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martyrdeer · 14 days ago

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FLAPPER GIRL

synopsis: in harlem, new york, will graham is a rebellious and restive housewife to fbi’s most brilliant forensic investigator, brian zeller. amid the dazzling jazz clubs and the history-making era, will retreats into her sanctuary, entrapped by the illusion of otherness. unknown to most, including her husband, she holds a multitude of secrets that could incriminate her. but that was all fine—until she met someone new.

her somber, bleak life is beautifully disrupted by hannibal lecter. as will’s past begins to unravel and her ties to hannibal deepen, she finds herself caught between loyalty, betrayal, and a dangerous obsession that could destroy everything she holds dear.

word count is 3.7k! read the other chapters here: two, three, four

On a rather balmy afternoon, Wilhelmina Graham was haunting the halls of her home. Even though the sun shone through the windows, her attitude remained gloomy. Wilhelmina—or Will, what she preferred to be called—was shifting through her husband’s case notes from a recent murder case. Her husband, Brian Zeller, was an FBI Forensic Investigator. Their marriage was a loveless one. Will discovered the young man through a mutual friend, Beverly Katz. At the time of meeting Brian, Beverly was still courting his best friend, Jimmy Price.

Jimmy was an intimate coworker of Brian’s. Both men worked under Jack Crawford, the Special Agent in Charge at the BSU. Like Wilhelmina, Beverly’s marriage to Jimmy was void of any affection. All four of them seemed to be forest fires and witnesses watching it.

When Will sipped bitter tea with Beverly every Friday during lunch, she saw the flicker of a familiar spark in her eyes—or lack thereof. The women would observe their husbands from afar, who seemed to be having a better time together. For Beverly, she’d indulge herself in endless shopping and wine, and Will would envy her. She almost loathed her companion for it. She yearned to seek solace in the frilliest things like that. All she had with her was a sickening mind and a single dog.

She desired more. But Brian swore he had allergies and that she’d grow better one day. Then he’d leave for work—or so he said. Wilhelmina’s feet continuously carried her to her husband’s office, just like now as her eyes squinted at his scribble on papers and pictures of another mutilated corpse. Every time Will questioned Brian about his job, he would dismiss her. It was a tale as old as time.

She had an inkling he was going to be like that until death do us part—or until she suffocated him in his sleep in a similar fashion her dreams had beautifully showcased to her.

For the past few years, a bestial slaughterer roamed the streets of Harlem, New York. Heaven was obtaining more angels as the jazz clubs shimmered in their glory. Like any other infamous serial killer, the monster gained a nickname—the Chesapeake Ripper. The sick beast would mutilate the victims while they were alive, surgically remove their organs, and then present the victims somewhere in an artistic manner.

Will felt like she was in Jack Crawford’s Evil Minds museum every time she looked at the pictures. It was beautiful to her. Last time, the Ripper’s victim was placed like the 16th century’s “Wound Man.” Yet the killer never had a face or left any damning evidence, which drove the BSU insane. The Ripper even got to one of their best agents who got too close—Miran Lars. He was found like the other victims, but this time at the church where he married his wife. On his knees, glancing up at the Holy Mary statue. Will deemed it a mockery of the man.

Since Lars’ death, the killings had ceased. But there was a new guy in town. Young women had begun vanishing. Like the Ripper, there was no evidence. The women were like ghosts now—until one of them arrived back home. The young woman was called Elise Nichols.

To much surprise, it was not Brian Zeller who helped with the profile of The Minnesota Shrike. It was Will instead. When she would graciously snoop in the files he brought home, she would look at the crime scene photos. And before she knew it, she would slip into the skin of the killer.

This curse that was gifted to her by some God was the main reason her husband was seen as one of the greatest agents in New York. And if she didn’t deeply understand his motives and emotions, she would have despised him, possibly more. It was not only her sick mind or dull abode; it was the turmoil on her shoulders.

Unfortunately for her, she was aware of her surroundings and wouldn’t dare to speak—not even to Beverly. She was a drunk who spilled too many secrets to her lavender husband. If Will was brave enough, she would confront Brian about this. But she was only a silly bored housewife, after all. And if word got out, she would then be a silly bored housewife in the local loony bin.

Once she finally cracked the code, she would anonymously send a letter to her husband, informing him about every little detail—most of them he had missed. Will joked in her letters that if it was a snake, it would have bitten him in the rear. Multiple times.

In her letters, her name was Agatha. By her third letter, Brian was completely dependent on her. If he was the genius people swore he was, he’d have found Will guilty already.

Among his dirty other secrets, he took credit for all “Agatha” did. He could never live to the truth. An unqualified and unknown woman who most likely never even came close to a crime scene was better than him. Brian saw it as emasculating and skeptical at first. Yet on a hunch, he cleverly disguised the insights as his own.

And a day or so later, the suspect was arrested. At the moment, Brian was still baffled. He admired Agatha enough to reply, yet it was impossible. But like clockwork, after Will reviewed the case when Brian was away, Agatha would send another letter. And the killers since then would never know peace.

This time, Will was studying The Minnesota Shrike. Seven young women were disappearing from thin air, and no one knew why. A cunning crime tabloid journalist named Freddy Lounds had theories, but they were so far-fetched the police ignored them.

According to Brian’s notes, Jack Crawford found Elise Nichols tucked into her bed after she went missing. Unfortunately for her parents, she was rather deceased. Choked to death, to be exact.

In her vision, Will imagined strangling and straddling the poor girl. Her ribs were also broken—as if her ghastly nightmares weren’t bad enough. She was surprised by this killer. Elise was murdered with mercy. Her death was clean, and she was tucked back into bed where he found her, Will theorized.

This was not a typical case of a sociopath or psychopath. He was trying to undo as much as he could, given he already killed her.

As Will continued to read Brian’s notes, he mentioned that they had found antler velvet in two of the wounds, like she was gored. From his mind-numbing ramblings, Will remembered deer and elk pin their prey. They put all their weight on the antlers and try to suffocate them. But it wasn't the rutting season.

At the end of her conclusion, Will knew whatever the killer did to the others, he couldn't do it to her. This was an apology.

When Brian finally wrote more in his notes about Elise, Will was getting closer to the end of her profile. She hadn’t put a face to him. She was clueless regarding that. But she fell deeper into the hole she dug herself for.

She thought about the nickname the press gave the man. She had knowledge of Shrikes—a perching bird. They would impale mice and lizards on thorny branches and barbed wire, ripping their organs right out of their bodies.

According to the autopsy, Elise was not gored. But she did have piercings that looked like they were caused by deer antlers. Will believed she was mounted on them—like hooks. She was most likely bleeding during.

And then something striking happened during the autopsy. The medical examiner noticed that her liver had been removed—but was relocated back into her body.

Then it hit Will like a bullet to the shoulder. There was something wrong with the meat.

The Minnesota Shrike was eating the young women.

Soon after her discovery, Will’s nightmares worsened—the only downside of her talented curse. When she couldn’t sleep and Brian could, she snuck down to his office and continued her work.

As she quietly paced around his office in her sheer nightgown, she finally finished her profile. In the case notes, they scraped off a curly piece of metal. Elise’s fingernails were smudged when they took scrapings. She never scratched the killer. It wouldn’t matter anyway. On her good nights, Will dreamed of a day of DNA testing.

But with the metal, she knew they should be looking at plumbers, steamfitters, and tool-workers. She continued to pace and read—a habit she developed quickly after helping her husband with his murder cases. Will soon realized that he had a cabin. And if he didn’t, a house with an antler room.

For some reason, Will picked up a parental vibe from Elise’s death. She didn’t know why. As she looked at the pictures of Elise and the other missing girls, she saw a type. So the cannibal was a father of a daughter.

An only child. Same age as the other girls. Same hair color, same eye color, same height, same weight. And The Minnesota Shrike was losing it. Will suspected his darling daughter was leaving home.

Brian Zeller returned to his work and received a letter from his confidant. “Agatha” had told him everything she had. That skepticism crept into him—also astonishment. He was constantly gobsmacked by her.

It sounded like one of Freddy Lounds’ theories. But he presented it to Jack Crawford anyway. Agatha was never wrong before. Jack raised his suspicions and, to his belief, Brian was never wrong before. Even though the profile was helpful, it was still a needle in a haystack.

Defeated, Brian arrived home to his woeful wife with all the files of construction workers he collected. And when he went to bed that night, Will did what she always did. She sat at his desk, chewing on his pen while reading the papers. And soon, one name stuck out to her. Garret Jacob Hobbs.

A day or so later, after another frantic letter from Agatha, Garret Jacob Hobbs was found. But in the meantime, he had murdered his wife—and attempted to kill his daughter, Abigail Hobbs. He had slit both of their throats.

Luckily, Jack Crawford had shot and killed him in action. When Brian came home after the incident, he was gleaming at Will. For the first time since he met her, those many moons ago.

He even cupped her face and pecked her lips.

For Will, she was gleeful her husband was in a better mood again. She rarely saw that side of him. But she was better off without that kiss. Brian’s kissing skills mirrored a bird.

But then he told her about his success at work. She forged a smile and laugh. She hugged him tightly. She knew she should be happy for him—or happy for herself again since she was the reason this case was solved.

But it didn’t feel right. It felt bittersweet.

Garret was dead. The monster was gone. He couldn’t harm any other girl again. Yet, he took his wife along with him. And tried to take Abigail with him.

The following days, she and her father were in the newspaper: front page and all. The FBI team was mentioned in passing.

Will guessed the media mostly ate up the most disgusting part of the story. In her eyes, people were such saps.

Just like her husband when he informed her about a celebration dinner.

The celebration dinner was hosted by Hannah “Hannibal” Lecter. The widow of Miran Lars. After her husband’s death, she still kept close contact with Jack and the team. She would never forget their kindness and loyalty after her traumatic event. So she paid her respects even when she didn’t have to anymore. Over the years, she had become good friends with Jack Crawford. And after every murder, he and the team would ‘solve’, she would bake them multiple treats. As a thank you for what you do.

Sometimes Jimmy would joke to Will that Hannibal’s Crêpes Suzette was the only reason he stayed at the job. Until that dinner, Will had actually never met this perfect woman. Jack once described her during a conversation between the two, as a beloved flapper girl.

From what Will picked up in conversations about Hannibal, she was a wealthy swanky bimbo. To say Will formed a resentment towards the woman she never met was an understatement. She could picture Hannibal in a tight flapper dress drinking giggle water at her snooty parties. She imagined her using her widowness to manipulate men at jazz clubs. Oh, how she abhorred the woman. Hannibal Lecter took up so much of her mind. It was utterly putrid.

Wilhelmina wound up at that dinner days later. Against her will, she may add. Joining her and Brian were Jack and Bella Crawford, Beverly and Jimmy, along with a few other FBI colleagues whose names she hadn’t bothered to learn.

She wore a sleek, knee-length evening gown of black silk chiffon. Since she didn’t own so much, Beverly let her borrow it. The gown's silhouette was straight and elegant, with a drop-waist cut. Despite the glamour and her sleek bob, Will felt like this was an ill-fitting suit for her. She didn’t feel pretty. She wasn’t resplendent like Beverly gushed about. She was off the beam.

Even Brian couldn’t muster up a few nice words for her. Everybody else at the dinner was going to be a sexy baby. And Will was the monster on the hill. Too screwy to hang about. She wondered if she did talk at the dinner if they would hear the covert narcissism she disguised as altruism.

The low hum of jazz spilled from the grand dining room as everyone stepped into the glittering entryway of Hannibal Lecter’s opulent adobe. The air was thick with an intoxicating blend of aromas, each more decadent than the last. Will smelled the deep, earthy richness of roasted meat from the kitchen. She had distanced herself from her husband, trying her best not to glower.

With that, Brian moved closer to Jimmy. He knew he wouldn’t reject him as his wife did. And resembling a broken record, Jimmy let go of Beverly’s hand. Rejecting her as Will did with Brian. Feeling dejected, Beverly hid in the shadows of her husband and his beloved comrade. Will glanced over at Jack and Bella, her blue eyes becoming green. Moments later, Hannibal came into everybody’s sight.

She welcomed everybody with a big grin that outshone everything in the home. She was wearing a deep crimson silk dress. The bodice had intricate black beading, swirling into patterns that caught the light with every slight movement.

The dress’s low back dipped scandalously showing her flawless skin. A long strand of white pearls hung around her neck, and her gray hair was pinned into an elegant chignon. A silver hairpin shaped like a serpent was nestling into her hair. When Will laid her eyes on her, something fizzled in the pit of her stomach. And she knew it wasn’t envy. Despite her wrath, Will thought Mrs. Lecter was beautiful.

Hannibal went around to everyone, shaking their hand or enchanting them with hugs. It filled Will with a vengeance. With each person Hannibal eliminated, she grew closer to Will. The person she was most thrilled to meet. She sensed Will’s detachment and fury to this certain situation. Even though it was not Will’s intent, it drew Hannibal in.

If she could, Will would have brushed Hannibal off. But that would not be very ladylike of her. When it was her turn to greet Hannibal, she avoided eye contact. Hannibal’s signature perfume lingered around her. Invading and clouding Will’s senses. The rich blend of amber and leather made Will’s jaw tighten. Steeling herself against the magnetic pull of the woman she loathed.

That was until Hannibal began to purr, “You must be the famous Wilhelmina Graham I’ve been hearing about. It is so lovely to finally meet you, my dear.’’

Hannibal’s lips curved into a smirk as she studied Will’s expressions. The off-putting woman had seduced her without even trying. She adored Will’s faintest dab of rouge on her lips and her half-hearted eyeshadow. The woman did not seem to care about her appearance like the other guests. She did not want to impress. She was her own person. Something so rare in Hannibal’s realm. Most people flattered and sucked up to her. But Will almost glared at her. Seemed to have a distaste for her. It was humorous.

Will drawled out, “I can say the same to you, Mrs. Lecter.’’ Her tone was half-assed, borderline snarky. Brian shot a glare towards Will, begging her not to embarrass him. He was already ashamed enough of having a wife like her. He prayed people wouldn’t see his reasoning, especially after crafting a falsehood to amaze the men he associated himself with. From his stories, Will was a stunning housewife who obeyed him and made cookies. In reality, she wouldn’t even make him coffee. She was his wife, not a maid.

Hannibal brought Will’s hand to her lips and gracefully kissed Will’s dorsum. It gave Will gooseflesh, a passion no man had ever gifted her. It was addictive. She had been deprived of touch for so long. Even when she did receive affection, it fell short. A man’s caress was never enough. When her scowl faltered, Hannibal let out an amused hum.

It sent vibrations through Will’s aching body. She slowly took Will’s hand away and squeezed it. “Your husband left out how radiating you are,’’ She teased both Will and Brian.

Brian became flustered. He attempted to joke, “Well I guess since I see her every day, her appearance just blends into the background.’’

Will stiffened, her disdain for her husband was forevermore. Hannibal chuckled, mocking him in the purpose, “Oh, Brian, if I had this beaut waking up next to me every day, I would never stop bragging.’’

Brian guffawed along with everyone, Will forcing a smile. She was occupied with working on how to slow her racing heartbeat. Before Brian could dig himself deeper into his shallow grave, Hannibal led the group into the dining room. The dining room was a symphony of opulence and shadows, its walls had Art Deco patterns in gold and black.

A crystal chandelier cast a warm, flickering glow over the long mahogany table. The centerpiece was a towering arrangement of calla lilies, their pale petals luminous under the soft light. Around them were silver candelabras, their flames dancing delicately, and place settings of bone china trimmed in gold. Hannibal gilded between her guests as they sat down. Will sat between Brian and Beverly, smoothing out her gown.

The food Hannibal cooked and served was lavish. Whereas the company lacked sophistication. Will drowned herself in the cocktail that was specially poured by Hannibal. Will started to believe she would never forget how Hannibal whispered into her ear. Encircled by everybody’s constant chatter, Will remained quiet. She chewed on the smoked salmon roses on the rye and foie gras mousse on the brioche. Hannibal leaned down and her breath tickled Will’s neck. “Not fond of eye contact are you?”

Will’s eyes lingered on Hannibal’s collarbone. She shook her head no with a whisper, “Eyes are distracting– you see too much, you don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, um, ‘Oh those whites are really white,’ or ‘she must have hepatitis,’’ or ‘Oh, is that a burst vein?’ So yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible.”

Hannibal sniggered, “I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

Hannibal had just described Will to a letter, but she was not about to give her the satisfaction of knowing it. Will grumbled softly, “Something like that.’’ Hannibal chuckled, walking away.

The first course was a velvety crab bisque, its surface glistening with gold leaf, followed by a frisée and poached pear salad, the tang of champagne vinaigrette balanced by the crunch of toasted walnuts. In her lifetime, this was the best food Will had ever had. And that was the only beginning.

For the main course, a roasted pheasant was presented in a rich black truffle sauce, paired with duchess potatoes and braised red cabbage. A cheese course followed, with pungent Époisses, honeycomb, and figs. The dessert was a delicate opera cake layered with almond sponge and coffee buttercream. Hannibal soon offered her final temptation: lavender-infused truffles, candied rose petals, and aged cognac.

When the dinner came to an end, Will was slipping into a food coma. She leaned on Beverly as everyone started to leave. They had an arm wrapped around each other’s waist. Hannibal observed that from afar. She noticed Brian was incautious of his wife. So was Jimmy. The others were indulging themselves in an opulent gossip with her.

When everyone was surrounded by the front door, Hannibal bid them farewell. But before Will could fully depart, cold fingertips grazed the back of the shoulder. It felt like an electric shock. Will drunkenly whipped her head around and saw Hannibal. She had a scheming expression, Will knew better than to trust her. She tugged on Beverly as Hannibal began to speak. “I would love to see you again, Wilhelmina. Just the two of us. Without the overwhelming crowd.”

Will furrowed her eyes, nodding sloppily. She mumbled as Jack opened the door for the group, “Yeah, of course.” She was about to slur Hannibal’s name, desiring to know how it would feel to say her name. But Beverly put her in Brian’s car. She pondered if this dinner would be the reason why she wouldn’t be receiving any more invitations.

On the way home while sitting next to her husband, Will could stop thinking about Hannibal Lecter. Even when she climbed into bed with Brian, she was still thinking about her. Was she allowed to cry? In her dreams that night, she cracked something more than murder cases. She dreamt of cracking locks. Throwing her life to the wolves or the ocean rocks.

In the morning, Will was fooled by her visions. She crashed her body into Brian, thinking it was somebody. It was only when he aggressively pushed her back & screeched was when she remembered. Will whimpered, seething at her husband. She laid back on the bed, everything coming out teenage petulance. Hannibal Lecter was a paradox who had trapped Will in a web. And she was already sure she didn’t want to be saved.

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kilianromero · 1 year ago

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The Kiss (1924)

#vintage #retro #illustration #cool #weekend #friday #vintage illustration #art #1920s fashion #flapper #1920s #20s #kissing #kiss #kisses #winter #retro aesthetic #retro style #retro hair

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shrodie · 3 months ago

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A TALK WITH “SHEZOW” CREATOR OBIE SCOTT WADE

POSTED BY KYLE ANDERSON ON JUNE 3, 2013

On Friday, we told you about the new Hub Network cartoon series, SheZow, about the exploits of a boy who leads a double life as a superhero. A lady super hero. The creator of this unique children’s show is Obie Scott Wade, who was kind enough to answer some of our questions about the show’s inception, its place in superhero mythos, and the controversy that’s already brewing over it.

NERDIST: How did you come up with such a unique idea for a TV show, much less one aimed at kids?

OBIE SCOTT WADE: I first had the idea when I was a kid. I grew up loving superheroes, and one day was struck with the question. What would happen if I put on a superhero power ring that was meant for a woman? Would I get her powers? Would I suddenly be dressed in her super clothes? And I assumed the answer was yes. As a kid, I was a huge fan of TV in general and I especially loved Bewitched. From a very young age I dreamed of growing up and creating my own TV show about somebody with a magic secret, and it became SheZow.

N: In the first episode, Guy is actively against girly things; at what point in the idea process did you decide to comment on gender roles in society?

OSW: I didn't decide to comment on gender roles. I just set out to make a comedy. Commenting on gender roles was never my goal. I just wanted to make a TV show that I'd imagined as a kid. I did, however, need Guy to be a rough-and-tumble boy in order for the conflict to be present in the story when he changes into SheZow.

N: What was your pitch like to The Hub and how much of the concept changed from conception to now?

OSW: We originally pitched the series to Ted Biaselli at The Hub. He was our biggest supporter there. Ted's advice was invaluable. The concept never changed throughout the entire production process but the execution and the approach to storytelling did morph over time. And that's a good thing. We stayed fluid during the story development phase and tried new things. Some things worked, some didn't. It really developed as we went along.

N: There's already some controversy brewing over the show; how do you react to some of the fervor around it?

OSW: I would just ask that people actually watch the show before they develop an opinion about it.

N: At some point, will Guy's sister, Kelly, get to be a superhero? Maybe one that's traditionally a dude?

OSW: Good question. I want to say "yes" but you'll just have to wait and see.

N: Do we get to learn about the history of the SheZow persona a bit more? More of Aunt Agnes and her adventures?

OSW: Yes, we do. There is a time travel episode in which Guy meets some of the SheZows past including 1920's Flapper SheZow, Wild West SheZow and the original SheZow whose name is She-anderthal.

A hero needs good villains, so who are some of SheZow's rogue's gallery people can look forward to seeing? I think we have a great group of comedic villains like Candy Rapper, a rapping candy bar, and Mocktopus, a silly sea monster with a tendency to mock people. But one of my favorites is Tattoozala. He's the world's oldest tattooed villain, who possesses the power to bring to life the creatures tattooed on his body. By uttering the phrase "Inkubate" he summons these monsters and they attack SheZow.

N: What do you hope audiences, and maybe specifically young male audiences, get out of watching the show?

OSW: Laughter. The best times in life are those filled with laughter. SheZow's just a comedy that's finding its place in the superhero universe, and I'm happy to learn that it's appealing to both boys and girls.

SheZow airs Saturdays at 12:30pm ET/9:30am PT on Hub.

https://archive.nerdist.com/interview-with-shezow-creator-obie-scott-wade/

#shezow #article #obie scott wade

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cruesuffix · 8 months ago

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something i keep thinking of is a mötley crüe streamer au…like i’ve been writing about it for most of the morning.

vince

vince would be a sort of gossip streamer, like he streams the latest gossip and stuff like that. he’s like if a drama channel on youtube had a twitch stream (he calls it Gossip Corner)

i think he’d also do make up looks, and they’d all be very complicated. he’d also recreate historical looks (like 1920’s flapper girl makeup) just for fun but his fans love it and keep asking him to do it.

would update fans on how the bands doing, shit talks his members (with love) and exposes whatever weird shit they do. sometimes one of the members catches him doing it live and is in the comments begging him to stop.

loves hearing the fans gossip, will try to give advice (this suddenly becomes a segment on his streams…mostly gives very weird and almost terrible advice because he doesn’t take it that seriously).

sometimes joins nikki on his streams when he’s reacting to something interesting (talks over him a lot and makes nikki almost banning him from coming on his streams).

always complains about missing a moldy stream, mick never tells him when he’s going to do one.

nikki

most of his streams are him reacting to something

he has set schedules for streams and he almost streams everyday

varies from stupid memes to new music

he always reacts to new music on fridays (appropriately called “New Music Fridays”), and he’s uber critical about the music he reacts to (unless it’s some of his friends, then he’ll get all bootlicker)

hypes up the other members streams all the time, even during his own streams. sometimes will abandon his own stream to watch one of the members streams (mostly mick)

does “try not to laugh” challenges with tommy on stream

always fights his chat if they’re being a bit negative during new music fridays

mick

ok this one’s gonna be good

so, whenever mick does livestreams while drunk, everyone calls it a “Moldy Streams” (mainly because mick always refers to himself as being “moldy” when he’s wasted) those are the streams that always go viral.

he usually streams himself playing video games, but does other things like reacting to videos that everyone requests, playing his guitar, doing really weird things (he once tried to see how much hairspray would make his hair really stiff). he usually tries to play certain video games while drunk but he constantly loses and it makes him go insane (one time he was trying to play geometry dash and couldn’t even make it past the first level and immediately started to bash his head against his desk).

when he’s not absolutely wasted, he’s still a bit weird and does things to avoid going silent. one time he tried to stand up on his rolling chair and almost fell. all he could say was “i just wanted to see if i could do it.”

tommy loves to come over to his room when he’s doing a moldy stream just to see how ridiculous he’s being. he’s literally just in the corner of the room laughing hard as mick screams in agony about whatever game he’s playing.

gets tricked into playing doki doki literature club (ifykyk) because a viewer said it was just a cute game about schoolgirls who are in a poetry club together (he’d probably be like “aww that’s something my daughter would like :)”). literally halfway through the game he’s throughly disturbed. constantly goes “you guys lied to me, what is this?” by the end of it he’s just tired and can’t believe he played a game like that.

i’ve said this before but he’s so jerma coded, just purely chaotic and weird but everyone loves him and constantly thirsts for him (he purposely ignores those comments unless he’s a bit buzzed).

tommy

does literally anything

loves joining in on nikki and mick’s streams and just being there

he’d do something scandalous like wear a speedo and try not to get banned somehow if he did get banned his fansbase comes together to get him unbanned (which somehow works) and it ends up with twitch unbanning him and reworking the guidelines so that you can wear things like speedos as long as you’re explicit on the age range that should be watching (he’s gotta title things like “time to get freaky (18+)” but he finds it funny so it doesn’t matter).

he’s kind of a wild card in that nobody really knows what they’re going to get when they watch his stream…one time he literally tried to make an ikea bookshelf in his room and nearly threw a hammer at the wall, within 30 minutes he’d moved on to watching some dumb tiktok compilation.

he would SO watch fan edits of himself and react to them live (he loves all of them and is so amazed that people could make things like edits).

all of his streams have “tommy funny stream moment” youtube compilations made as soon as it ends.

the band as a whole would regularly livestream rehearsals, soundchecks, a couple of q&as together. that’s all i really have, i just had a lil idea that’s all!

#crüe headcanons #i like thinking of what the crüe would be like if they started now #i would love to watch a moldy stream #nikki is always so pretentious when he’s doing a new music friday so his chat has to put him in his place #vince is such an amateur at makeup but everyone in his comments wants him to do a pat mcgrath look #tommy sometimes does duel streams with mick and plays whatever multiplayer video game they two of them are good at #everyone drops everything to watch a moldy stream #like if it means they have to end their own stream they’re doing it

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aheathen-conceivably · 2 years ago

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🎶 Stick a jazz band on my hearse wagon, raise hell as I stroll along 🎶

Antoine hadn’t told Zelda about the bribe. He saw no reason to worry her with such unpleasantness, and he knew that if he looked after the accounting himself he could find a way to make it work.

So a few hours before the club was set to open he went downstairs and laid out their entire liquor supply. He was counting the bottles, trying to see how much he could squeeze the profit on each one, when two uniformed police officers walked through the doors. Antoine looked down at all the liquor bottles, shining brightly like illicit jewels in the electric lights.

Shit. Smile, Antoine. Stay calm.

The younger officer saddled up to a barstool, clearly comfortable in a saloon, “I take it you must be Antoine, chap. I’m Officer Murphy. This here is my partner Officer Brauner. You see, we know your friend Giorgio and his dealings down at the office. It’s nice having connections like that, ain’t it?”

Antoine stayed quiet, understanding a trap when it was laid before him.

“The silent type, huh?” the officer said flashing a grin, “Well no matter. We both know you don’t have too much of a say in this anyway. You see, what you’ve got going on here is mighty illegal...”

The door to the apartment opened and the beaded curtain rattled. The officers turned in their chairs and locked eyes with Zelda, who’s gaze narrowed as soon as she saw them sitting there.

The officer smiled triumphantly, “Well well well…I see you’ve got yourself a little live-in doll too, don’t you, chap? Tsk tsk, now you’re really racking up the violations, huh? Go back upstairs, little doll, this has nothing to do with you.”

Zelda took a step toward the officers, the beads of her dress ringing loudly in the quiet club, “This has everything to do with me. You’re in my home, now please leave.”

The officer let out a laugh, one filled more with malice than merriment, “A little doll with a mouth on her, huh? You flappers just don’t know your place anymore. Stay then, little flapper, this doesn’t need to be difficult. Think of us as your protection. The same way we kept that pesky assault charge out of your hair, we’ll keep all this liquor and these more…personal violations under wraps, huh? It’ll just be a little cut of the profits, a little payment for us as your private security.”

The officer had posed it as a question, but Antoine wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was. Ever since he was a boy his mother had cops on her payroll. It was the way it was done here, the reason why even in the throes of prohibition, liquor could still be found on every block. He was amazed that they had left him alone all these years, only now he was on their radar, and like sharks in the water, they could smell his blood.

“Fine. You can come back on Friday. Now get the hell out of my club and leave my family alone.”

The officers stood to leave, satisfied that they had gotten what they came for. Officer Murphy stopped on his way to the door, tipping his cap with one final grin, “No need to be so aggressive, sir. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

#1926 #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #sims 4 historical #ts4 historical #sims 4 legacy #ts4 legacy #sims 4 story #ts4 story #the darlingtons #1920s #antoine duplanchier #zelda darlington

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cadybear420 · 11 months ago

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WIP Wednesday!

Thanks to @jerzwriter for the tag!

I've got like, one or two other WIP fics, but they're currently on hiatus while I'm focusing mainly on this Evie x Aiden birthday fic. Although Evie's birthday this year has already passed, I'd still like to get this fic out by the end of her birth month haha.

Tagging: @inlocusmads @peonyblossom @aces-and-angels @aria-ashryver @lover-also-fighter-also (apologies if you've already been tagged this week, this is my first time doing a WIP Wednesday thing so I'm a bit unfamiliar with the process)

Title: [Title still pending.]

Rating: G.

Fandom: High School Story (Original Trilogy)

Pairing: Evie Ayana (f!MC) x Aiden Zhou

Friday, March 8, 2019. The day of Evie’s 18th birthday.

She’d been planning to host a birthday party at one of her favorite restaurants in the city, starting in the early evening after school. Almost everyone she knew from school was invited.

It was late in the afternoon now. Evie took one last look at herself in her new outfit– a navy blue suit with a purple floral necktie– and grinned, before dashing to the living room. There, her dad was checking his phone.

“Alright, I’m ready to go!” she said.

He turned to her. “Actually… we can’t leave just yet…��

She pouted. “What??? But Daaaad, the party starts at 5 PM and it’s already 4:45!”

“The people doing the decorations are… taking a bit longer than expected.”

“Oh…”

“It’s a bit awkward to go to a party when they’re still putting decorations up, isn’t it?”

“That’s true,” her face softened. “Do the other guests know?”

“...yep! I’ve just told them, in fact.”

“Okay… but how long do we have to wait?”

“Shouldn’t be more than… ten to twenty minutes?”

Evie pouted again.

“It’s not that long…”

“Okay, fiiiiine, I’ll be patient…”

“And I’ll be doctor!”

Evie winced. “Dad, NO…”

…

About twenty minutes passed, and then finally, her dad said it was okay to start driving to the restaurant. After a fifteen minute drive, they arrived, and Evie wasted no time going in.

The room was alive with upbeat music, purple decorative lights and flowers, and many of Evie’s friends. It seemed like just about everyone she’d invited had shown up– her main friend group, her teammates, her friends from the other cliques and Hearst, Cher and her friends from theatre, the seniors from last year who hadn’t gone away for college… And all of them greeted her with a big “Happy birthday, Evie!!!”, in unison.

Evie inhaled, beaming at her friends. Many of them ran over to hug her, a few others cheered for her. Then she saw Emma and Cher push their way through the crowd and grab her by her arms.

“Evie! There’s a special surprise for you, right now” said Cher.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!” said Emma. “Just come with us…”

The crowd parted, making way for Emma and Cher to pull Evie to the opposite side of the room. As they did, the party music slowly faded out and the lights began to dim.

When they made it to the opposite end of the room, a warm spotlight turned on over her, and there she saw it. The jazz band, all set up with their instruments and dressed in matching black-and-red suits and… devil horns?

And at the front of it all… was none other than her beautiful boyfriend Aiden. And she just about stopped in her tracks when she took in his outfit– an ivory-colored flapper dress that had silver beads sewn into intricate patterns, and hung just barely above his knees. Plus, a couple of matching long pearl necklaces, and a fluffy white halo accessory over his head.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

And that's as much as I've gotten so far. What exactly is Aiden's surprise for Evie? Hopefully we'll see soon enough.

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gutspiller · 9 months ago

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call me if you get lost - I

not posting all chapters here since it's already finished, but thought i'd add the first!!! read the full 16 chapters on ao3 here

"You're insufferable."

Usually, you would've been more keen on your wording around men -- customers. Not this time around, though, as the man before you sneers with a reprehensible school girl giggle. His name is Alastor, as you'd come to know him, the (in)famous radio host of New Orleans! New Orleans' prized treasure and sanctity.

In your eyes? A hard-headed, outcast, fool. One very, very, unfortunate day, he called. And now you're stuck with this dolt.

You cross your arms in disdain. This was the third appointment of the week scheduled with him. There are two others. It's Wednesday. Doesn't he have something to do, his own popular radio show to host? Simply.. annoying. There was no other word to describe this situation, you thought, but then you realized there were. Nasty, annoying, annoying, insolent, crabby, maddening. It was like he wanted you to himself. There are a million other call girls, flappers, prostitutes.. whatever, to please his mindlessness. His apparent 'loneliness' he once dramatically declared he had.

"Are you done playing with your food yet?" You ask with a frown, groaning when his smile only widens. The ends of his golden eyes crinkle in satisfaction. Did he want a reaction for his insulting behavior? Well, he's about to damn get it!

He tilts his head to the side, acting all dollish and ditzy. Raising one brow, he starts his blabbering. Again. "Hm?" He jumps with a start, straightening back up. "Are you implying something with that retort of yours, my dear?" Of course. This f- "Why, I'd adore to eat that cute face of yours up," Grabbing your cheek with one hand and pinching it, he talks in that freakishly demeaning baby voice he does when he wants the total control he already has with his status, 'back'. "But I'm afraid I might get poisoned, my dear!" You grimace. Is he serious?

He already has you under his thumb, whether you like it or not. You both already know this- It's implied with your profession, and that stupid influential persona of his. He smiles. Terribly. Leaning in, so close your plush lips graze over his- and Alastor, your most excruciating client, swipes a bite with his sharp teeth to your lower lip. You play into his sick idea of a game, teasingly squinting your eyes, urging him to press harder.

Your bottom lip is surely losing color by now, but it quickly comes back when you feel a familiar copper taste linger on your tongue. Your lip starts to sting, and just when you think he's done, he slips his own tongue in your mouth. Grabbing your face with both his hands, Alastor pulls you closer than ever before. His saliva mixes with the burgundy-colored, smooth substance. It's fresh, new, and most importantly- exciting. Invigorating. It urges you for more.

It urges you to come back again on Thursday.. and then Friday, or whenever he calls you for a quick power trip.

It's not always this smooth sailing, though.

Sometimes this.. man, will call in advance, but will be absent from his place of residence at the appointed time. It's, frankly, worrying. For you! Of course, as you're locked outside bordering on pushing daisies. Often he fails to show for a good half-hour, until he finally shows up. Sweat like dew on his pretty caramel skin, rushing to the doorstep you stand angrily at.

He should really consider adding a bench. Or you should raise your prices.

Or both. Who's to say?

You. You're to say.

Quickly, after huffing and puffing all the way here (Ugh), he unlocks the spruce door to his home, politely ushering you in. Of course, he acts like a gentleman, but only for the first thirty seconds of his presence being known.

And then it starts all over again.

With how much he occupies your work schedule, you may as well drop all offers from other people- also considering his odd possessiveness with you.

Really, someone needs to put him in his place.

#misc fics #hazbin hotel #writing #fanfic #ao3 #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin #human alastor

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texancommie07 · 1 year ago

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I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday I'm In Love

Heavy Metal Valentines Day Five: First Date

July 1st, 1985

To Say Eddie Was About To Implode From Excitement Would Be An Understatement. It Was Finally Happening, Billy And Them Were Finally Have A Date. A Real One.

Not Just A Quick Chat And Peck In The Woods After A Deal, Not Just Glances In The Hallways Of Doom, Not Just A Nod As They Went Into Their Respective Vehicles To Head To School. A Real, Bonafide, Genuine Date.

They Were Practically Bursting At The Seams. They Had Already Had A Good Solid Thirty Minute Screaming Into Their Pillow Session, And Moshing Around Their Room For A Good Hour In An Attempt To Release Some Of Their Pent Up Energy. It.... Hasn't Really Worked, But That's Fine! It's Just Means They'll Be Super In The Moment During The Date Portion.

They Really Hoped They Didn't Overwhelm Billy, They Were Still Figuring Out New Things That Overwhelmed Them Due To Their Early-Onset Psychosis (Read: Autism), And They Saw A Lot Of Similarities Between Billy And Them. So They Went Over The Plan Another Few Times In Their Head To Make Sure That They Remembered How The Day Was Supposed To Go Down, So As Not To Cause A Sudden Schedule Shift And Upset The Both Of Them.

Eddie Ran Over Their List Of Store Bought Items, Mostly Patches, And One Kill 'Em All T-Shirt(Donated By Rick, Bless Him), And Some Snacks For The Both Of Them. They Checked Over The Snacks Again, Red Hot Cinnamon Candies And A Dr. Pepper For Billy, And A Bag Of Rolos With A Vanilla Ramune For Them.

They Glanced In The Mirror, Checking Out Their Outfit For What Had To Be The Hundredth Time Since They Put It On. They Were Wearing Their Queen Shirt-Turned Tank Top And Their Only Pair Of Holeless Jeans. It Was A Fine Outfit, But That Wasn't The Part Eddie Was Worried About. Their Chest Was Out.

They Had Grown Interested In 1920s Fashion Thanks To Their Auntie Lisa, And In Doing That, They Stumbled Upon Some Chest Flattening Corset Patterns From That Era. They Were Originally Made To Flatten The Chests Of The Flappers Who Wore Them, But With The Start Of Puberty Hitting Eddie Like A Freight Train In All The Worst Ways, They Had Different Reasons For Using Them.

Billy Had Wanted This To Be A Casual Thing, Since They Weren't Going Anywhere. Billy Knew About, It Wasn't Like They Didn't Tell Him Or Anything(Plus It Really Wouldn't Have Matter Since Billy Was From California And Had A Merry Band Of Transvestites As His Closest Companions Over There, And As A Result He Clocked Them Almost Immediately), But Billy Hadn't Ever Seen Eddie Without Their Binder On. And It Wasn't Like Eddie Thought Billy Would Be Cruel Or Anything, But The Little Voice In The Back Of Their Head Was Always More Persistent When They Had Tits.

Shaking Off The Minor Existential Dread From Their Bones, They Took A Deep Breath And Put On Their "Boys Don't Cry" Vinyl (Another Gift From Their Auntie Lisa) And Did Some Final Clean Up Around The Trailer While They Waited For Billy To Get Off Work.

--------------------------------------------------

Eddie Has No Idea What They Were Worried About. The Date Was Going Great, They Had Danced A Bit, They Watched TV, They Even Ordered Pizza!(Wayne Knew It Was A Special Occasion And Even Gave Eddie Enough Money To Get Garlic Knots!)

Billy Had Brought Over Some Patches Of His Own Choosing, And Told Eddie Where He Wanted Them On His Vest. They Had Cut Out The Kill 'Em All Shirt To Make A Back Patch And Were Currently Seeing It On. Billy Had Seemed A Little Standoffish And Strange At The Start Of The Date, Almost Secretive And Defensive, But Billy Tended To Be Like That In General, And Eddie Had Brushed It Of As Nerves, As After A While Billy Opened Up More And More.

They Currently Had Him Rambling On About Metallic Trivia That They Already Knew, But They Didn't Dare Tell Billy That. This Was The Happiest They Had Seen Him Since He Got Here, And They Knew How Nice It Felt To Have Someone Who Would Just Listen. Eddie Swore If You Looked Too Hard, You Would See Hearts In Their Eyes With They Way They Were Looking At Billy. They Would Probably Stab Their Hands A Few More Times Than Ideal, But It Didn't Matter, They Were Absolutely Smitten, And They Were Having A Great Time Working On Billy's Battle Vest.

They Hoped They Got To Finish It With Him.

Sketch

#billy deserved better #mungrove #my art i guess #billy antis dni #eddie deserves better #gay billy hargrove #heavymetalvalentines #gay eddie munson #trans eddie munson #autistic eddie munson #autistic billy hargrove #cw outdated medical terminology for autism #btw i have a kinda crack au where eddie and Larry from Sally Face are cousins #so that's who their auntie Lisa is

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