#but I wrote a piece of dialogue for this chapter as I was writing a rough outline and I really like it and it’s to do with The Well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artficlly · 6 months ago

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smog & spirits: lucky's choppery (series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

mob!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, vague smut, implied blowjob, mention of abortion (not to reader), mad scientist tony stark, laboratory, mentions of gambling, alcohol, smoking, vague mentions of physical violence, angst, some fluff (?), criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: wowee, i wrote this so fast (i already had the dialogue and some writing ready for like 80% of this chapter, so it was pretty easy to fill in the rest). hoping to at least get one more chapter out but no promises, beginning to feel a bit burnt out and my birthday is on sunday yippe. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love @calwitch permanent taglist: @globetrotter28

main masterlist | series masterlist

The crowded sea of workers flooding out of the factories for the evening parted like a tide before Bucky, his strides purposeful, shoulders squared. The setting sun cast the Smokestack District in a haze of burning amber and ashen grey, the air thick with soot and the sharp tang of metal. Even here, in the industrial veins of Sootstone, men instinctively stepped aside lest they be trampled underfoot.

This Stark friend of his was apparently buried deep within the district, tucked away in whatever workshop or lair he called home. Even if their fathers had once been in business together, Stark seemed to have chosen a different path that didn’t dance as closely with the violence that pulsed beneath the city’s surface. You had no doubt that his work, whatever it was, still dipped into the murky waters of illegality. The Smog Boys and their associates rarely kept company with anyone clean.

You let your mind wander, dissecting the possibilities, if only to drown out the roar in your thoughts. For once, Bucky Barnes and his uninvited quests were a welcome distraction.

But no matter how much you tried to shove it aside, Becca’s revelation clung to you like a thorn buried deep beneath your skin. Her words would haunt you long into the night. You knew they would. You’d toss and turn, picking them apart, unravelling them until they unravelled you.

Your father—the man who had half-heartedly raised you, the man who had buried himself in drink and violence, the man who had driven your mother into an early grave—was not your father. Not the man you had thought him to be at all.

The realisation felt like a gaping wound in your chest. The years you had wasted on him, the countless excuses, the hesitant forgiveness. It was all for nothing. You had bent yourself backwards trying to make sense of him, trying to make peace with how he had broken you repeatedly. And yet, he was just another name to add to an already endless list of cruel men.

And your mother—gods, your mother. You had resented her for the life she had chosen, for trapping you in the Warrens, for binding you to poverty and suffering. You had never understood why she stayed, why she had chosen him, why she hadn’t run far from Blackstone and disappeared into the countryside. But now, it all slotted into place like the final piece of a puzzle you hadn’t realised was incomplete.

A sickness curled in your gut. You had hated her.

Your lip was raw from how hard you had been chewing it, and you forced yourself to focus on the roll of Bucky’s shoulders as he marched ahead, unphased, a cigarette hanging from his lips. You hated yourself for ever blaming your mother when she had endured atrocities. She had shown remarkable strength in escaping, in carving out a life of her own in the shadows of Sootstone. She had run from that wretched place, hidden in plain sight. Marrying your father…it must have been a last resort. Perhaps the only man who would take in a woman in her condition.

And she had never told you. Neither of them had. Did your father—no, the man you had believed to be your father—even know the truth? He had never spoken of the Church of Light beyond vague, half-drunken warnings, letting the weight of it gather dust in your memories. A ghost of something unspoken.

But you had never forgotten.

There was a plan forming in your mind—a quiet, insidious thing. A plan to destroy the Church of Light, to repay them for the cruelties they had stained your bloodline with. That day with Michael—gods, Michael— it had given you confidence, perhaps even delusion. You had power. Power strong enough to tear them apart, to bring them to their knees. But beyond any misplaced ideas of grandeur, you knew a truth. You couldn’t act alone. Not in such an obvious way. The Church was vast—multiple temples, hundreds of members. A massacre would not go unnoticed, and the coppers wouldn’t hesitate to drag you to the gallows. It had been a miracle you had escaped them as a teenager.

And every power, every body in this realm, had limits.

You’d never had the full opportunity to explore the depths of this cursed power you’d been gifted, this death that clung to your very being. You couldn’t know if you had what it took to destroy them all in one fell swoop without destroying yourself in the process.

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky. His expression was guarded, jaw tight, eyes locked ahead as smoke curled from the cigarette between his lips. Even now, with his muscles still taut from anger, he exuded a dangerous calm. A readiness to act, to strike.

You could use him.

You could use him, use the Smog Boys to rip the Church of Light apart. If it became a gang war, the coppers wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. They’d let the criminals handle their own if Bucky's name was attached.

And you would be protected—so long as you could keep his attention.

The thought twisted something deep inside you. Was it wrong to think this way?

Then again… had he not used you, too? Had he not sought you out for your power, for what you could do for him? Yes, he had paid you, but at what cost? There was no permanency in this. You were just another indulgence, another fleeting pleasure. He had told you himself—he didn’t think himself a man capable of love.

Maybe you could have loved him. But him loving you?

It would be foolish to think so. Foolish to believe he could care for you beyond lust, beyond the pull of your body against his.

Your thoughts twisted in on themselves, tangling like a mess of threads in your mind, squeezing, choking, refusing to come undone.

The streets of the Smokestack District grew narrower as you followed Bucky deeper into its labyrinthine alleys, the industrial skyline choking out what little remained of the evening light. Buildings leaned into one another like drunks in an embrace, their brick faces blackened with soot, their windows murky with grime. The air stank of coal smoke, damp rot, and something metallic—oil, or maybe blood.

At the end of a particularly filthy lane, past a crumbling row of tenements, you finally stopped in front of what appeared to be an unassuming butcher’s shop. A weathered wooden sign, its red paint peeling, hung above the entrance: Lucky’s Choppery. The display window was lined with thick cuts of beef and strings of sausages, though the glass was so smeared with grease it barely reflected the gaslights flickering in the street.

You eyed the butcher’s block just inside, where a cleaver had been buried deep into a slab of meat, its blade glinting under the weak glow of an overhead lamp. The floor, lined with well-worn tiles, bore the dark stains of years of blood and brine.

Bucky shoved open the door without hesitation, the bell overhead giving a feeble jingle. A lanky kid behind the counter—maybe eighteen at most—jerked up from where he’d been counting money, his dark eyes widening.

You glanced around, taking in the place. “Your friend Stark… is a butcher?”

Bucky huffed, crunching his cigarette beneath his boot. “It’s a front, doll.”

“Good to know…” You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as the kid behind the counter fumbled with the till.

Bucky stepped forward, tapping the counter with two fingers. “Parker. Here to see Stark.”

The boy—Parker—flinched, his expression tightening. “Stark—you’re supposed to say Lucky—”

Bucky’s brow creased. “Who the fuck is Lucky?”

“It’s the codeword—” Parker sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his lips together like he was already regretting this conversation. “Mr. Stark is busy, I’m afraid Mr. Barnes…”

Bucky gave him a flat look. “Kid, I’m sure he is. But do you think he’s gonna be pleased if he finds out you turned me away?”

Parker swallowed hard. His shoulders sagged, and with a sigh, he jerked his head toward the back. “Alright… come on through.”

You followed Parker behind the counter and through a heavy wooden door into the backroom. The temperature dropped immediately. The air was thick with the lingering scent of salt and raw flesh. Rows of bloodless animal carcasses hung from iron hooks, swaying slightly from the draft that slithered through the room. You stepped carefully as Parker led you toward a door set into the far wall. The door's surface was scratched and worn, but the metal handle was polished from years of use.

Parker pushed it open, ushering you both in. You winced as you were blinded by the buzz of lightbulbs hanging overhead, illuminating the space.

A laboratory.

It was a chaotic masterpiece of metal and magic, stitched together in an unholy fusion of science and the occult. Copper pipes ran along the walls like veins, some hissing with steam, others crackling faintly with unnatural energy. The exposed brick was scrawled over with chalked equations, half-translated runes wedged between calculations that looked like they belonged to some deranged engineer’s fever dream.

Workbenches sagged under the weight of strange devices—bronzed contraptions with whirring gears, delicate instruments of glass and silver, and something that looked suspiciously like a heart pulsing inside a vat of thick, viscous liquid. Along the far wall, a large metal figure loomed, wires and arcane sigils wrapping around it in a spidery embrace. A dull red glow pulsed from within.

And at the centre of it all, hunched over a mess of gears and copper wiring, was the man himself.

Stark.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His dark hair was a mess of careless waves, tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times while deep in thought. A faint shadow of stubble darkened his sharp jaw. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, exposing forearms slathered with grease and soot. His vest, once fine, was smudged with oil and singed at the edges, and his half-buttoned shirt carried the distinct stains of burnt metal and something vaguely alchemical.

Perched on his nose was a pair of brass-framed goggles, their lenses thick and dusted with soot, the left one cracked down the middle. A tiny, flickering spark of blue danced across the metal frame as if whatever enchantment he’d woven into them was barely holding together. He had the look of a man who was equal parts genius and disaster, the kind of bastard who could build something to change the world but would probably set his own lab on fire in the process.

And, of course, he didn’t even look up as the door swung open.

“Who's this? A present for me?” His voice was rough. He finally glanced up, gaze narrowing as he studied you. “I see magic about her—”

“She ain’t for one of your experiments, Tony,” Bucky interrupted, stepping between you and the mad scientist. “She’s with me.”

“Huh.” Stark exhaled, leaning back against his worktable with an air of disappointment. “Shame. And touchy, too… I take it this is your infamous spirit-raiser?”

“What?” you muttered, stiffening.

“He experiments with magic and technology,” Bucky explained dryly. “Thinks he can… power metal with magic.”

“That’s possible?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Stark’s expression turned downright wolfish. “Oh, it’s possible. Just needs the right conduit.” He stepped forward, his fingers twitching like he was already picturing carving something out of you to power one of his creations. “I mean… if I could just experiment with a drop of your magic, it doesn’t hurt, I promise… just a prick, bit of bleeding, long-term possibilities can include sudden death buuut—”

Your expression melted into something of horror.

“Oi, that’s not why we’re ‘ere, Tony,” Bucky cut in sharply. “I’m hostin’ a party. You’re invited.”

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a pristine envelope from inside his suit jacket, the deep red wax seal still unbroken. The contrast was almost comical—elegant, refined, and utterly out of place. You doubted Bucky had penned the invitations himself; the script was too precise and delicate. No, he’d likely had some poor girl painstakingly scrawl each one by hand while he barked orders from the corner of a smoky room.

Bucky’s expression remained flat, but his tone had an unmistakable edge when he added, “Preferably, you’ll keep your hands off my bird while you’re at it.”

You had to fight the urge to snap your head toward him in shock. His bird? Had one week tangled in your sheets left that much of a mark on him? The man hadn’t even taken you on a proper date—unless you counted brutalising a handful of Iron Rats as a romantic outing.

Stark paused, his keen gaze flicking between the two of you like he was dissecting a particularly interesting experiment. The glint in his eye was pure mischief. “Your bird, aye? Didn’t realise things were so… serious.”

Bucky scowled, jaw tightening. “Shut ya fuckin’ gob and take the invitation.” He flicked the pristine envelope onto Stark’s cluttered workbench, where it landed atop a mess of copper wiring, scattered blueprints, and a wrench smeared with something that definitely wasn’t just grease.

Stark picked it up, popping open the seal with ease. “Alright, alright.” His expression shifted slightly as he skimmed the contents. “This ain’t got anything to do with that Smokin’ Jacks business?”

Bucky smirked. “Somethin’ like that.”

Even with the vague way they spoke, you had heard rumours.

The Smokin’ Jacks were a gang of gamblers—slick bastards who ran their operations like clockwork, their fortunes made not through brute force but by sleight of hand. They had gambling dens throughout Blackstone, and their debts were written in blood.

The Smog Boys and the Smokin’ Jacks had long held a hesitant truce—so long as the Jacks didn’t turn their tricks on the poor bastards in the Warrens, there was no need for bloodshed. Their scams and schemes were reserved for the rich and reckless of the Flower District, the men who never knew the weight of a real loss.

But lately, there had been whispers. The Jacks weren’t keeping their word. Their debt collectors had started crossing into Smog Boy territory, leaning on the desperate and the weak, pressing them for coin they didn’t have.

Bucky didn’t take kindly to broken deals.

Stark folded the invitation with an almost exaggerated neatness, tucking it into the inner pocket of his grease-streaked waistcoat. His eyes gleamed, sharp and knowing, the kind of look that suggested he saw a game unfolding that only he knew the rules to.

“Guess I’ll be there, then.”

Bucky gave a short nod as if he had expected no less. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving his cigarette case with a flick of his wrist. But before he could light one, you stepped forward, words spilling from your lips before you could stop them.

“You just wrapped up that business with the Iron Rats, and now you’re goin’ after the Smokin’ Jacks? Can you be any more reckless—”

Bucky turned his head toward you, exhaling slowly through his nose, cigarette forgotten. “Don’t make me remind you whose fault that Iron Rats business was.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re the one who escalated it—”

“Yeah, well, you sure were into it, weren’t you?” His voice dropped, low and taunting, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Sure fucked me afterwards like you did—”

Heat shot up your spine, equal parts fury and disbelief, and before you even realised what you were doing, your hand was fisted in the sleeve of his coat, yanking him toward you. He barely moved, only grinning down at you with that infuriating glint in his eye, like he was daring you to do something about it.

Behind you, Stark let out a low whistle, then a chuckle, clearly enjoying the show. “Well, well. You two are a real pair, aren’t ya?” He leaned back against his workbench, arms crossed, amusement dancing across his features.

Bucky rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm free, though not before squeezing your wrist briefly—just enough to remind you who was stronger. “We’re leavin’,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

“Try not to start a war before the party, Barnes,” Stark called after him. “But if you do—” he grinned, “—make sure I get front-row seats.”

You cast one last glance at the chaos of the lab, the scattered notes, and the eerie hum of machinery before following Bucky out. You didn’t need Stark to tell you that. A war was already brewing.

—

Your front door creaked as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of candle wax and herbs greeting you as you stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the only real light coming from the amber glow of the streetlamps outside, their hazy beams spilling through the lace curtains. You shrugged off your coat, glancing over your shoulder as Bucky followed you in.

Only, he didn’t move the way he usually did.

Gone was the effortless swagger, the quiet, calculated control he carried himself with. Instead, he lingered near the door as if he wasn’t sure whether to stay or turn and leave. The sight unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

“You stayin’ the night?” You asked, tone casual despite the tension between you. “Or are you gonna go over to keep an eye on Becca?”

Bucky exhaled, rubbing at his jaw before answering. “No. I’ll have Nat watch over Becca. Think I’m the last person she wants to see right about now.”

There was something distant in his voice. You had noticed a shift in him during your quiet walk back from Stark’s lab. You turned, leaning against the edge of the table as you studied him. His shoulders were taut beneath his coat as if he were bracing for something.

“Are you angry with her?” you asked carefully. “For what she said to me?”

His lips pressed into a firm line. He took a moment before answering. “Can’t say I’m not a bit upset, doll.”

You sighed. “I wouldn’t take it out on her. She was just tryin’ to protect you.”

His head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. “I can make my own choices.”

“Bucky… I just—” You began but you cut yourself off as the gangster finally spoke.

“I’m…” He hesitated.

You blinked. That alone was enough to unnerve you.

You had never seen Bucky hesitate, not like this. He always had something to say—sharp, sure, commanding. But now, something unfamiliar wove itself into his voice. Vulnerability.

“…Grateful.”

The word came quietly like he almost couldn’t bring himself to say it, and when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his hands flexed as though he didn’t know what to do with them.

“For what you did for Becca today,” he finished.

You swallowed hard.

“Well,” you sigh, “I couldn’t have just left her there—”

“I’m serious.”

His voice was firm now, but there was a softness beneath it. He shifted his weight slightly, jaw working as he forced himself to continue. “I know she is cruel, but she is my blood. My responsibility.”

You let his words sink in, picking them apart in your head.

“I don’t think she’s cruel,” you murmured. “I think she’s a woman who’s built her walls so high to protect herself. Now she can’t tell a friend from a threat.”

Bucky huffed a quiet breath, barely a sound at all.

“I can tell you why she’s like that,” he said. “And I’m afraid I’m on that list.”

Your brows pulled together. “I wouldn’t blame yourself—”

“Sometimes I worry, doll.”

Something in his voice… a weight settled in your ribcage. It was lower now, rougher like the words were being dragged from some part of him he never let anyone see. His fingers twitched at his side, clenching once before flexing open again. His jaw went tight, and when he finally spoke again, the words came slowly, carefully.

“I worry that I am becoming my father.”

Silence stretched between you. You didn’t think. You just reached out, fingers brushing over his hand, grounding him, offering something—anything—before he could retreat behind the walls you could already see rising.

But it was too late.

His body went rigid, tension snapping through him like a wire pulled too tight. His hand twitched under yours as if instinct told him to grip, to hold on, but then…He pulled away. The moment his expression hardened, you knew. Whatever softness had been there was gone in an instant, buried beneath cold calculation and the armour he had worn for so long. “I should go,” he muttered, voice clipped.

“Bucky—”

But he was already turning, already stepping away.

The door swung open, and before you could say another word, he was gone, the night swallowing him whole.

You stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, his presence lingering like a ghost you couldn’t quite banish.

—

Three days later, you made the—likely foolish—decision to deliver a care package to Becca. You knew you’d probably receive a tongue-lashing for it, but a small, wicked part of you wanted to be the better person. You had sourced some gin from the Flower Districts, strong, quality stuff that the upper-class women drank. A classier alternative to the harsh whiskey that the Smog Boys brewed and likely already lined Becca’s shelves.

The alley was dark and damp, the scent of piss and rotting wood lingering in the narrow space. Your breath curled in the cold air as you hesitated in front of her door, fingers tightening around the woven basket in your hands.

Maybe your presence wasn’t the best idea, given what she was recovering from. Perhaps it was best to leave the package and disappear into the night unseen. The message would be there, but you’d be spared the inevitable onslaught of curses she would toss your way. You imagined whore would be right at the top.

With a quiet huff, you bent to place the basket on the doorstep. Inside, nestled together, was the bottle of gin, a fresh loaf of bread, butter, and some cold-cut meats you had hunted down at the Sunday market. You knew Bucky and Nat were caring for her, but you wanted to be sure.

The door creaked open just as you straightened up.

Bucky.

He stepped out, locking up behind him, keys dangling from his fingers with an idle sort of ease. He was dressed in his usual suit—dark, well-fitted, with the coat buttoned up against the cold. The brass glint of his pocket watch chain caught the dim light as he turned to you.

For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. But it passed too quickly to catch.

“You just can’t help yourself, huh?” His voice was low, edged with something you couldn’t quite place.

Your mouth opened before your mind could catch up, fumbling for an excuse. I was just making sure she’s alright. I was worried. I care. But instead, you settled for, “Sorry, I was just… ah. Care package. For Becca. Thought she’d need it.”

Maybe it wasn’t best to admit to your convoluted, backward scheme of making the woman feel bad through kindness.

His gaze dropped to the basket at your feet, scanning its contents with a slow, deliberate look before exhaling through his nose. Without a word, he bent and picked it up, turning it slightly in his hands.

“She’s out with that Brackett kid,” he muttered, shifting the basket to his other hand.

You hesitated. “That’s… good?”

Bucky arched a brow as he pulled out the bottle of gin, tilting it slightly to read the label.

“Still gonna kill him,” he said flatly, setting the bottle back down.

You bit back a smirk. “Of course you are.”

He didn’t smile, but something about his posture loosened—just a fraction. The last time you had seen him, he had stormed out of your flat. You couldn’t tell if he was still feeling stand-offish, or if the sharpness in his tone was just habit. The keys clinked softly as he turned them over in his palm, watching you with that same brooding expression.

He placed the basket on the hallway table, pulling shut the door and locking it with practised ease.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon,” he murmured, voice measured, almost lazy. But there was something deliberate in it, like he was waiting to see how you’d respond.

You hesitated, shifting on your heels. “Didn’t think you’d want to.”

Something flickered in his gaze, just for a second, before he looked away.

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping the keys into his pocket. “You keep showing up, don’t you?”

You exhaled a short laugh, though your pulse was a little unsteady. “Guess I do.”

Bucky made a noise in his throat, something between amusement and resignation. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the street, he stepped past you.

“Walk with me,” he said, not looking back.

It wasn’t a question. And, despite yourself, you followed.

The night air bit at your skin as you fell into step beside him. The streets of the Warrens were quieter in this part of town, though the distant hum of nightlife still clung to the air—rowdy laughter spilling from taverns, the occasional shout of a drunk stumbling home.

Bucky’s flat was deeper in the district, past the noisier streets, tucked above an old tailor’s shop. He didn’t say a word as he led you up the narrow stairwell, the scent of dust and mothballs lingering in the close space. At the top, he flicked the key between his fingers before unlocking the door, pushing it open without much ceremony.

Inside, it was… surprisingly nice. Not lavish like Becca’s, but well-kept—orderly. The furnishings were simple: a sturdy wooden table, a leather armchair that looked well-worn but hardly used, a small bar cart against the wall with only a handful of bottles. Unlike Becca’s place, which was decorated with velvet drapes, gilded mirrors, and delicate trinkets, Bucky’s was bare. Functional. You got the sense that he didn’t spend much time here.

He didn’t look at you as he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the chair. Instead, he reached for the bar cart, grabbing a bottle and two glasses. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

He poured the amber liquid out and slid one of the glasses toward you across the wooden table, his own drink resting loosely in his grip. You hesitated for only a second before taking the offered glass, the cool weight of it grounding you. The scent was rich and smoky, promising a slow, lingering burn.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment, the soft clink of glass against wood filling the space. Finally, you exhaled, rolling the whiskey between your fingers before speaking. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Bucky lifted a brow. “About what?”

“You storming out of my flat the other day?” You sighed, leaning back against the edge of the table. “Look, I didn’t expect a thank you if that’s what’s got you all wound up.”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp and searching, something unreadable in the depths of his blue eyes. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. “I’m not wound up.”

You scoffed. “You’re impossible.”

That pulled a smirk from him—slow, teasing. “Did you want me to stay?” There was a beat of pause before he huffed a quiet laugh, swirling the whiskey in his glass. When he finally looked at you again, amusement curled at the edges of his lips. “Did you miss me?” he drawled.

“Maybe.”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, but there was something else beneath it—something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze flickered over your face, searching, considering.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, tilting his glass toward you in a slow, deliberate toast. “That almost sounds like an invitation.”

He watched you as you lifted the glass to your lips. The first sip hit hard, burning its way down your throat and curling warm in your stomach. You coughed, barely suppressing a wince as the heat spread through your chest. Bucky smirked, tilting his own glass to his lips with far more ease.

“Shit, is this Smog Boys stuff?” You rasped, blinking away the sting.

“Off the market, yeah.” He hummed, stretching back as he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it with a sigh. “Some of it, we brew strong. Just for us boys.”

Your gaze flickered to his hands, the way his fingers idly traced the rim of his glass. He had settled into his seat with the ease, legs spread wide, confidence dripping from every lazy shift of his body. The sight of him like that, whiskey warming his blood, watching you with quiet interest—it sent a pulse of heat low in your stomach.

You tipped back the rest of your drink, hissing at the burn, then shrugged off your coat. The heavy fabric slipped from your shoulders and crumpled to the floor between his feet. Bucky’s gaze sharpened. You lowered yourself onto the discarded coat, knees pressing into the worn wood through the fabric, your hands smoothing up the inside of his thighs.

His body reacted before his words did. His legs spread a little wider, welcoming you in, his breath hitching just slightly. You nuzzled against the rough fabric of his trousers, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“What’re you…” He trailed off as your nails ghosted over the buckle of his belt.

His hand caught your wrist, and you smirked at him, tilting your head. “I wanna taste you.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, his fingers tightening on your skin for just a moment. Then, with a quiet curse under his breath, he tossed back the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down with a heavy clink.

“Shit, doll,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, lower, as his free hand went to his belt. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

From where you knelt, you could see the way his breath had quickened, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—before undoing his belt.

Your pulse thrummed in anticipation, thighs squeezing together beneath your skirts. Bucky exhaled sharply as you leaned in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against the fabric covering his length. His head tipped back, a quiet groan slipping from his lips, one hand smoothing through your hair.

He was always so controlled, always so composed—but now, beneath your touch, you could feel him unravel. And gods, you wanted to watch him fall apart.

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colinrobinsonscardigan · 3 months ago

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A Needlessly Thorough Examination of Raphael’s Diary Entries

A close reading by ✨me✨

Raphael’s diary entries are, without a doubt, some of, if not my favourite piece of video game flavour text, ever. They provide far more depth to our encounters with him in the game, an insight into his horrible little brain, and detail his downfall in three acts.

This close reading seeks to pick apart the entries, and see what they allow us to glean about this evil doom-seeking-missile of a man, starting with…

ENTRY 1

“[A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's sybaritic hand].”

So right off the bat, this one line does a lot. His handwriting being described as ‘sybaritic’ is delightful: it’s not just neat, it’s not just nice, it’s luxurious—this is no utilitarian affair. Raphael consistently surrounds himself with fine things, so it’s unsurprising his hand reflects this, he probably wrote all these entries with a silver-nibbed, peacock feather quill or something.

It’s also notable that it’s not ‘a sybaratic hand’ it’s Raphael’s: his handwriting is distinctive. As someone who wants to be king of the Hells, and then the entire multiverse, it’s unsurprising that he wouldn’t want his handwriting to get mixed up with anyone else’s.

Lastly, this sets up a clear precedent for what Raphael’s handwriting normally looks like.

 “While I have (over many a sumptuous season) cast the net of my contractual predilections both far and wide, never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole.”

First of all, and most obviously, his choice of words really is something: “sumptuous”, “contractual predilections”, as with his dialogue Raphael writes like he swallowed a thesaurus. Notable, however, is that this is a diary: this is private, he isn’t speaking like this to impress someone.

Whilst I do think Raphael likes to think of himself as a bit of an intellectual, it also alludes to his love of words. He’s constantly reciting poetry (his, perhaps?), Yurgir’s contract takes the form of a song, he has a giant fully stocked library. It’s showy, obviously, but I do think it displays an earnest passion for language.

This is furthered by the consideration for how his writing sounds. The sibilance (I got my Nat 5 English!) in “sumptuous season” especially displays obvious intention in regards to sound, perhaps shared by the repeated ‘ck’ sound in “contractual predilections”. This all serves to reinforce that Raphael’s love for poetry and music is more than just for appearances.

This is firmly headcanon territory, but I do wonder if Raph’s preference for poetry, music, and plays (see his frequent references to theatre), which are usually spoken aloud, are an attempt to distance himself from his father, Mephistopheles, who is basically Hell’s No 1 Wizard, and therefor almost certainly a book-guy.

Second of all, in terms of the actual things that he’s saying, Raphael essentially conveys that he finds those infected by mind flayer tadpoles unusually interesting, which I think is indicative of Raphael’s love of struggle.

He finds Hope fascinating because she’ll never bend to his will; he outright says Act 1 “I like it when my clients out up a fight, only to realise victory was never an option”; he picks up Mol and rejects Voss in Act 2, yes, because Mol is desperate and Voss has little to offer, but I suspect it’s in part because he respects Mol’s struggle, and objects to Voss’ pursuit of what he sees as an easy answer. He won’t even let you make a contract with him following his offer in Act 1! Dude this is literally your job!!!

So yes, undoubtedly the reason he finds the victims of ceremorphosis so interesting is because they are struggling against the inevitable. I also, and this is purely headcanon, wonder if this reflects the belief that he has set himself apart from his father and forged his own path, rather than accepting his nepo-baby status. Who knows!

This section also sets up the fishing metaphor he uses consistently through his diary entries, because of course he has an allegorical through-line in his own private diary.

 “These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait. How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow! At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank. This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.”

Minor notes: the alliteration in “unblemished by bait”, and Raphael’s remark that “I sample now aloud, to saver its taste” do continue to emphasise his love of performed language.

“These particular fish find themselves splashing towards their doom, towards a steel hook unblemished by bait.” I would assume this is a reference to the fact that in order to take/corrupt mortal’s souls and take them to the Hells so they can become Devils themselves, Devils must make deals. This isn’t something illithids must do.

“How they resist the current! How inexorable its whelm, its tug, its dark undertow!” Continues Raphael’s delight in struggle.

“At the other end of the fishing pole, the illithid. How their tentacles must quiver like cooled jelly at the prospect of more catches: more and more each day along the troubled riverbank.” I feel that Raphael’s choice of “cooled jelly”, a slightly gross sounding comparison, does betray some level of disgust, disdain, or even just plain weirding-out at the notion of illithids. Remember, this the same man who brought us “sumptuous seasons”, he could have gone with something more appealing.

I personally just think he finds them icky, but maybe he’s trying to place them beneath himself: ‘yes, you kind of do the same thing I do, and maybe you do it in a more efficient manner, but I’m a lot cooler about it’. Who knows?

“I shall make crafty use of this development.”

Not much to say besides “crafty” definitely fitting with his perception of himself as a fox*: a cunning, resourceful creature. Raphael in general has an extremely high view of himself (sometimes to slightly deluded extremes) so this reinforces it, and I think it’s kind of funny.

*when Raphael meets the player, he recites the poem

“The mouse smiled brightly, it outfoxed the cat

Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.”

If asked whether he’s the cat or the mouse, Raphael will answer ‘the fox’.

 “For with the hook glinting, and death so close, what could loom larger in the stricken fish's mind than the prospect of rescue?”

So, amongst Raphael’s fixations, another which stands out maybe a little less but once you see it you can’t unsee it, is his love of perceiving himself as a saviour. He describes himself as “helper of the hopeless and despairing”, even here he picks ‘rescue’ over say ‘help’, which I (subjectively) feel has less knight in shining armour connotations. And of course let us not forget the ever-iconic "Am I a friend? Potentially. An adversary? Conceivably. A saviour? Now that's for certain".

To be absolutely clear, this is not a benevolent interest, getting people out of doomed situations is generally implied to be how he makes most of his contracts (including how he tries to, or does, make a contract with Tav). He is a saviour who takes complete and total advantage of those he “””saves”””. That said, idk, it’s an interesting thing for him to mention so frequently, and I wonder to what extent he believes it.

Still, for his possible misgivings regarding mindflayers, his final line confirms he finds ceremorphosis fascinating. “This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.” Perhaps because it’s very different to what do Devils, undoubtedly a little because he enjoys the struggle against the inevitable, and because, to dip wayyyy back into headcanon territory, I think it’s an erasure of the self that he finds morbidly fascinating.

Ceremorphosis, an assimilation into a hive-mind, stands starkly against the sort of prideful individualism that Raphael revels in. He wants to be King of the Hells! He wants to be the saviour! He wants to be the specialist little boy that ever lived! But becoming a mindflayer wipes out who you were, links you up to a collective consciousness, and makes you identical, cookie-cutter, incapable of going against the grain. You cannot be Hell’s specialist little boy if everyone else is just as special as you.

I think the idea of becoming a mindflayer scares him, but becaus it’s not happening to him, he finds it morbidly fascinating. It’s a bit like body horror having a tendency to appeal to those with negative/complicatef relationship with their own bodies, it’s seeing your worst fears played out whilst you’re totally safe. That said, where they did not actually turn Demi Moore into a horrible two-faced abomination for The Substance (as far as I’m aware) this is a real thing happening to real people, so it’s a little more fucked up that Raphael takes pleasure in it.

The only closing note I have on Entry 1, is that fishing as a choice of metaphor is important because it’s a very tranquil, very methodical form of hunting. You are not stalking your prey through the undergrowth, prey which has the chance to flee if they hear you, or you miss your shot; you are sitting back and luring your prey, and once it has bitten down on your hook it can thrash and thrash but is unlikely to get free. Fishing is even often regarded as a way to relax. This reflects the mindflayers’ and Raphael’s remove from their prey, and their relative positions of safety.

Uh, RIP king you would have loved Shakespeare.

———

ENTRY 2

Entry 2 is by far the weirdest, but it’s also probably my favourite. I will say that this whole entry, to my mind, is not supposed to tell a clear narrative (i.e. the fire represents Mephistopheles, the hooks represent his plans, etc. and when you slot those in you get a coherent story). I think it’s more representative of Raphael’s subconscious fears, and the forces he feels are acting upon him.

“[A chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's steady, imperious scrawl]”

Right in with entry 2, even before you’ve got the actual content, there’s an obvious tone difference from the previous entry. ‘Steady and imperious’ implies a lot less enjoyment than ‘sybaritic’. It’s a little more practical, there’s less flair, maybe even implying tension in the usually flamboyant cambion. ‘Scrawl’ is perhaps also a little less grandiose than ‘hand’ in terms of word choice. Still, it is collected: Raphael hasn’t gone off the deep end - yet.

 “Last night I dreamt of a river. Waist-deep I waded it. Rusted hooks curled up from the water like the snaggled teeth of something ancient and diseased and submerged. The moon over the water cracked and fire flew out on the stubby wings of gormless insanely chirping chicks. They transformed into wriggling oblongs like sperm, yet by the time they hit the water they were fish with scales of orange and gold. There came a rushing sound, the dark water ablaze as if the fish were matches and the river a snake of oil. Approaching me out of the flames came the tadpole-infested. There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.”

Because this paragraph is quite big, I’m going to go through it section by section for ease of reading. I would also like to point out the paragraph’s size as a possible indicator of Raphael’s descent. This is a man who delights in language, and takes pride in the way his diary is written: a structureless unburdening this not. Entry 1 has several, mostly even, short-ish paragraphs. This block of text evokes an unbroken stream of consciousness.

“Last night I dreamt of a river. Waist-deep I waded it.” These two sentences immediately place Raphael in the previous domain of the infected. Where before Raphael was the fisherman, casting his net, now he’s right in there with the fish. “Waist-deep” is also pretty deep, if you’re waist deep in a river, especially a fast moving one, you are very much at the mercy of the water. Does this represent that he feels he’s losing control over his situation? Mayhaps.

“Rusted hooks curled up from the water like the snaggled teeth of something ancient and diseased and submerged.” There are, I think, two main ways of interpreting this, but regardless this furthers Raphael being placed in the position of the fish (the en-tadpoled), no longer the hunter but the prey. Where before Raphael was either the fisherman, or a safe and removed observer, he is now in the shit with Tav and the gang. He is now in danger of being caught.

The first way of interpreting this line is that he has grown tangled in his own (and others’) metaphorical nets. He suspects (perhaps unconsciously, and almost certainly correctly if you’re rifling through his pockets) that Tav and Co, the increasingly powerful gaggle of oddballs, are going to turn against him.

He’s also battling with the Emperor, who has its own goals, and Most Certainly Does Not want Tav and Co making deals with Raphael, and is also actively subduing the threat of ceremorphosis, which was Raphael’s former point of leverage.

This also to say nothing of the rogue elements, like Gorthash and Helsik, whom Korilla accuses of spreading the word that Raphael has the Orphic hammer.

Raph may be beginning to wonder if he’s bitten off more than he can chew.

Speaking of chewing, based off Raphael’s allusion to “snaggeled teeth”, the other main interpretation I see is Raphael’s subconscious fear of being eaten. If you look in a crystal ball in the second floor of the Devil’s fee after you murder Raphael in his home, the Narrator informs you “*Within the ball you see Raphael, broken and bloody, dangling above the maw of the archdevil Mephistopheles, who is preparing to devour him.*”

Raphael’s mention of teeth could indicate this is a fate he already suspects will befall him if he fails, whether because it’s something Mephistopheles has threatened him with in the past, or because he’s seen the same fate befall others who incur his father’s wrath. It is notable that Mephistopheles is well known for killing those Devils in his court who threaten to exceed him, and it’s possible Larian feels that consumption is an appropriate execution method for a Devil as hungry for power as Mephistopheles.

I should clarify that I don’t think the hooks represent his father, rather that his choice to compare them to “snaggled teeth” indicates being eaten is one his mind (and not in a fun, sexy way!).

I think both these interpretations are valid. This whole entry is probably the most up to interpretation of all of them, and if you disagree with both these readings and/or have your own, please put it in the notes, I would love to hear.

“The moon over the water cracked and fire flew out on the stubby wings of gormless insanely chirping chicks. They transformed into wriggling oblongs like sperm, yet by the time they hit the water they were fish with scales of orange and gold. There came a rushing sound, the dark water ablaze as if the fish were matches and the river a snake of oil.”

This is a passage I am a little hard pushed to interpret, and I am certain other people are going to have different readings.

The chicks turned sperm, turned fish are almost certainly supposed to represent the tadpole infected, as indicated by the reference to fish (something Raphael previously compared the tadpole infected to in Entry 1) and sperm, something that the tadpoles do kind of resemble. The transformation from ‘gormless chicks’, a freshly hatched - flightless animal of little danger - to fish - something adapted to their marine environment- could perhaps represent Raphael’s fear that Tav and Co are growing more competent than he’d like.

I think that here fire implies Raphael’s own fears about his father. Mephistopheles is literally called the Lord of Hellfire, both for his fiery temper but also because one of the lates in Mephistopheles’ long line of arcane interests is hellfire. Mephista, the main city in Cania and where Mephistopheles resides is also often remarked upon for its warm, blazing hearths. Tldr, Mephistopheles is closely tied to fire, and it seems unlikely that Larian’s writers would have included such a prominent reference to fire without this in mind.

This doesn’t literally means that Raphael thinks Tav and Co are being aided by daddy-dearest, though Haarlep (gifted to Raphael by Mephistopheles) can end up a great ally to you in the House of Hope, rather that his father’s possible influence, or just his father in general, are on his mind.

Finally, the burning of the river is the transformation of his previously tranquil hunting grounds into something dangerous and volatile. Comparing the river to burning oil brings to mind a loss of control, something Raphael is averse to (before he fights Tav in the House of Hope he complains about their bringing chaos into his house). Raphael likes method, order, a fishing rod and bait, he doesn’t hunt his prey with oil and flame. His river no longer serves him.

“Approaching me out of the flames came the tadpole-infested. There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.”

This section outright states Raphael’s fears of being bested. Out of the burning wreck of Raphael’s domain comes Tav and Co. The hooks (Raphael’s schemes and traps) are melting in the heat of the burning river. The leader, presumably Tav themself, has defeated him. This is Raphael’s worst-case scenario.

 “In waking, my courage has firmed. I progress my plans for the tadpoled even now.

I am Raphael. I am not easily bested.”

For all the tomfoolery of the rest of the entry, these might be my favourite lines. Raphael dreams all of that, goes ‘nope! Not listening!’ and shoves it back down into the depths of his subconscious. No doubts to see here, folks! Because of course he is Raphael, and Raphael doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fear, “retreat begets regret” as he once said to Mol, and he is not about to have his ambition checked.

“I am Raphael. I am not easily bested” is such a brazen display of arrogance, but paired with the entry we just read it feels more like he’s painting over the cracks. I don’t think that Raphael can admit the possibility of failing to himself, at least not consciously, but he’s kind of increasingly - though subconsciously - aware that it is a distinct possibility.

But also, he writes all of this down! For all his pomp at the end, he does not write ‘I had this really weird dream about a burning river but it probably means nothing lol. Anyway, here’s how my dastardly and most ingeniously constructed schemes are coming along.’ Raphael, is, in his own way beginning to doubt himself, which is fantastic because when you see him in the game he never comes across as anything less than 100% confident. He is bluffing, regardless of how much he would like to admit that to himself, and it adds a lot more depth to your encounters with him.

Fantastic! Peak flavour text! Amazing soup, Larian!

———

ENTRY 3

And so, this brings us finally onto Entry 3, and though I think Entry 2 is my favourite because I like my men pathetic and suffering, Entry 3 100% ends things with a bang.

“[The final chapter from a diary penned in Raphael's hand. Here and there his composed hand stiffens and moves erratically, as if he were by times seized by emotion both powerful and unexpected]”

This is it, folks! The culmination of our Raphael handwriting arc. Immediately, his hand is no longer ‘sybaritic’, not even ‘steady and imperious’ it is just his handwriting.

Furthermore, there is one thing Raphael seldom is (outside of brief bursts of quickly concealed anger) it is ‘erratic’. The handwriting and language in the first entry displays a level of care that goes into his diary, care which he has obviously been unable to maintain. Call this man officially ruffled. We have been told that Raphael is not his usual self.

“The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates. I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus. Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise! But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl? I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.”

Here again we get another large text block. Again, this diary is becoming less and less a leisure activity and more a confidante.

 “The plot thickens goes the aphorism - entirely inadequate. The plot mutates. It fluctuates.” ‘Mutates’, ‘fluctuates’, these are not the words chosen by a man who is in control. ‘Mutates’ stands out especially because of its more organic connotations, the plot is alive and sick, something that undoubtedly does not appeal to the control-loving Raphael.

Also note the short sentences: these increase the tempo of the writing, like a quickening beat in music, as well as standing out as odd from the usually verbose Raphael. The staccato sentences convey a feeling of intensity, stress.

“I have conceived no less than thirteen variations by which I might seize the Crown of Karsus.” So we don’t know what Raphael’s typical number of contingencies is, but his use of “no less than” would seem to imply this is a lot for him. It could imply he is worried, and it could also be a form of self-reassurance - ‘I have devised so many ways by which I might gain the crown, surely I must succeed’ - I suspect it is a bit of both.

“Yet in the tumult of this eternally flowing river of schemes, I, the most careful of fishermen, finds his catch elusive and difficult to wrangle. Even in cooperation such ambiguity and delicious surprise!” He’s having difficulties, obviously, but Raphael of course delights in struggle, as he always does. I do think that Raphael found his battle for the Crown exciting, at least on a surface level, but I also suspect that this stroking of his own ego, describing himself as “the most careful of fishermen,” is similar to when he says he’s ‘not easily bested’ at the end of Entry 2. Yes, he believes it, he’s so far up his own arse he can probably see daylight again, but he’s also trying to reassure himself.

“But the hook has snagged, the doom of ceremorphosis has abated, yet they could not predict (could they? could they?) that in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl?” Raphael, at this point, sounds manic. “(could they? could they?)” marks the return of the short sentences, and also clearly expresses doubt: Raphael fears that he’s met his match. I’m also fairly certain the second ‘could’ should be capitalised, and if so, I feel that Raphael would have to be in a fairly dire state of mind to let slide poor punctuation.

His metaphors are also growing more strained. “in leaving behind the river they have in fact welcomed the fishbowl?” It gets his point across, but it’s not elegant, he’s stretching. Are you wanting Tav and Co as pets now, Raph? I thought you were hunting them.

This is also Raphael acknowledging that he has lost his original bargaining chip - the offer of saving Tav and Co from ceremorphosis - but he tries to reassure himself that they’re out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.”

See here the further boasting. This is Raphael at his most nervous, and it’s also when he’s the most self-aggrandising. He wouldn’t feel the need to clarify that he’s the ‘master’, that he’s in control, if he didn’t feel that control slipping. If you heard someone describe themself as “A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin.” you would laugh, because it is a fundamentally ridiculous thing to say about yourself, and yet here he is, committing it to paper.

Having “All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted.” as a separate sentence is possibly for rhythmic reasons, but given the subject hasn’t changed, it should grammatically speaking definitely just be the same sentence as ‘scarlet satin’. Raphael’s punctuation has taken a wee bit of a nose-dive, which is absolutely deliberate. It is also a second, fundamentally ridiculous thing to say about oneself. On all levels possibly including physical, Raphael is white-knuckle gripping the bathroom sink as he goes through the world’s most absurd list of daily affirmations.

 “So the fisherman reels! The tadpoled are my catch. Struggle as they might, writhe as they wish, flop and squirm and thresh with every ounce of strength, no matter.”

Return of the fishing metaphor, but Raphael has presumably dropped his previous ‘fishbowl’ comparison, unless we are to believe he’s casting his line into a fish-tank. There are two short sentences, followed by one very broken up one, which serves to ratchet up the tempo and tension before the final line. Raphael continues to try and convince himself of the inevitability of his victory, because surely he can’t fail.

 “By all the reeking flames of Hell I will not be denied.”

What a closing line. Were I more trite, I might be tempted to call this bratty: to be clear, I do not believe he was spoilt by Mephistopheles, but his initial station as son of the Lord of the Eighth must have earned Raphael a certain level of entitlement, and the sheer magnitude of his ambition undoubtedly would have done the rest. Raphael will not allow himself to entertain the idea of failure, not least of all because he probably suspects that defeat would cost him more than the centuries of sunk time and energy.

My closing notes on Raphael’s final entry, is to point out how starkly it contrast with the first. Entry 1’s closing remark, “This process has a name I sample now aloud, to saver its taste: Ceremorphosis.” is an especially poignant comparison: he is savouring, he is taking his time. Compare this to Entry 3, which is rushed, impassioned, manic, and dare I say just a little bit scared.

The last entry also casts a whole new light on your final encounter with him in the game if you decide to kill him. That’s the first time you see him properly angry in the game (he quickly recovers himself if you accuse him of being scared of Yurgir in Act 2), and almost unprompted compares Tav to ‘doomed Karsus’: projecting much?

This entry shows us what was roiling beneath the surface to cause his agitation, and definitely gives an edge of desperation to Raphael’s final act. Perhaps that’s even why calls on Yurgir to aid him in his fight, someone you can make your ally instead, for a - granted, quite challenging - persuasion check, another of Raphael’s schemes you can turn against him.

———

Overall, Raphael’s diary entries serve to both reinforce and subvert what he see of him during encounters, and allow us a glimpse beneath the mask of a character who is always performing. Where Raphael wants Tav to see a cunning negotiator and saviour, one later catch seemingly completely off-guard, the diary entries paint the picture of a man driven to mania by his own ambition, and subsequently caught on the hook of his own line, then devoured.

Anyway, I do have more things I could say about Raphael’s fucked up little brain, but I think I’ll save that for another post, because this one is already pretty long.

Please, please share your own thoughts about this examination. The diary has been rattling about the echo-chamber of my own brain for weeks, so undoubtedly I have missed/misinterpreted things.

#original post #bg3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 meta #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #balders gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate raphael #bg3 analysis #i dont usually do meta so hopefully this is good #i wrote this in a frenzy

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nerdallwritey · 9 months ago

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About to Strike (Part 2)

***IMPORTANT! PLEASE NOTE: This is Part 2 to Part 6 (it makes sense, I promise) of my Beauty and the Bard series! Find Part 1 of this chapter here. If you'd rather read it all in one go, it's also posted to AO3.

Summary: “Oh,” he said smoothly, his features settling into a seductive smirk. “Giving me a ring so soon, my sweet? I’m flattered.” He plucked the ring from your hand and attempted to slide it onto his fingers. “Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “it’s too small - something I've never had trouble with in the past.” You made a face and smacked him lightly on his bicep, causing him to laugh. He caught your hand in his and examined your fingers. “I suppose you’ll have to wear it instead.” He slid the ring onto your pinky gently. It was a perfect fit. The two of you stared down at it for a moment, a quiet tension hanging in the air. “Mine,” he breathed, turning the ring over and over around your finger. “Yours,” you confirmed, bringing a hand to his cheek and looking him in the eyes. OR You and Astarion have a room to yourselves at the Last Light Inn. What happens next?

Pairing: Astarion x f!reader Rating: 18+ Word count: 21.3k (This particular part is 10.6k) CW: smut, reader is new to sex,piv sex, oral (male receiving), hand job, vaginal fingering, mentions of Astarion's past trauma, blood drinking, mild angst, protective Astarion, soft Astarion, whimpering Astarion, porn with feelings, reader is an idiot (and a bard), so is Astarion (not a bard, just an idiot), lots of party banter, AND JAHEIRA!! Spoilers: Minor spoilers for Act 1 and 2 (in-game dialogue, plot points, etc.), as well as Astarion's plotline Also posted to: AO3 Last chance to go back to Part 1 of this chapter!

a/n: So sorry to be posting another tumblr two parter. Once I started writing, I simply couldn't stop. Thank you if you made it this far! Your reward is once again smut! I hope you all enjoy :) (Thank you to @kermitwazowski for beta reading!)

The room was fairly cozy; a full sized bed was made neatly in the back left corner by a door that led out into the wrap-around porch that surrounded the inn, while an upholstered couch sat in front of a large window, and a storage chest was hidden behind an ornate screen, full of alchemical materials and a few gold pieces.

You set your backpack down and removed your armor, taking note of the contents of the room and pausing when you saw Astarion on his hands and knees by the bed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, shutting the curtains on the window and raising your eyebrows at him as he held his ear to the ground.

“Shh, shh, shh, quiet darling,” he said softly and knocked on the board below his ear. His eyes lit up when the wood made a hollow sound. “Just as I thought!” He sat up on his knees and pried at the edge of the board until it lifted to reveal a small hiding cubby for valuables underneath. He flashed you a winning grin before reaching his arm down into the hole blindly.

You sat on the bed to get a better angle as you watched and leaned forward to brush your hands through his hair.

“Aha! Found something!” he said assuredly before retracting his arm to share his findings with you. He opened his hand to reveal a crumpled letter and a tarnished ring.

You snorted. “A thrilling yield,” you said, patting his shoulder, “well done.”

Astarion let out a frustrated exhale. “Maybe the ring is worth something?” he tossed the letter aside, which you picked up and scanned quickly.

“This Ketheric Thorm guy seems to be no joke,” you said absently, reflecting on the contents of the letter. The author wrote of feeling stuck at the inn on their way to Baldur’s Gate, and of how the people from the nearby village were on edge whenever they were asked about Ketheric. It had clearly been written long ago.

Astarion had one eye closed and inspected the ring closely. “Yes, yes, he’s a brute and a hellion, blah blah blah, we can worry about that tomorrow.” He opened his eye again and turned to you. “Tell me, dear, what does this say?”

He handed you the ring, which was ice cold when you held it in your palm. You sensed that it was full of ice magic, and took a closer look at the inside of the band. A series of names had been scratched out, one after the other. The last word, however, was untouched, and not a name.

“‘Mine,’” you read aloud.

Astarion was already up and looking for more items hidden within the room. “You don’t need to lay claim to it,” he said, inspecting an emerald ring that he found on the dresser, “it’s worthless. You can have it.”

You laughed. “No,” you said, getting up and walking over to him. You held the ring between your thumb and index finger, angling it in front of his face to where the inscription could be read in the candle light. “Mine,” you repeated.

“Oh,” he said smoothly, his features settling into a seductive smirk. “Giving me a ring so soon, my sweet? I’m flattered.” He plucked the ring from your hand and attempted to slide it onto his fingers. “Alas,” he sighed dramatically, “it’s too small - something I've never had trouble with in the past.” You made a face and smacked him lightly on his bicep, causing him to laugh. He caught your hand in his and examined your fingers. “I suppose you’ll have to wear it instead.”

He slid the ring onto your pinky gently.

It was a perfect fit.

The two of you stared down at it for a moment, a quiet tension hanging in the air.

“Mine,” he breathed, turning the ring over and over around your finger.

“Yours,” you confirmed, bringing a hand to his cheek and looking him in the eyes.

His hand came up to meet yours and his eyes were half lidded when you closed the distance and kissed him fiercely. Your tongue flicked out to prod at his bottom lip and he gladly opened for you with a rumble low in his chest. He pulled you closer by the hips and shuffled you backwards toward the bed.

“Mine,” he repeated between breaths. “You’re mine,” he growled and pushed you backwards with enough force to make you fall onto the bed. You yelped gleefully and repositioned yourself to be more comfortable as he climbed on top of you. He continued to kiss you eagerly; all over your face, jaw, and throat.

“Aren’t you…” your breathing was heavy and your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, “aren’t you scared of hurting me?”

Astarion paused his kisses and pulled back to look at you. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all,” you exhaled, pulling him back down by the collar of his shirt and kissing him clumsily as you threw your arms around his neck.

He moaned weakly against your mouth. “I’ve missed you,” he said, moving down to drag his fangs along your throat.

“Bite me,” you sighed, angling your head to give him better access to feed.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he cooed and clicked his tongue. “If this night continues how I think it’s going to, then I’d rather taste you-” he moved his mouth to your ear and said lowly, “-while I’m inside of you.”

You shivered and threw your hands over your face, whining pathetically. “From anyone else, that would have been terrible.”

“Mmm,” he hummed as he nuzzled his nose along your jawline. “But you can’t leave now. I’ve given you a ring, which you’ve foolishly accepted.”

“Ah,” you nodded slowly, “trapped by societal expectations. Curses!” You held your fist up to the sky, cursing no one in particular. “Though, that means you’re trapped with me, too.”

Astarion continued kissing you, making a noise of affirmation against your mouth. “A shame, considering I can’t stand you,” he rolled his hips, causing you to inhale sharply when you felt how hard he already was. “Ignore that, that has nothing to do with my hatred for you.”

“I can tell,” you teased, palming at his shirt.

He took the hint and sat up to pull the fabric over his head.

You watched him, your eyes roaming all over his unfairly beautiful body, until they landed on his left thigh and you gasped.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m what?” Astarion looked himself over, but fell backwards when you sprang off the bed to run towards your backpack.

“You’re bleeding,” you said again, shuffling back over to him with your bag in hand and rummaging through your belongings to find the salve and bandages you’d been using on your own wound.

Astarion now saw the crimson stain on the front of his leg, complete with a slash through the fabric of his pants. “And I just mended these,” he sighed.

“Take them off,” you instructed, tapping his right thigh.

He smirked. “Are you sure, darling? You might like what you see.”

You gave him a look that said “I’m being serious,” and he groaned.

“Fine.” He stood and undid the clasps of his trousers before shimmying out of them and dropping them ungracefully onto the floor next to him. He sat back down on the bed and you did your best not to stare at his erection. He rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to bite you,” he said. “Though I certainly intend to.” He raised his eyebrows seductively.

You nodded absently at his comment, to which he muttered, “Oh, you’re no fun,” and began to assess his wound. It looked as though it had stopped bleeding hours ago, but the fact remained that he had gotten injured in the first place. You got up again and walked over to the wash basin in the corner of the room to retrieve water to clean the blood.

“When did you get this?” You knelt in front of him with the wet cloth and began to gently dab at the injury. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, watching your hands. “I suppose I got it from one of those cultists we battled earlier. But my armor was too dark to see the blood.”

“You didn’t feel it?” you asked.

Astarion laughed humorlessly. “I’ve felt more pain in my life than anyone should ever have to.” Your hands froze at that. He sighed. “I may have felt something slash me, but obviously it wasn’t enough to take me down.”

“Obviously,” you smiled up at him sadly.

He looked back at you fondly and brushed his fingers across your cheekbone. Then he furrowed his brow. “If I’m not mistaken, you know a healing spell or two that could make quick work of this scratch.”

It was hardly a scratch. An injury like this would have downed a weaker man. Or at least made it harder for him to walk. It wasn’t a very deep wound, but you had no doubt that it had been painful.

You felt your cheeks go red. “I do have some healing spells…”

“But…?”

“But… you took such good care of me while I was healing, I feel like I should return the favor.” You looked back up at him shyly.

He was watching you smugly and sitting back on his hands. “Go on then,” he nodded his head towards the salve you were about to spread over the wound.

You pressed your lips into a line and focused on covering the entire injured area tenderly, but effectively. “I can still cast a healing spell if you’d prefer.”

“Oh no, dear,” his laugh was real this time, “I’d much rather experience your soft touches and longing glances than one quick blip from the weave.”

“I always knew you only wanted me for my soft touches and longing glances,” you teased.

“Call me old fashioned,” he shrugged with a smirk.

“Astarion!” you gasped, reaching for the salve and spreading a generous amount on his thigh. “You shouldn’t call yourself old. You don’t look a day over two hundred and fifty!”

“Very funny,” he narrowed his eyes at you. “But I’m not two hundred and fifty!”

You tilted your head, concealing a smile. “You’re not? My apologies.”

“And to think I was going to allow you to have sex with me tonight.” He sat up and crossed his arms. “Pity. Your loss.”

As an act of rebellion, you reached forward and squeezed his cock through his underwear. Astarion let out a pathetic whine and his entire body tensed.

He looked at you and furrowed his brow. “Warn a man, would you?”

“Sorry,” you said genuinely, hiding behind an awkward smile.

He bounced his left leg, bringing your attention back to the wound. “Now hurry up and wrap my damn leg.”

You nodded and began to wind the bandages you’d collected around his thigh. “Is this tight enough?” you asked after a few wraps.

Astarion nodded, once again watching your hands. “Yes, darling. You make a marvelous nursemaid.”

Your eyes wandered as you continued to wrap the wound. His thighs were more muscular than you’d ever noticed. Being this up close and personal with them made you appreciate just how powerful he was. You’d never admit that to him, lest it go to his head, but in these past weeks since you’d met him, all the running, and fighting, and crouching in preparation to strike enemies, had really paid off.

Hesitantly, you leaned forward and kissed the tender skin on the inside of his thigh.

He inhaled shakily in response. “Easy,” he said on an equally shaky exhale.

Slowly, you placed another kiss inside his thigh, higher this time, all the while still wrapping his wound. You watched his face intently.

He was focused completely on you, his pupils blown wide.

You kissed him again, even higher. “Does that feel nice?” you asked.

“Don’t be si-illy,” he rolled his eyes but his voice caught when you kissed him again. “Of course it feels nice.”

“Good,” you smiled and licked a stripe from the middle of his thigh, up to the top, bringing your face dangerously close to his bulge. You were pretty sure you saw it twitch.

Astarion shuddered. “Gods above…”

You tucked the bandage into itself and tugged it a little to make sure it was sturdy. When you were satisfied, you stood up fully and wrapped your arms around Astarion’s neck.

“There,” you said quietly, stepping between his legs. You watched his mouth before finding his eyes again. “All better.”

Astarion nodded wordlessly, watching your mouth in turn.

“Tell me next time you’re hurt,” you leaned your forehead against his.

“Careful what you wish for, darling,” he purred. “I may willingly step in front of an arrow if it means I get to have your attention all to myself.” He went to kiss you but you pulled back with a laugh.

“As if you don’t always have my attention.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes you speak to the others.” He pouted, adding, “It’s awful.”

You mirrored his pout. “Poor thing.”

He pulled you closer by the hips and kissed your clothed stomach. “Enough stalling,” he reached for the hem of your shirt. “I’ve waited long enough to have you again.”

When he went to pull your shirt up, you halted his wrists. He looked up at you curiously.

“What’s the matter, my sweet?”

You took a step back and fiddled with the hem of your shirt. “It’s nothing.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow at you. “Somehow, I don’t believe that.”

You exhaled through your nose. “It’s just that… well… I know you’ve seen every part of me-”

“Yes.”

“-and that you liked what you saw.”

“Oh, yes.”

“But now…” you waved your hands through the air, trying to say what you wanted to say without sounding stupid. “Now I’ve got this scar.” You held a hand to the wound on your right side.

It had been a few days now that you’d gone without wrapping the injury. The skin had healed and no longer bled, now it was just a matter of stretching and continuing to let your body heal itself. But it also meant that you saw the remnants of your near death experience every time you looked down. Not to mention the twin wound on your back. You didn’t like seeing the scar, which honestly could have been much more gruesome, but it only served as a reminder of how badly you’d messed up that day. You hated remembering the terrified look on Astarion’s face when he cradled you on the battlefield, or the way he held you close as he ran for help. The whole thing was just… ugly.

And yet, Astarion laughed.

“You seem to forget who you’re talking to, darling.”

You scrunched your nose at him. “Your scars are a horrible reminder of everything you’ve gone through at the hands of that horrible man. Mine are from a mistake I made that scared the hells out of the person I l- care for the most. You’re a survivor, I’m just… a problem.”

“Dearest, you’re someone who also survived.” Astarion stood from the bed.

You avoided his gaze. “But it’s my fault it happened in the first place. You didn’t sign up for this.” You gestured to your torso and rested a hand over where the scar was hidden under your shirt.

“No,” he said softly, bending to kiss your neck. “But you’re someone who I’ll choose again and again, regardless of some trivial blemish.”

You froze and watched him pull away, noting that soft look in his eye that you loved so much. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes and placed his hands on the hem of your shirt again. “May I?”

You twisted the ring on your pinky to distract yourself. “Okay.”

Astarion bent to kiss your lips softly, then carefully pulled the shirt over your head.

The scar cut diagonally across your appendix region, pink and shining ever so slightly in the candle light.

“Do you know why I love this scar?” Astarion sank to his knees before you, never breaking eye contact with you.

Your breath caught in your throat. Instead of making some sort of snarky remark about what he’d just said as a means of deflection, you merely shook your head.

“I love this scar-” he leaned forward to kiss the tender skin, “-because, like your heartbeat, it means you're still here.” He kissed across your stomach. “With me.” He took your hand and fiddled with the ring on your finger. “Mine.” He looked up at you smugly.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be insufferable about that, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he said, narrowing his eyes seductively and standing up to kiss your mouth again.

You whimpered lamely when he slid his tongue into your mouth and turned to push you gently onto the bed. Once you were comfortably lying among the pillows, he climbed on top of you again and continued kissing you slowly.

“Are you okay?” he asked against your lips.

“Uh huh,” you exhaled, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Good,” he whispered, and rolled his hips against your pelvis, reminding you of his desire.

You tangled your leg around his. “Astarion…” you sighed.

He was kissing across your jaw, rolling his hips slowly. “Yes, sweet girl?”

“I want to try something,” you placed a hand on his chest to gently signal for him to stop his kisses.

“Oh?” he smirked. “Feeling experimental, are we?”

You nodded shyly, then pushed lightly on his shoulder to get him to pull away from you. “Take my spot,” you said, sitting up and gesturing for him to lie down where you had just been.

“What are you planning?” he asked with a smile and obediently took your place at the head of the bed. “Riding me again? Bondage of some kind? Or perhaps something you read in one of Shadowheart’s cheap paperbacks?”

You sat back on your knees between his legs. “I told you that you took such good care of me when I was hurt,” you rubbed your hands up and down his thighs, careful to avoid his wrapped cut, “now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Astarion raised an eyebrow. “Is it, now? And I’m assuming this doesn’t involve wrapping some other wound I haven’t noticed.”

You shook your head. “Do you trust me?”

He let out an amused breath through his nose. “Of course I do.” Then he added, “But don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned at him and marveled at the way he watched you, so open and unafraid. It made your heart soar. You cleared your throat.

“I’ll need your help,” you dipped your head bashfully.

“Anything,” he said, not taking his eyes off your face.

You leaned forward and kissed his clothed cock.

“Ohhh,” he sighed blissfully. “You’re very sweet, darling, but you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you said, kissing him again.

Astarion closed his eyes and arched his back a little, chasing the warmth your lips left behind. When he opened his eyes, he looked almost embarrassed by the neediness his hips had given away.

“Please,” you said softly. “I want nothing more than to take care of you, my love.”

He remained silent as he considered your offer.

“Show me how,” you hooked your fingers under the waistband of his underwear and felt him shiver beneath you.

Then you watched the mask go up with a seductive arch of his eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose we can give it a try,” Astarion said, his voice airy and detached.

You immediately crawled up the bed to hover over his face. He looked back at you with a alluring smirk. “Hey,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It’s me.” You brushed his cheek with the back of your knuckles. “You’re safe.”

Astarion stared at you before shaking his head mildly and smiling. “I know,” he said. “I want this.”

You bent and kissed him deeply, reaching a hand up to massage the tip of his left ear.

He moaned quietly and you felt his hips bump yours, seeking friction. “Please,” he whispered.

You gave him a sideways smile before shimmying back down his body and hooking your fingers under his waistband again.

“Wait,” he interrupted.

You paused. “What’s wrong?”

He pouted - something you realized he did quite a lot, now that you thought about it. “I miss your breasts.”

You snorted and crawled up to him once more. “Would you care to do the honors?” You hovered above him, low enough that he could reach behind your back and undo the clasps of your bra.

“More than anything,” he murmured. Almost as soon as he answered was the clothing off your body and on the floor next to the bed. He sat up a little and took one of your nipples into his mouth.

“Hey!” you laughed and pushed him away. “Bad.” You pointed a scolding finger at him. “I’m supposed to be pleasuring you.”

Astarion smiled, half lidded. “Apologies, darling. You’re too delicious, and I’ve missed your taste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you deflected and tried once more to travel down his hips. “Is this okay?” you asked, once more hooking your fingers under his waistband.

“Yes, my sweet.” His voice was soft and genuine, with the slightest twinge of eagerness.

You nodded and pulled at his undergarments, working them down his hips and onto the floor next to you. When his cock emerged, it was red and swollen, leaking precum at the tip. You tried not to look intimidated by this new, somewhat daunting task that laid before you, but Astarion saw your expression and laughed.

“Is it as pretty as you remembered?” he asked, barely containing his mirth.

“Gorgeous,” you teased. “Now tell me what to do.”

He laughed again. “Well, when I was pleasuring another man, I’d start with my hands. They usually enjoyed that.”

You tilted your head to the side. “But is that what you like to start with?”

“I-” he paused. “A good question. I was rarely on this end of things. But… Yes, I do enjoy your hands on me. You’re warm. And you moisturize.”

Now you laughed. “Glad you noticed.”

“You’re wonderfully soft, my dear,” he confirmed. “Now… do you remember what I’ve shown you before?”

“Yes,” you said and reached forward, taking his shaft into your hand and squeezing slightly.

“Ah,” Astarion shut his eyes and smiled. “Good.”

You moved your hand upwards towards the head and twisted, gathering some of his precum and spreading it down his length as you brought your hand back down.

“That’s it,” he said softly, his eyes still closed. “The tip is particularly sensitive.”

You nodded, not that he could see you, and raised your hand up again to swipe your thumb over his slit.

“Oh, yes, that feels amazing,” he opened his eyes to watch you with a lopsided grin. “May I show you something?”

“Please,” you said, pulling your hand away.

“No no,” he shook his head and lifted himself up with one arm. “Give me your hand,” he held his out and you allowed him to guide you back towards his cock. “Right here,” he said, leading your hand to the underside of the head where it connected with his shaft, “feels marvelous when you stroke it gently. Like this.” He took your thumb and ran it over the skin lightly, back and forth. He exhaled, blowing cool air into your face before lying back down. “Just like that,” he sighed, his voice gravelly.

Feeling brave, you kept lightly stroking the area and spat into your free hand before wrapping it around his length and pumping up and down.

Astarion inhaled sharply at the sensation. “I see you’re not completely in the- ah- the dark.”

You smiled. “I may have been reading some of Shadowheart’s cheap paperbacks, yes.”

He laughed airly. “You’re adorable.”

“Am I?” you asked mischievously before repositioning yourself between his legs so that you were now lying on your stomach, your hands never stopping their motions. You leaned forward and replaced the hand at his tip with your tongue, swiping back and forth repeatedly. He tasted of salt and sweat and something that you’d describe as distinctly Astarion.

His body jerked involuntarily. “Why you…” He leaned up to look at you and noted the glee in your eyes. “Cheeky,” he chuckled.

You kissed the tip of his cock and licked at his slit, which was still weeping precum.

“Unf,” Astarion whined.

You hummed lightly. “Does that feel good?” Your left hand was still pumping up and down, and you bent to kiss the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” he sighed, reaching forward to twist a hand into your hair. “But darling,” he squeezed his eyes shut, “I may need more.”

“Would you like my mouth?” you asked bluntly.

He eyed you curiously. “Do you really want to?”

You rolled your eyes and licked his slit again. “No, clearly not.”

Astarion laughed shakily. “Then, if you’re offering, there’s nothing I’d like more than your mouth.”

“Good,” you smiled. “You’ll have to help me. There’s only so much a paperback can teach you.”

“I don’t know, what you were doing felt pretty good,” he smiled.

“I’m being serious,” you said. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“How sweet,” he twisted his hand more tightly into your hair. “Of course I’ll help, sweet girl.”

You turned your head towards his hand in your hair and kissed his wrist. “What first?”

“First,” he said, “you need to relax. Let go of the tension in your shoulders.”

“Okay,” you nodded and focused on relaxing your muscles. “I just want to get this right.”

“And you will, pet, but I can promise you that this will be much more enjoyable for both of us if you’re out of your own head.”

You scoffed. “Me? Thinking too much? How dare you.”

“Mmm,” Astarion hummed teasingly. “My mistake.” He took in your eager expression and chuckled again. “Rather than trying to fit me in your mouth all in one go, I find that it’s quite useful to tease first. Like what you were just doing with your kissing and licking. That feels remarkable.”

“Kissing and licking,” you repeated. “Got it.”

“And then,” he continued, “when you think you’re ready, you can slowly start taking me into your mouth. But be wary of your teeth and choking.” He thought for a moment before adding “And pay attention to me.”

“Is that not what this is?”

He gave you a mildly annoyed, but unsurprised look. “Yes, clearly. I mean, listen to your partner. Their voice and body will usually give away if they’re feeling good and what they like best.”

“Kiss, lick, mouth, careful of choking, listen to you. I think I can do that.”

“Teeth, darling,” he said, flashing his fangs, “don’t forget to mind the teeth.”

“You never do,” you teased.

He smiled, but you observed some hesitation in his face. “Really, darling, you don’t have to-”

“Shush,” you said, sitting up on your knees and leaning forward to kiss his mouth. “I want to do this. You deserve to be taken care of for once.”

His eyes were nothing but fond when he bent upwards to kiss you. “Alright,” he murmured.

“Tell me if anything feels bad,” you said, repositioning yourself between his legs. “So help me gods, I’m going to make you come tonight.”

Astarion laughed. “I believe in you, darling.”

You kissed his tip again and returned your hand to pumping his shaft once again.

“Yes,” Astarion breathed, “hands are good too.”

Boldly, you started licking long, languid strokes with the flat of your tongue up and down the head of his cock.

Astarion’s hips jerked involuntarily. “Very good,” he groaned.

You planted a kiss where your tongue had just been, then removed your hand to lick a stripe from the base of his length up to the top. You blew softly on the saliva left behind and smiled when his thighs tensed and heard his breath catch in his throat. He sighed out your name, a blissful look on his face. You alternated between kissing and licking and paid close attention to areas that had Astarion bucking his hips, or biting his lip, or moaning softly.

His hands tightened in your hair when you licked a particularly sensitive spot. “Gods,” he focused his eyes on you, “you’re wonderful.”

You kissed him once more before saying, “I’m going to try taking you now.”

Astarion’s breath caught again, this time with anticipation. “Go slow, darling. There’s no rush.”

“Don’t you have dinner plans?” you deflected with a joke, trying not to get too in your head before taking him into your mouth.

Astarion groaned. “You are my dinner plans, you rotten woman.”

“We should stop talking now.”

“Agreed.”

You took a deep breath to slow your heart rate, which had Astarion chuckling again.

“Honestly darling, if this is too much-”

Before he could finish, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his cock and swirled your tongue in a circular motion, causing him to gasp loudly and arch his back in surprise. You giggled at his reaction, the vibration of your voice further causing him to clutch at the sheets beneath him.

“Oh…” he breathed. “More of that, please.”

You did as instructed and added your hand to pump up and down his length. He let out a small cry of pleasure in response. You gave an experimental suck and were delighted to be met with an even louder cry of pleasure.

“Darling,” he moaned, “you’re a natural.”

You hummed a “thank you” and lowered your head, attempting to take more of him into your mouth.

“Ah,” Astarion squeaked. “So warm.”

Your hand continued to work the base of his cock while you took even more of him, experimenting with your limit. When he bumped against the back of your throat, you felt yourself gag, and pulled back.

“No,” Astarion whined, “come back…”

“Sorry,” you wiped your eyes to rid yourself of the tears that had involuntarily gathered at the corners.

He watched your hand, still pumping up and down. “Don’t apologize, dear, just come back to me.”

You studied his face, which was relaxed, save for the mild distress caused by your mouth leaving him. “You’re enjoying it?”

“Can’t you tell?” He took your chin in his hand and smiled fondly. “I think you know me well enough by now to know if I was faking it.”

You nuzzled his hand. “I would hope so.”

“Please darling,” he whispered, “you’re doing so well. Give it another go.”

You smiled, thrilled that you were able to do this for him and that he was actually enjoying himself. “Any tips for gagging?”

He brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Well if you’re nervous that I don’t like it, throw that thought away. The sensation of your throat constricting is heavenly.”

“Good to know,” you nodded.

“But if you don’t like the sensation, I’ve read that squeezing your left thumb can help reduce your gag reflex. And it’s worked for me when I’ve tried it.” He held up his left hand and demonstrated wrapping his other four fingers around his thumb. You swapped your left hand, which was still slowly stroking him, with your right hand, and mirrored the motion. He nodded. “That’s it.”

“Okay,” you said with a newfound confidence. You dipped your head back down and kissed the head of his cock again before taking him back into your mouth gradually.

Astarion threw his head back, a fangy smile gracing his features. “Ahh…” he exhaled.

You felt him twitch in your mouth and giggled. The vibration of that once again had Astarion humming pleasantly. Rather than seeing how far you could take him this time, you took a decent amount before lifting back up and bobbing back down. You repeated this a few times, trying to take more of him with each bob of your head.

Astarion twisted a hand into your hair again and whined out your name. “So good… so good for me.”

When his tip bumped the back of your throat this time, you squeezed your thumb and found yourself not as rattled this time. Emboldened, you started taking even more of him, despite the tears gathering in your eyes.

“Oh gods,” he whimpered when you let your right hand move downwards to start fondling his balls lightly.

You hummed again before popping off of him to catch your breath. Astarion’s chest was rising and falling heavily, and the smile on his face was nothing short of euphoric.

“You better not stop,” he said through a laugh.

“Those of us still living actually need to breathe, sorry,” you licked along his shaft again before returning to bobbing up and down, with him down your throat. You swallowed involuntarily, which had him whimpering again and bucking his hips deeper.

“Ah,” he moaned quietly. “You feel perfect. I could have you like this forever.”

You hummed an affirmation, making his hips twitch again.

“Don’t you…” his breathing was still labored, despite his lack of breath, “Don’t you dare make a… snide remark about being together… forever.”

“Mmm,” you said, sounding an awful lot like “Aww.” You pulled back up and swirled your tongue around the head again.

“Oh…” he moaned again. “You’ll have to… show me… the paperbacks you’ve been reading.”

You gave him a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t currently fondling his balls and brought it back down to slide it up and down his thigh softly. Goosebumps emerged on his skin and he inhaled sharply.

“I’m close, darling girl,” he brushed his hand through your hair encouragingly before fisting it tightly again. “Keep going.”

You could feel with your tongue as you bobbed back down that he was more rigid now than when you’d begun. He was also twitching more frequently and bucking his hips to chase after your mouth.

He ran his free hand through his hair. “Where shall I-?”

You gave him a brutal suck before popping off with a filthy sound. “Not sure I’m ready to swallow yet,” you admitted shyly, despite a string of drool connecting you to him. Your right hand was back to twisting around his length.

He loosed a breathy laugh. “Understandable.”

“I suppose on my chest?”

He laughed again. “You- ah- suppose?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed. “Is that sexy? I’ve never been cum on before.”

He smiled fondly and thumbed over your lip again. “You’re always sexy, pet.”

“Liar,” you laughed, “you’ve seen me drool in my sleep.”

“And what a sexy drooler you are,” he teased.

You scowled. “Ew, don’t say that.”

He groaned, but not at your remark. “Really darling, I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Right,” you said, “chest it is.” You returned your mouth to his cock, kissing it sloppily before taking him back into your mouth as much as you could.

You decided to start humming “Bard Song” while moving up and down, a callback to the night of the tiefling party, when he’d hummed an offkey version for you.

“Ohh, please,” he whimpered pathetically at the humming sensation mixed with your hands on his shaft and thigh, “please.”

You took that as encouragement to hum a bit louder.

“More,” Astarion whined, “faster.”

You squeezed your hand around his length a bit harder and started increasing your speed. He, in turn, was letting out louder, less censored moans.

“Good,” he breathed, “such a good girl.” His hips began bucking wildly and you did your best to remain where you were. “I’m going to- ah- darling,” his eyes rolled back before he shut them and reached to tap your shoulder, signaling for you to stop.

You pulled back to hover over him and watched as he began stroking himself furiously. Wanting to spur him on even more, you began massaging the tips of his ears, which had him calling out your name before spilling all over your chest and his abdomen.

The sensation was sticky and warm, and you were surprised by just how much of it there was. Normally you’d try to avoid a mess like this, but seeing the intense focus turned to pure bliss on Astarion’s face made it worthwhile in your eyes.

He opened his eyes and gave you the most radiant smile you’d ever seen. “Oh, darling,” he sat up and kissed your mouth fiercely, “that was incredible.”

“I’m glad it was to your liking,” you smiled against his lips and kissed him again. He pulled you closer, making your chest press against his. “Oh!” you yelped, pulling back and observing how his cum on your chest had transferred onto his chest.

Astarion brought a hand up to his face and swiped it down his features as he laughed. “Not the worst thing I’ve been covered in.”

“I will not be asking you to elaborate,” you said.

“Nor would I want you to.” He sat up a little. “Let’s get you cleaned up, beautiful.”

“No, no, no,” you held a gentle hand to his chest and made him lie back down. “Allow me.” You rolled off of him and walked over to the wash basin in the corner.

Astarion sat back up to watch you. “Well,” he said airily, “one could get used to this sort of service.”

You found a clean cloth and wet it thoroughly. “Get used to it, pretty boy,” you walked back over to him, “you’re not in this alone anymore.”

“I suppose I’m not,” he chuckled.

You began to wipe Astarion down, ridding his chest of any unwanted substance before moving down to his stomach. You gasped when you felt him lean forward and lick your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Just helping to expedite the process.” He smirked at you. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“How kind,” you said, pushing him back. “Um… did you want me to do that to you?”

Astarion blinked a few times. “Oh, no, certainly not. I mean, unless you want to!” He searched your eyes, but you scrunched your nose a little at the thought. “Yes,” he chuckled, “I find the process to be rather… I don’t know… It’s not my favorite thing. Much too salty.”

“Then… why are you doing it now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, watching your hands clean off his stomach with the cloth, “other men liked it when I put on a bit of a show when it came to cum.”

“Well, I’m not other men.” you said, dramatically gripping your breasts firmly in both hands, then regretting it when they came away sticky.

He laughed. “Let me help you, dear.”

You allowed him to take the cloth from you and observed him thoughtfully. “Just so you know, you never have to put on a show for me.”

He met your eye, looking at a loss for words.

“I mean,” you said quickly, “you can if you want to, but you never have to. I like you, and it’s not because of how great you are at sex.”

“Ah,” he nodded, “so you finally admit it.”

“Shut up,” you slapped his bicep gently. “You know what I mean.”

He sighed and looked at you fondly. “What ever did I do to deserve a sweetheart like you?”

“You’ve always deserved this kind of care,” you said, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I’m just sorry it took so long for me to find you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours and spoke softly. “You really took your time, didn’t you? Selfish.”

You snorted and pushed him away, a devilish grin on his face. “That’s a new one, by the way,” you smiled. “‘Sweetheart.’”

He began to wipe your stomach clean, paying extra delicate attention to the area around your scar. “Like that one? There’s plenty more in the arsenal. Let’s see…” He bent and kissed your neck. “Sweetheart… sweetie… sweetness…”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” you laughed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re delicious,” he murmured next to your ear before biting it gently.

“Oh, you haven’t eaten!” you exclaimed, suddenly remembering that you’d asked him to bite you earlier.

Astarion nuzzled your neck with his nose before pulling back. “Relax, darling. I haven’t forgotten. But you have, it would seem.”

“What do you mean?”

Satisfied with how clean the both of you were now, Astarion threw the cloth back towards the washbasin. “I mean,” he brought his face close to yours, “don’t you remember when I said I wanted to taste you?”

I’d rather taste you while I’m inside of you.

Right.

“Still?” you asked.

He nodded.

“But…” you furrowed your brow. “If this is about feeling like you owe me, cut it out. That’s not how it works anymore.”

Astarion whined. “Darling, this is the first night I’ve been in a proper bed in months. This isn’t about payment, this is about allowing my to finally fuck you properly.”

You were taken aback by that. “So… what were all those other times?”

Astarion quirked his mouth to the side. “Well, those were still me fucking you but… in the woods.”

You snorted. “You’re an idiot.”

He crashed his lips into yours desperately. “Please,” he moaned. “I need to feel you again.”

“Are you,” you smirked, “begging?”

“Darling, if I was begging, you’d know.”

“And if I say no?”

“I won’t beg,” he said, looking down his nose at you. “But don’t say no.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Okay, tough guy. If you’re still up for it, then so am I.”

“Excellent,” Astarion placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed you fiercely before flipping you onto your back. He hovered above you, still kissing you deeply, and you felt his hands reach for the waistband of your pants. He hummed into your mouth by way of asking permission, and you hummed back an affirmation. He pulled away and undid the ties on the front before pulling both your pants and underwear down at the same time.

“You are fast,” you remarked.

“Practice, darling,” he said before crawling on top of you and kissing you again.

“Are you even,” you said between kisses, “ready for another round?” You looked down and saw that he was already getting hard again.

“I’ve missed you,” he shrugged and kissed your throat. “It’s impossible for me to not want you right now.”

“Oh,” you said, genuinely flattered. “I’ve missed you too, my love.”

He moaned against your throat and rolled his hips against yours. “Say that again.”

“‘I’ve missed you?’”

He clicked his tongue. “Well, obviously,” he rolled his eyes. “No, the other thing.”

“‘My love?’” The phrase was met with another roll of Astarion’s hips.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m yours,” he reached for your hand, which still had the ring on, and twisted it. “And you’re mine.”

“Yes, my love,” you sighed, wrapping your leg around his hip to pull him closer, “I’m yours.”

“My beautiful girl,” he bumped his nose against yours affectionately.

You gasped in surprise when you felt him slide his fingers through your folds.

“You did miss me,” he teased. “Shall I help you feel good, darling?”

“Please,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He continued to slide his fingers between your legs, spreading your slick and preparing you to take him. “No funny business tonight,” he said. “No new positions or experimental moves. I just want to feel you around me.”

“I can agree to those- ah- terms.” You stuttered when his thumb began circling your clit. “Whatever you want.”

He looked at you with an overwhelming fondness before kissing you sweetly. “Thank you, darling.”

It was then that he stuck a finger into your core slowly and you gasped, tightening your arms around his shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cooed, “I’m preparing you to take me, my sweet. You’re going to do so well.” He began to pump the finger in and out of you slowly, curling it just so. When your body relaxed, he picked up the pace. “There now,” he said, “you’re doing so well already.”

You nodded and watched his hand move between your legs. “You can go faster.”

Astarion smiled and picked up the pace on his pumping and circling your clit. You tensed in pleasure.

“I’m going to add another,” he said, looking you in the eye. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you nodded and tightened your grip on him once again when he inserted the second finger slowly.

“Okay?” he asked, making sure you were alright.

“Careful,” you said, causing him to halt his motions, “you’re being awfully nice to me.”

“Don’t ruin this,” he said flatly, and pumped his fingers into your core harshly.

“Ah!” you exclaimed with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry!”

He leaned forward and kissed your mouth again. “You’re forgiven.” When he pulled back, he scowled. “For now.”

You laughed. “How generous.”

His fingers suddenly brushed against the spongy spot inside of you and you keened.

“There,” you moaned. “That felt amazing.”

“Good,” Astarion smirked and focused his attention on hitting that spot over and over with some force, all the while circling your clit.

That familiar tightening in your stomach started to make itself known, and you moved one of your hands to grip Astarion’s curls. “I’m close,” you said.

“Very good,” he purred and increased the pace of his hand once more. His other hand came up to tangle into your hair and he started kissing you deeply.

Your hips rolled against his hand, chasing even more friction. “Astarion,” you whined.

“Come for me, darling,” he murmured next to your ear. “You can do it. You made me feel so divine earlier, I know you can come for me too.”

“Keep talking,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut and willing your climax to overtake you.

He chuckled lowly. “It’s been so hard keeping my hands off you while you were healing this last tenday, sweet girl. All I wanted to do was rip your clothes off, and get my mouth on you, and touch you everywhere.” You whined and bucked your hips. “I adore you, precious thing. I promise I’ll protect you from now on. So that I’ll never have to hold back again.”

The words, combined with the brutal pace of his fingers and thumb hurdled you over the edge and into your climax, which had you calling out for Astarion and gripping onto his back.

“I’m here,” he cooed. “You’re so beautiful when you let go.”

As you came back down and caught your breath, you smiled at him. “I missed that.”

Astarion scoffed lightheartedly. “And here I thought you liked me for more than how fantastic I am at sex.”

“I lied,” you teased.

“Oof,” Astarion held a hand to his heart. “If my heart were beating, surely it would break.”

You sat up and kissed him swiftly. “I adore you too, dummy.”

“I know,” he said pompously and you reached behind you and whacked him in the side of the head with a pillow. “Ow!” he exclaimed, and you laughed at the way his hair became disheveled. “Come here, you,” he growled, pinning you back on the bed and kissing you deeply once more. He ground his hips against yours, allowing you to feel how hard he had become.

He pulled back and looked into your eyes with unrestrained desire. You looked down and saw him aligning himself at your entrance.

“Ready?” he asked sincerely.

“Please,” you rested your forehead against his.

He pressed into you slowly, making you inhale sharply before you relaxed into the sensation. Astarion, meanwhile, appeared to be struggling. He’d paused, and his eyes were shut tight.

“Are you alright?” you asked, caressing his hair and brushing against the back of his ear.

“Huh?” He opened his eyes with a start, then smiled down at you seductively. “Oh, yes darling, why wouldn’t I be?”

You pursed your lips. “We can stop if something is wrong.”

“No!” Astarion’s eyes widened. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m just… overwhelmed, I think.”

“By…?”

He rolled his hips slowly and closed his eyes again. “You feel so good. It’s been too long. And I’m still not used to… this.” He opened his eyes and used his chin to gesture towards you.

“What, my excellent breasts?” you deflected, feeling scrutinized under his gaze.

“While, yes, they are excellent,” he reached forward and squeezed your left breast for good measure, “you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said quietly. “But what exactly… did you mean?”

He sighed. “I’m still figuring that out. It’s never felt this way before and I… forgot.” He rolled his hips again and your eyes fluttered closed.

“F-forgot?”

“How good this can feel. How good you feel.” He reached for your hands and tangled your fingers together with his on either side of your head. “We’re going to go extra slow tonight. I want to savor this.” He kissed you, his tongue sliding into your mouth before he started thrusting his hips at a leisurely pace.

You moaned into his mouth. “Take your time.”

“I plan to,” he said, caressing one of your thumbs with his own.

The two of you remained like that for a few quiet moments, the only sounds being your hitched breaths and skin slapping against skin.

“Mmm,” you hummed, a pleased smile on your face. “This is nice.”

“This is nice,” Astarion agreed, biting your ear gently.

You sighed dreamily. “What would you usually talk to your… um… previous partners about? During sex?”

He pulled away from your ear and furrowed his brow. “Must we talk about others at a time like this?” He wet his thumb in his mouth sensually, and brought it down to your clit.

You gasped and arched your back. “Of- of course not. I just like hearing your thoughts.”

Astarion smirked and leaned forward again to kiss your jaw. “Couldn’t you use the tadpole for that?”

You wrapped a leg around his waist. “I- ah- I guess. But it feels wrong to do that without your permission.”

He growled against your throat and thrust into you harshly. “You always know just what to say.”

You laughed. “Liar.”

He thrust into you again. “Normally I was just trying to make the other person reach the finish line, so to speak. I’d say or do whatever was necessary to get them there.”

“And you?”

“Oh, perish the thought. My needs were never at the forefront.”

“My love…” you whined.

“People are much more willing to follow you around after you’ve brought them to the peak of pleasure.” He laughed a little. “Kind of like how you won’t stop following me around.”

You scoffed with a smile. “Do not compare me to someone you had to sleep with. And you’re the one who begged to be inside of me earlier. Not to mention when I had you in my mouth.”

Astarion thrust into you again forcibly. “I did not beg.” He thrust once more, changing the direction of his circles on your clit with his thumb. “Although I’m fairly certain I could get you to beg.” He flashed his fangs at you.

“Oh, please,” you said on an eyeroll.

“And there we have it,” he smirked. “I win.”

“That was not me begging.”

“I heard a ‘please,’ didn’t I?”

“I loathe you,” you said, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him down for a kiss.

“I’m a magnificent bastard, aren’t I?” he took your other thigh and hiked it around his waist, making you lock your feet together. “Oh,” he moaned loudly, “I never want to leave this room.”

“We-”

He pressed a finger to your lips. “Do not list our many incomplete tasks right now, I beg of you, my darling.”

“You what?”

“I beg- oh shut up.” He withdrew himself from your cunt and slammed himself back in, coaxing a gleeful moan out of your throat. “Can’t you say anything sexy?”

“Hmm…” you thought aloud, closing your eyes when he began kissing your jaw again. “Sometimes, when I see how beautiful you are, I’m just dumbfounded.”

He chuckled. “Me too.”

“But I love talking to you, more than anything.”

“This isn’t really the kind of ‘sexy’ I had in mind, but do go on.”

“Even now, as you’re finally fucking me on a bed, I’m just as thrilled to hear your voice.”

Astarion gave you a questioning look. “High praise from a bard.”

You kissed his bare shoulder. “You’re not trying to impress me, you're just… here with me. As Astarion.”

That made him pause for a moment. “Oh, believe me, dear, Astarion is trying very hard to impress you right now.” He rolled his hips at a slightly different angle, hiking you up closer to him.

“Well- ah- it’s working. Great job.” You leaned up to kiss him and he chased your lips as you laid back in the pillows. He continued kissing all over your face and down your neck. He paused when his nose bumped the base of your throat.

“Darling?”

An unspoken question.

“Hungry?”

He nodded against your skin, searching for a good spot to strike.

“Take what you need,” you whispered. “It’s yours.”

“Thank you.” You heard him inhale before the piercing coldness of his bite entered your veins. Your entire body tensed before you were overcome with the familiar pleasant numbness.

“Oh, Astarion,” you groaned, raking your fingers through his hair.

You could feel how slowly he was drinking from you, almost in time with how slowly he was still thrusting into you. He kept letting out tiny whimpers of delight, excited to finally taste you again.

“You’re heavenly,” he said, pulling back momentarily as if to catch his breath. “I almost forgot how much I love your flavor. So sophisticated and sweet.” He dove in again, first licking the wound before biting down and continuing to drink.

“Take as much as you like,” you sighed, bucking your hips when his thrusts started to pick up some speed. “Just don’t kill me.”

He chuckled against your throat but didn’t let up. He resumed letting out little noises of pleasure, and brought one of his hands up to paw at your breast. The other was cradling the back of your head affectionately.

You could feel his cock growing steadily more rigid within you, the more Astarion drank. His speed was also steadily increasing, with thrusts becoming much more frequent than the slow passionate movements they’d been at the start of the encounter.

“Astarion,” you whined, feeling yourself become more lightheaded than his usual feedings.

“Mmf,” he said articulately before pulling back from your throat and licking the wounds to soothe the mild pain and clean excess drops of blood. When you could see his face once more, the tips of his ears were dusted a light shade of pink, and you swore there was more color in his face. His radiant smile was back, and he looked at you as if you were the sun itself.

“As good as you remember?” you asked, laughing lightly at his expression.

“Better,” he said, surging forward to kiss you. You welcomed the coppery tang of your blood on his tongue happily. “Now, if you don’t mind, a reward.”

“Hey-” you warned.

“I want to,” he insisted. “Besides, it’s not just for you.” He laughed. “Can you imagine? How selfish are you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s see it then.”

He smirked and moved over to your ear, murmuring, “I’m going to make you come again, sweetheart.” He pulled away, looking proud of himself. “That name works in a few ways actually. Because your blood is sweet, and it comes from your heart. And because it’s quite an endearing nickname.”

You nodded. “We’ll work on your tight five and get you a slot in the Laff Riot at the Elfsong once we’re back in Baldur’s Gate.”

“Oh, hush you,” he said, quieting you with a kiss. “I feel great,” he smiled down at you, returning his hand to your clit as he continued thrusting into your core. “Don’t ever almost die again.”

“I-” you gasped at a particularly pleasant thrust, “I’ll try.”

“Good girl,” he purred, bringing his forehead to yours. “Tell me, darling, how can I help you?”

“My boobs are feeling pretty neglected, if I’m being honest.” You gave him a sideways smile.

Astarion rolled his eyes. “‘Boobs,’” he mocked. “I suppose I can do that.” He smirked before lowering down to your left breast and teasing your nipple lightly with his teeth. His left hand came up to massage your right breast as his right hand continued to circle your clit. He sucked at the bud of your nipple rather harshly, causing it to pebble in his mouth and his tongue swirled around it greedily.

You arched your back in pleasure and tried pulling him closer with your legs still locked around his middle. He hummed against your skin and turned his attention to your right breast with his mouth.

“You’re so good,” you said wistfully, your eyes closed. “I love this.”

“Ah luff thish too,” he said, licking around your right nipple and making you laugh.

“Keep going,” you said, tapping your foot against Astarion’s bare ass, encouraging him to thrust faster.

He let out an amused breath through his nose before picking up the pace as requested. His thumb on your clit sped up as well.

“Oh gods…” you moaned, digging your nails into his scalp. You could feel yourself getting close again, just a little more and you’d be tumbling over the edge into your climax. “Talk to me,” you said desperately.

Astarion lifted his face from your nipple. “About what?”

“Anything,” you looked at him pleadingly. “Say something sappy.” When he gave you a stupidly seductive look, you amended “And mean it!”

His face immediately fell, but his pace didn’t falter. “I need to think about this for a second.”

You laughed. “You don’t have to, just keep going. I’m close.”

“Is this like when I made you come by telling a joke?”

“I didn’t-” you rolled your eyes. “Yes, it’s exactly like that.”

Astarion nodded dutifully and thought for a moment. “I could say something about how in these accursed shadow lands, you are my light?”

You were squeezing your eyes tight, trying to reach your peak. “That could work. Ah!” Astarion bit your nipple again lightly.

“Hmm… no, feels too sappy. Oh.” It looked like something dawned on him. He bent forward again to kiss your neck and whined when you pulled lightly at his hair. “Earlier,” he said, sounding out of breath, “when Jaheira likened you to my mate,” he almost spat the word, “I didn’t… entirely hate it.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. “What?”

He nodded against you. “I like… having you around. And if some old druid likens that to procreating bears or whatever, then so be it.”

You smiled. “That might be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“So come, gods damn you! I want to come too!”

You laughed. “Kiss me, dummy.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled his face to yours. He moaned into your mouth when your tongue slipped past his lips. “Yours,” you murmured.

Astarion growled, kissing you deeper. “Mine.”

With a few more circles of your clit and another brutal thrust from his hips, you fell into your climax, feeling him coming not far behind. Your cunt pulsed and fluttered around him, sending bursts of pleasure throughout your body. He moaned your name before collapsing on top of you, thoroughly spent.

He smiled at you lazily. “Well darling?”

You blinked at him.

“Performance review? From a humble bard such as yourself.”

You laughed. “The critics at the Baldur’s Gate Gazette will sing your praises for years to come.”

“Outstanding.” He kissed your chest before carefully pulling out of you and getting off the bed.

You watched him walk to the washbasin and wet a fresh cloth before coming back and wiping down the space between your legs.

“Here,” he said, handing you his discarded shirt from earlier.

“Are you sure?” you asked, taking the shirt and watching him wipe himself down with the cloth.

“It smells like you when you sleep in it,” he said earnestly. “But would it kill you to move less in your sleep? You might ruin the neckline.”

“I’m going to purposely stretch it out now,” you joked.

“Menace,” he said, sounding scandalized, before tossing the cloth towards the washbasin and pulling on a pair of loose cotton pants from his backpack.

“Those are new,” you remarked.

He crawled onto the bed and tucked himself into your side. “Now that I’m sleeping on a bed, the protection from the leather against dirt is no longer necessary.”

“How practical,” you said, turning to face him as he pulled the blanket over the both of you. “And where did you find them?”

“I may have stumbled upon them in Gale’s belongings.”

You snorted. “You’re the menace.”

“And you like me so much,” he teased, scrunching his nose at you.

“I do,” you smiled and poked his nose before yawning.

Astarion chuckled. “Did I tire you out, darling?”

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,” you said, “we killed a pretty big spider earlier.”

He snorted. “I believe they’re called driders.”

“Tomayto tomahto,” you closed your eyes and scooted forward to snuggle into his chest.

Astarion hummed a vague agreement and wrapped his arms around you. “Goodnight, my sweet.”

“Sleep well, my love. I hope you had fun tonight.” You didn’t open your eyes and instead bent forward to kiss his bare chest.

He exhaled through his nose. “That I did. Thank you.”

You smiled against his skin before your features relaxed and you drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

Above your sleeping form, Astarion stared at the wall, unblinking.

A million thoughts were running through his mind, all of them revolving around you.

He’d forgotten how good sex could be. He’d convinced himself that he was okay without it, that you were okay without it, while you were recovering, and for the most part, he was. He was happy, even! Staying by your side all day and simply enjoying your company and silly commentary had been more than enough. And it seemed that you were happy, too.

But in that time, he’d forgotten.

He’d forgotten how his feelings for you might interfere and make things… better.

Could it always be like this?

He looked down at you, breathing steadily in his arms, and took your hand in his. He observed the ring on your pinky and twisted it a few times. He took it off of you and slipped it back on a few more times. He brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it repeatedly.

He was in big trouble.

You’d said and done things tonight that made him feel… loved. And he’d basked in it like the sun was still high in the sky.

He’d been mulling over his feelings recently, but not really. Why should he when things were good the way they were?

The problem was that he no longer wanted things to just be good the way they were.

He wanted more.

And he wanted you to feel as loved as he did.

Wait.

Oh no.

He was in love with you.

Fuck!

204 notes · View notes

chexxycheol · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 3. We're Facing Each Other || 13 Forget-Me-Nots

❀ Seventeen x Reader

title 13 Forget-Me-Nots or 13 Eternal Loves

synopsis You couldn't wait for your 20th birthday to finally reveal the one person you'd spend the rest of your life with. Well the 13 people you'd spend the rest of your life with. Or that story where reader has 13 soulmates, who happen to be idol group seventeen

genre Fluff, Angst, Romance

tags Soulmate!au, Idol! seventeen x Non-idol! reader, OT13 x Reader, Seventeen x Reader.

warnings Anxiety, Mature language, Inconsistent upload schedule, Reader is gender neutral but sometimes certain depictions lean feminine.

⚘ author constructive criticism is welcomed and my asks are open for feedback! this story is a work of fiction and should be separated from reality. thank you and enjoy!

—chery

wc 1.5k

《 previous || masterlist || next chapter 》

‘For Them’

Lucky (Released)

All My Love (Released)

Same dream, same mind, same night (Released)

To you (Released)

Darl+ing (Released)

Shadow (Draft)

IF you leave me (Draft)

Korean dialogue is in italics

All the members were finally back and taking time to settle before their schedules were packed for the next 2 months. Some members were sleeping, watching something together in the living room, playing video games, or out running errands.

Woozi looked around at his members, all dressed comfortably, most with their soul marks showing. He wondered if they’d ever find their missing piece, the one who could bring them peace.

Turning his head upon hearing Dino start to argue with Jun about whatever they were talking about. He had a small smile upon seeing Jun’s sunflower bouquet on his left arm, the one-line sunflower bouquet they all shared on their left arm. 12 sunflowers meaning friendship. He then thought of his soulmate mark, the singular forget-me-not behind his left ear.

Woozi hoped, prayed, hell even manifested his lyrics somehow reached their soulmate. He wrote so many songs with meaningful lyrics hoping they would reach the ears of their soulmate and they would understand the message they convey. He’s the shoulder they all cry on when his lyrics convey their emotions deeply.

But he knew when Dino turned 20 and he had the same forget-me-not, that he needed to start writing his music to get the message to their soulmate. Their forget-me-not, his muse.

“I’m heading to my studio” He announced to nobody in particular, just so they’d know where to find him for dinner. Over his shoulder, he heard two people grabbing their belongings. He knew exactly who they were, Vernon and Seungcheol. Vernon was his shoulder to cry on when his mind became too much or helped him with lyrics, and Seungcheol just needed to get away from the noise of their dorm.

He didn’t care, he had lyrics in his head and he needed to make them into something. He needed these songs to get to his soulmate.

Woozi’s studio was filled with the piano melody of what he came up with, Vernon was sitting behind him on the couch with Woozi’s lyrics laid on the coffee table with his notebook refining and fixing it to fit their group, and Seungcheol was sitting next to him on his phone.

They had been going for two hours, with no breaks in between. Seungcheol took the initiative to stop them so they could eat, they were all sitting around the coffee table eating their takeout making small talk but letting the comfortable silence indulge them.

“Has Mingyu talked to you?” Vernon asked the other two, grabbing more food from the takeout tray in front of him “About going to the Stray Kids concert with him cause he ‘doesn’t want to be a loner’?“ Seungcheol laughed making air quotes at his member's dramatics.

“I might go with him” Woozi said in between bites of his food “Sometimes I go to the gym with him and Changbin, and their other producer Chan when he tags along” Seungcheol looked surprised, he knew the younger didn’t go out to other groups concerts so it was a shock to hear him want to go to Stray Kids.

“What? I get along with Chan, we talk about music, I’ve helped him, he’s helped me, and I enjoy working out with him” Woozi said casually while grabbing his phone to text Mingyu.

‘I’ll come with you to the concert, who else is coming?’ After sending the message he set his phone down before it pinged with a message from him.

‘Just Joshua and now you, all the others have stuff going on’

‘What day and time?’

‘Tomorrow at 4 pm’ Woozi replied with a thumbs-up emoji before putting his phone down.

“Well I guess I’m busy tomorrow at 4 pm” He said taking a bite of food.

“The song title should be if you leave me” Seungcheol looked at the two after looking at the papers pushed to the side of the table “With an emphasis on the ‘if’, the song goes through all the ifs, it’s like a song about overthinking all the possibilities and the emotions of the ifs”

“This song should be the one we show our soulmate when we first meet them” Vernon says with a smile on his face. So Woozi did what he did with various other songs that they saved for their soulmate, he added it to the file.

‘For Them’

Joshua didn’t know what possessed him to agree to go to this concert with Mingyu but decided to go since he wasn’t doing anything that day. The trio had just sat in their seats far away from fans wearing their usual black masks, hats or beanies, sweaters, and jeans. Woozi wearing a bandaid to cover his soul mark behind his ear.

They sat in the section that had been rented out for family and friends to which they saw familiar faces sitting near or next to them. Joshua looked up from his phone upon someone tapping his shoulder “Hello, Is this seat taken already?” They had asked waiting for him to answer.

“No no, by all means” He motioned for you to take a seat. You sit down before turning to him to introduce yourself “I’m Y/N” You bow to the man and before he can introduce himself, the other guy from behind him quickly cuts in “Wait, I’ve heard about you from Changbin, you’re Felix’s friend!” You laugh “Yes I am, and you are?” he quickly introduces himself and his friends.

“I’m Mingyu” He points to the man sitting in between the both of you “This is Joshua and behind me is our other friend Woozi” You look behind him and see a shorter man wearing a cap, he waves at you before turning back to his phone.

“Nice to meet you all!” You smile at them before hearing Felix’s sister asking you a question, switching to English you talk with her for a bit before feeling a tap on your shoulder.

“You speak English?” Joshua asks happy he can talk to someone without the giant next to him interrupting “Yes! It’s my first language, I learned Korean with Felix” You smile at Joshua.

“So if you don’t mind me asking, Are you an idol too?” Joshua looks genuinely surprised because even Chan’s sister recognized him, he thought you would know him as well as all the other idols sitting near them.

“Yes, I’m an idol as well! We’re from Seventeen, Woozi over there is our songwriter” Joshua points behind him to Woozi who is half listening to the conversation upon hearing his name being mentioned “Really? I’m majoring in music composition, and Changbin and Chan helped me study for my final recently” You say mostly for Woozi to hear, you enjoyed talking to other people who are interested in music.

Felix’s sister grabs your attention again, and before Joshua can continue to talk to you, you’re up and walking away with Felix’s sister. He was a bit upset wanting to talk to you more before the show started.

“Seems like you’ve made a new friend” Mingyu looked at Joshua with a grin on his face, Joshua and Woozi rolled their eyes hearing the younger tease the eldest “They’re nice, and we probably won’t see them again” Joshua finished upon seeing you come back with your jacket hanging on your arm, exposing your off the shoulder blouse, he sees something that makes his eyes gouge out of his head.

The one thing he and his 12 other members had talked about, argued, and dreamt about. He didn’t mean to stare at your chest but seeing the arrangement of forget-me-nots peaking out from your blouse was something he didn’t expect to see, something he thought he would never see in this lifetime.

He didn’t know if his other 2 members behind him saw it as well, but he had to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him so he asked “Is that your soul mark?” he hoped it wasn’t a terrible dream.

You smiled at Joshua, unaware of his demeanor change before answering “Yup! The universe decided it was a great idea to give me 13 soulmates, so I have a bouquet of 13 forget-me-nots” You laugh not knowing there sat in front of you, 3 of your 13 soulmates. Chan’s sister who sat in front of you called you so you could get in the picture with her.

Woozi and Mingyu heard you loud and clear, Mingyu whipped his head towards you while Woozi sat there frozen staring at you. Joshua looked down at the palm of his hand, seeing his soul mark, once without color now showing a soft blue color, he showed his palm to the two others sitting next to him.

“Hey Y/N-” He started but the lights dimmed and the crowds cheering became deafening to his ears.

How the fuck would the three of them get through this concert with their soulmate sitting next to them.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #scoups x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #the8 x reader #mingyu x reader #dk x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #dino x reader #ot13 x reader #soulmate!au

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miriadalia · 7 months ago

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Things you can comment on the fanfics you love when you have no idea what to say

From what takes less time to what takes more

~show those writers your love, please!! They do it for free T-T and they deserve better

1. Emojis

You know the vibe of the fic you're reading, chose the ones that suit it better.

❤❤❤

💔💔💔

🙈🔥🔥

You may think this is kind of stupid, but trust me, it is NOT for the writer. It shows you've read until the end of the chapter and that you liked it so much that you decided to say it publicly. Your presence means A LOT.

Also, leaving kudos or votes takes literally just 1 second, what are you doing NOT doing that?? 🤨🤨🤨

2. Simple phrases

I loved it so much!!

Can't wait for the next chapter!!

This was just so good 😍

Amazing as always, keep it up!! 🙌🏼

Writing is a lonely work if you think about it. When I'm in a writer's block, just one sentence can hype me up for the rest of the day and give me the spirit I need 💪🏽

3. The emotions you felt

Yes, you DO matter. That fanfic author cares more about your opinion than your stupid ex so you better write to them instead 🧐

The plotwist was so unexpected, I'm shocked 😱

You can't end with that cliffhanger, how am I supposed to wait another week??

Excuse me, I will now lock into my room and cry all night, thank you 💔

I've read some people saying they won't comment how they felt because they feel ashamed or shy. Take it as if you were about to post a tweet or comment on a friend IG's story 👍🏻

4. One piece of dialogue/prose that really amazed you

Oof 🔥 this happened to me a few weeks ago and that comment still lives in my mind rent free. There's no better way to compliment a writer's work than to highlight something they wrote that left a true impression on you.

And it literally takes no time:

[Insert piece of dialogue], oh she didn't just say that, imma throw hands 🤬🤬

[Insert piece of a description], I could really see it with my own eyes, loved how you described it!

5. Hopes and wishes for future chapters

C'mon, you're going to comment this anyway with some of your fandom mutuals or friends, why don't let the writer know that too?? COPY AND PASTE IT ✍✍

I just need Chatacter A and Chatacter B to kiss, how long is it gonna take?? 😩

Watching that scene in [Canon series name] would have been awesome!! Maybe in future seasons 👀👀

I hope [Ship Name] don't break up in the next chapter, they are so cute 😭

6. Character discussion

Okay, we're entering deeper waters here.

But the truth is: if you love that fanfic that much is because the characters really resonated with you. So express your first thoughts without any fear:

[Chatacter Name] is so important to me, like you have no idea. All the things they went through... But they still manage to be a better person ❤

[Chatacter Name] was so forgotten in [Movie/Series Name], I'm glad they're getting the development they deserved here!

7. Scene discussion

Again, you might think the comment section is no place to start "fangirling" over the stuff you liked. But IT IS!! And the writer wants to know your thoughts on their work, especially if your opinion is all positive 💞

This will take more time, sure. But if you're going to write it anyways for other people, COPY AND PASTE AGAIN, hon!

8. How this story is impacting your fan life (or even personal life)

You don't need to overshare, but simple comments like:

Your fic has really changed the way I think about [Character Name]'s decisions, I feel like I can understand them better now.

This story has motivated me to rewatch all the episodes again 😢 the nostalgia!!!

What you did with [Character's situation] was incredible! I've been there myself and I could have not explain it better 😔

... They will be the ones the writer will remember the most, I can assure you that.

9. A simple THANK YOU

At the end of the day, fanfic and fanart creators only have your feedback to rely on when the block or discouragement hits... This is about showing appreciation to someone you may not know at all, but that has brighten your day with their creations and efforts ❤

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magicbeings · 7 months ago

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How I added "instant translation" to the non-english text on my fic: a very easy 3 step guide

Hello!

I recently posted a Wolfstar fanfic called Instance of Happenstance and received a lot of compliments on a small piece of code I used. Both @marigold-hills and @leavesthatarebrown suggested I share how I did it, so here I am, finally explaining it in a Tumblr post!

Before diving into the details, I want to clarify that I didn't write this code myself.

Initially, I tried following this tutorial, but I stumbled upon a better solution in the comments of that post. The code on the tutorial itself does work, but a) it's harder to use and b) it doesn't work as well if you're planing to have multiple paragraphs that you need to show the translation on the same fic.

The solution someone presented on the comments, however, is very simple and easy to use for as many paragraphs as you need, but the explanation there wasn’t too clear, so I decided to expand on it to make it easier for others to implement.

All credit to Ao3 users La_Temperaza (who wrote the orginal post) and Nikkie2571 (who posted this code on the comments).

What Does This Code Do?

This code adds an interactive feature to your fanfic, allowing readers to hover over a specific paragraph (or tap on it if they’re on mobile) to instantly change the text to something else — also set by you.

While this can be used for various purposes, I think it's particularly useful to display instant translations of non-English dialogue/text directly in the story. The code offers a much smoother alternative to the clunky “see end notes for translation” thing—which, let's be honest, can be a pain for readers, especially in long chapters.

For example, in instance of happenstance, Sirius discovers an old journal written entirely in French. I wanted to maintain the sense of mystery and intrigue that would be lost if I simply said the journal was in French, but wrote the text in English.

This solution let me keep the best of both worlds—retaining the authenticity and the immersion of the French, while still making the story easy to follow for the readers.

Now, I know this sounds complicated, but I assure you, it's not!

Down bellow is a quick, 3 steps tutorial on how to do it. I hope this is helpful! (:

(I'm doing this on the computer, if you're doing it on mobile, the layout of the website might be different from my printscreens)

Step 1 - Create The Work Skin

I'm gonna go right to the point here, but if you want to know about Work Skins in detail, I suggest this Ao3 Article.

On your Ao3 Dashboard, click on the fourth link on the sidebar, which is "Skins".

Then, on the page that opens up, click on "My Work Skins"

Then, on the top of the page, select "Create Work Skin"

Now, you'll see the form to create your skin, which looks like this:

Leave the "Type" as "Work Skin". On the Title, you can give any name you want to your skin, but I suggest you choose the same title as your fic or something like "instant translation", so you'll know what it's about later.

You don't have to worry about any of the other fields, except for the CSS one, where you should copy and paste exactly what I'll put bellow:

#workskin .change_on_hover:not(:hover) .on, #workskin .change_on_hover:hover .off { display: none; }

So, now, you'll have something like this...

... and you just have to click "save" on the bottom of the page, and this step is done.

Step 2 - Apply the Skin you created to your fic

For a new work, click on "New Work" as usual. If it's a fic you're already posting, you can add this as well, just click the "Edit" button.

Now, on the form of your fic, on the "Associations" tab, right under the menu where you select the language of your fic, you'll see a "select a work skin" option.

On this field, you should select the workskin you just created on the previous step, searching by the name you gave it on the "Title" field.

Step 3 - Insert the text

The code we're gonna use is this one:

paragraph in foreing language paragraph in english

If you have no idea what this means, hold my hand, we're gonna get through it together!

First, copy your fic’s text into the AO3 text box as you normally would. Then, switch the text box to HTML mode so you can see the underlying code.

Now, scroll down until you find the paragraph you want to translate. After pasting, it will likely look something like this:

Note how each paragraph in HTML starts with and ends with . These tags indicate where a paragraph begins and ends.

Our goal is to modify that first tag so it tells the browser, “Hey, this paragraph is different from those other ones. It should change when hovered over or clicked.”

To do this, we’ll change to . This marks the paragraph as special—one that should switch text when interacted with.

Now note how instead of having a single paragraph, we need two versions of the text:

In blue, the original (non-English) text, which will be shown by default.

In red, the translated (English) text, which will appear when the reader hovers over or clicks on it.

For the original text, wrap it inside a tag, ending with like this:

insert here the whole text of the paragraph in the foreign language

For the translated text, wrap it inside a tag, also ending with . This will replace the original text when hovered over or clicked:

insert here the whole text of the paragraph in english

And don't forget to end the whole thing again with

Again, here's how it looks on my fic:

With the paragraphs that come before and after the translated text, just leave them as they are. They should still start with and end with . No changes needed!

You can use this method for as many paragraphs as you want, whether in the same chapter or across different chapters. As long as the Work Skin is active, the effect will work seamlessly throughout your fic.

#fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 work skins #work skins #translation on text #ao3 fanfic #ao3 coding #tutorial #step by step #fanfic #wolfstar #marauders

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so-many-ocs · 1 year ago

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fifty creative writing warmups

1. search for lists of writing prompts, select one at random, and write from it for 15 minutes. the goal should be to write as much as possible, rather than trying to write something “good.”

2. read or watch a scene from a book/film/show/etc. and then rewrite it from memory.

3. choose one of the five senses (sight, smell, touch, taste, sound) and write a brief scene focusing primarily on that sense.

4. write an interview as if it were occurring between yourself and a character you’re writing about.

5. rewrite something you wrote a long time ago.

6. shuffle your favorite music and write something based on the first song that plays.

7. choose a scene from your least favorite book and try to rewrite it in a way that you like. pay attention to the changes you make and why, in your opinion, they improve the scene.

8. choose an object in the same room as you and write as much as possible about that object: descriptions, history, personification, etc.

9. choose an author whose style you like and read one of their works for about twenty minutes before sitting down to write.

10. write a short scene with no adverbs (words ending in -ly such as quickly, hastily, quietly, dimly, etc.)

11. reread a scene from a book you like and write down what you think the author did well: characterization, use of literary devices, foreshadowing, dialogue, etc. then write down the characters, goals/motives, and conflicts of the scene.

12. go outside or look out a window and simply write what you see.

13. write a scene with no dialogue.

14. write a scene with only dialogue.

15. choose a scene from your current work in progress and rewrite it from a different character’s point of view.

16. without editing, reread the last couple of scenes you wrote.

17. describe a room where you live.

18. learn a new word and try writing a few different sentences that each use that word.

19. reread something you’ve written out loud. pay attention to things like sentence flow.

20. write an alternate ending for a piece of media you’ve enjoyed recently.

21. write a short story based on a side character in a piece of media you’ve enjoyed recently.

22. rewrite a classic fairytale, but find a way to turn it on its head.

23. go to a random word generator and write a quick scene based on the first word that comes up.

24. describe your day as if it were the first chapter of a book.

25. choose a book from your shelf. find the fifth word on the fifth page and write something based on that.

26. go for a walk. or, if you can’t do that, try to find a way to move your body around.

27. choose an emotion and write a scene where that emotion is the central focus.

28. rewrite a scene you’ve already written, but switch the perspective—so, if your story uses first person present tense (I, me, my, mine), try third person past tense (they, them, their, theirs), or second person present tense (you, your, yours).

29. rewrite an important scene in your work in progress from the point of view of a complete outsider with no stake in the plot.

30. read three pages of a random book, making note of the author’s style, and then try to write a page in that author’s writing style.

31. write a news article about one of your characters. what is the headline? what is the article about?

32. in public, transcribe a conversation happening near you.

33. write a short dialogue exchange, then choose an emotion to highlight and rewrite the dialogue with that emotion in mind.

34. choose an object near you and describe it three times. each time, try to capture a different emotion or vibe.

35. if you’re within earshot of a conversation, write down 2-4 lines of that conversation and then continue it by making up your own dialogue.

36. write brief, 1-2 sentence descriptions of people you see in passing.

37. pick something you love and write about it as if you hate it.

38. pick something you hate and write about it as if you love it.

39. read something you wouldn’t normally read: an author, genre, style, medium, or subject matter you’d usually avoid.

40. write a goodbye scene between two people three times to capture different emotions: somber, cheerful, angry.

41. find a random photograph online of a person or place and write a story about it. what is the history behind the image? how did the picture wind up being taken—why?

42. find a random image online and write 1,000 words describing it.

43. watch a scene in a tv show or movie and try to adapt it into a written format.

44. read a few pages of a book about writing.

45. describe your main character’s home.

46. describe a day in your main character’s life.

47. set a timer for five minutes and list as many words as you can think of.

48. write a page of pure stream of consciousness. put down anything that comes to mind.

49. write a page describing the appearance of a side character.

50. choose one of your characters and create a new character based on them. for every trait your character has, this new character will have its total opposite—so, generous → selfish, cowardly → bold, short → tall, etc.

---------------------------

psst check out radio apocalypse

#🌿 writing #writing advice #writing tips #writing exercises #writeblr #writerblr #writing warmups #writing warm up

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aetherflowers · 6 days ago

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Writer's Tag Game

Thank you to @woundedsoul12 for the tag and @grad-writes for the game. 🥰

Do you prefer writing...

Extra questions (below the cut)

How long on average do you spend writing 1 chapter?

Do I have possession of the braincell? Do I have a migraine? Do I have life to contend with? So many factors to consider here, but I'd estimate a week if I push.

How long do you spend editing?

I was an English Lit major in college--I wrote a lot of papers. I never edited them and when I did I always got a worse grade because I would overthink things. Things get a once-or-twice over for spelling and grammar, and then they're birthed into the world. That said, I do tend to write slowly and edit as I go, moving around and rewording things while I'm in the moment.

Favourite thing to write?

Dialogue! Followed closely by fluffy romance.

Hardest thing to write?

Battles or overly technical things. To write things I usually need a good mental image and I can get that for fighting but then I realize I lack the vocabulary for pieces of armor and weapons which leads to research and sometimes I lose the thread.

Fic/story you are most proud of and why?

I don't have a lot published yet but of what I do have out...

Free Falling (Cullen x Trevelyan, E) -

I already had half of an Inquisition fic started when I came up with the "what if" that inspired Yvette's whole story. It laid the foundation for a more personalized experience in both Cullen's romance and story events like Champions of the Just and In Hushed Whispers. And I've really enjoyed exploring that. I know it's hotly debated whether or not Cullen is a virgin in Inquisition but I ascribe to the "casual sex" school of thought. Not everyone's cup of tea but that's fine.

Love is Just a Word (Alistair x Amell, M) -

This was borne from a Dragon Age 100 challenge prompt and took on a life of its own. I had so much fun writing it that I knocked it out in a night. I love writing Alistair. The spicier follow-up, Run With Me, took a few more days to write.

Gentle tags and forehead kisses for: @hedwigoprah @maagisterpavus @handsignals @jenn2d2 @in-the-drowning-deep @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @biowaredisasterbisexual @p0lkadotdotdot @celestialteapot @thedastrash @kayundae @nirikeehan @babydinosaur930 @draco-illius-noctis @notyourmamasdeerbat @theluckywizard @nyx-de-riva @serstolas @wolfmoonwildflowers @serensama @gutz-ingellvar @jukkaricity @the-font-bandit @silent-words @fiberpunk027 @chaosherald @imrowanartist and if you see this and wanna play along, here's a tag for you too! 😘

#tag games #kory posting #getting to know you......r writing style

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unhappytogekiss · 1 month ago

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On Exposition

Exposition is hard. You should probably have some, lest your reader be very confused about what is going on.

There is no correct way to do exposition, however nothing puts the reader off like bad exposition. Like all things in writing, you need to find your own style; and there are no hard rules. (see english teachers and the word said)

Bad exposition

Okay, so what does bad exposition look like? For me there’s three basic things to avoid

Seven paragraphs full of worldbuilding at the beginning of the book.

Putting an origin myth at the beginning of your writing may sound fun, but consider; what relevance does this have to the story you want to get going? Look at Tolkien, the og worldbuilding nerd with a very rich cosmos. He opens with Bilbo Baggins’s birthday party.

Putting the above worldbuilding in dialogue

So you’ve beaten the system. If a character just tells the reader all the worldbuilding, it’s part of the story, right? Well it’s going to have the same effect as point one, you’ve just put quotation marks around it. Think back to any bad fantasy film; except someone’s going to be reading it rather than listening to it which is harder on the eyes.

Proper nouns

If you introduce your character as Gawain, slayer of the great Horant, Marshal of castle Egmont, in service to the Duck and the Olympic Lancer no one has a clue what you’re on about. Equally, if your character opens with something like; ‘The Lemon Night is nigh.’ we need that explained.

Good exposition

But you’re an experienced writer, you know what bad exposition looks like. You probably didn’t even read all that nonsense I wrote above.

So, how do we improve our exposition?

Good expository dialogue

As previously discussed on this blog, storytelling is all about character. If you’re going to have your character give expository dialogue; disguise it with purpose. Why is your character saying this line? Does it tell us something about their personality? Are they reacting to something that’s already happened and we now have a basis for how they act? Are they teaching someone that doesn’t know about the setting, but in a way that shows us how they feel about the matters discussed? (I try to avoid a bland discussion of the facts) Are they having an argument and reiterating the facts because they think the other person hasn’t understood them?

We can learn a lot about a person from the way they react to things, and that means you don’t need to state it outright.

Yes you do need some exposition from the narrator too

When you start your creative writing piece, make sure that you explain whatever is necessary for the plot to make sense. If you’d put it on the blurb or you mention it when explaining the work to someone else, it needs to be in the first few pages.

But that doesn’t mean it needs to be dry. Who is your narrator? What do they think about this information, how would they describe it to the reader? Are they unreliable? Is the same information going to be recapped by a different person later and the differences between the two tell us about character?

I often associate it with an action that character is taking; instead of just saying it outright.

Proper nouns

Unless the proper noun is very obvious eg “Wind Mage” then just explain it. You’re not being mysterious and cool, people are just confused. (If not knowing what the proper noun is is the whole mystery of the plot, you are excused, but this needs to be communicated to the reader)

An example

This isn’t the most perfect example of exposition ever, but it’s from my own work and I’d like to share it.

For context (because I’m not posting the entire chapter): Des has just received a newspaper article about a stone circle being damaged.

“It was getting dark by the time I made it to Cambridge. With Alfie Burton standing in the middle of a University courtyard. ‘Des,’ He said. ‘What do you know?’ ‘Have you seen the article?’ He scowled. ‘Of course I’ve seen the article. I was wondering if you had anything mystical to add.’ ‘None of us have sensed anything.’ I retorted. ‘I was wondering if she’d contacted you, or you knew-’ ‘Yeah, right.’ Alfie said. ‘My sister’s dead, Des. The thing that’s come out of the Other Realm isn’t her.’ ‘And if I need your help?’ ‘I’m not one of your little minions.’ He said. ‘I’m not marked, I don’t have magic. But obviously, if I can help, I will.’ ‘I apologise for wasting your time.’ ‘You didn’t.’ Alfie sighed. ‘Look, we all know this is fucked. If you hear anything, mystical or not, let me know. And I’ll do the same if the police or something turn up.’ ‘Thanks Alfie.’ I said. He hugged me. ‘We’re all after the same thing. Look after yourself, Des.’ Athelhurst wasn’t far from Cambridge. I went up to the stones by myself, even if they were unsettling in the dark. I shone my phone’s torch over the monoliths, the drifting police tape. All twelve of them fanned outward like the rays in a child’s drawing of a sun. I could almost taste the magic in the air. The seal had been shattered, the stones no longer held him back, but marked a boundary between worlds. And across that boundary a very powerful and angry Fair Folk king waited. ‘Fuck you.’ I swore. It didn’t make me feel any better.”

What have we learnt from this?

Important plot:

Alfie’s sister is trapped in another dimension and is now back.

Said dimension is not a pleasant place and she’ll come back different in some way

This is likely due to the Fae that rules this dimension

This Fair Folk King was sealed in the other realm, but now that seal is broken.

Character development

Des is magical and Alfie is not

There are other magical people and Des is in charge of them

Alfie and Des are friends, even if he’s annoyed at her

Des is worried about the above seal being broken

Alfie works at a university and is therefore likely intelligent

How has this been conveyed?

Through a short conversation and a character describing one of their actions. The Other Realm is a proper noun, but it’s explained a paragraph later.

Conclusion

I’m not the best writer in the world, and I’m not going to pretend I am. I struggle with exposition all the time. All writing rules are more guidelines than anything else and the best way to develop your style is to keep writing. You will get better and you’ll have fun doing it.

#writeblr #writing #creative writing #writing advice #original writing #original story #writing community #writer tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writing stuff #writing tips #writer stuff #The Stones of Athelhurst Hill #follow me for mid writing advice and lukewarm takes #my writing

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princeloww · 2 months ago

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what is you’re writing process/any tips? i absolutely adore your fics and am a relatively new writer looking for any advice!

Sorry it took me so long to answer this!!! I've been meaning to, I just haven't found the time to write a good enough response.

First of all, you're so kind!! Thank you so much <3 I'm not sure if my advice will be any good or any helpful at all, but I can try my best :)

If you're completely new, don't worry about your writing not being exactly what you want it to be. It takes ages for writing to develop and for writers to fall into their own natural voice. Take your time and try not to worry about how good it is — as long as you're telling the story you want to tell, and having fun doing it, you're doing it right.

As for my writing process, I'm probably very unorganised and not a good example. Once I've got an idea I kinda let it fester and live in my head for a while before writing anything. I imagine scenes or specific imagery and usually work from there.

When I'm actually writing, I like to plan stuff with pen and paper first. I write an outline of each chapter with a focus on what each scene is supposed to achieve. I focus on the "goals" of the chapter or scene, so to speak - it's important to remember what purpose each scene or piece of dialogue is serving. That purpose doesn't have to be huge to the plot, it can be for the sake of character building or developing relationships, but knowing what you're trying to achieve can really help you stay on track and keep the pacing decent.

im deeply unorganised in the sense that i have 3 notebooks for one fic and which one I use depends on my mood (the fic is NES)

My outlines are usually pretty rough to begin with - here's an actual extract from a quick chapter plan I wrote. This one was typed so it's word for word:

alec and tess at dinner table with Daisy. That intensity is gone from tess eyes. There is no love left. They eat in silence. The scraping plates gets to alec and he throws his cutlery down and leaves. Tess tells him to fuck off then and Daisy shrinks in her seat. Alec kisses Daisy's head on the way out and tells her he'll be back in an hour He goes up to his/tess room and paces back and forth for a moment, unable to shake pippas body + the river. He takes the photo of him and his family from under the bed and brings it with him. He goes on a drive, driving round and round in circles while thinking. He brakes abruptly on a bridge. Lit by his car lights, he gets out and looks our over the edge. It's the sandbrook. He grabs the picture from the car and stares at it. He curses it. In a moment of emotion, he chucks it over the bridge and watches it vanish into the night. Then, suddenly, he panics. He realises what he's done and misses the photo. He clambers off the side of the road and into the dodgy bank beneath. He stumbles through wet grass before finding the riverbank, which he almost falls into. The picture is caught on a rock. He manages to fish it out, getting his head soaked in the process. He emerges and gets back in the car. Soaking wet, he stares at the photo. It's ruined. Only his fathers face remains unsmudged. He throws it into the passenger seat and begins to cry. Properly cry.

I stuck pretty closely to this plan, if you wanna see it implemented you can read the chapter here (link).

Sometimes I write plans out multiple times to rework any issues/make things tighter but it sorta depends. From there I just write it. No beta we die like (insert any dead character). Again I'm probably not the best example lmaoo

Keep in mind what exactly you are trying to say; if a scene doesn't serve any purpose, consider whether or not it needs to be there. Feel free to experiment with tenses and formatting. It can take a while to find out what works best for you/what you enjoy the most.

Try not to get too bogged down in making things perfect though, try to have fun with it!!! and if a scene is stressing you out or causing any kind of block, try reworking it or hitting from a different angle. Find something else to focus on or another character to focus on.

Going for walks usually inspires me but that might be just me. I like walking, listening to music and thinking about writing. !!

this is getting a bit waffley now, I hope its in any way helpful or at least interesting. Thank you again for your lovely words and I'm sorry for taking so long !!!

More fic plan extracts under the cut if anyone's interested:

Same chapter plan, I don't think i kept all of this?

we cut to Alec returning home. He slips inside. The lights are off. Tess sits in the dark, at the table. She says she thought he killed himself. He says that yeah he thought about it. Then he says he decided the funeral would be too expensive, and then storms off. As he's leaving, tess shouts that nobody would go anyway. He bombs into their room and chucks the photo under his bed. He hides his head in his hands. Daisy appears at the door. He is about to cry again, so tells her not now. She frowns and vanishes down the hall. Pathetically, still wet and muddy, he climbs into bed and stares at the ceiling. His chest hurts. Hard cut

(TWENTY FIVE DECEMBERS)

This is an even rougher plan for NES:

Meanwhile, Campbell talks to Jamie and Co again, and is invited out with them that night. He says yes, eager to fit in and secure his friends. Alec surprises the kids by picking them up, crushing campbells plans. He gets mad at Alec and says it's unfair, kicking off. Alec isn't in the mood for it, so they have a spat.

Campbells bad mood continues at the birthday party. Alec pulls him aside and talks to him in the kitchen, and is quite harsh. Alec is bothered by the loud music and in a bad mood as well, so their moods clash. They fight quietly. Tom Miller overhears them talking about the hospital. Campbell storms off suddenly, leaving the house. Alec follows after him and tries to apologise, while explaining his point of view.

Campbell isn't having it, and accuses Alec of fucking up his one chance of having friends. He gets in the car and slams the door. Alec gets in beside him, and tells him they can't leave yet. He says whatever and Alec leaves him in the car to brood

THE NEVER-ENDING SKY

Hope this is at least slightly helpful if not interesting (ask for more plans and I will deliver I have ones for nearly every chapter somewhere take your pick)

#ask #olly does ao3 #extract plan from twenty five decembers #david tennant #broadchurch #alec hardy #writers on tumblr #writing #writing advice #long post

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lilgarbitch · 7 months ago

Text

Running In Circles - One

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: Slight angst, slight fluff, anxiety...I think that's all so far

Word count: 6k

Author's note: I’M BACK BITCHES!!! So I changed/ am changing a few things and I hope it doesn’t upset anyone. As much as I loved Tommy, Tony, and Cam, I feel like I could’ve put more effort into their names. So Tommy is now Finn, Tony is now Calum/Cal, and Cam is now Damien. Some dialogue and things have changed as well and I can’t say I’m extremely happy with the way I wrote this chapter, but I didn’t want to change too much. Still, I hope you’re as excited as I am ;)

Y/N

I sit hunched over, elbows resting on my knees as my leg rapidly bounced up and down. My chin rested on my fist, with a stressed scowl covering my face as I sat in the lounge of our tour bus. I realize I’m shaking my whole body by bouncing but I truly don’t care. It eased the racing thoughts of the show we’re about to play. The first show of our new tour.

Finn walks into the lounge and gives me a slightly pained pitying look. I try to sit up and let his presence distract me from the stress, waiting for him to say something, but it just takes over my body once again and I fall back against my seat with a loud huff and shut my eyes.

“I know you always get nervous shows, but…Hun..” he sends a small pout my way, “you look like you haven’t slept. You’ve been dreaming of us touring with someone big for so long…But it almost looks like you’re regretting it.” Finn looks at me with pity filled eyes.

I let out a long exhale, rubbing my hands against my fishnet-covered thighs, trying to soothe myself.

“I am excited, trust me. I-” I pause to squeeze my eyes shut and try to push the stress away again. I try to give him a smile, hoping to look nervous rather than unbelievably stressed. “I just… can’t wrap my head around it…especially who we’re touring with.”

He gives me a look telling me that he doesn’t believe me and is slightly confused. I had never fully explained myself to Finn. He knows nothing about what’s truly been on my mind for the past few years. He doesn’t know who I write about in my lyrics. And there’s a reason for it. It’s utterly embarrassing and confusing for me to say any of it out loud.

I wave him off with a small ‘it’s nothing’ before getting up and pacing around the tour bus. We were about a half hour away from the venue for the first show. I look at myself in the mirror and run back to my bag, deciding to change my outfit once more. I just want to feel good enough for first impressions with the band, so I can’t have myself thinking too much about my appearance. I look through my bag, look down at myself, then back at my bag. I grab my phone and check the weather before picking out a few pieces of clothing and walking back to the seating area, Cal now sitting with Finn.

“Is Damien still sleeping?” I ask, my mind getting sidetracked, seeing all my bandmates but my drummer.

“No, he’s in the back on his phone. Said something about needing quiet, as if he isn’t the one causing the noise most of the time” Cal replies with a snort, staring out the window at the passing scenery. I give him a nod before remembering what I was holding.

“Okay, so. It’s going to be a little chilly out today, but I’m sticking to my skort and fishnets. Do I wear my sweater-” I say holding up my oversized knitted sweater, “Or my lace top with a cardigan?” I proceed to hold that pairing up. Cal turns to me and eyes both choices and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he visualizes what both outfits would look like, causing a small humorous smirk to form on my face.

I glance towards Finn and he’s tapping a finger against his chin, before replying, “The sweater would be warmer, yeah?” and I give him a small shrug. “That one, then.”

“Dude, I’m asking which would look cuter, not which I would survive better in,” I laugh. I love my band. I can fully say that I view everyone in the group as my family. My brothers. But it has reached a point where I am purely treated as a little sister and not their lead singer.

I turn back to Cal as he’s still deep in thought, but he finally spoke.

“I agree. But only because the lace top with the fishnets may clash, and the sweater still lets your neck tattoos show,” he answers as if I gave him a pop quiz. I roll my eyes with a smile before turning around and heading to change. I look at my outfit after, and agree with Cal. The short skort shows off my leg tattoos which I hate covering up, and the sweater covers enough to keep me warm, but shows off the cybersigilism tattoo on the front of my throat, the barbed wire on my left collar bone as it hangs down on that shoulder. The sleeves are a little too long, so I rolled them up enough so they aren’t going to get in the way, and so they show off the detailed skull on my left hand and the more cybersigilism print flowing onto my right.

I give myself a final look over in the mirror, take account of if I’m comfortable enough, and if there’s anything I’m going to think too much about out of insecurity. Giving a small smile to myself in my reflection, I leave the bathroom and walk towards the front.

“ETA 5 MINUTES” Damien shouted from behind me, both scaring me and bringing the dreaded stress and fear back into my body. I let out a small shriek and he laughs out an apology, patting my back as he passes me and goes to sit with the rest of the boys. With a long exhale, I sit down with them all as we pull down a dirt road and head towards the bus park. We have 3 hours until doors even open, so I let out a sigh of relief when I see no other buses around as our bus halts to a stop. Maybe I can eye this place out and find a good place to relax (aka finding good hiding spots to get away from everyone when things get too much.)

I feel a small pat on my shoulder, waking me from my daze as the boys get up and start heading out of the bus. I stand and follow, trying my hardest to calm my nerves. If this was a situation where I was just a fangirl about to perform with her favorite band, this would be so much easier. But it’s so much more.

We all step about and stretch our legs, finally feeling solid ground after hours and hours on a tour bus. Feeling better, I head off towards the venue, stopping as I notice something in the distance, towards the front of the venue. A group of people forming, causing a wave of confidence to rush over me. Even though I know most are here for Bad Omens, they’re here early. Meaning they still want to see our band, whether they know anything about us or are just open to new music. I let out a deep exhale. Maybe I can do this. I walk further until I’m heading in through the back doors. I eye up the green rooms and backstage. I search out all available bathrooms because it’s always good to know. And then I walk towards the actual stage, seeing where I will be performing today. I mentally start mapping out where everything will go and watching our show perform perfectly in my mind as a way of bringing some sense of comfort and stability to this stressful day.

Suddenly, I heard doors opening and footsteps behind me, making me jump, but when I turned around, I was thankful it was just the boys and our crew carrying our things in. I grab my custom mic stand, that I just had to splurge on for this tour because I for some reason thought it would help with my whole imposter syndrome feeling of this whole thing, and walk with everyone onto the stage and help set up what I can. We thankfully have a large enough crew now that we had gotten bigger, so the boys and I are eventually able to walk away and scope out the area more.

Once we finally felt settled in enough, knowing where everything we need is, we stepped outside for some fresh air and to let off some pent-up stress and emotions that we didn’t need on stage.

A few feet from me, Finn and Cal are chatting about whatever the hell guitarists talk about, occasionally letting out their practice vocals, as they’re my backup vocalists for a few parts of songs, while Damien and I are doing an odd preshow ritual that we started way back when. I’m doing my vocal exercise, making sure my screams and growls are up to par for today, while also making sure I can hit my clean vocals well, with Damien letting me know if anything sounds too harsh. And while I do all of this, I have my hands extended out, palms up, with Damien beating on them lightly with a pair of drumsticks. It looks and sounds insane, but it’s a good exercise for both of us, as we need to be able to do our own thing while listening to the other to make sure we work together, but also so we don’t get distracted by external noise.

We get so stuck in our own zone that we, or I guess mostly I, don’t even notice the other tour bus pull up close to ours. Damien stops beating on my hands, bringing me back to reality as I look up at him. I follow his eyes and land on the new bus in the lot. I instantly feel my heart and stomach drop down to my ass. My breathing stops as I see a few heads starting to file out of the bus. They don’t immediately see us, but when they do, they send a wave and a smile.

At first, I only see long, slightly messy hair, instantly recognizing it as Jolly, Mr. Joakim Karlsson himself. Finn and I have talked about him a lot, just pure adoration of how he plays. Finn has even become good friends with him over the last few year, even helping us get this spot on the tour. Then I see one of the Nicks. Nick Folio, the drummer, causing Damien to instantly leave my side and immediately use his gift of being an extrovert to walk up and start chatting with him. Next to him was the other Nick, Nick Ruffilo, their bassist, who had the sweetest smile on his face as he waved to all of us, and I just couldn’t help but mirror his actions.

But now, the stress was fully hitting me. It hit me that the only way I could get through today and even the rest of the tour was to do what I do best. Put on a complete front when stressed. It was what I’ve always done when I was in uncomfortable situations. Even in childhood, I could pretend to be someone who was completely not myself, just so no one would see what I was truly feeling. I know it’s going to throw my bandmates off guard, but they’ll catch on. Unless I want to look like a maniac to the new group, I can’t let my true feelings show.

As I was planning out in my head my plan, thinking of ways to make it foolproof, the man of the day stepped off the bus. With hair like Levi Ackerman, looking beautifully styled even though you could tell the only thing he’s done was run his hands through it. With his arm and throat tattoos on full display as if I were walking around a goddamn art piece. He looked ethereal. To me, at least. I now realized that I had once again fully stopped breathing and my heart was beating out of my chest. Before Noah could even glance my way, I slowly backed up toward Finn, letting him know that I was going to be right back, trying my hardest to sound okay and not cause any concern. With that, I sneakily slipped past him, praying that no one saw how suspicious it looked, and sped walked back towards the venue, to a bathroom as far out of reach as possible.

I walked in and locked the door behind me. My breath started picking up and I immediately did everything I could to stop a panic attack from fronting. I ran my hands under cold water, trying to shock my body back to reality. I did my breathing exercises. I did everything I could. But the second I glanced at myself in the mirror, it was as if I allowed my brain to go back in time.

I couldn’t be happier right now. Finn and I were walking around a metal festival. I had just forced him to watch Erra’s set with me and now he was taking me to see a band he thought I’d like. He was excited to show them to me and I was just happy to be here, seeing bands I love and seeing new artists that I would absolutely be adding to playlists tonight. We stopped and stood in a spot where we thought would be perfect. There were a few people in front of us, but we were close enough to the barricade and stage that we could see the whole show perfectly.

While we waited for their set to start, Finn and I chatted about the bands we had seen that day. We both mentioned a few we enjoyed that we never heard before, then talked about how some bands put on performances that we either loved or thought could have been a lot better. We even threw some ideas back and forth of what we saw and heard that could be implemented into our own shows. We were just joking, giggling, and having the best time. It was a little sad that we had to wait until the next day of the festival for Cal and Damien to join us, but I truly enjoyed spending today with just Finn, as I definitely felt closest to him out of all of them, knowing him a lot longer than the others.

We were talking about the lineup for tomorrow and what bands we wanted to see and who we wanted to show to Cal and Damien. I was mid-sentence when I heard people beginning to cheer around us, which brought a giant smile to my face, out of complete and utter love for the environment at concerts, and then to glance up at the stage, trying to see who had stepped out. It was the drummer. He was cute. He flashed the crowd a sweet smile, waving at everyone, before sitting behind his drum set. Then came the guitarist and bassist. I eyed all three up and down, a little shocked at how attractive everyone was, but knowing Finn, it made a lot of sense as to why he wanted to be so close to the stage.

The three of them got everything ready, and I was about to turn to Finn to mention how hot they all looked when the voice in my throat died and my body stiffened as the lead singer walked on stage. No words could explain the feeling that overwhelmed my body as I saw that confident, long-haired man stand right before me.

He started addressing the crowd, hyping everyone up, including Finn, but I didn't hear a single word he said. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t regain control over my body. I did my best to shake out the stiffness, trying my hardest to look like a normal person in the crowd, but there was nothing I could do to get my brain to start working again.

I watched as he moved around the stage. I could see the love that he had for performing. But absolutely nothing could knock me out of the daze I was in. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. The emotions were so foreign. I completely forgot where I was after a while. The only thing my brain allowed me to focus on was him. Everything about him. I felt like an owl, using all my senses to focus on every single thing he did. I knew I probably looked like a madman, or at least I felt like one, but there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself.

After some time, probably a few songs, he was closer to the crowd, looking through it as he sang, and we locked eyes for a moment. But it almost seemed like he did a double take, before forcing himself to go back to serenading the whole crowd after a few moments. It was most definitely because I looked utterly insane, but in that moment, I didn’t care. The feeling that shot through my body when we did make eye contact was like nothing I had ever felt before.

Time moved by at such a weird pace in my daze, so before I knew it, the set was over and he was thanking the crowd and the festival for having them. As he bowed and was about to leave the stage, our eyes locked again, and a shiver was sent through my body. I saw him blink a few times before sending a final wave to the crowd and walking off stage.

The second he was no longer in my line of sight, reality finally came back to me. I blinked a few times and let out a deep breath as if I had been holding it the entire time. Finn started talking and caught my attention, so I turned to him as if nothing happened.

“So… what’d you think?’ he asked, nudging my arm with a smirk. I gave him the best fake smile I could before replying, “Oh, that was amazing. Why didn’t you warn me about how hot everyone was?” which caused him to let out a chuckle.

“I figured it would be a good surprise.” he shrugged out as we walked away from the stage and towards the next set. My mind was racing a mile a minute but I tried my best to keep my composure as we continued to talk.

“So, who was your favorite?” Finn randomly asked as we stood at a different stage, waiting for Of Mice and Men to start.

“Uhh..” I trailed off, not wanting him to know I already had an answer.

“It was Noah, wasn’t it.” he cut me off with a smirk.

“Was that the-”

“The singer? Yeah. I could totally see the heart eyes you got when I saw him look at you.” he laughed out, causing my face to redden. All I could do in response was nod. I mean, it’s a simple crush, wasn’t it? We all fall for random artists, so there’s no reason for me to feel weird about it. As long as I completely ignore the fact that what I just felt was nothing close to what I felt when I used to fangirl over boybands in middle school.

A year later

‘This isn’t a normal crush.’ I kept repeating in my head. I was currently writing lyrics for new songs, trying to find emotions in me to write about, but all I could do was dwell on that feeling I got that day, and the feelings that came after it.

I look at my paper filled with messy writing, which was surrounded by other papers of the same misfortune, all with the same thought behind it. One talking about losing control to a man who never knew me, another begging to “be his sweet dreams.” My eyes land on another, catching the words, ‘I want to feel your heartbeat on mine,’ causing me to let out a loud groan and fall back into my chair. I rub my hands down my face and let out a dry sob. I was so tired of this. I’ve become a fucking cliche.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Cal with a small sheepish smile on his face. He crouched down next to my chair and looked up at me.

“Do you need some help?” I know he thinks my frustration is coming from the struggle of writing, and not who I’m writing about, and I’m going to keep it that way.

“Please. I can’t keep looking at these. And if anyone could help me, it’s going to be the other hopeless romantic in this band.” I answer with a sad chuckle. He nods and motions me to stand up so he can sit at my desk. I do so, sitting in a chair a few feet away and just staring up at the ceiling as I hear him rustle the papers around.

“Oh for fucks sake, dude, who the hell are you writing about,” he asks, thankfully rhetorically. He knows I never answer, the embarrassment being too much, so I just reply with a tired giggle and let him do what he can to fix this part of my mess.

I blink a few times, finally back in the bathroom. Reality crashing into me, finally grounding me once again. My hands are cramping as I look down and see that I’ve been gripping the sink so harshly, I don’t know how I didn’t break it. I loosen my grip and stand up straight, shaking off my nerves. I take an actual look at myself in the mirror, fix my makeup with my finger a little, before taking a deep breath and unlocking the door, ready to at least confront today. I can deal with the future later. I run my plan in my head a little, deciding that I can at least pretend to be an extrovert for a little while, just to ease the awkward tension that I know will build if I keep acting this way.

I walk back through the hallway of the venue, then outside, towards the group of guys who were all chatting, and let out one last exhale of stress before putting on my confident front and joining the rest of them.

Thankfully, it seems I was gone for barely 10 minutes, as their crew bus wasn’t even here yet and they’re still chatting about interests and how they were happy to finally meet after talking for a few months. I walk close enough that I have now caught the attention of a few of them, and I give them the best confident smile that I can. I walk towards the other band of boys and give them a small wave.

“You must be Joakim!” I say, him giving me a proud smile for using his real name, and I internally thank myself for pronouncing it correctly. He tells me to just call him ‘Jolly” as I give him a small side hug, feeling comfortable with him since I know that he and Finn have become good friends lately, and I would love to be one as well. I then face to his right.

“And you must be the Nicks!” I say without trying to under or overdo my enthusiasm. “I am really happy to meet you all. Sorry I haven’t been as chatty over the phone as the others, but preparing for a tour kinda makes me a recluse.” I give them both a sheepish smile as I give my hands a squeeze, trying not to feel too embarrassed about completely ignoring them when the boys would chat with them. They both chuckle and tell me that it was all good since we’d be hanging out now, and that thankfully made me feel better, knowing they were falling for this fake extroverted version of me.

Now here comes the hard part. I take the deepest breath I could through my nose so they can’t tell how hard this is for me. I take a few steps to their right and meet face-to-face with Noah. I hold my arms behind my back, knowing that my hands are definitely shaking right now, and give him a warm smile.

“And you must be the famous Noah Sebastian.” I try giving him my warmest smile and a small nod of acknowledgment. His eyes show an emotion I can’t quite understand and his mouth parts slightly before closing and giving me a fake warm smile back. Almost completely mirroring mine. My stomach sours at the sight, fearing that he may already hate me, but maybe he is just nervous and trying to hide it as well.

“And you must be Y/N.” my breath softly hitches as I hear his deep smooth voice, and it being directed towards me was causing small shivers down my spine. I play it as cool as I can and nod before he continues, now facing my whole band.

“We’re really excited to play with you guys. We’ve actually listened to Praising Deities for a while, even before Finn and Jolly met. So I was super excited to hear that our teams were able to come together and make this happen. And I truly hope that we all enjoy spending the next few months together and become good friends.” He finishes, giving us all a warm smile, his eyes trailing over all of us, but lingering on me the longest, making my heart race.

Finn, Calum, and Damien all thank him and continue on with compliments and getting to know the other band, Jolly and the Nicks responding back the same way. But that just left Noah and I alone in our own little worlds. We listened to the others chat about things, occasionally answering if someone asked us something, but we didn’t contribute much. I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought that I was barely a foot away from the man that has been infiltrating my thoughts daily for the past few years.

At some point, I guess I had dazed off, overthinking everything and just staring down at the ground while everyone chatted. Who knows how long I did this before I felt someone to my left nudge me. I blinked a few times before turning to them, only for my eyes to widen slightly, seeing that it was Noah and that he was closer than ever before. He leans down until his face is near my ear.

“You alright?” He mumbles into my ear with a slight nervous strain, sending shivers down my spine, once again, at how deep his voice got when he was trying to keep quiet. I take a deep breath before giving a half-assed nod. He clears his throat, standing up straight, and then places a hand on my lower back, pushing me out of the crowd of our bandmates. I really didn’t know how to react other than letting my heart start racing again, so I just let him, until we were far enough from them that we could have our own conversation. When he stopped, I looked up at him, slightly confused.

“I- uh I just figured you needed to get out of there. I was starting to get overwhelmed and saw you staring off in the distance, so I figured you needed a way out of there as well.” He answered my silent question, rubbing his tattooed hand on the back of his neck, almost looking shy.

“Oh!” I let out a fake airy laugh. “ Yeah, I uh just have a lot on my mind… I was honestly waiting for our manager to come out and tell us to do our soundcheck, just something to get away from the questions. I..uh..it’s been a stressful day, so as much as I’d love to have a good chat with all of you, it’s probably going to have to wait until I’m more settled in with..all of this,” I finish, motioning to the tour busses and venue. He seems to be listening intently when I talk and gives me a small nod when I finished.

“No, I get it. To be completely honest, I still get anxious on the first show of a tour..” he pauses for a moment, before looking like he had an idea. “Here. You go head inside, I’ll be right back.” He quickly moves towards his tour bus. I shoot him a confused look at his sudden excitement but realized he was already so far away, so I just do what he says and start walking back inside. On my walk in, I continue my deep thinking. How I’m actually really happy that I’m playing off my anxiety toward him super well, and was surprisingly able to have a conversation with him without freaking out. And I was especially thankful that he had more confidence than me, actually starting the conversation. Maybe I can survive this. Maybe I can get over all these weird feelings over the next few months. I mean, having a natural human conversation with him seems to be okay for me, so hopefully my brain will start seeing him as a normal everyday person…right?

Still deep in thought, I make it inside and head towards the backstage area. As I walk, my reflection catches my eye, and I turn and take a good look at myself in the full-length mirror they have in there. “I look sane enough” I quietly tell myself with a nod as I fix my outfit a little before letting out a deep breath, forcing the rest of the stress out of me. I’m glad I put extra thought into my outfit today. I know I’m gonna have days where I’ll just want to put something comfy on to perform, but with first impressions and it being the first day of the tour, I’m pretty proud of my appearance.

Since it was the first day, and I liked my look, I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture (or a few, trying to find the right pose) and then headed towards the couch. I open Instagram and click on the picture I like the most. One where my tattoos show and the lighting was good enough. Then I type, “Day 1 jitters slowly easing away. Can’t wait to see you all out there <3” in the caption, making a face at how that was somehow the best idea for a caption I could come up with, but not really caring and hitting post anyway, after tagging the band’s account.

Almost instantly, I started getting likes and comments and was about to put my phone away until a few caught my eye. They all mentioned Noah. Some asking weird personal questions, some wanting to see how we were all getting along, and some even asking when a collab was happening, which made me chuckle. Then I saw a few with account names that had either ‘Bad Omens’ or ‘Noah’s’ in them and each had some snarky comment to make. One mentioning how I was probably sleeping around since I was going to be touring with 7 other boys, which I just rolled my eyes at. If it hasn’t happened yet, I doubt I was ever going to do anything like that. I don’t like mixing work and play, and I absolutely would never see any of my boys like that. The thought alone made me grimace.

But then I thought about it more. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Bad Omens. I’m going to be spending the next four months with Noah. Singing my songs. The songs I wrote..about Noah. Fuck. And Noah is currently on his way here by himself. We’re going to hang out by ourselves…Why did I let him tell me to wait in here? What happened when speaking to him that I just forgot about the debilitating obsession I got all those years back. Hell, what am I even doing here?

Almost as if on cue, the doors open and I hear a single pair of footsteps walk towards me. My knee began to bounce and I tried my best to hide my attention in my phone as he got closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, not needing to be any louder since it was just me in here. I looked up from my phone and saw that he brought a Nintendo Switch with him. I giggled as the sight brought me out of my mental battle. Such a large, tatted man, looking down at me with excitement as he held a colorful, handheld gaming device. He walked closer to me until he sat down about a foot from me and gave me a smile, which I mirrored back as authentically as I could.

“Whenever my nerves are getting bad, I always force one of the boys to play with me until soundcheck. So I figured..” he trailed off as he motioned the switch towards me. I let out a small laugh before responding.

“You know, that might actually help. Are you sure you don’t have anything you have to be doing? I don’t want to be using up your time-”

“No! I mean… I have a lot of time. You guys still have, what? An hour? before soundcheck, and I can do everything I need during that time’ he rushed out, catching me a little off guard a little, causing me to giggle.

“Okay. Okay. If you say so.” I laugh out as I reach my hand out. He gives me a smile and places the controller in my hand before setting the body of the switch on the table in front of us. We go back and forth deciding on what game to play and eventually just settle on Mario Kart.

Finn

The boys and I chatted for a good 20 minutes or so, or what I thought was only 20 minutes, before we realized that Y/N and Noah never came back. I noticed first, then slowly the rest of them did, a few of us sending each other confused glances before Cal mentioned needing to look for them, as we probably had to get ready soon. I agreed and we all started walking back.

We all headed towards the door to the back of the venue, Damien being the one to open it. As soon as we stepped inside, we all heard arguing, causing a few of us to share concerned looks before speed walking towards the voices, leading us to the room backstage. The second we got close enough, we saw Y/N leaning over Noah, trying to knock a tiny switch controller out of his hands, as he was yelling about how she was cheating.

“WHY’D YOU PICK RAINBOW ROAD FOR YOUR TURN, JACKASS! YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW THE TRACK WELL! SO YOU’RE THE CHEATER!” Y/N yells, still occasionally elbowing Noah’s arm, but his tight grip on the controller and focus on the screen not faltering once. Noah’s laughing more and more every time she tries messing with him.

“YOU’RE LITERALLY TOUCHING MY CONTROLLER! THAT’S AGAINST THE RULES!” Noah yells back as he starts shouldering her back into her spot. The boys and I just watch in awe as these two argue over a racing game, which I do fully understand, especially since I have played against Y/N before and boy, does she get competitive. I see Y/N catch us in the corner of her eye and she smirks.

“Noah, the boys are here for you,” she tells him, and the second he glances up at us, she instantly smacks the controller out of his hands, it landing on the thankfully carpeted floor, and she lets out an almost evil cackle. Noah shouts as he loses the controller and immediately reaches for it as fast as he can. He sits back up, fumbling with the controller to get a good hold of it, and goes back to playing, only to let out a ‘WHAT THE FUCK’ which causes her to laugh even harder.

“I WAS IN SECOND PLACE AND NOW I’M IN TENTH,” Noah shouts towards her before turning towards us. “She is vicious!” he warns us, causing all of us, but mainly Cal, Damien and I to just laugh because if anyone already knew that, it was us. Damien and Ruffilo walk closer to them, standing on each side of them, watching as they finish the race. I can tell by the teasing scowl on Ruffilo’s face and the excitement in Damien’s that Y/N was winning. After a few moments, with Noah and Y/N looking like they were both about to fall out of their seat, Y/N jumps up and Noah falls back as Damien and Y/N cheer and high-five each other. The boys and I all clap for her and she gives an over-the-top bowing performance, before turning to Noah, who’s throwing a fake pity party. This causes her to sit back down and try to ease her laughter.

“Awe, I’m sorry, Noah,” she says with a fake pout. He lets out a huff in response, causing her to have to stifle a giggle. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the stage manager walking towards us, and I look over to Y/N. The movement catches her eye as well as she glances at us, getting the hint that we need to head for soundcheck. She stands and walks around Noah so he’s looking at her and leans down.

“I’ll make this up to you next time,” she tells him with a smile as she turns and walks away, Damien following her. As I was about to turn to follow, I managed to catch Noah’s eyes trailing down Y/N’s body, eyeing up her tattoos, and then just her, as she walked away. I had to hold back a snicker as Cal and I walked away from the group and headed on stage.

Part Two

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