#wicked stage performance

[art1c-m0nk3ys]

Final Destination/Wicked au lets go- 🔥🔥

(This may not be accurate but it’s just for shits and giggles so srry☹️)

Elphaba: Nick o’Bannon (bc everyone hates him for no reason 😔💔💔)

Galinda: Kimberly Corman

Fiyero: Hunt Wynorski

Madame Morrible: Valerie Lewton

Doctor Dillamond: Larry Murnau

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz: William Bludworth

Nessarose: Sam Lawton (Nick isn’t said to have any siblings but sam and him look so similar in my eyes so..yeah)

Boq: Molly Harper

Anyway,live laugh love everyone 😌 @cupidsbowandarrovvontiktok gave me inspiration to make a final destination and a musical au bc of their FD/The Heathers au so ty (they’re art is so sigma plz check their acc 😈😈)

[no-onemournsthelesbians]

Ariana: “Let’s play truth or dare. Truth.”

Cynthia: “When was the last time you slept for more than two hours?”

Ariana: “Dare.”

Cynthia: “Go to bed.”

Ariana: “I don’t like this game.”

[a-century-of-sass]

Cynthia and Ariana are showing us all right now what women supporting women can look like.

I’m still in tears over their insanely beautiful Wicked medley at the Oscars 🥹

📸: from @famedeliveredme on instagram

This pic of them after their performance just perfectly encapsulates what I love about their friendship.

[red-elric]

guys go see wicked. trust

[crispylilworm]

this is UNREAL

[loveintensely]

Jonathan Bailey to play the title lead role in Shakespeare’s Richard II, directed by Nicholas Hytner at Bridge Theatre in London 🎭 from: 10 February to 10 May 2025.

Richard II is charismatic, eloquent and flamboyantly witty. And a disastrous King – dishonest, dangerous and politically incompetent.

[mad-raptorzzz]

oh man, finally watched transformers one. Great movie. I know nothing about transformers lore but am all for a great animated movie. Good story, understandable character development, tragic friends to enemies. (Plus I love it when animated movies slip a bit of light swearing in).

but I also just saw wicked and like. Damn. They really did have two movies where two friends of the same gender that have A LOT of chemistry with each other get tricked by the leader of their society, who swooped in and deposed the original leaders and has been lying about it ever since, and then one of those friends metaphorically turns to the dark side in a very understandable way while the other stays on the side of ‘good’ (depending on how you look at it) with the movie ending with them being on opposite sides of a larger conflict setting the stage for already established movies/lore.

[box-dwelling]

I don't know how to express the fact I am gleefully kicking my legs waiting for Wicked (2024) because it's going to be terrible. The cinematography, hideous. The colour grading, a nightmare. The single leaked song, I do not know how a professional singer can have vocals that shot but I know for certain the director fucked her over. Doubling the length? Insane. Grandes performance? A wink at camp she could never achieve. Sending children to porn sites from the merch? One of the funniest blunders I've ever seen (i doubt it will actually affect any kids because they arent gonna type out a url but its still hilarious). The fan made poster debacle? Probably the result of Erivo being subjected to a LOT of racism so I understand the emotion reaction but also isn't gonna a help.

My funniest timeline is it's critically panned and bombs and they cancel the sequel and also.the one i think we might be on, even if sad for the production staff who are actually competent. Like the marketing has been massive and that might off set it but it's also been a complete shit show soooooo

[gayfrasier]

i cant stop thinking about those photos of the backstages of those opera houses. shes so beautiful to me. i really do love theater.

[timmurleyart]

The magic of the stage. 🎭🟡🟣🎵🎸🥁🎶

[art1c-m0nk3ys]

Omg I watched Wicked (the live stage musical not the movie) last night and it was amazing!! :33 the only problems I had was the seats were kinda cramped (mostly bc we all brought thick coats bc it was cold and it was chucking it down) and there was this girl next to me who started singing during defying gravity. Thank god she stopped quickly,but seriously who tf does that?? We came here to hear the people on stage sing not you bffr. Besides that it was a spectacular performance and all the cast was so talented :33

((Also I might be thinking of a Final Destination Wicked AU bc the brain rot is real 😔💔))

[flintmirandas]

wicked is nowhere near one of my favourite musicals and so far the audio has been kinda fucked on the copy of the movie that i’m watching but like. i will never get sick of defying gravity it always makes me want to get up and cheer i love you miss elphaba!!

[musashi]

i want more nuance to be entered into the discussion of the green girl sorority and how differently cynthia plays elphaba in comparison to those who came before her because while a lot of people are rightfully like "why was elphaba not black from the beginning" and celebrating that she is now being played by a black woman, i think we need to be careful in just writing off all the elphabas of the past as Random White Girls when the role was championed (and often followed/succeeded) by a jewish woman

the pop culture archetype of the Wicked Witch has deep roots in antisemitism stretching faaaar far back. there is a level of reclamation happening in casting idina menzel, a jewish woman, to play the Misunderstood and Maligned young girl who is branded as exactly that. and stage!Elphaba is also written and acted with jewish stereotypes in mind--she is loud, aggressive, no-nonsense, blunt. she is quick to advocate for herself and shut down the discrimination she faces. all of this is very intentional! her personality is abrasive from years of abuse, and that makes propagandizing her easy. this is literally the thesis statement of the musical--it's not about aptitude, it's the way you're viewed.

cynthia's performance of elphaba is fucking INSPIRED despite going in a completely different direction. she's much more reserved, analytical, one of her key character traits is how well she can read people (see her calling out Galinda as insecure/putting on airs in their first scene together, clocking that Fiyero is using his party guy persona as a shield for his own depression) elphaba's attempts to blend in and make herself smaller all fail simply because of her existence, if not that then because she feels empathy so strongly she often struggles to hold back from acting, protecting.

personality wise, though, cynthia's elphaba is very quiet and closed-off, not at all the bullet-to-the-face that she is in the stage show, and... she still gets propagandized and maligned. though this seems to contradict the other interpretation, it tells of the other end of the spectrum of propaganda, one that black women watching (and many, MANY other marginalized folks) are sure to identify with--it does not matter how "nice," how reserved, how small a black woman makes herself. a racist society will still scrutinize her every action for a way to parse ill intent from it, brand her as an angry black woman who is dangerous and wicked, and write off any humanity she has in the process.

these two very different interpretations tell of the lie of assimilation. the fact of the matter is, when you are marginalized, there is no way to sand down your edges enough to make the people oppressing you "accept" you. that is why wicked is a tragedy at its core. whether loud and aggressive or quiet and unimposing, there is nothing elphaba could have done to make the people of Oz see her as anything other than a scapegoat to blame all their problems on.

so while i definitely appreciate that people are excited for black girl era elphaba, i would encourage us all to still show appreciation for what came before--that was not white girl era elphaba. that was jewish girl era elphaba. two houses, both alike in dignity, two stories both worth being told.

[heyitslapis]

i just saw Wicked tonight in person & it was so fucking wonderful words cant even express how incredible it was & how happy it made me

[whambamsami]

private show

summary: your shitty boyfriend wants to go to a strip club for his birthday. one of the dancers is desperate to give you the attention you deserve. stripper!bucky pt.1

pt.2 pt.3

warnings: 18+, adult themes, eventual smut, language, alcohol, let me know if i miss anything!

note: not proofread, so sorry if there's any errors/plot holes! let me know if there's anything i should fix <3

You didn’t want to be here.

Not in the dimly lit, velvet-drenched VIP lounge of a high-end strip club your boyfriend had insisted on for his birthday. Not in the too-tight dress he told you to wear. Not beside him while he ogled other women like you weren’t even there.

“Loosen up,” Nick said, draping his arm around you, with that smile that had won you over months ago, but now just rubbed you the wrong way. “It’s my birthday party.” 

You’d smiled too. Barely. Enough to keep the peace.

He’d begged for this, told you only an insecure woman wouldn’t let him go on his birthday. Hell, he’d even wanted you to tag along.

You thought he wanted you to come with him and his belligerent friends to see that it wasn’t all that bad, to make you more comfortable.

But you were starting to think he got off on making you watch. 

He was generous enough to at least take you to a club that let both genders dance alike, and it was almost overwhelming, seeing men and women’s bodies, some fully exposed, some adorning tiny leather getups, gyrating on stage.

Your boyfriend, the perfect gentleman. 

And he wonders why you won’t take him home to meet your parents.

His friends are all practically howling at a woman onstage, pushing your boyfriend up to get closer to her. She’s wearing nipple pasties, crotchless panties, a pair of stilettos that have you fearing for her ankles, and a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

Not that Nick would notice. He never noticed that kind of thing when it came to women. That, or he didn’t care.

“You won’t mind if I get a private dance, will you, babe?���

You wanted to feel angry at him. For him to see just how fucked this entire situation was. You should be feeling more.

But you just felt disgust. He made your skin crawl. You couldn’t give a shit about what he did here. He’d lost you the second he suggested this. 

So you nod tightly. An apology flashes in the woman’s eyes as she slinks off the stage next to him. 

You can’t be mad at her. It’s just business. 

And honestly, the fact that someone else would be filling in for you tonight, pretending to derive any pleasure from whatever Nick planned on doing, was a relief. You weren’t sure you would have it in you.

Not wanting to hear what his pitiful friends had to say about the situation you now found yourself in, you made a break for the bar, flagging down a topless bartender and politely asking for one of the craft cocktails. 

Hey, at least you could get something out of tonight. 

The bartender returned with your cocktail in hand. On the house, he’d said. You wished he was just being friendly, but the look in his eyes told you what this really was.

Pity. 

Whatever. The drink was good. Strong. Exactly what you needed to dull your senses a little, to get your mind off how you even ended up in this club in the first place. 

As you sipped, admittedly a bit faster than you should, the music shifted- bass-heavy and seductive.

The next performer was about to take the stage. 

You turned to face the velvet curtains that hid whoever was up next. Maybe you could pick up a few things, some tips that you could bring to your next relationship.

Your next boyfriend would be more appreciative, you promised yourself.

Better in bed, too. 

The second you saw him, though, everything else blurred.

Huh. A male performer.

All’s fair, right?

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark stubble shadowing a wicked mouth. Ice-blue eyes that swept the room with slow, calculated confidence. His body was lethal, dressed in nothing but black dress pants and a white button-down-half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, like sin in motion.

Your breath caught.

The performer didn’t smile. Not at first. 

But you swear he made eye contact with you.

And when he did, he flashed his canines. Just for a second. Like he knew every dirty thought that was flashing in your head. Like he knew something you didn’t.

The lights dim. The music gets louder. Or maybe everything else gets quieter, you’re not sure.

And suddenly, he’s all you could see.

He walks onto the stage like he’s stalking prey-calm, confident, dangerous. Not a trace of performance in his stride. He doesn’t play it for laughs or gimmicks. He doesn’t wink. He hunts.

The music pulses dark and slow. He unbuttons his shirt one button at a time, each flick of fabric revealing warm, taut muscle, tattoos, scars, shadows that make your mouth dry.

He glances down-just once-and finds your eyes again in the dark.

You squeeze your thighs together, shift again, try to look anywhere else-but it’s no use. He knows what he’s doing. He knows he’s got you.

He unzips his pants. Just an inch. Just enough to make your exhale stutter.

And the second you breathe out, his tongue drags across his bottom lip.

You’re going to combust.

“There you are!” 

You’re snapped out of whatever spell he had you under.

Your boyfriend returned from his little dance, wearing a smile that was a little too wide. Nick and his friends surrounded you at the bar, cutting off what you could see of the performance, much to your disappointment. You didn’t even care when you saw him whispering excitedly to his buddies, when you watched them pat him on the back like he’d won some kind of game, when their eyes would dart over to you like you didn’t know any better. 

Like you were stupid.

You steal a glance at the stage to try and catch the end of the man’s performance, but all you see is the swish of curtains closing as he disappears backstage.

Could this night get any worse?

As if the bartender could read your mind, he appeared again, placing what appeared to be a very expensive bottle of chilled champagne in front of you. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t order-”

“On the house.” he stated simply, as if you should have known. The little gold name tag that rested low on his waistband told you his name was Sam. 

God, at least the service here was great. 

Nick and his friends hooted and hollered, reaching for the bottle, excited to grab a glass, but Sam stopped them, pulling the bottle just far enough out of reach. 

“Sorry, boys, but I’m under strict instructions that this is for the lady only. No sharing.”

Your boyfriend’s lips pursed. 

“What, did somebody roofie that or something? Babe, you’re not drinking that. I don’t trust it.” and to solidify his point, he wrapped his arm around you. His sweaty, gross arm. 

You hated that he still felt like he could touch you like this. 

“Actually, sir, that bottle is for her to take to one of the private rooms. This doesn’t happen often, but she’s been asked to join one of our dancers.”

Your stomach dipped.

The champagne sparkled in the light, a little ribbon of condensation sliding down the glass like it knew how flustered you felt.

“She’s been… what?” Nick scoffed, voice rising with laughter he clearly didn’t feel. “Asked to join a dancer?”

Sam nodded, unbothered. You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. 

“That’s right. Bucky requested her personally.” You could have sworn you saw a glimpse of a smile on his face, like he was secretly enjoying this. “Very rare, especially for him. I’d take it as a compliment.”

Nick scoffed again, turning to you like it was some kind of joke. 

“You’re not seriously considering that, are you?”

You blinked. Slowly. 

Then you looked down at his arm around your waist-the one that had gotten too heavy, too tight, too possessive over time-and peeled it off like it burned.

“You got a dance too, right?” you said evenly, reaching for the neck of the bottle, “At least mine is free.”

Nick’s friends laughed awkwardly. He didn’t.

“He’s probably just trying to upsell you some bullshit champagne fantasy. It’s a trick.”

Sam snorted as he grabbed two champagne flutes.

“Yeah, well. If it is, it’s working.”

Nick reached for your waist, and for once, you were thankful that he was so fucking sweaty all the time, because it let you slip out of his grip. 

“You don’t know what kind of guy he is.”

That made you laugh. It sounded more bitter than you’d ever heard it.

“He’s a stripper, Nick. Not exactly looking for Prince Charming right now. But whatever kind of guy he is, it looks like he’s interested in treating me a bit better than you are.”

Then you turned, grabbed the bottle, and followed Sam toward the back—heart hammering, adrenaline singing through your veins.

You didn’t know what was waiting for you behind the curtain.

But whatever it was?

It had to be better than this.

[ohproserpine]

i. deer dolly

part i | part ii | more | ao3 tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, human! possibly ooc! alastor so he's a bit more "tame" here, allusions to murder and such, unsettling & obsessive behavior, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, gorey-ish descriptions of love

"So what?" Angel Dust hummed, drumming his nails on the counter. "You and Alastor are like... friends?"

"Oh, well, that ain't the word I would’ve used, but it's something like that!" Mimzy chirped, reaching for her drink and downing it in one go. "He used to frequent the club I had! In fact, that’s where he met his wife—"

“Wife?!” Angel Dust cut her off, jaw dropping. “Freaky face is married?”

“Oh yeah,” Mimzy hummed, waving her hand around. “Under all that murder and cannibalism, he’s a total sap! Can't blame him, I mean—his wife is a doll! Me an' her used to perform together!”

"An’ how come I never heard of this? People ain't told me shit!" Angel Dust grumbled, turning to Husk behind the counter. "You knew 'bout this, whiskers?"

"Yeah. They were together back in the living. But don't even think of bringing it up in front of Alastor. He gets all heated," Husk grumbled, grabbing a towel to wipe down Mimzy’s now-empty glass. The cat then turned to grab another bottle off the shelf, a grimace on his lips. "I would know."

Angel Dust leaned forward, resting his face on his folded hands. "Well, ain't that something. Never knew he even had one of those."

Mimzy cackled, her voice a raspy melody that echoed through the smoky air of the bar as she snatched the bottle of liquor away from Husk’s paws. "Oh, honey, you wouldn’t even know how deep it goes. They go way back."

"Spill," Angel Dust grinned, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Mimzy leaned in, looking both ways to make sure Alastor or his shadows weren't around before lowering her voice. "It was back in the day, at my joint. Alastor dropped by for the bootlegs, you know? But then he caught sight of her. She was singin’ and dancin’ on stage, a real heartbreaker. He couldn't resist the charm, and boom, he was struck on! Ever since then, he came around as frequently as he could. Made me so much money~" 

Angel Dust raised an eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering as he squished his cheek against his palm, a coy smirk playing on his lips. "And you were part of this love saga?"

Mimzy shook her head, a wicked glint dancing in her eyes before she lifted the bottle to her lips and downed its contents in one swift motion, her throat working as she swallowed. "Oh, sugar, just a witness to the drama. Those two lovebirds had their own dance going on. I just spiced things up."

Angel Dust chuckled, shaking his head. "Never thought smiles had it in him."

"Again. He likes to keep his shit private. So, don't go running your mouth unless you wanna be on the receiving end of one of his… episodes," Husk interrupted, his gruff voice breaking through the conversation as he leaned over the counter and reclaimed the bottle from Mimzy with a low growl.

Angel hummed dismissively, his golden tooth catching the glimmer of the bar lights as he spoke. “Anyone could've guessed that. Where is she, anyways? I haven't seen or heard of her since day one."

"Busy," Mimzy snorted, her finger lazily tracing the rim of her glass. She leaned back in her seat, the dim glow of the bar lights casting shadows across her features. "That's where."

“Really?" Angel's brow lifted in skepticism, his boot lightly kicking against the base of Mimzy's chair. "Busy? That’s it?”

Mimzy shrugged, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Can't tell ya much. Y'know Alastor doesn't like sharin'. Secrets and shadows, that's his game."

“Aww c'mon, tits,” Angel grinned, his golden tooth glinting beneath the bar lights with each word. “You gotta know more than you let on. It'll be our secret.”

"Well," Mimzy drawled, savoring the suspense as she tapped a gloved finger against her cheek. "I guess I can tell you a lil’ something about how they met…”

.

Alastor found himself standing in the heart of a secluded corner of town. 

A desolate, dimly lit street stretched out before him, raindrops rhythmically tapping on the worn concrete beneath his feet.

It was something he had never imagined—searching for a speakeasy in this far-off locale. Rarely did he have time for himself. Most of his days were dedicated to caring for his mother, his job as a radio host, and any free time he had was reserved for his… hobbies. But he supposed a change of scenery wouldn't hurt.

Adjusting his glasses, he gazed up at the timeworn, ragged sign of a barbershop that read, "Chum’s Clippers." 

Charming. 

With a roll of his eyes, the radio host stepped into the worn-down establishment, visibly grimacing at the shop's decrepit condition. His eyes surveyed the room, settling on a young blonde woman. 

Perched on the edge of the registrar counter, a cigar dangled between her cherry-red lips, the tendrils of smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals. Her legs crossed provocatively, causing the fabric of her dress to ride up her thighs, revealing more skin than what civil society would allow. 

As soon as she caught sight of Alastor's silhouette, a spark of excitement lit up her features, and she greeted him with an animated wave.

"Hey there, mistah! Names Mimzy!" she chirped with a friendly lilt. Her crimson-painted nails plucked the cigarette from her lips, trailing a wisp of smoke as she gestured toward Alastor. "Whatcha here for?"

"Pleasure to meet you," Alastor smiled back and stepped closer, offering her a bow of his head, “Quite a pleasure. You see, I was just strolling through these darling streets, and wouldn't you know it? The whispers in the wind pointed me straight to you, the gal in the know when it comes to bootlegs. Care to confirm?"

‘A potential client?" Mimzy thought, her smirk hidden behind her hand as she took one last puff, the cherry of her cigar glowing brightly before she flicked it into an ashtray. 'Straight to the point.'

"Well, well, mistah," she drawled with a playful twirl of her finger through her blonde curls. "You've got a nose for sniffin' out the good stuff, huh? Well, we might have a few things tucked away for the right kind of folk. But, sugar, we don't just give 'em to anyone.”

Alastor's smile widened as he smoothly fished out his wallet, giving it a theatrical wave. "I do have a penchant for fine libations, my dear. And I assure you, I'm just looking for a little taste of the local flavor, nothing more."

Mimzy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she perked up, eagerly hopping off the counter. The click of her heels echoed against the worn floor as she approached the tall man.

"You're in luck, then! Follow me, and we'll talk business in the back," she said, gesturing toward a concealed door at the back of the barbershop.

Alastor followed her through a narrow passage, which unveiled another door leading to the very speakeasy he’d heard talk of. The atmosphere changed instantly, lively jazz music filled the air, and the dimly lit space was alive with laughter and clinking glasses.

Mimzy guided Alastor to a private booth tucked away in a corner, where a polished bottle of bootleg whiskey awaited their arrival.

"Here's to unexpected encounters, mistah," she beamed, the words dripping with charm as she poured a generous measure into his glass. Alastor raised his glass in acknowledgment, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"To unexpected encounters," he echoed before taking a deep sip.

The whiskey was bitter and strong, yet there was a subtle sweetness that danced on his tongue, leaving behind a tantalizing warmth. It had been increasingly difficult to find such fine brews ever since the prohibition hit, making each sip all the more precious.

Seating himself comfortably, Alastor swirled the glass in his hand, mesmerized by the way the golden liquid caught the flickering candlelight. Beside him, Mimzy continued her lively chatter, her words accompanied by the persistent clinking of ice in their glasses as she refilled his drink, hoping to stack his bill higher with each pour.

As the room hummed with the soft, easy notes of a piano and the clinking of glasses, a sudden hush fell over the crowd as an announcer's voice sliced through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for the enchanting Dolly!"

Mimzy's excitement bubbled up even more, and she leaned in toward Alastor. "That's my sister! Well— not by blood, but you know, me and her are real, real close. One of my best performers here at the bar!"

"Is that so?" Alastor hummed, his eyes now alight with curiosity as he shifted his focus toward the stage.

In that moment, you stepped onto the platform, grabbing a hold of the standing microphone. With a subtle flick of your wrist, you directed attention to the dark-haired pianist, his fingers poised above the keys. A nod from you and the jazz ensemble sprung to life, setting the stage for your performance. As the spotlight enveloped you in a warm glow, a hushed silence fell over the speakeasy.

Folks, here's a story 'bout Minnie the Moocher She was a red hot hoochie-coocher She was the roughest, toughest frail But Minnie had a heart as big as a whale

The lyrics flowed easily through Alastor's mind, carried by the smooth, buttery tones of your voice that filled the air. The radio host found himself utterly hypnotized, his gaze never tearing from your form.

He could stare for hours, unabashed by any sense of shame—though, truth be told, he didn't possess much of that quality to begin with.

She messed around with a bloke named Smokey She loved him though he was kokey He took her down to Chinatown And he showed her how to kick the gong around

As Mimzy began clapping excitedly and waving her arms to beckon you over, Alastor's attention shifted. The final notes of the song echoed in the room, snapping him back to reality. In the haze of your performance, he hadn't even realized that the song had come to an end.

“What a gal!” Mimzy cackled, joyously wrapping her arms around you as you approached.

Alastor took a moment to study you with keen interest.

The dim lighting of the speakeasy lent a soft, ethereal glow to your figure as you moved, casting long shadows across the floor. A slender dress, shimmering with golden sequins, hugged your figure, shimmers and glitters catching the light. The dress boasted a daring low neckline, while its swaying boxed skirt gracefully fell just above your knees, accentuating your every movement. Complementing the ensemble were black kitten heels, their clicks and clacks adding a subtle rhythm to every step you took. Your hair, styled into a sleek bob, framed your demure features perfectly. Adorning your head was a headpiece adorned with golden yellow feathers and dark lace.

"Dollface, I want ya to meet Alastor!" Mimzy exclaimed, pulling you along and positioning you in front of him. “He’s new!”

With a wave of your hands and a warm smile, you tilted your head up to meet Alastor's gaze. The man standing before you was tall and slim, boasting broad shoulders. His white button-up clung perfectly to his frame, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms adorned with scars, cuts, and prominent veins.

‘Must be a hunter or a butcher,’ you noted heatedly.

Short, side-swept brunette hair framed his face, adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance, while rectangular glasses perched on the bridge of his nose lent him an air of intelligence. As he smiled, a chill crept down your spine, and an odd sinking sensation settled in your stomach.

There was an unsettling nature to him, a subtle aura that left you uncertain of whether your reaction stemmed from the eerie quality of his smile or if it was simply a flustered response to his strikingly handsome features. 

“Pleasure to meet you, cher,” Alastor purred, turning on the charm. He delicately took your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. In a subtle move, the radio host let his fingers linger over your skin, subtly checking for any sign of a ring. Noticing the absence, he filed the information away with a sly smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, sir,” you smiled, tucking your face behind your hand. Alastor observed with delight as a subtle blush painted your cheeks, a tacit acknowledgment that his presence had left an impression.

"Al here knows his way around a glass of whiskey like nobody else in these parts! Ain't that right, Al?" Mimzy chattered, her voice bubbling with familiarity as if she had known him for years and hadn't just met him one song and ten drinks ago.

Alastor chuckled, a low, melodic sound that sent your stomach doing flips. "

"Well, I do have a certain fondness for…" The radio host paused, his sharp, gaze raking up and down your form, his words trailing off. "…finer things in life."

A silence lingered in the air, and Mimzy, always attuned to the mood of a room, shot a knowing look between the two of you.

"Well, don't cha?" Mimzy exclaimed, her hands clapping with excitement. "If that's the case, then I'm sure Dolly would love to show you around here!"

"Is that so?" Alastor, maintaining that devilish smile, turned his attention back to you. "Well, what do you say, cher?" he questioned.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you met his gaze with a coy smile. "I'd be delighted to show you around. There's a lot more to this place than meets the eye."

Mimzy clapped her hands together. "Perfect! Now, why don't you two enjoy the rest of the night? I'll be right here waiting."

“Shall we?” Alastor offered his hand, gesturing to the dance floor.

With a small nod, you graciously accepted Alastor's outstretched hand, leading the way to the lively dance floor where the band played an upbeat tune. Around you, couples twirled in a dizzying dance, with heels tapping, shoes stomping, and skirts gracefully gliding and twirling. Alastor wasted no time, pulling you in and molding your form against his.

Looks were indeed deceiving, as despite his lean appearance, Alastor had no issue effortlessly tossing and spinning you round and round, lifting you as if you were as weightless as a feather. Each spin and dip was executed with skill, his footwork was a blur and soon enough, you found yourself willingly surrendering to the rhythm of his lead. 

This man could fucking dance.

As the music gradually slowed, Alastor guided you to the side, providing a moment to catch your breath after the energetic routine.

"Thank you for the dance, cher! You are quite quick on your feet," Alastor chuckled, his voice low, blending with the fading echoes of the music.

"You're not too bad yourself," you managed between breaths, a raspy laugh escaping your lips. "Nobody's ever been able to keep up with me," you continued, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting your dress. "I think I was the one who had to keep up with you."

After ensuring you were presentable, you lifted a hand to fix Alastor's slightly damp locks, adjusting his glasses and tie. Alastor froze, a foreign sensation enveloping him. Despite his typical aversion to physical contact, there was an absence of the usual recoil in disdain this time.

"Looks like we're both a bit of a mess, aren't we?" you chuckled, a wry smile playing on your lips as you gracefully brushed away a speck of dust from his shirt.

Alastor blinked and eventually relaxed, allowing you to proceed without any resistance. "Quite."

While you continued to fix him up, Alastor couldn't help but feel a sense of bewilderment. He felt as though coils had entwined themselves around his heart. Slowly constricting, they didn't just tighten but twisted, sharp edges digging into muscle, squeezing his emotions into a thick syrup that spilled beyond the confines of his ribs, seeping out in a haunting shade of crimson through the cracks in his chest.

As the seconds passed, he paid no mind to your touch, shifting his focus to instead dissect you with his eyes. He scrutinized the subtle reactions playing across your face—the delicate twitches of your brows, the soft pout of your blood-red lips, and the scrunches of your nose. 

What were you doing to him?

"There you go!" you announced, a note of satisfaction in your voice as you finished your task, your hand coming to rest briefly on his chest before retreating. "Ready to head back?"

Snapping out of his obsessive trance, Alastor emitted a soft hum, offering his arm to you. You gracefully accepted, intertwining your arm with his. The energetic atmosphere from the dance gradually subsided as you and Alastor made your way back to the private booth. Mimzy's mischievous grin awaited you as she rejoined your company.

"Looks like you two had quite the time!" she exclaimed, a twinkle in her eye.

Alastor quickly composed himself, nodding with a grin. "Indeed! It was quite a delightful dance."

Just as Alastor turned toward you, the insistent dings of a nearby clock echoed through the room. His expression shifted, a fleeting shadow of disappointment and ire crossing his face. The hours had danced away quicker than he had anticipated.

Undoubtedly, the night was still young for you, given that speakeasies often extended their festivities until the early hours of the morning.

However, as much as Alastor would adore the idea of continuing to enjoy your company, the weight of responsibilities at home tugged at him. He had his elderly mother waiting, relying on his care for her well-being, as well as an upcoming morning shift at the radio station.

"It's later than I realized, my dear," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of regret. "I'm afraid I can't stay any longer. Duty calls, and the dawn awaits for my return."

Something twisted and snapped in Alastor's gut as he observed the unmistakable disappointment etched across your features, evident in the downturn of your blood-red lips. His fingers itched with an impulse to claw your mouth back into a smile, to dig his nails into your skin and carve your lips into a grotesque display of happiness, all in a desperate attempt to restore the radiance of your joy.

Meanwhile, Mimzy sighed in disappointment, yet Alastor discerned that beneath the theatrics, she was indifferent to it all, evident in her thinly veiled disinterest.

"Aww… That's too bad, sugar! The night's just gettin' started!" Mimzy exclaimed, shaking her head with a pout. 

"But I get it! Some folks got places to be," Mimzy waved it off. There was a sudden twinkle in her eye as she pulled out a tab from her dress pocket. "Anyways, 'bout those drinks you had, they weren't exactly on the house, sooo..."

Alastor chuckled and pulled out his wallet. "Of course, my dear! I apologize, it must not have crossed my mind!"

He settled the bill and threw in a generous tip, for both you and Mimzy. His job as a radio host was quite the money-spinner, affording him the pleasure of treating others to the finer things in life. Mimzy practically glowed with satisfaction, her blue eyes sparkling as she snatched the tab. Swift and efficient, she flipped through the bills, before pocketing the money.

"Thank you, love!" Mimzy chirped, already moving away from the table as she waved him off. "You're welcome anytime!"

“I’m sure I am,” Alastor responded flatly, almost mockingly, with a roll of his eyes, pulling a laugh from you. As Mimzy made her way off backstage, both you and Alastor were left alone.

“It's a shame you have to leave so soon. I've got more songs up my sleeve for later. I would have loved for you to stay and catch the performance,” you sighed, turning back to him.

Alastor's eyes sparkled with genuine interest. "Songs, you say? Well, cher, that does sound like a delightful experience. Perhaps I can catch your next show some other time."

You smiled, appreciating his enthusiasm. "I'd love that. I perform here regularly, and your company would be more than welcome anytime."

Alastor's gaze intensified, fixing onto you with a magnetic pull that seemed to draw you closer despite yourself. His eyes, pools of darkness, held an unexplainable intensity. As his lips curled up into a grin, there was a hint of something more primal than human lurking behind his charming facade. A shiver traced its way down your spine, leaving behind a lingering sensation that unsettled you to your core.

"I'll definitely make it a point to come by," he finally said. 

Scrambling for a response, the only sound that reached your ears was the rhythmic thud of your own heartbeat as your blood rushed through your veins.

"Y-You too! Don't let the night slip away too quickly," you stammered.

With a nod, Alastor bid you a final farewell, weaving through the dimly lit space towards the exit. 

Yes, he shall see you very soon.

Cher - Louisiana Creole term meaning "darling," "sweetie" or "honey."