#fan fic writing

[nyxdaughterofkhaos]

Thank you to all fic writers!

This is so, so important you guys.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

Hi,

Would you be open to write about Oscar and his childhood friend, now scientists. just them supporting each other during their own careers. Being so damm proud and all the time yapping about the otheres archivements Showing up at diffrent events for each other, like her coming to a race, and him showing up at a conference, where she's presenting her research.

Thanks a lot!

♡ navigation / request info / f1 masterlist

♡ warnings: none

♡ an: i messed up and replied to a different request with this T_T. so this is basically a repost. nonetheless, thank you for requesting and sorry for the mess-up.

Oscar couldn’t remember a time when you weren't around. From the early days at your father’s karting track, where you would sit on the bleachers with a juice box and your homework, to the present - F1 tracks, where your face was one of the first he searched for in the crowd.

Your friendship started when your fathers introduced you to each other. You were both six and despite most kids this age being disgusted by the opposite gender you two quickly became close. When you were kids people often mistook you as siblings - always next to each other, teasing and giggling but also supporting each other. 

When Oscar went to boarding school a lot changed. You went from seeing each other everyday to seeing each other twice a year. Nonetheless, not seeing each other very often and the mix of puberty hormones didn’t take a toll on your relationship. While Oscar was in Europe, racing in junior motorsport series, you were in Australia pursuing your academic dream. 

You two reunited not long after turning twenty. Oscar just got his seat in Formula one and you were on your way to receive your diploma. Even with your busy schedules you tried to spend as much time together as possible. You were a regular in the paddock and everyone in Mclaren’s garage knew you. 

The crowd was loud as Oscar climbed out of his car and hugged his team. His eyes searched the crowd until they landed on you - his biggest supporter. He jogged over and pulled you into a tight hug. You kissed his cheek and hugged him close “Oscar, you did it! You were amazing. I’m so proud of you” you shouted over the noise. His first Formula one win. “Did you see what I did on the first corner?” he said, his eyes full of adrenaline. “Did I see? Dude, I was clutching the seat so hard I might’ve bruised my hand. I thought Carlos would push you off the track!”. You laughed, and he noticed the way your eyes shone with genuine pride. For a moment, he forgot about the cameras, the media - everything except that you were there, seeing him at his best. “Now go get weighted so we can celebrate!”. 

Later that evening a group sat at a table at the back of a busy restaurant. Oscar was surrounded by many people, his teammate, boss, engineers and friends. But most importantly you were sitting next to him. 

You raised your glass, he rolled his eyes knowing exactly what you were going to do. “To the guy who went from karting on Tuesdays to taking wins on Sundays”. He blushed slightly from embarrassment, maybe from the alcohol . “To the girl who always believed I’d get there - even when I didn’t” he said quietly before bumping your glass with his. 

A few months later, it was Oscar’s turn to sit in the front row, this time at a prestigious science conference. He was out of place among the suits and academics, but he didn’t care. He’d been waiting to see you shine, finally seeing all those years of hard work in action.

The room was filled with applause as you entered the stage after being introduced by the host. “Hello, thank you everyone” you said in a confident yet still a bit shaky voice. You glanced at Oscar as he gave you a big thumbs up and a huger smile. “So before I start, I can’t express how honored I am to be standing here. This has been my dream for the past eight years. I want to thank everyone here, for supporting, inspiring and helping me through this”. 

Throughout the presentation your eyes kept finding their way back to Oscar. Whenever you would get a bit too overwhelmed, the sight of him calmed your nerves. After the presentation Oscar gave you space as a flood of people gathered around you, eager to discuss your theories. You answered questions from a mix of young researchers, curious students, and seasoned scientists who all seemed genuinely intrigued by your work. 

You were talking with an elderly lady, a woman that has been your huge inspiration. “Thank you. It’s… honestly, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for people like you. Your work really inspired me.” You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you spoke, starstruck and a little shaky. She asked you a few questions and invited you to another convention. 

The woman tilted her head, glancing subtly in Oscar’s direction, who was leaning against the wall. “And, if I may say, it seems that someone else is equally inspired by you”. You blinked, following her gaze to where Oscar stood. He hadn’t noticed you looking, caught up in watching you in your element, a proud smile playing on his lips. You could see how much this meant to him - that he genuinely admired you, not just as his friend.

“Oh him, that’s just my best friend” you replied giggling a little. “Hold on to him,” the lady said gently, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “It’s rare to find someone who believes in us as much as we believe in them” she paused for a moment glancing back at him “and stop by for a visit in my home in Uk, both of you”. 

Before you could respond the lady disappeared in the crowd. “Hey,” Oscar said, his voice soft as he reached your side. “How are you holding up?”.

“I’m good,” you replied, voice brightening as soon as he was close. “Still a bit… overwhelmed, but good. Did you, um, survive the science talk?”. He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I caught about 30% of it, which for me is a win. But I caught all the important stuff - like you absolutely crushing it up there”. Your heart gave a little flutter, his voice hitting you harder than you’d expected. “Thanks, Oscar. It… it really helped having you here”. He looked down at you, his expression softening. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Seeing you up there… I’m just so proud of you, you know?”.

You let out a deep breath, feeling some of the tension melt away as you watched the lady. “I can’t believe she was here,” you whispered, still awestruck, “She’s, like, my hero”. Oscar chuckled, nudging your shoulder. “I get it, really. I feel the same way every time you’re at a race. Just… ridiculously lucky to have you on my side”. 

You smiled up at him, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I’m the lucky one, Oscar. Thank you for being here. For everything, really.”

He didn’t answer right away, just watched you, his gaze steady and warm. “I’ll always be here”. 

… a few months later … 

“It’s a nice place,” Oscar said, parking his car. As you two walked up to the ivy-covered cottage hand-in-hand, he gave your fingers a squeeze, a familiar sparkle in his eye. “Think she’s going to guess right away?” he whispered, as if afraid to break the quiet charm of the place. You nudged him, smiling. “Of course, she noticed something between us before we even did”. He chuckled softly. “Guess that’s fair”. 

Before you could knock, the door swung open, revealing an old lady with a warm, welcoming smile. “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost”. You and Oscar exchanged a sheepish look before following her inside.

Her home was cozy and filled with books, artifacts, and stacks of research papers - a testament to her lifelong dedication to science. She led you to a sitting room where a tea set and a tray of scones were waiting.

“So,” she began, settling herself comfortably into an armchair and pouring each of you a cup, “Tell me, how have the two of you been?”. “We’ve been great,” you began, accepting the delicate teacup she handed you. “It’s been busy, as usual, but… a good kind of busy”. The lady nodded,  “I imagine you’ve been wrapped up in your research, my dear. And you, young man - what line of work are you in?”. 

Oscar glanced at you, suppressing a grin. “I’m, uh… I’m a racing driver”. Her brows lifted in pleasant surprise. “Racing? Goodness, that’s a bit different from the world of science, isn’t it?”. He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Just a bit. I race in Formula One, actually”. 

Her eyes widened, a mixture of fascination and amusement flashing across her face. “Formula One! How thrilling. I’ve read about it - those cars going at breathtaking speeds. I can’t say I know much about it, but I can imagine that must be… well, exhausting.”. Oscar nodded, his voice softening as he replied, “It is, it’s intense, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s taken me all over the world and I’m lucky enough to have had this one,” he said, glancing at you, “supporting me every step of the way”.

“And actually… there’s something else we wanted to tell you”.  Her  smile widened knowingly, and she leaned in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh? Do tell,” her voice with a hint of irony. 

Oscar’s cheeks colored just slightly, but he held your hand firmly. “Well… we’re together. As in, officially”. She clasped her hands together, her expression delighted. “Oh, how wonderful! I could tell there was something between you two from the moment I saw you at the conference. And now you’ve finally seen it yourselves, too”. 

You both laughed. It was true, if it hadn’t been for her perceptive nudge, perhaps you would have taken even longer to realize what everyone else seemed to see so clearly. “Thank you,” you said, smiling. “You were right, back at the conference. He’s been by my side for as long as I can remember”. 

“Likewise,” Oscar added, his voice gentle. “She’s my biggest supporter. My constant”.

“Hold onto that. Life has a way of throwing surprises our way, but the strength you two share will see you through anything.”

The three of you sat for hours, talking about life, love, and work. The evening felt timeless as laughter and stories filled the air, connecting the three of you in a way that felt like family. When it was finally time to leave, she walked you both to the door, wrapping you in a heartfelt embrace.

“Promise me you’ll visit again soon,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “And don’t forget, no matter where life takes you, you’ll always have a place here”. 

“We promise,” Oscar said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you”.

As you and Oscar walked back under the starry sky, he slipped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “So… we’re officially a ‘we’ now, huh?” you asked.

He laughed as you leaned your head against his shoulder. “Looks like it. Think you can handle it?”.

You grinned feeling his lips on your forehead. “I think I can. As long as I’ve got you beside me”.

November 4, 2024

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 04

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal, mentions of abuse.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Richmond, Virginia, February 12, 2015.

In dreams, life shaped itself at your will; that was the privilege of staying asleep. In them, you didn’t have to think about how you’d get by alone the next day. Problems didn’t exist when you could idealize a world where they couldn’t touch you. In your room, you were just you, and the demons were nothing more than tenants under your bed.

Demons you weren’t afraid of because you knew that the people in the real world could be worse than anything imaginary trying to haunt you.

Gradually, the river you swam in descended as if being sucked into a whirlpool, and the forest trees around you lost their leaves, which vanished into the air. The echoes of birds and the sound of the current faded when the water no longer touched your skin.

But something still weighed down on your body.

Your airway grew increasingly restricted by the pressure around your neck, and your eyes bulged in desperation as you suddenly opened them, jerking your body upright. It took exactly two seconds to process what was happening as you slept, pushing him away and curling up in your sheets, your nails clawing at the fabric in panic.

Seth, your mother’s boyfriend, erased the dreamscape the moment he forced himself upon you. In your chest, turbulence rocked your heart as you watched the man rise from the floor like a shadow.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it?” he sneered, stepping toward you with deliberate slowness, his belt buckle making noise each time it clinked against itself. “If it was that bad, you would’ve woken up a little sooner.”

The air in the room was so dense you could almost touch it, and you curled up tighter in a futile attempt to form a protective cocoon. Your movements were frozen, your joints stiff with shock. At that moment, one thought echoed in your mind: What if this wasn’t the first time? How many other times had he carefully invaded your dreams without disturbing the scenery?

A scream burst from your throat as Seth dragged you by the leg to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between your legs, and your screams became muffled until your voice dwindled to a rasp. You had never felt so powerless before, reduced to something as fragile as paper in the face of your vulnerability, tears burning your cheeks.

Between his pauses, you tried to struggle, only to realize that wasn’t the wisest choice. Seth had twice your strength, and even though the smell of alcohol lingered in his breath, he remained in control.

When a spark of lucidity seemed to ignite in your brain, it reminded you that you’d always been a damned survivor since the world spat you out and forced you to live in it. Giving up was never an option.

“Keep breathing,” you told yourself in your mind.

You allowed Seth to get distracted while he adjusted himself, slowly reaching your free hand toward the nightstand. Your eyes glared at him with fury—the same fury that propelled you to grab hold of the lamp and smash it against his head, releasing all your pent-up rage.

As Seth lay on the floor, dazed and clutching his bleeding head, you wrapped yourself in the sheet and bolted for the bedroom door. The frantic pace of your heartbeat, as fast as a Formula 1 car, froze instantly when you met your mother in the hallway.

“Mom!” you exhaled, running into her arms. Her embrace didn’t come. She remained stiff, and you felt only her cold touch as she raised her hand.

The sheet had a bloodstain, and as you looked down, you saw that the same stain came from your star-patterned shorts. Tears choking your throat, you turned your attention to her, meeting her apathetic expression.

“Mom, Seth…” you began, your voice trembling. Something about saying it out loud felt shameful, making your body overheat. “Seth hurt me, and…”

Your words were cut off by the sharp sting of a slap across your face, the impact knocking you back. As your hand touched your cheek, you felt something warm mingling with your tears—it was blood. The ring your mother wore on her middle finger had split the skin.

“Cursed be the bearer of sin,” she growled, advancing toward you as you stumbled backward. “Damned for all your life!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get out of my house!” your mother shouted, pointing toward the stairs. “I won’t raise a filthy creature like you in this holy home!”

“Mom, you need to listen to what I’m trying to tell you!” Your throat might have torn with the force you used to plead your case, but it was useless to her. “This isn’t the first time Seth’s done this, damn it! LISTEN TO ME!”

In a sudden burst of rage, she turned and stormed into her room, ignoring Seth, who groaned in pain beside the bed. Grabbing the first bag she saw, she stuffed it with random clothes in a rush. After zipping it shut, she threw it at you, yanked you by the arm, and ignored your cries of pain as you stumbled along.

“Never again do I want to see you cross this house’s path! Disappear with your profane body from our lives!”

“Mom!”

Accompanied by the shame she always mentioned sinners carried, as she liked to put it, you stood alone in disgrace outside the place you once called home.

At the back of the house, you managed to find a way to change clothes without being seen.

Jeans, a tank top, and boots.

Your stomach was growling with hunger, and it wouldn’t take long before the consequences of speaking too much caught up with you. Perhaps, if you had stayed silent like you always did when you felt his hands linger too long during his so-called affection, or when he insisted you sit on his lap, or all those disgusting looks he threw your way, you might still have a home—a place to sleep and take shelter from the rain.

That was the song half of your brain tried to convince the other was the right choice.

But it never would be.

When you found a warm place to sleep, maybe you’d allow yourself the opportunity to cry, but for now, during the day, you wouldn’t grant yourself such a display of weakness.

At Pearl’s bar, the atmosphere was mellow so early in the day. A few guys were drinking, others chatting with some girls leaning against the counter. When you sat down, you ordered a shot.

Two. Three. Four shots.

Pearl knew you well; you had some familiarity, having lived in the same neighborhood for many years, and she didn’t seem to care that you didn’t have a way to pay for it.

“Looks like someone needs a break, huh?” she joked, pulling the glass from your hand. “You’re not one to drink like this. Would it be too bold of me to ask what happened?”

“Would it be rude of me not to want to talk about it?” you replied, and she nodded empathetically.

“Fair enough. Then I’ll keep you company; it’s slow here anyway,” she shrugged, pouring two glasses of booze. “Can you believe the guy who used to sing here every night just vanished? My dad is freaking out. Our business is already awful, and now we’ve got no live music.”

After finishing your shot, you stared at her for a few seconds. Pearl raised her thick, red eyebrows, unsure of why you had paused. If your voice was good enough was a curious question; you hadn’t sung in a while, and your mom always said your singing style attracted bad things and that it was best to keep quiet.

But you really needed the $60 they paid per night.

It was simple—you’d sing for two nights, save up enough for a ticket, disappear from this place, and never set foot there again.

“Pearl…” you began, tracing the rim of the glass with your finger. “I think I have an idea.”

Six songs. You still couldn’t believe people might actually enjoy the sound of your voice, much less clap for it. Pearl was beaming, saying twice during the breaks that business had picked up, and the bar was abuzz about the new singer.

It created a strange sensation at the pit of your stomach.

“Thank you so much!” you said, trying to hold back a silly smile as you adjusted the old, out-of-tune guitar on your lap. It was from the bar’s storage, and you couldn’t expect much from the dusty instruments they kept there.

“Do you take song requests?” a voice called out from the back of the bar, loud enough for you to hear. From afar, all you could see was a male silhouette, playing with the ends of his long hair.

“Sure,” you said hesitantly into the mic.

“I want to hear Black by Pearl Jam, but there’s one condition,” he said, lifting his head. Meeting his eyes, even from a distance, made your skin burn.

“And what’s the condition?” you asked, the challenge evident in your tone.

“You have to let me sing it with you.”

The bar went wild with the supposed challenge from the mysterious customer who, not getting a response from you, rose from his seat. Tall, with a few tattoos visible beneath his long-sleeved shirt, and a disturbingly defiant smile that grew as he stepped closer.

Once he took a spot beside you, he let you keep the guitar, took another microphone, and when the music started, he locked his eyes on you. It was impossible not to mirror him. Your fingers stayed on the guitar, your voice never strayed from the lyrics, even though you were mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of you.

He didn’t sing with force; his voice was soft and acoustic, easy on the ears. When combined with yours, it felt almost surreal, like the union of two pieces lost until that moment.

It was as if embers were dancing across your skin. A smile escaped both your lips after the chorus, and he seemed to feel it too — as though his voice had finally been completed. No deity, no matter how powerful, could explain such a peculiar twist of fate.

Applause and whistles filled the room as the final note faded. You thanked the audience with a nod and noticed from the corner of your eye that he was still there, standing in the same spot, looking awestruck like a foolish creature.

“You don’t sing half bad…” you teased, putting the guitar back in its place. Around you, the crowd returned to their drinks and conversations after the performance.

“You’re really good,” he murmured, spinning his chair to face you. “How have I never heard your voice here before?”

“Well, I wasn’t desperate for money before,” you replied with a shrug, earning a laugh and a nod from him.

Something shifted in his gaze, and the smile vanished almost instantly when he noticed the bruise on your face. Pearl had cleaned the area, but the mark left by the ring was still visible. He stood up slowly, narrowing his eyes as if to confirm what he was seeing. “Who did this to you?”

His long fingers were determined to touch your face, but in a reflex of self-preservation, you slapped his hand away. Another smile appeared on his perfectly shaped lips, his teeth aligned and gleaming white.

He understood in a snap, without you needing to say a word.

“Hey, calm down, little storm! I didn’t mean to touch you without your permission,” he said, raising his hands in the air as a gesture of surrender. “Let’s start over, okay?”

Still wary, like a cat recently threatened with a bucket of water, you nodded. Slowly, he took a step forward, keeping a safe distance. With care, he extended his hand toward you.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Noah.”

[bluejay757]

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Just opened my fic document and found this

Thanks, past me. Incredibly helpful.

[defnotmadie]

the one thing i want to be able to do as a writer is make people come back to something ive written. i want that piece of text to haunt them, i want their thoughts to be briefly consumed by this. i want this to be something they remember long after its time. thats the one thing i want to do

[awkwardp0tat083]

So so beautiful 😍

[multiverseworm]

No because, I can totally picture Damian getting unsolicited advice from each of the batkids when they hear he’s going on a date. All of them having a completely different idea of what that entails😭

Steph: Remember to always offer your hoodie, even if she’s taller than you. We girls like that.

Damian: we’re in the middle of June, Brown. In what world do you think is appropriate to bring a piece of clothing designed for cold weather when it’s 90° degrees outside?

…

Duke: Everyone loves a good joke, it’s a good way to break the ice as well.

Damian: Thank you, Thomas. That also works as a great way to defeat Mr. Freeze if he ever decides to escape Arkham.

…

Cass: *explaining in full detail how to look for signs that his date is not interested anymore through body language*

Damian: *taking extensive notes about it*

…

Tim: Don’t forget to find out everything about her and her background.

Damian: *visibly offended* Who do you think I am, Drake? An Amateur? I obviously already did that. Full report is in the batcomputer files.

…

Babs: Just don’t do anything Dick tells you.

Damian: …

…

Dick: Did Babs actually say that? Whatever, just remember to be polite, make her laugh, pay for the meal and walk her home.

*makes a pause*

Dick: Bruce already gave you “the talk”, right? If not, this is about to get veeery awkward…

Damian: *mutters curses in Arabic*

…

Damian: Todd, do you have a minute? I need your assistance in getting intel for a mission.

Jason: Does this mission involve the date everyone else has been so eagerly talking about? *smirks devilish*

Damian: …

Jason: …

Damian: You read Austen, you have the greatest intel of them all to fill me in on this assignment.

Jason: Sit down and listen close, little spawn. Here’s what you’re gonna do if you want that girl to have the best date she’s ever gonna get.

[grimgoregrimoire]

Psst hey!! Over here!

Fic writers and original story writers are the same!

Writing fanfics doesn't make you any less of a writer!

Yall are just gatekeepers. Stop being assholes. There's room for everyone!

[haley-harrison]

[starzioo]

i biblically need this man.

[itisformythesis]

Please take this survey for my thesis!

What is this thesis?

I am a sociology student preparing to write my thesis for my masters degree, looking at Goffman's dramaturgical theory and applying it to fanfiction writers and their relationship with sharing their writing.

How can I help?

If you write fanfiction (or have in the past), fill out this survey! It's entirely anonymous.

If you don't, please reblog this post, or share the link! I need as many responses as I can get!

If you'd like to additionally help, I am also looking for interviews (via zoom unless you reside in my state and want to meet up irl), or if that's not your thing, an extended version of this survey with more written out answers, to explain nuances.

If you're curious in this process and would like to read it/view results at the end, follow this blog! I made it just for my thesis posts. Additionally, all questions can be answered through my email listed there, and also the ask box of this blog.

**if you are under the age of 18, unfortunately you can not participate due to the level of IRB approval I received. Please share it though!

[gothy-froggy]

Astarion Headcanons

Fluff dating headcanons

This man deserves it. Astarion x Gn! Reader

(Bg3 Astarion spoilers?) + not proofread

As we know that Astarion is not used to this kind of treatment or care. For 200 years he used his body to lure people for his master. And was treated poorly on top of that. This is something he isn’t used to.

Small physical touch

A simple squeeze of the arm, putting a hand over his, Astarion craves for it.

They’re so simple, yet, holds so much meaning.

Such pure and innocent intentions behind them. Intimate, not sexually. Just so much emotion and such a strong connection from a simple touch.

He likes it.

Even a simple, quick or a lingering kiss is just so nice. Astarion has kissed, slept, and held many, but not like this. It’s quite exciting.

The feeling of his beloved’s finger softly running through his hair got a sigh of content out of Astarion. His eyes fluttered closed. The way the their fingers goes through his curls, barely scratching his scalp. It was peaceful.

This was peaceful.

“Star.” They whispered. Astarion opened his eyes. He sat up from laying on their lap, facing his partner. A shaky breath aired out as his eyes shut as they placed their hands on his cheeks, brushing along his jawline. No words were exchanged. None had to.

Their feelings, thoughts, and love for each other were so loud despite not one opened one’s mouth.

No words could describe how much they cared for another.

Astarion grew to return such acts with the intention and his feelings being present. It was difficult at first. It was…odd for him. It was either awkward in his mind, or the spiral to disgust and the feeling of tainted leaking through the cracks of his heart and mind, perhaps his soul at well.

But the reassurance from his lover always pulled him back.

Nicknames

The nickname given to him? Star. It was definitely a shock to him hearing that as his nickname. He can’t help but be a little flustered.

He loves it. Astarion would live for it. Astarion loved it even more once he figured out the reason why his lover calls him Star.

Of course, he calls his dear, love, treasure, other sweet pet names, but the one his love gave him doesn’t seem to be defeated.

The night was chilling as the stars twinkled, dancing in the moonlight. Astarion sat on a big rock with his lover. Their gaze focused on the balls of light in the dark sky. Astarion’s was locked onto them.

“Do tell, my dear. Why ‘Star’ as my nickname?” He would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Their eyes meets his, a small, gentle smile appearing on their face.

“Your name has star in it. A-s-t-a-r-i-o-n. Stars twinkle, they’re beautiful , like you.” Astarion let out a huff. Perhaps a small scoff.

“Well, I am beautiful.” A charming smile plastered over his face. His lover laughed, placing a hand over his as they leaned forward.

“You’re my star.” They whispered, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. Astarion paused, processing their words and the simple touches.

“You really are full of surprises.” Astarion whispered.

‘Their Star.’ He thought. It brought swirls of warmth inside his chest

Astarion’s love for the pet name Star becomes addictive. He gets slightly annoyed and disappointed when his partner doesn’t call him Star.

Hell, his treasure could even make him beg to be called Star if they wanted to.

It honestly irritates him how much he enjoys the silly little pet name. They really don’t hold much value or worth anything…or is that him and enslavement to Casador for centuries?

Nether the less, his love is here to show him what real is. What true love really is.

Perhaps the pet name is a spark of light for him.

His comfort (lover’s scent and warmth)

Nothing is more precious than holding someone with such passion. True passion.

Astarion struggled most on this. Surprising as it is, but the comfort involves holding someone. Being so close to their body with trust, letting your guard down,

But getting comfortable with having comfort is the most troublesome.

The fear of it being taken away becomes dread.

His nightmares are over, but they still plague his mind, making it hard to break through and open up. After a while, he did. He regrets not being able to break through before.

Whether it was a nightmare, or the utter crave of affection and his comfort, he always gets it. Astarion creeps into the tent, sliding an arm under his love’s, wrapped around their waist and pulling them close.

He presses his face into their neck, taking a slow and small sniff. Just smelling their scent, not just their blood, brought so much warmth and comfort. The warmth, the feeling of their body made all his stress move away. Astarion smiled to himself, pressing a lingering kiss on his lover’s shoulder, before whispering:

“Wherever you go, wherever you are..” Astarion paused, hesitant to continue as the fear and feeling of disgust creeps back in. Trying to pull him back to what he knows. Yet he fights it. The arm around their waist caused a small squeeze as he took a shaky breath before continuing.

“Is forever my home.” He whispered, forcing them out and choking over his words out.

“You are my true home.”

Maybe, just maybe, the fight for something new is worth it.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 03

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, bad words, drug addiction, betrayal.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

How is it possible for me to screw everything up so badly in such a short amount of time?

I ran my hands over my face, sitting on the edge of the bed, as I felt hands wrap around my shoulders. Rough hands and cold lips—just paying too much attention to those details made me feel disgusted.

“What’s wrong, baby?” the girl murmured, trying to nip at the tip of my ear. I pulled away immediately. “Don’t you want to keep going?”

“I need you to leave.”

“WHAT?” she shrieked, her voice so high-pitched it made my ears ring.

“Did you see me stutter?” I asked, standing up from the bed and tossing her clothes at her as she sat there, scrunching her face in confusion.

Quickly, I pulled on my pants and opened the door, motioning for her to leave. After storming out of the studio earlier, I’d been so agitated that all I could think about was burying myself in someone else. But, as usual, I failed.

No matter how much I drank or how carefully I chose a random girl who resembled her, nothing could erase that damn woman from my mind.

I walked down the hotel hallway and stopped in front of her door. I hesitated, but then I grabbed the handle and walked in.

The place was a mess—broken items on the floor, shards of glass scattered everywhere, rumpled sheets, and a shattered mirror.

A smear of blood in the middle of it all.

This was all my fault.

And there was no sign of her.

I left the room, my heart pounding in my throat with desperation. It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, but this time was different. This time, I hadn’t wanted to mess everything up.

Panting, I stopped at the reception desk, where I heard something faint—a melody, played on a guitar. I followed the sound, my gut leading the way, while my stomach twisted tighter with every step.

Out on the balcony overlooking the pool, there she was, bathed in soft blue light.

Her makeup was smudged, her clothes damp, her hands bloodied. A cigarette hung from her lips, and a guitar rested on her lap. Her outward chaos was laid bare for all to see, and yet she was still the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

“To have your chest, once consumed by flames, reduced to ashes. My tears put it out—they erased everything I painted of you.” She sang with a voice that was both steady and heartbreaking. “But it’s okay, because tomorrow I’ll have amnesia after another wasted night, and you’ll be free to repeat our vicious cycle. Because tomorrow, baby, I’ll have amnesia.”

Everything that hurt in her was because of me, and no matter how hard I tried to keep her at arm’s length, I always found a way to ruin things.

This song wasn’t about anything but us—about everything we’d been forced to endure these past few months and how lonely it had made her feel.

That was the only reason I rejected the song. I couldn’t bear to confront reality every time I had to sing those verses on stage.

Her face lifted as she stubbed out her cigarette on the table beside her. Her hollow eyes met mine, and for a few seconds, she closed them again and took a deep breath.

“I’m leaving.” She said, standing from the chair and placing the guitar on it. “If you came here to talk, I’d really appreciate it if you spared me the sound of your voice after the day I’ve had.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Noah?” She asked, stepping toward me slowly. “I can guarantee you that seeing you with someone else in your bed wasn’t what ruined the rest of my night—not after a damn journalist humiliated me in front of over 100,000 people live. You don’t need to apologize by making my life about you!”

“I should’ve gone after you, but…”

“But you’re weak.”

Her words froze me in place. My fists clenched tightly in my pockets, mirroring the tension in my jaw. She was right.

“If you came after me, what would the internet think, huh? That you're involved again with the trainwreck who screamed at you while high at Sick New World, right?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Screw it, though. If I’m always blamed, I might as well live up to the reputation!”

“Stop talking nonsense!” I shot back, throwing my hands in the air indignantly.

“Have you checked your phone since you got here?” she asked, though it wasn’t a question that required an answer. “Seen what they're saying about me?”

“We’ve talked about not getting attached to the garbage people post just to provoke you! Wake up! You’re the lead singer of a band that’s won awards for your talent. We’ve been in this together for years, and it’s finally working out. Don’t let it mess with your head!” I declared, tapping my temple for emphasis. “Don’t give them what they want.”

She shot back bitterly. “You forget that my biggest enemy hasn’t been the haters—it’s been you!”

Online, I’d never defended her enough, and my silence allowed all sorts of speculations to crush her further. I watched as she withered, becoming a shadow of herself, hiding in public, wearing baggier clothes, and pulling away from fans out of fear. Everything she once loved about this life was now gone.

“You need to bandage that hand,” I said softly.

Instinctively, I reached to touch her, but she recoiled sharply.

“Don’t touch me!” she said, shrinking her shoulders back. “Never touch me again!”

Her tearful voice as she walked back to her room felt like a blade to my chest. All I wanted at that moment was to piece her shattered heart back together.

But it felt impossible, especially when I was just as broken inside.

At the studio, The Grey was being played for the sixth time today.

“Kitty, you messed up the lyrics again,” Matt muttered, not looking up from the computer. “How do you mess up something you’ve sung every day for two years? Seriously!”

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” Folio joked, hitting the cymbals afterward like a clown in a circus act. “Avoid sleeping in jeans, Matt.”

“Sorry...” she mumbled, biting her lip. “Should we try again?”

“Fine!” Matt sighed, restarting the track.

When the instrumental began for the seventh time, she missed her cue again. As the song reached the parts demanding her vocal strength, she faltered, her voice out of tune. Her body seemed restless, and her face bore the exhaustion of a terrible night’s sleep.

“I’m done for today,” I growled, putting down the microphone and sitting back. “Maybe you should rehearse when you’re not hungover.”

“I’m not hungover!”

“Oh, so it’s just the look you get after snorting all night?”

“NOAH!” Matt shouted, trying to cut off the argument before it escalated. “We’re all tired, and it’s fine to pick this up tomorrow.”

“Oh? Would you feel the same if another band member had low performance because they’re on drugs?” I snapped at him. “Is it okay to forget lyrics, skip rehearsals, go off-key on stage, and miss almost every meeting because she’s always asleep?”

“Here we go again,” Ruffilo muttered under his breath.

“Stop talking like I’m not right here!” she yelled from her spot. “I’ve been unwell and am catching up now. It’s easy for you to play superior when your greatest contribution to the band is handing out backstage passes to every girl you sleep with!”

“Screw you!” I snarled, glaring at her furiously. She didn’t hesitate to turn her back and storm out.

As I drained a can of energy drink, sitting with my arms resting on my knees, I watched from across the yard as she smiled—really smiled—for the first time in days while Jolly and Ruffilo tended to the cut on her hand.

A pang of envy hit me. My friends could make her laugh while I only seemed to provoke her tears, anger, and the harshest words a person could utter.

Her life seemed brighter without me in it.

“You were too harsh today, man,” Folio said, flopping onto the couch beside me and glancing in the same direction.

“I’m exhausted and can’t control the crap coming out of my mouth lately,” I admitted.

“Especially with her, huh?” he quipped sarcastically. “She had a panic attack this morning after seeing some stuff online. They’re comparing her appearance now to when the band started. Plus, some private messages with her mom leaked. You know how she gets when her mom’s involved.”

We rarely discussed personal lives in the band, even though we knew enough about each other. There were things better left unsaid.

But one night, after a little too much to drink, we opened up. I told her about my fears, and she shared her insecurities. I understood what she was feeling now. She’d never told anyone else anything like that before.

“Try to forget about the band for a moment when you’re around her, Noah. I know this is your life—it’s mine too, and the guys’—but above all, we’re just humans on the road, missing home. She’s no different.”

Folio gave me a couple of firm pats on the shoulder before walking off.

In the van ride to the label, I stayed quiet, listening to my friends laugh and joke to distract her. I was so scared of saying something wrong that I avoided joining in. Occasionally, I felt her eyes on me, and it was impossible not to look back.

Her hair flowed in the breeze from the open window, the soft sunlight highlighting her face and blushing her cheeks. The subtle way she scrunched her nose made me forget where I was and where we were headed.

I’d been lying to myself for months, but the truth was, I could never stop loving her—even if I tried. And I wasn’t foolish enough to even attempt it.

As everyone else jumped out of the van, I slowed my pace to walk alongside her. My hands fidgeted in my hoodie pockets as I hesitated before speaking.

“When the meeting’s over, we can rehearse again. If you want,” I said with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight on my shoulders. “I saved the posts about your personal life and asked a friend to help track the account owners. The label’s filing a case.”

“Thanks,” she said, the only word leaving her lips.

“It’s... it’s a good song,” I added, trying again as we approached the elevator. “I’m sure they’ll like it.”

“You’re the most pathetic man I’ve ever met.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw her shoulders shake with a faint laugh. Without another word, she left the elevator on the right floor, greeting the staff politely before heading to the last office.

The song was reviewed, and we added the missing elements. Everyone in the room wore headphones, their expressions neutral but not negative. The dragging moments waiting for their feedback frayed my nerves.

“It’s an interesting track and fits the band’s style,” said the older man at the head of the table, removing his headphones. “That melancholic vibe with echoes of the previous album is genius!”

“I thought of this song as a timeline for the story we want to tell. In The Death Of Peace Of Mind, the narrator refused to move on, looping through memories. In the new project, they could force themselves to open their eyes—with a razor blade.”

“Brilliant, Noah!” he nodded approvingly.

She sat silently at the table, her index finger pressed to her lips. Her phone, facedown beside her arm, buzzed incessantly with notifications. Even muted, the vibrations startled us.

She was visibly shaken.

“I’m glad you liked my last contribution to Bad Omens,” she said abruptly, drawing all eyes to her tired face. “I’m leaving the band.”