#i need everyone to understand they are even mirrored in their places in the frame

[lover-of-mine]

Buck, Eddie and The lightning mirroring the well.

[eunsuri]

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.

[my-one-true-l]

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.”

[talaofthevalley]

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.

[southparkl4d]

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

Previous

Next

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

[wittyminds]

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.

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

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.

[tfxtime]

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.

[anticidic]

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.”

[havemyheartaziraphale]

Ok so this is for @melbatron5000 and @somehow-a-human mostly because I want input on your theories and my forming theory. Also, @indigovigilance has some decent screen grabs too. Sorry for having a wall of text here, I'm on mobile and still not used to posting on Tumblr

I absolutely agree with something being passed to Aziraphale during their kiss. I have watched the scene several times now and can spot the thing myself. I can see it in the photos you guys have as well.

I also stand by my theory there's a body swap going on. I wasn't entirely sure when it happened, until probably tonight. I know not everyone agrees with me but right now that's fine. Whatever.

Nightingales is DEFINITELY a code word. Got that straight off, wouldn't be able to tell you 100% what exactly for, except to me maybe it's saying "we need to do the body swap again".

Here's the thing: I had to go back and watch the body swap in S1 before I felt confident in this. I will stand by this theory now because I'm pretty certain of it.

There's clearly missed signals and unsaid things. I think the conversation we see is not everything that was said, based on the camera angles, the fact that so many of those lines can easily be pulled for sound bites and not seem odd/off, and the fact that their actions when out of shot don't entirely match up to what's being said. But the gist of the conversation is the same. They eventually come to the understanding that something needs to happen and they're not going to like it.

Here's where I think things change.

Nightingales is the signal that there's a swap that needs to happen. Crowley has already told Aziraphale that he can't leave the bookshop. Crowley knows this, and he also knows that the only way to get to Heaven is by having an angel escort him there. Aziraphale on the other hand will have no problems going whenever he needs to. Crowley needs to be taken, so he needs his Azi-suit.

With Crowley-as-Aziraphale(CAA) in heaven, he'll be able to do whatever mischief he needs/wants to. He can clearly already access files up there still. We know he has to have been a powerful/higher up angel before his Fall. He just needs a way in first.

When did the body swap happen?

Good question, and it took me a lot of thinking and rewatching of that flipping kiss to finally decide and work out when it was; the moment Aziraphale "allows" himself to hold Crowley.

What am I on about? I'll tell you.

Rewatch the body swap in S1. They hold hands, time stops, and you see them change back. Obviously CAA and Aziraphale-as-Crowley (AAC) are sat in their usual spaces so the characters are in the wrong seats. Once they're back, they look normal. Everything is tickety-boo.

Except in the KISS, they're very much in the same positions. Of course, Aziraphale places his hands on Crowley briefly, allowing for stability, a time freeze, and the chance to switch round before resuming. Probably gives them a little time to confirm some stuff too. There's so many camera cuts and frame changes that allow for this to be true, otherwise why not just show it from one angle? And why is that dang clock also skipping time suddenly yes I know Neil may have said it's just a continuity error at one point but I don't trust him because he also lies and it's way too obvious with that clock in the background

So what about the bullet/metal ball in CAA mouth? Definitely Aziraphale's memories of his chat with Metatron, and anything else CAA may need. (This isn't a repeat, this is a mirror of the bullet catch. Crowley fired the bullet, Azi caught it. This time, Azi fires the bullet, Crowley catches it.) CAA then says the phrase he knows AAC will understand, and that also sounds like Azi to anyone listening, and AAC responds. Like codes. "I forgive you... Dont bother." Exit: Azi-as-Crowley.

Of course Metatron then swans in and interrupts CAA while he's still getting his bearings, and mentions the Second Coming. I don't think even Crowley expected it to be this. Hence the Look he gives AAC.

Metatron still gives CAA a slightly suspicious look in the elevator, which I don't think many people mention enough. And that whole end credits bit of them as they're heading off is just... Odd. BUT, and here's where I'm certain it's CAA, the look of sheer determined destruction on Azi's face is the same from S1 body swap. I went back and checked, just to be sure. That's 100% Crowley right there. And now he has the bullet in his mouth, access to heaven thanks to being escorted by Metatron, and Aziraphale still able to look after the bookshop in disguise.

Points I also want to make

Crowley would not be the sort of person (demon/being) to just stand there and wait for Azi to go up to Heaven. We've seen he'll just go off without a word. At least twice. (When Azi is in thought about Job, and when Nina talks to him after she confirms she'll be at the Street Traders meeting). Crowley doesn't linger.

Crowley would also not be the one to choose to listen to A Nightingale Sang. That is all Aziraphale babyyyyyy. The Bentley knows them both well enough by now. Crowley likes his rock and Bebop, Azi likes his classical, more soothing tunes. Crowley certainly wouldn't listen to a song if he was upset with it. Azi allows himself to hear it before turning it off. He's the sentimental one.

[sokkastyles]

Hi,

Hope you are doing well.

Thank you for the answer to my previous query. I had another query about Aang.

I once recall reading a meta that Aang getting hit by Azula's lightning was a punishment for him choosing power instead of love. I can't recall the whole thing, but from what I remember, it seems like Aang was punished because he chose the power of the Avatar State over his love of Katara. But that has me confused, because this power he needed to save the three nations from the Fire Nation. So, it makes no sense why him choosing this power was wrong, over his love for Katara.

I would like your thoughts over this.

This is a place where I get what the show was trying to do, but they framed it in absolutely the wrong way. I think Aang going into the Avatar State in Ba Sing Se was supposed to be him choosing power over love, hence the "I'm sorry, Katara," line. I think we are supposed to think that in his desperation to save everyone from Azula and the Dai Li, he chooses power, contrary to what the show earlier framed as the wise choice of choosing love over power.

The problem with this is that it's a false dichotomy. It supposes that what the Guru was telling him about giving up earthly attachments to unblock his chakras and enter the Avatar State meant giving up love altogether and choosing power over love, when it shouldn't mean that at all.

Giving up selfish attachments means accepting love, the kind of love that is giving and not taking. Aang can still love Katara, but he should not be using Katara as a replacement for his people or seeing her as someone who will come around eventually because he wants her to. This kind of love is sacrificial because it requires letting go of entitlement to the person, and if they really love you, they will come back to you on their own.

I really actually thought that this was the narrative being built for Aang and Katara at the tail end of season two, especially since it mirrors Zuko and Iroh's narrative so well. It also fits so well with the show's theme of setting up false dichotomies in order to later prove them false. See: earthbenders cannot bend metal, firebending is always destructive, the elements themselves as always seperate from each other, etc. The Guru gives this same advice to Aang, so why would he advise Aang to choose power over love, to choose another dichotomy? Because Aang understanding it as a dichotomy is a misunderstanding of what the Guru was trying to teach him.

But then Aang just "decides" to go into the Avatar State and we're supposed to believe the "I'm sorry" is him giving up his love for Katara. How did he accomplish this huge emotional work, since it was so hard for him before? We don't know. Especially in a moment when Katara is being threatened, a moment when he should realistically feel more attached and possessive of her than ever. You're telling me that after all that, Aang was able to grieve his people and reconcile his attachment to Katara and reach enlightenment all in, what, two seconds, when five minutes before he was saying he couldn't do it?

It makes no sense. Especially since he is at this point still misunderstanding what the Guru was trying to teach him.

Especially given his talk with Iroh in which Iroh said it was wise to choose happiness and love. It makes no sense, without any build up, for Aang to suddenly make the opposite decision, and the idea of him being punished for it makes even less sense, since we don't know why he did it. There was no visible internal conflict going on because Aang had already decided not to choose power over love. If he's supposed to be uncertain leading up to a wrong choice, show me that. The way the show has Zuko visibly torn between his love for Iroh and Katara's compassion and the power and validation he craves from his father.

It also makes no sense as a choice between power and love in the first place because he chose the power FOR Katara, because she was in danger. In the exact same way he rejected the Guru's advice because he had a vision of Katara in danger. So he actually didn't change anything. So being punished for choosing power doesn't make sense, because the thing he still needs to learn is that it was never a dichotomy in the first place, and that was supposed to unlock the power.

I said before that I think a real narrative punishment as a consequence for not understanding the Guru's advice would be Katara actually getting captured as a result of Aang's inability to go into the Avatar State. After that, Aang would spend a time more attached to Katara than ever, still unable to go into the Avatar State until he reconciles this internal conflict within himself, until he learns not to choose power for power's sake, or love for the sake of validation. Until he learns that his duty as Avatar is a duty of love, and that both of these things go hand in hand. The responsibility of power meeting the responsibility of what it means to love another human being.

Instead, the show has Aang just decide to go into the Avatar State, and replaces the internal conflict with "well Azula shot him so now he can't go into the Avatar State," so his internal conflict never actually gets resolved.

I also wrote about this here. And I think the fact that that asker saw a post claiming that this scene is Aang letting go of his attachment to Katara while you saw a post that framed it as him getting punished underlines the confusion over what the writers were trying to do with this scene and the sloppy way it's written, especially in comparison to other places where the writing is phenomenal.

[aquarii-if]

Liviana has never cared for birthday gifts.

In her eyes, the best parts of her birthday came from the people she was surrounded with. Even if she never got another gift again, she'd be willing to do anything to spend every birthday surrounded by people she loves. She never wants to be lonely on her birthday.

But despite the thousands of people standing outside right now, she's never felt so alone.

While the day used to be spent laughing with friends and eating the small candy her mom could afford, nowadays, she can’t spend a single second of the day without seeing reminders.

Her eyes trail down to the framed picture on her dresser, four smiling faces look back at her. She feels tears brink on the corner of her eyes as memories come flooding back. Celebration is hard when in the middle of a war, but she remembers her old friends trying their best with what they had. Cakes made out of dirt that they smashed and threw at each other, pretending the gunshots were fireworks, sneaking off to a new area to explore... Sure, it was depressing, knowing that as soon as the day was over they'd turn back to the horrifying reality, but it was nice to just forget for a little while.

Now, as queen, she no longer has to worry about the scary noises and the blood staining her clothes. She gets to spend her birthday surrounded by her citizens and a pile of gifts she once believed only existed in fairytales.

Without the friends she's had since birth.

She shakes her head, looking away from the picture, remembering what Estelle told her after it was over. "They knew what they were doing when they started the revolution. They knew the risks. You knew the risks. It's not your fault, Liviana. They'd hate to see you beating yourself up over this."

Estelle's right, but she can't convince herself to believe it. While she's here celebrating, enjoying her reign as queen, enjoying being alive, they're all stuck in Mahina's realm. The only consolation that they're even the slightest bit happy is promises and reassurances from Mahina herself, a woman who is known to not be trustworthy.

She's interrupted by a loud knock at the door, startling her out of her thoughts. She doesn't need to turn around to know who it is.

"Are you just going to sit here and sulk all day?" Estelle calls out, tapping her fingers on the door frame.

When Liviana doesn't turn around, Estelle groans, bringing a hand up to her face. "Liv, you can't keep doing this. Hiding in your room isn't going to bring them back. I know you're still grieving, but it's not going to get any easier if you don't allow yourself to take a break and feel for once."

Liviana wipes a stray tear from her cheek as she shakes her head. "I can't trust myself to not cry in front of everyone."

Estelle walks over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Then cry."

Liviana meets her eyes. "What?"

"Show them how you feel." Estelle shrugs. "They'll understand, they were there too. They lost people, loved ones, friends... They probably feel the same way you do. You're Mitan, Livi, not a machine, you're allowed to grieve and you're allowed to show that you are grieving. I promise they'll understand, and I'm sure they'd appreciate you reminding them that you do care."

They fall into silence for a moment, listening to the cheering and festivities outside,  before Liviana slowly nods. "Yes... You're right. I can be strong, but I'm allowed to feel weak as well."

Liviana turns to the mirror, fixing herself as a small smile appears on her lips. "Let this day of my birth be dedicated to those who cannot celebrate anymore. My friends, my family, my comrades, we shall use this day to remember those who are believed to be forgotten."

[incorrectshantaequotes]

Rotty Rotten's Dream Team, pt. 1

Business is as usual in Lazytown, with Rotty Rotten cooking up another scheme to thwart Shantacus' efforts to keep the town active and healthy, and a great one too, if she says so herself - after all, four heads are better than one! Cloning herself was a genius move...only, well, she didn't actually clone herself, per say, and none of them know how to be proper villains, but no matter! She'll make this work! Even if it takes a musical number! Especially if it takes a musical number.

NOTE: This takes place after the last April Fool's fic, but you don't need to read that one to understand this one. I still have not watched Lazytown, but we all know that song. You know the one.

--

Sometimes, Rotty Rotten really had to stop to appreciate her sense of interior design. After all, most people wouldn't exactly be clamoring for an underground location - even before Shantacus rolled into town and got everyone moving, most of the inhabitants did enjoy being in the sun, and Rotty could fully admit to herself that she occasionally liked to go out in it too. But she did make it an extremely tough decision! Not only did her house have the appropriate flair for a villain like herself, but also had all the luxuries she could ever want - a heavenly, fuzzy couch, the largest TV in Lazytown (technically, Shantaflop had a bigger one up in her blimp, but she barely used it so Rotty decided it didn't count), and a fully stocked mini-fridge! All the things she needed to lay around and do absolutely nothing. Even when she wasn't actively slacking off, it helped give her lair a nice, cozy feeling. Put her in a good mood. Especially when she was about to get a scheme rolling, such as right now.

"Come on, come on, just a little bit more..." Rotty Rotten tapped her foot impatiently, a bit giddy as she looked down at her watch to check the time again. She almost went over to her laptop to double check the estimated delivery time, but the doorbell rang before she could, and her grin grew wide. "Aha!"

She rushed over to the door, opening it with aplomb before nodding to the deliveryman outside. "Thank you, good sir! Here's a tip for you, and have a wonderful day!"

With that, she rolled her package inside and shoved the door closed with a quick backwards kick, giggling to herself as she rolled it further into her lair over to her workspace. Rotty would have gone with a full evil laugh as she set the package down, but frankly she was far too excited to be that composed, so she settled for letting her giggles get louder before she pulled out the box cutter. "Alright! First, let's double check to see if this is the right thing..."

She took a moment to circle around the package, carefully looking it up and down and nodding a bit to herself. It was taller than her by a fair margin, as she expected, and the box did seem to fit the dimensions of the item she ordered. "...hmm, got the right address...name's on this thing...'handle with care, arcane material inside;' sounds about right...think the only step left to take is to just cut the box open!"

With a push of her finger, she flicked the blade out and ran the box cutter down the side facing her. Carefully - still wanted the box intact in case this did turn out to be a wrong order - she pulled out the object inside with bated breath...and her grin grew wider still. "Oh, yes! This...this is perfect! Shantacus will never see this coming!"

Rotty did let out an evil laugh this time, eyes glinting with glee as she took in her latest purchase from over the internet - a grand, full-length mirror, with an ornate silver framing around the reflecting surface. One could easily mistake this for a completely ordinary mirror, but Rotty Rotten knew better. She'd made sure to triple check her sources, go to the seller with the best and most honest reviews, and read through the PDF of the user's manual the seller graciously provided on request five times over. She hadn't really dabbled with the arcane before, and didn't really intend to after this, but the end result would be well worth it. She knew she had a tendency to put a bit more confidence in her plans than was entirely earned, but this was different. It wasn't so often that her plans could be so simple and yet so effective, after all!

The plan had found its way into her head around this time the week before, as she'd looked over the blueprints for a potential trap for Shantacus. Capturing the blue-clad heroine was easier said than done - the woman had superhuman speed that Rotty couldn't react to, an uncanny intuition to avoid her tricks after plenty of exposure to her, and a tendency to be extremely...for lack of a better word, flippy. It was very distracting, for reasons she was not going to say out loud (especially because, after that one time she sprained her ankle, she was fairly certain some of the kids had a betting ring regarding her and Shantacus, and while Rotty might not have had any stake in it she was determined to win). All of which was to say, most of her Shantacus traps had to be Rube Goldberg-esque contraptions, or required Rotty to lure her in, neither of which were ideal. And then, out of the blue, it hit her - what if...she just got a helping hand? Or, to be more precise, made a helping hand?

It was so simple, Rotty wasn't sure how she could've possibly missed it before! With enough people working to set up traps across Lazytown, Shantacus couldn't possibly dodge them all! And once she'd finally captured Shantacus, victory would be hers! The only real issue was, how to do it? Her first thought had been robots, but she'd seen enough sci-fi movies to know how that would go: they'd probably decide to overthrow humanity, or worse, the robots would unionize, and Rotty would have to deal with the one evil she dared not unleash, even on herself...paperwork. Urgh. Rotty Rotten was all for unions, but it just wasn't worth dealing with one herself. So, with robots firmly placed in "no," the next logical step was clones! After all, she was a smart and intelligent woman, right? She could figure out a deal with herself.

Unfortunately, Rotty Rotten may have been good with tech, but she wasn't that good. So, with that in mind, she'd opted for a magic substitute. The Mirror of Selves-Reflection (which Rotty thought was worth the purchase just for the name alone; the name being slightly awkward was far outshined by the wordplay) had been hard to find, but surprisingly simple to purchase! She hadn't known there was an entire eBay website for magic items, but there was. Trying to make sure she wasn't being scammed had been an ordeal, but if this went well...oh, the things she could do! Finally, with a copy of her own mind to help her with her goals, Rotty Rotten would catch Shantacus once and for all, and then...! Well, she hadn't figured out what she'd do after that, but she could workshop something with her clones. Part of the benefit of having four heads instead of one!

The only real issue with the Mirror of Selves-Reflection was how it required an elaborate ritual to actually use it, but...there was a reason Rotty had requested the user's manual before she actually got her hands on the mirror.

"Alright, in you go!" Without much fanfare, Rotty Rotten picked up the mirror and awkwardly stumbled over to a large, clunky machine in the middle of the room, sliding the mirror into a thin slot on the side of a particularly bulky box. With that, she pressed a green button, and she heard the sounds of pipes extending and connecting to the mirror with a hiss of steam, with the slot closing up to hide the process. It wasn't supposed to be used as a battery for a cloning machine, but it was definitely possible, and she didn't feel like going through that whole ritual every time she wanted to clone herself. Besides, what was the worst thing that could happen? No clones?

"Now, for the main event..." Rubbing her hands together with glee, Rotty pranced over to the console for the machine. Setting the number of clones to three for the moment, she then turned her attention to the big switch right in the middle, and pushed down with all her might. A steady hum began to emit from the machine, visible cogs beginning to churn as lights flashed on and off. Taking a few steps back, Rotty Rotten took a moment to appreciate her work as everything began to go faster, the humming rising in pitch as all the moving parts came closer and closer to reaching their peak. To be completely honest, most of it was for show; there really wasn't any complex machinations in there when most of the work was being done by the mirror, but it gave everything a sense of grandeur, and that was the most important thing!

"Alright, Shantaflop, time for you to face your worst nightmare...myself!" With that dramatic declaration, Rotty Rotten let out a full maniacal cackle as every part of the machine reached max speed, cogs whirring fast enough to give Shantacus a run for her money and lights flashing like she was at a rave, the humming of the machine going higher and higher until...ding! With that one little chime, the machine very quickly slowed to a stop, and with eager anticipation, Rotty Rotten ran over to the other side of the machine, where a pipe was sticking out and turned towards the ground. Looking down, Rotty Rotten braced herself for the inevitable weirdness of seeing, well, herself...but she had to stop to do a double take as she actually looked at the results. "What the?"

The thing was, that was definitely her, alright. The green skin, hair, and red eyes were kind of unmistakable, and it helped that there was some purple on all of their clothing. She couldn't exactly call them clones, though! Two of them were younger than her, for one thing - thankfully not kid-aged, because that would have been a hassle, but still younger - and of the two younger hers, one of them was dressed like something out of a high fantasy film, with the her that actually matched her age apparently having a similar taste in fashion, albeit with a more modern touch. It honestly stumped Rotty - the mirror should've made perfect clones, not...whatever this was. Did she miss something? Did the machine mess up the process somehow?

Figuring it was good to double check her sources, Rotty Rotten went back to the package, looking around the cardboard to find...aha! The user's manual, this time in print! Flipping it open, Rotty began to speed-read; hopefully she could find the source of the problem quickly. Warning, blah blah blah, side effects may include, blah blah blah, alternate universes, blah blah-WAIT A MINUTE. Rotty Rotten started scanning that paragraph again, making sure she was reading it right...and then immediately smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh, come on! That is so not cloning!"

All this time, she'd skimmed past the part that went over how the Mirror of Selves-Reflection actually worked, because she assumed she already knew: cloning! It cloned people, because that was what she asked for, and that was how it was presented to her! Except, no, what it actually did was pull alternate versions of herself from different universes. Alternate versions of herself that were living their own, alternate lives, up until the mirror had so rudely interrupted them. Great. Fantastic. So, she was going to have to spend a few hours converting her "cloning" machine into one that would send them all back to their appropriate worlds, because she knew she wouldn't want to be dragged into an alternate universe and be stuck there for the rest of her life, and to make matters worse, she had no idea what these alternate hers were like! They might not even be villains, for all she knew!

But, as Rotty heard a few groans coming out of the pile of alternate selves, she sighed and put the user's manual down for a moment. Alright, whatever. She was just going to have to roll with this and hope for the best. Walking over to her various selves, she started to help them up to their feet.

--

Ow.

That was Rottytops' first thought. And her second and third thought. Her fourth thought, after she got over how sore she was, was "where am I, anyway?" One moment, she was in the family caravan, preparing to ask Shantae out for a date, the next she was here, in a pile of bodies. She couldn't really see much of her surroundings at the moment, with her view being almost exclusively limited to the floor - some kind of blue metal, but not the kind of blue she associated with Ammo Baron. No, this was more of a dreary blue, a shade she'd expect to see in a haunted house. Before she could contemplate what that meant though, she felt the weight of whoever else was in here with her get lifted off, and then someone else's hand reached out to her. "Come on, up you get..."

Wow, sounded like whoever that was had a rough day; she could practically feel the exasperation from here. She also sounded a lot like...Rottytops, weirdly enough, but the zombie girl decided to ignore that for a moment, just accepting the hand and pulling herself to her feet. She looked around, intending to take in her surroundings, but instead she found herself reconsidering her choice ten seconds ago to ignore how the mysterious woman sounded like her, because now Rottytops was wondering - did she somehow acquire three entire clones while she wasn't looking? She hadn't really encountered clones before, but this really looked a lot like a clone situation.

The one closest to her was wearing armor almost like that set she'd found in Shantae's closet a few months ago (her girlfriend had, unfortunately, refused to elaborate beyond mentioning she'd gotten it during the Siren Island incident), only with a diamond-shaped breastplate that covered more of her torso, as well as different coloring - purple with silver trimming rather than red and gold. Oh, and the animal pelts. Those were also there. They were all over her doppelganger, the majority serving to form a pseudo-cloak of sorts as well as a longer skirt, with the others serving as simple decoration alongside a collection of animal teeth and claws. Her hair was done up in a ponytail, much like her Fillin disguise, but other than that she practically looked identical. She also had a massive hammer, the head of the weapon having detailing resembling a castle on the front and back end while a skull sat in the middle. It would be extremely tempting to reach out and smack someone with it if Rotty didn't know that she'd likely fall to pieces trying to swing that thing.

The other two were, thankfully, easier to tell apart from her, because they were clearly older, more Risky's age than hers. The one adult clone that had been in the pile with her had a sense of aesthetic that Rottytops had to appreciate - she wore a tattered purple...wizard's cloak? Trenchcoat? Some sort of hybrid between the two? Whatever it was, it was tattered, purple, and had a set of white ribs around the torso as reinforcement. Out of the four, she had the longest hair, with just enough of it hanging in front of her face to shadow her eyes and make them seem to glow, which, combined with her mischievous smirk...again, Rottytops really had to appreciate the aesthetic, there. She'd somehow managed to land the perfect balance between "monster from a ghost story," "powerful wizard," and "used magic carpet saleswoman," and honestly, Rottytops was considering taking notes. Maybe not too much, though; her older clone was perhaps a biiiiiit intimidating.

That left the only her who, as far as Rottytops could tell, had not been in the pile, and frankly the most confusing one. She was dressed up in a vest and pants with red and purple vertical stripes running up them both, with a dark blue, sleeveless undersuit beneath it, exposing her bare shoulders and the stitch tattoo around her left arm (which confused Rotty a little bit; did she never get that arm detached or something?). Finishing off her choice of clothing were a pair of simple gloves the same shade as the undersuit, as well as a pair of skull earrings that matched Rottytops' own. She also had the closest hairstyle to Rottytops, albeit with some differences; she had more of an undercut, leading to a slightly choppier hairstyle than Rottytops herself, but otherwise it was pretty close.

Before any of them could start talking, the last clone Rottytops had looked at sighed, and spoke up. "Alright, I know my own thought process, so I'll answer your most immediate questions: yes, we're all the same person; no, we're not clones. I was trying to make clones of myself, but I got ripped off with a stupid magic artifact that gave me different versions of myself from alternate universes. Don't ask, I'll explain in a bit here. Now, care to introduce yourselves?"

Oh! Alternate universes. That would've been...her third guess, probably. Second guess would've definitely been secret identical twin she somehow didn't know about. She definitely had questions, but Rottytops was willing to let...herself? Explain herself? That didn't sound right. Man, this was going to be confusing. Still, she gave her older self a winning smile, and said, "Rottytops-"/"Rottytops-"

She immediately stopped herself, and turned to look at her identical self, who frankly looked just as shocked as she was. Her older self in the pinstripe suit sighed wearily, shaking her head. "...we'll put a pin in that. How about you? Please tell me your name isn't the same as theirs, too?"

Her other older self paused to consider the question for a moment, then casually shrugged. "I mean, technically it is? Only my brothers know about that, though. I tend to go by Lich Baron these days."

...oh. That...might explain the intimidation factor. And was also mildly concerning, ringing plenty of alarm bells in her head; aside from Squid Baron being basically harmless, anyone with the name Baron was bad news. And judging by the wary expression of her armored self, that wasn't just the case in her universe, either. Her other older self just looked mildly confused, clearly not recognizing the significance of the title. Which was both relieving, because that meant she probably wasn't a Baron herself, and worrying, because it meant she didn't recognize Lich Baron for the danger she represented. As if to prove her point, her older self spoke up then, "So...what? You just have a lavish house where you store all your goodies or something?"

Lich Baron seemed surprised for a moment, but then the smirk was back, and she let out a slight chuckle. "Yeah, something like that."

Her older self squinted at Lich Baron for a moment, suspicious, but then shook her head, turning her attention back to the group as a whole. "Well, you can call me Rotty Rotten. Now, back to you two - do either of you have another name I can use? Because, fair warning, if you don't, I will just use One and Two."

"Oh! Uh..." Rottytops took a moment to think. Well, she did have Fillin, but she didn't have the outfit on, so would it really feel right...? Eh, everything about this situation was weird; she'd worry about the logistics later. "Well, I did make an alternate identity for myself once. Fillin-"

"-De'Blanc?" Rotty Rotten interrupted, eyes wide in surprise. Rottytops was a bit shocked, herself; apparently that scheme wasn't exclusive to her. Who knew?

"Just the Blank, but...yeah, exactly," Rottytops nodded slowly. "I'm guessing that one's a no-go, then?"

Rotty Rotten looked to the side, a slight blush on her cheeks. "...yeah, let's...not do that one."

Oh, there was a story there. But, out of respect for her older self who was apparently responsible for all of this, Rottytops decided not to ask. Yet. She would put her expert badgering skills to use later. Before she could respond, though, her armored self spoke up.

"So, guess it falls to me to use a different name, then?" She questioned. Now that they weren't talking at the same time, Rottytops noticed that she had a slight accent that none of the others had, including herself. Rotty Rotten started to say something, but her armored self shook her head, lifting her hammer and resting it on her shoulder. "No worries, I'm fine with it. Just call me Cadaver."

"...huh," Rotty Rotten took the name in stride, taking a few steps back to look over them all, and then shrugging. "Well, if you say so. Now! Onto the more important question...are any of you villains?"

Rottytops blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden non-sequitor and the weight Rotty Rotten put on the word villains. Without thinking, she remarked, "I consider myself more of a prankster dabbling in the art of chicanery, personally? I've only done like, one evil thing and felt really bad about it later."

Cadaver raised her hand. "My first few days of existence were as the brainwashed general of an undead army trying to take over the world. Wasn't really me in there, but I still remember all of it. Does that count?"

Rotty Rotten looked utterly poleaxed. "...no, no it does not, and I am very worried about whatever standards your villains hold themselves to. Lich Baron? You?"

Lich Baron simply looked up and answered, "Yup."

"Oh, thank you! I got worried when the Mirror of Selves-Reflection turned out to be an alternate universe thing instead of a clone thing," Rotty Rotten sighed in relief, and suddenly those alarm bells were back in full force. "Alright, Rottytops, Cadaver, go ahead and help yourself to the lair while Lich Baron and I discuss business; I'll be sure to send you back to your homes by the end of the day. Now, Lich Baron, what are your skills exactly...?"

Rottytops looked to her armored self, who thankfully seemed equally concerned about this whole thing. Before either of them could start talking to come up with a plan, though, Lich Baron answered, "Oh, I raise the dead."

Rottytops looked back just in time to see the utter horror and disbelief on Rotty Rotten's face, which Lich Baron seemed completely oblivious to as she went on, "So, you want an undead uprising? I don't know exactly what your plan is, but there's not a lot of schemes that don't go smoother if the hero is busy fighting off an undead uprising. Normally I wouldn't put too much effort into this kind of thing, but you're, well, me, and I happen to have a show I don't want to miss, so I'm willing to give you a...eh, decent undead uprising. What do you say? Sound fun? Have a specific time, or-"

"NO! No undead uprising! Ever! Are you out of your mind!?" Rotty Rotten hissed, pulling her other self close. "Think of the children!"

Lich Baron stared with wide eyes. Rottytops almost felt bad for her; she knew what it looked like when she was faking confusion, so she could tell that Lich Baron honestly didn't get why Rotten was opposed to an undead uprising. "...eh, fair enough, I guess? I'm fine dialing it back; less work for me. Guess I'll just go with...ten skeletons? That sound good? Just ten?"

Honestly, Rottytops thought that did actually sound reasonable, especially compared to the Barons she knew, but Rotty Rotten clearly thought otherwise. "I said no undead uprising, and I meant it! What is WRONG with you!? Ugh, never mind; worst case scenario is fully in play."

Before Lich Baron could say something in her defense, Rotty Rotten turned to Rottytops and Cadaver. "Alright, you two! I am going to teach you how to be villains..."

She swiveled to face Lich Baron with a glare. "And I'm going to teach you how to be chill."

Rotty Rotten turned around, shaking her head as she whispered to herself, "Honestly, undead uprising...what are they doing over there?"

With that, she started to march, addressing the whole group as she walked off. "I'm going to ready the presentation now! It should only take a few minutes, so don't go anywhere!"

Huh. If it were anyone else, Rottytops would be concerned, but her alternate self seemed to have a far different idea of what villainy was than was typical for any of their universes. So, as it was, Rottytops was curious to see where this was going. Maybe she could do something to test the waters real quick...? See how far this goes, anyway. She thought it over, running over different ideas in her head, before stumbling over one that made her grin in anticipation.

Clearing her throat to catch her older self's attention, Rottytops remarked, "Will the presentation include a musical number?"

She expected Rotty Rotten to just be confused, or perhaps roll her eyes at the joke. She did not expect her to actually consider the question, looking very contemplative as she stood in thought. Eventually, she answered, "...no, I don't have one prepared at the moment, but you know what? We ARE doing a musical number later. I will guarantee we do a musical number later. You can bet on it."

With that, Rotty Rotten walked away, leaving Rottytops stunned in her place. Well, damn. She was going to be in a musical number now, apparently. Was that just normal in this universe? Was she the prankee, here? Before she could contemplate this further, though, she was interrupted by her other older self.

"...I am chill, though," Turning to face Lich Baron, Rottytops looked up to see...wow. Was she pouting? She was absolutely pouting. It was kinda funny, honestly, compared to how intimidating she'd been earlier. Maybe she shouldn't get so much of a kick out of what was technically her own misery (or however you'd quantify the misery of your alternate self), but Rottytops was willing to chalk that up to her being a naturally funny person even when she wasn't trying. "I just spook people sometimes, I don't even make my undead do anything! Aside from like, theft, but that's in the job description. What do you guys think? You think I'm chill, right?"

"...eh...?" Rottytops shrugged, giving Lich Baron the universal so-so gesture. "I mean, towards the end, sure, but you did open up with a whole undead uprising."

Clearly despairing, Lich Baron turned to Cadaver, who simply responded, "You're better than Hypno Baron."

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Lich Baron slumped over. "No one appreciates me here..."

--

True to her word, Rotty Rotten had set up her presentation - whatever that entailed - up relatively quickly. Rottytops, or rather, Cadaver, could appreciate that this supposed "villain" was considerate of their time, even though they'd only met because of a misunderstanding in magical artifacts. She'd wasted no time in establishing what the situation was, making sure they all had names to call each other, and - to some degree - informing them of why she'd set up her cloning plan in the first place, even if she hadn't actually said the reason out loud. It was the sort of directness that Cadaver could appreciate.

Truth be told, it was...nice to be able to go by Cadaver again, if only for a little while. One of the only intended freedoms Hypno Baron had given her back when she was first resurrected was her choice of name, and for that, she'd chosen General Cadaver. That name had lasted up until she and Hypno Baron had come face to face with Bolo's party and she broke out of his control, for after he was defeated and she stuck around...well, she knew exactly where she wanted to go, and as much as she liked her name, she saw no point in using a name that they'd only associate with the cold, calculating general at Hypno Baron's side. So, she'd picked out another name, joined Bolo's party (the others still made jokes about how she didn't, you know, ask, like a "normal person," but it worked, didn't it?), and that was that. Rottytops was a nice name, too, and in some ways better than Cadaver ever was, but Cadaver was still the first one she chose.

Shaking her head out of her thoughts, Cadaver sat down next to the other Rottytops, with Lich Baron on the other side. Truth be told, Cadaver couldn't quite get herself to let her guard down around Lich Baron - she was far too familiar with the dangers of necromancers to let herself do that - but, contrasted to how Rotty Rotten seemed to perceive her, Lich Baron ultimately seemed harmless. Or, rather, she could do harm, but she had a feeling most of the time it was very negligible. More like that strange fellow who kept making a nuisance of himself, Squid Baron, than the mad Hypno Baron she was familiar with. And Rotty Rotten, whether she wanted to admit it or not, seemed closer to the other Rottytops' description of a prankster than anything else.

Rotty Rotten pulled down a screen and cleared her throat, and with that cue the lights darkened and something flickered on, projecting an image onto the screen - a simple purple backdrop with gears and skulls on it. Cadaver let out a slight hum of appreciation, then turned her attention to her alternate self as she pulled out a pointer. "Alright, let's give a bit of context first..."

Extending the pointer, she tapped the screen, and the image changed to a serene-looking town with bright, cheery colors. "So! This, right here, is where we currently are: my perfect little hometown, Lazytown! A town where no one did anything, really, and I was able to sit back and relax to my hearts content...well, it used to be, anyway."

The presentation switched to her next image, showing what appeared to be a blue airship, high up in the sky. Cadaver's eyes widened, and her old general mindset started kicking into overdrive - airships were a hypothetical in her world, with no one having the manpower or materials to build one themselves just yet, so to show one so casually likely meant that either the technology they had here was more advanced, airships were incredibly common, or some combination of both. It'd be a fairly difficult target to take down, too, considering the only one who might be able to get into the air was Lich Baron...but, before she could strategize further, Cadaver shook her head and firmly reminded herself that, no matter how reasonable she was and likely would be, this was still the word of someone who actively called herself a villain, so she might want to hold back on the militant strategizing for now.

"You see, a while back, let's say...oh, a year or two now? Someone showed up and decided to get people moving, and that someone's name was Shantacus," Rotty Rotten growled, her tone layered with something bitter as she shook her head. For her part, Cadaver felt her face scrunch up in confusion, and a quick look around showed that her alternate counterparts were equally confused, even Lich Baron. Of course, she was quick to connect the name to Shantae, one of her party members, and she wasn't really surprised to find out she was a hero in this world, but...it was a bit hard to imagine herself at odds with the half-fae girl. In complete defiance of the typical slippery and treacherous image the Rogue class carried with it, Shantae was very earnest, often trying her best to communicate with her team and even the opponent if it was clear they could see reason. And while they'd be at odds in this world, Cadaver also knew for a fact that she wasn't really the type to hold grudges, with Hypno Baron being an exception. Needless to say, something would have had to go terribly wrong for Shantae to be in the same class as Hypno Baron here, and by all accounts, it hadn't - so, she had to wonder, was Rotty Rotten's anger real, or simply performative? A question to consider for later.

"...and with her around, the whole town started getting into fitness, with running and sports and yoga and blegh," Rotty Rotten gagged, sticking her tongue out and shuddering in disgust. Cadaver, personally, couldn't relate, but she did see Lich Baron nod in sympathy. "Do you know how much noise that much running and exercise makes when you live right underneath people's feet? Because let me tell you, it's a LOT! And since I couldn't exactly file a noise complaint for an entire town, and believe me, I tried, the solution was clear - Shantacus had to go! And so, thus began our esteemed rivalry..."

The other Rottytops raised her hand.

"Yes, Rottytops?" Rotty Rotten turned to her similarly-aged counterpart, and Cadaver very promptly reminded herself that she wasn't responding to Rottytops for now.

"Genuine question, can you not just, like...soundproof your place, or something?" The other Rottytops asked, tilting her head with a raised eyebrow. Honestly, she'd been wondering that herself, so she turned her attention to Rotty Rotten.

"Well...yes, I've got better soundproofing now," Rotty Rotten muttered, a blush dusting her cheeks as she looked away from her audience. "But at this point it's the principle of the thing! Lazy is LITERALLY in the town's name; we don't need any of this fitness junk! So Shantaflop can take her sports and her diets and shove it...whatever, that's not important right now! Moving on!"

She tapped the pointer to the screen again, switching the image to another shot of the town. "Now, obviously, the most effective method of getting Shantacus out of town is just catching her myself, but that tends to be very difficult to do for...reasons you are about to witness for yourself. I hope you don't mind if I take a step back, because this is...very depressing for me to watch."

Without further ado, Rotty Rotten tapped the image again, looking away and walking off to the side, but rather than the image changing entirely to a new one, it began moving. Cadaver was impressed and wondered what it was; magic? Technology? Some combination of both? She didn't ponder about that for long, though, as the moving image showed Rotty Rotten peeking out from behind a bench, a comically large net slung over her shoulder. She looked around, clearly anticipating something, and then her eyes darted to the right, and she grinned, jumping up to her full height and swinging the net down-

Cadaver could fully admit she was attracted to Shantae. The girl was clever, but humble, kind to a world that often didn't extend the same kindness to her just because of who she was born to, and incredible in a fight in ways she couldn't help but admire, having an uncanny ability to detect and take out ambushes to the party before any of them were even aware of the danger. It wasn't something she acted on, given that her teammate seemed incredibly shy around her for some reason - she suspected Sky knew, but the druid had grown more and more exasperated each time she asked, so she clearly didn't feel like telling her - but it was nice for her to think about. Maybe, at some point, she'd be able to work herself up to make the first move, but only when she was sure Shantae wouldn't be scared off when she asked.

All of this was to say, she wasn't quite prepared to see Shantacus in action for the first time. The blue-clad heroine adeptly flipped in the radius of the net and out in the blink of an eye, outpacing Rotty Rotten without even trying, and when she zoomed up behind her to give a grin to the villain...the way Shantacus smiled, and the way she laughed, so confident and carefree, got her heart racing in ways she hadn't thought it could anymore, considering her undead nature. Her strategic side wanted to slap her upside the head and make her pay attention, but for once, Cadaver couldn't bring herself to care, and as the moving image unfurled into a compilation of various failed capture attempts, her focus was entirely on how confident Shantacus' gait was, how sure she was in herself, and, to a lesser extent, the way her body had been toned to perfection. She personally didn't quite care about that sort of thing - she thought Shantae's more athletic build fit her more than an Amazon - but it was a nice bonus. All Cadaver could think of, seeing Shantacus, was, how could I get my Shantae to act like this? How could I make her this confident?

A long, drawn out wolf-whistle snapped Cadaver out of her reverie, and she realized with some embarrassment that the compilation had ended without her realizing. Looking over, she took some relief in that she wasn't alone, as she saw that the other Rottytops was blushing like mad, eyes snapped to the screen and wide with disbelief. Before she could look to see Lich Baron's reaction though, she heard the thwip of a robe being raised high into the air as quickly as possible.

Rotty Rotten sighed wearily. "I don't know how you managed to connect any of that to your undead shtick, and I don't care - no undead uprising."

"That wasn't my question," Lich Baron stated, her grin clear even when Cadaver wasn't looking at her.

"Then what was it?" Rotty Rotten snapped, clearly expecting her alternate self to not have an answer.

"Is Shantacus single?" Lich Baron asked, with approximately zero hesitation or remorse. Almost immediately, the other Rottytops' blush grew, and though she didn't have a mirror for reference, Cadaver was sure she had her own, similarly-sized blush. As for Rotty Rotten, she had her own blush beginning to rise as she started to indignantly squawk, trying to form words but failing for a few moments.

"T-that's-Shantaflop's relationship status is NOT RELEVANT to this conversation!" Rotty Rotten finally managed, shaking her head furiously.

"Yes it is," Lich Baron shook her head in disagreement. "Because, well, Captain Shantae is fun and all, nice to tease, puts sooooooo much effort into hiding how much of a softie she is, and I would like to actually get a relationship with her going at some point...buuuuut she also has trust issues up the wazoo, and while I'll still pick Captain Shantae over her every day, Shantacus having NONE of those issues, and being jacked on top of that? Putting up some serious competition there. If she's anything like the good captain, I don't think it'd be too much trouble to seduce her into a trap...and, I mean, if you aren't going to do anything-"

"Absolutely not!" Rotty Rotten hissed, crossing her arms in an X. "There is to be no, and I mean no, flirting with the enemy! Snackcakes is off-limits-"

She suddenly stopped, her blush growing more as her words silently sunk in. Cadaver slowly raised an eyebrow as she considered the clearly more affectionate nickname for the hero, and the other Rottytops' expression slowly turned into a grin of its own, as she opened her mouth to say something-

"You heard nothing. You did not hear Snackcakes, you heard Shantaflop. That nickname does not leave this room," Rotty Rotten shook her head, taking a moment to glare at each of them. "And it especially does not leave this room in front of the kids, because I don't know what bet they have going on with me and Shantacus, but I am winning it, do you understand me?"

"Mhm. Hear you loud and clear, boss," With a mock salute, Lich Baron gave Rotty Rotten a nod before leaning back, clearly pleased with herself.

In the meantime, Cadaver was starting to piece together the picture. Her alternate counterpart was clearly attracted to Shantacus, that much had been made clear, but considering they'd started out in opposing roles and still disagreed on how fitness should be handled in this town (she still didn't get WHY that was their conflict, honestly; she supposed it might just be the weird standards of this world)...hmm. Did she just not know how to make the switch? Was this some sort of elaborate way of flirting with the hero? Cadaver didn't really care much for complicated schemes. She could make them, sure, and definitely understand them, but she knew from experience that so many complex plans had a tendency to fall apart the instant you did something they didn't expect - for instance, braining Hypno Baron with her hammer the moment she snapped out of his control - so she preferred the more direct approach. This would all be so much easier if Rotty Rotten decided to forgo the "villainy" and just ask Shantacus out on a date.

"Moving on..." Said villain shook her head, tapping the pointer to the screen again to move it to the next image. "Normally, in order to get anywhere close to capturing Shantacus I do need to use tricks like that, but there's a reason I was trying to clone myself - if we set up enough traps around town, then it doesn't matter how simple they are, Shantacus will have to fall into one of them eventually. Quantity has a quality all its own, after all! So, I'm going to teach you all how to set up some traps, and then, once we all go around and set them up...bye bye, Shantacus! Any questions?"

Part of Cadaver wanted to ask if Rotten would just go ahead and ask Shantacus out, but she didn't think that'd be well-received. So, she thought of another question as she raised her hand.

"Yes, Cadaver?" Rotty Rotten nodded towards her.

"What do you plan on doing if you succeed?" Cadaver calmly asked, raising an eyebrow. Not once had Rotty Rotten mentioned her plans for after the fact, after all.

Almost immediately, Rotty Rotten's face fell into one of irritation. "Well, I was going to work it out with my clones, but considering I'm the only me here - no offense to all of you, of course - I'm just going to have to figure it out later. Don't worry about it. Anyone else?"

Cadaver, the other Rottytops, and Lich Baron looked at each other, then shook their heads in a decisive no.

"Good! Now, prepare yourselves; we'll be heading towards sunlight in a few minutes!" With that, Rotty Rotten gave a decisive nod, and walked off, presumably to get materials.

Cadaver waited for a few moments, then stood up and began to walk off to a further part of the room from Lich Baron, hammer in hand. As she found a wall and leaned against it, contemplating her next move, she saw the other Rottytops stand next to her out of the corner of her eye.

"So...are you going to help weird not-actually-a-villain-you? Or, uh, us? Or...wow, this is confusing," The other Rottytops shook her head. "But, you get my point, right? Figured I'd ask the only other hero in the room."

Cadaver tilted her head, then nodded. "As long as we take precautions to make sure the traps don't catch anyone else in the crossfire, I don't see the harm. I'm mostly just hoping to convince her to ask Shantacus out on a date directly."

"Ah, okay, cool, cool, I'm not the only one who thinks this is an elaborate date set-up, good to know," The other Rottytops gave Cadaver her own nod, pleased to be vindicated.

Cadaver paused for a moment. "Out of curiosity, how did you get to that conclusion? I know my line of thought, but I want to hear yours."

The other Rottytops very quickly started blushing again. "Well, uh...honestly, when I thought about it, it sounded like something I would do if I was desperate enough? And, y'know, wasn't already dating my Shantae, but that's besides the point."

Cadaver considered this new information, then slowly turned her head to give the other Rottytops' a raised eyebrow and her most deadpan look. What was it Bolo said to Shantae that one time? "You're your own worst critic?" She was certain it wasn't meant to be applied like this, but she was definitely feeling critical of her other self right now.

"...hey, I wasn't saying it wouldn't be stupid, I was just saying I might do it!" The other Rottytops defended herself, then, after a few more moments of being beset by her judgement, sighed. "Honestly, how come you're the only one of us who has their shit together, anyway? And I'm including the adult-adults on this one, not just us young adults, because Lich Baron and Rotty Rotten absolutely do not have their shit together."

Cadaver snorted. "I think my party's druid would disagree with you on that front, but, in short? You'd be surprised how many problems a hammer solves."

The other Rottytops looked at the hammer in question longingly, then sighed, slumping over. "Man..."

She shook her head, despondent, then perked up without any warning. "So! Onto other topics - how about you and your Shantae, eh? You got some kind of relationship going on?"

Now Cadaver felt her own blush forming. "Ah...it'd be nice, but no, not really. She's a little shy around me, so I figure it's best to take things easy before I actually make a move. I don't want to scare her off, you know?"

"...mhm," The other Rottytops slowly turned her head in a mirror of how Cadaver had done so moments earlier, and suddenly she had flashbacks to when she asked Sky about why Shantae was so shy around her. And also felt incredibly judged, for some reason. "Say, out of curiosity, when did this shyness start?"

"Oh, that?" Cadaver thought for a moment, tilting her head. "I took a blow from a Naga for her in a temple - Shantae had been running ragged from going through all the traps in the place, so she didn't quite react to the thing as fast as she usually did, and I stepped in. Took my arm off, but I returned the favor and then some right afterwards. Still remember how awestruck she looked, back then...she'd been a little wary of me sticking around the party before then, but after that? She was happy to include me, albeit with a bit of an issue approaching. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. Just got an actual answer to my question from earlier," The other Rottytops nodded sagely.

"What?" Cadaver squinted, looking at her other self in confusion.

"Balance of the universe. Balance of the universe is what's going on with you," With approximately zero elaboration, the other Rottytops started walking away. "Gonna go do a few stretches before we head out. Nice talking with you!"

"Wait, what? What are you..." Cadaver blinked, trying to decipher what the hell that meant, before something clicked in her head. "Wait. Do you know why my Shantae's so shy with me?"

"Yup!" The other Rottytops turned her head, giving Cadaver a view of the shit-eating grin that she now had. "Don't worry, you'll figure it out! You'll just want to bash your head into a wall afterwards!"

"What?" Cadaver squinted, trying to make sense of her other self, but all she got in response was a resounding cackle as the other Rottytops walked away. She still waited to see if there was going to be an actual answer, but after a few moments, she sighed and turned away. At least she got more out of that than she did with Sky. Still, though - you'll figure it out? It couldn't be that obvious, could it? She was so certain there was some sort of complex reasoning behind Shantae's shyness, it couldn't be that simple. Like, say, if Shantae was attracted to her, she'd be able to recognize that for what it was, right?

...

...Oh.

OH.

Her alternate self was right. She did want to bash her head into a wall.

--

This April Fool's fic will be continued...next week!

[shiorihyugawrites]

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.

~

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Get to know me tag

Thank you dear @bougainvillea-and-saltwater for tagging me !

Do you play an instrument? None, but I do sing. The best feeling is when you sing in a very echo-y place, like a church or a large forest, so your singing becomes ethereal.

Favourite book characters? Ophelia, from The Mirror Visitor by Christelle Dabos, the first MC that looked and acted like me (representation matters) and Meursault from L'Etranger by Albert Camus, a man living in a society that condemns him because he doesn't work like everyone should.

What’s your star sign? If I could know !

Favourite colour schemes? It's either entirely black or strangely colourful.

Naps or long sleep? Naps kill me more than they help me to regain energy, I want my full-time sleep at night.

What languages do you speak? French and English, and I understand Spanish without being able to speak it ksksks.

Dreams/aspirations? One said once to never tell your dreams because people would discourage you from accomplishing them. However, a bit of balance is needed, in fact, projects will mostly happen if you talk about it, to make it into something concrete. But that depends on anyone, at least it's something that works for me because what I'd like to achieve one day is scary : I'd really like to make movies. Either animating characters, creating them on concept arts or directing a scenario, I freaking love stories. I currently create some and I know that when I'll be tired of the movie industry I'll continue to write and draw stories, finished or not. It makes me happy and even more when I share it with people to make them also happy. So yeah, creating a movie would be a big dream.

Long hair or Short Hair? Short hair frames my face better. However, I like to let them grow so I can give them to people who need them.

Tea or coffee? Tea at night, coffee at day. Fear me.

Bring a book character to life or go into a fictional world? Heck yeah, I'd like to live in Journey's world ! Freedom everywhere, ancient and forgotten cities, breathtaking landscapes, amazing friends ? How could you not accept ?

If anyone wants to ramble about their life, there you go ! Minors, however, stay cautious about sharing your private life on the internet. Stay vague and protect yourself <3

@chouchinobake @metallic-scaled-scarf @mellowscrolls I choose you !

[madisfilmblog]

The Last Picture Show (1971) dir. Peter Bogdanovich

Out of the many themes this film covers in its two-hour runtime, themes like loss, community, family and friendships, and youth, the one that I aim to discuss in this post is the theme of sex and sexuality. Specifically looking at the three main female characters: Jacy Farrow, Lois Farrow, and Ruth Popper. While the relationships men have with sex in this film are equally interesting to look at, the perspectives of these female characters is what is important to look at. Especially when understanding who they are and where they belong in this town and society and to each other (Jacy and Lois) and to everyone else.

Graham Fuller mentioned when stating that the novel was worth adapting into a screenplay that "…the sexual frankness…made it highly appealing property in 1970." Released just one year later in 1971, it feels imperative to mention that Title IX wasn't enacted into law until 1972. Nationwide abortion wasn't decriminalized until 1973 with Roe v. Wade. Birth control was fairly new, and the fight against sexual and domestic abuse was only starting to gain some real traction with the rise of the feminist movement. With this film being set in the 1950s, its commentary on sex and women rang true to many female viewers. It felt relatable even if the characters weren't acting "good" and/or "moral".

First up, Ruth. Ruth is the sad and dreary wife of the football coach. Her husband does not pay enough attention to her and she feels alone, both emotionally and physically. Once given the opportunity to fill that gap when Sonny finds himself driving her to her appointment and listening to her talk, she leans on him. One part that I particularly enjoyed about the way they showed this affair between them is flashing her left hand on his face when they kiss. The audience gets a clear view of her ring and is reminded of that lack of physicality and satisfaction in her marriage. Placing her on the right side of the frame allows for this tiny detail.

Due to Ruth's emotional nature, it is easy to deduce that her connection to sex and intimacy is focused more on connection than it is primal desire. She cries the first time she sleeps with Sonny, whether it is because of instant guilt for what she's doing to her husband or if she's overcome with the feeling of being wanted and desired. Yet Ruth still maintains boundaries for herself despite how hard they hit her. When Sonny returns after forgetting about her, she is unhappy to see him but welcomes him in anyway. She yells, she's mad, then she cries. She sits in the frame alone, lighting soft on her face so you can see the loss in her eyes as she says, "…I'm 'round that corner now. You've ruined it, it's lost completely."

Lois is Jacy's mother and a rich woman married to a man she doesn't love. He provides for her financially but hardly provides for her in any other way. Lois reveals later on in the film to Sonny that she lost out on her one love for money which is a value she tries to instill into Jacy earlier when they stare at each other (yet Lois stares at a version of herself, trying to repeat the cycles that she lived) through the mirror in Jacy's room.

Of course Lois finds an escape in sex. Her marriage is implied to be sexless and she is sly in the way she acts towards that aspect of her marriage. She isn't shy about it and how it makes her unhappy. After Jacy tells her that she's rich and miserable, Lois leaves her bedroom and goes straight to the phone. In a long shot, the camera follows Lois from her wine glass to the phone where she calls up Abilene, the man she has been having an affair with. He supplies that desire to be needed physically and somewhat emotionally since she lost out on that with her marriage and her inability to be with Sam the Lion. Her character gets the least attention when it comes to this sort of commentary, yet she feels the most relatable to older women between her and Ruth.

Jacy is the character I find to have the most explored relationship to sex in this film. I also want to mention that outside of this class I am reading The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir and while reading her chapter on psychoanalysis (I'm sorry to bring Freud into this, but Graham Fuller does say "Oedipal revenge" in his writings…so) I was thinking how applicable it was to the nature of Jacy's character. Simone de Beauvoir writes that as women come to an understanding of masculine superiority as little girls, once they reach the stage of engaging in sexual relations, the frustration comes to being physically underneath men rather than just metaphorically and socially. Women will engage in "masculine protest" in two ways:

make efforts to masculinize themselves, which isn't terribly applicable to her or the other two women either.

makes use of her feminine weapons, which we can see her do as she amps up her methods of manipulation when she strings Sonny along for attention and becomes sexually active.

However, there is nothing to shame here when it comes to young women learning about their sexuality and exploring it. One scene I've already mentioned, the pool hall with Abilene, is a good example of where her sexual escapades both tore her character down and propelled her forward at the same time.

There are a lot of close up shots of her body. Her hands going through the pool pockets, her legs slipping out of her shorts, Abilene's hand lifting her onto the table, a spotlight on her face as he pulls her close with the stick, etc. Yet nothing came of this for her. He shuns her advances after the act though and she is distraught over the lack of serious commitment from men. Her only offer is sex and that doesn't give her the attention she yearns for.

This sentence from The Second Sex in particular strikes me as applicable to all three women: "She is divided against herself much more profoundly than is the male."

These three women don't benefit from the male-dominated systems in place, nor have the control over their sexual relationships they think they do. They are not sexually free women and are fighting against the systems that oppress them by acting within those limits. Adultery and pre-marital sex are still actions that please men even though they challenge the status quo when it comes to sex. And again, with the context of where this film lies in the sexually-free political discussions being had by women of the time, this film must have been very forward with it's depictions of women who struggle to break free from these oppressive positions. Jacy has the ability to be seen as a character with the most freedom, but her exploration is not out of a want to have sex, but out of a need for attention and validation.

Very relatable, very current. All of it still applicable to the conversation.