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draslihanxfahri-bailey · 1 year

Video

Chag Chanukah Sameach

Ma’oz Tzur

Sung by Inbar Lavi and Jake Epstein, whom starred together in Hallmark’s 2021 movie “Eight Gifts of Hanukkah”, which is where this clip is from.

This traditional Chanukah song is sung by some after the lighting of the Menorah. The Bailey family typically has Richard and Jasmine sing the song together after lighting the Menorah on the eighth night; This year, Aslihan sang the song instead. The link to learn more about the history of Chanukah is linked in the song title above; The transliteration and English translation of the song is beneath the read more.

Hebrew Lyrics:

מָעוֹז צוּר יְשׁוּעָתִי לְךָ נָאֶה לְשַׁבֵּחַ תִּכּוֹן בֵּית תְּפִלָּתִי וְשָׁם תּוֹדָה נְזַבֵּחַ לְעֵת תָּכִין מַטְבֵּחַ מִצָּר הַמְנַבֵּחַ .אָז אֶגְמוֹר בְּשִׁיר מִזְמוֹר חֲנֻכַּת הַמִּזְבֵּחַ

רָעוֹת שָׂבְעָה נַפְשִׁי בְּיָגוֹן כֹּחִי כָּלָה חַיַּי מֵרְרוּ בְקֹשִׁי בְּשִׁעְבּוּד מַלְכוּת עֶגְלָה וּבְיָדוֹ הַגְּדוֹלָה הוֹצִיא אֶת הַסְּגֻלָּה .חֵיל פַּרְעֹה וְכָל זַרְעוֹ יָרְדוּ כְּאֶבֶן בִּמְצוּלָה

דְּבִיר קָדְשׁוֹ הֱבִיאַנִי וְגַם שָׁם לֹא שָׁקַטְתִּי וּבָא נוֹגֵשׂ וְהִגְלַנִי כִּי זָרִים עָבַדְתִּי וְיֵין רַעַל מָסַכְתִּי כִּמְעַט שֶׁעָבַרְתִּי .קֵץ בָּבֶל זְרֻבָּבֶל לְקֵץ שִׁבְעִים נוֹשַׁעְתִּי

כְּרוֹת קוֹמַת בְּרוֹשׁ בִּקֵּשׁ אֲגָגִי בֶּן הַמְּדָתָא וְנִהְיָתָה לוֹ לְפַח וּלְמוֹקֵשׁ וְגַאֲוָתוֹ נִשְׁבָּתָה רֹאשׁ יְמִינִי נִשֵּׂאתָ וְאוֹיֵב שְׁמוֹ מָחִיתָ .רֹב בָּנָיו וְקִנְיָנָיו עַל הָעֵץ תָּלִיתָ

יְוָנִים נִקְבְּצוּ עָלַי אֲזַי בִּימֵי חַשְׁמַנִּים וּפָרְצוּ חוֹמוֹת מִגְדָּלַי וְטִמְּאוּ כָּל הַשְּׁמָנִים וּמִנּוֹתַר קַנְקַנִּים נַעֲשָׂה נֵס לַשּׁוֹשַׁנִּים .בְּנֵי בִינָה יְמֵי שְׁמוֹנָה קָבְעוּ שִׁיר וּרְנָנִים

חֲשׂוֹף זְרוֹעַ קָדְשֶׁךָ וְקָרֵב קֵץ הַיְשׁוּעָה נְקֹם נִקְמַת דַם עֲבָדֶיךָ מֵאֻמָּה הָרְשָׁעָה כִּי אָרְכָה לָנוּ הַיְשׁוּעָה וְאֵין קֵץ לִימֵי הָרָעָה .דְּחֵה אַדְמוֹן בְּצֵל צַלְמוֹן הָקֵם לָנוּ רוֹעִים שִׁבְעָה

Transliteration:

Mah-ohz tzoor yeh-shoo-ah-tee leh-kha nah-eh le-shah-bay-ah-kh Tee-kohn bayt teh-fee-lah-tee veh-sham toh-dah neh-zah-bay-ah-kh Leh-ayt tah-kheen maht-bay-akh mee-tzahr hah-meh-nah-bay-ah-kh Ahz, ehg-mohr beh-shir miz-mohr kha-noo-kaht hah-miz-bay-ah-kh

Rah-oht sah-vah nahf-shee beh-yah-gohn koh-khee kah-lah Kha-yai may-reh-roo veh-koh-shee, beh-shee-bood mahl-khoos ehg-lah Oo-veh-yah-doh hah-geh-doh-lah hoh-tzee eht hah-seh-goo-lah Khayl pah-roh veh-khol zah-roh yahr-doo keh-eh-vehn bim-tzoo-lah

Deh-veer kohd-sho heh-vee-ah-nee veh-gahm sham loh sha-kah-teh-tee Oo-va noh-gays ve-hig-lah-nee kee zah-rim ah-vah-deh-tee Veh-yayn rah-ahl mah-sakh-tee kim-aht sheh-ah-var-tee Kaytz bah-vehl zeh-roo-bah-vehl leh-kaytz shee-vim noh-sha-tee

Keh-roht koh-maht beh-roh-sh bee-kaysh ah-gah-gee ben hah-meh-dah-tah Veh-nee-heh-yah-tah loh leh-fahkh oo-leh-moh-kaysh veh-gah-ah-vah-toh nish-bah-tah Roh-sh yeh-mee-nee nee-say-ta veh-oh-yayv sheh-moh mah-khee-tah Rohv bah-nahv veh-kin-yah-nahv ahl hah-aytz tah-lee-tah

Yeh-vah-nim nik-beh-tzoo ah-lai ah-zai bee-may khash-mah-nim Oo-fahr-tzoo khoh-moht mig-dah-lai veh-tim-oo kohl hah-sheh-mah-nim Oo-mee-noh-tahr kahn-kah-nim nah-ah-seh nays lah-sho-shah-nim Beh-nay vee-nah yeh-may sheh-moh-nah kah-veh-oo shir oo-reh-nah-nim

Kha-sohf zeh-roh-ah kohd-sheh-kha veh-kah-rayv kaytz hah-yeh-shoo-ah Neh-kohm nik-maht ah-vah-deh-kha may-oo-mah hah-reh-shah-ah Kee ahr-kha hah-sha-ah veh-ayn kaytz lee-may hah-rah-ah Deh-khay- ahd-mohn beh-tzayl tzahl-mohn hah-kaym lah-noo roh-eem shiv-ah

Translation:

O mighty stronghold of my salvation, to praise You is a delight. Restore my House of Prayer and there we will bring a thanksgiving offering. When You will have prepared the slaughter for the blaspheming foe, Then I shall complete with a song of hymn the dedication of the Altar.

My soul had been sated with troubles, my strength has been consumed with grief. They had embittered my life with hardship, with the calf-like kingdom's bondage. But with His great power He brought forth the treasured ones, Pharaoh's army and all his offspring Went down like a stone into the deep.

To the holy abode of His Word He brought me. But there, too, I had no rest And an oppressor came and exiled me. For I had served aliens, And had drunk benumbing wine. Scarcely had I departed At Babylon's end Zerubabel came. At the end of seventy years I was saved.

To sever the towering cypress sought the Aggagite, son of Hammedatha, But it became [a snare and] a stumbling block to him and his arrogance was stilled. The head of the Benjaminite You lifted and the enemy, his name You obliterated His numerous progeny - his possessions - on the gallows You hanged.

Greeks gathered against me then in Hasmonean days. They breached the walls of my towers and they defiled all the oils; And from the one remnant of the flasks a miracle was wrought for the roses. Men of insight - eight days established for song and jubilation

Bare Your holy arm and hasten the End for salvation - Avenge the vengeance of Your servants' blood from the wicked nation. For the triumph is too long delayed for us, and there is no end to days of evil, Repel the Red One in the nethermost shadow and establish for us the seven shepherds.

#( music. )#( headcanons. )#my face version of this song from my fave hanukkah movie #yes i am totally feeling normal things about this dsfhgkjdfhjk #ALSO!!!! DOWNLOADING AND CLIPPING AND MAKING SURE THE AUDIO LINED UP WAS A ***STRUGGLE*** AND I AM PROUD OF MYSELF LMAO #anyways #chag hanukkah sameach everyone <3 #merry christmas to those who celebrate #happy holidays overall c:

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remy013 · 4 months

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Being home for Christmas is so weird cuz its like,,, am I a kid again? Sitting in the backseat, feeling like I’m just a tag along to everything? Like I havent spent this much time with my whole family in months. Shit is wild.

#christmas #and btw merry christmas to everyone who celebrates #and happy almost Kwanza #and happy late hanukkah

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spacelazarwolf · 5 months

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hanukkah sameach to every jew. even the ones i disagree with, even to the ones who are shitty to me, even the ones who i think aren’t good people. hanukkah sameach to every single jew, because celebrating hanukkah is not a privilege granted only to Good Jews, it is a cultural right.

and a very unpleasant bout of ibs to goyim making “happy hanukkah to x jews only, or happy hanukkah to everyone except y jews” posts. that you think you have the right to decide which jews can celebrate hanukkah or even that we should care who you as a goy wish happy hanukkah to is laughable.

#jewish #jumblr

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fkingsteverogers · 1 year

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I hope Bucky Barnes and Marc Spector are having a good Hanukkah

#Anyway happy Hanukkah to everyone who celebrates #I don’t imagine they’re having Hanukkah together but maybe!!

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l0starl · 4 months

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𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋

౨ৎ featuring - Miles 42 x reader

-> synopsis - Snow ball fight with miles!

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ warnings - if your allergic to cursing, I guess don’t read 🤷🏾‍♀️

ᯤ Author’s note - New writing style + Have a merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, and a happy new year!!! And if you don’t celebrate those, I hope you have a nice day and spend time with family ^_^

You and your friends + miles all agreed to a snow ball fight, it was all fun and games till everyone started getting competitive…

Hiding behind a snow built wall, you peaked your head out to see if anyone was out in the open, yet there was no one in sigh-

“Shit!” Someone yelled, seems like they got ambushed

Peaking out your head once again to see who it was, to your surprise it was ganke, taking the walk of shame back into the house

Taking this chance to ambush the person who took out ganke, you paused before you made your move.

“Something’s off” You muttered to yourself, being high alert of your surroundings, But it was too late, footsteps approached rapidly, as their boots hit the snow below, as you turned around, miles was right behind you, ready to strike

“What’s good, mami?” Miles spoke in a mocking way

“Geez don’t scare me like that!” You huffed, crossing your arms

“So, you ready to accept defeat? There ain’t no where to run, unless you wanna end up like Ganke” He sneered

“I’m not gonna lose to you!” You scoffed as you throw snow at him

He grabbed your arm to halt you, “Nice try guapa, but it’s over” He smiled

You broke free from his grasp, sighing in frustration “If I’m gonna lose I might as well get a head start at running” You suggested

“Alright then, you’ve got 8 seconds, starting now” he replied

You lifted yourself as you sprinted, your boots hitting the snow with a soft faint hissing sound

You know your friends aren’t out yet, so maybe he’s saving you for last..?

You duck behind a tree, sure it’s not the smartest, but hey! You only had 8 secon-

A abrupt yelp snapped you right out your thoughts, you peak out from the tree, your friend Tasha got ambushed with snow near her snow fort

She went back inside the house with a scowl, though who could blame her?

All your friends are out, meaning…..

It’s just you..

But miles is no where to be seen, keeping your guard up, you move from your position near a snow fort Tasha built earlier

A familiar set of footsteps approached rapidly From behind you, though you didn’t get the chance to turn around

“Gotcha once again” Miles smiled

“Man this shit ain’t fair!” You hissed

“How about a 1v1 then? Whoever wins, gets the person anything they want, deal?” He suggested

”Deal!” You beamed

Grabbing the nearest snow, you just quickly roll it up to throw it at him

Miles being taken aback, not prepared for the attack, soon after fires back, but he ends up losing.

“Alright fine, you win!” He grabbed your arm forcing you to halt “There you win”

“That means you have to get me anything I want!” You cheered

“Alright, what do you want then?” Miles questioned

“Maybe hot Chocolate, you free tomorrow?” You responded

“Alright, bet!” He replied

‼️ Thanks for reading :3 Before you go! Check out the hot chocolate fic, basically the continuation of this ‼️

‼️ Hot chocolate fic ‼️

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chaotic-archaeologist · 5 months

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Happy first night of Hanukkah to everyone who's celebrating!

#hanukkah #jewish stuff #jumblr

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softlyspector · 1 year

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First light

Summary: Hanukkah is coming up. The system has some complicated feelings about that. You aren't really sure how to help them navigate it.

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Jake Lockley x Reader

Word Count: ~5.3

Warnings: mostly fluff, anxiety, angst mostly from Marc because he’s just like that

A/N: Hello! I hope you enjoy and happy holiday season to everyone who celebrates one this time of year! I want to note here that I am not Jewish, but I researched as much as I could for this fic. If there's anything wrong, or something that shouldn't be there, please let me know and I'll fix it. The reader is written as non-religious and as having grown up without any religion. And as always, please, please, please let me know what you think!

“Flurries,” you point with a soapy hand out the misted window over the sink. “I think it’s snowing.”

Marc doesn’t even look up, his eyes focused on the puzzle on the coffee table in front of him. “It’s not cold enough for it to stick,” he grumbles.

You roll your eyes and grab a tea towel to wipe your hands on. “So sorry it’s not a blizzard, Spector.”

“I’ll take you to Chicago in January and see how excited you are about the snow then.”

You huff out a laugh and cross the room to sit next to him on the couch, plucking up a puzzle piece to slot near the bottom of the picture. “I didn’t even say I was excited. I was just mentioning it.”

“Just mentioning it means you’re excited,” he says, leaning his chin into your shoulder.

You wrinkle your nose and pick up another piece, quickly locating its location along the border before you turn and kiss his nose. “You’re insufferable, Marc Spector.”

“And you’re better at this fuckin’ puzzle than me,” he grouses, watching you fit another piece into place.

You laugh and tuck yourself closer to him, the weight of his chin on your shoulder a welcome one. “It’s because you don’t have a strategy,” you say. “You do the borders first to get started and then move inwards,” you instruct.

“That’s not a challenge.”

“Are you trying to be challenged by a puzzle?”

Marc doesn’t answer, picking up a piece and searching briefly for its place. You like the slow way he does it, it’s relaxing and good, his hand hovering, fingers twirling the piece. Which, you notice, is not a border piece.

He snaps it down and you frown, “I don’t think that’s where that goes.”

“It is for now.”

You don’t bother trying to hide your smile, glad to see him doing something slow and peaceful and constructive for once.

The snow reminds you of something you’d been meaning to ask him, as the holiday season approached and how you’d celebrate, if he, or Jake or Steven, wanted to do anything at all.

You’ve never been big on the holidays. And so, usually, you just take the opportunity to bake and give gifts to the people you care about most. But this year is different, this year you have the system to consider.

You nudge your nose into Marc’s cheek as he incorrectly places another puzzle piece, and you’re sure he’s just doing it to irritate you now. “So, speaking of the snow,” you venture. “The holidays are coming up soon. Did you want to celebrate?”

Marc doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the puzzle. “Thanksgiving? Weird to do it here isn’t it?” He turns suddenly and glances into one of the mirrors propped against the wall. He’s quiet for a moment, head tilting to the side, before he turns to you. “Steven’s okay with it but he’s going to complain anyway. Jake wants pie.”

You are not talking about Thanksgiving, and you’re certain Marc knows it. You suspect too that Steven and Jake are reminding him of that. “Okay,” you agree because you’re sure he’s avoiding the topic and you don’t want to push it at the moment. “We can do Thanksgiving if you want.”

You pause, waiting to see if Marc might mention any other holidays but he remains silent. So you kiss Marc on the cheek and promise to figure something out for Thanksgiving. “Any other holidays you’d like to celebrate?”

He hums, “Don’t think there are any other holidays in November this year.”

“Sure,” you answer. “Thanksgiving dinner it is.”

He grips your hand back when you lay it on his shoulder, squeezing tight. “Thank you, baby,” he smiles, tipping his forehead briefly against yours.

Thanksgiving comes and goes (with a roast chicken instead of turkey and Marc’s favorite sides from childhood, and pie for Jake), and you decide to string up soft yellow fairy lights around the flat in anticipation of the holiday season.

You figure they’re neutral enough, and they make the place even cozier than it already is and ward away the dark of winter, which you count as a win. It might be an idea to keep them up all year. There have been no further mentions of any holidays, and you aren’t sure how to bring it up again, not sure if you were crossing a boundary or inserting yourself where you don’t belong.

When Steven comes home and sees the lights he grins and points. “Decorating already, are we?”

You bite your lip. “For the holidays, yeah,” you prompt, hoping Steven might mention it where Marc hadn’t.

He nods, still grinning at you, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

But he doesn’t say anything either, and you wonder if it hasn’t occurred to him, or if he was following Marc’s lead in not talking about it.

Later that evening, you do a quick google search, to find the exact date that Hanukkah began. You find that you have a little under three weeks to decide how to approach them about it.

You know the system has a complicated relationship with their Judaism, that much you can tell at least.

They don’t talk about it and if they practice in any way, they certainly don’t do it in front of you. Marc’s deliberate avoidance of talking about the holiday season only compounds that fact.

But you know it’s important to them, an important part of their identity, even if they don’t say it.

The Magen David they wear around their neck never comes off. You’ve never seen any of them without it, the one article of clothing that was common to all three of them, even back when Steven hadn’t known about Marc.

You’ve never asked them about it. Because it seems like a closely guarded thing, something kept close to their heart, connected to home and the past in a way you can’t begin to guess at. And Marc’s relationship to his past and his homelife isn’t exactly a good one. You’re not sure that bringing it up won’t hurt him in some way you won’t be able to repair.

So, you’ve never asked. You’d figured that they’d bring it up to you, when and if they wanted to talk about it.

You sigh, listening to Jake puttering around the kitchen, singing in Spanish lowly as he makes a sandwich.

Maybe you shouldn’t say anything about it. Maybe you were assigning undue importance to it, maybe they felt no connection at all to being Jewish and the necklace was just a connection to their past.

Maybe you should just continue as you have every year. But it feels rude, it feels wrong, to just bake and buy gifts and not say anything at all.

You commit yourself instead to learning about Hanukkah.

Just in case.

You get caught the week before Hanukkah begins.

Much of your free time recently had been spent googling Hanukkah, the traditions and history, what foods were popular and whether there are any special ingredients you might need to find.

You’re on one of the more helpful websites you’ve found, rereading the story of Hanukkah when -

“What are you doing?”

You snap your laptop closed as you sit bolt upright and turn. Marc could be so fucking quiet sometimes. He’s peering over your shoulder, an apple with a bite taken out of it in his hand.

When you don’t immediately say anything, he raises a brow at you.

“Nothing,” you say quickly.

“Liar,” he deadpans, circling the sofa to plop down next to you, taking another bite of the apple as he slings one arm over the back of the couch. “You were reading about Hanukkah,” he says, crunching as he chews.

He doesn’t ask why, just tilts his head.

You sigh and lean forward to set your laptop on the coffee table. “I was,” you admit, dragging a hand down your face. “The holidays are coming up and I wanted to be prepared.”

“For what?”

You don’t look at him, tugging at a loose thread in the blanket over your lap. “For Hanukkah. In case you wanted to celebrate.” Marc doesn’t reply and you don’t dare meet his eyes, though you can feel his gaze against the side of your face. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to and I didn’t know how to bring it up. I tried but you just kept talking about Thanksgiving.”

When he still doesn’t say anything, confirming your worst fears that bringing it up would make him shut you out, you barrel nervously on. “I wasn’t trying to pry. You don’t really talk about being Jewish and I know that’s probably for a reason. I just…didn’t want you to feel like I was ignoring it.” You flutter your hands in front of you, “I didn’t grow up with any religion so I don’t have traditions I follow. I’m not pushed about what we do for the holidays. I just…didn’t want to do something wrong. And I didn’t know if it would remind you of your family-,”

His hand drops from the back of the sofa to your shoulder, fingers working into the tense muscle. “I’m not upset,” he says, weirdly gentle about it. “It’s okay.”

“Okay,” you glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you sure?”

He nods, taking a final bite of the apple before he tosses the core across the room where it sinks into the bin.

You cautiously move closer to him, fitting yourself beneath his arm. Marc tucks you closer, sliding his fingers over the curve of your shoulder, dark eyes on you. “So…would you like to celebrate?”

“How do you usually celebrate this time of year?” He deflects, tilting his chin down to meet your gaze head on.

You shrug. “Like a vaguely Christmassy kind of way I guess? Y’know, like, the capitalist secular commercial version of it. I buy everyone gifts and decorate a mini tree. I usually do a lot of seasonal baking.”

Marc nods, like he’s mulling it over, and stays quiet for a long time.

He stays silent for so long that you start to doze off as you wait for his reply, curled against the heat of him lulling you to sleep. His hand slides idly back and forth over your shoulder, brow furrowed in thought.

“We haven’t…celebrated in a long time.”

You blink groggily, turning your head up against his shoulder to watch his face. His jaw is tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “Okay. That’s okay,” you slide your hand across his belly to take his other hand. “Do you want to celebrate this year?”

It takes lots of questions to get things out of Marc sometimes, delicate prodding and patience were the name of the game, so he doesn’t get lost in his head, so he doesn’t go non-verbal and spiral to some place you can’t reach.

“I’m not sure I deserve to.”

Your heart constricts and you feel just a bit out of your depth. You know virtually nothing about Judaism, besides what you’ve been able to read on the internet over the last few weeks. It’s impossible to tell what he’s really struggling with - his faith, his family, the abuse in his past? “Why?” You ask, sliding your fingers along the vein in his arm, depressing your thumb against the inside of his elbow. You feel the steady pulse of his heart under your hand.

“Serving Khonshu,” his voice is low and dry. “Coming back from the dead. More than once now. Everything else. All - all the shit I’ve done.” He glances down at you, “My mother, my brother…my family. Everything.”

You reach for his hand again and squeeze it tight. “I wish I could be more reassuring on that front but since I’m just now learning about Hanukkah you can imagine how little I know.” His mouth twitches at that, a badly repressed smile twisting the corners of his lips. You slide your hand down his arm and pat his fingers, some tension going out of both of you. “All I can say is that no matter what, I’m glad you’re here with me. However you made it here, whatever you had to do to survive. I’m glad you made it here.”

Marc’s expression is carefully frozen, a look you can read lodged in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, holding your gaze for much longer than he normally would, searching for something you can’t begin to guess at. “Yeah, well,” he clears his throat, glancing away, “you’re the one thing I’ve done right.”

Heat crawls over your skin, the lingering touch of his stare and the intensity of his words make your skin prickle.

You open your mouth to respond when he continues, your words dying in your throat. His jaw ticks, like it always does when he’s pushing himself to talk about something he’d rather bottle inside and never look at again. “Look, we aren’t…I’m not religious,” he says and you nod, squeezing his hand. “Not for a long time, not after everything. But I am Jewish. We are. It’d be nice to…to try again.”

You nod again. “Okay. Yes,” you agree, tracing the lines on his palm, soothing the tension that’s seeped into his voice again.

“I could tell you the stories though,” he says suddenly, eyes latching onto yours. “I remember the stories. So you don’t have to google. I can just tell you what you wanna know.”

You try not to let the surprise show on your face, and you can tell Marc is trying not to look like he’s eager to tell you. And so you both end up with slightly constipated expressions. “I would like that, if you want to share with me,” you breathe.

He nods and looks away, his arm tightening around you carefully. “Marc,” you say, just so he’ll look at you again, just so he won’t go get lost in his own head, like you know he’s fighting not to. “How do Steven and Jake feel about celebrating? Do they remember much?”

The system’s memories were a fickle thing, overlapped and crisscrossed, with huge holes in other places. “Steven, yes. Jake, no not really.” He’s silent for a moment, eyes sliding to the mirror against the wall. He gives a sudden, dramatic roll of his eyes. “Fine, fuck,” he gripes before looking back to you. “Jake says he remembers.” And then, grumbling, “Claims to remember more than me.”

You giggle and pat Marc against his belly. “Okay, good that’s settled then. You didn’t answer me though, do you want to celebrate?”

Marc hesitates. “Can I get a raincheck on that?”

“Sure,” you say. “We have time. Y’know, you can pick what you want to do and what you don’t. We don’t have to do every tradition or-,” You cut yourself off and he doesn’t answer so you continue, still a bit nervous you were fucking everything up. “We can mix and match with the stuff I usually do. I want to do my usual baking stuff. I still want to get you guys presents.”

Marc kisses the side of your head, “Of course you do,” he murmurs. “That sounds like a good enough plan for now.”

“Okay,” you nod. “We have time. We can figure it out.”

He’s silent for a moment, head tilting to the side. “Steven is anxious that you want a Christmas tree.”

An unexpected laugh bursts out of you, and you bury your head in Marc’s shoulder. “I am totally fine without a tree in the flat.”

“Baby,” And you can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s smiling. “I think Steven kinda wants a fucking tree. Like a Hanukkah bush.”

“Hanukkah bush?” You laugh again and nod toward the mirror. “Okay. Anything. We can do whatever. I have a little mini tree that might work.”

Marc smiles at you when you turn back to him, leaning in to press your nose to his briefly. His eyes track you carefully, expression fading when you pull back.

“It was never the same, after my brother died,” he says abruptly. “My dad tried but it was just-,” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Different. Can’t remember the last time it didn’t hurt.”

You squeeze his fingers gently, smoothing your thumb over the back of his hand before you cup his cheeks. “I don’t want it to hurt,” you tilt his head down, palms on either side of his face. “What we do is up to you. It’s completely up to you and the boys, okay?”

He nods and pulls your hands away from his face, eyes on your hands where they curl back around his. You watch him, watch the soft, sweet brown that his eyes have melted down into - something curiously rounded about him in that moment, his face soft and open.

Of course, with Marc, moments like those are fleeting.

Marc’s brow goes hard suddenly, his gaze jerking up to meet yours, pressing a palm to your jaw to tilt your face fully toward his. “Were you just not going to do anything this year? If we didn’t bring it up?”

You shrug, a little helpless about it. “I’m not good at this. I would have eventually, I just didn’t want to -,”

“You won’t. Don’t - fuck, don’t cut yourself short ‘cause of us. ‘Cause of our shit. Not ever.” He leans in so you can’t look away from him. “You wouldn’t have hurt our feelings.”

“Okay,” you whisper, patting his fingers. “I won’t.”

Marc’s gaze doesn’t waver from yours, his expression calculating and alert. His voice is wooden, carefully controlled when he says, “So, should I tell you the story of Hanukkah?”

And even though you’ve read the story more times than you can count, you say, “Yes.”

The hard facade of his face breaks, and he smiles at you. “Good.”

“Cariño.”

You don’t turn from the counter where you’re carefully dripping honey into your cup of tea. “Jake,” you answer. You’ve just gotten done baking cookies, some shaped like menorahs and others like Stars of David, with the shapes you usually baked, trees and snowmen and snowflakes thrown in.

“Don’t listen to Marc.” His footsteps are loud as he approaches, a vibrating, irritated energy preceding him.

You start to turn but Jake is suddenly next to you, turning you and pushing you back into the counter. Heat radiates off his skin, burning hot against yours. “Don’t listen to Marc,” he repeats, his head tilting close to yours.

“Well, okay,” you say, trying not to feel crowded and overwhelmed. Jake is always just a little bit intense, but especially when he’s latched onto something he sees as an issue. “But about what, Jake? Marc says a lot of questionable things to me.”

Jake makes a frustrated sound, “About Hanukkah.” He tilts his forehead into yours, eyes boring into yours, “Me and Steven want to celebrate. Marc has to.”

You smile, and lean in to kiss the downward tilt of his mouth. “Jake, honey, seriousness doesn’t suit you,” you say against his lips.

He doesn’t budge. “We are celebrating.”

“You and Steven can celebrate. We can celebrate, me and you and Steven. Marc doesn’t have to if he doesn't want to,” you say gently. “He has complicated feelings about it. I think he feels really disconnected from that part of himself. But you can celebrate. Okay?”

Jake’s shoulders loosen a bit with your words. Jake has never gotten to celebrate, not a birthday, not a holiday. He’s been weirdly packed in about it, and you’re surprised this little outburst has taken this long to occur. “He should though, corazón,” he says, oddly gentle.

“It’s his choice, Jake,” you answer, cupping his cheek in your palm. “We can’t make him. It’s up to him.”

Jake grumbles something under his breath, irritated but satisfied for the moment that he wouldn’t spend another season on the outskirts and in the dark. “You’ll talk to him? He doesn’t listen to us.”

“He’ll come around,” you sweep your fingers over his jaw and Jake leans into your hand. “He’ll celebrate with us, just wait. If nothing else, he’ll help me cook.”

Jake kisses the center of your palm. “You’re probably right about that.”

You smile and reach around him for the plate of cookies. “Look what I made.”

“Saw that, mi amor,” he says quietly.

“What about here, dear heart?”

You turn to where Steven stands, hovering almost nervously near the kitchen window. You purse your lips, “It’s safer there, I think, but it’s up to you.” Steven had suggested one of the other windows to prop the menorah in, but you’d had concerns with the amount of books and paper available to go up in flames.

“But…what do you think?”

You turn to him and eye the nervous shape of his hands. “Baby,” you coo. “It’s perfect. Come here and help me with this-,”

“Oh, not a chance. If there’s any way we’ll get Marc to celebrate with us, it’s helping you with the food.”

You wipe your hands on a tea towel and circle your arms around Steven’s shoulders where he’s fiddling with a box of tapered candles, shades of alternating blue and white. “I think we have everything ready, huh?” You lean your head against his and close your eyes when his head tips back against yours.

“Pretty sure, yeah,” he mumbles, still fiddling with the candles. “Jake wants to light the first candle tonight.”

You kiss Steven’s cheek, “Okay. Is that okay?”

“‘Course. Got no problem with that. Just worried about Marc. Don’t want him to-,”

“You and Jake are both so-,”

“We’re just worried,” Steven interrupts. “He’s not talking to us. We don’t want him to be alone.”

You kiss his cheek again, “He’ll be fine. He’s not alone. You know how Marc is. He just needs a bit of time.” Steven nods, his spine softening when you press yourself against his back, hands anxiously fiddling with the matches now.

“He’ll come ‘round anyways. For you.”

“And you,” you remind him. “He loves you and Jake. He just has complicated feelings about everything. It reminds him of home, you know how that is for him.”

Steven doesn’t answer, and you hate to see him so melancholy. “Look,” you pull away and tug him around, taking the matches from his hands. “I found these cute little decorations at the shops a couple days ago and I haven’t gotten to show them to you yet.”

Steven smiles, fits his hand inside yours. “‘Course, love, please show me.”

The Hanukkah bush, or holiday tree, depending on which of the three you asked, is already decked out in white and blue lights, mini menorahs and dreidels and silver baubles, with a Magen David near the top of the tree.

You show Steven the box of blue globes you’d found, and try not to grin at his obvious excitement, but when he kisses you it becomes a little hard to ignore. “How am I doing?” You ask against his lips. “For my first Hanukkah?”

“Bloody well, I’d say,” he says, carefully opening the box of baubles. “Brilliant. As always, love.”

You glance back at the window, the unlit menorah, and the sun's position in the sky beyond before Steven is nudging his shoulder into yours and handing you an ornament to place on the tree.

You smile at him, and he beams back at you.

Something deep inside you is satisfied by how eager they are to share this part of themselves with you, even if Marc has been mostly silent and walled off since you talked about celebrating.

You hope he comes around.

At the very least to eat with you.

Jake is waiting for you at the window, candles readied, as the sun finally sinks below the line of the earth. The light in the flat is a low glow, and Jake’s normally intense expression is softened.

You touch the small of his back, passing your hand slowly up and down his spine.

He’s trying not to look excited, and you nudge him gently. “It’s okay to be happy, Jake Lockley.”

A bit of pink creeps into his cheeks and he doesn’t answer you immediately. You stand together in the low golden light until it’s fully dark outside. Only then does Jake strike the match without warning, the flame glowing orange as he touches it to the shamash.

You place the first candle in the menorah and wait for Jake to light it, but he reaches for you instead.

“What?”

“C’mere, mi vida, we gotta light it together.”

You hesitate. “Sure?”

“Yeah. Quit worryin’ about everything,” he says, fitting himself behind you, cupping your fingers with his around the helper candle. “You aren’t doin’ anything wrong.”

For a moment, it’s silent, and neither of you move. You know that this is the moment he’s meant to recite three blessings - which you aren’t sure if he’s planning to. So, you wait for him to guide your tangled hands, fingers warm in Jake’s grip, his body snug and comforting behind yours.

The change is subtle, but you feel it, the lax posture of Jake’s chest against your back going a bit stiff. And you’ll never be sure, but you think it’s Marc’s voice that recites the blessings in Hebrew.

You wonder if Jake plotted this, if he even knew the blessings, if he knew Marc would front to say them.

As soon as the words are out, his spine softens again and Jake’s voice is back in your ear, “And now,” he nudges his nose against your temple. “We light the first candle.” His hand guides yours to the candle, holding the flame there until it catches.

Together, you light the first candle and stick the shamash in the center of the menorah. It happens again, Marc behind you instead of Jake, slowly saying the prayer he must remember from childhood.

And when his voice ceases, it’s Steven there with you, grinning wide and happy. “Jake’s so bloody pleased, love.”

“Me too,” you say, pulling him in close to you, rubbing a hand over his shoulders. “Me too.”

“Why don’t you open a present?” You ask, cracking an egg over the grated potatoes in the mixing bowl in front of you, in what you hope will eventually turn into latkes.

Steven is hovering beside you, nervous, because Marc still hasn’t deigned to speak to either him or Jake. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Yours are wrapped in blue.”

“Eight presents for each night for each of us,” he comments. “You’re too good to us, dear heart.”

You smile and kiss him, kissing away the powdered sugar on his upper lip from the sufganiyot he’d eaten earlier. “I think it’s the other way around really. Thank you for sharing all this with me.”

His eyes melt, and he tucks you close. “Thank you for poking Marc about it. He’s right hard headed when he wants to be.”

“You all are,” you correct. “Nearly ripped my head off when I suggested reorganizing the bookshelves.”

“Well - they - I can find them all! I know where every book is!” He protests and you giggle.

“Go open a present,” you say, giving him a little shove with your hip. “Any of them are fine.”

Steven goes, evaluating each wrapped parcel before he chooses one and unwraps it at the kitchen table.

Of course, Steven has picked the one book shaped gift to unwrap - gasping at the title of the rare book. “From the bookshop a few weeks ago! I went back and they didn’t have it. And you were the one that got it! Sneaky minx, you.”

You smile, “I told you good things come to those who wait.” He’d been so upset it wasn't there when he went back for it, you’d nearly given it to him when he’d come back from the shop empty handed. But this - this is far better. You watch him eagerly flip through the book before you turn back to the bowl.

The soft sound of pages being turned fills the flat and you can’t help but grin to yourself, satisfied. You’re happy. They make you happy, this makes you happy.

You hum to yourself, mixing the eggs into the potato. You’re distracted by the peacefulness of the evening, the low burning candles guttering in the window, the shush of pages being turned.

So, you jump when Marc’s voice suddenly sounds by your ear. “You need flour.”

“Marc!” You scold.

“And baking powder. Makes it crispier.”

You huff out a breath. “Would you be a dear and get it for me then, baby?” You ask, only slightly sarcastically.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he deadpans, moving to the cabinet that stored baking items.

When he comes back, he doesn’t say anything to you, adding the flour and baking powder himself, measuring in salt and pepper with his heart. He doesn’t look at you. “You got the onion in here?”

“Onion?” You ask, frowning into the bowl.

“Yeah, we need an onion,” he informs you, voice even, still not looking at you.

His back is stiff, like he’s worried you’re going to comment on his sudden appearance and he’s begging you not to. “Got it,” you nod, turning to rummaging around for one and holding it up for his inspection of the size.

He nods. “Shoulda been grated with the potato, but you can do it now and squeeze the moisture out and it’ll probably be fine.”

“Sorry,” you say, starting on your new task, “I must have missed it when I was reading the recipe.”

“I should have been helping you with it,” he acknowledges lowly.

You smile, dumping the grated and squeezed onion into the mixture. “S’okay. You’re here now.” You don’t mention you know he was there earlier too, co-conscious and then fronting to say the blessings.

You watch him fold the mixture together before he pauses, squinting over at you. “We should divide this in half.”

“Why?”

“So we can do some with cheese. Or spices.”

“Okay. Half it then.”

Marc seems pleased, poorly hiding the twitch of his lips. “Okay. Gimme another bowl.”

You do as you’re told, and then start measuring out the oil you’ll need to fry the latkes into a pan on the stove. When the oil is hot enough and Marc is carefully dropping the mixture into the pan, he says, “This is nice.” His voice is a bit gruff, grating around the edges. “We should go to that menorah lighting tomorrow. The one in Trafalgar Square.”

“You want to?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Why not?”

You grin, watching the oil pop in the pan. “Maybe you could go to the synagogue too.”

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch before he speaks up. “Jake wants to.”

“Jake can go.”

“He wants you to go with him.”

“I’ll go with him, if he wants.”

Marc’s head jerks up, eyes meeting yours. “You will?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

But he seems surprised that you would, that you'd put effort into something so important to him, to them. He searches your eyes for a moment, raven gaze deep and dark. Then, “Would you go with me?” He sounds so hopeful, it almost breaks your heart.

“Yes. Steven too,” you confirm.

Marc nods, and glances away from you to expertly turn over one of the latkes. “Okay. Cool.”

You don’t comment, hiding another grin, kissing the side of his head instead as you move away. “I - we - wrapped yours in silver,” he says to your back. “If you wanna look.”

Something about it makes your throat close, a lump lodging there that you can’t quite swallow away.

Maybe it because he's shared something important with you. And you're not sure you'll ever be able to express what it means that he's opened up to you a bit, that he's let you into this part of himself, that he wants to share this with you, and reconnect to something that should be positive and good and warm.

You turn back to him and yank him into a hug, pressing your fingers up his spine until you can cup the back of his neck. He looks startled before you kiss him.

But he kisses you back, and he doesn’t ask why when you whisper, “Thank you.”

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader

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girl-in-the-chairs-void · 1 year

Text

Games and Complaints

Summary: A football game leads to another thing and Jake is on the brink of losing you.

Word count: 2.7K

Pairing:Jake seresin x pilot!reader callsign: Athena/Thena/Thia (Coyote calls her Thia)

Warning/tags: angst, Jake being jake, i dont know anything about fighter pilot training so take the info with a pinch of salt, lmk if i missed anything!

A/n: ITS TIMEEEEE!!!! HAPPY CHRISTMASSS!! I hope everyone had a great Christmas or Hanukkah (to whomever that celebrate). anyone looking forward to the new year? omg this chapter is...!!!! you guys will find out anyway. Enjoyyyy <333

English is not my first language so there may be grammar mistakes. You have been warned.

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Week two of training was the most difficult for all of them. Maverick explaining the depth of the mission and its details seemed to only add to your doubt that someone may not be coming back from the mission. But also fueling into the idea that it’s downright impossible.

“...Your airspeed will be 660 knots, minimum. Time to target; two and a half minutes…”

Mission details were unfolded one by one. You glanced towards Coyote as you sat next to him, eyes wandering towards Hangman who was just cross. He looked weirdly relaxed for a mission which was probably impossible. The cold AC from above you was doing nothing to calm your shaking.

Maverick continued about how time was to be your greatest adversary and the amount of forced G’s your will be facing throughout the simulated mission before dismissing everyone into their teams for the exercise.

“Time to target is one minute thirty, we are two seconds behind.”

“We gotta move, Coyote, Athena.”

You heard Bob and Phoenix warn over the radio, examining the pathway ahead of you. The sheer force of gravity pushed the air out of your lungs as you let the familiar thrill of it take over you. A good one in fact-whenever you were at a high altitude. But now at a much lower hard deck, you felt like this was the last thing you’d ever wanted to do.

“Increase speed to 480 knots.” You ordered Coyote from behind him in the dual jet.

“Copy, increasing speed.” Javy replied back just as he increased his speed to Bob. You looked down on the pathway ahead through the small screen, taking notice of a slight edge that was sticking out of the hill. A possible disruption that could be a problem when Javy takes a turn. But before you could issue a warning Javy pushed on the throttle to increase his speed; instantly pulling it back down as he almost made contact with the side of the hill.

“Oh shit.” Phoenix grunted over the radio, leaving You to look over their plane as it manoeuvred over yours, hitting the max ceiling.

…

Everyone had taken their turns, with only Rooster managing to successfully complete the exercise without breaking any of the conditions. They sat back in the hanger, analysing where everyone had gone wrong. You were starting to zone out next to Coyote but tried to keep a straight mind and focus on Mav’s critics. Before you could fully fall asleep on Javy, he tapped your thigh softly. Gesturing to the simulation that was now playing again on the screen.

“Why are they dead?” Mav questioned. Looking pointedly towards you and Coyote but before you could open her mouth to answer him, Phoenix piped up.

“We broke the 300-foot ceiling. The SAMs took us out.” She explained causing Maverick to shake his head and looking back at you and Coyote straight in the eye.

“No, why are they dead?” Dragging each word out.

“I slowed down and I didn’t give her a warning. It's my fault.” Coyote answered.

“Athena? Why are they dead? Was there a reason you didn't communicate with your team?” He pressed again. He knew about the systems as well as any other fighter pilot, he was once best friends with a WSO.

He had heard about your tales during your academy days through Warlock and Cyclone. The best of the best. So, for someone like you to not be at the top of your game was slightly concerning to Maverick.

“I saw the obstruction but I didn't give a warning in time. This led to Coyote increasing and decreasing his speed in an instant. Phoenix almost crashed into us before she had to break the ceiling in order to not crash. I’m sorry, sir.” You explained yourself, adding the apology at the end to console him as if you were talking to their family.

“An apology their family will accept at the funeral.” He stated before moving onto Phoenix and Bob.

Your head was hung low as you tried thinking back to when you were completing the exercise. To anyone it would have looked as though she saw it coming but weren't fast enough to give a warning in time. But to you, it was a late reaction time. As someone who was known to have a quick reaction to almost anything, this was unusual. A turn on the terrain that you were briefed on prior to it was only the simplest of tasks that even an undergraduate would have done. What is going on with your mind?

…

Football was a weird game. Having grown up playing anything other than the most beloved sport in the country, you- to this day couldn't understand why it was called football when all you did was pass the football with your hands.

Regardless, you didn't have much of a choice as it was already decided long ago by Maverick that today was Dogfight Football day.

“Offence and defense at the same time.” as Mav put it before selecting teams. Somehow you had ended up on the team opposite to Hangman’s. Lining up in your respective positions, you locked eyes with him. Putting two fingers up to where his eyes were and then pointing them back towards yourself as you heard Hindi’s whistle go off.

Every move you made, you felt him somewhere behind, but everytime you looked behind you found nothing.

You didn't know how long it had been since you’d started playing under the scorching heat that was beating down your backs. All you could feel was Hangman’s burning gaze in the back of your skull everytime you moved to defend.

“Yo, Thena! Heads up!” Payback shouted from ahead of you. Pointing to Rooster who was about to throw the ball in your direction.

You successfully managed to grab the ball from him, and just as she was about to throw it to Coyote, you felt it. A growing numbness in your skull. Head throbbing as it had done countless times in the last week. You shook your head, making a run for it regardless and throwing the ball towards Coyote without a second thought. He catched it with ease as you felt some of the people move from behind you to intercept it.

A hand suddenly appeared on your shoulder, jumping back in surprise, you turned towards the person who had just scared the living shit out of you.

“Woah. sorry, didn't mean to scare ya’ there, Athena.” Mav apologised before managing to grab a distance between the two of you.

“This is probably not the best time to talk about this but do y’ have a moment?” He asked politely before gesturing you off the makeshift field that you’d been playing on.

“Is everything okay, sir? If this is about the exercise the other day, I truly didn't have enough time to react to it-”

“It's not that.” He stopped you from rambling on before it got out of control. “I read your records, you graduated as a WSO and Fighter pilot?”

“Yes, sir.” You moved your hands behind your back, answering him curtly as you started walking back towards the beach chairs.

“May I ask how? It's not to be rude or anything, just curious. You don't see something like that everyday on someone’s file.”

Highlighting an interest in your training was something many people had done in the past. It was true, the path of training for both statuses wasn't nearly as easy as you had thought. It wasn’t even possible when you had presented the idea to her training officer back when you were a Top Gun trainee.

“I taught myself, actually. My training instructor said it was impossible and not typical for US pilots to be trained in both. But I already had previous training in both fields from being an weapons system operator overseas as an apprentice. I passed basic and complex training programmes for them. So they let me graduate with both diplomas.” You explained, going over each detail of your training. Which led Mav to question you further as you reached the end of the wet sands where Colonel Simpson stood, hands on his hips.

“What is this?” He questioned, looking over to the team that had Bob on their shoulders cheering for him as he made the last touchdown.

It made you smile.

“It’s dogfight football, offence and defence at the same time.” Mav repeated what he had explained to the rest earlier.

As Cyclone enquires further about the Mav’s game plan of making the guys a team, you moved further up the beach where Penny sat, most likely doing her taxes.

“Hey kiddo.” Penny says as you approach the bench she was sat on. Giving you a small wave. “There is beer inside if you want any, on the house.”

“Thank you Penny, but I’m technically working.” Slumping down across from her on the warm wood, you gave her a smile before looking out towards your friends and teammates. A solemn look on your face.

You let your eyes scan for him. Not wanting to make the staring obvious, but failing, because at that exact moment you unintentionally makes eye contact with his green orbs. Even from a few hindered yards of distance, you could make out that damn smirk that graces his lips again, sending you a wink.

“So, what’s up with you and Hangman?” Penny piped up, a suggestive smile on her face as she wiggled her eyebrows.

“What? Nothing. Nothing is going on between me and Jake.” You clarified, blood rushing it’s way up your neck and ears as you felt them burn hot.

“Didn’t look like that the other night.” That piqued your interest, looking back towards the older woman with a confused look.

“What do you mean?”

“The man couldn’t take his eyes off you the whole night, sweetie. Unfortunately, you were far too gone to notice it that day. Looked like a kicked puppy when you left with Coyote.” She explains,

“I think you should talk to him about it.”

Your mind wanders back to that night. A blurry haze of whiskey and pool. It was true that you had feel his stare from the moment you’d stepped foot at the hard deck but it didn’t take you long before you had completely blanked out.

“Oh” was the only thing you managed to choke out before you took notice of everyone that was currently making their way back towards the Hard Deck. Sending a wave towards them, you saw Payback and Coyote making a run towards you. Immediately knowing what they were up to, you made a run for it.

“You can’t run from us, Thena!” You heard them shout from behind you.

Running as fast as your lungs could take you. Causing them to lose your tail in the process but just as you were about to make a turn around the back entrance of the Hard Deck, you collided with hard flesh, almost losing your balance. Sweaty arms wrapped themselves around your waist as your eyes locked with marble irises. Jake. Your hands found a place at the centre of his chest as you stabled on your feet again.

“Woah there, sweetheart. Where are you off to?” Goddamn that accent was gonna be the death of you. You shook her head, as if physically trying to push the thoughts away from your mind. Refusing to speak to him, afraid that if you did- everything Penny had just told you about that night would spill like a waterfall.

Hesitantly, you cleared your throat, attempting to get away from him but his hands stayed put at the dip of your hips, locking you in place. You resisted his touch, struggling to remove his hands from you as he trapped you between him and the unusually cold wall behind her.

“Hangman, let go.” You spoke through gritted teeth.

He laughed at your failed attempts, there was no malice in it, but you couldn’t quite place what else it could be either.

He shook his head when you give up, crossing you arms in front of your chest. Looking up at him through thick lashes. The glowing sun that bounced off his back and the grains of sand that stuck to his chest did nothing to stop you from staring at him only made him look more heavenly. Stop it, you scolded yourself.

“What do you want?”

“You.”

You blinked, once, then twice, eyes widening in shock as your mouth fell open. Thinking you may have misheard him. Or even failed to hear a word or two before he said it.

“What?”

“I want you.”

It fell off his lips so softly that you almost melted in place. He placed a hand just under your jaw, forcing you to look him right in the eyes as he cupped the right side of your face. He looked at you with such tender and soft eyes, it made you dizzy. Heat radiating itself off his body suddenly did nothing to stop that.

You shook your head. This couldn't be happening. Not now…not when you were so close to proving yourself to him. That you didn't need him, not for the mission, not in any way.

“Jake...” His name floated out her mouth like a prayer, pleading. You tried again, to remove his touch that was burning into your skin, like it was to leave its traces forever.

You finally broke eye contact, looking down towards your feet that were buried in the sand, digging your toes further into them. Trying to ground or bury yourself in the warm grains.

“Jake, no, I can’t.” Pleading to him.

You didn't want to explain your reasoning, it was stupid, yes. But you don't wants to give him the satisfaction of doing a bigger mission without having to tell you why he left. If he had done so just before he had left, you may have forgiven him, but it’s done.

“Thena…if this is about me leaving you in Atlanta, i am so-”

“No, Jake. You don’t get to just leave and then apologise about it later. What if we weren't invited back to fighter town for this mission? Then what? What would you have done? Came back and apologised? Would you have done that?” You questioned, anger and frustration lacing your words.

His hands dropped, head hung low as he moved a step away before you continued; “No, you wouldn't because you are Jake Seresin. You don't get to stand here and confess that you want me when you could have been a decent person and apologised when we saw each other again at the hard deck two weeks ago.”

You huffed, vision blurring with the tears that were rolling down your cheeks in anger. You wiped them off immediately, finished with the reason as to why you were so angry at him.

“They kicked me off the team a day after you left, Hangman.”

His callsign held no malice as it left your mouth. This caused his head to turn back up, looking at you with a frown as you continued,

“Torch had called me into his office after you left and told me to pack my bags and leave. Saying I wasn’t needed on the team because you weren't there.”

He stood there with his feet planted into the sand. In disbelief. He hadn't known they had kicked you off the team, sure he had told Torch (the commanding officer for the mission) his reason for leaving but he hadn't expected them to throw you off the team.

But before he could open his mouth to apologise or comfort you, you moved, away towards your car that was parked just across from where you stood in the parking lot. Backing away while he still stood in front of the wall, pondering over his actions.

Snapping out of his daze, he ran after you, calling your name, telling you to stop which only made you go faster. As you got near to your car, you slowed, fresh tears still falling from your eyes. You tried to calm down.

Opening your car and locking the door. You heard frantic knocks on the window before Jake’s voice came through, muffled.

“Thena, Open the door! I just want to talk about this! Please!”

You ignored his pleading, closing your eyes and breathing deep before you fished out the keys from your shorts pocket and started the car. The knocking only got louder and his shouting more frantic as you pulled out of the parking space. Leaving him standing in the middle of the parking lot tarmac as you drove off.

You wished you could turn back time. Back to that goddamn mission and not argued with him everytime he opened his mouth. Maybe he would have stayed, maybe then you would have told him how you had liked him for so long. Maybe this mission wouldn't be so hard on you if you had told him this years ago. Spilling all of your love out for him the second he’d showed up at your doorstep that night when Javy wasn't in town to comfort you over a break up. Maybe he would have been the one…

Taglist;

@blue-aconite

@madikiel007

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #hangman x reader #glen powell #top gun x reader #Bob Floyd #natasha trace #phoenix #coyote #javy machado #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #antidotes and poisons

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makethatelevenrings · 1 year

Text

Chag Sameach // Jewish!Batmom!Reader & family

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: a lot of mentions of food, I know that can be difficult around the holiday season

Summary: A blended family of faith comes together to celebrate the holiday season through Damian’s eyes

A/N: I’m not Jewish so please let me know if I messed anything up!! Happy Hanukkah my lovelies :) Bruce is canonically Jewish, Dick and Duke are in my mind Jewish, Jason IMO was raised Catholic, Tim is totally raised atheist as is Cass, Alfred is Anglican, and Steph was raised culturally Christian. She’s just here for the sweets.

Everyone was acting differently.

Todd wasn’t arguing with Father and instead, Damian passed him earlier in the kitchen where the crime lord had a “Kiss the Cook” apron on and was bent over a tray on the counter, piping bag clutched tightly in hand. Perhaps he was poisoning Drake…

Pennyworth was flitting between the kitchen and the main living room, glittering tinsel in hand that trailed after him along the carpet. Drake was somewhere with Thomas, both of them looking intently at their phones and whispering between each other. Brown and Cassandra were outside, that much he knew, doing who knows what.

Damian found Richard in the main hall balancing a tray in both hands with a large smile on his face. He lit up when he saw Damian and gestured with his head to follow him. Thus, the culprit of everyone’s strangely amicable behavior was located.

You.

Father’s wife.

The woman who clearly wasn’t suited to be the matriarch of the Wayne name. Not like his mother. You were not a warrior. In fact, Damian believed you to be completely helpless. Yet Father seemed taken by you and one of the stipulations about living here was that Damian must respect you. Even Richard was firm in that rule.

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed and eyes narrowed as Father maneuvered a large pine tree into one of the corners of the room. You called out directions until Father stuck his head out from around the tree and leveled you with a stare Damian had seen him use on Ivy and Quinn. You merely smirked and raised your hands in a thumbs up. Father moved out from behind the tree and nodded at Damian before taking one of the trays from Grayson.

You turned and lit up at the sight of Damian. Despite his coldness towards you, you had never once been unkind. It grated on his nerves. Surely, you had some kind of ulterior motive as to your deceitful kindness. He was determined to get to the bottom of this.

“Damian, good afternoon!” you greeted. “You’re just in time. The sun sets in thirty minutes so we’ll light the chanukiah and then decorate the tree.”

You paused, a conflicted look passing over your face and then you sighed. “Oh, Damian, I’m sorry. I never thought to ask if you celebrate either.”

“Either?” He was confused by all the decorations and trinkets scattered around the room. It looked like a glitter bomb had gone off, but Pennyworth didn’t look too frazzled at the mess. It was then that he saw the kippah on Father and Richard’s heads.

“Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah,” you explained. “When Jason first joined us…”

You trailed off, pain glinting in your eyes at the thought of a young Todd compared to the man he was now. Father joined your side and laid a hand on your shoulder. You offered him a small, shy smile and whispered out a thanks.

“Your father, Dick, and I are all Jewish so we always celebrated Hanukkah. When Jason joined us, we figured it wasn’t fair that he and Alfred didn’t get to celebrate Christmas with others so we decided to combine the two. Hanukkahmas. Christmakkah. So, the first night of lighting the chanukiah, we also decorate the Christmas tree. It’s silly, but it’s our tradition.”

Richard swooped in then, laying a kiss on his adoptive mother’s cheek. He then ruffled Damian’s hair despite his best efforts to get away.

“Don’t worry, little D, we’ll celebrate Ramadan too for you.”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes! And if there’s any specific foods you like to break the fast, please let me know. We’d love to have you join us tonight, Damian.”

Based on the excited grin on Richard’s face, Damian couldn’t refuse. He sighed but relented, allowing Richard to put a red and white fluffy hat on his head. The brim slipped over his eyes and he shoved it back with a disgruntled huff, but you were grinning at the sight of the two boys' antics.

Maybe this wouldn’t be a total disaster.

Damian was put to task stringing popcorn on a fishing line and fighting off the vultures known as his family as they swooped in to steal a few kernels here and there. Someone had dragged one of the larger tables usually used for galas into the room and platters of food appeared, filling up the surface until Damian could no longer see any wood.

“Hey, baby bird,” Brown greeted as she and Cassandra entered the room. Thomas trailed after the two, a kippah on his head too. Brown started to reach for one of the powdered desserts but you materialized out of seemingly thin air and swatted her hand away.

“Not until Bruce does the blessing, you little thief,” you warned, but there was no heat behind your words. Damian was always confused by the lack of punishment received for behavior here. At Nanda Parbat, misbehaving and denying orders was met with violence. Here, it was met with teasing words from you and a stern lecture if it was a serious discrepancy. You were weak, he thought, for not preparing them for the cruelties of this world like his grandfather had.

“Alright, last thing for the table,” Todd announced as he entered the room with a large dutch oven cradled between two potholders. You clapped your hands in excitement and moved some dishes aside so he could set it down in the center.

“This is brisket,” you explained to Damian, “but we have plenty of vegetarian options too. Hummus, noodle kugel, latkes…a lot of latkes. Christ on a bike, Jason, could you have made any more latkes? We also have sufganiyot, rugelach, kugel, sfenj, and some Christmas cookies already…and we’re having matzo ball soup on the eighth night. Vegetarian, of course.”

Todd sidled up next to you, his large frame towering over his adoptive mother. You rested a hand on his arm and squeezed, a silent thanks for assisting Alfred with all of the food. He dipped his chin in response and then hugged you. Damian watched as the older boy practically melted in your embrace, something he had never seen. Todd was always cold and harsh, holding himself in a way that meant he was on alert constantly.

“The sun has set,” Alfred announced. The rest of the family had piled into the room and they crowded around the silver chanukkiah that sat on one of the tables. Richard lit the middle candle as Bruce began to say the three blessings. You murmured the occasional Hebrew word in response to the prayer, but the family remained quiet as Bruce prayed and Dick lit the candle. Once the first candle was lit and Bruce ended the prayer, you clapped your hands together and shooed everyone towards the family.

“Eat, eat. Nosh a little. We’ll decorate the tree after presents.”

Damian was struck with panic for a second. Presents? Was he supposed to get anyone something? No one else appeared nervous. They were all focused on loading up their plates and scattering around the living room.

You didn’t head towards the food. Instead, Damian watched as you pulled a blanket off of a basket tucked next to the chair you usually sat in. The basket was overflowing with wrapped gifts and you picked a few out, depositing them in the lap of the respective person. Damian was surprised when you stopped in front of him and smiled, holding out a gift wrapped in paper that had animals printed all over it.

“Happy Hanukkah, Damian. I like to give everyone gifts for the eight nights. Something small. Don’t worry about getting us anything. It’s more of a thing I like to do.” Your words eased his stress. He cautiously tore at the paper and found a fresh sketchbook, pencils, and watercolors inside. You had already moved on to hand a gift to Alfred.

He ran his fingers along the smooth paper and smiled despite himself. Maybe you weren’t totally useless.

For seven more nights, the family gathered in the living room to play games, watch movies, and eat. Seriously, it was a shit ton of food. You flitted about the room all night, anxious to ensure everyone was enjoying themselves. The gifts you gave were perfect, but Damian would never admit that. In lieu of gelt, other than the chocolate coins that Drake and Richard were battling over currently, you had donated ten thousand dollars to a charity each person supported, including Damian’s favorite animal shelter in the city.

He didn’t understand it. He had been nothing but frigid to you since arriving at the Manor. Yet, you were still suffused with warmth that leaked out of you and showering him with kindness and gifts. So on the eighth night, while everyone else was focused on the epic dreidel battle between Cassandra and Todd, Damian slowly approached where you were seated on the couch, curled up against Father’s side.

“Hey, need something?” you asked. You were ready to spring off the couch and serve him, but Damian merely thrust a neatly wrapped box in your direction. Your lips parted in a soft, surprised gasp and you thanked him as you accepted the gift. Slowly and meticulously, you unwrapped the gift and opened the small box under the paper to find a beautiful handmade portrait of the whole family.

“Oh, Damian,” you whispered. “It’s amazing. This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Happy Hanukkah.”

You handed the box to Bruce and stood. “Is it alright if I hug you?”

He nodded stiffly, but relaxed minutely when your arms wrapped around him. Damian understood why Todd softened around you. How Father smiled and showed affection like it was second nature. Why Richard laughed freely and Thomas felt comfortable in the family and Brown gossiped to you about trivial things. He understood why Cassandra sought you out on the bad days and Drake curled up beside you when he needed to feel comforted and why Pennyworth took your orders without question.

You weren’t useless or helpless. Your strength, light, and warmth was the thing keeping the family together. Damian hugged you just a little tighter. Maybe he could ask you to accompany him to the animal shelter to oversee how the donations were being allocated. And then perhaps they could go to that one vegetarian restaurant Todd had told him about.

You weren’t his mother and he would always love his mother, but you were certainly a figure in his life that he didn’t mind being around.

#batfamily x reader #batmom imagine #batfamily imagine #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #damian wayne

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