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tiyoin · 1 month

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prima donna

it wasn’t much, but it was home.

there wasn’t a day that went by that you weren’t free, weren’t flying, weren’t dancing twirling and swirling on the dance floor.

wasn’t a night where you wouldn’t have your crips voice flood the bar. where people wouldn’t drop their tasks to watch in awe as your songs took flight, soaring through the skies as you bring them along your adventure

you ignored the creaky floor boards, the loose nails, and the odd stench. you helped fix up the moth chewed curtains, stayed later to clean up the seating areas and came in earlier to clean the bar and stock inventory.

yet those hours seemed to get lost in translation as your weekly cash flow never increased.

yes it was sleazy, but in a sinful establishment as this it’s to be expected.

albeit a less than stellar start to your career, vil had insisted that it was wise to have a ‘humble beginning’. you argued that being a forever orphan in a entirely new world was a good enough start, but you both knew it was less than wise to reveal such a thing.

information is power in showbiz after all.

so here you were, currently employed as an entertainer in the ‘soul of the hare; bar and lounge’. it was lounge known for their entertainment, especially for its signature themes. every quarter the owner would send a poll to their customers- no, their vip customers- only. they give them 4 options for this quarters theme. each and every time the theme would get picked, a new one would take its place in the next poll. and if a theme didn't get picked for 3 polls in a row, then it was 'executed.'

but no matter what theme they'd dress you up in, it was always accompanied by a pair of fishnets and an undersized costume. it was no doubt less than savory for your taste. the sexy clothes were a little too flimsy, the corsets were a little to tight, and the leather boots sometimes a little too tight to the point it'd give you blisters and leave your legs a blue-ish color you know they're supposed to be.

but the entertainment part of the job... some got luckier than others. like you.

all you had to do was dress up in your little (literal) costumes, put on your cheap makeup- until the stylists had a fit and demanded they use their higher end makeup- and sing your little heart out for the patrons.

the songs they would make you sing were according to the theme. if it was underwater themed they would make you into some kind of siren. if it was medieval themed with dragons and knights, they would make you into some kind of 'princcess.' yet you knew that if past princesses saw you... costume- if you could hardly call it that- they'd be rolling in their graves.

and the choreography- whenever they'd show you what you'd have to do it made your nose itch. and when they would make you practice said choreo... it made you want to crawl out of your skin as you imagined the mirror to be the audience. stopping their sleay business talks to gawk and leer at you.

it didn't matter the theme you part took in, or choero you were forced to preform every time you were on stage. but every time you would re-enter the living world and slip out of your own fantasy- gleaming, beady eyes would always be staring right back at you.

like canine eyes at ngiht you could see each glasses- head's reflective gaze through their clear speeks. no matter how long someones bangs were you'd still catch the light in their eye. it didn't even matter if you had a mask on, you could still feel their eyes tracking your every movement, every flinch and muscle spasm.

eyes were everywhere.

but…

this was your chance. you can put up with a few unpaid hours, a few patrons eyeing you and the silly props they made you preform with. the costumes weren't... too bad. one you got out of your comfort zone you were able ignore the pinching fabrics, and hey! the leather booty shorts for pirate quarter weren't that short if you pulled them down enough. and look! they even gave you a little top hat head band for the circus quarter! how cute!!

and a whip too… but that's besides the point

despite the religious sounding name, the soul of the hare is a mature club where lots of people do private business. where the illegal scoundrels would meet to make soul binding deals, or to simply come out for a drink and enjoy the scene. you're were able to recognize a few politicians, businessmen, and celebrities... and a few influencers who were promptly escorted out when they didnt listen to the 'no phone rule'

it’s a… speakeasy, of sorts; a speakeasy for the rich, famous, and important people are able to fuck around and find it without any consequences... hence the open dance floor below the creakily old stage.

it’s the greatest kept secret in modern high society.

and yet...it was heaven for its customers and hell for its employees.

you couldn’t remember a time when you got a full eight hours of sleep and didn’t have some kind of discoloration on you.

whenever you guys were getting to open for the night, the stage owner would always gather you up for a little pep talk of sorts. and yet he would always say the exacts same thing:

'to break the heart of a hare you will need to jack hammer it. you will need to beat it down until it can no longer fight, til it can no longer even flinch. to the point where the muscles are fully torn and the bones are grown to dust. it's you choice whether you're the jack hammer, or the hare.'

...each time she said it you cringed every time. it's stupid. thought of last minute and not as motivational as they think it is.

but regardless of how hard the work got, no matter how hard the girls sucked at being girls girls: this was your chance

this was the break the future legends of tomorrow- you got. nothing comes easy in life. you knew that first hand. from teleporting to a strange world, being in an all boys school for 4 years, and dealing with... him. you could do anything.

no matter how much you got ground into the ground- you'd allow it.

you'd allow the backhanded comments about your weight, about you background- you'd allow it. you'd allow them to use and abuse you in order to turn out perfect. you'd give them access to your soul, to your gifts.

vil had told you it was the ultimate sacrifice. that monetary distresses were temporary and if you were able to suffer unimaginable hardships and up your work ethic to the test: you would be rewarded with the will of steel. with a new found hunger; a blossoming passion blooming through out your very being as you're pushed and shoved and chipped away into the perfect gem.

this was the place where diamond in the roughs go to get shaped and polished into gemstones.

you weren’t sure if you regretted it or not. truly.

you have reached unimaginable heights here. you’ve found your niche, you’ve improved more than you ever your wildest daydreams deemed possible; more than your old teacher would even allow you to dream of.

when you danced you were not longer awkward and self conscious. your body moved as one the way a river would run through a forest. twisting and turning yet never stopping, never ceasing its flow no matter how big the rocks were, how shallow the bank was, especially if the water got thinner up ahead. when you danced you felt loose like water. free as a flowing stream.

every time you finished dancing you had nameless shadows snapping at your performances like the pretentious characters they were playing.

more than once you were offered a pay raise to entertain. to connect - with the customers. it was even highly encouraged by your managers for you to connect because of your popularity.

you'd always decline.

your fellow performers lunged and clawed for those chances, bled and practiced til their knees dislocated for those chances. they were willing to do anything for the opportunity to connect and make a lasting impression with the rich and powerful.

you didn’t need to. you had vil. you had one of your closest friend since college in your corner. watching your every move and guiding your every step. you didn’t need to do that side of the job since you already had vil’s support.

he'd make sure you were eating well, got the moves correct, and sung with the voice of a prodigy- nailing every high note and bridge that the others couldn't reach.

of course your peers were jealous. sure, they envied you having vil in your corner- but it's because you were given training they didn't have. you were trapped under the wing of a world star professional. and all they had were business men and second-tier wanna-be's.

but you also kept your soul.

... you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you succumbed to the industry and joined the other clawing prisoners and sign your life away.

if you didn't have your soul, then who were you?

you didn’t want to hand over your soul to some slime-ball producer. so, you locked it away in a box and carried it wherever you went while vil protected it's key.

for now.

it was a cautious trade. a hesitant sign as you made a legally binding contract with vil schoenheit. of course he supported you! but he wanted to have at least a little bit of compensation for his…investments. you can’t blame him can you?

after all, your improvement and growth is being sponsored by his kindness... and the fact that it would keep him up at night knowing your talents were going to waste. oh and money of course. lots and lots of money. he always made sure to remind you of that.

every time he took you outfit shopping he wouldn't even look at the price tags, every time you would find yourself laying in bed too sore to practice he'd give you a call asking how you were.

he'd especially call you when he had a sneaking suspicion that you were drowning yourself in a hidden bottle of vodka a entertainer snuck in for you last night. he made sure to drill into you the unspeakable number of dollars he would spend on you. barking at you and your carelessness while you were too hung over from your previous nights activities with said bottle of liquor.

you were glad he hadn't outright called you a burden. if he said then you decided you would kill yourself that very night.

you felt bad for how much you made vil stress and worry, truly! but improvement came with a price. talent can only get you so far until you’re evenly matched with everyone else. its either you're getting worse or they’re getting better. every day you fight for your place in the studio. fight for your place on both the big, old stage and the tiny platforms they'd allowed the exceptional dancers to dance on.

every night there’s another muffled sniffle in the dormitories coming from a different bunk each night. you were older, the fresh age of 21, there is no way you should be crying- no reason for someone so grown to be acting like such a child.

but a person can only take so much of the same rigorous routine for so long. can only push their limits for so long.

you couldn’t disappoint vil.

you couldn’t disappoint yourself.

you couldnt allow yourself to join the desperate party that agreed to sell their very essence for a lick of fame- refused yourself to not stoop to that desperate level in order to get ahead.

you had no choice but to believe in vil's words: that a persistent, hard work ethic and talent would be enough to make your dreams a reality. that all those hours of torture weren't for nothing.

but he failed to tell you about the in between of dreams and reality. forgot to mention reality actually.

you fought.

you cried.

you bled.

you were bruised. abused. for hours

your vocal chords were tested to their limits.

each practiced step of the routine on the wobbly stage ignited a new muscle group each day.

your spine screamed in agony each night when you gently, weakly laid yourself in bed. consciousness blinking out like a blown candle before you were awakened by the shrilling alarm mere hours later. only to repeat the same process again.

you can do it.

you have to do it

you have- must do it.

you can’t disappoint vil.

you can’t disappoint yourself..

each day got a little harder. each day you got a little quieter, struggling to keep up with your friends conversations. sometimes preferring to stay silent through out their conversations.

you no longer had any spare energy to waste talking; you used permanent vocal rest as a quick excuse when your friends asked you about your sudden silence.

… a performers pride is easily broken, so they were offended enough to give you the side eye whenever you would pass. how they would all scoff and roll their eyes at you.

it was okay, it was better this way. you didn't have anyone to distract you so it's time to bring on your A game. and yet... you were alone more than ever

blinking away the thoughts, you reassociated within the crowd of performers became to clap thunderously loud.

tonight was a birthday after all, and you were tasked with giving him his present- whoever he may be.

so fire up the lights and startup the music, because the 'soul of the hare' was now open for business.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #tiyoin 🔎#vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil twst #yandere twst x reader #sorry guys- i started a new series :(#yes this is lounge singer reader EHEHHEHE #azul x reader #leona x reader #malleus x reader

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