#I've been holding on for so long I've considered every single option but every single one is worse than the other i can't give up I can't

[pretentiousgayguyidk]

Bets and Mario Kart

Sadly I lost the ask but it was basically a tsundere reader x any character. And I've decided to honor our lovely @reallyromealone for when he hit 2.1k followers. (Sorry this took so long I've been out a if for a few days lol)

"Fuck you!" Nahoya shouted, pushing his friend harshly. (Name) fell too the floor with a loud thud, gritting his teeth.

"No fuck you! I won fair and square!" He exclaimed, pointing angrily with his controller in hand.

"You obviously cheated! No one wins at Rainbow Road!" Nahoya countered. Ah yes, Mario Kart; the end of every friendship on planet Earth. (Name) huffed, crossing his arms as he silently glared at his friend.

"You just suck at the game, Smiley." He grumbled, pouting to himself as Souya worriedly tried to calm the two down. Last time the played it ended in a small fist-fight.

"Smiley, (Name) please stop!" He pleaded, clenching his jaw as he pulled on Smiley's sleeve. The pink haired Kawata giggled a little, ripping his arm from his little brother's grasp and tackling (Name).

"You wanna say that again little shit? I'll kill you y'know." He threatened, (Name) smirked; his face red from their current position... But he wasn't about to give up just yet.

"You suck at Mario Kart." He stated. Nahoya didn't hesitate to draw his fist back. The other acted quickly, flipping the situation around and pinning Nahoya's arms above his head.

"God damn it- (Name)! Let me go!" He shouted, squirming under the other's iron grip.

"You'll just punch me!" He argued, Nahoya whined. He smiled teasingly, leaning down till they were nose to nose. "You're not getting up, Smiley~" he cooed.

"I know how I could win this fight." Nahoya said with a cheeky smirk. (Name) hummed. "I could either headbutt you or kiss you. Take your pick." He teased. (Name) flushed red, angry at the other for chosing those options of any other. Hell he'd probably rather take a kick to the nuts then have Nahoya kiss him. Just friends... Remember we're just friends.

"Shut up, I'd rather you kick me in the nuts than kiss me!" He grumbled, face inflamed with embarrassment. God, why was Nahoya such a cheeky bastard; he'd do anything to win a fight. Nahoya gave (Name) a little pout.

"I swear I'm a good kisser, you jerk! I'll kill you!" Nahoya grumbled, a strained smile on his face. (Name) flushed red as Angry silently cheered for the kiss, knowing all to well the two's crushes on each other weren't going away any time soon.

"Nope! I'd bet 15000 yen you suck, you've been single your entire life!" He said, sitting up and crossing his arms... Not realizing he had accidentally giving Smiley free reign. (Name) felt his heart stop when he realized, but he was a little too late in realizing before Nahoya had sat up and hastily kissed the other. (Name) froze, eyes wide as Nahoya kissed him very passionately. The feeling was dizzying as (Name) slowly reciprocated. This is why you don't play bets against a Kawata.

Nahoya pulled away, giggling at the other's dazed and flushed expression. (Name) snapped out of his daze relatively quickly and immediately glared at the other. "You totally suck at kissing." He muttered, sounding not as sure as he had originally planned.

Nahoya pulled (Name) a little closer, gently touching his nose to the others as he gazed up at him with half lidded eyes. "You sure about that (Name)-Chan?" He teased. (Name) swallowed hard and muttered a quiet yes. Nahoya didn't waste any time pulling the other into a feverish kiss, holding the other closely; gently trailing his calloused fingers up the (h/c) haired man's shirt.

(Name) hummed, no longer putting up a fights as he clutched onto his friend... Could they even be considered friends after this? He gasped for air when Nahoya pulled off of him, teasingly kissing his cheek. "You still sure that I'm a bad kisser?"

(Name) panted, glancing away as he tried to muster some kind of snarky response. It was useless, his brain too muddled with the images of what just happened. Opting for a silent response over speaking he quietly shook his head. Nahoya smirked a little. "You owe me 15000 yen," he whispered, (Name) felt his heart break a little. Yeah... It was just a bet, Nahoya noticed the others glum expression and quickly continued. "Hm... Actually a date worth 15000 yen!"

(Name) pouted more, happy to be able to openly take Nahoya on a date... But the idea of spending 15000 yen hurt his wallet. "Fuck you're expensive..." He whispered, earning a chuckled from the pink haired Kawata as he nuzzled into (Name)'s neck.

[hypergamiss]

In your opinion, why do you think men choose unattractive and mean women to be their wives? I know a woman who is over 300lbs and has a horrible attitude, but her husband makes great money and he thinks she's the hottest thing around. Just imagine a very large woman, with a potty mouth, badly done tattoos and a septum piercing. They got married very young, but before him she had plenty of men interested in her. I don't get it.

I knew her briefly and quickly grew tired of being around her because she's not very nice and we just didn't have much in common. The only reason I kept her around for as long as I did, was because the business she had, gave her access to all the elites in our city--she had the best gossip. I learned about the weak spots for a lot of the upper class families, through her. But I got tired of her because every conversation, she had to remind me that she didn't have to work and that she only created her business because she got tired of being in the house all day. She's even aware of the way she comes across because she labels herself as an "asshole". She expressed that she doesn't get along with most women because she's "not interested in the things most women are interested in--like shopping." Her hobbies are smoking weed and nothing else. In other words, she's trashy lol.

Meanwhile, I'm attractive, sweet, funny, educated and have never been in a relationship. I just don't understand men at all. Women who I would think would be considered undesirable and gross by men, have great options. Men say they want a woman who's nice, attractive, and not lazy and then choose the exact opposite. I'm just confused.

She's just confident. Even if it's a "bad" type of confident, she clearly doesn't ever doubt herself and knows that she can get what she wants. I've said this before, most women think you need to be a 10/10 to be with a man that would give you the world. Literally any woman can get treated right if she plays her cards right. Yes, attractive women will always have the upper hand, but that doesn't mean the less attractive ones can't get the same outcome. If a man had to choose between me and Gigi Hadid, Gigi is winning. But no big deal, there is another man who isn't even on Gigi's radar that can give me everything I want. Think of all of the celebrities or well off women who are not attractive at all but clearly have everything they want in a partner. They didn't get it by having low self esteem and complaining about their circumstances. They decided to fully grasp the concept that women hold so much power. They have the same lady parts as the attractive women and the ability to strengthen their game in other ways that are not superficial.

She knows how to seduce.

She knows how to keep a man on his toes and keep him constantly chasing her, always trying to win her over.

She knows how to keep her boundaries and restrict access to herself when she doesn't get what she wants.

She knows how to reward her man when he does well by her.

She is selfish with her time, she doesn't lose sight of her goals and ambitions.

She puts herself first overall.

Notice how none of this has to do with looks. Looks at this point are just a cherry on top if you know how to make a man crazy about you. I'm not trying to say that she's a good person, but it's fair to give credit where it's due. She values herself and doesn't accept anything remotely close to being below her standards, even if she doesn't meet those herself. You can be a good person and still know how to play your cards right, or else I would just stay single forever because my moral compass wouldn't allow it.

Comparison is the thief of joy. Instead of wondering how she got so "lucky," study her with a grain of salt and learn how to do the same or better.

[nonbinaryresource]

hmmmm not sure how to phrase this exactly, but I've been looking through the questioning tag and thought I could try just asking specifically. (Sorry it got quite long!)

I'm pretty sure watching too many trans tiktoks did not make me nonbinary, but it sure brought up questions. Mainly, what if relating to nonbinary/trans experiences in my case is just that, relating? I'm thinking I might be nonbinary or trans, all because I suck at almost everything considered my gender, from looks to skills and so my "disphoria" is me not liking how others see me, rather than it being my body. I don't want to be my body to people first and then my person, besides I get the feeling top surgery would make me look and feel aesthetically cooler lol but that's just me

Is that a thing or I'm just extremely in denial?

Not sure if you caught the study we were just reblogging on how dysphoria and transness is not caused by "social contagion" like tiktoks, but if not, it feels relevant to link.

Researchers from the Fenway Institute disproved the theory of "rapid-onset gender dysphoria" (RODG) and determined that "social contagion" does not influence gender identity in the largest study of its kind, published earlier this month in Pediatrics journal.

"The hypothesis that transgender and gender diverse youth assigned female at birth identify as transgender due to social contagion does not hold up to scrutiny and should not be used to argue against the provision of gender-affirming medical care for adolescents," Dr. Alex S. Keuroghlian, the study's senior author and director of Fenway's National LGBTQIA+ Health Education Center, and the Massachusetts General Hospital Psychiatry Gender Identity Program, said in a statement.

But I'm gonna focus on the idea of "what if I just relate to trans experiences but aren't trans?"

Okay.

So.

What if you do?

What?

Then what?

You...find out more about yourself?

You...discover new things about your own feelings and comfort?

You...consider all of the options and come to decide on which label is best for you to adopt?

I'm not seeing a downside here. I'm not seeing anything to panic about. The transphobes have turned exploration and experimentation into the boogeyman. Life is about exploration and experimentation. Capitalism has absolutely ruined us. It's ridiculous to expect children who aren't even done psychologically developing yet to know and pick their life path and dedicate the rest of their life to it, including going thousands of dollars in debt to get a degree if necessary. It's ridiculous to expect people to not explore and experiment and have some damn fun in life, whether that's trying out 60 different jobs to find something that they want to do or discarding and picking up a new hobby each every single week to find what they actually find enjoyable or playing around with genders/sexualities/names/pronouns/clothes/etc. to figure out their feelings and better get to know who they are.

There is nothing - NOTHING - inherently wrong, bad, or immature about exploration and experimentation in life period.

So what if you relate to trans experiences but are actually cis? So what you identify as trans now for whatever length of time and change how you label later? So what?

I am so tired of the idea that anybody knows what they are doing ever. Nobody knows! We're all just making it up! The imposter syndrome we're putting everyone through for every aspect of their lives - from their jobs to their hobbies to their genders to their sexualities - is out of control. The society we have built is not meant for people. And that's incredibly, incredibly heartbreaking.

People should be allowed to play and explore and experiment!

People should be allowed to grow and change!

People should be allowed to be confused and unsure!

People should be allowed to not know!

People should be allowed to try on identities like we try on clothes at the store!

Fuck the self-gaslighting society is pressuring you to put yourself through.

I don't care what you know for sure. I don't care if you're going by a label you're unsure of. I don't care if you're going by a label you know is technically not the most accurate. I don't care if you stuck up a bunch of identity labels on a dart board, threw a dart, and decided to identify as that one. I'm here for you. The messy, confused, complex, hard to understand you. The real you.

Could it be a thing that you relate to trans experiences, don't really relate to cis experiences, and yet are cis? Sure. (Slightly tangential, but I think you might get some food for thought out of this piece of writing.)

But don't sit here thinking you have to identify as cis because you don't have "proof" of being trans. That's not a thing. It's just what the transphobes want you to think. You can identify as any damn thing you want (let's avoid cultural appropriation, though!), even if you're only 0.5% thinking you might be that thing.

If you think you might be nonbinary, practice not giving into the thoughts like "but I can't really be nonbinary because I'm only just now thinking about it". Practice letting yourself try out being nonbinary! For at least several months, unless it's just too terrible and you realize right away that it's not right for you. Don't debate on this or put yourself through a court of law or beat yourself down. Just let yourself be nonbinary. In a couple months, then come back to the questions of "is this right for me?".

And there is no "right" or "wrong" reason to identify with whatever identity. Some people identify as nonbinary because they have a very specific, pinpointable, non-binary gender. Others identify as nonbinary because they're not really sure but nonbinary makes them the most comfortable. Others identify as nonbinary because they want to be nonbinary. Others identify as nonbinary because they don't relate to or don't understand or don't want to identify with the binarily gendered structure of our society. Whatever your reasoning, it's both valid and nobody else's business (though ofc you can tell anybody why if it's what YOU want to do).

~Mod Pluto

P.S. If anything in this ask comes off as angry or frustrated, it is not with you. It is towards society and bigots who purport attitudes that harm people, even if in seemingly "little" ways like making them feel like they can't trust their own feelings.

[lapetiteceinturesworld]

Hi, guys! Today I have a fight scene for you. I've decided that on the tenth of every month, I'll upload a new scene detail here, once a month. As always, I hope you enjoy it and share your thoughts with me. ❤️😉

Her eyes followed Tommy's movements. He leaned into her, his whiskey-scented breath, his cigarette-smoked exhales touching her skin.

"You know, I thought you were the best thing that could ever happen to me. Not after the war. My whole fucking life. But that day at the Garrison, when you told me you were leaving, that was the first time I thought, what if I was wrong? What if you're not the best, what if you're the worst?"

If he'd hit her, it would have been easier to recover from that.

Grace kept the answer to herself for a full minute. She nodded, indicating that she had taken note of what she had heard. She opened her mouth. She forced the words out of her constricted throat, not letting any of them escape. This time it was Tommy's turn to listen.

"I have no intention of denying any of what you have just listed. Yes, I wanted to run away. Yes, I have become unworthy of your trust. I now understand that this is something that will take us a long time to get beyond. And I have no doubt it will be even harder in the future. But now you answer me: is this your long-term plan? To hold me accountable for everything I've been guilty of? Because, if you are determined to blame me forever, you could not have been more wrong. I warn you, Thomas Shelby, I will not let you to do it. I am not deserving this. And neither do you. In that bedroom," she gestured with her wagging forefinger toward the door behind Tommy, "on our first night, I promised you forever. This is it. This is what forever looks like. It's complicated and messy and painful. But I want it. I want it with every inch of my body. And you?"

Reaching for his face, her fingers warm, nervous against his skin. The desperate look moved from Tommy's eyes to hers. Tommy's eyelashes drooped, his jaw began to drop. Grace slipped her finger underneath, lifted his head. The charcoal-black eyelashes at first showed only a slit of slate-blue irises, then gradually opened. Grace held Tommy's gaze to her eyes. No exception: Tommy would not tolerate Grace running away from him, so Tommy could not escape from her either.

"Do you want the same? Does forever mean the same to you as it does to me? Because if it, you're staying here. Not for me, for us. To fight for forever together, because it's not just gonna fall into our laps. We have to work for it. I'm ready for that. I'm just waiting for you to make the decision. If you feel the same way as I do, you'll come back to the bedroom with me and we'll sit down and talk about it. If you not..." Her voice is trailing off. Her hand dropped, she took two steps back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her palms prickling with a feeling of absence. "If not, I'll know you want something else," she finished. "'That forever means something else to you than what it means to me."

She moved out of Tommy's way, revealing freedom to him again. It would be so easy for him to take it. He would just have to walk out to her, slip into his coat and shoes, and with that he could be free - of her, of their relationship, and all the burdens of it.

But Tommy didn't make a move. He looked at her as if trying to make sense of what had happened. Like he was trying to find out if she was really planning to give up on him. As if he didn't dare trust it, but longed for Grace to take its place as a bastion in front of the exit. But, like Tommy, Grace had not yielded. Just as with Clive, all was said and done. In the moonlit room, the path remained open for Tommy. Grace didn't limit his choices, his options. From here he could go wherever he pleased.

Grace didn't even consider looking the other way, to glance away. If Tommy did indeed reject her, she would watch him make his decision and see him follow through. She won't miss a single moment of it, she wanted imprint everything in her memory.

Years ago, she promised herself she would never beg for anything or anyone. She didn't care if the sky fell on her, and if that meant losing the person who had been the best thing that had happened to her for years, then it is the way it should be. Then it could not have turned out any other way. Grace doesn't put a price tag on her self-esteem. Especially not to get a man's commitment. Never again in her life. She had suffered that humiliation once.

Tommy's lips parted. He took a soundless breath. "I want," he said, and then, with closed eyes, nodding, he repeated the word in a breathy sigh. "I want."

[sleepymarmot]

Jaws of Hakkon side quests

Somehow almost every quest in the DLC, main or not, is relevant to my specific Inquisitor's interests.

The Loss of a Friend — My first instinct was to let the abomination remain in the Inquisition, since it seemed pretty civil. Everyone disapproved. According to the wiki, everyone disapproves, there's not a single companion who approves. Oops. Reloaded and killed the demon. I guess I've been in the fandom for too long and have forgotten how unacceptable any tolerance towards unambiguous demons is for the people in-universe.

In Exile — Also a difficult choice. A similar situation, only the person is possessed by a spirit instead of a demon, and in a controlled peaceful way.

This is one of the cases where the options as presented in the game don't properly convey what they actually mean; I had to look up the consequences online to make the choice.

"Stay with the Inquisition" could have meant "I'm giving you the chance to circumvent the suffocating tradition", like when you help Finn in A Father's Name. Instead, it actually was "Completely cut yourself off from your people and culture, give in to your shame and despair, and get displayed as a curiosity or a freak to Orlesian mages and scholars".

As you can guess, my Dalish mage Inquisitor would have had some feelings about that. So she sent the girl back to the augur to prepare to separate from her friend. Now that I think about it, this is also resonant with her role as the one who helps make peace with loss and departure.

Also, if the girl stayed together with the spirit for too long, and especially if she went into a bitter exile to the Inquisition and was trapped and humiliated there, her spirit friend would likely get sick (credit to the hold's augur for this apt expression) and become a demon, making her into a real abomination. This, of course, made me think of Anders again. <fandom wank>It's strange how some parts of the fandom ignore half of his storyline and/or act as if it was contextless attack on real-life social groups instead of one of the many parts of the worldbuilding theme spanning all games — how the single-minded spirits and demons act in the real world, when they bring good and when harm.</fandom wank>

Appropriately, during the same play session, this conversation played:

Cassandra: I have considered what you said about Lord Seeker Lambert, Cole. If it's true, then perhaps he deserved to die. Cassandra: Though it need not have been you who killed him. Cole: He would have hurt people. Cassandra: It is not that simple. Cole: Why not? He made templars see monsters instead of mages, made them push until it all fell down. Cassandra: We thought Lambert was assassinated. It made the rebellion worse, and many people were killed. Cole: But not by him. Cassandra: (Sighs.)

The spirit of compassion knows nothing of politics and consequences, and can't think farther "ease the pain" and "kill the bad guys". Yet. I made him a human in the hopes that he learns eventually.

Anyway, that was a digression. Back to the Frostback Basin:

A Father's Name and It Remains to be Seen concern Avvar funerary rites and views on death and rebirth, which is very interesting to my Falon'Din worshipper.

A Father's Name — Ghisharen is of course thrilled to learn about another insular mage-friendly culture's funerary traditions, let alone participate in them. She likes the idea of a sky burial. It is compatible with her ideas of cleanliness and spirituality, she likes birds. I think that she has affinity with the Lady of the Sky: they're associated with the same element (lightning), there's the sky-Fade-magic connection, and the Lady takes the shape of an elven woman in the saga of Tyrdda. (Could this be Mythal splintering herself into yet another goddess to be worshipped by humans? The Avvar can use and even make veilfire runes and know how shards work — how do they know of elven culture so much?)

This was an interesting opportunity to both work with the tradition and circumvent it, something she does with her own culture. It's weird that the option to give the offering to Finn wasn't presented by the game until the very end, when it was voiced by one of the companions. Plus, half of the companions are pro-charity and half are pro-tradition; what happens if everyone in the party at the moment is pro-tradition, does the dialogue even trigger, how does the Inquisitor get this idea in-universe? It certainly never occurred to me as a player that giving the offering to Finn was an option until that popped up as a quest objective.

It Remains to be Seen — Avvar gods, who are spirits, can be reborn, same but different. This was the very last sidequest I did before the final assault on the Hakkonites, and that was very fortunate: it gave me a lore background on why the Avvar are totally fine with a lowlander killing one of their gods, just before the thane answered the same question with her own words. Also, this reminded Ghisharen of a similar transformation that happened to Solas's spirit friend; yet another of the many things that made her think of him in this DLC.

[ultraskull1000]

Okay. So. Project guitar time. I picked up this daphne blue Jazzmaster body off of ebay for like, $100 and decided that it was time to build a guitar that filled a niche that I haven't yet.

So. For context my other two main guitars are a squier Jaguar that I use in my band, using AV '62 Jaguar pickups and modded a bit to make it more of a vintage feel, and my Strat which I use for more classic rock tones and other stuff with an HSS setup, using two random single coils again off of ebay and a Seymour Duncan pickup that I added a coil split push pull pot on the guitar for. I dont use the strat outside of my room very often because it has a floyd rose on it, and i can never get it to stay in tune if its not in a climate controlled area that it stays in for a while. yeah. its a pain in the ass.

So. What am I missing if I have these two guitars? well. As much as i love the classic Jazzmaster pickups and have enjoyed every instrument i've laid my hands on with them, I very much do not have a normal humbucker guitar that I just pick up and use as a humbucker guitar. My strat has a humbucker, yes, but like. A strat neck pickup is just. a strat neck pickup. its too sweet not to use when holding that guitar. the bridge pickup on my strat pretty much gets used when im playing punk, otherwise its in single coil mode mixed with the middle pickup.

But im not looking for like, a les paul sound. no. i want funky weird pickups that arent seen everyday. So i went and looked and considered buying random weird pickups before landing on Wide range humbuckers for that kind of hybrid sound of a higher gain humbucking pickup with a little bit of that fender sweetness that i do so greatly appreciate. and yeah i did buy them relatively new but i got a good deal on them and it fucks.

So. I have the body. i have the pickups. now electronics. I got a decoboom pickguard for wide range humbuckers on the way, with a rhythm circuit cutout cause i do want to put something there, but since my jaguar already has a rhythm circuit and makes that lovely warm and lightly muddy sound (positive, i do love putting my voice over that particular tone) I wanna try to do something weird and probably offputting with that section. I have some ideas, thought about making the upper bout switch a bit wider for a three way switch and putting like, an octaver in there with options for a 12 string mode and a bass mode or something. but nothing finalized. ill think of something. otherwise my plans are to pretty much have a normal 3 way wiring with these. I might add coil split switches later or something funky but i also dont just want to rely on those voices for this guitar and think that it will be nice to have a guitar that has a very distinct voice when it comes to my humble collection.

There is the question of the neck. for now im using a neck that i pulled off a squier bullet strat that was found in the scrap pile at a recycling facility (long story) but i do intend to later get a proper dedicated neck for this maybe possibly.

Another thing about this guitar is that I want to not care about its visual condition. let me clarify what that means. I absolutely love and adore guitars that have been beaten to hell and back and abused and the finish is scraped off and stickers are all over them and there are scars and battle wounds and its been bashed apart and fuck i love that shit. but as my partner pointed out to me, I keep my guitars in pretty polished up condition and get upset when i do things to mark them up. which is true. i drilled a hole in my jaguar while installing the mute and ended up going through the guitar. I fixed it the same day, as i went and grabbed some dowels of the right size and glued it up and its functional but i moped about it for a week afterwards. So. I will be trying my damndest to not baby this guitar. I will be trying to make it look like Thurston Moore has beaten it half to death. I will be vandalizing and sticking it and throwing it around and wailing on it and it will hurt for a while but I want my hands and history to be on this guitar and I want it to make a statement of attitude. Will still very much hurt the first time i leave a mark tho.

Anyway, heres a mockup of what i have so far. will be updating as i get some more of its components together.

and here have a more up to date pic of my jaguar as a bonus.

[theonlinebrat]

*G Note intensifies*

Dear reader,

If there's something I don't like music-wise, besides the entirety of the dupstep genre, it's what I consider generic-sounding songs.

Of course, as Chat GPT says, music taste is subjective, so what sounds generic to me might not be the same as what sounds generic to you, but there are certain production trends across all genres that don't sit well with me.

B-sides and most independent independent artists' songs are more prone to be a hit or miss for me exactly because they use those same production techniques I don't like.

But do you know what rock band has never sounded generic to me and has been able to impress me with each and every single one of their (own) spectacular songs?

Well, besides Rammstein and System of a Down, it's My Chemical Romance! My personal favorite from the Emo Trinity. Or quartet, if we also count 21 Pilots, another favorite of mine.

I somehow discovered MCR's 'Helena' back in 2015 as I was coming out of my Pop & Dance music phase to dive into the Rock world. I think I didn't like it at first, but it grew on me, and I've been in love with their entire discography (and existence) ever since.

As a big fan of them, I've been dying to have one of their albums or merch in my hands. So I almost fainted when I found out that this online store that was selling the CD version of The Black Parade a few months back was accepting special orders for Valentine's Day!

After pondering my options for a bit, I reached out to them and discovered that there was a special offer in which I could snag the CD version of Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge and The Black Parade bundled up at a lower price, and didn't think a third time before saying yes.

The CDs arrived just in time for my bestie Nin and I to go out on Valentine's Day to pick up the CDs and have a nice brunch together. It was like making two of my teenage dreams come true all at once, minus my job starting in the afternoon.

Now, here are a few pics I took that day as soon as I got home:

I regret nothing.

In terms of judging the book by its cover, the album art is beautiful and completely worth displaying somewhere. I particularly like the TCFSR cover, so much that I drew it once when I was a teen (and lost it :c), but I love that TBP has three times the drawings that TCFSR does:

C'est magnifique.

It's something a Rammstein album couldn't have outdone because, even though their music is amazing, their art leans more toward the grotesque.

In terms of music, all I know is they have a unique sound to them, and you most likely will enjoy it as long as you like any of these music genres from their Wikipedia page:

According to my ears, both albums' songs could easily be listened to on their own or on shuffle, as if they were singles, at the same time they can be listened to in sequence to follow their respective stories, which is quite a feat. 

You can tell that they belong to the same artist without going overboard like AC/DC, who are known for their production consistency and structural simplicity, which can make a lot of people choose about 2-3 songs to listen to and drop the rest. Well, as Angus Young himself said:

I'm tired of people saying we have ten albums that sound the same. We have eleven albums that sound the same.

That'd be me.

Ok, now, as I was saying, let's get to the juicy part: the lore.

Both records are what we can consider a "concept album", those "whose tracks hold a larger purpose or meaning collectively than they do individually", according to Wikipedia. And they have nothing to do with each other.

I feel like TBP is concepting more than TCFSR with how the music videos and songs are much more related to the core story.

Anyway.

In case you didn't already know about this, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge is widely thought to be a continuation of their previous and very first album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love.

I mean, based on this Reddit reply I just found, it looks like Gerard's ONLY weak point was giving these two concept albums a solid story progression, allowing us to theorize at will, but he did confirm what the real ending was in this 2005 interview.

So, the way I understood this, there's this pair of lovers who get in a gunfight, which is believed to be the same one from 'Demolition Lovers', right? Per 'Helena' and 'Cemetery Drive', it looks like the female lover dies, but the male lover doesn't, and misses her so much he goes on a downward spiral full of drugs and other ways of self-destruction. He makes a deal with the devil where he gets to see the female lover again in exchange for the souls of 1000 evil men, a long quest that begins with 'Give 'Em Hell, Kid'.

The male lover seems to realize he's far too gone by the time he has already unalived 999 evil men and, thus, became an evil man himself. So he unalives himself, completing his side of the deal, and either the woman goes back to life without him, or they do reunite... in Hell. 

Way knows - pun intended. Either way, it's fire.

Now, The Black Parade.

What an album.

As usual, no one knows for sure what's the actual linear full story, but the thing is there's this main character known as "The Patient":

He ✨ flatlines ✨ of cancer from the very beginning of the album (see 'The End.' - the irony). The remaining of the songs talk about his reflections on the life he lived, whatever 'Teenagers' represents in the plot, and his journey navigating the afterlife, represented by a "black parade" that resembles the marching band his father took him to see in the city when he was a young boy.

Because of 'Sleep' and 'Mama', I thought this patient guy was a war veteran. And I'll keep thinking that because they kinda make sense together, even if it's not official.

Like Mic The Snare said, TBP was indeed one of the most memorable events in Rock history with its level of theatricality and visual presentation almost comparable to Michael Jackson or Queen themselves.

As a side note, until very recently, I had no clue that Liza Minnelli, whose vocals are featured in 'Mama', was Judy Garland's mom!

Alright, now, to sum things up, I don't have a ton more to say that hasn't already been covered by other folks, because I haven't really watched or read that many My Chemical Romance interviews. I feel like I'm every fandom's ghost, you know?

But, these two albums are pretty special to me. They got me through tough times, kinda like how K-Pop did a few years down the road.

Hopefully soon I'll complete my collection by getting my hands on Danger Days, Bullets and, maybe, Conventional Weapons! I'd consider the live albums, too, but... haven't decided.

So, what about you? What were the first one or two music albums you owned physically?

Until next time!

- N

[rememberingnoah]

Okay, I'm not putting anymore drama on my blog, so ignore this since you said you were going to ignore me if I interacted with you again.

"the whole point is you're not supposed to mention them period. they've both asked you to leave them alone and stop name dropping them and you're still doing it. tagging something as "vent" doesn't change a single thing. you're literally obsessed with them."

Okay, yes that is true. You're right. They asked me, and I shouldn't have done so. But here's the thing. If I'm blocked by them both right now, how is it they can still see if I post anything? /gen

"thinking about everything that happened isn't creepy. but making your entire personality about it is. you can't even go ONE day without bringing them up. that's obsessive behavior. oh, but you probably don't know what that means tho since you clearly don't understand what boundaries are. "

Actually, if you care so much about my blog, then you would see that I haven't spoken about them. I've been talking about Brina and zombies non stop since my switch. So I actually can go a day without SPEAKING about them. But thinking of the friendship I had and seeing their blogs with Kail? I can't believe that having feelings is now considered as "creepy and obsessed." I absolutely adored our friendship and the one I had with you. You guys were my friends. And feeling regret for what I did? Thinking about it? Tsk. fyi, I may not know boundaries, but I know creepy and obsessive, considering the fact I've watched documentaries on serial k*llers. So.

"fyi i never had you blocked. YOU blocked me and then apparently unblocked me, which is how i'm seeing this right now. i'm assuming you regret that choice now, huh?"

Yes. I did. I told @buckys-babygirl (as I'm typing this) that I'm trying to move on from the drama. So today, I unblocked everyone. I don't wanna hold grudges anymore. I don't know if you're talking about the fight or unblocking you, but if it's the second option, I really don't.

"take a look around. all your friends keep leaving you because you're nothing more than an attention seeking lunatic who thinks the entire world revolves around you. it doesn't. we all tried to be your friend and to help you realize and work though your problems but instead of listening and trying to grow as a person you chose to be bitchy about it and block anyone who confronts you. you gonna go do that with me again now? shocker."

Can I explain? Yes. I've always been attention seeking, ask my own family. Yes, I am weird, but a lunatic? Really? I do think that, yes. But it is MY blog, so I can post anything I want, correct? It doesn't, true, I'm not the sun. If you're upset by me telling you to shut up, then all I have to say was, I was just tired of going in circles talking about the same thing, when I was trying to move on and not think about it. I did in fact reblog you saying "it was supposed to be mean" but it was. It was harsh. And I'm - I don't even think I should say it anymore. No, I'm not going to block you for confronting me. Is that a shocker?

"sorry isn't an undo button. once you say something, it doesn't go away. you need professional help and unless you get that you're going to live a miserable lonely life because no one will put up with your shit for very long before realizing who you really are as a person"

Therapy won't help me. Wanna know why? Too late. You already do. No one has been able to put up with me. Not an attempt to guilt trip you, I'm just stating a fact. I've tried therapy for everything I have going on, my anxiety, apparently my PTSD??, but nothing works. And to be quiet honest with you, you probably figured this out, feelings? Not a great topic for me.

I'm sorry for invading your asks, delete this if you'd like. But, I thought I should explain myself. Again.

You had every right to not talk with me. Your friends too.

the only reason i'm answering this is because i think you could use some advice. this does not make us friends and idrc if you take any of this as me being harsh. i'm done sugarcoating things with you, so all of this is pretty straight forward.

the thing about the internet is nothing is private. whenever anything is posted- even if they're deleted within 5 seconds- it's out there forever. boom, done. screenshots. sometimes nonny's like to spread the gossip around too. before posting anything take a moment to think if that could come back to bite you in the ass later on.

feelings aren't "creepy and obsessive" actions are. everything you've been doing is not normal behavior. you might not be a serial killer, but you do enter stalker levels sometimes. as for feeling regret? good. you should feel regret. you've done some pretty shitty things that will never be swept under the rug this time. but instead of blaming others, own it. prove you're actually sorry instead of just saying it. words mean nothing if you have intentions on keeping the cycle going. use this as a learning opportunity.

i can't say that i believe you because i don't. if you are actually serious this time, prove it. not to me. to yourself. use this a learning experience and be a better person.

i'm not upset because you told me to "shut up" i'm upset because i've noticed a never ending loop of *you do or say something terrible* *apologize and say you know what you did wasn't ok* *then you do it again* it never ends. the cycle keeps repeating itself and it's nauseating to be around. we've all gave you so many opportunities to better yourself and you just.. don't.

i've done therapy and i take medications to help me cope with my feelings/depression/anxiety/suicidal thoughts. it does help, but you have to find the right therapist and try out a few different meds until you get one that works for you. everyone is different and you have to experiment to find out what works for you and what doesn't. it took me months to find the right ones and after a few years i still need to switch up my meds occasionally. but i'm coping with everything, you could be too, if you wanted to get the help you need.

[ii-zi]

the only thing I want is to give up but i can't i can't for the life of me I can't I've never stopped cooperating I've never stopped giving it my all to make an effort and keep functioning enough to not let anything go but myself i absolutely cannot function without some semblance of normalcy and giving up is not anywhere near that normalcy god i just need some peace

[askyourwritergrandma]

Hi! I wanted to ask for advice about a very specific problem I have when writing. I tend to create really big stories in my mind, which means I need to write down notes to not forget crucial details, or significant small moments. Thing is, once I do this and have a sort of outline written down, it's like my brain suddenly considers the outline as the whole story and goes "Yup, we did it!". And then it's so hard for me to actually write the story. Which I really want to do and when I do manage to write something complete it feels incredibly satisfying! I just don't know how to not unhype the motivation I need without risking leaving behind scenes I like because I didn't write them down. Any advice?

Hi there Cyber-flow!

This reminds me so much of myself that I can't help but feel trapped in my own personal flashback. It's absolutely knowing what's about to happen that kills my enthusiasm for a project. It's like suddenly instead of joy when I sit to write, I'm slogging through a book report in the fourth grade and I hate it.

Unfortunately, the thing that I've always done to fix it may not suit your personal style. Fortunately, this is not a unique problem and there may very well be folks who reblog this post with their own advice about how to proceed.

My advice is under the cut:

As I see it you have two options and I have some personal experience with both: you either grit your teeth and get through it or you change how you write outlines.

1. Grit your teeth and get through it!

The main issue is that a little sparkle of light has gone out of your eye in regards to your story. Suddenly what you were excited to explore has already been mapped and you're left to follow in the footsteps that have already been made. (Even if they were made by you.) In this case, (if we stick to the analogy) you have to shift your focus away from "I wonder about all the possible ways I could go" to "I would love to take in the scenery along the way!"

Meaning, you focus on character interactions, scenery, emotional situations and etc. Even the best outline cannot properly account for how the characters are going to react in the moment so putting your effort into that character instead of the plot can give you back some of that wonder and joy.

But mostly, you just do it. You just grit your teeth and do it. I can count on one hand the number of stories that I wrote this way, with a well-developed, written down plot that I had to follow. Every single time it was a Struggle because I adore the freedom of not knowing where I'm going to go.

The end result though? A well-crafted, solid, tight-knit story that stuck to the plot and delivered exactly the message I wanted? That's beautiful. It became worth the effort that it took to get there. Even without any kind of magical cheat or shortcut, it was still worth it.

Trouble is, I (personally) still would rather have freedom over that beautiful story.

2. Stop writing detailed outlines

There was a time I was rather infamous for a specific, incredibly long story that I wrote in the Assassin's Creed fandom. The plotline to this behemoth (it was 600k+ long) was half of a journal page. This is how my particular brain works and if I try to do anything else with it, it fights back.

It sounds like you are holding onto the notion that if you don't write it down you'll miss out on something that you really want to happen. I understand that kind of impulse too because it happens to me all the time. I talk with my writing buddy when I'm starting or writing a story and we come up with countless scenes that feel like if they do not happen the story will be less for it.

That's a lie though.

Stories evolve. Stories change. What we know before we start writing is very rarely applicable once we begin. So you thought Character A and B would meet for picnic in chapter 7 and it would be a defining moment in the plot because they'd finally be setting aside their differences. Problem is chapter 7 rolls around and they absolutely detest one another. No amount of tea sandwiches and lemon cookies is going to solve that.

But stories do need some kind of structure to them otherwise you'll find yourself wandering for a solid year writing an fanfic epic you didn't intend to write. (Cough, not me.) May I suggest what I call 'scaffolding'.

Scaffolding is like a plotline but it's the absolutely least amount of work you can do in an outline without not doing one at all. Something like this:

Albert hates his job because he hates his life

Meets the most attractive idiot he's ever seen

Idiot lives too far away but don't let that stop you

SUCCESS in the bedroom, life still sucks

IDK, something happens at work that's awful

Idiot peptalk leads to bad work choices

Suddenly distance issue is resolved

Happily Ever After

(I'm not advising you to use the sarcasm that I do in my plotnotes. Past and Present me are in a long-term fight to the death over who can be the worst version of themselves. All my plot notes are like this.)

Summarize each of the plot points you want to incorporate into a single bullet point, one sentence or less, and put them in the order you think they're going to go in. If you have a specific line you want used, you can put that too as long as it's only a single line. This forces you to write less in your outline which lets your brain have the freedom it craves to wildly create. It also allows you to move around your plot points or get rid of them because you've put less work into them and you're less emotionally attached to them.

Writing is 95% making hard choices that suck. You love these characters, your scene ideas, your dialogue snippets but sometimes they just don't work. Sometimes they don't work in the story you're writing but they will work somewhere.

Once you write anything down its out of your head and you aren't working on perfecting it anymore. Horde your ideas in your subconscious, let them stew a bit longer, when the time is right they will reappear. Same with your outline vs writing issue. Put less time into the outline for the first draft and more on unbridled, fearless creativity.

The second draft's for tightening plot, so leave that for the second draft.

[ljandersen]

Do you think Kaidan also went through N training at some point? I've seen fics where he's apparently gone through it, but couldn't find anything in canon about it.

Hi, anon! Ooh, a question. Fun! Thank you for thinking of me.

Do I think Kaidan is N-trained?  In short, no.

There isn't evidence disproving that he's N trained, but there isn’t evidence suggesting he's N trained either. If anything, the lack of any indication he has N training is proof in itself.

For one, none of the characters associated with N training ever include Kaidan as if he’s a member. James goes to Shepard with his N questions. He never mentions or refers to Kaidan's experience. Neither Anderson nor Shepard mention Kaidan being N trained.

It's not mentioned in his background anywhere. It's said he has over a dozen special commendations. He does get involved in special operations, even leading the first Special Operation Biotic Company, but this doesn't require an N designation.  Unless he failed out before qualifying as a N1, it seems like something that would be included in his history.  

In ME1, he specifically says he’s been holding back up to this point in using his biotics offensively.  Jenkins is the first soldier he’s lost to hostile action.  None of these suggest to me someone who’s undergone rigorous N spec ops training, where holding back would probably limit being accepted.  Some N operatives may not have seen someone die due to hostile action, but it’s at least more likely with a N trained operative than a general marine.  It seems like Kaidan is still coming into his own in biotic combat in ME1.

If anything, I wonder if health concerns over his L2 implant may not disqualify him.  N operatives frequently lead high-risk, high-priority missions either independently or in charge of a small groups. The whole mission hinges on that one person. Having a serious pre-existing health condition, especially one triggerable on the field (light, sound, stress, etc.), would be a serious concern. 

 While he may function well on a team or even in a leadership position commanding a unit, I think special forces may rely heavier on single-person performance under high-strain situations.  Conditions on those high risk N missions maybe be more likely to trigger an attack than typical combat.   Alone, disabled, and with the whole mission riding on him achieve a specific task, it could be disastrous.

Even if was accepted to apply, I don't know if he could pass N training with his health condition. If Wiki is correct, it says this about N1 training:

"If this is their first time at the school, trainees participate in scenarios experienced by the elite units of most land-based armies; a typical candidate may be in training more than 20 hours a day, leading small units into combat over hostile terrain with little sleep or food. Trainees who do well are awarded an internal designation of N1 and are invited to return."

While Kaidan is obviously a tough person, who's gone through basic and performs well as a marine on the field, I don't know if he could push himself to operate with 4 hours of sleep a day and hardly any food. My sister has terrible migraines, and she has to careful judge her sleep cycle and the timing of her meals. If she doesn't get enough sleep or oversleeps, she gets a migraine. If she misses a meal, she gets a migraine. 

Obviously, Kaidan would face those issues while on the field as a general marine, but I don't think it would be to the same extent as here.  If on the field in these conditions, a migraine could be dealt with, either supported by his team and medication.  Or, if extreme, by evacuation.  As a N candidate under these conditions, a bad migraine affecting his performance would simply disqualify him.

It also says about higher level N training:

"The highest grade of training, N6, provides actual combat experience in conflict zones throughout the galaxy. From day one, invitees are given basic gear, then separated and stranded on an asteroid with no nav data. The test ends when the last person runs out of oxygen. The first few are out of the program. If the trainee survives these scenarios in "admirable and effective fashion," they finally receive the coveted N7 designation."

I imagine every N operative enters training with the intention of becoming a N7. No one thinks, "Yeah, I'll join, but I only want to be a N4." Everyone is shooting for the top. In that case, if Kaidan wanted to become a N7, that means he'd be stranded alone on an asteroid and rationing oxygen. I think the hypoxia alone could be a huge trigger for a bad migraine.

Overall, I don't think there's any evidence to suggest Kaidan entered N training. Moreover, I suspect he may not qualify due to health concerns. If he did qualify, I don't know if he'd get pass the extreme conditions to get even a N1 designation.

Now that sounds like I'm looking down on Kaidan and what he can do having a migraine condition, but I'm really not. He obviously has found a way to function effectively as a marine. He assures Shepard he won't be a burden on the crew, if Shepard was worried.   He received all those commendations and jumps up the ranks fast.  He obviously functions well and deserves his position as a marine.  But the military is strict with health limitations, and I think N training may be the point where the line is drawn.  It’s just too risky for him and the mission.

I think what opportunities Kaidan lacks due to his L2 implant, he makes up for with his outstanding leadership skills, level-headed resourcefulness, and intuitiveness for politics and tact.  Through ME1, he is frequently dissecting Council and Alliance motivation and power-plays.  He’s open minded, fair, and progressive in the larger picture, long-term goals of the Alliance.  He takes time considering all of the political players involved and giving the benefit of a doubt to aliens in their actions toward humanity.  

To me, he makes an excellent candidate for Spectre for his political saavy in addition to his leadership skills, lack of racial bias, self-accountability, determination, and independent decision making.  He thinks for himself beyond blindly accepting orders.  He is willing to take those convictions to the level of breaking rules and confronting superiors.  Those are important for a Spectre, and his moral self-accountability will ensure he has proper discernment in how he uses his powers.  He obviously has good fighting skills and ability to lead on the field despite his health condition, because he jumps so many Alliance ranks.  He learns to Reave and is teaching other spec op biotics.  He’s very capable both on a political intellectual level and physically with skills and ability.

While he may not, in my opinion, match well with the rigors and high-intensity of N training, he’s an exceptional option for a high leadership positions within the Alliance and for promoting galactic interests as a Spectre.  

Thank you for the ask!!!

[meirmakesstuff]

1/2 Hi Meir! I saw your answer on WWC, and since you mentioned you're professionals, I figured I'd ask directly: I'm writing a second world fantasy with a jewish coded people. I want to be clear in the coding but avoid the "if there's no egypt, how can there be passover?" so I called them Canaanites. I thought I was being clever by hinting in the naming that the whole region does exist, but I've since read that it might've been a slur in fact? Do you have any advice on this?

2/2 I did consider calling the group in question Jewish, but aside from how deeply Judaism is connected to the history of the Israelites, I haven't used any present-day real-world names for any other group, (I did use some historic names like Nubia). I feel like calling only one group of people by their currently used name would be othering rather than inclusive? Or am I overthinking this?

Okay so I want to start out with some disclaimers, first that although WWC recently reblogged an addition of mine to one of their posts, I am not affiliated with @writingwithcolor​, and second that the nature of trying to answer a question like this is “two Jews, three opinions,” so what I have to say about this is my own opinion(s) only. Last disclaimer: this is a hard question to address, so this answer is going to be long. Buckle up.

First, I would say that you’re right to not label the group in question “Jewish” (I’ll get to the exception eventually), and you’re also right in realizing that you should not call them “Canaanites.” In Jewish scripture, Canaanites are the people we fought against, not ourselves, so that wouldn’t feel like representation but like assigning our identity to someone else, which is a particular kind of historical violence Jews continue to experience today. I’ll get back to the specific question of naming in a moment, but because this is my blog and not WWC, and you asked me to speak to this as an educator, we’re going to take a detour into Jewish history and literary structure before we get back to the question you actually asked.

To my mind there are three main ways to have Jews in second-world fantasy and they are:

People who practice in ways similar to modern real-world Jews, despite having developed in a different universe,

People who practice in ways similar to ancient Hebrews, because the things that changed us to modern Jewish practice didn’t occur, and

People who practice in a way that shows how your world would influence the development of a people who started out practicing like ancient Hebrews and have developed according to the world they’re in. 

The first one is what we see in @shiraglassman​‘s Mangoverse series: there is no Egypt yet her characters hold a seder; the country coded Persian seems to bear no relation to their observance of Purim, and there is no indication of exile or diaspora in the fact that Jews exist in multiple countries and cultures, and speak multiple languages including Yiddish, a language that developed through a mixture of Hebrew and German. Her characters’ observance lines up approximately with contemporary Reform Jewish expectations, without the indication of there ever having been a different practice to branch off from. She ignores the entire question of how Jews in her universe became what they are, and her books are lyrical and sweet and allow us to imagine the confidence that could belong to a Jewish people who weren’t always afraid.

Shira is able to pull this off, frankly, because her books are not lore-heavy. I say this without disrespect--Shira often refers to them as “fluffy”--but because the deeper you get into the background of your world and its development, the trickier this is going to be to justify, unless you’re just going to just parallel every historical development in Jewish History, including exile and diaspora across the various nations of your world, including occasional near-equal treatment and frequent persecution, infused with a longing for a homeland lost, or a homeland recently re-established in the absolutely most disappointing of ways.

Without that loss of homeland or a Mangoverse-style handwaving, we have the second and third options. In the second option, you could show your Jewish-coded culture having never been exiled from its homeland, living divided into tribes each with their own territory, still practicing animal, grain, and oil sacrifice at a single central Temple at the center of their nation, overseen by a tribe that lacks territory of their own and being supported by the sacrifices offered by the populace.

If you’re going to do that, research it very carefully. A lot of information about this period is drawn from scriptural and post-scriptural sources or from archaeological record, but there’s also a lot of Christian nonsense out there assigning weird meanings and motivations to it, because the Christian Bible takes place during this period and they chose to cast our practices from this time as evil and corrupt in order to magnify the goodness of their main character. In any portrayal of a Jewish-coded people it’s important to avoid making them corrupt, greedy, bigoted, bloodthirsty, or stubbornly unwilling to see some kind of greater or kinder truth about the world, but especially if you go with this version. 

The last option, my favorite but possibly the hardest to do, is to imagine how the people in the second option would develop given the influences of the world they’re in. Do you know why Chanukah is referred to as a “minor” holiday? The major holidays are the ones for which the Torah specifies that we “do not work:” Rosh Hashannah, Yom Kippur, and the pilgrimage holidays of Sukkot, Passover, and Shavuot. Chanukah developed as a holiday because the central temple, the one we made those pilgrimages to, was desecrated by the invading Assyrian Greeks and we drove them out and were able to re-establish the temple. That time. Eventually, the Temple was razed and we were scattered across the Roman Empire, developing the distinct Jewish cultures we see today. The Greeks and Romans aren’t a semi-mythologized ancient people, the way the Canaanites have been (though there’s increasing amounts of archaeology shedding light on what they actually might have been like), we have historical records about them, from them. The majority of modern Jewish practice developed from the ruins of our ancient practices later than the first century CE. In the timeline of Jewish identity, that’s modern.

The rabbinic period and the Temple period overlap somewhat, but we’re not getting into a full-scale history lesson here. Suffice it to say that it was following the loss of the sacrificial system at the central Temple that Judaism coalesced an identity around verbal prayer services offered at the times of day when we would previously have offered sacrifices, led each community by its own learned individual who became known as a rabbi. We continued to develop in relationship with the rest of the world, making steps toward gender equality in the 1970s and LGBT equality in the 2000s, shifting the meaning of holidays like Tu Bishvat to address climate change, debating rulings on whether one may drive a car on Shabbat for the sake of being with one’s community, and then pivoting to holding prayer services daily via Zoom.

The history of the Jews is the history of the world.  Our iconic Kol Nidrei prayer, the centerpiece of the holiest day of the year, that reduces us to tears every year at its first words, was composed in response to the Spanish Inquisition. The two commentators who inform our understanding of scripture--the ones we couldn’t discuss Torah without referencing even if we tried--wrote in the 11th and 12th centuries in France and Spain/Egypt. Jewish theology and practice schismed into Orthodox and Reform (and later many others) because that’s the kind of discussion people were into in the 19th century. Sephardim light Chanukah candles in an outdoor lamp while Ashkenazim light Chanukah candles in an indoor candelabrum because Sephardim developed their traditions in the Middle East and North Africa and the Ashkenazim developed our traditions in freezing Europe. There are works currently becoming codified into liturgy whose writers died in 2000 and 2011. 

So what are the historical events that would change how your Jewish-coded culture practices, if they don’t involve loss of homeland and cultural unity? What major events have affected your world? If there was an exile that precipitated an abandonment of the sacrificial system, was there a return to their land, or are they still scattered? Priority one for us historically has been maintaining our identity and priority two maintaining our practices, so what have they had to shift or create in order to keep being a distinct group? Is there a major worldwide event in your world? If so, how did this people cope?

If you do go this route, be careful not to fall into tropes of modern or historical antisemitism: don’t have your culture adopt a worldview that has their deity split into mlutiple identities (especially not three). Don’t have an oppressive government that doesn’t represent its people rise up to oppress outsiders within its borders (this is not the first time this has occurred in reality, but because the outside world reacts differently to this political phenomenon when it’s us than when it’s anyone else, it’s a portrayal that makes real-life Jews more vulnerable). And don’t portray the people as having developed into a dark and mysterious cult of ugly, law-citing men and beautiful tearstreaked women, but it doesn’t sound as if you were planning to go there.

So with all that said, it’s time to get back to the question of names. All the above information builds to this: how you name this culture depends on how you’ve handled their practice and identity. 

Part of why Shira Glassman’s handwaving of the question of how modern Jewish practice ended up in Perach works is that she never gives a name to the religion of her characters. Instead, she names the regions they come from. Perach, in particular, the country where most of the action takes place, translates to “Flower.” In this case, her Jewish-coded characters who come from Perach are Perachis, and characters from other places who are also Jewish are described as “they worship as Perachis do despite their different language” or something along those lines (forgive me, Shira, for half-remembering).

So that’s method one: find an attribute of your country that you’d like to highlight, translate it into actual Hebrew, and use that as your name.

Method two is the opposite: find a name that’s been used to identify our people or places (we’ve had a bunch), find out what it means or might mean in English, and then jiggle that around until it sounds right for your setting. You could end up with the nation of the Godfighters, or Children of Praise, The Wanderers (if they’re not localized in a homeland), The Passed-Over, Those From Across The River, or perhaps the people of the City of Peace.

Last, and possibly easiest, pick a physical attribute of their territory and just call them that in English. Are they from a mountainous region? Now they’re the Mountain People. Does their land have a big magical crater in the middle? Craterfolk. Ethereal floating forests of twinkling lights? It’s your world.

The second option is the only one that uses the name to overtly establish Jewish coding. The first option is something Jews might pick up on, especially if they speak Hebrew, but non-Jews would miss. The third avoids the question and puts the weight of conveying that you’re trying to code them as Jewish on their habits and actions.

There’s one other option that can work in certain types of second-world fantasy, and that’s a world that has developed from real-world individuals who went through some kind of portal. That seems to me the only situation in which using a real-world name like Jews, Hebrews, or Israelites would make sense. Jim Butcher does this with the Romans in the Codex Alera series, and Katharine Kerr does it with Celts in the Deverry cycle. That kind of thing has to be baked into the world-building, though, so it probably doesn’t help with this particular situation. 

This is a roundabout route to what I imagine you were hoping would be an easier answer. The tension you identified about how to incorporate Jewishness into a world that doesn’t have the same history is real, and was the topic of a discussion I recently held with a high school age group around issues of Jewish representation in the media they consume and hope to create. Good luck in your work of adding to the discussion.

[novelconcepts]

hey! i love your work - i've been reading every single one of your fics on ao3 since the blessed day i found you here <3 I know it might seem a bit out of character but what do you think jealousy would look like for Dani and Jamie?

It’s not jealousy, exactly. Jealousy is an ugly word, prompted by the belief that your person is, in fact, drifting--or that you are, in fact, not all there to hold their focus.

Which, admittedly, Dani isn’t. All there. Not all the time. But she still wouldn’t call this jealousy. Jealousy was Eddie’s arm tightening around her shoulders at the movie theater. Jealousy was her mother’s eyes darkening whenever a woman was too polite to her father as he ordered drinks. Jealousy was whatever kept Peter Quint locked to the Bly grounds, his fists tight around Rebecca Jessel’s desire to be better, even in death. 

Jealousy is ugly. This is not jealousy. This is...

Casual amusement. 

“So,” Jamie is saying, leaning against the counter and pointing to a brochure. “These are the most popular options for a wedding arrangement. You said you don’t want roses?”

“Tacky,” the bride says, her nose wrinkled. She’s probably in her early twenties, Dani gauges, and seems tailor-made for big, sprawling events like a wedding. Even the way she walks is orderly, her heels clacking, her body following a straight line from flower to counter and back as she speaks. 

The bride isn’t really the person Dani has been watching, all things considered. The bride knows exactly where she is, what she wants, how she’d like them to fall in line for her special day. 

It’s the other one. The maid of honor, who appears by all indication--jawline, hair color, similar smile--to be the bride’s sister. Maybe twenty-five, maybe a little older. Pretty, as these things go, though not exactly Dani’s type. 

Dani doesn’t seem to be her type, either, from the way her eyes drag up Jamie’s frame and linger around her lips. 

If Jamie has noticed any of this--the way this woman is quite literally attempting to phase through the counter to where Jamie is standing--she’s doing a remarkable job of not showing it. Her eyes sweep from bride to book and back again as she keeps up a steady stream of conversation primarily intended to keep the customer talking. Jamie’s method of finding exactly what a person is looking for is very similar to her method of living with Dani: coax them into talking about themselves, about their day, about what they like and don’t like, and piece the rest quietly together. 

She’s so busy listening, she seems to miss altogether the way the maid of honor reaches across the counter and drifts a hand close to Jamie’s. “What would you pick, for your big day?”

Jamie smiles, and though her gaze does not cut to Dani, there’s something about the way she leans back and bumps Dani’s ankle with the heel of one boot that says it all. “Haven’t really thought about it, if I’m honest. Not really the white-wedding type.”

“What type are you?” the woman asks hopefully. Dani swallows a snort. Jamie only smiles. 

“Quiet, I think. Private.”

The woman chews this over, letting her fingers sneak closer to Jamie’s hand. Jamie, politely, retrieves her own fingers before contact can be made, her attention sliding seamlessly back to the task at hand.

“So. You’re thinking how many smaller arrangements, for the tables?”

Dani is not watching the maid of honor out of true jealousy, so much as curious interest. The world is changing around them a little more every year, celebrities beginning to come out as politicians bat around the legality of love they don’t understand, and things are...improving. Cautiously, she suspects things will continue to improve, that there might one day be a time where she’ll be able to take Jamie’s hand in a public restaurant. Kiss Jamie in a movie theater. Love Jamie in some way resembling acceptable for the eyes of strangers. 

Even then, even in a world where no one cares, she can't imagine the bravado of this woman. The sheer strength of will it takes for a strange woman to meet Jamie as she steps around the counter to show them out, her hand sliding up Jamie’s arm in a fashion not remotely professional. Her voice is soft as she leans in toward Jamie’s ear, her smile predatory. 

Dani watches with curious interest, and if there is something small--a ghost of anger, a ghost of sudden sharp heat in her stomach like a fist tightening--it is nothing. It is irrelevant. Jamie is her own person, is completely welcome to whatever interactions come her way. Jamie, she reminds that part of her which sometimes feels nothing like her at all, loves her. 

Loves you, that little part murmurs, but can’t have you. Not all of you. Not the way this woman gets her husband, forever, with a ring, and a party, and a white dress--

Jamie is stepping away from the woman, a slow roll back to match the tense smile on her lips. The woman’s face is darkening, something unpleasant in her gaze when it swings to find Dani. Jamie raises a hand, waves goodbye, allows them to round the corner before she flips the sign and latches the door.

“Unbelievable,” she mutters. “Did you see that?”

“The part where she was eating you alive for an hour, or the part where she tried to mount you right at the door?” Dani says dryly. That little kicking drumbeat in her chest is still pounding away, the squeezing fist rapping out a message she can’t ignore. Even if it were legal. Even if they all understood. Even then, you wouldn’t be able to do it. 

“Don’t think her sister didn’t notice, either,” Jamie says, rumpling her hair with one hand. “Think she’ll have some explaining to do this evening--hey, you all right?”

“Sure,” Dani says, too brightly. Can’t have all of you, and doesn’t she deserve better? Doesn't she deserve someone who is always steady, always the same from dawn to dusk, who never looks into a mirror and sees--

“Dani.” Jamie’s hands are on her shoulders, Jamie’s face much closer than she realized. She starts, nearly stumbles, relieved when Jamie’s grip tightens just enough to keep her upright. “You look like you’ve seen a--”

“Just...” Dani shakes her head. How to put this? How to explain it? “Just...something about that didn’t...sit right, I guess.”

“No,” Jamie agrees, “I’d think not. Handsy, wasn’t she? But I hope you don’t think--hope I’ve never given you cause to worry--’cuz, Dani, honest to God, I’ve never--”

She looks so nervous, it’s almost like the years have rolled back to a sunny day in this very shop, to a single moonflower and Jamie’s hopeful smile. All at once, that grip of fear in her gut loosens, Dani’s breath returning to her in a long sweep. 

“Jamie. Breathe.” 

“No, I only--I know how it probably looked, but she was trying to give me her number, and I--”

“Told her she’d have to get in line?” Dani teases. Jamie looks about ready to swallow her own tongue. 

“Told her I'd never met someone half as in love as me, and she should be lucky to find the same someday.”

“Oh my god, Jamie, she’s never going to come back.” She’s laughing, unable to stop herself. Jamie, not looking even the least bit ashamed, tucks her hands into her pockets and shrugs. 

“I didn’t like the way you were looking at her, is all.”

“What, like I was going to escort her out in a fury and blame it on my low-key possession?” 

“No.” Jamie is not smiling. There is an earnest quality to her face, even as she reaches up and touches Dani’s cheek. “Like she was making you sad. Haven’t seen you like that since we left England. Dani, honestly, you know I’d never want...anything but this. Ever.”

It isn’t a question. It is maybe the truest thing Jamie has ever said, and it pulls at Dani’s heart harder for that. 

“I trust you,” she says quietly. “It wasn’t that. Wasn’t even her. Just...it’s enough? Even knowing we don’t know...even knowing there could only be--”

“It’s enough,” Jamie says, cupping her face in both hands, pressing her forehead to Dani’s with enough force to make them both laugh a little. “It’s always enough.”

She kisses Dani once, twice, and Dani lets herself linger in the moment. Lets herself forget about windows and strangers and tempting hands striving to coax Jamie off the path. None of it matters. None of it matters if Jamie is truly happy here, if Jamie is truly home here. 

“I’m only saying,” she says when Jamie breaks, glances back over her shoulder, begins guiding Dani backwards toward the supply room. “You have options, for when I’m too old or too boring. What was she, the seventh one to try to slip you a phone number?”

Jamie groans. “What is it about me? Do I have emotionally available stamped on my forehead? This never used to happen in England.”

“You scowl much less now,” Dani points out, breathless when Jamie sweeps an arm around her waist and dips her toward the couch. “And you wear all those suspenders--”

“Could tell them,” Jamie teases, following her down. “Could greet each and every woman at the door with, ‘Welcome to The Leafling, purveyors of fine floral arrangements, my name is Jamie and this perfect specimen is the love of my--’”

She’s kissing Dani, all jokes forgotten, and Dani finds herself dreaming--not for the first time--of wild possibilities. Of a sunset wedding, of friends gathered close, of Jamie kissing her just like this in front of anyone who matters even a little bit. Of what it would be like, to look at Jamie and know how real they are, even in the moments Dani doesn’t feel real at all. 

Doesn’t take a wedding for that, she thinks, as Jamie’s lips trail down flushed skin. Doesn’t take anything except for her...and me...and...

There’s a ring she’s been looking at. A simple thing, gold, heart-hands-crown. No one would know. No one would need to know. All that matters is...all that matters is...

She can’t have all of you, that horrible awareness of time mutters. Dani closes her eyes, grips tighter to Jamie as she vanishes into the kiss. 

She gets everything that counts, she decides here and now. She gets it until there’s nothing left to give. 

[supraveng]

Moving On - part 4

Summary: You are moving on from your past and starting a new life with your future as a Winchester

Characters: Reader x Sam Winchester, Dean x Cas, John x Mary, Joy Winchester

Warnings: fluffy Winchesters, swearing

Moving On part 3

@iamwarrenspeace @mythandmagik    @lieswithoutfairytales   @bbmommy0902  @hailmary-yramliah  @jessyballet @paryl @tcc-gizmachine @vicmc624

The next two weeks in DC were a blur of meetings and packing up the personal belongings you had accumulated over the past 4 years, most belonging to Joy. By the time you were heading to the airport and saying goodbye to your life, you were feeling a bit overwhelmed. It reminded you of your escape from NY but this time with a bit more excitement of the unknown.

Settling in on the plane heading for your new home, you had brought everything you could think of to keep Joy occupied on the 3 hour flight. By the time you touched down and made your way through the airport to baggage claim, your daughter had become a deadweight that you were now carrying along with your other items, you couldn’t imagine never having the support you currently have from Sam.

Then you thought about trying to make this same trek with her if you were further along in your pregnancy and knew you couldn’t do this alone, you consider yourself a strong independent woman, but not nearly strong enough to be a single mother, those women were warriors that you could only aspire to.

Baggage claim was a madhouse and just as you are about to reach out and grab Joy’s car seat, someone moves around you and grabs it right out in front of you. You were too tired for this, and you looked up to yell at the culprit only to see the beautiful hazel eyes of the man you love.

“I thought I told you that you didn’t need to pick us up” you whispered, hoping to not wake your daughter.

He leaned in for a quick kiss, “I know, but I’ve missed my girls, and this way I get an hour just the two of us before getting to my parents house for dinner.”

“Well, I could definitely eat, but I thought you would be in court all day, so I really am surprised to see you” you snuggled into him as best you could before he started to take bags off your shoulders.

“Let me get this stuff, and you hold on to the precious cargo” he smiled down at Joy, rubbing her back and placing a kiss on her forehead before leading you out of the airport.

By the time all your things were loaded in the car, your daughter was waking up and squealing when she saw Sam. He listened and responded to her the entire way down the highway and only stopped when we reached the Winchester home.

"Babe, I thought we'd be going to your apartment, I could use a shower and nap before dinner with your family" you tell him as you lean over and pull him into a kiss. Whenever you two were apart for any length of time you were always very touchy feely that first day, but even more so when it's been weeks apart.

"Didn't I tell you, I didn't renew my lease, I've been staying here for the time being until we get our own place" he mentions as he exits the car.

"I vaguely remember you mentioned your lease but I thought we had a few more months'' you try your best to smile. You were really hoping for a quiet night in with Sam, but it looks like that's going to be postponed for who knows how long.

Before you even made it to the door, Mary was coming out with a huge smile on her face and pulling you into a hug, “we’ve missed you around here, well I probably missed you the most, there are too many men around here” she whispered before releasing you.

“Nana!” was heard from inside the car as you saw your daughter try to unbuckle and reach her grandmother as soon as possible. You were about to go to her when Mary stepped up, “please let me, I need snuggles with my Joy”.

“By all means, but she slept most of the flight, so she’s going to be full of energy” hoping to warn Mary but by the look on her face, she doesn’t mind at all. The two are running toward the house as you help Sam with your bags from the trunk.

You always loved the Winchester home, large but still inviting, spacious but still cozy, and the fact that every member of the family; immediate and extended; welcomed you with open arms from the beginning was the best feeling.

Growing up in foster care, you never had a home, not for more than a month or two at a time. Then being on your own since you were 15, you never expected to be here now, but it was as if all the years of struggling and trying to find yourself had been worth it to get here.

Becoming a Winchester was something you never knew you always wanted and desperately needed. You can hear Mary and Joy chatting in the kitchen as you make your way upstairs hoping for a bit of relaxation before you become completely exhausted. Sam pulls you into a warm hug before you’re even completely in the room.

Calming any nerves with a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the apartment, I’ve been working so much trying to catch up so that we could have a nice weekend together as a family now that you are officially moved to Kansas that it completely slipped my mind. What can I do to make it up to you?” looking up at him you could see a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“There’s nothing to make up for, but if you were offering a back rub before my nap, I would greatly accept.” as you reach up and kiss me softly before making your way to the bed to remove your shoes.

“Well, if you insist, but I’m almost certain my world famous backrubs is what got you pregnant the first time” he chuckles as turns towards you.

“Good thing we don’t have that to worry about” and you kiss him again. Snuggling as close as you could to Sam, you fell asleep almost instantly, his arms being your safe place, your home.

Waking up with a chill, you realized you were now alone and the absence of Sam made the room feel like a freezer. Quickly getting up and showered, you made your way downstairs to find your family.

You smiled watching Joy, curled up in Dean’s lap watching Scooby Doo, both laughing at the same spots, those two had such a great bond.

"There she is, how was your nap?" Mary asked as she entered the living room from the kitchen with Sam following behind.

"Wonderful, thank you. I promise to not disappear on you again" you told her as she pulled you into another hug.

"No need to apologize for allowing me more time with my granddaughter" as she moved towards the sofa and handed Joy a drink.

"Dinner will be ready as soon as John gets home, so I didn't think she needed a snack right now"

"thank you, but I was planning on cooking for y'all tonight" you told her as you and Sam joined them, while Joy and Dean shushed us for interrupting their show.

"Don't worry about that sweety, John is picking up dinner on the way here, we're just happy to have you two back in town"

The Winchesters were always so inviting, you had dreamed of a family like this when you were growing up and now you finally had it.

By the time John had come in with dinner, the tv had been turned off and you were helping your daughter clean up as Castiel came in and greeted you both.

"Unca Cas! I sit wit you" Joy squealed as she ran and hugged his legs.

"I've missed you too, and as long as it's ok with your mom" He crouched down to her eye level before she was throwing her arms around his neck.

"Don't you want to sit with your favorite uncle?" Dean asked as he patted the seat beside him. Joy laughed as she climbed into the seat between them "luv yu unca bean" and blew him a kiss.

"So, Y/N, we are so glad you two are back for a visit, how long do we get to keep you this time?" John asked as you all started eating.

"Well, about this visit, its um" looking at Sam for some help as he just shrugged with that cute smirk on his face. "Sorry, I'm not sure how to say this and I didn't really have a plan but, this isn't a visit" you looked around and everyone seemed a little confused. "We have officially become Kansas residents as of today"

"Oh, that's fantastic!" Mary told you as everyone seemed a bit shocked.

"Were you able to transfer to a local office?" John asked.

"No, actually, I resigned but they call it retiring so they have the option to hire you back when they need the help, but I don't think that will be a concern for many years if ever" you state trying to reassure Sam that this is it for you, for your family to be together.

"I'm happy for you, sweetheart, but that seems a bit sudden. Is something going on?" Dean seemed to be concerned by your sudden change.

Finally Sam spoke up, "yes Dean, something is going on" he smiled down at you. "Y/N wants to move the wedding up and become a Winchester as soon as possible."

You smirk at him and look back at the family, they seem happy but a bit confused. "Sam and I have a little surprise" you tell them as he squeezes your hand "we are expecting"

There was a unified gasp from the table before everyone was congratulating you.

Once the celebration was over it was time to put your daughter to bed, but with a house full of her favorite people you figured you wouldn't be able to do it tonight even if you wanted to. While Mary opted for handling bath time, the rest of you settled down on the patio, the men opting for whiskey to end the night while you stuck with a cup of tea.

"Might I suggest the name Dean, if it's a boy?" Dean told you with a smirk on his face.

"Really?" you asked "you don't want to use the name for your own kids?" Dean looked a little shocked but shook his head almost defeated.

"Come on Dean, you and Cas would make amazing parents, you never thought about it?" you questioned.

"We discussed it but I'm not sure kids are a realistic idea with as much as we work and travel all the time" he shrugged looking defeated.

Noticing Dean give Sam a pointed look, you realize you may have overstepped and decided to drop the subject. “Well, as your sister-in-law, I support any decision you make for your family. You need to do what's right for you"

The morning was a whirlwind of finding what you needed amongst the bags you had packed and boxes you shipped, but ultimately you were able to get yourself and Joy looking presentable for breakfast with the family. By the time you make it downstairs, John is kissing Mary goodbye and heading towards the door. “Papa wait!” Joy runs full speed and hugs John's legs. “Oh sweetie, I’ll be home tomorrow and we can have a whole day together, how does that sound?” he asks as he leans down to give her a goodbye hug. “Yay, I wan pancakes” as she runs to the kitchen to find her Nana.

“You are working on Saturday? That’s awful” you tell him as he pulls you in for a hug also. “Small little hiccup, I’m hoping to make it back tonight but just in case, I will see you all tomorrow” he waves and is out the door. “So mom, do you think you can keep an eye on your granddaughter for a few hours? I have something I want to show Y/N, and maybe grab lunch in town”

Within the hour the two of you are driving through Lawrence and he’s pointing out all his favorite places growing up before he stops in front of a beautiful two story house on the north end of town.

“So what do you think?” he asks as he opens the car door for you

“It’s beautiful, but what are we doing here?” you ask.

“Well, I was looking around and found this place, and thought we could have the wedding in the backyard” he tells you with a small grin.

“This is perfect, I wanted something small and intimate, but this is just someone’s house. Why would they rent it to us for our wedding?” you question as you walk around the house to the backyard.

“Well, that was the catch, we can’t rent it, so I bought it” he responds with a look between hope and apprehension.

“You bought a house?” you were shocked to say the least. You weren’t sure if you should be upset that he made such a big decision, but Sam was always one to surprise you.

“Yes, for us, technically it’s not ours until we sign the final closing paperwork on Monday but we need a place of our own and what better way to start our family than in our own home” he pulls you into a hug and you can only respond with a huge smile

[boop-le-snoot]

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previously on...

Two chapters over the weekend because I was ✨ inspired ✨ and my neighbors can't stop fucking (noisily!) and I'm,,, envious.

Strange adventures in Hell. There are descriptions of desperation and doom, lots of magic and - hear me out - forced/reluctant hand holding 😌 Oh my God, they held hands!!!

"What. Were. You. Thinking?!" Strange was seething, his enormous figure and broader height towered over me, the blood-red of his cape vibrating, the only spleck of colour in the grey and dusty dark world.

"I had no choice in the matter," I replied as calmly as I managed, gritting my teeth, memories of our past stand-off fresh in my mind. We could have bickered until the end, until one of the beasts flying overhead spotted us and decorated the bleary grounds of this forsaken planet with the crimsons of our life blood. "I think it's best if we get to safety first, argue later. I have no desire to become somebody's lunch."

That much was true: I had taken a good look at our surroundings as soon as I recovered from the vacuum-like sensation of being pulled into a magical gateway; the visibility was terrible, the planet's natural light very scarce. Several suns were hardly visible in the sky, their rays barely penetrating the mists and the ashes freely floating in the air.

There was oxygen even if breathing in a full lungful seemed impossible; I tried not to think about the contents of the air, or the possibility of radiation poisoning, as the multiple amulets and charms seared into my skin where they rested under my clothes. I had four bottles of water, some bandages and salves and a sacrifice for a single ritual to my name and absolutely no conviction that Mother Earth would be able to hear the call of an earthling gone so astray.

But it was hope, so I held on.

"Fine," Stephen sighed, suddenly looking tired and weary, glancing around with furrowed brows. "Let's see if I can open a portal," his hands did that complicated set of gestures that I'd grown to associate with a golden circle and sparks on the ground. The thing flickered, once, twice, before disappearing, as if the Sorcerer's magic had run out of batteries. "Yeah, I thought so," he whispered to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"The bad news first, please," I interpreted his hesitation with a realistic outlook on our predicament.

"I can't open a portal just anywhere on this planet. We need to find a... Rift, of sorts," the man was anxiously looking around. "And those things, they'll smell us... Right about now," his eyes shot up at a winged, rapidly approaching shadow. "No good news, I'm afraid."

I allowed myself a small sigh of disappointment, keeping a tight leash on the panic slowly creeping up my body. The feeling of determination, the power of Gaia within me was still present, laying in a cozy dormant ball slightly south of my solar plexus. "Give me your hand, please," I reached out to Stephen only for him to promptly recoil.

"You should've thought about the consequences of your actions, I'm not going to hold your hand because you're scared shitless," his words were sharp but they lacked the venom. He wouldn't, or couldn't, meet my eyes.

"I know you have scarred hands. I'm a healer and you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed I, I've seen worse," I stated in my best 'mutant nurse' voice as Stephen's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Those things can't sense me. And I know they won't be able to sense you too if we have skin-to-skin contact. So unless you want me to get under your... Robes," I gestured to the layers upon layers of clothing he had wrapped himself in. I considered the possibility of his whole body being covered in scars, too, and couldn't help the pang of sympathy. "Take one glove off and give me your damn hand before this trip to Jurassic Park goes full pterodactyl massacre!"

I saw the thing in the sky open it's mouth - but no sound came out, the clouds reducing it's outline to a vaguely triangular shadow. There was something very unusual about this planet's atmosphere.

With a couple of jerky movements, Stephen slid off the glove from his left hand, looking away as his large, dry, warm palm encompassed mine in a gentle, trembling grip. It made no sense to interlace our fingers, so I help onto him like a child holds onto their parent; the size difference of our hands and his imposing aura surely made me feel like one.

We stood a foot apart, watching the shadow in the sky begin to circle the place we stood in, it's gaping maw opening again and again, before it zigzagged across the sky with a strong dash of confusion, it's graceful glide becoming a series of rapid turns and twists. With a final inaudible shriek, it flew off into the dusty greys of the horizon, becoming a dark spot far away in mere seconds.

The silence was so loud in this world. Like the eerie stillness of my, undoubtedly haunted, apartment, I was eager to dissipate it with something beyond our combined heavy breathing. "Please don't tell Tony," I timidly gave our touching hands a sway. "He'll never leave it alone."

A chuffing noise coming from above had me whip my head up to see Stephen holding in a puff of nervous laughter; his shoulders dropped slightly as he eyed me in turn. "What makes you think I won't tease you about it?"

"You wouldn't dare," I took mock offense, rising my leaking nose to the skies.

The grumble and the eyeroll I expected, the smirk that faded into a ghost of a smile I did not. "We should go. Usually there is a rift within a few miles of every location everywhere," he tried to keep the content expression as he spoke but the storm in his eyes betrayed his concern. They were so blue, I felt like I was drowning.

I let myself to be tugged in a direction - everything seemed exactly the same, a never-ending ashen wasteland with the occasional dark grey rock that crumbled to dust as soon as the heel of my shoe touched it. My light blue sweater quickly became the colour of rotten wood, a sickly, dull monotone between brown and gray.

The complete lack of any kind of natural noise brought out the desolation of this wretched place; if we gripped each other's hands tighter, neither of us chose to acknowledge it. It was too easy to get lost in your own mind when the surroundings were dead set on rebuking anything that was in any shape or form alive.

I caught myself thinking that this must be what people think Hell should look like.

Strange walked briskly for the most part, periodically clearing his throat and eyeing me when I struggled to keep up with his long strides. It could have been an hour, or maybe two, of aimless wandering and rapidly imploding portals accompanied by Stephen's increasingly overcast face before I made the man stop and offered him a water bottle, which he insisted we split between us two.

It didn't take me a tarot reading to figure out our chances were grim. Needless, I gave him the same look I give to injured, scared mutant children when they come to the bodega for the first time; a look of quiet temperance.

And then we walked, and walked again, as Stephen grew moodier and moodier, marching on with the force of a seasoned soldier, only taking breaks when I forced him to stand still and breathe with me. As cautious and closed-off as he was, I pressed onto the fact of me being a healer of sorts, and he relented if briefly, always reluctant, always seasoned by a great dose of bewilderment.

"Do you feel that?" Stephen's stride halted, both feet firmly planted on the ground.

The ground had tremors had coming from deep within, small shocks that could have been easily missed if not for the complete lack of sound on this world. My nod was mute, I didn't trust my voice not to break when I clearly knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, endless fields of nothing all around us.

"Hold onto me," promptly, I was grabbed and pushed into his chest, his long arms easily picking me up, encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. "Hold tight, I might need my hands," my face grew hot as I wound my arms around Stephen's neck, clinging to him like a monkey, a palm resting on the soft fine hairs if his nape. It felt too intimate somehow, in the wake of imminent danger.

The Cape that previously swayed behind him in rhythm with his steps billowed, the red fabric of it tough as it levitated us a few feet above the ground. I felt Stephen tense with each tremor; within moments, the surface shook and stuttered more and more, cracks appearing in between the dust, turning the plains into a marble-patterned patch of darkness.

We rose above it, high enough that I could see the veins resulting from the quake stretch far out into the wasteland, jagged, abrupt lines of even more concentrated darkness. And as quickly as the quake started, it was over, leaving little evidence as the ground settled.

Stephen floated us to a larger patch of the ground, criss-crossed with thinner, less prominent lines, poking the ground with his foot before allowing it to fully bear our weight. He was shaken, there was no doubt. "That was... Something," he stated lowly.

"Mhm," I hummed, fighting the urge to frantically look around, forcing my hand from clutching at his palm like a lifeline. I had decided on a plan while I was busy playing baby koala - not that there were many other options except to wander these god forsaken bare badlands until our painful demise. "Listen, Strange, I'm aware you don't hold my people in particularly high regard but you're going to have to trust me on this," my words came out derisive as I placed his palm on the back of my neck and kneeled, forcing him to do the same behind me.

The contents of my bag greeted me grimly with out last bottle of water and the couple knick-knacks that gathered the black dust on them. I hastily poured the water into a bowl, dipping my fingers in it, and added the crushed bones to the mixture.

The time that was required to make a paste-like mixture, I used to address a bewildered Stephen. "This is a last resort. I don't know if it will work, we're not on Earth," I briefly breathed my distress. "I don't even know how far we are from home. But I refuse to die here, in this grotesque Hell, without putting up a fight and Gaia has always looked out for her flock. I might get very, very sick if this is successful."

The warning had him attempt to object before he cast a long look around us, shoulders sagging, as motioned for me to continue, those piercing blue eyes boring into my face. "Tell me what do I need to do," his voice quietly attempted to soothe my very obvious fear.

I was terrified, both of dying, nameless, faceles in this world full of Nothing; the prospect of withering away after depleting all my resources was, perhaps, equally unappealing, but dying on my home planet sounded better than dying here. "Have faith," I replied curtly, beginning to chant softly under my breath as soon as Stephen's expression hardened.

My eyelids grew heavy, limbs filling with lead and molten lava as I summoned the forces of Mother itself; my body was aching, exhausted by answering her call as it was. The warm ball in my chest that previously comforted me grew, spreading its smelten power through every vein, every vessel. No part of my body was left cold. A sense of purpose filled me, pushing me forward, driving me to move, to run, to leap.

"This way," even to my own ears, my voice sounded pained. It felt as if I was walking through swamp waters, full of clay and debris, each step taking my barely coherent form through an individual bog full of pins and needles. The force of Mother Nature burned inside of me, enraged at the state of her surroundings.

Stephen spoke to me but all I could hear was mumbling, thousands of voices, low and shrill, unintelligible to the human mind. I could feel the sorcerer's pain; the itch and burn in his throat, the constant, dull throb in his scarred, broken hands. His hand in mine only intensified the situation and I fought with his injuries like I fought with the black dots in my eyes, I forced down the unpleasant sensations, setting fire to them, letting the reigns of control on the raging inferno within me slip just the smallest, tiniest bit.

The steps of his long feet stuttered as I felt the discomfort lessen yet I simply towed him along. Time leaked through the cracks in my eyes, which were mostly unseeing anyways. The useless things grew blind at some point, not that I noticed it on the greys and blacks of the surrounding scenery. It was harder to walk, my breathing grew laboured with the extertion as we finally reached the place that felt right.

"Here," I rasped, voice so quiet it could have been mistaken for a breeze. I craved to feel it; the soft puffs of wind, the sound of running water. I had called for Earth and she demanded its child back.

The portal appeared without a stutter even though Stephen's hands shook; I saw the uneven channels, the energies traveling through them at an uneven pace. As soon as I pushed through the wormhole, coming to my senses in an unfamiliar, light room, I fell to my knees.

Stephen's pained moaning told me he was probably experiencing the same stinging, burning sensation on his skin; my eyes, they were the worst - my eyeballs felt like they were melting, leaking out of my sockets into thick, gelatinous tears streaming down my face. I blindly groped for the sorcerer's hand, directing the forces within me to soothe his hurts much like I had done in the wastelands.

"Strange?!" A masculine, shocked voice exclaimed before footsteps crashed into my sensitive ears with the force of an elephant herd. "Oh my God, they're here! Tony, come!"

"Stop fucking screaming," Stephen gasped out as I felt him curl into himself.

"Friday, scan them," I recognised Tony's voice, the tiredness and desperation standing out in it more than it did in the rest of the whispers in the room.

"They appear to be experiencing a sensory overload. I would recommend to engage Peter's Cooldown mode," the mechanical voice replied, barely audible. The noise still grated on my ears after spending... How long were we gone?

"Do it, Fri," Tony's soft footsteps reached us; I smelled the spices of his cologne next to my and Stephen's prone forms. "You gave us a scare there," the tone was admonishing but gentle.

"We were scared shitless ourselves," I attempted to speak, only now noticing how grating my voice sounded. "We were in Hell," I mumbled to myself, slowly removing my hand from Stephen.

"That," he coughed up the word, breathing through his nose before speaking again, his voice sounding much better than mine. "That place was as close as possible to biblical pits I have ever seen," there was shuffling and gentle murmurs as the two men ensured each other of their presence and well-being.

The burning sensations receded back to my core, the embers of the fires dying out, leaving me feeling like deflated beach ball, all shell and no filling. With a groan, I rolled over onto my back right in the middle of the pristine carpet on the floor, forcing my eyes open and breathing through the pain until I could somewhat see the champagne coloured ceiling without black dots obstructing my vision.

Shuffling noises reached my ears as a familiar round face with light red hair came into my line of sight, Wanda's gentle features concerned. "Star, do you need to go to medical?" She eyed me almost suspiciously but the question was earnest.

The idea of a doctor fixing a magical burnout was bizarre to me, as if it ever was that easy; I chortled sardonically. "No, Wanda, there's nothing wrong with me that a doctor would be able to fix," I replied honestly. "I should call Odette."

"I've called, she said to notify her when you return," Sam's voice was gentle as he approached. I could feel him glaring daggers at a rapidly reddening Wanda. "She was the one who said you'll definitely come back," he offered me his hand.

I had to choke down a moan of relief as I grabbed it. The warmth, the life of another human being, the precious gift of a beating pulse under my fingertips was divine. "You should listen to her. She knows her stuff." It was easy, talking to Sam as if he was an old friend. He had one of the most pleasant auras I've seen on a human being.

"I'm a doctor," Stephen suddenly perched up, sounding almost bashful. "And I can aid the healing process," he stated over Tony's disgruntled mumbling. "If you can explain to me how the hell you managed to hold a... an entire sun's worth of energy!" The more he spoke the more bewildered he became, tone growing in pitch, ending the sentence with an exclamation.

"I don't know," I replied with a sigh. The whole indignation in this man, I was not prepared to face. "When I took this up," I gestured vaguely to the burned, bent metal adornments I began to remove off my body. "I thought I was going to get an increase in tips and a better outlook on life. Help my friend with her asthma as much so she wouldn't have to use her inhaler every time she gets suprised or scared," my jewelry hit the floor with a dull clank, piling up into bent silver I wouldn't even be able to cleanse and repurpose.

Sam whistled lowly, poking at a necklace that had twisted on itself, a grotesque spiral of dull ashen grey.

"I certainly didn't think that a bleeding mutant accepting his fate as cannon fodder will call for the Earth itself," my tone grew vicious. Exhaustion was nesting in my bones. "And that Mother Nature would take over my body, pour lava into my veins and bleed recklessness into my thoughts. But here I am, freshly out of Hell and alive and kicking."

A stunned silence was interrupted by Tony's frantic whispering. "You are not leaving my penthouse for the foreseeable future," as the weight of the incident set on him. The knuckles of his hand clutching Stephen's dirty tunic turned white.

"I am," Stephen eyed me with a strange look in his eye, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes then turned to Tony, who'd began rambling, arguing with Stephen. The sorcerer stopped the word vomit with a grim confession. "I'd be dead if not for Starlight. I'd be meat and bone, splattered across a barren, radioactive land in the deepest, darkest pits of the universe."

I felt my face droop in slow-motion. My throat flexed, swallowing a thick lump of filthy mucus, I coughed up, "Ra-radioctive?" As soon as I could work my voice without it squeaking.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins2 @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[agentlemuse]

Dea!!! I am so in love with your Buddie the old guard fic I've read it so many times now I LOVE IT could you maybe write a little sequel to it with Eddie whitnessing Buck dying and coming back to life for the first time! No pressure obvs but you'd make me super happy! thanks again for writing the buddie old guard au fic ITS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!

Hayley I am so sorry for making you wait!

Also on AO3

“How much are you willing to wager,” Hen challenges, her own stack of bills being dropped on the table like a declaration of war.

Chim eyes everyone carefully, emptying out all the money in his wallet with a confident pop of his gum. “I’m all in. Buck?”

“All in. Eddie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on! It’s tradition,” Buck begs, practically pouting as he tries to get Eddie to join in on the bet. He refuses every time and every time Buck acts surprised.

“Pretty sure the only tradition here is them getting all of your money,” Eddie points out with a smirk, earning a sharp laugh from Athena.

“You are too young to be this lame,” Buck sighs dramatically as Eddie rolls his eyes. He might be lame, but at least he will keep his money.

Just like that Hen is crowing as Buck laments his defeat. He looks to him with wide eyes in hopes of sympathy but all Eddie can do is laugh. He did warn him.

Athena and Bobby were chuckling fondly from their spot in the corner, speaking to each other without saying a word as they do often do. After one night of partaking in too much of Hen’s sangria he asked Buck if they had developed telepathic powers and Buck laughed so hard he snorted red wine out his nose. Considering their immortal status he didn’t think it was quite that funny, but Buck disagreed.

Looking at them now he still says it was a valid question.

“Okay everyone listen up,” Athena announces, drawing the attention of everyone with the simple command. “We have some news.”

“New job,” Buck asks eagerly, already wanting to speed ahead.

Bobby and Athena share a sad look and for the first time since Eddie has known them they look like they’re struggling to find the words to say. Athena stands, picking at a scab on her arm.

A scab.

She shouldn’t have a—

“I’m mortal.”

It’s funny how you can live for a millennia and a single moment can still knock you to your knees.

Athena could still have three, maybe even four, decades with them, but suddenly each moment is finite. He knew this was possible, Buck had told him about Abby, but it wasn’t real until now.

He may not know her as well as the others; hasn’t watched dynasties rise and fall with her, but she’s his family now. He foolishly thought he’d have more time before saying goodbye to family again.

But it’s not about him. It’s about Athena. It’s about the people who have loved her for centuries trying to wrap their minds around life without her.

Eddie doesn’t know much about Buck’s parents, partly because there isn’t much worth remembering from the way Buck tells it, but Athena is his mother for all intents and purposes. Now that she’s - not vulnerable (she’d stab him for even thinking it) - mortal, Buck has been like an overprotective mother hen. Athena has looked ready to strangle him on more than one occasion and he’s pretty sure the fussing is more likely to take years off her life than anything else.

And it’s sweet. Funny even, how Athena looks at him with such exasperated fondness.

Only that overprotectiveness makes a reckless Buck even more reckless.

Which, fine, Buck’s immortal. For now. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? The idea that immortality just ends was hypothetical before now.

And Buck is—

Buck is—

Buck is his family. His person. The only reason he doesn’t spend this eternity of his lamenting every new day.

Buck has been on this earth for nearly a millennia without him, but Eddie doesn’t want to live without him. Not for a thousand years or a thousand days or even a thousand minutes. Not because he needs Buck, but because he wants him. He wants his kind eyes and infectious laughter beside his side. He wants the feel of his breath on the back of his neck as he lays curled in behind him. He’s not sure he can go back to sleeping alone.

A shame he’ll need roughly a thousand years to figure out a way to finally tell him, which is not going to happen with Buck being so eager to get himself killed.

Buck insists on throwing himself into danger, which means Eddie has to throw himself further. He’s younger, newer, he can take more hits. He knows logically that Buck must have died hundreds of times before him, but he hasn’t died since Eddie killed him. Maybe he can’t keep him alive forever, but he can certainly try.

Bobby catches on first.

“Nasty hit you took today.”

“I’ve had worse,” Eddie says nonchalantly, fingers flexing against a phantom wound long since healed. Buck stormed out earlier, pissed he jumped in front of a bullet for him only to bleed out slowly. Tonight Buck will hold him closer, making sure he’s still in one piece; a bittersweet ritual they’ve formed together. He’ll take the anger if it keeps Buck safe.

“You’ve been taking a lot of hits lately.”

“Saying I should work on my ducking skills?”

“Saying you can’t take them all,” Bobby replies, cutting off whatever comment he might be opening his mouth to say with a look. “When is the last time Buck died?”

“You should ask—“

“When?”

“When I shot him,” Eddie admits, jaw clenching.

“He’s had a good run, but good runs end. He knows what’s at stake just like everyone else. We can’t outrun the inevitable. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you try,” Bobby says softly, an unspoken pain behind his eyes. “Don’t miss out on the good worrying about the bad.”

“Wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t so eager to put himself in harm’s way,” Eddie deflects, no real malice in his words.

“Funny, that’s what Buck said about Athena.”

That was hardly the same. Buck is being reckless, Eddie is just—

Well it’s not like he can take care of him through his cooking, now can he?

The next few months they take it easy on the missions, focusing on time together as a family. It’s good, great even, but it’s only a matter of time before the world has a need for their set of skills.

Which is how they find themselves in this dimly lit warehouse in what is clearly a trap.

He and Buck have taken the front, trying to clear a path to the escape route so they can’t get pinned in. The sharp pops of bullets flood his ears, a fog of plaster dust filling the air as bullets lodge in walls instead of bone.

There are too many blind spots and not enough cover.

There’s shouting, cries of pain, but none of them familiar. They’re gaining ground, they’re getting out, they’re—

The sick sound of a bullet striking flesh, muscle, bone enters his ear. A spray of blood hits his cheek.

Eddie turns to see Buck crumple against the ground.

Suddenly there is no noise, no friends or foes. There was only Buck lifeless on the floor, his head a gaping wound of brain matter and skull.

He falls to his knees beside him, blood soaking his trousers as he reaches out to help him. Only, he doesn’t know how to fix this.

“Buck, wake up. Buck. Buck.” He doesn’t recognize his voice, doesn’t recognize the frantic panic of this strange sound coming out of his mouth.

He thinks of all those zombie movies he used to watch with his sisters when he was young. The only way to kill them was to take out the brain. They couldn’t come back from that. Buck couldn’t—

Eddie shot him in the head once, but this was different. There hadn’t been this hole. There hadn’t been brain matter scattered across the floor. Buck hadn’t taken this long to wake up.

He can’t do this without him. He doesn’t want to do this without him.

“Wake up, wake up, you have to wake up,” Eddie demands, then begs.

“Eddie, we have to keep going,” Chim says from across the room, providing cover from enemies he couldn’t care less about. “He’ll catch up.”

He ignores him. Of course he ignores him. He can’t leave Buck. He’s going to wake up, he has to, so why is it taking so long?

The team moves on, because there is no other choice if they want to get out of here, but Eddie doesn’t move. He waits for a sign of life, anything, but Buck stays perfectly still. He should be healing already, blue eyes fluttering and a smile on his lips. He shouldn’t be so still and pale under the stark stream of red.

He’s so lost waiting for puffs of air that aren’t coming he misses the footsteps behind him. It’s not until he feels rough hands grabbing at him that he remembers the fight. He feels a knife slide through his ribs as they try to drag him back. He thrashes wildly, scrambling for any weakness he can exploit. They’re not going to take him away from Buck. He’s not leaving him alone. He’s not—

A single shot rings out and the man Eddie was fighting falls.

Eddie turns back to Buck who is sitting up with a gun in hand.

Eddie scrambles over to him, pulling him close, feeling the side of his head to make sure he’s whole.

“Eddie, we need to catch up with the others,” Buck urges, already back in the game. How can he be so calm? How can he be so steady? “Eddie. Eddie.”

“Your birthmark grew back.”

Buck’s face grows soft for a moment, letting out a puff of breath like it was punched out of him. Eddie can feel the wound on his side healing, but he ignores it, busy feeling the pulse of Buck’s heartbeat where his hand rests on Buck’s neck.

“Eddie, we have to keep going.”

“You weren’t waking up. You took so long to wake up.”

“I’m here, Eddie,” Buck insists, resting his forehead warm and whole against Eddie’s. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you, okay? I won’t leave you. Now let’s go.”

Eddie goes with him because there is no other option. He doesn’t want to be anywhere without him.

It doesn’t doesn’t get any easier to watch him die, but Buck always comes back to him. He has to believe he always will.