#x jewish reader

[unhonest-iago]

Shanah Tovah

Corpse had the dates for all the Jewish holidays circled on his paper calendar, remembering that they changed every year. It was something y/n had mentioned once or twice in casual conversation. Corpse had picked up bread making as a new hobby, needing something to do when he couldn't come up with any new songs or music video concepts. Y/n could hear the clatter from their apartment next door, the walls unfortunately thin. And the kitchens even tinier to the point you could barely call them kitchens. Joking through the walls as y/n laughed at his one sided fights with tin foil.

Corpse decided to go with a three strand braid, not wanting to overdo it with his fibromyalgia. Already feeling a pins and needles sensation in a few of his fingers. The risen dough sat on his counter top, divided into three pieces. Rolling them into more a tube shape like you would clay for a coil pot. Corpse double checked the measurements, wanting to be sure it'd fit in his pan. Hands lightly shaking, quickly lacing the strands together. Still neat enough for his liking.

Sitting on the counter as he waited for the timer to ding, not having the energy to do much else. Y/n, picking up the smell of freshly baked bread assumed Corpse was trying a new recipe that he'd ultimately fuck up and curse up a storm about. Confused when they heard a knock on the door. Looking in the peep hole, seeing Corpse stood at their door. 'Hey Corpse, what this all about?'

'Heard it was a holiday for you and figured I'd surprise you. Swear on my life I didn't mess it up, tried it a dozen times just to make sure.' Rambling a little before handing it to them. Looking down, the poppy seeds staring back at them. 'Oh, jar of honey as well.'

Y/n thought of what they had planned for the day, or lack thereof. Shifting from foot to foot as they made up their mind. 'Wanna come in?'

[ivystoryweaver]

Happy New Year, Jake

Happy Rosh Hashanah to the Moon Knight system

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader

Word Count: 820

Content: Fluff, slight feelings of unworthiness, mentions of food, alters mentioned, brief reference to past trauma, mentions of religion and religious practices, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You asked Marc and Steven if you could do this.

Celebrate something with Jake.

Marc had some happy memories of holidays - Passover meals - finding the afikomen and getting a few dollars for it. The food, the wine, the prayers, the traditions.

Hanukkah wasn't quite as big of a holiday, but there were presents and dreidel to play and latkes to eat.

There were candles to light and services to attend.

Then, one day, there was no more happiness.

Steven's memories were spotty at best, but they were happy. His heart was rooted in the traditions of those before him.

But Jake had none of this. He was a shadow - a creature of the night. He had only been in your life for less than a year.

Jake was a difficult man to get to know. He preferred to keep to himself, but he was soft for you - that, he could not fight.

You didn't want to ambush him, or even surprise him. You asked his permission.

"Could...do you think we could have a little dinner for New Year's?" You asked him one night, moonlight spilling across the bed as you drew circles on his bare chest with your fingertips.

"New Year's?" He gruffed out, confused. "In September?"

"Rosh Hashanah," you supplied. "You know...the new year. If you want. I wanted to make you dinner - just something nice."

Jake's calloused hands scratched lightly down the curve of your back. "Not sure, mi vida. Better ask - "

"I did," you interrupted. "Marc's not ready yet and Steven is okay skipping this year - at least the dinner so you and I can share it. Only if that's okay with you. It doesn't have to be anything you're uncomfortable with."

The stubble of his chin tickled the skin of your cheek as he whispered back and forth with you.

"Okay. Yeah. I...I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do, but...sure."

You were excited, having hoped Jake wouldn't turn you down.

You prepared a savory meal - doing most of the work the night before. You set an elegant yet simple table, with your best dishes, a tablecloth and your grandmother's silver.

A round challah loaf sat on her silver serving platter. You prepared apples and honey to symbolize the hope for a sweet year. You also served pomegranates and some vegetables. You made some brisket for Marc to eat later. Wine glasses and water glasses were set appropriately. You were ready.

You put the finishing touches on the table just as Jake emerged from your bedroom, straightening his tie. Jake was no stranger to wearing a tie or looking absolutely dashing at any given moment.

But this was something else. Instead of his typical leather jacket, he wore a dark suit jacket. Noticing your blatant stare, he ran a hand over the stubble of his jaw.

"I think this is like a...proper dinner," he attempted, sounding a little like Steven. "This too much?"

"Jake," you breathed, floating toward him. "You look incredible." Placing your hands on his muscled chest, you leaned in and brushed your lips tenderly over his.

"Shana Tovah," you wished him, motioning for him to have a seat at the table. But he pulled you back to his side, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

As you sat down to enjoy your holiday meal, your heart burned within your chest each time Jake seemed uncertain about what exactly to do. The last thing you wanted was make him uncomfortable, or make him somehow feel less...Jewish? Than Steven or Marc.

You only desired for him to be who he was. But you wanted him to feel a part of his history too, if he was comfortable.

"You okay?" You quietly asked, watching as he dipped his apple slice into the honey.

He paused, his warm brown eyes going wide. "Did I do something wrong? Is there like a prayer?"

"Jake, you can't do anything wrong. This is for you. Just...be with me." You reached across the table and squeezed his hand, watching as his shoulders relaxed.

"This is nice, baby," he spoke up after a few minutes. Leaning in, he made sure to catch your eye. "It's really nice. Thank you...for thinking of me."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm always thinking of you."

You shared your special meal and some traditions together, feeling so warm inside and so grateful for this man of yours. When you got up from the table, he pulled you close and told you how amazing you looked.

"Gotta dress up like this again so I can take you out," he roughly whispered against your ear while holding you against him.

Easing back, you brushed your fingers along his jaw. "You mean 'take me out' a date, right? And not...your nighttime job?" You teased.

"Very funny," he mocked, scooping you up into a hug, where you stayed for a while, content in his arms.

"Happy new year, baby," he whispered, feeling like he belonged.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[crushribbons]

𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖

summary: Bobby Moch makes for one passive-aggressive roommate. (pt. 1/?)

cw: 5.5k words, modern!au, roommate!bobby, light/medium shorty hunt x reader, light suggestive content (18+ ONLY), drug use, fem reader. this is a work of fiction about the character portrayed in tbitb and not affiliated at all with the actual historical figure (like duh?) requests are open cuties

a/n: i wanna smoke the shit that got those white boys to the olympics xx laney

8-track for the series: 1・2・3・4・5・6・7・8

“Fine. The final offer I will accept is: you get the pizza, I pick the movie, and you roll up.”

“How is that a good deal for me?”

“You get to benefit from my impeccable taste in movies.”

“Oh, please, Bobby–we’re watching Horrible Bosses again, aren’t we?”

Her roommate grinned from ear to ear. “You bet your fuckin’ boot we are.” She groaned in reluctant acceptance and began searching the name of the nearest pizza place that didn’t just microwave drywall and put it in a box. Bobby dictated demands for extra breadsticks and beverages that she ignored.

Once the pizza had been ordered, she slid her phone into her back jeans pocket and told him she’d walk the eight blocks to pick it up “IF,” she pointed a finger at the man clad in his WSU crewneck and narrowed her eyes. “If you roll. It’s the least you can do, golddigger.”

Bobby threw a hand up to his chest in outraged offense. “Golddigger? Darling, I may have married you for the money but to say it out loud…so very gauche.”

“It’s a good thing you’re pre-law. You can talk me into fucking anything,” she grumbled as she pulled on a jacket and pulled the hood up. Thunder had been making threats of a rainstorm all afternoon, and now that the sun had set, fat droplets were beginning to fall against the windows of their ground-floor apartment. She peered out at the darkness and grimly hoped that she could trek there and back without getting too soaked. 

Bobby went into his room while she pulled on shoes and came back waving the plastic baggie of bud he’d scored from one of many suppliers on the pre-law track. It was something of an epidemic among the students, Bobby included, who swore they’d end it all if they had to read one more book about tort reform. “I’ll have them ready by the time you traipse back in here,” he promised, settling down at the small desk they did homework at and pulling a rolling tray and stack of papers toward him.

“Tight this time, Robert.”

“I’m always tight, sweetheart.” 

It was a wonder his roommate’s eyes weren’t permanently stuck rolled back in her skull. Moving in with Bobby in his off-campus apartment had seemed like the perfect option when her junior-year housing had fallen through at the last minute, but she’d neglected to take into account that Bobby would be there. To his credit, he was a fastidiously clean housemate and always did his dishes; he even often cleaned her room for her on the late nights where she was stuck in the library tearing her hair out over yet another batch of assignments. 

But his chatterbox nature, which she had hoped and prayed died down significantly when he was at home, did nothing of the sort. If anything, the captive audience of a girl he’d previously only gotten to squawk at a few times a week egged him on to new heights of talkativeness. She often woke up to him already standing in her doorway and halfway through a conversation: “...but then SHE said that she’d call the police on HIM, so they were both, like, staring each other down, and the whole class is dead silent while this is happening, and–”

“Bobby, what time is it.”

“–and then he–5:45, why?–then HE gets all in her face about how he has a room full of witnesses to this, which, by the way, I was filming the whole thing, and…”

After a few weeks though, the constant drone of his chatter started soothing and comforting her after long days. She could come home, throw her bag down and dive into the nearest pair of sweatpants available, and he would trail behind her the whole time, recounting his entire day starting with the exact minute he woke up and what he had eaten for breakfast. It was reliable, monotonous, and really, kind of nice to just lean against his legs while they watched something dumb on TV and let his voice wash over her.

Another perk of living with Bobby was that he was starting to get pretty good at rolling joints.

She exhaled a long line of smoke and leaned back on the couch, examining the roach pinched between her thumb and forefinger. “Not bad, Moch,” she managed to huff out before a coughing fit overcame her. The smoke settled too heavy in her lungs and made her face turn red as she hacked her breathing back to normal. Bobby was watching her sideways as he took a hit off his own joint, pulled it into his chest, and held it there for a moment with lips pressed tightly together.

“You caught me on a bad day last time,” he eked out, trying to hold the smoke in until it sputtered out from between his lips and he followed it, exhaling strongly and blowing smoke all over the pizza that lay in front of them on the coffee table. Six of the eight pieces were missing, and as the weed wrapped itself like taffeta around her brain, she decided that it would be best if they finished off the remaining two as soon as humanly possible. “My fingers were super tired and I rolled you a sub-par product, that’s just the truth.”

“Well, all is forgiven after these. Oh.” She stretched her arm forward to place her dying joint in the handmade ashtray she had painted during their forced roommate-bonding trip to a paint-your-own pottery studio. It bore the image of a stick-figure her, smiling and the sun shining, next to a stick-figure Bobby who was tied to a chair and whose mouth was covered securely with duct tape. He had dragged her out to the studio on the worst day of her period, and documenting her feelings towards him at that particular time had been very important to her. “I forgot to tell you. Speaking of fingers being tired, guess who asked me out on a daaaaate,” she said, singing the last few words in a way that came out creepier than intended.

Bobby frowned and did likewise with his joint. His eyes were pink and glassy at this point, and it seemed to take him a few extra brain cells to try and remember names right now. “Who?”

“Shorty Hunt.” Bobby’s eyebrows flew up and she tried to laugh but it dissolved quickly into another cough, her lungs still struggling to keep up with his disproportionately strong ones. Yelling for four hours a day, minimum, during crew practice gave him the lung capacity of a whale. Hence also his ability to talk ad nauseam. 

“A date? You?”

“I know, who is she?” she said. It was a joke, but an accurate one, and it rankled. Between her schoolwork and the on-campus job she needed to make her half of the rent, she had forgotten to leave time for romance, and very rarely went out with anyone. She vaguely remembered kissing someone on a night that, to her drunken memory, seemed Halloween-ish. She knew that if she were to look at a calendar right now and add up how long it had been since October, she’d probably go the same way Bobby did when he thought about tort reform. 

Bobby pulled his legs up and tucked them criss-cross as he continued to ponder this development. He looked so cute like this, she thought with a dreamy little smile on her face. Being high always softened the edges of everything, including the many irritants of her roommate. He was wearing her favorite ensemble of his, although he had no idea: a navy blue sweatshirt, plaid boxer pajama shorts, and thick, cozy socks that pooled around his ankles. His frame, which she found adorable, was tucked even smaller than usual on the couch next to her. Weed made him want to shrink away, he always said.

It was the time of day when the product that he carefully combed through his hair every morning was starting to lose its hold, and a few stray pieces fell into his eyes as she watched him work through his intoxicated state to form a normal sentence.

“Shorty Hunt…” he mused. His eyes drifted up to the TV, where Jason Bateman and Charlie Day were frantically vacuuming cocaine off the ground. “He’s a good-looking young man. One of our finest.” The rain was still pouring outside, and she slid her feet under his legs to keep them warm.

“Yeah, I guess.” 

“You should do it,” said Bobby, but it didn’t convince her, which surprised her a little. He never had a bad word to say about any of his teammates, although he would sometimes come up with very cruel nicknames targeting their masculinity if he caught them not giving their all in the shell. Her high was making her question a lot of things, one of them being why Bobby’s mouth had settled into such a humorless line. It was cute, seeing him try to be serious.

“Maybe I will,” she replied carefully. “What would be something fun we could do?”

“I’m not your damn day planner.” The words snapped out of Bobby’s mouth and slapped her in the face, leaving her in such shock that she couldn’t form a reply until Bobby colored and added on with a sheepish tone and nervous grin, “I mean, if I plan your dates for you, you’re just going to end up doing a lot more of this.” He swept his arm in front of him, indicating the pizza, movie, and still-smoldering joints. 

She had no idea what was happening. The two of them had discussed men, women, and dating prospects of all sorts over the past two years, and Bobby had never done worse than roll his eyes when she inquired after the shy and silent Don Hume and told her, “Honey, there aren’t enough hammers in the world to break that turtle out of its shell.” She had scolded him for thinking you could smash a turtle out of its own shell and they had laughed and never talked about Hume in that context again. 

Although…Come to think of it, she’d gotten similar brush-offs from the coxswain in the past regarding his friends and teammates. As they settled into comfortable silence on the couch, a stoned stupor heavy in the air, she tried to recall whom else he’d dismissed as romantic options for her. She was unable to snatch one from the depths of her memory before the opportunity presented itself for her to lay her head in Bobby’s lap and she took it, her eyes sliding shut immediately as she inhaled his scent of laundry detergent, cologne, and sweet, skunky smoke. 

Her last thought before the weed closed her eyes gently for her and she drifted off to sleep was that Bobby really was so cute. I gotta stop smoking this strain, the last rational part of her thought to itself, then she was lost to the sensation of his fingers threading into her hair and stroking absent-mindedly.

On Monday, she told Shorty that she would go out to dinner with him, and on Friday, they went to dinner. It was nice; Shorty’s conversation didn’t revolve entirely around rowing, and his winning smile made her blush more than once as he held open doors and pulled out her chair for her. When their dessert plates had been cleared away and the waiter inquired whether they would like some coffee or another glass of wine, their eyes met, and a shared glint that said “And pay these prices for it?” made Shorty suppress a smile and say, “I think we’ll just take the check, please.” 

They walked down the lamp-lit sidewalk that led to her apartment at a snail’s pace, lingering beside each other and chatting happily. When they reached the front door of her building, Shorty turned to face her and said, “Well, thank you for a lovely evening.” His self-assured demeanor slipped as he pressed his lips together and glanced up at her door. The moonlight hitting his dark hair and the two glasses of wine she’d had with dinner were casting him in a very appetizing light.

“Thank you, George. I had a lovely time.” She copied him in glancing at the door, and when she brought her eyes back to his, he was looking at her like she was a delicate thing that he thought might blow away in the blustery wind whipping around them. It made her mouth go dry. Her gaze slid down to his lips while she said, “If you want, I have a bottle of Malbec we could open up.” She had wanted her voice to come out sultry and enticing; strained and whimpery were better descriptors for how it actually sounded. “I know you said that’s your favorite…”

While Shorty stood behind her, patiently waiting for her to fumble her keys in the lock and finally push the door open, she wondered why she had ever put off dating this long. She hoped hard that he would end up staying the night. The image of the lanky Shorty walking into the kitchen for breakfast in one of Bobby’s borrowed sweatshirts, the hemline of which would probably hit him mid-torso, made her giggle, and Shorty followed suit, asking “What is it?”

“I–oh, nothing!” Her key turned at last and she pushed the door open, twisting around to look up at him. She bit her lip when she saw how he was eyeing her up and down. “Don’t forget about Bobby. Try to be quiet if you can; we won’t have a moment of peace if he learns there’s fresh ears to be talked off,” she said, and he grinned.

“I am familiar with Mr. Moch’s work.” Shorty closed his lips and mimed locking them and tossing the key. 

They slipped into the lobby and passed several doors until they reached the door marked “109”. She pulled her keys out once more to unlock it, but before she could, Shorty grabbed her shoulders, turned her around and pressed her back to the door, and kissed her. It wasn’t forceful, but she felt every muscle relax and melt into him as his soft lips melded with hers. She grabbed at the frayed tie he’d worn to dinner and used it to pull his body closer to hers. The key sat, forgotten, in the lock for several minutes while they made out, trying hard to keep their moans and sighs to a minimum since they were still in the middle of the hall, after all.

She broke apart from him and all she could gasp out was, “Come on, my room.” Shorty’s hair was sticking up wildly from the place she’d run her hands through it and he looked like a man possessed as he watched her unlock the door and push her way inside. The lights were off, save for the small lamp her and Bobby always left on if they went to bed before the other. The sight made her exhale quietly in relief. It was well past midnight, and Bobby had probably had his “smoke and two beers”, their favorite shared Friday night delicacy, and fallen asleep long ago.

The tiled kitchen was cool on her bare feet as she kicked off her shoes and jogged over to the wine rack on the counter next to the fridge. The Malbec (the only bottle on the rack that had cost more than $10) and two glasses in hand, she ran to Shorty and tugged him by his belt into her bedroom. He was laughing in delight as she pushed him down on her bed and set the glasses on her nightstand, the only light in the room filtering in from the hallway as she climbed over him and began kissing him and undoing his tie simultaneously. 

When Shorty’s hips bucked, on instinct, into her core, she vowed to never go this long without a date again. She wasn’t sure she saw a life-long future with Shorty, but she did see a short-term future of pretty spectacular sex with the tall, well-built gentleman in her bed right now, and that sounded plenty appealing to her. 

They continued kissing for a while, their tongues in each other’s mouths. She peeked at him and saw that his eyebrows were quirked upwards in an expression of desperate desire. The sight made her panties dampen. The irritating reminder of responsibility that came with casual sex snuck up and tapped her impatiently on the shoulder, and she groaned as she pulled her lips away from his and said, “Lemme make sure I have condoms.” Shorty panted and followed her reach towards her nightstand, but when she stretched across his chest, her tits, about to fall out of the lacy shirt she’d worn on the date, grazed his face and a little moan slipped out of him. He reached up to palm her over her shirt and the action caught her off guard so badly that she yelped and knocked one of the waiting wine glasses off her nightstand. The glass hit the floor and shattered, causing them both to bolt upright as Shorty slurred, “Y’ok?”

“Shit, yes, just a clumsy idiot,” she muttered. Frustrated by the building desire inside her stomach that demanded attention, she swung a leg off the bed, careful to miss the pile of glass shards. “I’ll just clean this up real quick.”

“How ‘bout you just get back here and let me do that later,” Shorty propositioned, a smirk on his kiss-stained mouth that made her tremble. 

Still, the promise of glass stabbing into the bottom of her bare foot after she inevitably forgot it was there was enough to make her reply, “How ‘bout you pour yourself the other glass and wait for me to come back.” She leaned forward and placed one hand over the groin of his pants, a tent already very evident, and smiled against his parted lips. “I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.”

“This night has been well worth the twenty laps I’m gonna have to run tomorrow when I miss a.m. practice.”

“Already planning on missing practice?” “Well, I assume you’ll need someone here to help you walk again.” The line made her roll her eyes and scoff, in spite of herself. “Don’t write a check your ass can’t cash, Hunt.”

“I wasn’t planning on using my ass; I was thinking more along the lines of my c–” He was calling after her as she shut the bedroom door behind her with a swat.

She stumbled blearily to the kitchen, lust addling her mind as she giggled to herself and fantasized about George and what he would do to her when she dove back into bed with him. She was so lost in her thoughts about what those powerful arms and taut core could do that she didn’t notice the kitchen not being empty until its only other occupant cleared his throat and said, “I’d ask how it’s going, but clearly, the answer is ‘pretty ok’.” 

“Bobby!” She jumped and grasped the countertop for support. “You scared the shit out of me. I told you to never wait ominously in the dark for me.”

“The lights were on already. Since I am not seated in an armchair and did not flick on a lamp to dramatic effect, I think I’m in the clear.” He had a beer bottle in front of him at the table, and was wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts again. She wondered why she was noticing that.

She rummaged around the cabinet under the sink until she found some dirty rags and a small bucket. Taking them in hand, she rose to her feet and turned back to Bobby. “Thanks for telling me to do this.” Her cheeks flushed a little as he continued staring her down, emotion indiscernible on his face. “Didn’t know how bad I needed a date. How was–”

“You like him?” Bobby asked, cutting her off. Her mouth opened and closed in a fish-like mechanical movement a few times. 

“He’s…he’s hot, Bob. I don’t think we’ll be picking out china anytime soon, but, God, he’s hot,” she finally acquiesced with a gush, and she thought she noticed Bobby sit up a little taller, a little more stiffly. “But I am sorry to have missed smoke and two beers night–”

He cut her off again, and she felt the frustration that had been largely sexual in nature start to turn Moch-avellian. “Well, I’m sure you won’t be having time for smoking with little old me anymore when there are tall rowers to deflower.”

She frowned. The strap of her top fell down one shoulder and she pulled it back up without thought. She was sure her hair and makeup were both too mussed for him to take her seriously at the present moment, but she found herself too exasperated to care. 

“You done, drama king? I’m gonna head back in there.” She nodded towards her bedroom and started walking towards it. Bobby jumped to his feet and followed after her. He wasn’t done. 

She’d seen Bobby be mildly possessive before; being the youngest of three boys had given him survival of the fittest instincts that usually only reared their head when she tried to reach for his snacks from the pantry. Sometimes, though, when the wrong mood struck him, he would use his powers of speech for pure evil, and could spit vitriol about anyone who even looked at him the wrong way. Clearly, tonight had brought on one such mood.

“I’m sure I won’t see either of you tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe even the day after that, so have tons of fun making babies and try to remember to send me a save the date when you mail them out. If you can teach that knucklehead to read quickly enough for him to write his own vows,” he practically spat, and she found herself agog at him.

“Robert Moch, what the hell has gotten into you?” she breathed. “You love Shorty.”

Bobby balked. “You didn’t have to start dating him.”

“You told me to, you complete ass.” 

She should have known that logic was powerless in the face of Bobby Moch. He spluttered for a long while, his arms moving up and down in gestures that she was sure were supposed to mean something. Despite his mere five feet and eight inches, he could manage to take up a lot of space when he wanted to. When they stood face to face the way they were and she didn’t have any shoes on, he was a few inches taller than her. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know how gross it would be to hear you two slopping and giggling all over each other.” He adopted an exaggerated face of disgust like a toddler that had been offered stewed carrots, then began simpering in a poor imitation of Shorty’s voice: “Oh, baby, you feel so good. I hope I can find my way out of your pussy later.”

“Shut UP!” she hissed, glancing over at her closed bedroom door and hoping Bobby’s rude mockery hadn’t carried far enough for Shorty to hear. “That is so mean. You are being mean, Bobby, why are you being so mean to him?” Bobby had never taken shots at any of his teammates’ intelligence before, other than passing jockish insults disguising genuine affection for the boys. Besides, even if he did, they’d probably let him have it just as hard, once they managed to catch their breath from dragging his ass over the finish line. “What are you–” she scoffed before she could stop herself, “–jealous?”

Bobby’s jaw ground as he clenched his teeth together and backed a few steps away from her. She hadn’t even noticed that they were nearly nose-to-nose. His bright blue eyes were electrified.

“No,” he said, voice dangerously low. It was the shortest sentence he’d ever spoken in his life and it freaked her out when he didn’t continue.

“Well, we’ll go back to his place then so you don’t have to hear all the slopping.” She knew she was being petty. But he had always been terrible at articulating what was actually bothering him; another side effect of his upbringing was the passive aggressive manner of arguing that his mother had ingrained in him.

He swatted a hand at her and she saw a little bit of the fight in his shoulders dissipate. “No, no. Don’t bother. I’m just…just tired. I’m gonna head to bed.” She watched as he passed her, the beer bottle hanging loose in his fingertips and his jaw still set, and entered his room across the hall from hers. He didn’t exactly slam the door, but her stomach was still in confused knots when it shut and she was left standing alone, staring after him and wondering what was actually plaguing him to make him lash out at her and George.

George. “Oh, shit!” she hissed and trotted into her own room, where Shorty was still laying on the bed. The almost-fight with Bobby leaked out of her head with worrying rapidity when she took in his bare chest and legs, stretched out and waiting for her, and the devilish grin he was wearing while he said, “Thought maybe you’d forgotten about me.”

The broken glass was not cleaned up until the next morning.

When she had disposed of the shards and the bucket holding them, she crawled back into her bed next to Shorty, who was still groaning himself awake and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The sex had, as predicted, been amazing, but the nagging thought that she should make her intentions with him clear was eating at her. Shorty was too sweet to blindside.

“Hey,” she began in a whisper, trailing a finger up his neck and chin to tap on his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut but cracked one open to peek at her. 

“Mm…good morning, sweetheart.”

Something inside her bristled. Before she had time to examine why, she decided to just plow forward. “Last night was so wonderful.” Shorty smiled and she felt her resolve weakening when she saw how the corners of his eyes crinkled. Maybe she could see a world where they went out. She tried to imagine sitting on the couch and watching shitty movies with him, or going on a pottery-painting date, or going clothes shopping and waiting for him to decide between two identical light green shirts (“This one is mint and this one is sage. You seriously can’t tell the difference?”). For some reason, her brain refused to conjure the image of Shorty in those settings. But he was still looking up at her expectantly, all doe eyes and mussed-up hair. 

“I was wondering if you would just want…kind of….uh…” She gestured to him and then to her, only three articles of clothing present between the two of them. “Keep this nice and casual.”

Nerves ate her alive as Shorty’s eyebrows raised and he let out a small “huh.” She gritted her teeth and started to apologize but he cut her off gently. “That is a-ok with me, baby. You’re a fuckin’ firecracker and if that’s what you want?” He pulled his hands out from under the duvet and offered his upturned wrists to her. “I am just a man.”

“Fuck, thanks, Shorty,” she smiled, relief washing over her. 

“Wanna keep things casual right now?” he asked with a wink. Heat flooded through her body and she wanted very much to say yes, yes I would, but her eyes fell to the digital alarm clock on her bedside table, and she shot upright.

“Dude, it’s 8:15! You can still make it to practice if you go now!” Shorty swore and sprang out of bed, pulling on clothes in whatever order he could reach them, catching the shoe she threw with expert reflexes and putting it on before his slacks. “I’ll text Joe and tell him to bring you extra clothes!” “Got some in back of my car,” he replied, but his words were muffled by the spare toothbrush that she pulled out of her dresser drawer, ripped free from its cardboard packaging, and shoved into his mouth. He hopped out of the room, only one leg in his pants, and down to the bathroom. She shouted directions for where to find toothpaste and soap and he grunted in affirmation as she heard the faucet turn on.

When she bent down to peer in the fridge and find something quick for him to eat on his way to the docks, she noticed a yellow post-it note stuck to the freezer door with a WSU magnet. 

Dead dove (waffles) do not eat (you may eat).

A sigh of gratitude and laugh of delight huffed out of her at the same time as she opened the freezer and pulled three frozen waffles out of the new box Bobby had purchased. Their spat from last night had been all but forgotten, and shame swirled inside her as she popped two of the waffles into the toaster and thought about how defeated her friend had been when he’d gone to bed. Clearly, he had awoken at the appropriate time and gone to the docks for practice already, but the note he’d left behind for her made an annoying little tear form in one eye. An annoying little tear for an annoying little guy.

Luckily, Shorty barreled into the kitchen before any more tears formed. At that exact moment, the waffles jumped from the toaster and startled her, but he just yanked them out of the grate, held one in his mouth while balancing the other in the hand that was also trying to button the dress shirt he’d worn last night. He pecked her cheek and mumbled through his mouthful of food, “Gimme a call, ya know, whenever!” 

Then he was gone, the slight rattle of the front door as it flew shut behind him the only evidence that she hadn’t just been standing in the kitchen, defrosted frozen waffle in hand, the entire morning. While she sat and ate her meager breakfast (her stomach didn’t seem able to handle much more than the waffle and a glass of water), she held the post-it between her fingers and considered it. Bobby was thoughtful, so thoughtful. Thoughtful and sweet. Cute, kind, sweet.

And jealous of the boys she dated. 

Which, she argued with herself, could be easily attributed to his possessive nature. She was his roommate and built-in best friend, and the prospect of her spending a lot more time with Shorty must have irked him because it would be taking time away from their hangouts. Right? 

The rebuttal to her argument was a completely unbidden remembrance of the time she had fallen asleep on the couch the night before an exam with two textbooks open on her legs and highlighters scattered all around her. She had blearily awoken to the sight of Bobby taking the books off of her and organizing her mess of supplies on the coffee table. She had kept pretending to be asleep as he laid the wool blanket that lived on the back of the couch over her and tucked it securely around her. A small smile had fought its way to her lips but vanished quickly when he leaned forward, smoothed the hair off her forehead, and whispered, “‘Night, sweetheart.”

That same thing inside her that had bristled when Shorty used the nickname stretched out and purred. Morning sunlight was starting to stream into the kitchen as she continued staring at the post-it in her hand, and the light catching it made her realize that there was writing on the back, as well. She turned it over and tried to decipher Bobby’s chicken scratch. 

I’m sorry about last night.

Next to this, he had clearly written a few letters then scratched them out. She couldn’t make out anything other than an “L”, but he had dashed an “X” and an “O” after the scribble. God, it was so very Bobby of him to apologize via post-it. It should have frustrated her more than it did. His casual acquaintances never guessed at his passive-aggression because he was always yelling about one thing or another, but she was one of the few that knew that the yelling usually concealed something deeper. 

Grabbing her phone from where it was charging on her desk, she checked the time to see that there were still a few minutes before 8:30. Practice hadn’t officially started yet. Shorty had shared his location with her last night when they were meeting up for dinner, and she quickly checked it, seeing with a chuckle that he had made it to the docks already. Breaking several traffic laws in the process, no doubt. 

She pulled up her and Bobby’s conversation. It was the only one pinned to the top of her inbox. The last sent message, from Bobby and the final in a series of twelve he had sent with no break, read “Also it’s probably going to rain today so bring an umbrella.” She pressed her lips together, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

thanks for the dead dove!! also i’m sorry too about last night :( dinner tonight with your fav roommate?

The reply came back in a matter of seconds.

You can read my mind, or somethin’ <3

or somethin’

masterlist

[romanarose]

Shava Tova

Moon Boys x non-jewish!reader

Join my taglist! Masterlist Moon Knight master list

Summary: You go to Rosh Hashanah services in Chicago with your boys, and are happy to learn more about this part of themselves.

Warnings: Illusions to Marc's childhood, Judaism references I try to explain. Reader isn't Jewish and I'm aware my readers are from different religious backgrounds but I think in a majority (from what I know?) it's okay to attend services and participate in things like the tashlich. I try to keep it vague though, but only you really know what you are comfortable with so use discression!

A/N: I am not Jewish, I am a hopeful convert! This year was my first Rosh Hashanah and I was very moved by it all. I'm lucky enough to have gotten to know a friend there and her and her family are very welcoming and have been wonderful explaining this holiday and others and preparing me for Yom Kippur. That being said, I attend a reform temple. I do not know what denomination Marc is, but my evidence seems to point to conservative. Also, I know traditions are different country to country and group to group (Ashkenazi, Sephardi etc) all have different practices. I tried to stick to what I found the most universal in my studying but I am always ready and willing to be corrected. If there is something incorrect, please let me know!

****************

You always thought he looked so handsome like this, with his prayer shawl and kippah on… it didn’t hurt that he was dressed up for the holiday in a black suit. His Kippah and tallit were white, the traditional color for Rash Hashanah, and your dress matched him.

You’d gone to a few holidays with him, and tried to come to shabbat whenever you could, but today was special. Rosh Hashanah was an important holiday and the first time you were going with Steven, and the first time you were going to a service of any kind where his father was the rabbi.

You had met Steven last year in January and were thrilled when Elias invited you both to come to Chicago for the High Holy days, Rosh Hashanah, which was the start of the new year in the Hebrew Calendar, and Yom Kippur was next week and a day of atonement. Rosh Hashanah was a favorite of Steven’s so he would be fronting during services, although Marc would come to the front when people came to talk to him; people he had known in childhood. It was going to be a little difficult for Marc, but he’s said he’s made a lot of progress in recent years regarding his family, and you were so proud of him. 

Marc would be fronting for Yom Kippur, a holiday based around atonement for sins. Steven was the one who usually fronted during shabbat, he was the most insistent on staying observant, but Marc and Jake had their days too. Jake liked Purim, and Passover and Hanukkah had multiple days making it easy for them all to get time, Elias knew of all the boys, and although Jake was more guarded for Marc’s sake, Steven was thrilled to help Marc rebuild his relationship as he and Elias got to know each other.

You’d met Elias earlier this week, but were determined to make a good impression at services, following along as best you could and participating where was appropriate as a non-Jew; you were just so thankful they boys were sharing this part with you, and between meeting their dad, Marc showing you around his hometown and celebrating the High Holy Days with them, you felt like a part of their family.

Still, you were nervous. “Do I look okay?” You ask Steven as he adjusted his tie in the mirror.

When he turned to you, his face lit up so bright you couldn’t help but smile with him. “Oh, love!” Steven walked over to where you stood. “You look absolutely ravishing.” He wrapped you up in your arms and kissed your hair so he didn’t mess up your makeup, but his lips trailed down to your neck.

“Steven!” You giggle. “I’m not trying to look sexy, I want to make a good impression! Is this dress not appropriate?”

Marc fronted. “It’s beautiful, baby, so are you. Although you’re gonna wanna wear sandals.”

*

You tried your best to follow along. You didn’t know a lick of Hebrew except a handful of words you’d picked up during shabbat and from what Steven explained to you, but you were trying.

The music was beautiful and kept you engaged, and it was fun to see everyone tapping their feet, even if you weren’t sure when you were supposed to; you followed Steven’s lead for that. Elias has greeted you warmly when he saw you and Steven, and although you didn’t get the chance to talk much (as a rabbi, he had many people to welcome), Steven promised there would be time at home. 

During one part, Elias welcomed everyone to wrap their tallit around their neighbor, and when Steven wrapped you up in his tallit you really did feel like a part of his family, a part of him. You and him stayed wrapped up like that even after that prayer was done. 

“Steven?”

“Yes, love?”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s beautiful.”

*

After the service, the congregation walked a few blocks down to Lake Michigan for the Tashlich, getting into the sand beach. This is why Marc suggested sandals.

Steven handed you bread. “We’ll say a prayer, and then you think of your sins during the year and tear off a piece of the bread into the water for each sin.”

Jake fronted. “Although considering last night, we might need more than one slice.”

“Jake!” You whispered, gently smacking his arm before taking off your sandles, as Steven took off his socks and shoes. Most didn’t get in the water, but you wanted to wade, to feel the cool lake water on your toes. “We need to come back next summer so we can swim.”

Steven kissed you. “I’d love that. I love everything we do together.”

You then turn to focus on the task at hand, casting the sinful bread into the water to be washed away. You swore Marc had fronted during this cleansing, only confirmed to you by the way he reach out for you when you stumbled leaving the water.

*

Back at the synagogue, there was bread, honey and apples, Steven explaining it was meant to ring in a ‘sweet’ new year. It was delicious, and clearly the people put a lot of care into planning it. 

“This apple bread is BUSSIN” You practically moan as you devour it.

Elias’s voice behind you. “Thank you, I made that one, actually”

You gasp, turning around and covering your mouth in embarrassment. “Oh my go- uh, gosh. Shoot, sorry.”

Jake is laughing at your fumbling, but Elias powers through like nothing happened. “It’s alright, did you enjoy the service?”

“Yes! I really loved the… uuhh… Marc, baby, what was that part I liked?”

Marc’s hand was firmly clasped with yours; his stability when he was anxious. “The shofar”

“Yeah, the shofar!”

Elias nodded. “Marc ever tell you he was the ba’al tokeah one year?”

Marc leaned in to clarify that was what the person who blew the shofar was called.

You lit up at that, Marc didn’t play instruments so this was new information. “No he didn’t!”

“And he played Hamen in his Hebrew school play for Purim, have you ever been to Purim?”

Shaking you head, you squeeze Marc’s hand three times in reassurance, and he squeezes it three times right back. You knew any mention of his childhood was contentious, but he had mentioned no wanting to tiptoe around it anymore. “I didn’t go last year, we had just begun dating back then.”

“You’ll have to go some time, it’s definitely a fun one.”

“You gonna take me next year?” You smile at your boyfriend. 

He smiled right back. “I think that can be arranged.”

Elias excused himself, needing to see a few more people before the family service that afternoon, promising you had his attention that evening.

Steven stayed firmly by your side. “Are you having a good time? It’s not too much?”

You lean into him, happily munching on some honey covered apples. “I’m having a wonderful time.” Looking at him again, you place a hand softly on his cheek and smile when he keens into you. “I wanna know all the things that make you, you, and this is something obviously important. Thank you for inviting me.”

Steven bought you in for a soft, modest kiss, his lips tasting like honey and you were sure yours were the same. “Thank you for coming with me, and thank you for taking us as we are. All the good and bad.”

"Shana tova, Steven."

"Shana tova."

***************

SHANA TOVA TO MY JEWISH READERS! I know I'm late but after services I took like a 2 hour nap lolololol.

Also, I have another Rosh Hashanah fic! this was posted last year... can you believe ive been writing over a year?!?!?!

Love ya'll. Gotta admit I'm a little nervous bc posting Jewish content always makes the wierdos come out in my asks lol.

@fandxmslxt69 @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @whatthefishh @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @missdictatorme @steven-grants-world @ahookedheroespureheart @runa-falls @mikaelak @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @@myfandomlikesandstories

[batmanlovesnirvana]

Interesting detail about the Wayne family picture (the Batman 2022)

SO FIRST, this picture was taken at Wayne Manor, before they moved to Wayne Tower (for those who didn’t know, Thomas gave their manor to Gotham City to serve as an orphanage when Bruce was 6 years old. It’s where Edward eventually grew up, and where we see Thomas make his speech in the movie.)

What's interesting about this photo, is the fact that we can see a copy of The Zohar on the bookshelf. This implies that the Wayne family (probably more his mother, but again I don't know since in this universe she's an Arkham...) has Jewish heritage and is symbolic as the book deals with themes such as Ego, redemption, darkness and "the true self".

AGAIN, I'm pretty sure it would be Bruce's mother who is Jewish - since the Wayne family has been established as christians (Episcopalian most of the time) and viewed as an extremely old American family in basically every iteration. More like an older version of the Kennedy/Rockerfeller families that hasn't been diluted by multiple heirs.

And I think it's really interesting, maybe Thomas was just interested about studying it ? Or Maybe the IRL owner of the house is jewish ?

But anyways, Bruce is most of the time portrayed as a Christian, who eventually grew up and became an atheist.

[loganhowlettshousewife]

diversity december

december is always a really hard month for me. everything centers around christmas and i'm jewish, which means i'm being constantly reminded that i'm other. as a kid, it was the month where i hated myself and my family the most - because why didn't i get christmas and presents and santa? even now, being an adult in fandom spaces, december is exhausting for me.

so i decided that i'm going to be doing diversity december, where i write fanfics for people like me who don't often see themselves represented. these don't necessarily need to be holiday related fics, or even winter related. so if you want to submit requests for this - please do!

[elliescoolerwife]

you know who hates "zionists"? (which is just the current acceptable way of saying "jews" btw.) nazis, islamic fundamentalists and conspiracy theorists. you may think you're on the "right side of history" by siding with Palestine here, but you mustn't be too upset when it turns out you're just on the.. right. when you're out there in your Etsy keffiyehs waving your anti-Israel cardboard signs, remember you're in esteemed company. scarf-wearing proud boys waving swastikas chanting "jews will not replaces us!" were doing the same thing a few years ago. but you go right ahead. stay self-righteous. imagine that it's progressive and liberal and moral to yell slurs at jews on the internet and tell them (in your infinite expertise) what is and isn't antisemitism, where jews do and don't belong, what jews can and can't do, say, feel. keep boycotting jewish businesses and defacing kosher delis. keeping throwing hot soup at wait staff, blocking jewish women from using the bathrooms and knocking yarmulkes off peoples heads. keep smashing up menorahs. and while you're at it keep telling yourself you're on the right side. because you are. the far right.

This has nothing to do with jews you moron.

You’re calling palestinian jews self hating? Jewishvoiceforpeace is a self hating organisation? Israelis that are protesting in israel - self hating? The black jews that are angry that they’re getting sterilized - self hating? The rabbis that are praying everyday for the downfall of israel - self hating?

What do you think a jew is?

If you are a murderer I don’t fucking care about who you are. Just because they’re jewish they don’t get a free card to just create a genocide and say ”we’re jewish and you can’t say anything cuz people who hate jews are on your side”. Are you fucking dense? You are destroying the meaning of antisemitism. Everything is antisemitism nowadays.

Talk about creating problems that don’t exist. While you’re blaming pro-Palestinians for nazis actions, you don’t put any blame on israel for murdering 700.000 people, displacing 2 million, kidnapping, torturing and putting 800.000 behind bars without trial. Many of them children.

But God forbid Menoras are getting destroyed by nazis (not a Palestinian issue) and ZIONIST supporting companies (not jewish) are getting boycotted for sending food and money to the IOF. Okay. Definitely on the same level as the 75 year old genocide happening.

Zionists are an embarassment. Zionism is destroying judaism. Not us. Zionism is making jews look like murderers. Colonizers. Animals. Not us. They are describing themselves as superior and everyone that hates murder and occupation is antisemetic. What does that say about Judaism? Absolutely nothing - but zionist themselves seem to think their God told them to do this.

You are destroying the beautiful religion and destroying the meaning of being Jewish.

NOT IN THEIR NAME.

[lilticcl2]

Gojo give birth to megumi

[baileywicks]

Sofia the first ytp

Hey guys I made this epic/cool/awesome video. It's the well loved episode 'Baileywhoops' with a cool/spicy/engaging/heartbreaking/dark/inclusive/daring spin. Hope u watch and enjoy.

[littlesheeneffect]

She's My Husband (Part 13) ❤️

Miles Maitland x yn (AFAB Genderfluid)

Eight months later, life was as I'd dreamed of as a child yet never hoped was possible. Messy. Fun. Perfectly imperfect. It had been over a year since I had met Miles Maitland.

My wild dear Miles had said "to heck with spending any night away", and moved entirely in with me. It was so natural. Funny thing, one could wake in the middle of the night and wed both beggin some deep conversation, unabashed. Often times, we found ourselves finding newfound belief in divinity. Though in the truest senses, not abridged by religion and the grievances of humanity. But that of the laws of grace and love, the God who made us who we really were.

Every week day he'd spend about eight hours working at the 'scandal paper', as I called it.

My book was rewritten and published with Miles clandestine aid, at the printing press of his job. Fitting really, as the story was a romance mystery full of cheeky endeavoring. Not only did I get it to be sold in the little book shop, but it was their most popular sale of the year!

Little Alfie grew at a ridiculous rate. The house was no match for the young sheepdog- He'd run through the place when Miles would come home in the evening; romping and knocking things and portraits Miles had made of me off the walls, as he raced to greet our beloved. Alfie would bark twice when it was Miles and three times if it was a friend. Only very, very rarely did Alfie ever ever growl, and it was only when something was wrong.

Nina and Adam became engaged, and began planning the wedding with Miles and my advice, at a cozy dinner party at our home. Though, they said they wanted to wait till things died down a bit before having the ceremony, which from the looks of things, could be quite a long while.

Every week, Miles and I would venture to the hospital to visit Aggie. Though it didn't last for very long, we would sneak Alfie in too, which very much overjoyed our dearest friend. She never ceased to tell of how much she missed our parties and dinners.

In fact it was the day after a visit, that Miles came home a bit later than normal. Alfie knew when Miles had even neared the door and began barking and running to meet him.

I rushed behind and was met by an overjoyed and quite enchanting Miles. He looked up from petting Alfie, his twinkling eyes catching on me as a smitten smile fell off his lips.

"Y/n," he smiled beathily, and I quickly kissed his soft lips. Our breath caught every time, even though we kissed eachother every day then. Just as we became entangled in one another's gaze, and he smoothed back a strand of my hair, his eyes lit up and he bobbed with enthusiasm.

"I have something for you!" He exclaimed before beginning to rummage through a large paper bag, "Now, it took me a little bit, but I ran into a fellow. Rather boring fellow, quite gothic..... But- here it is!"

Suddenly he pulled out two bronze candlestick holders, and two lavender candles.

"My goodness!" I breathed, they were beautiful. I fingered them as he set them on a tiny entry stand. "They are, what are they fo-" My voice faultered as my mind identified them, and I turned to a nodding Miles.

"They're Shabbat candlesticks," he confirmed. "I thought we could, well," he smiled, "We can learn how to do it again, together." I blushed in joy and embarrassed overwhelment.

A slight shy and excited chuckle escaped me as I told, " I haven't done it since I was a girl. The lighting and dinner, the prayers. Where do I even start!"

Miles' hand on the palm of my back and the heave of his chest on the side of my arm sent butterflies through me, as he whispered, "We'll learn it together. I want you to be happy with who you are, my love.... I can't wait to see you light them." I blushed once more before turning and estatically wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I can finally get the chance to wear my blue dressy suit again, Father" he winked referring to the dinner party all those months ago at the Hall. Sending us both in a pile of laughs.

....To Be Continued...

[musingmeaninglessly]

Neteyam bracelet!

Ordered this lovely bracelet from @macramarthe and I'm so in love with it! Go get yourself one from her Etsy store. She's so lovely and shipped my bracelet (and another as a cute extra!) really quickly 💙

[bitter-post-millennial]

Hello 🖐

I am aya living in North Gaza with my three children, and we are facing starvation in the northern region. We have moved more than 13 times trying to find a safe place, but there is no safety anywhere.

I am asking for your help to protect my children and get us out of this imminent danger😥.

Your donations and sharing of my story will greatly contribute to our survival.🙏🙏

https://gofund.me/7dc97966

Morning y’all

[romanarose]

Marc Spector Masterlist

Marc Spector: Angel, Knight, Protector: She continuously finds herself in danger, but when she hears his voice, she knows he's safe 🖤

And So It Goes: A song fic to Billy Joel's song And So It Goes. Marc reflects on Layla, his life, and Steven. 🖤

Fuck You Like An Animal: Marc is tasked with bringing you in to the Innead, but it takes a turn. S M U T🌶

November 2nd, 2016: Layla and Marc watch the 2016 World Series...

Yellow: You ask Marc to slow it down for a night

Seattle Series (Completed): You are trapped in abuse, and Marc can only help you when you are ready.

A Change: Marc has a bad day, you try to take care of him

Forever Young: A song fic for the wonderful fanfiction series Limitless, but can be read separately. Marc Spector thinks about becoming a dad and blesses his unborn child

His Comforting Touch: you’re on your period, and Marc wants to prove he can take care of you.

Office Party: At a work party, you tease Marc until he has enough

Used: Marc doesn't use his safe word, but he's clearly uncomfortable so you stop anyway. You find out he was recreating his moms abuse.

Misunderstanding: Marc comes home to see you gone and things packed, he assumes the worst.

Drabbles

Nightmare: You have a nightmares, Marc helps fight of the panic attack. ♥️🖤

Fuckers Notices Everything: A sounds triggers you in a small way, but Marc still notices.♥️🖤

Under Pressure; You feel like you aren't enough

Both of Us: You and Marc and expecting a son and debate baby names (Muslim reader)

Sexy Dentist: Marc's got his fingers in your mouth.

Her Hair Reminds Me of a Warm Safe Place: Marc finds his safety in Layla

Having a Good Cry: Everyone need a good cry sometimes. It's even better if you do it in the strong arms of your loving boyfriend ♥️🖤

Marc and a plus sized reader: You are frustrated because you can't fit into your boyfriend's clothes.

Nothing Alike: Marc takes protecting you too far.

Fucker Notices Everything: Sick: At a party, you don’t feel so good.

To Have and to Hold: Marc is your husband... and you're gonna suck his dick about it.

Holiday Specials

The Times they are A-Chang'n: You and Marc are shopping for Hanukkah gifts

Fucker Notices Everything: Holiday Edition

[mrkeatingsblazer]

Grant chapman is an Irish traveller bc I’m an Irish traveller and I said so

[ddejavvu]

can I request dedicated boyfriend!hotch studying up on judaism with Reid in his lunch breaks so when Hanukkah comes around he starts surprising reader with his knowledge and he may or may not give Jack sort of a blended chrismukkah experience - this man would just try so hard to understand your culture like don’t even try to tell me he wouldn’t

I understand if you don’t want to write about Jewish holidays or don’t want to get them wrong but I saw you’re open to other requests so thought I’d give it a try

google was not nice to me in nailing down the correct english spellings of Hebrew words so if i should change anything please lmk!!

--

Jack is learning Hebrew. You're skeptical at first, because he's only seven, and you still get tongue-tied sometimes. But if you listen hard, he's kicking his legs back and forth against his car seat and reciting a blessing under his breath.

"What'cha saying back there, Jackers?" You peek at him from the rear view mirror, watching his eyes go wide in true kid fashion.

"Nothing!" It's the same way he says the word when he's trying to stuff a third, forbidden oreo into his mouth at bedtime, or when he's definitely not on Aaron's phone. It's a sweet thought, though, it really is, so you let it slide.

"Alright," You smile warmly at him, nodding, "Just thought I heard something."

You suspect it's Aaron's idea. Even more so when you come home to a ready-and-waiting menorah, two candles already set out.

"You're prepared," You tease Aaron, and he sends you a sly, slightly bashful smile. You press a kiss to his cheek in greeting that you know he'll reciprocate tenfold when you're alone, behaving civilly at least while his son is around.

"Okay Jack," You glance outside, winter nights coming faster than you're used to, "Do you wanna help light the candles?"

"Yes please!" He's just unlaced his shoes so when he comes sprinting over, he's wearing socks on the hardwood floor. You cringe, and Aaron stands straighter in an attempt to be able to catch him before he falls, but he reaches you without even slipping.

"Stand on the chair," You instruct, and he clamors up. You let him grab the first candle, keeping the shamash in your hands, "And put the candle into the first spot.

The menorah you'd bought has numbers on each space, but Jack's too eager to be helping out to notice them. He sticks the candle hastily in the third spot, and Aaron reaches for it.

"Right to left, buddy." He murmurs, and you stop dead from where you'd been going to adjust it yourself. He fixes it, only realizing that you're staring when he stands straight again.

"What?" He defends, "Reid taught me. He said you line them up from right to left but you light them from left to right. Is that not how you do it?"

"It is," You bite back a grin, "Just- nevermind, I'll say the blessings."

You'd been right. As soon as you start up, two other voices join you, and it takes all of your willpower not to stop dead in the middle of your sentence and kiss them both. Jack on the cheek, but Aaron definitely on the mouth.

Jack seems extra proud of his own mastery, and you can't say you aren't impressed yourself. His little voice barely trips up at all, and you can tell he's been practicing for a long time.

When you hand the candle to him, lit, he's especially careful in lighting the first one. When the flame transfers he lets out a breathy laugh, an exuberant sound full of giddiness, and you take the shamash from him with a grin of your own.

"Good job, buddy," You gush, leaning down to squeeze him in a hug, "Okay, are you ready for dinner? Dad made paaastaaa."

"And latkes," Aaron informs you, arms curling around your waist from behind as his lips hover by your ear, "They might not be the best pair in the world, but Jack wanted spaghetti tonight."

"No meatballs?" You raise an eyebrow.

"No meatballs." Aaron shakes his head, dropping a kiss to your cheek as Jack races to the table, "But we do have christmas cookies for dessert."

[commander-writergirl]

Red String of Fate

Synopsis: In a world where your soulmate is picked for you with a name tattooed, you are born with the rare trait of not seeing colors until you meet yours. You never expected the universe to foresee the divided mind of your other half.

Pair: Jake Lockley x Jewish!fem!reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!Fem!reader, Marc Spector.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none (as of right now)

Word Count: 1709

Notes: This was brought on by either @softlyspector​ or @starryeyedstories​ talking about liking soulmate AUs and the idea in Judaism of the red string. And the idea that when you were a red string bracelet, it doesn’t just protect you from evil but can fall off when you have met your soulmate.

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

-Twenty Years Ago-

“And remember never take it off.” I looked at my mother as she tied the thin red string around my left wrist. “It will fall off when you have found the one.”  

I looked at the string. It was red, my mother had said as much but it just looked dark grey to me. “But won’t I see color.” I looked at her. It was a rare way of finding your soulmate, not seeing colors. From what I had overheard, no one in my family had ever been born this way.

She smiled and stroked my curls back. “Then wear it for protection from evil.” She kissed my forehead before getting up and going back to her craft room.

I looked at the string again and played with the small charms on it. One a Hamsa and the other a crescent moon. I looked at the knot and noticed it was made to grow with me but not slip off.

-Fifteen Years Ago-

It’s for protection from evil.  

I sat in the hospital playing with the charms. The doctors said I was fine. A few bruises from the seatbelt and a few scraps but nothing major. But no one wanted to tell me that my mom was gone, having suffered the blunt of the pick-up ramming into the side of our car.  

Drunk Driver

Dead before EMS

I sniffled and curled up hoping my dad would get here soon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Present Day-

I twisted the charms on my bracelet as I waved down a taxi. I quickly climbed in before a familiar scent caught my attention.

“Now how is it you always find your way into my taxi, carino?”  Jake’s accent was a mix of the Spanish language he cursed in and the side-effect of growing up in New York.

“I wouldn’t know Jake, maybe just luck.” I smiled sitting back. “Home please.”  

He nodded his head, and I caught a glimpse of the green in his shirt. I chewed on my lower lip. Since meeting Jake, I could make out things people had told me were green and blue. Like the trees, the grass, my favorite dress apparently was a  mix between the two called teal.  

After first meeting Jake, I stood in front of my apartment and just stared at the sky. It was a clear light blue. I found myself grabbing anything I could tell the color of and putting it at the top of my drawers; in the side of the closest I opened the most.

I called my father in tears because it was the first time, I could see the true color of my own eyes. The colors everyone complimented.

But then it came crashing down when I realized Jake had to be my soulmate. But something was wrong. I could only see blue/green colors. I couldn’t see the other 80% of the rainbow. And the thin red bracelet my mother had placed on my wrist all those years ago was still snuggly set against my skin.

“What has you thinking so hard back there?” I shook my head and looked over to see him looking at me in the rearview mirror.

I chewed on my lower lip. “Have you ever heard of someone with the color blindness, only getting part of it back when they meet their soulmate?”  

Jake blinked at me before turning his sight back on the road. “Guess that explains why you don’t have marks on you.”  

I nodded. Jake didn’t talk about what marked him for his soulmate from what I had seen of his skin, I couldn’t see a name or symbol or even a phrase for first meetings.  

Having your soulmate’s name on you was the most common. Color blindness was the rarest, so rare there was little anyone who could teach me to help me find mine.

“You know you never told me what your mark is.” I said watching as his jaw ticked.

“You’ve never asked before.” His fingers twitched and I could tell he wanted to reach for a cigarette you usually smoke.  

“Well, I’m asking now.”  

Jake shook his head and sighed, “Color blindness.”  

“So, you couldn’t tell what color the dress was the day we meet?”  

He shook his head, “And to answer your first question; no, I don’t know what it means if you only get some color back.”  

I looked back out the window. “Maybe I have more than one soulmate.” Or maybe I’m messed up from the car crash. I squeezed my eyes shut at that thought.  

“It’s a possibility.” I felt the car slow as Jake stopped in front of my building.  

“Maybe.” I went to pull out the money to pay him before he put his hand over mine.

“Don’t worry about it Carino.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.

I smiled and kissed his cheek. “You are such a mensch.” I felt his eyes on me as I got out of the car and walked up the steps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No Jake, there’s no possible way.” Marc said in the mindscape as Jake parked the taxi.

“Hey, how else do you want to explain us seeing green and blue shades, Spector?” Jake got out and walked towards the apartment building.  

After a few strings between contacts, Steven was able to get a research job which meant Marc and Jake got to pick home base.

Jake’s choice of New York had won.  And within the first month, he had met her.  

Curly hair and smooth skin. A smile that brought the stars for a day. And she brought him latkes over the holiday season, clocking him much easier than he clocked her.  

Steven wanted to meet her, but Jake’s protectiveness prevented it. He just didn’t know if it was to protect the system or her.  

“I think it would be quite nice to have a soulmate.” Steven mused.

Jake had to hand it to Steven, he made it seem like a dream come true. And even though Jake wasn’t as terrified or reserved as Marc, he was worried about putting her in danger.  

“No, it’s not nice. It’s a danger.” Even Jake could hear the self-doubt in Marc’s tone.  

“Doesn’t matter.” Jake said as he walked into the apartment. “No one but me, sees her.”  

Jake sighed as he took in all the green around the apartment. He truly never realized how many plants Steven had.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I walked down the street. Photo day was always interesting. It always amazed me how many people would pay for historical photos from New York. As I looked over the last few photos I had taken, I bumped shoulders with someone.  

“Oh, I’m so...” I looked at the person. “Sorry. Jake?”  

He looked like Jake, but he didn’t wear a flat cap or facial hair. His shoulders also seemed to curve a little.  

“oh uh...” He began to stumble over his words before looking around and pulling me away from the crowd.

“Jake, what is it?” I blinked a few times and realized the brink wall behind him was now something other than grey. When I placed my hand on his chest, I could see the red string exactly as it should be seen. “Jake?” I looked at him but found his attention had moved to the space around us.

“Bloody hell.” I stepped back from the man who looked like Jake.

“W-who are you?”  

He looked back at me and quickly took my hand. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The British accent threw me but his thumb rubbed against my hand in soothing circles.

I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Please explain.”

He nodded and gulped. “My name is Steven Grant. Jake Lockley, the man you’ve been meeting is an alter.”

I blinked at him, “You have DID.”

He tilted his head, “How..?”

“I took psychology in college, stuck with it for a while. Didn’t understand why it interested me so much.” My voice got quiet as I took in the deep red of his shirt before setting my hand against his chest. “Guess I know why now.”  

Steven set his hands over mine. “Jake is very protective, he wouldn’t let... me meet you when I first asked.”  

I could tell the ‘me’ was supposed to be plural but for now I would let it go. I smiled lightly and nodded my head. “Yea I get that vibe from him.” I giggled a little as his thumb brushed against my red thread.  

“Could I buy you tea,” Steven smiled. “Or coffee. I know American’s prefer coffee; Jake certainly makes sure I remember.”  

I couldn’t help laughing. “I would like that very much.”  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Steven was completely different from Jake. He had thrown himself into being around me. He even took me on dates. Though Jake had started to loosen up, having me sit up front when he drove me places. Keeping his hand on my knee as he drove.  

Though I felt they were both still keeping something from me. Or someone. There were still colors I couldn’t make out, some were dull.  

It was when Jake finally invited me to their apartment that I realized there was someone else.

“So it’s not just you and Steven?” I asked looking over a notebook that had writing in it that didn’t match Steven’s clean script or Jake’s messy quick writing.  

“How long have you known?” I felt Jake behind me before his arms encircled my waist.

“Since I met Steven. He was hesitant on the ‘me’ part when he explained you didn’t want them to meet me.” I ran my finger over the writing. “He must be military. The way he writes.”

“He was, didn’t last long.” Jake’s grip tightened around me holding me against him.

“I can imagine.” I closed the journal and turned in Jake’s arms. “I would really like to meet him.”

“That last little bit of color bothering you as well?”  

I nodded my head and buried my face into his chest. “It’s so annoying.”

Jake chuckled and kissed my head. “Steven and I will talk with him later and see if we can convince him.”

“Okay.” I looked up at him, “Can I know his name?”

“Marc. Marc Spector.”