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ofstarsandvibranium · 7 months

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Hurts Like Heaven

Fandom: Ted Lasso

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: You and Jamie were nothing more than friends with benefits…then Jamie realizes that the way he feels for you is more than friends.

A/N: inspired by the song I Think I Like You by The Band Camino

You and Jamie had been friends for a few years. You met through Keeley and he'd tried to get into your pants after they'd broken up. But girl code meant you don't sleep with your friend's ex unless they say it's okay.

Years later, he and Keeley still aren't together. It originally saddened Jamie, however, he learned that he valued her highly as a friend and he eventually lost feelings for her.

That's when you came in.

Jamie didn't feel ready to get back into serious dating, but he also didn't feel like going back to random hook ups like his early days. That's when you suggested a friends with benefits relationship.

The suggestion surprised Jamie, especially since you rejected him a few years ago.

You rolled your eyes at him, "Yes, but I've gotten Keeley's permission to sleep with you if I chose to do so."

His brows rose, "I'm sorry, what? When did this happen?"

You shrugged like it was no big deal, "Like a year ago."

"So you're telling me we could've been fucking for a year now?"

You snorted, "I didn't think you'd still be interested."

He grinned at you, "Oh, I'm still very interested."

It was nice. He thought the arrangement would change things but it didn't. He still texted you about the things Jan Maas said or a new song that Dani introduced him to. You two would facetime for hours while he was at away games until you both fell asleep. He used to be a man of not many words, but he found himself never shutting up in your presence.

You grabbed lunch or dinner when you could and instead of going your separate ways, either one of you followed the other to your respective homes and you had sex.

Some days, you didn't have sex at all. He'd come over with take out and you two would watch a movie. Or he'd help you cook dinner while you're both singing Harry Styles' lyrics at the top your lungs. He felt so happy and at peace with you.

It was great. It was nice...until you told Jamie that someone had asked you on a date.

"It's fine. We're not dating or nothing, so why would it matter?" he asked you when you broke the news.

You shrugged, "I dunno. Guess I-nevermind. I'm going to cancel our movie night on Friday then."

"What? Why?"

"That's when my date is. Unless...I cancel it?" You looked at Jamie like you were hoping for...something. What you were hoping for he didn't know, but he shook his head, "No, no. It's fine. Could probably go to the pub with the lads or something." He then pointed a finger at you, "But you let me know if he does something that makes you uncomfortable. I'll pick you up. Just say the word."

You nodded and give him a smile, "I know. Thanks, Jame."

________________

It's the night of the date. Jamie has been on edge the entire day and he's not exactly sure why. You'd sent him your outfit for the date and you...you looked beautiful, sexy, gorgeous. There was a pit in stomach when he realized that you'd never dressed up for him like that. Why would you? You two are only friends who also sleep together. Nothing that would warrant you to put much that effort...but Jamie wanted it.

Fuck, did he want you to dress that way only for him, to take you on dates and call you his girl.

Holy fuck, why did he have to realize this all too late?

Even when he went to a club with the lads, he couldn't stop thinking about you. He kept checking his phone every five minutes to see if you'd messaged him. The last thing you sent was you telling him the restaurant you were at and he'd sent you a thumbs up.

He stood at one of the standing tables, nursing a beer and just watching the crowd. His teammates were drinking and dancing with women, except for Colin who was dancing with his boyfriend, Michael.

Getting a bit anxious, he pulls his phone out again, looking at the thread of texts between you and him.

"Are you alright, Jamie?" Sam asks above the club's music.

Jamie sighs and pockets his phone, "I'm gonna step out for a bit!" he shouts back and Sam responds, "I'll come with you!"

They take their beers and head out to the back patio of the club. The music is still loud but not as much.

Jamie lets out a deep breath, letting the cool air encompass him. Sam nudges him, "What's going on?"

Jamie chuckles to himself, "Think I'm in love, Sam," and then winces.

Sam cocks a brow in confusion, "Why do you look so pained then?"

Jamie sighs and runs a hand through his now brunette hair, "It's complicated."

"Is it Y/N?"

Jamie's head whipped to Sam's direction, "How the fuck did you know that?"

Sam can't help but laugh, "You don't hide it very well when you're with her. You're...happier with her."

He scoffs, "'M not so happy now, am I? She's on a date right now."

"Why?"

"Some bloke from the IT department asked her and she asked me how I felt about it and I said it was fine. That her going on that date doesn't matter 'cause we're not exclusive or nothin' and now I fuckin' regret it 'cause I fuckin' love her!" after his mini rant he looks back as a smug looking Sam, "What?"

"I think the solution to your problem is very simple, Jamie."

"Yeah? And what's that."

"Tell her."

He's immediately shaking his head, "No. No. I can't. I can't. It'll ruin everything."

"I don't think it will."

"How do you know?"

"I don't, but I have a strong feeling it'll be okay."

Suddenly, his phone is buzzing and your contact photo is staring up at him. He looks up at Sam and his teammate is grinning at him, "Tell her," he says before patting Jamie on the back and heading back inside.

Jamie nods and answers your call, "Hey, you alright?"

"He was a complete prick! He yelled at our server because his pasta wasn't al dente and complained about me eating too much bread."

"Pft. You love bread."

"I love bread so much!" you sigh, "I'm having uber me drop off because there was no way in hell I was getting in the car with him again."

Jamie frowns to himself, "You should've told me. I could've picked you up."

"I texted you ten minutes ago and you didn't respond!"

Jamie curses and pulls back his phone going to the text thread to see you had texted him, "Shit. Sorry, love."

"It's fine. You can come over after your night with the boys."

"I'm leaving right now. Wasn't very exciting anyway. Want me to grab some food?"

You groan, "Yes, please. That meal wasn't satisfying enough."

Jamie finds himself smiling, "Alright. I'll be over in a bit. Get comfy for me."

"Waaaay ahead of ya. Tossing the dress in the hamper as we speak and pulling out my comfy clothes. Shall I pull yours out as well?"

"Please."

"Got it. See you in a bit, Jame."

"Right. Bye." After he ends the call, he heads inside to say his good-byes to his mates. Sam is giving him a knowing look and a "Good luck" as he walks out of the club.

___________________

Half an hour later, Jamie is letting himself into your place with the spare key that you gave him. He places the takeout on the coffee table in front of you.

"Go eat. I'm gonna change."

"Thank you!" you holler as he walks down the hallway to your room and where you've laid out a pair of joggers and a t-shirt for him. He quickly changes and heads back to your living room where he sees you shoveling your face with the food he's brought.

He's smiling wide as he sits beside you, "Good?"

You nod, "Soooo good!"

He grabs your remote and plays the movie you picked, "Guess we ended up having our movie night after all."

You snort, "Shout out to Liam for IT for being a prick, I guess."

Jamie stills. His brows furrow and you see he's thinking hard about something. You set your food down, pause the movie, and turn to completely face him on the couch.

"What's going on?"

"I realized something."

"Okay...is this a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Depends on how you take it, I suppose," he turns to face you as well, "I...I think I like you more than I should."

"Meaning..."

"I'm in love with you. I think I have been for a while now but it just didn't hit me until you were out with that prick-"

"Liam-"

"and all I could think about tonight was losing you. I hate that you looked absolutely gorgeous for someone else. I hate that it was him taking you on a date and not me. And I hate the thought of someone else being where I should be."

You chuckle, looking away and shaking your head, "Jamie Tartt," and this is when Jamie prepares to be rejected by you, "took you long enough."

Oh. Oh. That's not something he expected.

"So, uh, so you-"

You lean in pressing your lips against his and when you pull away you're smiling, "I love you too."

"Oh. Great. Cool. That's-That's good."

You laugh, "Did I break you?"

"Maybe?"

You laugh more and he's smiling again. Your laugh is music to his ears and it's filling him up with so much warmth and love.

You pat his knee, "Alright, loverboy, let's continue this movie night , yeah?" you press play and you grab your food. You curl up into Jamie's side and he relishes in your warmth while you feed him some of your food.

A day later, Jamie posts a picture of you sitting across from him at the same restaurant you went to with Liam, with the caption: Dinner with me girl <3.

His comments littered with applause and congratulations from his teammates and fans. They all love you, but Jamie loves you the most.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt #ted lasso imagine

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tightjeansjavi · 2 months

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Jeany! Congrats on one year, baby!

What can I bring to the sleepover? I have punch and pie at the ready.

You know I’m a Frankie girl thru and thru… but what if he was… drunk and handsy (in the best way possible) and maybe we’re not an item yet… but he’s hella interested and the alcohol makes him brave…

Love a little friends to lovers…

Beefro👌🥩💜

BEEFRO!! my darling, mi vida, thank you for sending this in! I hope it’s okay that we didn’t get smutty with it, and the reader was the one who was a lil drunk 🥺

mi vida

~word count: 2.0k~

Summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend and the love of your life.

Pairing | best friend!frankie morales x f!reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, no age gap, language, mentions of drinking and smoking, right person wrong time, best friend!frankie, assumed unrequited love, frankie and the reader are bi, Santi, Will, and Benny exist in this universe but fuck Tom. Me and my homies hate a motherfucker named Tom, happy ending, reader can understand and speak Spanish, reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Translations:

mi vida- my life

querida- darling

hermano- brother

nada de eso- none of that

estoy en camino- I’m on my way

no te vayas de ahí- don’t move

voy a intentarlo- I’m going to try

vamos a salir de aquí- let’s get out of here

The bass in the nightclub is booming, pulsing in your ears and rattling your brain in your skull. Your vodka lemonade has practically watered down to nothing—great. To make matters even worse, your favorite pair of metallic heels keep sticking to the floor—gross. There’s too many people packed in this club, too many bodies, and you realize then that this was a terrible idea.

It all started with your stupid boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. He broke up with you over the phone, babbling pathetically about how he met someone else and how sorry he was. Bullshit. You sucked in your tears, and the remaining threads of your dignity and packed his shit up into a cardboard box and tossed it right down the garbage shoot.

Fuck him.

You weren’t even the least bit sad, no—you were furious. You should have known that he was a tool, just another asshole hiding under a ‘nice guy’ persona.

Did I even really love him? You questioned yourself in the mirror while applying a glitter shadow to your eyelids.

You did, but he’s not— You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection and the smudge mascara streaks under your eyes.

Frankie is too good for me. He deserves better.

Francisco—Catfish, Morales had been your best friend, your ride or die—your Clyde to your Bonnie, since you were kids.

You grew up on the same block and you remember the first day you met Frankie like it was just yesterday.

His mom sent him over to your house, with fresh tamales in a well loved container held between two clammy palms.

“Hey, I’m Frankie. Welcome to the neighborhood.” He said with a small, boyish grin.

He had the warmest brown eyes you had ever seen, and soon enough your diary was no longer doodles of unicorns, butterflies, princesses and dragons, it was Frankie Morales, and those brown eyes of his.

You walked to school together everyday and soon your duo turned into a little group consisting of three other kids that had become like brothers to Frankie and you.

There was Benny, Will, and Santi; the five of you shared your own stomping ground: the neighborhood playground. And as you grew older…your feelings towards your friends shifted.

You had a minor crush on Santi who found out through Benny and that’s how you ended up going to the movies together one weekend. Santi was a total gentleman, and while you were attracted to him, the butterflies weren’t there. The spark that you dreamed about feeling—was nonexistent. And when he kissed you, your foot didn’t pop up like it did in the Princess Diaries!

Get a room! You’d recognize that voice from anywhere—Frankie.

And low and behold, Frankie, Benny, and Will were all sitting a few seats behind you and Santi who wasted no time to grab a handful of popcorn and toss it at the three of them.

You and Santi decided afterwards that you were better off as friends. Will took you out to dinner once, and the two of you also quickly realized that you were better off as friends.

Benny ended up being your date to the junior prom. It was hard to not be attracted to a guy like Benny. He was smart, funny, and a total goober. He couldn’t dance for shit, but you had fun, and it was definitely going to be a night for the books.

Maybe you and Benny would have ended up together if you hadn’t slow-danced under a shimmering disco ball with Frankie after Benny took a break from dancing. Maybe your heart strings wouldn’t have tugged you in the direction of your best friend, and those big brown eyes of his.

“Are you going home with him, mi vida?” His words whispered against the shell of your ear while one hand rested along your lower back, and the other around your waist.

“Probably” You whispered softly.

You tried to pretend that you didn’t see the way his face fell, and his lips curve into a set frown.

“Good. He’ll take care of you. You deserve to have fun, querida.”

And when the song ended, and Benny returned, you watched your best friend walk away, his arm wrapped around Santi’s shoulders.

It was half-past 5 in the morning when you told Benny about your feelings for Frankie. You were tangled up in his sheets, passing a cigarette back and forth. Benny wasn’t even surprised, he just had this knowing grin on his face.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. We all know how you feel about catfish. It ain’t a secret.” He winked at you reassuringly.

On graduation night you had built up enough courage to finally tell Frankie how you felt, and after downing a few glasses of champagne for some extra liquid courage, you were ready—until you saw Frankie leaned in close to another girl in your grade, and your heart sank to the very pits of your stomach.

You told Santi how you felt about Frankie later that night while sharing a bottle of champagne on the old rusted swings of the neighborhood playground.

He confessed to you that he felt the same way about Frankie, but he was afraid of ruining their friendship and how Frankie would react.

You reached over, gently grabbing his hand in yours and told him, you should tell him how you feel, Santi.

When you went off to college, your four friends enlisted in the military and you weren’t sure if you would ever see them again. Life continued on for you, until you found yourself right back to your roots, and feeling the same way for your best friend as you did years ago. You just did a real damn good job of hiding it from your boyfriend.

So, that’s how you found yourself outside of the women’s bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, the bottom of your favorite heels sticking to the floor, and your thumbnail bleeding because you had ripped out a nasty hangnail with your teeth.

The dial tone rang, and rang and you thought that maybe this was a sign that you and Frankie were never meant to be. That it was all made up in your head, and scribbled in your diary. Maybe Frankie never felt the same way about you as you did for him.

“Mi vida?” his voice crackled on the other line and you imagined he had his hand cupped over his phone so that he could hear you better.

“Francisco,” you breathed, taking a pause as you gathered your thoughts. “I—I need you, Frankie.”

He nearly dropped his phone, lurching forward in his chair from your words. His erratic movements caught the attention of Santi who was sitting across from him in the booth and he raised his brows, mouthing, you okay, hermano?

Frankie was too caught up in the pounding of his heart in his chest, and his pulse racing in his eardrums to even notice Santi or Benny and Will now looking at him.

“Where are you, querida? Are you—safe? I can barely hear you.” Frankie uttered, bringing his thumb to his lips and gnawed on the side of the nail nervously with his teeth.

“I’m at some shitty club. Boyfriend broke up with me—and I ended up here. You don’t have to come, I just—I thought maybe…” you trailed off.

“Nada de eso, mi vida. Is it that same club we tried sneaking into back in highschool? The seedy one?”

“Yeah. The one where the floor is always sticky, and you can still smoke cigarettes.” You stifled a giggle.

“Estoy en camino, querida. Hang tight, okay? No te vayas de ahí.” He said in an urgent tone, gathering up his wallet and keys before he downed the last sip of his beer.

“I’m not going anywhere, Frankie.” You reassured him.

“I know, mi vida. I’ll stay on the line with you, ‘Kay?” He slipped out of the booth just as Santi stood up.

Frankie pulled his phone away from his ear momentarily, holding it against his shoulder as their eyes met.

Santi gave him a knowing a grin, slapping him on the shoulder gently in a half hug, “go get your girl, hermano.”

Frankie hugged him back, wrapping both arms around him before pulling back slightly with a grin slowly tugging over his lips, “Voy a intentarlo, hermano.”

And then there was Benny in the background yelling, “HELL YEAH, CATFISH! GO GET YOUR LADY!”

Frankie stayed on the phone with you the entire walk to the club which evidently was only a few blocks away. You were babbling on about how watered down your vodka lemonade was when Frankie had pushed himself through the mass of bodies all sweaty and sticking together. His eyes locked on your familiar face, right where you said you would be.

“I’m here, mi vida.” He whispered into the receiver before ending the call. He didn’t even have a chance to slip his phone into his back pocket when he felt your arms wound around his neck, pulling him into a hug. You smelled like cheap vodka, and flowery perfume that burned the sensitive hairs in his nostrils but he didn’t care.

“I missed you, Francisco.” You breathed into the bare patch of exposed skin on his neck, hugging yourself to him tightly. “I—there’s so much I want to say—and tell you, Frankie.”

“I missed you more than you can imagine, querida. I never—I’m so sorry…about your boyfriend.” He pulled back slowly so that he could get a good look at your face. He expected you to be a heartbroken wreck, but he was met with the complete opposite.

“Don’t be. He was a jackass, and I don’t think he and I were ever compatible.” You shrugged, eyes never leaving his. “I don’t give a fuck about him. I came out here to clear my head, but then I thought about you, Frankie. “Fuck it!” You laughed, choking back an on-coming sob that you weren’t expecting, “I should have just grown a pair all those years ago and told you how I felt! Fuck—do you have any idea just how in love with you I am, Francisco?”

“Mi vida, you’re drunk—you—just went through a break up, and you’ve had a lot to drink—”

She’s in love with me?

“I should have broken up with him a long time ago, Frankie. There’s a lot of things I wish I could have done differently, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it’s always been you, Francisco, mi vida.”

She is in love with me.

Frankie brought his hands up to your face then, gently cradling your cheekbones in his palms. “Hey, hey, querida. It’s okay. Shit, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for any of that. You and I—we’ve always danced around the subject, haven’t we?”

You nodded and brought your hands up to rest along his.

“Santi told me after we enlisted that you were going to tell me how you felt on graduation night and then never did because—the timing wasn’t right then, mi vida. I thought about writing you a letter at some point, but I never did because the last thing I ever wanted to do was hold you back from the life you deserved, querida. All these years I’ve wanted to tell you—”

You cut him off, pulling his face close to yours, “I love you, Frankie” you brushed your thumb across the heart shaped patch in his beard.

“Fuck—I love you so much, mi vida.”

And then you were both surging forward, accidentally smacking one another in the forehead, letting out a synchronized groan of pain before your lips finally met in a bruising kiss. Your foot popped up behind you as drunk club-goers stumbled past yours and Frankie’s passionate embrace.

You came up for air a few minutes later, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck once more and he held you close, swaying with you as if there was a slow song playing.

“Vamos a salir de aquí, Frankie.” You said breathlessly, carding your fingers through the back of his hair having half the temptation to rip off his baseball cap just so you could mess his hair up even more.

He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it down to his face and pressed his lips to the outside of your hand, looking deeply into your eyes.

“I’ll go anywhere with you, mi vida.”

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anamelessfool · 3 months

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𝔓𝔞𝔭𝔞 ℭ𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔬 (1907-1983) and fic!

Reign 1942-1954, Satanic Bishop of New York City (1954-1983)

Everybody needs a mentor, especially delusional people like Young Nihil. So enter Papa Camino, a Papa Emeritus who is heavily influenced by Cab Calloway. (And is wearing an actual Schiaparelli silk tie from the 1950s) Notable Ghouls: Phantom, Dewdrop, Cumulus

The Path (AO3 Link)

GEN Young Nihil & OC Papa, Young Nihil & Family 3K Words

Tags: Mentor Figure, Deal With The Devil, Family Angst, 4 Year Old Primo Is In This One, This is Officially the Most Self Indulgent Fic I've Written and Yes I'm Including the Smut, Alternate History, Ghost Scenes from the Void AU, Ministry Lore and Dramaaaaa

1957, New York City: Bishop Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

More Art and the Fic Below the Cut!

1957 New York City

Camino was a man who demanded what he wanted, and created for himself what he was denied. After his wildly successful tour as Papa Emeritus of the Satanic Church of the Void, he brought his expertise, his talent, and his cunning to his new post as the Satanic Bishop of New York City.

After the fourth rejection of his application to join the most prestigious gentlemen’s social club in the city (and it was definitely not because he was a Satanic Anti-Pope) Camino decided to run his own club out of the New York Ministry location. The music was hotter, the skirts were shorter and the booze flowed higher than the runoff in the gutters after a rainstorm.

The New York City chapter of the Satanic Church of the Void soon became less a place of organized worship and more the most chaotic and happening nightclub no one dared talk about in the sunshine. No act was denied, no artistic experiment too bizarre— almost twenty-four hours of the day there would be something to see for everyone. At two PM there could be a poetry reading for moody folks in black turtlenecks. At four PM was a 1920s Big Band Revival stint, six to ten PM Camino himself took command as bandleader. Midnight to two AM was reserved for drag shows. Often at three AM some interpretive dancer could be writhing on stage wrapped in tinfoil wailing about his daddy issues. It was vibrant, sometimes exhausting but never ever boring. Just like the Bishop.

And any high society man caught sneaking in would be promptly hogtied and left out in the alley with the rest of the trash.

Camino always got what he wanted. And he wanted to share what he took from life with everyone he thought hungry enough to work for it. He was also a man who today invited Zero, of all the siblings in his care, to a private meeting in his office.

As Zero sat uneasily in a plush armchair he could pick himself out from the posters and photographs covering the wood-paneled walls of the bishop’s office. He was often in the background— a blur holding a guitar, a trombone, hiding behind a mountain of drums. In six years Zero had become an established character in Camino’s church. He had stopped his rail-hopping life and settled in with a pretty blonde poetess, living just outside earshot of the church turned nightclub with a couple of potted plants and a young son. It surprised him how much he enjoyed the ebb and flow of a domestic existence. But then again, living and working in a place of constant change and noise and life and art is like wandering without ever leaving home.

“Brother Zero, I can hear your knees knocking from over here!” Bishop Camino closed the humidor cabinet and returned to his massive desk with a choice cigar. He winked his eye, his human eye. The Infernal Eye, his gift and his curse from his time as Papa, leered into Zero. It was as icy and silvery as the tools Camino used to delicately trim and light his smoke. “You'd know if you were in trouble! Relax, stay a while! How's junior?”

“Oh, swell, just swell,” said Zero, slowly uncurling himself in his seat.

“I got box seats at the Polo Grounds whenever you two want to see a game,” Camino replied. “Owner of the Giants owes me. Funny how many folks owe me, hm?”

“You're more than generous, all the time.” Zero couldn't help but feel a fondness for the man. “You helped me.”

“Alley cats are hungry, feed ‘em. Keeps the rats away. Now…” Camino noticed the smallest mote of dust on his suit, frowned deeply, and brushed it off. Camino never wore formal vestments outside of Mass, preferring instead a red silk suit with razor-sharp shoulders. Firstly because that was his look during his time as Papa Emeritus, and secondly because there was no one in New York City who would dare tell the bishop otherwise.

“Have you ever thought about the path?” He continued. Bishop Camino leaned back in his leather chair, settling in to a languid taste of his Cuban cigar. “I think you have what it takes to be Papa. Believe me, I know.”

Zero’s eyes widened, his mouth stretching open cartoonishly in shock. “You really think that?”

“Claro. Really. You've played in the house band many a time. You know more instruments than most, and catch on so quick. You're more Ghoul than man sometimes,” Camino chuckled. Zero had indeed performed for a few years in Camino's exclusive club for degenerates, and his saxophone playing was described as “a good start” which was a big compliment coming from the Bishop.

“Times are different. Big bands are out. Five pieces are in. More flexible. Digestible. What with television everywhere now.” Camino nodded. “Jazz clubs are gone, thing of the past. I'm not too proud to admit that.”

“Oh, you got more talent in your little finger than most in their whole body!” Zero piped up. “Don't sell yourself short!”

Camino gave him a wry look. “Hermano, I didn't say anything about that. Of course I'm talented. I'm the most talented motherfucker you ever saw. But times are changing. The Church needs fresh blood. And you'd be perfect for it. You got a face for television!”

Zero looked through the wooden blinds of the window, at the lines of taxis dutifully filing past. A limo turned the corner, its black and silver form sleek amongst the herd of yellow and checkerboard. Zero saw the shining sweep of the Rolls-Royce maiden perched on the hood, bowing low with her steel gossamer cloak frozen forever against the wind. A face for television, Zero thought. He never really had a television, or an actual home to plug any sort of luxury into since leaving Milwaukee, but everyone that did had the potential to see him. To hear his music. To see his face.

“That sounds swell, how would I even start?”

Camino grunted a laugh, his teeth gripping his cigar. From his place behind his massive desk he elegantly poured a finger of amber liquid from a crystal decanter into two equally opulent glasses. “Well, you have to let everyone know your intention. Even when you're not saying a word. Especially then. Your whole body must…vibrate…with that desire.”

Zero took a glass from him, nodding eagerly. “I can do that. I can vibrate with desire!”

“Naturally,” said Camino. “I'll put you in touch with Mother Imperator’s assistant, a em…a Sister Rebecca. She'll help me authorize a transfer and you can move to the heart of the Ministry.”

They clinked glasses, and Zero took a sip. It burned across his throat, tore a hole in his belly. He coughed in surprise, making every attempt to choke as politely as possible. “Move? There's somewhere else?”

“Yes, a few hours drive up north,” Camino replied. His perfectly sculpted thin moustache twitched as he frowned. “And how the hell you choking on that, boy? That's a goddamn forty year.”

Zero mumbled an apology, then felt Camino’s strong hand on his chin, jerking his face upwards for inspection. His hand was surprisingly soft, well manicured. The floral scent of hair oil drifted down from his clothing. The older man smirked, his eyes crinkling as thoughts passed through his mind. The Infernal Eye glared down at Zero from its socket in Camino’s skull, its glow removed from this realm, a separate entity also holding judgement towards him. He could have sworn the steely pinprick of a pupil moved independent from the human eye just across the bridge of the jazz singer’s nose. Zero swallowed. “Face for television,” Camino murmured, and with his other hand took a thoughtful sip of his own glass.

Zero stretched his mouth into a submissive smile. “Maybe.”

Camino gave Zero a rough pat, nearly a slap on the side of his face, and stepped away to pick up his cigar again. “Listen here, I sent my successor up to their headquarters, had them start meeting people, gather friends— boom! They're now Papa Emeritus and gaining traction in the charts every day. The trick…is to be underfoot.” Camino let out a satisfied puff of smoke. “Thing about that place is that running the Ministry is the only thing anyone can do up there in that godforsaken wilderness. So if you want something you're front and center!”

“But…moving?” Zero had just finally put roots down after a youth of wandering. He thought of Nance, of little Primo waiting for him back at their apartment. Nance with the baby on her lap as she sat by the plants on the fire escape, her red lips smiling contentedly out at the symphony of asphalt and blaring car horns.

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Camino. “Kids love it out there. At least I'm pretty certain they do.”

Camino was met with an awkward silence, and he settled into his chair, the leather offering a tired wheeze. “Yes, the city is difficult to leave,” Camino continued, steepling his fingers. He grinned. “Which is why I came back.” And promptly at midnight a town car would pick him up and drive him back to his home in Queens. “But, I've done my time, and did the work. I'm here to guide now. And I think you need to take bigger risks.”

“Nance loves it here. She was born here.” Zero smiled slightly into the middle space. “Primo was born here.”

“It's not easy raising a child in the city, believe me. My sisters complain enough. And me…well, I became a jazz singer.” He chuckled. “That tells you everything you need to know about that.”

“Could be good for junior,” Zero mused.

“Would be good for his old man too,” Camino replied with a wink. “You just say the word. I'm serious about you.”

Horns blared from outside on the street, followed by shouts and curses. The chauffeur of the Rolls-Royce rolled up up his sleeves and unbuttoned his vest as his cap fell on the sidewalk. Across from him, an equally irate taxi driver wrenched himself from the crumpled yellow door of his taxi. A woman was trapped in the back of the Rolls, hanging out the window and screeching while the rat-like dog in her arms barked. The taxi driver jumped across the hood of the limo and delivered a heavy-fisted crack to the chauffeur’s mug that Zero could hear all the way from his spot by the window. He winced as he unconsciously massaged the same place on his jaw. Camino clapped his hand across Zero’s shoulder, laughing, his lips peeled back over sharp white teeth in a roar of amusement. The Infernal Eye shone. “Fresh air and sunshine, hermano!”

-------

“Fresh air, sunshine, forests and mountains,” said Zero as he and Sister Nance held hands on a park bench and watched their young son totter around the steel playground. “Would be good for junior, yanno?”

“This sounds rehearsed,” Nance snorted, flashing him one of her elfin grins. “What's the deal? Why all of a sudden you want to move?”

Zero shrugged. “No deal. Just…need a change, maybe.”

“Zero, dear. Don't even try to lie to me.”

“Bishop Camino… thinks I should be Papa Emeritus.”

“You?” Nance made a face. “You haven't held a single job for more than a year. And you…want to run this whole thing? You want to be Papa?”

Zero frowned back, a little wounded but willing to fight. “None of those gigs were ever that interesting.”

“And you can't just up and walk away from this one,” Nance said. “No session musician or delivery boy or taxi driver ever had to commit his soul.” She tapped the place under her left eye. “Camino and the others…got a piece of their immortal soul committed to the Void. A chunk of it is just…it's just gone.”

That whitened eye of Camino burned in Zero’s brain once more. The sharp-toothed wicked grin, the bone-chilling tension of that pinprick pupil sliding across him and passing judgement. Zero had a face for television, sure— but Camino…Camino’s visage came from someplace else.

Like any blow he's ever taken, Zero shrugged it all off. “Wasn't using my immortal soul much anyway,” he chuckled.

“Goddamit Zero.” Nance crumpled into a fussy search of her coat for her silver cigarette case. He felt the cold air return to the palm of his now abandoned hand as it rested on the park bench.

Primo zoomed over from across the playground, falling into his mother’s arms. Irving Robert, really, but Primo was a better nickname for him than Uno.

“Push me on the swings?” asked their son, grinning under the hat Nance had knitted for him last week.

Nance cupped his face in her hands, smiling sweetly. “In a few minutes, Primo, your father and I are talking. But I bet you know how to do it yourself. We want to watch.”

“Oh, I can!”

“Good, now run! We're watching!” And Primo spun around and raced over to the swings across the park, leaving them for a few precious moments. Nance lit the cigarette in her mouth and took a drag, sighing on the exhale.

“Feels like the only thing that sticks in your brain are bad ideas, Zero,” Nance muttered. “I'm saying that affectionately.”

“You're one of ‘em,” he teased back, and she shoved him with a little laugh.

“Fine. You want to move to the Ministry Headquarters. Work right under Mother Imperator and Papa Emeritus and their whole shitty retinue.”

“And bring you along, of course,” Zero added in an attempt to reassure her. He was glad that she was even considering his idea now.

“I've been up there,” Nance continued. “Not much to do, so siblings get obsessive. I didn't want to stay long.”

“Obsessive?”

“Mother Imperator…” Nance stifled a laugh. “Absolute bag. A good hundred years old, easy. Refuses to speak anything but Italian. There's two siblings waiting for her to drop dead. Any day now, it feels.”

“Oh really now?” Zero mused, half listening.

“Sister Rebecca, for one. She went right to the top as the Dark Mother's Personal Assistant. Fluent in six languages, Italian especially. Comes from a bloodline of senators and government officials. Family's got mob money. She's next in line, for sure. And then there's…” Nance winced, as if an icy wind passed through her. “Maestra Eunice.”

“Oh, she's important?” Zero had seen her from time to time, conversing with Camino. Her hooded eyes, her deep scowl. He remembered her because he thought it a shame when blondes scowled like that. And Camino always looked queasy after their meetings.

“Leader of the Conclave,” Nance explained. “Old, old Ministry family. She's been shuffled around. She doesn't make too many friends.” Nance smiled crookedly. “And Rebecca would easily cut her throat in her sleep if Eunice doesn't get to Rebecca first. It's no good out there. Too heavy while those two wait for old Imperator to croak. You really want to live in the middle of that?”

“Two broads in a spat,” stated Zero. He figured early on that if there were two women left on the entirety of this Earth they still would think the other was talking behind their back.

“One has the keys to the entire global network of our Church, the other the deepest understanding of the magic that comes from the Void,” said Nance. “These are the two broads no one wants to stand in between.”

“Who says I have to stand between ‘em? I can make my music. And that's all I got to do.”

“There's no budging you, is there.”

“Camino…believes in me.” It was the first sincere thing Zero had said in a long while, and it left his heart with a wrenching whine that was carried through into his voice. It held such a sad little timbre that Nance shifted in her seat to look at him. “He believes in what I do.”

Zero knew few people in his life ever put their faith in him. Teachers thought him stupid. Fellow tramps on the road thought he was easy pickings. Not even his own father had much to do with him; his father, who's only belief was in his own ability to pick winning dogs at the track.

“You got to take risks on what you believe,” Zero added as she continued to contemplate his expression.

“But…moving…”

“Six years is the longest I've been in a single place,” announced Zero. He wanted to add “and loved someone”, but the thought felt intrusive and not at all something Nance wanted to hear. She knew his feet got restless if he sat for too long. She had been good to him, good for him, and he owed her his affection.

Nance grabbed his hand, turning his attention to look into her soft brown eyes. “Robert,” she began quietly, and she only used his real name when she wanted him to really listen. “What about your son? Robert…what about me?”

“I want to live my dream,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “And my dream includes you. And Primo. I…I promise I'll do right. You know I always try to do right.”

Nance smiled faintly back. “You always try,” she said quietly. “I can't argue with that. I'm happy…you found someone else who believes in you.”

“Mo-om!” Primo called to them both from his place on the swings, his arms and legs dangling as his body lay across the steel seat.

Nance got up and dropped her smoke to the ground, crushing it underfoot. “Just…give me a few days to think about it."

Zero gave her a thin smile as he watched her cross the playground. He felt he had moved the pieces in the way he wanted them, needed them to move. And he was pretty sure of the rules of the game, so how hard would all of this be? Except he felt a queasiness now instead of relief. The feeling of his words being more of a wager than a sign of honesty hung about his shoulders. He had the faint memory of being on the other side of that conversation. And in those moments what he thought was a promise, was really only a way to buy time.

It would be well worth it in the end, he assured himself. Good ideas always are, and Camino had said himself how much of a good idea Zero was. Zero got to his feet, brushing off his knees as his good-natured smile returned to his face. There was nothing to worry about. He always came out on top. He always pulled through, and folks always leant him a helping hand. And of course he'd always support Nance, and Primo. He promised her and so he owed her. What more is a promise than an IOU to someone else?

Funny how many folks owe me, said Camino as his dead eye flashed. Great men are owed. And Zero was ready to be a lender.

My Fic List | My AO3 | More Domestic Fics

Papa Camino & Dewdrop, Phantom Fic

#ghost scenes from the void #domestic fic #ghost band fic #young nihil #papa emeritus nihil #oc papa emeritus #oc sibling of sin #ao3 fanfic #ghost band oc #my art

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olee · 17 days

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Mi Primer Día Sin Ti | Enzo Vogrincic

Estás borracha por las calles de Madrid y no puedes dejar de pensar en Enzo.

Este es mi primer día sin verte. Camino por las calles de Madrid, borracha, son las 21:00 de la noche. Desde Malasaña hasta Niño Jesús, mis pies ya no pueden más. Lo único en lo que puedo pensar es en caminar contigo, tú sosteniéndome del brazo y guiándome. Pero estás de viaje. "¡Pff... te odio!" Te fuiste, dejándome atrás, y ahora estás en Uruguay o tal vez en Los Ángeles. Ni siquiera sé dónde estás exactamente. Sin embargo, aquí estoy yo, caminando sola, bajo estas luces amarillentas de Madrid, esperándote descaradamente. ¿Y tú? Tú estás en Júpiter. Me dejaste, o tal vez fui yo quien te dejó. ¡Ay, Enzo! Cómo te echo de menos. Mis pies duelen mientras paso por el Retiro. ¿Recuerdas al gatito negro? Está por aquí. Acabo de ver su cola cerca de la verja del Retiro.

El gato se ha ido, al igual que tú. Exactamente igual. Aquí estoy, borracha, tratando de descubrir dónde se ha escondido. Tanto el gato como tú.

Ahora estoy frente a la barra donde solíamos pasar tiempo juntos. Recuerdo lo mucho que te gustaba ese vino puro de Italia; no puedo recordar el nombre específico, pero era tu favorito. Estoy tan borracha que apenas puedo recordar algo.

Decido ponerme mis audífonos y escuchar nuestra banda favorita... ¿cuál era? Ah, sí, Radiohead, ¿verdad? O ¿tal vez era alguna banda revolucionaria de Uruguay? No puedo recordar. Optaré por un poco de Charly García, ese álbum "Bancate Ese Defecto", ese mismo.

Enzo, ¿estás enamorado? ¿De alguien más, supongo? Porque te fuiste sin decir adiós. Solo dijiste: "No puedo seguir contigo". Y así, puff, te fuiste, como aquel gato negro.

Ya casi llego a mi departamento. ¡Ay, Enzo! ¡Cómo te extraño! Estoy un poco loca, o mejor dicho, borracha. Ya estoy ansiosa por llegar a casa, servirme una copa de vino blanco y escuchar alguna canción extraña de Uruguay o algo que me haga llorar, como alguna de Silvio Rodríguez. Ojalá.

Recuerdo cuando nos emborrachábamos de vino y poníamos "Cementerio Club" de Pescado Rabioso. Tú fingías odiarlo, pero sabía que en el fondo amabas mi alma rockera. Ay, esos fueron tiempos maravillosos. Antes de que fueras famoso... Pero debo decirte que estoy muy orgullosa de ti. Has logrado ser quien siempre quisiste ser: un actor estrella, reconocido por Hollywood. De verdad, estoy feliz por ti y te admiro mucho por eso.

Estoy ansiosa por llegar a casa, mis pies ya no pueden más. Ay, ya veo la farola cerca de casa, esa luz amarillenta me hace desear ir a buscarte y besarte, pero sé que no estás aquí.

Enzo, veo una sombra bajo la farola cuando me acerco a casa, pero tengo que entrar. El portero está dormido. No sé qué hacer. Decido pasar de largo e ignorar al tipo que está fumando cerca. Sin embargo, no puedo evitar notar ciertos rasgos familiares en él. La forma en que sostiene el cigarrillo... Ay, es igual a ti. Y su altura, sus jeans doblados al final... todo me recuerda a ti.

Ignoro al tipo y saco mi llave, pero al intentar abrir la puerta, ¡se atasca! ¡Ay! No sé qué hacer. El portero debe de estar en el séptimo cielo, no me atrevo a tocar el intercomunicador. Enzo, ese tipo me está mirando. ¡Ay, no! Se está acercando. ¡Voy a gritar!

“Dejáme, yo te ayudo", dice. Ay, Enzo, tiene la misma voz que tú. Parece ser uruguayo. Pero no puedo verlo claramente. Todo está borroso, estoy borracha.

Finalmente, cuando el desconocido se acerca para ayudarme, reconozco su voz. Es Enzo. Mis lágrimas comienzan a fluir mientras lo miro con incredulidad. "Pensé que eras Enzo", murmuro entre sollozos, "lo siento tanto".

Enzo me mira con ternura y me asegura: "Soy realmente yo". Me acompaña hasta la puerta, y cuando finalmente lo veo claramente, la realidad golpea con fuerza. Es él, mi Enzo. No puedo contener las lágrimas mientras le explico lo mucho que lo extrañé, lo confundida que estaba y lo siento por haberlo malinterpretado.

Él me abraza con fuerza y me susurra palabras de consuelo. "Estoy aquí, cariño. Todo está bien", me dice mientras me acaricia el cabello. En ese momento, sé que todo estará bien.

#enzo vogrincic #society of the snow #la sociedad de la nieve #uruguay #my writing #fanfic #latina #spanish #argentina #enzo vogrincic x reader #necesito que enzo actúe en más pelis #enzo vogrincic x you #enzo vogrincic smut #enzo vogrincic fic #Spotify

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marikedrawinge · 7 months

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Mariken Muis - Quinto Camino Small Selection of Tracks Originally Intended for Domino Club VI

#my music #mouse #abstract #domino club

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grvesgf · 5 months

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VLADIMIR MAKAROV X HYBRIDCAT!READER FEM!READER.

ADVERTENCIAS: Vladimir ya es una advertencia, pistolas, sangre, ¿acoso?

RESUMEN: Conoces a Makarov en el club que trabajas.

PALABRAS: 762.

NO ESTA CORREGIDO, PERO NECESITABA ESCRIBIR SOBRE VLADIMIR.

✦ Siempre fuiste cuidadosa con quien hablabas, tus padres te enseñaron desde pequeña que la gente mala existe, especialmente para gente como tú, con tus orejas y cola de gato, llamando la atención.

✦ Trabajas en un club como mesera, atendiendo mesas a cierta hora, la hora conocida como "los contratos", donde los clientes firmaban y organizaban los contratos que cambiarían sus vidas.

✦ Tu cola se movía de lado a lado, tus orejas moviéndose por el ruido de la m��sica, tu jefe te mando a atender una mesa.

"T/N ve a la mesa de arriba, sé lo más amable posible, pero no tanto, tenemos un invitado especial esta noche."

"¿Invitado especial? Pensé que todos nuestros clientes son importantes, pero entendido."

Tomas la bandeja y mientras subes las escaleras un escalofrío te recorre, te detienes un momento, piensas que has conocido gente mala desde que trabajas, pero esta sensación de peligro nunca las habías experimentado tan fuerte. Suspiras, solo queda una hora y puedes irte a tu casa, caminas hacia la mesa con tu mejor sonrisa.

"Bienvenidos, mi nombre es T/N y seré su mesera de esta noche." Miras a cada uno de las personas mientras sonríes, enrollas tu cola en una de tus piernas. "¿Qué es lo que desean?"

"¿Estás tú en el menú? Te comería entera."

Un hombre con un acento raro te mira, su mirada te pone incómoda.

"Lo siento, para su mala suerte no lo estoy, si quiere estar con alguna chica conozco a algunas."

"¿Y si te deseo a ti?"

El hombre se para, puedes sentir su aliento en tu cara, está claramente borracho, por instinto tus orejas se agachan cuando sientes que las toca.

"Nunca había conocido un híbrido en mi vida, no sabía que eran tan hermosos."

Algo te salpica en la cara, llevas tus manos a tu boca en shock, miras el cuerpo del hombre en el suelo, está muerto.

"Oh dios mío."

Levantas la mirada para darte cuenta de que un hombre tiene una pistola, abre y cierras tu boca intentando no entrar en pánico, pero recuerdas las reglas del club, respiras profundamente y llamas a tu jefe.

"Tenemos un cuerpo en la mesa vip, ¿Puedes venir a arreglar esto? Gracias."

En menos de dos minutos el piso está brillando de nuevo y no existe un cuerpo, te limpias las gotas de sangre de tu cara y vuelves a sonreír, ocultando tu miedo.

"Bueno ese fue un buen comienzo, ¿alguno quiere pedir algo o tendremos que vivir un momento así otra vez?"

Los hombres empiezan a pedir, tú anotas sus pedidos, pero notas qué falta uno, el hombre que disparo.

"¿Usted no desea nada?"

Inclinas tu cabeza en curiosidad.

"Nada en este momento, gracias."

Tus orejas se mueven, este hombre igual tiene un acento, pero no te molesta, ruso, reconoces fácilmente.

"Traeré sus pedidos inmediatamente."

Mientras te vas miras para atrás, tu mirada choca con el hombre ruso. Llevas todos sus pedidos con una sonrisa.

"Sí necesitan algo solo aprieten este botón, y yo vendré enseguida."

Los dejas solos, los minutos pasan y tu turno se termina, sales por la puerta trasera, cuando lo ve, fumando apoyado en una pared, dudas si hablarle o no, pero lo haces.

"Hey, perdón por molestar, pero quería agradecerte por haberme ayudado arriba, no estoy acostumbrada que los clientes de este club me hablen de esa manera."

El hombre tira su cigarro y se acerca.

"No fue nada, igualmente necesitábamos una excusa para sacarlo del camino."

Su acento y voz te causan un sonrojo, estiras tu mano.

"Soy T/N, sé que me presente, pero siempre es bueno recordarlo."

El desconocido aprieta tu mano, tu cola se mueve rápidamente, su toque te causa electricidad.

"Makarov, Vladimir Makarov."

Sonríes, sin saber que sellaste tu destino.

"Es un gusto conocerte Makarov, ¿O Vladimir?"

Preguntas en honesta confusión.

"Los dos están bien."

Un auto toca la bocina, llegaron por ti.

"Fue un gusto conocerte Makarov, pero han llegado por mí."

"¿Un novio?"

"¿Qué? No, no, solo mi hermano mayor, no tengo novio."

"Eso es bueno saberlo. Adiós T/N, espero volver a verte."

"Sí vienés unas dos horas antes me vas a encontrar, solo trabajo en la hora de los contratos."

Te despides de Makarov y caminas hacia el auto, te subes y suspiras, tu hermano te mira.

"¿Nuevo sugar daddy?"

Golpeas a tu hermano en el hombro.

"Cállate idiota. Solo le estaba dando las gracias, me salvo ahí arriba."

Sin que supieras, tu destino cambiaría, a Makarov le gustaste, y cuando algo le gusta, debe ser suyo. A cualquier costo.

#cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #vladimir makarov #vladimir makarov x reader #makarov x reader #makarov x you #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod x gn!reader #modern warfare x reader

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dalermessi · 1 year

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On August 6th, 1936, Josep Sunyol made a mistake that cost him his life. The Republican president of FC Barcelona, a proud Catalan, was executed by Nationalist forces in the midst of the Spanish Civil War, after saluting troops he mistakenly identified as part of the Republican resistance by yelling, “Viva la República,” (Camino, 2014). The assassination of Sunyol symbolized the beginning of an oppressive era where regional cultures were restrained in Spain, particularly the autonomous community of Catalonia. The most publicly admired and respected representation of Catalanism, Futbol Club Barcelona, colloquially known as Barça, faced countless hardships during the fascist dictatorship of Francisco Franco from 1939 to 1975. The club rapidly became one of the only ways the Catalan people could freely express themselves and fight against Franco, especially by playing the team that became the face of the regime, Real Madrid. In the present day, Barça continues to symbolize hope and freedom for Catalonians. Amid the rise of Francoist Spain in the mid-1900s, escalating tensions between Catalan club FC Barcelona and centralist Real Madrid transformed their rivalry into a political product representing the struggles of the Catalan people, illustrating how football transcends the limits of sport to reach social and political issues, particularly through the ambience of stadiums.

Throughout Spain, football stadiums became an essential place of solace for oppressed fans, where they were free to speak out on the issues that plagued their lives. People could openly express their identities in the stands, as matches between teams of different regions often represented a conflict larger than the game itself. One example of Catalonians using football for this purpose dates back to the pre-Franco era, when “the Spanish national anthem was played to a chorus of boos before a match at Les Corts, FC Barcelona’s stadium in 1925” (O’Brien, 2013). Even prior to Catalonians being officially repressed under Franco, it was clear that they valued their regional identity more strongly than their national one.

As the dictatorship grew stronger, regional teams like FC Barcelona faced the brunt of the nationalist policies. In promoting a unified Spain, the regime heavily cracked down on aspects of localized culture. The Catalan language, in all forms, was banned in public, and only Castilian Spanish was permitted (Shobe, 2008). An order passed in 1941 required that the Catalan name of “Futbol Club Barcelona” be renamed to the Spanish “Club de Fútbol de Barcelona” (Kassimeris, 2012). The Catalan senyera flag was also banned, and so the senyera in FC Barcelona’s coat of arms was replaced with the newly created flag representing the fascist state (Shobe 2008). Under the severe Castilization of their environment, the people of Catalonia were being stripped of their identities right in front of their eyes. With essentially no power, the Catalan people “threw their cultural pride into Barça. At a Barça match, people could shout in Catalan and sing traditional songs when they could do it nowhere else” (Shobe, 2008). Inside the stadium was where it was openly acceptable to oppose the restrictions of the regime and where liberation felt most realistic.

On the other side of the country, Real Madrid was thriving as the favorite club of the regime. Franco believed the Spanish national team was not gaining enough traction internationally, as they did not qualify for the World Cup multiple times in a row and performed poorly the years they did. Fortunately for him, “the image of the Spanish national team was blurred by the prevalence and success of Real Madrid in European Football from 1956,” effectively thrusting the club into the international spotlight (Goig, 2007). Real Madrid won five consecutive European Cups from 1956 to 1960, and their recognition both in and out of Spain surged with each victory (Quiroga, 2015). The relationship between the team and the regime was undoubtedly symbiotic. Real Madrid portrayed a positive image of the dictatorship to international audiences, while Franco gave them his full-fledged support and funds. In the 1960s, as television ownership grew across the country, Real Madrid was the most broadcasted team (O’Brien, 2013). The increased public exposure to the club acted as justification for the actions of the fascist regime, because people started paying more attention to football than to the government. Supporters of Real Madrid, known as madridistas, had no idea what was happening politically behind closed doors, nor did they seem to care.

The matches between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid, termed el clásico, were expectedly controversial. Spanish media outlets moved quickly to polarize the two sides, with newly-created “Marca” pushing for Real Madrid and the dictatorship, while “El Mundo Deportivo” supported FC Barcelona and ultimately the oppressed people of Catalonia (O’Brien, 2013). The politicization of the sporting rivals is seen best in a famed clásico played in June 1943, the second leg of a knockout round in the Spanish Cup. FC Barcelona had won the first game 3-0 and were on track to advance to the next round, until police officials entered the Catalan locker room before the game. Flash forward a few hours, and Real Madrid won the game with a score of 11 to 1 (Shobe, 2008). The interference by the Francoist police no doubt played a significant role in Barça losing so severely. While it is not known what exactly was told to the Barcelona players in the locker room, it can be inferred that they were threatened to purposefully lose the game, otherwise, they could lose their lives.

As the dictator fell ill, FC Barcelona worked to reverse the impacts of his policies and reclaim their Catalan identity. During the 1973-1974 season, they shed the Spanish name of “Club de Fútbol de Barcelona” and went back to the Catalan version it currently holds (Shobe, 2008). Additionally, in 1975, the club switched the official language back to Catalan, thus once again proudly representing the people of Catalonia (Quiroga, 2015). After Franco’s death, the effects of the regime collapsing were felt immediately in stadiums across the country. One clásico played just a month after Franco’s death in 1975 experienced the largest public emergence of senyera flags since the Civil War, and in Basque Country, a similarly tyrannized region of Spain, a game between two local teams “witnessed the spectacle of both captains carrying the Basque flag on to the pitch before the game” in early 1976 (O’Brien, 2013). Events that would have been inconceivable just months earlier were now reality, as stadiums reflected the transition back to a more accepting nation.

These bold representations of cultural unity at football games did not cease in the years after Franco. In fact, they have grown stronger in the 21st century. In the 2009 Spanish Cup final between Basque side Athletic Club de Bilbao and FC Barcelona, the crowd vehemently booed King Juan Carlos I and the Spanish national anthem before kickoff (Ortega, 2015). Decades later, supporters have not forgotten the unjust treatment they were put through and are still vocal about it during matches. A fan of Celta de Vigo, situated in once-repressed Galicia, proclaimed that “On going to a match we never forget Galician prisoners, repression, the secular subjection of Galicia... Spain limits the ways in which we can fight, so football is a way of voicing our demands” (Spaaij & Viñas, 2013). While fans of teams in marginalized regions use every opportunity they can to bring light to the maltreatment and discrimination of their pasts, for the most part, Real Madrid supporters do not follow the same path. In 2010, when Real Madrid beat FC Barcelona 1-0 in the Spanish Cup final, a large group of madridistas gathered in downtown Madrid, carrying Spanish flags while cheering “I’m a Spaniard, Spaniard, Spaniard” (Ortega, 2015). It is incredibly telling that in choosing to reaffirm their national identity rather than regional, madridistas see themselves as representing the entire country. As Franco’s Spanish Nationalist movement saw its triumph over Republican forces as a victory for Spain, madridistas still see a Real Madrid victory over a formerly oppressed team as a win for the whole nation.

In 2017, Catalonia became the forefront of global news as violence broke out amidst an independence referendum. On October 1st, the autonomous community conducted a vote regarding whether Catalonia should declare independence from the Kingdom of Spain, and the regional government announced that out of 2.25 million votes, about 90% were in favor of separating (Dewan, Clarke, & Cotovio, 2017). Unfortunately, the vote was heavily obstructed by the Madrid government. National forces were sent in from the capital, “fir[ing] rubber bullets at protesters and voters trying to take part in the referendum, and us[ing] batons to beat them back,” injuring around 900 people (Dewan et al., 2017). Predictably, FC Barcelona is often utilized to discuss and promote Catalonian independence, such as in 2010 when a banner declaring that “Catalonia is not Spain” was displayed during a game against English club Arsenal (O’Brien, 2013). When the central government began plans to thwart voting earlier in September of 2017, Barça decided to speak out. The club released a statement on Twitter, expressing that “FC Barcelona...remain[s] faithful to its historic commitment to the defense of the nation, to democracy, to freedom of speech, and to self-determination...FC Barcelona...will continue to support the will of the majority of Catalan people” (FC Barcelona, 2017). In openly showing support towards Catalan citizens’ voting rights and the independence referendum, Barça effectively bridges the gap between sports and politics. This is a two-way street: FC Barcelona stands up for their adherents, just as fans turn to the club to escape injustice time and time again. Coincidentally, Barça had a game scheduled the same day as the vote, which was played behind closed doors in order to eliminate the possibility of violence erupting in the crowd. The opposing team, Las Palmas, wore “special uniforms emblazoned with the Spanish flag,” something very out of the ordinary (Minder & Barry, 2017). Such a display could not tell a more pointed message.

The Franco dictatorship shaped the future of Spanish football forever, with Real Madrid and FC Barcelona at the forefront of the action. Real Madrid’s consistent success found them gaining the trust of the regime, which showcased the club’s victories as a positive interpretation of the fascist dictatorship itself. The desire of a unified, homogeneous Spanish state fueled regional tension, especially in Catalonia. Despite having their language and flag taken away, the Catalan people sought comfort in the stadium of FC Barcelona, where they could freely sing and speak and cheer for their team. In the decades after Franco, FC Barcelona has captivated audiences across Spain and the globe, cementing the club’s status as the most powerful cultural institution of Catalonia. “When the team took the field against FC Valencia in February 2012, nine players from the starting 11 emerged from the club’s Cantera System” (O’Brien, 2013), illustrating the importance Barça places on homegrown players. By providing unmatched talent bred exclusively in the club’s own youth academy, FC Barcelona is ensuring that they are conveying the best image of Catalanism to the rest of the world. As the Catalan struggle for independence continues, Barça was, is, and will continue to be a significant characteristic of the identities of millions of Catalonians. FC Barcelona represented hope in a time where its people needed it the most, and it is still the most influential institution in Catalonia to this day. The club and region are inextricably intertwined, as best seen in the passionate cheer: “Visca el Barça i visca Catalunya” - long live FC Barcelona and long live Catalonia.

References

Camino, M. (2014). ‘Red Fury’: Historical memory and Spanish football. Memory Studies,7(4), 500-512. doi:10.1177/1750698014531594

Dewan, A., Clarke, H., & Cotovio, V. (2017, October 02). Catalonia referendum: What just happened? CNN. Retrieved from https://www.cnn.com/2017/10/02/europe/catalonia- independence-referendum-explainer/index.html

Goig, R. L. (2007). Identity, nation‐state and football in Spain. the evolution of nationalist feelings in Spanish Football. Soccer & Society,9(1), 56-63. doi:10.1080/14660970701616738

FC Barcelona, @FCBarcelona. (20 September, 2017). Communique - Attached Image. [Twitter post]. Retrived from https://twitter.com/FCBarcelona/status/910462298908708864

Kassimeris, C. (2012). Franco, the popular game and ethnocentric conduct in modern Spanish football. Soccer & Society,13(4), 555-569. doi:10.1080/14660970.2012.677228

Minder, R., & Barry, E. (2017, October 01). Catalonia's Independence Vote Descends Into Chaos and Clashes. The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/01/ world/europe/catalonia-independence-referendum.html

O’Brien, J. (2013). ‘El Clasico’ and the demise of tradition in Spanish club football: Perspectives on shifting patterns of cultural identity. Ethnicity and Race in Association Football, 25-40. doi:10.4324/9781315094304-3

Ortega, V. R. (2015). Soccer, nationalism and the media in contemporary Spanish society: La Roja, Real Madrid & FC Barcelona. Soccer & Society,17(4), 628-643. doi:10.1080/14660970.2015.1067793

Quiroga, A. (2015). Spanish Fury: Football and National Identities under Franco. European History Quarterly,45(3), 506-529. doi:10.1177/0265691415587686

Shobe, H. (2008). Place, identity and football: Catalonia, Catalanisme and Football Club Barcelona, 1899–1975. National Identities, 10(3), 329-343. doi:10.1080/14608940802249965

Spaaij, R., & Viñas, C. (2013). Political ideology and activism in football fan culture in Spain: A view from the far left. Soccer & Society, 14(2), 183-200. doi:10.1080/14660970.2013.776467

#just in case anyone forgot :)#fc barcelona #fcb #football #this is just one of my two or three essays on this topic lmfao #i think this is my most recent one from 2018 for my social and historical perspectives of sport class in 2nd year of undergrad #i miss when i used to fight people on here by just copy pasting paragraphs of this and the other papers. lol #that whole point about stadiums isn't really relevant to this particular incident/conversation (i think) and tbh idk why i included it #maybe one of the papers had some really good info about it that i couldn't ignore

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xjulixred45x · 3 months

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Como última petición ¿puedo pedir headcanons de fizz y asmodeo con una pareja como pomni? Es que amo a la payasita/bufona ansiosa y sería adorable, felices fiestas y año nuevo

¡FINALMENTE ALGO DE OTROS FANDOMS!¡Y DE MI OTP DE HELLUVA BOSS! gracias por el pedido! Felices fiestas y año nuevo atrasados😘😅

Fizzmodeus x Pomni! Lectora

Género: Headcanons

Lector: femenino

Advertencias: la lectora es manojo de nervios constante, lectora Imp del anillo de la Avaricia (no se especifico), Infierno, Mammon, realmente no mucho. Fluff.

Ser un demonio en general no es fácil.

Pero nacer en el anillo de la Avaricia lo hacía 10 veces más difícil, mínimo.

La mayor parte de tu vida se baso en tratar de mantenerte viva pese a las pobres condiciones que tenía tu anillo, evitar a los mafiosos, evitar las balas y objetivos voladores, sobrevivir en general.

Gracias a esto siempre estabas en alerta constante, nerviosa y asustada de lo que pudiera salir de algún rincón.

Afortunadamente no pasaste por esto sola, mientras crecias terminaste encontrando gente en el camino que realmente les importaba tu seguridad.

Gente que también quería sobrevivir en el caótico anillo que les tocó vivir y que utilizaban ciertos talentos artísticos para ello. Terminaron siendo algo así como tú familia sustituta. Tus amigos.

Pese a todo lo que hacían por ti(desde progerte hasta darte techo), querías empezar a traer tu propio pan a la mesa, contribuir en algo.

Tus amigos estaban bien con eso, por lo que te ayudaron a pensar en un posible acto callejero que pudiera llamar la atención de los demás.

Fue entonces que uno de tus amigos sugirió (basado en la nueva mascota de Mammon) que hicieras un acto de Payaso con temática Clown*.

Te gustaba la idea y la desarrollaste por tu cuenta.

Creaste tu vestuario, hiciste con prueba y error tu propio acto y en menos de lo que pensabas ya fuiste a las calles junto a tus compañeros.

Lejos de lo que pensabas, tu trabajo se volvió relativamente popular y bastante rápido. A la gente le gustaba tu "personaje" torpe y ansioso. Contrastaba bastante con, por ejemplo, Fizzarolli.

Tu popularidad fue creciendo exponencialmente, haciendo muestras en lugares cada vez más grandes, con mejor paga, con mejores empleadores.

Eventualmente así fue como conociste a Fizz y Ozzie en primer lugar, cuando fuiste a trabajar a Ozzie's por recomendación de tu agente y "sugerencia" orden de Mammon.

AHORA, creo que tanto Fizz como Ozzie habrían oido de ti antes, más que nada por las comparaciones que te hacían con Fizz.

Ozzie no lo pensaba mucho, aunque creía que el "personaje" de payasa nerviosa era algo innovador, sinceramente.

Fizz, por otro lado, estando más familiarizado con este tipo de actuaciones(y sobretodo, con trabajar con gente como Mammon) podía ver qué en realidad no era un personaje, realmente eras un manojo de nervios.

El sintió cierta simpatia por ti, le recordabas a su yo más joven e inexperto.

Por lo mismo cuando supo que ibas a trabajar en Ozzie's por un tiempo, el estaba en cierta forma emocionado de conocerte. Fizz tenía un buen presentimiento sobre ti.

Y vaya que tenía razon.

Cuando los conociste estabas aún más nerviosa que de costumbre, y como no, si bien técnicamente trabajabas para Mammon, no sabías que esperar de Asmodeo. Más ahora que estabas lejos de tu grupo.

Esperabas un tipo de trato similar al de Mammon, con mucho trabajo, horarios de ensayo, "estrategias de Marketing" Fanservice, etc..

Pero en realidad tu experiencia en Ozzie's fue...¿agradable?

Los horarios no eran NI DE LEJOS tan exigentes como los de Mammon e incluso podías elegirlos. ELEJIRLOS.

¡Nisiquiera tuviste que cambiar tu uniforme original! Lo cual fue realmente agradable para poder hacer tus actos.

Asmodeo(Ozzie) era en realidad un jefe REALMENTE bueno, a ver, incluso con su política de no Romance, podías entenderlo(¿Quién querría romance en un club de Strip?).

Aparte de que realmente se preocupo porque estuvieras cómoda con el resto del staff e incluso ESCUCHO lo que tenías que decir.

¡Fue realmente lindo!

¡Incluso llegó a presentarte a Fizzarolli!¡el original! Y si bien tu personalidad y la de el contrastaban bastante, era un sujeto bastante amigable.

Pudieron intercambiar algunas anécdotas de trabajar con Mammon o de los Fans locos que suelen tener, algunas ideas para próximas funciones, etc.

¡Con el tiempo incluso llegas a acostumbrarte a las funciones en Ozzie's! En parte gracias a Fizz y Ozzie, que lento pero seguro, se van convirtiendo en parte de tu día a día.

Poco a poco pierdes un poco la timidez y la ansiedad con ellos al darte cuenta de algo que, bueno, no estabas acostumbrada hasta ese momento.

Que ellos les importas como PERSONA y no como Producto (gracias Mammon).

Después de este pequeño descubrimiento, puedes actuar con más naturalidad cerca de ambos, lo cual es bastante divertido porque aún sigues siendo algo torpe y lleva a algunas situaciones divertidas(ten cuidado en dónde pisas, porfavor).

Ambos encuentran tu personalidad bastante adorable.

No es algo muy común encontrar a alguien inocente en el infierno, y sinceramente ver lo ansiosa que estabas al principio era un poco preocupante(más que nada sabiendo para quien trabajas).

Pero fue un cambio bastante bienvenido que ambos encontraron bastante interesante. Algo nuevo.

Si vamos a términos más avanzados de relación, es puro FLUFF.

Fizz desde luego es el más atrevido, le gusta mucho verte avergonzada y puede y HARA muchas bromas de doble sentido cerca tuyo solo para ver qué tan colorada te pones.

Aunque definitivamente estaría fuera de guardia si le coqueteas de vuelta(incluso si es algo suave). Estaría congelado unos buenos segundos procesando lo que dijiste.

Colas entrelazadas colas entrelazadas colas entrelazadas---

Aunque definitivamente también te ofrece un espacio para quejarte del trabajo todo lo que quieras(incluso de Mammon), aparte de que si bien le gusta burlarse un poco de tu personalidad ansiosa, realmente nunca se burla seriamente de tu ansiedad (más si hay una razón detras de esta).

En ese caso trataría de evitar ese tipo de bromas lo más posible y solo trata de hacerte reír (funciona 9/10 veces).

Ozzie es más suave en el sentido de que si bien ES el señor de la lujuria, realmente no quiere hacer nada que active una alarma, por lo que es más un tipo de afecto físico.

Aunque no me malinterpretes, es un grande en cuanto a los halagos también y un gran fanático de ver tu cara colorada, en el mejor de los sentidos.

Ozzie🫱

Fizz🫲

🤝*hacerte sonrojar a más no poder*

Su coqueteo va más por los cumplidos. Y no importa cuánto lo intentes, no puedes coquetear devuelta, porque atacará con 10 veces más fuerza :')

Aunque si quieres avergonzarlo un poco, dale un beso a alguna de sus otras cabezas ;) garantizado.

También le gusta darte pequeños gestos(similar a como se muestra con Fizz), regalarte algunos accesorios bonitos que convienen contigo, ropa, preparar la comida(especialmente si quemas agua igual que Fizz-).

Si le devuelves el gesto ¡El se siente TAAAAN enternecido! Lo aprecia mucho.

Ozzie no puede permitirse ser tan abierto y cariñoso afuera de la casa como Fizz(que se vuelve una garrapata), pero compensa el tiempo perdido en casa.

Puede que tú y Fizz puedan tener colaboraciones juntos para así 1- colaborar con alguien que REALMENTE les agrade 2- quitarse a Mammon de encima por un rato y 3- simplemente pasar un rato juntos mientras hacen algo que les gusta :3

Ozzie es igual de protector contigo que con Fizz, sino un poco más, justamente por tu naturaleza nerviosa y tú ansiedad.

Tanto Ozzie como Fizz están listos para arrojar manos si alguien trata de pasarse de listo contigo, aunque claro, tienen sus métodos.

Fizz trata de animarte a ser más grosera, o mejor dicho, a pelear más por ti misma y no dejarte pisotear, aunque igual si ve que no puedes manejar la situación el saltará en tu defensa y destruirá (con palabras) a la persona que te esté tratando mal.

Ozzie es más paciente con tu naturaleza ansiosa e incluso trata unos ejercicios para evitar crisis ansiosas contigo, lo cual sirve bastante para las funciones.

Pero definitivamente se pone muy rápido a la defensiva si el percibe algo de hostilidad hacia ti. Indiferente si es un cliente o no, se va pa fuera.

Al mismo tiempo no están para nada en contra que quieras aprender a defenderte por tu cuenta. Sobretodo Fizz. Ozzie puede ser más difícil de convencer, pero dale unos grandes ojos de cierva y cederá rápidamente.

Si llegas a pasar por algún momento similar al de "Oops" definitivamente puedo ver a Fizz tratando de evitar que te mueras de un paro cardíaco, incluso si está muriéndose de miedo el también, su principal prioridad en ese momento es evitar que tú ansiedad saque lo peor de ti.

(aunque tambien incluso con todo esto ocurriendo tratas de dejarles algo de espacio a Fizzarolli y Blitzø para que resuelvan sus cosas. Claro, mientras no haya balas en tu dirección).

Mientras tanto Ozzie está usando todo su autocontrol para no matar al abogado de Crimson--

Cuando Fizz y tú regresan con Ozzie, espera UN GRAN ABRAZO DE OSO y un chequeo médico OBLIGATORIO, junto con muchos mimos de Ozzie y Fizz.

Si ya no trabajas para Mammon y tú único trabajo es Ozzie's, entonces te alias con Ozzie para tratar de convencer a Fizz que deje a Mammon, viendo que no funciona con Asmodeo, tratas de usar tus propias experiencias personales, aunque tampoco funciona:(

Definitivamente ayudaste con las luces durante la Canción de "Fuck You". No elaborare más.

En general, estos dos son muy suaves para una pareja con ansiedad y problemas de nervios, lo encuentran adorable y definitivamente te protegerán y defenderán tu honor de cualquiera que piense lo contrario🩵💚

¡Gracias por la petición!¡Espera te guste!💙💚🩵

*CLOWN: estilo de teatro, El clown juega constantemente. Es su manera de explorar, de aprender, de conocer, es su forma de vivir. No pretende divertir sino divertirse. No buscar hacer reír sino el cariño del público(A diferencia de los payasos, no necesitan indispensablemente mascarilla)

#headcanons #fem reader #helluva boss x reader #fizzmodeus #fizzarolli x asmodeus #helluva boss fizz x ozzie #fizzmodeus x reader #fizzarolli x reader #helluva asmodeus #helluva fizzarolli #ozzie x reader #español #spanish

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