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hanukkahbingo · 6 months

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!חג אורים שמח

It's the first night of Hanukkah and the first night of the Panfandom Hanukkah Bingo! We have a lovely selection of fics and fandoms already this year, and I'm so excited to see what else we receive in the next seven days!

Alone in the Dark by josiebelladonna/@feverinfeveroutfic | AO3 | tumblr

He found himself trapped out in the wilderness during a power outage, and his meeting with that one strange girl proved to be a stroke of fate for him. A fic that asks “what if Alex and Christine had met in another period?”

baby namings by aelisheva | AO3 | tumblr

"She's beautiful," the nurse coos, turning to a proud Seth and Summer. "What are you going to name her?"

Bring On the Light: Snowed In by melbelle310/@perfectpurls | AO3 | tumblr

Ace had hoped to make it home for the first night of Channukah, but when a blizzard rolls through town, he and Nancy have to make do in their apartment.

broken memory (of you and me and something) by JustGail/@evilwickedme | AO3 | tumblr

“I haven’t celebrated Hanukkah since I was a very small child. Younger than you.” Jason sat down on the chair he’d taken before. He was strangely restless and excited, but he still forced himself to say, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” “I already said I’m fine with Christmas,” Bruce said. “No, Hanukkah,” Jason said. He wouldn’t have been able to explain his stubbornness on the issue even to himself, let alone to Bruce. But he knew this is what he wanted this year. “I want… You don’t have to. But it looks nice.” // The first time Jason celebrated Hanukkah, and the first time Bruce celebrated Hanukkah in oh… two decades at least.

Eight Nights by genuineformality/@genuineformality | AO3 | tumblr

On the first night of Chanukah, Viktor lights a chanukiah for the first time in a long time. On the subsequent nights, Viktor and Jayce explore a lot of complicated feelings.

Generations by Hollie47/@hollie47 | AO3 | tumblr

Amanda is more than happy to have Spock and Jim home for Hanukkah.

H1. Dreidel - Scott Lang by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Scott is a terrible winner.

H2. Judah Maccabee - Mike Wheeler by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

They will outlive this.

H3. Music - Poe Dameron by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

The gas giant of Yavin hangs low in the sky, red tendrils of almost-dawn unfurling in the sky above the Dameron ranch.

H4. Tradition - Pepper Ann Pearson by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Every year, Milo eats more than his fair share of latkes and spends the next three hours lying on the Pearsons' living room floor, moaning. Every year, Nicky brings over some concoction made primarily of beets, and maybe wheat germ. Every year, Pepper Ann thinks it's the best Hanukkah yet.

H5. First Night - Snap Wexley by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Everyone else can keep their Life Day celebrations. Snap prefers this.

Hopeless Situations by abby_gaytes | AO3 | tumblr

Russians don’t wear ugly holiday sweaters. But arguing with Marcus Cole’s infuriating, ineffaceable enthusiasm has always been a hopeless situation.

Keep a candle burning by dharmashark | AO3 | tumblr

Bucky has been sitting cross legged on the floor with Steve Rogers for three hours. He feels giddy on two donuts too many, his ribs tight and hot from laughing. But mostly he feels smug as hell: he cannot wait to tell Clint how wrong he was when said this was a terrible idea. Well, what Clint had actually said was, “Are you out of your mind? Steve, as in Steve, is going to spend Hanukkah with you, in your studio apartment?” — In which Bucky can totally, definitely last eight nights without falling for his childhood best friend. Again.

miracles happen (once in a while) by aelisheva | AO3 | tumblr

By some interdimensional Hanukkah miracle, two versions of Annabeth and Percy are able to meet. The older pair proceed to embarrass the two middle schoolers as much as they can.

Pretty Hanukkah Wrapping For A Even Prettier Pussy Cat. by IndigoSun/@sweetwithheatwriting | AO3 | tumblr

May Parker was well aware that there were countless Jewish people around the world who experienced a relatively mellow and very happy cozy Hanukkah with their family and a few friends every year. She didn’t get to experience that as a general rule of thumb. I mean, don’t get May wrong, she was definitely Jewish and got to celebrate Hanukkah with the joy and company that was supposed to come with it, except her typical Hanukkah was usually brimming over with the barely mitigated chaos that came with celebrating it with her family and dozens and dozens of her friends on the world saving spectrum, Peter, Erik Lehnsherr, and the memory of what kissing Kitty Pryde had tasted like and what her dark silken curls felt like in her hands as she shakily arched her back and pleadingly mewled at he- Well. May was a bit haunted in the best way by that. She might just end up getting the girl this year if the stars aligned and she stopped sabotaging herself.

season of miracles by BettyRose/@yellingabouthistory | AO3 | tumblr

Padmé Naberrie and Tsabin Dolan have been best friends since they were international pen pals in middle school, so it was a dream come true when Tsabin came to spend a semester at Padmé's college in America. But when Padmé brings her home for the holidays, people keep jumping to the wrong conclusion. Padmé definitely loves her best friend, but not like… loves-loves. At least, she's pretty sure. Okay, so she's… maybe not sure beyond a reasonable doubt. But that's not the relevant burden of proof, because having a friendly little girl crush isn't a crime! And Padmé would know, she's president of the Otelia College Pre-Law Society!

something has to give (but not today) by skylarkblue/@skylarkblue | AO3 | tumblr

Peter Parker is struggling to juggle his family responsibilities and his duty as Spider-Man.

That We Are Alive by americanhoney913/@americanhoney913 | AO3 | tumblr

Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu, v'kiy'manu, v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh. --- Shehecheyanu (Debbie Friedman melody) *** Eddie's whole family comes together to celebrate the first night of Hannukah with their newborn.

What Callie Kept by abby_gaytes | AO3 | tumblr

There are many things Callie Spengler was happy to abandon in her attempts to distance herself from the family and father who had caused her such pain in her life. Like her curly hair, and her briefly-budding interest in science, and her residence in New York City. But there are also a few things she kept - like her last name, and her Jewish identity, and the Hanukkah traditions she shared with Egon during their all-too-limited time together.

#hanukkahbingo #panfandom hanukkah bingo 2023 #round up 2023 #first night

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feverinfeveroutfic · 6 months

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hanukkah bingo 2023

Fic or Art/Graphic Title: alone in the dark, prologue: “If I Were a Rich Man” Author/Artist Name: josiebelladonna Fandom: Testament (Band) Jewish or Jew-Ish Character(s): Alex Skolnick (and how) Bingo Squares Being Filled: h3 (music), h4 (tradition), h5 (first night), a2 (snow), n2 (family), n4 (survival), u4 (winter), h2 (yiddish) Rating: (chapter) Teen and Up; (fic in general) Mature Warning(s): Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Link to Work: x (p.s., no idea why ao3 isn’t letting me add this to the collection, like it’s not showing up in the drop-down menu when i try to add it in) @aimmyarrowshigh

notes: hey, y’all! i’m a gentile girl participating in this little challenge here because i love you guys and am fiercely defensive of you, and i want to introduce you all to the light of my life and the fire of my loins, alex. this fic is flirty, kinky, and very inappropriate so please be careful while reading. i also wrote this fic for nanowrimo this year! 🔥

I was certain that I could get back home to be with my parents and my brother over in Scarsdale and the new house a couple of blocks over by the temple, and I was certain that I could reach the neighborhood by the time the snow piled into the area. I had promised to, at the very least, visit for the holiday before I made the bold move across the country to be closer to my parents in particular. I had missed Rosh Hashanah back in September because of money, but this time I was determined, and I wanted to be closer to my parents, and it couldn’t have come at a better time, either, as I was alone in California at that point. Then again, there was a part of me that had no idea if I wanted to do that: so much work to do, and I needed to lay my head down every now and again like everyone else. My parents understood the daunting task that faced me, but I still had that obligation upon my first visit.

Regardless of my own indolence, they were getting older, and I was as well. It was time to do something drastic, and something that, I knew in my heart, would help me forever. It all would help me forever.

But I never did reach there on time, and the whole affair had left me wanting more of it all. Maybe I was greedy, but I would admit to it, though.

I was such a mess at the time, and the delays only made me more of a mess. It was times like this where I couldn’t stop to say that I had survived another year without having my throat slit so I can eat, either. This was something else. This was something that brought me elsewhere.

I was flying into New York from the Bay Area the weekend before the first night of Hanukkah, which, much to my dismay, coincided with the week after Thanksgiving. I had missed most of the crowds on the Wednesday and Thursday prior, but I still knew it was going to be hell because I was leaving on that Saturday, before everyone went home, so I had to hustle and go with the flow regardless of anything. I needed to fly in from California to see my parents, especially for that year as my relationship had ended over the summer and I spent what money I had on my person before my next paycheck from the gigs I could scrounge up to keep my head above water for the time being. I had missed Thanksgiving with them all because I didn't get paid yet, and thus, I knew in my heart of hearts that I needed to be home, to clear my head, to heal my heart and my mind, and to feel like myself again.

I was out of Testament: I had left almost two years prior when my relationship remained in good shape and she was the first person I told about my decision to leave all because I needed a challenge. The next person I told was a friend of mine, followed by my father and my mother, and she reasoned with me about it because I knew it was going to be tricky.

Be patient, I was told. Be patient and just roll with it.

Okay.

On second thought, I was glad that I had left when I did because they pretty much imploded the second I walked out that door with my guitar over my back. There was a part of me that believed that I had become a glue of sorts, and my departure only made them fall apart even more. For a moment, I was guilty, but I needed to move on and find my own footing, even if it meant I had nothing for a while.

I was going to have nothing again. I took the first plane out of the Bay Area at around five in the morning, and the night before, I called my mom for a check-in.

“I’ll pick you up at baggage claim, honey,” she vowed to me, and I took that to heart. I had to be there for at the very least the first night and the lighting of the menorah. The first flame that would light up the proverbial oil in my own heart.

We broke up back in August, and I still licked my wounds at that point. I had nothing to do other than play the blues for myself: I knew I always had it in me, the one Jewish boy in a yuppie neighborhood in the outskirts of San Francisco with the older parents. I had my friends but I still found myself alone at times.

We were together for only two years: I had met her shortly before my last tour with Testament and maybe it was just my own ignorance, but I thought I had found my one and only. I gave her my heart and she took it and tore it straight to shreds. I was torn to shreds.

I couldn’t bear to look at my own reflection, at my hair, at my face, at anything. In fact, it was right after she and I had gone our separate ways when I decided to crop my hair from the top of my stomach up to my shoulders. I could still let my hair fly around behind my head whenever I walked and whenever there was a gust of wind.

I had gained a little bit of weight since the break up, enough to pad my tummy a bit but not nearly enough to make me fat, though. I knew I was always going to be a skinny lad, even when I grew into middle age. I loved to eat, and there was a part of me that wanted my body to stay the same no matter what I stuck through my lips. So, that was another thing I looked forward to. I had survived another year without having my throat slit and my body broken, other than proverbially, so I would resort to eating to my heart's content.

I had brought one of my guitars with me because I knew I was going to have to perform for my family once I got there. I was Mr. Big Shot after all, having gone from a rock n' roll band which I helped build from the ground up and then I went about my own way. I had to show and tell once I made my way to the house and we were all settled in for the next eight evenings. It was the one I always kept in a soft fabric case lest anything happen to it on the plane; I checked myself into the airport, and I took my one overnight bag with me onboard.

Once I tucked it into the overhead, I hunkered down in the middle of the plane. And the very second I sat down next to the little old man by the window, I let the thoughts hit me: if the plane went down, he and I both could probably survive, and we could survive with the fire on my back. I was already in the mood for surviving, and all I needed was the proper situation for it.

Then again, as soon as I thought that, I knew I would have to pay the price. Such was my life at the time.

Within time, there was a little more than fifty people around me and the old man, and the door closed.

I'm coming home, Mom, I thought to myself. Mom and Dad.

The airplane rolled along the blacktop: I peered out the window, past the old man's slumbering face, at the glimmering lights as they lined the dark horizon, at the black sky overhead where there wasn't a star to be seen. I returned my attention towards the front of the cabin, and I closed my eyes. I never liked the take-off, especially at night and the stars had not poked out as of yet. So many things could go wrong. So many things on the plane could go wrong and I did not want to even so much as think about it but I thought about it, anyway.

I held my breath and gripped onto the armrests on either side of me.

The old man next to me was still asleep by the time the landscape fell away from the plane and we rose up into the blackness. I closed my eyes.

It felt like an eternity rising up into the clouds before we finally leveled out.

I opened my eyes and it felt as though my chest was about to explode. I opened my lips and let out a low whistle. I peered out the window again, and that time I could see the clouds right below us, barring the wispy ones that caressed the body of the plane.

I needed something. I needed to find a way. It had been two years since I bailed from Testament and I still hadn't found my way.

Of the whole time that she and I were together, not once did we have an intimate period together. In fact, she barely touched me. It was as if she waited for me to make a move on her when I was totally lost on what to do for her. All the while, I had this lingering guilt in the back of my mind that told me that I had no right to feel that way. How dare I feel that way about her, or anyone for that matter. I couldn't say that I needed to be touched or held because it was too much to even talk about.

I knew it was hard for her, and I always hear how it's hard for them, but there was me, though. The boy with the long hair who looked on at girls with nothing more than pure fantasy because he didn't feel good enough about himself.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that she wasn't for me. And the more I thought about that, the more I wondered if I could have any woman I wanted, or any man for that matter.

Indeed, I glanced over the sleeping old man in the window seat next to me, with the brim of his hat tugged down over his eyes and his hands tucked underneath his face. His ashen skin and the heavy tweed that wrapped up his body reminded me of my grandpa and the way he'd always dress after he came home from the temple.

I couldn't explain it but the weirdest thought crossed my mind right then: to make out with a man in a temple. In fact, I fluttered my eyelids and shook my head about as if I had bumped my head at the mere suggestion of it. I rubbed my brow and shook my head some more.

“Are you okay?” the stewardess asked me. I lifted my head for a look into her big blue eyes and her golden blonde hair: she looked like a model on one of those greeting cards you'd see around this time of year.

“Me?” I asked her with a break in my voice.

“Yeah, I saw you shaking your head about. Do you feel okay? Do you want some aspirin?”

“Oh, no, it's just—the altitude,” I told her, and I couldn't resist the grin on my face. “I would like a drink of water and maybe a cup of coffee, too, though.”

“You got it,” she assured me, and for a second, I swore she winked at me.

I was a skinny lad with a little extra butter cream on my ass and I could feel it in my pants. In fact, if there weren't three children about two rows in front of me, I would have gladly unfastened my belt for her. Maybe I was a crazy creep at that point, but I had my feelings, too. I simply couldn't help myself. I was fresh off the boat in a few things, but I had my feelings, too.

I needed to feel and connect. I needed to be safe with another person, and I was so close to making the declaration that I didn't care as to whom I could connect with, either. Karma was more of a bitch to me than I realized before.

She returned to me with two paper cups in either hand, one of water and a cardboard one with coffee. The warmth crossed my face at the sight of her; I thanked her and sipped on the water first. All the while, I watched her go tend to the two women three rows before me; I craned my neck for a better view of her there. She wore that short dark green skirt that accentuated the shape of her legs.

I raised my eyebrow and sipped on the water some more as my eyes wandered up to the backs of her thighs and the shape of her ass. I then set down the cup and rubbed my eyes.

I'm a dog. I'm a dirty dog and a bastard, but my eyes wandered no matter what.

Maybe I needed to tamp down everything. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was the one for me but I had no other means of telling her because we should just assume.

I rolled my head over the surface of the seat for a view out the window again: that time, I saw nothing but clouds underneath the belly of the plane. Something about it gave me a weird feeling.

The weirdest feeling, even as I sipped on the coffee. There was no way I could take a nap, either. So much to think about with all of this.

And yet, I needed something to do.

I needed something to do.

I brought the coffee cup up to my mouth again as I took another peek at the stewardess, who had moved up to the next row. I could see the entirety of her figure as well as the backs of her legs. Those three kids in front of me were going to have to know about it sooner or later—

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking,” the intercom crackled on over our heads. “—I'm afraid we're going to be making an emergency landing in Reno. Radar is showing a massive blizzard over the Rocky Mountains, as well as an incoming one over the Sierra Nevadas. Please fasten your seatbelts.”

My heart sank at that. So much for going home to my parents on time.

I glanced out the window again, and indeed, more and more clouds collected along the northern end of the Central Valley to the point I couldn't see anything over there.

“That was fast, though,” I muttered, simply because I knew we had barely cleared the Sierras at that point.

“Fasten your seatbelts, we're making an emergency landing in Reno,” I heard the stewardess say to the two women in front of me.

“Wonder what happened,” the old man next to me said aloud, and I turned my attention to him.

“There's a blizzard over the Rockies,” I told him. “Pretty big one, too. I think there's one coming in from the Northwest, too.”

Once again, I peered out the window to the darkness down below the plane: that time I made out the orange glow on the underside of the incoming clouds, and I knew that northern Nevada and the Sierras looked at a great deal of snow. I sighed through my nose, and I gripped onto the armrest with my free hand. I was already starting to regret the cup of coffee.

“You look nervous, son,” said the old man. “We're in the best spot if there's a crash.”

“I am a little bit nervous, to be frank,” I confessed to him.

“It's funny because my name is Frank,” he quipped to me, and I couldn't help but laugh, albeit nervous laughter.

“I'm Alex,” I said. “And I really hope I'm not the last person you see before this flight ends.” We were in fact flying into the rim of a massive blizzard, and for all any of us onboard knew, we could hit a wave of turbulence and crash right into one of the mountain sides around Lake Tahoe. But I was certain that we would survive, however. It was still rather nerve racking to look out the window and see nothing but orange clouds and not know the whereabouts of any mountains down below us.

“Where were you headed, by the way?” he asked me.

“New York. I was going to be with my parents for Hanukkah.”

“Oh, Hanukkah! I was going to be with my daughter and my son-in-law for the next month: they're in school so their Thanksgiving break will end in the next day or two, but they wanted me to come along before Christmas.”

“Aw, that's sweet of them,” I said in a soft voice; something about the mention of marriage my heart sink even more, and yet there was an even bigger voice which loomed in the back of my mind that told me to embrace being alone, even in the circumstance of the plane crashing down. All the while, I braced for impact on the mountains, but we never did hit anything as we descended through the clouds. I kept on looking out the window to the pitch darkness below us.

“It's been a while since I've been over the Reno-Carson City area,” he continued.

“How long?” I asked him.

“About ten years. My daughter got married in Hawai'i over the summer, but she always came home to the Bay Area.”

“I'm kind of alone back there,” I confessed to him with a toss of my hair back. “For me, it almost feels like I'm coming home to New York.”

“You? Alone? A handsome Jewish boy like yourself should have the girls all over you.”

I bowed my head and blushed at that. I had never really heard the word “handsome” thrown my way before, at least not after I turned eighteen. It was always “cute” or “hot”.

“I see Reno,” I heard one of the children in front of me say aloud.

“Do you see Reno?” I asked him.

“There she is,” he remarked with a gesture out the window. Beyond the mountains and the wispy clouds stood the glimmering lights of Reno, Nevada. I knew I would have to call my mom, anyway, should there be a layover of any kind, but I never knew I would have to do it when the plane had just barely left California. I shivered even though the heater worked fine all around us. I was going to be alone for Hanukkah as well as Thanksgiving.

I was going to be stuck there with only a few bucks to my name.

I held still as we kept on the descent to the airport, but Frank seemed eager to step off the plane to be with his family. So much was my own life.

In fact, as we made our way through the clouds, I noticed the little flurries collecting on the other side of the glass.

“It's snowing,” I told him, and his face lit up at the sight of it.

“It is!” he declared.

We rounded the outskirts of the city before I could feel the plane sinking down towards the blacktop. The kids ahead of me seemed more anxious than me to get off that plane: I hoped that I could have enough to even feed myself let alone find a place to stay in for the night.

The snow picked up the pace outside of the plane windows, and already, I could see the drifts forming on the runway as we touched down: the entire plane jolted forth, which was in turn followed by a slight wobble at the back.

“Ice on the runway—hang on, everyone,” I heard one of the stewardesses say. The blonde had disappeared into the back of the plane, and I didn't think to ask her for her number, either, especially since the plane slowed as best as it could before it reached the actually airport itself. I closed my eyes, and I could feel Frank's fingers on the back of my hand.

“We'll be alright, son,” he assured me.

I cracked him a smile but I was still nervous.

But then the plane hit a dry patch of tarmac, and we slowed up a great deal. That time I opened my eyes and gazed out the window: little flurries floated outside of the glass but the sky directly overhead was clear. It was only a matter of time, though.

I almost wanted to laugh when we jolted some more along the tarmac towards the airport: something about it just seemed funny to me, a big jet airliner like that jolting forth like someone learning to drive. But we reached the terminal and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I stood up first and picked my bag out of the compartment: I was glad I had my big peacoat in there because there was no way I could walk out there dressed in nothing more than jeans and a T-shirt. I hoisted my bag over my shoulder: the blonde stewardess had stayed in the back of the plane, and thus, I was greeted by a different woman at the door of the plane as I made my way out of there.

Only fifty of us, and we all congregated in the space outside of the gate in total silence.

“Are we the only ones here?” one woman asked aloud.

“I think we are,” I told her.

“All the flights are cancelled,” said another woman who stood by the big screen near the gate. “Every single one of them, including the ones to Phoenix and Dallas.” I craned my neck for a better look: sure enough, the ones headed out to New York were all kaput. Add to that, we were alone in the whole entire airport.

“Looks like we're all gonna pitch tents for the time being,” one man declared. Frank strode up behind me with his suitcase in hand and a quizzical look on his face.

“What's happening?” he asked me.

“I think the airport's closed,” I told him, and I could feel my heart sink. After all of that preparation and hope that I had set aside for myself, and I found myself stranded in the airport in the heart of downtown Reno.

“I'm lucky my daughter's in town,” Frank said with a grim look on his face. “I hope you can find your way out of here, son.”

“I hope so, too. You stay warm for me, okay?”

“Of course! And I would take you home with us if there wasn't only room for one more.” He patted my upper arm and showed me a smile before he stepped away and towards the big front doors of the airport. I sighed through my nose and took my wallet out of my jeans pocket. Somewhere around that airport was a series of payphones: I had just enough money to call my mom and buy myself a hotel room, but I had no idea if I was going to have enough for breakfast in the morning. I could either be cold and have food in my belly, or I could be cozy warm with a bed and a shower but wake up hungry the next morning.

One of the women who sat in front of me turned her attention to me: an older lady with dark shoulder length hair and wire framed glasses. She reminded me of my mom when she was younger.

“Do you need a ride?” she offered me.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” I said in a low voice. “I have money for a hotel room but not enough to get something to eat, though.” The woman next to her turned her attention to me as well: she had a head of short, fiery red hair and big dark eyes that seemed to swallow me whole. She looked a lot younger, too, as if she was the daughter.

“We could take you in for the time being,” the one on the left told me.

“Could you?” I asked her.

“Yeah! We're only going to see my parents—her grandparents—” She gestured to the girl next to her. “—here in Reno, but they have a big house, though. We could help you out.”

The last thing I wanted was to impose on her or her daughter. But it was a nice gesture and I was stuck in Reno with nowhere else to go. Donner Pass was closed, and I had no car and no other means to contact anyone. I may as well go with these two women. I showed them a little smile: the girl bowed her head a bit at me as if she was shy. The airport lights shone over her short red hair to make it look even redder than usual. Her brown eyes gelled with that rich red color so well that it made me think of a volcano. I returned to the woman and her putting her fingerless leather gloves on.

“I'll do it, but I don't want it to feel like I'm pressuring you, though,” I confessed with a shake of my head.

“Believe me, you aren't,” she assured me. “I'm a school teacher so I know how to handle strange situations, however they may come up.”

“My parents are teachers, too,” I told her. “They know the feeling, too.”

“Oh, wow! I’m Wendy,” she introduced to me. “Wendy Peck. And this is my daughter Christine.”

“I’m Alex,” I said. “And seeing as you’re a teacher, may I call you Mrs. Peck?”

“Oh!” She chuckled at that. “You're too sweet, Alex. You can call me whatever you want.” I turned my attention to Christine and her head of short red hair. It was so bright and fiery red, as if she had dyed it with Kool-Aid.

“I like your hair, by the way,” I told her.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice.

“I say I know how to handle strange situations,” Wendy repeated to me, “but she is the one exception. Two years ago, just out of the blue, she decided to cut her hair really short like this and dye it bright green, then fiery red. Seventeen years old, soon to be eighteen, and I felt I lost control of her a long time ago.” She chuckled and shook her head at that. But I turned to Christine, however.

“If it makes you feel better, my parents feel the same way about me,” I told her.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. So many times growing up, I'd hear 'my kid's meshuggah!' or 'my boy's meshuggah!' whenever I did anything, especially when I got into music and again when I got ink done.”

She gaped at me and her eyes sparkled.

“'Meshuggah', is that—Yiddish?” Wendy asked me.

“Sure is. My family's Ashkenazi Jewish. I was headed out to New York City to be with my parents and my brother—the first night of Hanukkah is on Monday. I missed Thanksgiving, so I really want to be home for those eight nights.”

“I have a few Jewish kids in my class,” she elaborated. “I'll hear them throw out some words here and there and it's always interesting to hear.”

“We're one big family,” I proclaimed, and I noticed her looking over at something behind me. I followed her gaze to the baggage claim, and I realized that my guitar case may be over there.

“Let's go and get our things,” Wendy goaded me and Christine, and the three of us walked on over there, away from the other fifty people fretting about what to do next. Christine walked along side me, and the crown of her red hair only reached my shoulder.

“Seventeen, you said?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I'll be eighteen in April,” she replied. “I don't know what I'm gonna do after high school, though.”

“Do you play any instruments? Because if you play something, you can go and start a band or be a singer songwriter like Liz Phair or somebody.”

“Not really. I like art, though, but I'm not very good at it.”

“I'm sure you can get good at it,” I promised her with a nod. “I didn't think I'd be good at guitar when I was a kid, but here I am, calling myself a professional guitarist.”

“Do you have your guitar?” she asked me.

“It's over here with the luggage people,” I answered, and I could not resist the grin on my face. Seventeen or not, there was something about her that tickled me. I had no idea if it came from her fiery red hair or the twinkle in her dark eyes.

She had more of a twinkle in her eyes when I showed her the soft felt case and slung it over my other shoulder.

“Travelling Wilbury!” Wendy decreed as she handed Christine her little suitcase.

“For real!” I chuckled at that. “All I'm missing is a hat.”

I let my hair flow back behind me as the three of us returned to the front of the airport, and we stepped outside to see the snow drifting down in fine flurries over us. The blizzard was only beginning, and especially since the darkness seemed to fall over the whole heart of Reno. I turned my attention to the Hilton off to the left, only to find that the sign had burned out.

“Is the power out across town?” I asked them in a hushed voice.

“I think it is,” Wendy told me as she reached into her coat pocket for her car keys. “It's going to be really strange going back home...”

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josiebelladonna · 2 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bandom, Testament (Band), Type O Negative (Band) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Original Female Character(s), Peter Steele, Alex Skolnick Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baked Goods, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Past Relationship(s), Past Lives, Recovered Memories, Angst and Romance, Angst and Feels, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert Summary:

Hannah has not seen her old love since moving to Los Angeles and starting work at Smell the Magic. But running a bakery comes with all manner of trappings as well from the people to the stories, and she soon finds herself missing another suitor who had crawled in like a spider, one who was forbidden. A sorta sister piece to the skeleton key and also seasons grey! 🤍

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

decided to drop ‘er today as per it being april fools and whatnot. i really don’t know if i’ll keep this as a one shot or expand it yet, but ✌🏻

#the confectioner’s tale #fanfic #fanfiction #take your boops and shove it: i remember this site having legit april fools stuff #this shit is so stupid #testament #testament band #type o negative #bakery au #bakery aesthetic #oc tag #one shot #(for the foreseeable future anyway)#text #writing #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic

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k0naka · 6 months

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is josiebelladonna delusional and is unnecessarily obsessed with alex skolnick? (the only answer is yes)

YES!!!

#alex skolnick

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junkyardromeo · 3 years

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hey, are you on ao3? your old url looks familiar, like i've seen it in passing (i adore your new one to pieces 🥺🥺🥺)

i am on ao3! i used to be on there under six-shot-heart-attack but i just changed my name on there to match mine on here <3 i have some testament fics in the works right now, actually! i also wanted to tell u that i fucking ADORE xenon dreams omg 🥺

#josiebelladonna

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rosettast0ned420 · 1 year

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chriss deathiversary really brought all of josiebelladonnas crazies out

#she hates women sm #this is a joke i promise im really sad about chriss death #like i sobbed in the bathroom at school today

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nirvhannahcornell · 4 years

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Firstly I would like to mention this is NOT the real nirvhannahcornell, this is a burner account made to call out her questionable and horrible actions. The real nirvhannah is known now as “josiebelladonna” and can be found here: @josiebelladonna. She changed her URL and didn’t save this one so I jumped on the golden opportunity.

Some of you may be familiar with Hannah, you’ve probably seen her around on your dash, in the tags of your favorites. She’s there posting fanart and fanfiction, it seems all like harmless fun on the surface. But deep below there’s a grim fuckin reality, a reality no one is talking about. We’ve all sat back and watched her hellish meltdowns. Picking fights with her “fans” because they like her post opposed to reblogging them, getting in public squabbles with her friends over petty shit. We’ve sat back and stayed silent, but I’m not staying quiet any longer. I’ve tried sending her asks to explain herself and without fail every time she’s said tumblr fuckin “ate them” so the next best thing was a public callout. Let’s see the matrix glitch this shit.

The perfect place to begin with her fucking crimes have to be how she tries to push the idea that she’s mixed. I’m fully aware it’s fucked up to call someone’s race to attention like this, and I definitely wouldn’t be if she wasn’t completely faking and tossing racial slurs around like her lilywhite ass can claim them. To my knowledge and to the research I’ve done, Hannah isn’t mixed. Her dad and brother are fully white and so is she. She’s tried to claim having “african blood” and “native american blood” (of course she says I*dian but we’ll get into that later), but from what I’ve seen there is no “african blood”, I’m 100% sure she did a test on ancestry.com and saw she was .0000001% african american and decided to call herself mixed. The “native american blood” she claims to have is ALLEGEDLY from her great grandfather, but I’d take that fact with a grain of salt because she seems to be a compulsive liar.

(Note how her racist ass unabashedly says I*jun for everyone to see. But it’s okay guys, she’s 1/64th Native American!)

(Here she is claiming to be mixed race. Notice how she says “I*dian roots” and “African Blood”. That shit busted as fuck like what the fuck does she even…)

(Here’s some more posts claiming to have “black heritage” and then somehow making it about how Joey “talked about her” on a podcast. (I’ll get into that too (: )

This isn’t the first instance of her using racial slurs publicly for you me and god to see. We’re all looking and I wish I couldn’t see. Here’s a few examples.

(“My I*jun boy” “I*jun orange” I literally cannot make this bullshit up.)

(“My I*dian beauty” “my favorite I*dian'' (she is also grungeandmetalfanfics btw!!))

She claims she can say these things, I guess because she’s .0000000004% Native American! Makes it a-OK! I guess because she has “African Blood” she can say the N-Word then? No? Oh well, she did it anyway!

(Her argument, I’m guessing, is she can say I*jun because Joey (an actual Native American man) says it. Which makes no fucking sense because shes fucking white she can’t say it.)

If this wasn’t insane enough. As if it could possibly get even more horrible. She is overall just genuinely a bad person. If you ever supported her art with a like, you would know. Because apparently that shit peeves the fuck out of her. Even though you’re showing your support she loses her fucking mind when you don’t reblog anything she’s produced. (I don’t blame you it’s shit anyways) And then tries to guilt all of her followers into reblogging her shit. It’s manipulative and horrible.

(this didn’t last of course she's too full of herself to stay away.)

Note how she makes it seem like she was blessing us with her content. Did you know she existed before this? She plagues fandom tags with her shitty fanart and fanfiction thinking we should bow to her and be fucking blessed with her presence. Maybe we should, she claims to have a fond relationship with Chris Cornell!

Oh.. Wait…

(one of the 2 interactions she had with him, both pertaining to fanart she drew. He would do this often, respond to fans and their fanarts. This is nothing special)

(Her dad calling her out on her delusions)

Don’t let her fool you. Her and Chris Cornell didn’t know each other, they weren’t friends. Chris had no clue who she was beyond the fanart she made for him. She’s literally so deep in this fantasy she’s insane enough to think she could’ve prevented Chris’ suicide.

(She also believed ben shepherd was in love with her. She sent him a letter and he didn’t respond. Apparently he owed something to her because she opened up to him via letter and, as you would expect a famous person who definitely has someone who goes through their mail for them, he didn’t respond. I don’t know how in the FUCK she ever got the idea that he was in love with her. I don’t know what in the FUCK is wrong with her. She eventually got pissed because she found out he had a kid with his girlfriend? And apparently he was supposed to tell her? She’s fucking delusional look into that if you want, I don’t have enough time or evidence for that one, it’s certainly a lot.)

A new installment in her delusions is the infamous Jasta Show feat. Joey Belladonna. It’s a 2+ hour long podcast where they mostly talk about the pandemic and what not, current events going on. Allegedly, in this podcast, Joey says Hannah’s name.

I sat through the entire podcast (Joey says holy cow about 5 fucking times) and timestamped at 106:58 they start talking about Chris Cornell. To which Joey says “oh, we talked about him yesterday because some girl was drawing some stuff- she liked him a lot. and I thought about him too.” Nonspecific. Plain. There’s no fireworks or warmth or whatever the fuck. He mentions that and moves on. I’ve timestamped it for you all, the podcast is free to listen to, you can all listen to it yourself. (The Jasta Show 517 Joey Belladonna) Unless her name is “some girl” there was no name drop.

(no one gave a shit because it wasn’t that big of a fucking deal “some girl”)

Don’t let her fool you with her delusions. She also makes it seem like her and Krista (Joey’s wife) are friends when really Krista likes most all posts that are #joeybelladonna on Instagram. They aren’t close, they aren’t buddies or whatever the fuck.

(Here’s that one shit she keeps talking about raw fucking format or some shit idk it’s a fucking side project Joey started that’s probably not even Joey messaging her they have 140 something followers I don’t even feel like getting into this dumbassery. Fucking clown.)

If you aren’t convinced enough in her insanity. Hannah has literally used Cliff’s accident as a plotpoint in her shitty fanfiction. Yes,that's right. She’s used Cliff Burton’s real life tragic accident as a plotpoint in a fanfiction with Joey and Lars. Not only did she do that, but she shoehorned Joey into the fucking accident. Like they’re all fictional characters. It’s fucking vile and insensitive.

(The fucking post she linked was the infamous pic of Lars, James and Kirk after the accident)

In conclusion, Hannah is batshit crazy. She’s insane. She wants us to believe she’s mixed because she’s obsessed unhealthily with Joey Belladonna and wanting to look and be like him. She wants us to believe she’s friends with all of these musicians, that they’re in love with her. That they were close. None of this is true. She’s just a lying, rude, self centered, fucking psychotic bitch and if you know her I’d suggest staying away.

Not even her fucking friend wants to be involved.

#nirvhannahcornell #josiebelladonna #grungeandmetalfanfics #badmotorartist

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hanukkahbingo · 6 months

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!חג אורים שמח

It’s the third night of Hanukkah and the third night of the Panfandom Hanukkah Bingo! We’re seeing a dip in the number of submissions from last year, so I just wanted to remind everyone that these prompts can be used for fic, art, moodboards, graphics – whatever you want to create! I know things are hard out there right now and the year has been dark, but all of your creations are lights in that darkness and it’s lovely to see your interpretations of Jewish joy. Keep creating!

Alone in the Dark (Chapter 3) by josiebelladonna/@feverinfeveroutfic | AO3 | tumblr

Bring on the Light: A Light in the Dark by melbelle310/@perfectpurls | AO3 | tumblr

Neither a power outage nor unpacked boxes can keep Nancy and Ace from lighting the Menorah in their new home.

Eight Nights (Chapter 3) by genuineformality/@genuineformality | AO3 | tumblr

On the first night of Chanukah, Viktor lights a chanukiah for the first time in a long time. On the subsequent nights, Viktor and Jayce explore a lot of complicated feelings.

N1. Sour Cream - Yelena Belova by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Yelena's preference for latkes, a backstory.

N2. Family - Wanda Maximoff by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Wanda sees them all in dreams. She knows, now, what that means. It means Vision was right about the Multiverse.

N3. Rabbi - Peter Parker by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Peter, and Spider-Man, grew up steeped in the study of Jewish ethics.

N4. Survival - Dipper Pines by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

"Mason, my child, you are so young. What do you know about evil?" asked Rabbi Solomon.

N5. Heirloom Recipes - Shara Bey by aimmyarrowshigh/@aimmyarrowshigh | AO3 | tumblr

Shara wishes more than anything that she could comm her mother and ask how to spice the rosquitas.

To Burn In Spite of Overwhelming Odds by abby-gaytes/@erin-gilberts | AO3 | tumblr

To the Ghostbusters. To the light that multiplies. To burning in spite of overwhelming odds.

#hanukkahbingo #panfandom hanukkah bingo 2023 #third night #round up 2023

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feverinfeveroutfic · 6 months

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hanukkah bingo 2023

Fic or Art/Graphic Title: alone in the dark, chapter one: “Lost Keys” Author/Artist Name: josiebelladonna Fandom: Testament (Band) Jewish or Jew-Ish Character(s): Alex Skolnick (and how) Bingo Squares Being Filled: k5 (light in the dark), a2 (menorah), u1 (latkes), u2 (sufganiyot), h3 (gelt) Rating: Mature Warning(s): Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings Link to Work: x @aimmyarrowshigh

The orange light from the clouds overhead guided our way as we inched along the streets, which grew whiter and whiter with each and every passing minute; I had hunkered down in the front seat next to Wendy while Christine lingered in the back. As long as we were warm and headed back for warmth, I was okay with it all. And I was okay knowing that I could rest my wallet as well. A few times, I took out my hands and cupped them over my mouth and blew into them, but then again, I wasn't the one driving.

I still argued with myself that I should not be there with them, that I did not want to impose, but I had no other choice, however.

Once the streets collected together into a tightly woven neighborhood, I finally tucked my hands into my pockets and gazed out the window as well as the windshield. Even though the power was out across town, the clouds still loomed low with that ghoulish orange glow right over the city like the threat of having your throat slit. Every so often, a glimmer of light poked through the increasing snow, the windshield wipers which moved at a furious pace to keep up with the snow, and the trees along the sides of the streets, but the darkness itself worried me in a way. Reno had gone all dark for the most part in the wake of an incoming blizzard.

“I hope they're home,” Wendy said aloud as we slowly turned a corner: the street was lined with a lot of trees so the snow slowed up the tiniest bit. Flakes still fluttered down before us to the point it nearly blocked out the view of the headlights; it was a miracle we could even see the outlines of the trees and the houses around us. “I called my mom before we got on the plane and she said they were down in Carson City all afternoon, and they were going to try and get home before the snow came in. It's only about a forty minute drive from here but with all of this snow, I think it's going to be a lot longer. If they aren't home, let's at the very least try and get in so the three of us can all be under a roof. We can't really cook anything, either, because their stove is electric.”

“So, we'll go out to eat?” I asked her.

“If something is open, yeah,” she replied. “If not, we'll try and think of something.”

“Remember the time we drove back up here from Carson and it snowed, and it took us like an hour to get across Washoe Valley?” Christine recalled.

“How could I forget!” Wendy declared. “It was just last winter, too. They said it was one of the worst winters on record, too.”

“How bad was it?” I asked her.

“It was a lot like this—” She gestured out the windshield. “—except replace the neighborhoods with a long flat stretch of road before you, and the wind's howling like a son of a bitch. And all you can see is falling snow and the break lights in front of you, like you're taking a road to icy hell.”

“Highway to hell,” I cracked.

“Highway to hell, exactly!” She laughed at that, albeit nervous laughter. We reached a stop sign, already hidden under a fine layer of snow and ice as well as a darkened street lamp, and we proceeded ahead another block before we turned right around another corner.

“Here we are,” she proclaimed, and we parked up at the curb and the frozen storm drain; I gazed out the window to the little house tucked back behind a series of cottonwood trees. The pitch black windows gazed back at us like the eyes of a skull, and a thin layer of snow had already buried the porch.

“It doesn't look like they're home,” I confessed to her.

“Let's go check, anyways,” she said.

“Do you have a key?” I asked her.

“I don't, no,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “And my mom didn't know if she left the door unlocked for us, either.”

A pit emerged in my stomach at the sound of that, but then again, I was also hungry: I hadn't eaten anything since earlier that day, a few hours before I had left for the airport; it had been at least over five hours since I had last eaten anything. With my hands still tucked into my pockets, I rested them right on my stomach. It was a shame, too, because I looked forward to having some late night New York cheesecake and a cup of coffee with my mom once she picked me up.

Wendy switched off the engine but kept the headlights on so we could see what we were doing. She tugged the hood of her coat over her head; I was going to look like Johnny Winter once all of this was said and done.

I climbed out first and the snow stuck to the crown of my head, at least part of the way. Careful not to set foot in the storm drain, I stuck my legs out to the sidewalk, and I steadied myself on the side of the car. My shirt lifted up so the snow landed on my bare skin; much to my surprise, the snow was dry as a bone, like fluffy white flour that fell from the sky. I lifted myself into an upright position and straightened out my spine all the while.

“Like a big worm,” Christine cracked as she climbed out of the opposite side of the car. I fixed the lapels of my coat as the two women followed suit behind me, both of them careful not to slip on the sidewalk or step in the drain.

The three of us then made our way to the front step; in the dim light, I spotted a small pile of snow collecting on top of the porch light right over us. I was going to have to tell my parents about all of the snow out in Reno once I managed to come home!

Wendy knocked on the door panel first, and we awaited there, huddled together like a small group of emperor penguins. My coat was warm, but the snow kept landing atop my head and it sent a chill down my spine. Christine nestled close to me, such that the crown of her fiery red hair was right underneath my nose.

Silence awaited on the other side of the door. Wendy knocked again, and once again, we were met with more silence.

“I don't think they're home, Mom,” Christine proclaimed, and she reached forward for the doorknob. Locked.

“Oh, Jesus—I don't have a key, either,” Wendy bemoaned.

“Do you know when they're getting home?” I asked her.

“I don't, no.”

“What do you think we should do?” Christine joined in. Wendy turned her head towards the side of the house and sighed.

“This is going to get us in a heap of trouble down in the line but—go around back and see if the back door is open.”

“Here, I'll come with you,” I offered her.

“If you kids can get in the house, I'll go wait in the car,” Wendy told us.

Our feet crunched along the snow and the dormant grass underneath, and I knew it was a bad idea to wear sneakers instead of my boots. I used the light in the sky as well as the light from the car on Christine's red hair as my guide around the side of the house. It was like following a little red ghost through the darkness and the snow.

At one point, she turned back for a glance at me.

“Are you with me?”

“Of course,” I promised her, and then she giggled. “What?”

“You should see your hair,” she said. “It's like pure white.”

“I'm like Johnny Winter,” I joked, and she giggled some more.

We reached the back of the house and the protected back porch; I stood under the awning and shook my head about to rid of the snow. Even though it was so dry, it still sent a chill down my spine and left the sides of my face and neck damp.

“Never knew snow could get so dry and powdery,” I admitted to her as I fixed the lapels of my coat once again. “It's like bread flour or matzo meal falling from the sky.”

“Me neither! It always surprises me how dry it is here, too. I remember the first time we came out here to visit my grandparents, it was so dry your hair would stand up no matter what you were doing.”

“That is as they say, dry as a bone,” I remarked.

Though it was dark, I could see the back door and the windows on either side of it. Christine jiggled the doorknob and sighed.

“It's been quite some time since I last did this,” she told me, and she stepped for the window on the right.

“Can you see?” I asked her.

“Somewhat. It's more about feeling the frame—I'm gonna need help getting this thing off, though.”

I joined her in prying off the protective screen from the window, and all the while, we were careful not to bend the actual metal framing itself. I set the screen down on the concrete below the window sill, and she tugged on the inside edge of the window.

“Can you get it?” I asked her, and the window ground open. It was going to be difficult with the blinds in particular, but she didn't seem to mind. She pulled on the drawstring, and we were met with the back of the house. Careful not to slip, she set one foot on the sill and hoisted herself up off the ground.

“Can you make it?” I asked her.

“I think I can,” she grunted out as she set her other foot up on the sill. “Not the first time I've had to climb in through the window.”

“That makes two of us,” I assured her as she sat down on the sill with her feet dangled down towards the floor. Gingerly, she stepped on something and hopped down from there to the dry carpet.

“Be careful, there's a footstool down here and it's a little old and rickety,” she advised me.

Nevertheless, I stripped off my coat and handed it to her, and I followed suit. But before I did, I stopped.

“Does the door here lock by key, too?” I asked her.

“You bet your booty it does,” she told me. “The front door has a dead bolt, though.” I shivered as I climbed up onto the sill next. Because I was taller, I nearly hit my head on the side of the window as I brought my right foot in, followed by my left. Indeed, the soles of my shoes rested on a footstool, and I knew it wasn't going to support my weight, either. I slid forward so my feet were past the top of the stool and I nearly hit my head on the wall in the process.

“Ow!”

“You okay?” she asked me, concerned.

“Yeah. I may be a skimpy little Jew boy but I'm tough, though. We're a tough, tenacious people.”

I stood up, albeit with a bit of difficulty as the cold and skipping over things made my knees quiver. I still shivered from the cold, and I turned around and slid the window shut: I hoped the loud click! was loud enough for Wendy to hear on the other side of the house. I then returned my attention to her and the doorway before us: nothing but darkness in front of us. She handed me my coat back and I was eager to put it back on to keep me warm.

“Can you see?” I asked her as I fixed the lapels of my coat.

“Sort of,” she replied; through the dim light, I saw her move ahead to the mouth of the hallway. Near total blackness as we crept past what I though was the bathroom, followed by her grandparents' bedroom. She then stuck out her hand to the wall on the right, and she slipped into the next room ahead, what I believed was the guest bedroom.

I followed suit right behind her, just as she crawled down onto her hands and knees in front of the bed in there. There was just enough light for me to see what she was doing. I had nothing more than my hand on the wall to steady myself and my other hand hanging out in the air. She rummaged about under the bed for a moment, before I heard something metallic clinking and clanking on the mattress frame.

“What did you find?” I asked her again. A bright white halogen light flashed right into my face.

“Ah!” I covered my eyes with one hand.

“Sorry.” She laughed at that, and she moved the head of the flashlight up towards the ceiling. “I couldn't help that.” I squinted my eyes at her, and she snickered at me some more. Seventeen or not, I knew what she was getting at there. The back glow of the light shone down onto her red hair and slender face; it looked as though her skin was made of moonstone; I noticed she had found two halogen flashlights, one for herself and one for me.

“I've been meaning to ask you this, but how old are you?” she began again.

“Older than you,” I teased her, and she snickered some more. “I turned twenty six back in September.”

“Twenty six, ya old boy,” she retorted to me, to which I rolled my eyes at that.

“It's not that old,” I scoffed back. “Thirty's old.”

“It's hard to imagine yourself at thirty,” she confessed.

“I definitely think so,” I said with a nod.

“My ex's birthday was in September,” she added, and she ran her fingers through her red hair. “I still think about him sometimes.” I raised my eyebrows at that.

“May I ask why he's your ex if you still think about him?”

“You don't wanna know,” she confessed with a shake of her head.

“Sure I do.”

“You don't. Trust me, you—you don't.”

I squinted my eyes at that. Through the bright light of the halogen flashlight, I could see it in her eyes. Something tormented this girl.

“How 'bout you?” she asked me, and she showed me the tip of her tongue. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Had,” I corrected her. “She and I broke up a few months back. It's...” I shook my head. “It's a long story.”

“If it's a long story, why won't you tell me?”

“Because your break up story is apparently a long one and you won't tell me,” I quipped back to her, and I couldn't help but laugh.

“There's... not much to say with me and him, though,” she assured me, and her voice softened to a near whisper. “He, too, was a Jewish boy. I mean, one of my last good memories of him took place on the last night of Hanukkah, where I thought for sure he was going to kiss me once his parents lit up the menorah.”

“Oh, so sort of like the New Year's kiss but not entirely,” I followed along. Christine lowered her eyelids at me, and through the ambient light from the flashlight, I noticed her looking at the crotch of my pants. It was only but a quick glimpse, but I caught her in the act anyway. I remembered when I was seventeen and I thought about kissing more girls as well as having a little fun with one: getting close to adulthood and having all these feelings kicked up a few years prior. Maybe it was just my own mind standing in the way but I had no courage to talk to one until rather recently.

“Did she ever touch your lips?” she asked me, and she inched closer to me as if to bring her chest to my own.

“With what?” I retorted back, and I wondered what she was getting at here.

“You tell me,” she said.

“You know, I think your mom's waiting for us in the car,” I pointed out.

“We're not going out there until you tell me,” she quipped with a wink and a little gyration to her. Seventeen and she was already two steps ahead of me.

“She did kiss me good night about twice,” I confessed.

“Twice? Just twice?”

“Yes. Just twice. She never really kissed me much when I think about it.”

“If I was your girlfriend, I would want to kiss you all the time,” she confessed. “I would want to touch those cherry lips all the time, just to taste and feel them, and I know for a fact that we both would love it.”

“I'm sure you would love it,” I teased her.

“What're you saying? That you wouldn't love it? A sensual guy like yourself?”

“Not necessarily,” I pointed out. “I have to feel you against me to know if I would love it.”

She gaped at me, and she swatted at me.

“Bad boy, flirting with a teenage girl,” she teased me.

“Hey, you started it,” I quipped. “I'm just rollin' with the punches.”

She showed me her tongue, and I stepped out of the way for her with my back pressed to the door frame. It was there I spotted the old silvery camera on the dresser right in front of me.

“Wow, it's been a while since I saw a camera like that,” I told her, and she shone the flashlight onto the top of the dresser. The silvery rim shimmered as if it was brand new, but the lens had obviously faded into a deep maroon color.

“You know, I've thought about taking up photography at some point,” I said to her.

“What kind of photography? Sexy photography?”

“Pfff, you wish,” I teased her. “I think more about like... travel photography. Life in other places, especially since I make a living going places and fucking around on my guitar. It doesn't pay much, but it's enough for me to keep my head above water, though.”

“So, sexy photography,” she followed along as she moved in closer to me.

“And again, you wish,” I teased her again.

“By the way, that's my grandpa's camera, so be careful with it,” she advised me.

“What, did you think I'm gonna use someone else's camera for a good time?” I joked, and she giggled at that like a little schoolgirl.

“Unless you want to play around with that,” she quipped.

“Maybe when it's lighter, I'll consider it,” I assured her, and I hoped she saw me wink at her. Christine handed me the second flashlight, and I clicked it on so we both could see where we were going in that hallway.

We passed another bedroom before we reached what looked to be the dining room, followed by an office and then finally the living room and the kitchen. We ducked into the latter for a search of anything to eat.

“Your mom said this stove is electric, too,” I said. “Meaning, nothing to eat and there's probably no shower, either.”

“The shower's actually run on propane, but yeah—nothing to eat. Go out to eat instead, and then come back here and try and entertain ourselves.”

I opened the fridge, and I shone the flashlight into there: there wasn't much in there anyway, other than a carton of milk, a carton of eggs, two sticks of butter, a bottle of beer, and a bowl of grapes in the crisper drawer.

“To say we need groceries in this house is an understatement,” Christine declared.

“Yeah, you do.” I looked on at the empty crisper drawers, which had nothing more than paper towels at the bottoms as well as that bowl of grapes. I closed the door and turned my attention to her. “Now, understand this is just the hungry boy on the first night of Hanukkah in me talking, but what on Earth do your grandparents even eat?”

“I don't really know, to be honest,” she confessed to me. “My grandpa's the one who always likes to have cookies and sweet treats and things where my grandma's a little more conservative about it. Question, what exactly do you eat at Hanukkah, anyway?”

“Oh, we have latkes, we have Hanukkah gelt—chocolate coins—we have donut holes and lots of warm and humble food. It's not much but it's what we've got, though. When I was a kid growing up in the Bay Area, I always looked forward to having gelt and apple pie in particular.”

“Oh, wow. You have donut holes, really?” Her face lit up at that.

“Sufganiyot,” I clarified. “And they are pretty much like donut holes—they're filled jelly, and they're just—” I brought my free hand to my chest. “—so heavenly and light especially once they come out of the fryer. The cool thing about Hanukkah is even though it's associated with us, it's actually not fully tied into the Jewish culture. It's about a miracle that happened. It's the same reason why I love Halloween so much, too: it's not completely tied down to a faith.”

“That's really interesting, actually,” she confessed. “And it sounds fun, too. I mean, what gets better than eating a bunch of warm food on a cold day after all?”

“I can't think of much, to be honest,” I said. “Anyways, let's go to your mom. She's probably freezing out there...”

I held the flashlight up to the side of my head and the two of us walked on out of the kitchen to the front door. Indeed, the dead bolt had been pulled closed, and I worried about not having a key to lock it once we were out of there. But then another thought crossed my mind right then.

“You think I'm sensual, really?” I asked her in a low voice.

“Those eyebrows, those lips, and that long hair... yeah.” Through the halogen light reflected back from the door, I saw her eyes locked onto my face as well as my upper body. Even in the dark, she checked me out. “You're—dare I say, sexy. Sexy and very handsome, too.”

“You think I'm handsome, too?” I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Quite.” She nibbled her bottom lip and opened the door for us. Indeed, Wendy had gone off to the car to stay warm, and she awaited us; Christine closed the door behind her without locking it.

“Are you sure we can get away with that here?” I asked her. “My parents live in the outskirts of New York City, and even they lock their doors at night, especially when the power's out.”

“Oh, yeah, I promise we're not gonna go very far,” she vowed. “A snowstorm like this brings most things to a standstill, too.”

We crunched along the lawn back to the car, whereby I called out “shotgun!” first, much to her chagrin. But once again, I had to stretch my body just to get back into the front seat, and that time, I had to be careful not to sink my ass into the seat lest it put pressure on things. Christine climbed in on the other side, and we both kicked off the extraneous snow from our feet before we settled in all the way. I ran a hand over the top of my head, and I once again had a fair dusting all on the top layer of my hair.

Wendy rubbed her hands together and fired up the car: we were greeted with a hefty blast of tepid air, which only made me shiver even more.

“Let's get some heat in here,” she suggested and, carefully, we rolled ahead along the street. I had no idea where we were going, but then again, all I really cared about was to be warm before we ate anything. I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets, and my hands on my stomach just to feel my own warmth.

We kept on going straight for what felt like an eternity, and more so the case with that fine powdery snow falling all around us to create those drifts that looked as though they were on the inside of the flour box at my grandma's house.

A break in the snow allowed us to see ahead to the red neon light in a window on the side of the road. A warmly lit oasis in a pure white desert.

“Here we are!” Wendy declared.

“Good to see their lights are on,” I said as we bounded into the driveway. The back end of the car shook out a bit, but she caught it before we could veer sideways. We took the spot furthest away from the front door in the shadows, but at least we had a spot.

Wendy and I climbed out first, and Christine followed suit. I shivered even more as the air coming out of the vents did nothing to help. I was cold and hungry and without my parents, but at least I had a place to go. I held the door for the two of them and we made our way into the warm, dry restaurant: only a few of the ceiling lights over our heads were lit up, but it was enough for things to keep on rolling in there, and the warmth of wooden walls brought me at ease.

“Good to know there's a few people in here, though,” Wendy said to us.

“And it smells good,” Christine added.

“And it smells good, yeah!” I said with a chuckle.

The waitress in a long sleeved shirt and a black apron strode on up to us.

“Are you guys coming in from the Bay Area, too?” she asked us.

“As a matter of fact, we did,” Wendy informed her.

“We've come here because it's warm and it smells like French fries,” Christine said without skipping a beat.

“It's always a good reason!” the waitress chuckled at that. “We're running on a generator so we're able to make food and what have you. Because there's only a few people in here, you three can sit wherever you'd like.”

“Excellent!” Wendy said, and I spotted the payphones on the far wall of the room.

“I have to call my mother,” I told them. “It's almost eleven o'clock at night over there in New York, but I don't care—I need to call my mom. I'll be right back...”

While the two of them made their way over to the table in the middle of the room, away from the windows, I sauntered over to the other side of the room, right near the bathrooms, which I was going to have to visit as well.

I took out the two quarters I had in my wallet and stuck it into the slot, and I dialed the number.

It rang once, twice—

“Hello?” It was so comforting to hear my mom's voice again.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, hi, Alex, honey! I was just thinking about going over to the airport to come and pick you up. What's going on?”

“The flight was cancelled, there's a blizzard over the Rockies and another one over the Northwest. The airport's closed, too, so I'm stuck in Reno right now.”

“Oh, no! Oh, bubbeleh, I'm so sorry. Do you know when it's all going to pick up again?”

“I don't, no...” I peered out the window before me to see the fine flakes of snow collecting and creating bigger flakes the size of quarters out there. “The snow's coming down pretty hard, too. Two of the passengers offered to take me home for the time being, so we're get something to eat and then go and get warm, too.”

“Oh, good! Well—we'll keep an ear out for the phone again, and I'll tell your father what's going on. It's the weirdest thing, your brother called about an hour ago and he said he's probably going to be late because of weather, too.”

“Really?” I asked, and I couldn't resist showing a grin at that. “The snow's funny here, too, it's all dusty and powdery. But I wish I was over there, though.”

“I wish you were, too. I guess I'll go to bed early tonight. You stay safe and warm for me, baby, okay?”

“Of course! Good night, Mom—love you.”

“I love you, too, bubbeleh,” she said back, and we hung up at the same time. I closed my eyes and let out a low whistle. At least now my mom knew what was going on. I turned my attention back to the restaurant behind me; another year where I didn't get my throat slit or my brains shot out of my head, so I may as well eat up. I doubled back around the corner, and I passed the bar before the kitchen, and I recognized that tweed suit looking back at me with a younger woman next to him.

“Hey, Frank!” I said in passing.

“Hello, son!” he greeted me, and the woman flashed a glimpse at me as I walked on by, back to our table in the middle of the room. Wendy quizzically looked on at me.

“The old man from the plane,” I explained. “He was sitting right next to me and we were joking about how we'd be the last people we saw if we crashed.”

Wendy chuckled at that, but I was being completely serious. I peeled off my coat and draped it over the back of the chair.

“And now I have to see a man about a horse,” I told them.

“We'll be waiting for you,” Christine said to me, and I swore that she winked at me.

On one hand, it was too much. A teenage girl who may or may not have just gotten out of a relationship herself was flirting with me, and I had no idea as to how to deal with it, and more so when I stood before the wall in the men's room with my pants pulled down a bit. In fact, I didn't even want to think about it, especially when I still had the pain in my own heart to deal with even two months after the fact as well.

But then again, I was in her position once. In fact, when I was seventeen, I would have loved for girls to at the very least look at me and come up to me, especially with my hair as long as it was and especially when I was up on stage performing.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it was really only natural. The two of us having come out of a relationship that changed us and we somehow found each other by mere chance in spite of our age difference. There was something oddly beautiful about it.

I gave myself a shake and zipped up, and then I washed my hands. Once all the soap was out of my palm, I cupped my hand and ran a handful of warm water over the crown of my head. I had wet hair, but the warm water felt good on my scalp; plus, I was a dirty boy, I needed to rinse myself before I went back out there. I switched off the water and shook my hair about again before I dried off my hands and bowed out of there.

I was once again met with Christine, but that time with a big white china bowl in her hands as well as a metal spoon.

“What's this?” I asked her.

“Applesauce,” she said. “The waitress told me there was a lot leftover in the kitchen from when they made spice cake earlier today and she gave me some on the house.” She dipped the head of the spoon into the sauce and showed it to me.

“Love me some applesauce,” I told her, and I took the spoon for myself. We locked eyes as I stuck it into my mouth, and then I closed my eyes to feel the tiny bit of spice on my tongue. The tiniest bit of spice on the pad of my tongue, much like how Christine herself was the tiniest bit of spice in an otherwise cold environment.

“Hits the spot,” I said once I swallowed it down. I adjusted the bottom hem of my shirt, to which she dropped her gaze to my waist once again, and she really did look at my waist that time. She didn't look at my crotch; she looked at my stomach.

She showed me a playful little smirk before she turned the other way and walked back to our table. But then she stopped just prior to the kitchen door, and she turned around for a look at me.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course!” I declared, and I ambled up behind her. Once I stood next to her, she gestured for me to come in closer to her face as if she was going to tell me a secret.

“You actually remind me so much of him,” she confessed to me in a low voice. “The only difference is your eyes. And your hair, too: he didn't go gray so early.”

“Really?”

And she nodded her head, and she stepped away from there and back to our table. I followed close behind her, and I started to wonder what exactly happened to her and her ex before we crossed paths.

#hanukkahbingo #hanukkah 2023 #hanukkah #alone in the dark #alex skolnick #as the seasons grey #as the seasons grey fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #testament fanfic #testament #testament band #also on ao3 #writing #text

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josiebelladonna · 10 months

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Chapters: 8/23 Fandom: Testament (Band), Bandom Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Alex Skolnick/Original Female Character(s), Alex Skolnick/Eric Peterson Characters: Alex Skolnick, Eric Peterson, Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Merpeople, Mermaids, merman!alex, Slow Burn, Denial of Feelings, Passion, Midlife Crisis, Sea Monsters, Beaches, Water, Fantasizing, Daydreaming, Double Life, Prophetic Visions Series: Part 2 of As the Seasons Grey Summary:

“When I'm out in the ocean, I become a completely different version of myself, the me that you thought you knew but he's something else, something different, something that lives and breathes underwater and without a care in the world of what happens here on the surface. When I'm underneath the waves, I am not the Alex you think you know. I am the merman.”

sister piece to Seasons Grey

#neptune’s spear #neptune’s spear fanfic #fanfic #slash fanfiction #merfolk #merfolk au #testament #testament band #alex skolnick #eric peterson #het fic #bisexual #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #as the seasons grey #as the seasons grey fanfic #sister story #accompanying piece

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nuagederose · 4 years

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for hitting 1,000 reads, a milestone that felt so out of reach to me not even four months ago on any of my writings, on my pearl jam story nothing as it seems on wattpad!

orange hearts for jeff and sierra pink and yellow for the kingfisher sisters blue for bebe and white for the thousand pair of eyes on it all

💕🧡💖💛💙🤍

#sierra roseburg #neon #drawings #digital drawing #black and white #nothing as it seems #wattpad books #pearl jam fanfiction #artists on tumblr #badmotorartist #nirvhannahcornell #badgalnirvhannah #josiebelladonna #badgalnirvhannahart

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teababe27 · 2 years

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Tagged by @josiebelladonna

Fav color: green

Currently reading: It's mostly been manga lately. Just started reading the manga Boys Run the Riot.

Last song: Drowning Pool - “Tear Away”

Sweet, savory or spice: either sweet or savory

Currently working on: a new hentai review, figuring out career things (whether or not I want to switch jobs), tax/insurance stuff (especially since my dad died I'm no longer under his insurance and I'll probably lose my medical coverage)

I tag anyone who wants to do this!!

#josiebelladonna #ask meme #tag game

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goddessofthedawn · 4 years

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♫

Pet Cemetery - Sky King

Beat to Death Like a Dog - Rhino Bucket

After the Rain - Nelson

We’re an American Band - Rob Zombie

What am I to Say - Sum41

Send me a “♫” and I will put my music on shuffle and give you a 5 song playlist

#josiebelladonna #just ramblings of aurora #ask aurora #tsym<3

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belladonnaandulriched · 3 years

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the dead of night | prologue

anthrax/rush crossover. the follow up to six feet under and buried alive, but it takes place in the now it’s dark verse, thus taking it to epic levels.

now on my ao3!

“i'm afraid of the world i'm afraid i can't help it i'm afraid i can't.” -”i’m afraid of americans”, david bowie + nine inch nails

(artwork by me, josiebelladonna/badgalnirvhannah; badmotorartist on ig)

“Not sure if that was a bad dream or not,” I muttered to myself, “—I hope it was a dream.”

I rolled over in bed next to Pearl, who was still fast asleep. I thought for sure I had been done with Kristina, and I thought for sure the ghost of her hadn't haunted Charlie himself given she almost had him killed almost twenty years ago. She had vanished into thin air following that horrible night, the night in which I thought Frankie and his girlfriend at the time were both going to suffer a coronary from the reaction of it all.

I'll think about her sometimes, like she'll be a fleeting thought in my mind, especially in a time whereby anything concrete had fallen away and disintegrated into nothing. The virus had ravaged the world and shook it all down to its very foundations, and all of us in the music industry wondered what would happen from that point on out, even with the vaccine on hand.

Nothing seemed to change with it all at our helm and our finger tips, including our future. Pearl and I tried to stay optimistic for the sake of Rev, but without the sight of a stage in concrete vision before us, it was hard to keep true to the smiles on our faces.

This wasn't the first time during quarantine I dreamed about Kristina, my saving her life and telling her to stay alive for the world's sake. I would imagine her over me with the noose around her neck and I talked her down, but before she even so much as came down, I woke up. And there I was having usurped the role of the person who must stay alive for the world's sake, for the sake of my son and my band.

That time around, however, I had witnessed myself going back in time to save her for real. It was so real, and so lucid, that I convinced myself that I had done that. That I had ventured back in time to save Kristina. But I rolled my head over the pillow to see Pearl still asleep. I hadn't moved a muscle there in our bed, and I could tell Rev was up early at that point.

Careful not to wake her, I slithered out of bed and made my way down the hall to check on him. I peered into his bedroom to see he wasn't in there. I noticed the dream catcher Pearl had given him earlier that year, and I thought of Joey. There was something about dream catchers that always got to me: they captured the bad dreams only to be swept away by the morning winds, and yet there was something more about them. Something within the bad dreams, and mine in particular, that could hold the key to solving everything.

I continued to the kitchen to find him at the table eating breakfast already. Rev was growing up, even in the face of the pandemic and stuck in quarantine.

I told him good morning and I decided to check in with Frankie and Charlie at the computer.

The latter was probably busy with a quarantine jam or something because the line was busy, but Frankie picked right up, still wrapped up in his bathrobe and with those big black framed glasses on his face.

I told him about the dream about Kristina, and I told him about it in a low voice: even though I had confessed about her on my spoken word tour several years ago in Boston, Pearl still didn't know about her, and neither did Rev. I never did find the courage to speak of her to them.

“Wow,” Frankie replied in a hushed voice.

“Yeah. It was so real, too. I woke up muttering to myself and everything.”

“Huh. Do you think maybe it's a sign?”

“A sign of what?”

“A sign that you're in love with her?”

I peered over my shoulder to make sure Pearl wasn't coming for me.

“You still haven't told her about Kristina?” Frankie chuckled at that.

“Nah. I just haven't been able to, as much as we talk about shit, too. But do you—do you really think that?”

He swallowed and sighed through his nose.

“You're thinking about—” I started, to which he nodded.

“It reminds me of the time Francine went missing—” Frankie stopped for a second, and he brought a hand to his mouth. Even though he had everything he could ask for, when Francine disappeared shortly after Charlie's near death experience, it absolutely shattered him. Even after Francine had gone missing, Frankie regretted breaking it off with her, just how I swore to Joey that he could have stayed with us throughout the Nineties. She went missing right after his last girlfriend had died, which happened after his brother was murdered. Neither case was solved, and yet it gave me a window into Frankie's strength, to put on such a brave face in the wake of such horrible things.

“They never did find her, did they?” To which he shook his head.

“Kinda makes you wanna—go back in time, doesn't it.”

“Hell yeah, it does. Go back and save Kristina and find Francine.”

“There's letting go and there's something that makes you realize you can't let go,” I said.

“How the hell are we gonna do that, though?” asked Frankie; and I took a second look to find the tears within his eyes. I thought about the dream catcher in Rev's room. Maybe my intentions were right and they served more than their intended lore.

“Do you have a dream catcher on hand, Frankie?” I asked him.

“A dream catcher?”

“Yeah. You know, the thing from Native American lore that captures your nightmares and they blow away come the morning?”

“I think so. I remember Joey gave me one years and years ago, back around the Greater of Two Evils, but I'll have to look for it. I think Charlie might have one, too, I'm not sure. Why?”

“I have an idea. Lay underneath the dream catcher and go to sleep. When you wake up, try and think about what you dreamed. If it's about Francine, talk about it aloud to yourself if you have to. I'll do the same thing but with Kristina—” I almost breathed out her name. “—and maybe we can help each other out, you know?”

“Yeah. We're alive in this nightmarish time that they didn't see so it only makes sense that—we heal ourselves on some degree—”

He then turned his head and fell into silence.

“Okay,” he called out to the room. He returned to me. “I'll do that in a few minutes,” he vowed.

“A few minutes?” I echoed.

“Yeah. I'm being called back to bed.”

“Okay. I'll see you in a bit, Frankie.”

We switched off at the same time, and I stood to my feet and doubled back out of the room. Pearl and Rev were in the kitchen, which gave me a chance to head into his bedroom. I spotted the dream catcher, but there was no way I could take it for myself. Instead, I took a seat between his bed and the side of his little desk so my head was right underneath the dream catcher. I looked up at the clock on the desk. Those little hands still glowed bright even as the morning light shone through the window next to me.

I hadn't had my cup of coffee yet and thus I closed my eyes at the drop of the hat. I focused on the dream catcher over my head and I drifted off to sleep right there in Rev's room.

It felt like I wasn't asleep for very long when I woke up in an alleyway somewhere. I blinked several times to ensure I wasn't dreaming, but I fondled the ground underneath me. Grains of sand on top of smooth cobble stones. Very much real. I recognized him laying there on the ground before me.

“Frankie?” I whispered to him. He had that long lush dark hair once again, complete with the bangs, something I was not expecting in the least. Indeed, I felt something brush against the sides of my face and neck. I reached up to feel my hair. I had my long hair again.

I glanced up at the alleyway to see a short curvy woman standing on the corner up ahead. She looked familiar even from a distance. At one point, she turned around to look at me with a concerned expression upon her face. I recognized her brown eyes and her long dark hair.

“H-Hannah?” I sputtered out. Hannah Ellsberg, a girl I had recalled from around the time Spreading the Disease released: she and Joey went back to their childhoods.

“Joey!” she shouted across the street. Frankie lifted his head and let out a groan.

“God—what the hell happened?” he asked me as he lifted himself up in a push up position. I looked up to find Joey, with his long lush jet black curls over his shoulders. Even in the dim light, I could make out the sight of his full baby face. I turned back to Frankie and the perplexed look on his face.

“I think we've gone back in time.”

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