#1930's Jazz

[blazinginferno626]

Something I noticed today is that the melodies for Roll the Dice and The Devil’s Song have a same beat/melody. But for Roll the Dice it’s very slower and jazzier fitting king Dice, while with The Devil’s Song it’s faster and deeper fitting the Devil. It was kinda hard to notice at first but then a friend of mine pointed it out. I have to admit it I didn’t think the Devil and King Dice would have songs that sounded similar I thought that was a cool detail that I wanted to share. Here’s the songs side-by-side so you can hear for yourself. 

[sinister-surname]

Aight so this is a little clip from the old Betty Boop short 'Betty Boop's Penthouse' and all the YouTube videos of it either have zero comments or comments disabled and I just need everyone to appreciate how this is the jazziest fucking monster ever so I can feel better about how these 30 or so seconds have stuck to my brain like super glue.

FYI the name of the track the short is animated to is 'Heat Waves' by Baron Lee and the Blue Rhythm Band

[thestonecuttersguild]

Deep In A Dream

[daibhidjames]

Blue Mondays Happy Birthdays To Jack Teagarden (1905) & John Lee Hooker (1920);

[darlingdawnvintage]

The amazing Josephine Baker ✨Singer, dancer, & actress ✨born in USA but moved to France and spent most of her life there

[tootern2345]

Peppy Gene Rodemich music + Jim Tyer fun = reasons why Van Beuren b.g. (Before Gillett) rocked!

From 1932’s Nursery Scandal. An Aesop’s Fable directed by John Foster & Harry Bailey for The Van Beuren Corporation

[gregpoppleton]

Sorcery & Swing, Cardea, Barangaroo, 7:30pm Thurs 5 December

This is Cardea Sydney where you can enjoy Sorcery & Swing with your friends, Thurs 5 Dec 7:30 – 9:30pm. Looking around this 300 Barangaroo  Ave, Barangaroo institution (near Wynyard Station & King St Wharf), you see a decadent red lounge room. These people are good looking roosters. A mere few hours ago a woman with perfectly groomed locks picks up a Forget Me Not Bombay Sapphire inspired…

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[jackiepackiee]

“May I have this dance?”

Chuuya x reader

(ft. The Flags)

Warnings - none

Type - Fluff

Word Count - 798

A song for you by Donny Hathaway. The slow jazz filled every inch of the old world pool hall, seducing the ears of every resident that found themselves inside. There were only seven, but that's how it always was. Every other night, when no missions were to be had. Albatross, drinking some fruit-based cocktail while teasing Chuuya. The latter gritting his teeth at his friend, although any passersby would think he hates him. Iceman enjoyed the music, as well as Doc as he both sipped on some heavy whisky. Pianoman and Lippmann were in a very intense game of pool, tied the entire run. Then, you. Changing the record to some more up beat jazz.

“We should dance! Doesn’t that sound fun?” You had always been rather energetic with a bit of alcohol in your system. It’s not like this place had a limit or carded anyone.

Lippmann looked up at you, a bit surprised. “Dance? Since when did you dance?”

“Since forever! Come on~ I love dancing, it’s only natural.” She explained.

On the other end of the hall Albatross teased Chuuya’s hair, before whispering into his ear.

“Go dance with her, you know you wanna~”

You didn’t realize this teasing, thinking Chuuya’s red cheeks were only from some overly expensive wine. Little did you know he hadn’t had a sip all night.

“No way! Anyways she’s talking to Lippmann, I don’t wanna bother her.” Chuuya said, pushing away Albatross. Not enough to hurt him of course.

Lippmann was having the same idea, no way he’d pass the opportunity up to play matchmaker.

“Very well then. Hmm, I’m not sure… you shouldn’t dance with Doc, wouldn’t wanna knock over his IV.”

Pianoman joined in, putting his pool stick down.

“And not Iceman, he’s a whole lot bigger than you with all that muscle.”

Pianoman said, easily concealing his playfulness.

Doc leaned into the trio of you, Lippmann, and Pianoman.

“And not Albatross, I’d bet he has two left feet.”

You.. you were not understanding what this was leading to. But still giggled at Doc’s little joke. Luckily Albatross couldn’t hear.

“Well, then who? You, Lippmann?”

Did she have to be so dense?

“No! I mean uh- I’m not very good at dancing, and neither is Pianoman!” Lippmann tried to turn it on Chuuya.

“But Pianoman, I’ve seen you dance on a mission before?” She spoke, curious as to why it was said he couldn’t dance. He shook his head, lying for a good cause.

Albatross walked over before she could ask any more questions, Chuuya in tow.

“You know, Chuuya could dance with you! Isn’t that right?”

She perked up, happy someone would dance with her. She smiled, and he melted. How could he ever say no to her?

“Sure… will you dance with me?”

He asked, gentlemanly as he always was with her.

Iceman, quiet as he always was, was still listening. He picked a record, it was from New Orleans. Jazzy and fast pace, probably from the 1930’s. He knew she loved this style. Swing dancing… Chuuya was in for an absolute treat, as well as the rest of the flags. Since they knew damn well he’d be faking it till he made it.

“Of course I’ll dance with you! Let’s go!”

She took his gloved hand in hers. It was surprisingly soft leather, though the real hand would be much nicer to hold and feel. Even if neither would admit it.

“You ready, Chuu?” God, his heart would give out if she called him that nickname ever again. But, he wouldn’t complain. What a lovely way to die that would be. Damn it, he got distracted.

“Chuuya? Ready?”

She was so patient.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Umm.. what do I do?”

She laughed, not in a mean way. It was cute, that’s what he thought anyway.

“Sorry sorry.. we can start with the basics. Okay, hands in mine.”

He took her hands. Unbeknownst to her, the flags gave him grins and thumbs up. “Your nails… They are painted red. That’s my favorite color, they’re lovely.”

“It is? Well isn’t that perfect, and thank you.”

She started to sway to the music. He followed suit, thanking his past self for learning how to keep rhythm.

“Can I spin you?”

She agreed, spinning while holding his hand. She was smiling, eyes beaming while looking into his. Was she?… she had her doubts before, but she definitely loved him.

Iceman, with his knowledge of records, changed the music to play a slower song. Meaning Chuuya could hold her close. He did not need five wingmen.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

“The music slowed down, so we should too.”

“Since when did you know about dance?~”

He made a faux annoyed expression.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Part two?

[icycoldninja]

Can you write a reader who is a jazz singer with the DMC men?

my main inspiration for this headcanon is the ‘Stay High’ cover by Haley Reinhart in the style of 1930’s vintage jazz: https://youtu.be/7hHZnvjCbVw?si=EnbZch_hwT4B-hi1

Maybe it’s the weekend when the gang decided to hang out at a local pub but since it was closed due to maintenance reasons, they decided to hang out at a random jazz bar instead. Turns out, it’s much better than they expected, it’s cozy; the drinks are delicious; the vibes are immaculate but most importantly, the jazz singer is devilishly talented with the way her singing had managed to bewitch everyone’s heart and soul. It doesn’t help when she’s quite a looker as well

Sure!

Sparda boys + V x Jazz Singer!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante was just chilling at this new bar that opened up, not expecting much, just some mediocre drinks.

-Then a song began to play and singer had one of the prettiest, sultry voices he'd ever heard.

-Dante was absorbed in your singing, and when the song eventually stopped, he had to admit, he was disappointed.

-He'd heard plenty of talented singers in his lifetime, sure, but you could beat them all any day.

-He found himself returning to that pub several times a week, not for the drinks, as the others at Devil May Cry might assume, but for you.

-When he'll actually get up and talk to you is a mystery, though.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil didn't want to go to that bar, initially, but he let everyone drag him along because secretly he wants to spend time with them.

-He was sitting awkwardly in the corner like the dork he was, until he heard a new song began to play and this lovely voice start singing.

-He was completely lost in your singing, unable to concentrate on his book, forgetting that he was sitting next to other people, and for a moment, looked up from his poetry to see the face of this gorgeous singer.

-He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Standing up there, illuminated by the dim bar lights, you looked like an angel.

-Vergil really wanted to introduce himself because if he didn't, you might disappear forever, but he was just so internally nervous, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

-With some nudging from Dante the others, he managed to MOTIVATE himself enough to walk up there and talk to you. He ended up chatting with you for about 15 minutes before walking away with an ego boost and your phone number written on paper in his pocket.

□ Nero □

-Nero was supposed to just be going out for a night with his dad and uncle, not to fall in love.

-But here he was, sitting against the counter of a bar, some lame-tasting drink in his hands, condensation dripping down the sides of the glass as he stared languidly at the stage.

-And there you were, in your lovely white dress, belting out lyrics Nero wasn't really paying attention to. Your voice was all he needed to focus on, all he would ever focus on, if given the chance.

-Dante saw him ready to fall asleep thanks to your singing and decided to punch Nero in the shoulder to make sure he didn't fall asleep. Then he urged him to go introduce himself before it was too late.

-Nero is far too introverted to care; he doesn't have to talk to you to enjoy your beautiful singing voice, so he tells Dante to leave him the F alone.

-Nero keeps coming back to that bar. You've see him so many times, he might as well live there. Perhaps you will be the one to introduce yourself first.

● V ●

-V decided it would be a good idea to walk around and stretch his legs for a bit, and ended up venturing into a pub.

-V isn't one to drink, but after noticing the menu offered cheaply priced tea, he decided it wouldn't hurt to sit and relax a while.

-He watched several shows and listened to a few live songs, but none of them could compare to the splendor that was your singing.

-After hearing you for the first time, V's mind was absolutely blown. You sounded like an angel, a true celestial being descended from heaven to bless his ears.

-V relished the moment; the song had served to inspire him to wrote poetry, right there in the bar.

-While he might never go and introduce himself, but he will keep returning to this bar, just to hear you sing.

[elkaseltzer]

guess who just found out that jazz clubs frequently would endorse their players and listeners to consume weed in the 1920's-1930's to help elevate the feel of the music?

and that new orleans didn't outlaw cannabis until the mid-late 1920's (depends on who you ask)?

which means that alastor, who died in ~1933 in his 30's, was definitely of consumer age before weed was outlawed. and we all know how dearly he loves jazz, so i am definitely going to wager on the fact that he went to jazz clubs.

considering that it is canon that alastor drinks/used to drink (he has "strong liquor" as one of his likes, and mimzy talks about how they used to drink together) i am going to say that it is not improbable that alastor would get high, or at the very least not object to it because it "impairs his judgement/functionality". so does drinking, and he enjoys that

further considering that the prohibition went from 1920 on until 1933, and alastor was indeed drinking, im going to say that he likely did not give a shit about the legalities of substances, which means that i have no reason to assume alastor would stop getting high after the marijuana ban

[anexperimentallife]

S

We expose our toddler to all kinds of music, from modern indie to classic rock to alt country to folk and classical, and more (note to self: she needs to hear more jazz and hip hop).

Right now her favorite songs include (but are not limited to): the 1930s Gene Autry cover of Why Don't You Come Back to Me ("the sad song," aka "the blue song"), Snakes and Waterfalls by Nick Shoulders, Fur Elise, Ghost Duet, Lollipop (yes, the 50s song), Wipeout, Walkin' After Midnight ("the white song," aka "the ghost song," any version), just about anything by Laurie Berkner (sp), a large swathe of Replacements songs, Monster in my Mirror (from Sesame Street), Pop! (the KPop song), various Japanese children's songs sung by a Japanese toddler on Youtube, and the Buff Baby song from Adventure Time.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

a lot of people think PunkNoir's first date would be smashing fascists, but people that is their day job--let Hobie relax. Noir can take him to dinner in a 1930's zeppelin over the city skyline, something nice and fancy. Spider-Ham can pull a swing band out of his hammer space

Right!!!

I feel this SOO bad I love this!!

Hobie is one of the only people that Peter connect with on older things, even if they're decades apart. Hobie is probably the only person at HQ who knows how to use a record player and owns one. Hobie is probably the only person who keeps record needles or a vinyl collection, and the can bond over the sound of vinyl and their collections! Hobie marvels when Peter shows him a new vinyl that would be considered vintage in his day

AND!! Something SO overlooked in Hobie - he's probably very smart and VERY well read.

Hobie is a punk, there was no internet back then. But based on his understanding of his ideology it's safe to say he has a solid complex understanding of world history and books about social theory so Im guessing he reads a lot. I wouldn't be surprised if he's read books by communists and socialists and stuff.

They could go on book dates and share theory books with each other, listening to records after dinner! Them bonding over 1930's and 1970's jazz!!

Hobie knows rain (he's from London after all) but he probably prefers it a lot more in Peter's universe cause of the ambience - and he's sitting in Noir's apartment it's raining outside and Hobie's the only color in the room, changing back and forth from pink to red AHHHHHHHHH

[daibhidjames]

Blue Mondays Happy Birthdays Month To Ethel Waters (1896) & Victoria Spivey (1906);

[mew-cake]

Seriously, it’s astonishing how amazing Zombieland Saga is.

The comady? Top tier. How did they all become zombies? You idiot haven't you ever seen a zombie movie? The chick who died in the 90's can only think about how her tamagotchi is dead at first. Their limbs will just pop off and no one suspects a goddamn thing. Tae spends most of her time flailing around making random noises and she's one of the most popular girls in the group. Their manager is the most insane, pathetic motherfucker there ever was.

The music? Impeccable. What style you want? Heavy metal? Got it. Modern pop? Naturally. A rap battle? Yeah it's here. A 1930's New Orleans jazz piece by the Meiji period sex worker? A heart-felt balled from a 12 year old about how much she loves her dad? That same 12 year old doing a scatman-style performance on Japanese American idol?

The drama? Yeah there's drama. This may be a zany comedy idol series but it does not stray away from the fact these girls are dead. They died in some pretty horrific ways. One was beheaded after taking the blame for what was essentially a coup. One had a heart attack after noticing some facial hair (because she's a trans girl who wanted to stay the same forever). One was hit by a truck and cracked her head open after finally getting over years worth of depression only to immediately die.

All of these girls left people behind and we see that impact. We see how Junko feels out of place in the modern era. How Lily deeply misses her father. How Saki has to pretend not to notice how her old friend has grown up and moved on. How her idol has grown up. Knowing that she never will. None of these girls will never change physically beyond what they were at the moment of their death. For some, like Lily, that's a blessing. But for the others, it's something they have to cope with.

When Maimai joins the group for one episode, she learns how Franchouchou is the second chance for these girls, while she's still on her first. So as much as she wanted to join them, she recognizes it isn't her place.

There is so much genuine heart in this show and it makes me truly happy. It's something so special and something I hope comes to be known as one of the anime greats, because it really deserves that title.