Had To Post This

me and the gals talking about fictional men's cocks on tumblr dot com

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥!

read cw! summary: how the straw hat pirates treat you, a free use member of the crew pairing: straw hat crew x afab!reader, appropriate characters only ofc! cw: mdni, free use, multiple partners, vaginal sex, oral (m! and f! recieving), creampies, fingering, handjobs, groping, sex machines, voyeurism, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, bondage an: this shit rated... porn. yes im sorry this is posted so late pls forgive me guys i love y'all wc: 2.8k+ for kinktober '23!

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘, as hyper and excitable as he is, doesn't fuck you as often as you thought he would. no, the captain can't say that he's particularly interested in sex.

however, what he loves to do, nearly everyday, is grope you. his hands always scramble to squeeze at your tits or ass, your tummy or thighs, and he'll do it at almost any time of day. when it came to this whole arrangement between you and the crew, he appeared to be the most shameless.

his rubber limbs seemed to sneak up on you at the most random times of day, his head poking out from around a corner and giving you a cheeky smile.

when he does use you for more than a grope or touch, it's always fun- a mutual experience that, more often than not, leaves you both laughing.

is willing to share! if he sees you busy with someone else, he'll interrupt without thought, be it with a smack to your ass or squeeze of your breasts

sometimes he'll let you wear the hat, usually if he's in a particularly good mood

sweet, fun and spontaneous. doesn't really mark you up, intentionally anyway, nor is he ever too rough. he'll make jokes, stretch in odd ways and makes sure you always have a smile on your face

an unintentional exhibitionist. he'll grope and fuck you anywhere, thinking it's funny watching people catch you. he's been yelled at by nami for it, though

finishes everywhere and anywhere, usually getting too caught up in the moment to really care. he's messy, not thinking twice about cumming on your face, in your mouth or on your breasts

likes overstimulating you, pushing you to your limits for the sake of fun

foreplay is not the best. sometimes he just gets too excited and uses his saliva to prep you. aftercare is a lot better! he'll get cuddly and bring snacks, becoming quite clingy with you

at first, 𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 doesn't really take advantage of the free use arrangement. he's rather indifferent about it, perhaps not seeing the appeal.

that all changes after a battle that was much too close, his adrenaline running high. he throws you over his shoulder, harshly tossing you onto the bed and working to get his clothes off while growling at you to get on all fours.

he briefly remembers overhearing you talk to the girls about your times with sanji, and he makes it a mission to outdo the cook in any way he can.

you never know when he'll strike, but when you're standing on the deck and suddenly feel goosebumps rising on your skin, you know just to bend over

acknowledges that you're up for free use, but he's selfish. if he gets the urge and you happen to be with someone else, he'll most likely huff out an 'oi, move over' and get to it. usually though, he prefers to have you to himself, with your attention only on him

after a session with zoro, you'll likely be leaving with bites and bruises. he knows sanji's 'schedule' with you and intentionally fucks you beforehand, wanting to piss off the cook by leaving marks on you

had to be educated on foreplay! the others got mad at him when he put you out of commission for a few days, since he didn't prep you enough. could also use some work with aftercare, since he usually falls asleep

more than okay with taking advantage of the agreement in the sense that he allows himself to be a little bossy, as if it were a transaction (which it kind of is...)

lots of orders and quick commands. a deal is a deal, and he doesn't really build some sort of special attachment with you (like a certain cook will)

finishes in you or on your ass without fail. is pretty smug about it, mostly because he knows that the cook is going to be licking it up from you later

difficult to predict when he'll need you. could be a few times a day or twice a week or once a month. more likely to engage if he's drunk, just had a battle or if he knows sanji is near

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 has a pretty regular schedule when it comes to using you. with what she has to deal with on the ship, she wants nothing more than to plop onto bed, spread her legs and have you eat her out.

she doesn't hesitate to give you orders, somehow doing it in a way that's so sweet that you forget she's simply using you to get off. like luffy, shes also pretty big on groping, or at least, more than you'd expect.

a lot of 'innocent' touches. soft and curious pokes to your ass as you walk by. maybe a squeeze of your tits while the two of you hugged.

she's a touchy woman, up for cuddling and keeping you in the girl's cabin. nami knows the effect she has on you, using it to her advantage. when her cunning hands, she'll feel you up and give you compliments in that sultry tone of hers- the one she uses to get what she wants.

not a fan of sharing, especially with the guys. she is, however, more than willing to share with robin. with the three of you in the girl's quarters, things get pretty intense

very much a tease! she gets you worked up with the lightest of touches until you're begging her for more. nami makes you work for it

the navigator doesn't mind getting messy. she'll finger you, coax you into sucking them dry, then do it all over again. she likes spreading your wetness around, making a point to tease you about how excited you are

'better than all those dirty boys, right?'

head pusher and hair puller. when you're giving her oral, she isn't shy about letting you know what she wants

she likes being treated like a queen, obviously. nami feels high and mighty when you eat her out two or three times in a row, but when she sees how desperate you are for release, she starts coddling you and is quick to return the favor

is the first one to make you squirt, putting the guys to shame

nami is a busy woman. she mostly has you eat her out when she's stressed during the day, cuddles for a bit, then gets back to it. better with foreplay than she is with aftercare, but its fantastic all around

always seeming to hesitate would be 𝐔𝐒𝐎𝐏𝐏, who thinks that for some reason, you'll say no to his advances. even after weeks of the arrangement being in place, he'll always ask if what he does is okay.

he’s so so sweet! he touches you like it’s the first time, every time. the sniper is prone to getting heavy bouts of confidence though! with shaky breaths, he’d ask you if he made you feel better than your captain. hell, he loves it when you call him captain.

when he does find it in him to be brave, he always manages to surprise you. he creates all sorts of contraptions, with sex being lighthearted and fun as you go through his projects together.

loves to restrain you, to feel like he has control of you. you help him grow more comfortable and confident, which he appreciates. plus, he gets to let out that pervy side of him that he usually tucks away.

reluctant to share, mostly because he doesn't want to be outdone. however, he and luffy sometimes team up to give you quite the fun experience. lots of jokes and just a hint of playful competitiveness, all of which leave you nothing short of satiated

uses you on a weekly basis, but cozies up to you nearly everyday. he makes jokes about what he has in store for you, making promises of pleasure that leave your stomach in knots

an unintentional marker. might spank you too hard or leave a bruise, which makes him wheeze in embarrassment before he feels a swell of pride. a sort of 'i did that?!' to 'oh… i did that'

ties you up in all sorts of ways

he really does get off on your whines and moans. likes when you're loud

loves when you give him head. the control he has, combined with your sole focus on him, drives him crazy

the sound of you gagging on his cock turns him on more than he'd ever admit. he'll get a confidence burst and start to be more rough

loves finishing down your throat. he feels so confident and cocky, but as soon as he cums he's nervously asking if you're okay

good with foreplay and even better with aftercare… worries about your well-being and shows his gratitude toward you and your willingness to participate. tells you stories after you're all done, lulling you to sleep

when the arrangement was finalized, 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 was one of the first to take advantage of it. nearly every day he indulges in the sweetness you offer. eating you out is a must! even though sanji is aware that this is just an agreement of sorts, it doesn't stop him from growing a little more attached to you.

sex with him is all encompassing and intense in the softest way possible. he does a good job of making you feel prioritized and wanted, beyond the scope of the free use deal. he's more attentive to your desires and how you want to get fucked on any given day.

truthfully, he's just happy to be able to serve you. funny enough, he tries to be respectful when it comes to groping you around the ship or in public. while luffy might be shameless in how he touches you, sanji does not want to make you uncomfortable or taint the 'lady-like' image he has of you.

he sees you as a meal which must be savored, after all.

sanji prefers more intimate sex, even if it's just an agreement. for this reason, he's not huge on sharing.

sometimes though, while he's getting hot and heavy with you, zoro will just barge in and remind the cook that you're free use, before just… joining

gets pissed off when he spreads your legs and sees zoro's cum leaking out of you. it doesn't stop him from lapping up each drop though, since nothing could keep him from that pussy of yours

sanji uses you on the daily. the cook's appetite is insatiable, but he always makes sure to prioritize your comfort and pleasure

such a sweet talker, swirling his tongue over your clit and insisting that you're the most precious person on the ship

likes leaving subtle marks on your body, on more intimate areas that you'll forget about until you're alone.

the spot below your ear, the insides of your thighs, the delicate skin of your wrist… he thinks that smaller bites and marks have their own charm. big ol' bruises on your collarbone or neck just seem so brutish!

finishes wherever you want him to. there are moments where he'll beg to cum inside your cunt, though. you gladly let him do so.

aftercare king. any food you want is yours. he'll draw a bath for you and eat you out one last time for good measure. gets irritated when he sees the others being too rough with you

miss 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 is a force to be reckoned with. it takes her a few days before she has her first session with you, not because she was hesitant, but because she was waiting. watching.

she can play the long game, reading your cues and how you behave after having sex with other members of the crew. once she's sure she can break you down, she takes you. sex with robin is always a dizzying experience, almost unreal. between the many hands caressing you all over, and that cat-like gaze of hers, it's hard not to lose yourself.

very much a dominant lover, though whether she's soft or mean depends on her mood. regardless, she takes pleasure in watching you writhe and come undone.

it's a power play, a control she isn't fond of relinquishing.

only shares you with nami, franky and occasionally jinbei (if he's up for it), mostly because they can read the mood and follow her lead

weekly user, perhaps thrice a week if she's feeling up for it. most of the time, she's content to get you worked up for her and her only.

you can try to run off to someone else, but she knows she brings a certain element to the bedroom that no one can match

robin is slow and steady, curling her fingers just right and pulling away when you're about to burst. she's the second member to get you to squirt

she's nice to you in the meanest way possible. a lot of 'my, you're quite excited today' and 'such a sweet little thing'

hands on you and your most sensitive areas at all times. rubbing your clit, twisting your nipples and stroking every inch of skin. it's a full body experience.

does not particularly care for marking you up, physically at least. she leaves her own prints on you, something more soul-binding that goes beyond bruises and bitemarks that are bound to fade

takes care of you well before and after sex. she doesn't really indulge in quickies, only having sex when she knows the two of you will have an extended period of time to really enjoy it

on a more serious note, robin is also the one to explain to chopper what is going on between you and the crew. it does seem odd to the little reindeer, but he makes sure to be ready with contraceptives or pelvic exams when you need them.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐘 always has something special whipped up for you. within the first few days of you agreeing to this free use agreement, he indulged in you.

his dirty mind runs free with you and he doesn't hesitate to try out some new toys. thrusting sex machines and vibrating saddles… he has so many prototypes that he loves watching you squirm on.

he's also been able to give himself…upgrades that make things even more interesting. his favorite would be his detachable dick. he'll attach it to machines, watching and feeling as it effortlessly works into you.

he's not shy about such matters, not at all. sex with him is fun and he does a wonderful job of making you feel high-spirited and confident. your enthusiasm feeds into his pervy side.

down to share with anyone, honestly. this cyborg is up for most anything, given that you are, too

has you on the daily, but you never know when. sometimes it's in the morning, other times while you're getting ready for bed. if he's just restocked his cola though, you can expect a round or two

gives you his detachable dick and lets you use it as a dildo, so he can feel your cunt around him even when he's working in the shop

he eats you out and makes it messy. he spits and slurps as if your cunt was cola-flavored

likes getting head the same way. the sight of you with drool lining your lips and chin, mouth stuffed with his dick... he might let out an 'ow!' right then and there

doesn't mark you up intentionally. he just does his thing and makes sure you feel good. if he happens to leave some marks, he doesn't think too much of it

gets a little pissed off when zoro or luffy mark you up too much. he thinks they don't have to be that rough...

enjoys cumming on your chest and breasts. he's a simple man with simple pleasures

big on foreplay, but could work on his aftercare. he likes getting you worked up, likes to see you eager, but afterwards he's just so out of it. usually falls asleep and maybe hooks an arm around you

resident pervert 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊 does not hesitate. once the agreement was set into motion, your panties were quick to be snatched up.

the skeleton is a voyeur, preferring to watch as opposed to actively participating. even when you know he's spying on you, you pretend not to notice. whether it's you masturbating or having sex with another member of the crew, you can bet that he's peeping in.

brook is also very much into groping, never missing the opportunity to squeeze your plump flesh when you walk by.

truthfully, he just revels in being a pervert, especially when he knows there aren't any consequences.

up for sharing in the sense that he likes to watch. some members are more okay with it than others

he's scared the living daylights out of usopp, has been threatened by zoro and gotten encouragement from franky. he just laughs though, finding a thrill in getting caught

his eye (sockets?) are on you pretty frequently. at the end of everyday, he'll ask for your panties and pockets them with gusto

it's common for brook to ask for your panties after you're done having sex with someone else. he just thinks it's so naughty!

he'll walk by you and ask you to flash him, losing his mind every time you lift your shirt and show him your breasts

his groping is never hard enough to leave marks. he likes the squishy skin, since he's all bone, so he just has a hand on you and absentmindedly squeezes your breasts like you're a walking stress ball

like he always asks for your panties, he always asks for permission to touch and grope you

one of the most respectful would be 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐁𝐄𝐈. it takes him a while to settle into the whole arrangement. a part of him did see it as taboo, especially considering that he's a fishman.

however, he realizes that what he asks of you doesn't have to be inherently sexual. that's why, jinbei enjoys having you do mundane tasks for him, all while completely nude. his eyes are never lewd or hungry, but thoughtful as he watches you fold his clothes or make his bunk.

ever the respectful man, he doesn't want to leer at you as if you were an object. things build slowly and intimately between the two of you.

it starts as you wandering around without clothes, then it's mutual masturbation, then eventually he's fucking you.

this fishman prefers to have you to himself. he wants sex to happen in a comfortable atmosphere. it's a calming, almost therapeutic environment that he prefers to navigate you through, without the presence of others

would not mind if robin joined in, seeing as she's mature and would enjoy the vibes

he prefers not to have sex when he knows he's in a bad mood. he doesn't want to let such trivial, emotional matters guide him, but sometimes it's not avoidable, so…

marks come in the form of spanks, red patches on your ass that he's quick to soothe with a rough palm. it's a way for him to get his anger and frustration out, though the next day, once he's calmed down, he's quick to apologize

cumming inside you seems so taboo that he finds himself doing it more than he should. it's a guilty pleasure that he denies himself less and less as time goes on

sex is weekly, sometimes less. he has a fairly good handle on himself and makes it a point not to lose himself in pure lust.

he also very much takes into consideration that you're busy with others, so he doesn't want to overwhelm you

once this little arrangement is finalized, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 never worry about being alone or untended to. they know better than to leave their little free use doll unsatisfied.

when you're sick or unwell, it's everyone's problem. though you're the one being used, you're so protected and well cared for, like their secret treasure.

even if some don't explicitly express their gratitude, anyone can acknowledge that this agreement takes a toll on you in one way or another.

luffy lends you his hat, zoro shares his sake, nami loans you money, usopp makes you trinkets, sanji lets you get first pick on dessert, robin teaches you how to read poneglyphs, franky designs machines for you, brook plays you special tunes and jinbei lets you ride on all the whale sharks you want.

overall, it's a pretty sweet deal!

taglist: @queen-of-elves, @who-the-hockeysticks, @sxhy-town, @flower-hua, @iwannachokeontojifushiguroscock (thank y'all for being patient 🫶)

Jinshi was wrong. Lihua should've been allowed to clock this bitch.

I adore Lady Gyokuyou & as much fun as I have thinking about how she is the #1 Jinmao shipper, it also makes me incredibly sad. She's so sweet & gentle. In the episode about Lady Fuyou, Gyokuyou mentions to Maomao that she's jealous. This poor girl is barely older than Maomao & she knows she's not going to get a happily ever after like Fuyou. Her "love story" is just politics She is a political pawn. She knows that the Emperor's favor can disappear at a moment's notice. She loves her children, that's obvious. But the whole getting swept off her feet by a man who's madly, passionately, raise an entire army to rescue you in love is not going to be in the cards for her. And she could be so bitter, angry, and jealous that Maomao has that (and seemingly doesn't realize it), but she isn't. She's in both Maomao & Jinshi's corners & just wants them to be happy.

Jason Todd.Also Megumi Fushiguro.Also Percy Jackson but by P*rcicos and gods fuckers specifically.Also Todoroki Shouto.Also Sasuke Uchiha.Also Ichigo Kurosaki.Also Hobie Brown.Also Marshall Lee Abadeer.Also Prince Zuko.Also Nicholas D. Wolfwood-Y'know you guys get it

"Stolas isn't wrong for choosing his own happiness for once after years of abuse and depression"

and

"Octavia isn't wrong for feeling betrayed by her father and fearing she's been only an obligation to him"

are two concepts that can and should coexist.

showing of my favourite character be like

“Whatever any of us may have thought about Hatsumomo, she was like an empress in our okiya....”

— 𝘈𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘳 𝘎𝘭𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯, 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘪𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘎𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘢

Gong Li as Hatsumomo in Memoirs of a Geisha (2005)

When I first saw her, i was mesmerized on how absolutely beautiful she is!

Hatsumomo is so cruel but I loved how Gong delivered all of her lines. She’s stunning!

Season 1 arcane spoilers

vi. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, heavy warning for violence and blood, overdose, murder, death, hunting, graphic descriptions of injuries, manipulation, allusion to death, grey morality, references to alcoholism, twisted view of love, gorey descriptions of love, murder, heated scene (making out)

˚୨୧₊♱

You never really liked cars.

The first time you had ridden in one was in the 1930s.

It was after one of your shifts, the wet streets illuminated only by the flickering glow of the rusting lampposts. There you stood, still in your glad rags and wrapped in a coat, the misty drizzle kissing your face. Alastor arrived a few minutes later with a honk of his horn, surprising you with a ride home in his latest purchase—a stunning red car with a sleek roof that gleamed in the dim light, its long, sweeping fenders and rounded body cutting a striking figure against the darkness of the night.

As you got into the car, excitement tingled in your veins, eager to experience the wonders of modern transportation. However, the thrill quickly turned to fear as the speeds increased, and your husband, the ass he was, seemed to enjoy nothing more than pushing the accelerator and hearing your horrified screams. Each time the car accelerated, you found yourself clinging onto him for dear life, the rush of wind slamming against your flushed face, your heart racing in your chest.

Since then, you swore never to get into a car again, preferring the safety of solid ground beneath your feet, the memory of that terrifying ride haunting your thoughts whenever you heard the roar of an engine.

Now, standing outside and shivering in the cold, you watched as a long royal blue limo pulled up before you. The sleek vehicle gleamed under the streetlights, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the surrounding city. The doors, adorned with gold accents, were automated and opened up for you, revealing a plush interior illuminated by soft, warm lighting. Small steps extended gracefully from below, inviting you to step inside.

Velvette wasted no time and went in first, her stiletto heels clicking against the polished floor as she settled into one of the luxurious seats. Already engrossed in a phone call, her voice echoed faintly through the open doorway, mingling with the low hum of the engine.

Meanwhile, Vox stood by your side, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the pavement. You knew he was making sure you wouldn't attempt to escape, although the thought barely crossed your mind.

After all, where could you possibly run to now? Any endeavor in that direction would likely prove futile and possibly even fatal. The evidence of your soul being sold was clear, evident in the now black color of your sclera.

"Well," Vox drawled, his voice carrying a subtle edge of impatience as he gestured towards the open limousine door. "Aren't you going to go in?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you reluctantly took a step back. Vox eyed your actions warily.

"Is it safe?" you found yourself blurting out, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

"Is it safe?" Vox repeated with a scoff, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Of course it's safe! I made it!"

He pointed to the VoxTek logo on the car—as though he were a seasoned salesman promoting a product. The metal emblem gleamed under the faint streetlights. Yet, rather than assuring you, the sight of the branding only heightened your unease.

Vox noticed the lack of change in your expression and sighed, deciding to take a different approach. With a faint glimmer of empathy, he motioned toward a nearby building which had a large billboard featuring his face and image.

"See there?" he gestured, his tone adopting a persuasive edge. "See what that billboard says? VoxTek is a symbol of power and security. You're in the safest hands possible. This limousine is equipped with state-of-the-art safety features."

His attempt to reassure you only rang hollow in your ears, and despite his words, a sense of unease continued to gnaw at you. Yet, Vox still persisted, his voice softening as he stepped closer to you. You had to crane your head up to look at him while he stared down at you, his figure casting a shadow over your form.

"I assure you," he pressed, his tone gentler now. "You have nothing to fear."

With no other choice but to comply, you reluctantly stepped forward, your movements stiff and hesitant. Vox held your hand as he guided you towards the waiting limousine. As you entered the luxurious interior, the door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing your fate as the vehicle pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

Outside, the city lights blurred into streaks of color as the limousine sped through the streets. With each passing moment, the distance between you and Mimzy's torn-down lounge grew.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed when the limousine finally came to a stop, the sudden silence jolting you back to reality. As the door opened with a soft hiss, you gazed out to behold the imposing V Tower looming before you.

Its grandeur was undeniable, with its towering floors and striking red windows gleaming in the night. At the very top, a massive antenna sat, reaching towards the sky like a beacon, while a studio sign was plastered along the building's front, featuring red lips nestled within the arches of the middle V, an iconic symbol of the entertainment empire housed within.

Vox and Velvette emerged from the limousine, their presence causing a few loiterers on the street to scurry away in fear.

Oh, how you wished you could do the same.

Inside the car, you hesitated, nerves coiling in your stomach as you fidgeted with your hands. Then, unexpectedly, Vox turned to you, his expression unreadable as he extended his hand.

Surprised, you paused for a moment before accepting his hand, allowing him to guide you down the steps. The chilly night air enveloped you as your feet touched the pavement, the distant sound of the limo's engine fading away as it drove off.

Seconds passed, and Vox still maintained his grip on your hand, his hold firm. Confusion flickered in your mind as you turned to him, noticing the irritation in his gaze as he eyed your wedding ring.

"Is there a problem, mister?" you asked as you followed his gaze to your ring.

Vox's expression remained inscrutable for a moment before he finally responded, his tone cool and detached.

"I suggest you ditch that," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's a liability now. Doesn't do any favors for your image, doll."

"But I'm awfully attached. It's…" you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find a good enough excuse.

You knew all too well the consequences of revealing your connection, especially in your current vulnerable state. The mere mention of Alastor's name could unravel everything, plunging you deeper into this mess. With two powerful overlords and a soul contract hanging over your head like a guillotine, caution was not just a choice but a necessity.

"It's a symbol of your past life," Vox interjected, his voice cutting through your hesitation.

"And we're leaving that behind now." He extended his hand, the glint of his metal claws catching the dim light, mirroring the uncertainty in your expression. "Hand it over."

With a resigned sigh, you reluctantly slipped the ring off your finger, a pang of loss gripping your heart as you handed it to the overlord. Vox accepted it with a dismissive nod before tucking it into his pocket, his attention already turning back to the looming entrance of the V Tower.

As you entered the building flanked by both Vox and Velvette, you were immediately struck by the brash, modern atmosphere that engulfed you. The walls were painted in bold hues of pink and red, illuminated by the glare of oversized LED screens that flashed with images and advertisements for upcoming events. The floor beneath your feet was polished to a sterile sheen, reflecting the harsh neon lights that bathed the space.

Velvette, with her usual air of haughty superiority, led the way to your room, her steps brisk and impatient. She barely spared you a glance as she gestured towards the metal door that stood before you, its surface cold and unwelcoming.

With a swish of her fingers, she conjured an obtrusively bright star decoration on the wall, reminiscent of celebrity door decorations found in Hollywood, with your name scrawled in cursive on its surface.

"Right, if there's anything you need, you just go down to the lobby and find someone named Shalom," Velvette barked, her tone sharp and impatient, her eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Say, is there a chance I could lay my mitts on a radio?" you asked, hoping to grasp onto some semblance of familiarity in this alien environment, your eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them.

But instead of a response, Vox began to buffer, his screen flashing with bright neon glitches, while Velvette's lips curled into a sneer, her expression one of thinly veiled contempt and amusement at your request.

"Guess I'll take that as a no then?" you smiled tensely, your attempt falling flat.

To your surprise, Vox shook his head, and his screen flashed back to his face, the glitches disappearing as quickly as they had come.

The TV demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek smartphone. Without a word, he plopped it into your hand, and you turned it over, confusion evident on your face.

"A phone?" you said, flabbergasted, your eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. You blinked in astonishment, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. You were more surprised by the fact that it came from his pocket. Does he keep random smartphones on him at all times?

"Yes, a phone," Vox confirmed with a smirk, a hint of pride dancing in his eyes. "Consider it a courtesy from VoxTek. No need for a radio when we have such sleek products. This is the future! You don't need old shit from the past. Those radios barely pick up anything worth listening to, just crappy, barely audible broadcasts."

"Oh," you said, the air deflating from your lungs as a pang of disappointment settled in your chest. The phone was a thoughtful gesture, but it wasn't going to fix your longing to speak to Alastor. "Well. I suppose I should thank you."

"Don't mention it," Vox replied casually, his demeanor shifting back to its usual aloofness, his tone devoid of any genuine warmth or concern.

With a resigned sigh, you turned and stepped into your new room. You looked around the décor curiously, taking in the sleek modern furniture and it's peculiar design.

Velvette followed closely behind you, her eyes, framed with smoky eyeshadow, narrowing as she regarded you with disgust. The glint of her perfectly manicured nails caught the harsh overhead lights as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Really? A hooverette dress?" Velvette sneered, each syllable dripping with disdain. "You're like a relic from the '40s. Outdated."

You felt a surge of anger at the comment. Sure, you died near the 1940s, but that didn't mean you were outdated. Before you could even muster a response, Velvette raised a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, she effortlessly transformed the fabric of your dress. It rippled and shifted, morphing before your eyes into a pink silk pajama robe, trimmed with a cream-colored fur. She stepped back, a self-satisfied smirk curling her lips as she admired her handiwork.

"Much better," she declared with a clap. "Listen, you're representing VoxTek now. Even when sleeping, we can't have you looking like a washed-up has-been, can we?"

Swallowing your pride, you forced a tight-lipped nod, suppressing the urge to lash out in defiance.

"Yes, ma'am," you managed to grit out, your voice strained. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she retorted, her tone sharp and dismissive. "I've got a lot of work to do, and you've got a long way to go before I can get you stage ready."

With that, Velvette stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor with each brisk step. As she disappeared from view, Vox leaned in, his shadow casting a long silhouette against the wall. He reached for the doorknob, his fingers gliding over the cool metal.

"Goodnight," he murmured softly, his voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioning. With a gentle pull, he closed the door with a thud, sealing you in with your thoughts and fears. The latch clicked shut, and you were left alone, enveloped in the eerie silence of the unfamiliar space.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to survey your room even closer.

Your eyes swept over the tall walls adorned with abstract artwork, bursts of vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the subdued hues of the furniture. The wide windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, with skyscrapers twinkling in the distance like distant constellations.

Approaching the plush king-sized bed, you sank into its cloud-like mattress, feeling its comforting embrace envelop you. It was definitely an improvement from Mimzy's lounge. And yet, despite the luxurious trappings, a sense of confinement lingered. After all, a gilded cage remains a cage.

As you assessed your situation, it became clear that you were going to be the star attraction in Velvette's upcoming fashion extravaganza. Her shows were always a hit, and this year's circus-themed spectacle had her buzzing with excitement. The lead model was a singer-actress you'd heard of; you'd seen her the day Mimzy dragged her into the lounge. Pity the poor girl died.

Given the circus motif, it was apparent why Velvette had chosen you. Your background as a singer, coupled with your doll-like appearance, made you the perfect fit for the role.

The best course of action now was to play it safe. Going along with her plan was sure to draw attention, from the lowest imps to Lucifer Morningstar himself. Your face was bound to be plastered on every screen in the infernal realm, broadcasted to demons and damned souls alike. Even with his hatred for the picture shows, Alastor would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.

He would come for you, you knew it deep in your bones, and yet a pessimistic voice in the back of your head whispered doubts.

Did you even deserve to be taken back after all of this?

With these thoughts weighing heavily on your mind like an anchor dragging you into the depths, you closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your lids. But sleep remained elusive, evading your grasp.

As the night wore on, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy fog, its tendrils enveloping you in a suffocating embrace. Despite the turmoil raging within, your body succumbed to weariness, and gradually, you slipped into your dreams.

˚୨୧₊♱

Both you and Alastor embarked on a slow journey through the darkened streets of Louisiana, the car's headlights cutting through the enveloping gloom like beacons in the night. Carefully navigating the labyrinthine city, you avoided the occasional patrol car with its blinding flashlights, skirting through shadowed alleys and side streets to evade detection.

Finally reaching the outskirts of town, where the looming forest awaited, Alastor brought the car to a halt, the engine's low hum fading into the night. Turning to you, he noticed the fear etched on your face, your wide eyes reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

With a tender touch, Alastor took your trembling hand in his, calling for you. "Cher?"

You turned to him, your lips parting slightly as tears welled in your eyes. Alastor's touch was feather-light as his fingertips traced a delicate path along the curve of your cheek. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he coaxed your eyelids closed, a silent gesture of comfort in the face of overwhelming emotions. Tears streamed down your cheeks, leaving a trail in their wake. As you blinked your eyes open again, you were met with the tender press of his lips against yours.

"We did what we had to do," Alastor murmured against your lips, his voice a low rasp that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin.

With his eyes closed, he leaned in closer, his kiss growing more urgent, almost desperate. You responded in kind, the roughness of the kiss igniting a fire within you. Feeling his fingers threading through the back of your hair, you whimpered and melted into his embrace, your hands clutching onto his broad shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Alastor groaned in response as he lifted you effortlessly from the passenger seat and settled you onto his lap. Your chest pressed flat against his, the rhythm of your heartbeat syncing with his own.

As the sky grew darker, the moon mingling with the fading hues of sunset, the wind whispered through the open windows of the car, carrying with it the promise of a new beginning.

Alastor eventually pulled away, his gaze lingering on your tousled hair and puffy lips as he leaned back in his seat, taking in every detail of your appearance. Seeing you in such a ruined state stirred something within him.

"Are you ready?" he asked. You nodded meekly in response, your heart racing.

Truth be told, you didn't think you could ever truly be ready for what you were about to do.

Your husband hummed in acknowledgment, allowing you to slip off his lap as he straightened his brown coat, the fabric rustling softly with each movement.

Guiding you out of the car, he then reached into the backseat, retrieving his hunting gun. The metallic click of the gun being loaded echoed in the quiet night. And you damn near fainted when he handed it to you, the weight of it feeling heavier than you could bear. The metal surface was icy against your palm, and you fought the urge to recoil, but Alastor pressed it firmly into your hand, his touch reassuring yet commanding.

"You'll need this," Alastor spoke lowly, bending down to your height, his glasses slipping further down the bridge of his nose. "Use it for safety. There might be wild animals out."

You hesitated, the weight of the weapon heavy in your hand, its cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. But the urgency in his tone spurred you to nod in agreement.

"Do you remember when I taught you how to hunt?" he questioned, slipping on a pair of dark leather gloves he had pulled out of his pocket. His voice was low and smooth, laced with a hint of nostalgia as he reminisced about the past. "You remember how to shoot, no?"

You nodded, eyes still glued to the gun, unable to tear your gaze away.

"Words, cher. Use your words."

"Yes, love," you whispered, finding your voice. Alastor smiled tenderly, the rough texture of his glove grazing gently against your cheek as he pressed his hand to your face one last time before stepping away.

Your husband then made his way to the trunk of the car, the soft glow of the taillights casting long shadows across the forest floor. With strong pull, he opened it, revealing its contents. Your breath caught in your throat as he retrieved a shovel and a black body bag, the sight sending a sickening feeling through your stomach.

Alastor slung the bag over his shoulder and began walking, his steps confident, as if he knew exactly where he was going. The weight of the bag seemed inconsequential to him, swinging lightly with each stride. There was an odd, almost unsettling look in his eyes as he whistled a tune, the sound echoing eerily through the silent woods. A glint of something primal and untamed flickered within their depths.

Nonetheless, you followed him, drawn to his presence like a moth to a flame. The dense canopy above seemed to swallow up the moonlight.

Trudging deeper, the shadows seemed to grow darker, more menacing. The silence pressed in on you from all sides, broken only by Alastor's whistling and the sound of your footsteps crunching on the forest floor. Each step felt like a descent into madness, the unknown lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight's beam.

Suddenly, Alastor halted in a secluded corner, where the trees were decaying, their long branches resembling gnarled fingers reaching out for you in the darkness. He turned to you, the dim light of your flashlight reflecting off his glasses, giving his brown eyes an otherworldly glint.

In that moment, illuminated by the pale beam, he looked almost demonic, his features twisted by the play of light and shadow.

"I'll be back shortly, cher," he hummed with a smile, adjusting the bag over his shoulder. You couldn't help but notice a darkened spot on his brown coat, the collar of his white button-up now stained with crimson. "Stay here."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness, his figure swallowed by the shadows of the forest, leaving you alone amidst the looming trees.

Time stretched on endlessly, each minute feeling like an eternity as you stood alone. Faintly, you could hear the distant sound of Alastor's shovel breaking through the earth's surface, its metallic scrape and the muffled thud as it struck the soil sending another wave of nausea curling in your gut, each noise a grim reminder of the task at hand.

All you wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of your quaint house in the city.

More than anything, you longed to open a bottle of whiskey, to drown your fears and sorrows in its comforting embrace. Maybe have a second, or a third, and just forget.

Forget about all of this. Forget it all ever happened. But deep down, you knew that no amount of alcohol could erase the memories of tonight, each image now etched into your mind like scars on your soul.

All of a sudden, a rustling sound behind you sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins, followed by the distant but unmistakable bark of dogs. The sound seemed to come from all directions, surrounding you in a menacing chorus.

With a sharp gasp, you spun round and round in a whirl, your vision tunneling with fear as you scanned the darkness, eyes wide and frantic. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, seemed to magnify the sense of dread that gripped you. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, the cool night air burning in your lungs as you struggled to keep your composure.

And then, without warning, something lunged from the darkness, a blur of movement that sent your heart racing even faster. Instinct took over, and without thinking, you raised the gun and fired, the deafening sound reverberating through the silent forest.

You gasped for air, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you found yourself sitting on the damp, muddy ground. The recoil of the gun had sent you sprawling backward, leaving you disoriented and breathless.

With trembling hands, you clutched the gun closer to your chest, the cold metal providing a shaky sense of security in the darkness. Despite the fear coursing through your veins, a surge of determination propelled you forward, your muscles tensed and ready for whatever danger lay ahead. Scrambling to your feet, you pushed yourself onward.

Each step was punctuated by the crunch of underbrush beneath your boots, the sound amplifying in the stillness of the forest. Amidst the shadows and foliage, you caught a blur of brown, relief flooding through you like a wave crashing against the shore.

Oh, heavens, it was just a deer.

As you trudged towards the poor animal, your foot caught on a branch, and you stumbled, the unforgiving forest floor meeting your body with a painful thud. In the fall, your gun slipped from your grasp, skidding off into the shadows.

Wincing, you pushed yourself up to your knees, the earthy scent of decay mingling with the metallic tang of blood. You looked toward the fallen creature, its form now visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. But as you crawled over, dread crept into your heart.

There, lying face down on the dirt, was Alastor, his once-immaculate brown coat now dirtied, blending seamlessly with mud. His glasses lay shattered and discarded in front of him, glinting faintly in the dim moonlight that danced across the forest floor. A pool of crimson blood seeped from his head, staining the earth beneath him.

Your eyes widened with renewed horror as the truth dawned upon you, and you fell onto your back, scrambling away from the corpse of your husband, the damp earth sticking to your palms as you clawed at the ground in your panic.

The bark of the dogs were louder now, closer. Ignoring the dizzy vertigo in your head, you pushed yourself to your feet, your senses on high alert.

You choked out a broken apology but found that you could not hear it, that you could not make any sound at all.

You breathed, it was all you could do, all you could manage at the moment, and with the terrible weight on your chest, even that was made difficult.

What have you done?

˚୨୧₊♱

"Salutations! It's Tom back on the airwaves! Hold onto your hats because we've got some news that'll knock your socks off! Alastor Caron, the big shot radio host and husband of underground singer Dolly, also known as Y/N Caron, has been found pushing up daisies out in the sticks of Louisiana!

That's right, folks, he's dead!

Word on the street is, ol' Alastor met our maker with a bullet to the head in what can only be described as a real tragic whodunit. Sources close to the case are whispering in the wind, suggesting that Dolly herself might be mixed up in this spicy little affair. The coppers found her fingerprints on the gun! Can you believe it?! Stay tuned as we peel back the curtain and spill the tea on this sto—"

You shut the radio off with a frustrated slam of your fist, the sound echoing through the desolate living room.

Eviction papers and newspapers, crumpled and worn from countless readings, are strewn haphazardly across the table.

"Gone Girl," "Husband-killer," "Missing Marionette," "A Doll's Vanishing Act," "Manhunt underway for Suspected Murderer," "Louisiana Radio Host dead; Wife blamed."

The headlines scream, each word a painful reminder of the nightmare engulfing your life.

Empty bottles litter around you, their contents spilled and forgotten, the sharp scent of alcohol mingling with the drowning feeling of grief that permeates the room. Sirens wail in the distance while red and blue lights dance along the walls, cast by the dim light filtering through tightly shut curtains.

As you reach for another bottle, the drinks blur into one another, their labels indistinguishable in the dark room. The burning sensation as the liquid courses down your throat offers temporary relief from the turmoil raging inside your mind, numbing the pain and grief threatening to consume you. Each sip takes you further into a haze.

The room spins around you, items warping and dancing in a twisted mockery of your predicament. There are whispers now, soft and insidious, slithering into your ears like serpents. You try to push away the accusing voices echoing in your mind, drowning them out with your bottle's numbing embrace. But with each passing moment, the weight of the accusations grows heavier, dragging you deeper into despair.

Nausea churns in the pit of your stomach, and you finally stop moving, the dizziness overwhelming you. A deathly coldness settles over you, seeping into your bones like icy tendrils, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Your fingers lose their grip on the bottle, and it crashes to the ground with a shattering sound that echoes in the stillness of the room, shards of glass scattering across the floor like stars falling from the sky. You follow suit, collapsing onto the floor, limbs heavy and muscles twitching.

You stare vacantly ahead, unable to move, your eyes glazed over with a hollow emptiness as a sense of dread washes over you, suffusing the air with an oppressive weight. Each breath feels like a battle, your chest tightening with every inhalation, as if your lungs were filled with water.

Your breaths grow more labored, each one shallower than the last, until they eventually cease altogether, leaving you gasping for air that refuses to come.

The world around you fades into darkness, the edges of your vision blurring as consciousness slips away, leaving you engulfed in a silence broken only by the faint echo of your last heartbeat.

˚୨୧₊♱

There was screaming.

Footsteps thudded along a path nearby, accompanied by the fluttering of wings as creatures soared overhead.

You awaken with a startle, disoriented and groggy.

Slowly sitting up, you find yourself surrounded by a crimson landscape, a pentagram shimmering ominously in the air above you. As you move, your hand sinks into something cold and wet, a sickening squelch accompanying the sensation.

Horror grips you as you realize your hand is touching a corpse, its monstrous form adorned with twisted horns, jagged tails, and rows of sharp teeth. The pair of lifeless eyes shift and stare into you, devoid of any trace of humanity.

Frozen with terror and panic, you scramble away from the grotesque sight, the ground slick with crimson ichor, each step leaving bloody handprints and footprints in your wake.

The evening light of this place reveals a grim environment surrounding you – a lumpy, uneven field of corpses and bones, a mass grave unlike any you've ever seen. But these corpses are not human; they are demonic, twisted and contorted in death.

Before you can even make sense of this grotesque scene, a spear slices through the air, its sharp tip gleaming in the dim light. With a thud, it embeds itself into the ground beside you. A sharp, stinging sensation follows as your cheeks burn, crimson liquid trailing down your skin.

Gasping for breath, you look up and catch sight of a figure soaring overhead, its massive wings spread wide against the crimson sky. Each beat sends a gust of wind rushing past you, whipping your hair around your face. The figure's single eye fixates on you, its gaze piercing through the darkness, the other obscured by a large 'X' mark.

Adrenaline surges through your veins as you run away, the cold sweat of fear prickling your skin.

Your surroundings blur into a chaotic whirlwind as you race through the labyrinthine alleys of Hell. With every stride, your heart pounds in your chest like a drum. Each footfall echoes in the narrow passageways, the walls closing in around you like a vice, but the chase of the angel behind you drives you forward, your muscles burning with exertion as you push yourself to your limits.

Suddenly, you're yanked to a stop, your body colliding with a stone floor as you're pulled into a hidden doorway. Pain shoots through your arm, and you wince, clutching it tightly against your chest. It throbs with a dull ache, bruised from the fall.

As you cautiously lift your gaze, you find yourself in a familiar setting—a speakeasy, though more rugged and rundown than you were used to. The air is thick with the scent of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol. Mismatched furniture and a barely held-together bar give the place a sense of makeshift charm.

"Well, look who it is."

The voice freezes you in place, and your eyes nervously move upward to see a familiar blonde woman before you, her sharp teeth glinting in the dim light, her eyes dark and intense.

"Mimzy?" you whisper, disbelief coloring your voice.

"It's me!" she cheers, swinging her legs and jazzing her arms up in the air. With a jump, she plops onto the ground, circling your hunched-over form with a mischievous grin. "How you doin', Dolly?"

"How?" your mind scrambles. "You-You…"

"I know! You thought I was dead?" she snickers before knocking you upside the head playfully. "Welcome to the afterlife, you ditz!"

"What?" you rasp, eyes frantically darting from her to your surroundings. "What are you talking about? Why do you look like that?!"

"Look what? Adorable~?" Mimzy hums and waltzes over to a gramophone, inserting a disk and starting a scratching melody that fills the speakeasy.

Hello, Dolly! Well, hello, Dolly! It's so nice to have you back where you belong~

"Come on, Dolly," Mimzy says, her voice low and melodic as she sways to the music. The bedazzled fringes of her dress sparkle in the dim light as she twirls, her heels dragging along the floorboards. "You haven't been living under a rock, have you? Or did'ja just arrive?"

You're lookin' swell, Dolly I can tell, Dolly You're still glowin', you're still crowin' You're still goin' strong

"I don't understand," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. Everything feels like a dream—a nightmare, more accurately. "Where am I? What's going on?"

"We're both dead," Mimzy chuckles, tapping her heels along to the beat.

We feel the room swayin' While the band's playin' One of your old favourite songs from way back when

"What do you mean?" you manage to croak out, the words barely audible over the music.

Mimzy pauses mid-twirl. "Oh, Dolly," she sighs, shaking her head. "Hell, darling. We're in Hell."

Your blood runs cold at her words, the reality of your situation sinking in like a heavy weight on your chest. The memories of that fateful night flood your mind, filling you with a sense of guilt and despair.

Before you can voice your thoughts, Mimzy grabs your hand and pulls you into a dance, the gramophone's melody swirling around you like a sinister lullaby.

"So, take her wrap, fellas," Mimzy sings along, her laughter echoing off the walls. Her eyes gleam with a mischievous light as she leads you through the steps of the choreography you once knew so well. She twirls you around and drops you into a dip. "Find her an empty lap, fellas!"

"Dolly'll never go away again~"

You feel a surge of frustration building within you, the absurdity of overwhelming your senses. With a shout of anger, you push Mimzy away, a scowl etched deep on your face. She stumbles back, nearly losing her balance in her heels, her smile fading into a look of annoyance.

"Will you cut it out!" you snap, your voice echoing in the empty speakeasy. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Killjoy." Mimzy rolls her eyes and lets out a scoff, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. She moves over to the gramophone and turns it off, the melody abruptly silenced.

"I just told you what was going on, you doof!" Mimzy retorts, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The speakeasy falls into an uneasy silence, the air thick with tension, broken only by the faint sound of distant screams echoing outside the building. You gesture toward the source of the noise with a look of shock.

"Alright, I know well enough why I'm here, but what is that?" you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"An extermination. Angels come here to rid of sinners and such," Mimzy shrugs, her expression nonchalant despite the gravity of her words.

"Well, what about Alastor?" you press, the worry evident in your voice.

Mimzy's expression darkens, a flicker of anger crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a smirk. "Oh, you mean your darling husband? He's probably causing chaos somewhere, as usual. He'll be fine."

"I don't think he even knows you're here," she adds on with a yawn. "He probably thinks you're up in the shiny gates of heaven with his momma or something."

"Al knows I'm already dead?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yup!" Mimzy chirps, her grin widening. "Your death came out in the news months ago. But only Lord knows why it took 'em so long to get you through purgatory."

The barrage of new information leaves you dizzy, your head spinning with the implications. "Wait—my death? The news?"

Mimzy moves over to the bar, kneeling down the worn floorboards as she digs through the bottom drawers.

"Didja know there's this little killin' business in Hell? I.M.P.—the Immediate Murder Professionals. And there's this cute little fella named Blitzo who does deliveries for me. I was his first costumer and poor guy needs the extra money so—"

"Mimzy, why are you telling me this?" you interject, confusion evident in your tone.

Mimzy's grin widens as she peeks at you from over the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Well, sweetcheeks," she purrs, continuing to leaf through piles of paper, "if you paid attention to their name, they do murder. Murder in the human world, to be exact. And I hired them to go snuff you out!"

"But lo and behold, to my surprise," Mimzy continues, her tone laced with amusement, "you did their job for 'em! And this is what they brought back as proof."

With a flourish, Mimzy procures a newspaper from the depths of the cabident, her hands waving it around in excitement. She throws it to you, and you catch it, fumbling to see the headline. Your stomach churns as you take in the bold letters.

'LAST SWING: Speakeasy Star Suspected of Husband's Murder Dies in Alcohol Overdose.'

"Hi-larious!" Mimzy snorts as she presses a finger against the title, her expression gleeful. You hold the paper up, your hands trembling as you read through the article detailing your own death.

With a cackle, Mimzy jumps onto a nearby table, her movements lithe and energetic as she snatches the paper away from you.

"So, did'ja do it?" she taunts, leaning in close to your face with a devilish grin. "Didn't take you as the type. What was it? Poison? Housewife classic, I tell ya. Maybe a knife? Good ole push him down the stairs? Or was it a gun?"

You tense up at her last words, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Mimzy smirks, her snicker ringing out like a sinister melody. Curls bounce around her face as she leans in closer, her lips practically ghosting against your cut.

"You shot him?"

"I—" you stutter, your breath catching in your throat as you run a hand through your frazzled hair, the disheveled strands tangling under your trembling fingers. "I didn't mean to! Heavens. I thought he was a deer!"

At that, Mimzy bursts out in loud laughter, tears streaming down her face as she clutches her stomach, doubling over with mirth. The sound echoes off the grimy walls of the speakeasy.

"Is that right?" she wheezes between fits of laughter, slapping her knee while still shaking with amusement. "No wonder he looks like a deer! Oh! The irony!"

"Deer?" you whisper out in confusion, your mind struggling to grasp the implications of her words amidst the chaos of her laughter. She laughs even harder at your response, kicking her feet in the air with unrestrained glee.

After a few minutes, she finally calms down. With a skip in her step and a glint in her eyes, she saunters over to you. Humming a tune, Mimzy twirls around you again, her movements fluid and graceful despite her earlier outburst.

"I know something you don't know~" she sings.

"What do you mean?" you frown, your voice trembling as you gaze at her, searching for any hint of what she's hiding.

"All in good time. I've told you a lot already, didn't I?" Mimzy replies cryptically, her tone snappy. "Let's see—I graciously saved you from that angel that was ready to spill your guts out, I've given you a wonderful welcome, helped you learn about your death, and, well, you were involved in my murder. I'd say the scales aren't balanced! You owe me. A lot."

Guilt churns in your gut as you nervously wring your hands. "Mimzy, no words can express how much guilt I feel about your—"

"Oh, cut the weeping dame bullshit. I don't care about that," Mimzy interrupts with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. Her eyes gleam with a predatory intensity as she leans in closer.

"I'm feeling generous today," she purrs, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. "So, I'll make you a deal."

You eye her warily, the guilt in your gut twisting into a knot of apprehension. Despite your unease, you nod, silently urging her to continue, bracing yourself for whatever devil's bargain she has in store.

"In exchange for absolving your involvement in my murder and providing information on your husband," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice, "you'll owe me a favor. A big one. I want you to work for me again."

You tense, your mind racing as you process her proposition, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach. "What?"

Mimzy's smirk widens at your reaction, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she relishes in your discomfort. "That's right, sugar. I want you back on the job, working for me just like old times."

"Well I… I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you reply, clenching your fists in frustration.

Mimzy's laughter reverberates through the speakeasy, each chuckle sending shivers down your spine.

"Of course not! Would you prefer to go running to Alastor instead? Oh, dear hubby, please shield me from the consequences of my sins! My apologies for putting a bullet in your skull!" she mocks your voice, drawling the syllables out as she clasps her hands together and bats her eyes at you.

A surge of humiliation and guilt washes over you, weighing heavy on your shoulders as you struggle to come to terms with the choices before you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Despite the overwhelming guilt and shame swirling within you, you know that you're cornered. Mimzy has you right where she wants you, and the only way out is to play her game.

"Fine," you say through gritted teeth, your voice tinged with resignation. "I'll work for you again."

Mimzy's grin widens, her sharp teeth flashed at you. "Excellent choice, darling. You won't regret it."

With a snap of her fingers, a contract materializes in her hand. She hands it over to you, and you read through it. Funnily enough, it looks almost identical to your previous employment contract in the living with her, but one detail catches your eye.

"To settle the debt incurred due to the aforementioned act, Y/N Caron, acknowledging the gravity of her transgressions, agrees to become a singer for Mimzy's Lounge for a duration of ten decades," you read the line in shock. Turning to Mimzy, you clutch the contract tightly, your nails threatening to break the paper. "Ten decades?!"

"What?" Mimzy scoffs, her voice dripping with derision. "You stuck here for all of eternity anyways, and so is your husband. Might as well do something."

With a theatrical flourish, Mimzy reaches into her chest and pulls out a pen, waggling it teasingly in your face. "So? What will it be? Are ya gonna sign the contract? Or am I gonna have to throw you out where those angels can tear you to pieces?"

You read through the contract again, your eyes frantically scanning the paper for any loophole or escape route, but you come up empty-handed. With a sinking feeling in your chest, you realize that you're in this for the long haul.

"But what about Alastor?" you pressed, urgency creeping into your voice.

Mimzy's laughter filled the speakeasy, bouncing off the walls like mocking echoes. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed with faux sympathy, "haven't you read the fine print? Your dear Alastor is strictly off-limits. Can't have him interfering with our little arrangement, now can we?"

"But… I need to see him," you pleaded, desperation lacing your words.

Mimzy's smirk widened into a wicked grin as she leaned in closer, mischief gleaming in her eyes. "And I need to make sure my end of the deal is fulfilled," she countered firmly.

Glancing down at the contract, you saw her pointing to a specific section. "Y/N Caron's husband, Alastor Caron, is strictly forbidden from being physically present around her in any way, shape, or form for the safety and integrity of this agreement."

"But… can't we find some middle ground?" you asked, a sliver of hope lingering in your voice.

"Ah, I've got an idea," Mimzy grinned , reaching into her drawer and pulling out an old radio. She extended it towards you. "You can talk with him as much as you like. This little radio will be your hotline to him. But there's a catch: he stays far, far away from you and this joint. How's that sound?"

Twisting the radio in your trembling hands, you felt the weight of the decision settle heavily on your shoulders. The device seemed ancient, its surface worn and its knobs slightly rusted, yet it held the power to bridge the seemingly insurmountable gap between you and Alastor. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly brought the pen to the paper, the ink blotting the sheet as you signed your name away, sealing your fate.

"It's a deal."