The Bad Breed Maa’s Thanksgiving🦃 : A Feast Loud Enough to Wake the Gods
Thanksgiving in the normal world looks like soft sweaters, family photos, muted “thank you’s,” and someone burning the rolls while pretending everything’s fine.
Thanksgiving in the Realm?
Different universe. Different rules. Different heartbeat.
When the veil thins and the smoke rises from the pit, the Bad Breed Maa’s gather in whatever version of “home” they’ve torn together, part garage, part bunker, part roller-rink-from-hell, part safe-house built from grit and loyalty.
This is how the feast goes down.
ONE BAD MAA — The Anchor of the Table
She’s the one who calls it.
Not because she loves hosting
(though she does cook like a woman who’s survived worlds)
but because she knows the Realm needs a night where the armor gets set down.
She’s the calm center of the storm , apron over a sports bra, grease on her hands, hair up, eyes scanning everyone like she’s taking mental roll call:
“Everyone breathing? Good. Sit your asses down.”
She cooks half the food. Refuses help. Claims it’s faster that way.
In reality?
The kitchen is her battlefield. Her church. Her peace.
REBEL — The Backbone Bringing the Order
Rebel walks in carrying three pies, a toolkit, and the emotional stability of the entire group.
Someone dropped a knife?
Rebel catches it mid-air.
Someone’s yelling?
Rebel gives that look and suddenly the table is quiet.
Before dinner even starts she’s tightening pipes, fixing a chair leg, and muttering:
“If one of you feral gremlins breaks this table, I swear…”
But she sits at One Bad Maa’s right side, a silent declaration:
“I’ve got you. Always.”
RAGE — The Kitchen Pyro
Rage shows up with something that is either:
A) food
B) a weapon
C) both, depending on the temperature
She’s banned from the oven after last year’s “accidental combustion,” so she contributes by taste-testing everything like a wolf guarding the kill.
Her Thanksgiving prayer?
“Bless this food, bless this chaos, and may anyone who tests me choke on a cranberry.”
She means it with love. Sort of.
VEX — The Feral Creative Disaster
Vex doesn’t bring food.
She brings vibes.
Hand-drawn place cards dripping with chaotic energy.
A centerpiece made out of wire, roller-skates, and a skull she found.
She starts decorating the table like she’s prepping for a photoshoot in a haunted skatepark.
Someone asks if it’s safe.
“Well I didn’t say THAT,” she replies, sipping her drink.
LAWLESS — The Spirit of Freedom Walking In Late
Lawless rolls in last, skating through the doorway like the party started the second she arrived.
She brings:
A plate she didn’t cook
A bottle she definitely already opened
And a story no one asked for but everyone listens to anyway.
She drops into a chair, spins around, and yells:
“I’m thankful for ME and whoever invented carbs!”
Everyone laughs because she brings the light , the kind that only comes from someone who refuses to be dimmed.
THE FEAST BEGINS
It’s messy.
It’s loud.
It’s chaotic.
It’s perfect.
Rage argues with the mashed potatoes.
Vex draws faces on the rolls.
Lawless steals dessert early.
Rebel pretends she’s annoyed but secretly loves every second.
One Bad Maa just watches them all like a mother who built her own universe out of scars and second chances.
Because that’s what this feast IS:
A gathering of every piece of you that survived.
Every version of you that fought.
Every instinct, flaw, fire, and freedom stitched together at one table.
No pretending.
No shrinking.
No guilt.
No apology.
Just family, the kind you build, the kind you protect, the kind you bleed for.
Why THIS MATTERS
Thanksgiving in the Realm isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
It’s the one night where every Bad Breed Maa , every part of you , sits together and says:
“Damn. We made it.”
Because life tried to separate these versions of you:
- The disciplined one
- The fiery one
- The creative one
- The free one
- The real one
But you refused.
You kept all of them.
And together, they are unstoppable.
FINAL TOAST — From One Bad Maa Herself
She raises her glass, grease still on her arms, eyes bright and steady:
“To survival.
To rebirth.
To doing it our way.
To the Realm.
To the Bad Breed.
And to the version of us we’re still building.”
The table erupts.
>>>>Happy Thanksgiving From Us Here at ONE BAD MAA<<<<