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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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Exile

We Always Walked A Very Thin Line

Chapter 23: I Got A Feeling Inside That I Can't Domesticate

Somewhere in the ruined rubble of the Day Courts capitol city lay Lucien. He was unharmed—Elain knew that with certainty. Where he was or what he did, she could not say. She didn’t tug on the bond glowing softly in her chest, didn’t try and pull him towards her. Not as she stood atop the intact steps of Helion’s palace beside Feyre and Nesta. They were coated in drying blood, their clothing ruined, hair knotted. One piece of the cauldron lay at their feet, the other already buried among the olive trees in Helion’s grove. They’d decided they would leave the fate of the Cauldron hidden from everyone, even their own mates. It was a secret they’d vowed to take to their graves.

There would be no more wars over life ending power. Feyre glanced to Elain and then Nesta, standing between them. “Ready?” she asked. Nesta hefted the heavy iron into her arms mere moments before Feyre winnowed them out of Day.

It seemed only fitting and fair the humans have a stake in the future of their world, even if they didn’t know it. It was only a second of crushing wind and darkness, of the metallic tang of magic that had once terrified the three of them so, to bring them home. Home. How foreign the village looked to Elain now. It lay destroyed, just as Day Court was, the inhabitants long gone. Elain wondered what became of them. Were they languishing in a Fae court, waiting to see if there would be yet another internal war in Prythian for the freedom of the humans? Or were they already free and safe somewhere else?

“Did it always look like this?” Nesta asked, echoing Elain’s own thoughts. She’d never thought it beautiful but in her memory, it had been…softer, somehow. Safer. Standing in the cold mud, Elain only saw misery amplified. How had any of them survived this place?

Feyre trudged forward and for a moment there was only the soft whispering of the wind and Feyres near silent steps.

“Yes,” she finally said, stopping among the ruined debris of their former home. “It was always ugly here.” “Was the adjustment easy for you?” Elain couldn’t help her question, sifting through the wreckage for any memento that might prove Feyre wrong. It seemed only ash remained, blanketing the waiting earth.

“No,” Feyre and Nesta said in unison, unsure who Elain spoke to. “Was it for you?”

Elain could scarcely remember those early days. Had Eris truly told her to remain silent? Had Lucien ever been cruel? She couldn’t help her smile. “No.”

“When did it change, I wonder,” Nesta murmured as Feyre used the wind she commanded to push aside the little remaining thatch and wood. Elain didn’t answer though she already knew. It changed when they fell in love. Everything was made brighter, lovelier, easier, in the soft glow of love.

Perhaps it was why the cottage was so rosy in her memory, too. They had suffered, to be sure, but they had each other. Elain had always known she was safe so long as her sisters were with her.

It was Nesta’s power that raised the fragile bones of their ancestors, dragging them from their silent slumber with silver glowing eyes. “You will guard this,” Nesta murmured, her breath hanging thick in the heavy afternoon fog. No emotion shone through. Elain watched the bones nod with slavish obedience, unable to deny its mistress this request. Nesta, satisfied, took a step back and watched the corpse take the piece of cauldron before sinking deep into the earth.

“Is it enough?” Feyre asked, looking to Elain. She peered through that fog, glimpsing a future in which they returned for the cauldron, would need it for some new threat that plagued them. A far off being, housed across the sea, would require a more elegant solution. Only pieces flashed—the sound of swords clashing, a woman screaming, a flock of swans swimming across a placid lake.

“For now,” Elain murmured. “The future is a fickle thing.”

She had no way of knowing when this future might happen or if she’d be alive to see it. “We should leave a record somewhere safe,” Elain added, catching the shared look between Feyre and Nesta. “Hide the pieces in our respective courts.”

“A different court,” Nesta disagreed. “Two halves of one piece, just like the cauldron. Give one to the humans, the other to a court we trust to keep the humans safe.” “Summer,” Elain whispered, remembering that fateful day in Autumn. “Send the other piece of Summer.”

There was nothing left to stay for. Elain took one last look at the demolished building. Feyre might have found it ugly, but Elain could not help but see as it had been. Cruel, to be sure, but beautiful, too. They had been made in this place, forged in the mud and rot that would come to define them in the Fae lands. Could they have withstood their new homes had they lived somewhere else?

She didn’t believe so. Elain was the last to leave, standing so long her shoes sank into the mud. Her sisters eventually reached for her, tugging her backwards and winnowing her to Day. The change was stark, terrifying in a different way. While the human lands were a smoking husk ripe for rebuilding, Day was bloodied destruction, smeared in the sacrifice of hiding the cauldron.

For the first time since Elain said goodbye to Lucien, she felt genuine fear. Bodies were being piled at the base of the palace, lain out in long lines for family members to collect. Nesta and Feyre stilled at the sight, eyes doing the same thing Elain was—checking to see if it was their mate stacked among the dead.

Elain felt the violent tug in her chest, betraying Lucien before she ever saw him. She spun, finding him at the top of the cracked marble steps. He had a deep gouge cut down his jaw, stark against the healing scars of his eye. His red hair was shorter, hacked brutally at his shoulders and uneven in more than one place. His armor was ripped at the sleeve, his faced fingerpainted with blood.

“Alive,” she breathed, turning to run up the stairs. Elain launched herself into his body, arms wrapped around his neck. “You’re alive.” “I didn’t dare face your wrath if I died,” he chuckled, his body tensing beneath the heaviness of her touch.

“You’re hurt,” she accused, holding his face in her hands. Lucien nodded, wincing. “And your hair…” “It’ll grow back,” he promised. “I heard you stabbed the King of Hybern.” She’d forgotten about that. “I never want to see another war for as long as I live,” she told him, turning at the sound of Nesta’s sobbing shriek. Cassian was limping towards her, the bone in his knee protruding through his heavy leather. His winds were ripped and torn, his hair nearly the same color as Luciens and still he found her. Cassian sank to his knees before Nesta in what Elain first thought was pain, but realized a moment later it was deference–an acolyte bowing before his Queen. Rhysand joined, muddied and bruised but the least harmed of the three. She supposed that was the benefit of being High Lord. He was far more powerful and far harder to kill.

“C’mon,” Lucien murmured, pulling her attention back to him. Rebuilding would take months, maybe the whole year and yet Elain thought it could wait. There would be time for grief, to take it all in. She was so intensely grateful they’d both survived that she let him tug her through the castle, ignoring the way their shoes left little prints of blood anyone could follow.

She didn’t need the gift of sight to know no one would.

Elain only ever meant to put Lucien in the bath and then to bed. He looked like he needed a hot meal, though it could wait for morning if it meant cleaning him. Lucien very obviously had other ideas.

“Now,” he growled, pinning her against the door before she could say a word. Perhaps he’d guessed her intentions or could otherwise read her mind. Elain would never know. She didn’t fight him—she knew better by then. She merely kissed him back, letting his tongue invade her mouth so she could taste the blood and desperation on him.

He ground against her, somehow already hard. Elain could scarcely catch her breath, her mind reeling. It was all so reminiscent of their first time together, of the control he’d wielded while she’d merely hung on and hoped for the best.

“Thought you were going to die,” he groaned against her lips, his fingers curling in the locks of her hair. Lucien tugged roughly, tilting her head to bite at her neck, hands ripping at her dress. Elain’s brain caught up with her mind.

“No,” she breathed, shoving him backwards. Lucien staggered a step, golden skin pale, eyes wide.

“No?” he asked, swallowing as though she’d just said she hated him. “Elain, I–” “Take off your clothes,” she demanded, catching how his eyes flared with heat. Lucien was quick, reaching for the buckles and straps and undoing them with a deft grace. She shivered, watching his bruised body revealed inch by glorious inch. He waited, his cock thick between his legs, standing at attention. She hadn’t thought this far ahead and she knew he sensed it.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Lay on the bed,” she whispered, cringing a little when he did, staining the blanket with his sweat. It didn’t matter, she lied to herself as she removed her own clothing. The fabric pooled at her feet, her body barred to him. She’d fared far better, unbruised as she was. Lucien held his breath as she walked to the end of the bed, crawling slowly. She knew he thought her some kind of seductress but Elain was still trying to work out what, exactly, she meant to do with him.

Lucien’s patience snapped when she reached his cock. She’d thought to take him in her mouth with he caught her by the waist and dragged her up his chest.

“Hey!” she protested. “This is my game,” he snarled against her cunt, breathing deeply. “You’re still far too sweet to scare me.” His tongue darted between her thighs, tasting her tentatively for only a moment. “Was that what you were trying to do? Scare me?” she demanded, lifting one of her legs to turn herself, his cock now in her face.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Your fear smells so pretty mingled with your arousal.”

“I’m starting to think you’re a bad male, Lucien,” she breathed, momentarily forgetting her plan to take him in her mouth as he began licking. “You’re right about that,” he moaned against her body. “I am not a nice male.”

She might have argued the point, but Elain was feeling feverish, overwhelmed by how furious Lucien was now devouring her pussy as if he were some sort of wild animal. There would clearly be no more talking, no whispered words of affection.

“Surely you remember how to suck,” Lucien demanded when she pressed the head of his cock against her lips. “In your mouth, Elain.”

Vowing she’d murder him later, Elain did exactly as Lucien ordered. She was rewarded by the loudest groan of pleasure, reminding her that despite how little experience she had, Lucien had never been terribly difficult to please. He seemed to enjoy her enthusiasm and effort more than anything else, proven when her teeth scraped against the silky smooth skin of his cock. He merely gasped a little before pulling her hips harder against his face.

Sucking Lucien gave Elain a reprieve from the building pleasure in her body. She thought she might have come already, her body coiled tighter than a spring. His penis was a distraction and every glide of her tongue kept her hovering on a razors edge, determined to drag him over with her.

“Fuck, Elain,” he whispered, his hips rising to push himself further into her throat. Elain gripped his thigh.

“Tap if you need to breathe,” he told her roughly. “Cauldron boil me your fucking mouth…” Lucien seemed to remember he, too, was supposed to be doing something besides face fucking her. He redoubled his efforts, the broad side of his tongue lapping over and over in continued strokes while his hips took over her bobbing head, fucking her with both his tongue and his cock until Elain was a slobbering, burning mess. She made no noise at all as she came—his cock was buried against the back of her throat.

He didn’t stop, riding her through, licking every bit of her orgasm. He gave her a moment to take a breath before plunging back into her throat. It took three brutal strokes before he came, pouring himself into the back of her throat without word or warning. She had no choice but swallow all of it, certain he’d designed that.

“Come here, come here,” he whispered as if her pussy wasn’t still pressed against his face. Elain slid off him, falling beside his body on the mattress. Lucien slung an arm around her body, twisting to bury his face against her exposed breasts. “You’re safe,” he whispered, his palm flat against her stomach. “Safe and alive and…my mate.” “Unbreakably so,” she reminded him with a sleepy, post-orgasm smile. “No one can take that away from us.”

“I’ll kill them if they try,” he warned.

Elain knew Lucien meant it, would commit atrocities in her name with a smile on her face. It was strange to think how his attention had once terrified her. She’d been so certain he’d consume her. In a way she’d been right, though as she watched his eyes flutter, lashes resting gently against his still blood stained cheeks, she wondered if it wasn’t her that had consumed him. If she hadn’t been the thing that should have been feared all along. After all, Lucien had been a creature of Autumn, a thing of wood and rot, of bone and death and here he was, willing to get on his knees before her.

They’d have to deal with life in the morning. With rebuilding and his parentage and where would be home. She wanted to be close to her sisters in some capacity, even if she knew they’d never live in the same territories.

All of it could wait.

Elain stroked the tangled knots of Lucien’s hair.

They were free.

#elucien #this is an elucien only chapter #elain x lucien #elucien fic #oh my god i am one chapter away from being done #I SAID ID FINISH IT THIS WEEK AND BY GOD #all you had to do was bully me #anyway next chapter completes all three of their stories #there is no chapter 25 #i had to free myself of that burden and im sorry #exile has been so fun but im ready to move on #i hope you have cherishedi t #this fic has been too fun and cathartic and i will miss it #but not miss it #idk if ill ever write anything this long ever again #it is WORK

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respectable-username · 2 years

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And another Hermit enters the story. I swear I didn't plan on having about 2/3rds of the whitelist show up in this fic, but the narrative will wander where the narrative wishes to wander!

Anyway, threads are pulling together now, and blocks are falling into position. Gah I'm so excited to show you what happens next!

I'm gon' give it to ya - Chapter 8

8. Undo

Fandom/collection: Hermitcraft/@hermitgang-ao3

Words: 1689 of 15,693 total so far

Summary: Pearl and Grian join the Overworld Crew at Cleo's base with Pearl's cursed hoodie in hand, ready to be examined for any clues for as to how to free the other Hermits. Then, another guest shows up at the front door…

Preview:

A pounding at the front door rung through the little living space at the front of Cleo's base. She pulled herself away from what felt like her hundredth cup of tea that day to go greet the new arrivals.

"We've got another one," said Grian, pushing inside past Cleo, waving something held tightly in his hand.

"What he meant to say was: 'Hello Cleo. How're you doing?'," said Pearl, who had been standing behind him, her own hands resting more casually in her hoodie pockets.

"As best we can," said Cleo, standing aside to let Pearl through before shutting the door behind her. "Though if even the redstoners are stuck, there's fat lot of good I can do to help out."

"Don't sell yourself short. I've seen what you can do when angry. I'm glad not to be the one on your bad side."

"Likewise."

"Sorry about the pleasantries, but we really need to show you something." Grian had picked his way across the various redstone test circuits that Etho had littered across the floor of the living room to plonk himself down on the couch next to where Mumbo was frowning intently at a notebook.

"Before we do that, can somebody explain to me what's going on here?" Pearl picked her own way across to the empty-ish edge of a table to lean against. "Grian said something about Hermits disappearing with cursed clothing?"

"Gem's been giving Hermits cursed clothing that takes them in their sleep to another dimension as soon as the sun comes up." Etho rocked back on his heels, wiping redstone dust off his hands and onto his pants. "The dimension is a lot like the Deep Dark, but a whole world of it."

"The Deeper Dark," Mumbo added.

"And we've got one," said Grian, holding out what could now be identified as a hoodie dangling in his grasp. "Gem tried to give it to Pearl, who then mentioned it to me."

"And you didn't put it on?" Cleo asked Pearl.

"Of course not. Why would I put on an obviously cursed item of clothing?"

Mumbo's face flushed as he looked down at his feet.

"Seriously Mumbo?"

Keep reading

#hermitcraft #grian #pearlescentmoon #zombiecleo #mumbo jumbo #etho #geminitay #rendog #The A plot has met with the B plot and now joined up with the C plot #and we're 8/13 chapters in #(though to be fair there is both a prologue and an epilogue in those numbers)#so that should give you an idea of how close we are to barrelling down the third act #it's kinda fun not originally planning a story as a Three Act Structure but then seeing it fall into it anyway #last pair of chapters were the darkest hour #this and the next are the second half of the second act #and then we have 10-12 as the third act climax followed by an epilogue to round it off #I just uh gotta finish writing those last three #and 10 is long and needs editing #probably won't be able to keep up this twice-weekly pace from the next chapter #(and well doesn't help I'll be away on holiday from next week)#but anyway the future is a future concern #hope you enjoy the chapter I present to you now!#and ❤ again for the lovely comments! there's nothing that gets me more pumped for a chapter than seeing what y'all wrote on the last

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wanderingchocolateeclair · 1 year

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*gripping the google docs for my fics* why won't you write yourself you f u ck

#tw caps #AAAAAAAGH #so.#a frayed thread of hope has been and is still about two or three chapters away from completion.#every single time ive tried to write the next chapter something happens in life and STOPS me #ITS BEEN IN THE WORKS FOR FAR TOO LONG IT NEEDS TO BE COMPLETED BY NOW I HAVE OTHER WIPS #pirate au fic is. going...uhhhhhhh haha well-#i have got the next like. 5 chapters Planned.....but none of them have been written yet #i have about. two or three other multi chapter planned fics in the works.#and several other regular fics #writing.........hhhhh #i have to write them??? what do you mean the google docs cant just update itself???#all /lh

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fictionadventurer · 2 years

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Elizabeth Goudge's The Herb of Grace, or Cottagecore: The Novelization.

#elizabeth goudge #books #the herb of grace #pilgrim's inn #i just found out there's now a bunch of her books on hoopla #pilgrim's inn used to be only one of a couple #now almost all of the ones i've seen mentioned are on there #but i took it as a chance to finally finish the one i've abandoned three times #thankfully it remembers where i stopped last time #i decided not to bother rereading from the beginning and it's a good thing i didn't #because my goodness #now that i've gotten through all the nadine unhappy wife/mother drama #turns out i was only like a chapter away from some of the most beautiful descriptions i've ever read #i'm sporadic with how well i can visualize descriptions but this i can see without effort and it's astounding #they're going through the inn and i'm just about in tears because it's so lovely #perfect for this time of year #and having enough cottagecore vibes to fuel all of pinterest #i can't believe i let this sit so long but i'm so happy i'm experiencing it now

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grayintogreen · 2 years

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What little I wrote today was some soft (but emotionally fraught) Widomauk so expect a preview of that tomorrow.

#trying not to give away EVERYTHING in the first few chapters #but you underestimate how fucking long chapter two and three are #honestly 2-4 are monsters because I refuse to split anything up #you can’t deny high noon #my writing

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ange1sang · 2 years

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i'm so excited to write the next chapter of choking games :'] i know i have to go to sleep so it can be tomorrow so that i can write it but i'm so excited i can't even sleep

#we're only two or three chapters away from the end and while i'm sad i also feel. really accomplished #i thought this story would have a maximum of four chapters or something but #it's been a long project and i've been so happy to work on it #this is what i was hoping for when i decided to take a break from bobateastay and i'm so happy i found this flow again #i'm really happy with how it's turning out #i'm excited to round it out as a story

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bloodyke · 2 years

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i need to stop starting unfinished works bc i always read the full thing in an hour and then have to sit and wait in agony for the next FOUR YEARS for it to update

#zenith.txt #thats not a joke btw ive given up hope on that one four years is a long time.. the author keeps tweeting that they're working on it but :/#the one im reading today was only three chapters away from completion and hasn't updated since February of LAST YEAR #sorry to every webcomic i dropped bc it doesn't update fast enough i am never going back ive moved on already #im committed to only reading finished works from now on

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talaricula · 2 years

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Also thanks for the asks to those who sent some! I'll answer tomorrow, I have to go to sleep now

#Tomorrow I DEFEAT episode 6 #I've been chipping away at it for three days #It's half as long as the five preceding chapters put all together #Just by itself

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so-what-eichi · 2 years

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new obbligato thoughts dropped but i don’t feel like compiling them here

just know that the mv and all those jokes dropped right after i realized that kaname might end up hating beemeru for doing his bestie dirty

#enstars #ensemble stars #beemeru is just salty that some random amen bitch got to spend more time with his brother than him #i can't believe it took me so long to understand his side of this #that's why he hates tatsumi so much #and kaname might hate him because afterall tatsumi was his bestie #that'd mean himeru sacrificed himself for his brother in vain #there's so much pain in all this #that's at least a three-way misunderstanding #i think i even got started on a fic about it #anyway please don't end up like the sakumas #oh and beemeru replying to all the fan letters?#if he hadn't thrown away all the letters he got in the past he would've learned about kaname sooner #:')#patiently waiting to be hurt by the last two chapters of romantic date

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ambrosiagourmet · 2 months

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I've been thinking about Laios' succubus lately. Mulling it over a bit.

Because I've seen these pages brought up a fair bit, but almost entirely in the context of shipping (on all sides, really). And I really want to understand what they are doing for the story beyond that.

When I went back to reread the scene and section, a few things caught my interest: the way Laios responds to both forms of his succubus, the themes of the volume the chapter is found in, and the other events of the chapter itself.

So let's dive into those three things, and what I think they say about the succubus scene's purpose.

Laios is never fully frozen by the succubus

So. If you compare Marcille and Chilchuck's reactions...

to Laios':

There is a difference. Sure, the basics may look the same once it turns into Scylla Marcille, but even then, it functions differently.

Chilchuck and Marcille are completely frozen once they catch sight of their succubus. Izutsumi, as well, isn't able to look away, and completely freezes up once her 'mom' starts talking to her. As Chilchuck describes, "just looking at them makes you unable to move."

And yet, Scylla Marcille has to actively convince Laios to comply. He even looks away from her at one point!

Laios accepts this succubus, but he is never actually helpless to it in the same way. Taken in? Convinced? Sure, at least enough to let things happen that he probably should question more than he does. But magically compelled? Not really. Not the same way as everyone else is. So that's interesting. But let's move on for now.

2. Volume 9 is all about drive and desire

I don't often look at chapters within the context of the volume they are included in, but I think there's some really fun things to be found with that perspective in mind.

For one, volume 9 starts with an exploration of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

And ends with a question of what desire brought Laios to the dungeon:

It's also very concerned in general with questions of why people do what they do. Why they are in the dungeon, why they are with the people they are with, why they stay, what they fight for.

In addition to Laios, we see it with Marcille...

Izutsumi

Kabru

and Mithrun

Hell, we even get it for the demon!

It's certainly not the only volume concerned with desires and motives, but it is particularly focused on these ideas.

The succubus scene fits quite well into the ongoing question about desires, especially Laios' desires. It is even placed at an interesting spot within the volume. The volume is six chapters long, and the scene takes place at the start of the 4th chapter. It's almost smack-dab in the middle.

With all this in mind, it is interesting that, with both versions of the succubus Marcille, it's not totally clear which parts of her Laios is rejecting.

The first version of Marcille looks human, but Laios attacks when he identifies her as a monster. The second Marcille looks like a monster, but he seems to believe that she is the real (human)(ish) person that he knows. So is he rejecting the monster at first, and then accepting the person? Or is he rejecting humanity and only interested in the monstrous?

Something to consider as we look at the next point...

3. the rest of the chapter is a seduction, too

This is one of those things that might not be apparent on a first reading, but is crystal clear on a revisit. We see the succubus try and charm Laios over 7 pages, and then see the Winged Lion do the same thing for the next 19.

Much like the succubus, it offers the mingling of monsters and humans. Much like the succubus, it offers belonging.

(and this is the point where I absolutely must also link this post by fumifooms on the succubus, which has some great ideas on how the scene is informed by Laios' trauma and desire for acceptance!!!)

But, back to the point. The Winged Lion wants to feed on Laios just as much as the succubus did, and it uses similar strategies to try and make that happen. Though this chapter isn't really the turning point for the next Lord of the Dungeon (it is Marcille who will, eventually, become the Lion's next victim), it certainly behaves like it is.

Laios is convinced. The succubus gets its meal. By the end of the volume, the reader begins to understand how concerning his desires are. Together, it is all very good at building up that sense of dread and pending disaster, as we see exactly how and why Laios might just fall into the Lion's open arms and bring about the end of the world.

So that's the three things I noticed. But there's still something I want to touch on by looking at the way these observations overlap, and what they reveal, together.

As I said, by the end of the volume, you can feel the tension growing. Just as Kabru and Mithrun do, you look back for an answer to the questions that have been built, chapter by chapter: why is Laios here? Where will his loyalties fall? This chapter, and scene, seem to prove the inevitable truth: he will choose the monster, of course. He will choose the seductive, easy power of the Winged Lion.

But the details of what actually happens tell different story: one in which the Lion is wrong.

First, as a reminder - even in Scylla Marcille mode, the succubus never fully entrances Laios. It convinces him, but it doesn't have him completely under its thrall.

Similarly, in the dream, the Lion does convince Laios to embrace the world he is offering. But even within that dream, Laios continues to ask questions that will be vital to him later. It is because of those questions that Laios comes to a new understanding about Thistle.

And it's this realization that he cites later as part of his reason for refusing the Lion's offer.

He is thinking through things the entire time, just like he continues to question the succubus even after it turns into Scylla Marcille.

Laios also expresses an interesting reason for why he wants to see the future of this world. He's not just invested because it would mean people liking what he likes, or him getting to spend time with monsters. The thought that comes immediately before his acceptance is about what he wants for monsters and people.

I don't think it's a coincidence that this statement - "we're living beings that share the same world, but all we can do is keep killing each other" - can apply to the various humans races just as much as it does to humans and monsters. The thing he is thinking about here isn't just a matter of his personal daydreams. It's an idea that underpins every conflict in the story.

Laios caring about how people as well as monsters in this manner is something that the Lion gets wrong every time. Even at the end, he still frames Laios' desires entirely around hating people and loving monsters.

The Lion has heard him express an opinion about the future of the world! It happened right there in the dream, right in front of him! He just didn't take it seriously, and didn't view it through any lens other than "Laios likes monsters more".

He's convinced that he understands how to get to Laios. Maybe the Lion can't truly see everything, or maybe his vision into everyone's deepest desires has made it hard for him to realize how much choice still matters. That people can, and do, choose which desires to act on, and how to act on them.

Whatever the case, he's wrong about Laios, and the story shows us this over and over again.

After all, look at how the succubus interaction plays out:

A monster uses Marcille to appeal to Laios...

He realizes that something about the situation is wrong, and rejects her.

It changes strategies, and makes new offer: to turn him into a monster.

It also assures him that his friends are, or will be, taken care of.

He accepts. Or rather, allows the monster to have its way with him.

But Laios is not as helpless as he initially appears, and what the Lion thinks is a successful seduction also contains the seed of an idea that will allow Laios to later resist him.

We even get to see Izutsumi playing a similar role in both instances, as the one person fully able to take action in the face to the illusion.

The story lays out what is going happen, and then explicitly tells us that the demon and the succubus are thematically related.

The chapter performs a great sleight of hand here - everything about it seems to indicate that Laios is doomed give in to the option to have his deepest desires realized. But if you look closer, it also contains the evidence that he won't. There's a lot more going on for him.

Yes, he still falls for obvious tricks. He is still extremely into monsters, and he still doesn't feel like he fits in with other people. He may, deep down, crave to surrender to the monstrous - to let it absorb him. But he questions more than he seems to. He considers more than people realize. He cares so much more than anyone gives him credit for.

And I think this is part of why we see the succubus called back to so many times, especially with the wolf head addition to his Monster Form, which he specifically added due to his encounter with the Scylla Marcille.

This all stays with Laios. It doesn't just foreshadow the path of the story, it is fundamental to how and why he walks that path. It's not about him choosing monsters, and it's not about him choosing people. It's about how he considers both, and cares about both.

And it's about the forces that think they already know his answer. Mithrun and Kabru. The Winged Lion. The succubus.

It's about how they are wrong.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #laios touden #winged lion #dunmeshi analysis

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bamsara · 2 months

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Cult of the Lamb x Alice in Wonderland / Alice: Madness Returns crossover AU idea

Taking aspects and aesthetics from each and mashing them together with some tweaks to make up an AU that I may or may not write a multishot chapter fic for. Narilamb included + possible Leshycat

AU summary:

After following a one-eyed rat and falling into Wonderland, The Lamb is captured and sentenced to death by decapitation, only to be saved last second by a mysterious grinning cat.

They learn that they are a Lamb of prophecy: the one to defeat the tyranical rulers of Wonderland: King Leshy, Queen Heket, King Kallamar, and Majesty Shamura to free wonderland from their oppressive rule. The rulers keep an iron grip on this world's inhabitants by threatening with their own abilities, as well as a promise of a monster under their control. Legend says that there was also a fifth ruler long ago, and rumors say that after a argument, that the royal siblings either sealed him away, or fed him to the monster they claim to keep.

Yet no one has laid eyes on this creature in nearly a thousand years. Not that anyone wants to risk that, though.

Making friends and mad allies alike, the Lamb traverses through Wonderland with a three-eyed and constantly smiling cat as their trustworthy guide, who although helpful, shares little of his own motives as to why he's assisting the Lamb in the first place.

(Tags for this AU will be 'Wonderlamb Au')

#Wonderlamb Au #cult of the lamb #cotl au #cotl narinder #cotl leshy #cotl sozo #cotl heket #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #cotl lamb #doodles #alice in wonderland au

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ohproserpine · 3 months

Text

v. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and bloof, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder

"THAT SLAG!"

Velvette's piercing scream echoed through the meeting room, slicing through the air. Vox and Valentino jolted, turning their gazes toward the source of the disturbance.

"Good-for-nothing piece of shit twat assistant!" Velvette paced the room, her movements agitated and frantic as she angrily tapped away on her phone.

In a sudden surge of anger, she flung her device across the room, sending it flying above Valentino's head. A crash punctuated the air as it collided with a window, the impact shattering the glass into shards that rained down onto the floor.

"Velvette, darling," Vox raised an eyebrow, his voice calm as always, "What's got you so worked up?"

He took a sip of his coffee, the rich aroma wafting up from the steaming cup as he idly scrolled through his laptop. "Is it that showgirl situation again?"

"Oh, bloody hell!" Velvette rolled her eyes. "Of course, it is, you git! It's been literally the ONLY thing I've been banging on about this week!"

Valentino's sigh cut through the conversation as he adjusted his sunglasses. Holding his glittering firearm up to his face, he pressed rhinestones on it with tacky glue, unfazed by Velvette's anger.

"It's just some performer, babydoll. We can find a replacement."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Velvette seethed as she stormed toward them, her heels clicking loudly with each step. With a forceful slam of her hands against the table, it shifted forward, jolting the items on its surface. With a hiss of pain, Vox recoiled, his hand jerking back from the scalding coffee he had spilled on himself.

"The boutique opening is in three days! How on earth am I supposed to find a girl who's got the looks and a set of pipes in time?!" she exclaimed.

Valentino looked up from his bedazzling, a raised eyebrow visible above the rim of his sunglasses. "Have you tried one of my models? I got a lot of pretty little chicas who can charm the socks off anyone. No need to stress yourself out."

"Your models? Do you have any idea how much time and effort it's going to take for me to wrangle those little amateurs into something remotely resembling a professional performance?" Velvette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Sod off!"

Valentino snarled in response but turned away with a huff, muttering under his breath, "Have it your way."

"If I may," Vox spoke, wiping his hand with a grumble, the sting of the burn still lingering. He tilted his head slightly, raising a single brow. "Have you tried scouting?"

"Have I tried scouting?" Velvette mocked, her hands waving around in frustration. "Of course I have! All I've come across are bloody singers around here, and they all look like they've been dragged through the dirt backwards!"

"Well, have you tried the back district?" he offered, tapping his claws on the long glass table. He watched as Velvette pulled out a pocket mirror from her purse, visibly cringing at his suggestion.

"Why in bloody hell would I go there?" Velvette grimaced as she re-applied her dark lipstick. "I'm not about to waste my time scouring the back district for some dime-a-dozen talent. I need someone who's got class, not gutter scraps."

"Well, there's this performer," Vox insisted, snapping his fingers. A screen materialized with a whiz, displaying a video of a figure in a sparkly silver dress singing and dancing. As the video drew to a close, the camera zoomed in, capturing a close-up of the woman's face. Her features were radiant, a smile gracing her lips as she gazed out at the audience.

Velvette snapped her mirror shut with a flick of her wrist, interest sparking in her eyes. She leaned in closer, studying the performer's features.

"Who's this?" she quipped.

"Dolly, at least that's what they call her," Vox hummed, sliding the screen over to Velvette. "She works at Mimzy's Lounge."

Velvette's expression darkened, strands of hair falling over her eyes as she took the screen in her hands, leaning down to view the image again. The glow of the projection illuminated her face, casting shadows that danced across her steely expression.

"Mimzy?" she uttered the name slowly, her lips dripping with venom. "That's the cunt who tore up my best showgirl!"

"Drama," Valentino chuckled, spinning his bedazzled gun around his fingers.

"Well, this Dolly girl is her biggest star, and she's been making quite a name for herself there," Vox drawled, gesturing toward the screen. With a tap of his claw on the screen, he zoomed in closer. "She's got the looks, the voice, and the stage presence you're looking for."

"And she's managed to shine even in the shadow of that cesspool," he added with a sardonic grin as he sipped from his coffee.

A flicker ignited in Velvette's eyes as she straightened. "Then it's settled. I'll pay her a visit."

"Sounds like you've got a plan brewing, my dear. Care for some company?" Vox spoke with a smirk playing on his lips.

Velvette shot him a knowing glance before a grin tugged at the corner of her lips. "Why not? I could use some of your charm."

"Cher? Dearest? It's time to get up," the radio atop your bedside table rumbled, your husband's voice crackling through the air.

Grunting in protest, you burrowed deeper into the warmth of your blankets, seeking refuge from the harsh bite of the morning. But Alastor's persistent calls refused to be ignored.

"Mon cœur? Cher? W̷A̴K̶E̴ ̶U̸P̷!̶" it blared, the words amplified by hissing static, demanding attention like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly peeled yourself away from the cocoon of comfort that had enveloped you. Sitting up, you felt the blanket slip from your shoulders, pooling around your hips. Memories of last night flooded in, and the remnants of Alastor's romantic gesture still adorned your room. The bouquet sat atop your dresser, with scattered white roses delicately strewn across your bed like whispers of affection.

Despite the tender atmosphere, a throbbing headache reminded you of an unwelcome guest that accompanied you into the morning—the hangover.

Dragging yourself to the side, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing your temples in a futile attempt to ease the discomfort. Then, pushing yourself to your feet, you padded across the room, the cool floorboards sending a shiver through your bare skin. You picked up the radio, its incessant blare akin to an annoying alarm clock, with Alastor's voice still grating on your nerves.

"Alright. Alright. I'm up, love," you grumbled, rubbing at your eyes which still felt thick with sleep.

The radio rumbled with delight at your response.

"Hellish morning to you, my dear!" Alastor's voice boomed through the speakers, his jovial tone slicing through the early morning gloom. Despite your grogginess, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sound of his voice.

"Hellish morning to you too, darling," you returned, laced with affection.

"I trust you had a restful sleep?" Alastor questioned.

"As restful as one can get with a noisy radio blaring in their ear," you sighed, already feeling the weight of the day bearing down on you.

"Hah!" Alastor laughed, the sound making you roll your eyes. "But where ever would you be without my dulcet tones to serenade you awake?"

"Probably catching a few more precious minutes of sleep," you muttered, already regretting the start of another day. “You are insufferable, you know that?”

"Ah, but that's why you love me."

Back in his hotel room, Alastor chuckled to himself as he shrugged on his suit jacket. From his microphone, he caught the rustling of your clothes, followed by the gentle rush of running water.

With a flick of his wrist, Alastor summoned a gramophone, its boxy form materializing atop his dresser with a soft thud. Soon enough, the needle gently descended onto the spinning vinyl record, releasing a soft, nostalgic melody that filled the room.

I'll never smile again Until I smile at you I'll never laugh again What good would it do?

As Alastor began to sing along, his smooth voice seeping through the rusting speakers of the radio, you paused in the middle of washing your hair, caught off guard by the unexpected serenade.

"Stupid, stupid man," you muttered under your breath with a shake of your head. And yet, despite yourself, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, warmth creeping into your heart.

For tears would fill my eyes My heart would realize That our romance is through

Exiting the bath, you toweled yourself off and approached your wardrobe, humming softly as you selected your attire for the day. After scanning through the hangers, you settled on a vibrant red hooverette dress. With matching stockings and white heels, you completed the look, the final touch being a few roses plucked from the bouquet Alastor had given you, tucked behind your ear.

I'll never love again I'm so in love with you I'll never thrill again To somebody new

Dressed and ready to face the day, you returned to the radio, the soft strains of music and Alastor's voice still lingering in the air. As the final notes faded into silence, you stood for a moment, savoring the fleeting illusion of domestic bliss for a moment longer.

With a pang of sadness, you glanced at the clock, realizing that it was time to go.

"I have to head out now, darling," you spoke into the radio, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. "My shift starts in a while."

"Ah, until we meet again, mon cher," Alastor's voice replied warmly. "Do take care of yourself."

In response, you leaned down to press a kiss against the speakers, a gesture of your affection. The soft sound of the kiss was barely audible, but Alastor's ears perked up and caught the gentle touch against the metal surface. He chuckled softly, then, with a soft click, the radio fell silent.

As you slipped your purse over your shoulder, a thought crossed your mind—should you bring the radio along? The temptation to have Alastor's voice with you throughout the day was strong, but the risk of further damaging the precious device gave you pause. With a sigh, you decided against it, opting to leave it safely in your room, where it would patiently await your return.

Heading out of your room, the lounge was already buzzing with the hustle and bustle of customers and staff. Although no singer graced the stage yet, the speakers blasted with the familiar tunes of Hell’s Top 10 Hits.

"There you are!" Mimzy's voice cut through the lively atmosphere, her smile failing to reach her eyes as she bounded towards you.

"Mimzy," you greeted flatly, acknowledging her with a nod.

"How are ya doin', doll? Just the person I was looking for," she purred with a bat of her eyes. "Alright, listen, I've got a marvelous idea for a performance."

You sighed inwardly, bracing yourself for whatever scheme she had cooked up this time. Mimzy's requests were as extravagant as they were challenging, always pushing the boundaries to maintain her club's "reputation" and squeeze every last dime from these sinners' wallets.

"Let's hear it," you replied, mustering a polite smile.

"So, I was thinking," Mimzy began, tapping her finger along her chin, "how about a duet? A throwback to the good ole days, sharing the spotlight. It's bound to be a performance these wayward fools are going to talk about for ages!"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the relatively tame suggestion. The blonde wasn't exactly known for her subtlety or restraint when it came to showmanship. At most, a duet with Mimzy was sure to be a spectacle, for better or for worse.

"And when is this going to be held?" you grinned tensely, hands at your hips. There was bound to be a switch somewhere.

"When else? Prime time tonight!" Mimzy giggled as she threw up her hands with a flourish.

And there it was.

"Tonight?" Your eyes widened, shoulders squaring in shock. "Miss Ma'am, that's cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"Bushwa! We'll make it work," Mimzy replied dismissively, waving off your concerns with a flick of her hand. "And I've already got the perfect song in mind. It'll be a real humdinger, mark my words."

"Alright," you sighed, hoping for the best but bracing yourself for the chaos that was sure to follow. "Tonight it is."

"That's the spirit! Hell, why don't you take the morning off?" Mimzy grinned as she hurried off down the hallway to make preparations. "I'll see you tonight! Make sure to be here by sunset!"

Standing by the stairs as stiff as a pole, you watched her skip off with an unusually chipper air. It struck you as odd, but you pushed the thought aside, eager to have the morning to yourself. As you turned away, however, your head throbbed once more, the reminder of your hangover cutting through the moment.

"Looks like a ciggy is in order," you muttered to yourself, rubbing at your throbbing temples. Making your way outside, hoping to smoke away the edge of discomfort.

Trudging along the filthy backstreets, you did your best to avoid the muck and other questionable liquids that lined the roadside. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, assaulting your senses with each step you took.

No one spared you a glance as you passed; the citizens of hell were absorbed in their own pursuits or concerns, and you blended into the backdrop of the grim landscape.

Finally reaching a clearer stretch of street, you took a seat on one of the benches, the worn wood groaning under your weight. The city bustled around you, a mix of sounds and movements that seemed to blur together.

With a weary sigh, you reached into your bag in search of company—nicotine.

Fingers fumbling through the contents of your purse, you felt the familiar shape of the roll, and with a hum, pulled it out. However, as you continued to rummage through your belongings, a sinking realization settled in.

Your matchbox wasn't there.

Dropping your head into your hands with a scowl, you could feel the stress mounting within you, bubbling up like a simmering pot ready to boil over.

Wallowing in your misfortune, you failed to notice someone approaching you from behind. A sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you, and as you turned, you found yourself face to face with a tall and slender spider-like demon. His frame was practically drowning in a plush white fur coat, the color almost blending into his skin. It contrasted sharply with the sleekness of the black bodycon dress clinging onto his curves underneath.

"Need a light?" he asked casually as he held up a pink-colored lighter.

You eyed him skeptically for a moment.

In hell, kindness often came with a price. Whether it was a favor owed, a debt to be repaid, or simply a hidden agenda waiting to be revealed, nothing came for free. However, when your head throbbed again, you sighed and relented with a nod, accepting the offer despite your reservations.

Angel Dust ignited the lighter, the flame pirouetting gracefully and flickering in the wind. Drawing closer, you leaned in, offering the tip of your cigarette to the flame. With a gentle hiss, the tobacco caught fire, wisps of smoke curling into the air like ethereal dancers. As you took a deep, shaky inhale, the saccharine poison of the smoke flooded your lungs, leaving a bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. Shutting your eyes, a sense of calm washed over you as you leaned back, letting yourself be carried away by the fleeting tranquility of the moment.

Remembering you had company, you grounded yourself and opened your eyes. "Thank you ever so much, dear. Can I have your name?" you asked, tilting your head up at him. The stranger moved to sit down next to you, the worn wood of the bench creaking under his weight.

"Angel Dust," he said, and your eyes shot wide open, lips forming an 'O' shape.

"The porn star?" you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"Didn't take you as the type to watch my shit, toots," Angel laughed heartily as his grin widened from ear to ear in response, his golden tooth gleaming at you like a wink.

"Well, I may not be your typical fan, but your name does tend to make its rounds in conversation," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement. Taking a drag from your cigarette, you gestured with it casually. "I saw you in my husb—erm, the Radio Demon's commercial. Hazbin Hotel, was it?"

"Yeah, and don't worry, I know. Dolly, was it?" Angel Dust replied smoothly, his demeanor surprisingly nonchalant given the situation. Extending his hand for you to shake, he continued, "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

His confession caught you off guard, but you shook his hand firmly nonetheless. "How did you—did Alastor tell you about me? You two must be close."

Angel Dust hesitated, a grimace crossing his features. His crimson eyes darted away briefly, as if weighing his words carefully.

"Let's just say... word gets around in our circles," he replied vaguely, tugging his coat closer around himself.

"I don't know him that well, though," Angel Dust admitted with a shrug, his gaze drifting off momentarily. "Sometimes he can be a bit..."

"A pompous dick with a sadistic streak?" you suggested, exhaling smoke as you raised an eyebrow at Angel Dust, testing the waters.

Angel Dust laughed genuinely, throwing his head back. "Something along those lines, toots," he grinned, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," you remarked, a wry smile playing on your lips.

"Believe me, ya ain't alone in that," he agreed. "So, ah—What brings ya out here? Aside from the obvious need for a blow."

"Just needed some fresh air," you admitted with a shrug. "Plus, I may have indulged a bit too much last night and woke up feeling like death warmed over."

"I hear ya," Angel Dust replied, nodding sympathetically as he raked his eyes over your worn-out form, noting the slump of your body and the dark circles under your eyes. You looked so different from the sparkly performer he had seen on stage days ago.

"Hey, I actually caught one of ya shows the other night," he piped up, attempting to shift the conversation to a lighter topic.

"Did you?" you cooed, surprise evident in your voice.

"Yeah," Angel nodded, stretching out on the bench, spreading both his arms across the back of the wood. "Gotta say, ya put on quite the show up there. I mean—ya had the crowd eating out of the palm of ya hand."

A faint smile crept onto your cheeks at his praise, a swell of pride rising within you.

"Well, thank you," you bowed your head in gratitude, momentarily forgetting your fatigue in the warmth of his words. "It means a lot coming from someone like you."

Angel Dust waved off your thanks with a casual flick of his hand, lips jutting out in a playful pout.

"Ah, c'mon. I call it like I see it," he grinned with a shrug. "N'trust me, I've seen my fair share of performances."

Lost in the easy flow of conversation, you surrendered to the comfort of the moment, finding solace in the presence of your spider companion. Hours passed, and before you knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the park in hues of golden warmth.

A jarring ringtone shattered the moment, causing Angel Dust to glance down at his phone with a whistle. His brows furrowed as he scrolled through a flurry of notifications, irritation flashing across his features.

"As much as I'm enjoying our little chat, duty calls," he sighed, flicking away ash from his cigarette. "Can't keep the boss waiting."

You nodded in understanding, offering a wave as he rose from the bench. "No worries, Angel. Catch you later."

"Looking forward to it, dollface," he replied with a wink before sauntering off into the city streets, leaving you to enjoy the peace alone. After a few minutes of watching the sunset, you decided it was time to go. You stubbed out your cigarette and rose from the bench, making your way out.

As you approached the streets leading to the lounge, the neon lights of the city burst into life, casting vibrant reflections on the pavement. Climbing the stairs to the entrance, you were enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of the establishment. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and cigarette smoke, mingling with the pulsating rhythm of the music from within.

Mimzy was nowhere to be seen, which came as a welcome relief. And with a last scan to ensure she wasn't lurking anywhere nearby, you made a beeline straight to your dressing room, eager to ready yourself for tonight's performance in peace without a certain blonde talking your ear off.

Taking a seat at the vanity, you began to prepare for the evening ahead, carefully applying your makeup and fixing your hair into place.

A sudden knock broke your routine, prompting you to rise from your seat and stride over to the door. With a quick twist of the knob, you swung it open, revealing an imp demon. White blotches adorned his skin, and he sported sunglasses perched high up on his nose. In his hands, he held up a box, his expression expectant as he waited for your reaction.

"May I help you?" you murmured, tilting your head at him, curiosity coloring your tone.

"Yeah. Are you Dolly?" the imp asked, his tone curt and impatient.

"Yes?" you replied, a brow raised.

"Great. This is for you, lady," he said, thrusting the box of jewelry toward you. "If you could just sign here so I can get the hell out of this shithole, that'd be great."

You accepted the box from the imp demon's outstretched hand, eyeing him warily as he thrust a pen and clipboard in your direction. With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly took the pen and scrawled your signature on the dotted line, handing the clipboard back to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks," he muttered, barely sparing you a glance as he turned on his heel and hurried away, disappearing into the crowded hallway of the club.

Interest piqued, you turned your attention back to the box in your hands. With a gentle touch, you ran your fingers along the surface and lifted the lid of the box. Nestled amidst folds of satin lay a pearl necklace, the orbs gleaming as if moonlight itself was captured and trapped within. At its heart, a rose pendant bloomed, its petals of silver.

Taken aback, you reached for the small card tucked within the box. Gently retrieving, you turned it around to see the words "From Al" penned gracefully in elegant script.

"Oh, you cheese…"

With a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips, you delicately lifted the necklace from its satin-lined cocoon, feeling the cool weight of the pearls in your palm. As you draped it around your neck, the pendant nestled against your collarbone.

Feeling as giddy as a teenager in love, you turned away from the vanity, your heart fluttering with excitement. With a skip in your step, you crossed the room to the wardrobe, fingers dancing over the array of neatly hung dresses.

Before your fingers could grasp onto a dress, a sudden deafening explosion tore through the air. The sound was thunderous, shaking the walls and causing the ground beneath your feet to tremble violently. The shockwave slammed into you with palpable force, knocking you off balance and sending you crashing to the floor amidst a cloud of dust and debris.

Alarm flashed across your features as your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river. With trembling hands, you pushed yourself up from the ground.

What in hell was that?

Staggering to your feet, you ran out into the lounge. As the dust settled, you could see the entrance of the lounge now reduced to a gaping maw, the doors blown open by the force of the explosion. The familiar sights and sounds of the club were replaced by a scene of utter devastation, with debris strewn haphazardly across the floor and smoke billowing out into the night air.

Two ominous figures cast dark shadows amidst the panicked frenzy of staff and customers.

Struggling to discern the figures amidst the chaos, you squinted, trying to make out the details. One of them was a slender demon, dressed immaculately, with cedar-brown skin and long, fiery red curls tied into neat pigtails.

A sinking feeling settled in your chest as you recognized her as one of Hell's infamous overlords. Your heart plummeted further as you caught sight of Mimzy, ensnared in Velvette's vice-like grip, fear twisting her features as she struggled against her captor.

But it was the presence of the figure behind Velvette that truly sent a shiver down your spine.

The TV Demon, Vox.

His gaze swept over the room with a detached coldness, as if the pandemonium were of little consequence. Suddenly, his icy eyes locked onto yours, freezing you in place.

"Mimzy, dear," Vox's voice buzzed with deceptive sweetness as he addressed the shaking blonde. "Why don't you go and have a little chat with your esteemed employee about our... conditions?"

Wide-eyed with fear, Mimzy frantically nodded, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Make it quick," Velvette scoffed, releasing her grip on Mimzy's throat. The blonde stumbled toward you, her movements shaky and unsteady.

"What is—" you started, but Mimzy cut you off, panic evident as she began to drag you backstage. Without a moment's hesitation, she pushed you into your dressing room, swiftly locking the door behind you.

"Mimzy, what in hell is going on out there?" you demanded, leaning down to her height and shaking her by the arms.

Mimzy's breaths came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door, her eyes wide with terror. She struggled to find her words, her entire figure trembling as she tried to compose herself.

"It's Velvette," she finally managed to choke out.

"Why is she here? What does she want from us?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your tone as you searched Mimzy's face for answers. But her response only added to your unease.

"You need to go with them," Mimzy decided abruptly.

"Go with who? What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice turning breathless with disbelief.

"She's out for payback, see? And she won't stop until she gets it," Mimzy explained, her tone grave yet determined, like she had some ace up her sleeve. "I gotta level the playing field, doll. She wants a replacement, and she's chosen you."

"I can't just go along with this!" your voice rose to a shout as you began to shake her again, nails digging into the chiffon of her glove. "My contract with you ends in a year. If I go with them, I'll be their pawn for all of eternity!"

"I can't just risk Velvette destroying everything I've built!" Mimzy defended herself, her tone devoid of remorse. "Do you have any idea how much work it took for me to get this place running?!"

Anger surged within you, fueled by betrayal and fear. "What about me? What about Alastor?"

"Oh, him again!" Mimzy shook her arms away from your grip and pushed herself off the door. "You've been so obsessed with that radio fool, you've forgotten who's been with you since the very start! Ever since you got hitched to him, you stopped caring about a damn thing!"

"I cared! And I still bloody well care, Mimzy!" you shot back, your voice rising with anger. Your eyes blazed with fire, cracks beginning to form on your face as your demon form threatened to break free. "But you were an empty, hollow shell of a woman with naught in her head but money! You'd sell out anyone, even me, to get what you want!"

Mimzy recoiled slightly, her façade momentarily cracked by your words. "You-You think you're any better? Running off with your precious Alastor, pretending like he's the savior of your life. But I know you've heard his broadcasts. I know you've seen the news. He's no better than me, playing you like a puppet while hiding behind his façade of being a good man!"

Enraged, you lunged forward, tackling her against the wall. As fury consumed you, your form contorted and twisted, taking on a monstrous semblance. Your features morphed, sharpening into angular lines, while cracks spiderwebbed across your skin like shattered porcelain. Limbs stretched and warped, turning jagged and broken, resembling the joints of a marionette. Teeth elongated into razor-sharp fangs, and as you bared them in a snarl, your lips curled back in a grotesque mockery of a mouth. "Say that again! I fucking dare you!"

"I'll say it as many times as I damn well please!" Mimzy spat, her voice trembling as she locked eyes with your hollow gaze. "Until you get it through your fucking thick, cracked skull!"

The blonde's hand darted to a nearby object, seizing hold of a picture frame within reach. With sudden, fierce motion, she swung it, the weighty wood and glass connecting with your transformed flesh in a sickening thud.

"Mph—!" Biting your lip to stifle a scream, you staggered backward. Thick blood dripped from the wound, pooling on the floor and mingling with the cracks in your porcelain-like skin.

"You've got some nerve!" Mimzy's voice thundered as she stood over you, her pale face flushing crimson with anger. "You wanted that fame, and I made it happen. Now you don't?! Fuck! Some ungrateful brat you are! Willing to throw it all away for some man! Do you really think what he feels for you is love?!"

As Mimzy's tirade continued, her words cutting through the haze of pain and anger, a sense of disorientation washed over you. Her words struck a nerve, stirring up memories that you had long tried to suppress.

Rain poured down, drenching your hunched form. The world around you blurred into a chaotic whirlwind of colors and shapes, disorienting and suffocating.

Beneath the fabric of your dress, your knees throbbed painfully, raw from the harsh scrape against unforgiving concrete. Your hands desperately fumbled in the darkness, searching for something to anchor yourself to. Then, finally, your fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of rusting metal.

With a ragged sigh of relief, you realized you had found the gate of your house. Summoning all your remaining strength, you clasped both hands around the cold, wet metal bars and attempted to pull yourself up.

Through the haze, you felt rough hands sneak around your waist, and as your vision cleared slightly, your husband's face emerged from the blur. His once impeccable suit now clung to him like a second skin, soaked through by the downpour. Strands of his usually neat hair stuck to his forehead, dampened and dripping onto his glasses. Cursing like a sailor under his breath, he scooped you up into his arms, expression turning tense as he felt the icy chill of your body against his own.

If you weren't moving he would have thought you a corpse.

"Cher?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, but your response was sluggish, your gaze glassy and dilated. "Merde. Did you drag yourself here all alone?"

Without waiting for an answer, he moved, cradling you in his arms as he hurried back toward your house. Once inside, he wasted no time in laying you down on the sofa.

"Al," you finally spoke, whimpering softly as you raised a shaky hand towards him. Alastor immediately moved towards you, hushing your cries as he pressed a deep kiss on your lips.

Your husband moved to cradle your face in his rough hands, and what he saw shattered whatever fragments of his heart were still intact. Bruises and dried blood stained your body, your skin clammy and pale. Streaks of mascara carved paths down your tear-stained face, and your limbs twitched involuntarily. The taste of whiskey still lingered on your lips, and the fearful haze in your eyes mirrored the terror of a rabbit cornered by a wolf.

"Who did this to you?" he growled, his pupils dilating with anger as he knelt before you, gently slipping your torn stockings and muddy heels off your feet.

"Mimzy," you sobbed out, curling into yourself, the weight of it all feeling too heavy on your shoulders.

"I tried to quit. She didn't let me. The bar. She gave me a drink. More and more. I couldn't stop. I was just so upset." Your words were fragmented, broken by the wrenching sobs that shook your fragile form, vulnerability laid bare before him.

"Mon cœur," Alastor hushed, rubbing circles into your ankle with his thumb. "Calm down. Take your time."

You made an effort, though the first few attempts were shallow and rushed. Eventually, you managed to draw in a deep breath, releasing it in a rush before taking another. And another.

"That's it, my dear. Now, what happened?"

Summoning all your strength, you opened your mouth and began to recount the harrowing events of the night.

Earlier this evening, you had mustered up enough courage to hand in your resignation letter to Mimzy. However, her reaction was far from pleasant. An argument erupted, filled with less than savory words being thrown around like daggers.

Before you knew it, Mimzy's rage boiled over, and she tackled you, raining blows upon you with a fury that bordered on madness, beating you with an inch of your life. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

Her demeanor shifted drastically, morphing from a raging storm into a gentle breeze. With a sickening sweetness, she offered you a hand up, as if nothing had happened. Weak and disoriented, you allowed her to lead you to her private bar, where she poured drink after drink, urging you to indulge.

As per habit, you found yourself consuming the alcohol with reckless abandon, the burning liquid dulling the pain and blurring the edges of reality

Alastor's heart clenched at the anguish in your voice, his expression darkening with a mixture of concern and simmering anger. Slowly, he rose from his seat and lifted you onto his lap, cradling you gently in his arms.

Taking your hand in his, he leaned in close, his voice a soft murmur.

"Let me take care of everything, doll," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. "She won't ever bother you again."

The tenderness in his voice caused your breath to hitch, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to fall into the reassurance of his presence. It offered a fleeting sense of security amidst everything surrounding you. Yet, slowly as the puzzles fell into pieces, a gnawing sense of dread clawed at your insides.

"Alastor, no," you whimpered, withdrawing your hands and pressing them against his chest, pushing him away with trembling fingers. "Please don't tell me it means what I think it does."

Your gaze pleaded with him, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance, any glimmer of hope that what you feared was not true. However, your husband's smile remained unchanged—comforting yet chilling—as he pressed another kiss to the corner of your lips.

"I would kill for you," Alastor murmured against your skin, his thumb tracing the contours of your wedding ring. Bending down, he pressed a tender kiss against the golden band, sealing his vow with the promise of bloodshed, lips lingering against the cool metal. As he drew back, you found yourself ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, pools of brown reflecting a manic fervor.

"Please let me kill for you."

Tears blurred your vision as you bowed your head, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. You knew Alastor's devotion knew no bounds. Whether it meant causing pain, shedding blood, or delving into the darkest corners of his being, he would do it for you without a moment's hesitation.

A warmth trickled down your cheeks with each blink, tracing a path along your skin. Your eyes burned fiercely, tears cascading down your flushed cheeks and silently dripping from your chin like dewdrops. As you attempted to draw deep breaths, your body shook with a desperation to escape, though you couldn't quite grasp what it was you were fleeing from.

A ragged sound echoed through the room, grating against your senses. It took you a moment to register that the noise came from your own lungs, your breaths torn and jagged as they struggled to find a rhythm.

"Okay," you whispered, the weight of that single word heavy with the burden of guilt and a future tinged with blood.

There was a soft chuckle, accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand moving to caress your cheeks. "Good girl."

Snapping back to the present, you found yourself staring at Mimzy as she raged around the room, her fury unleashed on the surroundings, wrecking anything and everything in her path.

A man who kills for you. A man who dirties his hands for you. Is that not love?

A kick from her sent your vanity toppling over, causing bottles of your perfume and whiskey to crash from its surface. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing splintering sounds that pierced your ears. As the bottles broke, the air filled with the pungent scent of flora, mingling with the rich aroma of spilled whiskey.

It must be love.

With a hand trembling from adrenaline, you ran your fingers through your hair, the sticky feeling of blood staining your palm. Rising unsteadily to your feet, you turned to face Mimzy, strands of damp, bloodied hair falling over your cracked porcelain face.

"You ornery washed-up bitch," you rasped out in a laugh, voice breathless and laced with venom. "I should have left you to rot in that forest."

Mimzy froze, her wide eyes locked on you.

"What did you say to me?" she seethed, her voice trembling with anger as she extended her hand toward the shattered liquor glass and the spilled liquid, her fingers curling into fists.

With a flick of her wrist, the whiskey began to swirl and solidify, forming chains that snaked around your limbs, binding you in place. Your muscles tensed against the restraints as Mimzy manipulated you like a puppeteer. Slowly, you reverted back to your regular form, forced to your knees before her.

The blonde bent down, her grip firm on your face, nails digging deep into your skin as she pulled your head up to face her. "You're here because of me! Everything you've ever achieved was because of me! I made you a star, and this is how you repay me?!"

You recognized the anger in her tone, but beneath it lurked a deeper pain and desperation. The poor gal was fighting to reclaim control over a situation slipping through her grasp.

A sudden knock at the door startled Mimzy, causing her to tense. The door creaked open to reveal the imposing figure of Vox filling the doorway. As he entered the room, a wave of static filled the air, crackling and sending goosebumps cascading over your skin. His gaze swept over the scene, taking note of your restraints and bloodied head before settling on Mimzy.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Under Vox's gaze, Mimzy's confident demeanor faltered, replaced by a nervous tremor in her voice. "I-I was just… settling some unfinished business, mistah," she stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

"You've just damaged the merchandise, sweetheart," Vox stated matter-of-factly, gesturing to you with a wave of his hand. "And we can't have that, now can we?"

With a casual snap of his fingers, the wires from the stage lights above writhed and twisted, tearing free from the ceiling with a deafening creak. They snaked through the air like serpents, wrapping around Mimzy's torso and dragging her away from you with a forceful yank.

With Mimzy taken care of, Vox then turned his attention to you.

"Dolly, was it?" he smiled, voice disarming. "I've got to say, I have always wanted to see you up close."

"You've seen me," you replied with a cold edge to your voice, slowly backing away and pressing yourself against the wall. "I'm here."

"Charmed," Vox smiled, his gaze heating as he drank you in, every detail of you like candy to his eyes. As Vox strode towards you, you instinctively curled into yourself, shrinking back deeper against the wall. He chuckled softly, noticing your reaction, and halted his advances. Instead, he took a seat on the cushion by your toppled vanity, glowing eyes locked onto you.

Pretty Dolly Heart.

Your lips were painted a vivid red, pouting slightly in a frown. Damp, glossy curls framed your face, shimmering in the light and tempting him to reach out and run his fingers through them. Rivulets of blood marred your temple, staining the delicate white flowers nestled into your hair.

The TV Demon was interested in you, and he wouldn't let go until he went home with you tonight, that much was clear.

"I have a deal in mind," Vox turned to Mimzy with a look in his eyes that screamed trouble. "Are you willing to trade your soul for hers?"

Your blood ran cold with fear.

"As Velvette and I are business partners, our souls contracts are intertwined. I'm sure there would be no issue if you signed the deal with me instead," he added with a chuckle, his eyes swirling with a dangerous allure.

Panic clawed at your insides, urging you to flee from the impending doom that loomed before you. But rooted to the spot by fear, you found yourself unable to move.

"Yes! A-Absolutely!" Mimzy's words shattered the heavy silence, her voice trembling with desperation as she nodded frantically. Her eyes remained nervously glued to the crackling electricity of the torn wires still wrapped around her, the fear in her gaze mirroring your own.

With a clap of his hands, Vox conjured a new contract and a strong burst of wind swept through the room, ruffling curtains and causing objects to tremble on their surfaces. Blue light flooded the walls, casting eerie shadows and filling the room with an ominous glow. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, every hair on your body standing on end as if charged with static energy.

A tablet materialized and floated before you, its screen pulsing with a faint, golden glow.

"Make her sign here, and it'll be done," Vox instructed, his voice carrying an air of finality as he handed Mimzy a stylus, tapping his clawed finger along the screen of his tablet.

With a trembling hand, Mimzy took the stylus and held it out for you, the strings of her magic wrapping around your limbs once again. You attempted to shout out, but Mimzy's magic stitched your lips shut, leaving you unable to utter a sound.

Helpless, you watched as your hand was forced to reach out and take the pen into your grasp, your fingers moving against your will as Mimzy guided them to sign the contract. With each stroke of the pen, a wave of despair washed over you, a muffled sob bubbling from your throat as your name appeared on the screen, sealing your fate.

Vox's grin widened, a glint of triumph dancing in his eyes as he held up your old paper contract with Mimzy, the words now rendered meaningless. With a swift motion, he tore it to shreds, the sound of paper ripping echoing through the tense silence of the room.

"Welcome to VoxTek, Dolly."

#next chapter will explain all of their background :DD #sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

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