#making America fucking shitty again
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Community does not need this!! But they’re loud in the comments about how harmful this could be for the community and divination and other spiritual practices and traditions! Thankfully!! I was just talking about spiritual psychosis on my close friends on Instagram yesterday and then I see things like this and post just went viral of some woman absolutely losing it, snot running out her nose and everything over the eclipse.
The fear mongering and demonization of spiritual teachings, astrology, tarot and spiritual practices and traditions is about to start becoming very big. It was already a really prominent thing oppressors have used for ages especially against poc who practice forms of witchcraft or deity worship they brought with them from home. I was just watching a docu-series yesterday that highlighted how the native population on mt. Shasta were forced to leave and practiced ritual and held ceremonies in the caves of mount Shasta and those who colonized would go into those caves after they left and preform mockeries of their ceremonies and rituals as entertainment.
We’re about to step into a reality and time where spiritual people, practitioners and others within the community will be replacing celebrities and individuals of high rank or people who hold a lot of power in this world and I said before that the oppressor has a very specific recipe for oppression and trying to keep people (especially in the west) as unaware and as stuck in perpetual karmic cycles and systems as much as possible. And this is just yet another technique they use to discredit individuals with gifts. They use psychics and astrologers and others themselves to help them predict and interpret what’s coming.
They use these types of stories or ideas to fuel radical religious beliefs and ideas that are built upon fear mongering and hatred, they use religious institutions and manipulated versions of their Bible and beliefs and create division within the west. Vast majority of republicans are statistically uneducated and are conservative who hold onto heavy religious beliefs and views to back up, support and justify their actions and beliefs. Heavily similar to antebellum America and the justification of slavery and the mistreatment of African American people.
youtube
To add onto that, this movie about tarot does not accurately portray what tarot really is and how it works whatsoever but guess who’ll believe it and perpetuate it. Half the negative ideas that are swirling around about metaphysical, Wiccan or spiritual practices are due to pop culture and horror movies and the individuals who sit at their desks in the dark scribbling away these plots and releasing these movies.
#tarot movie#tarot community#divination#demonization of intuitives#demonization of spiritual practices#Youtube#santeria#bruja#hoodoo#voodoo#poc#poc in the United States#history of witchcraft#spiritual community#psychic intuitive#astrologers#fear mongering#the western world#oppression#colonization#project 2025#making America fucking shitty again#Biden#trump#conservatives#social media#movies#censorship#new earth#tarot cards
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Post 9/11 Trivia
Most folks on this site were either children on September 11, 2001, or weren’t even born yet. But America went crazy for about a year afterwards. Here’s some highlights that I remember that might not be in your history books:
There was national discussion on whether or not Halloween should be canceled because…fuck if I know why. After planes crashed into buildings in NYC it follows that 6-year-olds in Iowa shouldn’t be allowed to dress up like Batman and ask their neighbors for candy, I guess. (Halloween wasn’t canceled, by the way.)
On a similar note, people asked if comedy - any sort of comedy - was appropriate anymore, ever.
People sold shitty parachutes to suckers “in case your building gets attacked and you have to jump out the window.” There were honest-to-God news reports warning people not to jump out of the window with shitty mail-order parachutes because they wouldn't work.
As a follow-up to the attacks, someone mailed anthrax to some prominent politicians and news anchors - you know, famous people - along with some badly-written notes about “you cannot stop us, death to America, Allah is good” and after that every time some random dumbass found a package in the mail they didn’t recognize they thought that the terrorists were targeting them, too.
Everyone was similarly convinced that their town was going to be the next target, even if they were a little town in the middle of nowhere. "Our town of Bumblefuck, South Dakota (population 690) has the largest styrofoam pig statue west of the Mississippi! Terrorists might fly planes into that too! It's a prime target!"
People started taping up their windows and trying to make their houses or apartments airtight out of fear of chemical and biological attacks. There were news reports warning people that turning your house into an airtight box was a bad idea because, y'know, you need air to breathe.
"[X] supports terrorism!" and “if we do [X], the terrorists win!” were used as arguments for everything. "Some rich Arab you never heard of donated to his organization that backs Hamas which backs al-Queda, and also owns stock in a holding company that has partial ownership of the Pringles company, so if you eat Pringles you're supporting terrorism!" "The terrorists want to tear down our freedoms and our way of life and rule us through fear! Eating what you want is one of our freedoms as Americans! If you're afraid to eat Pringles, the terrorists win!" (I promise you that this sort of argument is in no way hyperbole.)
(This argument is how Halloween was saved, by the way. “If we cancel Halloween, the terrorists win!”)
People worked 9/11 into everything, and I mean everything, whether it was appropriate or not. If you went to the grocery store the tortilla chips would remind you to support the troops on the packaging. Used car sales would be dedicated to our brave first responders. You couldn't wipe your ass without the toilet paper rolls reminding you to never forget the fallen of 9/11, and again, this is not hyperbole.
My uncle, who lived in Ohio and had never been to New York except to visit once in the 70′s, died of a stroke about 8 months after 9/11, and the priest brought up the attacks at the eulogy.
On a similar local note, on the day of 9/11, after the towers went down, gas stations in my home town immediately jacked up gas prices. The mayor had the cops go around and force them to take them back down. I doubt any of that was legal.
Before 9/11, Christianity in America - and religion in general - was on a downward swing, with reddit-tier atheism on the upswing. Religion was outdated superstition from a bygone age. The day after 9/11? Every single church was PACKED. (This wasn't a bad thing, but the power-hungry on the Evangelical Right saw this as a golden opportunity to grab power and influence.)
EDIT: By Popular Demand - Freedom Fries. I initially left these off because they came a couple years after the initial panic and most people thought they were kind of absurd (and I don't recall anyone really going along with it other than maybe some local diners here and there). France didn't want to get involved in our world policing so some folks were like "TRAITORS!" and wanted to call french fries "Freedom Fries" instead, so as to stick it to the French.
Besides dumb shit like that…it’s really hard to overstate how completely the national mood and character changed in the span of a day, or how much of the current culture war is a result of the aftermath. (9/11 was the impetus for the sharp rise in power of the Evangelical Right, who made themselves utterly odious and the following backlash helped the rise of the current Progressive Left, for instance.)
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underground boxer!simon started off as a way to help support his family. but after losing them, it becomes his only emotional outlet. the money he makes covers his expenses and the rest of it stuffed in his mattress and odd corners of his apartment.
imagine the change in simon's life when your shitty (now ex) boyfriend leaves you stranded after the humiliating loss of money when he betted on Simon's opponent. somebody has to comfort you 🤷♀️
wait because shitty boyfriend has been training for months to finally be able to face off with that big brit that has no reason being in the forgotten corners of america because of some imaginary beef your bf made up in that smooth brain of his.
you warned him time and time again that that man is not fucking sane, he looks gleeful in that ring and he doesn't even fight with a teeth guard, but noooo you're just harping for no reason, worrying over nothing.
until the fateful day comes and your bf baits him out, telling him he'll pay the brit a fuck ton of money if he wins but he doesn't bite.
"i've earned more on a sunday night, get off the stands before you hurt ya self."
and when your scumbag bf couldn't go any lower, he hits the earths core by offering you up as prize. you were wondering how long he'd be put away if you called the police for human trafficking when the big guy agrees, a little too quickly.
"fight's on saturday. tell your pretty bird here to have her stuff packed by then, she won't be going back home with you."
(the nerve! the audacity! as if you 1. aren't your own person and 2. aren't there!)
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ill break your shit adam
warning for adult lang
fuck you adam sandler
youre lucky karkat likes you
stupid fuck sees an amnesiac girl
and asks her can i marry you
that lady got issues mentally
you still down to do shit anally
deplorable zit on the ass of romanza
karkat told me to put that shit in this stanza
do raps even count as having stanzas
slam poetry tyke at preschool im no manza
youd probably jack it to a log with holes if they were wet ones
sitting on that stupid dock with her papa cracking cold ones
piece of shit id push you off that dock and watch you bubbling
kick your ass like her shitty bro failed when you were troubling
penguins dont quack like fucking ducks you dumbass
thats not part of the rap i just think that youre a dumbass
back to the rap sandler i bet you couldnt drop a single bar
too busy picking up stupid women at the stupid women bar
who even let you into hawaii
also did i say karkat liked you i was kidding he wants to kick your heinie
seriously watching that shit again made him start slamming his head into the cushions and screaming i had to pry them out his hands and he almost bit me
sorry i forgot i was rapping again
piece of shit forgot that you can like women while dating other men
still not over that chuck and larry shit adam
if you just said to the gov you were bi you coulda had em
firefighter of the year? well try putting out this heat
karkats gonna beat your ass like you do every night to your meat
gotta ask is this shit wish fulfilment for you
gotta say larry deserved better than you
i could treat him way better than you not in a gay way though
i just mean youre a massive sleaze basically the worlds shittiest bro
back to 50 first dates man sandler your shit is a bore
the stupid bits with schneider got my ass addicted to snore
if i was that stupid walrus id tear your ass to shreds
if i was that penguin i would also tear your ass to shreds
itd be harder but id still do it
bro fuck adam sandler im through it
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TT: Wow. Bravo, Dave. You've outdone yourself.
TG: i wrote this one exceptionally fucking terrible to represent my inner darkness
TG: i can never unwatch those cinematic fossilized turds theyre like time capsules devoted to everything wrong with america
TG: you dont even understand how egregious that was
TT: I can sense the utter malaise and contempt in every word. It's beautiful.
TT: One particularly interesting point I'd like to make is the fact that you managed to refer to butts in a song about a male target, 10 times in the span of 37 lines. It's not an exorbitant amount, but it appears to be a running theme in your works. Very interesting, if you ask me --
TG: nooooo
TG: nope no
TG: not this shit again
TG: listen one of them is karkats fault
===
CG: ROSE, YOU JUST DON'T FUCKING UNDERSTAND WHAT HE'S DOING HERE AT ALL.
TT: No? Please, enlighten me Karkat.
CG: GLADLY.
CG: HE STARTS OUT WITH THE FRIGGIN WORD "ANAL" PRECEDING ALL OF THE OTHER MENTIONS, OF COURSE IT'S ON PURPOSE. IT INSTILLS THAT IMAGERY IN YOUR NUGBONE THROUGHOUT THE TRACK.
CG: AND YOU MAY HAVE NOTICED A RECURRING USE OF THE WORD "SHIT", IN TANDEM. BOG-STANDARD FOR DAVE, RIGHT? NO! IT'S PART OF THE EFFECT!
CG: MY THESIS: ADAM SANDLER MOVIES ARE PIECES OF ABSOLUTE SHIT AND THE REFERENCES TO WORDS LIKE "LOG" AND "SHIT" AND "ASS" ARE TO INVOKE THE SENSE OF TAKING A MASSIVE DUMP THROUGHOUT THE SPAN OF THE RAP, WHICH BY ALL MEANS WOULD BE AN EQUAL OR GREATER USE OF YOUR TIME THAN WATCHING THOSE MOVIES.
CG: RIGHT, DAVE?
TG: … yeah
TT: Okay, I'm willing to concede to that. On this subject matter, as an avid terrible movie enjoyer, you admittedly know better than myself.
CG: SHOULD KNOW BETTER.
TT: And you love them anyways.
CG: YEAH.
TG: hes right
TG: you hear that shit hes right
TG: fuck death of the author im verifying that interpretation
#davekat#dave strider#karkat vantas#rose lalonde#homestuck#made with instrumentals of ether by nas in mind#posting early bc im impatient#comix
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Scary Dog
You need a new printer. Sometimes you need to bring negotiation aids.
Useless, shitty little one-shot because I need something else to work on.
Konig x Medic!Reader
Scary dog privileges
Your pen tapped against the desk you sat at. The smell of sanitizer and printer ink was fresh on your nose.
And, well your skin too.
That goddamn printer, it was always breaking, half of the time you thought it would just catch fire.
It would be easier that way if it just did, then you'd be able to get a new one.
But, alas, you weren't the head bitch of the armed-with-alcohol-pads crew. That lovely position was reserved by Lud.
All the other doctors lovingly refer to him as Dud.
Because that is what he is.
A Dud.
A lazy, selfish, piece of-
You were getting sidetracked.
He would always deny your requests for a new printer, and at this point, it was a hindrance to your job.
The black ink splattered all over you, staining your shirt and skin was proof of that.
You prided yourself in your work,
your efficiency.
Your ability to get the things others couldn't get done, done.
Just so happened that because of this, you got the....
How could you phrase it?
Well,
you got the scary dogs.
They were big, and they looked mean as hell.
But all it took was a threatening glance and they were rolling over showing their soft puppy bellies to her.
Maybe it was the dum dums you brought back from America to give them as a treat for being a good patient.
"That's it!" You slapped your hands on your desk, throwing the muddled papers scatted across the floor as you swiped your arms across the desk.
All of the papers were useless, all thanks to that fucking printer.
Stomping out of your little office, you made your way through the hallway and into the main living space for the team.
"I need a dog!" You yell, catching everyone in the space's attention.
"What?" One of the men ask.
You promptly ignore him, scanning the room and walking- angrily - might you add to find the perfect scary dog.
"A big- scary fucking dog!" You flail your arms in the air.
And your eyes landed on him.
Oh.
He'd do.
He'd do just fine.
"König." You call out, sickly sweet.
He was already staring at you, giving you a cautious glance.
"Did you fight an octopus, doctor?" He asks.
His accent, it was thick.
Just like the rest of him, you suppose.
Music to your ears.
"Would you please accompany me to Doctor Dud?"
He stands, lifting his body to its natural heigh, towering above you.
Perfect.
"Is everything alright?"
"I just need you... to be my big scary dog." You smile.
That smile could make him do horrible things.
"Uh...?" He asks, confused.
"Be intimidating. Be my persuasion, can you do that for me? Please König?" You bat your eyelashes- not too much. A subtle blink or so.
His name falling off your lips.
He had to catch himself for falling forward as he zoned out, looking down at you as you so sweetly begged for his presence.
"Of course." He nodded.
"Great!" You grinned, that evil toothy Cheshire smile.
Pulling him along- not this his long stride took up two of yours- you stood outside of Dud's office. Knocking on the door twice, you pushed the door open and made eye contact with him.
He never really took the time to work with the special teams.
They were a little rowdy for him.
"What do I owe the pleasure....." His voice trailed off, looking up and meeting the narrow, deadly gaze of König.
"Oh, I think the printer is on the fritz again!" You laughed lightly, innocently.
Oh, how evil.
"... I can see that." He said.
"I think it would be best if I just got the new printer." You said, tilting your head to the side. "You see, König was in my office but he can't go about his day until his paperwork gets finished!" You laughed.
"Well... I don't think a new one is in the cards right now-"
"Oh no!" You fake pouted. "I'd hate to cause your mission to delay König." She glances up at him.
His eyes were fixed on Dud.
His presence loomed.
It was as if he sucked the heat from the room, leaving the air in a suffocating freeze.
"Oh- well-" Dud stammers.
"We wouldn't want to cause any inconveniences to König here, would we?" You ask innocently.
Dud swears that a red glint flashes in König's eyes.
"Of course not!" He all but heaves out, sweat collecting on his brow.
"So, new printer?" You ask happily.
"I'll have it brought down right away."
"Great!" You smile, turn, and quickly walk out of the door.
König doesn't move, opting to leave an impression by standing there in silence a few seconds longer, staring into his soul.
"König!" You call.
His head snaps back, releasing him from his trance. He spins on his heel and quickly exits the room, tailing you.
Man, maybe next you could get new linens!
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title: just a touch?
author: sciencebecameouraddiction
fandom: hazbin hotel
rating: PG
genre: Angst, fluff, romance, idiots pining for each other
pairing: Lucifer x reader
summary: The minute you saw the King of Hell your heart was never the same. You fell, and you fell hard, that much everyone could see. But while your heart knew what it wanted, Lucifer, your mind put a stop to all those foolish day dreams. He would never want you like that, right?
warnings: some deep self loathing and negative self talk
this is a request from lovely anon:
When you met the King of Hell, you didn��t expect yourself to be so smitten so quickly. You were enamored right from when he walked in, and observed very quickly that he had a natural distaste for sinners. You couldn’t blame the guy really, being an arch angel and then falling, having to see what humans had done when they were given free will? Seeing that many chose war, violence and crime over just being good people? Yeah, you’d hate them too.
Which is why when you saw him walk into the hotel, met him and really saw him. Saw how he was willing to put his own beliefs on the back burner for Charlie. Willing to go up in front of Heaven again, you were sure with concern of putting a target on his back, he did so, no second thought. He shouldered it and carried it. Then when the hotel was in pieces and he helped rebuild it, you saw a man change right before your eyes and you were in love.
You shook your head at yourself as you nursed the drink you had at the bar. Husk eyed you and shook his head. “Thinkin’ ‘bout ‘im?” He asked cleaning the mug. You nodded, a sad look in your eyes. “Why don’t you jus’ talk to ‘im kid?” Husk said.
“Because, Husk, he’s…” You stop and pause. He was what? The King of Hell? Former arch angel? God’s favorite? The LightBringer? A man who was no man? Someone so sweet and kind, who still kept going after being dealt a shitty hand? Someone you didn’t even deserve to look at?
“He’s-He would never see me like that.” You muttered. The facts plain as day. The King of Hell and a lowly sinner, not even a fucking overlord. You’re in hell because you illegally downloaded music and forgot to register your car and drove illegally. And probably because you told your neighbor Karen to fuck off when she said that gay rights was ruining America. Did you regret it? No. But it’s not like any of that made you worthy of him.
“It’s not that he won’t see you like that.” Husk said. “It’s that you won’t see you like that.” You look at Husk, knowing he was right. You raise your glass in acknowledgment and he shrugs his shoulders. You sigh and turn, watching Charlie and Lucifer laughing about something, Angel joining in. Nifty came up to you and tugged on your pants.
“This is for you.” She said, holding out a pin with a roach on it.
“Oh, Nifts, you shouldn’t have.” You say putting the pin on the counter and Husk taking it. You smile and pat the small demon on her head. She giggles maniacally and runs off. Husk looks at you and holds a bottle in his hand, proceeding to do a trick with it and your eyes light up and you start clapping, you running behind the bar wanting to learn. Momentarily forgetting your pitiful loathing. What you didn’t see was Lucifer now watching you, glaring at Husk as he helped guide your hands.
It brought out this sick and twisted vortex that settled in the pit of the King of Hells stomach as he saw Husk even touch you. It should be him touching you like that. No one else. The bitter jealousy had grown over time to an over bearing monster. He laughs loudly at whatever Charlie said, loud enough to try and get your attention, and it doesn’t work. Making his mood grow sour as he announced he was retiring for the night. Everyone said good night and you just waved, going back to your Vegas bottle flipping with Husk. He saw how you were always so comfortable with touch, freely gave it even. Even to Alastor, who he had seen allow you to hug him. But anytime he came around, you stiffened. If he even brushed past you, you were gone quicker then he could say hello. One time, you both had reached for your drinks at the bar at the same time and just touched pinkies. You retracted your hand so quickly you accidentally threw your glass at the wall.
Lucifer didn’t understand. He must’ve done something. Truly he could understand why a sinner would be afraid of him. Why a sinner wouldn’t want to be near him. He caused all this misfortune. Everything in hell was his fault, you were here because of a decision he made a millennia ago. No wonder you hated him, was his last thought as he shut the door to his room.
—————————
The next morning saw a new day and as you came down stairs seeing Charlie, Vaggie, Lucifer and Nifty present, and a certain Radio Demon lurking in the shadows that no one noticed, you waved hello and grabbed some coffee. When you joined the group you chose a seat close to Charlie who immediately hugged you in greeting. You smiled as you balanced your coffee to ensure it didn’t spill, not noticing Lucifer’s glare, not at you but at Charlie. You went back to talking and when Alastor materialized everyone jumped except you as he glided over to you and patted your head. You looked up and smiled at him in greeting as everyone wondered why you weren’t shocked.
“Why would I be? He was in the shadows over there for a while.” You say, shrugging. Everyone looking at you, with a mix of confusion and bewilderment.
“It takes a lot to see beyond shadows my dear. If you’re ever interested in learning more I’d be happy to teach you.” He says, his voice sickly sweet, not that you pick up on it. But Alastor picks up on Lucifer’s quiet fuming. The anger, desperation and sadness, bundled into one aura fueled Alastor more than the screams of his last kill.
“Oh, thanks Al! I’ll keep that in mind.” You say, taking another sip of coffee.
“Charlie! We need to get to work. Come on, let’s go look at those curtains on the third floor.” Lucifer suddenly says as he hops up and takes Charlie with him, Vaggie trailing behind as they both look at Lucifer appalled. You can hear Charlie’s protests as she disappears around the corner.
“Wonder what that was about.” You say, looking at Alastor. Alastor’s smile widens.
“Nothing that concerns us, my dear.” You nod and go back to relaxing.
—————————
Later on that day you and Angel had decided that a movie night was exactly what was needed. Well, Angel had decided and you had agreed. As the movie was playing in the background, you rested on Angel’s shoulder, his fingers combing through your hair.
“I just don’t know Angel.” You murmured. “I’ve tried to just move on, but I can’t. My heart is in a chokehold.” You say miserably.
“Could be worse, sweet cheeks.” He responds, pulling you closer and kissing your head. Lucifer coming down the stairs, stops. Seeing this interaction between you and Angel, something just… breaks inside him. All this time. All this yearning. He just wants you and you won’t spare him a glance, not like he can blame you. He doesn’t mean to, but a sob tears out of his mouth and causes you and Angel to whip around. You see Lucifer standing there, tears in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, his hands over his mouth. His eyes wide as he’s caught, and he turns and runs back up the stairs. Ignoring your call for him to wait. You stop at the sofa and look at Angel.
“What-What do I do? Should I get Charlie?” You ask.
“I’ll go get Charlie, you go follow him.” Angel says pausing the movie and glancing up the stairs.
“Okay.” You say as you start to run up them to follow Lucifer. Angel sits back down and goes on his phone once he sees you disappear.
“They’ll finally figure it out.” He says to himself, pulling the blanket over himself and texting Husk to see if he wanted to finish this movie with him.
Upstairs you stopped at a corner panting and cursing yourself for never taking cardio seriously, but really chasing an arch angel down would have required Olympic tiers abilities. You rested for a second and then sped walked around the corner, landing at Lucifer’s door. You can hear on the other side gut wrenching sobs and things being thrown.
You knock on the door, something smashing and then silence besides a few hyperventilating sounding breaths. You knock again, “Lucifer? Can I come in? I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I-I’m FINE.” He yells, sounding angry and sad at the same time. “Just go!”
“I’m not leaving. You don’t sound fine.” You sigh, putting all your feelings aside and realizing he needs someone right now and you’re literally the closest right now. “I’m coming in.”
“No! Don’t you DARE!” He yells as you open the door and see a rubber duck headed your way. You duck and the toy hits the door and bounces into the hall. You look at him and see glasses shattered, decorations torn to shreds, and in the middle of it all is Lucifer who has curled in on himself to be the smallest he could be. As you approach him you realize he’s bleeding, gold drops to the ground almost mesmerizing. You quickly go to his bathroom and get the first aid kit that Charlie mandated be in every bathroom. You come out and he hasn’t moved so you sit in front of him with the kit, his eyes refusing to meet yours.
“Lucifer, please, let me help you.” You say holding out your hand. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, sadness, anger and hatred apparent.
“Why would I?” He spits out at you. “You avoid me like the plague the rest of the time, why is this different? Leave me be. It will heal.” Your eyes widen at his venomous tone.
“I-I don’t avoid you.” You start.
“You don’t?” Lucifer says, getting angrier. “What do you call it then? Every time I’m near you, you run away. I brush past you and you’re on the other side of the room. For fucks sake, we barely touched hands getting a drink at the same time and you were so repulsed that you threw the drink into the damn WALL!” He screams, on his knees now, invading your space, his demonic form slowly taking shape the angrier he gets. “I TRIED, to be nice, to show you I never meant you harm. But I am the one who landed you here didn’t I?” He laughs bitterly. “I’m the one who caused this, caused hell to be. I understand you don’t want to look at me but I ask you to be less obvious about it.” He snarls, his face in yours.
As it dawns on you, that Lucifer thought you hated him and you thought the opposite, without thinking, your hand goes to his cheek and the other to his neck. Before you can think about your actions you lean over and kiss him. You feel him frozen and quite honestly, you are as well. For several moments, you keep your eyes shut, your lips on his and you wait, knowing that what you feel couldn’t be conveyed with words right now. At least not well. You prayed, for the first time in a long time, you prayed that Lucifer would just understand.
And suddenly your prayers were answered, as his hands came up and gripped your shirt like a lifeline, as he straddled your lap and deepened the kiss. Feeling the whimper that came from him more than hearing it and letting your arms fall to his waist drawing him in. Your tongue darting out to his lower lip, begging for entrance. A gasp coming from you as it was granted and you felt his forked tongue enter your mouth. Your hands not landing anywhere, wanting to be greedy and devour everything he had to give, switched from his hair down to his waist multiple times. You both broke away panting, a string of saliva connecting you both, until you broke it and started to kiss up his neck. His moans sounding like symphonies in your ear.
“I never hated you.” You whispered in his ear. “I thought you were too good for me. I’ve loved you since I first saw you.” You clutch him to you, placing gentle kisses on his neck again, feeling like you would be committing a terrible sin if your lips stopped touching him for more than a few moments. He gasped and arched against you.
“I-I thought you hated me. Because I was the one who created all this. Gave humanity free will. Why you were down here.” He uttered, pulling away, his hand resting on your cheek and staring at you.
“You silly man.” You said, tears in your eyes. “I’d run a thousand red lights, kill a hundred people, jaywalk as many times as it took to ensure I could be back down here with you.” You brought your forehead to his. “None of this is your fault. You had a beautiful and inspiring dream. You gave humanity a choice and how beautiful of a gift to give?” You asked as he looked at you, tears falling down his cheeks again. You wiped them away, kissing each of his eyes.
“You are beautiful and stunning to me Lucifer Morningstar. I am truly unworthy.” You murmur, kissing him again.
“No, you are a beauty to behold. I am truly unworthy.” He murmurs and you both smile.
“Maybe we’ll find a way to feel worthy of the love we think the other deserves, hmm?” You ask and Lucifer smiles at you.
“It’ll take time.” He whispers.
“I have all the time in Hell, Your Majesty.” Your kiss engulfing the moan he voiced hearing you, as you drew him closer to you again. You both knew one thing though, you were going to have to work on communication.
#queue my love#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel angst#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#lucifer x reader
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Do you do farm stuff Scout? Or would you like to? Like owning chickens or tending an outdoor garden, that sort of thing?
From ages 7 to 19 I lived on farms, and was made to be an active participant in maintenance and usages of the facilities I don't know why the fuck I'm typing it like this, but I grew up on a farm. I was kinda in charge of everything, but slacked a lot and my brother had to cover for me. That said, I still spent a LOT of time doing chores.
At one point or another I've been responsible for most every farm chore you can really think of. All the basics like raking leaves, milking goats, collecting eggs, feeding chickens- but also the big stuff like moving tons of hay, herding flocks, caring for large animals such as llamas, alpacas, horses, and cows, as well as delivering babies, gutting and plucking fowl (only chickens and turkeys, though I've also cared for ducks and geese), dehoring, hoof cleaning, corpse transportation, crop maintenance, winter ice removal by breaking up frozen water troughs in 10 below weather (thought this was usually circumvented by anticipating the cold and setting up water heaters beforehand), constructing enclosures, slaughtering pigs, and etc etc etc etc etc all that shit. Bunnies snakes mini horses donkeys. All that shit. Farm stuff. Ya know.
Moved away when I went to college and immediately plunged into a mixed-zoning district in the Fushimi district in Kyoto. This was a really good transition from rural living to city living, because mixed zoning districts have blocks dedicated to apartment complexes and family homes right next to blocks of rice fields and ponds, which was behind the 7-Eleven I bought most of my food from.
Now I live in a SHITTY mixed zoning area in SHITTY America where we never stop hearing cars because there's a massive parking lot nearby and constant police sirens, not because the area is particularly dangerous, but because there's like 2 police stations nearby.
My ideal housing goal, which also happens to be my current goal in life, is to reach a slightly more rural version of the Kyoto living situation. The goals are very distinct:
0. I'm editing this one in after the fact to note that while I've used Kyoto as an example a few times in this post, I'm just looking for an area that feels right and would happily live in any prefecture that fits my needs.
I want to not be tied directly to a visa which would draw me away from doing whatever work I really want to do, like my student visa did later on when school started getting worse as professors were struggling to learn digital classroom mechanics. The visa I'm shooting for is dependent on a few ideas I have for businesses, but that's still kind of a long shot.
I want to be in a position of relative financial freedom so that I can spend enough time genuinely living there instead of just being tied to a computer all day, limiting me to the world I already know. This one's the big one, so I'm still workin on that. That said, recently I've been taking some pretty massive steps towards making this a more tangible circumstance. Fingers crossed.
I want to have a home that I own instead of renting, and I'd like to work with a Japanese architect to actually construct it. Again, these are big big plans, but I think a life goal is a thing worth thinking big about. And it's not like I'm trying to build a mansion, or even a family-sized house, I think I'd be content with three bedrooms, a kitchen, and common room. Of course, in keeping with the "dream big" spirit, in a world where I've got enough money to have a nicer, slightly bigger home, I can imagine as many as 5 bedrooms. It's nice to imagine in this "perfect" outcome that I've got a reason to have enough space for guests to sleep over. A local community, or an otherwise tangible, real-world web of relationships would be nice. Like, Real Adult Socializing Shit.
I want to have a significant emphasis on self-reliance on this home. As far solarpunk as I can reasonably go, without biting off more than I can chew as someone who's kinda limp-wristed. In a gay way and a feeble way. I figure this will come down to solar panels, water filtration, a well, and a garden (or at least the space to have gardening stuff like pots and soil). Some chickens would be nice too, but I don't know that I'd ever take on livestock proper.
I want to be properly submerged in trees without being more than a 5 minute bike ride from a train station. Somwhere like Yase-Hieizanguchi Station in north Kyoto is a good example of station that's on the edge of a metropolitan area and the forest. There was an apartment there I almost got, but backed out when covid hit cuz I decided moving across town would be a whack decision.
This is a BONUS goal, but I think it'd also be nice to not compromise on a single location, and instead have a home out in the inaka, while also having a small apartment rented in the city I can go between whenever I need to. In a world where I can afford a plot of land out in the country, but would still need to travel into town for business, that would be nice. Though in that scenario I'd likely need to also take on the arduous task of getting a Japanese drivers license. If I know far enough in advance that I want to take this specific route then I could bypass that last one by getting an international license before moving to Japan, but after moving to Japan you're barred from getting an international license.
I couldn't tell you in honesty that I'm a Salt of the Earth, Red Blooded American Farmer in my heart, and in fact I could not WAIT to move away from the farm. I hated that I didn't have a say in living on a farm, and was made to take care of animals. But what I DID enjoy about that life was the stillness. The opportunities of perfect silence. The stars unobstructed by light pollution. The ability to explore. Those things I was incredibly grateful for. And as such, in my perfect world, I would like to live on something like a farm again one day, just on my own terms.
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Propaganda
Gloria Swanson (Don't Change Your Husband, Queen Kelly, Sadie Thompson, Sunset Boulevard)—the absolute BALLS this woman had! an icon of the 1920s, her career had simmered down, decent living in radio, deciding you know what? you know what i'll do? I'll star as the haggard old aging decrepit horror icon in Sunset Boulevard, that's what I'll do. Nobody else in Hollywood would take the part (every other actress didn't want to be framed as a has-been)—gloria said, fuck that, I'll eat this role alive and serve cunt the whole time. she was still so gorgeous when they made Sunset Boulevard they had to intentionally make her up/costume her to make her look older than she was. mad respect for the screen legend who says yeah, i am a screen legend, i was always that bitch and here I am again to prove it
Mary Nolan (West of Zanzibar, Desert Nights)—mary nolan had star quality in spades but her career was sadly plagued by tragedy and scandal (though really a lot of what was characterized as "scandal" by the press was more like "men being physically abusive"). she reinvented her career multiple times, first becoming very popular as a ziegfeld girl in the early 1920s under the stage name imogene "bubbles" wilson (said a columnist of the time, "only two people in America would bring every reporter in New York to the docks to see them off. one is the President. the other is Imogene "Bubbles" Wilson.") but after some shit involving a shitty dude got her fired from the follies for negative media attention she went to europe and made films in germany under the name imogene robertson for a few years. in 1927 she accepted the offer of a contract from united artists and returned to the u.s., taking on the stage name mary nolan. she was received favorably in films like west of zanzibar as lon chaney's daughter, and desert nights opposite john gilbert, but she began having difficulty finding work in the early 30s, having at that point acquired a morphine addiction, and she made her final film appearance in 1933, intermittently working in vaudeville and nightclubs. uh well this propaganda ended up super sad but here's a short clip of her in action in a 1930 movie
This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman. (remember that our poll era starts in 1910, so please don't use propaganda from before that date.)
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Gloria Swanson:
She was THE idea of a 1920s sex comedy star, and was a hot (and totally unhinged) older woman in Sunset Boulevard. Hot as a young woman and as an older woman? Yes plz
I feel like she would slay in alternative fashion
her performance as Norma Desmond in sunset boulevard makes me insane. I love her
Mary Nolan:
Shockingly modern style of acting! She could pop up today and be a starlette all over again
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Part 13- goddamn when you're young
"My heart plays the songs of my lost years.
My scars are a church for my old fears.
My body's a wreck, but I don't care, I swear.
So say a prayer, gotta lift me up, goddamn when you're young in America." -Young In America by Barns Courtney
Masterlist Part 12
Jazz felt the shockwave of the bomb seconds before the sound reached them. Concussive, lethal, far too close as Jazz pushed Jason to the ground, trying to shield him with her body. It was instinct to protect her loved ones, her body was near indestructible after all.
Chunks of wall and metal rained down on them, striking Jazz in the back but not forcing her down just yet, making sure to keep Jason tucked as far under her as possible and cradling his head. The debris hurt but ultimately couldn’t harm her, but they were stuck under until it was safe to move.
“Jason?” Jazz murmured, hearing still sensitive from the shockwave. He was still under her, shallow breaths against her sternum proof he was alive, but Jazz needed to hear his voice.
“Jason, talk to me.” She tried again, this time shuffling a bit to get some debris off her spine that was uncomfortable.
She felt him speak against her, “Jazz.” His speech was slurred so her name came out more like ‘ass’, funny it would be in any other moment, but not now that she felt like one for not being able to protect her boyfriend from what killed him previously. He wasn’t alone this time, Jazz was here and she wasn’t going to let go until she absolutely had to.
“It’s ok, Jay, I got you.” She promised, “We have to move.” Time was running out, just like her faith in this shitty apartment to hold itself together after such a blast. She had to get them both out of here, but-
Her train of thought was interrupted by something warm on her thigh. Jazz didn’t need to guess what it was from the smell alone.
Blood.
It wasn’t hers, no it had the tinge of corrupted ecto to it and held Jason’s scent just on the surface.
Fuck, he’d been hurt.
Jazz cursed out loud and shifted again, forcing debris away from the two of them so she could summon her sword. It was dangerous to rip open a portal from below, but she had no other choice. Thankfully, she was skilled enough to create a directional difference on the other side, so no debris would fall on them and they themselves wouldn’t have to plummet from above.
Channeling her energy towards her hand, Jazz released her hold on Jason’s head as she felt the cool metal of her sword handle settle into her palm, vibrating slightly from being called forth.
Envisioning the Far Frozen, her sword vibrated more strongly in acceptance before she imagined where she wanted the portal and with far more effort that she should have expended, Jazz thrusted her sword into the floor beneath them.
Her beautiful sword, her Faithkeeper, hummed as the fabric of reality was torn asunder and allowed for the Infinite Realms to bleed through, Jazz held her breath as Jason’s muffled scream echoed in her chest as they sunk through her portal to be embraced by winter frost.
It wasn’t easy to let Jason be taken from her grasp, even if it was Frostbite himself who cradled her lover to his soft fur. The Yeti had come bounding across the snow to her side, ready to fight an army but only to be greeted by Jazz’s teary face as she cradled the love of her life to her chest.
Frostbite didn’t say anything as he brought them both back to the tribe.
Jazz refused to leave Jason’s side even as he was stitched up, gently carding a shaking hand through his dark hair, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a blanket and hide him from the world. He had been hurt in her apartment, on her watch, in her haunt. It was unacceptable.
Danny would no doubt be investigating the explosion that had occurred in his haunt, even if Jazz’s tear in reality hadn’t alerted him to the fact that something was very wrong. She hadn’t tasted any corrupted ectoplasm in the air, which the GIW unknowingly used in their weapons post-Fenton death and lack of access to the Realms, but still didn’t eliminate them as suspects.
The question was- Why? If Jazz could answer that then she’d eventually find the culprit and properly deal with them.
(Eviscerate them.)
But not right now, Jason was more important than murder getting on the trail of whoever was idiotic enough to hurt the man she loved.
By the time Jason woke up, Jazz had zero doubts she would have to come clean about everything spooky going on.
His blue eyes were narrowed In contemplation as he digested her words, her explanation of where they were, what happened, why they were there and so on.
He didn’t seem angry, which she took as a good sign.
“So I’m a Revenant.” The word sounded wrong in the air between them, bitter with the memory of death, his death.
“You were, but now-“
He cut her off, “I’m a Liminal.”
Jazz nodded, softly rubbing her thumb over his hand she held in her own, comforted by the rhythm of his pulse against her fingers.
“And you’re like me?” It was a question, one of hope that Jason wasn’t alone, that someone would understand.
“Yes, I’m a liminal too.” They had time to get into the finer details of their respective liminality, Proto-Cores and all. For right now, the basics were enough.
Jason fixed his gaze back on her, searching her features for something, something he clearly found much to her bewilderment, “You’re Regent.”
It was spoken with awe and sadness. Jason knew what she had done to the Fentons, to her proginators, but he still wasn’t angry.
She didn’t answer him with words, only lifting his hand to her lips to leave a kiss on his palm. Many things would need to be discussed later, but for now they had this moment to rest.
Frostbite allowed them to stay in the healing tent for a day cycle, content with Jason’s vitals and ecto-levels left the room, but not before sparing Jazz a knowing look as she held fast to her boyfriend. Yes, the old Yeti knew the answers to several questions of hers and it only served to further tie the two liminals together.
Jason, for his part, was calm and resting peacefully despite how his temperature began to fluctuate every so often, not as bad as when he’d first been brought to the Realms though. Further proof that he was settling in well as a Proto-core liminal, but Jasmine still worried every time a shiver ran through him. She didn’t want to invade his space without his consent, especially now that it wasn’t life threatening enough that she had to use her own Proto-core heat, but she still wanted nothing more than to curl into his chest and block out the world.
“Jazz….” Jason mumbled, drawing the Regent back to her love. He was somewhat conscious again, but still ready to be dragged back under.
“Yeah, Jay?” Jasmine responded, hand squeezing his own lightly where she had yet to let go.
Her love didn’t answer, lifting up his opposite arm from the one she held captive and Jazz took the initiative embarrassingly quick to climb over and settle against his side in a familiar fashion as they would on her bed.
(Jazz loved the smell of him on her sheets.)
(Gunpowder, petrichor and something uniquely Jason.)
“‘M sorry, Jay.” The red head mumbled, head resting against his chest right above the steady beat of his heart. There were many things she had to apologize for in this lifetime (and never would), but for Jason she felt they were necessary. He’d been nothing but good to her, watching over her as she walked home late at night, softly reading to her by lamplight, cooking her favorite food… he was her perfect match.
Her soulmate.
Despite how bad she wanted to mock the overused cliche, Jazz could not dispute its validity at any angle other than sheer audacity of it happening to her of all people.
(The one lost in the dark.)
Perhaps it was meant to be, she mused, with her proclivity towards the darkness of mind and soul that her other half would possess a proto-core of shadows. The same ones that hid him, aided him and now gave him life in a completely ironic sense.
(Not dead.)
(One foot in the grave.)
(Cat in a box.)
(What are we today?)
“No.” Jason rumbled underneath her ear in the same baritone she loved to hear. He didn’t say anything more, so Jazz left him to fall back asleep. They would talk more later anyways.
For now, Jazz was left to her thoughts.
Danny’d been about to take a sip of his milkshake when the ripple of sheer terror came over him, body and core. One that he’d only felt when Amity was pulled into the Realms, when his people were hurt and terrified.
Jazz.
He didn’t even bother to say goodbye to Signal, the Sunshine child startled by Danny’s sudden departure- no he literally started sprinting in the direction of his haunt, where Jazz should be, not even dropping his milkshake as he ran. The meta was probably going to follow him but he wasn’t all that concerned, hell he’d take Sunshine over Stabby any day… but Jazz!
Jazz was in trouble!
The ripple was her effect on his core, a side effect of a portal being opened within the bounds of his haunt. Usually he didn’t really pay attention to it, other than a passing thought that she was back home safe, but terror at the same time? No. Jazz was in trouble and he needed to be there now.
(And he fucking forgot he could fly. )
Tossing his milkshake over his shoulder to where the meta was almost about to grab him by the arm, Danny ducked out of sight and transformed into his ghostly alter, rings of light barely making a complete pass before he was off in the air.
He left a very baffled daylight hero, covered in boo-berry delight, watching him go.
Duke, not for the first time, had the thought of- Add that to the list of ‘must never let B find out’.
Prime adoption bait Danny Nightingale was prime bat bait because he was a vigilante already.
He’d seen the strange shadow shapes around the teenager ever since they’d first met on a random Gotham rooftop, with Danny lounging on a lawn chair with coffee and a look that screamed he wished for the sweet release of death, but he’d put it down to ‘meta-in-hiding’ and closed the case.
(Not before getting the background on the kid thanks to Oracle.)
It wasn’t the first time his ghost sight had outed a meta and Duke was positive it wouldn’t be the last, but Danny had been the first to have an overlay rather than an aura. Others, metas included, had silhouettes of themselves of colors associated with them as a being. Batman was charcoal grey, Jason was red, Tim was brown and Duke was yellow. Rarely had he’d seen an overlay of something else, something other and familiar to the hero.
Standing over Danny’s shoulder, ever still and watchful with its green, green gaze fixed unflinching forwards was a King.
(A Phantom King.)
Skin tinted light blue as if suffering hypothermia, stark white hair braided across one shoulder with several glass beads tied into the strands that clinked with every shift Danny made in an echo of wind chimes, sharp features set in a neutral expression as if frozen in place. Snowflakes dusted the light blue collar of a black cloak fastened at the collarbone with a shard of ice entrapping a green flame and galaxies lazily floating across the span of the cloak, though with every movement it parted to reveal a white shirt tucked haphazardly into black jeans.
The being wore a crown of green ice on its head that reflected the sunlight.
Duke felt in his bones that should he dare try anything against Danny that he would come face to face with the otherworldly being.
(Why did the being look like a victim of hypothermia?)
(Why was it attached to Danny?)
(And why did he just see a variation of it fly away?)
It wasn’t until Duke was about to fall asleep some hours later that the realization struck him about what he’d seen standing behind Danny.
He’d seen the future Phantom.
Phantom frosted over the smoldering embers of what had been his sister’s apartment building, the remnants clinging to a broken frame like a shambling corpse. He’d not been able to hear anyone in need, most importantly he couldn’t hear Jazz though. Her apartment was on the top floor with roof access, but it was empty of life forms much to his relief. Jazz had probably gotten out using a portal.
Phantom lingered for a few moments in the debris of his sister’s home, carefully sorting through for anything salvageable that couldn’t wait. Most of the shelves were furthest from the blast zone so Jazz’s books were going to be fine, though singed and ash coated alongside the contents of her closet, which included a hidden safe Phantom phased a hand through.
His hand touched something glass, thrumming with power underneath his fingers and familiar.
(Pure ecto.)
(What Jazz needs to remain alive.)
Phantom hurriedly retrieved the vials, shoving them into his chest for safekeeping before moving on towards where he suspects the bomb was placed.
It was odd.
He’d been expecting corroded remains of a cannablized Fenton explosive, the ones he’d been familiar with down in the lab, but this was plainly human for even a goopy ghouly ghosty like him to see.
Not a trace of corrupted ectoplasm either, a sure sign of GIW presence due to the nature of their technology. The GIW wouldn’t plant something like this for the hell of it right? It’s not ‘anti-ghost’ in the slightest!
Who else would target Jazz, the most ecto-contaminated being on Earth?
(Unless she wasn’t the target.)
Definitely human oriented explosive, timed and locked firmly into place with what looks to be a steel plate bolted into the floorboards, clearly meant to be left unattended for a long period of time. Delayed detonation.
(Explosives were never his strong suit.)
(But he’d learnt at the knee of Jack Fenton.)
(And so he knew many things he wished he didn’t.)
(What his beating heart looks like.)
(“-molecule by molecule!”)
This wasn’t meant for a liminal being, but for humans.
Either someone targeted Jazz without that bit of extra knowledge or she wasn’t the target.
(Sure looked like it though.)
(Right in the middle of the empty apartment next door.)
“I’m telling you, his tracker stopped working right there!”
Tim didn’t like going outside most days. The sun hurt his eyes and he hated being swarmed by people.
(Ugh, people.)
Yet, here he was, in the outernet with only sunglasses and a ball cap to ward off pesky reporters on his way to the last location of his most murderous sibling at the edge of said sibling’s territory.
(Tim hated Crime Alley with a vengeance.)
The Ridge wasn’t where he’d ever expect to find Jason, the older man preferring to remain in the Alley if he wasn’t wandering Gotham proper. The Ridge was neglected and crime ridden up to a few months previously, the vigilantes Phantom and Regent claimed the territory as their own to protect. It was kind of awe-inspiring to study the real-time data plummet with their presence, though the big Bat himself wasn’t pleased with openly active ‘Metas’ in his city despite their obvious positive influence.
Phantom was once a vigilante from Amity Park, Illinois, the town that claimed itself to be the most haunted place on Earth. It’s population was halved on its opinion of the ghost, almost split perfectly between generations on whether or not the teenager was a hero or the one controlling the attacking ghosts. With what Tim knew now thanks to the Ghost Files, he was of the firm belief that the vigilante was only defending his haunt from both ghost hunters and ghosts. Major Justice League level threats had been handled by Phantom almost single-handedly, though Batman had been livid to discover that someone had classified the distress calls from the small town as pranks.
(He’d listened to every single one.)
(There was nothing about them that screamed prank.)
(And no, they still hadn’t found who had committed such a fuck up.)
It was fortunate that Phantom was a Protector spirit with all the powers available to him, not to mention the grit and resilience he displayed in every major fight he threw himself into. Mad respect to the ghost boy, couldn’t have been easy.
(Though Tim could never unsee the death and rebirth of that same hero.)
(The scream echoes in his ears when he thinks too hard about it.)
Unfortunately for him, his thoughts screeched to a halt when he found the location he’d been sent to.
A burnt shell of an apartment building held together by Phantom’s ice, firefighters carefully searching for anyone left trapped inside, civilians loitering around like ants at a picnic. No one spared him more than a passing glance, but Tim still noted the weary gazes and tried to get information. No one could say anything more than an explosion happened, with Phantom following close behind to form Ice on the building in an effort to keep it intact, before the ghost kid entered himself and Phantom had yet to leave.
Jason was in the building when the explosion happened, but without a time to match the tracker read out to they wouldn’t know if he’d been killed in the blast, tracker affected by the shockwave or pinned down by debris.
“Hey babs, did Jason have a safe house here?” Tim asked, soft spoken into his phone so as to not be overheard.
Barbara didn’t answer, but Tim had a feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever she said next.
“…in a way?”
“You just answered a question with a question.” He accused, a bit of shock coloring his words. Barbara definitely knew something she wasn’t sharing.
“Jason might have… a girlfriend…”
“What.”
It came pouring out, “Its so cute, they’re so cute. He just adores her and she’s so sweet to him, I’ve never seen him smile so much and he’s so calm-“
“Woah, woah, slow down, Jason has a girlfriend?” If it wasn’t so concerning from his angle, the explosion wracked building in front of him, he would be cackling at the juicy blackmail as only a younger sibling can.
“Mhm, Jasmine Nightingale, twenty years old and applicant for Gotham University currently pending. Younger brother is Danny Nightingale who often talks to Signal whenever Duke crosses his path, obsessed with Space and science, currently attending Gotham Academy. Jasmine has a trust fund allowance from the estate of her presumed dead godfather, but that’s the only thing that stands out.”
(Jasmine and Jason.)
(Tim felt happy for his older brother despite their history.)
“This is her apartment, isn’t it.”
Tim didn’t need Barbara to answer that either, the silence spoke for itself.
“Well, shit.”
A/N: 3k words for you! @meditating-cat had suggested making the last section more dramatic, but I want to save that for the next part where I want Bruce to react. And now Jason finally knows the truth! I can't wait to write more about him as Hood with Regent out in Gotham.
Yes, beta read by @meditating-cat who also gave me some song suggestions. If you have any of your own please don't hesitate to message me! I love music and often use it for inspiration in my works.
In fact the very last part of this series was written first as a draft before I even made Regent!Jazz or Vigilante!Jazz, because of a Katy Perry song.
It has always been a Hardcover pairing though.
Thanks for reading!
#dp x dc#dp x dc au#dpxdc#jazz fenton#dc x dp crossover#regent!jazz#jason todd#anger management ship#hardcover ship#jazz x jason#Tim: He has a girlfriend?#Barbara: THEY ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER#Of course Oracle knows about Jazz#But Jason made her swear not to tell anyone until he was ready for Jazz to meet the Batfam#but now Jason is in the know about Jazz and Danny!#Yes beta read we live like Jason Todd!#Jazz is gonna have the Batgirls give her a shovel talk#Danny loves his milkshakes#I couldn't resist the pun
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Steve Harrington was a child actor.
During the mid to late aughts when the Capitalistic Mouse was pumping out teen stars like it was nothing, the Harrington family hopped on that train and rode it until Harrington was written across the t-shirts of every pre-teen girl across america. His face was EVERYWHERE. And yeah, he was the teenage heartthrob pretty boy that was lead singer of his band.
Eddie Munson couldn't escape this mother fucker. Not at school, on the radio in his uncle's car, at every social setting he was forced into.
On the TV in his room with the volume turned so low only he could hear him.
Eddie Munson was a very secret super-fan of Steve Harrington. He owned all his plastic albums and a handful of powder pink t-shirts. He had a poster he kept rolled up, stuffed in the back of his closet right next to his sexuality. Because no one could know that Eddie Munson, the trailer park kid with Metallica always blaring from his smashed phone, liked a fucking boy band.
But trends changed, and Harrington faded off, cutting his contract with The Mouse to live his own life- He’d disappeared for a while- He’d stopped craving the spotlight a long time ago, and Eddie had admitted he was a little more than heartbroken. So Eddie Munson, shoebox full of Steve Harrington paraphernalia shoved under his bed, moved on.
That was, until he heard a very familiar voice on his radio on his way home from work. His aux cord had busted so he was stuck on the greatest hits of the current time, rather than Metallica or Judas Priest.
"Back from his long hiatus, with his new hit single that's topping charts across the globe, here's Steve Harrington!"
Eddie almost swerved off the road.
Of course, when he got home, he was googling shit for hours before finding out that Steve had decided to step back into the spotlight on his own terms, and the public had received him because they loved him. That debut song was the kickoff point. He didn't make a full album or announce his tour until after the tell-all Netflix docu-series that was number one trending every Thursday night for a month. Eddie took off work to watch them the second they released.
He wasn't shocked that the company that made him treated him like a puppet- it'd been seen before with other child stars. It was his family that had Eddie floored. They’d forced him to work, took all the money he'd made up until he was eighteen, and he never saw a dime of it. He didn't even talk to his parents anymore, and they hadn’t contacted him. So, between diner jobs and writing his own music on the side, he reconnected with his old bandmates and decided it was worth trying again, because it had never been about the money for Steve.
So there he was, center stage of a sold out arena, glittering with fresh confidence and a new sound- but the same voice that had snatched Eddie's heart when he was twelve years old. The voice that forced him to have the terrifying realization that he liked boys. It was even more terrifying now that Eddie was just feet away from him in the pit, singing along with every other twenty-something that had snagged floor seats for Steve's return tour.
And in a rush of glittery adrenaline and sweaty bodies, the show was over and Eddie was wandering by himself down busy city streets. He wandered into a shitty hole-in-the-wall gay bar that he was certain only he knew about, because it was always dead when he came around. He slid into his usual seat at the bar and ordered his favorite drink, over the moon that he'd been so close to Steve. It was like all his childhood dreams had all come true. He was lost in his own thoughts when a fresh drink he hadn't ordered was slid in front of him.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Eddie hadn't been facing him, so he could hide his expression when he recognized the voice. It was a voice he knew like the back of his hand, one that had been blasting his eardrums out not an hour ago. He collected himself as quickly as he could, trying to convince himself he was hearing things. He took the cup in his ring-adorned hand and brought it to his lips.
"I dunno, can you?"
Eddie somehow played it cool for the first time in his life. He pretended he didn't know him, when he saw his face. He did let himself get lost in his eyes, though, and Steve probably noticed. He treated him just like he would have treated any other guy that hit on him, except he actually liked this one. And Steve seemed pleased, to not be recognized.
So he took Eddie back to his hotel room, took his number, showed him a good time, and called him the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that.
Steve kept calling him, and Eddie kept answering, twirling his hair and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl because Steve was actually really nice. Down to earth and kind, and he never talked about his work, even when he admitted to Eddie what it was, and Eddie acted shocked. ‘Oh, you have like, a little band? Cool, cool.’ After weeks of back and forth and eventual ‘I wanna see you again’s, Steve asked Eddie to travel with him while he toured, and what was Eddie going to say? No, I'd rather sit alone in my tiny apartment and work my life away in a dull record store? Like hell.
And at the end of the tour, once Steve formally asked him to be his boyfriend and Eddie almost passed out, they bought a cute little house and settled down. Well, as much as a pop star could. He still made music, still played shows, did the usual TV appearances and played in Times Square on new years eve.
Steve Harrington kissed his boyfriend Eddie Munson on national live television, in front of millions of people and the undying internet, and they made headlines.
But, after all that. All the glamor, and the tabloids, Steve went on a break again. Eddie learned that Steve was genuine, and Steve learned that Eddie was hopelessly devoted, and he married him. Eddie took Steve’s last name, of course. It did take some convincing for his uncle, though. To accept the name change- Not that his nephew was gay and in love with a world class pop star.
So, with matching gold bands and wide smiles, they visited Wayne Munson for their first holiday season where Steve wasn't busy working. Eddie showed Steve his childhood bedroom, which had long been turned into Wayne's TV room. They'd spent their holiday bundled up on his tiny old couch, watching age-old holiday specials and napping through the afternoon.
Eddie woke up to Steve on the floor beside him, sifting through an old, weathered shoe box, its contents strewn about the floor, and he wondered if he was in a nightmare.
He dove for the box but the jig was up, he was found out, his goose was cooked, he was a goner, he was fucked. Steve was going to hate him for life. He apologized over and over as he scrambled to tear his Steve Harrington collection away from Steve fucking Harrington himself, but Steve just laughed and held up a sticky note, faded and crumpled, and Eddie wanted to fall through the floor, through all nine circles of hell, and die.
"Eddie Harrington, huh?"
Eddie snatched the dumb note from his school days and apologized again, but Steve was grinning from ear to ear.
"I thought you'd admit it one day, but I'm impressed, babe."
"You knew? How- How long have you known-"
"How many men do you think I see jamming out at my shows? That know every word off my first album from when I was a kid? That aren’t there because their girlfriends dragged them? I had Robin follow you to that shitty bar I found you in because- I had to meet you. I wanted to know who you were. And then you just… Treated me like a human. You pretended you had no fucking clue who I was, man. That was the hottest shit ever."
Eddie didn't know how to react to that. The whole time he pretended not to know who Steve was, Steve was waiting for him to crack. And now, it's five years later and they're married. He supposed they both had a bit of a secret, then. What, with Steve sending his best friend to seek out a fan so he could hit on him? Oh, for shame, Stevie.
"This has gotta be my favorite, though. I'm keeping it."
Steve held a photo up, discolored and worn. It was of Eddie, head shaven, young and free of any of the tattoos and piercings he had now. His arm was slung around a very young Steve, who was about a head taller than Eddie at the time- But they were laughing, because Eddie had just said something that made Steve's eyes light up. Wayne had paid for Eddie to go to one of Steve’s meet and greets before a concert- He was up in the nosebleeds but the meet and greet was all that mattered to him. It had been his christmas and birthday present all wrapped into one, and he’d been so happy.
“You can’t just steal that, it’s my favorite photo of us.”
“Even more than our wedding photo, huh?”
“Oh, it’s not even close, babe.”
Likes and reblogs appreciated ❣️
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie fanfic#steve harrington#steve harrington headcanons#eddie munson#eddie munson headcanons#steve harrington x eddie munson#fanfic#stranger things#ficlet#modern steddie#modern au
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here to request some ross hurt/comfort but like reader comforts ross…i feel like he’s always the big guy who everyone leans on but sometimes he just needs to be taken care of it could be like sick!fic or really anything idk god can you tell i wanna baby the fuck out of a grown man sorry if this isn’t specific enough or you’ve already done it before ily bye
a/n: this is so so so so tremendously sappy and sickly sweet, and also ridiculously tiny. hope you enjoy!!
cw: none
wc: 1k
ross can feel his head throbbing to the beat of the music. pounding, incessant headache that won’t go away no matter how many times he’s rubbed his eyes or drank water or tried one of the myriad of other things you always recommend, and yet, nothing.
he know why it’s happening too—he has gone from europe to america and back to the uk in a span of ten days, subjected himself to shitty airline food and even shittier coffee. he’s exhausted; absolutely weary at this point. and listening to the same song on repeat isn’t helping. there’s no way he’s useful to anyone at the studio like this, when he’s just so prone to snapping.
so ross silently picks up his coat, shoots the sound engineer a message and makes his way to the car.
—
his house smells of jasmine and lemon verbena—a sure sign that you have just left the shower, walking around the house, rubbing your favourite body butter into your skin like you always do. it calms him a little but the headache is still there. if anything, it’s gotten worse in the last twenty minutes.
“ross…?” your confused voice gets his attention.
ross smiles at the sight of you, almost drowning in his giant jumper. your hair, still wet from the shower, is held loosely on top of your head with a clawclip. it’s a welcome sight.
“don’t feel too hot,” he frowns, lip tugging downward. “just a headache, love.”
your frown mirrors his as you make your way to stand in front of him. ross watches your face screw up in concentration, placing the back of your hand on his forehead. “no fever,” you murmur and look up at him.
“what’s wrong?”
“just a headache,” he repeats, “nothing to worry about. it’s been a long week. just wanna nap.”
your confusion melts away, giving way to a soft pout. “aww, baby,” you coo at him and ross almost melts. the jasmine and lemon scent hits him now that you’re this close. it’s mellow, soothing. he closes his eyes and breathes it in.
when he opens them again, your face comes into view, except this time there’s a little smile pulling at your lips as you take a hold of his hand.
“come on,” he feels a tug; you, trying to drag him to the bedroom, “i have just the thing…”
he doesn’t protest, silently following you through the house and into the bedroom that still smells of your various skincare products. there’s a little wet splotch on the bed—no doubt from you sitting there in your towel, scrolling through your phone as water from your wet hair drips onto the bed. ross smiles at your little embarrassed giggle that’s followed by a barely audible “oops”.
“sit,” you instruct, watching his face for any signs of pain.
he hides it well, or tries to at least, only wincing when a particularly sharp twinge of pain slices through his temple. he should have had another coffee but now it’s too late for that. unless he can plead you to make him a cup.
but he’s fairly certain he’d rather have you here than getting a cup of coffee.
“close your eyes.” and so he does, curious about why he hears a little laugh in your voice but he follows the instructions obidiently when you tell him to scootch back and get comfy against the pillows.
he waits, resisting the urge to peak when he feels the bed dip below your weight, when he feels you getting closer and sitting right in front of him. and oh how grateful he is for that. because a moment later, he can’t help but let out a soft moan as your fingers run through his scalp.
he hears a small giggle. “that sounds like it feels nice.”
“mmm, it does–wow.” he can barely bring himself to finish the sentence as your fingers press against all the achy points in head; untangling the knots and getting rid of his hair tie that might just have been half the problem. he sighs happily.
“c’me here, baby,” he opens his eyes to grip at your waist and pull you onto his lap—the closer, the better. “perfect.”
once you move around to settle yourself, you’re back at it again, this time adding a hair brush to the mix. ross hums contently, enjoying the way it feels, enjoying the tension that slowly leaves his body and how his limbs get heavier.
through half-lidded eyes, ross stares at your focused face—the little crease between your eyebrows, tongue slightly poking out and he can’t help but press a small kiss on your jaw.
his beard must have tickled because you let out a sharp laugh.
he takes advantage of it—of your head thrown back—and presses three kisses down your neck in quick succession, savouring the little giggles.
“oh, you’re a menace!” you tease.
he grins back, stiffling yet another wince at the sharp pain in his head. but you still notice it anyway.
“how about we nap…” you offer, setting the brush aside and getting off his lap. he has half a mind to protest this decision but then he sees the offer on the table—you laying down just enough for him to snuggle into you and squish his face into your tits. that’s it, the final comfort.
“perfect,” he mumbles, closing his eyes once again. ross snickers when he hears you whisper something that suspiciously sounds like god, you’re such a man. but you don’t move. instead you go back to threading your fingers through his hair.
as his eyes grow heavier and heavier, ross realises how much he’s looking forward to this, proper sleep for the first time in a long time. and how he plans on being lazy with you all day once he finally gets rid of this headache.
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i can't shut up i'm sorry I'm ranting about Biden again
I'm starting to think Trump's presidency really wasn't any worse than what we have going on now, he was just targeting different people.
Bear with me.
The thing is, Biden has been the president for most of the pandemic and he hasn't been doing anything to stop the spread of it, so when people say "but Trump would kill US here!!" I wanna mention that Biden is already killing people of all parts of the political spectrum with his passiveness on covid
Biden is smarter than Trump. He's been in politics longer. He has had decades of learning how to maneuver politics. He has agreed with a lot of bad policies, many more than Trump even had the ability to do w his only 4 years of presidency. Trump is more interested in his image than anything else. Which is also dangerous! But it's much easier to convince people that Trump, a guy who is loud about his prejudices and caused a lot of damage because of that, is worse than a guy who pretends to agree with you on issues and then commits literal genocide.
Like I said, it just changes who is targeted instead. But is that really the case? We're already being targeted in different ways. A few good things have passed under Biden! But we also lost more bodily autonomy rights as far as abortion and trans rights go (not everywhere, but many states have become dangerous to live in). "That's not completely his fault" sure! Well then if the president doesn't have the power to change things truly for the better themselves, then worrying about who the president will be doesn't really matter. Also, presidents in the US have the ability to make executive orders.
And maybe he has spoken up on these things more and I just haven't heard about them - but Biden does not take the time to speak out about the anti-abortion, anti-trans, or healthcare related issues, except for the occasional quip here and there before he goes right back to not giving a shit. And I'm only using those as an example because a lot of "vote blue no matter who" people apparently only care about what happens to people here instead of in other countries.
And it's just really shitty to say "well what about the people who COULD die under a republican presidency instead of the real people dying from Biden's incitement of genocide right now!"
Trump incited a LOT of hatred in our country, yes. It pushed people to be more loud and open about their prejudices. But the deaths caused by hate crimes and COVID here in America were not on near of a large and deadly scale as what Biden is doing right now. We didn't watch our entire cities get destroyed and have our entire families wiped out.
So it seems, again, like the "vote blue no matter who" crowd only cares about politics when it comes to how THEY will (or MIGHT) be affected.
Am I saying vote for Trump or DeSantis? Fuck no. I'm saying prevent the next election from happening and burn this imperialistic genocidal government to the ground. The US has caused enough death, well into the millions, ever since it was created, and hasn't ever stopped committing genocide. But it only seems to matter when it (COULD) happen to white Americans.
Mexican people are still being put in cages and having their children stolen, too.
Indigenous people are still being murdered.
Disabled people are still dying from lack of accessible healthcare.
And the prices of everything have SKYROCKETED since Biden became president.
People are already suffering under a democratic president. You just won't care until it happens to you.
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I studied American & British government and politics at a level, and the first thing we covered was electoral systems because they are so *so* awful.
The way I try and explain it to people who are struggling to understand FPTP is imagine a group of 10 people are deciding on a snack.
Your choices are:
Packet of ready salted crisps.
Packet of salt and vinegar crisps.
Packet of peanuts.
3 people pick ready salted crisps. 3 people pick salt and vinegar.
4 people pick the peanuts.
So 60% DONT pick peanuts, that's less than half. But EVERYONE gets peanuts. (And what if someone who voted crisps is allergic to peanuts? Tough. That's what everyone gets)
The electoral system is fucked. But if we replace the Dems with salt and vinegar, an Independent with ready salted, and Republicans with peanuts. It shows how Easy the Republicans can get a seat if you Don't vote blue.
I hope this helps people who struggle to get why not voting blue is a vote for the Republicans.
In my country (UK) the Conservatives (that's like your Republicans) don't have a majority of votes even though they have the majority of seats in Parliament.
(This doesn't take into account your absolutely fucked electoral college that doesn't make sense, sorry,,, I struggled to wrap my head around that)
Yeeeeaaaaah our electoral system is so, so fucked on LITERALLY every level, which is why it's so god damned important that we vote blue no matter who and that we don't do anything to damage people's willingness to vote blue. Republicans make sure the system is incredibly stacked against marginalized voters, because marginalized voters know that voting blue is the only way we get to cling to rights. We literally cannot afford to lose even a single blue vote.
On the bottom level, on the basis of the voters, Republicans use our system to fuck them over in many ways.
Restrictions against individual voters
Many states having difficult voter ID laws designed to prevent marginalized people from voting. These voting laws are implemented by Republicans. So there's a bunch of Democratic votes that never get cast.
Next, each state and city run by Republicans often do things like removing voting locations, making it harder for marginalized people to vote by making it harder for them to get to polling locations and making the lines in those locations longer. Marginalized people are often lower class, and it's almost impossible to get a whole day off to stand in line to vote, therefore, these people often have no choice: they can't risk their job to go vote. So there's more blue votes that never get cast.
Also, many of those states have restrictions on absentee voting, which could be a solution for folks who can't take time off to vote, but because absentee voting is made purposely difficult and confusing, it again restricts people from voting. More blue votes lost.
Those are just the harms done to individual voters by Republicans. We haven't even gotten to voting districts yet.
Voting Districts
So the way the electoral college works is that everyone's individual votes are first funneled up to voting districts, and then those districts are tallied to decide who won the state. The problem is, human beings draw those districts - and Republicans like to drawn them in very shitty ways that ensure marginalize people's votes don't count as much.
Look at this. That third diagram is what happens in states all across America. Anyone who thinks the USA works on a "one person, one vote" system is wrong. You do not directly vote - your vote is tallied as part of your district, and that total is what determines who wins the state.
And then you have what happens at the state level, because the system continues to fuck over voters.
The Electoral College
You thought it couldn't get worse? It gets worse. Each state has officials called "Electors", and they are the people who actually cast the true vote for president. Now, legally, in many states, these Electors are legally required to cast their vote for the candidate selected by the districts in the state, but in some states they technically could just vote for whoever they want. They don't, because they'd never win reelection, but still.
So, ok. How many Electors does each state get? Is it based off something logical, like population maybe? Kind of. Every state gets 1 for each Senator (so a total of 2) and then 1 for each congressional district - and the number of congressional districts a state gets is based off population.
This system, unfortunately, ends up giving more "weight" to voters from less populated states. Some people claim this is good, because it means those states will still have their opinions expressed in government. Other people note that land doesn't vote, and it's completely unfair a small number of voters get to basically override the choice of a majority of voters.
So, a candidate has to win 270 of these electoral votes to win the election. Notably, the electoral college results do not always match the "popular vote" - that's the 1:1 vote of the people. There have been several situations where the majority of individuals in the USA voted for candidate A, but because of how the electoral college works, candidate B won instead. The last two times this happened, it was Democrats who lost. Most recently, Hillary Clinton won the popular vote by over three million votes, but lost in the Electoral College, so we ended up with Trump.
Summary
If any of my followers are confused, I get it. But hopefully, you will also see now how incredibly stacked the system is against minority voters specifically because they're more likely to vote Democrat. Maybe now you will see that Republicans basically have to cheat at every stage of an election to win, and that if we actually had fair elections in this country based on 1:1 votes, Republicans couldn't win.
And maybe, hopefully, this will make it clear why it's so fucking dangerous to tell people to not vote for Biden. We are walking a razor thin wire across a chasm of jagged rocks, while Republicans laugh and throw fireballs at us. They don't want the system to change, because it benefits them! Every voter we successfully get to the polls is a win for us and a lose for them.
Please vote. Please vote blue. Please vote for election reform.
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Songs and Suds
A/n: First ever fic/drabble bear with me
Word count: 1,174
Cw: Hybrid character, can be read as gn but "breasts" is used to describe reader's chest a couple times, reader is called "Maus" a few times
summary: After a total bust of a concert, you and König went back to your hotel to get warmed up after getting rained on, it seems a bath is the only way to get König off your chest.
Song because it's mentioned in the fic:
You and your cornel, König, had shared a love for music. It started a year ago when you caught him humming the lyrics to one of your favorite songs. From then on, you had shared songs and bands you had come across with each other, slowly bonding over the music to your now relationship. At the start of the year, a band you like, Ghost, announced their tour. You told König, and he was all for it. Sadly, due to work, you couldn’t go to any of the European concerts, but you could both request leave to go see one of the American shows. Your leaves were accepted, and you both went to America a few days before the concert started to get comfortable in your hotel room.
The hotel is a bit more expensive than you would’ve liked, but König insisted on getting it and just couldn’t say no to him because he was the one paying for it. On the day of the concert, you got up early, showered, and when it got closer to being time to head to the concert venue, you put on your band tee and did your makeup to match that of the frontman’s. König was wearing a band tee and a surgical mask with the band logo on it.
You got in the car and headed to the venue. Once inside the venue, you found your seats and waited for the concert to start. As the opening band came out, it was slightly raining, and they started their first song. You could feel the song reverberating throughout your body. About halfway through the third song, it started raining even harder than it was before, and they had to stop because the stage got flooded. They tried cleaning off the stage, but as they were cleaning, it started thundering, and lightning started lighting up the sky.
The venue staff evacuated everyone in the venue and sent everyone back to their cars. While everyone was waiting for updates as to what was happening, you and König were sitting in your car with the heat on, just like others at the venue. The heat was doing nothing; you were both still cold and wet. Due to how cold it was, König had transformed into his hybrid state and crawled under your shirt to try and get any sliver of warmth he could. After three hours of waiting and three shitty updates, the venue Facebook had finally said that the show was cancelled, so you started driving back to the hotel.
Once back at the hotel, you’re still wet and cold, and König is still between your breasts. König, who had taken solace in the space between your breasts, pulling them together with his tentacles to try and warm himself up, is shivering. You had noticed his shivering since he had gotten between your breasts. Noticing his shivering, you suggest he take a bath.
“König, I can feel you shivering; you should go take a bath.”
The only response you get is him shaking his little head and making an annoyed clicking sound. You sigh and decide to try again.
“König, you need to warm up. You won’t get warm staying there.”
He refuses with an annoyed chirp and a shake of his head again. You sigh again, this time in defeat, and internally say “Fuck it” as you decide that if he won’t do it himself, you’ll do it for him.
You walk into the bathroom, turn on the faucet to a warm setting, and start disrobing. Once you’re fully nude, with König still attached to your chest, you slide into the warm water. As your cold body makes contact with the warm water, you let out a content hiss at the feeling. König opens his beady little eyes at the sound you made and the now-warm temperature of the air around the two of you.
He moves one of his tentacles to test the temperature of the water. Feeling the warmth of the water against the coldness of his tentacle, he lets out a happy chirp before wiggling himself off your chest and into the water. As he wiggles into the water, you reach for one of your favorite soaps that you brought with you to the hotel and add some to the water. As the water starts to foam up, you watch as König starts playing in the suds. As you watch him play in the suds, you decide that if you couldn't see Ghost live, you’d listen to their songs now.
You grab your phone, open the playlist for the setlist that you have made, and put it on shuffle. “Spillways” starts playing, and the lyrics and instruments start echoing throughout the bathroom.
As you relax into the warmth of the tub and the sound of the music, König uses his tentacles to take a washcloth and wash your body. Slowly run it over your face, neck, chest, arms, stomach, and legs. He uses a small cup to rinse off the soap on your body before transforming into his human form (thank God the tub’s huge) and requesting you do the same. You slowly run the soap-covered washcloth over his back, arms, chest, and legs before washing it off of him.
After your bath, you both dry off and get dressed. Once you are both dry and dressed, you both go lay in bed. He holds you in his arms as you wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle your face into his neck.
“I’m sorry, Maus our first concert together, and it wasn’t really even a concert.” König mumbles into your hair as he rubs your back.
“It’s not your fault, Kö; it’s the venues’.” You softly say back as you lightly give him a squeeze.
"But I could’ve chosen a different show date to go to, and you would’ve been able to see them. You’ve wanted to since you knew about the band.” He replies in a tone that says he truly thinks it’s his fault.
“König. It’s not your fault that this show of theirs just so happens to be at an incompetent venue that claims ‘rain or shine’, but doesn’t have proper coverage of the band’s equipment. And plus, this most likely won’t be the band's last tour. They’ll probably have another tour next year that we can go to. Now, no more of this, and let’s go to bed on a happy note.” You reply in a tone that tells him that there is no arguing and he should probably just go to sleep.
“Okay, Maus, fine. It’s not my fault.” He says with a chuckle as he senses the non-nogotian in your voice. “Let’s go to sleep. Love you, Maus.”
“Love you too, Kö. Goodnight." You reply happily as you both drift off to sleep in each other's arms.
The concert may have been a bust, but you didn’t let it ruin your night. The night was bound to end with you in your lover’s arms, concert or not.
@littlebluespoon a little gift from your beloved Burbur anon <3
(banner by @bangssefi)
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Ocean-Blue Eyes Pt. 1 (Ghost x M!Reader)
A/N: Was bored thinking about dicks and masked men, so I thought of making a little story about one of my cutie patooties. This will have an eventual smut, I swear it's evident in the writing. I'm so bad at this though, so bear with it a little.
Summary: You're the Ghost and Soap duo's favorite bartender. You're harboring a secret crush for Ghost, and well, Soap annoys you about it.
Main Pairing: Ghost x M!Reader
Warnings: Cursing. More cursing. Vulgarity. And Soap being an annoying mohawk rat for the reader's taste.
Midnight of April. Saturday. A gentle warm breeze of the summer wafts in the air.
I work as a bartender at a little club in town somewhere in South America. I don’t know, but I like my job. It’s what kept me in a stable life nowadays, and I haven’t run into any financial problems with it. I please customers, and they give me tips; very opportunistic work if I could say so myself.
“The usual?” I asked my long-time customer and friend as he greets me with that charming smile of his before sitting down at the bar counter. I know his drink was more of a hard Scotch mix that I never make for others, so it’s pretty much very easy to remember.
He nods, setting his cap down, and ran a hand through his mohawk hair. “Aye. Ya know me so well, lad.”
I chuckled softly while preparing his drink, grabbing a few bottles of beverages from the liquor cabinet as I spoke, “It’s because you’re the only one who drinks shit like this, man.”
“Hey! It’s a specialty from Scotland. It ain’t shit,” he retorted, shooting me a playful glare.
“It’s shit. I tried it once, and it tasted like dog piss and water from the the fucking Amazon”
“Hey, now that’s just rude!” He pouts.
It’s always like this whenever Soap comes to the bar after a long day from military work; banters and laughter with him and a couple of shots of his shitty drink. We’ve been friends since he came here two months ago, and I have to admit that he’s grown on me for some time. He tells good stories, encourages other customers to buy drinks (especially his weird concoction that he keeps forcing me to make), and he also looks after me when I feel down.
He’s one good friend, I’d give him that. But I never get any other ideas than that.
Soap’s cute, but not cute enough for me to spread my legs for. That’s a gay shit that I won’t cross the line. Personality and appearance are both a big fucking check for an annoying Scotsman like him, but I don’t like him more than as a friend.
... Well, except for his ‘other’ friend.
“So, where’s Mr. Blue Eyes?” I asked with a soft smirk as I try to hide the eagerness in my voice while wiping the countertop.
“Ghost? He’ll be here soon,” he replies before taking a swig from his drink. He raised an eyebrow and broke into a mischievous grin. “Why ya lookin’ for him? Gonna fuck him with yer eyes again?”
I felt my cheeks erupt in red at his vulgarity before looking away and groaning in annoyance. “I-I’m not...” I trailed off, can’t seem to think of a good retort to that. Damn him.
“Oh, admit it, lad. Yer stares are enough to undress him well, and he hates getting cold. He gets all grumpy when that happens.” Soap chuckled.
“I-I wasn’t staring!” I tried defending myself, but I know it was no use.
“And ya know what they say? Denial is a river in Egypt, baby.” He grinned as he made the innuendo gesture on his hands, his finger pushing in and out on a little hole he made with his other hand. “He likes angry fuck, by the way.”
This is why he’s better off as my friend. We don’t take each other seriously, and he’s a fucking bully to me when it comes to my crush on his friend, Ghost.
Yeah, I like his friend. And yeah, Ghost is the type of guy that I’d spread my legs for if he allows me to. With just a single look from his piercing blue eyes, I’d call him ‘Daddy’ and beg for him in obedience. Gosh, I don’t even remember the last time I got laid.
But I’m not admitting that out loud. I learned my mistake by telling Soap, and he won’t stop being a bitch to me about it.
“Fuck you. I’m putting rat poison in your drink next time and I’d play that Ratatouille theme when you die.” I shoot Soap a glare while threatening to throw the dirty towel on his face as he held his hands up.
“Hey, quit it, (Y/N). No one’s poisoning anyone’s drink tonight.” A familiar gruff voice with a strong British accent vibrated in the air.
...
...
... Holy fucking twat, it’s Ghost! And he’s walking up here wearing something that I've never seen him wear before!
His typical skull-faced balaclava was on, but he was wearing a dark green sleeveless shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. With the way he moved and dressed like a fucking macho man, I could see every muscle on his tattooed arms flex. He has some light scarlet burn scars on the skin of his right shoulder, but it didn’t lower the fondness I felt for him at all.
He looks so scrumptious right now, and the way his ocean-blue eyes looked at me sternly makes me want to take a dive and drown in them.
“... You’re doing it again.” Soap decided to pop my thought bubbles and laughed.
“What’s he doing again?” Ghost asked him, clearly in confusion as he sits down and looked at me once more with curiosity.
“I-I’m not doing anything, Soap. Damn it...” I cursed under my breath as I busied myself again to wipe the countertop that I and Soap knows was already clean. I couldn’t look at Ghost; I’d fucking die and let the ground swallow me whole.
Soap continued to laugh it off before sipping on his drink one last time before he handed his mug to me, gesturing for one more. I could only glare at him silently before sighing and taking his mug to prepare his shitty drink again.
This night’s going to be a disaster...
Ghost eyed me for a bit before he pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the counter. “Scotch on ice, mate.”
“That same plain shit again? I swear, ya have sum boring taste buds, LT.” Soap chuckles as he took a sip.
“Shut it, Johnny. I’m just making it easy for the lad, unlike you who always wants some fucking weird shits in your drink.” Ghost snorted, and gosh how I’m proud to hear him put his friend in his place. He’s so aggressively British, I’d let him talk me down and destroy me—
“Eh, but why’d ya put for more than one glass? Tipping him the extra?”
... Huh?
I looked at the counter, and I had to blink a few times before I could register the fact in my head that there are a couple of dollars sitting right there. Even at this distance, I can already count that it can afford more than one shot of Scotch on ice. Not only another one but probably a couple more.
“I-I...” I gulped softly as I looked into Ghost’s piercing blue eyes that could stare right at my soul. “You... You’re tipping too much—”
“It ain’t. Have a drink of your own and join us.” If he ain’t smirking behind that intimidating mask of his, I’m having doubts now because of how his chuckle gruffly vibrated from his chest. “Or, it can be a tip if you wanna be boring, mate. You don’t seem to look too busy, though.”
It’s more than enough for one drink!
... However, there’s a bar policy; never drink with the customers. No matter how convincing they are or they offered to pay, never ever drink with them. Never entertain them too much because work always comes first. Failing to uphold this, you’ll find your last cut of salary and letter of expulsion in the boss’s office the next morning.
...
... I’m just kidding. There’s no bullshit like that here. This is the best workplace that I’ve ever been in.
“Yeah, and there ain’t even a single customer here other than us, lad.” Soap agreed, nodding with a soft hum.
“That’s because it’s only an hour before closing time.” I shook my head and chuckled. “But sure, I can join you guys.” I grabbed a glass for myself along with a couple of beverages and some lime. I made my favorite cocktail mix; Moscow Mule.
Who would’ve thought I’d get to have an excuse to drink with my British military soldier crush? Aren’t I so lucky?
“That’s the spirit.” Ghost lifts his mask a little, just enough to reveal his stubbled square chin and plump lips as he takes a sip from his Scotch. And, oh my god, I swear there was a damn smirk on his lips just before they touched the fucking edge of the glass.
Does he even eat ass with that mouth of his? I wonder.
“If stares could kill, someone could become a bloody murderer now.”
The impeccability of this fucking mohawk rat to just outright say such words is so darn bad, I just want to shove a whole empty bottle of Scotch up to his fucking ass. I glared at him silently while I finished making my drink, thinking carefully if I should throw a lime at his face and hope it would catch on his fucking eye.
“... So,” I spoke, trying to make a small conversation rather than having another banter with Soap. “When are you guys going on your next mission?”
“Classified detail.” Soap snickered when I gave him another deathly glare. But then he eventually answered, “In two days, I guess.”
“I see...” So, I only got two days left to get laid by some British hunk? “And you’ll come back in?”
“Depends on it, lad.” Ghost answered this time, and he didn’t bother to slide his mask back on to cover the lower half of his face. Thank goodness for that. “If we’re lucky and Soap doesn’t fuck up a single time, then we’re back in two days after as well.”
“Hey, I don’t fuck up on missions!” Soap pouts like a fucking rat, I swear it’s damn annoying.
But I like these two’s dynamics. A lieutenant and a sergeant. They look so close like two brothers with different blood and origin, and I remember Soap telling me some stories about how he hates Ghost but likes him at the same time. They respect each other at work, but Soap says he will always find time to annoy his lieutenant at some point. Typical brothers, I guess.
“—And they said Gaz would be... (Y/N)?” Ghost’s voice snapped me back to reality when his words trailed off and mentioned my name. He looked at me with a soft frown on his lips along with a concerned look in his eyes. “You okay, mate? You’re staring off.”
“O-Oh... Uh, y-yeah... I’m fine.” I smiled sheepishly before taking a sip from my drink. I didn’t bother to look at Soap because I know he had a damn smirk on his face right now.
“... If you say so.” He sighed before setting his glass down and put his shoulders on the counter, leaning forward a bit. “Enough about our work. I wanna know something more about you.”
If I still had my drink in my throat, I would’ve spat it out, probably aiming at Soap’s face. “W-What? U-Uh... What do you want to know about me?” I gave Soap a quick glare to make sure he doesn’t speak any dirty side comments.
“Hmm...” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he spoke. “... Are you hitting on Johnny here?”
...
“... Wait, what?” My eyes widened as the size of saucer plates. Did I... hear that correctly? I’m pretty sure he asked if I was hitting on—
“Hold up, why’d ya even think the lad’s hitting on me?” Soap laughed obnoxiously, almost tipping over from his seat as he found it also surprising that Ghost would jump to that conclusion. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, LT.”
“Then, why does he keep looking at you like you’re some piece of meat?” Ghost grinned.
I swear this is not the right time to show your pearly white teeth, Ghost! Oh my god, what has the world fallen into? I know Soap and I know that I’m already being obvious with my little gestures and looks to Ghost for quite a while now, but why the hell would he think I’m hitting on Soap all this time?!
Hasn’t he seen my heart eyes whenever I look at him? Hasn’t he seen the way I’d smile charmingly for him just to notice me? Like, what the actual fuck?! He was thinking I’m hitting on this fucking mohawk rat?!
I blushed softly nonetheless mostly because I’m finally running out of patience and sanity. “I-I... No, I’d never—”
“He’s hitting on you, LT.”
That was the last straw.
“Alright, where’s the fucking knife?!”
A/N: Will post part 2 as soon I finish it. Love lots :))
#ghost x male reader#ghost x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap call of duty#soap being an annoying mohawk rat#no beta we die like men#unbeta'd because I'm lazy#cod fanfic#ghost x y/n#ghost
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The Fine Print part 2
A dpxdc universe travel fic
John Constantine was a Hero, at least legally. It was all in the details, Danny found, when it came to Constantine.
Constantine was a magic adjacent detective. He knew enough about magic, about the various different realms and beings of authority or power and he found ways to make it all work in his favor during cases he was involved in.
Danny followed his father's trail of magical ruin across Europe, to the States of America, to Mexico then all the way up to Canada. Along the way, he fought Demons, witches, and other magical beings that owned a fraction of Constantine's soul.
Danny was twelve when one such being came to him instead.
"So you're Constantine's brat," the foul smelling being said.
Danny wracked his brain for what kind of being this was. He'd learnt a lot in the past six years. Angels, Demons, ghosts, and zombies, honestly this world was so exciting to live in.
"What's it to you?" Dannyy asked, twirling his spoon in his hot chocolate.
"Your father sold you to me,"
"Hmm, Contract or it didn't happen,"
The being, Danny was guessing angel but the smell was throwing him off. Maybe a hybrid? Which angel would fuck a demon though? The being pulled out the contract, which Danny took his time to read.
If he learned one thing from his father, it was that wording met everything in these contracts.
"Ah, see here," Danny said, tapping the contract. "Father sold you the innocent soul of his first born child, and wouldn't you fucking guess, I am his first born child all right, butt I ain't some shitty innocent, you should check your fucking assumptions asshole-"
Danny watched the contract dissolve before his eyes, invalid. The first born isn't innocent after all.
The being was seething. Danny scooped up some marshmallows and fudge, giving the poor being a sympathetic face. "Oh dear, isn't that too bad,"
"You will pay for this, Constantine junior,"
"That's what they all say," Danny rolled his eyes.
Danny watched them leave, noting the dark black feathers of his uninvited guest. A disgraced angel? Fallen angel? What was the correct term anyway? He supposed he'd be raiding his father's house of mystery again.
Danny left a ten dollar bill on the counter before he left the restaurant. He'd save research for later, what Danny really wanted to know was what Constantine was doing in Gotham. It sounded fun!
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