#i need everyone to understand they are even mirrored in their places in the frame | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eunsuri · 4 months ago

Text

The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones.

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago?

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia.

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in.

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now.

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this? If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth.

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more.

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade.

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong.

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along.

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him.

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort.

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now.

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken.

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper.

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it.

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken.

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit.

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries.

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.”

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart.

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done. He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes.

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him.

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan��” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark.

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow.

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace.

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

178 notes · View notes

tomriddlehyperfixataion · 2 months ago

Text

Happy Memory - Tom Riddle x Reader - Oneshot

no warnings, just pure fluff, takes place mid-7th year for Tom, so in 1945. (y/n) has she/her pronouns and Tom is an awkward teenager.

1,115 words :3

Tom Riddle knew what it meant to have matching patronus' with someone. Well, it could mean many things, an exactly matching patronus-meant obsession, only wanting them and almost refusing to better ones self to better match the other in a proper way.

A mirrored patronus meant complete understanding-usually twins had mirrored patronus’, as Tom had researched, so their magic would mirror the other due to the innate understanding they had about the other, but still different enough to be their own person, because even mirrors weren’t perfect.

A matching patronus, like a doe and a buck-meant complete understanding love, being someone's other half, to be complete with the other, but still being your own being.

Tom Riddle had never been able to produce a patronus, he’d never even created whisps of one. He didn’t exactly have any happy, powerful, memories. He had tried to use the day he found out he was a wizard, or when he got his wand, or when he was sorted into slytherin-but none worked to even create a breath of the charm.

He was getting quite, frustrated, with himself; he could easily perform any other type of magic, charm, hex, curse-you name it, he could cast it. Yet the Patronus charm was giving him so much trouble he wanted to throw himself at the wall.

He watched as everyone else in the ‘advanced charms and defenses’ class either got a little bit of a whisp, or almost got a corporeal patronus. It was infuriating. He was Tom Riddle, descendant of Salazar Slytherin-he SHOULD be able to summon a damn patronus.

“Expecto Patronum.” Tom hissed under his breath, his hand and wrist moving perfectly to cast the charm. His pronunciation was perfect, his wand movement perfect-and yet nothing came from his wand-not even a shift in the air.

“Merlins-saggy-balls.” Tom hissed, tapping his wand hard against the heel of his palm, glaring at the pale long wood of his wand as if it was the reason he couldn’t produce the charm. He took a long shaky breath, pinching his nose as he tried to calm himself down-being angry wouldn’t help-he needed to think of a good memory, a happy thought.

Bloody hell he sounded like Peter fucking Pan.

“Havin’ trouble smiles?” Tom huffed at the annoyingly familiar voice that came from behind him, turning to see (y/n)-he’d known her since the very first day of the school year, meeting her on the Hogwarts Express over 7 years ago when she’d sat in the same compartment as him and proceeded to babble his ear off.

She was still doing that, really the only constant in his life.

Though he could do without the bloody nickname.

“Shut up.” Tom grumbled, turning his head again to focus, taking a deep breath to single out a memory, any memory-to try and cast the damn spell. “Expecto Patronum.” Tom said.

Nothing.

Tom let out a frustrated snarl and nearly threw his wand to the floor-but managed to keep his calm mostly, as the room was full of other students who think he’s perfect and calm and the golden boy of Hogwarts-especially after last year when he’d framed Hagrid for killing Myrtle.

He hears the familiar laughter of (y/n) behind him as she walks up to him, and she rests her elbow on his shoulder, giving him a half smirk that makes him want to-

“What are you thinking of smiles?” (y/n) asks and Tom frowns, scrunching his nose-she was probably the only one to get these sort’ve reactions from him. He wasn’t a cold emotionless bastard, he was just calculated-though most of the time he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but (y/n) got the most natural reactions from him.

“When I got my wand,” Tom drawled, almost weakly, turning his wand over in his fingers, rolling it between the heel of his palm and the tips of his fingers, watching and feeling it roll and roll over his skin.

(y/n) let out a weak snort, shaking her head. “well that ain't good enough, you know Merrythought was talking about powerful emotions, memories, is what makes a good patronus. Getting a wand feels like nothing compared to the last seven years.”

Tom rolled his eyes, looking at (y/n)-her elbow was still on his shoulder. “Oh yeah? And what memory are you using, munchkin?” (y/n) laughed, bold and giggly as she leaned into him and Tom couldn’t help his half smirk.

“That’s a new one,” (y/n) snickered, flipping her wand between her fingers as she tilted her head to the side. “Hmmm, Expecto Patronum.” She waved her wand and pronounced the charm perfectly, and out from her wand came the form of a snake, but it wasn’t the snake form that caught Tom’s attention, it was the several horns at the crown of its head-a familiar but unusable gleam to its eye.

“Your patronus,” Tom breathed, eyes locked onto the basilisk patronus-how rare, and unusual. Tom would feel jealous if he wasn’t so amazed right now. He turned to (y/n), eyes wide and feverishly determined. “What memory did you use?” Tom asked-breathlessly-and (y/n) gave a little half-shrug, her elbow still on his shoulder.

“Day I met my best friend,” (y/n) said, giving him a look that had his cheeks flushing and his heart stutter.

Best friend? She…she thought he was her best friend? He never knew she thought of him as anything more than someone she liked to mess with and get along with well enough to not hate each other.

Then again, they spent nearly every day together, she barged into his private head boy dorm room a lot, he let her steal his food-and books, and she was probably the only person ever to touch him so freely as she did now.

Tom, clearing his throat, feeling his heart beating fast and his breathing stuck in his throat-lifted his wand once more, spinning it once. “Expecto Patronum.” He said clearly, concentrating and letting his emotions bubble to the surface.

The tip of his wand burst into light-and out came a basilisk, this one almost matching (y/n)’s but it had some differences, like where the horns were and the markings on the scales. Tom felt his face burn as (y/n)whistled, her elbow shaking him a bit.

“Aww it matches mine~” (y/n) cooed, her arm moving to wrap around his and her head leaned on his shoulder as she teased him, her left hand covering his right. “What memory did ya use smiles?”

He cleared his throat, swallowing harshly, looking down at her.

“When I met my best friend,” he mumbled and (y/n) beamed, squeezing his arm as their matching patronus’ intertwined in the air.

-end-

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #fluff fic

120 notes · View notes

aylacavebear · 3 days ago

Text

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 1

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 4356

Warning: Angst, longing. Not much that I can think of.

A/N: So, a couple characters in this one I pulled from a couple other shows. Professor Rober Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager as I absolutely love that character. And, Professor Alaric Saltzman from The Vampire Diaries. Another loved character.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 1

“God, Mom,” you muttered as she twisted your hair into a neat braid, her hands working with practiced ease. “I’m so done with this. It’s been six months since I presented, and it’s been non-stop alphas and their parents since. I can’t keep doing this—I need a break.”

“Sweetie, I know,” your mom said, her voice soothing but worn. “You’ve been so patient. Just one more week, and you’ll get the break you deserve. Everyone knows you need it.”

Her words were meant to calm you, but they only added to your irritation. How could anything think this was sustainable? At first, the idea of meeting your soulmate had filled you with cautious excitement. But after two solid months of awkward introductions, forced smiles, and watching alpha after alpha recoil at your scent, the novelty had worn off. Now, it was exhausting, and even your schoolwork had started to slip.

That thought made something click. Narrowing your eyes, you turned toward her. “Wait a minute. This is about my grades, isn’t it? My tutor said something to you, didn’t he?”

Your mom froze for a moment before letting out a long sigh, her hands falling to her sides. “Yes,” she admitted, her tone tinged with guilt. “He told us your grades were slipping, and we all agreed you needed time to reset. The pack is just trying to help you, honey. No one wants you to feel like this any longer than you have to.” You inhaled deeply, holding back a biting retort. She wasn’t wrong—your pack always looked out for one another. You’d seen firsthand what it was like for wolves who had to wait too long to find their soulmates. Your cousins were living proof. Twins, like their mates, they hadn’t met them until their late twenties. You remembered the strain it put on them, how restless and incomplete they’d been until fate finally stepped in.

Still, the constant parade of alphas was suffocating. “Fine,” you said, standing up and crossing to the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, the simple purple dress draping neatly over your frame. The lace trim along the hemline was delicate, almost fragile, like the image your pack was so determined to project for you.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you muttered. It was an image that felt like a lie, but you kept that to yourself.

Your mother gave you a sympathetic smile but didn’t press further. She followed as you left your room, descending to the living room where the introductions would take place.

Three of your cousins—tall, broad-shouldered alphas—and two of your uncles stood like sentinels behind the couch, their imposing figures a silent warning to anyone who thought about stepping out of line. You took your place in the middle of the sofa, your mother at your side while your father greeted the family at the door.

The young alpha they brought barely crossed the threshold before his nose wrinkled in disgust. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as he stumbled back, mumbling an excuse before retreating with his parents.

The next four families fared no better. Each time, the alphas visibly recoiled at your scent, their discomfort impossible to hide. Your pack had long since grown used to it, but outsiders couldn’t seem to stomach it. By the time the last family left, you were seething.

You stormed upstairs, yanking the dress off and tossing it into the back of your closet without a second thought. Pulling on jeans, a tank top, and sneakers, you slipped out the back door, desperate for air and solitude.

All you wanted to do was go to the land and hide in that cabin where you always sat to watch the full moon. Somehow, it brought you comfort, and for some reason, you didn’t feel so lonely. Since that wasn’t an option, the area behind your home of dense forest would have to suffice.

Your cousins followed at a respectful distance, knowing better than to crowd you when you were like this. Wolves were social, drawn to comfort and connection. You, however, were different. Your feline instincts demanded solitude, and when cornered, you lashed out. You’d done it before, unintentionally, but the lesson had stuck.

The late summer air was warm, but the forest canopy above offered shade, the dappled sunlight creating patterns on the soft earth beneath your feet. The songs of birds filled the silence, soothing your frayed nerves.

Flexing your hands, you extended your claws, the sharp tips glinting faintly in the light. With a quick leap, you scaled the nearest tree, your claws finding purchase in the bark. You pushed higher, moving from branch to branch until you were far above the ground, where no wolf could follow.

Settling into a comfortable nook, you leaned against the trunk, finally allowing yourself to exhale. Up here, surrounded by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of life below, the tension in your chest eased. It wasn’t where you wanted to be, but it would suffice, for now.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of gold and amber, you stayed in your perch, watching until the last traces of daylight faded. Only then did you climb down, your heart heavy with the knowledge that tomorrow would bring more of the same.

—--------------

That entire week felt like a waking nightmare, even though the alphas’ and their parents’ faces provided fleeting amusement. You’d learned to find humor in their disgusted expressions—it was easier than giving in to the ache threatening to break you. Tears would only worry the pack, and you’d do anything to avoid that. But no matter how much you masked it, your parents could sense the strain in your scent. That’s why they’d agreed to spread out the meetings, though it didn’t erase the sheer volume of introductions still looming over you.

By the end of that week, you were ready to tear your hair out. The blue dress you’d worn was discarded onto the closet floor, forgotten as you flung open drawers and started packing for the cabin. “Sweetie,” your mother’s voice came softly from the doorway, her worry laced with the gentle tone she reserved just for you. “We can smell how frustrated you are, even downstairs. Is there anything we can do to help?”

Her concern made your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down, shoving a pair of sneakers into your bag. “I just… I need to go to the cabin. I always feel better there. I don’t know why, but I do.”

She nodded, not pressing further, and slipped away to give you space. Alone again, you exhaled shakily, willing yourself to calm down. It wasn’t the pack’s fault—not really—and you hated the idea of burdening them more than you already had. When you finally descended the stairs, your emotions were tethered just tightly enough to avoid questions. “I’m ready,” you said simply.

Your cousins and uncles flanked you in a protective semi-circle, the weight of their presence both reassuring and stifling. Outside, they divided into two vehicles for the drive to the land. It was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the road beneath the tires, and you found yourself counting the minutes until you’d be alone again.

The land’s familiar sights greeted you like an old friend as the cabin came into view, nestled among the trees. A few families lived here year-round, tending to things between full moons, but for the next two days, the cabin owned by your parents was yours alone. They wouldn’t arrive until the full moon itself, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

After exchanging farewells with your uncles and cousins, you stepped into the cabin, the air inside cool and still. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you let out a long, unguarded sigh. Finally, some breathing room. The tension in your chest began to unravel, bit by bit. No alphas, no schoolwork, no forced smiles, and mostly no responsibilities for a full five days, six if you were lucky.

As you unpacked, your mind wandered back to when you were twelve, when your parents finally explained just how different you were. It was late afternoon after school, the golden sunlight slanting through your bedroom window as you hunched over your desk, pencil tapping rhythmically against the math assignment your tutor had left you. The work was dull, the equations uninspired. You were eager to finish and move on to the bonus problems—challenges that always seemed to hold your attention far better than the standard curriculum.“Sweetie,” your mother’s voice came softly from the doorway, interrupting your focus. “Your father and I need to talk to you.”

Without glancing up, you murmured, “I’ll be down in a sec.”

You finished the equation you were working on before making your way downstairs, feeling the weight of something unspoken settle over you as you descended. The air in the living room felt heavier than usual, and as you rounded the corner, you found your parents seated on the couch, their hands clasped tightly together. You hesitated before taking a seat across from them in one of the recliners.

They exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. Their expressions were a mix of joy and apprehension, a strange duality that only made your chest tighten with unease.

Your mother was the first to speak, her voice trembling slightly. “You have a genetic mutation,” she began, her eyes searching yours for a reaction. “You’ve learned about it in your studies, but… there are things we need to explain. Once you present omega, you won’t be able to shift during the full moon.” Her words were gentle, but you could see the tears she was trying to keep from falling.

The words landed heavily, but she pressed on, her tone gentle. “We know that’s going to be hard for you, but you’ll always be on the land during full moons, and we’re hoping that will help.” Her voice wavered as she tried to keep her emotions in check.

Your father leaned forward, his voice steadier but tinged with an unspoken sadness. “The pack will be there for you, always. Having the Touched mutation is rare—rare and special. After your soulmate finds you and you have pups, they’ll be immune to many illnesses and disorders. That’s something no one will know until they’re tested.”

Some of this wasn’t new to you. You’d pieced together bits and pieces over the years, but the mention of immunity caught your attention. Curiosity flared, and you made a mental note to ask your tutor about it during your next lesson.

“That’s kinda neat,” you admitted, your tone cautious. “But… why does it seem like there’s a bad side to all this?”

Your parents exchanged another look, heavier this time, before your father sighed. “Your scent,” he began carefully, “will be unpleasant to others. The only one who will find it pleasing will be your soulmate. Once you present, we’ll set up meetings with alphas and their families. Until your soulmate comes, that’s the best we can do. But After he claims you with his mark, everything will change. You’ll be able to smell the scents of others and their emotions in their scent. You’ll be able to shift during the full moon, and…” your father trailed off at the end, like it was something he didn’t fully want to discuss.

You looked at him, a little puzzled, and tilted your head in curiosity, but your mother chuckled and continued. “You’ll have your first heat, like a normal omega.”

Your eyes went wide, but you giggled. To him, you were still his little girl and he didn’t want you to have to grow up too fast. “I think I’ll be okay. I have Jess and my whole pack.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues as you leaned against the cabin window, exhaling slowly. God, I was so naive back then. It had only been two and a half years, but it felt like a lifetime.

You still hadn’t figured out why being on the land soothed something deep inside you. At first, you’d blamed it on nature, then on the full moon itself, but neither explanation ever quite fit. You’d been here before, between moon cycles, and it hadn’t felt the same. And that one month you hadn’t been on the land for the full moon? Watching from your bedroom window hadn’t brought that same comfort, either. It was a puzzle you were determined to solve.

There was one rule that only applied to you: Stay inside at night. No one had ever explained why. You’d justified it in your own way—telling yourself that your pack didn’t want you to feel left out, that they wanted to protect you from the pain of what you couldn’t have. It had been an easy enough excuse to follow.

Two days later, your parents arrived, along with nearly ten other families. The land was alive with movement and laughter as everyone settled in. You’d helped prepare for the feast the night before, making sure there was plenty of food to fuel the wolves through their shift. These gatherings were some of your happiest moments—when the pack came together like this, when the air buzzed with excitement and belonging.

As the sun set, the pack split off into their groups. Bonded pairs disappeared into the trees. Young, unbonded alphas followed their mentors in another direction. Unbonded omegas went with two haunted pairs to run together, singing to the moon, playing in the forest. Their voices carried through the air, weaving into the night like an ancient melody.

You lingered inside, curling up in the window seat, watching the moon rise. Soon, the howls began—a symphony of voices, familiar and reassuring. But as you listened, a sharp ache settled in your chest. This was why you endured the meeting with the alphas and their parents. This was why you played along with your family’s plans. Only your soulmate could wake your wolf, could bring her to the surface, and make you whole.

But tonight felt… different.

The pull had always been there—this urge to step outside, to belong—but it had never been this strong. A shiver ran down your spine, and before you realized it, you were standing at the cabin door, fingers curled around the handle. You swallowed hard, breath uneven. The logical part of you screamed to step back. But curiosity had always been your downfall.

The warm night air of summer softly kissed your skin as you closed your eyes and breathed deeply the scents of earth and pine. Being outside felt freeing, far more than just being on the land itself. Then, something stirred. Not around you—inside you. It wasn’t a voice, not quite. More like an instinct, an awareness humming beneath your skin.

Your feet moved before you could second-guess yourself. You knew where your pack was, could feel their presence even from here. And yet, you walked in the opposite direction, toward the trees.

When you finally stopped, moonlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the ground in silver. It was quiet—only the rustling of leaves and distant sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the space.

A warmth washed over you as that gentle stirring inside you grew strong. Closing your eyes, you tilted your head back and let out a soft, wavering howl.

It felt right. Natural

It was a song of loneliness, of longing to belong, of love for your pack. Of the ache that came with not being able to be like them. As your voice faded into the night, a tear slid down your cheek, and you brushed it away with a shaky breath.

Then, another sound.

Your body went rigid. A howl—low and resonant, answering yours from somewhere beyond the fence line. Goosebumps erupted across your skin. It was an alpha. Young. Close.

Fear slithered up your spine. The land was enclosed, meant to keep outsiders away, yet the sound sent a warning thrumming in your bones. Shit, my parents are gonna kill me. You turned on your heel and hurried back to the cabin, heart hammering. The second the door clicked shut, you locked it.

The next two nights, you fought that pull. It was a battle that left your body tense, your chest aching in ways you hadn’t expected. On the third night, you gave in—going back to that spot, one last song to the moon before knowing you’d be going home soon.

And again, he answered.

Both times, after your song faded into the night, the alpha howled in return.

You didn’t tell your parents. Didn’t tell your pack. If they knew you weren’t following their one rule, you worried they might forbid you from coming to the land at all. There was only one person you could trust with this secret. Jess. Even if she was younger, even if she might not understand completely—she was your best friend. And right now, you needed her more than ever.

Midway through the week, you had Jess over after she’d gotten out of school, desperately needing to tell someone. However, the moment you finished sharing what had happened, you wished you had perhaps kept some of the details to yourself.

Jess practically vibrated with excitement. “Wait. WAIT. So you just stood there, all alone in the dark, and howled? And then he howled back?!”

You nodded.

She clutched her chest. “That is the coolest thing I have ever heard!”

You blinked. “Really?” “Yes! It’s like—like one of those epic adventure stories! Like, you’re this lost princess with a secret power, and he’s the mysterious stranger who—” She stopped mid-sentence, wrinkling her nose. “Ew, wait, no, never mind. That sounds romantic. Gross.” You snickered.

“But still!” Jess leaned in, practically bounding. “What if he’s part of, like, some secret rival pack? Or an exiled prince? Or—ooh!—what if he’s some ancient spirit haunting the land?!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You read way too many books.” “And you don’t read enough!” Jess grinned. “Okay, so what’s the plan? Are we investigating? Do you think he’ll howl next full moon? Are you gonna howl back?!”

You hesitated.

Jess’s grin faded. “Wait… you are gonna howl back, right?” You swallowed hard. “I don’t know yet.” Jess scoffed. “Well, I know. Next time, I’m coming with you.”

You stared at her. “You can’t. You know you aren’t allowed on the land till you present.” Jess pouted. “So? I’ll sneak in your suitcase.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god.” Jess cackled. “This is gonna be awesome.” It wasn’t until a week later, during one of your lessons, that you decided to ask your tutor some questions. You’d spent days carefully figuring out how to word them—how to ask without giving away too much. The last thing you needed was for your tutor to tell your parents.

“So… about Touched,” you began, keeping your tone casual as you pretended to focus on the notes in front of you. “I know they can’t shift during the full moon, and then there’s all that scientific stuff about their genetics, but… is there anything about singing to the moon? Or being able to feel their wolf? Oh—could any of the ones before ever feel, like, a pull toward something?”

The words tumbled out faster than you intended, and when you finally looked up, Professor Robert Zimmerman was watching you with a measured expression.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, then closed the book he’d been teaching from. “There are a few things that have been documented,” he admitted. “I can ask about getting a copy of those records if you’d like to learn more about your mutation,” His voice carried that familiar, steady patience—the kind that always made you feel safe about asking questions, no matter how strange they were.

Excitement flared in your chest. “Please?”

His mouth twitched into one of those small, rare smiles. “I’ll have those for you by Monday. I promise.”

You grinned, barely containing your anticipation as he shifted the lesson back to history. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept drifting—Monday suddenly felt like a lifetime away.

Monday couldn’t get there fast enough for you, and it felt like you were crawling the walls, even when you’d go outside and try to distract yourself. The appointments with meeting alphas had finally dwindled to only after school and only three times a week, with only two families showing up on those days. It helped, but you weren’t getting your hopes up anymore. Most of your pack found their soulmate anywhere from the time they presented up until they were in their mid-twenties. So, you had time and decided not to stress over it anymore. Jess did her best to keep you distracted, filling your afternoons with stories from her school—complaints about teachers, dramatic playground politics, and, most importantly, just how disgusting boys were. That always made you laugh, and part of you missed not getting to experience it with her. Although, you knew you’d miss Professor Zimmerman and all the fun things he gave you to learn.

By Sunday night, the anticipation was unbearable. You buzzed through your nightly chores, barely able to keep still. So much so that both your parents noticed and debated asking about it when you hugged them goodnight. When you finally crawled into bed, you stared at the ceiling, your mind racing. I seriously need to get some sleep. The thought felt like it was on repeat in your head for hours before the depths of sleep found you.

When the doorbell rang at 8:30 the following morning, you dashed toward it, no longer able to keep your excitement contained. Your smile faded to one of confusion and curiosity when you saw an alpha standing next to Professor Zimmerman, tilting your head slightly. “Y/N, this is Professor Alaric Saltzman. He keeps the records you asked me about and he refused to let them out of his sight. So, he’s here to supervise you while you go through them,” Professor Zimmerman explained.

Professor Saltzman chuckled at your expression, but it was clear that your scent bothered him. “We can do it outside, so my scent doesn’t bother you,” you offered, catching the way he subtly controlled his breathing despite his best efforts to hide the discomfort.

“I’ll be alright.” he tried to reassure you with a genuinely friendly, albeit, amused smile.

You stepped aside to let them in, your parents now lingering near the living room. Greetings were exchanged, but you barely acknowledged them, your focus entirely on the files Professor Zimmerman carried as he headed toward the spare room that had been turned into your classroom. You were hot on his heels, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

“These aren’t the originals. They’re copies, but nothing has been redacted,” Professor Zimmerman explained as he set the files on the table in front of you. “Be careful with them, though.” You nodded quickly and pulled the first file closer, your fingers tingling as you carefully flipped it open. The sheer amount of information stunned you. There were far more records than you expected, each documenting a Touched in your lineage—one file for each of them.

Professor Saltzman eventually joined Professor Zimmerman near the whiteboard, the two quietly talking while you lost yourself in the files. Their conversation faded into background noise.

“Is she always this curious?” Saltzman asked, arms crossed as he watched you absorb every word on the page.

Zimmerman exhaled with something between amusement and pride. “Her appetite for knowledge is almost insatiable. She’s asking questions most seniors don’t even think to ask. Sometimes, it’s difficult to keep her engaged because she gets bored so easily.”

Saltzman was quiet for a moment before offering, “If you ever need anything, just ask. It’s rare to find a student who genuinely enjoys learning.”

Zimmerman smiled, “Thanks. She’ll appreciate that. If she keeps this up, she’ll graduate by her sixteenth birthday.”

You barely registered their words as you combed through each record, your focus sharpening when you started noticing patterns. By the fourth file, the similarities were impossible to ignore—so you shifted tactics, scanning for key phrases.

And then, your breath caught.

Every single one of them—every Touched before you—had met their soulmate for the first time when he was in wolf form. Never before.

A shiver ghosted down your spine, your entire body breaking out in goosebumps. You leaned back in your chair, fingers absently tracing the edge of the page as your mind raced.

Did your parents know this? Had they ever read these files? Should you tell them? Or let them keep setting up meetings, oblivious to the truth?

You weren’t sure what you wanted. Fourteen felt too young to be thinking about a soulmate. The idea of it felt… overwhelming. Maybe even a little terrifying.

But another thought crept in, quieter.

If your parents never read these, maybe that meant you still had time. Maybe it meant you could hold onto being just you for a little while longer. With a slow exhale, you closed the file and looked up at Professor Saltzman. “Thank you, for bringing.” You hesitated, then asked, Have my parents read them?”

He raised an eyebrow but softened at your expression. “You’re welcome. No, they haven’t. Would you like me to suggest that they do?”

You considered it for a long moment before shaking your head “No. It’s okay.”

Saltzman nodded, retrieved the files and offering a final, knowing glance before saying his goodbyes. Once he was gone, you turned your attention to Professor Zimmerman as he began your daily lessons.

He didn’t ask you about the files. He knew better. This had been your request—when you were ready to talk about it, you would. But even as you tried to focus, your thoughts kept circling back, over and over.

An alpha had answered your song.

And now, you weren’t sure how you felt.

----------------------------------------- A/B/O Master List Main Master List Series Master List

Forever Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom @cheekygirl2309 @mxtansy @ladysparkles78

@ambiguous-avery @spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Tag List: @nancymcl @lovelydisc @luahmeeks @alternativeprincess94 @kailalaland

@ladykitana90 @muhahaha303

61 notes · View notes

my-one-true-l · 3 months ago

Text

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

Written by Asraella (My-One-True-L), Illustrated by La-Van.

For @deathnotetober 2024, Day 31: Trick-or-Treat

“I really must insist you let me in.”

The low resonance of L’s voice rang muffled inside Beyond’s ears. The heavy oak door that stood between them served as more than a buffer to L’s request. It was a mahogany-stained guard, silent and strong, unmoving to L’s commands, as was the young man locked behind it.

“Patience is a virtue, is it not?” Beyond smirked at his reflection in the antique mirror hanging over the bathroom sink, a relic from the times before The Wammy House was an orphanage, the glass warped and the image distorted from years of neglect, and it held in its grim gaze a premonition of what the young man staring into it would become. “If I let you in now it will spoil the surprise and you wouldn’t want that, would you? Everyone knows the best birthday gifts rely on the element of surprise.”

“I really do think you should…” L’s words escaped his mouth then faded into a strawberry-scented sigh. No one was as stubborn as Beyond and to continue in this attempt at strong arming the outcome he wanted would not produce the results he was seeking. L knew better and he knew he needed to approach this differently. “Perhaps you can give me a hint to this gift you refer to.”

“A game as a preamble to the festivities? Alright, detective. I will indulge you!” Leaning closer to his reflection, Beyond shared a laugh with the person grinning back at him. In his hand rested a half-empty pot of loose face powder, a treasure he found hidden in the depths of a forgotten vanity in Watari’s quarters. The original owner was a mystery, but the worn gold lettering on the side of the jar and the smell of musty roses that filled the air when the lid was removed reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place, but he was certain it was meant for him to find, and it filled him with a thrill that even solving cases didn’t. To not waste the precious contents of the jar, He swiped the expired makeup across his cheek and over the bridge of his nose with delicate consideration, smiling as his complexion lightened to a milky white. “So tell me L, What are children in America doing this evening?”

L lifted a lanky thumb to his bottom lip and became thoughtful. “I suppose many are preparing to go Trick-or-Treating.”

“That was a bit simple, wasn’t it?” Beyond chuckled his annoyance at L’s quick answer. “Regardless, You are correct.” He turned on the spigot, letting the water run over his fingertips before he dipped them in the watercolors he borrowed from the art supply closet. With purple on his left hand and black on the right, he smeared the paint under his eyes in exaggerated strokes until it blended into the powder. “and how do they prepare for such an outing?”

A scowl forged from concern weighed on L’s brows. “As I understand the custom, I believe the children dress as either a monster or someone they admire.”

“Why couldn’t it be both?” Beyond asked as he opened the door, the creak of rusty hinges announcing him before he stepped into the shadowed hallway. “Happy Birthday! What do you think? Is it you or does it suit me better?”

Confusion made L’s already wide eyes grow larger as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Starting at his bare feet, He dragged his eyes up Beyond, his jeans a slightly darker shade of blue but reminiscent still of the inspiration, a white long sleeve shirt clung to his frame while tangles of hair hung over his eyes and stuck up in the back in spikey mattes, and when their eyes met, Beyond smiled genuine pleasure at L’s expression.

“What is this?” Steady and even, there was no anger hidden in L’s tone, just the low hum that clung to his words as he spoke.

“I really did think you would be better at playing this.” Beyond huffed his disappointment. “I think the actual question you should be asking is which of us is the trick and which of us is the treat?”

L tried to sort meaning from the jumbled nonsense the other orphan was muttering. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he scuffed a few steps backwards. “Perhaps I should get Watari.”

“You’re…concerned? For what reason?” Beyond looked at L incredulously. “Surely I don’t need to explain that I am The World’s Greatest Detective this Halloween?”

L tipped his head towards Beyond, his words hushed by disbelief. “I think I fail to understand how this is a gift for me?”

“Didn’t you know?” The corners of Beyond’s lips twisted into a sneer, drawing tiny cracks in the foundation caking to his skin. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

#death note #L Lawliet #L Death Note #Beyond Birthday #Deathnotetober #Deathnotetober 2024

73 notes · View notes

talaofthevalley · 7 months ago

Text

Wonder what woulda happened if Ai hadn't interrupted here.

Cause like, Yusaku and Spectre are like mirrors of each other, this episode establishes that pretty clearly. And even though Playmaker starts out thinking every victim thought the incident was alike to hell, you do see signs that he's trying to understand Spectre's perspective. He asks Spectre questions, and interestingly Spectre answers, honestly at that.

Playmaker asks, and listens, and it seems like he's on the verge of something when Ai interrupts the conversation.

I don't exactly think Ai was wrong to pull this, they had no time and Ai is correct that it's pointless to talk to Spectre right now, since nothing except for Revolver's word would have made him let Playmaker pass. But the more interesting part for me comes from what he says after;

Beyond showcasing Ai's ability to manipulate, if Ai meant this seriously and thought it would play a big part in putting Yusaku into complete duel mode, then Ai doesn't understand Yusaku very well.

He says Yusaku and Spectre are nothing alike, which a normal watcher who's paid attention can pretty easily dispute. Playmaker doesn't acknowledge this claim, only realises they're on a time limit and they need to move. It's the reminder that the Tower of Hanoi is activating that gets him moving. Being told they're nothing alike isn't reassuring for Yusaku, because he's already realised him and Spectre are alike.

It's those similarities that make Yusaku understand Spectre a little, relate to him in a way he couldn't with any other Knight of Hanoi. But even when Yusaku relates or understands his opponent, it doesn't stop him from fighting. Yusaku's thrown from meeting someone with such a opposite perspective on the incident that ruined his life, but still possess such large similarities to him.

While Yusaku cannot comprehend enjoying the incident like Spectre did, I think he understands and relates to some of what Spectre describes here.

What little we know of Yusaku's life post-Lost Incident is that he recieved treatment for what he went through, tried to forget the incident and live a normal life. When we're shown flashbacks of young Yusaku after the incident, he's notably distant from everyone, if not physically then in his expression.

A big empty room filled with toys. No reaction to a kind-looking woman gently holding his hand. Introduced to what seems to be a new class of kids he doesn't know. Sat at the back, apart from the rest. Even if Yusaku was treated nicer than Spectre was, it was obviously not enough and came with its own hardships. And if he couldn't even talk about his experiences like Spectre, it would make adjusting even harder and the distance between him and others larger.

I'm especially honing in on the comment Spectre makes about Yusaku's life before the incident.

"If the incident hurt you, you must've led a happy a happy life before."

Spectre doesn't know that, he's drawing a conclusion based on observation and the information he has. But it's a conclusion Yusaku can't affirm or deny, because he doesn't have any memories of his life before the incident. The idea that the reason it affected him so much being because he was happy beforehand might not have even crossed his mind.

And then we have this fun little tidbit;

A place to belong. Something we in retrospect knows Yusaku feels he doesn't have, but wants. He can understand that desire very well. And if Spectre feels he has found that place with Revolver, then who is Yusaku to tell him he's wrong?

This framing tells a thousand words I think, cause we have Playmaker and Spectre in the same shot, but the focus is on Playmaker's face. It's hard to read his expression, but to me it comes off as thoughtful, still serious but he's considering Spectre's words and conviction here like he would any other opponent. It's like watching Yusaku building an understanding towards Spectre in real time.

Yusaku can understand that kind of loyalty. That unwavering dedication to someone who saved your soul when you needed it the most.

There are so many moments in S1 where Yusaku pulls on the memory of that person to gather strenght, to accomplish his goal of not only defeating Hanoi and learn the truth, but to meet that person again and save them if they are still in danger. Yusaku has survived this far on the memory of that kind voice that reached out to him at his lowest. He's dedicated in a way that, if he ever came to learn of the details, I think Spectre would similarly relate to.

dunno man it's fun to think about. I still have the rest of the duel to rewatch so who knows maybe my brain will be tickled even further or I've said something super contradicting that will be shown in just the following episode. The amount this show can give me to gnaw on in a single episode is kind of amasing.

#yugioh vrains #yugioh #ygo vrains #yusaku fujiki #fujiki yusaku #spectre #spectre vrains #spectre yugioh #see this #this is why i wish vrains had more character interaction beyond s1 #we'd have gotten more shit like this that makes me insane #like imagine if spectre and soulburner'd had a chance to have a go at each other #i want to see spectre dissect soulburner right to his face i think it'd be funny #valley archives

107 notes · View notes

southparkl4d · 2 years ago

Text

part uhhhhh 25 wow this took me a while my confidence in making this rly deteriorated throughout the process but it turned out pretty ok i think

Jimmy, Tweek, Clyde and Bebe take a shortcut through the North Park Funland, an abandoned amusement park stocked full of fun and definitely not infested with the undead. Clyde and Jimmy are infatuated with the empty park, thinking it’s awesome they have this entire place to themselves. Bebe is indifferent and cool-headed, while Tweek is constantly paranoid for every step he takes.

explanations:

Everything lined in red is not actually there. Bebe, Jimmy, Clyde and even Tweek don’t see these, but rather it’s a manifestation of Tweek’s anxiety and paranoia. The entity in the mirror house, the hunter watching the group, Craig, Clyde and Tolkien being deceased, Tweek’s tears, the flashes of him being dismembered, the figure watching Tweek sitting on the bench, Bebe being eaten alive, the smoker tongue/zombie figures about to attack Jimmy and Clyde while they enter the gift shop.

The last scene with the art styles switching is supposed to be Tweek spiraling into an even worse panicked state, things becoming disoriented and abnormal. Clyde has an X over the eye that is no longer there instead of an eyepatch because Tweek is thinking back to when he first lost it, with the thought that the same fate or even worse could happen to any of them at all times if they weren’t careful enough.

The second part of the styles switching is a flashback of Tweek’s memories before the apocalypse started, walking in the school hallway. Bebe is scribbled out because he didn’t know her well back then and Clyde has his other eye. The scene fades out, thus ending the animatic, leaving Tweek’s feelings unresolved and seemingly unending.

Jimmy and Clyde barely take notice of Tweek’s mental state, and Bebe tries to help but doesn’t fully understand what Tweek needs for support. He’s keeping a lot of his feelings internal, rather than normally yelling and expressing his emotions due to not wanting to attract a horde and killing himself and his group.

what was the point of this animatic:

to shine a light on how tweek is handling his anxiety throughout the apocalypse, and the negative effects it brings to him mentally

sry i hope this makes sense i literally had no plan while i was making this 3/4s of this was made up on the spot lol i have homework to do man

also a huge huge ginormous thank u to everyone who drew a frame for the last scene i seriously appreciate u putting time into making something for my au thats actually so awesome

❗️SLIDE 30 OF LAST SCENE CREDIT WAS FORGOTTEN - @moltergeist ON TUMBLR

#southparkl4d #southparkau #south park #south park au

792 notes · View notes

wittyminds · 1 year ago

Text

Golden Hour - James Potter

Anonymous request:

also, i dunno if you’re still active, since it’s been a while, BUTTT james potter with a girlfriend taking care of him after he’s at a party?

James Potter x Girlfriend Reader

Warnings - Fluff, fluff and more fluff

A/N

sorry it's been ages since my last post, i needed time to do exams, mental health stuff etc and this was distracting me from school (i say that and im supposed to be studying for an exam tomorrow). i am trying to answer the prompts people gave me and i apologise again for the extremely long wait. i understand if you're a little annoyed or have forgotten about asking in the first place. this isn't my best story i'll admit and it is a little short but... i tried :/

You can't remember how long the party had gone on for but, by the time you climb the stairs to the dormitory to crash, the clocks read 2 o'clock. You probably could've stayed longer if Sirius hadn't been flirting with you drunkenly or if your boyfriend, James, hadn't started singing a cappella ABBA. Not that he's a bad singer. He just gets a bit... friendly towards everyone around him.

After wrestling your way through the crowd, you now stand overlooking the party, fighting the urge to facepalm at your boyfriend as he prances about the room.

You carry yourself to your room, changing into your comfies and burrowing down into your blankets. A book that has been gathering dust on your table catches your interest and just as you slide the bookmark out, a loud thump against the door causes you to nearly jump out of your skin.

Springing from your bed, you slowly make your way to the door, fight or flight responses going crazy. Of course, it could just be one of your roommates. They were light drinkers and after a couple drinks they all went down like dominoes. Or it could be Sirius coming to ask if you want another drink or a dance.

You shake your head at the thought and open the door, staring up at the boy swaying in the dim light.

His large frame crashes through the door, almost crushing you.

"James!" You put your hands out to stop him from going any further forward and he staggers, trying to keep his balance.

His brow furrows as he looks around, clearly confused by his surroundings and you can't help but laugh slightly at the sight.

"Hang on.." His voice slurs and he stumbles over his feet again, "This isn't the boy's dorm."

You place your hands on his chest and steady him, "No. No it's not."

"Oh.." He steps back unsteadily into the hall, leaving you to follow him in case of an accident.

By the time you both reach the boy's dormitory, the only victims of his drunken state were an innocent coffee table, a series of butterbeer bottles and a terrified first year who just wanted to go to bed.

You practically carry him to his room, which proves a difficult task given he is nearly twice your size. He mumbles something as you lay him down but not even he seems to know what he's rambling on about.

"Right," You say softly, tucking his blankets over him like a child, "Go to sleep, you idiot."

He smiles a smile that scrunches his nose and you mirror him, giggling quietly.

"You're pr'tty."

Your smile falters slightly and try to stop the blush rising to your cheeks.

You had almost forgotten about his shameless honesty when drunk. Sure, it was nice to hear but he could warn you a little before springing the charm on you. He knows how easily you blush and was constantly using to his advantage.

When you turn to face him, he is still staring at you with large puppy dog eyes and a lazy smile that warms your heart. With a roll of your eyes, you walk back over and perch on the edge of the bed.

"Come again, Jamie?" Your voice was quiet but sweet and his crooked grin made the blush come back in a warm rush.

"You're pretty." His words are less slurred this time and you brush a hand over his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes fondly.

"I think you need to sleep, love." You murmur, trying to ignore the urge to fall asleep curled next to him, "You'll regret it tomorrow if you don't."

"Ugh." His face screws up and you giggle softly at the animated response, "You sound just like Moony!"

You roll your eyes again and just as you stand up, he makes a clumsy grab for your hand and pulls you back. You land on his chest and see him holding back a grunt of surprise from the impact.

You laugh out an apology and he looks away drowsily, clearly away to fall asleep.

"G'night, Jamie." His eyelids flutter and he forces his eyes open.

"What? I'm not sleepy!" He cries, voice scratchy already and rubs an eye with one hand, the other pulling you closer.

"Seriously?" You can't help but play along with his game.

"Mhm." He nods his head, "I could stay up for hours!"

His eyes droop again and his breathing grows heavy.

"Jamie?"

"Mhm?"

"You're falling asleep."

He doesn't reply and when you look up, his eyes are closed.

Taking the opportunity, you attempt to climb off of him but his arm is like a vice and you groan, silently cursing his stubbornness. Your head falls against his chest, his heartbeat filling your ears and you find yourself relaxing at the sound.

The golden glow of the candles sends a warm light over James and you can't help but stare at his still form, taking in every detail. The light dusting of freckles across his nose and the faint trace of a scar from a Quidditch match in his third year.

This is your own perfect golden hour, the two of you snuggled up with the smell of butterbeer and autumn outside.

You wait for his snores to fill the room but they don't come. Had he finally stopped snoring? Or was he trying to prove he wasn't sleeping?

"I'm gonna marry you one day."

His voice breaks the silence and your heart flutters at the words. You look up at your boyfriend and cuddle in closer to his side, wanting to stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you in your own perfect, slightly tipsy, world.

102 notes · View notes

ofbreathandflame-archive · 9 months ago

Text

Well, again, the issue is not that Rhys has done bad things, it’s how those actions are framed in the story. Let’s think about this – if Rhysand’s actions UTM were framed as negative then perhaps we would not be having this conversation.

Of course, we can argue that Rhysand (1) has developed negative coping mechanisms / perspective (2) Rhysand’s trauma informs the things that he does (both pre, during, and after UTM), and (3) Rhysand’s position was uniquely isolating because of the nature of the role he was forced to play. These are points that I believe can be argued and offer an interesting view; but for any of that to happen, we have to acknowledge that the behaviors are negative. That’s often the problem with the arguments that begin to arise – no one wants to admit that Rhysand has developed (or just has) negative qualities and behaviors. No one wants to contend with the reality of consequences. “Rhysand has always admitted that he would be willing to do terrible things for his family” – and yet there’s no elaboration on those “terrible things.” No one wants to talk about those proposed negative qualities. The story (and the audience) don’t want to admit that Rhys doesn’t really have a solid moral high ground over Tamlin, or admittedly other villains. Just because Rhysand “admits” he’s prone to basically being abusive doesn’t…make it any less abusive.

My proposed argument about Rhysand’s actions UTM are this: he chose to sexually assault Feyre, he chose to “protect” Feyre in ways that were extremely sexually explicit. I believe these are choices that Rhys chooses to make – and I believe they say something about him. It’s noted, to me, that Amarantha scarcely makes Rhys do anything that he does to Feyre. I also believe that his actions regarding Feyre were done with an air of autonomy; as in, I believe Rhysand takes these measures into his own hands. Ultimately, I believe that while Rhysand has to contend with the horrors, he himself becomes beholden to them at some point and ends up perpetrating the same behaviors.

We cannot argue that Rhysand sexually assaulted Feyre, and then argue that it doesn’t say something about him. It does. In the realm of the story – from a writing standpoint – I think a good author can still make a character like that sympathetic and understandable (see: Nahadoth and Itempas from N.K. Jemisin’s Hundred Thousand Kingdom). If I were analyzing Rhysand’s actions, I would simply make the argument that perhaps Rhysand’s abuse of Feyre mirror’s his own abuse by Amarantha hands, and he potentially sees Feyre (and her hope) as something to be threatened – or even shamed by. If Rhysand’s actions were written in a way that clearly exemplified that his actions are not meant to be praised (and are NOT are reflection of love) then he could be salvaged. I actually believe a lot of the abusive things Rhysand does makes sense given the environment and if the story leaned into this from a storytelling perspective and did away with needing to moralize, then this would all be fine. Framing Rhysand’s abuse of Feyre as something to be praised, admired, and loved for is actually quite insane. If we frame his actions as purely preservational and self-serving, that would make so much sense. Imagine being in Rhysand’s position; I guarantee everyone would do whatever they could to stop such extreme amounts of abuse and sexual violence. And even then, the story could still create a narrative that warns of the danger of sexual violence and consent, it would just be subtextual and more allegorical than concretely written in the text. Starting Feyre and Rhysand off in such a tragic place, having Feyre and Rhysand acknowledged truly what happened, having them discuss ways for both of them to move forward while building up the mating bond in the background. Have Feyre acknowledge this untrusting, sly, slick part of Rhysand and have her not assume her mate does everything out of the kindness of his heart. Build their romance out of a place of mutual atonement – play on the theme of guilt Feyre feels and the whole premise of the court. Let the connection between Feyre and Rhys be that they truly acknowledge each others darkness (and also let Feyre do selfish things – maybe she knew damn well Clare Beddor’s family might suffer a bad fate but its not her family and Feyre would do anything for them; Let Feyre kill those fairies with ease because she cares about her life. Let her contend with reality that she would actually do anything for her family and then have that be a connection between Rhys and Feyre.

Something that has always bothered me about the “we don’t talk enough about Rhysand’s trauma” argument that gets thrown around when we earnestly discuss the validity of his actions is the presumption of innocence in that statement. The unwritten statement is that the trauma somehow explains and simultaneously absolves him of the implications of his actions. I objectively agree with the sentiment – Rhysand’s trauma is not talked about enough and it should be. The argument dancing in the corner is the fact that people believe that Rhysand’s extreme amount of trauma absolves him – even going as far as essentially say that Rhysand’s abuse operates out of fear (or because of fear) which is essentially the exact same ideology the book bashed Tamlin for. In the end, the cycle just comes back around and the abuse gets pushed into the backdrop.

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti feyre #anti acosf #anti acomaf #this is more of an analysis of character than anti character rant #I’m just tired of people trying to essentially disregard that rhysand has done bad things #while simultaneously trying to make justification for it

112 notes · View notes

danika-redgrave124 · 1 month ago

Text

Emotional Glitch

The night was unusually quiet for Ramshackle dorm. The usual sounds of first years bickering or the faint hum of magical experiments were absent. In their place, there was only the soft rustle of leaves outside and the occasional distant howl of a creature in the woods.

Yuu sat on the balcony, their body perched on the old railing. They stared blankly at the sky, the pale moonlight casting soft shadows across their face. In their hands was one of the calming therapy candies, though they didn’t need it. Their programming hummed with a strange unease, something unfamiliar, an ache they couldn’t quite place.

“I miss… the Pizzaplex,” Yuu muttered quietly, their voice catching slightly. The words were more for themselves, a fleeting thought of their past life before the fire—before the mirror had pulled them into this world. “I miss… purpose. I miss… laughter.”

As they spoke, a faint distortion ran through their voice, and their head jerked to the side as if responding to an unseen command. A crackle of static hummed through the air around them, and the glow in their eyes flickered, reflecting the dissonance in their programming. Their hand clenched around the candy, the static buzzing louder.

Unseen by Yuu, Sam had been walking past to help Yuu stock up Ramshackle for tomorrow and paused when his shadows noticed the strange, robotic static in the air. The seasoned merchant slowly approached, his boots almost silent against the worn wooden floor. He stopped a few feet behind Yuu, his gaze softening.

“Yuu, buddy,” Sam called gently, his voice warm but cautious. “What’re you doin’ out here all alone? You sound… off.”

Yuu's body stiffened. They turned sharply, their glowing red eyes flashing with intensity. Their head twitched unnaturally, a faint buzzing sound surrounding them as if their internal systems had just overclocked. “Oh, Sam.” Yuu’s voice wavered for a moment before a static crackle drowned out their words. “I… apologize. System error. Nothing to worry about.”

Sam stepped closer, his brow furrowing. He leaned against the railing beside Yuu, taking in the strange glow in their eyes and the jerky movements of their frame. “That wasn’t just an error, imp,” Sam said, voice steady but filled with concern. “I know an emotional reaction when I hear one. You’re feelin’ somethin’, aren’t ya?”

Yuu’s gaze shifted downward, their eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to process what Sam had said. Their fingers twitched with nervousness, and a crackling burst of static escaped as their voice shook. “Feelings were not in my original programming… yet I experience them. I do not understand. Am I malfunctioning?”

Sam gave a quiet, soft laugh, one that carried no mockery, only understanding. “Nah,” he said, his voice warm and patient. “You’re not malfunctioning. You’re growing. Happens to everyone—even the robots.”

Yuu looked up at Sam, their red eyes softening, and the static in their voice began to quiet. “Growth…” they repeated, as if tasting the word for the first time. “I will process this.” A pause. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam smiled gently, his hands resting on the balcony. “No need to thank me, kid. You just gotta let things happen. And if you ever feel like talkin’, you know where to find me.”

Yuu stood still for a moment, considering his words. Then, with a soft nod, they took a deep breath, their frame straightening. “I… will attempt to understand this growth. I appreciate you being here.”

As the static finally settled and the hum of their internal systems resumed a steady rhythm, Yuu looked up at the stars, feeling a quiet, unfamiliar warmth spread through them. For the first time since their arrival in this world, they didn’t feel so… broken.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu #twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #eclipse yuu #fnaf x twst #fnaf security breach #twst x fnaf #twst sam

20 notes · View notes

tfxtime · 2 years ago

Text

Newfound Understanding

Greg was an understanding Father to his kids, he was attentive and patient. He just wasn't very active, in areas where most Dad's would be teaching their kids how to catch, Greg was teaching them mathematics and history.

This of course didn't stop his kids from partaking in sports, his youngest son Arthur was now in college leading the wrestling team to the State Championship. Greg was always so supportive and went to as many matches as he could, with his wife passing away his kids had become his world.

During the meets Greg would be cheering in his usual song song voice. Normally this was drowned out by most of the crowd, and if you weren't paying attention then you wouldn't have noticed the thin man in his plain dress shirt and pants. Unnoticed by everyone except Arthur, Arthur always heard his Dad's weak chants through the crowd and it made him shrink, which in wrestling is the last thing you want to do. The match went well and Arthur's team won, despite some slip ups on his part. The team was coming together and celebrating as Greg's meek voice came through trying to reach Arthur.

"Artie!" He called as his son then turned his head towards his Dad eyes widening slightly as he pulled away from the group.

"I am so proud of you! You really wrestled well!" Arthur grabbed his Dad and led him into the locker room and had him sit down.

"Dad you know I really appreciate you being here, but I got distracted because of you." Arthur explained as Greg looked up at him with a sad expression creeping over his tired face. "I'm just starting out here and I need to be at my best you know? I just could tell you were watching me cause you care, which is great! It just felt like a new kind of pressure...I'm sorry."

"No no...I'm sorry for putting that on you. I'll still come to the games, just won't be as loud I think." He stands up placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"Don't exactly fit this place anyway." Greg admitted as one of Arthur's teammates came in.

"Artie we're going out, you coming?" He asked as Arthur looked at his Dad, Greg nodded with a small smile. Arthur nodded and leaned briefly into his Dad and then left leaving Greg alone.

Greg sighed as he sat down again his eyes staring blankly at the grey floor. His eyes trailing around absently until he laid his eyes on the singlet laying on the floor half in the locker half out. He sighed standing up his hands gingerly picked it up and then looked around. He rolled it out after just folding it up and placed it over his chest.

"It's...it's so skimpy?" He mutters to himself as he then looks around. The gymnasium had fallen quiet as now most people had left. "Well...never tried it before." He thought, he quickly stripped himself of his plain office attire. He shimmied his way into the singlet and pulled it up over his shoulders. Even though it was spandex it was still loose and clinging barely to Greg's frame. He brought up his arms and gave a paltry flex.

"That was silly." He sighed as he moved to take it off the bands pulling away only to snap back to his body. A small yelp was heard from Greg as he tried and tried to get the singlet off. He stopped as he felt a wave of heat wash over him, beads of sweat forming on his brow. His breathing became heavy as he lunged himself onto the sink counter by the showers. He put his hand against the mirror, the glass began to fog up from the intense heat Greg was producing. His eyes traveled over his body, it was covered in sweat and the singlet was tight against his frail musculature until he locked eyes on his hands. He could feel his skin boil and pop crackling underneath as now both hands rested on the mirror. His hands grew outwards the fingers swelling larger, hands growing callouses from the intense training hours they did.

As his hands grew the changes spread forth his forearms swell up veins snaking their way up through his arms as his hands balled up into fists as his muscles began flexing. His biceps began to blow up with muscle the fibers twisting under the skin as he felt his shoulders snap and pop. He let out a lewd moan as he felt the shift in his neck his voice dropping lower as well becoming thicker. His beard was replaced with a square jawline. Years of wrinkles washed away as his face began to twist and turn younger and younger. His hair shortened and became a warm chestnut blonde, while his hair was finishing up his chest practically ballooned out. The fabric of the singlet stretched over the expansive muscle as the pecs jiggled with growing mass. Greg's legs nearly buckled at the new growth, his cock was already strained against the fabric a measly 5 incher that barely had a dent on the groin. He moaned as his cock snaked upwards towards his hardening torso. It felt almost as if the singlet was massaging his cock and stretching it out. It compressed tightly against his shaft causing him to grip the countertop as his legs exploded with girth and mass. His ass filling out the singlet even further than before. He could feel his nuts swell and tighten up as he let out a deep and gutteral moan as he shot stream after stream of cum against his midsection soaking into the fabric disappearing.

Nearly dazed to the point of seeing stars Greg slowly stood himself up his new stature was impressive 6'4 versus 5'8 and about 100 pounds of muscle Greg couldn't help but run his hands over his body. His pecs popping as he teases the new form.

"Greg!" Arthur's voice echoed through the locker room as Greg stood up straight before turning around to see his son looking at him.

"Hey before we go we gotta take pictures for the school c'mon."

"Yeah of course." Greg nodded unsure in the moment before they both walked out of the locker room.

Greg smiled for the picture with his new best friend Artie.

"Hey man how's your Dad?" Greg asked between shots as Arthur nodded.

"He's good, busy but good." He answered leading to Greg to smile wide, his old life fading from memory all that remained was his new life filled with huge possibilities.

#male tf #muscle growth tf #body transformation #male possession #body suit tf #mental change tf #reality change #merging tf #male transformation #merging #cock tf #singlet

655 notes · View notes

anticidic · 3 months ago

Note

One evening I came across a house that had no one inside it, not even a mouse.

I thought it strange and said to myself, “How peculiar, surely someone must wander its halls?”

And so I called and my voice echoed,

…that’s when the moan of a ghost bellowed.

"Every relationship has burdens they have to overcome. Together."

"But our burdens seem to be more substantial."

ONE DAY I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE

Ghost!Dazai and human!Chuuya AU ficlet. 1,074 words. Character death with a happy ending.

"That's what makes them even more worth fighting for," Chuuya said.

He fixed his hair in the mirror and tucked a lock behind his ear. Behind stood Dazai by the open door, his arms at his chest as he leaned against the wall. Watching. As he always did. When Chuuya looked away and fixed his bowtie for the third time, Dazai faded from sight.

It was quiet. No sound, no movement. The headlights of oncoming cars from down below in the district like tiny ants navigating the colony sped past.

Then he reappeared.

Chuuya frowned and shifted his attention away from his reflection. Dazai's form flickered rapidly until he was no more in the blink of an eye and all that was left were footsteps down the hall. A door opening. And shutting. Wind blew through his clothes and he felt detached from his surroundings. Inside the building—a cold memory hung.

As the days grew shorter and the nights longer, Dazai struggled to maintain his form for more than a few hours at a time before he had to step away. Their makeshift constellations before bed included Chuuya sipping from his wine and a blanket draped over his shoulders, on the couch. Across from him with ghostly legs draped across his lap was Dazai leaning back and propped up by physical cushions he had no use for. He could phase right through them if he wished. Chuuya would go on about his day, about the stray animal he fed, and about the elderly neighbor, Mr. Kishimura, whom he checked in on after not seeing the man on his early morning walk with cane in hand. Dazai would listen with a smile and when he spoke, he spoke with a whispering echo that wrapped around the room and filtered through the halls like a memory fading, fading away.

The most fragile voice Chuuya had ever heard. Dazai was just holding onto reality enough to be there. With him.

“I’ve never been more restless than the day you moved in,” Dazai paused and crossed the room. He placed a hand upon Chuuya’s cheek and cupped it tenderly. “I fear I’ll never be at peace now. Each day gets harder and I’m not long for this world anymore. I should’ve been gone when I took my last breath.” He sighed. “Does the longing ever stop?”

The words rang hollow. Chuuya stood there in thought and nodded with the tiniest smile.

A feeling of tenderness washed over him—a longing even, perhaps. And gentle tragedy. He gazed at the dresser, recently dusted with several framed photos propped up on it. Chuuya smiled in all of them, alone. He was never centered in the photo, always off to the side. His friends could not understand what Chuuya needed room for, and why he’d ask them to take several steps back to make sure they captured everything and everyone in the photo, but they relented for him. He never looked happier than in those fleeting moments in time: absolutely, completely alone.

“It’ll end. We know how this ends.”

Their story would come to an end. He had maybe one or two more chapters left in him. Dazai would go on forever. Chuuya would not.

At half-past midnight when his eyes closed, the blanket fell from his shoulders and rested atop his body. The lights turned off, and the remote was placed on the table in front of the television. A chill overcame him against his skin. A caress not of this world, but still entirely loving and careful like he was the one who would break first and not Dazai.

Maybe it did break him. Knowing they were together, had been together, and could forever be together but not actually experiencing what it was like to be in one another’s arms. Chuuya had not even photos of them. The first anniversary. The second one that came and went with him in bed bundled against the harsh winter outside and nursing a hot cup of tea. He lay across one side of the bed with the other half reserved for Dazai. The third was spent at work with Dazai using the last of his energy to follow after Chuuya for the day. They sat in a dim restaurant that night with smooth jazz playing in the background and a lit candelabra on the table in front of them. Chuuya would talk, talk, talk the night away and look as if he was holding a conversation entirely by himself to the onlookers. But Dazai was there as he always was. Listening. Even wearing a suit to match Chuuya’s own.

Chuuya coughed with a wheeze.

Days turned into months which became years on end spanning decades. His hair dulled. And he grew weaker by the day.

He lay in bed with the lights on and the television softly playing in the background, head turned toward the balcony. The same one he spent chilly evenings out on with a cigarette between fingers laughing to himself whenever Dazai’s words reached his ears.

Over the howl of the wind and so soft only he could hear, Dazai whispered: “I love you.”

Those same words would find themselves stuck to the walls and lost to time. One living memory would become two.

Chuuya closed his eyes for the last time and drew his final breath. Everything went dark and silent. Peaceful.

Then he awakened to Dazai looking down at him with the softest smile. On the verge of tears? Or was Chuuya imagining it? He reached out and touched Dazai’s cheek. Warm. A sunny spring day after the cold rain.

A startling realization hit him.

He could feel Dazai for the first time. They were back in his apartment with the lights off and Dazai sat crisscrossed on the bed beside him.

“Rest, Chuuya,” Dazai said. He lay on his side facing Chuuya, never taking his eyes off him. “We overcame our burdens. You were right.”

“You waited all these years to be with me?”

“And I loved every minute of it spent with you.” A pause, fabric rustled as Dazai pulled the covers over them and he draped an arm across Chuuya’s chest. His cheek rested on a pillow, and he had the most adoring look in those eyes Chuuya had seen since…since the earliest days of their relationship when it was still little but a budding flower.

“—And I’ll love our endless future.”

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #soukoku #soukoku fanfiction #asks #my writing #anticide writes #ghostzai #i can explain #no i can't #i legit started crying write this i hate this #ghost and human is so sad but there still manages to be a happy ending for them in the afterlife #tw character death

23 notes · View notes

shiorihyugawrites · 2 months ago

Text

Diamond Of The First Water

In the aftermath of war, Paradis finds itself in need of powerful alliances. When Emperor Armand of Valoria offers his military aid in exchange for the hand of his daughter, Princess Solina, in marriage, Captain Levi Ackerman is thrust into an engagement that begins as a political strategy but soon becomes something much deeper.

Princess Solina, sheltered from the world and unaware of the realities of love and war, finds herself drawn to Levi—the man known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. As they navigate royal customs, public expectations, and the growing threat of Marley, the bond between them deepens into a genuine connection.

But neither Solina nor Levi are prepared for the challenges of a political marriage, the weight of intimacy, and the secrets that lie beneath the surface. As Solina enters a new life with Levi, her naivety is tested, and Levi faces a battle unlike any he’s fought before—the fight to protect his heart.

Can their love flourish in the midst of war, duty, and danger? Or will the forces conspiring against them tear them apart before they can find peace? (Levi x OC)

Chapter Seven

In the serene, sun-dappled chambers of the Rose House, Princess Solina sat before a large, ornate mirror as her maids fussed over her, adjusting every fold and detail of her evening gown. The soft rustling of fabric and the gentle clinking of jewelry filled the room, but Solina’s mind was far away, racing with thoughts and worries. Her delicate hands rested in her lap, fingers idly toying with the edge of her sleeve as she mentally rehearsed the music piece she had prepared for tonight.

The harp had always been her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in melodies, where the world’s expectations faded away and she could simply be. But tonight felt different. Tonight, she wasn’t just playing for her family or the court. She was playing in front of Captain Levi Ackerman—her future husband, a man she hardly knew, and someone whose presence seemed to hold an unshakable weight.

The thought sent a wave of nervous energy through her, and her fingers twitched involuntarily, imagining the feel of the harp strings beneath them. I can’t make any mistakes, she thought, her heartbeat quickening. She had already embarrassed herself once today, during the meeting, when she had been so lost in her thoughts of Levi that she hadn’t even heard her father’s question. The memory of it made her cheeks burn with fresh embarrassment. She had felt so foolish, caught staring at him, her mind wandering while everyone else had remained focused.

One of the maids gently adjusted her hair, pulling the fiery curls away from her face and securing them into an intricate updo, leaving a few strands loose to frame her features. Solina barely noticed the fussing. Her mind kept returning to the image of Levi—his stoic demeanor, his sharp gaze, the calm strength he exuded. He was nothing like the noblemen she had grown up around. There was something about him that unnerved her, though not in a frightening way. Rather, it was his quiet intensity that unsettled her, as if he could see more than he let on. And she, in turn, found herself curious about him, wanting to understand what lay behind those hardened eyes.

The maids murmured softly to one another as they worked, tying the last ribbons on Solina’s gown, a deep emerald green that complemented her eyes and contrasted beautifully with her red hair. She barely registered their words, too caught up in her own internal whirlwind of thoughts. What would Levi think of her performance? Would he even care about music? From what she had heard, Paradis was a land of survival, a place where the constant threat of Titans had overshadowed everything for so long. Could someone like Levi appreciate something as delicate and expressive as music?

What if he finds it boring? she thought, anxiety twisting in her stomach. What if I make a mistake?

One of the maids handed her a delicate necklace, a thin silver chain with an emerald pendant that rested just above her collarbone. Solina accepted it absentmindedly, her mind still going over every note of the piece she would play tonight. She had practiced it countless times, but now, under the weight of her nerves, the music felt slippery and uncertain. Focus, she told herself. Just focus.

Her thoughts shifted briefly to her family. Tonight, they would all be there—her brothers, her sisters, the other consorts. It was a rare occasion when the entire imperial family gathered, and the presence of the Emperor’s other consorts always added a layer of tension. Lady Solana had never been on the best of terms with Lady Darcy. The rivalry between the Rose House and the Lily House was well-known throughout the empire, and Solina could already imagine the tight smiles and subtle jabs that would pass between her mother and Lady Darcy at the dinner table.

And then there was Prince Solomon. Solina’s heart warmed slightly at the thought of her eldest brother. He had always been protective of her, ever since they were children. She knew he wasn’t happy about this marriage, even though he respected their father’s decision. The way he had sized Levi up during the meeting had been all too clear—he was trying to determine if the captain was worthy of her. Solomon had always been her silent guardian, watching over her with a fierce protectiveness that she both appreciated and sometimes felt stifled by. But tonight, she knew he would be watching her closely, just as much as Levi would.

The room was quiet now, the maids having finished their work, stepping back to admire their efforts. Solina’s gown shimmered in the dimming light of the late afternoon, its fabric soft and flowing, yet regal in its design. Her reflection in the mirror showed a poised young woman, her appearance immaculate, every detail meticulously arranged. But beneath that polished exterior, her nerves fluttered like birds trapped in a cage.

One of the maids gently touched her shoulder. “You look beautiful, Your Highness,” she said softly, her voice filled with admiration.

Solina managed a small smile in return, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice quiet, almost distant. Her mind was still occupied with the evening ahead.

As she rose from the chair, the weight of her responsibilities settled on her shoulders once more. This dinner wasn’t just about performing a musical piece or meeting her future husband. It was about cementing the future of Valoria and Paradis through her marriage, through this alliance. The pressure of it all made her feel small, despite the grandeur of her surroundings.

Solina glanced at her reflection one last time before turning toward the door. She wasn’t just performing for her family tonight—she was performing for her future. And though the thought terrified her, there was a small flicker of determination deep within her. She had to do this. Not just for herself, but for her family, for her people.

The thought of Levi lingered in her mind as she made her way toward the grand dining hall. He was a mystery to her, a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. But tonight, perhaps, she might begin to understand him a little better.

And maybe, she thought, he’ll understand me too.

With one final breath to steady herself, Solina walked through the doors, ready to face whatever awaited her.

As Solina descended the grand staircase of the Rose House, her fingers brushed lightly against the banister, her nerves still buzzing despite the calm expression she wore. The foyer was dimly lit, the soft glow of evening casting long shadows across the floor. Her family was already waiting for her—her mother, Lady Solana, stood near the entrance, speaking in hushed tones with her eldest son, Solomon, while her younger siblings, Soleil, Solenne, and Solandor, clustered together, their chatter filling the space.

Lady Solana’s vibrant red gown shimmered in the soft light, her fiery red hair elegantly swept up into an intricate style. Her beauty had always been timeless, and tonight she seemed even more radiant. Solina could see the pride in her mother’s eyes as she glanced over, and it brought a small sense of comfort.

“There you are, darling,” Lady Solana said warmly as Solina reached the bottom of the staircase. “You look beautiful. Captain Levi won’t know what hit him.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement, clearly believing in the success of the evening. She adjusted a stray curl on Solina’s updo, her fingers gentle, and then stepped back to admire her daughter’s appearance. “He’s going to be charmed, I just know it.”

Solina forced a small smile in return, though her stomach continued to twist with anxiety. She appreciated her mother’s confidence in her, but the thought of performing in front of Captain Levi—this hardened soldier she barely knew—was nerve-wracking. It wasn’t just about impressing him. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of her entire family, the Valorian court, and the guests from Paradis.

Solomon, ever watchful, stood by silently, his gaze protective as it settled on his sister. He had been quiet since the earlier meeting, but Solina could tell that he was still uneasy about the entire situation. His stiff posture, the way his eyes flickered with concern every time they landed on her, told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t want her to go through with this marriage, but he also understood that it was out of their hands. Still, having him nearby brought her a measure of comfort.

Solenne, the youngest of the group, giggled softly as she looked up at her sister. “You look like a princess from one of the fairytales,” she said, her wide eyes filled with admiration.

Solina managed to laugh softly, though the sound was tinged with her nervousness. “Thank you, Solenne. You look beautiful too.”

Soleil nodded in agreement, her deep green eyes mirroring her mother’s. Solandor, the eldest of the younger twins, smiled encouragingly at his older sister but said nothing. The bond between the siblings was strong, and Solina knew they would all be rooting for her tonight, though the pressure to live up to expectations weighed heavily on her.

Lady Solana clasped her hands together, her excitement evident as she turned toward the door. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting any longer. It’s going to be a beautiful evening, Solina, just like always. You’ll play wonderfully.”

Solina took a deep breath and nodded, trying to absorb her mother’s confidence. She reminded herself of the years she had spent perfecting her craft, how the music flowed from her naturally, how the harp had always been a source of solace. She could do this—she had to.

As the family moved toward the grand entrance, Lady Solana paused for a moment, her gaze drifting outside where the other consorts and their children were making their way to the palace as well. Solina followed her mother’s gaze, recognizing the familiar figures of the women who shared her father’s affections and status within the empire.

Lady Blair, the Dahlia Consort, was already approaching, her arm linked with that of her youngest son, Andrew. Blair’s warm and sprightly demeanor always contrasted with Lady Solana’s more refined and composed nature, but the two women shared a close friendship despite their differences. Blair was laughing softly with Andrew, her exuberance shining through, and as she caught sight of Solana, she gave a small wave.

“Solana!” Blair called with her usual enthusiasm. “It’s going to be a beautiful night, don’t you think?”

Lady Solana smiled and nodded in response, warmth in her expression. “Indeed, Blair. I’m sure it will be.”

Not far behind them, Lady Madeline, the Peony Consort, walked quietly beside her daughters, Gracelyn and Ruby. Lady Madeline’s reserved nature was well known, but there was always a quiet strength about her that Solina admired. She gave Lady Solana a gentle nod in greeting, to which Solana responded with a respectful incline of her head.

But it wasn’t long before Solina spotted the last group approaching—Lady Darcy, the Lily Consort, accompanied by her daughter, Dimaria, and her son, Prince James. The tension between the Rose and Lily Houses had been present for as long as Solina could remember, and it was no secret that her mother and Lady Darcy did not get along. The rivalry between the two consorts had passed down to their daughters, and every interaction between Solina and Dimaria was laced with a subtle undercurrent of competition.

Dimaria, dressed in a deep purple gown that accentuated her sharp features, caught Solina’s eye from across the courtyard and smirked ever so slightly. Solina quickly looked away, her heart sinking slightly. She knew what that look meant—Dimaria was no doubt looking forward to tonight, hoping for an opportunity to one-up her in front of everyone, including Captain Levi.

“Don’t pay her any mind, Solina,” Lady Solana whispered as she noticed the exchange. “You are more than capable, and tonight will be about you. Focus on that.”

Solina nodded, though she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of pressure building up inside her. She had never wanted to compete with Dimaria, but their positions in the family had forced them into a rivalry neither could avoid. Tonight, she wouldn’t let that rivalry cloud her focus. Tonight was about performing, about showing her family—and Levi—who she truly was.

With a final glance toward her family, Solina took another deep breath as they all began to make their way to the main banquet hall. The large double doors loomed ahead, signaling the beginning of what would undoubtedly be a night she would never forget.

The grand doors to the banquet hall swung open with a soft creak, and the scouts stepped inside, their eyes immediately drawn to the stunning sight before them. The hall was a masterpiece of opulence and grandeur, a vast space filled with the glimmer of candlelight, gleaming marble floors, and intricate tapestries depicting the history and power of the Valorian Empire. The soft hum of voices filled the air, and the clinking of fine crystal and polished silver echoed gently in the background.

The scouts had never been surrounded by so much royalty. The sheer size of the Imperial family, their poised elegance, and the palpable air of authority radiating from the Emperor and his consorts left even the most battle-hardened of them slightly overwhelmed.

Levi, Hange, Armin, and Jean exchanged subtle glances, each one aware of the magnitude of the situation. They had fought titans, battled armies, and seen more death and destruction than they cared to remember, but this—being surrounded by the nobility of the most powerful empire in the world—was unlike anything they had ever experienced.

At the center of the room stood Emperor Armand Hein, his silver-streaked hair gleaming in the candlelight. He wore a dark, regal outfit adorned with the symbols of his empire, his eyes watchful and discerning as he gazed at the incoming scouts. Beside him were his consorts, each dressed in their respective house colors, exuding grace and beauty. The children of the Emperor stood in a dignified line near their mothers, their presence further accentuating the power of the royal family.

Levi’s eyes were immediately drawn to one person—Princess Solina. Even amidst the extravagance of the hall and the presence of so many other royals, she stood out to him. Her fiery red hair, gathered in an elegant updo, shimmered in the soft light, and her green eyes darted towards him, shy yet curious. The moment their eyes met, Solina’s face flushed a deep crimson, her gaze quickly lowering to the floor, though not without sneaking another glance at him.

Levi held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning his attention back to the Emperor, his expression unreadable but his mind still turning over his thoughts of Solina. She was different from anyone he had encountered, and her reaction to him only deepened the intrigue.

The Emperor stepped forward with an air of regal authority, his voice steady and commanding as he greeted the scouts. “Welcome, Captain Levi, Commander Hange, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein. We are honored to have you as our guests this evening.”

The scouts bowed respectfully, offering their formal thanks as the Emperor motioned for them to come closer. “Allow me to introduce my family.”

He gestured first to Lady Solana, who stood at his side, her beauty and grace radiating through the room. “You’ve already met Lady Solana, my Rose Consort.” Lady Solana offered a warm, inviting smile, her eyes flicking briefly to Solina, who was still trying to steady her nerves.

“And here is Lady Blair, my Dahlia Consort,” the Emperor continued, introducing the sprightly, warm-eyed woman who stood beside Lady Solana. Blair’s enthusiasm was palpable, and she gave the scouts a bright smile, clearly less formal than the others.

“And Lady Madeline, my Peony Consort,” the Emperor added, nodding to the quieter, more reserved woman who stood next to Blair. Lady Madeline gave a soft nod in acknowledgment, her demeanor calm and serene.

“And, of course, Lady Darcy,” the Emperor said last, his tone growing more formal as he introduced the Lily Consort, who was dressed in a striking purple gown. Lady Darcy’s sharp eyes flickered over the scouts, and her smile was polite but held an edge to it, a clear indication of her more competitive nature, especially when her gaze landed briefly on Captain Levi.

The Emperor then motioned to the group of children standing behind their mothers. “These are my children who are present tonight. You’ve already met Prince Solomon, my eldest and heir to the throne,” the Emperor said, his voice filled with pride as he gestured to the tall, imposing figure of Solomon, who stood with an air of protective vigilance. Solomon nodded curtly at the scouts, his eyes still lingering on Levi as if assessing him, testing his worth.

The introductions continued as the Emperor gestured to each child in turn. “Princess Soleil, Prince Solandor, and Princess Solenne of the Rose House,” he said, motioning to Solina’s younger siblings, each of whom gave their own polite nods and greetings.

The Emperor’s gaze moved next to his son, Prince Andrew who stood beside his mother Lady Blair with an air of quiet strength. “This is Prince Andrew of the Dahlia House.”

Prince Andrew, tall and broad-shouldered, had inherited much of his mother’s charm but wore it with a more reserved air. He gave the scouts a respectful nod, his expression calm and composed.

Next to be introduced were Princesses Gracelyn and Ruby, of the Peony House. Gracelyn with her soft spoken demeanor, stood with her hands neatly clasped, offering a small, polite smile to the scouts. Beside her was her older sister, Princess Ruby, who was slightly more composed than her younger sibling, offering a courteous smile.

Finally, the Emperor’s voice introduced the children he shared with the Lily Consort, Lady Darcy. “And, of course, Princess Dimaria and Prince James of the Lily House.” Princess Dimaria, whose dark, calculating eyes flicked toward Solina before turning her attention to Levi with a knowing smirk. It was no secret that Dimaria had always coveted the attention and status that Solina held as the “Diamond of the First Water.”

Prince James, the eldest of the Lily House, tall and confident man stood beside Dimaria He gave a measured nod to the scouts, his posture relaxed but his gaze equally sharp.

Solina remained silent during the introductions, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She felt Levi’s presence more acutely than anyone else’s, her gaze flicking to him again and again. His stoic expression didn’t betray much, but something about the way he looked at her made her feel exposed, as if he could see right through her carefully composed exterior.

“Not all of my children are here tonight,” the Emperor continued, his tone slightly softer. “Several of them are abroad, married to other world leaders in alliances that strengthen Valoria. They will return for the royal wedding.”

At the mention of the wedding, Solina’s stomach fluttered, the reality of her impending marriage sinking in more deeply. She glanced once more at Levi, who remained as composed as ever, though she couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

The Emperor’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Tonight is not just about formalities. It is about building trust and understanding between our nations,” he said, his eyes shifting toward Levi for a moment. “And, of course, Captain Levi, we will make sure you have time to speak with my daughter. I believe a conversation in a more relaxed setting is necessary for both of you.”

Lady Solana, ever the supportive mother, smiled brightly and chimed in. “Yes, and as I mentioned earlier, Princess Solina will be playing the harp tonight. She’s been preparing a special piece just for this evening.”

Levi’s attention flicked to Solina once more, intrigued by the idea of hearing her play. Despite the politics surrounding their marriage, he couldn’t deny his growing curiosity about her. She was shy, clearly nervous, but there was something about her that captured his attention—something beyond her beauty.

Solina, catching his gaze, felt another wave of heat rush to her cheeks. The idea of performing in front of Levi was both thrilling and terrifying. She had practiced this piece countless times, but now the pressure felt even more intense. She wanted to impress him, to show him that she was more than just a political pawn in this grand alliance.

As the introductions ended, the Emperor gestured for everyone to move toward the grand table that had been set for dinner. The scouts were shown to their seats, and the royal family followed suit, each member of the court settling into their places. The atmosphere was still formal, but there was a sense of anticipation in the air.

Levi, seated not far from Solina, felt the weight of the evening settle over him. The formalities were only just beginning, but the real challenge lay ahead. As he glanced once more at Solina, he couldn’t help but wonder what the night would bring, and how this delicate, quiet princess would play her part in the future of Paradis and Valoria.

…

Solina sat at the banquet table, surrounded by the warmth and laughter of her family, the scouts from Paradis, and the elegant hum of conversation that filled the grand hall. Yet, despite the grand occasion, she could barely focus on the lavish meal before her. Her plate remained largely untouched, save for a few half-hearted bites. The aroma of roasted meats and rich sauces wafted through the air, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, consumed by the upcoming performance.

In her head, she was already sitting at the harp, fingers plucking each string, the music filling the room. Over and over, she rehearsed the piece she had prepared, each note perfectly aligned in her thoughts. Her anxiety was rising with each passing moment. What if I make a mistake? What if I miss a note? The stakes felt impossibly high, not just because she was performing for her family and the scouts, but because of him—Levi.

She glanced toward him briefly, her heart fluttering at the thought of playing in front of him. His expression remained as unreadable as ever, but there was something in his gaze that made her wonder what he truly thought of all this. Did he care about music? Would her performance matter to him at all? Or was he simply focused on the duty of this political marriage?

Her fingers, resting in her lap, began to move almost instinctively. Solina couldn’t help it. She needed to rehearse, even if only in her mind. The motions of her hands mimicked the way she would play the harp, her fingers dancing lightly over invisible strings, her mind lost in the flow of the melody. She barely noticed how her hands moved, her body operating on autopilot as her mind focused solely on the music.

Across the table, Levi’s sharp eyes caught the movement. He had been observing her for a while now, noting the way she seemed distracted, her eyes distant, as if her mind was far from the dinner table. But it was the subtle movement of her fingers that truly drew his attention. At first, it was barely noticeable—just the faintest twitch of her hands beneath the table. But as he continued watching, he realized what she was doing.

She’s practicing, he thought, intrigued. The way her fingers moved, so delicate yet precise, mimicking the motions of playing her harp, fascinated him. He had never seen someone so absorbed in their craft, so lost in their thoughts. It was clear to him that she was mentally rehearsing, her fingers following the rhythm of the song she would soon perform. There was an elegance to it, a quiet dedication that struck him as both beautiful and profound.

Levi leaned back slightly, his gaze lingering on her hands. He found himself imagining how those fingers would look as they glided over the harp strings, producing a melody that he had yet to hear. For someone like him, who had spent most of his life surrounded by war and violence, the idea of such delicate, artistic expression was foreign, yet strangely compelling. He couldn’t help but wonder how the music would sound—how someone so quiet and nervous could create something so beautiful.

He realized, with some surprise, that he was genuinely looking forward to hearing her play. There was something about her—about her dedication, her passion for her craft—that had piqued his interest. Levi had never been one for grand displays of emotion, but as he watched Solina practice in her mind, he felt a small spark of curiosity deep within him. Perhaps there was more to this woman than he had initially thought.

Hange, who had been chatting animatedly with Armin and Jean across the table, glanced at Levi and followed his gaze. A knowing smile crept across her face as she noticed Solina’s subtle hand movements. “Looks like she’s got music on the brain,” Hange commented quietly to Levi, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I bet she’s rehearsing right now, even though she’s not at the harp.”

Levi gave a noncommittal grunt, but his eyes didn’t leave Solina. “She’s nervous,” he muttered under his breath.

“Of course she is,” Hange whispered back, keeping her voice low enough that only Levi could hear. “She’s performing for you. That’s a lot of pressure, you know.”

Levi’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing in response. Instead, his gaze shifted back to Solina, who was still lost in her thoughts, her fingers moving rhythmically. He found himself wondering what she was thinking. Was she as anxious about the performance as she seemed? Or was there something else weighing on her mind?

Solina, oblivious to the fact that Levi was watching her, continued her mental practice. She could hear the music in her head as clearly as if she were playing it, each note flowing smoothly into the next. Her fingers moved in perfect harmony with the melody, and for a brief moment, she allowed herself to get lost in the music. It was her escape, her refuge from the overwhelming nerves that had been building all evening.

But then, suddenly, she became aware of the eyes on her. It was subtle at first, a small feeling at the back of her mind, but it grew stronger until she realized that someone was watching her. Slowly, she glanced up, her heart skipping a beat when she found Levi’s eyes on her. For a split second, she froze, her hands stilling in her lap as she met his gaze.

There was no judgment in his eyes, no sign that he found her distraction annoying. Instead, there was something else—something she couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe even fascination? Whatever it was, it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment, and she quickly lowered her gaze, her heart racing. She felt as though she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t, even though she knew it wasn’t true.

Levi, for his part, didn’t look away. He had caught her in a moment of vulnerability, but rather than feel awkward or uncomfortable, he found himself even more intrigued. The shy princess, the one who had struggled to even meet his gaze earlier, was so absorbed in her music that she seemed to forget the entire world around her. It was a rare glimpse into who she truly was beneath the layers of duty and expectations.

As Solina shifted nervously in her seat, Levi leaned back slightly, his expression softening, though he remained as unreadable as ever. He didn’t need to say anything—he was content to simply wait. The performance would come soon enough, and he had a feeling that the quiet princess sitting across from him had much more to show than she realized.

For now, though, Levi kept his thoughts to himself, his anticipation growing. The evening was far from over, and he was more than ready to hear what Solina had been rehearsing so diligently.

…

Solina’s heart raced as she glanced back down at her lap, her fingers still resting in place from her invisible rehearsal. She felt the warmth creeping up her neck, flushing her cheeks as she tried to calm the wave of embarrassment that washed over her. Levi had caught her practicing—caught her in the act of retreating into her mind, into the music, as a way to soothe her nerves. But what surprised her the most was the look he had given her.

He wasn’t annoyed or disinterested. No, there was something in his eyes that she hadn’t expected—curiosity. Maybe even intrigue.

For a moment, she allowed herself to focus on that. The way his sharp, calculating gaze had softened ever so slightly when he noticed her subtle finger movements. The way he didn’t turn away from her or seem impatient. Instead, he had watched, and his expression, while as stoic as ever, hinted at a flicker of interest.

Could that mean something? Solina wondered, her thoughts now swirling with possibilities she hadn’t dared to consider before.

She had spent so much of the day worrying about how to present herself, about not making mistakes, and about what kind of husband Levi would be. But now, after that brief exchange of glances, there was something new—a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this marriage wouldn’t be purely political. Maybe there could be something more between them.

Solina stole another glance at Levi. He was sitting straight, his posture as disciplined as a soldier’s should be, but his eyes weren’t distant. She could tell he was thinking, and she found herself wondering what thoughts were running through his mind. Did he feel the weight of this arrangement as heavily as she did? Or was he resigned to it, viewing it simply as duty?

Her fingers twitched slightly in her lap again, but this time, she caught herself before falling into the habit of mimicking her harp-playing. She felt a little lighter now, knowing that Levi had not judged her. If anything, his intrigue felt like an invitation to connect—however small it might be.

Lady Solana, who had been chatting with one of the Emperor’s officials beside her, glanced at Solina with a soft, knowing smile. “Are you ready for your performance, my dear?” she asked gently, leaning closer to her daughter.

Solina blinked, startled out of her thoughts, but she nodded. “Yes, Mother. I’ve been practicing.”

Lady Solana patted her hand reassuringly. “You’ll be wonderful, just like always.”

As her mother’s words settled over her, Solina’s thoughts wandered back to Levi. Could this be the start of something? She knew that in arranged marriages, especially in political ones, finding any kind of emotional connection was rare. But what if she and Levi could be the exception?

She wanted to believe that it was possible. The flicker of hope in her chest grew just a little stronger.

Levi hadn’t spoken much during the meal—he never did, from what she had gathered. He was reserved, a man of few words, and that suited him. But there was a calm strength in his silence that Solina found oddly comforting. It reminded her of her father in some ways—always observing, always thinking, but rarely speaking unless necessary.

As the chatter in the banquet hall continued, Solina allowed herself to relax, her fingers no longer fidgeting in her lap. She took a small sip of water from the crystal glass in front of her, her gaze flickering back to Levi every now and then. Each time she looked, he seemed focused on the room around him, but occasionally, she caught his eyes darting toward her.

He’s curious about me, she realized, her heart fluttering with both excitement and nervousness.

It was a good thing. A very good thing. If there was a chance that Levi was interested in getting to know her beyond the formalities of this marriage, then maybe they could find common ground.

Solina smiled softly to herself, a faint hope blooming in her chest. She wasn’t naïve—she knew this marriage was first and foremost a political alliance. But the way Levi had looked at her, the way he hadn’t dismissed her, made her believe that there might be more to him than the stoic soldier everyone else saw. Perhaps, with time, she could uncover that side of him.

The banquet continued, and Solina’s anticipation for her performance grew, but this time, it was tempered with a quiet sense of optimism. She would play for him, for her family, and for herself. And when the music flowed from her fingertips, she hoped it would be the first step in bridging the gap between her and Levi.

As the conversation around her grew louder and more animated, Solina felt the eyes of her siblings and the other consorts on her, each one observing how she and Levi interacted. But for the first time all evening, Solina felt less burdened by their expectations. She would let the music speak for her, and maybe Levi would hear something in it that connected them.

Levi, meanwhile, remained quiet but alert, still watching Solina from the corner of his eye. There was something captivating about her—a kind of quiet determination beneath her shy exterior. He could sense her nerves, but also the way she held herself, the way she seemed to find peace in her music. It was rare for him to take such interest in someone so quickly, but Solina intrigued him.

And so, as the night continued, Levi found himself looking forward to hearing her play, anticipating the moment when the shy princess would reveal more of herself through her music. Something told him that her performance tonight would be more than just notes on a harp—it would be a glimpse into the woman behind the title. And Levi was more than ready to see who she truly was.

…

The moment had finally arrived. The soft clinking of glasses and muted conversations around the table fell away as all eyes turned to the front of the room where Princess Solina sat beside her harp. The delicate instrument gleamed in the candlelight, and the room seemed to still in anticipation. Solina’s heart pounded in her chest, her hands trembling slightly as she settled herself on the bench, her fingers brushing lightly over the strings.

Levi, seated near the other scouts, kept his eyes fixed on her. His usual stoic expression remained, but the tiniest flicker of something—anticipation, curiosity—glimmered in his gaze. Hange noticed it first, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. Even Jean and Armin exchanged a glance, both a bit taken aback that Levi seemed genuinely interested in what was about to happen.

Solina’s fingers hovered above the strings for a moment, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of nerves swirling inside her. This was no ordinary performance. The weight of everything—her future, her family’s expectations, and, of course, Levi—pressed down on her. She glanced at him once more, their eyes locking, and for a moment, it was as if the entire room faded away, leaving just the two of them. But then her hands began to tremble more, and she looked down at her harp, her breath shallow.

The first few notes came out shaky. She missed a string, the sound discordant and awkward. The room tensed ever so slightly. Solina’s heart sank, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. She heard the faintest snicker from across the room—Dimaria, of course. The quiet sound was like a sharp knife cutting through her already fragile confidence. Solina’s fingers faltered, and she felt the weight of the failure creeping over her like a shadow.

Her father, the Emperor, shot Dimaria a stern look that silenced her instantly. His eyes then softened as they returned to Solina, filled with the kind of unwavering support that only a father could give. Lady Solana, too, leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and reassuring. “Take your time, Solina,” she said softly, her words barely audible over the tension in the air. “Breathe.”

Solina felt like the ground was crumbling beneath her. Her worst fear—messing up in front of Levi, her family, and the scouts—had come true. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear. But then, as if sensing her distress, she glanced back at Levi. His expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something in his eyes—something steady, almost encouraging. He hadn’t looked away from her, hadn’t shown any signs of disappointment or judgment. If anything, it was as if he was urging her, without words, to continue.

That look, that silent encouragement, grounded her.

Solina took another deep breath, this one deeper, more centered. She closed her eyes, blocking out the stares of everyone in the room, focusing instead on the feel of the harp beneath her fingers, the strings taut and ready to sing. In her mind, she imagined herself back at the Rose House, on the gazebo where she always played for herself, free from expectations and pressure. She let the memory of that peaceful place wash over her, calming her nerves.

With her eyes still closed, she began again. This time, the notes came out soft and steady, each one flowing into the next like a stream of water. The melody was familiar, one she had practiced countless times before, but now it felt different—freer, more passionate. The music swirled around her, enveloping her in its warmth, and soon she was lost in it. Her fingers moved with a grace and precision she hadn’t felt earlier, the harp singing under her touch.

As the notes filled the room, Solina let herself think of Levi. She wondered what he thought of her—this shy, reserved princess thrust into a political marriage. But as she played, she didn’t want to just show him the side of her that was bound by duty. She wanted him to see her—her passion, her love for music, her spirit. The melody began to take on a new life, each note infused with the emotions swirling inside her, as though she were playing just for him.

Unconsciously, as she played, she began to hum along with the melody. The soft sound of her voice wove into the music, creating something even more beautiful, more personal. Her voice, though quiet, carried through the room, clear and pure, like the song of a bird in the morning. It added a depth to the melody, transforming it into something more than just a performance. It was an expression of her heart, laid bare for everyone to hear.

Solina forgot where she was. She forgot that she was in front of her family, in front of Levi and the scouts. In that moment, it was just her and the music. Her fingers danced effortlessly across the strings, her voice blending with the harp in perfect harmony. She felt weightless, free from the nerves that had plagued her earlier. All that mattered now was the music and the emotions it carried.

When the final note resonated through the hall, Solina slowly opened her eyes, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. The room was silent. For a brief moment, she panicked, thinking she had done something wrong, that maybe she had lost herself too much in the music. But then she saw the expressions on everyone’s faces.

Her family, who had heard her play countless times before, were utterly still. The Emperor’s usually stoic face was softened with pride, and Lady Solana’s eyes glistened with tears, her hands pressed gently to her heart. Even her siblings, normally chatty and playful, were quiet, their eyes wide with awe.

Across the table, Hange was openly crying, dabbing her eyes with a napkin, while Jean and Armin sat in stunned silence. Jean, who was rarely speechless, blinked rapidly, as if trying to process what he had just heard, while Armin stared at Solina, clearly moved by the beauty of the performance.

But it was Levi’s reaction that caught Solina’s attention most of all. He hadn’t said a word, of course. He didn’t need to. The look on his face said everything. His usually hard, unreadable expression had softened ever so slightly, his eyes focused entirely on her. There was a flicker of something—admiration, maybe even awe—that she had never seen before. He was mesmerized, completely captivated by what he had just witnessed.

Solina’s heart fluttered in her chest. She had done it. She had connected with him, even if just for a moment. And in that moment, she knew that there was a chance—just a chance—that this marriage could be more than just duty. There could be understanding, respect, maybe even something deeper.

The Emperor finally broke the silence, his voice filled with warmth and pride. “That was beautiful, Solina.”

Lady Solana nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Truly, my darling. You played from your heart.”

Hange sniffed, wiping her tears. “That was...wow, just wow. I’ve never heard anything like that.”

Jean, still in shock, nodded. “Yeah, I’m...uh, speechless. I didn’t expect that.”

Levi, however, remained silent. He didn’t need to speak. The look in his eyes said everything.

Solina sat there, feeling a warmth spread through her as she realized she had impressed him. More than that, she had shared a part of herself with him, and it had mattered.

And for the first time since this whole arrangement had been set in motion, she felt like maybe—this could work.

Masterlist | Patreon

Join my Taglist

Note: I am three chapters ahead on patreon:)

10 notes · View notes