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ditzdove · 11 months ago

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———

Still she gets up and does her due diligence as a good daughter and goes to check if her dad is home. She goes to the kitchen first making her own breakfast then to her father’s bedroom and finally goes to the living room having found no signs of him and sits on their couch checking the clock that hangs above the tv, 5:34 which she clinches her jaw at in anger and stares at the clock with contempt hoping to burn a hole through it with sheer willpower alone. She’s not upset about the presence or lack there of her father- well she is but that isn’t the issue the problem is that to day is Saturday.

And while her dad usually isn’t here on weekdays his job a very demanding one and his passion in exposing the paranormal is coming to be a tireless and all encompassing pursuit, she at least has solace knowing that the weekends are hers.

That every Saturday she has the pleasure of waking up in the radio in the kitchen singing ‘La bamba’ and hear her father humming along while he makes her pancakes, knowing that the rest of the day will most likely be the two of them lounging around on the couch watching reruns of mysterious mysteries. Knowing that she gets to have a day where her father’s attention is all hers.

And sure she knows he’s been going on more monster hunting trips lately and that he’s been taking more cases for the swollen eyeball but he told her that it wouldn’t cut into their time together. He promised that they’d still have time for their weekend together that it didn’t matter how busy he was he’d always have time for her. today was supposed to be their time it was supposed to be their day and it’s more important today than any other Saturday because it was her birthday. And He promised to be home by 7:00 so that they had time to celebrate he even said he’d bring a cake.

So she sits on their old beat up couch a bowl of cereal in her lap she poured her self when she woke up practically untouched staring at the clock as the hour and minute hands tick down. She wonders if he’ll actually have remembered the icing she wanted on her cake or if he’ll have remembered the cake at all.

…she hopes it’s chocolate

———

It’s 6:53 an hour has passed and the minutes continue to go by. She’s starting to get hungry but she still doesn’t pick up her spoon to eat simply continuing to staring down the clock. Her stomach growls in protest begging her to eat, finally she relents and starts to eat her now soggy cereal she’s finally stopped staring daggers at the clock. Dib is still not home but she knows he’ll make it in time… she knows he wouldn’t miss her birthday.

she chances a glance at the time again it 6:54. She scowls a bit but shakes her head and goes back to eating. “He’ll be here” she says out into the silent room, “Please be here” she pleads. A few more seconds goes by…

‘knock knock’

Mitzi’s head snaps to the door her eye wide, she hears the sound of keys jiggling and the door knob unlocking. She stands up and quickly put her bowl on the table ready to run into her father’s arms and berate him for almost being late. The door opens and just as Mitzi makes a dash for the door she sees who’s behind it… and her heart sinks.

It’s auntie Gaz.

“hey kid, what’re you- woah you look worse than normal” Gaz raises an eyebrow at the disheveled child in front of her. Mitzi looks Down at herself realizing she’s still wearing her night clothes, a blue shirt that has saturn on it and in big font says science under it and hot pink shorts “huh, guess so looks like I just got out of bed, still better than the time dad made me wear a dress though.”

She gives an awkward smile, gaz opens one of her eyes in a deadpan stare unamused. Mitzi smile drops and she looks away trying to find something else to talk about. Gaz takes pity on her and shows her the bag she has, and takes out a game slave 4.

“so, kid how do feel about video games.” Mitzi’s eyes fill with excitement and a bit of competitiveness, and she gives gaz a sharp grin back and says “i don’t know how do you feel about losing.” With a smug attitude

“oh you are so going down”

“please like a grandma could beat me”

“You’re gonna regret those words.”

The next two and half hours were spent with both girls on the couch playing ‘pig hunter: battle for the bacon’ which distracted them from even noticing the clock on the wall ticking away.

As time passed the two got into a debate about which game slave console was the best which lead to another debate on which piggy hunter game was the best, and which one had the best graphics or better story telling and so on and so forth.

“Okay but you have to admit ‘piggy hunter in space’ was such an interesting concept”

”more like a money grab with no discernible plot, and the controls were even worse!”

“Oh c’mon you just don’t like it cause it had aliens in it”

”the aliens come out of nowhere what even was the purpose for them being there?”

“You just don’t know good-‘growl.” Mitzi goes quiet as her face grows red as her stomach grumbles, the realization that she barely ate one bowl of cereal now dawning on her. Gaz looks up from the game slave with a raised eyebrow but face still neutral. “Ahem what I was trying to say was—‘growl’ mitzi looks even redder than before. Gaz sighs and gets up

”c’mon let find you something to eat other than cereal”

mitzi follows her to the kitchen silently still embarrassed by her inability to take care of herself. she sits at the table quietly while Gaz rummages through their fridge for anything to make. Gaz hums as she look’s through the fridge as it’s almost empty except for a jar of pickles, half a gallon of milk, some mayonnaise and left over pizza “you’re dad needs to go grocery shopping, so I guess we’re having leftover pizza.” She looks back towards Mitzi who’s staring at the table in thought.

”that good with you kid” she speaks a little louder the she meant to which makes mitzi startling a bit then nod. “Uh yeah that’s fine” she mumbles before turning back to the table. Gaz looks at for a while before turning back and her a plate and brings it to the table. The two sit in silence for a while Mitzi picking at her food refusing to look up until Gaz speaks up.

“Listen I know you’re upset about dib missing your birthday, and honestly you deserve to be.” Mitzi looks at gaz confused, but gaz just looks at her and continues

“you don’t deserve to be forced to be okay with him missing important events in your life just because you know it’d make him feel bad. I know first hand what it feels like to be left alone and pretend it’s okay and the fact that he knows what it feels like makes this whole situation worse.” For the first time since she met her, she looks at her niece really looks her eyes tired but full of hurt and resignation, and her body tense with anger. And for the first time looking at her niece she doesn’t see her brother, she sees her self a scared little girl angry at the world and at a father who couldn’t be bothered to care.

She takes a deep breath before she continues “you deserve a father who recognizes you and you don’t need to placate him to earn that recognition.”

She takes her niece’s small hand much like the first time she saw her a little bundle in her brothers arms and says “you’re dad loves you a whole lot but he sucks at showing it.” She looks at mitzi and small smile tugging at her lips. “So if he’s not doing a good job of showing it come to to me and I’ll set him straight”

mitzi let’s out small giggle “is that code for I’ll kick his ass”

gaz grins and slides a slice of pizza over to Mitzi they both grin and finish eating.

———

Bad writing warning

I know I should stop jumping from one au to another but this idea was to fun to pass up

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irenadel · 2 years ago

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Small Graces

Mitzi x Mordecai The animated short took over my brain and re-ignited the hots I have for Mordecai. Filthy porn ahead, beware. I'm not brave enough to make this furry. Everyone is a human here. Pre-canon. Lackadaisy glory days when Atlas was still alive. Some mild spoilers for the last couple of comics, so read at your own risk.

Part I

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Unprofessionalism notwithstanding, Mordecai abhorred falling asleep in his clothes. It was liable to wrinkle them and require his pants be sent to the dry cleaners yet again this week. At least someone (he earnestly hoped it had been himself, he shuddered at the thought of strange hands touching his feet) had had the sense to take his shoes off and neatly drape his bloodied jacket and vest over one of the apartment’s plush chairs.

And there was the small matter of keeping a lookout for anyone seeking revenge for the recent bloodshed on his boss’s estranged wife.

He supposed it had been the steady ticking of the clock which had lulled him into sleep. On difficult nights he always slept with a pocket watch close to his ear… But his was most certainly still securely tucked into the pocket of his vest, and he didn’t see a clock anywhere in Mrs. May’s Bohemian though, he begrudgingly accepted, tidy bedroom. It wasn’t a clock. Ah. The high sweet keys of a piano emerged from his cottony, still half-unconscious perception (it had been a lot of blood loss, he wouldn’t have volunteered for lookout duty if Viktor hadn’t been in a sorrier state than he was). A metronome. He should have known, though somehow hadn’t expected it from Mrs. May’s self-admittedly hodgepodge musical education.

There’d been a man in the tenement building Mordecai grew up in who had fixed and tuned pianos for a living. Sometimes when he was working, he would use the metronome for some unknowable purpose. Mordecai had always liked the sound.

He let it draw him out of sleep now. Let it provide him with an excuse not to bother, or be bothered, by the lady of the house. It was still dark out, still dangerous, though the hint of a slowly graying sky promised him a ready reprieve. Soon he could be back home, change into fresh clothes, and never have to think about having had to intrude into a married woman’s private chambers. Nevermind that this married woman should have been in her husband’s home, not in some dingy apartment where Mordecai had to keep a lookout for her. He couldn’t pretend to understand what happened in a normal marriage, let alone one with any sort of turbulence to it.

The steady tick of the metronome, the accompanying slow, high notes of the piano let him tune out the distracting reality of the room, let him focus on his post at the window. He would not think of the confounding Mrs. Atlas May. He would not think of her vanity behind him, or the brush disgustingly full as he supposed it was with human hair. The whiff of perfume and cosmetics. The slept in unmade bed or any dirty clothes that–

But the bed was made. It had not been so when he arrived, when he’d woken up its occupant in the middle of the night. And someone had cleaned her vanity, down to putting her brush and combs away… The same someone who had draped his bloodied clothes upon the back of a chair, maybe taken his shoes off when he had curled up in the window sill… the same person who could have fallen asleep again but had chosen to stay up and occupy herself with something outside the bedroom, giving him space…

He’d known Mrs. May a long time. He’d known she was smarter than she let on, more perceptive… He hadn’t realized she was also kind.

“Would you like some coffee, sweetheart?”

He’d nearly jumped out of his skin, had certainly scrambled off his perch in the window sill. He hadn’t heard the piano stop because the metronome was still going.

“Thank you, Mrs. May, but not presentl–”

He’d turned to at least acknowledge her presence and was jarred into full alertness by the sight of Atlas May’s wife in nothing more than a nightgown and a robe. He averted his gaze immediately, brushing past her on his way out the door, unable to keep from shuddering at the extraneous, unexpected contact.

“I’ll just give you a minute.”

He fled into her little parlor for safety, finding himself drawn to the still ticking metronome. A good enough excuse to keep his back to her and allow her the grace of an inconspicuous exit.

“Sugar, you can give me ten or twenty minutes,” she drawled, still leaning on her bedroom’s door frame. “I’m still not putting on any clothes before the sun is out. You’ll just have to make your peace with it, honey.”

She gave him no time for further discomfort, sitting herself back down on the piano’s bench and resuming her practice. He was frozen in place, unable and unwilling to cede her the territory she had just gained. He should go back to his post at the window, pretend none of this had taken place and hope it would not be mentioned to any of their mutual acquaintances.

She didn’t play the same high, melancholy melody as before, but a set of scales. Somehow, that was better. Somehow, the repetitive, rising and decreasing nature of it soothed him. He wouldn’t look at her but still he felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders and found himself suddenly aware of how exhausted he was. It had been a long night.

“You can sit down, sweetheart, you don’t have to stand at attention”

He glared at her, not dignifying her comment with an answer but still not finding in himself the energy to move back to the window.

“… if it makes you so miserable, I can dispense with the babysitter, Mordecai.”

He tried not to roll his eyes at her. “Mrs. May, your husband made it clear—“

The piano stopped with a sudden, dissonant twang. “What my husband wants is no longer my concern.”

The venom in her voice embarrassed him. This whole situation was simply intolerable. He wanted to cringe back from it and suddenly the thought that all her small kindnesses, her attire and her proximity may have been an attempt to involve him in some kind of petty revenge against Atlas… it was too much. Spite could be so tiresome.

“How ever much I appreciate your courtesy Mrs. May, I wish to play no part in your marital strife.”

She stared at him, half dumbfounded, half immeasurably wounded. He was not prone to sentimentality but somehow her big green eyes (beautiful, he’d often heard the boss comment what beautiful eyes his wife had, personally he was indifferent to them) made him fidget.

“Mordecai sweetheart,” she said tiredly, closing the piano’s fallboard over the keys. “I know it must be hard to understand, but not everything a married woman does is about her husband.”

There was a certain exhausted defiance in the way she looked at him that made him uncomfortable. His mother had looked like that at times after his father had passed away. It made his cheeks burn with a guilty sort of flush.

Atlas is still alive, he wanted to say, don’t look at me like that, Mrs. May.

But he said nothing, just returned her tired gaze with a bewildered one of his own and watched her silently give up. She made to get up from the piano, one hand reaching for the metronome to stop its steady ticking and he panicked. He didn’t want her to go back to her bedroom, disrobe even further and sleep in the bed he would have to be near if he went back to his lookout spot. Out of options to detain her further, he did the one thing he could think of: he acquiesced to her request and sat down on the bench beside her.

There was a certain satisfaction in seeing those usually languid, knowing eyes widen in surprise, and his stomach did a flip at the hint of a smile dancing on Mrs. May’s unmade but still very rosy lips. She flipped the fallboard back back up and started her scales again. Mordecai let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Up close, she didn’t smell like cosmetics as she usually would have, no slight sheen of sweat as he had always known her to have, from her exertions on the stage or the dance floor. Had she bathed too, while he slept? For his benefit? He forced himself not to squirm on the bench, suddenly aware of the bare, warm flesh beneath her thin nightgown and robe. He should not have sat down. For all her skimpy costumes back in her stage days, Mordecai had never personally been so close to a woman in such a state of undress. It made him nauseous, made his skin itch, made him…

She’d stopped playing.

“Mordecai honey,” she said tentatively. “Do you need a minute?”

For a second he didn’t understand what she meant. Then he became aware of the rapidly forming bulge beneath his silk pants.

He clambered off the bench, against the piano’s keys, their frantic, offkey protest mirroring his own frantic, strenuous desire to flee. He would have, if she had tried to touch him, would have ran if Mrs. May hadn’t left her seat on the bench and taken a slow, deliberate step back.

“Darling, it’s alright,” she’d said softly, so kindly it made him even more anxious. He wanted to blame her for this. Her and her uncharacteristic concessions to his innumerable peculiarities, so often points of contention or mockery. He wondered if she had planned this. Would have found it easier to retreat in a fury if she had. He wondered how she could have undone him so thoroughly, how she could’ve known, as she seemed to have guessed everything else, that nothing but the scent of her clean skin and talcum (no perfume, no artifice) could have left him in this dizzy, pitiful state of arousal…

But she didn’t seem to know what to do anymore than he did.

He could see her make up her mind in real time. Felt his whole body thrum with anticipation the moment she stepped into his space. It must be the blood loss or the drugs still swimming in his veins that kept him frozen in place. He must still be under the influence, woozy from adrenaline, or he would have never allowed this, never considered this. Would have never let her get so close. So close he could feel the heat of her body beneath her nightgown. So close he marveled that it was not enough.

“Mrs. May—“

“Honey, if you call me ‘Mrs. May’ again while we’re doing this, I’ll scream.”

She didn’t scream though. And for a short, panicky second Mordecai was afraid she would try to kiss him. Mrs. Ma– Mitzi did not. Did she know he could not stand it if she tried to kiss him? Even when she threw one arm around his neck, running her nails up his scalp in a way that made him forget about propriety, promises or even the wrinkles sure to form on his pants, all she did was lay her forehead against his while he panted madly, waiting, hoping, aching… Her other hand found the front buttons below his belt, deftly undoing them before snaking inside. Did she know he could not take anything else? All the secret, lewd things he’d heard others whisper about, the ones that had seemed too full of fluids and other people’s filth, the ones he’d scoffed at (wondered at)... did she know this was the only one he could stand? He looked at her pleadingly, not recognizing himself, so desperate he was almost ready to tell her she could try to put her lips on him, anything, anything at all to quench this needy, wanton fire on his skin.

Her hand was enough. Wrapping around his penis, firmly, hotly pulling at him. He’d only done this to himself a couple of times during the first desperate pangs of adolescence. It shouldn’t have surprised him how much better it would feel when someone else did it for him. It shouldn’t have surprised him how much more skilled she was at it. He was mortified at the whimper that escaped him, his glasses fogging with a sweat he suddenly could not care less about. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips almost a smile, as she stroked him again and again, good God, to the rhythm of the metronome.

“Mitzi,” he keened desperately and heard her throaty, low chuckle before he saw the first real smile he had seen all evening break out on her face.

She must know, surely she must know how good it was, how crazy it drove him to have this done to him properly. He bared his teeth, letting his head hang back, keeping his hips still out of sheer stubbornness. He would not interrupt her blissfully rhythmic strokes. He’d surrendered any protests he could have. She knew better, knew him better than he knew himself. Knew he would prefer the chaffing to any improvised lubrication. Knew the only kind he could allow was what she could gather from the weeping tip of his erection, with her sharp little nails, running down his length again and again, again and again, all to the steady ticking of the metronome behind him. He was swimming in that even, predictable tick, tick, tick. Swimming in the heat at the pit of his stomach, in the sweet smell of her skin and her lady’s talcum, mysterious and alien and clean. Balls tight, nipples tingling, his skin so hot and needy he felt it would crawl off him any minute now, any second…

“Mordecai sweetheart,” he heard her one more time, searing lips against his neck. “Come for me.”

He hadn’t known the words would make a difference. They did. He screwed his eyes shut, hands braced against the piano and felt his balls empty themselves in her hand, his hips lost at last, pumping of their own accord against her. He, for once in his life, utterly heedless of the mess he was making, while choking on her name, Mitzi, Mitzi, Mitzi, like a prayer.

When he came back to himself, Mordecai realized she was panting against his throat too, her other hand still firmly cradling his neck, whole body draped across his own heaving one. The wound on his shoulder throbbed dully, and for a moment he was at a loss before this overwhelming, bounteous humanity in the form of Mitzi May, still in her nightgown, one hand covered in the shameful, evidence of his transgression. For a moment he felt like he could heave.

He felt like a fool when she used her clean hand to extricate a handkerchief from somewhere – the lady in her had thought of the handkerchief, the ballroom bawd had thought to stock it even into her undergarments – and used it to clean him up so thoroughly and expertly he was left dumbfounded. Deeply, heartbreakingly grateful. Almost ashamed of his brief, furtive revulsion.

“Thank you,” he managed, pathetically sincere.

Mitzi smiled at him again, something watery hiding behind her large doe eyes, which he could, at last, admit were beautiful beyond measure.

“Thank you,” she countered. “I needed that.”

Mordecai didn’t know if it was the haze of orgasm, danger or gratitude, but he touched her of his own accord then. He reached for her face and felt nauseously delighted when she leaned into his hand. He did not know if he would ever understand his sex’s fascination with beautiful women… but he understood this much. He felt reckless with the knowledge, almost drunk on it. He felt generous but afraid, suddenly, that whatever this was, would evaporate as morning dew…

When Mitzi made to go dispose of her soiled handkerchief he grabbed her wrist with sudden, forceful intent. It felt delicate, birdlike under his hands, capable as they were, of such brutality. He felt a thrill in that new awareness of her fragility, compounded by her still racing pulse and the lingering warmth of their exertions on the thin skin stretched over her veins. Reckless, heedless of consequences or even his own inclinations, he pulled her closer grabbing two ample handfuls of her hips and buttocks. He risked his forehead against her stomach and was exhilarated both at his persistent desire to touch her and her clean, handkerchief-free hand on his hair, carding fingers through the mess they had made of it. Together.

“Take a bath,” he’d risked the order, looking up at her from his seat on the piano’s edge. He was glad she bit her full unpainted lip, seemingly pleased, instead of cutting him down with a condescending “sweetie” or an icy glare. His heart was hammering at his daring. “I’ll meet you in your bed.”

#lackadaisy #mordecai heller #mitzi may #mordecai x mitzi #mordecai smut #lackadaisy fanfiction #no one ships this but me #fine i'll write it myself then #there will be a second part hopefully #just dont hold your breath #iresmut #my writing

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selfshippingwhore · 10 months ago

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Name: Clementine “Cleo” Whiskertail

Background:

Cleo, with her cream-colored fur and a penchant for trouble, is a sly and resourceful member of the Lackadaisy crew. Born into the speakeasy life, she’s as comfortable swaying to jazz tunes as she is dodging bullets in dimly lit alleys.

Appearance:

Fur: Creamy and soft, like a dollop of whipped cream.

Eyes: Amber, always alert and calculating.

Build: Petite but wiry, she can slip through tight spaces without a sound.

Signature Accessory: A silver pocket watch dangling from her vest, a relic from her late grandfather.

Personality:

Streetwise: Cleo knows every nook and cranny of St. Louis. She’s the go-to cat for information, whether it’s about rival bootleggers or secret speakeasy entrances.

Mischievous: Her playful grin hides a thousand secrets. She’s the cat who can swipe a rival’s wallet while dancing the Charleston.

Loyal: Cleo’s loyalty lies with Mitzi May and the Lackadaisy crew. She’d take a bullet for any of them, but she’d prefer not to.

Role at Lackadaisy:

Scout and Smuggler: Cleo scampers through the city’s underbelly, gathering intel and slipping contraband past the law. Her nimble paws are perfect for smuggling tiny flasks of moonshine.

Backup Singer: When Vivi needs a break, Cleo steps up to the mic. Her voice is raw and bluesy, a stark contrast to Vivi’s velvet tones.

Backstory:

The Orphan: Cleo grew up in the shadow of Lackadaisy, an orphan taken in by Mitzi after her parents’ mysterious disappearance. She never knew their names, only the scent of their fur on a faded handkerchief.

The Silver Watch: Her grandfather, a retired detective, left her the silver pocket watch. Its ticking soothes her nerves during high-stakes heists.

The Rivalry: Cleo has a love-hate relationship with Silas “Snake Eyes” Malone, the same gangster who hunts Vivi. They share a history, but Cleo won’t reveal the details.

Motivation:

Family Secrets: Cleo’s quest for answers about her parents drives her. She believes Lackadaisy holds the key to unraveling the mystery, but she must tread carefully. Snake Eyes is always watching.

Cleo’s cream-colored fur blends into the moonlit shadows as she slips through the back door of Lackadaisy. Her amber eyes scan the room, catching glimpses of secrets and whispered promises. In this cat-and-mouse game, Cleo dances on the edge of danger, her silver pocket watch ticking away the seconds. ⌛🔍🎶

#f/o community #f/o #f/o post #oc #original character #f/o stuff #my f/os #lackadaisy oc #lackadaisy

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friendship-showdown · 1 year ago

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Friendship Showdown: Preliminary Round #28

Propaganda:

Linh Cinder and Carswell Thorne (The Lunar Chronicles): While trying to escape prison, Cinder takes a wrong turn and finds Thorne is solitary confinement (he started a prison riot over soap). They ended up escaping together by stealing back Thorne’s ship. I love how Thorne was just absolutely ride or die. This random cyborg lady wants to overthrow the queen of the moon? Well, it’s not like he had anything better to do come on let’s out what happened to that missing princess. The rest of the cast all had some personal stake in the rebellion, but Thorne was simply there to stick with his prison break buddy (and eventually the rest of the found family). *Cinder nearly drowns in a lake and messes up all her robot parts* Thorne: We could put her in rice

Bernadette and Mitzi del Bra/Tick (The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert): no propaganda submitted

Francis Javier and Aled Last (Radio Silence): They r platonic soulmates they r best friends they r everything to me. They meet through fandom and are BEST FRIENDS and help each other become better people and save each other and love each other and wear weird clothes with each other and there is NOTHING more beautiful than that. I <333333 them

#lunar chronicles #the adventures of priscilla #radio silence

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dragonmasterhiccup · 5 months ago

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Viggo's face softened. "...I'm listening." He was repeatedly looking to Mitzy for assurance he was in fact looking in the right direction. Mitzy stood by Hiccup with crossed arms. "Dad, I understand you don't have very good history with him. But we need this. I feel like if I tick any other territories off they'll be after us."

The old man scowled. "Alright fine. I'll listen to what this. Skinny child. Has to say."

"Skinny child? I--" He paused, taking a breath. "Viggo, it's been years, I'm an adult now. That aside, Mitzy and I were talking, and I believe an agreement with Berk would be beneficial to us both."

#asks #cujokroggo #threads

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teratomat · 1 year ago

Audio

Her clockwork heart beats next to mine; the greatest gift that I could give was time. An hourglass I fill again and again, with a limitless supply of sand. I hold her close to me, a cold machine, a ticking reminder of what might have been.

#vernian process #mitzi jones #before the machine #behold the machine #steampunk #bandcamp

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lgbtfilmes · 1 year ago

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Anthony "Tick" Belrose (Hugo Weaving), usando o arrastar pseudônimo de Mitzi Del Bra, é uma Sydney baseado drag queen que aceita uma oferta para executar o seu ato de arrastar em Lasseters Hotel Casino Resort gerido por sua ex-esposa Marion em Alice Springs , uma cidade remota na Austrália central. Depois de convencer seus amigos e colegas artistas, Bernadette Bassenger (Terence Stamp), uma mulher transexual recentemente enlutadas, e Adam Whitely (Guy Pearce), um flamboyant mais jovem drag queen e desagradável que passa sob o nome de arrastar Felicia Jollygoodfellow, para acompanhá-lo, o três partem para uma corrida de quatro semanas no cassino em um grande ônibus de turismo, que Adam batiza de "Priscilla, a Rainha do Deserto". Enquanto na longa jornada através de terras remotas margeando o Deserto de Simpson , eles encontram uma variedade de personagens, incluindo um grupo de australianos aborígenes amigos para quem atuam, as atitudes menos aceitáveis da Austrália rural em cidades como Coober Pedy , e estão sujeitos a abuso homofóbico , violência , incluindo ter seu ônibus de turismo vandalizado com pichações homofóbicas. Quando o ônibus da turnê se quebra no meio do deserto, Adam passa o dia inteiro repintando a lavanda para encobrir o vandalismo. O trio depois encontra Bob, um mecânico de meia-idade de uma pequena cidade do interior que se junta a eles em sua jornada. Antes de chegarem a Alice Springs, Tick revela que Marion é na verdade sua esposa, uma vez que nunca se divorciaram, e que na verdade estão indo para lá como um favor para ela. Continuando sua jornada, Adam é quase mutilado por uma gangue homofóbica antes de ser salvo por Bob e Bernadette. Adam é abalado e Bernadette o conforta, permitindo que eles alcancem um entendimento. Da mesma forma, os outros chegam a um acordo com o segredo do casamento de Tick e resolvem suas diferenças. Juntos, eles realizam um sonho antigo de Adam, que, no plano original, é escalar o Kings Canyon em plena regalia de arrastar. Recomendação:I Am Divine(2013) IMDB

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welcomehomenewneighborsocblog · 2 years ago

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Farley Fairwind (Welcome Home Oc)

Name: Prince Farley Fairwind Species: Fairy Residence: Home (currently); Fairy Valley Abilties: Innate Fairy Magic And Abilities Love Interest: Sally Starlet ; Mitzi Mulberry (former fiance) Occupation: Fairy Prince Relatives: Queen Alfreda Fairwind (mother); King Preston Fairwind (father); Princess Trixie Fairwind Sexuality: Bisexual Headcannon Voice Actor: Andrew Francis Personality: He's been raised to be a perfect prince charming and shows it. However, he desires a great deal more in life in just being a prince and wants to live a less restrictive life. He however retains those qualities by being chivalrous towards everyone and being brave in the face of adversity. He might have troubles adjusting to a non-privilege life but as he learns he quickly comes around and is able to become more independent. He greatly appreciates his neighbors who don't treat him different because he's a prince and like him for himself. He also greatly loves Sally because of how she truly tries to be herself and even if she sometimes ropes people into her shenanigans she's is nice to a fault unlike his former fiancé who pretended to be nice but was really mean underneath. He has a strained relationship with his parents due to their strict upbringing and wants to break away from them. He also likes nature due to growing up in it and has a soft spot for animals. Background: Originally from Fairy Valley he grew up under his very strict and smothering parents who wanted both children to exclude the ideals of being a prince and princess. He was even arranged to marry a nasty girl named Mizti Mullbery who although acted like a "proper" princess was a nasty bully whenever everybody's backs were turned. He finally had enough and decided to leave Fairy Valley and go somewhere he could be himself and ended up in Home. There he met with the gang who warmly greeted him and he set up a home for himself and later personally got involved with Sally who he grew more and more fond of until it turned into love. He slowly becomes less attached to his privileged life and more adjusted as a commoner. Created through picrew.me/en/image_maker/62619… * He's based on Prince Cornelius from Thumbelina. He's also based on Abbey Kadabby from Sesame Street. * His role on the show is often trying to fix problems with magic and it ends up backfiring or helping depending on the episode. He also can use his magic to demonstrate lessons in many subjects as well. * One special his family comes to visit with Mitzi and they try to get him to be reengaged to her but he refuses and puts his foot down that he wants to stay in Home. He also says he wants to be with Sally and not Mitzi which ticks them off but after that they just cut him off, except for Trixie who secretly doesn't like how strict their parents were in raising them. * Due to his fairy background, he loves fairy tales and participating in Sally's plays especially if he can play a Prince Charming type. * He is introduced in the reboot. * He would get many musical numbers inspired by Disney he would share with Sally. * He's met Fruzzies but not Marsha before when his family went to visit Fruzzy Glade. * Roddy in one episode would try to capture him and use his magic for misdeeds.

#welcome home oc #welcome home avg #welcome home #oc

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