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vintagecandy · 1 year

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My personal reimagining of Jervis Tetch, AKA: The Mad Hatter.

So I noticed that it is really common for Gotham rogues-- but almost especially Jervis Tetch-- to get redrawn and redesigned! Which I just thought was such a fun exercise, so because I'm me and predictable my brain immediately leaped at the chance to imagine my own Jervis.... set in the 1920s. Now, the drastically different time period causes a lot of interesting dynamics. For one, I'm fairly certain Jervis Tetch's character originates from a time period of comics where people wore a lot more hats, so setting him in the past is very fitting for him. It makes a lot more sense for him to literally be an artisan hat manufacturer, as in a real hatter. BUT what's interesting is that hand made "hatter" style hats were actually beginning to fade out of favor, and one of the reasons is actually partially because there was a growing moralizing around the hatting industry's overhunting of birds for their decorative feathers, and so Jervis ( as you can see ) having this big, real peacock bird feather on his hat is sort of a defiance, a subtle expression of his bad intent. And I imagine his introduction to crime will be marked with the sudden unprompted rise of vintage style hats "regaining popularity". He's very much still a hypnotist, a master illusionist, and a scientific genius, and I was thinking- to shake things up- the hat is actually what drove him insane. Originally the hat band was created to counteract nerve damage he developed from mercury poisoning some years ago, but ended up also giving him heightened focus and an incurable bout of severe insanity. Then he later repurposed it for mind control. What insanity? Ok, look at the face I drew for him. This was on accident, but I've been looking at his face...... and I cannot shake the feeling he's a dad. Like, he has peak "wacky inventor father" energy in his face, but more sickly and evil. So I was thinking.... what if for this Jervis instead of his usual romantic Alice fixation... Alice was instead his daughter. And he loved having pretend tea parties with her, acting as the hatter. Some point after he put on the hat, his behavior was a little off but not worrying yet, but he lets his daughter wander off too far in this dangerous city and he just... never sees her again. He calls the police, they're kinda apathetic- probably corrupt tbh, he puts up posters-- nothing, she's just gone. Probably dead the more time passes. A senseless tragedy in a nonsense world. This breaks his brain! And so he decides he's going to take over all of Gotham and turn it into a game of Wonderland, part out of spite, and mostly out of total denial that his daughter is gone no matter how many years pass, in hopes that the little lost girl will find her way back to him or even that more puppets means more help finding her. But with time his insanity becomes so severe he doesn't even remember Alice was his daughter and not literally the book Alice, but he is slightly more lucid when without the hat. However, he feels sick and anxious when without it.

But as it goes in Gotham, by the time they consider you Arkham levels of insane, incurably so-- a 1920s insane asylum mind you! Which practically makes him more ill-- you sort of have no choice but to stay in the crime life forever. Which is where the tommy guns come in.

#( so i have now drawn... 3 variants of an evil mad hatter character? pfft )#Jervis Tetch #vintagecandy's jervis tetch #1920s #1920s jervis tetch #mobsters #vintage #fanart #Batman #DC comics #Gotham rogues #Mad Hatter #Alice in Wonderland #The Mad Hatter #1920s gotham

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s1ater · 8 months

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lorenzo’s luck.

pairings. mobster!slytherin boys x fem!reader

about. in which it’s been a rough couple of weeks and lorenzo is facing the heat of it all.

warnings. swearing, a beating,

ricky rocks. okay, new idea sense i’ve been watching the sopranos lately and writing generic slytherin boys is getting boring for me rn… also i’ve been seeing some stuff abt lorenzo on tiktok and even something on here and i think i characterized him totally wrong? but also not because i read the book (but not really) he originally came from and he didn’t seem as sweet and innocent as people play him as. idk, i’ll stick to what i have now but lmk what y’all think ig

everything and everyone was on edge.

for the past two weeks the feds had been down your neck, jeopardizing your whole lifestyle and way of work.

everyone was in a pissy mood because of it—because when the feds were on your ass, that meant having to be careful, and your job was hard thing to be careful about when every move you made was highly incriminating. so when being careful, you barely got to work, and no work meant no profit.

it was hard to specify exactly what you did.

you were a mobster.

there it is, in the simplest form.

there was a lot of pressure in being one, especially when law enforcement was there to make things ten times harder.

and it wasn’t only affecting you, but entirety of your group;

“you’re a fuckin’ idiot, lorenzo, you realize that? take a fuckin’ look at yourself in the mirror and stare at something that isn’t just your face and realize you’re a fool,” mattheo’s voice erupts so suddenly through the air, startling all of you. “get your shit together.”

it was already starting. you, theodore, blaise, lorenzo, and mattheo had just barely taken a step into one of the many backrooms of the businesses mattheo’s father owned when the composure came fumbling down.

lorenzo had just barely sat his ass in one of the leather seats when the attention was pinned to him, “jesus, what’s up you’re ass m?” he laughs, but you can tell it’s a nervous one. “jesus.”

you glance to theodore who winces at the response like it was his own. that was the worst possible thing to say, especially to mattheo, especially right now where his anger and frustration was at an all time high.

you can see that anger pulse through his skin in a spike as he finally seems to processes lorenzo’s antagonizing words.

oh boy.

“fuckin’ saved your ass, enzo. you know what my fathers saying? that you’re a loose fucking cannon and i need to let you go,” he has his hand raised, shaking it in his face. “and you know what? we don’t let people go. there’s no such thing as letting someone go in our business. that’s a rare ever occurrence.”

letting someone go is disposing them. taking them out to the back and putting them down like a dog.

“get your head on straight and don’t you forget that you wouldn’t be here without me, because you’d be dead.”

“you act like you’re so fucking clear minded,” he huffs, leaning his head against the palm of hand.

that was enough.

mattheo swings himself around, throwing his fist into the face of enzo as hard as he can. you flinch at the sound of enzo’s nose cracking beneath the contact of mattheo's knuckles. you feel yourself tense up at the noise not letting up, but rather playing over and over, filling the room with ugly sounds of punches fill the room.

“mattheo-“

your call out is cut off as theodore takes your shoulder, pulling you back, “don’t.”

“he’s going to kill him.”

“he won’t,” he pulls you even closer and further away from the violent scene unfolding before you all, tightening his grip. “lorenzo’s too viable.”

he was right. even as enzo was a loose canon, he brought in a lot of profit and kept his end clean… for the most part.

lo was too salient for mattheo to kill, but his loud mouth was enough to tip mattheo over the edge.

it was a perfect way for him to blow off steam; beating in the face of his friend.

***

“don’t you look like a dime.”

it’s been a week since mattheo went on his little rampage, and you were now just seeing lorenzo in his healing state.

you’re smiling up at him, pinching his cheek as he rolls his eyes to your attention, “yeah, yeah, get off my back.”

he looked far from a dime; his nose was broken causing both his eyes to sport dark rings of bruising around them while the lining of his jaw was turning a dark purple and yellow.

“you and mattheo civil now?”

“define your idea of civil.”

“well, you’re not dead, so I assume you two are as civil as civil gets in mattheo’s terms.”

he scoffs, “yeah, well, let’s hope mattheo and his father are on the same page and I don’t end up dead in the next week.”

over a month ago, some of lorenzo’s boys hijacked a truck everyone was told specifically not to mess with despite the fair amount of profit that could come from it. and unfortunately, they dug themselves an already deep hole, deeper by obtaining the truck through a casualty.

lorenzo had received the blame, despite it having nothing to do with him other than the men being under his supervision and responsibility. he had to pay for it, and he did…

“you’re on the higher end of things, he won’t kill you.”

“that’d be the exact reason for him to kill me,” lorenzo corrects you. “I’m on the higher end for a reason, i can’t fuck up.”

you press your lips into a thin line at the thought of his words. mattheo’s beating must’ve really enlightened lorenzo because there was rarely ever a moment you caught him in such a grave mood where he was so in touch with reality.

his attitude on life was light and so unserious; you were unsure on how mattheo even recruited him when that was the exact opposite that this job sought out for. but then again, the boy recruited all of you.

“then don’t fuck up,” he laughs lightly, but it’s caught in the back of his throat. “again.”

“great advice, y/l/n,” he glances at you, “really got that one on the nose.”

“don’t be a douche,” you slap him lightly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, lo. you’re alive, you’ll stay that way too as long as you don’t press your luck.”

“hard to press my luck when I don’t have any in the first place.”

you gaze at the side of his face, attempting to gage the general emotion or even thought process going through his head, but there was nothing. not even his usual perma-smile could be found.

***

“someone approached me awhile ago-“

“who?”

“doesn’t matter who—a clients girlfriend,” lorenzo is anxious, pacing back and forth before all of you in the backyard of mattheo’s home. “i was offered a deal.”

you wince immediately.

lorenzo had collected the whole lot of you; everyone except mattheo. you all sat on his back deck, fixating between the full beautiful greenery backyard of the riddle home and lorenzo, who hadn't spoken till now.

a deal.

he should’ve stopped there.

“a deal?” blaise arched a brow, now leaning on his forearms that rest on his knees. “what kind of deal?”

you all knew exactly what type of deal it was.

enzo’s eyes don’t reach any yours, but he’s stopped pacing, wondering whether he should really speak it now.

don’t say it.

“immunity,” he says it flat out, bringing truth to all of your thoughts. but he doesn’t seem ashamed to this with the way he looks at each and every one of you in the eye finally. “she said once we all get impounded, there’s a way out for me.”

once. not if.

“i tell them everything. i rat every single one of you out and i’m given immunity.”

you all look up at him like he’s crazy. and he is; to be speaking like this to a bunch of mobsters—threatening the entirety of their life and business is crazy.

“we get thirty years plus. there’s no doubt. they get us and we’re already laid in our graves before trial because what we’ve done is absurd-“

“are you saying you’re a rat, berkshire?”

“no,” he shakes his head fast. “no, not at all.”

“that’s not what i’m hearing,” draco shakes his head. “i’m hearing you’re getting nervous with all this recent snooping of the feds and you’re fuckin’ rat.”

“fuck off, malfoy. i’m just telling you what i was told. i’m not a goddamn rat. i’d have to be mental to give up all we’ve done-“ his hand finds his forehead and he’s pacing again. “fuck if i even remember half of it.”

you’re all back to silence, thinking about this. rat or not, this did not look good for him.

your eyes suddenly settle on the light and distant bruising under enzo’s eyes; finally healing. you think about mattheo beating in his face over and over, and then you think about what he’d do if he ever found out about lorenzo’s offer.

“they have a lot of shit on mattheo.”

you all look back up to lorenzo now, a certain interest now crossing each of you again.

“what type of shit exactly?”

“type of shit you don’t get parole with… or out of jail for that matter,” he looks even more stressed than before. “she said the rest of you could have chances of a life after serving. not him.”

this wasn’t a surprise. mattheo always had a quality that none of you did when it came to getting things done; something sociopathic. he always took risk without question of consequence. he moved in silence, he didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, he always got things done faster than all of you combined.

so if mattheo did something beyond all of your usual tasks, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“i mean that makes sense, matty’s been at this longer than the rest of us,” you reasoned it out, only to be stopped immediately.

“no, you don’t understand,” enzo shook his head.

“what exactly are we not understanding here, enzo? you seem to know something, so why don’t you just spit it out,” theodore sits up, speaking for once. there’s obvious annoyance and distaste in his mouth as he stares at the boy before you with a narrowed look.

lorenzo pauses, looking back at him with the same look. you can tell there’s a thought process behind his eyes, and his anxiousness is slowly melting away.

“you know, where do you guys think this is all going? genuinely. you think we’re going to spend the next couple of months running clubs, collecting money, and beating up the occasional person that’s late on their payments for fun?” lorenzo has turned sour, looking at each of you almost as if he hates you all for your ignorance. “this is for life, and we’re only at the beginning point.”

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duck-of-the-mob · 6 months

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@directdogman

Presenting the worlds worst (and gayest) mobsters as flesh heads

I had so much else to say but uhhhhhhhhhhhh

Eepy

#dialtown #dialtown fanart #dialtown art #art #directdoggo #dialtown shooty #dialtown stabby #shooty and stabby #the gays #mobsters

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animatejournal · 8 months

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The Simpsons Director: Pete Michels Studio: Gracie Films | USA, 2002

#The Simpsons #Fat Tony #Mafia #Joe Mantegna #Sopranos #Alabama 3 #Animation #Italian Mob #Homer Simpson #Dana Gould #Matt Groening #Mobsters

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angels-holocaust · 5 months

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Costas Mandylor in Mobsters (1991)

#costas mandylor #mobsters #i don't know why i didn't upload this with the other mobsters gifs...#my gifs #dilfgifs #filmgifs #filmedit #moviegifs #dailyflicks #he is so fucking beautiful #cinemapix #costasmandyloredit

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oldshowbiz · 1 year

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The Schemes of Michael Thevis: Atlanta’s King of Ponographers

#atlanta #vintage smut #mobsters

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elkleggs · 1 year

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Started some mobster nonsense on patreon, more to come!

https://www.patreon.com/posts/boss-2-78146669?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

#stucky #patreon peek #steve x bucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #mobsters #gangsters #silver fox bucky #my art #digital art #illustration

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vintage-tigre · 3 months

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#peanuts #snoopy #charlie brown #Linus #aesthetic #vintage #old school cool #style #mobsters

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catsitta · 2 years

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Take a Card Series

#undertale #mobtale #mobfell #underfell #sans #underfell sans #mobfell sans #dreamtale #nightmare sans #nightmare #mob au #mobsters #digital art #my art

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bobcronkphotography · 8 months

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Al Capone’s Jail Cell, Alcatraz, #181

San Francisco, California

Bob Cronk

#alcatraz #alcatraz island #san francisco #san franciso bay #california #prison #jail #tax evasion #mobsters #the mob #bob cronk #bob cronk photography #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #photography on tumblr #original photography #bobcronkphotography #black &white #incarceration

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cappedinamber · 4 months

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Mobsters (1991)

Directed by Michael Karbelnikoff

Cinematography by Lajos Koltai

#(aretha franklin voice) okay...great uh. suits. beautiful suits....#mobsters #michael karbelnikoff #lajos koltai #1991

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pagodazz · 11 months

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COSTAS W HIS MOMMY

such a momma's boy

#costas mandylor #mark hoffman #saw #saw 3 #saw 4 #saw 5 #mobsters #delta of venus

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adventuressclubamericas · 6 months

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Leslie "Squizzy" Taylor was one of the leading gangsters in Melbourne during the 1920s. He died 27 October 1927 from wounds he suffered during a gunfight with Snowy Cutmore, a rival Melbourne gangster. Squizzy was the subject of the Australian Nine Network's final installment of the Underbelly series. Underbelly: Squizzy also starred Nathan Page and Henry Stokes.

#miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #missfishercon #nathan page #melbourne #squizzy taylor #squizzy #gangsters #mobsters

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shamrockqueen · 1 year

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Train Delay

Pairing : Mobster Yuri Boyka x Reader

Warnings : Semi-Public sex, Grabbing him in a public space, rough fuck, smut (18 or over only), tearing clothes, spitting

Word count : 2395

AO3 page Link

It’s just an average daily ride on the train. The metal beast hissed to a halt, and all the passengers at the station shambled on. The conductor announced the next stop and it lurched forward as it started back up again.

It’s all like clockwork..more or less.

At 6:15 the train arrives (15 minutes late); at 6:25 it leaves the station. Everyone is to be seated by the time the train has departed, that’s when the men leave the front of the train to take their tribute from all the passengers.

Each person hands over a little wad of cash to the large man as he walks down the aisle, and they are allowed to go about their own business.

The mob has run the train since you were a little girl riding with your mother, and not much has changed other than their going rate.

You could have driven a dozen times over by now, but you choose to take the more dangerous way into town just to see him. The large bear-like man in front of the train car, ready to collect the cash for his boss.

He had been the center of your attention since you’d started taking the train into the city about a month back. Your car battery had given out and you had to catch the next public transport out of town.

You remembered the rules and had some money ready when this beautiful burly man stepped in. His heavy boots made the old metal squeak under his feet as he made his way down the row of seats.

Your hand shook as you curled it around your few dollars. The definition in his muscles could even be seen from where his shirt was clinging to his body from the little opening in his coat. The v at the top showed off the dusting of chest hair, and you knew if you got to run your hand down his torso you’d just melt on top of him.

His beard was well trimmed but still thick, and the same could be said about the line of hair at the top of his head in a flat mohawk with a buzz cut on each side.

When you hesitated to hand him the cash that day; too zoned out, staring at him; he’d barked at you to quit stalling, and your heart nearly leapt from your chest.

By the next day you were back on the train, and the same as every morning he was seen walking down the aisle to collect the money. You’re seated at the back of the train-car as you waited for him to make his way to you.

You hold the little wad of money in your left hand with the aisle of the train to your right.

When he made it to your seat, he huffed an irritated sigh, but instead of asking you to hand it over, he'd begrudgingly leaned in above you to take the cash. His peck brushed your shoulder as he towered over you and it left you holding your breath.

You didn’t know what had come over you at that moment, and in a split second your hand pressed to his clothed crotch. The shaft of his cock was in your very grasp through his thick jeans, and the mere thought of its actual size made you sweat. You hear his voice catch in his throat with a grunt before he looks back at you with his jaw nearly hitting your lap.

Your hand was there for just a moment as your terror filled eyes met his dark gaze. You're basically holding your breath until you quickly let go, but he doesn’t move just yet. He leans back up slowly before twisting his head to the side with a pop from his neck joint.

He shakes himself out of the uneasy headspace, and walks past you to collect the rest of the money before leaving through the door at the front of the train car.

You were terrified. You didn’t mean to do something so obscene, it’s like your muscles were moving on their own. You basically just assaulted a man on the train. A MOBSTER no less, and you grabbed his dick in broad daylight!

Your heart was pounding so hard you could feel it rocking your body back and forth. If it beat any faster, it would pop right out of your tiny body, successfully spraying half the train in a hefty coat of red regret.

You wanted to sink into the frayed pleather of your seat as you fretted for the rest of the ride, not taking notice of a pair of brown eyes staring daggers at you through the glass of the door sitting at the front of the train car.

Even as the old metal creaks and the train shakes on the uneven track, his gaze never wavered.

When you finally arrived at your station it was a lurch of pure relief, and you couldn’t get away fast enough. You practically bolted out of your seat to push at the door before it even opened. Your haste only garnered a few unsavory stares, but by the time you’d rushed out of the train, nobody cared about this strange lady running towards the women’s restroom.

You needed to take refuge in the only small space you could find. You push through the door and grab ahold of the nearest sink. The stalls were empty and the bathroom nice and quiet. You’d think you were finally free to be a nervous wreck in peace, but you’d be a fool for believing so.

Not once did you take notice of the thunderous thumps of heavy boots meeting the stone floor, as a greatly disgruntled entity followed not too far behind.

No, you didn’t realize that the consequences of your actions had walked aright up behind you until it burst through the door. The flimsy wood clacked against the wall and all that could be seen was that big mean mobster, brown eyes on fire as they stared you down.

“You think you can just run away?!” Those heavy boots were almost as loud as he was. Your lips lock tightly together and you can only shake your head in response. He could break you with one hand; a once exciting fantasy now filling you with fear.

Fear that still pooled in your core while making you shake before him.

‘Thump, thump, thump’ is all you here as he backed you right up against the sink “Open your fucking mouth and speak, bitch!”

“No..sir! I wasn’t running from I-I swear!” Oh, but you were, you ran away from the big bad mobster only to lead him to this secluded place where he could crack you over his knee without any witnesses.

“You think that was funny? Is this joke to you? You grab the big man and everyone will laugh?”

He waves his hands at the indication that you’d embarrassed him on purpose for a cheap chuckle.

“No, no. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me! I swear I wasn’t joking with you!” The terror is more than evident on your little face, as you try not to get yourself broken in half by this Russian thug.

“No joke?” His big menacing body corners you back towards the sink until your dress-clad ass is squished against it. You’ll have to grip the side of the counter just to keep from backing up onto it all together. Your efforts were fruitless as each of his large hands grips you by the back of the legs and pushes you the rest of the way onto the counter.

Your thrown on your side and have to scramble to sit up and face him. Your little sounds of struggle bounce off the tiles walls, and yet each one falls on deaf ears. He just stands and watches as you squirm before him, hands still gripping the sides of your legs to keep you from kicking at him. But, your intentions would never be to push him away.

One of his hands slides from your thigh over the fabric of your stockings to grip your ankle. The other hand travels inward between them, letting his nails dig into the shear pantyhose and tearing at it like cheap strings.

“This what you want?!” His voice lowers, it’s almost a request as well as a warning. A softer side of him that only peers out from behind his prickly exterior. Maybe it’s his way of giving you a chance to run away from the scarier part of him. You didn’t want to run this time, but your silent at first as you knuckles turn white from gripping the countertop.

“Answer!” That softness is gone in a matter of seconds, and you stutter out “Y-yes, please. I-I want this..soo bad.”

You slowly pull your legs apart to nervously invite him in, and each of his large hands rest on your thighs where had had destroyed your stockings. It was an obstacle that needed dealt with, much like your little white cotton panties were to him now.

“Good girl. Saying please. Next you say ‘thank you’?”

You nod, but the words don’t come out. He didn’t expect an actual ‘thank you’ and in turn he doesn’t brutishly scold you this time.

He stands right between your legs, but his hand goes straight for the jugular with a tight squeeze. He leans in and bites at your lips and cheek before stealing a violent angry heady kiss, as he fumbled to unzip his jeans.

Your head is pushed too far to look down and see the shear size of what you once had against your palm. You figured it was long and thick, but now that it was hard, pink, and angry, you would have gasped at its girth and realized you would truly be ripped open.

Your breathless as he squeezes the life from your little neck, and the only sensation is his tongue wiggling around yours as the blood rushes to your head. The hand that isn’t anchored to your throat pulls at the soft white fabric that blocked your entrance in a fist full of panty.

His lips leave yours with an audible smack, and you can feel the soft head prodding at folds as it collected your slick dew before pressing into your needy little opening.

The pain of his stretch was dulled along with all of your senses until his hand unclenches from around your throat and a rush of oxygen hits your lungs and brain. He shoved himself to the hilt, practically tearing you apart just as you took your first breath.

His hand snakes around the back of your neck to anchor you as he drags and pulls himself gingerly, giving you just a little reprieve. Now that your airways were open, a stream of moans and wails erupted from your chest to echo around the small space.

His voice was low, nearly a growl, as he dragged himself along your tight walls and hugged you close. It was like being squeezed by a hungry bear. Soft and suffocating, yet just as dangerous.

Through the dull throb of pain and the twist of sweet pleasure you can feel yourself shiver in his arms. Your core flutters and flexes around his thick cock, the the point that it almost hurts to squeeze around him.

The drag of his cock and the lingering graze of his teeth against your skin makes the dim light overhead turn into a bright white as it creeps into your vision.

His thrusts sputter as he shakes your body to meet his. Hi leans in to bite one last kiss from your lips before bottoming out and breaking past the back of your cunt. His thrusts were now sloppy and wet as he filled a complete stranger full of himself.

He can feel a little bit of it leak around his cock as a shudder runs up his spine. He could feel a chilling sweat that had built up under his coat as the cold world came creeping back in.

His knees nearly buckled underneath him and he had to rest your weight back onto the counter to keep himself steady.

He pulls himself away slowly, mesmerized by the sight of his seed spilling out of you and dripping to the floor. When he looks back up, you're still staring at him with wet needy eyes watching him tuck himself back into his jeans.

You were like a sweet little trubochki, filled to the brim with crème.

You try to plant your feet back onto the floor, but the second you touch the ground your heels go sideways.

He grabs you be the waist to steady you as he’s growling out a harsh but breathy “stand the fuck up.”

You can barely comply, and his hand shoots out to clamp down around your jaw. Your mouth is propped open by the force of his thumb and fingers digging into the sides of your face. His lips pucker slightly and a quick spurt of spit is hawked right onto your tongue.

You squeal a little as the taste of cigarettes and coffee stain your little pink muscle.

“Watch your fucking hands next time, yeah?!” His face is still close and his once booming voice was quiet and yet still dripping with aggression.

“Yes sir” you answered quickly. It was a miracle you could even breathe, let alone respond. One hand barely holding on to his sleeve; another white knuckling the porcelain edge of the sink when he lets you go. It’s almost like free-falling as your ankles shake from the strain of just holding your own body weight.

You had let go of his coat before he turned to leave you, storming his way out of the ladies room. You could still taste and even feel the wad of saliva he’d spat onto your tongue, and now, as you were alone to savor it, you let yourself take a slow swallow.

‘Next time’ will echo on and on in your head for the whole ride home.

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