuh' considered a valid holiday greeting?

How do these designs even get approved?

At least it was his favorite color, Dipper noted reaching up with one hand to rub his forehead in conflicted exasperation.

Obviously Will wouldn't have taken such thorough measures to make him wear this if he hadn't *really wanted to see his lover in it.

Will wasn't the kind to trick him, wasn't a conniving creature and they both knew perfectly well if Dipper didn't want to he would be able to find something else to wear despite the obstacle of having all his clothing options go missing.

Dipper cleared his head with a shake and tried to be annoyed at his boyfriend, he really did, but all he could manage was a half-groan, half-chuckle as he made up his mind and pulled on the sweater, already turned in towards the room's cracked open door.

It was surprisingly soft, he noted begrudgingly as he walked down the hallway, lined with some sort of fleece or other fuzzy material, and the collar blissfully loose around his neck.

Mabel would most definitely laugh at him, Dipper decided as he pushed down the handle of the library's carven double doorway, and as he crossed to the dim lit, softly incensed sitting area he was quite sure he heard the lilt of a giggle dancing on the brunette's mouth even before she glanced up. Even Stanford seemed to be staring harder at his book than should have been necessary, but then, Dipper thought, he might just be paranoid and it didn't matter anyway.

Because any semblance of mortification he may have felt completely dissipated the moment his eyes met Will's.

The demon was settled in their favorite armchair, idly flipping through the illustrations in the hardback volume he'd been reading, but turned in the seat eagerly round to greet his lover, eye lighting up as he caught sight of the sweater.

He looked almost elated, the glow of the firelight dancing in ice blue eye, Dipper even thought he heard a little noise of contentment escape the demon as he reached out to let their arms twine together as he sank down besides Will, chuckling as the demon immediately reached out to hug the other's arm and lean into him, mumbling something that sound like a thank you into the navy fabric.

Dipper just sighed, turning his head to press softly smirking lips I to the paste locks, “You didn't have to go so far to get me to do this. You could have just asked.”

Will shook his head, embarrassed,“B-but then you wouldn't’ve wanted to, Pinetree.”

“So you did it to spare my pride.”

“...sort of…”

“How sweet.”

“I-I know.”

Dipper rolled his eyes, pulling his arm out of Will's grasp to wrap it around the demon's shoulders, “You're making this up to me later,” he replied, biting back a grin at the catcall from Mabel's direction and the flush that bloomed in Will's cheeks as the demon buried his face in the Gleeful’s chest again, fingers hooking into the breast pocket as he squeaked out a muffled, ‘okay’.

Dipper settled for this and leaned back into his lover, noting the scent of spices that clung to Will, probably from the copious amounts of baking the immortal had been getting up to lately. He looked out the far library window and noted with a pleased pang that it was snowing, huffing into blue hair and deciding that he quite liked the holidays, after all.

[iknaq]

May Your Days Be Merry And Bright

A quick WinterShieldShock short. Something has been bothering Darcy and no matter what they did, Bucky and Steve hadn’t been able to get her spirits up for Christmas.

-

Seeing Darcy down was breaking his heart but when Steve started getting down for not being able to cheer her up, it was too much.

‘Come on, Stevie. I’m sure we can figure something out. Jane is going to be back later today, Wanda and Storm have been helping her bake all the wonderful delicious goodies, hell...even Lang got her to join in on karaoke earlier.’

‘I know but she’s still not happy, Buck and it’s killing me.’

‘I know, punk, me too.’

‘Any word from Nat?’

‘Not yet, she should be back at any minute though.’

‘Okay, well...just let me know if you see her before I do.’

Bucky sighed in frustration as Steve wandered down the hall of the palace and all he could see was that little punk with his shoulders hunched over, looking like he went a few rounds and lost. The man that could go all day was worn down with worry because their little hellion had been subdued and withdrawn recently.

It had all started on the first day of Hanukkah: Darcy had told them how she didn’t remember all the blessings but she’d had a lot of fond memories of her Bubbe growing up and lamented the fact that she didn’t have her menorah to at least mark the days. He still wasn’t sure how he’d found out or where it came from but his royal highness, T’Challa procured a menorah from somewhere and Darcy had been looking a little brighter. That lasted several days but the closer they got to Christmas, the sadder she’d looked. Now it was Christmas Eve and she’d been moping all day, despite their best efforts she was still missing that spark in her eyes.

Darcy had been actively avoiding Wanda or singing lyrics in her head, leaving Wanda to think there was something she didn’t want to slip. Nat was out on a mission so she couldn’t get it out of their girl what was up. And any time he or Steve tried to bring it up, she’d just plaster on a smile and assure them that she was fine.

‘Bucky!’

He tensed when Wanda came running over but the smile she gave him had the former Winter Soldier relaxing and looking at the redhead curiously.

‘I know what’s bothering Darcy.’

‘Let’s grab Stevie.’

-

‘I think, that for this we will need Ororo...my Queen, what is it that they say...do you feel like spreading a little Christmas cheer?’

-

She tried, she really tried.

Despite the fact that they were in hiding, the past year had been nothing short of amazing. She’d grown to love Steve and Bucky. The Wakandan scientists had been able to remove the triggers from Bucky’s brain. Thor and Jane were on a break, so that was a big old bummer, but they were still getting along and she’d even volunteered to scope out some planets with Thor to help find a good place for the Asagardians. Thor was still the best bro and even had a wicked eye patch, she couldn’t help but make a joke about wanting a picture of him and Fury for Christmas. Sam had been teaching her how to fly. Nat and Wanda became sisters like Jane somewhere along the way. Lang taught her how to pick a lock. And his royal cat-ness was super chill and took care of the ragtag band of super heroes. All in all, things were going pretty good.

So, she totally didn’t have a leg to stand on to feel this bummed out. T’Challa had gotten her a beautiful menorah and Wanda had helped her remember the blessings. Steve and Bucky had even told them tales about the family that lived in the building with them and surprised them with some gelt the one year. Nat had promised to pick up the boys Christmas presents on her way back and Jane and Thor promised some crazy alien wine to help get the guys tipsy. They’d made allllll the cookies and candies and treats with a freakin Queen (Seriously, Storm could slay at anything she wanted and look stunning the whole time, total lady crush). Even Lang had been cheery after talking with Cassie and usually singing with him helped cheer her up anytime but it just wasn’t doing it right now.

She missed snow.

It was Christmas and it was sunny and warm and just totally did not feel right. They’d gotten a tree and decorated their wing and everything but it just wasn’t the same.

Maybe she’d feel better after a nap.

-

Steve held his breath when he saw her start to stir, the timing of her nap had been fortuitous and the royal highnesses had been so kind as to indulge in their plan.

Bucky had gone to intercept Nat and tell her the plan, leaving him to wake her.

Maybe it was a little cheesy, the dulcet tones of Bing Crosby echoing through the halls but Darcy had told them that was one of her favorite movies (they’d already watched it three times and Die Hard even more than that, with Scott and Sam arguing whether or not it counted as a Christmas movie) and it just felt right.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...

‘Steve?’

His heart stopped just like it did any time one of them blinked their baby blue’s at him and he couldn’t stop himself from crawling into bed and giving her a soft kiss.

‘Hey, sleepyhead. Nat is back, we were just about to wake you for dinner. T’Challa said that he was going to introduce us to one of his favourite pre-holiday meals from when he went to school in America.’

‘Mmmm, okay, sounds good. Hey...I’m sorry I’ve been such a bummer. I love you. You too, Mr Super Assassin, I can see you there...’

‘The greatest assassins and spies and superheroes in the world had a hard time finding me, how is it that you always seem to know where I am, doll?’

‘How could I not? I can always feel my boys...right here in this big ol heart, cause I’m that good and stuff.’

He couldn’t help but get slightly distracted as she patted her rather magnificent chest, flushing when Bucky cuffed him upside the head lightly.

‘Stick to the plan, idiot.’

‘Plan?’

‘Yeah, come on, may we walk you to dinner?’

‘Why, of course.’

The three of them walked arm in arm from their room, Darcy giving them an odd look when they started to veer towards the courtyard.

‘It’s such a nice night, thought we might take a different route.’

‘What are you guys planning? You know you totally suck at hiding things Steve, that cute Irish skin of yours blushes all pretty.’

He couldn’t stop the flush that started up his collar but when they stepped through the arches and towards the courtyard, her slackjawed surprise was enough to distract him.

She stepped out into the soft powder with a look of childlike wonder and Bucky grinned as he wrapped his arm around his waist. He wasn’t quite sure how a kid from Brooklyn got so lucky but he couldn’t stop his own grin.

‘How?’

‘Well, her majesty just happens to be able to control the weather and when we told her what was up, she was more than happy to help cheer you up. You should have told us sooner, Darce...I hated seeing you so down.’

‘I just...I didn’t want to complain, things have been as good as they can be and even better. It just seemed like such a silly thing...’

‘Doll, we would fetch you the moon if you asked.’

It had taken a while but that smooth, confident, smartass Steve remembered had started to come back and damn if he didn’t make him and Darcy speechless from time to time. Darcy pulled them each into a sweet kiss and Buck snuck one in between the two of them, making them all laugh as their noses bumped.

‘Smooth, medvezhonok. I got that all on camera, can we eat now? Snowman and cocoa after.’

‘Tash!’

‘Come, solnyshko. The boys told me you have been down.’

‘I was but I’m good now...now it feels like Christmas. Thank you, your majesty, thank you so so much.’

‘I told you, just call me Storm and I was happy to be able to bring that smile to your face. Come, the food is getting cold.’

-

It was an odd sight. Super soldiers, gods, royalty, master assassins, scientists and a former intern relaxing around a giant table eating Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve in Wakanda but Wanda could feel the happiness and love radiating in the room.

Somewhere along the way, they had become family and that was the best thing so far about her first Christmas without Pietro.

She smirked a little and used her power to shape some snowballs while they sat there, wondering how many of them she could get once they were done with the food.

[etraytin]

A Fish Fic for (not) Friday

It wasn’t until I went to write that title that I realized I should’ve saved this fic back till tomorrow, but it’s already posted and I am not a patient woman anyway. Oh well! Here is a short West Wing standalone fic about my favorite mystery: what benign force is in charge of Gail’s fishbowl? Personally I still believe it’s magic, but this is a somewhat more mundane explanation. Hope you enjoy! 

“So what's going on in here?”

Carol jumped at the sudden voice from behind her, water slopping over her fingers as she tightened her grip on the glass bowl. She turned to glare at the interloper, now leaning in the doorway as though he had not a care in the world. “You're not supposed to be back here, Danny,” she accused. “Margaret's going to eat you for breakfast.”

“Hey, ease back there, Galatea,” Danny implored, raising his empty hands. “I've got a note from the boss, I swear. We're meeting for lunch.”

Carol looked at him skeptically. “Galatea?” she repeated. “Like the statue?”

“No, no, no,” he insisted. “Like the sea goddess. You know, with the fish, and the shooting lightning from your eyes at me... never mind. The name of the statue came from the name of the goddess.”

“You are way too educated, Danny,” she told him flatly, turning back to her work. “She's in the sit room, I don't know if she's going to make it back anytime soon. You might be stuck with the Mess today.”

“I can deal,” Danny replied easily. “You're a little outside your stomping grounds as well, aren't you? Last I heard you were pretty much running things in the press office.”

“I'm a woman of many talents.” Carol set a doily down on the polished mahogany desk, then carefully placed the fishbowl down on top of it, right next to the other one.

“You're messing with my fish,” Danny observed. “Or with one of them. Why are there two fish?”

“Because I'm changing out the bowl,” she explained. The bowl on the right contained royal blue gravel, a little plaster menorah, and a goldfish. The bowl on the left contained red and green gravel, a little plaster Christmas tree with plaster presents beneath it, and a goldfish. Carol pulled a folded length of gold ribbon from her pocket and secured it around the rim of the  Christmas bowl, tying a puffy bow.

“I always wondered who changed the decorations,” Danny admitted. “But that doesn't really answer the question at hand. Which one of those is my fish?”

“Neither of them are yours,” Carol replied immediately, volunteering no further information. She was a pro at dealing with troublesome members of the press corps, and Danny Concannon definitely counted after all the trouble he'd caused last time he'd come to town. Nobody got to make CJ that happy, then that sad, then that aggravated, then up and leave again, thereby ushering in the godforsaken Era of Ben without making it onto Carol's semi-permanent shit list. He could stay there as far as she was concerned.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. Which one is CJ's?” He obviously read the answer she was about to give on her face. “...Both of them are CJ's. Right. Which one is the one I gave her? The original?”

Carol bent to look into the bowls with a critical eye. “Neither of them,” she decided after a moment. “This is Gail Two and Gail Five. Gail One's in the tank.”

His eyes widened a little. “Five? Is this some kind of illicit goldfish-smuggling operation? And me without my notebook.”

She gave him a withering look. “You gave CJ a goldfish in a bowl without so much as a piece of gravel in it. You know what the life expectancy for a fish like that is, in an environment like the White House? I've had headaches that lasted longer. But CJ likes her, and she reduces the workplace stress around here. And somebody has to keep the bowl clean and decorated anyway, so we got a system going.”

“Who's we?” Danny asked, looking fascinated almost in spite of himself.

“Me and Henry at first, and some of the interns. Jack actually knew something about fish, so he set up the little aquarium downstairs in the supply closet back of the Press Office.” Carol smiled dryly. “We told him being assistant deputy would require a wide skill set.”

“But why?”  

She shrugged. “Being the fish on CJ's desk is a stressful gig. They each have a week or so at a time, then get four weeks off to recover. Works pretty well, we've only lost one Gail in six and a half years. And the original is still doing fine,” she assured him.

Danny approached the desk, looking slightly awestruck. “A true White House conspiracy right under my nose, and I never suspected a thing,” he mused. “I should just turn in my credentials now.” Carol smirked, but refrained from making any helpful remarks. “Does CJ know?”

“No, and don't tell her, either!” Carol insisted, stepping closer to the desk.“She needs Gail more than ever, so you just leave well enough alone, Danny Concannon. Anything that reduces her stress level is good. And if you're sneaking in here again because you've got some kind of story to drop on her head or there's something you want to get from her-”

“Hey, hey,” he protested, taking a couple quick steps back. “I've got no ulterior motives here! I'm trying to take an attractive and interesting woman who I have strong feelings for out to a nice lunch, and the fact that she happens to be one of the most powerful people in the world is less a perk and more something we have to work around.”

Carol just glared at him, letting her expression say clearly what she thought of his assurances. There'd been a time, years really, when she'd liked Danny very much. He'd started following the campaign right about the time she'd come on staff, and she'd liked his deadpan humor, the words he used to describe their days that made them more vibrant than actually living them, and the way he flustered and exasperated and amused and bewildered CJ. They hadn't had much time for entertainment on the campaign, and it had been a lot more fun for her and Margaret and Donna to gossip about CJ and Danny than about Leo's slowly disintegrating marriage or the never-ending vale of tears that was Josh and Mandy. When they got to the White House, he ingratiated himself with little bribes, enough that Carol found them charming, nothing to make her feel cheap, and she felt fine about it because he wrote stories that were fair and secretly CJ wanted to see him. Even when CJ was punishing him, Carol was usually on his side, just a little bit.

Then there was that horrible night at Rosslyn, when CJ had come back to the White House injured and shaken down to her very bones, and all Danny could talk about was the 25th Amendment. Carol had wanted him to help her take care of CJ, but he'd only made things worse because that was his job. It occurred to her for the first time that maybe his job really was the obstacle CJ and everyone else said it was. He could've moved up, taken a promotion, become an editor, and been much freer to be with CJ, but then he hadn't done that, either. (Carol hadn't known about that for another full year, not till the sad, arid days after Simon Donovan, when she'd finally taken CJ out and gotten her drunk enough to talk about her love life.) The last straw had come when Danny had staged his Christmas comeback, when Carol had bought into the romance and excitement enough to help sneak him into the White House dressed as Santa Claus so he could surprise CJ. Surprise her with a bombshell of a story he was working on, more like, and give her nothing but more headaches and sleepless nights. As far as Carol was concerned, as far as she hoped CJ was concerned, Danny and his lack of ulterior motives could go pound sand.

Danny seemed to grow a bit uncomfortable with the glaring after a moment, though he was professionally immune to people who were annoyed with him. He turned his attention back to the fish. “So, um, what happened to the one Gail that didn't make it?”

“Turkey-related mishap,” Carol replied shortly.

“Ah.” There was another moment of silence. “So, I think I'll just stop by later when CJ's back in her office. Nice to see you, Carol.”

Carol waited till he was almost at the door to the hallway. “Hey, Danny.” He turned back to look at her. “You be good to her, okay? No more games, no more stories.” She cradled the Hanukkah bowl and Gail Two a little closer. “If you hurt her again, nobody's ever going to find your body.”

Danny's eyebrows went up as he studied her. He seemed to understand how much she meant every word of that, to judge by the way he shifted his weight and ran one hand nervously through his hair. “Right, gotcha. And I'm just not gonna ask what kind of fish food you're using down in the press office these days.”

She gave him a thin smile, letting him make his escape into the hallway. Once he was safely gone, Carol lifted Gail Two's bowl to face height, peeking in at its golden occupant. “Men are totally not worth it, Gail,” she announced with great feeling. “If you want somebody to keep you company, you're better off with a fish.” Tucking the bowl back into the crook of her arm, she headed back for the press office, leaving Gail Five swimming lazy circles in her Christmas bowl.

(This fic is also archived at AO3, same author name, under the title “Fish Story.”) 

[pamphletstoinspire]

Catholic Physics - Reflections of a Catholic Scientist - Part 84

Christ, Be Our Light!: Reflections on Christmas, Chanukkah, and Strange Physics

Story with images:

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/catholic-physics-reflections-scientist-part-84-harold-baines/?published=t

William Hunt (1827-1910) - The Light of the World (Caption for linked image)

"This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." First Letter of John 1:5 (KJV)

"Christ, be our light! Shine in our hearts. Shine through the darkness. Christ, be our light!Shine in your church gathered today." Refrain, Christ Be Our Light, Bernadette Farrell

And they made new holy vessels, and brought in the candlestick, and the altar of incense, and the table into the temple.  And they put incense upon the altar, and lighted up the lamps that were upon the candlestick, and they gave light in the temple." 1 Maccabees 4:48-50 (KJV)

"All these fifty years of conscious brooding have brought me no nearer to the answer to the question, 'What are light quanta?' Nowadays every Tom, Dick and Harry thinks he knows it, but he is mistaken." Albert Einstein, in 'The Born-Einstein Letters', by Max Born

ADDENDUM (added 7th January, 2017, Epiphany)

Oh, star of wonder, star of might

Star with royal beauty bright

Westward leading

Still proceeding

Guide us to the perfect light

Refrain, "We Three Kings"

INTRODUCTION

Some 80 years ago (more or less) when I was a child, I would pester my Jewish parents (secular, non-religious) for a Christmas Tree.  All around me would be the lights of Christmas -- on houses, lawns, and downtown (there was a downtown in those days) in the glorious department store window displays -- and I didn't understand why we couldn't take part in all that. I listened to explanations that we weren't Christians, we had our own holiday, Chanukkah; but the eight lights of the Menorah didn't hold a candle (so to speak) to those on any modest Christmas tree, and even though there were eight days of gifts, they were all small potatoes compared to those my Christian friends received on the one day of Christmas.

It took almost 10 years after my conversion to the faith to realize the full import of Christmas, and even that of Chanukkah, the Festival of Lights. During the first few years after my conversion I still did not feel totally comfortable during the Christmas holidays -- more like the hungry tramp peering into the restaurant window, an outsider. It took a little while for me to go beyond the gift-giving and realize the miracle of the Incarnation.  And so my prayer before the third decade of the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary was and is that Christmas be celebrated as the Incarnation, the birthday of Jesus.

I'd like to share my thoughts about these things - informed by my faith as a Catholic, my heritage as a Jew, and my vocation as a physicist.  They won't be given in the order of importance - saving the best for last.

ABOUT CHANUKKAH (HANUKKAH)*

Here's a brief account of the story behind the verse from First Maccabees quoted above. (For more details, see here.)  The Maccabees had revolted against the Syrian ruler, Antiochus, who had tried to instill Greek values and religion on the Jews. And as the Talmud recounts the tale, in their recapture of the Temple and its re-dedication to the one true God, they found there was oil for the lamps that would only last one day, they filled the lamps and lo and behold, the oil lasted eight days -- a miracle!  

President George H.W. Bush celebrating Channukah - from Wikimedia Commons (Caption for linked image)

The holiday is not one of the major Jewish holidays.  In my opinion, it has become more important in recent times as a counterweight to Christmas.  

Eight candles are lit in the Chanukkah menorah (one for each day the Temple lamps burnt).  And children receive a present each day, including "Chanukah gelt" (money).  Latkes (potato pancakes) are also a tradition** --

It is a joyous time, celebrating freedom to worship. and the songs are among the best in the Jewish and Yiddish folk tradition.  One of my favorites is that by the Klezmatic Conservatory Band, Oy Chanukkah; and here are the lyrics. Note in the last verse, the element of light:  

"Oh, Hanukkah, Oh, Hanukkah,

Come light the menorah

Let's have a party.

We'll all dance the hora

To remind us of days long ago

One for each night, they shed a sweet light,

To remind us of days long ago."

I will concede that there is no great theological significance here.

STRANGE PHYSICS***

There was a young lady named Bright,

Whose speed was far faster than light.

She set out one day

In a relative way,

And returned on the preceding night.

-- Edward Lear? A.H. Buller?

Classical physics treated light as an electromagnetic wave, a linked oscillation of electric and magnetic fields. In the early 20th century Einstein's explanation of the photo-electric effect gave light a second personality, that of a particle. This light particle, a photon, has no mass and travels at the speed of light (which is unremarkable, given that it is light).

Time-dilation enters here: special relativity says that time goes more slowly (stretches out, so-to-speak) as the speed of objects approach the speed of light. This is the basis of the so-called twin paradox: time will go more slowly for a twin traveling close to the speed of light than for his twin on stationary earth, so that when he return from his voyage, the paradox will have it that he has aged less than his twin, as illustrated below: (Caption for linked image)

French translation: In the reference frame ("point of view") for the stationary (earth-bound) twin; Time goes more slowly in the spaceship than on earth; You are younger than I! - From Wikimedia Commons

Now there are objections to this simple minded picture. For example, suppose one regards the spaceship as stationary and the earth as moving away and returning -- then the twin on earth would be younger when reunion occurs (see here for the analogous illustration.) There are number of other effects that complicate the analysis -- time dilation on acceleration and de-acceleration (see here for a detailed account.) Time dilation is a real effect, manifested in longer decay times of energetic cosmic ray particles, in the very slight slowing down of atomic clocks in orbiting satellites (that has to be taken into account in GPS tracking).

From all the above the first thought might be that time does not pass for a photon. However, we can't say that time can be measured for a photon in a reference frame moving at the speed of light. Why? A fundamental assumption of special relativity is that measurements are ultimately made by the agency of light signals: light is the measuring agent and light can't measure itself. So it's more appropriate to think that a photon does not, in its own frame of reference, experience time. If a photon could be aware, its moment of creation (by emission of light -- say an electron falling from a high energy level to a lower) to its annihilation (by absorption of light -- say, an electron jumping from a low energy level to a higher) would be simultaneous.

Are there any theological implications in no-time for photons, for light? Well, here's an off-the-wall thought: we say that there is no time for God,

"But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day." -- 2 Peter 3:8

So the idea that God is light implies also that all times co-exist for God.

THE THEOLOGY OF LIGHT?

"And God said, Let there be light: and there was light." Gen 1:3 (KJV)

"Thy word [is] a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." Psalm 119 Nun (KJV)

"Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." John 8:12 (KJV)

"The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light; but when [thine eye] is evil, thy body also [is] full of darkness." Luke 11:34 (KJV)

And there are many more.

Now let's turn to John 1:1

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." (KJV)

The Greek word in the New Testament that was translated as "Word" is "λόγος" ("logos"). In addition to the meaning "word", other general meanings are "principle", "reason", "logic." Let's think about the relation between "light" and "logos". What do we mean when we say "I see the light!"? We see the reason, the truth, the rationale, the principle in what is said. So light, reason, the Word are connected. And when John wrote "in the beginning was the Word" and in Genesis we read "And God said 'let there be light' " we have an equivalence.

Your comments and criticisms are invited. (By the way, Ahura Mazda, the God, was embodied in light in Zoroastrianism -- so I hope in this reflection I haven't made a heretical comparison to that early religion.)

NOTES

*The two different spellings reflect the guttural Ch sound for Chanukkah in Yiddish, and the Anglicized H sound.

**This year the night before Chanukkah, my wife, a cradle Catholic and more versed in Jewish tradition and cooking than was my mother, made latkes that would be a prize winner on Chopped.

***For a more complete explanation of the dual nature of light, and the historical development of this physics that gave this picture, see The Quantum Catholic.

From a series of articles written by: Bob Kurland - a Catholic Scientist