#< none of the characters but its the music tracks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wooahaes · 9 months

Text

golden

pairing: god!hoshi x fem!mortal!reader

genre: romance, fluff, angst. gods au.

word count: 13.2k~

warnings: character death. resurrection. mentions of fire, food, rain, and alcohol all within the fic. mentions of sex, unwritten (reader and soonyoung are pretty much stated to have sex, but there is 0 depictions of it past kissing and slightly talking about it). mentions of other death in the background of the fic.

daisy's notes: this was originally going to be a mark fic ngl and i still have the scraps of that first attempt.

[note: no taglist on this fic due to me being unsure of who is okay and not okay w sexual content of any kind!! imo its super tame + not explicit at all, but i don't wanna tag someone that doesn't want that, y'kno?]

Soonyoung rarely ventured down to the mortal realm as often as the others did.

This wasn’t due to a disdain for humans; truthfully, Soonyoung was fond of them in plenty of ways. He found them interesting to watch from a distance, never getting too attached to any of them with their tiny lifespan. Truthfully, he always made the excuse that he was busy. Who would raise and set the sun every day if not for him? It was an excuse, to be fair: the sun was set on its path without him needing to be there to do the work himself. He merely kept to himself more often than the others thought. He wasn’t like Seungcheol, who ventured down in times of war and passed through soldiers who couldn’t see him, revitalizing them as he watched destruction rain down; or Jeonghan, who would always be there to retrieve Seungcheol when the fighting finally came to an end, a reminder that being the God of War did not ruin Seungcheol as a person. He wasn’t like Jun, who silently accepted offerings made to him every year and blessed the harvests (and weddings—the fun part of presiding over multiple domains, as they all did), or Chan, who loved to feel the change of the seasons himself. Soonyoung simply knew the truth: he couldn’t, and shouldn’t, get attached. He had seen what happened to people who got attached.

Yet he always made an exception when his festival came around. He liked to come down and take part in celebrations, finding that they revitalize him in a way like no other. They were always extravagant affairs, larger than life itself with music and dancing that he could spend all night doing. He liked to sample human food, too–especially if he was able to drag Seokmin along, too. The two could ditch their duties for a few hours, the systems in place allowing that slight leave, and sample the sweet wines blessed by Minghao himself. Maybe it blew up Soonyoung’s ego a bit to see how beloved he was by so many, but he enjoyed the fun of it all more than anything else. None of them knew his name, to be fair: they knew the God of the Sun, the God of Dance, or Hoshi if anything. Never Soonyoung.

He’d sampled a sun-shaped chocolate as he weaved through the crowds, always leaving people with a bashful thanks before he moved on. Soonyoung would have his today, and return home with Seokmin later. That was the way things were meant to be. Maybe he’d sneak a bottle of wine back with him, even if it’d earn an eye-roll from Minghao who would tell him all he needed to do was ask for a bottle if he wanted it so badly. It wasn’t the wine, though: it was the experience. A new bottle he can keep along his collection to remember this by.

Except Soonyoung saw you. He had lost track of Seokmin in the crowd, and ventured toward the town square, where he saw you among the crowd. You’d been dancing with your friends, arms thrown out and flowing garments twisting around you as you laughed with carefree abandon. He’d later learn that you had been drinking that day, enjoying the freedom from work and life and everything heavy. Soonyoung was supposed to meet Seokmin. He was supposed to go find him, and then go home. Yet the moment he went to pass you, you had lost your footing, stumbling into him. Your hands were pressed against his chest as he supported you, staring down at your half-hunched over position, peering up at him through your eyelashes.

“... Hi?” You had breathed out, no sense of embarrassment yet.

Soonyoung had heard stories of gods who fell in love with mortals. It happened to Jihoon, and he remembered how that story ended. He hadn’t understood it, though. How could someone like them fall so easily for someone who’s life was so miniscule? That was an introduction to pain, letting in the opportunity for tragedy to strike. And yet there you were, staring up at him in a way that made his heart stir in his chest like no other. He’d stared at you with parted lips, wide-eyed and feeling the heat rushing to his face as he realized how awkward the two of you must be. There’s an apology on his lips, right where he wished yours would be, only for it to die in his throat as you laughed and straightened up.

“Do you want to dance?” Your hands had found his.

And Soonyoung said yes, forgetting all about the friend he’d been searching for. You’d guided him back with you, and time melted into something entirely new as Soonyoung danced with you. It wasn’t until Seokmin found him later, all but having to drag Soonyoung from the gentle sway your dance had devolved into. He’d forgotten about life and his responsibilities and everything that was supposed to be important: you had called him handsome.

“Pretty, too,” you had said to him a second later, before giggling. Soonyoung felt like that must be the alcohol in your system making you so giggly. “Like sunlight.”

Oh, if only you knew.

That was why Soonyoung returned the next day, despite everything being over. He found you again, and introduced himself to you with a lie that he was new in town. You’d laughed again, and he felt as though he might fall in love with the sound.

“I know,” you said, picking up a trampled flower from the ground, setting it into your basket. “It’s a small town. I assumed you were someone stopping in for the festival.”

Soonyoung crouched down next to you, wordlessly helping you with your work. “It was really pretty.”

“It always is,” you picked up another flower, and then your eyes met his. “My friends haven’t stopped teasing me, though.”

“Why?”

“You’re cute,” you smiled, and he felt his heart fluttering in his chest all over again. “And of course it’d be someone not from around here that caught my attention.”

Soonyoung furrowed his brow. “You don’t like anyone here?”

“Not really,” you shrugged, fingers brushing against his as you reached for the same flower. “I guess… I never saw someone that felt worth knowing. You feel different.”

Soonyoung had heard about this from Hansol once before. He’d asked once before what drew people together like that, and Hansol had merely shrugged and said some people just… stood out among the crowd sometimes. That had been why Soonyoung only ever went down during festivals. Between the food and the music and the wine, there was enough to distract from Soonyoung, even if it earned him the occasional look as someone felt… something about him drawing their attention.

“So, stranger,” you stood up. “You got a name? Where are you from? Are you just passing through, or…?”

Soonyoung said his name, gauging your reaction for a second before he continued on, “I’m from the city,” he lied casually enough. “And… I might be.”

“You might be?” You teased. “You looking for a reason to stay?”

“I might be,” he smiled.

It earned another warm laugh from you, so short and fleeting. “Well, Soonyoung, if you’re not busy… Maybe I could show you around. Give you a reason.”

As much as he knew he shouldn’t… Soonyoung thought that he’d already found it. So he let you take him by the hand, so warm underneath his touch, and guide him around the town. It felt like every corner the two of you turned, you had a story. You had lived here all your life, and it showed in your stories. Was love at first sight a thing? Hansol said it wasn’t, that it was merely attraction that either blossomed into love or it didn’t. Yet Soonyoung felt as though his soul knew yours. How suddenly a single person could make him wish he were a mortal that could live alongside you and one day die next to you.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself,” Jihoon said to him one day. He’d entered his godly domain without even asking (although Jihoon never had to ask), finding him taking a nap. He stared down at him. “I mean it. You can’t fall in love with a mortal.”

“I’m not in love with a mortal,” he said. “She’s…”

“Soonyoung.” Jihoon’s voice was like ice as he stared at him. “I lived this. I won’t stand here and watch it happen to you, too.”

“How did you even find out?”

Jihoon crossed his arms. “Hansol. Who else would know?”

He had a point. If anyone had their finger to the pulse of love… It’d be the God of Love himself. Hansol had wrinkled his nose when Soonyoung passed by him earlier, although Soonyoung had merely assumed that it was the scent of mortals and his sweat that disgusted him. Soonyoung sat up, grass crunching underneath him as he looked at Jihoon, backlit by the moon above. He stared down at him, hands curling into fists.

“You don’t want to hurt like I did,” he said in a lower voice. “One day they’re here, and the next…” He reached a hand around the crystal that hung around his neck. “You’ll never see them again.”

Soonyoung didn’t know what to say. Either he defied his friend, his brother, or he let go of you before he’d even grown to know you.

So he went to Joshua instead.

Joshua had been lounging in his own little home, spread out on the pearly white chaise as he looked down upon the pool of water in the middle of his room. Sometimes, Soonyoung wondered what he was watching so intensely. Life? Or his own reflection? All Soonyoung ever saw was his own face when he peered in, but maybe he wasn’t looking at it right. Joshua looked up, and smiled that pretty smile that Soonyoung had seen carved into marble plenty of times. It was enough to make any man proud, and any god insufferable at times.

“Soonyoung.” Joshua’s voice was like honey. No wonder mortals dedicated sonnets to it. “I see you’ve finally come around.”

“How long do mortals live?”

He laughed. “Straight to the point. I see. And so soon, too… Then again, you aren’t like Jihoon. It took Jihoon forever to realize his own feelings…” He let out a sigh. “It’s hard to say.”

Soonyoung stared at him. He understood, slightly: Joshua always said that human life changed with the advancing of medicine. No wonder he resided over both domains, watching over them with a careful eye. “Then how long does she have?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Soonyoung watched as Joshua stood up, making his way over to a cabinet on the far side of his room, flowing garments dragging along the floor. He followed close behind, lagging only far enough behind that he didn’t step on the fabric. “Why not?!”

“Because you’re a god, Soonyoung,” Joshua didn’t turn to face him. He opened the cabinet, shimmering liquid sitting inside. He hummed to himself, looking through them. “You can’t change a mortal’s lifespan. It goes against our rules.”

“And who made those?” Soonyoung asked. “You watched Jihoon’s love die. You couldn’t make an exception?”

“It was their time.” Joshua pulled a blue vial that reminded Soonyoung of a clear sky, and he held it up to the light. “I couldn’t do anything for them. They were in Seokmin’s hands.”

Then maybe he should be talking to Seokmin. Joshua said nothing as he held out the vial, looking through the cabinet further.

“Hold onto this for me, please.”

Soonyoung moved forward, accepting it. He’d never understood things like this—but, thankfully, he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like mortal medicine, which made his head spin. Magic through potion making… That was far outside of his realm. Magic just happened when Soonyoung danced. Light sparked up, the sun was a little warmer on days it was supposed to be cold, the sun stayed out a little longer to help a person find their way home… It manifested through the physical movements he made. It was the same with Minghao, with Junhui, with Chan. He’d seen the dances that Chan choreographed to bring about the seasons, turning it into a performance art. The way Minghao blessed art and wine and those who created both with his own special flourish. And the way Junhui’s movements brought about the harvest as he moved. Joshua, however, always had this song underneath his breath that he seemed to mumble as he pulled vial after vial. Rich purple and sunshine yellow and deep, deep blue that was almost black until the light hit it just right.

Joshua walked away, plucking the blue sky vial from Soonyoung’s hands with a simple “thank you,” as he passed by him. Soonyoung could only continue to follow him.

“So…”

“So.” Joshua had walked away to a set of glasses, set up not far from the cabinet. When Soonyoung asked why it wasn’t closer before, Joshua had merely said something about avoiding cross-contamination. “I can’t help you with her. She’s a mortal.” One drop of sky blue. Two of the sunshine yellow.

“You can’t make an exception?”

One of purple… and then another. “Nope.”

“I’m not going to stop.”

One of deep, dark blue. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I mean it.” Soonyoung crossed his arms. “I want to know her. You’d understand if you saw her.”

“I’m sure I would.” Joshua simply pulled out one of the thin, long rods he used to mix these vials. Despite the colors that went into it, it turned into a shimmering, golden liquid after he added a pinch of some dust that Soonyoung knew nothing about. “I’m sure we all would.”

Was he not budging? Soonyoung didn’t plan this far. He thought if he made it completely clear that he was going to pursue you, whether it got him hurt or not, that Joshua would give something up. Joshua was one of the ones who was most hurt by seeing Jihoon mourn… Maybe it was wrong to try and use that against him, but Soonyoung knew that if he didn’t try to pursue you, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. Didn’t Joshua understand that? Hadn’t he followed people’s lives out of sheer curiosity of where they ended up? He treated it as gossip with Jeonghan sometimes, Soonyoung heard it.

“Soonyoung?” Joshua asked, pushing a cork into the vial. He tied a cord around it, securing it fully. “Don’t drink this.”

Soonyoung said nothing as Joshua tied the vial around his neck, looking down at where it fell between his collarbones. “I won’t?”

“Good.” Joshua gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t you have a mortal to be wooing?”

Soonyoung met Joshua’s gaze, and saw the smile he’d given him. “You aren’t going to stop me?”

“Nope.” He walked away. “You’re interrupting me anyway. Mortal lives are messy—These two siblings are fighting over their father’s fortune even though it’ll go to the youngest in secret. They just haven’t realized it yet.”

Soonyoung didn’t see the appeal.

Soonyoung saw you again mere days later.

You’d been in the market when he finally found you, bargaining for fresh fruit with the woman behind the stall. She laughed at you after a moment, and, judging by the smile on your face, you’d managed to convince her to throw in a little extra. Yet when you turned and saw him, that smile fell for barely a second before coming back, brighter than before. You made your way over to him, careful of your bag as you threw your arms around him. He felt the warmth of your body as it pressed against his, and suddenly the sun didn’t feel so warm anymore.

“Soonyoung!” You drew back, still beaming at him. “I thought you’d left.”

His hands fell to rest on your hips. “I said I’d be back. I just… had to handle some things.”

Your gaze had fallen to the vial around his neck. “What’s this?”

“From a friend,” he said, a hand clasping around it protectively. It felt cold underneath his fingers.

“Someone I need to worry about?”

He chuckled. “Nope.” He couldn’t compare to you anyhow. “Are you busy?”

“Not anymore.” You shifted your bag. “I just need to take this home and then I’m all yours. Do you want to walk with me?”

He was glad to go anywhere with you. You slipped your hand into his, palm pressed against his own, and started to guide him down the street. Casual as could be, you started to fill him in on everything that you’d heard over the past few days. The feud between two nobles in the richer part of the town—two brothers who’d always been stuck up. Their father was on their deathbed now, and his third born, his daughter, had been devoted to caring for him. Whether it be to nurse him back to health, or to make sure his passing was as peaceful as it could go, no one could be sure. You admitted your hopes that the fortune would go to her: she was always kind to you and everyone else she met, from what you could tell. Aside from that… One of your neighbors was sure her baby would be coming any day now. Something about it feeling right. You’d be bringing soup to her later tonight to help give her a little extra strength for the coming days. There’d been men passing through town—not like Soonyoung, but gruffer. Rough around the edges. They had yet to do anything, but plenty of people were on edge because of it.

“It feels like I’ve missed a lot.”

“Well… You wouldn’t if you stayed.” You squeezed his hand a little. “I know it’s a big decision… But I’d be happy to see you around more often.”

Soonyoung found himself smiling a little. Such little time together, and he thought you might be feeling something for him, too. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. My friends want to meet you sometime. Meet the cutie I have my eye on.” You rolled your eyes a little. “Seriously… They act like I’m a recluse.”

Soonyoung ran his thumb along the back of your hand. “If you want me to meet them…”

“Maybe later,” you said. “Gotta be sure I’m right about you first.”

He blinked. “Right…? About what?”

“That you’re… right.” You’d grown flustered. “That this wasn’t just me being drunk and seeing a cute stranger and—and being curious, I guess.”

You’d let go of his hand for a moment, and he swore he ached to feel it again. You pushed open the gate to your home, small enough that Soonyoung could probably leap over it if he tried. He waited for a moment, watching as you stopped and turned to face him. With a nod of your head, he followed after you quickly. You unlocked your door, pushing it open and letting him in before you secured it back in place.

Although your home was small, it was cozy. He watched as you drew back the curtains at your windows, where he could see a green yard behind it, plants growing. Some flowers—although those looked more to be wildflowers that you’d begun to tend to. Vegetables, mainly. Maybe that was why you were mainly buying fruit in the city. He watched as you draped your shawl over a chair, taking your bag to sort things out and put them into the hanging baskets above your kitchen space. Apples, pears, a bowl of berries… You had a place for most things. Soonyoung busied himself with looking around further. You had a little sitting area near your front door with an old, slightly frumpy couch that still looked comfortable to curl up in. A chair that sat closer to the currently extinguished fireplace, where he realized you could comfortably cook if you chose to do so. There was dwindling firewood in a pile nearby, already chopped. Was that your doing? Or someone else in the town? Soonyoung wanted to know. You had said that he was the only person who caught your eye, but…

He pushed the thought aside. He didn’t think you’d lead him on if there were other people—plus you had said your friends were teasing you. He’d trust you for now. Soonyoung ran a hand over the back of your couch, a thick quilt draped over it.

“That was my mother’s,” you said. “She made it with my grandmother when she was expecting me. She’d always drape it over herself whenever she was caring for me.” You set your bag aside. “She gave it to me when I moved out after she’d added more to it.”

He traced his fingers over a square that had a flower sewn into it. “That’s sweet.”

“I think she wants me to pass it down to my child one day,” you said. “Add my own squares. She taught me once, actually. I think I will.”

His face grew hotter, and he stepped away, distracting himself with a little carved animal that was sitting on your counter. “Did you make this?”

You’d giggled, and made your way over. “Mhm. It’s not very good, but… My grandmother had books of animals. It’s a tiger.” You held it up. “I’ve never actually seen one, but they say the God of the Sun’s accompanied by a tiger wherever he goes.” For a moment, you looked between him and the little wooden tiger. You reached for his hand a moment later, pressing it into his palm and curling his fingers around. “Why don’t you keep it?”

“Huh?” He looked down at it. “But it’s yours.”

“And now it’s yours.” You smiled at him. “You can look at it and think of me.”

He would. He’d keep it with him forever now. Soonyoung turned his attention to the window again. “You grow things?”

“Most people do.” You made your way to the back door, unlatching it and pulling it open. Soonyoung followed you out and watched as you admired your tomatoes. “I’m not great at it, but I’ve managed to keep a few things alive so far.”

The cucumbers you were growing seemed to be doing fine, as were the green beans that stretched up their poles. He saw the way the cucumber plants were crawling up your fence a bit, giving them a structure to grow against and protection from the elements. You had a separate section out for carrots that were struggling a bit more, but faring way better than the tomatoes you’d been trying to grow. Your lettuce, however, was definitely thriving way more than the rest of your garden.

“It’s not a lot,” you said, looking at the peas you’d been growing. “But it helps. I sell lettuce down at the market and it usually fetches pretty well…”

“You said you were making soup?”

Suddenly, you snapped back to face him. “Oh my god, the soup!” You rushed back inside, digging through a low cabinet for a heavy-looking pot. “I’m yours,” you said as you turned back to him, “as long as we talk here.”

He chuckled. “I’m okay with that.”

You rested a hand on his chest. “Tomorrow,” you said, “we can go out. I’m sorry I forgot about it earlier.”

Something about you was so endearing. You’d pulled out a cutting board and a sharpened knife before turning to Soonyoung. When you asked if he knew how to cook, he said he wasn’t very good at it. With a roll of your eyes, you said you’d teach him later. All he needed to do was slice ingredients while you fetched water for this soup. If he wanted to, he could start the fire for you once you’d set everything up, and you’d take over with the harder parts of it all. The good thing about this soup, you told him, was that it could be easy to throw together. So the two of you got to work: Soonyoung with carefully slicing carrots for you, and you with setting up… well, everything else. He listened to the way you hummed to yourself as you worked, and he wished he could know the songs in your heart. If he asked Jihoon, he’d turn him away.

How was he supposed to face Jihoon from now on…? Hansol wouldn’t hide Soonyoung’s feelings for you as they began to blossom more and more with each passing second.

“Oh… Soonyoung.” You’d come back to him while he was trying to slice potatoes, moving slow as he worked. “Here,” you reached out, hands over his own to guide them. “It’s easier if you do it like this…”

Mingyu would adore you, at least. Despite not having a need to eat, Mingyu enjoyed cooking for the fun of it. Seokmin joined him sometimes, too. At least Soonyoung got to eat the delicious things they made. A second later, Soonyoung realized that you were bullshitting him: he was maybe slow in order to watch his fingers, but you were doing the exact same thing he was doing.

“You just want to—”

“Be close to you?” You smiled. “I do.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to make up a reason,” he said, gently nudging your hands away. “You can be close to me if you want.”

You let out a happy hum as you looked at him, leaning in just close enough to kiss him if he were lucky. “Good to know.” And then you pulled away just as he leaned in to kiss you, giggling as you went.

What has he gotten himself into?

Junhui’s domain was just as vibrant and full of life as one would expect from the God of the Harvest. The number of plants growing would make Soonyoung’s head spin if he tried to count them all, and, since he wasn’t much of a cook anyway, he merely left it at ones he could easily recognize. Most days, Junhui could be found in the center of it all, resting underneath a pavilion decorated with sheer white curtains trimmed with matching lace. The red of his flowing garb stood out against it all, and Soonyoung often saw the way the fabric flowed as Junhui danced for himself and only himself. His eyes were shut as he let his body move as he pleased, content to let inspiration take hold as it desired. There was a bottle of wine set atop a nearby table—a sign that Minghao had been here recently, since Jun always kept his bottles elsewhere for safe keeping. He had to wonder what the two had talked about.

“Is this about her?”

Jun had slowed to a stop, opening his eyes as he looked to where Soonyoung lingered among the trees. He had gotten it in one, and the knowing smile on his face said it. He gestured for Soonyoung to come forward and join him as he settled into a cushioned chair off to one side, right next to that bottle of wine.

Soonyoung settled into the other, and watched as his friend poured him a glass. “I have a favor to ask.”

“It’s her garden, isn’t it?” Jun hummed to himself, eyes twinkling a little. “Are you sure you want to get so close to a mortal?”

Soonyoung nodded. “Yes.”

“You were there for Jihoon,” he said, voice softer this time. “You had to be the one to calm him down before the tides were thrown out of balance.”

But I’ll be fine, Soonyoung wanted to say. He wouldn’t scorch the earth. He’d control himself. “Will you help her?”

Jun hummed to himself for a moment. “Perhaps.”

“That isn’t a yes—”

“What’s in your pocket?”

Soonyoung pulled out the little tiger figurine. Immediately, Jun began to coo over it, reaching out to get a closer look. He drew his hand back, unsure of whether he wanted to trust anyone with it… But he relented after a moment, letting Jun take it and hold it up to the light. He traced over the tiger stripes, smiling to himself all the while, so truly endeared by this little wooden tiger that you had made. It wasn’t perfect, and it looked much more like an average cat, but you had definitely tried when carving it.

“How cute,” he giggled. “No wonder you like her so much. Can she make a cat?”

Soonyoung furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I’ll do it if she makes me a cat later. Say it’s for a friend.”

“I’m not—”

“Please?” Jun had smiled at him, pressing the tiger back into his hand. “I’ll bless her garden extra strong if you can bring me one that’s a cat.”

Soonyoung sighed. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll ask her to make you a cat. I’ll say it’s a present. Will you bless her garden tonight, please? I’m going to see her first thing because I want to see her face when she notices it improving.”

Jun had given his promise. Soonyoung downed his wine before hugging him tight, and left Jun’s domain quickly. He’d passed by Seungkwan, who’d been deep in conversation with Hansol and Seungcheol when he saw him. With a wave, he continued on, only to see Hansol wrinkle his nose again when he glanced back one final time. It must be from the love. Which was strange: Hansol had always said love was sweet. Why wrinkle his nose…? Soonyoung let the thought go before he could dwell too much on it. He didn’t need to doubt his feelings for you at all. Mortals lived shorter lives, which meant that Soonyoung needed to treasure his time with you while he had it. Which meant he needed to go rest before he went down to the mortal realm—

“Soonyoung.”

Wonwoo stood at the entry to his domain, having been waiting for him. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, tucked tight against his neck, and watched him from behind those wide spectacles. Wonwoo said nothing as he drew his hood back from over his head, a thick book held in his other arm as he awaited for Soonyoung to come closer. For the God of Time, he always looked as though he’d switch domains with Jihoon or Seokmin at any moment; dark fabrics flowing off of him and shining a little within the light. Yet behind that stoic exterior, Soonyoung knew that he was warm (even if he wasn’t so now). He knew a lot of things beyond the knowledge he presided over. He knew the past, the present, and the future…

Which must be why he was here now. “Yes?”

He nodded toward the entry to his own domain. “Come with me.”

The moment Wonwoo turned his back, Soonyoung hung his head and held back the urge to groan with annoyance. He needed to see you tomorrow, which meant he needed to rest because going down to the mortal realm wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world—especially when he had to work extra hard to repress the godly aura that had attracted you to him in the first place. He needed you to like him for him (and, so far, you seemed to). Yet he followed after Wonwoo, passing through the shimmering doorway and into the endless library in which Wonwoo often resided. The quiet ticking of a clock that Soonyoung never saw seemed to echo about, and he stepped onto the clock face (not the source of the ticking: Soonyoung had checked) that was embedded into the floor. The seconds ticked by, one by one, and Soonyoung watched as Wonwoo began to search for another book. He climbed a ladder, a fox made of translucent, pale blue magic leaping up beside him. It shut its eyes and glowed a little brighter, and Soonyoung watched Wonwoo pet its head with a quiet thanks.

“What do you want?” He called out.

“Hold on.” He pulled down another one, thick and just as heavy as the one he’d been carrying. He descended that ladder, and came to the desk in the middle of the room. “You need to stop seeing this human.”

Soonyoung stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Joshua should have told you to stop, but he didn’t. So I will,” Wonwoo began to flip through pages. “She doesn’t have much time. She’ll have less if you continue to interfere.”

You’d live less…? “You don’t know that—”

“It’s written.” Wonwoo slid the book across the table to him. “You can’t rewrite a person’s life. We’ve tried. All we can do is make sure that things go according to plan—”

“No!” He shut the book, shoving it across the desk. “I’m not going to give her up. I’ll find a way.”

“You’re acting like a child,” Wonwoo kept his voice even and calm. “If I need to get Seungcheol involved—”

“You don’t need to get him involved,” another voice sounded from the entryway. Soonyoung turned, and in strolled Mingyu, hands tucked into his pockets. “Seungcheol wouldn’t be able to stop him anyway.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Mingyu, you remembered what happened last time—”

“And I know that it’ll all be all right.” Mingyu stopped next to Soonyoung. He pulled out a small golden pendant that hung from a long chain, teeming with a mythical energy that was powerful. “Because Soonyoung will give her this, and your stupid book will change to see fit. It’s happened before—”

“That was an accident.”

“Well, accident it again.” Mingyu dropped the pendant into Soonyoung’s hand. “It’ll give her a little extra luck. A longer life, if things go right.”

“You don’t know what you’re messing with, Mingyu,” Wonwoo glowered at him from behind those glasses, eyes cold as steel. The room felt as though it’d fallen a few degrees, too. “This could easily put her in further danger—”

“It won’t,” Mingyu said, cocky as ever. The God of Freedom fit him just as much as his other titles. “Because luck will be on her side now.”

Before he could watch the two argue further, Soonyoung ducked out, throwing his thanks over his shoulder as he returned to his own domain. He felt the sun kiss his face as he wandered in, holding up the pendant so that it’d shimmer in the light. He could already envision it against your skin, shining perfectly in the sun as he stole you away for the day. Maybe he’d find a way to bring you here, to his domain, if he could. Then again… Seungcheol had banned mortals for good reason. He’d seen the destruction that they could bring, and this world wasn’t suited for them to live in anyhow. Still… He wished that you could see it. All he wanted to do was curl up on the grass with you, and sleep under the sunshine of his own domain. If he could find a way, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Instead, he threw himself down onto his own chaise, curling up to rest for a while. He already missed the soft plush of your couch and the quilt that you shared together as you two enjoyed a bowl of soup together. He’d never admit it to any of the others, but your cooking would outdo Mingyu’s any day (although, knowing him, Mingyu would claim he was only saying it because he liked you). Perhaps if Mingyu wanted, he could come around… After Soonyoung had become yours. If stupid handsome Mingyu had shown up, then there was no telling if you’d stay so in love with Soonyoung or if stupid, charmingly handsome, clumsy Mingyu would somehow manage to steal your heart.

(It was childish to think, but Soonyoung pouted as he drifted off nonetheless.)

By the time he woke up, he knew the sun would soon be rising on the world below. Which meant that he needed to go soon. Jun would hopefully be returning as Soonyoung was leaving, and Soonyoung hoped to get a glance at your garden before you did. It wouldn’t be thriving—not immediately—but Soonyoung knew it’d look a little more verdant. Maybe the tomatoes would have grown a little more, though, so that you could be proud of them.

Jihoon stood in his way, though. “Soonyoung—”

“I remember what happened to them,” he said. “And I know you want me to stop.”

“And you won’t.” Jihoon pressed his lips together. “I know.”

“I think I love her,” he said. “I’ve… I’ve never felt like this before.”

Jihoon shut his eyes for a moment. He remembered how it felt, too: that rush of emotion that was so new to him. No one else had warned him about the more painful ones that would overtake him. No one but Seungcheol, who had lived that grief over and over again when wars started and ended. Seungcheol had been hardened by it: Jihoon was merely a god who wanted to spin songs for his lovers and write lyrical poems for them, too. The crystal around his neck seemed to glow a little brighter, and he nodded after a moment.

“Be careful.”

Soonyoung promised he would. He paused, turning back to Jihoon as he reached out for the necklace. Most days, Jihoon would turn away. Today he stayed still, and watched as Soonyoung brushed his fingers over it, that tiny flame within it still burning as bright as it did so long ago. If Soonyoung shut his eyes, he could feel fingers pressing against his own, a forehead pressing against his. Whether it was Jihoon’s or his lover, he would never be certain. Soonyoung always thought it was his lover, though: their touch was softer than Jihoon’s, who didn’t hesitate to put Soonyoung in his place the same way brothers fought.

He drew his hand back. Would this be him one day? Holding onto a crystal filled with his lover’s life? He hoped not. He’d find a way to keep you with him. Jihoon ran out of time. Soonyoung, with Wonwoo’s warning, would not. He refused to.

Jihoon watched as Soonyoung took off, and he curled his hand around that crystal again. “I know.” He shut his eyes again, and he could feel the way his lover pressed their lips against his skin, gentle as could be. “I know,” he repeated. “I’ll keep watching over him.”

And then he could feel the curve of a smile, too, and he found himself smiling. The sadness in his soul would always be there, but at least his lover’s flame still kept it warm.

True to his plans, Soonyoung came to you again that day. Barely seconds after he’d knocked at your door, you had opened it and pulled him inside, gushing about your garden. He feigned surprise well when you showed him how your tomatoes seemed to have found a new sense of life. He’d thank Jun when he saw him next: your joy was worth it. He reached into his pocket, finding the necklace as it pooled into a tiny pile.

“I… brought you something.”

You turned to him, clearly surprised. “Huh?”

“I saw it and I thought of you,” he unraveled the chain, holding it up. The round pendant twisted, shining in the sunlight, and he saw the way you lit up at it in pure shock. It… truthfully looked as though it would be expensive.

“Soonyoung…”

“Can I…?” He unlatched the clasp, and you turned with a tiny smile. Carefully, he draped it around your neck, fixing the clasp. His fingers brushed against the back of your neck, and he stepped back. “There.”

You turned back to face him, smiling a little. The chain was longer than he expected, the pendant falling closer to your chest than your collarbones, but you looked just as radiant as you always did. “Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll treasure it always.”

The tiniest flower of jealousy seemed to bloom within Soonyoung’s stomach. All you knew was this had been Soonyoung’s present to you… and yet all Soonyoung could think about was stupid Mingyu’s face, smiling brightly. He’d never mention that you loved it to Mingyu. He’d never heard the end of it if he did.

“Actually… I want to show you something.”

Soonyoung followed you out of your house, closing the door behind him and immediately hearing an unsettling noise when he did. When trying to open it, you discovered that he’d messed with it so it didn’t sit correctly anymore. You made a small joke about Soonyoung not knowing his own strength (oh, if only you knew) before you took his hand anyway.

“I’ll have someone come around eventually,” you said. “Don’t worry about it.”

So he wouldn’t. He trusted you, and he figured he would merely break it further if he tried. You took his hand, and began to guide him out of the town, saying something about how this would be a walk. He asked casually enough about if you would carve a little cat out of wood, since he had a friend who saw the tiger and loved it so much. You had agreed with a warm giggle, saying that you would do anything for him, before you started to tell him stories as you entered the woods together. In your youth, you would get lost within these woods alongside your friends. The sun would be setting as you all found your way home, your friends scared of the witches that the bigger kids always said lived in the woods. You, on the other hand, had never been.

“One day, I got separated from everyone,” you kicked a pebble along the path. “It was getting darker, and I started getting scared that I might not find my way home. And then… I saw it. There was this glowing bear in the woods. And it looked at me, and I felt like it was telling me to follow it.”

Soonyoung already knew what it was: the guardian of forests. Seungkwan’s doing, no doubt. Seungkwan had always found some way to protect children through sending a benevolent bear to guide them out of the forests when they were lost. It was surrounded by this warm glow as another way to tell them that it was safe. Follow me, the aura said, I’ll protect you. It protected others too, according to Seungkwan, but it would always come to children when they needed it.

“I feel like I’ve always had a connection with nature because of it,” you said. The two of you had entered into a clearing within the forest, and you let go of his hand. “That’s why I’ve always dreamed of building a home here.” You spread your arms out, twirling in the sunlight before you stopped to face him again. “But for now, it’s where I come to think.”

“Do you come here often?” Soonyoung walked forward, taking in the sights.

It almost reminded him of his own domain a little bit. There were wildflowers springing up from the grass, dotting the area with little white and yellow and pink buds. He could hear the brook in the distance if he listened closely, and the sound of animals running to and fro. If it were a little brighter, it’d be like home for him. Soonyoung turned to watch you as you seemed to thrive here, crouching down to admire the flowers. He could hear the music of the earth if he listened close enough: the bubbles in the brook, the scratching of a squirrel in the trees, the wind as it whistled…

“Do you dance?”

You turned, before standing back up. “Do you?” You smiled. “Are you asking me to dance this time, Soonyoung?”

He smiled, and offered his hands to you. The smile you gave him in return could light the sun once over, and you placed your hands in his own. He drew you closer to him, guiding you happily.

“You’re better when I’m not drunk,” you teased. “Is this what you do for a living?”

“Something like that,” he laughed warmly. He squeezed your hands a little, twirling you out from him. “So… Why do you like me?” He brought you back in, “You said you didn’t like the other people here. Why me?”

You hummed for a moment, thinking over the question. “At first, you just… You stood out. But now… I think you’re sweet. You came back to town, and I realized I really liked dancing with you that night.”

“I came back to town because I liked you, too,” he confessed. “I thought… I didn’t want to miss this chance.”

“Really?” You giggled softly. “So why did you like me, then?”

Because you seemed to outshine life itself, and he needed to know why. “I like your stories.”

“Well… Good,” you hummed. “Is that all?”

He smiled, drawing you in closer. “And I like you.”

Something about it made you laugh. “You’re so honest,” you said. “I like that. Most people dance around their feelings for far too long.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gazing into his eyes. “The girl at the marketplace counting petals and wondering if the other girl loves or not despite knowing the answer. The boy that was too shy to tell his friend that he loves him until his friend says it first…” You hummed. “Why waste time when you’ve found your actual soulmate?”

“Is that what I am?” Soonyoung’s hands rested on your hips. “Your soulmate?”

You smiled at him again. “Is that what you think I am?”

Soonyoung leaned in, kissing you instead, and you kissed back eagerly. Soulmate, he thought to himself. It was as though Hansol had wrapped a string around the two of you, tying you together in a hidden way that only his heart knew to be true. He felt as though something deep within him had yearned for you since the moment the two of you met. You might be his soulmate…

Soonyoung liked the sound of that.

Hansol had come into Soonyoung’s domain that night when he returned home, and immediately gagged when he saw him. Soonyoung had looked up to where Hansol had hunched over, a wrist pressed against his mouth as he leaned against a pillar near the entry point to his domain. Was the smell truly that strong? Jihoon had said Hansol had known that Soonyoung was in love, and apparently he reeked of the smell. Jihoon once smelled like this, too—that had to be what Hansol was smelling. The love of a god to a mortal, something truly awful apparently.

“Soonyoung,” he said, catching his breath. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

Soonyoung groaned. “Why does everyone keep telling me that?” He sat up from his space in the grass, where he’d been daydreaming about the day he spent with you. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was in that clearing again, kissing you.

“I mean it,” Hansol said. “Dude. I don’t want to tell you this, but I spoke to the others. Wonwoo and Seokmin both agreed that no matter what you do, she’s going to die because of it. Even Joshua admitted it—”

With a wave of his hand, Hansol was whisked out of his domain, and the entryway was temporarily severed. He turned over onto his side, shutting his eyes again. Everyone was against this, but why? If he was truly putting you in danger, then they should tell him what it was. That way, Soonyoung would be able to find a way to protect you. All the others ever did was tell him to stop, and they never gave him a real reason past a vague idea that you would die. All mortals would die one day, and Soonyoung just wanted to enjoy the time had with you before he lost you. If he lost you. Maybe, by then, he would have found a way to truly save you—and not in the way Jihoon had done.

He started to see you daily. Some days the two of you would walk together, hand in hand, through the town. He would accompany you to the market, and you would teach him how to haggle, and he would carry your bags back home like the gentleman he was trying to be for you. You never did get that door fixed, but you had said you didn’t mind it. It just meant you had to lift it a little when you opened or closed it, and that unwanted visitors wouldn’t be able to get in so easily. He met your friends once, as they ate dinner with the two of you and teased you endlessly for falling so hard for Soonyoung. You didn’t even deny it anymore, and Soonyoung would smile so hard that his cheeks hurt. They pointed out that he seemed to love you just as much, and Soonyoung didn’t deny it, either. He just kissed you passionately once the two of you were left alone again, happy to have your company. Other days, the two of you would rest in your home together. You would read poetry to him sometimes, because he loved to listen to the sound of your voice. Everything was always prettier when it came from you. He watched you carve the cat for Jun one day, explaining everything as you did. Your mother had taught you how to carve these things, and you were a little better at normal cats than you were tigers. Soonyoung passed it to Jun one day and saw the look of pure delight in his eyes when he looked it over, thanking him for the gift.

Seokmin asked to meet you one day. At first, Soonyoung had been hesitant… But he let him accompany him down to your home. When you answered the door, you’d almost greeted Soonyoung with a kiss until you saw his companion.

“This is my friend,” Soonyoung said. “He was at the festival with me, actually. He was passing through town, and—”

“I’m Seokmin,” he introduced himself, taking your hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Yet the moment his touch met yours, Soonyoung could see that Seokmin’s smile twitched a little. All too easily, he recovered and followed you into your home. You always made extra for dinner, since your neighbor had a baby to take care of now, and you would try to take food to her and her partner when you could. If not you, then other people did—everyone looked out for one another here. Seokmin listened to you attentively as you talked over dinner, asking questions about how he knew Soonyoung (he worked alongside him before). Seokmin seemed to take the role of entertainer with ease, always knowing the right thing to say to make you laugh. All Soonyoung could do was sit by and fall even deeper in love with you.

The two of them left your house, making their way out of town so they could return home, and Soonyoung saw the way Seokmin changed within an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Seokmin continued forward. “I see why you adore her so much.” He paused, though, and turned to face Soonyoung in the dying light of day. “You want to see her again, don’t you?”

Soonyoung smiled to himself. “I always do.”

“You should go, then. I’m sure she wants to see you, too. I’ll go home by myself.”

Soonyoung could only thank him, turning on his heel to return to you. You had greeted him warmly, and the moment that the door was shut behind the two of you, you’d taken him into your arms and kissed him passionately. His back bumped against the door, and his hands fell to your waist immediately.

“Your friend is nice,” you said when you stopped for a moment, “but I had to fight myself to keep my hands off of you.”

He chuckled, drawing you back in for another kiss. “Don’t you always?”

You playfully swatted at his side, pressing a quick peck against his lips. “With you, I really have to.” Your hands slipped underneath his shirt. “Soonyoung, I—”

Your fingertips traced his bare skin, and suddenly he understood what it felt to want another person deeply. That deep, devoted need to be closer to you than he had ever been before. He stared at you, and he realized that you felt it, too. No wonder you always found some way to touch him. He’d kissed you passionately before, that need building within the core of his being to be with you, but not like this. It felt hot and heavy and his head felt suddenly so much foggier than it had ever been, his mind centered only on you, you, you. He drew you back in for another kiss, deeper than before.

“Soonyoung,” you said after a moment. “Do you want me?”

He did. More than anything now. He was thankful for his godly strength, even when suppressing everything else about himself, as he lifted you into his arms with ease. He carried you away, your arms hooked around his neck as you giggled. With every taunting kiss you placed against his neck, he grew giddier, and he stopped hesitating once he threw you onto your bed. You had lured in him fully, and he was more than ready to be yours in every possible way.

Which must have been why he felt so guilty come morning. He’d woken up, turning over to admire the beautiful sight of your bare skin. He wished to study you further, to have a mental map of every dip and freckle and blemish your skin had so that he could worship every single part of you fully. But he needed to return home, at least to attend to what he needed to. He leaned in, kissing your lips for as long as he could spare before he left your bed. It had woken you up, and you watched him get dressed in the early light of day, chuckling to yourself at the marks you’d left on him.

“Can’t you just… stay here with me?” You reached for his hand, drawing him in again. “Forever?”

A temptation so, so sweet… but one he had to turn down again. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said. He could do this, he thought to himself. He could live a double life. He just needed to get things in order. “I don’t want to go.”

You let out a sigh—not disappointed or annoyed, but tired. “I know.” You kissed his knuckles. “Soonyoung, I—”

He kissed you one more time, and he felt the way you smiled into it after a moment. He drew back, pressing one final kiss against your forehead. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “I’ll come back to you.”

Your smile wavered for barely a second. “I know you will. Until tomorrow.”

Hansol wrinkled his nose again when Soonyoung passed by him. Jihoon looked concerned. Soonyoung just returned to his own realm to do what he needed to do. All too soon, he curled up on a warm patch of grass, and fell asleep, lost in a beautiful sense of bliss he already ached to feel again.

Jihoon yanked Soonyoung from his sleep without a second thought, and didn’t speak once as he dragged him out of his domain. Soonyoung had barely woken up, yet followed Jihoon dutifully. Sometimes the gods had these meetings for whatever reason. Typically it was when war was coming, because Seungcheol would always go down below, unseen by mortals, to watch the bloodshed. To circle war tables and sometimes push for something that would end the fighting sooner. It was invigorating. It was draining. But Jeonghan was in charge until peace came, in which Jeonghan would go down and bring Seungcheol home. Of course, not all of this pertained to the others so much as it was just a reminder that they had jobs to do. That just because Seungcheol was leaving was not an excuse to play around.

Yet Jihoon shoved him toward the middle of the room without a word. Soonyoung realized that all eyes were on him—save for Seungcheol, who was staring up at a mirror that Joshua must have brought in as an alternate to his pools of water, and Jeonghan, who was watching Seungcheol.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s over, Soonyoung.” Seungcheol turned back to him, pity in his eyes. Guilt, too. A look that said I should have never let it get this far. “I’m sorry.”

Soonyoung looked up at the mirror, something pulling him toward it. He tried to focus harder on the blurry scene. It was always harder for anyone who wasn’t Joshua (or a save few others) to look into a person’s life and see what was happening. But he saw it. Fire. Your town. Your home. You, in your bed, waking up to the sound of someone trying to get in. The vision was lost as he stumbled back. “No—”

Seungcheol took his hand. “Soonyoung, I’m sorry—”

Seokmin stepped forward. “She was marked for death. I felt it when I touched her hand. I’m sorry, Soonyoung, I couldn’t remove it. It’s in fate’s hands now—”

“No!”

Soonyoung tore his hand free from Seungcheol’s grip and took off running. Despite the lunge Mingyu had made for him, Soonyoung was desperate. He threw his elbow into the man’s ribs. Even gods had weak spots when it came to another god hitting them, after all. Soonyoung needed to get to you now, before something worse could happen. He landed below, barely masking his aura as he took off running toward your home.

Your house was ruined by the time he got there. It was still burning, but he screamed your name. The door was open, and he rushed in to see your ransacked home. Broken pots and ceramics, furniture upturned and strew everywhere, curtains ripped to shreds… But the back door was open. He went through it and saw your poor, still-burning garden. Yet no you. The ground was disheveled near the fence, trailing up the side of it too. You got out.

You got out.

Soonyoung hopped the fence with ease, taking off running in the direction that the dirt led. Toward the forest—you’d ran away. You must have. He just kept yelling your name as loudly as he could, listening for something, anything, that told him you were alive. If he focused on the little wooden tiger in his pocket, he could still feel you. Everyone had a connection to their creations, and he just had to follow it to you. This golden string that was wrapped around his own soul and drawing him forward. Yet he heard crunching, further from the twigs and leaves underneath his own feet. He wasn’t alone.

He saw you first, lying on the ground in the clearing that you’d kissed him in. And in a different direction, he saw a man, making his way toward you. All it took was the glint of a knife for Soonyoung to drop his aura.

“Get the FUCK away from her!”

And within seconds, the man had burst into flames. Soonyoung stood, the sound of his scream echoing in his ears, and he turned his attention back to you. The man collapsed to the ground, dying and burning and filling the air with this disgusting smell that’d haunt him forever. Yet Soonyoung just made his way forward to you, growing more desperate with those last few steps. He dropped to his knees next to your crumpled body, staring at you for just a moment. You’d curled in on yourself, chest slowly rising and falling. You were alive. All Soonyoung could do was say your name once more as he reached for you, suddenly so much more helpless than he’d ever been before.

“I’m here,” he said, reaching for you. “I’m here, I’m here…”

Your life was fading, and he could see it in your eyes as they seemed to grow dimmer. Yet the light that was starting to shine around him reflected in them. “... Soonyoung?”

“It’s me,” he said, a hand cupping your face. He could feel powerful presences growing closer to him. The others were coming. “What happened?”

Before you could answer, he suddenly noticed the dark stain at your abdomen. He reached a hand down, and pulled his hand away to see dark blood covering his fingers. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no—

“I’m sorry,” you wheezed out, hand taking his, your own blood smearing against your skin. “I… I tried to run, Soonyoung. I’m lucky. I… I heard one of them trying to break in, and…”

“Who did this to you?”

“Bandits.” You pressed your cheek against his hand. “Came into town yesterday. Didn’t mention it.” Your brows furrowed together in pain, one of your hands dropping down to your wound. “Didn’t—Didn’t wanna scare you…”

“No,” he whispered, voice cracking, “nonono… Don’t,” he clutched your hand in his, “don’t go.”

“Soonie,” your hand squeezed his. Your eyes were welling up with tears that he could see as his light grew brighter. “It hurts.”

He could fix this. He had to fix this. It wasn’t your time yet—Seokmin had to be wrong. It couldn’t be your time yet. Not when you had so much more life to live. Not now.

“Soonyoung!” Seokmin’s voice rang out across the clearing. And then he heard him say his name again, softer as he grew closer. Seokmin kneeled down on the other side of you. “It’s time,” he said. He reached toward you, “I have to take her—”

“No!” Soonyoung slapped his hand away. He felt the air grow hotter around him. The sky was bright with fire and ash, and even the moon overhead seemed to glow brighter now. “You aren’t taking her!”

Wonwoo stepped forward, too. “Soonyoung, we warned you—”

“You aren’t touching her!”

Fire crackled around Soonyoung, and he watched as Seokmin and Wonwoo backed off immediately. Sweat began to bead at Soonyoung’s browline, and the world seemed so, so desperately hot. Even the others had recognized it, as Soonyoung had seen the way they were tugging at their clothes and wiping away sweat. Jihoon even seemed pained, his own aura glowing a little brighter. Soonyoung’s gaze fell to you again, one hand falling down to your wound. Maybe… Maybe if he used a little of his fire, he could fix this. He could close your wound, and Joshua would heal you, because Joshua always supported him, and you would live. You had to live. He couldn’t let you go. He wasn’t Jihoon: Soonyoung was not as strong as Jihoon. He felt tears run down his face, and he let you a sob, pulling you into his arms, face buried in your shoulder. You were still alive in his arms, he just had to find a way to keep you there.

“Don’t—Don’t cry.” You chuckled weakly. “Can’t cry over me, Soonie.” He felt your hand push between the two of you, and he drew back to see the pain on your face. “Guess… Guess the girl who gave you this won, huh?”

… What? Soonyoung felt a tug around his neck. He stared at you, and then looked down to where your hand had clasped around that little golden vial.

“I hope she’s nice to you,” your voice grew quieter. And then you let out a whine, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck—”

Soonyoung didn’t think. He ripped the vial from around his throat, the corded knot coming undone with ease. He ripped the cork out with his teeth.

“Soonyoung, what are you—” Minghao had spoken up. “Soonyoung!”

“Let him.” Joshua hid a smile, standing furthest away from the group.

Soonyoung could hear someone questioning Joshua, but his eyes met yours as he squeezed you gently. You’d opened your eyes again after a moment, tears running down your cheeks. He took a deep breath. “Trust me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

Your life continued to fade within his arms, and Soonyoung knew he needed to act now. He pushed the vial between your lips, and watched the golden liquid drain into your mouth. He watched as you weakly swallowed it, entrusting your life into Soonyoung’s hands without hesitating. Soonyoung dropped the bottle onto the ground, and watched, waiting for something to happen. All too soon, it did as your chest began to glow. A ray of golden light, so similar to Soonyoung’s own, sparked up from within it, and then began to spread throughout your body. Suddenly, that fading reversed. Your life grew stronger—stronger than it had been before. The wound in your stomach looked as though it had the sun’s rays stretch from it before he watched the skin pull itself back together, the wound disappearing under blood until it faded into nothing but soft skin.

He hoped you would look him in the eyes, suddenly alive again. Instead, your eyes fluttered shut, and your head lulled. But he could feel the hum of your life force as it grew stronger and stronger underneath his fingers. He could see you breathing. Soonyoung turned, looking to Joshua and calling out to him with a quiet “Shua—”

Who merely smiled and raised a hand, waving before disappearing into thin air. Immediately, it was followed by the yelling of angry and confused gods before they started to follow after him… Except for Soonyoung. He turned back to you, pressing his forehead against yours. Beside him, he could feel Jihoon crouching down.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he looked up, “that this couldn’t be done for—”

“Life changes,” Jihoon simply said. “Joshua learns.”

Suddenly, it clicked. Joshua had always seen this coming. Soonyoung looked to you, and hoisted you into his arms with that same godly strength he used to break your door and to carry you to bed before. He saw something split, though: the you in his arms was not the you left on the ground. Had this happened when he was given godhood? Or was he made differently? He’d have to ask Seungcheol sometime. But he paused, paying respects to your mortal form before he turned to Jihoon. The rain had begun to finally begun, the distant smoke and fire having begun to die down. Jihoon stood beside him, and looked to the distance.

“Let’s go home.”

Underneath the warm sunlight, you woke up in a daze. One minute you had felt yourself clinging to that last thread of life, and now…

“Good morning.”

Soonyoung kneeled beside you, a hand cupping your face. He looked at you so, so lovingly now. You realized after a moment, though, that something was… off about him. He seemed to have this stronger aura that surrounded him. The same one that had drawn you to him that first night, but seemed to disappear when he returned to you. He felt warmer, too, underneath your fingertips as you reached up, taking your face into his hands. Maybe even more radiant, if you were honest, but Soonyoung had always been radiant in your eyes. He smiled at you, leaning in to press his forehead against your own. Your memories were foggy, but you remembered Soonyoung clinging to you. The sound of him yelling at others, and this weird, warm feeling that overtook you for a moment before it was frightened away. Then you were fading and fighting…

Now you were here with your lover.

“Where am I?” You asked after a moment, once Soonyoung had drawn away. “Is this… death?” Then you paused. “Soonyoung, did they get you—”

He merely laughed, so soft and warm and welcoming. “I have… a lot that I need to tell you. Please don’t be mad.”

Your lover was literally a god. The same god you had been celebrating that night in the center of town when you drunkenly tripped over your feet and into his arms. Talk about full of himself (you’d have to tease him over it later). Soonyoung told you everything, though. For as long as he could remember, he’d been the God of the Sun and the God of Dance. So when he told you that he was a dancer, he wasn’t technically lying… It just happened to go a little beyond that. The man he had brought to you once, Seokmin, was the God of Death and the Underworld, always looking after those who depart from life with a warm hand to guide them onward. He’d almost taken you a few days ago when Soonyoung found you, but… You technically owed your life, whatever it was now, to Joshua, the God of Life and of Medicine.

“I saw what was going to happen,” Joshua had confirmed Soonyoung’s suspicions casually enough. Soonyoung had brought you to him because you wanted to thank him yourself. “I watched Jihoon lose his lover. I wasn’t going to let it happen again.”

“Jihoon…?”

Said god lingered around the doorway to Joshua’s domain, having followed you and Soonyoung in. Soonyoung drew away from you, just enough to turn and look at him.

“My brother,” Soonyoung said. “They’re all my brothers, I mean, but… Jihoon’s different.”

Jihoon’s face went red at the sappy way that Soonyoung had said it, so genuine and endeared to his beloved friend. All Soonyoung could do was laugh, and Jihoon pouted. “Don’t say it like that,” he said, a hand curling around the crystal that hung around his neck. “She shouldn’t like me. I tried to stop this—”

“You had to try and stop this,” Joshua piped up. “Everyone else kind of had to try. Except Mingyu, but Mingyu… Mingyu does whatever he wants.”

“That pendant’s actually from him,” Jihoon said, a tiny smirk on his face. “So technically—”

Soonyoung let out a groan, “Don’t say it!”

Joshua merely chuckled at the two, before his gaze met yours again. “All of this was going to happen one way or another. The bandits would come to your town. You would escape, but not get far before one found you… and then he would kill you. Soonyoung had stepped in before your life was cut even shorter.” He sat down on that chaise, draping an arm over the back of it. “And thankfully he never drank what I’d given him when all of this began.”

“I said I wouldn’t!”

Joshua laughed again, so light and airy. Suddenly, you understood why there were so many poems dedicated to him. “So now you’re… well…”

“One of us.”

Another man had entered, far more imposing than the others. Yet he had this soft look in his eyes when he saw you, especially when he saw the way Soonyoung stood so protectively close over you. No one could blame him—not after he watched your life nearly slip through his fingers. He made his way over to Joshua, standing rigid beside his chaise.

Soonyoung stared at him, brows drawing together. “What?”

“Potentially,” Seungcheol corrected himself. “It’s not in my hands. But whatever Joshua mixed up changed her entirely.” He stepped forward, closer to you, and gave you a proper once-over. You could feel what he meant, though: something about you felt… stronger. Warmer. More powerful, but in a vague sense, as thought your body was still a pile of clay to be molded. “And if she’s chosen… She’ll be one of us properly. Either sharing a domain with another, or taking it over entirely. It depends on what the upper powers want.”

You furrowed your brows and looked to Soonyoung for some sort of guidance. “Upper powers…?”

“Higher gods,” Joshua said. “While we’re all pretty powerful on our own, there’s bigger guys out there. One of them made the entire world as we know it. Think of it like this: Jeonghan’s the God of Creation, but he’s only a lesser one of it… and he’s more in charge of creation in a vague, artsy sense. Who knows,” Joshua said, lounging back. “Maybe you’ll be like that if you’re chosen.”

“And if she’s not?” Soonyoung said quietly. “They can’t get rid of her… Can they?”

Seungcheol exchanged a worried look to Joshua. “I’ll be speaking on your behalf today,” he said to Soonyoung. “I trust her. Anyone you’re willing to sacrifice everything for must be special.”

You’d hidden a smile at that, and seen the way Soonyoung’s cheeks flushed. Before anyone could embarrass him further, he decided you needed to meet the others. That included Wonwoo, who greeted you warmly and apologized to you almost immediately. He had accepted it, though, that fate had dictated he try to stop Soonyoung. He introduced you to Hansol shortly after, who outright gagged as Soonyoung came into his domain with you, hand-in-hand. He’d apologized for both that and for his own hand in trying to stop Soonyoung from loving you.

“It’ll stop,” he said after a moment. “Godly love smells different. You still… smell like a mortal’s love.”

Whatever he was smelling, you couldn’t smell it. “Sorry—”

“Don’t be. You’re great,” he said. “Just—no one can smell it. Just me and, uh, other people like me. I’m in my own personal prison.”

It made you laugh a little, and Hansol chuckled, too. He merely told you to keep Soonyoung in check, earning a groan from him. He wasn’t that immature. Love just made him do something a little crazy. Where was the problem in that?

The others were warm to you, too, even if they all apologized for their hands in this plot (save for Mingyu, who boasted that he always had faith in Soonyoung the entire time). While they all had beautiful domains in their own right, you stayed alongside Soonyoung in his own. There was nowhere else you’d rather be after all. He gave you space to mourn your beloved down and the others that fell alongside you. The two of you saw that your body had been found and buried by your friends and loved one, and Soonyoung accompanied you to your grave with a spell cast over both of you to keep you invisible.

He left the little wooden tiger at your grave to watch over it. He didn’t need it anymore: he had you now.

The two of you only fell deeper in love with each passing day. He let go of the mortal exterior he’d taken to speak to you before, letting himself be fully genuine around you. He was still bright, warm, loving Soonyoung when he was with you, but you realized that he was a little quieter. Less so when he was around the others (especially Seungkwan, who Soonyoung took delight in occasionally teasing), but his love was gentler than it had been before. It came in the forms of gentle kisses and checking on you, in making sure that you were happy and well alongside him, and in taking care of you. You were able to see firsthand how hard he worked, and the way he cared for the sun. Yet you saw him love you more with each day. He stole kisses from you whenever he could, and impressed you with his strength. Jihoon had told you not to fall for it: he was a complete doofus when you really got to know him.

(You merely told Jihoon that you already knew that: that doofus was who you fell in love with.)

Your title was bestowed upon you in a great hall when you were called before a higher council of gods. You didn’t know the other faces in that hall as well as the others did, but you felt secure. Seungcheol had held one of your hands in his, representing his specific group with a stony face and an iron will. Soonyoung held your other hand, supporting you as your partner in everything from now on. He’d admitted to you he was terrified that they would take you away from him. They had the power to do so, after all.

The higher council spoke all at once with this tinny sound to their voices, all melding into something that felt as though it could crush your skull with its power. Maybe if you were a mortal, it would have. They said your name, and went onto a long spiel about what made a god worthy of their titles.

And then you were deemed the Goddess of Youth, after you had had yours ripped away. The lesser Guardian of the Sun, to stand beside your lover evermore. And a Protector of Fate, which you had defied, although not alone.

Soonyoung almost sobbed when he heard it among the cheers. You were his. You would always be his. He would always be yours. He lifted you up, kissing you proudly in front of everyone. The two of you were safe now, and he hugged Seungcheol tight, thanking him a thousand times for whatever he must have said to help this decision come to. Seungcheol swore that he did nothing: that it was Soonyoung’s love for you that did most of the work. He merely accepted the knowledge that would be given to you, all wrapped into a tome. Although you wouldn’t be considered one of his to be in charge of (at least, not quite yet—decisions were yet to be finalized), Seungcheol would be the one in charge of guiding you as you learned your place.

Soonyoung took you back to his domain—yours now, too—and kissed you again. He lifted you into his arms, always happy to show off his strength in full now (you always teased that you knew something had to be up—no mortal man could carry all he did without breaking a sweat), and carried you forward. He laid you onto his chaise, kissing you as you guided him back with you.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. He came into your life pretending to be a mortal man because you had bewitched him heart and soul, turning him into nothing but a man with a single night. You were his soulmate, and he was yours, even in godhood now.

The world would change in time, and eventually begin to tell tales of the God of Sun and his lover who appeared within the sunbeams that broke through trees in forests. The warm figure who walked alongside the protector of the forests to guide children home, before disappearing with a distant wave, always a story that young people spoke of fondly. Some stories said that in a clearing within a forest, the God of Sun could be seen, lounging with his lover as though they had no cares in the world (the two of you had escaped to the mortal world one day, just to enjoy the sunlight there together, and apparently some travelers had seen you). One day, they would carve your body from marble, but never quite get you right. Others had their own ideas for what you would look like, the same as they did with Soonyoung. No one would ever utter your name, but it would live on Soonyoung’s every day. He had you for life now, immortality to keep the two of you together.

But in your arms? Soonyoung was nothing but a man who had devoted himself to you with everything that he had. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#wooahaes.fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen imagine #svt x reader #svt x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #svt imagine #svt angst #hoshi x you #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung x you #kwon soonyoung x reader #hoshi angst #hoshi fluff #kwon soonyoung fluff #kwon soonyoung angst

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shroomthedecayedfox · 6 months

Text

So, I know a majority of you guys follow me for my art, but I also kinda wanna post some rambles about my interests and the like (a majority being about FE3H). This is me wanting to be a little unhinged on my dash. I'm still gonna be posting art (got stuff already cooking), but if you want to watch me go insane over Byleth's heartbeat, keep reading.

So, as someone who has been listening to the FE3H soundtrack for the past few months there's this really subtle narrative moment that's happening in the music during the scene where Byleth’s heart starts to beat for the first time.

What I mean by this is when you go back and you listen to the soundtrack or the music of the game, you're going to start to notice the heartbeat motif.

The music of FE3H has a lot of distinct leitmotifs throughout the score. Most of them are tied to just locations or themes throughout the game, but then there’s the characters. Now, I don’t know if Dimitri or Claude have leitmotifs themselves (Although, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong), but I’m fairly certain their routes do. However, none of it comes close to how distinct and prolific Rhea and Edelgard’s leitmotifs are.

Rhea’s leitmotif can be understood as the “Song of the Nabateans”; the lullaby she sings during the winter ball when you encounter her wandering the entrance hall. That progression of chords acts as a musical shorthand or stand-in for Rhea within the soundtrack of the game. It is tied to Rhea/Seiros or the nabateans in general. You hear it again during “Funeral of Flowers”. It’s distinct and recognizable, but then there’s Edelgard’s.

Which is just EVERYWHERE. The progression of chords that follows “Reach for my hand…” in “Edge of Dawn '' makes its way into a LOT- and I mean a LOT- of the music. From the more obvious tracks of “The Apex of the World” and “Three Houses Main Theme”, to subtler ones like, “Unfulfilled” and “Life at Garreg Mach Monastery”. The motif is everywhere and employed at every possible moment. Like once you hear it, it becomes impossible to not notice its presence.

But then there’s Byleth.

Now, Byleth doesn’t have a leitmotif in the traditional sense. They don’t really have a distinct progression of chords symbolizing them within the music, but they do have a distinct sound: the heartbeat. The heartbeat acts as a kind of throughline for them within the composition of the music. It’s almost like a solo instrument. Wherein, instead of a progression of chords symbolizing the whole of a character, it’s the musical sound and presence of one distinct instrument.

It’s kinda acting like the percussion section of an orchestra, but is only included within the composition in regards to Byleth. And it’s similar in nature to Edelgard’s, where once you start noticing, you realize it’s everywhere. But it’s hard to catch because it’s often buried so low in the mix. In the moments it’s not though, it’s very difficult to ignore.

So it's pretty buck wild that the scene where Byleth’s heart actually starts to beat, the song that plays doesn't contain the heartbeat motif.

“A World for Humanity” is the song that plays during that final cutscene of Crimson Flower and the heartbeat motif is nowhere to be seen. Which is pretty interesting because the player would have literally just heard it not two minutes ago in the context of the game. The heartbeat motif shows up in “The Apex of the World”, CF’s final boss theme. The player would have been listening to it as they were finishing the final chapter of the game. So musically, “A World for Humanity” follows “The Apex of the World”. Something happens where the percussion of the heartbeat motif vanishes between the two tracks. And after this moment, the rest of CF’s music doesn’t contain the heartbeat motif.

In-text, we know what caused that vanishing: Byleth’s heart actually starts to beat where it hadn’t for the entirety of their lives, but the narrative implications of that transition just fits so well with the overarching theme of CF.

Now, there’s a lot to be said about the individual themes connected to each of the different routes within the game and for the most part, I’ve seen a lot of different takes regarding CF’s major theme as “the cost of one’s ideals”. Which, I’m not saying it isn’t a part of that route. It very much is, but what I am saying is that that theme is not distinctly tied to just CF. I’d argue it’s present throughout the entirety of the game and its four routes. It exists, across the board, within the stories the game is trying to tell.

For me, CF feels far more invested in the ideas of autonomy, freewill, humanity, and choice. That the overarching theme is aligned with the freedom to be your own individual and the right to make your own choices based on that freedom. The ethos of Edelgard’s final speech is the right for humanity to choose its own path. (I can explain all of this in another text post: trust me I want to talk about Edelgard’s final speech.)

But, this is how I largely interpret CF: it’s that strong emphasis of humanity’s freedom and it’s no surprise how Byleth’s heartbeat ties into that.

As far as I’m aware, Byleth’s heartbeat situation isn’t addressed in the other three routes. It’s set up in White Clouds and promptly abandoned. (which is a staple of the game; that’s just how it rolls. You’re not going to get everything on your first time through.) It’s loosely alluded to, but there’s no real pay-off outside of CF. You can outright tell Dorothea Byleth’s heart doesn’t beat, but she won’t believe you. When it comes to Claude or Rhea, you learn more about the nature of Byleth’s birth rather than address the nature of their heart. Given how strongly it is emphasized in Jeralt’s journal, the game wants you to pay attention to it.

For CF, the heartbeat becomes a symbol of Byleth’s humanity. At the very beginning of the game, they’re considered a demon by the people around them and the mercenaries within Jeralt’s company. In the eyes of the church, they’re seen as a figurehead or the second-coming of Seiros/Sothis. (Read that section in the Book of Seiros and tell me that’s not what the devs were trying to do). They rarely get to just be Byleth outside of whatever house you pick. A lot of Byleth’s interactions and relationships with other characters centers on the internal conflict of Byleth being understood as themselves. With CF it’s double because of all of the narrative implications Edelgard brings. All of those details and traits that characterize Byleth often get buried or go unnoticed.

So, what does this mean in the context of the music? “A World for Humanity” is musically reflecting the journey Byleth would’ve undergone during the course of CF. The heartbeat motif is no longer buried within the composition of the music, it’s free to be its own distinct sound. Which brings me to a detail I’ve been neglecting to mention up until this point: Edelgard is the first person to HEAR Byleth’s heartbeat.

During this scene, the heartbeat motif shifts from a non diegetic percussion to an in-universe diegetic sound. It breaks free from the composition of the music and becomes real. It’s no longer just symbolic of Byleth, it very much is Byleth. And what is the immediate reaction to that in-universe shift?

Edelgard starts crying for the first time in who knows how many years out of joy. Byleth comes-to listening to her basically be the happiest she’s ever been because Byleth is alive. Their hair shifts back to its original color and they open their eyes to show they’re once again blue. The end card further adds to this transition, explaining that Byleth has lost their connection with the progenitor god’s powers. They’re just human and the music, alongside the characters, celebrates that humanity.

And I find that to be really neat.

#fe3h #edelgard #byleth #shroom rambles

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writethrough · 1 year

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Hello ^^

I saw that your requests are open, so if its okay may I ask for a Eddie Munson x reader? In which reader is trying to escape Vecna but the music stops, so Eddie continues it by singing it for her?

Track Two

(Eddie Munson x Female Reader)

Warnings: Vecna, mutual pining, angst, mean Eddie for a hot sec

Word Count: 2863

A/N: Holy shit, I did not think I'd get this done before the new year. Thank you so much for your patience! This is my first Eddie fic so I really wanted it to be at its best! I loved writing his character and I look forward to doing more in the future. I hope you enjoy!

*featuring "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac*

You had just returned from your accidental visit to the Upside Down. After Steve was pulled in, it didn’t take long for the rest of you to follow. You hadn’t thought it could be more frightening than the first time you were there, but you were wrong. The red flashes of thunder, the vines covering nearly every surface, the knowledge that Vecna could pop up at any minute? It terrified you.

You’d never been so thankful to be back in Eddie’s trailer. Still, your second home felt far from that with the gate in the ceiling.

You had to focus on the positives: you were all safe, relatively—Max was nowhere near out of the woods. Eddie was with you—you could tell he was on edge, but when he met your gaze, he seemed to relax a little. At least he wasn’t alone in that boat house anymore. And you were on your way for supplies. If Vecna wanted to try and take one of you, you weren’t going down without a fight.

Eddie sensed that you were going too deep into your thoughts, so he knocked your knee with his.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, leaning close, his shoulder touching yours.

The corner of your mouth tugged upward. “They’re worth a nickel, actually.”

He whistled. “Wow, inflation’s no joke.”

You giggled—leave it to Eddie to make light of a dire situation.

“There it is,” he said softly, glancing from your mouth back to your eyes.

You rolled them. “Yeah, yeah, you and your dumb jokes.”

“I thought that was pretty clever.” He pouted.

You pushed your shoulder against his lightly. “Wasn’t bad.”

He pushed back. “So, you gonna tell me what’s up?”

You sighed. “Just…thinking.”

“Don’t,” he urged. It still surprised you how well Eddie knew you, even after all these years. It was like he could read your mind. Which, given that El existed, isn’t too far-fetched.

“Can’t help it.” You gave him a sad smile. “Not when all this shit is affecting you now.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll both be. Long as we have each other’s backs.”

“Yeah.” You tried to sound convincing. “We’ll be fine.”

He wished he could wipe the doubt on your face away. But this wasn’t one of his campaigns that he could erase and start from scratch. This was…This was unbelievable.

Your head tilted, eyes narrowed as you stared at the RV wall.

“(Y/N)?” Eddie asked. “You okay?”

You inhaled sharply, not daring to look away.

“I see it,” you whispered.

His brow furrowed. “See what?”

“The clock.”

—

You had stayed in the RV with Eddie and Dustin, trying to keep your hands from trembling. They tried to convince you everything would be okay, that they would kill Vecna before he could touch you. But their voices muffled as you lost yourself in every scenario.

When your group had piled back in, it was decided you’d make a quick stop at your house to pick up your favorite song and cassette player. None of it registered, though. You were too consumed with your imagination to hear anything they said.

You pulled up in front of your house, both of your parents at work. Eddie led you, Steve, Nancy, and Robin through the front door. Nancy had ordered the kids to stay there. She knew your dad kept survival tools in the basement and figured it couldn’t hurt to have a few more weapons and maybe a first aid kit.

She and Steve went to get that stuff as the rest of you went to your room.

Eddie was hesitant to leave your immediate side.

“(Y/N)?” he asked softly. “Look at me, please?”

You did. Those pretty brown eyes did little to warm you like they usually did.

“We’ve got this,” he said. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

You nodded slowly, not quite believing him.

“Hey,” he grabbed your hand, “I mean it.”

His hand in yours drew you back to reality. He always had this innate ability to make you feel better—to make you feel like you weren’t alone. It was one thing that never ceased to impress you. He had never not been there for you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His lips tilted up slightly. “I do.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head.

“You’d let me take the fall for the murders.”

Your eyes narrowed. “...What are you talking about?”

He shrugged. “If you didn’t know me, you’d believe I was the one who killed everyone. You’d think I was a murderer, too.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, Eddie. I could never think that. Not even if we weren’t friends.”

“You can tell yourself that, but it doesn’t change the truth,” he said, sliding his hand to your wrist.

“Why…Why are you saying all this?” You wanted to rip your arm away, but his grip tightened, forcing you to stay put.

“Because it’s the truth,” he said. “Even if you’re not ready to acknowledge it.”

His voice deepened.

You blinked.

And when you opened your eyes, your room was gone. Eddie was gone.

And Vecna had taken his place.

—

The beginning of your senior year was a week away. The beginning of Eddie’s second attempt to graduate had him anxious. And when that happened, he fidgeted. And when he fidgeted, it was usually through your stuff.

“I need to get you some real music,” he said, pushing aside whatever cassette he was holding.

“I need to get you some real taste,” you quipped, glancing up with a smirk.

He faced you, hand clutching his chest and mouth agape. “Ow!”

You giggled. “Just pick something! You may like it.”

He scrunched his nose. “I may have to if your stash doesn’t get any better.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. The faint tapping of cassette case against case created a rhythm. You were unconsciously moving your foot to it when it stopped.

“Now this, I can get behind.” He held up one of your Fleetwood Mac albums, promptly putting it in your stereo.

“Play track two,” you said, closing your eyes.

The opening notes to the song filtered through the air as Eddie lay beside you, arms brushing.

“You ready for next week?” he asked quietly.

“Physically or mentally?” You turned your head to him.

He shrugged. “Both.”

“I guess. Just not ready for what comes after.” You were always comfortable around Eddie. He didn’t judge you for what you wore or how you acted. You told him everything. Well, almost everything.

He didn’t need to know your feelings for him. They were better kept in a box deep within your heart. You didn’t need to complicate something that was already near perfect.

“I get that,” he said, lying on his side. “I just hope I’ll have those anxieties with you.”

You gave him a soft smile. When he got the news about repeating senior year, he was more frustrated than you’d ever seen him. He wanted to get out of Hawkins, make a name for himself besides “The Freak,” and play music for whoever would listen.

He had come to your house afterward and worked himself close to tears with his head in his hands. You didn’t know what to do, so you talked to him about everything you’d do together as seniors—how you both had another year to be “kids,” so to speak. And that seemed to calm him down. He was just happy he had you with him, a thought he would express many times throughout the coming school year.

“I’ve got you, Eds,” you said, squeezing his fingers.

He gave you a grateful smile. “I know.”

—

“Shit, shit, shit!” Eddie panicked.

“What’s wrong?” Nancy asked as she and Steve arrived in your room. Your whitened eyes were enough of an answer.

“Get her song!” Steve urged, looking at Eddie already searching through your music.

He let out a string of curses. “I forgot she told me she needed a new one!” He held up the cracked cassette. You accidentally dropped it when switching it out and didn’t have the heart to throw it away before you got another.

“What do we do?” Robin asked.

“Does she have another favorite song?” Steve moved to help rifle through your collection.

“She’s literally been listening to this for years! I don’t think she knows other songs exist!” Eddie said, gripping the roots of his hair.

It had been on whenever he saw you. If it came on while you were hanging out in his room listening to the stereo, you turned it up. You threw it in when he’d pick you up. The only reason he knew the song was because of you. The only reason he could sing every word of it was that—!

Eddie scrambled to get as close to you as possible. Standing so he could hold your biceps and look into your whitened eyes.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s brow furrowed.

“I’m gonna sing it,” Eddie said, trying to pump himself up.

“Do you think that will work?” Eddie could hear the doubt in Nancy’s voice.

“It’s the only shot she has,” Eddie said.

This was his best friend. The person he went to with his campaign ideas, when he needed comfort, or when he passed a test—really anything. You had always been there for him. No matter what was going on in your life, if he needed you, you were there. Now, it was his turn.

This had to work—he had to save you. He didn’t want to imagine how he’d make it through life without you. You were it for him. He had a feeling since he spotted you in the hallway wearing a Black Sabbath shirt. Then, he knew for sure when you cussed out Jason Carver for being “the dumbest douchebag with the longest stick up his ass” when he wouldn’t quit harassing Eddie.

His time with you was his favorite. Whenever you weren’t around, he wondered when he could see you again. He’d do anything to make you laugh. He’d do anything to protect you.

He inhaled deeply, slowly nodding to the beat in his head, and then, he sang.

“Now here you go again, you say you want your freedom…”

—

Red lightning flashed all around you, Vecna’s voice the thunder.

“It will be over quickly,” he said, the wet squelch of his feet getting louder.

Vines tightened around your wrists and ankles, pulling you taut against the trunk of them behind you.

You tried to surge forward, to rip them off and run, but your muscles burned, and it hurt to breathe. This was it. Vecna was already so close. There was no way Eddie or the others would save you, especially without your song.

You wanted to smack yourself for not replacing it. You would die because of one little choice to leave it to another date.

At least you got to spend your last few hours with Eddie. Even if it was preparing for Vecna, you still got to be near him—you got to talk to him one last time. You only hoped he’d remember you as you were and not the broken pile you’d be once it was all over.

You hoped his name would be cleared, he’d graduate, and he’d live out his biggest dreams. And stay safe. You just needed him to be safe.

As Vecna stood before you, you settled on an image of a smiling Eddie, that big grin he’d give you when he wanted to play you a song he taught himself. It only widened when you applauded as if you were in the front row of one of his concerts. You could almost hear him saying, “Prettiest audience I’ve ever played for.”

…

Wait…

…You could hear his voice.

But he wasn’t being his cheesy, flirty self.

…He was singing.

“...Well, who am I to keep you down…”

Your song. He was singing your song!

With Eddie’s voice, the air in your lungs fueled you. It was enough distraction for Vecna to glance over his shoulder as a portal opened. That was all you needed.

The vines loosened, or maybe you had a surge of strength. Next thing you knew, you were running. Running toward the portal, running toward your friends, running toward Eddie, standing right in front of you, and singing.

“You can not escape me, (Y/N),” Vecna said, sending the vines after you.

But you barely heard him. All you could focus on was Eddie’s voice and how each lyric sunk deep into your bones and propelled you forward.

The vines gained on you.

Your feet were sore.

He was right there.

You reached out, and the shimmering tickled your fingertips as his voice faded and a vine slithered around your ankle.

“...When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know…”

—

The new year was just around the corner as you and Eddie holed up in his room for the day. You’d taken a year off to save up some money for college, and Eddie was a few months into his third senior year.

He was furiously scribbling at his desk: a new campaign, he said. You never minded these days. You enjoyed the peacefulness of simply being in the same room as Eddie, doing your own things.

The stereo was set to a hum—background noise helped him concentrate. When the music stopped, you got up to switch the cassette. You knew Eddie’s collection like your own: Metallica, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden—if it was metal, it was here. That’s why this new album took you off guard.

You held the Fleetwood Mac cassette up. “When did you get this?”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder. “Last week.” He shrugged. “It’s a good album.”

He turned back to his campaign, hoping his voice sounded normal. He didn’t want you to know he bought it so you’d always have that song with you. He didn’t want you to know that when you weren’t here, he listened to it like you were. He really didn’t want you to know that it had slowly become one of his favorites because you listened to it when you were both together.

And maybe he had imagined swaying with you to that song. He’d light some candles, hold you against him, and wish he could stay like that forever.

But that’s all it was, just some wish.

He could hear the smile in your voice as you spoke. “Looks like you finally got some taste.”

And though you couldn’t see it, he rolled his eyes, a smile on his own lips. “Guess you’re a good influence on me.”

—

You gasped, knees buckling as you returned to your body. Eddie quickly caught you, lowering you to the floor where he pulled you close, one of his legs behind you and the other under your own.

Tears streamed down your face as you curled as best you could into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you buried your head in its crook.

You had been so cold there, even though all you saw was red; it was like the place tried to freeze you solid. Eddie’s warm hands rubbing your back pushed the chill in your bones away. His grip was the only thing grounding you, telling you that you were where you belonged.

One of his hands moved to stroke your head. “I’m here. I’ve got you now." He breathed you in. "You’re back, sweetheart.”

He tried to bring you closer, placing his head atop yours and holding you by your shoulder and knees—like he could keep Vecna from grabbing you again.

So, when you calmed and began to pull away, he almost yanked you back to his body.

Once you both rose from the floor, the others urged you back to the RV, Eddie’s arm around your waist.

He took your hand when you sat on the back bench as the rest of the group discussed the plan. Nancy had thought to grab your walkman and headphones, and Max had thrown all her music in her backpack and had a copy of the album you needed.

Your headphones rested around your neck, the song softly playing. You wanted to help everyone figure out how to kill Vecna, but the only thing you could focus on was the phantom vines encircling your wrists.

You kept expecting them to be there when you looked away from one of your friends. Eddie must have noticed you weren’t paying attention, his knee nudging yours as he furrowed his brow in concern.

He knew you weren’t okay. Neither of you were okay. So, he did the one thing he could think of and squeezed your hand before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You leaned into it, needing him more than you could ever express.

“I’m right here,” he whispered into your ear.

You turned your head slightly so your foreheads were together.

“You always are,” you whispered back. As long as you had Eddie by your side, you would fight. You would win. And maybe afterward, you’d tell him you loved him.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #Eddie munson angst #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson stranger things #Eddie munson mutual pining #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #stranger things fluff #stranger things fanfic

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splashink-games · 7 months

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Cassette Beasts?

Cassette Beasts is a creature-collecting game by Bytten Studio! Record monsters on tapes, become a Ranger, and find the way off of New Wirral in this amazing adventure!

Spoilers below the cut!!

So I had a plan to write this review before I even finished the game. It was just that good. But! I managed to hold off until I at least finished the main game. Next goal: 100% and DLC! And also buying the OST when I have the chance.

Now, I'm not putting this off until the middle of the review: every musical track in this game is a certified banger. I absolutely loved the music of the game. As one person put it (while I was looking for the OST), I just didn't get tired of the music. And that's a pretty big win for a game where you have so, so many encounters and only a handful of tracks to play.

youtube

The way they implement the music is also impressive because it's narratively important. The lyrics work their way in when a fusion happens and during big story battles. The town theme's music plays when you're indoors. Plus the lyrics just feel right with its tones and atmosphere. Also the difference between the few main battle themes is just enough for one to feel more tense/exciting than the others. Just an overall great thing they have going on with the audio.

Okay with that out of the way!

Cassette Beasts is a solid game, actually pretty high tier.

Mechanically, I've seen people compare it to Pokemon. I feel like it's like a mix of Pokemon and Persona. You can record the monsters, remaster (evolve) them at five stars, with some having having special evolution requirements. Monsters can show up as bootlegs, where they're a type other than its base type, which is just like shiny hunting but more (cause there's like 12 types). And I've already killed a plastic bootleg by accident...

The moves (stickers) are mix and match, mostly according to typing. I'm pretty into it cause I love giving my party members all sorts of type coverage. I haven't particularly gone into finding weird strategies yet other than AP Refund, but I can see some cool ones thanks to needing to battle all 12 Ranger Captains.

And then you can fuse! Which I thought was interesting, and it adds an ace to go to when you're in a pinch. But you fusing means that wild monsters (and other rangers) can fuse too. Those provide some fun challenges and opportunities to find bootlegs, plus progression in post-game.

Did I mention that this game is also like a Metroidvania? Capturing certain monsters gives up to 6 overworld movement abilities and I think that's pretty neat. All of them have their uses and none of them are niche, which is a win.

The story was pretty interesting! Dropping in onto a mysterious island and trying to find a way back home is nice and simple and all the detail added around it make it engaging. The Archangels are wildly uncomfortable which I didn't expect and I loved it. Despite loving it, it still did come out of nowhere but greatly forgiven because it was right at the start (and not some random turn in the middle).

The pacing was a bit off for me though because I got like 5 out of 8 song pieces before I even defeated 4 captains or even met all the partner characters. I also don't know how relationship progress works other than fight things and rest. Thinking about it now, there's probably a reason why there a speedrun timer in that you don't have to play through all the content (8/9 archangels, no captains?), I guess.

I liked the references to all sorts of topics throughout the story and I think it's pretty interesting for the characters to be from different timelines. It makes it easy to explain weird inconsistencies.

Funny thing I did by accident for end game's story: I switched out Meredith's Regensea with an Aeroboros cause I wanted her starter in my party. And boy did that choice bite back later lol.

Graphics are also solid. The 3D world with 2D sprites reminds me of Octopath Traveller. I appreciate the non-pixel portrait art for the characters, but I would've liked it either way. The designs of the monsters and the characters are all great! Honestly, I should take some notes from them since even if there's 15+ characters, they still all have very specific designs and personalities to match.

The detail in the world is great too, like the light reflecting off the puddle or the fog that rolls in and the rain. So like weather in general.

Also, as a note just for me, I liked the fonts and font effects that they used. Very cool.

Cassette Beasts is a quality creature-collecting game! If you need another Pokemon/Digimon/Persona, here's a game for you. Or if you just want a cool turn-based RPG with cool music, that's cool too.

As always,

Enjoy gaming!

#ink reviews #game review #video games #gaming #Cassette Beasts #love that you could see exactly when in my playthrough I took these screenshots cause the speedrun timer is on

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boghermit · 3 months

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Pointing Out the Historical Inaccuracies (and Some Accuracies) of Ridley Scott's Napoleon 🤓

The only interesting parts of this film are the costumes, and maybe one or two music tracks. The rest of the movie is just awful. The story can hardly be called a story. It's just miscellaneous boring scenes duct taped together. None of the characters are developed beyond a single trait, if that. A period this broad shouldn't have been crammed into a movie this short. I honestly wouldn't have disliked the historical inaccuracy so much if it had been sacrificed for the sake of a good narrative, but this is bad. Even if you don't know about the era enough to nitpick it, I wouldn't recommend this film to anyone.

TL;DR go watch Waterloo or The Duelists instead.

Accurate Historical Details

There were some minor details that made me perk up like, "Ah, yes! It did happen like that!" The rest of the movie is so inaccurate that these details stuck out.

Napoleon tugged on peoples' ears as a sign of affection. You see this in the movie with Tallyrand and Josephine. He also did this a lot with his soldiers, which we don't see in the film. In fact, he doesn't interact with his soldiers much at all in the film.

The French fired a 101-cannon salute after Napoleon's first son was born.

Napoleon famously bumbled at the Coup of 18 Brumoire, and his brother Lucien had to step in to direct the French grenadiers.

It's contested whether or not Robespierre actually shot himself in the jaw, but I think at this point it's mostly accepted as truth? In any case, someone screwed up his jaw before he was arrested.

The British loved publishing political cartoons about Napoleon, including cartoons of him being cucked.

Joséphine did actually meet Tsar Alexander shortly before her death. I didn't know about this one and was happy to learn something new.

The depictions of line and square formations were okay.

Historical Inaccuracies

This is, in spite of its budget, one of most historically inaccurate pieces of media I've seen on the era, and on top of that it isn't even good.

There is so much historical context omitted from this film that I feel like anyone who doesn't have an interest in the time period will have NO idea what's going on. You are never really given the how and why of history other than "the Europeans are fighting and also Napoleon is there."

The overall characterization of Napoleon is just bizarre. Napoleon was smart, egotistical, ambitious, hot-tempered, and had a magnetic charisma and human charm that inspired a kind of blind loyalty in his soldiers. This is why he was so successful - and so dangerous. Napoleon never feels threatening or sinister in this film. He's just kind of there, slouching and sweating and mumbling under his breath as history unfolds. Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure does a better job of depicting Napoleon than whatever the hell is going on here.

Napoleon was not present at the beheading of Marie-Antoinette.

He didn't have his horse shot out from under him at Toulon, and he didn't send gore-spattered cannonballs to his mother, as far as I know.

The movie casts a younger actress to play Joséphine de Beauharnais, but Joséphine was actually older than Napoleon.

I'm pretty sure that Napoleon didn't find and return the sword of Joséphine's ex-husband, although there is a legend stating that he attempted to confiscate it and was persuaded by Joséphine's son to return it.

The French army never shot their cannons at the Pyramids in Egypt. They also didn't loot the Pyramids, although they participated in a lot of heinous looting elsewhere.

Napoleon didn't leave Egypt because he found out he was being cucked by his wife - he'd already known about that for some time. He left Egypt because the campaign was failing and because the political situation in France was becoming untenable.

Jacques-Louis David attended the coronation of Napoleon, but didn't start his studies for the painting during the coronation itself. (At least as far as I know.)

The lake scene during the Battle of Austerlitz is a bit of a legend, but probably not true. The gigantic lake was more likely a series of shallow ponds, if it existed at all.

Napoleon did not lead cavalry charges, and he sure as shit didn't lead cavalry charges at the Battles of Borodino or Waterloo. In fact, Napoleon infamously sat a safe distance away while watching the bloody Battle of Borodino unfold.

Napoleon was not exiled following the Russian campaign. He was exiled after the War of the Sixth Coalition, in 1814.

Joséphine died in 1814, when Napoleon was still at Elba, not in 1815.

Trench warfare and scoped muskets were not used at the Battle of Waterloo.

Napoleon never met the Duke of Wellington.

That's uh. The cut version of my complaints.

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Talk to Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Just some dirty talking Modern AU Benedict

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, dom/sub tones, dirty explicit talk, smidge of vaginal sex.

Word Count: 1.5 k

Smutmas Kink: Dirty Talk Smutmas Theme: Tinsel

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Day 2 contribution to 12 Days Of Bridgerton Smutmas hosted by @hallownightsblog. Sorry it's a few days late. It is also kind of answering this anon fic ask from August (ask: I’m already imagining how good your “you won’t be able to walk straight after I'm done with you” would be with Benedict). Using this photo as suggested by @p0tat0nug for dommy modern Ben vibes. If there is one thing I love, it's Benedict talking filth. Enjoy! <3

You are standing sipping your drink, watching your inebriated coworkers throw ridiculous shapes on the sticky dancefloor as a mix of Eighties cheese blares from the speakers, one sad, lonely multicoloured spotlight swirling around them. A silly cocktail umbrella tickles your cheek as you take a swig, pulling a face at its too-sweet contents. You remove the flimsy paper crown from a cracker that has been making your forehead itch, leaving the makeshift tinsel boa hanging loosely around your neck.

“Having fun?” a voice whispers into your ear as a large hand wraps around your waist from behind.

You can’t school the grin that breaks out across your face. He has arrived as promised to whisk you away from this very mediocre work Christmas party in the nearest pub to your office.

“Not in the slightest,” you murmur, placing your hand over his and twisting to kiss his jaw.

“Well, that is such a shame,” he chuckles, moving so your lips meet, a lingering heated kiss that has you leaning back into him. “What can I do to make your evening better from here on?” he asks, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Take me away from here?” you propose with a sigh.

“But you are having so much fun, I can tell,” he teases gently. “How could I deny you the delight of watching… whatever the hell is happening on that dancefloor,” he chuckles, his eyes tracking the movements in front of you.

“It's a crime against rhythm and eyes; that’s what is happening,” you declare sardonically, as his laugh gets deeper, the vibrations of his body around you causing a buzz over your skin. You love to make him laugh.

“Care to show them how it's done?” he offers.

“Hmmm, I'm not in much of a dancing mood tonight,” you admit truthfully.

“So what are you in the mood for?” he queries, his tone a little duskier as the fingers splayed wide across your belly flex slightly.

“I'm in the mood for you to take my clothes off,” you murmur boldly into his neck.

“Oh, that can definitely be arranged,” he rumbles, his warm lips brushing your forehead.

You look around and realise there is no one within ten feet of you in this alcove near the pub door. No one can hear what you say to each other over the loud music, and it appears no one is paying you any mind, too lost in their drunken hazes. You decide to be daring, the three drinks you've had and his delicious scent making you just a little louche and hedonistic.

“Tell me what you are going to do to me, Benedict,” you appeal. “Play with me.”

He knows that codeword, and he inhales sharply. “Right here?”

“Yes, please, please talk to me,” you implore.

You feel his stance shift, his grip tighten. You know he is slipping into the character you love that he occasionally plays for you.

“You are such a dirty girl,” he murmurs into your ear. “Here you are in front of your colleagues, and all you want is for me to talk filthy things, don't you?”

“Yes, please,” already a little breathy at the tone he has employed.

“Do they know how naughty you are?” he questions, his breath hot over your cheekbone.

“No,” you are already writhing a little pushing your bum back into his crotch, the outline of his cock starting to probe his jeans.

“No, I bet they think you are so sweet and decent. None of them knows the truth do they?”

“No.”

“What are you?” he demands hotly.

“I'm a filthy hussy,” a throb in your underwear as you utter the words quietly.

“Nuh uh uh,” he clucks, a finger hooking into your belly button through your dress.

“I'm your filthy hussy,” you correct.

“That's more like it,” he exhales. “Do you know what happens to filthy hussies?”

“Tell me,” you breathe, your ribs pushing against the muscle of his arm in his firm hold.

“They get bent over this filthy pub table in front of everyone,” he hisses, his other hand running down your back, unseen by others, between your bodies and grabbing your bottom through your dress.

“You wouldn't,” you huff in mock indignation, reaching a hand behind to squeeze his cock through his jeans.

He growls against your neck.

“I most certainly would. And if you try to fight me, I will spank you until your perfect bottom is red and covered in my fingerprints. So everyone knows who you belong to,” he snarls.

“But they will all watch; how could you do that to me?” you gasp, playing the appalled part so well that you see the flash of appreciation in his eyes at your histrionics.

“Oh, little one, if you think that is bad, wait until you find out what is in store for you next,” he guffaws deeply, the sound resonating in his ribcage and buzzing down your spine. He moves the tinsel around your neck, so it's a makeshift noose.

“What?” you gulp, swallowing heavily, feeling your nipples pebble painfully inside your bra as he bites the cord of your neck and tugs on the tinsel, just enough that you feel a little restriction over your throat.

“I'm going to pull down your soaked little knickers, and I'm going to fuck you right here,” he growls, surging his hardening cock into the hand you hold there. “Don't pretend you’re not dripping for me right now; I know you are.” He asserts so cocksure you do precisely that, the line between fantasy and reality blurring as your body reacts to the filth tumbling from his lips.

“But I don't want to be watched,” you protest weakly, rubbing against him, transmitting the exact opposite message to your words.

“Yes, you do; you are a filthy hussy who loves to be watched. All your teammates salivating about how beautiful you look face down on this table, crying pretty tears as I fuck you so hard you beg me to make you come. My cock branding you, making you clench so hard. Are you clenching right now?” the last question has a tint of desperation as real Benedict wants to know just how aroused you are.

“Yes sir,” you answer, knowing that last word makes him feral when you play like this.

The noise he makes is animalistic, and both hands move to grab your hips almost bruisingly.

“I will make you come so many times; you will be begging me to stop. But guess what?”

“What?” you pant.

“I won't. You won’t be able to walk straight after I’m done with you. I want you delirious and cock drunk. Just my little fuck toy,” his delivery harsh and his breathing uneven.

“Take me home, Ben,” you break character first. “In fact, just take me to the nearest quiet spot. If you are not inside me within five minutes, I might die,” you whisper hotly, seizing your small handbag and coat from the chair in front of you, not bothering to bid goodbye to anyone.

He grabs your hand and pulls you, almost stumbling down a narrow hallway, passing the toilets and a door marked staff only as you fight on your coat one-handed without buttoning it up. He pushes the emergency exit doorway; luckily, no alarm goes off. You are now in a quiet alleyway with no windows or doors facing save the one you just left. The air is cold and crisp, and you see your breath cloud in front of you. He goes to walk briskly towards the narrow exit at the far end, but you tug on your joined hands and stand still.

“My car is right down there,” he gestures with his free hand.

“Yeah, and this wall is right here,” you nod at the recently painted black brick, hidden from view by the angle of the alleyway. “We are doing this, right here, right now,” you arch an eyebrow and ensure he is watching as you hitch your hands under your dress and remove your underwear, balling it into your coat pocket and looking at him expectantly. The cold air swirling around your throbbing clit somehow adds to your exhilaration.

His mouth falls open, his face incredulous. Considering the fantastical, hypothetical filth he was just spouting, it appears he has no words to offer at this very real moment.

“Benedict Bridgerton, get over here and fuck me. Right now. You teased m…” your words die as he twists around with a growl, crowding you into the cool brick as he wraps one of your legs over his forearm, the wool of his coat tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your knee.

“You can be a bit of a hussy for real sometimes, you know,” he mutters affectionately into your ear as he pulls down his zipper, and you pant expectantly.

“Yeah, and you love me for it,” you counter wryly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and biting his neck lightly.

“I really fucking do,” he agrees, hushing your cry as he invades your body hot and hard.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton smut #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton #12 days of smutmas #12daysofsmutmas #bridgertonsmutmas

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justforbooks · 1 year

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When Tina Turner, who has died aged 83, walked out on her abusive husband Ike in Dallas, Texas, she feared it would spell the end of her showbusiness career. It was 1976, and she had been performing with Ike for two decades, since she had first jumped onstage and sang with his band at the Manhattan club in East St Louis, Missouri. Yet, although she was desperate and had only 36 cents in her pocket, she was on her way to a renaissance as one of the most successful performers in popular music during the 1980s and 90s.

She had to endure several lean years, but a turning point came in 1983, when David Bowie told Capitol Records that she was his favourite singer. A version of Al Green’s Let’s Stay Together followed. Produced by the electro-poppers Martyn Ware and Ian Craig Marsh from Heaven 17, the track went to No 6 in the UK, then cracked the US Top 30 the following year.

Turner cemented the upturn in her fortunes with the album Private Dancer (1984). Driven by the huge hit What’s Love Got to Do With It? (her first American No 1), the album became a phenomenon, lodging itself in the American Top 10 for nine months and going on to sell more than 10m copies. Suddenly Turner was one of the biggest acts in an era of stadium superstars such as Michael Jackson, Dire Straits and Phil Collins.

In 1985 she was recruited to play Aunt Entity in the film Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, for which she recorded another international chartbuster, We Don’t Need Another Hero. A second Thunderdome single, One of the Living, won her a Grammy award, and she was an automatic choice to join the Live Aid benefit concert in that year, as well as to participate in its American theme song, We Are the World.

Her follow-up album, Break Every Rule (1986), launched Turner on a global touring campaign, during which a crowd of 184,000 watched her in Rio de Janeiro. The tour spun off a double album, Tina Live in Europe (1988).

The album Foreign Affair (1989) sold 6m copies and generated another trademark anthem, The Best, which was subsequently used to add oomph to numerous TV commercials and adopted both by the tennis ace Martina Navratilova and the racing driver Ayrton Senna. The subsequent Foreign Affair tour ended in Rotterdam in 1990, after which she duetted with Rod Stewart on the old Tammi Terrell/Marvin Gaye hit It Takes Two. Designed as the theme for a Pepsi advert, the track was a chart hit across Europe.

Turner was born Anna Mae Bullock in Nutbush, Tennessee, to Zelma Currie, a factory worker, and her husband, Floyd Bullock, a Baptist deacon. Abandoned by their father and temporarily by their mother, in 1956 Annie and her elder sister, Alline, moved to St Louis, Missouri, where they encountered Ike Turner and his band the Rhythm Kings. After Annie had talked the initially reluctant Ike into letting her sing with the band, he recruited her as one of his backing singers.

It was in 1960 that Tina – who had by then changed her name because it reminded Ike of the cartoon character Sheena, Queen of the Jungle – first sang a lead vocal with Ike’s band. A session singer failed to turn up, and Tina’s stand-in performance of A Fool in Love was a hit on both the pop and R&B charts. Ike immediately rebuilt his act around Tina, and christened it the Ike and Tina Turner Revue. They married in 1962.

Featuring nine musicians and a trio of skimpily dressed backing singers, the Ikettes, the Revue took the R&B circuit by storm. Tina rapidly developed into a mesmerising performer, radiating raw sexuality and bludgeoning audiences with the unvarnished force of her voice. They began to pepper the charts with hits, including I Idolise You, Poor Fool and Tra La La La La, and even if they only intermittently crossed over from the R&B charts to the pop mainstream, the band’s performing reputation was second to none. Evidence of their stage prowess was preserved on the 1965 album Live! The Ike and Tina Turner Show, recorded on tour in Texas.

However, the seeds of the couple’s destruction were being sown in their successful but intense lifestyle. Ike was a habitual womaniser, and also developed a destructive cocaine habit. This provoked violent outbursts against Tina, who, as she later revealed in her 1986 autobiography, I, Tina, was beaten, burned with cigarettes and scalded with hot coffee. She gained a glimpse of what life beyond Ike’s intimidating orbit might be like when she worked with the “Wall of Sound” producer Phil Spector in 1966. To Ike’s frustration, Spector refused to allow him in the studio while he worked on the single River Deep, Mountain High, which subsequently became regarded as a high point of both Spector’s and Turner’s careers.

The Turners’ work won them the admiration of many of their peers, not least the Rolling Stones, who invited them to open a UK tour for them in 1966, then to join them on their American tour in 1969. Mick Jagger was regularly spotted at the side of the stage during Tina’s performances, fascinated by her stage presence and dance routines. One of the high points of Live Aid in 1985 was Tina and Jagger performing together at JFK Stadium in Philadelphia.

Working with the Stones prompted the Turners to import a rock-orientated edge into their work, a ploy that worked most successfully when they recorded John Fogerty’s Proud Mary in 1971. It was their first million-selling single and a Top five hit on the American pop charts. In 1973 they notched up another landmark with Tina’s feisty composition Nutbush City Limits, inspired by her Tennessee origins. She took the role of the Acid Queen in Ken Russell’s film of The Who’s rock opera, Tommy (1975): her performance was one of its few critically acclaimed moments, though her spin-off solo album, The Acid Queen, made little impression on the charts.

After her split from Ike, Tina stayed with friends and was forced to survive on food stamps. When their divorce was finalised in 1978, she preferred to take no money or property from the settlement, to establish a complete break from her husband. She earned cash from TV guest appearances on the Donny & Marie and the Sonny & Cher shows, but her late-70s albums Rough and Love Explosion sold poorly.

In 1980 she signed a management deal with Roger Davies, an Australian promoter working in the US, who secured some lucrative engagements in Las Vegas. The following year the Rolling Stones galloped to the rescue once again by booking her as the opening act on their Tattoo You tour of the US, and she also appeared with Stewart in a California concert broadcast internationally by satellite.

By the time she was inducted (with Ike, though he was then in jail) into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1991, Turner had little left to prove. She was able to spend more time at the homes in Switzerland and the Cote d’Azur that she now shared with the German record executive Erwin Bach. A singles collection, Simply the Best (1991), reeled in more platinum discs as Turner entered the senior stateswoman phase of her career.

In 1993, as she launched her first US tour in six years, her film biography, What’s Love Got to Do With It, based on I, Tina, was released, starring Angela Bassett as Turner. The film brought forth a bestselling soundtrack album and another hit single with its opening track, I Don’t Wanna Fight.

A three-disc anthology, The Collected Recordings – Sixties to Nineties, appeared in 1994, and the following year came Turner’s recording of GoldenEye, the theme tune of the eponymous James Bond movie. The tour that accompanied her eighth studio album, Wildest Dreams (1996), became another record-breaker, grossing more than $100m in Europe alone. Twenty Four Seven (1999) teed up what Turner announced would be her last major arena and stadium tour. She had intended to tour with Elton John, but the idea was scrapped after she argued with him about the piano arrangement for Proud Mary during rehearsals for a TV special, Divas Live ’99. Her subsequent solo dates became the top-grossing tour of 2000.

A quiet period ensued, during which Turner confined herself to hand-picked events, such as a 2005 performance on the Oprah Winfrey Show. She contributed a version of Edith and the Kingpin to River: The Joni Letters (2007), a tribute album produced by Herbie Hancock. She performed alongside Beyoncé at the Grammy awards in 2008.

That October she went back on the road with the Tina! 50th Anniversary Tour, synchronised with the compilation album Tina: The Platinum Collection. In 2010 she became the first female artist to score top 40 hits in the UK in six consecutive decades (1960s-2010s) when The Best bounced back into the UK Top 10. Her Love Songs compilation appeared in 2014, and her remix of What’s Love Got to Do With It with the Norwegian DJ Kygo in 2020 made for a seventh decade containing UK hits.

Between 2009 and 2014 Turner appeared on four albums by Beyond, an all-woman group formed with her neighbours in Küsnacht, near Zürich. The music reflected the spiritual and religious beliefs of the participants, with Turner considering herself a Baptist-Buddhist (she was raised as a Baptist, but began practising Nichiren Buddhism in 1973).

In 2013 she married Bach and gave up her American citizenship to become a Swiss citizen. Three weeks after the marriage she suffered a stroke, and in 2016 she was diagnosed with intestinal cancer, then suffered kidney failure when “the toxins in my body had started taking over”, as she put it in her second autobiography, Tina Turner: My Love Story (2018). Her husband volunteered to give her one of his kidneys and a transplant operation was carried out successfully in 2017.

The following year, the biographical stage musical Tina opened at Aldwych theatre in London, directed by Phyllida Lloyd and starring Adrienne Warren in the title role. Turner received a Grammy lifetime achievement award, to go with her existing tally of eight Grammy awards and three Grammy Hall of Fame awards. Among her vast collection of honours, Turner also had five American Music awards, two World Music awards and three MTV Video Music awards.

In 2021 she joined the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as an outright solo performer and sold the rights to her music catalogue to the publishing company BMG for an estimated $50m. Ready to retire fully, she bade farewell to her fans with the two-part HBO documentary Tina.

Alline died in 2010. Tina’s eldest son, Craig, from a relationship with the saxophonist Raymond Hill, took his own life in 2018. Ronnie, her son with Ike, died in 2022.

She is survived by Erwin and two sons, Ike Jr and Michael, from Ike’s first marriage.

🔔 Tina Turner (Anna Mae Bullock), singer and songwriter, born 26 November 1939; died 24 May 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Tina Turner #Anna Mae Bullock #in memoriam

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years

Text

The Soldier and the Better Man

Summary: Ben comes back from Russia looking for the life that was torn from him. He may have to settle for revenge.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: None really. Angst. Implied smut. Vengeful Soldier Boy. Sad Soldier Boy. Mentions of sex, nothing explicit. Some brief descriptions of torture and violence. Nothing overly graphic. TW: Mentions of child loss.

Pairings: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Y/N

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: This was written for a request by the lovely, @deanwinchesterwifesstuff I hope this is what you were looking for, hon! ❤️

The present day scenes will be in green. The past in white.

The SB in this fic is softer than in Canon, but still an ass, still pretty full of that TM. Other liberties are taken with Canon, just as an fyi. 😊

A/N: 2 This fic will also fill one of my daily prompts in the 30 Days Writing Challenge. It will cover the prompt: Write about two characters dancing together.

The beautiful dividers throughout the fic were created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

He wasn't sure at first how long he'd been gone. The years and decades of torture had all eventually blurred together. And he had no idea how long he'd been sleeping in that fucking box.

It wasn't until he was out of the compound, running naked around the streets of Moscow that he saw the date, saw the year.

Forty fucking years.

He stood there, staring down at the paper he'd fished out of the trash, impervious to the cold, but still shaky on his long-dormant legs. He stood and stared at the date, and the numbness and confusion in his brain was slowly replaced with a heart full of boiling hot rage.

Forty fucking years.

She'd be... almost seventy years old now. And the kid would be... a grown man.

He ran off in search of clothes, knocking the teeth out of the first grubby guy he found who was roughly his size. As he slipped on the filthy track suit, his mind drifted back of its own accord, to the night he'd met her.

He'd been at some charity thing she was hosting, one of many organizations she was involved in, this one had something to do with runaway youth or something. He'd been paid a lot of money to show up and help rally for the cause.

So, he'd shown up, read the words on the cards they gave him and posed for pictures in his super suit. Same routine, different banquet hall. It was getting old.

He was sick of the endless jockeying for hierarchy at Vought, sick of the shitty movies and the bullshit press tours. He was sick to death of his fucking team and he wanted out. All of them were just assholes of varying degrees. He wanted off the Vought merry-go-round.

They'd been promising him for quite a while that they were gonna get Supes into the military. That's where he belonged, storming beaches and taking down the enemy, not giving speeches and making hypocritical "Just Say No" PSAs.

When the picture-taking had finally fizzled out, he'd escaped out a back entrance off the kitchen and let the door slam satisfyingly behind him. He leaned against the brick wall beside the door, pulled off his helmet and lit up a Lucky Strike. He inhaled deeply before pushing the smoke out through his nose and thumping his head back against the brick.

"Wow...it was really that bad, huh?"

He stood up straight as a woman appeared from the shadows on the other side of the alley.

Jesus, he thought, what kind of fucking soldier am I these days, if some skirt can get the drop on me so easily?

She smiled like she could read his mind. "Don't worry, it's my super power - being easily ignored."

He scowled at her. "You're a Supe?"

She laughed lightly and he found it strangely musical. "No, sorry. That was just my sad attempt at humor. I'm just boring old, plain human me."

He stayed where he was, staring at her. She WAS remarkably plain, none of her features were particularly striking or memorable. Her figure was almost completely hidden beneath a long, black shapeless dress.

He took another drag on his cigarette and she shook her head. "Those things are just cancer in a tube, you know?" Her tone was slightly scolding, but her expression was soft.

He shrugged. "Benefits of being a super hero, I guess. My body pretty much stays the same whatever I put it through." He took another drag, and exhaled away from her as she approached.

She quirked her head in a way that made him think of a puppy. "And you put your body through quite a lot, don't you?"

He frowned. Her reaction to him was very strange. Usually people were awestruck when they first met him, a reaction that almost always turned quickly to heat and drooling in women. But this woman wasn't awestruck OR drooling.

"Who are you, lady?" He asked bluntly.

She smiled as she came to sit near him, on the steps that led up to the loading dock.

"I'm the one who hired you."

He was slightly taken aback, and for a moment he thought about apologizing, putting out his cigarette and putting on his helmet, being the Soldier Boy she'd paid for, but in the end he couldn't be bothered.

Instead he took another deep drag before flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the alleyway and letting the smoke escape his lungs slowly.

"Was I worth the money you paid?" He asked, aware that he was making himself sound like a whore. Felt that way sometimes.

She contemplated him for a minute before nodding. "Well, we need to raise over ten million dollars if we're going to build the facility we want, a shelter for runaways. And all those rich folks in there are gonna want to show how similar they are to the great Soldier Boy, that they think the same way he does, so... yeah, you were worth the investment."

He shook his head, at her audacity. No one talked plainly to him like this, spoke the truth about who he was, what he offered. Vought told him he was a god, his team told him he was a warrior, fans told him he was a hero. No one told him facts. In spite of the ding to his ego, he found himself intrigued.

Who was this plain girl with the musical laugh and bald truths?

He stuck out his hand to her. "Well, I'm glad the 'Great Soldier Boy' got you the funding you needed. But you can just call me Ben, sweet thing."

Her grip was surprisingly firm as she shook his hand. "And you can call me Y/N, and NEVER call me sweet thing again, please."

The sound of a car honking and angry Russian screaming brought him back to the reality he was in, and he jogged forward, trying to quickly put more distance between himself and the place he'd been held and tortured for four decades.

A week later Ben once again found himself staring down at words that his mind couldn't immediately digest.

As he stood trying to make sense of them, his memories were again swimming around in his head.

He hadn't been able to shake the little do-gooder out of his head. The next time they crossed paths he'd decided that he simply needed to fuck her out of his system.

She'd come to his bed willingly and happily, and he found her body to be surprisingly soft and lush, and her responses to his touch to be tantalizingly heated and passionate.

She had no shame about sex, and they spent a couple of nights exploring each other and at the end she'd kissed him goodbye, expecting nothing more from him, while he'd found himself even more ensnared by her.

It was frustrating to him how tight her hold was over him and he told himself he was being a pussy by letting some broad dig her claws into him so deep. But without fail, he was always the one that made the next move, the one who called for a real date, the one who then proceeded to ask her out again and again.

She was unlike anyone he'd ever known. She was a bleeding heart and her politics sometimes drove him a little crazy, and he thought she was too naive for her own good. But she always argued her position well, and never backed down and that much he could respect.

She made no demands of him, never forced him to be anything he wasn't. When he was being a grumpy asshole, she'd tell him he was a grumpy asshole. When his temper would flare and he'd scream at her about some slight annoyance, she'd tell him to call her when he'd calmed down. And she'd just walk away.

She didn't put up with his bullshit, but she never withheld affection either. She touched him all the time, wrapping her arms around his waist and cuddling her face into his chest, simply so she could feel him against her. She would run her fingers through his hair when he laid his head in her lap, or give him gentle kisses between his shoulder blades when he was rigid with tension, and melt something inside him.

He fought against it for a long time, the last thing he needed was to go soft and stupid over some woman.

But Y/N wasn't just some woman, he realized eventually. He would never admit it, but he needed her desperately.

So, when she sat him down one day to tell him she was pregnant, he was amazed to find that he felt only joy, a feeling that, before Y/N had come along, he truly believed was beyond him. He could barely remember the feeling from childhood.

But as he put his hands on Y/N's stomach reverently, he felt the long-forgotten emotion surge through him, and for the first time since he was a little boy, his eyes filled up with tears. He blinked them away quickly and he'd deny them if asked, but he couldn't hide the joyful smile that lit up his face.

He saw the relief pass over Y/N's face and it hurt him a little that she'd been worried about his reaction. But he understood. He'd made no commitment to her, they'd exchanged no vows.

He was determined to rectify that and a few days later he was on one knee and she was saying yes.

The next six months were the best and happiest Ben had ever had. He was still dealing with Vought's bullshit, still sick of being paraded around as nothing more than living, breathing Vought propaganda. But that all melted away when he walked through the door to find Y/N waiting with open arms and eager lips.

He found a real, carnal pleasure in watching her body expanding with their growing child. He found he couldn't keep his hands off of her.

One night she'd cajoled him into dancing with her. She put on an old record and Billie Holiday's voice came crooning out of the speakers.

You must remember this

A kiss is still a kiss

A sigh is just a sigh

The fundamental things apply

As time goes by

He let her pull him to his feet and rolled his eyes as though he was simply humoring her, but he was secretly thrilled to have her in his arms. Her round belly, where their child slept peacefully, was nestled protectively between them and Ben felt his heart expand while his mind ran riot.

Swaying back and forth, her head on his chest and her small hand clasped in his, he was suddenly terrified that he was going to be an absolutely rotten father.

Visions of his own childhood, full of wealth but empty of love and warmth, ran through his mind, and his father's voice echoed in his ears.

You're not a real man.

You're a fuck up.

Real men don't take shortcuts.

So you're supposed to be some kind of hero now? You? Impossible. You are nothing but a fucking disappointment.

Get out of my sight.

Y/N must have noticed him tensing up because she lifted her head from his chest. "What's wrong, honey?"

He was about to brush the question off, but then he looked deeply into Y/N's eyes, and where he'd once seen plainness, now he saw only bright beauty.

He shook his head and asked the question he was the most curious about, and the most scared of.

"Why are you with me, sweetheart? I'm an asshole, I'm rude and hard. I rarely do something if it doesn't benefit me. I'm not kind, I have no patience, not a lot of conscience. You're this sweet, pure thing, Y/N, so...why are you putting up with me? Why are you committing to me, why... Why do you love me?"

She reached up and smoothed away the frown between his brows.

"Isn't it obvious, my darling?" She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I think you're worth the investment." She said, repeating her initial assessment of him.

She smiled up at him, wide and sweet. "You're a better man than you think you are Benjamin Reed. I love the man you are, but everyday, I fall a little more in love with the man you're becoming."

For the first time since his mother died when he was six, he let a woman see a tear spill down his cheek.

Two days later, his team attacked, poisoning him and knocking him out. When he woke up he was a world away, tied to a table and screaming, as men in lab coats tried and failed to saw through his skin.

He shook his head, desperate to push away memories of the torture and keep himself in check. He needed to focus on the present.

He looked down at all the folders laid out in front of him. It had taken days to get to the truth, to track it down to a medical records storage facility, break in and scour through the files to find what he was looking for.

He'd read it all through a dozen times, but the information just rattled around in his mind as he tried to make sense of it.

He looked down at the words floating around on the page:

Patient deceased. Time of death, 11:06 August 20, 1984. Patient went into premature labor, likely brought on by stress. Patient suffered a stroke due to a pulmonary embolism during emergency c-section. Tried and failed to revive on the table.

That was it. That was all that was written about how the only light in his life had been snuffed out.

But he didn't need more. He could fill in the blanks on his own. She learned he was dead, as everyone seemed to believe he was, the shock had triggered labor, she died giving birth to a son.

A son that the records claimed only lived for a few hours. They called him simply "John". When the child died, Vought had apparently swooped in to arrange for body disposal, and a service for Y/N.

The records praised Vought and their charitable actions toward the child and it's mother, apparently all part of the company's charitable work with the hospital.

"Vought's good works shine through again." The official document had gushed.

Good works my ass, Ben thought. They took the body of my son to experiment, to test him and his genes.

Vought was constantly trying for a better Supe - faster, stronger, more endurance. No way they'd pass up the chance to study the dead child of a Supe.

Ben felt the rage boiling up again, his burning hot hatred of the company that had created him, began to make his chest glow under his newly returned super suit.

He felt the fury vibrating in his bones as he pictured each and every one of his former team, pictured how he was going to pull them apart, how he was going to crush their skulls under his bare hands.

He could feel the energy surging beneath his breastbone and he welcomed the destructive power he knew would come with it.

It ebbed ever so briefly as Y/N's voice whispered in his ear.

You're a better man than you think you are...

But his hesitation lasted only a moment. That better man was dead, murdered 40 years ago. In his place was a soldier. And the soldier's mission was clear.

Destroy Payback. Level Vought. Burn the world.

1. Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@siospins2

@impalaslytherin

@akshi8278

@maggiegirl17

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

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3. Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

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4. Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

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@jensenslady79

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy #soldier boy angst #request fic #30 days writing challenge

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bardic-inspo · 3 months

Text

Midnight Chimes

Chapter Two: Moths to Flame

Pairing: Astarion x Cursed! Tav

✨Full Chapter List ✨BG3 Fic Masterlist ✨

Series Summary:

It’s easier for Astarion to believe Naomi tastes so sweet because she was his first. Easier to ignore the fact that every undead in vague proximity yearns for the same blood that’s sated him night after night. Easier to pretend her music is arcane as any other bard’s, and not divine enough to wake corpses from the dirt. Easier to pretend Naomi is simply a bard, and not something more akin to a siren. One that's slowly realized she's not just another sailor, after all. Easier to bury the fact that he's already stupidly in love with her. Like she wouldn't just raise that out of the ground, too. A curse rears its head. A devil comes calling. Astarion fights for his freedom from Cazador. He and the rest of their merry little band fight to save Tav from the doom she feels she's fated for.

Chapter Preview:

“Have I left you speechless?” Astarion laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.” “I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly. No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

Chapter CW: Minor/Supporting character death.

A/N: Cross-posting from AO3. Dividers by @cafekitsune.

✨ Click here if you prefer to read on AO3 ✨

“If I knew you’d be playing the role of dead weight, I would’ve left you for dead on the side of that road!”

If Astarion saved even half his venom for the gnolls tearing down this road, maybe they wouldn’t be in such dire straits.

Nevermind that Naomi and Shadowheart would’ve told Astarion to beat it before he could take another slice with that knife of his. The party’s Most Valuable Cleric isn’t exactly leaping to Naomi’s defense at the moment. As it is, none of them have much of a defense left at all.

Snapping jaws clamp to Shadowheart’s shield and drag, shunting it sideways. Magic flares, bright and scalding, from the half-elf’s hands. A screech shreds the air, the acrid stench of singed fur burning in Naomi’s nose. But the gnolls’ incessant cackling doesn’t falter.

Shadowheart stumbles backward with wet, slapping steps. “A little help, here!” She grunts through gritted teeth.

Karlach heeds her plea, flames leaping to life across her flesh. She swings her axe in a wide arc, but the gnolls jerk backwards and the blade only breezes over air. Their foes slink into a circle around her and Shadowheart, spitting.

Sweat beads across Naomi’s brow. She clutches the silver symbol chained around her neck -- an elven dancer, poised with a sword. Come on. Come on!

Silver flame snaps at the heels of a slavering gnoll. But it snuffs soon after it sparks. Harmless as a sneeze. Slitted eyes lock to hers. Maddening laughter mingles with a low, guttural growl.

“That’s it?!” Astarion’s exasperation hits a new octave. “That’s your contribution?!”

Naomi’s chest heaves. She drops back into cover behind the overturned cart, shoulder brushing Astarion’s bristling one. An arrow hisses past her ear. The ground sizzles where it splatters on impact, bare inches from her feet. Something snaps free beneath her ribs, like a breaking bowstring.

Nevermind all of this cleric shit, actually.

“Fuck it!” She snarls.

“Oh now, you’re throwing in the towel?” Astarion seethes. He nocks another arrow and shifts to shoot. “I was sure you’d set fire to it al--”

For a sparse, sacred second, Astarion’s livid glare gives way to eyes blown wide as moons. They track the quivering mote of magic hanging a breath from his nose as it steers an arrow safely past instead of through him. Even after the flute leaves Naomi’s lips, the hum sticks on her skin like static. His jaw drops slack, anger melted to awe. What started as a shout ends in a whisper only she can hear.

“--ready.”

Noise rushes in again. Karlach rushes the opening and arcs down with her axe. The gnoll cleaves. The weapon wrenches back with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters the dirt in webby strings.

Naomi pivots, forgoing cover and for the flute pressed close. Magic shivers across her lips, like the gentle caress of a lover. She shudders. The tremor builds, barreling down her neck, raising hairs in its wake, running through her ribs, to her feet, until the ground itself is shaking. A storm of claws rains from overhead as the gnolls lunge towards her. Thunder pulses from where she stands, sudden as a snap of fingers.

The gnolls fall, backs slapping sand. Heat lashes near Naomi’s cheek. Karlach swings again and makes a mess of them. The road’s a river of red, vined in viscera.

It’s over. But it isn’t quiet. A chorus of breath that can’t be caught aches in Naomi’s ears. Her heartbeat’s a rampant drum, pounding next to a melody that plays faintly in her mind. She can’t quite grasp the tune. But it lingers all the same, like a bruise she doesn’t remember earning.

She’s earned someone’s ire, apparently. Astarion’s glare comes to life once more with murderous vengeance. “You’re a fucking bard?! This whole time, you-- I fucking knew it!”

By the time they trudge back to camp -- beaten, bloody, but still breathing in spite of it all-- Astarion’s changed his tune.

“Well, well,” he tuts with a devilish gleam in his eye, “someone’s been holding out on us.”

Naomi trains her attention to the task at hand -- dinner. The meat starts to sizzle on its skewer. Not so different from those scarlet eyes searing into the back of her head. But other stares join Astarion’s, morphing into shadows cast long from the firelight. She doesn’t need to turn her cheek to know they’re waiting. All of them, at this point.

One of them isn’t so content to continue doing so.

“So, it seems that while you’re an absolutely abysmal cleric, you’re not a bad bard. I’d say I underestimated you,” Astarion muses dryly, “but given the evidence, I don’t know what other conclusion I could’ve drawn. Whatever else you are, you’re quite a good liar. Aren’t you?”

She spares him a sideways glance to find his arms crossed. Astarion doesn’t wait, he demands. An answer, attention, satisfaction. The rest of their crew beg the same, but they have the decency to do so in blessed silence.

It’s a virtue that eludes her, even as she tries to seek its sanctuary. Naomi rubs her throbbing temples. Still, the ringing in her ears doesn’t stifle. It prickles in the depths of her memory, in a melody both foreign and familiar. Gods, how does it go again?

Astarion clears his throat, expectant.

Naomi sighs tightly. “And I suppose that wounds you, you open, bleeding book.”

His cover hasn’t opened an inch in the weeks since their second meeting. Third, technically, if you count his apparent sighting of her on the nautiloid. But she’s seen enough to be sure it is a cover.

After all, she first saw ‘mister boring magistrate’ fishing in the Flophouse. As far as she could tell from her brief residency there, Fraygo’s housed foreigners, passersby, and people who wanted to rob them. If Astarion’s from the Gate as he says, it leaves little wonder as to what category he’d fall in.

“Ha!” His laughter comes pitchy. “On the contrary, I’m thoroughly entertained. I suppose that’s what a bard’s good for.”

Naomi’s jaw shifts, but before she can parry his backhanded commentary, a gentler voice enters the fray.

“We’ve all got our stories, our secrets, and our reasons for them,” Wyll interjects. “You don’t owe us every one of yours. But we do deserve to know where your loyalties lie.”

Naomi winces. The fire’s spitting, but it somehow stings far less than the warlock with the heart of gold wondering where her heart is at.

Astarion scoffs, hands shifting to his hips. “More importantly, I need to know you’re not holding back when you’re supposed to be watching my back!”

“Why were you?” Shadowheart’s voice cuts in, cool as steel. “Holding back?”

Naomi’s eyes flit to Shadowheart’s scar, so similar to the one Naomi has across her own nose. Her fingers twitch. She buries the urge to reach up to her own face to trace the shape of the scrape. Why were you holding back?

It didn’t end well the last time she played, she could say. Or at least, the last time she sang. She could say, ‘superstition’. But either way, she’d have to say so much more.

“It’s been a while since I played,” she settles on instead. “I grew up in an Eilistraeean temple, in an opening to the Underdark. Before all of this, I hadn’t ventured very far out onto the surface. I was only just starting to. This little adventure has been…strange in so many senses.”

Wyll’s expression softens. “You thought your goddess would protect you.”

Sure. Close enough. Naomi takes the cue, smiles sadly, and nods. Astarion spoils the moment with some strangled sound between a laugh and a snort. Like a dying horse.

A hand cuffs her shoulder. Naomi stiffens for a second before easing again. Gale kneels down beside her, plucking the skewer from between her fingers. An act of mercy, it turns out. She blinks, now noticing the blackened meat that’s been right in front of her and in the flames for far too long.

Oh. Naomi’s lips twitch ruefully. Crispy.

“A bard’s magic is arcane,” Gale says, taking a knife to carve off the worst of the char. “But we’ve all seen you wield divine power. Your goddess must still favor you.”

“Hardly,” Astarion mutters, faint with dwindling interest. He’s drifted halfway back to his tent, though his ears stay perked.

Gale arches a brow. “A great deal, I’d wager. Most deities are not so content to play ‘second fiddle’, so to speak. If a god gifts you powers, they usually expect you’ll use them effectively.”

“I swear I really am better with a fiddle,” Naomi says, sheepish.

“You’d be better at banging pots and pans than with sacred flame,” Shadowheart laughs without malice. “You’re not bad at healing, though.”

“Ouch,” Naomi pans. “I think I might need some.”

The wizard needs a more intellectual peace of mind, it seems. Their banter only deepens Gale’s worry lines.

“Eilistraee is the Dark Dancer,” Naomi tells him. “She’s a goddess of freedom, and music, and, well, dancing. She’d never punish me for this.”

She wouldn’t. Naomi swallows hard. Would she?

“If anything,” she says, shrugging her shoulders back, “she’s probably as relieved as the lot of you look.”

Gale nods, saying nothing, but thinking loud enough for Naomi to hear him without the help of the tadpole. He’s caught on something, like a gear that won’t budge. She teeths her cheek, pondering what has him hung up, when fresh heat prickles her skin.

Her eyes dart to the campfire, but Gale has it neatly tamed. It’s Karlach that’s crackling. The tiefling saunters up behind them.

“So, new you,” Karlach says, eyes alight with mischief, “what other tricks have you got up your sleeve?”

Before she can entertain an answer, Gale gives her one.

“I’m formally usurping you from dinner duties,” he says warmly. “My first command with my newfound authority is for you to regale us with song while I rescue our sustenance.”

Naomi offers an easy smile. “Your wish is my command, oh benevolent one.”

Naomi frees the flute from the fastenings at her belt, lifts the hollowed bone to her lips, and lets her breath flow. Music flows with it, playful and springy. It floods their little clearing in the woods, hushing the sounds of scurrying creatures.

Is this how it goes? No.

It’s not the melody haunting her head, but for a few moments’ time, she doesn’t feel so trapped in there. Vaguely, she feels her comrades watching her again as she plays, but as the music carries through the camp, it carries her mind away from them. Carries her away from tadpoles and gnolls and concerns of certain doom. They’re all fading sparks, drifting into nightfall. To dust, they all return.

Until her wandering, distant gaze meets a vermillion one, and it pins her back to the present. Astarion peers at her over a page he's no longer pretending to read. He’s got that look again, the one he wore when she cast cutting words and cast away the arrow intent on his demise. Such round eyes, softened in surprise. But they narrow, knife-like, a second later, as soon as he sees he’s been seen.

A sly smile curls over Astarion’s lips as her song bends with the smoke from the cookfire. It’s a small victory, maybe, but she’s not sure if it's his or hers.

The song dwindles. Naomi spies another set of glittering eyes that send her stomach plummeting. Lae’zel doesn’t just stare. She’s stabbing Naomi, surely, in some spiritual sense if not a literal one. Must not be keen on bards.

Naomi sets the flute away again. Karlach clears her throat pointedly.

“Erm, don’t take this the wrong way -- not that that wasn’t very lovely! It was! I was just wondering, do you have anymore, you know, fighting tricks?”

Naomi shrugs. “I can cast ‘stab’ as a cantrip.”

“You--”

The bugbear snarls through his teeth.

“--ruined--”

He grips the morningstar like a vice, taking swing to Astarion’s head. Still, snickers spill in a fountain from the elf’s lips. He can’t stem his tide of laughter. Not since they burst into the barn and found the bugbear and the ogre fucking over a haystack.

The flute fucks the bugbear, instead. The morningstar glances, harmless, over and above Astarion’s carefully coiffed curls.

“--my--”

Splinters burst from the board the bugbear breaks instead of the Gale he intended to. The flute screws him again.

“--rutting!”

And again. He’s left panting, winded, and dearly wanting.

“Oh that’s what that was supposed to be?” Naomi huffs. “Sounded like you stubbed a toe.” Her eyes drop to his bare member, still bared for all to see. “It looks like a stubby toe.”

That hit landed. She can see it in the crazed gleam that bulges in his eyes. The morningstar thumps, forgotten, at his furred feet. The bugbear lunges. The flute flies from her fingertips and crunches to ruin between his jaws. He spits out the pieces like loose teeth.

Naomi lets out a deflated groan. “See, this is why I didn’t pack the fucking fiddle.”

“Not so tricksy now!” He laughs darkly, lips parted in a too-wide grin.

Her back smacks boards. Hot, rancid breath clouds her cheek as the bugbear looms, boxing her in. Only for a moment. Naomi spies a tell-tale shimmer behind the bugbear’s back.

“Oh no,” she says with a smirk. “Now I’m much worse.”

Astarion’s knife sinks in. Blood sprays in a warm, wet rain across her neck. The bugbear’s face twists with the blade.

Her lips pucker, and a high, wavering whistle whisks her away. Mist shrouds her shoes as she fades. Naomi emerges again above the fray, poised on the junction of beams crossing beneath the pitched roof. A low woosh chases after her. Astarion unfurls from the fog on the beam’s other end, the soles of his boots glowing briefly blue.

He sets his sights on their larger quarry. Karlach’s kept the ogre at bay, but the beast bears down, relentless with fists and fury. Gale gives them a wide berth, working glittering fractals out of the air with a flourish and a biting incantation. Frost fans from his outstretched palms. His spell paints an ice slick beneath the ogre’s fumbling feet. Down she goes. Naomi braces against the aftershock. Debris patters her shoulders as the whole barn rattles.

Karlach tumbles down, too. The tiefling buckles, hissing as she grips the gash in her arm. Naomi’s whistle keens sweeter. When Karlach draws her hand away again, the wound’s drawn closed.

An arrow flits past her cheek. Naomi turns to see Astarion easing from his stance as the ogre breathes her last. Her one-time lover’s still stubbornly holding onto his, though.

A gargled cry echoes from down below. Naomi watches the wounded bugbear crawling among the scattered straw. Pitiful.

“Hey!” She calls. “Up here!”

His neck cranes, wild eyes burning at the sight of her overhead. Naomi’s tongue lies heavy in her mouth. The words are stones. She casts them with a pair of fingers. Middle ones, raised in turn.

“Up. Yours.”

Green light floods his skull, seeping from his eyes sockets, gushing from his lips. He shudders. And then he wilts, limp and lifeless.

He’s hardly mourned. Astarion’s breathy laughter spurts out of him, unbidden.

“That actually killed him?” He beams, but his eyes are dark and his voice scrapes low. “Oh, you’re an absolute menace.”

The praise rings in her ear. Like temple chimes. Or warning bells. Or, something else. A song, maybe. She can’t pin it down.

Sea spray slaps the cliffside near the coast, but it doesn’t drown the peeling cry of a lute plucked to misery. A shrill chorus comes with it. Naomi grimaces.

“Is that meant to be music?” Lae’zel’s face wrinkles in disgust.

“I didn’t think you knew the meaning,” Naomi mutters, picking her way up the slope.

“Likewise,” Lae’zel grumbles.

“It’s quite agonizing, isn’t it?” Astarion groans.

The culprit comes into view as they crest the hill. She’s a tiefling woman with violet skin and flowing hair decked in motley. A pretty picture of what a bard should be, if she wasn’t wilted over her own instrument.

“It’s-- it’s just stuck,” Naomi sighs, shaking her head.

The tiefling shoots a wary glance her way. “You’re right. But how did you know?”

“Besides the fact that poor lute is crying out for mercy?”

“Ugh. I know I’m butchering it with this stupid song,” the tiefling mutters, burying her head in her hands.

“It’s not stupid. It’s just…stuck,” Naomi says again. Like the sudden lump in Naomi’s throat that thickens, and doesn’t budge. She coughs to clear it, but the pressure remains. “Let’s start with the lyrics.”

But it doesn’t stop there. By sundown, Alfira’s pitched a tent in their camp and taken refuge by the fire. Her music’s mournful, but hopeful. Happy in the sad way of something good that’s happened before. But now, it’s done with.

Gale balks as Naomi reaches to stir the stew. She’s shooed off unceremoniously. Forever banned from dinner duty, it seems.

She paces, purposeless. Fluteless. Fidgeting. Cursed with idle hands. At least a devil’s workshop might put them to use. Sounds productive. This dwelling certainly isn’t.

What use is it, thinking about the Doom again? The tadpole is already in her brain. Doesn’t mean it has to be so incessantly on it.

And of course, their only hope, Halsin the druid, had to find himself in the middle of a goblin fortress. Something, someday should be easy. If it isn’t any of this. Tomorrow, they’ll attempt extraction. Which means tonight, there’s no use being sick about it.

But her ears are still ringing. Someone hands her stew. She sips it halfheartedly, and sets the rest away to cool indefinitely.

“Won’t you share a song of yours?” Alfira says some time later, with a pitying sort of smile.

Naomi sits on the stumps with her, heaving a weighty sigh. “Who’s to say I have any? You said yourself, you haven’t heard of me.”

“You helped me find the words for my music well enough. You’ve got something stuck, too. Don’t you?”

Naomi frowns. Yes, something stuck something awful. A little worm, wreaking havoc in her head. Among other things. Or, maybe the obvious thing is the only thing. Side effects of side-stepping ceremorphosis for too long.

Alfira shifts her lute in her lap. “How about I play, and you sing it if you know it?”

The first chord thrums. Naomi feels it stir beneath her sternum. Feels the shrill ache leave her ears at last. This isn’t what’s stuck. But, maybe it’s part of it. Her eyes slide shut, as if to sleep.

Naomi knows it. She knows the first note catches in her throat before it comes free, but she frees it anyway. She feels the butterfly fear flutter in her gut, and sings, still.

“Bare feet along the coast

Sand swallows the steps we’ve tread before

But you’ve made your mark

Like the silver tide that sunders the shore

Breaking waves and carving cliffs

Yielding to the sweeping sea

In the salt and in the stone

You’ve made your mark on me…”

It’s been a long time, she thinks, as the final verse closes, and silence comes again. It’s been a long time since she sang.

It’s about time. It was all a long time ago. It hasn’t happened since. It doesn’t have to happen again.

And it felt good. She lets out a long breath that drifts like a ghost. Gods, it felt good. She peels her nose to the simmering stars, shoulder blades sinking back and down.

Naomi blinks. She didn’t realize how much time slipped from her, sitting here, as the embers withered down to smoke plumes. She’s the only one that remains to keep the crickets company. Soft snores and sounds of slumber flit across the camp. Naomi stands, stiffness prickling in her legs.

“Quite the view. Isn’t it?”

Not alone, after all. She pivots, pulse kicking only to tumble right back down again.

“Astarion! You’re--”

Lounging. Just a few feet away. He lies with his arms propping his back, head tilted towards the sky, just as hers was. Basking. Moonlight melts in his curls and leaves a sheen on his cheeks. He looks made of marble; sharp edges lining supple muscle and smooth skin.

“I didn’t know you were there,” she finishes lamely.

“My apologies for startling you,” he says, not seeming sorry at all. “You seemed lost in thought. I found myself in much the same state. Reflecting on what tomorrow might bring when we find this druid.” His expression shifts, smirk fading with his brow bending in. “Will he know how to bring the tadpole under control? Will this little adventure of ours be over?”

“Honestly? I…” Naomi trails off, toying with the notion. Honesty hasn’t been her strong suit. So far. She takes a stab at it, anyway. “I doubt there’s a simple solution to something that’s so fucked to begin with.”

Astarion cocks his head. “You’re not one for faith, are you? I suppose that makes us kindred spirits. Perhaps that’s the real reason why you couldn’t keep with the cleric routine.”

The barb doesn’t feel like one, said so gently.

“You have a lovely voice, you know,” he says, soft as silk. “I hope this isn’t the only chance I’ll get to hear it.”

It might be. Naomi swallows, but her throat’s grown dry as a desert.

“Have I left you speechless?” He laughs like the sound of tinkling chimes. “No need to be shy, darling. It’s stunning. Truly.”

“I thought you quite loathed me,” she says coolly.

No matter how sweet he sounds, there’s still a sharpness to his stare that warns of claws. Maybe that’s why she hasn't moved an inch since she’s seen him.

“Not quite,” he says with a shake of his head. “I quite like what little of ‘you’ I’ve gotten to see. Better than whatever you were pretending to be. I’d like to see more of the real you, however tomorrow unfolds.”

So that’s what he means. He doesn’t want this to be an end. Naomi tilts her head. Why?

He stands in a lithe motion, fluid as a brushstroke. “And you’d like to see more of what the surface has to offer, I’m sure. I promise it’s not all illithids and imminent doom. There’s beauty here, if you know where to find it.” He drifts a step closer. And then another. “Art. Poetry. Music.”

Every word is crooned in a low timbre with a rasp at the edge. They sound like songs, the way he says them. Brimming with depths unknown and promises just below the surface. Same as his eyes, alight with an agenda she can’t quite clock.

Same as that night at the Flophouse, where she couldn’t shake his stare. What would’ve happened if something else hadn’t almost happened? What would he have done, if she came as close as they are now?

She should know better, now. He’s nearer than he’s ever been, aside from the times they’ve brushed by each other during their brushes with danger. And he’s pretty to listen to. A red flag all on its own. She should know that, at least.

“Alfira had it right, didn’t she?” Astarion says with a lift at the corner of his mouth. “You were stuck. And now you’re…” He closes his fingers to his palms and opens them again, casting them down to his sides. “...free as a bird.”

“And it suits you,” he says, wetting his lips. His gaze dips down and lingers for a moment before it fixes hers again. “This little transformation of yours.”

Noise rips to life in her ears. Naomi’s palms fly to her temples and press. But it doesn’t drown out. Bile burns the back of her throat. She spies a blur, shifting past Astarion’s shoulder.

“What is that?” She pants. “Alfira?”

Her pulse sprints. Panic pours adrenaline in her veins. Alfira’s tent is torn. Ribbons of it billow in the breeze. The stench of rot rolls with it. Naomi recoils. Not again. No.

There’s a shape, in the dark. Wet, like a puddle. Crumpled. Breaking, under gnashing teeth.

And another figure, hunched over the first. Pale. Spindly. Bony.

Astarion doesn’t budge. His brow wrinkles, annoyance cracking his facade. “I don’t hear--”

But the dead do. The creature’s head rolls upright with a sickening snap. The brush comes alive in sudden cacophonous clatter.

Astarion moves when she makes him. Naomi shoves his shoulders with as much force as she can muster. “Astarion -- look out!”

“Well,” Astarion says, with a hint of a smile and reproach in equal measure. “Looks like someone’s finally decided to rejoin the living.”

Naomi finds him with one knee propped, an arm draped over it, and his other leg dangling over the low stonework on the side of the bridge. A creek babbles beneath their feet. His knife glints by the barest light of the slivered moon, flipping once more before he stows it.

“I slept?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

“Like the dead,” he replies, with a smile that’s grown. It doesn’t match the flicker of worry that darts through his eyes, rabbit-quick, and then gone. Quick as Naomi’s heartbeat, still hammering. “Did you dream?”

“Mhm,” Naomi hums, forlorn. “Spiders again.” She saunters over to sit upon the stone beside him, swinging both legs over the side of the wall and letting them hang.

“Hm. Considering our daily dose of the macabre, perhaps that means it was a pleasant one, compared to what it could’ve been.”

The fire snaps behind them, festering in its final death throes. When she glances back at it, over her shoulder, there’s no flames to be seen. Only a flurry of sparks, bursting to fleeting life on a wayward breeze. The campsite’s quiet as the grave without another soul stirring.

In darkest night, she and Astarion can see better than most others in their camp. It used to irk him, getting voluntold for this shift of watch. He prefers to see the sunrise. But then, he decided, all on his own, he’d rather see the stars with her. So, he’d abandoned Gale’s educational company for finer sorts. His words, not hers.

There isn’t much to see, though. Even the moon’s turned her cheek, showing only a glimpse of it. Naomi scans the cliffs, surveying either end of their chokepoint on the road cutting through them. Not many places to run, should they find themselves surrounded. But there’s not many threats they wouldn’t see coming from up here.

Baldur’s Gate is still three sleeps away. Though, Naomi will take the trance for them, instead. If she has any say in it. She hadn’t meant to sleep at all, let alone into the start of her watch.

“I promise no more corpses came calling,” Astarions says with a searching gaze. “No more curses, and no more hungry shadows.”

Naomi’s attention follows the slope of own arm, to her palm, splayed, on the stone. No more spell stains on her skin, either. For now. Still, her gaze lingers, until a paler hand comes to lie over hers.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He murmurs.

Naomi swallows, but finds herself suddenly parched. For water. For words.

“Oh, don’t hurt yourself, dear,” he sighs, but it’s soft. “I think I can hear it well enough without the worm. You don’t think expunging a centuries-old darkness did the trick.”

Naomi dares a glance upwards. He speaks reassurance in the language of skepticism. But she catches a glimpse of anxiety again, passing like a phantom on his face before fading.

“You don’t think saving a cleric of Selune, rescuing the actual divine daughter of Selune, or wrenching Shadowheart from Shar’s grip exorcized any of your own demons.” He clicks his tongue. “Even though you killed a lot of already dead people.”

Astarion leans in, stoking familiar, feather-light anticipation in her gut. He stops as they come nearly nose-to-nose. Farther than her lips would like, but near enough to read her mind. “You need to be sure.”

“If I can be,” she says, weaker than she means to.

Gooseflesh wakes on her skin, brought to life by Astarion raising only a finger. His nail drags, just sharp enough to be sweet, up the column of her throat, sending a shiver down Naomi’s spine. His index presses beneath her chin, and lifts.

“Then sing for me.”

He didn’t ask for a frail whisper, but it’s all she has left to offer. “What do you want to hear?”

Just one finger, one little motion. And she’d offer him anything. He knows it. He has to know it.

“One of your songs,” he says at once. “The one you sang at Last Light.”

He knows exactly what he wants. Naomi’s chin still rests on his fingertip, but barely so, on a barely-there touch. Only her feet hang loose, but the whole of her feels weightless.

“I sang a lot of songs at Last Light,” she says, clearing the husk in her throat.

A pout wrinkles his perfection. “You know the one.”

A wry smile steals across her face. He knows it, too. Even though she hasn’t sung it since. His finger leaves her chin with a flick as the first note leaves her lips.

“When she laid her gaze on me

What I knew of warmth melted

Into honey-covered and sticky-sweet

Incessant, yearning, burning heat…”

And when she laid her gaze on me

I felt myself undone

For whatever I had been before

Was gone to dust forevermore…”

She sings it in elvish, the way she wrote it. She sings about a girl’s first time in the sun. About a silly little drow who confused freckles for death pox. It starts sweet. Hopeful. And then it aches with a swell.

Astarion draws his dagger, and draws watchful eyes over their surroundings.

“But when I stumbled back to shadowed halls

And gazed upon a looking glass

I found not love, but scalding sin

Written on my very skin…”

Whatever I had been before

Whatever I might have lived to be

Was gone to dust forevermore

The sunlight scorched the life from me...”

I drew my fists and damned her name

But still I bore my grief and shame

That I had traded night for light

That I must forsake her to save my life…”

The song ends where it started: hopeful. Like the way Astarion glances at her now. Wide-eyed, like he’s been wind-blown by wonder, wearing her favorite smile. The points of his fangs poke out from his lips by the barest bit.

He stows his dagger in its sheath again. But the pinprick of nerves stays sharp, needling beneath Naomi’s ribs.

“When dawn broke the dark didn’t waver

Nor did my heartbeat slow

I watched the sun rise from safety in shadows

And dared, again, to dance in the glow…”

And still, I lived, and still, I breathed

And still I bore the scars

But no others knew them by that pain

They said my freckles looked like stars…”

She laid her gaze on me again

And I was never the same

I laid to rest what I had been before

And when I end, I’ll be dust, evermore

But the great between is my domain.”

“Hm,” Astarion hums, fingers still rapping the rhythm on the stone. “Perhaps you were right, my dear. I daresay there’s an undead presence nearby that’s simply insurmountable. I don’t think we should trifle with that level of dark power. Best to cater to his whims.” His eyes flash, brimming with mischief, and the lightest nip of hunger. “Keep him sated, so to speak.”

“Don’t I already?” Naomi shoots him a sideways glance, but her wary eyes are quick to return to the darkened edge of her sightline.

“Mm. You are…”

Stuck in his throat, it seems. Seems a fair revenge, for how he’s made everything beneath her ribs feel like mush with just a look. Made her sing with one wag of a finger. Made her dare to sing again, at all.

“...too adorable,” he huffs with an accompanying eyeroll. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling. Look around,” he says with a wave of his arms. “It’s only me.”

It is. Just the two of them. But it hurts to look at him, just now. Like staring straight at the sun. She can feel the warmth he doesn’t speak, hear the part he doesn’t say. And you know I’d never hurt you. I love you.

Or, she wants to. Hear it. Maybe more than he wants to say it.

Naomi wavers where she sits. “It took a few hours, with A-Alfira--”

“We’re on watch. We’ve got the time, an arsenal of weapons, and alarm spells. And a cleric. A real one, with Selune on our side instead of Shar. Oh, and dare I forget,” he leans a whisper to her ear, the sound as sheer as a negligee, “a very limber bard. You must’ve heard of her.”

Briefly, his hand cups her cheek, kissing sweet, tingling coolness over the warmth flushed there. Naomi arches a brow, but it’s too late. It’s already over, and he already knows he’s found a new trick. And, it’s at least sort of working to quell the disquiet gnawing at her insides.

“I know you don’t believe it yet,” he says, his smile giving way to seriousness. “But I do. You’ve survived so much else. Why not this, too?”

Naomi gives the slightest shake of her head. “Because there is never a simple solution to something that is so fucked to begin with.”

“Well,” he says, chipper regardless, “then it’s a good thing there was absolutely nothing simple about lifting the shadow curse and shooing off all of those other pesky undead. There’s only room for one in the tent.”

He’s right. No more undead show up before the sun does. But still, some haunted song begs remembrance in the back of Naomi’s brain.

A/N: The fic settles into a more linear progression (less time hoppy) going forward from this chapter. Hope you enjoyed, would love to hear if you did! <3 <3

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion fanfic #astarion romance #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfic #midnight chimes #naomi tavriel #my writing

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