#roxie x velma

[kittieshauntedourfantasy]

*sweating as I stand at the mic* v... vexie...

[jaegerisim]

ROXIE HART AND VELMA KELLY ARE THE OG TOXIC YURI GFS

[rapha-reads]

Watched Chicago and all I take from that is: Velma and Roxie should hook up. Enemies to lovers, hate sex, rivalry turned reluctant alliance, murder and mayhem, dance and jazz, 50k.

Also it must be absolutely fire on stage.

[warningsine]

ok ma'am

[sxnyarostova]

symbiosis

do i put this on ao3. anyways this is my velma/roxie fic i hope you enjoy i love them

Roxie Hart reckons that she’s going crazy. Consistently oscillating between this ingenious high and manic low, she never stays in either mood long enough to feel comfortable, to feel like she’s riding the wave of life. Touring’s hard work, something that takes a toll on both the mind and the body– Velma’s words, not hers–, but there’s typically no problem she can’t deal with when she’s got liquor on her hands. 

A glass of gin and a splash of icy water on clammy cheeks usually calm her right down: the combination doesn’t help her very much anymore, though. She’s taken this remedy a little too many times, which explains her growing resistance to its calming properties. These days, the only thing that truly ties off the frayed ends of her psyche with a pretty little ribbon is, well… Velma. 

Roxie doesn’t love her: it’s become a mantra over these past months spent ducking in and out of hotel after hotel and theatre after theatre. There’s the occasional pharmacist and gin joint as well, but that doesn’t count. 

Instead of doing whatever love entails– because how the hell is Roxie supposed to know what love is when she’s never seen it in action?–, they kiss, they fuck, and Velma disappears somewhere between midnight and eleven in the morning, or at whatever ungodly hour Roxie wakes up after a night of debauchery. It’s an understanding they’ve reached, something as sure as the lacquered planks beneath her feet, an aspirin tablet swallowed dry that leaves an indent in her throat long after it's worked its magic. It is not love. 

Roxie never did very well in school, but she’s making up for lost time. Touring means that she spends a lot of time in a train carriage with Velma, who smokes, drinks, stretches, and reads magazines: there isn’t exactly a way for Roxie to kindle a conversation when Velma gets all quiet like that, so she’d gotten her hands on a book about animal behaviour, of all things, from a dressing room somewhere in Illinois

It’s interesting, with little tidbits about interspecies relationships. Take predator-prey, for example; it’s one she’d known all about even before she cracked open the dusty tome. It’s kill or get killed in America, after all: a girl has gotta have learned something after she’s fended for herself in this cesspool of a country for this long. 

But symbiosis is something she’s never heard of before, and she reckons after a brief skim of the chapter that Velma Kelly excels at whatever this professor is banging on about. Somehow, regardless of how the other is involved in her affairs, Velma Kelly always, always comes out on top; she’s the symbiote, the organism that gains something even if she’s leeching blood, leaving trails of her venom in somebody else’s blood, or spreading diseases left, right and centre.

It’s infuriating, but Roxie finds herself crawling back to Velma’s bed anyway. When you’re desperate for something to curb the restless ticks that haunt your head, you’ll do anything.

(She still remembers the panic that had risen in her throat after that first night, when she’d woken swaddled in sheets, sitting in the most fragrant viper’s nest known to man. Roxie had always known that she was going to spend her days scorching in hellfire– murder didn’t grant you a seat by Jesus– but she wasn’t ready to be indicted into the Devil’s inner circle. Surely there was something wrong and sinful about what she’d done with Velma the night before; surely there were scriptures in the Bible that forbade women from touching like that. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Velma had asked as Roxie scrambled for her robe, which lay in a crumpled heap of velvet on the hotel carpet. Despite her casual tone, an undercurrent of venom lazed beneath Velma’s words. “Were you faking those giggles last night, Roxie Hart? Are you considering leaving vaudeville and busting into Hollywood with your affected little squeals?” 

“I– no!” Roxie mumbled, blindly throwing her arms through their respective sleeves. “I’m fine. I really am fine. Last night was… new, that’s all.” She blinked, brushed a flyaway curl back into place, and offered Velma a blinding smile. 

“I thought new things didn’t scare you: always considered you a modern girl.” Velma raised an eyebrow as she stopped in front of the vanity, fingers deftly securing a double string of pearls around her neck. She fixed the clasp before latching her eyes onto Roxie’s ruddy complexion, her bob swishing by her ears like a beaded curtain. “I know what this is. You’re thinking about sinning, ain’t you?”

Roxie hated how Velma seemed to have her entire world and all its inhabitants figured out. Life was nothing but a jigsaw puzzle to Miss Velma Kelly, and every piece she put down always managed to lock into place. “...Well, don’t you ever think about sinning?” Roxie said, fiddling with the sash of her robe. “I don’t know how often you fuck blonde girls who you met in a jail cell, but—”

Velma guffawed. “I stopped repenting when I was twelve, sweetheart. The only compass I’ve got is my heart.” She gave her chest a gentle thump. “Whichever way it aims is where I’ll go, and if it’s pointing in your direction—” she threw her hands up as if to say ‘what the Hell’ “—then that’s where I’m headed ‘til it tells me otherwise.” 

“Oh,” Roxie said, brows furrowing. “Well, I– I don’t know. I–”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Roxie nodded, platinum hair bouncing earnestly around her face. 

“And did you feel like it was wrong when it happened?” 

Despite the condescension in Velma’s tone, Roxie found it in her to respond, shaking her head no. 

“I don’t see what the problem is, then,” Velma said, sitting primly atop the vanity. “You see, sex is a little like murder. If you felt justified when you did it, you don’t have to worry your pretty little head off about it.” She held up a flask, glinting silver in the noontime sun. “Care for a little pick-me-up?” )

Roxie wonders if Velma’s a drug of sorts or an exorcist with the blessing of some twisted God who likes helping murderesses stave off their guilty consciences. She’ll be tearing out her hair one moment and laughing the next: as soon as Velma’s teeth meet the lobe of her ear, the crowding voices that haunt Roxie’s head dissipate into nothing but malevolent spirits, melding into the atmosphere. 

She sighs, pulling another cigarette from the open box in her robe pocket and slipping it into her mouth. Velma, Roxie muses, needs her for the success of their marquee-lining act: she needs Velma for all the wrong reasons. Roxie uncaps the lipstick on her bureau, gives the base a tiny twist, and begins absentmindedly applying another layer: she doesn’t know why she bothers. Her lips are plump and red enough, and Velma’s practised lips remove any traces left after a night of performing. It’s just therapeutic, she supposes, the feeling of wax sliding across her lips. 

“You ready?”

The lipstick in her hand deviates from its trajectory and streaks across her face. “Jesus, Vel,” Roxie hisses, hastily rushing to a mirror and rubbing away the runaway line of red. “You ever learned to knock?”

“What difference would it make? I’d still come in regardless of your response,” Velma shrugs. She grins, pulls out a tissue from a nearby box, and passes it into Roxie’s waiting hands. She is striking in her costume, kitted out in a dark leotard with obsidian garters that blossom against her skin. “Well? Are you ready, kid?”

“Yeah,” Roxie grumbles. She gives her curls one last fluff, readjusts her own pearly pair of stockings, and tosses the tissue into the bin. “But– Velma? Before we go? Can you–?”

Her mind is running circles at the thought of performing. If she thinks long and hard about it, Roxie’s been a performer her whole life. She’s acted for her parents from the age of five and for her prospective beaus from the age of fifteen, doing the former out of fear and the latter out of a deep-seated desire for security. She’d acted when she was on trial, too, and frankly speaking, Roxie’s exhausted. 

She needs someone to remind her that she’s Roxie Hart, and the only person who can do that is Velma, with her kisses and brass comments and the behavior that she only displays when she’s around Roxie. Velma Kelly is Roxie’s savior; the lighthouse in the distance, the shore that Roxie longs to find after hours spent in the water. This is symbiosis. 

Velma pecks Roxie on the cheek without another word. 

[newwwwusername]

Chicago (2002 Movie) - Velma/Roxie - Pride Month Prompt 7 : Internalized Homophobia

Warning : Alcohol use, vomiting Prompt : In which either a gay male character or a lesbian character struggles with internalized homophobia and either their partner or a friend helps them Headcanons : Bi!Roxie, Lesbian!Velma

Once they were touring together, it was pretty inevitable that Roxie and Velma would end up fucking.

Sure enough, a few weeks in, they both got super plastered after a show and suddenly Velma's hand was down the blonde's pants and it only went downhill from there.

The next morning, Roxie woke up and was suddenly overcome with disgust at what she and the other woman had done.

"Oh, shit" she breathed out as she realized. Velma, ever the light sleeper, woke up at the first word.

"I have the worst fucking headache" she complained, not yet realizing the crisis her... Business partner was currently experiencing.

"Shit, shit, shit" Roxie repeated a few times before rushing to the bathroom of the hotel they were staying in and vomiting into the toilet. Not because of the alcohol, though.

"You good in there?" Velma called out halfheartedly as she got up and wobbled into the kitchen to get water and make breakfast.

"Fuck off!" Roxie called back. Velma rolled her eyes, still not catching onto the fact that Roxie was panicking.

It wasn't until Roxie left the bathroom that she fully took in how disheveled and freaked out the woman was.

"You okay?"

"What the fuck did we do last night!?"

"What didn't we do is the real question..."

"Velma, I'm serious!"

"We fucked" Velma told her bluntly and Roxie looked about ready to puke again. "Chill out, blondie. You're perfectly decent in bed"

"I can't... We can't-"

"It won't happen again if you don't want it to" Velma reassured her as she looked over the eggs she had in the pan. "Fuck, I think these might be a little burnt"

"I'm not supposed to... You're a girl, and-"

"Are you okay with burnt eggs?"

"Are you even listening to me!?" Roxie asked, pissed off. Velma looked at her again, her expression unreadable.

"What do you think is so bad about us having sex?" Velma asked her, though she didn't seem particularly judgmental. "Seriously, blondie. You've fucked plenty of people before"

"No girls"

"So?" Velma asked. "No one saw us. We're fine"

"But, I'm not supposed to-"

"You murdered your side piece and having sex with a girl is where you draw the line?" Velma asked, laughing slightly. Roxie went quiet. "Seriously, Rox. You're fine" she tried to assure to the best of her ability. Luckily, Roxie seemed to be calming down slightly. "Now get back in bed. I fucked you I might as well be a good one-night-stand and serve you breakfast like a gentleman"

"No man's ever done that before..."

"Well, I'm not a man, sweet pea" Velma replied with a slick smile. "Seriously, go back to bed before I drag you there"

"Yes, ma'am"

Do not repost on other sites! If you want to participate in this month's challenge, there are 30 LGBT-centered prompts that you can find here

[yourstruly9489]

Question, if Billford is the Toxic Yaoi Couple, who is the Toxic Yuri Couple?

[fireworkss-exe]

if they're a blonde/brunette duo they're most likely queer

[alicesbread]

Good luck, babe! Is the most Velma x Roxie coded song there is out there

[alexcaninnit]

velma kelly and roxie hart are a butch/femme lesbian couple you cannot change my mind.

[lxve-and-lxght]

overture/and all that jazz

pairing: thomas shelby/ reader

warnings: afab! reader, jazz, booze, murder, all that fun stuff. eventual smut perhaps?? slow burn?? idk what i'm doing with this sorry

a/n: i'm going to attempt to make a chicago-esque fanfic all about thomas shelby falling for a jazz girl who's going to be a mix of velma kelly and roxie hart because truthfully if i try to write them as their own characters it'll just be chicago that you can read lmao. possible series if there’s any demand for it

birmingham 1921

it’d been a busy night, practical hell and yet you were rushing down the alley behind the garrison pub and it shouldn’t have been your first thought but the show had to go on. you pushed open the back door and ran inside shuffling upstairs before harry kent could see you and it’d almost worked till he did, in fact, see you.

“whereda hell ‘ave you been?!” he demanded to know, chasing you halfway up the stairs. “you’re supposed to be up there now! where’s your sister?!”

“she couldn’t make it!” you hollered from atop the stairs, slamming the door behind you. you froze against the door for a second and took a breath before you drew the gun out of your dress coat and threw it in a drawer. you rushed to wash your hands and undress for the show but you could hear harry banging on the door over the jazz band improvising as a means to stall the crowd.

the garrison was a popular spot for the remaining boys who’d fought in france and the working men in small heath. they were an unruly crowd that was for sure, and you didn’t know how much longer they could be held off before drunken boredom resulted in a fight. but despite that fact the garrison was always good for a decent show and they had been extremely good to you and your sister when you needed a quick check, after the peaky blinders had bought it out from underneath harry of course.

you pulled the flapper gown up your hips and the straps over your shoulders. taking an aspirin and shaking out your hair then going back in with a lip pencil to fix the smudges your ex husband had left on your face. you took a final look in the shitty mirror hung on the wall before you pulled the door back on harry.

“let’s do this.” you said pushing past him and running down the stairs. your heels clicked on the wood when you entered the crowd and stood center of the band and the other performers. the lights of the pub dimmed when the band quieted before your first number.

“ladies and gentlemen, the garrison pub is proud to present birmingham’s most dazzling dancing duo, two jazz babes moving as one.” the bandleader announced for the crowd.

the spotlight suddenly beat down only on you. not your sister. not the band. no one else. just you. there was a faint applause when the light hit but the crowd settled as the beat began to swing. thomas stood at the bar with arthur.

“come on babe, why don’t we paint the town?” you sang.

“didn’t we pay for a sister act?” arthur asked, taking a swig of a bottle.

“that we did, brother.” thomas said, his voice cold and gravelly, but still they watched as the single dancer began her act. thomas, like all the others, couldn’t help himself from staring. no one could. of course that’s what he was paying her and her sister for. something to distract the crowds from the over policing government growing in small heath, but she was quite the knockout act on her own nonetheless.

the trumpets sang in staccato when she stomped down and snapped her garter at the crowd, still singing and dancing for the drunken masses. her dress thrashing against her thighs when she spun around.

“where there’s a nightly brawl and all that jazz.” the crowd sang along. thomas watched solemnly as the showgirl leaned down to take a flask out of one of their patrons hand and drink it down on stage.

thomas had just barely looked away when the devil’s idle hand himself, inspector campbell, walked in surrounded by uniformed men. he approached tommy by himself.

“like her, do ya?” the inspector asked, nodding at you. there was a beat of silence shared between them before tommy addressed him at all.

“— she’s our headliner tonight.” thomas said, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“well then…” campbell chuckled, “it’ll bring me great pleasure to tell ya, she’s just shot and killed her husband and sister.” thomas looked away from the inspector and back to you, still dancing on stage, campbell patted a rough hand on thomas’ shoulder. “… she’s going hang before the year’s up. you really know how to pick ‘em mr. shelby.”

thomas didn’t offer campbell the satisfaction of any response. he just watched as he retreated back to his uniformed men. he watched them wait for her number to end so they could arrest her and when it finally did and the lights of the garrison came back on, the crowd was cheering her on as the police shoved their way through, manhandling her off the stage and into a pair of handcuffs.

pt. 2

[elliott-the-queer-artist]

my queer couple drawings so far!!!!!!! feel free to suggest any if you like these!!!!!

Alex Forbes + Nigel Colbie (Forbie) (''Like Minds'' 2006)

Made using Krita

Velma Kelly + Roxie Hart (Roxie x Velma) (''Chicago'' 2002)

Made on Scratch (aka the worst place to draw anything ever)

Feel free to suggest one of these! My asks are always open. Usually I draw characters from Musicals or My favorite movies <3

[mushi-shield]

[justwantswafflefries]

I keep thinking about a TADC x Chicago AU. Like, Ragatha as Velma, Pomni as Roxie, Caine as Billy Flynn... yeah yeah....

[warningsine]

Roxie Hart & Velma Kelly (Chicago)

[sxnyarostova]

smiles nervously