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flowersforbucky · 5 months ago

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acquainted

bucky barnes x reader (undercover stripper!reader x undercover bodyguard!bucky)

word count: 3.3k

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, language, strip club setting, creepy dude being a piece of shit, violence and a brief mention of blood, protective/possessive bucky, reader is afab, no use of y/n, touch her and die trope, Bucky might have a slight lingerie kink... 18+ only!

The pulsating fuschia and lime green strobe lights illuminating the club had been making your eyes throb for the last three hours. EDM plays so loudly that you're surprised blood doesn't trickle down from your ears. Not to mention the suffocating combination of cheap perfume, body odor, cigars, and booze that permeates the air makes your empty stomach churn.

If you never step foot into another nightclub when this is all over, you'll consider yourself lucky. Not just any nightclub - one of New Orleans’ scummiest strip clubs.

Five goddamn nights of this operation and not a lick of progress.

Your objective was simple - obtain proof that the owner was operating a sex trafficking ring out of the club, and then call for the back-up squad parked a block away. So far, you had not been able to acquire any kind of definitive proof. No hints of anything shady going on behind the scenes, and you had yet to even see the owner make an appearance at any point since the mission began.

Everything seems as above board as a strip club can be.

One last night, you compromised with Fury. One last night and if it went as the last few have, you were done, and he owes you a few days of paid leave for putting you through this.

“If you don't stop picking at your garter belt, it's not going to have any sequins left.” Bucky's low voice murmurs through the communication device placed discreetly in your left ear.

“If you don't stop watching my every movement, you’re not going to have any unbroken toes left,” you threaten lightly, taking a sip of your drink - just a Shirley Temple, to keep up appearances. “Shoes like this could do a lot of damage.” You glance down at the pointy heels of the black velvet stilettos.

“Is that not my job?” he counters. You don't have to look over at where he's standing in the corner of the room to know he's smirking. “To not take my eyes off of you?”

“Then do your job. Watch me. You don't have to make comments on my sequins to do that.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “I'll be over here, admiring your sequins from afar. You won't even know I'm here.” The com line clicks off before you can retort.

Except you absolutely would know that he's here. Just as you have the previous four nights of this mission - painfully aware that he's here, tracking your every movement in the skimpiest outfits you've worn in your life, doing the most provocative dances imaginable, and flirting with men that you wouldn't touch with ten foot long poles in real life, all while he keeps to the sidelines in case something were to go wrong.

Keeps to the sidelines and just watches you. Even when one of the dancers approached him to ask if he'd be interested in a private dance once he's off the clock on the first night on the job.

Even when there's gorgeous, topless women crawling on the stage and all but humping the pole in his direct line of sight.

He isn't here to look out for them, of course. He is here solely to keep you safe if things were to go sideways. But you had assumed you would have caught him sneaking glances at the dozen other women at least once by now.

It's almost your turn to go up on stage. You've performed a solo set every night so far, and you still feel every bit as nervous as you did the first time.

You enjoy dancing, actually. In the comfort of your own room, when listening to music alone. When you go out with friends, occasionally. When you took ballet lessons as a child. This, however, was leagues out of your comfort zone.

“The creep from a couple nights ago is back,” Bucky's voice is a strained whisper in your ear.

“Gonna have to narrow it down a bit for me, Barnes. You could be referring to at least half of the men in here right now.”

“Sitting in front of the stage, to the left,” he mumbles back. “He's wearing a red wife-beater–”

“See him,” you interrupt, your eyes zeroing in on the short, stout, beady-eyed fuck who had been thrown out of the club night before last. One of the other security guards on duty chucked him out when he repeatedly got too handsy with one of the girls who had been giving him a lap dance.

“Fantastic,” you huff under your breath, as you finish touching up your lipgloss and reapplying the iridescent baby pink body glitter across your chest. “Just in time for my dance.”

You get up from your seat at the bar and adjust your lace bustier and thong as the announcer calls your stage name.

“He won't lay a finger on you,” Bucky assures you as you're walking up the steps of the platform.

There's a weak round of applause and a few whistles as you take your place on the center of the small stage. You give a vague nod in the direction of the DJ’s booth to indicate you're ready for your song to begin.

An upbeat but sensuous synth-pop song pours out of the speakers throughout the room and you begin to sway your hips.

You're hyper-aware of the fact that you can see Bucky making his way closer to you, away from his position in the back of the room. He settles when he's just a few tables behind the man in the red wife-beater.

There's an eruption of butterflies in the pit of your belly at how close he is. Each night prior to this, he has kept to lingering around the exits and the far wall towards the back of the club. Now, he's close enough that you can actually see his eyes following every languid movement that your body makes around the pole.

“Take your fucking top off!” a grating voice bellows from the audience. “We want to see your tits.”

You don't have to look to know who the voice belongs to. You decide to ignore him, hoping he would stop if you didn't give him any attention. You go to wrap your thighs around the pole again, preparing to spin–

“Did you not fucking hear me?” he shouts even louder this time, audible to everyone over the roaring music. “I said take your fucking–”

A flash of movement in your peripheral vision causes you to freeze around the pole. You turn your full attention to the ruckus, just in time to see Bucky fisting the man's greasy, shoulder length hair and pulling his head back. The music comes to an abrupt pause.

“You don't fucking talk to her like that,” Bucky snarls. “In fact, you don't talk to her at all, you don't look at her, you don't even breathe the same fucking air as her.”

The man is thrashing around, trying and failing miserably to get out of Bucky's grasp.

“Let me go you fucking–”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before Bucky snaps the man's head forward, sending his face crashing into the granite tabletop.

The instantaneous pool of blood that contrasts so starkly against the white stone snaps you out of your fear-stricken trance.

Bucky pulls his head back up, forcing the man to look up at him.

“It's not my fault she refuses to show off those perfect–”

You all but jump off the stage - miraculously not breaking an ankle in the six inch heels - and rush over to where Bucky still has the man's hair yanked into his fist.

Just as Bucky is beginning to shove the man's head downwards again, you place both of your hands on his chest, gently but effectively shoving him backwards. He immediately releases his grip on the man as the other few security guards on duty arrive to detain the pervert.

“Hey, hey,” you place your hands on his biceps, trying to turn his attention to you and away from the man who he's still glaring after, as he's hauled off by security. “I'm fine, yeah? Everything is fine,” you try to assure him, though you're not sure your shaky voice sounds very convincing. “He's just a creepy, entitled asshole.”

Noticing that Bucky is shaking beneath your touch, you rub your hands up and down his arms in hopes of calming him down.

He finally meets your gaze. He doesn't say anything for a moment, just stares at you as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Go get dressed,” he orders you calmly after a moment. “I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” You want to leave too badly to even think about objecting.

You make a beeline for the changing room, where you throw on a sweater and force your pants over your heels, not even bothering to change out of the lingerie and stilettos.

Bucky's waiting for you right outside the door as you sling your duffel bag across your shoulder.

“How mad do you think Fury will be that we are abandoning our positions?” you ask in a hushed tone as Bucky ushers you through the club, his metal arm wrapped around your waist.

“Not as mad as I am that he's had you doing this bullshit for no reason for almost a week now.”

You and Bucky exit the club as quickly as possible, ignoring the curious and confused stares of the other dancers and security guards. He guides you down the block, then through an alleyway where his motorcycle is parked in a heavy silence - other than the obnoxious clanking of your heels against the pavement.

Bucky straddles one leg over the seat of the bike, taking his place in the driver's position and then hands you the helmet.

“Wait,” you pause before putting it over your head. “I'm starving.” Your stomach growls, as if on cue. “Can we stop and get some take-out?”

He looks at you incredulously. “I just shattered that guy's nose and likely severely concussed him and then just dipped. Our cover is essentially blown, don't you think we should get back to the motel room and lay low until the morning?”

“There's a Chinese place open late just a few blocks from the motel–”

“If I say yes will you put on the helmet and get on the bike?”

Taking that as a win, you slide the helmet over your head and hop on behind him. You wrap your arms securely around his midsection in a tight hug and he takes off down Bourbon Street.

You spend the drive trying to ignore the thought that of all the times you've ridden on the back of Bucky’s motorcycle, you don't remember him ever feeling so tense beneath your touch.

Half an hour later, you're lounging on the rickety motel bed, stuffing your face full of sweet and sour chicken and vegetable fried rice while Bucky fills Sam in on what happened over the phone.

He sits in one of the small chairs at the singular table in the corner of the room, his posture rigid. He answers all of Sam's questions with clipped, one-word responses as he massages his temple between his thumb and forefinger.

He hangs up the phone, refusing to meet your gaze. Instead, he pretends to be interested in the episode of Family Guy playing on the old motel TV.

“Your egg rolls are going to get soggy,” you tell him, pushing the to-go box across the mattress towards him.

“I don't have an appetite right now,” he says, picking up the box of food as he stands. You grab his bicep in your hand as he begins to walk past where you're sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hey,” you say, stopping him. “Everything's okay. Really. Don't let that guy get to you–”

“A little late for that, don't you think?” He snaps, pulling his arm from your grasp. You sit back, too stunned by his reaction to know how to respond. You just stare after him as he crams his take-out box into the motel room's mini fridge.

“I shouldn't have reacted so harshly,” he says after a moment, still facing away from you. “I couldn't stop myself. He spoke to you that way, and I could have killed him and not thought twice about it. Probably would have if you hadn't intervened.”

He turns back to you. You're frozen in place.

“Do you know what that's like?” He asks, taking a step closer to you. “To feel like you aren't in control of your own body? To be so irrationally protective of someone that you'd kill for them without a second thought?”

You feel like all air has been stripped from your lungs. He's just inches away, staring down at you from where you sit on the edge of the mattress. The way he's looking at you makes your skin feel like it's on fire.

“Because that's what you do to me. That's how you make me feel.”

Heat pools between your legs.

“Come here,” you say - it sounds more like a question than a command.

He closes what little distance is left between the two of you, and pulls you up from the mattress by the tops of your arms so that your body is flush against his.

His mouth hovers over yours - not quite making contact, though you can feel his breath fan across your skin.

He takes his flesh hand and cups the side of your face with it, his thumb trailing across your bottom lip. His metal hand wanders down your back until it reaches the curve of your ass - grasping your cheek in a firm hold and squeezing until his touch borders between pleasure and pain.

“This is what I wanted to do to you every time I saw a man so much as glance in your direction in that club,” he whispers against your mouth. “I thought about bending you over the stage and making them watch me take you right then and there, but they didn't deserve to see that.”

“They aren't here to see us now,” you murmur as you bring your hand to cup the noticeable bulge of his jeans, eliciting a hiss from him. “So what are you going to do now?”

There's a dark grin spread across his face. He pushes you, softly but effectively, back down on the bed. You scout back a few inches on the mattress, and then bring one of your feet up to remove the stiletto heels that you'd completely forgotten to take off upon returning to the motel with your haul of Chinese food.

“Oh, no,” Bucky laughs lowly. “I want you to keep those on. I've grown to like those quite a bit.”

Your cheeks warm in both arousal and bashfulness. You begin to push your pants down your thighs as Bucky kneels on the ground and helps you maneuver the fabric around your shoes. The sweater that you threw over your bustier goes next.

You're left in the lingerie set that you wore at the club.

“Call me jealous,” Bucky sighs as he begins trailing sloppy kisses up the insides of your thighs. “Call me possessive, call me crazy..”

You lay back down against the scratchy comforter as Bucky gets closer and closer to where you're aching to have him the most.

“But I don't want anyone seeing you like this but me.”

He pulls the already soaked lace material of your thong to the side, exposing your cunt.

He licks up your center torturously slow, causing you to let out a sharp exhale. He repeats the motion, and then locks his lips around your clit. Your hands shoot to his hair, fisting your fingers through the short brunet strands.

He eats you until you're a mewling and squirming mess beneath him.

You come hard, clenching your thighs around his head and riding his face through your orgasm.

“Stand up,” you instruct him as soon as you can think semi-clearly.

He obeys without any hesitation. The warm glow of the singular lamp in the motel room highlights the way your slick coats the lower half of his face.

You get up on your hands and knees before him and he lets out an audible groan at the sight in front of him. He bends down enough to kiss you - cupping your face in both of his hands and tipping your head up to give him a better angle to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moan into the kiss - the ache between your thighs reappearing already.

He removes his hands from your face, unbuttoning his pants while still kissing you.

You pull away to help free his cock from the confines of his boxers. Your mouth waters at what's directly in front of you. He's impressively long and girthy, with a thick vein running up the side.

You pump him a few times in your hand, swirling your tongue around the pre-cum dripping from his slit. He's already putty in your hands - groaning above you and placing his metal hand around the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you.

After you've run your tongue up and down his length a few times, you spit on the tip of his cock and massage it over the entirety of his shaft before taking him as far into your mouth as you can in the first go. He throws his head back, moaning your name.

You feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag before pulling back.

He curses under his breath, nudging himself slowly back towards your throat again.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he praises and you moan around his dick. He gradually increases the speed at which he pumps himself into your mouth, obscene noises echoing off of the thin motel room walls.

When he pulls out, you feel drool running down your neck and mascara-tinted tears leaking from your eyes.

“You're so gorgeous like this for me,” he tells you, and despite knowing that you look thoroughly fucked out, you believe him. “Will you turn around?”

You do as he asks, turning around on your hands and knees. You lower your chest down to the bed so that your ass is angled upwards.

“Jesus Christ,” he grunts under his breath. He grips your hips with both of his hands, yanking you to him. His erection juts against the cloth of your underwear.

He tugs them aside once more, giving him access to tease your slit with the head of his cock. You rock backwards, grinding against him. He brings his flesh hand around your stomach and reaches down to rub your clit as he begins to slowly fill you from behind.

He pauses for a moment once he bottoms out, giving you time to adjust to the fullness of him before he starts fucking into you.

The combination of him slamming into you at such an intense angle and massaging you so perfectly has your climax building shamefully fast.

You grunt his name, bouncing your ass to meet his thrusts. “I'm gonna come,” you mewl, knowing he's on the verge of doing the same as his movements become uneven.

One, two, three more pumps and you can feel your pussy clenching around him as you come together.

You pull off of him, collapsing onto the bed and rolling onto your back. He crawls over you, propping himself up on his arms above you.

“You know,” he stares down at you, his eyes trailing to your breasts that are now spilling out of the black lace bustier. “As much as I hated every second of that mission, I do hope I might get to see you in some of these outfits again.”

♡♡♡♡♡

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freddiemercurylegendabovelegends · 1 year ago

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October 31, 1978, New Orleans, LA, USA - Queen at the 'Jazz' album launch party in the Imperial Ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel, after the show at Municipal Auditorium

🔸Wild Party - Freddie Mercury, lead singer of Queen, shouts to be heard at a Halloween party in New Orleans which commemorated the start of the group's U.S. tour. In addition to the nun and voodoo dancers pictured above, the flamboyant event had topples dancers, strippers, nude fat ladies, female impersonators, fire-eaters and snake -charmers. Also performing was a dixieland band, which relates to the group's new album, titled "Jazz"

- General News

#freddie mercury #queen band #london #zanzibar #legend #queen #brian may #john deacon #freddiebulsara #roger taylor #jazz #jazz tour #jazz album #1978 #new orleans

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cuckhubby-of-bbc-only-hotwife · 8 days ago

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How did we get here, you ask?

Well, that's an extremely long and complex story, so we will fast-forward 15 years into our marriage. We have been through all the highs and lows any couple can imagine going through, but we always choose to keep loving each other through it all. So we are on vacation—just the two of us—no kids, no work, no distractions. Just us in a city we both love to visit for its popularity, culture, food, nightlife, and just overall great place to visit, New Orleans.

We are walking the historic French Quarter and Bourbon Street; we both have a little liquid courage in us (hand-granades and hurricanes, iykyk), so my lovely wife asks me what I would like to do. I responded that as long as it's with you, I don't care. To my surprise, she suggested we go to a nearby swingers club. She has always been a huge flirt in general with both men and women. We had even discussed going to a bar and watching each other flirt with other people. This, however, was much different. My liquid courage quickly started to fade when I realized she was serious. So we discussed ground rules. We both agreed that if there was someone we were attracted to and the opportunity presented itself, we were able to pursue it. We both said we would not take one for the team, though, a rule that we still have in place till this day.

So we make it to the club and get registered as first-time guests. They gave us a full tour of the club. We started downstairs, where there was a byob-style round bar top with two female bartenders (this particular night both were very attractive, especially the Asian girl). To the right of the bar is a seating area. Then a dance floor with a stripper pole. The host then walked us back towards the front and explained that there is absolutely no sexual play downstairs and that for the sexy fun we have to go upstairs. She then took us to a staircase tucked off to the side with an elevator. The host suggested we take the elevator because it starts at the beginning of the upstairs area.

Once upstairs, we entered what they call the den or library. It has four leather sofas that are set in a square facing each other. There are couples on each sofa making out, receiving blowjobs, or fucking in front of everyone. On the shelf is a bucket full of condoms and sexy pictures. My wife tells me to grab a few; I stuff them in my pocket. We then go into the theater. There they have an adult film playing several love seats seated facing the movie. In there, several couples are reenacting what is playing on the screen. The host then walks us down a hallway where there are more sofas with couples talking or engaging in sexual activities. The host tells us they have some private rooms down the hallway that can be reserved and are the absolute only place any filming is allowed. To the left there are several little semi-private rooms that have a thin see-through curtain where there are couples having a great time. One woman was getting absolutely railed by two guys. The host then shows us the Voyeur room, its a round bed with seats around the edge where you can watch while inside or through the big window. The host then shows us the orgy room where you go for an anything goes free for all. We then return to the main hallway, where she shows us the lockers and restrooms with showers and towels, fresh sheets for the beds, and more condoms. She then leaves us and wishes us luck.

We spend the next few moments exploring all the sights and scenes. All a bit overwhelming for a good ole Christian southern Baptist boy that was raised in the church. However, my cock was hard from the moment we got upstairs, seeing random guys getting their dicks sucked and women getting fucked in the open. Not knowing if that was their partner or some random stranger they just met. A beautiful young African-American woman caught my wife's eye. They made eye contact, but she quickly disappeared. We head over to the Voyeur room, where we watch a woman spread eagle on the bed, having her pussy licked. While another woman is on all fours getting fucked from behind. We make our way to the orgy room, where my wife finds the woman that caught her eye. She is engaged in conversation with another couple. I can see the jealousy and lust in my wife's eyes; she wanted her, and she wanted her in a bad way. I knew my wife was bi and had a girlfriend in the past, but I only witnessed them makeout when we were dating in college. I was so turned on by watching her pursue this woman. We went back to the hallway, where my wife asked me to go get her a drink from the bar. We brought whiskey for us to enjoy that evening. The sexy Asian bartender made me a drink and asked if there was anything else she could get me. I gave her a look, to which she replied she can't play while working. Disappointed in her response, I quickly made my way upstairs.

Once upstairs, I find my wife talking up her girl crush. I hand her the drink, and she whispers in my ear that we are getting a semi-private room. She and I will play, but you can only watch because my wife did not find her white partner attractive at all. A bit disappointed that I wouldn't play, I eagerly looked forward to watching her.

We entered the semiprivate room, and the male crawled to the end of the bed, where he sat down, leaning against the wall. His woman got in the middle of the bed, and my wife crawled in the bed, meeting her, and embraced it with a long, deep kiss. Quickly, they started undressing each other. My wife shoved her to the bed and started kissing down her neck as she slid two fingers into her tight black pussy. She started sucking on her perfectly round brown nipples, making her way down to her pussy. She started moaning so loudly it got the attention of everyone on the 2nd floor. The guy quickly took his cock out and started stroking himself. I start looking around, and there are guys everywhere jerking off while my wife eats this woman's pussy making her cum over and over again. There are women I hear saying, Can I be next or i want what shes having. I might add I had always been confident in my pussy eating skills until I watched this show my wife was putting on in front of me. My cock grew extremely hard watching this show. The precum was leaking from my head, soaking through my pants.

The girl slid out from under my wife and told her it was her turn. This woman spread my wife's legs and started licking her pussy now she was moaning. This sexy round brown bubble ass is in my face. I can smell and almost taste her as I see her pussy still dripping her juices from cumming by my wife's mouth. I know we are just watching me and this other man isn't playing; however, this sexy butt keeps moving closer and closer, and finally she rocks back her ass, touching my hand, and whiggles her ass at me. My fingers immediately rub across her pussy she doesn't pull away. I slid my fingers inside her; she was extremely tight. She pulls away from me, digging deeper into my wife's pussy. I quickly brought my fingers to my mouth to taste what my wife had tasted. It was my first time tasting another woman in over fifteen years. It was extremely sweet.

The male was sitting there really stroking himself as his woman was eating my wife's pussy At one point, I thought he was going to shoot his load on his girl and my wife. I couldn't touch my cock because I would have cum instantly. My wife started to squirt on her face as she came, the woman pulled up, they hugged, and left to not be seen again. My wife and I then relocated to the den, where we sat on a sofa. She took my cock out and started sucking me right there; it was the first time I had done anything more than kiss someone in public. My wife then stood up and sat on me, riding me in front of everyone. She was moaning; she needed to feel a cock inside her after having gotten off several times at the hands and mouth of our dark stranger friend. I, a bit uncomfortable, just sat and enjoyed it but could not cum I was too overwhelmed with my thoughts. We played for a little while longer before finally leaving to head back to our hotel room.

Once we made it back to the hotel, I quickly undressed her diving head first between her legs to make sure she came the same way her friend at the club made her cum. She quickly told me to fuck her; she needs to feel my cock inside her. I then started fucking her, pretending we were still at the club and we had an audience. It didn't take me long to finish inside her; we both fell on the bed and passed out for the last few hours before the sun came up and we had to return home. The entire way home and for the next several days and weeks, it was all I could think about. This was the opening event of what started us on this journey of an alternative lifestyle. More to come.

#swingers #adult entertainment

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neworleansbachelorpartybus · 4 months ago

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hazbinbossbrainrot · 10 months ago

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Katerina Dust

VO:

Anika Noni Rose (speaking)

EMELINE (singing)

Meaning of the name:

Kat was (comically) named by Angel Dust given the fact that most of her appearance is, indeed, more like a cat and the name pretty much stuck until she decided to shorten it to “K.D.” once she was a little bit older

Basics:

Ring: Pride (Pentagram City)

Sex: Female

Height: 7ft tall

Sexuality: Sapphic

Zodiac sign: Libra ♎️ (same as Luster)

Species: Sinner (hybrid)

<> Cat (via Husk)

<> Jumping spider (via Angel Dust)

Nationalities:

• American; Las Vegas 🇺🇸

<> Accent: Yat (New Orleans)

• Part Russian 🇷🇺

• Italian 🇮🇹

Occupation(s):

• Drug-lord

<> Business partner of Snow Dust — on behalf of Angel — and Barbie Wire

• Band leader

<> Band name: Hybridisation

<> Stage name: Pussycat

• Exotic dancer (stripper)

Band members:

• Thunder Howler (manger)

• Luster “Ace” Dust (songwriter)

• T.J. “Starlight” of the Ars Goetia

• Sugarcane Mayday

• Candy Buckzo (AU)

• Dawn “Ducky” Morningstar

• Ivy of the Ars Goetia

Relationship type: Polyamorous

Bed type: Switch 🤭

Dislikes:

• Her sister(s) being endangered

• Gambling

<> Not very good at it

• Walking

• Demons bullying her friends/family

• Redemption

Likes:

• Popularity

• Sex

• Drinking alcohol

• Flying

• Beelzebub (idol)

• Being drunk

• Being on her phone - Sinstagram

• Drugs

• Partygoer (hardcore)

• Using her wings and tail for dancing props

• Italian culture

• Midnight flights with her violin

• RuPaul’s Drag Race 🤭

<> It’s hers and Angel’s favourite thing to watch

Flaws:

• Smoker

• Playing the violin in front of other people

• Drug addict

• Member of Verosika’s posse

• Competitiveness

• Popularity

• Hates the idea of redemption

• Abused (emotionally) by Verosika

<> Also a little bit of gaslighting too

• Cat mannerisms

• Deipnophobia

<> Fear of eating in front of people

<> Similar: Eating disorder

• Daddy’s girl

Strengths:

• Musical talents

• Weapon proficiency

• Emotional regulation

<> Plays the violin to express her mood(s)

- Mozart 40 (energised)

- Wedding Tarantella etc (Italian)

<> Bella Ciao (happy 🇮🇹)

- Hungarian Dance (dramatic)

- Bach 2 (sad)

- Waltz No. 2 (expressive)

- Vivaldi

<> Background music for when her parents are arguing (much to their annoyance 🤣)

- Jaws theme song (when Luster comes into her room)

- My Heart Will Always Go On cover (romantic)

<> Can’t Help Fallin' In Love

- Fair Tail Theme - Folk Version (jaunty)

- Pirates of The Caribbean Theme Song (for T.J. 😂)

- Sway With Me (cover)

• Flexibility

Romantic interests:

• T.J. of the Ars Goetia (RP) (OC)

• Candy Buckzo (OC)

• Sugarcane Mayday (OC)

• Verosika Mayday (one-sided)

• Aketh (RP)

Affiliations:

• Hazbin Hotel

• The Hybridisations (band)

• Verosika Mayday’s crew

Family:

(bio) Aunt: Molly

(bio) Uncle: Arackniss

Father 1#: Husk

Father 2#: Angel Dust

(fraternal twin) Sister: Luster

(surrogate) Sister: Niffty

(surrogate) Aunt: Charlie Morningstar

AU:

(surrogate) Aunt: Snow Dust (RP)

<> Business partners

(future) Wife: T.J. Buckzo

Nicknames/aliases:

• Pussycat (stage name)

• Tak (anagram)

• Kat (mainly)

Abilities:

• Flight

• Promiscuity

• Multilingualism (anywhere from Europe)

• Agile

• High alcohol tolerance

• Musical talents

<> Singing - from both parents

<> Violist

• Observation

<> Can tell when someone has spiked her drink

Appearance and personality:

Body:

Kat, just as her name suggests, has cat-like appearance with grey fur with long wings (similar to Husk) but has white and dusty pink colours with a heart shape at the back of them. Her tail is bush same colour as her wings and same pattern.

She has very long legs for a female which also has a heart on the back of her feet (a darker get this time; same as the patterns on her arms) and her fingertips (claws?) and toes have a white patch which is the same colour as her face before stopping at the bottom of her stomach.

Despite the dark grey colour of Kat's hair, has the same/similar fluffy shape to "hairstyle" as Angel Dust

Eyes:

Kat, despite her entire body being cat-like, the only thing that resembles to a spider is both her six of her eyes (besides the ones she can see out of) that look like freckles and open up when incredibly angry

Similar to her sister she also has the same sclera colour as both Luster & Angel Dust whilst her left eye is normal looking with a golden greenish/yellow hue added to it

Significant markings:

Kat has dusty pink hearts (representation Angel Dust) all over her body: legs, wings, inside of her ears, chest, and tail. However she also does have lines across her wings that is a slightly darker peachy colour (much like Husk except the colour)

Reference sheet:

Credits go to: HazbinHotelFan

Source: Pinterest

How would you describe Kat’s personality?

• Volatile

• Reckless (even worse than Angel Dust 😂)

• Influential

• Family orientated

• Protective

<> Especially with her sisters

• Hypersexual

• Alert

• Hypersensitive

• Competitive

• Hopeless romantic (formerly)

• Authoritative

• Sceptical

#Spotify #kat dust #OC #anika noni rose

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freddiemercurydaily · 1 year ago

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QUEEN HISTORY - 1 November 1978

Roger and Brian dominate the conversation. The subject of all this is ‘Jazz’, Queen’s new album, which contains no jazz.

“People think we take ourselves a lot more seriously than we actually do,” says Roger.

By some miracle, the band don't appear to be hung over or underslept. Nonetheless, the band have wisely booked a couple more days off before the next show.

In fact, there was also an outrageous and infamous party [see the post of yesterday] that took place after the show in the The Imperial Ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel, which included strippers, unicyclists, and drag artists.

The party was so off the wall that the album actually didn't end up being played.

James Henke of Rolling Stone wrote, “Queen threw a bash in New Orleans that featured snake charmers, strippers, transvestites and a naked fat lady who smoked cigarettes in her crotch.”

Above all, there are the now-legendary stories about the hermaphrodite dwarves with trays of cocaine. Roger commented on it years later: “It never happened. Well, I never saw it.”

And when asked about sex and drugs in general throughout Queen's career, his response was, “There wasn't any sex, oh well, there wasn't any drugs.” He wisely lets the mystique remain as it keeps the dialogue flowing.

Queen manager, Jim Beach, however, was rather revealing on Belgian TV in 2011: “I went there before [the party] to hire as many odd acts as we could possibly find. We found one midget who was happy to lie under a large plate of liver at the buffet, and every time anybody went up to the buffet the liver would wobble. And I have to confess, we did have a dwarf with a pile of cocaine on his head, and he had little straws in his top pocket.”

A 1996 article in London's The People reported the New Orleans festivities as “a non-stop 12-hour marathon of excess featuring a nude model hidden in a huge salver of raw liver. Half-naked girls danced in bamboo cages suspended from the ceiling of a massive ballroom converted to look like a swamp with hanging vines and dry ice smoke. Guests were mesmerised by female mud wrestlers, snakes, strippers and topless waitresses serving endless drinks. At one stage, Freddie signed a stripper's bottom as she leaned over a table.”

Brian’s take in a 1999 interview for Mojo magazine was rather poignant: “It was deliberately excessive, partly for our own enjoyment, partly for friends to enjoy, partly because it's exciting for record company people - and partly for the hell of it. There were all kinds of weird acts, including a guy who sat in a pile of chopped up liver, women who did unusual things with their anatomies. We made friends with all the strippers and transvestites, people who felt as misplaced as we did. On the face of it they were outrageous and promiscuous, but some of them were great souls. We had a hoot.”

#press conference #queen #freddiemercury #gallery

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theliterateape · 2 years ago

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Still Got It

By David Himmel

On the plane, I ordered a scotch. “We don’t have scotch,” the flight attendant said. “All we have is bourbon.”

“That’s fine.”

“We have Wild Turkey. But that’s terrible. You’re better off with Jack Daniels.”

“Anything is better than Jack Daniels. I don’t mind Wild Turkey.”

“Are you sure? It’ll take the paint off your house.”

“I don’t need the paint taken off. I need the siding taken off.”

“It’ll do that.”

“The Turkey is fine. On the rocks, please.”

He brought it a few minutes later. It was fine. It always is. It’s not like it’s Jim Beam. Jim Beam is what I drank back when I was a virgin trying to give my virginity away. My mom mocked me for drinking it. “That’s what college kids drink,” she’d say smugly. Well, yeah, I was in college.

Then he brought he tablet with the due bill. “You’re gonna make me pay for this swill?” I said jokingly.

“I know, I shouldn’t—I should be paying you.”

“Yeah, for clearing out your inventory.”

He leaned in. “You know what, forget it. I’m buying this one. You’re cool. On me. Our secret.”

✶

The lobby bar of this particular New Orleans hotel was busy but I managed to find a table. I was hungry for a bowl of gumbo and a stiff old fashioned. I was waiting for friends to join me but I wasn’t waiting to order.

The server was cute. Reminded me of an ex—the ex. The one I lost/gave my virginity to. As if virginity is something. Short brunette hair. Full lips. Dark eyes. No chin. But this one had tattoos. An attraction I didn’t have back when.

She brought me the gumbo. “Just waitin’ on that Makers Mark, m’kay?” she said. And she danced her fingertips along my shoulder blade. Naturally. Casually. Flirtatiously. Professionally.

My best pal, in college, had this terrible habit of flirting with servers—waitresses back then. And I’d tell him, “Waitresses don’t like you. They care less about you than strippers. But they have to work twice as hard for the money without the assistance of tits and landing trips to shove in your face. Do not engage. You’ll embarrass yourself.” And he did. With every order and every tab paid.

My friends arrived. They ordered.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks,” she said to them as she once again touched me. This time dragging her fingers deep along the length of my arm. It was equally intimate, inappropriate, and nothing at all. My friends took note. They Ooooed and Ahhhhed like a sitcom in-studio audience.

“That waitress likes you,” one said to me. “What did we miss before we got here?”

“Nothing,” I said. “She’s working. And they’re called servers now.”

And it was nothing. To me anyway. But to my friends, it was something. Because she didn’t flirt with or touch the other guy at the table. And nothing for the two women. Just me. I was the object of her workplace affection.

“Apparently, you still got it, Himmel,” one of my female friends said to me in a mocking manner.

And maybe I do.

✶

Part of getting older is realizing that you are, in fact, older. And in many cases, we age out of our horned up youth into a relaxed state of domestication. But it’s naturally human to wonder if you still got it. If you’re still an object of interest—not affection—to the people you meet or even pass on the street or at Target on Sunday mornings.

I know my wife thinks I still got it. She told me the other night that she’s in her sexual prime. “So, stay hydrated,” she said just before we pushed the iPad aside and turned the bedside lamp off. As if she has a choice. At this point, she’s stuck with me. Divorce isn’t something either of us are interested in. But should that terrible day come, we’ll both be wondering if we still got it.

So, yeah, maybe my friend was right. And that’s a good thing to feel about oneself. I’m not as interested in still having it as a means toward sexual prowess but as a reminder that among the conversations of work and homeownership and kids’ schedules and the politics of in-laws and the latest surprise ailment that I’m still providing some degree of interest to the outer world. Even if it’s limited to the professionals in the customer service industry.

Because even love from a hooker can make a man feel pretty good about himself. Not that I’m frequenting hookers. Why would I? I’ve got a wife in her sexual prime and way too much work to do before the kids wake up.

#Aging #Self-love

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wedeliverstrippers247 · 3 years ago

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New Orleans Female Strippers For Ultimate Boys’ Night

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#New Orleans Female Strippers

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butternuggets-blog · 3 years ago

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Remember Us.

List of unidentified SK cases below: Some of these cases are over a hundred years old, and may never be solved.

* CASES ARE A THEORY; THE POLICE AND/OR FAMILIES OF THE VICTIMS REFUTE THE EXISTENCE OF A SERIAL KILLER

** MURDER AREA/SITE

Thames Torso Murderer 1873 - 1889

Servant Girl Annihilator 1884 - 1885

Whitechapel Murders 1887 - 1901

Cumminsville Slayer 1904 - 1910

Atlanta Ripper 1911 - 1913

Axeman of New Orleans 1918 - 1919

Murder Swamp Killer 1925 - 1939

Toledo Clubber 1925

Cleveland Torso Murderer 1934 - 1950

German Wire Murders 1935

Texarkana Moonlight Murders 1946

Atteridgeville Mutilator 1956

Jack the Stripper 1959 - 1964

Boston Strangler 1962 - 1964

Zodiac Killer 1963 - 1970

Cincinnati Strangler 1965 - 1966

Berger County Serial Killer* 1965 - 1970

Bible John 1968 - 1969

Capital City Murders 1968 - 1984

Monster of Florence 1968 - 1985

Highway of Tears 1969 - 2011

Ironman 1970s

Alphabet Murders 1971 - 1994

Freeway Phantom 1971 - 1994

Santa Rosa Hitchhiker Murders 1971 - 1979

Texas Killing Fields [murder site] 1971 - 2012

Charlie Chop-Off 1972 - 1974

Doodler 1974 - 1975

Ivan the Ripper 1974

Oakland County Child Killer 1974 - 1977

Ann Arbor Hospital Murders 1975

Flat-Tire Murders 1975

Gypsy Hill Killings 1976

Atlanta Lover’s Lane 1977

Connecticut River Valley Killer 1978 - 1988

Atlanta Murders 1979 - 1981

BC Missing Women 1979 – 2012

Family Murders 1979 - 1983

Ohio Lovers Killer 1979 - 1982

I-10 Serial Killer 1980 - 1990

Monster of Udine 1980 - 1989

Yakama Reservation Murders 1980 - 1992

Castration Serial Murders 1981 - 1986

The Priest Murders 1981 - 1984

Tylenol Poisoning 1982

Frankford Slasher 1985 - 1990

Honolulu Strangler 1985 - 1986

Paraquat Murders 1985

Stoneman 1985 - 1987

Tube Sock Killings 1985

Colonial Parkway Killer 1986 - 1989

Hwaseong Murders 1986 - 1991

Negev Desert Psychopath 1986 - 1997

Triangle of Death**

Twin Cities Killer 1986 - 1994

I-65 Murders 1987 - 1989

New Bedford Highway Murders 1988 - 1989

Bowraville Murders 1990 - 1991

Glasgow Prostitute Slayer 1991 - 2005

Rome’s Gay Killer 1991 - 1998

I-70 Killer 1992 - 1994

Lisbon Ripper 1992 - 1993

Smiley Face (murder theory)* 1992 - 2008

Ciudad Juárez Female Homicides 1993 - 2006

Eighth Street Killer 1994

Bothell Skeletons 1995 - 1997

Butcher of Mons 1996 - 1997

Claremont Murders 1996 - 1997

Long Island Serial Killer 1996 - 2013

Werewolf Killer of India 1996

Apulia Slasher 1997

Ontario County Cottage Murders 1998 - 1999

Leduc County Murders (murder theory)* 2003 - 2005

West Mesa Murders 2003 - 2009

Pusher (murder theory)* 2004 - 2013

B1 Butcher 2005 - 2007

Daytona Beach Killer 2005 - 2008

Edgecombe County Serial Killer 2005 - 2011

Jeff Davis 8 2005 - 2009

The Jennings Eight 2005 - 2009

Beer Man* 2006 - 2007

Eastbound Strangler 2006

Feb 9 Killer 2006 - 2008

Paturis Park Murders 2007 - 2008

Jack the Pusher 2009 - 2015

Cuffe Parade Killer 2012 - 2013

Bardstown Murders 2013 - 2016

Chillicothe Missing Women 2014 - 2015

Haryana Serial Killer 2015

Yorkshire Dipper* 2016

I have been trying to find something to do with this last few years. I’m still not sure, so here. The cases listed above are mostly unsolved; some of the cases have been partially solved, with at least one perpetrator being caught, or with a suspect being arrested but with enough doubt surrounding them that the case is considered open by the public.

The Smiley Face, Beer Man, Pusher, and Yorkshire Dipper “cases” are JUST THEORIES, and theories that are not encouraged or believed by the police and/or the families of the victims.

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natromanxoff · 4 years ago

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Queen live at Municipal Auditorium in New Orleans, LA, USA - October 31, 1978 (Part-2)

The pictures are from the outrageous and infamous party that took place after the show in the The Imperial Ballroom at the Fairmont Hotel, which included strippers, unicyclists, and drag artists. The party was so off the wall that the album actually didn't end up being played. James Henke of Rolling Stone wrote, "Queen threw a bash in New Orleans that featured snake charmers, strippers, transvestites and a naked fat lady who smoked cigarettes in her crotch." Above all, there are the now-legendary stories about the hermaphrodite dwarves with trays of cocaine. Roger Taylor commented on it years later: "It never happened. Well, I never saw it." And when asked about sex and drugs in general throughout Queen's career, his response was, "There wasn't any s... well, there wasn't any drugs." Wisely, he lets the mystique remain as it keeps the dialogue flowing. Queen manager, Jim Beach, however, was rather revealing on Belgian TV in 2011: "I went there before [the party] to hire as many odd acts as we could possibly find. We found one midget who was happy to lie under a large plate of liver at the buffet, and every time anybody went up to the buffet the liver would wobble. And I have to confess, we did have a dwarf with a pile of cocaine on his head, and he had little straws in his top pocket." A 1996 article in London's 'The People reported the New Orleans festivities as "a non-stop 12-hour marathon of excess featuring a nude model hidden in a huge salver of raw liver. Half-naked girls danced in bamboo cages suspended from the ceiling of a massive ballroom converted to look like a swamp with hanging vines and dry ice smoke. Guests were mesmerised by female mud wrestlers, snakes, strippers and topless waitresses serving endless drinks. At one stage, Freddie signed a stripper's bottom as she leaned over a table." Brian May's take in a 1999 interview for Mojo magazine was rather poignant: "It was deliberately excessive, partly for our own enjoyment, partly for friends to enjoy, partly because it's exciting for record company people - and partly for the hell of it. There were all kinds of weird acts, including a guy who sat in a pile of chopped up liver, women who did unusual things with their anatomies. We made friends with all the strippers and transvestites, people who felt as misplaced as we did. On the face of it they were outrageous and promiscuous, but some of them were great souls. We had a hoot."

The last seven pics were taken at a press conference the next day (at Brennan's, one of the French Quarter's most elegant restaurants), most of which were submitted by Alessio Rizzitelli. By some miracle, the band don't appear to be hung over or underslept. Nonetheless, the band have wisely booked a couple more days off before the next show.

Here are a few pro pics from the press conference:

Another article mentions the party, as well as the tour in general, and Roger's desire to play at Wimbledon Centre Court because of its size and acoustics - a request that would ultimately be denied.

Part-1

#queen #queen band #roger taylor #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen concerts

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howaminotinthestrokesyet · 4 years ago

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When Hair Metal Was King: The Sunset Strip in the 1980’s

Guns N’ Roses was a Los Angeles band. They had all met during the 1980’s on the Sunset Strip. An important part of their story involves the Strip during that time. In order to understand the group as a band, I think it is relevant to take a look at the music scene in LA in the early to mid-1980’s. The Sunset Strip had long been a hotbed of rock music in the 1960’s and the 1970’s. In the late 1970’s, the music scene became grittier and dirtier as bands went from glam rock to punk rock. Yet, everything began to change into decadence with the arrival of Motley Crue in 1981.

A new genre of music, glam or hair metal, began to overtake the Strip fully embraced by Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, and Tommy Lee of Motley Crue. As they began to make a name for themselves musically at clubs along the Strip, they moved into an apartment right by the Whiskey A Go-Go. They would hold after hours parties at their place that soon took on the stuff of legends. Vince Neil would later say, “We played the Whisky, half the crowd would come back to our house and drink and do blow, smack, Percodan, quaaludes, and whatever else we could get for free… There would be members of punk-scene remnants like 45 Grave and the Circle Jerks coming to our almost nightly parties while guys in metal newborns like Ratt and W.A.S.P. spilled out into the courtyard and the street. Girls would arrive in shifts. One would be climbing out the window while another was coming in the door.” He would go on to say in his autobiography, “We’d get drunk, do crazy amounts of cocaine and walk the circuit in stiletto heels, stumbling all over the place. The Sunset Strip was a cesspool of depravity.” The group would be discovered by a record company talent scout who saw the hundreds of kids wearing tight leather and big hair waiting in line to see them. Soon enough, more and more bands began to pop up including W.A.S.P. and LA Guns. A little later groups like Faster Pussycat Kill and Poison showed up on the scene. These bands begin to do more and more outrageous things in order to bring attention to their live show. For example, W.A.S.P. would throw raw meat into the crowd. Not to be outdone, Motley Crue would have Nikki Sixx pour gasoline on his leather pants, then at some point Vince Neil would set him on fire during the show.

One of the centers of the metal glam scene on the Strip was Tower Records. The store was for the most part completely employed by local musicians. Some would say that when you walked into the place; everybody that worked there looked like they were in Motley Crue. Axl Rose would become a manager at Tower, even hiring Slash to work there until he was fired. Columnist Alison Martino recalls, “Everybody from Elton John to David Bowie to Van Halen, they were all in Tower Records. I saw all of them there, buying their own records. I remember seeing Valerie Bertinelli with her mother at Tower Records the week that ‘Jump!’ came out. They used to have on the wall all the number one singles. I remember she went up to the cover of the ‘Jump!’ 45 and turned it around to see Eddie’s face and left it that way.”

Headbangers would line up all along the Strip at night, so much so that you could not even walk on the sidewalk. They would all be waiting to get into clubs like the Troubadour, Roxy, Gazzara’s, the Whiskey, and more. More than 75 bands would be competing for headlining slots at these clubs, which would eventually include Guns N’ Roses. For a while, this was merely a local music phenomenon until Quiet Riot released their album, Metal Health, eventually reaching number one on the charts. This event changed everything as record companies began to sign Los Angeles-based hair bands left and right from that moment on. Hair metal represented the most popular kind of music in the country. This led to people migrating from the northwest like Duff McKagan or from the Midwest like Izzy Stradlin and Axl Rose to become rich and famous chasing their rock and roll dreams. Another such band was Poison, who came all the way from Pennsylvania sensing that Los Angeles was the only place that they could make their name. As these bands fought for fans along the Strip, advertising on a flyer became ultra competitive. There would be flyers posted everywhere promoting in the most creative of ways usually emphasizing sex and drugs. Each morning, along with the plethora of booze bottles lining the streets, there could be found fliers everywhere making Sunset Boulevard look like New Orleans after Mardi Gras.

Another center for the hair band movement on the Strip was the Rainbow Bar and Grill. This place opened in 1972 to host rock and Hollywood royalty like John Lennon, Ringo Starr, John Belushi, and Elton John. Lemmy Klimster of Motörhead had become a mainstay at the corner of the bar for a very long time playing games on the video machine. Tommy Lee offered up this assessment of the Rainbow. “When the clubs began to close, we’d go to the Rainbow. The place was set up like a circle, with the coolest rockers and richest deviants sitting at the center tables. Guys had to be twenty-one to come into the club, but girls could be eighteen. The guys would sit at their regular spots and the girls would walk around the ring until they were called over to someone’s empty chair... Afterward, everyone would spill out into the parking lot: Randy Rhoads, Ozzy Osbourne’s guitarist, would be hanging upside down from a tree screaming while junkies tried to score dope and everyone else tried to scam on girls.” No matter where you went along the strip at that time, you were bound to see some sort of insanity going on. Stephen Pearcy, lead singer of Ratt recalls, “I saw so many people f*** on the lawns behind Gazzarri’s that I actually got bored of watching and started to throw empty beer cans at them.” For its part, the Rainbow usually only saw people having sex in the bathroom stalls, not its lawn, but on occasion the dumpster.

The strange but true thing about all of these bands trying to get discovered on the Strip was that they were seemingly connected in some way. The 6 degrees of separation of all these groups has been noted by writers looking back at that music scene. Slash almost ended up in the band Poison. Tracii Guns of LA Guns helped to form the Guns found in Guns N’ Roses. GNR had a bit of a feud with Motley Crue, who’s founder Nikki Sixx once played in a band with Tracii Guns. The feud would later escalate to national headlines as guitarist Izzy Stradlin began hitting on Vince Neil‘s wife at a party. Axl Rose then got involved, which saw Vince Neil state on MTV News that he wanted to challenge Rose to a fight anytime, anywhere. For this reason, you cannot compare Seattle’s music scene to the Strip because to this day a lot of those bands that are still connected absolutely hate each other. These musicians would actually be members of multiple bands at any one time. In a VH1 documentary, the drummer from Quiet Riot said that before they were signed to a record deal, he had been in at least five bands at one time. One of the reasons for this also emerged in the fact that playing these clubs did not make you any money. All of these groups that would become very famous and very rich in the next few years were also struggling to find enough to eat or a place to sleep. For their part, Guns N’ Roses lived in a tiny apartment infested with cockroaches and squalor. Journalists have referred to their existence before Appetite For Destruction as street urchins. Their only saving grace was the financial assistance of waitresses and strippers, who served these bands as groupies. The females in Los Angeles at that time were completely enamored with any guy in a hair metal band. Half the time, they did not even care if you were any good or not.

With the arrival of Axl Rose on the music scene, one thing stood out at that time. Word began to spread that there was this singer, who gave off this incredibly intense and mesmerizing energy every time that he performed. The other guys in GNR always had to audition for any group, but Rose was wanted by every band on the scene that did not have a singer. Everyone wanted him to front their band. The second that this happened probably was the beginning of the end as far as Axl acting in any way humble towards his other bandmates. The question now becomes as to how the particular members of Guns N’ Roses actually came together. One answer to that was that Rose truly wanted to be in a band with Izzy Stradlin. They had been in one together with Hollywood Rose, but at the time of GNR’s formation, they were still trying for their own band. As for the other members, it represented a situation of the right place at the right time. Slash could have been in Poison by that time, but he still remained a free agent. Tracii Guns could have decided that he wanted to remain in that group with Axl Rose, but he did not. One important thing to remember is that unlike other groups, the guys in Guns N’ Roses really did not know each other too well when they got together. Axl and Izzy had been friends, while Slash, Steven Adler, and Duff knew each other quite well.

As for the scene itself, by the time of the release of Appetite For Destruction hair metal was slowly beginning to wear out its welcome. The death knell would not occur until the arrival of grunge in 1991. Yet, GNR did contribute just a little bit to this backlash as they represented something that was very anti-hair metal. They went out of their way to make sure the media portrayed them as a rock band like the Rolling Stones and Aerosmith, instead of any kind of hair metal band. Their behavior and actions followed up on this. Bands of that time like Poison and Motley Crue had gotten more and more outrageous and ridiculous in their blatant attempts to gain the attention of this new MTV generation. GNR changed things a little bit because everything that they did from drugs to sex to fights to snarky interviews was meant to be 100% real. For a time, the band had teased their hair and put on glam makeup, but they quickly stopped doing that for a new image. They made an overt attempt to scare the crap out of people showing fans and writers alike that they did not give a shit about anything or anyone, except themselves. This is not to say that each member was completely selfish, but instead that the only thing that mattered in their lives was the band. By the early 1990’s, this camaraderie between band members was slowly withering away as Rose began to exert more and more control over the group. The arrival of Nirvana and the bands from Seattle signaled the end of this music scene being the epicenter of popular rock in the United States. The death of River Phoenix in 1993 at the Viper Room foreshadowed the end of the strip as party central. Soon enough, more and more hotels began to pop up as that part of Los Angeles soon embraced tourists, rather than local musicians.

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gwenbrooks · 4 years ago

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Here's a Wilbur Writing with no Point

Wilbur’s week consisted of two options for his nightly routine. The first paid the majority of his bills; during the days, Wilbur led tours of the French Quarter, sometimes venturing out when he was needed for a whole city bus tour and three nights a week he led ghost tours at night. It was fun, but it paled in comparison to show nights.

As long as he’d been in New Orleans, Wilbur had been singing in whatever venue that would have him. Lately, he’d been lucky enough to find a gig with a local burlesque troupe. Sarah said it was because he was always ready to make the run to a drugstore for whoever needed it. He’d trek through Frenchman Street or Bourbon in order to get to whatever bar, and lately they’d moved up to bars and restaurants along Canal Street. Tonight, it was one a few blocks off of Bourbon, and as usual he had his garment bag over his shoulder.

There was usually just enough time to shower and shave after tours, and Wilbur was bound and determined to never arrive with water contaminated with whatever bodily fluids had hit the streets by eight in the evening. He wanted to smell like whiskey and cigarettes, not whiskey, cigarettes, and Bourbon Street. The bar for the night was attached to a hotel and had blocked off the distressingly large restroom of the hotel lobby, as they did every Thursday for the troupe. He gave a nod to the concierge, knocking on the door of the bathroom.

“It’s me,” he called. “Everybody decent?”

“Hardly,” Sarah laughed, opening the door. “No one’s made the switch from robes to costumes. Get in here before the lobby catches a peek.”

“Everybody set?” he asked ducking in obediently and going to hang his clothes over the back of the door.

“You love us, right Wilbur?” Ana asked, arm around Rachel.

“Now of course,” he smiled, tilting his head. “I’m guessing it’s lashes?”

“And a lip liner,” Rachel added, holding out cash.

“I appreciate you two telling me before I got the suit on this time.” He nodded again to the concierge as he left, swinging by the bar and putting the cash down. “The usual?”

“Now or when you walk back in.”

“The latter.” He was already out the archway, turning right and spotting that CVS would be his stop for the night. This was part of the routine, usually. Sometimes it took until almost time to go on stage for someone to realize they needed makeup, lotion, tights, tampons, or cigarettes. Since he required the least effort to get ready, he had slowly developed a map of every drugstore in the Quarter. He’d also learned that the best way to get down Canal was looking directly at wherever he was heading and duck between people if need be.

Ana always forgot her lashes, and he’d memorized what kind she liked. Rachel didn’t care if her lip liner matched her lipstick and while Wilbur didn’t fully understand the intricacies of contouring one’s lips, he did know a dark peachy nude was usually what she wanted. At first, he’d kept a running note on his cellphone, listing the brands and colors of anything he was sent to fetch. Only guests threw him off now.

When he made his way back in, Andy held out his drink from behind the bar. He mouthed a ‘thank you,’ tracing a heart over his chest with his free hand. The girls were still lined up along the counter in their robes. He made his way along the row to greet Sarah then Megan, then Ana, then Rachel, then Julia, kissing the temple of each and placing his hand on their upper back. As things calmed, Wilbur finally changed, tucking his shirt in and fastening his dress pants just in time to hear his name called again.

“Can you help lace me?” Sarah asked, followed by Julia’s request for him to grab the bottle of wine the bar gave them before each show.

“After I help Sarah,” he nodded, fingers working into the laces and pulling hard. “It’s getting stuck on your sparklers.”

“I know. Stoned the whole thing without thinking about the logistics But it’s a damn good costume.”

“It is. And luckily ya got me here because time’s running tight again.”

“As usual,” she conceded. “Don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Be stuck with Steven being a creep?” Sarah let out a huff of agreement as he tiet her off. “I’ll be back with wine. Y’all got cups or need them?”

A chorus of “Got it”s came, and he downed his drink, going to the bar and getting a bottle and a refill. Megan had finished, pouring for everyone as Wilbur finally ducked out the hotel’s side door with a cigarette and his drink. Richard was on piano tonight, Wilbur making note everyone was here and accounted for and ready. Sarah was the den mother and ran the troupe, but he’d happily taken over making sure everything ran smoothly. He didn’t think somebody in that tall of heels and a corset should be running the errands. When he heard the volume of people pick up inside, he dropped the butt of his cigarette and ground it into the sidewalk before heading inside and standing at the side of the stage.

It was the usual crowd, but he made note of the group of men already bothering the female patrons. Bachelor parties rarely decided a burlesque show was the right place for them, but he could hear them talking about the strippers they were about to see. The bachelorette party across the bar from them, however, would be the ideal group as long as no one decided to come on stage. When he heard the piano begin to play, he set his drink on the small table beside him.

“Welcome to the Jaded Flask, I’m your host for the evening, and I’ll also be singing so that you can be blessed by the girls you are about to see tonight. Who’s ready to have a good time?” The response was the usual one that came before the first drink. “Oh, if y’all ain’t ready, we can all go home. Let’s give that one more try.” The bachelorettes put in enough enthusiasm for everyone. “Now, before we get the ladies out, here’s how the night works. I’ll serenade you once the girls give me the signal. And we gotta talk about the rules before any of the ladies come outta the dressing room…”

Once he’d gone through the reminders not to take parts of costumes and that they sure as hell weren’t to touch anyone. As expected, he had to chide the bachelor party, and they left early to go to the Hustler club on Bourbon. The night went smoothly, and he succeeded in reminding everyone about the giant champagne flute everyone tipped into. Singing is what felt right, and he loved being able to do it while hosting the show. When the first show ended, he brought the flute to the dressing room, letting Sarah split it up.

“Anything needed for touch ups?” he asked, knowing they’d have an hour or two this time.

“Well, one thing,” Julia started. “Can yo-”

“The chicken shack?” he grinned, digging another cigarette from his hoodie hung over a stall. “I know the between show drill here. You already order or?”

“We all put our order in. Thank you,” she nodded. Wilbur gave a salute, lighting his cigarette when he hit the street. He picked up the chicken at the street window, waving to the locals he recognized. Everyone performing along these blocks ended up here to grab something to eat. When he got back, he set the food on the counter, dropping into a chair for the first time since he’d arrived. He closed his eyes, rolling his neck to crack it.

The second show went more smoothly than the first, and Wilbur placed most of his cash and his suit into his garment behind the hotel counter, back in his shorts and t-shirt. He made his way the five blocks that stood between himself and the bar he’d been sent the pin for by one of his friends. All of his friends who performed nearby met at whatever bar the first to finish picked. At the end of the night, he picked up his suit and made his way back to his condo in the Garden District.

On the nights he came home from leading tours, coming home could feel like a relief. He liked to seem like what the tourists wanted from a New Orleans tour guide, wearing chunky rings and weird shirts. Coming home let him act like himself again. If he went out, it was in a quiet bar he’d found near his house, but it wasn’t him getting to spend a few hours recharging by performing. He’d chosen a little family in the quarter, but he also chose to keep himself in the Garden District. He didn’t want to give them the chance to realize how badly he needed them. That was always how it went. So on the nights he came home from his happiest places, he still poured himself another drink because coming home reminded him how, no matter how much everyone he performed with seemed to like him, he’d kept everyone at enough of a distance that the empty condo reflected how alone he felt.

#wilbur

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wcmen · 5 years ago

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&. * — a warm welcome to WINONA BRADSHAW, the FORTY-SEVEN year old CIS FEMALE born in NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA. as a local OWNER OF 1 OAK / PRIVATE BDSM SOCIETY FOUNDER residing in MANHATTAN, SHE is loved for their INSIGHT, CLEVERNESS, SUAVITY. but behind their back, they’re described as AMBITIOUS, OUTSPOKEN, VAIN. still not impressed ? what if i told you they looked exactly like MADCHEN AMICK ? that should do it.

ok so winona is a char i play/ed on my indie so i got this lil shit down leggo !

biography:

she was born ‘winifred briggs’ and raised in new orleans, lousiana.

her parents just didn’t want a kid since they were young, rip.

she was put into foster care and jumped around multiple houses, settling into her last one when she was 9 years old. the hixon household was...not a good one.

tw abuse, neglect: they were particularly cruel to her and the other girls of the household. treating them more like animals than children, and with heavy hands to accompany the treatment.

so what does miss thang do? she decides enough is enough at 16 years old. a natural leader (despite not being the eldest), and a natural firecracker, she sets up a plan for the girls to escape with a beat up car in the backyard and the stash of cash mr. hixon kept for his various vices.

the girls make their dash in the middle of the night and set off without a care where they end up, so long as it’s far away from the hellhole that is louisiana.

they get up to their adventures and their misadventures, and along the way, every girl sorta falls off the bandwagon to pursue her own thing. one finds love in california, one goes back into the system in a different state to get adopted by a loving couple they all met, etc. until it’s finally two gals left at the end, and it’s only been a year!

17 year old ‘winona bradshaw’ as she’s dubbed herself, winds up in big ole nyc. she applies to become a stripper to make ends meet but the lady running the joint is like ‘girl i know you are not of age.’ so instead? the lady takes winona and her sister under her wing, gives them jobs to clean the place, be hosts, etc. things that wouldn’t put them too much at risk. at least until they’re both of age. and the lady offers them a room to stay in, so long as they do a job well done.

tw adult entertainment: 18 year old winona finally becomes a stripper and she makes bank. she’s everything the crowd wants, and she’s quickly dubbed the ‘redlight district queen.’ she revels in the attention and praise, because she’s vain af.

unfortunately, winona’s sister decides to go off to college and pursue a higher education. good for her, but winona’s heart breaks. all her family’s practically gone and she misses them, but she’s got to put herself first. and she’s got a damn good thing going.

by the time she hits her late twenties, winona’s learned the ropes of running a club and the lady that took her on suggests opening up one in manhattan. she knows winona, miss fancy, would strive in the celeb / upper clientele scene too. maybe even better.

winona opens up her club in her early thirties. and it’s not long before 1 oak takes off. in fact, it’s the top nightclub that every famous and wealthy person flocks to. sometimes the rarer everyday type, when the doors allow it, and if you’re impressive enough to get in.

like lucifer himself sitting in the garden of eden, winona bathes in the wealth, power, sins and beauty she’s built an empire out of.

it’s safe to say she’s done some dirty dealings behind closed doors. but at a hefty price! she’s established all sorts of connections, and some would get her ass thrown in prison. but she’s almost untouchable.

tw adult entertainment: about a decade ago, she also founded a private bdsm society. because why not go the extra mile? nyc’s got some freaky fun, and she likes that redlight district appeal. but everyone’s careful to respect her. winona doesn’t let anyone get by without treating her like royalty, and abiding by her ( charming ) authoritarian rule. she also doesn’t tolerate people treating her workers poorly, whether in society or in the club.

she’s gay af, too. sleeps around a lot. half the time she’s known for her nightclub business, half the time she’s known for her flings.

wealthy af. spicy sugar milf... if you will.

#femintro #guys ?? i went w/ blonde her ??#was this good choice idk ??#anytime i play winona it's blonde but i always debate brunette tbh #but i think this gif screams Her

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