Will Solace Fanart Novels & Stories

"Like I'm a pawn for you to control?! I didn't sign up for this costume party to be an errand boy! I have my own reasons for being here, and I'm no attack mage! You got beefy over there take him instead!!!" He said, pointing at the large framed figure on the throne. " Kanchi Asobi is a Holy Shoutorin artist. He doesn't fight anymore!!!" The figure snapped back at him. The figure walked over to the candelabra and dripped his blood over it once more.

“Why the hell will they think we are going to go down all because of some shitty rumor.” “I don't think they are wrong,” Nessa said to him in a calm tone, rolling up her sleeves as she calmly arranged the files on the table. “I don't know if you heard but it was said that Solace press rejected an offer of one hundred and ten million dollars about six days ago,” Orion announced, leaning in with pride in his eyes. “And if you are curious as to why they did that, it's all because of that company did not have trust in them right from the very beginning.”

But the truth was more complex, a tapestry of love, betrayal, and sacrifice. Solas sat on a smooth, stone ledge within the cave, his back against the cool, damp rock. His shoulder-length black hair framed a face of striking beauty, his pale blue eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight that filtered through the narrow crevice in the cave's ceiling. His features were sharp, almost ethereal, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline. His skin, as light as the moon's own glow, contrasted sharply with the darkness of his hair. He was well-built, his body a testament to strength and resilience, yet his modern attire—jeans, a simple black shirt, and a leather jacket—gave him an air of famili

This time, a photo appeared: a dimly lit street corner, the silhouette of a woman standing alone. A message followed: *“You’re not alone. But trust is fragile.”* My heart raced. Who was reaching out? Friend? Foe? Or someone else trapped by the same shadows? --- The next day, I met Maya at the café. I hesitated but showed her the messages. She frowned. “That’s unsettling. Maybe you should be careful.” But part of me was drawn to the mystery — as if this unknown contact might hold answers to questions I hadn’t even dared to ask.

I smiled at the camera while holding Solana's waist. She had no choice but to smile at the camera again. After many shots, the photographer took a break, and Solana used that chance to get away from my hold. She sat on a wooden bench and drank bottled water as if she were hot or something. "Is it hot?" I asked. I noticed her cheeks were red, so I took a mini fan from the staff and directed it towards her face. Solana looked at me with her eyebrows furrowed again. I guessed that would be her constant expression whenever I got near her.

Solana is surrounded, a necromancer who obviously isn't fascinated by her, a vampire a mortal enemy, and the foxes, the zealots, the vermins. "The fog began to thicken and Solana's vision is busted. A blade was thrown at her, her reflexes are good enough to avoid being slashed. The blade's temper line is sharp and it could cut a person's head by just simply swinging it, what more if it's being thrown by a big bad fox. The fact that the blade that Foire was holding is made out of silver. "Don't hide, you bastards," Solana said hat provoke, well, Foire. He has the least temper amongst all in the circle. He came at Solana with his blades on fire. Solana hates fire, she has always hated fire.

One is the cage, and the other is the raw power of the stone inside. The morning sun is too bright, and the coffee in my hand is the only thing keeping me upright as I swipe my badge at Valerius Fine Jewelry. I feel like a traitor. I walk into the private studio. Mr valerius is already there, standing by the window, looking out over the city. He looks perfect his navy suit impeccably pressed, a stark contrast to the grease-stained diner from last night. "The mock-ups, Lisa," he says, turning around. His voice is the cool baritone that haunted my dreams, so different from Draven’s rough growl.

And the best ones are always the BL girlies. They post fanart. Edits. Soft-core music videos of us with K-drama OSTs in the background. Sometimes Lucian sees them and mutters, “I don’t know whether to sue them or hire them.” And then proceeds to scroll through all of it anyway. He pretends to hate the attention, but I know he secretly loves being the villain in our love story. Because that’s what we are. Villain and chaos. Cold and color. Blood and brushstroke.

Alphas and Betas clustered at the long mahogany tables, their tracksuits and casual wear rumpled from the hunt, faces flushed with triumph or exhaustion, silverware clinking as they picked at pastries and sipped orange juice that sparkled like liquid sun. She slid into the seat beside Tamara, her hazel eyes flicking to me with a quick, knowing glance before settling on her Beta. “Crystal?” Solana asked, her voice low, extending a hand. Tamara passed it over without a word, the scarlet glow pulsing faintly on her palms, casting eerie red shadows on her neon green sports bra. Solana tucked it into her pocket, the fabric bulging slightly, her dreadlocks swaying as she leaned back, her tank top

“Yeah, you did.” They both laughed, the sound rippling through the studio. Solana, formerly Solange, stood in front of a mannequin, a pair of tailor’s shears in her hand. She was draped in a charcoal-colored vest of her own design, her hair pinned back in a sleek, no-nonsense bun. She looked like a woman who had never known the back of a laundry room or the grime of a motel floor. She brushed her fingers over the seam running down the sleeve, feeling the tension in the fabric the way some people might feel the pulse of a living thing.