I'll be braver going forward, but for the moment... I'm not quite there yet. Can't let them win, but a small moment to be scared and sad is necessary sometimes, and I think that's where I'm at.
Fortunately, there are considerably more people like you, who help keep me motivated and reassured.
In light of the antisemitic comments I've received, it's been very difficult to make myself write much of anything, but especially explicitly Jewish stories (I scrapped a whole book I was hoping to release for Hanukkah, because this shook me deeply).
Combined with the total lack of participation from anyone else, I'm not sure there will be any more 8Nights fic.
Some of you have said some truly lovely and encouraging things, but I may be done with this.
I had 3 or 4 fics planned, and I will try to finish them before the new year, but I can't promise it.
Thanks to you lovely people who have supported this effort over the years.
That antisemitic comment is from someone with a user name, but the name doesn't link to an account--?--so I can't block them, and I would really like to.
Got this lovely comment on a Hanukkah fic, and I'm livid
My response:
With no due respect, you're antisemitic.
Asking Jewish people to and defend their stance on the Israeli government is repugnant antisemitism.
I wrote about two people exchanging presents at Hanukkah. Being Jewish does not equal being Zionist. I do not live in Israel, 1600 words about celebrating a holiday isn't a political statement, except that Jewish people are forced to make their existence political.
Not that it's anyone's right to know, especially not someone who is so clearly coming from a place of violence and prejudice, but I do not support the Israeli government, and I donate to Palestinian causes.
When I was little, my dad hired a Cambodian refugee called Jack to help him drywall a dining room ceiling. Jack spoke very little English; he'd recently gotten a part time job in a little Asian deli not far from our home and needed to pick up some extra work. He was very kind to six year old me and my exhausted mom; he brought us day old leftovers from the deli counter often, and liked to tuck the knuckle of his index finger into the dimple in my cheek whenever I smiled at him.
He soaked up construction skills and other information like a sponge, and by the time he left my dad's tiny construction company he'd gotten his GED, learned to drive, reunited with his sister and her family, and had begun remodeling a vacant business on the rich side of town into a Cambodian restaurant. He invited us to their grand opening on lunar new year, and I'll never forget when he gave me a red envelope with five dollars in it and told me, "tonight I am the luckiest man in the world, so this will bring you luck, too."
Years later, my dad told me that Jack had witnessed his parents' murder during the khmer rouge, and was immediately separated from his sister. He had to cross the killing fields at Choeung Ek alone, on foot, eating grass and insects to survive. He somehow made it to Cam Ranh on the coast of Vietnam, where a distant friend of his father's put him on a boat to Seattle. Jack was nine years old.
I tell this story because, even though I haven't seen Jack or any of his relatives in thirty years, I pray he's well and happy and eating like a king tonight with everyone he loves, celebrating the long overdue demise of the pestilential sonofabitch who tried to wipe them out.
Fuck Henry Kissinger's pathetic ghost, and fuck all those who praise him. Fuck Imperialism. Fuck the genocidal war machine. Drink deep for the freedom of all souls tonight, my friends. And tomorrow, keep fighting.
It's really funny writing for Sterek8Nights things right now, because the rest of me current fic WIPs are either very long involved stories, or super kinky and smutty.
For the Sterek8Nights Bingo squares: gift exchange, combining, family
on ao3 here
Please check out the prompts and the bingo card and join me in Hanukkah-ing Sterek!
____
Derek looked around the store forlornly. Nothing here was right, and he was starting to panic. Hanukkah started in three days, and he still didn’t have anything for Stiles.
So, he did what he usually did when he had a problem he needed help with and he couldn’t call Stiles: he called Stiles’ dad, and texted Boyd.
“Still can’t think of what to get him, huh?” John answered in lieu of a greeting, and Derek groaned. The man may be the actual Sheriff, and his kind of father-in-law, but it was often irritating how much he noticed.
“No. And I am this close to just giving him my credit card and setting him lose at that little occult shop on Denton that has the actual magic stuff in the basement,” Derek not-quite whined.
John chuckles, and even though Derek’s annoyed, the sound is comforting in its familiarity. “As much as he’d enjoy that, I’m not sure that your bank account, or his bookshelves, really need to take that hit, son.”
It’s Derek’s turn to laugh then. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs.
That’s when he sees it, tucked under a little stack of sweaters, clearly discarded by a customer that couldn’t be bothered to return it to its proper place. A silver picture frame with intricate designs set into the metal. Derek snatches it up and says a hasty goodbye to John, citing an epiphany and barely catching the “Good luck, kid,” that he tacks on before Derek hangs up and shoves his phone into his pocket.
After a quick stop at his family’s vault, and another to the Stilinksi residence, he rushes home, glad to beat Stiles there, and hurries to his office to wrap his gifts.
***
The first night of Hanukkah is spent with John at his house, with just the three of them, starting the week off with a relative calm before various combinations of friends and co-workers, and the pack all invade Derek and Stiles’ house for the other days.
After lighting the menorah, and eating the latkes they had all made together, they head to the living room to exchange gifts, Derek and Stiles give John a trip for the three of them to see the Mets and a stay in a really nice hotel for a few days. He tries to protest, but Stiles has already arranged the time off for him, so he hugs them both and starts talking about what else they can do while they’re in New York.
John commits to what he insists are “traditional Hanukkah gifts”, and gives them both packages of novelty socks and matching t-shirts with photo realistic wolves howling at the moon on the front. Stiles cackles and hugs his dad even as he complains about not being a kid anymore, but John waves his protests off. “You know how this works, kid. Socks are tradition! I just picked a package at random, you could’ve just as easily gotten an art kit, or something surprising!” he defends with a smirk, knowing that they all not-so-secretly find it hilarious to get three or four nights of “useful” presents amid all the rest.
“At least it’s not underwear,” Derek jokes, only for Stiles to look him in the eye and waggle his eyebrows in a way that never fails to make Derek feel fond, even though it’s objectively ridiculous.
“Maybe not from dad,” Stiles replies, making Derek blush, eyes darting furiously to John, and then back to Stiles.
John groans, loud and long-suffering. “That’s more than I need to know, son,” he complains good naturedly, tossing the balled-up wrapping paper from his gift at Stiles and hitting him square on the nose. After a few moments of shared laughter and a brief wrapping paper war, John announces it’s time for the two of them to exchange their gifts.
Stiles scrambles to grab his box, wrapped in shimmery blue and surprisingly heavy for its size when Stiles sets it in Derek’s hand. He watches expectantly as Derek unwraps it carefully. Inside the box are two stones; one is about half the size of Derek’s palm, the other is quarter-sized and on a necklace, they’re both practically glowing, and Derek realizes it’s the same shimmer the wrapping paper had.
“They carry the most powerful protection spell I could find,” Stiles explains. “The big one, you bury in your yard and it will keep the house and a good amount of the surrounding forest safe. The small one you wear,” he says, wrapping his hands around Derek’s. “As a bonus feature, if you hold the pendant, it sends a little buzz to me through my spark, so you can tell me you’re thinking of me, or hold it longer, and it’s like the Bat-signal signal.”
Derek manages a slightly awed smile as he looks up at Stiles from where he was watched they tangled hands, and a “I love it, thank you,” that’s a little more choked up than he’d like to admit before Stiles pulls him close for a brief, chaste kiss.
“You’re welcome. Happy Hanukkah, Der,” Stiles says into the small space between them. “Now where’s mine?” he asks with mock-seriousness, successfully resetting the mood.
Derek scoffs and rolls his eyes, as is expected of him, and carefully hands Stiles his meticulously wrapped box.
Stiles is not a careful-unwrapper, but he takes his time with this one, maybe he picked up on Derek and John’s excitement.
When the wrapping paper is off, Stiles looks between Derek and John quizzically, his fingers hovering over the edges of the outer box. “What did you two do?” Stiles asks, eyes narrowing.
John puts both hands up in a calming gesture, but Derek barks out an anxious “Open it,” and then immediately regrets it when they both look at him like he’s lost his mind. Derek huffs out a laugh and ruffles his own hair. “Sorry. I was really anxious about what to get you; your dad helped when I figured it out.”
Stiles grins wide. He loves that his dad and his boyfriend get along so well. He is also insanely curious about what’s in the box.
He lifts the lid off the box and runs delicate fingers over the tissue paper folded over the contents, peeling it away slowly. Once it’s out of the way, Stiles gasps, a hand flying to his mouth.
Inside the box are two not-quite identical silver frames.
In one, is a picture of Stiles, John, Derek, Cora, and Peter with the rest of the pack, on the giant porch at Stiles and Derek’s house. In the other, is a similar picture, except it’s on the porch at the old Hale house, and the pack in the picture is Derek’s family. Derek is maybe three years old, Peter barely a teenager, and Cora and Stiles are technically there, too, because in the middle of the photograph are Talia and Claudia, both very pregnant, with their arms thrown around each other. John is on the other side of Stiles’ mom, absolutely beaming at the camera.
Stiles looks up at Derek and his dad, eyes wet with unshed tears. He knew that his parents were friends with the Hales, had seen the occasional photo – mostly in boxes of his mother’s things in the attic – but he’d never seen this specific picture before, never a picture of him and Derek together, because the Hales had distanced themselves when John got promoted at the Sheriff’s department, not wanting him to have to lie about the supernatural in any official capacity, so they’d missed out on being in each other’s lives until they met again as teenagers.
“Der,” Stiles whispers, tracing the edges of the frames.
“I found that frame, the newer one, and I remembered a similar one from the vault that I’d seen years ago. With that picture. It, uh. It didn’t mean anything at the time, it was so long ago, but I brought it here, and your dad told me a little about that time–”
“There’s an envelope in the box, with some things your moms both wrote, and some I wrote out,” John interrupts gently. Derek nods at him gratefully.
Stiles has the envelope out and open before his dad finishes speaking, not exactly reading, more just tracing the shape of his mom’s handwriting, taking in the curl of Talia’s and John’s neat, tight lettering. He looks up again, carefully placing the precious papers back in the box, and half launching-half falling into Derek’s arms. Derek wraps his arms around Stiles without having to think about it.
“I love you,” Stiles says into Derek’s neck.
“I love you, too,” Derek replies mostly into Stiles’ shoulder.
Stiles spreads out one arm towards his dad and waves his hand around. “Come here, Pops, get in on this family hug STAT,” he demands, slightly muffled from how he hasn’t quite turned his head out of Derek’s neck. John obliges with minimal grunting and groaning about being too old to be on the floor, and Derek and Stiles tug him into the hug, all of them a little sniffly. “Love you, dad. Thank you.”
“Aw, hell, kid, I love you, too,” John replies, “Have I told you recently that you did alright with picking that Hale kid to marry?” he teases.
“We’re not married, dad.”
“Yet,” Derek corrects, and Stiles pulls away quickly, only managing to avoid whacking Derek and his dad with his head because of Derek’s reflexes.
“Yet?!” he squwaks. When Derek only shrugs, he adds “Derek Hale, if you are planning on making me cry again this Hanukkah, I am going to be so mad at you.”
John laughs, knowing full well that Stiles has a ring and a whole plan for sometime before New Year’s. Derek though? Derek pulls Stiles back in, says “I promise, no more crying presents,” and wracks his brain for what to get for Stiles for the next seven nights.
Well, I made the prompt list/bingo card, and then was immediately struck with an idea. It changed a little in writing it, but it's cute and fluffy anyway. (Might write the other version anyway? Idk.)
Anyway, here's Sterek family Hanukkah fluff. For the squares/prompts: sufganiyot and with kids
On ao3 here
***
The sound of a tiny giggle alerted Derek to the possibility of shenanigans afoot, so he followed the sound through the house and to the source, only to find that Some
Stiles had beat him to the scene.
He stood hovering in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, watching as Stiles sat on the kitchen floor holding a wad of paper towels in one hand, and a half eaten sufganiyot that was absolutely dripping with too much jelly in the other.
Sat across from Stiles was Lilah, Erica and Boyd’s four year old daughter, who was also covered in jelly and sugar crystals, a fistful of what was once an overfilled donut, and was now mostly mush and a blindingly bright, jelly-painted grin on her face.
Stiles is clearly trying to suppress a laugh, and Derek can't help but smile.
“Uncle ‘Tiles, the suf– the sugan– the donuts are really yum! Sorry I eat one without askin’ first. Please don't tell mama, she'll be upset I forgot my manners again,” Lilah said, grinning. Her puppy eyes were legendary, and there was no way Stiles was going to be able to say no.
“It's okay, peanut, as long as you let me clean you up, and promise to ask next time, we're all good,” Stiles replied, eyes darting to Derek and then to the counter before adding “And after we clean up, you can keep me make a new batch of sufganiyot,” Stiles said, over-enunciating the last word, smiling when Lilah mouthed the word along with him.
Derek's eyes went to the counter, and he noticed the donut massacre that had apparently resulted in the current sticky state of the entire kitchen, and its occupants. A dozen of the donuts they'd made that morning were in various states of smushed and covered in jelly, the jar open and half empty, with what appeared to be handfuls of preserves plopped on the plates of sufganiyot and the countertop. He felt his eyebrows climb, and Stiles snorted and looked up at him.
“Hey, Der, can you take the Lilah monster up to the bath and get her changed? I need to uh, hose down the kitchen. And also myself,” he said around a laugh.
Lilah looked up at Derek then, her smile growing somehow brighter, and stuck her sticky arms out, wiggling her fingers at Derek. “Uncle Derek! We're gonna make more sufganiyot, hurry let's go!”
With a mild wince, Derek reached out to his jelly covered niece and scooped her up, making sure to be silly about it just to hear her laugh. “Here, I saved this for you!” she said happily, and before Derek could ask what she meant, she shoved the mangled donut she was still holding into his mouth. Derek could only chew it while Stiles cackled.
“Than’ kew,” Derek mumbled through the half chewed mess, swallowing with a brief frown that he quickly forced into a smile so Lilah wouldn't get upset. It wasn't hard with her jelly smeared grin beaming at him.
“‘Welcome. Now hurry, the Honka party is only soon!”
Later, when he and Stiles are very carefully showing Lilah how to properly fill the sufganiyot, he meets Stiles’ gaze over Lilah’s head, and they share a smile before going back to supervising a very serious four year old pastry chef.
“So, Der, I know what I want for next Hanukkah,” Stiles says nonchalantly while handing Lilah a filled syringe of jelly.
Derek is intrigued, because after almost a decade together, it is paradoxically harder to find gifts for each other. “Already?”
“Yep! How do you feel about a sufganiyot thief of our own?”
Derek looks up, startled, and finds Stiles’ eyes again. He's smiling softly, not a trace of a joke in his expression, and Derek feels a smile paint itself across his face.
“Yeah, I think that sounds like a perfect gift,” he replies honestly, already picturing next Hanukkah, with an extra member of the pack.
They stare at each other for a long moment, until Lilah breaks it with a serious sounding “As long as they don't steal my sufganiyot! Hey, I said it right, didn't I?”
They both laugh then, quick to praise her determination to get the word right, and full of joy for the present and the future.
As Hanukkah is a month away, I find myself thinking about what to do about this blog/event this year.
I have put a lot of thought and effort into this in past years, and it hasn't garnered any real traction, so I am not sure what to do this year.
Abandoning it feels awful, but I just can't do another year where I try to get people excited, and nothing happens.
I truly appreciate those of you that have followed this blog/event, and who have talked me off this little pity-party spiral in past years, and who have talked to me about Hanukkah headcanons and such. It's meant the world to me.
So, I think I'm going to put a poll up and see if maybe a different format would be something people are interested in.
(I will still be writing Hanukkah themed fics, but whether I post or accept prompts and attempt to get other people to do so is up in the air at this point. I'm not sure I'll update this blog if no one else participates)
2087
annaxmalina
stormborns
blakekathryn
areudirty
janainaart
turnnoffyourmind
germansingergirl
titsay
