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tasteofthedivine93 · 1 year ago

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The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Chapter 2

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3 Link: archiveofourown.org/works/57094387/chapters/145209250 Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Teen) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings: None Words: 3226

MASTERLIST // <- Chapter 1 // Chapter 3 ->

Author note: Reminder these are updated chapters - gone from 1841 words to 3226. Added in more descriptions and a little lore/backstory of reader that ties in with the end of the book

You study his now visible face. His face was narrow and sharp but a hint of softness around his cheeks. His nose was long, thin, and pointed, his cheeks hollow and his lips sculpted with a gentle cupid's bow. His lashes are long and vivid red to match his hair, surrounded by hollow darkened eye sockets that look like he hadn’t slept in years.

A small litter of brown freckles cover the high bridge of his nose. You were taken aback by his beauty - as if the gods themselves moulded him from clay.

You feel a small flutter in your stomach; you blink at him trying to hide your emotions. Yet, before you can snap yourself back to reality, the man snatches his hand away from yours as if it were on fire or ice cold. Coyly, you shrink back into yourself, pulling your cloak around your shoulders once more for comfort.

The man turns away from you, putting on a stoic and high-class demeanour. Placing his hands behind his back and standing tall. As if another person has taken over his body.

"I am Messmer, Lord o’ this Castle," he mutters as if embarrassed by his status. The two snakes that hung in the air slowly swooped down and positioned themselves close to Messmer.

Your eyes flick between the two snakes who were watching you like you were their next meal. You feel your skin crawl at their piercing gaze. Slowly, they retreat into Messmer’s red cloak.

Sensing something different, Messmer turns back around and your gaze snaps back upwards to him. He narrows his eyes at you, trying to figure out what happened behind his back. Instead, he lets out a small puff of air through his nose.

“And nay, thou art not free to leave just yet. I shall make sure thou art not here for malicious reasons. Thou didst trespass after all," he scoffs. "Thou art mine own prisoner.”

Taking in a sharp breath, you feel as if a lump has formed in your stomach. ‘Prisoner?’ rattles around your head. You start to feel fresh tears form on your lashes, wetting them again. Your mind flashes with old stories your parents told you as a child - the horrible ways the Gods would punish the commoner for stepping out of line.

The man hums, breaking you out of your spiralling thoughts, his face turned to one of the snakes that hover around him. He turns to the other, his face soft and tentative as if he were communicating with them.

You part your lips and tilt your head in curiosity. You follow the snake's body that loops around the man's limbs and torso, but then disappears under the velvet shawl draped over his shoulders. You cannot see where one snake ends and the other begins. They must be coiled around his shoulders.

He clears his throat, snapping you back to the charred room. A small blush dots your cheeks as you realise you were staring. Your eyes flicker to the shimmering gold orb but then away to the floor. You bow your head.

"I shall show thee thy bed chambers."

"My chambers?" you whisper. “But I thought I was your –.”

He cuts you off.

"Pray, shall I escort thee to the dungeon, where the finest of comforts await thee?" he snarls, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

There was a pause as you tried to understand. You were fully expected to be thrown into a cold and dark dungeon, tied to the wall with chains and left to perish. You didn’t want to upset him any further.

"No," you confirm.

“Very well, come then. Follow me.”

Before you could express your gratitude and introduce yourself, the tall man brushes past you and strolls out of his charred bedchamber. Your eyes glance at the dancing red-hot flame near the open windows once more, questioning your very out-of-character actions.

Why did you feel called to the flame? Why did you want to touch it? You would never; your mother raised you well. You had never broken a rule, never stolen even a sweet treat from the market or even a simple rada fruit berry without paying for it.

You questioned if it was your exhaustion that made you delirious for a moment. The flame danced again as if it were struggling to stay alight. A small cinder falls from the body and extinguishes on the table below, leaving behind a small orange dot.

A sense of sorrow washes over you.

Hearing Messmer’s footfall fade away, you turned away from the flame and exited the room.

Quickly, you gain pace and trot along behind him to the other side of the castle; all the while, the two snakes that never seem to leave the man stare at you with their hypnotic green eyes. They look you up and down, flicking out their forked tongues at you.

They turned to one another and nodded as if in conversation. Turning back to you, they bow their heads, and their gaze softens once they do not see you as a threat. Gently, you smile at them - at least they were polite in their introductions. Better than their master.

Pulling your attention away, you look around the hallway once again, taking in more details than before. Each wall is decorated with stone carvings of snakes and serpent creatures, eyes glistening with red and green jewels.

The lack of daylight enhances the shadows and makes you feel scared. You pass over the landing; you look down into the foyer that feels like a lifetime ago you entered the castle, but it was mere minutes.

Entering the Eastern Hallway, you notice the candles are unlit, as if no one requires their use. The darkness shrouds you, leaving the pair of you only illuminated by the candelabra the man, Lord Messmer, you correct yourself, carries and the mild glow of the rising moon from behind the filthy windows.

The walls here remain intact, paintings stay in their frames, not a single panel of wallpaper is charred or burned. The carpet still feels plush under your shoes, as if no one has even trodden on the threads. Side tables shimmer with a thick layer of dust, vases empty of flowers. You feel as if you had stepped into a place where time has stopped.

"I desire thee like it hither," Messmer comments, breaking the silence. "The castle is thy home, and thou canst access anywhere thee like," he pauses for a second and adds. "Except the basement."

You look up sheepishly at his figure, "What's in the base-?"

"TIS FORBIDDEN!" he howls, turning sharply on his heels, his cloak swooshing around him, causing a small gust of wind that blows open your cloak. The snakes around him hiss and lunge at you as if to strike. You notice how his skin sparks orange and red for a moment, thin veins glowing and illuminating from beneath the ashen flesh.

You felt yourself grow hotter as if a nearby oven had opened and closed. Like a hot gust of wind enveloped you. You take a step back in fear, blood running cold. You were not unfamiliar with fire magic, but seeing this unique pyromancy burn from within him was unprecedented.

He looks at your petrified form and presses his lips together as if embarrassed by his sudden outburst. He turns and continues walking; even the snakes twist around themselves to ignore you.

A tear falls down your cheek, and you tug your cloak around you tightly. All you can do is look up and down at the man in front of you. He towers over you by maybe just shy of two feet. You take note of his hunched shoulders, slanting at odd angles. His left shoulder is higher than his right. His torso is twisted. The fabric around his back bulges out and hides the outline of the snakes that hover around him.

You wonder if the snakes are a part of him or just very loyal companions. You heard tales of men who share their body with other animals, but the idea seemed make-believe. One of the snakes slithers closer to you, as if inspecting you, or more so that he heard you thinking about them. His forked tongue flicks out a few times. You stare at it in its emerald eyes, you smile softly. The snake recoils back and swoops over Messmer's shoulder to face him. Messmer swats the snake away like an annoying fly.

The action was so playful, you felt a small bubble of laughter in your chest that escaped. Messmer turns over his shoulder at you, his golden eye looking down at you over his shoulder, his face scowling. You drop your head to hide your blushing face.

You reach a room opposite his; opening the chamber door, he steps aside and gestures for you to enter. Inside, the room is pristine, as if never touched. The bed was made to perfection, the walls a soft moss green, the curtains wrinkle-free. The room is still bathed in darkness.

"If thou require any assistance, the servants shall attend thee." He shuffles on his feet, looking nervous. You turn back around to look up at him, you notice he looks a little shorter than before, his back hunched over, and he looks down at you. ‘Servants?’ you think to yourself. The entire castle seemed empty except for Lord Messmer. However, you nod.

"Thou shalt abide by the house rules and join me for supper," he says strongly. Behind him, you see the two snakes looking at one another and nodding as if in agreement.

You go to thank him, but before you can open your mouth, he bellows in your direction; "TIS NAY A REQUEST" and slams the door shut, leaving you in darkness. The blast from the closing door sends a shiver down your spine.

You run towards the bed and collapse onto the sheets, curling into yourself – you begin to sob.

──── ꒷ ────

Messmer slouches in his large wood-carved chair at the head of a long table filled with a feast for a hundred people. He taps the armrest impatiently with his long nails, rhythmically echoing around the empty chamber.

He feels his breathing get heavier and heavier with each intake. His contorted chest rising and falling heavily.

Frustrated, he leaps out of the chair, pushing it back, the legs scraping on the stone floor with an uncomfortable screech. He lets out a frustrated growl and turns to one of his snakes, whose head perks up at the deep noise.

"Wherefore isn't the lady hither yet? What is taking so long?!" He barks at Fídi.

The snake frowns at him, flicking out its tongue. Inside his mind, the snake speaks to him;

"You must be patient, Mess. She must be frightened." Fídi slithers slowly through the air around him. Messmer runs his hands through his vibrant red hair.

Óphis slithers around his shoulders from the opposite side, resting his head on the perch of his robe.

"Mess, have you thought she could be the one to... break this curse?" A forked tongue licks at his cheek, trying to comfort him, but instead he jerks away.

"O’ course I have!" He swats away the creature, pushing it off his shoulder with the back of his hand. "I possess nay ignorance,” he mutters at the end.

Messer flops back down into the chair and presses his fingers against his temples. He lets out a sigh and takes a deep breath. His contorted chest rising and falling slowly.

“I beg thy forgiveness.” Messmer says to his companions. They both nod together, accepting his apology. Fídi looks down for a moment in thought.

"So, you both must fall in love with each other?" he hears in his mind; the snake looks up at him, tilting its head at the question. Tongue flickering out again.

"That’s what mother said," Óphis confirms before Messmer could reply. Messmer glares at Óphis at the mention of his, their, mother. He feels a pit in his stomach at the reminder of his mother; he remembers your soft hair and gentle touch. The corners of his mouth turn down sorrowfully at the thought of your abandonment.

"But also, these things take time and..." The snake hesitates to finish the sentence.

"The flame is dwindling. I know," Messmer sighs. He drops his head into his hands, pressing the heel of his palms hard into his eyes until he sees stars. The pair look at each other and drop their heads in despair for their master's turmoil.

"This nay use, the maid is but so fair and normal and I..." he eyes the snakes, a flood of guilt bubbles in his chest. He frowns and turns away, ashamed to be cruel to his only companions. The snakes look at each other and shake their heads.

"You must help her to see the real you, Mess." Fídi slithers in the air around him, nuzzling against his shoulder, trying to encourage the melancholy man.

Messmer simply brushes the snake away again. Fídi hisses at him. "Well first, start acting like a gentleman!" The snake frowns and turns away, pouting at Messmer’s constant rudeness.

Óphis interjects, "Show her how compassionate you can be."

"Be gentle," Fídi adds on.

"Show them your wit and humour!"

"Don't frighten you again."

"Shower you with kindness and gifts."

"But don't spoil them."

"But above all..." the pair turn to him, green eyes strong with a thin pupil as they hold Messmer’s gaze; "YOU MUST CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!"

Messmer scowls at his comrades, folding his arms like a teenager and huffs, flopping back into the chair that creaks under the man's weight. He opens his mouth to counteract their comments, but the sound of the doorknob to the dining hall rattles. Messmer sits up high in his chair and watches the door as the knob turns slowly. He feels his heart jump into his throat and his stomach flip. As soon as the door clicks open, he stands quickly, lifting his contorted back straight and smoothing down his robe. He expects to see you; instead, a black-shadowy servant pops into the room.

Messmer’s face and shoulders drop with a mixture of disappointment and frustration, opening his gangly arms gesturing.

"Well?” he barks, “Where is the maiden?" he says through gritted teeth.

The translucent man shivers in fear.

"Who? Oh, the girl, well, you um, you said..."

Messmer feels the flames lick the insides of his skin; he starts to glow from irritation. The branches of his veins glow from under his greyish skin. The room starts to grow warmer under his anger.

"She’s not coming."

Bursting into flames, Messmer howls, "PARDON?!"

The poor ghostly servant drops to his knees and covers his head in his hands as Messmer storms past him, leaving behind a trail of flames and ash from each step. He storms down the corridor to your room. Red-hot fire glows around him, illuminating the corridor so brightly as if the sun rose early.

──── ꒷ ────

You swore you felt the heat from under the door before you heard him bellowing through the halls, till he is at your door. A fiery orange glow shines from under the door; the room now feels as if it has risen a few degrees in temperature.

A loud banging startles you, and you gasp at his exasperation. The walls reverberate from the violent thudding. The furniture vibrates and the candles shake from the blast.

"Did I not bid thee to join me for supper as was decreed by the rules of this house?!" Messmer roars from behind the solid wooden door.

You stand up from the bed and tiptoe to the door, hoping that if you stay quiet, he will go away.

"I know thou art within! Speak, I command thee!" Messmer barks at you.

You sigh, knowing you must reply, or he would burn you with his flames. You fold your arms across your chest and take a deep breath, trying to gain a lick of confidence.

"I'm not hungry," you state bluntly. Once the last word exited your mouth, you bit your lower lip between your teeth and raised your brows, waiting nervously for his reply.

The silence is deafening between the two of you; your only blockade is the beautifully carved wooden door. For a moment, you panic that you have said the completely wrong thing. A pit opens in your stomach.

"Come forth, or by my hand, this door shall meet with fire and be undone!" The glow from under the door turns from orange to red as he grows in frustration at your reply. "Thou art my guest! Thou forget not under whose roof thou takest thy rest."

A small bead of sweat drips down your neck as the room grows hotter.

You scoff at him, "I am not, you said yourself I am your prisoner as you distrust me so."

──── ꒷ ────

On the other side of the door, Óphis and Fídi grimace at Messmer’s reactions. The pair swoop around in front of Messmer, using their bodies to put a blockade between the couple. Óphis hovers directly in front of Messmer, catching his golden eye and bringing him out of his hissy fit.

"Master, Mess, maybe you should speak to her more... genteel?" Óphis encourages.

"Yes, this might not be the best way to show first impressions," Fídi slithers down towards the floor to look under the door; unfortunately, he cannot see inside. He rests his head on the floor for a moment.

"The lady is being most vexing!" he hisses back at his companions, who stare back at him with an unimpressed glare. Messmer scowls, knowing he is in the wrong and the snakes are right. They always are. He’d be lost without them.

“Why are you so angry at me?” you mutter through the door as if you heard their private conversation and wished to chime in. “I haven’t done anything wrong, and you treat me so…” you trail off, watching your words. Messmer presses his lips together tightly, holding his tongue between his teeth.

He takes in a few deep breaths, calming and smothering the flames till they die out and he is left as himself again. His skin returns ashen, and the temperature reduces back to normal.

“Fine.”

He turns slowly back to the door and balls his hands into fists, holding back his fury.

"Gently." Fídi reminds him.

"T’would bring me utmost joy should thou join me to supper." He speaks slowly with a clipped tone.

He waits for your reply. He can hear you behind the door breathing; you were that close.

"We say please.”

"Prithee?" he finishes.

"No thank you," you squawk at him, irate at his mood.

Messmer shoots back away from the door in anger and disgust at your rejection, mouth agape, and he scoffs.

“Thou canst not hide thyself within thy chamber for all eternity!”

You stomp your foot like a child; the gentle thud was microscopic in sound compared to Messmer’s bellowing and banging.

“I can try! I’m a prisoner after all!”

Messmer lets out another burst of heat; the veins in his arms are white from the heat. He just stands staring at the door. He knew he wouldn’t win this battle.

"So be it! Thou shalt starve then and learn the cost of thy stubborn pride!" He turns sharply on his heels and storms down the corridor, leaving behind tiny ash footprints on the once pristine rug. Fídi and Óphis drag begrudgingly behind him as they stare at your door. They try to pull Messmer back but to no avail.

──── ꒷ ────

Behind the door, you finally let out the breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You let your shoulders drop from their stiff position up next to your ears. All the fear you were so strongly holding back came flooding in. You fall to your knees and sob once more.

──── ꒷ ────

Messmer marches with speed back to his charred bedchambers, bashing the doors open with a fierce might. The remaining pieces of frames and paintings rattle and a few fall to the floor with a crash, joining the others’ remains.

"I ask with a gentle tongue, and she denies! Doth, you desire that I grovel and plead like some common fool?" he asks no one in particular. Even his companions remain silent. They’ve coiled away, hiding under his shawl, wishing to stay out of this outburst.

He storms over to the flame on the table, resting heavily on his palms. He stares at the dying fire; a flick of fear runs ice through his veins as he swears the flame looks even smaller than it did a few hours ago - before you trespassed in his castle.

He looks down to see the small golden hand mirror gifted to him by his mother before she left. She promised she would use the mirror to speak to him every day.

She vowed on the Greater Will she would.

Messmer lost track not of the days or months, but the years since he had last spoken to his mother. Instead, he picks up the cool metal. He stares at his reflection; he's grown tired of only seeing only himself looking back.

“Show me the maiden,” he whispers harshly.

The reflection swirls and fades away, swirling with gold hues - revealing you, in your chambers, sitting on the bed, wiping away tears.

He gazes upon you as you sob on your bed, brushing away the streaks left behind on your flushed cheeks. His abdomen twists and he feels bile rise in the back of his throat from self-hatred for how he's treated you. The only guests he’s had in the castle for what felt like centuries are. He sighs deeply from his soul. His heart feels heavy with guilt at his attitude towards you.

Beside him, the flame flickers and dims again, dropping more ash onto the table.

"I am naught but a fool to hope otherwise. The lady shall never see me aught..." A small golden tear falls down his cheek and splashes onto the ash. "A monster.”

#messmer #messmer the impaler #messmer x reader #elden ring #elden ring fic #divine writes #elden ring messmer #messmer the impaler x reader #messmer x f!reader #messmer x oc #messmer x original female character

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serendipdipity01 · 1 month ago

Text

viii. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

mary on a cross - yellowjackets ♱ CHAPTER EIGHT series masterlist

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰

[ ₂₀₂₁! ]

It was a little after four when Annie Jo Chambers finally stepped out of her classroom.

The sun outside had dipped low enough to stretch across the linoleum floors, catching the edge of the glass doors at the end of the hall in a spill of gold. But inside her room, it was all fluorescent fatigue. The kind that seeped into your skin and sat behind your eyes like static, like memory you couldn't shake.

She rubbed the side of her neck, thumb grazing the cross necklace at her throat—habit, not thought—and blinked down at her hands. Smudged with charcoal. A pale streak of ultramarine down the side of her thumb. The tips of her fingers were dry and cracking, little half-moons of pigment stubbornly clinging under her nails. She'd spent the last hour grading mid-semester portraits and writing long, careful notes in the margins. Encouragement with edges. Suggestions she hoped wouldn't be read as judgment.

A finished piece still sat drying near the window. It was good—unsteady in places, but bold. Confident. A sharp profile outlined in silver marker, the face rendered in blocks of oil pastel like fractured stained glass.

Callie Sadecki had signed it in the bottom right corner with a single, deliberate C.

Annie would be lying if she said she hadn't looked Callie up in the student records the moment the name showed up on her class register. It wasn't curiosity, exactly. Many of the alums from Wiskayok High stayed in their small town. Some even came back with their families, just like she had. But it was something else. Something harder to name.

Something like instinct.

The file had been easy enough to access. She had clearance for that. Her own name was on half the art curriculum, after all.

Jeff Sadecki. Shauna Sadecki.

She had stared at them for a long time when they popped up. Just those two names, typed plain in the system, quiet and heavy as a stone in her lap. She hadn't seen either of them in—God, forever—but the moment she read them, it was like a room she'd boarded up in her brain swung quietly open.

She shook the thought off like dust and stood up, flipping the lights off without ceremony.

The building had the particular hush of a high school after hours—dead vending machines, lockers half-ajar, the faint hum of custodial equipment echoing from the science wing. A damp mop smell floated in from somewhere down the corridor. Every door she passed was closed, dark behind its square windows.

She walked slow.

There was no one to rush home to, not really. The kids had their own orbit now. And Thomas—well. Thomas would be with Rowan. Probably still on the field, holding a sheet of music or waiting in the back of the band room with his usual unshakable calm.

The air shifted slightly as she passed the gym hallway.

She turned her head and paused.

The trophy case gleamed under a slant of overhead light. Polished glass, clean aluminum shelves, the faint squeak of her own shoes as she stepped closer without really meaning to.

It was there.

The 1996 Wiskayok Yellowjackets girls' soccer team photo. The one they took the day they won state and clinched their ticket to nationals. It was a little sun-faded now—edges curling slightly under the matting—but the expressions on the girls' faces were still sharp.

Jackie at the front, beaming like she'd already won the Olympics. Taissa, unsmiling but fierce in the center. Laura Lee with her hands folded like a choirgirl. Van, mid-laugh. Mari with her arms slung around someone's shoulders.

And—

Tucked all the way to the right, posture ramrod straight, chin slightly lifted like she was still trying to be perfect. Her hands were folded behind her back. Laura Lee stood beside her, looking like she belonged in a yearbook for saints.

And just above Annie's shoulder, half-smiling, half-squinting into the sun, was Natalie Scatorccio.

Annie stared at that expression longer than she meant to. Natalie looked careless. Loose. Not drunk, not high. Just easy. Like for once she hadn't realized anyone was looking.

Annie's own reflection stared back at her in the glass.

The girl in the case was seventeen. Long dirty-blonde hair. That too-careful face. The one always waiting for permission. The one always praying not to be noticed too much or not enough.

The woman in the hallway was forty-one. Brown hair just past her shoulders. A cardigan over a tucked-in blouse. Keys looped around her wrist. A silver cross glinting just under the hollow of her throat.

Her smile came before she could stop it. Just a twitch of something at the corners of her mouth.

Then—

Her phone buzzed.

The sound felt too loud in the quiet. She flinched, blinking down at the screen.

Esme: Going out

Esme: Don't wait up.

That was it. No emoji. No punctuation. Just five words, dropped like a cigarette butt on the pavement.

Annie stared at the message. Read it again. Then clicked her screen off.

Esme had been born looking sideways at the world. That tilt to her chin. That old, knowing glint in her eyes—like she was already waiting for the part where people disappointed her. Daring them to. She wore scuffed combat boots with her daily outfit and doodled skulls in the margins of her geometry homework. Her hair was the same shade Annie had once had—before the box dye, before the change. Dirty blonde and wild, refusing to tame it unless she "absolutely has to." She chipped her nail polish with her teeth and refused to say please to anyone who hadn't earned it.

Some days, Annie caught herself staring too long. The way Esme moved through a room. The way she never apologized for it.

It was like living with something she'd already lost once.

A second buzz.

Rowan: Jazz band ran long. Going with Dad to grab food. Want anything?

Annie's mouth softened.

Rowan was sixteen. Taller than he should be. All limbs and oversized flannels and hoodies, sleeves shoved up past his elbows, notebook full of scribbled time signatures and loose sketches of guitars he wanted to build. He took after his father—quiet, soft-spoken, gentle in a way that never felt weak. He still held doors open. He still said thank you to cashiers. He called his sister Ezzie, even when she told him not to.

Annie didn't reply.

Not yet.

She kept walking.

Her car was parked in its usual space—second row from the end, next to the lamppost with the busted bulb. The drive home was automatic. She didn't turn the radio on. Just let the wheels hum over the blacktop, hands at ten and two, eyes on the familiar curves of the road she could probably drive in her sleep.

The house came into view just as the sun began to fall behind the tree line—old colonial bones, porch swing half-rotted from weather, ivy crawling up the railing like a warning. The lawn had gone a little wild this spring, and the rose bushes needed pruning.

She put the car in park. Reached for the folded paper in the depths of her purse.

It wasn't sealed. Just a plain white sheet, folded once down the middle, like the Jessica Roberts woman had done it in a hurry.

You deserve to have your story told. I'll be waiting.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She looked up—

And froze.

The porch. Several of her potted plants had been knocked over. One cracked in half. Soil scattered like ash across the doormat. The herbs she'd planted in early spring—rosemary, basil, a little thyme—were half-yanked out, roots exposed. The door was shut.

But something felt off.

Not an animal.

She stepped out of the car, slow. Her shoes crunched over the gravel. She slipped her keys between her fingers like brass knuckles. A long-ingrained reflex. Something Molly once teased her for—What're you gonna do, poke somebody real hard?

Her eyes caught a shape at the end of the block.

A pale blue Fiat, parked just slightly out of place.

Someone was in it.

Then—

Gone.

The engine murmured, and the car rolled off around the corner.

A chill raced down her spine. She swallowed it. Moved to the porch.

The door wasn't broken. Just closed.

She turned the knob with her pinky. It creaked. The foyer was dim.

At first, it looked untouched.

Then her eyes adjusted.

The desk drawer had been opened. Bills, receipts, handwritten letters—all spilled across the floor like someone had wanted something and hadn't found it. Her bag lay open. Her sketchbook on its side, a page ripped out. The pen she always kept clipped to the strap snapped in half.

She shut the door behind her. Turned the lock. Double.

Her chest was tight. Her breath shorter now.

She moved to the kitchen. Opened the drawer beside the fridge—the one with the old rolling pin, the scissors, the spare flashlight. She gripped the rolling pin in both hands.

She could hear something. Maybe. A shift upstairs. A footstep?

Her fingers clenched tighter.

Then—

A voice.

Low. Raspy. Familiar like a scar.

"Still a little jumpy, huh?"

Annie froze, turning slowly.

And there—leaning against the wall like she'd never left, like she still belonged there—

Was Natalie Scatorccio.

Hair dark. Jacket the same. Eyes sharp under tired lids. She gave Annie a lopsided smile.

"You gonna hit me with that thing, Chambers?"

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

[ ₁₉₉₆! ]

It had been hours since Coach Martinez died. Hours since his body bucked against the cold forest floor, blood soaking the back of his windbreaker, mouth frozen mid-scream. And now, they were hauling what was left of him back toward the wreckage.

No one spoke. No one had offered a different plan.

The girls had fashioned a makeshift stretcher using sheets Misty had scavenged from the plane—already stained, torn at the corners. A patchwork shroud. Travis walked ahead, face pale and empty, while Javi shuffled behind with his eyes locked on the bundle they carried. Annie Jo could hear Molly's breath rasping just behind her, short and strained. Her shoulder still hung stiff at her side from the crash, and she'd refused help. As if pain was something she could trade for control.

Branches scraped Annie Jo's calves as they trudged through the forest, feet sinking into soft moss and scattered pine needles. She couldn't feel it, though. The pain from her ribs, and the pulse in her head were far worse.

By the time they reached the crash site again, the sun had fallen below the tree line. Cold settled into their bones like something permanent. Natalie was the first to move, flicking her lighter open with a sharp metallic snap. The orange glow lit her face in flashes—cheekbones sharp, brows furrowed. She knelt by the half-crumbled fire ring and coaxed a blaze to life with practiced ease.

Annie Jo didn't hesitate. She lowered herself beside Natalie, wincing as her ribs flared up again, and leaned her head gently against her shoulder.

Natalie didn't flinch. She just let it happen.

Across the clearing, Laura Lee looked up from where she sat with the others—her expression unreadable. A flicker of something passed over her face. Without a word, she stood, brushing dirt from her pants, and disappeared, nearing the plane crash. Shauna, Taissa, and Van followed behind her like shadows.

Annie Jo lifted her head slightly, just enough to watch her sister's silhouette vanish into the plane.

For a moment, she felt untethered—like the bond they'd spent sixteen years building had snapped without sound.

She blinked and looked away.

Molly had taken a seat near the fire, her legs folded tightly beneath her. Javi sat beside her, hands wrapped around his knees. He hadn't spoken since they found the coach's body. Molly reached over slowly, like she didn't want to startle him, and placed her good hand over his. He didn't look at her, but he didn't pull away.

Travis was gone. He'd disappeared somewhere between the edge of the woods and the crash site, and no one had the energy to call after him.

Eventually, the others filtered back to the fire. Laura Lee sat stiffly beside Molly, her arms wrapped tight around her stomach. Van flopped down next to Taissa, a torn package of Corn Nuts in her hand. Shauna sank into the dirt next to Jackie, her face unreadable. For a long while, they sat like that—just listening to the fire crackle, its light dancing across faces drawn tight with grief and exhaustion.

Blankets were passed around. Thin, scratchy things scavenged from the luggage, still smelling faintly of stale detergent and airport terminals. They only had enough for everyone but one.

Natalie held the last one.

Without a word, she draped it over Annie Jo's lap.

Annie Jo turned to her. "You should take it."

Natalie gave her a look. "You're hurt."

"So are you."

"We'll share," Natalie said, and before Annie Jo could protest, she tugged the blanket across both their shoulders. Her fingers brushed Annie's as she did it. Brief. Barely there.

The fire snapped. Sparks danced up into the dark.

Shauna was the first to speak.

"I'm sure the plane has an emergency transmitter," she said suddenly, her voice scratchy from disuse. "It's probably been sending out a distress signal this whole time."

Everyone looked at her, startled. It was like a spell had broken.

"They'll be here by morning," she added, more softly.

"Still..." Jackie muttered, drawing her knees to her chest. Her eyes flicked sideways to Van, who was crunching down on a mouthful of corn nuts like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to the present. "Maybe we should conserve some food? In case it takes longer?"

Annie Jo shifted. Jackie's tone was careful, but her body was rigid. There was tension there—something brittle underneath. Annie could feel it like static on her skin.

Van turned, mouth full. "You want to save the Corn Nuts?"

Jackie didn't answer.

Annie Jo sat up a little straighter, sensing it now—something sharp and sour behind Jackie's words, something more than just practicality. Guilt. Maybe even fear. And Van... Annie Jo could practically feel the heat rolling off her.

Then, from across the fire, she heard a sniff.

Annie looked up.

Laura Lee sat with her chin on her knees, gently rocking back and forth. Her fingers twisted around the frayed lace of her sneaker. A tear slid down her cheek, carving a silent path through the soot on her skin.

Annie moved to stand, but her ribs screamed in protest—and then Taissa's gaze caught hers. There was silent message in the girl's eyes. Stay still. Don't hurt yourself.

Taissa reached over, placing a tentative hand on Laura Lee's arm.

"Hey," she said quietly. "You okay?"

Laura Lee blinked hard, her lip trembling. "This is all my fault."

Annie Jo's heart stuttered. The fire cracked. Heat brushed her cheeks, but her blood went cold.

Oh God.

She felt Natalie shift beside her, her posture straightening—alert now. Annie could feel the unspoken words thrumming between them.

Did Laura Lee see something?

Annie didn't dare breathe.

"I did something really bad." Heads turned in Laura Lee's direction The girl didn't look at her sister. "I kept messing up at my piano lesson last week. Mrs. Brophy kept yelling at me. Sharp. F sharp. F sharp. I just... couldn't take it anymore."

Annie furrowed her brow, her shoulder's visibly relaxing. Mrs. Brophy. Always with the ruler tapping against the keys.

"So I called her a bad word. Just in my head, but... God heard me." The dirty blonde watched her sister shrink into herself, hands twisting together in her lap, her body a knot of guilt. "Now we're all being punished."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

"What word?" Taissa asked, softly. Not mocking, just curious.

Laura Lee shut her eyes. Her whole face scrunched with shame.

"...Cunt."

A beat of silence—then Van snorted.

Taissa gave her a weak swat, but it was too late. Laughter started rippling through the circle, uneven and gasping and raw. Shauna cracked a smile. Natalie let out a sharp bark of disbelief. Annie Jo couldn't help it—her body shook with it, sudden and unfiltered, though the laughter hurt in her chest.

Then, one by one, the laughter began.

She looked across the fire. Laura Lee's cheeks were pink, but a smile crept across her lips anyway. The tension slipped from her frame. She giggled—a small, hiccuping sound—and caught Annie's eyes.

It wasn't teasing.

It wasn't even forgiveness.

It was something else.

An invitation.

Not an apology, but a silent confession.There was something knowing in her eyes, something gentle but fierce—like she understood something that Annie Jo wan't sure of yet.

It made something in Annie's stomach twist. Her smile faltered. Her throat went tight.

"I steal shitty clothes from TJ Maxx," she said flatly, like she was reporting the weather.

"What?" Van blinked, half-laughing.

"I return them for credit. Store credit I don't use. I have, like... thousands of dollars in TJ bucks."

here was a beat—and then everyone laughed again, harder this time. The sound was like a crack in the dam.

"I—okay," Jackie said, grinning. "I used to sneak downstairs and watch Color of Night just to pause it on Bruce Willis's wang."

The laughter bubbled up, spreading like wildfire through the circle, swallowing every sound but their own voices. In that fragile, fleeting joy, no one noticed Misty standing apart by the fire, the axe gripped tightly in her hands. She held it still, watching the metal glow orange-hot in the flames, the heat reflecting in her eyes. Then, slowly, a shadow passed over her face—something unreadable, dark and distant. Without a word, she turned away from the firelight and slipped silently into the trees.

Annie Jo couldn't stop herself from glancing the way Natalie's face lit up when she laughed. She looked different like this—softer, the sharp edges smoothed. Her laugh came low and bright, curling up from somewhere real.

Annie looked at her.

Really looked.

The heat between them wasn't just warmth. It was a current, slow and circling, alive in her chest. Annie's eyes caught on the curve of Natalie's cheek, the smudge of ash near her temple, the hollow where her collarbone met her throat. Her whole body was vibrating and still at once.

Natalie glanced over and caught her watching.

Their eyes locked.

And this time neither looked away.

Annie felt her pulse spike behind her ears. She opened her mouth—she didn't know what for—but then—

A scream.

High. Sharp. Animal.

It tore through the dark like lightning splitting a tree.

Everyone froze.

Then chaos.

Shoes pounded against roots and pine needles. Taissa was the first up, Van close behind her. Shauna and Jackie took off next. Annie Jo moved without thinking, her body dragging itself upright on adrenaline and instinct, ribs screaming in protest.

Natalie ran beside her, their shoulders brushing, the cold biting at their faces.

They reached the clearing in time to see Misty drop the red-hot axe.

It clattered against the dirt with a metallic thunk.

"What the fuck, Misty?" Taissa clapped a hand over her mouth, as they skidded to a halt.

Coach Ben lay sprawled on the ground, half-conscious. His breath came in shallow gasps, teeth clenched against the pain. But it wasn't until the smell hit Annie Jo—burnt flesh and something darker, deeper, like iron and rot—that she saw it.

His leg.

Or—what was left of it.

Blackened at the end. Seared shut.

Gone.

She reeled, stumbling forward a step. The world tilted. Misty stood over him, hands shaking, throwing the axe to the ground.

Annie looked at her.

Misty looked back.

Wide-eyed. Not frantic. Not proud. Just... eerily calm. "I had to stop the bleeding," she said, facing the younger Chambers girl. "For good."

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

[ ₂₀₂₁! ]

Annie Jo didn't move.

The rolling pin in her hand stayed clenched like a lifeline—or a weapon. Her knuckles were white against the worn wood, pulse hammering so loud she could barely hear the silence. She stood frozen in the center of her kitchen, breath shallow, heart somewhere up near her throat.

And Natalie stood there like a ghost.

Just inside the doorway, her boots scuffed and wet, jacket clinging to her frame like a second skin. She looked older, of course—harsher, hollowed. Her hair was cropped short and naturally dark, the eyeliner around her eyes uneven, like she'd slept in it. If she'd slept at all. Her face was lean, sharp as a blade, shadows pooled beneath her cheekbones. But the eyes—God, the eyes were the same. That gray-blue storm Annie had never outrun.

Natalie stepped closer, into the light.

"What the hell are you gonna do with a rolling pin?" she said, voice low, half-smirk curling at her lips.

Annie raised it a fraction higher, her grip still tight. "What the hell are you doing here, Natalie?"

The other woman blinked, once. Then she took another slow step forward, eyes flicking around the room—over the tile backsplash, the stack of fourth-grade art projects stuck to the fridge with magnets, the casserole dish still crusted with baked ziti waiting by the sink.

"Nice place," she said, toneless. Then her gaze slid back to Annie, sharp again. "So... Did you send the postcard?"

Annie's mouth opened, jaw tightening. "What the hell are you—"

"I did a little digging and you'll never believe what I found," a new voice chimed in, too bright for the moment.

Annie spun.

Misty Quigley was halfway down the hall, holding a fanned-out stack of her mail like she'd just won a game of poker. She hadn't changed much—same unnerving energy, same creepy confidence—but the glasses were trendier now, in a librarian-on-stimulants sort of way.

She dropped a few envelopes on the counter."Let's see... electric bill, water bill... but this one— a lovely postcard with some very ominous symbolism," Misty said, holding it up delicately between two fingers. "Caught my attention."

"You have got to be kidding me," Annie muttered, lowering the rolling pin with a clatter onto the counter. "Did you knock over my pots? You do realize this is breaking and entering, right?"

Misty just beamed.

"I could call the cops," Annie snapped.

Natalie snorted. "Sure. Bet that would go over well."

"You," Annie pointed at her, voice shaking, "are supposed to be in therapy. Far away. Not in my house. Not—here. And you—" she turned to Misty, "—I don't even know what your job is anymore, but I'm pretty sure 'federal mail thief' isn't part of it."

"Right now, I'm a citizen detective," Misty chirped, like it was a Girl Scout badge.

"Oh, go to hell."

Before anyone could fire back, the front door creaked open behind them.

A voice called out, half-muffled by rain. "Honey? The flowerpots are knocked over again. That raccoon's back."

Then he appeared—tall, damp from the drizzle, wearing a windbreaker and balancing a pizza box in one arm.

Thomas Fielding.

He stepped into the kitchen, pausing when he saw the trio. A flicker of confusion passed over his face, then something else. Something wary.

"I... didn't know we were having guests," he said carefully. "Good thing I got pizza."

Rowan stood behind him, peeking around his dad's elbow. Natalie didn't flinch, didn't look away. But Annie felt it like static in the air—the moment of recognition passing between her husband and the woman in her kitchen.

Thomas's eyes met hers. "Everything okay?"

Annie crossed to him, took the box from his hands. Her touch was light, but her voice dropped just enough to make her meaning clear. "We'll be done in a minute. You and Rowan go wash up."

A pause. Then a nod.

Thomas gave Natalie one more glance before turning, guiding their son gently back down the hall.

When the sound of their footsteps faded, Misty's voice filled the silence.

"No way," she breathed. "You married Thomas freaking Fielding? And you have kids?!"

Annie snapped her head toward her. "Watch the volume."

Misty grinned like it was Christmas. "What are their names?"

Annie exhaled. "Rowan. And Esme."

Misty clapped like a game show host. "Adorable. Which one's adopted?"

Annie stared, deadpan. "Jesus Christ."

She rubbed at her temple. Her gaze dropped to the postcard Misty had laid on the counter like a trap. Black ink. That symbol. A time bomb dressed like junk mail.

"We're getting off track," she said tightly. "What the hell are these?"

Natalie stepped forward, her fingers brushing the edge of the postcard. She flipped it over, her face unreadable.

The moment Annie saw the back, her stomach turned to ice.

That symbol. Branded into her memory like frostbite.

She stepped back instinctively, her breath caught. "Oh, hell no," she whispered. "I'm not—I can't—"

Her voice faltered. She shook her head, eyes still locked on the card like it might burn her.

"You both got one?" she asked.

Natalie nodded slowly. "I'm sure the others have too."

Annie's brows furrowed. "Have you... talked to anyone else yet? Or did I get the break-into-your-house special treatment?"

"We were hoping to ask you the same thing," Misty said cheerfully, peeling open the pizza box and grabbing a slice like she lived there. "Been keeping in touch with anyone lately?"

Annie scoffed. "You think I have time to be pen-pals with people?"

Her mind flicked, quick and unwilling, to Shauna, who she could easily reach out to if she wanted. But she didn't want to. Then her stomach clenched at the thought of Callie: sullen, smart-mouthed, always lingering just a little too long in the back row of Annie's classroom, talking to her after class. Too close to Esme. Too close to something they weren't ready to face.

She blinked hard, redirecting.

"The last time I spoke to Molly..." She paused, her voice softening. Trying to change the topic. "She was living somewhere quiet. In the country, I think. She and Travis wanted to get away from it all. She was happy."

Natalie's jaw ticked. Her gaze found the counter.

"I knew she didn't send it," she murmured, mostly to herself.

Annie looked between them. "Wait—you thought I did?"

Misty didn't answer—just gave that trademark smile, the kind that made Annie feel like she was being weighed and catalogued. Natalie shot her a look.

"I'm a teacher," Annie snapped, stepping forward. "I grade watercolor portfolios. I teach freshman girls who cry over torn scrunchies and post passive-aggressive Instagram stories. I don't have time to play Blair Witch Reunion with you two."

Misty licked her fingers, shrugging. "You're still someone with secrets."

"That's rich coming from you," Natalie muttered, eyes still on the counter.

The tension sparked again, subtle and familiar. Three women suspended in the middle of a kitchen—but suddenly Annie wasn't in her kitchen anymore. She was seventeen again. The smell of wet pine needles in her nose. Natalie's breath warm in the cold. Blood and something holy in her throat.

She looked up at Natalie, chest rising slow.

"Don't," she said, voice barely audible. "Don't start."

Natalie's voice dropped into something more gentle. "I didn't."

Their eyes caught.

A long, aching moment. Like a thread stretched tight between them. Not broken. Just hidden under years and years of dust..

Misty's voice broke the spell.

"Ah. Just like old times." She smiled, pushing the postcard toward them. "But my friends, we still need to find out who the hell did send them."

Then—

A door slammed.

Footsteps, wet sneakers squeaking across the tile. Esme rounded the corner, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, mascara smudged like she'd gone through something and hadn't decided whether to care. Her eyes scanned the room, slow and deliberate, taking in the strangers at the kitchen island.

She stopped dead in the doorway.

"Mom?" she said, dragging out the word like it tasted sour. Her eyes swept across the scene: Misty eating pizza like it was her last meal, Natalie standing cool as hell in her boots and leather jacket, and Annie—frozen in the kitchen like a deer in headlights.

"I didn't know you had... friends," she said, lips curling with practiced teenage contempt. "This some kinda Bible study thing?"

Annie exhaled. "That's real nice, Ez. Grab a slice and go."

Esme didn't move. Her eyes caught on Natalie. A flicker of curiosity passed across her face, sharper than usual.

"Cool jacket," she said.

Natalie smirked, slow. "Thanks. Your mom used to have one just like it."

Annie's head whipped toward her, eyes wide. "Don't—"

But the damage was already done.

Esme's eyes narrowed. First at Natalie. Then at her mom. She squinted like she was trying to line up a shadow from the past with the real thing.

Then she rolled her eyes, snatched a greasy slice of pepperoni, and turned on her heel.

"Whatever. You're all freaks," she muttered, disappearing down the hallway.

Silence fell in her wake.

Misty dabbed her mouth with a napkin and looked at Annie, eyes dancing.

"Well, Jesus," she said brightly, standing up. "She's a little Natalie!"

ADDITIONAL CAST!!

𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝖾𝗅 — [ᵐᵃᵈᵈⁱᵉ ʰᵃˢˢᵒⁿ]

𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁— [ᵛⁱⁿᶜᵉ ᵐᵃᵗᵗⁱˢ]

AUTHOR'S NOTE

And that's why we lock our doors, kids.

But really—who wouldn't want Natalie Scatorccio and Misty Quigley to show up unannounced in their kitchen?

Thank you so much for reading Chapter Eight! We've officially entered the adult timeline—stepping into the wilderness of the present, where that cursed symbol is back and the past is knocking (literally).

We also finally meet Annie Jo's kids: Rowan and Esme Laura Fielding. I've been dying to introduce them, and I hope you're as intrigued by them as I am! My pinterest boards are going crazy!

If you're enjoying the story so far, your support means the world. Reposting and commenting helps more readers discover the fic, and I always appreciate hearing your thoughts on the chapter.

Next chapter: even more Annie x Natalie tension (you know the kind), plus a sprinkle of Travis x Molly... we need ship names, right??

Question of the Chapter: If you were in the adult timeline, what do you think you'd be doing when Misty finds you?

Until next time!!

#yellowjackets x oc #yellowjackets #yellowjackets oc #natalie scatorccio x oc #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #travis martinez x oc #natalie scatorccio #fanfiction #wattpad #oc #original character #shauna shipman #travis martinez #jackie taylor

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ginxyy · 9 months ago

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Love triangle

where unspoken feelings linger in the air, and where one choice could change everything

The moon hung high in the sky, its silver light spilling through the window of our practice room, illuminating the small space where dreams collided and hearts intertwined. As a songwriter for the K-pop group Seventeen, my life had always been entwined with melodies and beats, but little did I know that I was about to become the centerpiece of a romantic duet a love triangle that would leave my heart racing and my head spinning.

I remember the first time I felt the weight of their gazes, Mingyu's charming smile lighting up the atmosphere like the rising sun, and Minghao, with his brooding intensity and artistic flair, making every moment feel electric. They were like two contrasting notes in a perfect harmony, each pulling me in different directions yet drawing me closer to the very center of their world. It started off innocently enough joking banter during practice, arranging snacks in the studio for a late-night inspiration session, and playful teasing that seemed to linger in the air long after the music had faded.

Yet, as the rehearsals blended into performances, their camaraderie took on a distinctly competitive edge. Every compliment I paid to one would ignite something fierce in the other. It was as if my attention was a precious resource, an oasis in a desert of ambition, and they were both desperate to lay claim to it. Each interaction became a delicate dance of jealousy and longing, a beautiful chaos that enthralled me while simultaneously fizzing with tension.

“Are you free after practice?” Mingyu would ask, his voice warm and inviting, leaning ever so slightly closer to me as if claiming invisible territory. But just then, Minghao would flash a knowing grin, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I think we should all go for dinner. You know I can whip up something special at my place,” he would chime in, asserting his own charm, effortlessly wrapped in a bundle of confidence.

I found myself caught in this ballet of affections, where each overture felt both intoxicating and overwhelming. I longed for their attention, yet I wanted neither to break the other’s heart nor to choose between their two spectacularly different worlds. Mingyu was like a vibrant pop song, lively and catching, filled with warmth and energy, while Minghao was akin to an emotional ballad, deep and resonant, stirring my soul in ways I had never expected. How was I supposed to choose just one when the other held such a significant part of my heart?

As the days turned into weeks, the evenings spent together only intensified the emotions swirling around us. I started to welcome the fluttering excitement of their rivalry; it was as if life had transformed into an art piece painted with shades of love and jealousy. But it wasn’t until that enchanting night, beneath a sky sprinkled with stars, that I proposed a reckless idea one that could change the course of our lives forever.

“Why don’t we make this more interesting?” I suggested with a teasing glint in my eye, my heart pounding with anticipation. “Let’s have a little competition. A threesome, but with a twist “whoever makes me cum the hardest wins my heart.” The words hung in the air, tinged with challenge and allure.

The room fell silent, our playful banter overshadowed by the gravity of my audacious suggestion. But soon, their expressions shifted from shock to intrigue. Mingyu's brows arched in playful disbelief, and Minghao's gaze sparked with a blend of mischief and determination. The air thickened with tension, and in that moment, I realized I might have given life to something utterly exhilarating.

As the night deepened, we transformed our playful competition into a realm of passion, where every touch became a sonnet and every sigh a note in our shared symphony. Laughter intermingled with breathy whispers as we explored each other, each seeking to impress and delight not just to win, but to express the feelings that had only whispered beneath the surface until now.

Mingyu, with his exuberance, showered me with playful kisses that ignited flames across my skin, making me feel like a cherished melody in his embrace. He would tease and tickle, coaxing laughter from me like a sweet refrain that drew us closer together. Meanwhile, Minghao wielded his delicate caress like a masterful stroke of a brush, tracing my silhouette and whispering words of devotion that wove between us, wrapping me in warmth and intrigue.

The electricity between the three of us crackled, igniting a chorus of gasps and murmurs that danced through the steamy air. Every moment was filled with exploration and discovery, as both boys fought to express their affection for me through tantalizing touches and passionate connection. I felt lost, yet exhilarated, wrapped in the beauty of newfound vulnerability and intimacy

In that heated contest, the lines blurry between competition and genuine emotion, I discovered that both Mingyu and Minghao held pieces of my heart, each uniquely colored by their own presence. It was never just about physical desire; it was an awakening of something deeper, a trinity of souls intertwining in rhythm and passion.

As the climax of our shared experience approached, I felt a symphony of sensations overwhelming my senses. It was then I understood that love was not simply about choosing between them. It was embracing the completeness of what we were, forging connections between heartbeats and harmonies, and discovering the strength of unity in desire.

The night ended with all three of us tangled in a heap of limbs and laughter, breaths mingling as we floated down from the heights of ecstasy. What began as a challenge evolved into a deeper understanding of our feelings. In the warm embrace of dawn, as the first rays of light broke through the horizon, we found ourselves not just in a complicated love triangle, but rather, in a beautiful relationship of three—three hearts that beat in tandem, wrapped together in an unconventional yet honest love.

With that understanding, we stepped forward hand in hand, ready to navigate the melodies of life together a trio of love, passion, and endless possibility, writing our own lyrics one harmony at a time.

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somedscontent · 6 months ago

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A while ago i took part in @mr-malumm DTIYS and suprisely... won???

I'm so honored and happy that they liked my drawing! It was so fun to draw it and honestly I can't expres at the moment how happy I am. THANK YOU SO MUCH <33

Here's the art btw.

I feel a lot rn. But holy shit I was not expecting this.

#dtiys #instagram #my art #digital art #dtiys winners #thank you <3 #dark mode Vox #helluva boss agent one #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au

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snuffedcat · 8 months ago

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Requested by anon! I lost the ask somehow?? But hopefully I remember it correctly.. “adult sapphic fem, hyper fixated on nature / space”? It was something along those lines! Thank you Anon for your request!! :D this is right up my valley, and hopefully it’s up to expectations.

︵ ₊ Name :: Nova , Nebula , Lyra , Solara , Juno , Mercury , Willow , Fern , Cedar , Ivy , Ember , abyss , altair , astra , comette , knox , stella , stardust , jupiter , skye , pluto , milkyway, verta, clover, honey, oak , cedar , river , fawn

︵ ₊ pronouns :: she/zir/em/faer/space/planet/universe/nebula/star/shine/heat/void/cosmo/nova/astro/supernova/glow/abyss/antenna/scurry/fossil/dino/alien/spaceships/ufo/moon/ring/🌍/🌙/🪐/👽/bug/beetle/moth/deer/faun/doe/wild/leave/rain/dawn/garden/florence/flora/grass/moss/nature

︵ ₊ terms :: prn who shines in the night, prn of stars, the cosmos, bathed in the glow, dancing through saturn's rings. the star gazer, shooting star, the orbiter, prn who comes from the woods, prn who sings with birds

︵ ₊ genders :: all of the following have feminine twist to them! Stariverusa, lumicattic, lavendercosmic, multivercous, universpacic, rainynightgender, stargrapegender, spacecatdoggender, moongender, starmarked, fidgetcubic, snowstarthing, swirllstaremojigender, lumigender, consentellunyx, nocturlance, earthic, stormcomifc, purplestaric, galaxic, bloomgirl, sungirl, sproutgender, stonerthing, stargirl, biolumistarric, vinegender, pillbuggender, froggender, leafdripsoundic, foremizzlen, goblincoric, genderuttumna, dandedappline, foreststaric, forestcoric, naturegender, plantgender, floragender, komorebian, floradeeric, forestgender, naturebodiment, mossgender, naturecomfic, dreamgender, rainsleepic, hangingstaric, shakergender, rainydream,

︵ ₊ Presentation :: fem presenting. Presents as adult, snail, and alien.

︵ ₊ cisIDs :: Snail, ADHD, writer, artist, painter, harmless, kind

︵ ₊ transIDs :: autismseverity (worse), fully non-human, wheelchair user, forearm crutches user, service dog, biology researcher, biology major, Asian, time traveler, astronaut, alien, minus weight, cryptic, cryptozoologist, historian, warmbodytemp, transsummer, leafshaped pupil, planet shaped pupil, childhood, drooling, college grad, DPD, Schizotypal

︵ ₊ otherIDs :: tris autism, permahydrated, permacozy, perma living in forest, permaharmless, permaunharmed, permaadult, permaessa, sapphic

︵ ₊ ageID :: perma27

︵ ₊ physical age :: 27

︵ ₊ age requirements :: treat as adult

︵ ₊ species ID :: snail, alien, beetle, cryptic

︵ ₊ physical species :: snail, human

︵ ₊ disorders / MUDs :: DPD, Schizotypal, MAA, GDS, CNSD, has a condition similar to GDS but with nature, adhd, autism

︵ ₊ symptoms that stand out :: Very hyperactive and manic when it becomes nighttime- will often try to stay awake only at night, misses big events in life due to space/nature, has a delusion that one of her stuffies is her child, has delusion that her ESSA talks to her

︵ ₊ paras :: 🍯🐾⚾️🧵 📚🌱🌧️

︵ ₊ functions :: interest holder, happiness holder, obliviousness holder, academic productivity

︵ ₊ sources :: N/A

︵ ₊ kins :: willow from TOH, shelly from DW

︵ ₊ aesthetics :: goblincore, cottagecore, aliennature, twillightcore, art academia, art nouveau, bloomcore, fantasy astronomy, green academia, whimsigothic

︵ ₊ likes :: all things Space, all things Nature, books, painting, earths history, bugs, journaling, learning

︵ ₊ dislikes :: ppl who are mean to bugs, debates, loud noises, misinformation, beef jerky, ham

︵ ₊ music :: crane wives, the oh hellos, the amazing devil, comso sheldrake, the paper kites, hozier, florence + the machine. folk music

︵ ₊ boundaries :: no loud noises, do not talk negative about interest, no reality checking unless trusted, be careful with touch, dont correct her during rants

︵ ₊ notable traits :: she is very bad at understanding social situations, cares deeply about those around her but sometimes cant express it right, often has a flat tone of voice

︵ ₊ appearance :: darker skin with freckles, long green hair that's commonly put up into a ponytail/pigtails/braid/two braids, snail like antennas, snail shell backpack, dresses in earthy clothes with a gothic twist, sometimes dresses whimsigoth

︵ ₊ typing quirks :: h🌿ll🪐 h🪐w are 🌱🪐u?

e=🌿 y= 🌱 o= 🪐

︵ ₊ hex codes :: 9b7ba7 84a77b 3e423d dcc3e7 719593

︵ ₊ sign offs :: 🍃⛅️🏞️🌱🌿 🧺🐌🚀🪐🌕🌑☄️🛸

︵ ₊ other notes :: she's overall a very sweet and caring gal!!

#🔪 .. ALTER PACK !!#🌐 .. REQUESTED !!#endo #endo friendly #pro rq 🌈🍓#radqueer #rq #rq 🌈🍓#pro endo #endo safe #rq please interact #rq community #build a headmate #make a headmate #willowgenic #alter packs #rq safe #rqc🌈🍓

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littlesparklight · 1 year ago

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Some general thoughts on the gods on Troy's side, and why they might be:

Aphrodite: Presumably out of affection for her son, Anchises, and Paris. Very potentially, wanting to assure the gift she's given Paris lasts as long as possible? But if this is a factor, hardly something she is beholden to in any way; it'd probably be more about her own pride in that case. But, given that she also helps protect Hektor's corpse, when he, at least, is no longer able to pay her back for such aid, her affection/aid to the Trojans aren't just for or because of those three.

Apollo: Thetis' warning/prophecy to her son that killing Tennes/a son of Apollo would mean Apollo would kill him (Plutarch, Quaest. Graec. 28, Bibliotethe, Epitome 3.26), then we have Achilles killing Troilus in his sancuary, which would be reason enough on its own but Troilus can also be Apollo's son. There's Apollo so ardently protecting Hektor throughout the war, even/maybe especially after his death (Hektor is also in several sources Apollo's son). Also his relationship with Hecuba and how in Stesichorus he rescues her. (Could also put Kassandra and Helenos here.)

Part of his defense of Troy might be about "fate" and when it's the "proper time" for Troy to fall, but Apollo's ties to Troy/individuals attached to Troy are more deep-set than that. He is the one to punish Neoptolemos' sacrilege of killing Priam at Zeus' altar. Apollo is also rarely present during vase art scenes around the Judgment, potentially connecting to; Apollo specifically being the one to aid Paris (or in some variants, using Paris' shape) to kill Achilles. Real-world wise, the possibility of connecting Apaliuna(s)/Appaluwa as Wilusa/Troy's patron god to Apollo.

Ares: Unstable ally. Hard to say how consistently he is on either side; Athena says he "only yesterday" on the first day of fighting in the Iliad was loudly pledging to Hera and Athena that he'd help the Achaeans.

Perhaps he's been aiding the Trojans more or less secretly/openly throughout the war, as much because he supports whatever side he wishes on a whim as that Aphrodite (and Apollo?) has asked him to. Either way, certainly not as consistent nor out of any particular affection or feeling of protectiveness for the Trojans.

Artemis: "For, in her pity, holy Artemis is angry at the winged hounds of her father, for they sacrifice a wretched timorous thing, together with her young, before she has brought them forth. An abomination to her is the eagles' feast." (Agamemnon, Aeschylus, line 135) ; this is about the eagles and hare omen, which replaces (or in addition to, as this seems to have happened in Mycenae) the snake and sparrows one. Artemis is put forth as unhappy with Troy's (future) fall/the war.

And, it's of course very easy to see the demand for Iphigenia in reparation for Agamemnon's hubris in a similar way, that if he/the army, wants to go off and kill/enslave innocents elsewhere, he/they has to start at home. She may also be helping her brother, and there is the Skamandrios, son of Strophios, who she herself taught to hunt in the Iliad. She has independent connections to Troy, and could be one of the more focused on Trojan deities along with her brother and their mother.

Leto: We have nothing, aside from the fact that she is on the Trojan side with her children in Book 21. But real-world-wise, there's also that Leto was an important goddess on the coast, and in Lycia connected to a Lycian mother goddess. So one could probably make inference for the in-universe reason being as much her siding with her children as that Troy is honouring her (maybe particularly so), along with the rest of the countries on the coast.

Xanthos: intimately woven together with Troy's royal family, as he's married a couple daughters into the line and his (only?) son's daughter married Dardanos.

Zeus: He's technically/actually neutral, a driving force to keep the war going as it "needs to". He's therefore on Troy's side more through the sentiment(s) he expresses or is assigned to him rather than in action.

Particularly so if one turns to the "he planned the war" variants - but these are never about Troy, or Paris, but rather about something much larger than any fault any individual Trojan or Troy has a whole as made themselves guilty of. [Though individual mortals in the Iliad, and in later sources, both tragedies and lyric, will imply that it's Zeus as god of xenia that ensures his working towards Troy's destruction, rather than any plan that has little to do with Troy.]

For his connections to and being for Troy, have Proclus' summary of the Kypria for example, where the plan mentioned at the end is to "relieve the Trojans" specifically, and that phrasing turns Achilles' anger and Zeus acting to fulfil his demands not about Achilles' honour, but about aiding Troy. In Pindar's Paean 6 (fragmentary), Zeus is said to "not dare to change fate [the destruction of Troy]", easily to implicate that he otherwise might, because he would wish to. More important, perhaps, is his statement that Troy is his most favoured city, and how Hera offers up three of her favoured cities for Zeus' one, how he wishes to save Hektor, and the description in the Iliad (by Poseidon) that Dardanos was the/one of the sons [by mortal women, though Elektra couldn't have been that] that he loves the most.

#trojan war #apollo #aphrodite #artemis #zeus #leto #ares #xanthus #greek myth thoughts

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year ago

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Hours in the Moonlight: Fairest Midnight - 16. Continue as Planned

Summary: The time has finally come for you to meet all of the clans as the new vampire hunter. But when unexpected things happen that change the situation, you can only continue as planned and hope for the best.

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1963

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

The evening had come at long last, and after meticulous planning and training in the art of dancing for both me and Epel, I could only hope I was ready. Because tonight was the night of the vampire ball.

The ball at which I would be introduced to the clans as the new vampire hunter.

My grasp on Vil’s elbow was tight as we approached the massive doors that I eyed nervously. Wondering exactly what a vampire ball would end up looking like. At the very least, it required some pretty fancy clothes if the outfit Vil had given me to wear was anything to go by.

And, as it turned out, the local kids actually did have a good reason for avoiding the ancient building we approached. It was apparently a gathering place for vampires…..

“Relax,” I glanced over as soon as Vil spoke, his amethyst eyes flickering my way as he gave me hushed directions. His arm lowering so that my hand slid down until it was captured by him and squeezed gently, “Remember, you cannot show them you’re afraid. Not now that you are the Hunter.”

I nodded, swallowing thickly, before looking back towards the doors that were getting steadily closer, “Easier said than done.”

I could feel Vil’s eyes still on me, but when he spoke, it wasn’t to discourage me or offer me a way out this time. Instead, there was a warmth to his tone that had my eyes widening as he spoke, “You’ll do fine, Tater-tot. Just act like you always do.”

I looked back at him to see him smiling slightly at me, and I found myself grinning in return, “Right. It’s not like I can miss the grand unveiling of your clan after all.”

He shook his head with the slightest of smiles at my teasing but remained silent. Supporting me all the while and staying by my side as we drew closer to the doors as he shifted so that my hand was once more resting in the crook of his elbow and I looked back at the looming door. A frown slipping its way back onto my face at the mere sight of them.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, Y/n. We’ll get through it together," I glanced back, making eye contact with Epel, who looked just as nervous as I felt. But then this was his first vampire soiree as well as Rook’s first one as a vampire. Though Rook hardly looked nervous… In fact, he looked weirdly excited.

I flashed Epel a smile, repeating his “Together” back at him softly and causing the young man to smile before I turned my eyes back to the doors in front of me, inhaling deeply as I calmed myself.

This was it; there was no more turning back. As soon as I went through those doors, I would be well and truly entering the world of vampires, and I might not ever be able to leave again.

But if that was what it took…. Then so be it.

The doors swung open at an astonishing speed, and a Black man with bright pink eyes flashed a fanged grin our way before loudly announcing our entrance, “Mr. Schoenheit and his Pomefiore clan!”

All heads turned immediately, and I walked carefully at Vil’s side as I stared into a sea of unimaginably attractive people. All of whom regarded me with a distinct curiosity that had me fighting to not go tense under the weight of their cumulative gazes.

“And a special guest, our new Hunter! Y/n L/n!” All four of us turned to look at the announcer, who now stood behind us.

His sparkling eyes met mine, and he flashed a little wink at me, startling me further as he spoke quietly enough that I doubted anyone but my little group could hear him, “Good luck, Little Imp.”

I nodded slowly before looking over at Vil, only to find he was already gazing at me with a tight expression. I swallowed, finding my mouth was suddenly dry, “Vil, how did he…?”

“I don’t know,” He frowned and looked back out across the crowd, who were now abuzz with my name on everyone’s lips as they cast numerous glances our way, “But we will find out.”

I squared my shoulders, forcing myself not to shrink behind Vil as he slowly began to guide me down the staircase that flared around us like a sort of marble frame.

“Roi du Poison, this changes things….” Rook’s voice was a hushed whisper as he and Epel followed the two of us. Each with matching expressions of grim determination.

“I know, but we will continue as planned. That is all we can do.” Rook nodded solemnly at Vil’s response and cast his gaze across the crowd, which was slowly making room for us to enter once we finished our descent.

“So, who's who?” Vil glanced my way at my hushed question, and his lips quirked up in a slight smile before he answered.

“The group in yellow is the Savanaclaw clan. We’ll want to make a good impression on them… They may be our only real chance at allies.” I eyed the yellow group, noting exactly how terrifying they all looked.

“They look….” I trailed off as the large red-headed man at the front yawned, revealing a set of canines that looked far larger than any fangs I’d seen before, “Fun….”

As I spoke, I recalled the man who’d been there the night everything had truly started. When I’d killed that vampire.

I could only imagine that he was part of that group. He seemed to have had some form of wereism with his catlike ears and tail.

“They are not so bad, Trickster. Sometimes the worst individuals hide behind a carefully crafted smile,” As he spoke, Rook directed my and Epel’s attention to a trio of men, two of whom were practically identical, off to the side. Despite their mafia-esque appearance, all three of them smiled at us, with the pale-haired one in the center inclining his head.

“The Octavinelle clan,” The Frenchman continued, “Are perhaps the most concerning group here.”

I frowned slightly as I continued to glance around before a flash of white caught my eye and had me hurriedly looking to the left at a group who were dressed almost totally in black.

I recognized that face…..

“Who’s that?” I inclined my head towards the white haired young man that I’d met all those many nights ago on Halloween.

“That?” Vil glanced at me with an odd expression before looking back over at the young man, “That’s Silver. He’s part of the Diasomnia clan, but he’s human…. Like you.”

I looked over to see Vil already looking down at me with a slight smile, “Lilia, one of the clan’s seniors, took him in. I don’t know why, but since that is the case, you may find allies there.”

It was a thought that gave me some hope. That there were clans out there with humans who, at least judging from the way he was mingling with the others in those same black outfits, seemed comfortable.

“What’s that big group over there? In the black and white checkers with the red,” Epel piped up from behind us, directing our attention to what was indeed one of the larger groups present.

“The Heartslabyul clan. They are very strict about their rules, but they will not harm humans. So they are safe to associate with,” Rook nodded pointedly towards me before continuing to look around.

My mind was already swirling at this point with all of the clan names I’d really only heard once before now as Vil gestured towards a duo, “That’s the Scarabia clan… Or at least two members of it. Kalim is harmless, but Jamil…. Well, he’s certainly more crafty.”

Vil frowned as he spoke, shaking his head slightly. But my attention got redirected once more as Epel nudged me and indicated a new duo with a head jerk, “Found the flame-haired ones Rook mentioned….. What were their names?”

His voice was hushed as I looked over and indeed saw two individuals, or rather one individual and a floating robot that was about the size of a young boy. And, true to what we’d been told, both had a swathe of blue flames that seemed to serve as hair.

“Ignihyde… I think,” I muttered back to my friend, earning myself a head nod as we both did our best to not stare.

“It seems like everyone is present this evening… We merely need to wait until someone approaches us,” Vil nodded in agreement with Rook's words even as he continued to scan the room.

“I don’t see anyone who matches the description you or Epel gave, though,” I glanced over to see Vil frowning as he spoke, and I squeezed his arm slightly, earning myself a glance that was paired with raised eyebrows.

“They might not be here yet… And he might not come at all if he’s in hiding,” My voice was hushed, but Vil heard me nonetheless. Nodding even despite the distaste on his face.

“So what do we do while we wait for someone to ‘approach us’?” I smiled slightly at Epel’s ability to be slightly huffy over being at such a fancy ball despite the tense situation.

He was no doubt already itching to get his fancy and notably lacy clothes off. He’d already complained about them the entire week leading up to this evening anyway.

Rook laughed good-naturedly as he took on his new role of attempting to soothe the younger boy, even as Vil looked like he was using all of his willpower to not roll his eyes.

We all stopped, though, as stringed music began to slowly lilt through the air despite the lack of instruments or any way to broadcast music.

I frowned, glancing around, only to find that there was no clear source of the sound. It was almost like magic was being used to cause the gentle, soothing sounds. And though, so far as I knew, vampires couldn’t use magic, I supposed anything was possible.

I felt a light tapping on my shoulder and turned, only to see Vil smiling at me as he held out one gloved hand, “We could always dance while we waited?”

I heard a quiet ‘Ugh’ from Epel but ignored him as I glanced around the numerous undead persons who now flocked towards the dance floor.

“Are you sure?” Even as I continued to look around nervously, I let my hand slip into Vil’s. Fully trusting him, even if I wasn’t sure what exactly to do in this moment.

It wasn’t like I was used to balls after all. Much less balls filled with undead people whose kind were known to seek me out for thus-far unexplained reasons and who had been staring at me ever since our grand entrance.

But Rook and Vil had taught both me and Epel to dance just in case this did occur. Unfortunately, now that it was actually happening, I found that I was feeling a lot less confident than I had at our last set of lessons.

Epel stared at me in disbelief as Rook clasped his hands together joyfully, urging me and Vil to go ahead even though Vil had already started to lead me away.

“But of course, Tater tot. It is only natural that we should dance at such a venue. If we didn’t, people might start to talk,” There was a glimmer in his eyes that had me grinning slightly. Knowing that, at least in some small way, he was teasing me over my newfound fame as the resident vampire hunter.

Though perhaps infamy would be a better way to put it….

If you would like to read more:

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wordsvomit101 · 1 year ago

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Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #whb glasyalabolas #toxic yaoi 101/jk #ngl i been wanting to write this after the orias event #at first #i was thinking about making it foras and levi but glasyalabolas took the cake #the amount of envy glasyalabolas created that day is enough to fuel hades for the next several years tbh #he did sleep with one eye open so that's that

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