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sarahowritesostucky · 10 months ago

Text

📖"Hydra Sanatorium"

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

Word count: 5297

Tags: a/b/o, medical institutionalization, cognitive disability, made up kinky medical things, diapers, catheters, non-con medical procedures, restraints, forced wetting, hurt/comfort, humiliation, kind!Careworker Steve, bratty!Patient Bucky, alpha Steve, omega bucky, dry humping, forced orgasm, masturbation, implied self harm, orgasm therapy, age difference (19/30), omorashi

Summary: Bucky is a troubled teen coping with the traumatic transformation of late-onset omega puberty. Steve's the care worker who's been developing too much of an attachment.

A.N. I will no longer be going to the trouble of posting extensive warnings, cautions, "Minors DNI", "smut below the break", or extra trigger warning outside of the story tags etc., like I used to. Because the staff troll has targeted my account and held it to standards that virtually no other explicit fanfiction authors are consistently held to or follow on this platform, I will now only be tagging major themes above the story summary, and other than that, the only warnings you'll see from me are the "mandatory" (🙄what a joke) community labels: mature. Sorry, but I'm not going to bend over backwards to please a bunch of antis and an illiberal, vindictive child who works at Tumblr with zero accountability for their abuse of their position. Troll: grow the hell up, and PLEASE for the love of God: never go into politics.

So here is my new sign I'm so excited to introduce!🥳Feel free to use it - no need to give credit. As Mr. Mackie likes to say to the nitwits: "Baby I'm a grownup."

Wait! I think I missed a previous chapter! Series Masterlist

Chapter 6: Inflation Therapy

Previously:

"It’s going to be okay, Buck. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, voice dull. “I know.”

It’s not the tantrum Steve was expecting, but somehow it feels just as bad. Because rather than reacting, Bucky’s just withdrawing. Steve watches him pick at his meal for another half an hour. With some gentle encouragement he’s able to get the kid to eat the majority of his protein, but he’s obviously getting no enjoyment from the food, his mind a mile away as he chews mechanically. It’s depressing. Steve goes into bossy alpha mode to try and give him some direction, make him feel a little more secure. He tries to show Bucky that he does have an alpha who cares about him, however temporary it may be.

“Throw your trash away, bub. Put your tray over there. Good job. C’mon now, let’s go do an activity. I’m leading art tonight. You want to give that a go?”

Bucky seems docile enough, following Steve into the art room and sitting on the carpeted floor with one of the lap desks for drawing circle. A few other patients trickle in, until they’re a group of ten. Steve hands out paper and cups of colored pencils, and takes up a spot on the carpet. He tries not to be obviously over-focused on Bucky, figuring that the kid needs his space to process the news about his parents relinquishing custody. “Okay everybody," Steve greets the group. "How are we doing?”

He gets friendly answers from the other patients, then guides them through a few warm up exercises. They do some rapid-fire sketch associations, where Steve throws out words like “recreation” and “comfortable,” and “dread,” and everybody has to sketch the first thing they think of in ninety seconds.

Then Steve tells the group they’re going to be doing a “Now and Then” project. He asks them to draw a picture of how they see themselves and their lives in the present, and gives them twenty minutes to work without scrutiny. “Try to pick one word or phrase to focus on. You can draw anything you like, to express it,” he tells them. “Something literal, or something abstract. Anything that you feel depicts your current emotions, state of being, how things are going for you in the world or simply in your head. Anything goes. Get as far with it as you can, but don’t feel like you have to rush with coloring it in or anything, if you’re trying to make a masterpiece.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly at his own drawing board. “You can always add details later if you’re as nitpicky about your art as me.”

“We can draw anything?” one boy in the circle asks. He’s not Steve’s patient but Steve knows his name, knows he’s there for treatment following a miscarriage. Steve nods and gives him a gentle look. “Yeah, Daniel. That’s right. Anything goes.” Across the circle, Bucky glances up and meets his eyes. Steve smiles sadly. “If anybody needs to draw violence or something that depicts self harm, this is a safe space to do that. You won’t get put on protocol for it, as long as you’re willing to join in the discussion portion and explain your drawing.”

Bucky and one other boy look like they’re relieved to hear that, and Steve gives them both encouraging looks before turning his attention to the sheet of paper he’s got on his own lap desk. He’s always been good with a pencil—had even considered going down the art-therapy track, back when he was in college. The only reason he hadn't wound up pursuing it was because he didn’t want to turn his passion into something he had to do for a job. But he still loves leading art sessions for the omegas on-ward. Figuring that powerless is a pretty good focus word for his 'Now' drawing, Steve picks up a mustard yellow pencil and begins to sketch.

“Okay pencils down.”

Twenty minutes later, everybody takes turns showing what they’ve drawn. Unsurprisingly, five of the boys have drawn something literal from their current stay on-ward. Two others have pictures of their families. One boy has chosen a forest scene to depict his feelings of uncertainty about an upcoming heat, and Daniel talks about his violet-hued sketch regarding his feelings over the recent miscarriage. Bucky is the last to volunteer to talk about his piece, and in fact Steve has to prompt him twice before he’ll turn his lap desk around to face the circle.

He’s drawn a person—presumably himself—in thick, brown lines. The person is sitting and hugging their knees to their chest, contained in a tiny space like a box. It’s a scratchy drawing but rather well-done, and the instant feeling Steve gets from it is isolation. Outside the box, it’s bright and colorful with a lot going on, but inside the box it’s muted and still, with heavy olive and brown lines. “What does this represent for you, Bucky?” Steve asks, forcing himself to do his job rather than crawl across the carpet and wrap Bucky in his arms the way he really wants to. “Hm? To me it feels rather lonely, looks isolated.”

Bucky shrugs, not looking up. “I guess.”

Steve asks if anybody has positive comments for Bucky’s piece. Daniel ventures, “... The lines get messier on the dark side. On the bright side, they’re all neat and specific, but then they get kind of scratchy on the other part.”

Steve hums, glad to at least have a couple people willing to participate in art tonight. Usually patients just sit around grunting and rolling their eyes at it. “Good point. I see what you mean. What do you think that technique could communicate?”

Daniel hesitantly meets Bucky’s eyes from across the circle before saying, “Um. Like … it’s more chaotic, on the scratchy side.”

“Yeah. Kind of gives it a distressed feeling, doesn’t it?” Steve looks at Bucky and gently prods, “Buck? Why do you think you chose those colors?” He gets nothing from Bucky besides a mumbled, “Dunno,” and forces himself not to push him on it. He talks to the group as a whole about colors and what they can represent. “Most people know that darker colors can indicate a sense of foreboding or depression,” he says. “But lighter colors aren’t always ‘happy’ per se. Take mine, for example.” Steve shows the group his drawing of a bear sitting on the side of a road with cars. “You’d think this should be in greens and blues, yeah? A nature scene. But I only used taupes and yellows and a little brown and olive. I think it looks kind of sallow, gives it a feeling of melancholy.”

“Why’d you draw a bear?” Daniel asks.

“Well, I’ve been feeling sad this evening. Kind of helpless, you know?” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky’s head lift up a little. “And I remember seeing this clip once on Facebook or something. A bear that’d been separated from its cubs across a busy highway. And it just seemed so sad.” He shrugs, feeling silly but knowing that he needs to be open and honest if he’s going to expect the same from his patients. “So that’s what I drew. That feeling of powerlessness that the video made me feel.”

“Why do you feel powerless?” Daniel asks.

This time, Steve does let his eyes slip over to Bucky—who is looking at him, but who quickly flicks his eyes away. “Because I’m worried about somebody I care about,” Steve says. “And I’m not sure I can help them the way they need. I’m not sure how much they’ll let me help.”

Bucky’s lips part, and for a second Steve really thinks he’s going to reply to that, but then he clams up again and looks down at his drawing board, not saying a thing. Steve swallows down his disappointment. “Okay guys, now we’re going to do a second piece, and I want everybody to try and make this one as literal as you can. Let’s all draw a depiction of what we’d like our lives to be in the future. You can draw something you’d like to have happen tomorrow, or something you dream of happening in a year, or ten years, even how you picture the perfect life when you’re old and grey. Really dig deep and think about what you want your life to be like, in a perfect world. It doesn’t necessarily have to be realistic, just so long as it represents what would make you happy. Kay?”

He watches as everybody gets new paper and starts drawing. Bucky, he notes, stares at his paper for a long few minutes before he ever picks up a pencil. He looks lost.

Steve gives them thirty minutes for their second drawings. When time’s up and everybody discusses what they came up with, Bucky has drawn a beach scene. It has a little blue bungalow in the background and a family on the sand. There’s an umbrella and a person lying on a beach towel whom Steve can tell is supposed to be Bucky. He’s surprised though, because that person is also visibly pregnant, and there’s a little kid right next to him, wearing water wings and building a sandcastle. There’s a dog next to the kid, and another person in the picture sitting in a beach chair who looks suspiciously like Steve, but no way in hell is Steve going to point that out. The Steve-person is blond, and Steve knows for a fact that Bucky’s family all have dark hair.

“Buck,” he prompts. “You drew yourself at the beach?” Bucky just shrugs, and Steve tries to draw more out of him. “... Is that one of your favorite places?” he asks.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I’ve never been to the beach. But growing up, everybody else’s families would always go somewhere in the summer. Up to the Hamptons or down to Jersey, you know? Stay at a beach house, eat crabs, go to the boardwalk and get saltwater taffy and shit, ride the rides. It always seemed nice. Like something real families did.” His lips twist ruefully as he traces his finger from the lines of the pinwheel beach umbrella, over to the black and white dog that he drew. “... And I never had a dog. I like dogs.”

Jesus, God, Steve wants to kidnap this kid and take care of him forever. “Is the person on the beach towel you?” he asks gently. Bucky shrugs again, but then he nods. Steve nods too. “It looks like you’re pregnant in the picture. Is that what you were imagining when you drew it?” Bucky doesn’t say anything, and Steve feels absolutely pained, trying to force answers out of him like this. Across the circle, Daniel has made a little whimper and put his hands on his stomach, and Steve knows it’s time to abandon that point. “Okay,” he says quietly, moving past that little detail. “Um, what about the other people in your drawing?” he asks instead. “What part do they play?”

Bucky looks down self consciously at the paper. “They’re not real,” he mutters. “I don’t have anything right now. And I don’t even know if I want kids, but … I dunno. I drew it with a baby, and an alpha. Cause maybe that’d be nice, even though I don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

“Why couldn’t that happen?”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to him, reproachful. “Nobody wants me,” he says. “I just don’t see the point.”

Steve has to swallow past the horrible lump that’s formed in his throat. “Having a family of your own is a totally realistic goal, Bucky. Having children and a partner? Going to the beach with your family? Those are great things to imagine for the future.”

“I don’t have a family,” he says dully.

Steve is about to address that, but before he can, Daniel bursts out into tears and starts ripping up his paper, upset about babies and the pregnancy he miscarried a few weeks ago. Steve has to put all his effort into calming him down and escorting him down the hall to the soft room so that he can calm down. And by the time he returns to the art room, Bucky has left.

Steve sticks around for an hour afterwards, making sure nothing spirals out of control. He was prepared to spend the night on-ward if he had to, but Bucky’s behavior remains rather tame. He wets himself rather abruptly after art therapy, and Steve helps him get changed with no issues. Bucky tells Steve that he’d like to be alone, and Steve can’t force him to talk if he’s not ready. So he just watches helplessly as Bucky retreats to the soft room and curls up in the same corner where Steve found him that morning, face buried in a pheromone-treated plushie.

Steve has a talk with the overnight orderly on duty, making sure that the beta man knows to keep an eye on Daniel and on Bucky. Then he clocks out and heads home, feeling like the most useless support alpha to ever exist.

The next day, he arrives on ward to find Bucky in an unresponsive state, and the soft room having been cleared out to accommodate him.

“Moved everybody else over to the Phys-ed room,” the on-duty orderly mutters with a grimace, as they both stand in the doorway watching Bucky’s behavior. “He doesn’t answer when we talk to him. And he’s tried to bite when we go to grab 'im.”

“How long has he been like this?” Steve asks, concerned.

The beta man shakes his head. “He seemed normal when he woke up. He didn’t talk, but he wasn’t like this. We let them wander around for their AM free time, and then when I came to move everybody to breakfast, he was rocking. He won’t even look at me. Acts like he doesn’t even hear.”

In the padded far corner of the room, Bucky is sitting huddled over one of the foam rocker forms, naked, his knees planted to either side of the form and his thighs gripping it hard in stress. He’s shed everything from his body, including his diaper, and has his head resting on the front piece, his eyes staring sightlessly to the side. His thumb is in his mouth and he’s sucking it while he rocks compulsively. Steve nods grimly at the sight. “He can hear.”

The orderly looks dubiously from Bucky to Steve, and then back. “Um ... are you sure about that?”

Steve inhales deeply. “Yeah. This is a stress reaction to some traumatic news he got yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Steve goes over to kneel beside the rocker to try and get Bucky to respond to him. But when he has no success, he goes back to tell the orderly to watch the room for a minute while Steve consults his boss.

“I think he needs a course of hormones,” he tells Christina, standing in the doorway to her office because he’s too antsy to even sit down for a proper conversation. “Will you sign off on it?”

Christina nods. “Of course. What method of delivery?”

My dick, Steve thinks, though of course he’d never say that. He’s just frustrated is all. He just wants to make all of Bucky’s pain go away. “Inflation session,” he suggests, receiving a nod from Raynor. “We’ll do sense dep. after, hit him with some ASMR, some tactile stim.”

“Sounds about right.”

Steve turns to leave.

“Rogers?”

He looks back over his shoulder to see Raynor staring him dead in the eye, and gets an uneasy feeling. “What?”

“Once he’s out of this episode, I’m telling the doc to go ahead. We’re castrating him.”

Steve’s heart sinks. “Christina, please, no.”

“We should’ve done it a long time ago and you know it. The only reason we didn’t was the parents, and they’re not in the picture anymore. Steve—don’t look at me like that, Rogers. You agreed when the recommendation came down. It’s what’s best.”

Steve looks down at his feet to avoid glaring at the woman who is directly responsible for his employment. She’s not wrong, which is the worst part. Bucky’s so unbalanced, he should’ve had a therapeutic castration years ago, but his parents have always refused and Bucky’s been none the wiser. Quietly, Steve grits out, “He can’t even take the news of his folks giving him up, how do you imagine the conversation about his nuts being chopped off is going to go?” It’s snarky and unprofessional for him to talk that way to his boss, but he’s emotional.

Miraculously, Christina doesn’t call him out on it. “Not well, I imagine,” she drawls. “But what has ever gone well with this kid? After today, I want you to think about your long term care recommendations for him.”

Steve suppresses a growl. “Long term?” he repeats, and she nods solemnly. He feels dread fill his gut at the look that’s on her face. “We can keep him on ward,” he insists, hating how much it sounds like a plea. “Extended stay, and then maybe—”

“He’s not improving here. It’s been three years. He’s nineteen now. We need to think about his future. He’s in no shape for independent living, and you know it,” she says.

Steve huffs, knowing where this is going. “His family dumped him, Christina. He’s got no one. What do you expect me to do?”

“Long term care recommendation, on my desk by the end of the week.”

Steve grits his teeth, knowing there are only a couple of options there. Bucky can either be institutionalized, or sent to a group home, neither of which is promising. Steve knows Bucky, goddammit. He … he cares about him. And he knows that that’s not what Bucky needs. Bucky just needs someone to ...

To love him.

“What if I found him an alpha?” he asks, ignoring his better judgment. “Somebody who was a good fit, who could take him on?”

“By the end of the week?” Christina looks dubious, and rightfully so. She sighs at him, exasperated. “Rogers, you and I both know that nobody is gonna—”

“Just say that I did,” Steve snaps. “Would you approve it?”

Maybe she can tell what he’s thinking, or maybe she just thinks Steve’s venting and throwing out hopeless ideas. Either way, Christina nods reluctantly, her lips pressed thinly together. “Sure,” she says, obviously not believing that Steve can find someone to take Bucky on in such a capacity by the week’s end. “If you found someone who was actually suitable, I’d sign off on it.”

Steve isn’t even sure why he’s posing impossible hypotheticals, but Raynor’s agreement makes him feel relieved anyway. “I’ll need the bathroom isolated for our session,” he tells her, in lieu of a response. “And then the soft room for the rest of the afternoon.”

Christina grunts and waves him out of the office. “You got it. Now go on, get outta here.”

Steve goes.

“Buck? Hey. Hey Honey.” Steve approaches Bucky like he would a wild animal, wary of the possibility of him lashing out. Not that Steve has to worry about being physically overpowered or anything like that, but even he can take a surprise fist to the face, and he’d rather not have a bloodied nose or a black eye today.

Bucky doesn’t get violent. He seems to register Steve’s presence, as his scent shifts to something slightly more eager and his hips start rocking harder on the foam padding of the form. But his eyes don’t track Steve’s movement when the alpha kneels down beside him, and he doesn’t talk. He just keeps making these little stubborn grunts as he works on stimming himself up to another orgasm.

There’ve been several already, if the state of the rocker is anything to go by. Its red vinyl covering is shiny wet between Bucky’s thighs, making squeaky-slick noises as he moves. Steve reaches out and tentatively touches Bucky’s back. The boy’s nostrils flare and he grunts, rocking harder.

“Shh. Okay, Sweetheart. Okay. I’m gonna help you feel better, Alright bub? Just gotta let me move you around a little bit.”

‘Sexual catatonia’ is the technical term for what Bucky’s experiencing. His brain has gone into protection mode and his body is seeking out the most basic of comforting stimuli as it tries to reorient itself. He’s regressed, only able to process a certain level of input right now, and he’ll stay that way until his body receives enough signals that he’s safe and protected and wanted.

So Steve’s job is to make him feel all three of those things.

He gathers Bucky up from the rocker, shushing him and holding him in a basket restraint position until his few seconds of reactive thrashing stop. “Okay, okay. You’re okay,” Steve murmurs, keeping a low purr going in his chest for Bucky to hear and feel against his back. “Shh sh sh. Okay now. Here we go. Come on over here with Alpha.”

He all but carries him out to the hallway and into the bathroom. The nurse is already in there, setting things up. Bucky’s like a blind and deaf animal, staring aimlessly and making upset noises as he scents another person in the room with them. The orderly keeps a wide berth, but nods at Steve as they enter and points to the equipment he’s had set up for them. “Three bags there for him,” he says. “Just in case.” He heads for the door. “Push the button if you need anything else. I’ll be on station for the rest of the morning.”

Steve nods, depositing Bucky on the treatment bed. “Thanks.”

Bucky’s already naked, so that much is taken care of at least. He’s grunting a little more angrily now that he’s been taken away from his rocker and brought somewhere unfamiliar, so Steve moves around in a hurry to get them all set up. The colonics bed is shaped to cradle him in the correct position while he lies on his back. Steve guides his legs over the incline, then goes about setting up the machine.

‘Therapeutic pregnancy’ isn’t much more than a medicated retention enema, but it can help with bringing omegas out of severe emotional and psychiatric episodes. Obviously, it’s not an actual pregnancy. It’s just that the patient’s body is temporarily tricked into thinking it’s pregnant. And that’s what the nurse was referring to when he said he’d set aside “three bags” for Bucky. On the machine’s hook hang three heavy bags—all full of synthetic alpha semen.

Steve pulls a warmed blanket from the electric cabinet and drapes it over Bucky’s upper body. The omega’s eyes flutter closed as he immediately starts purring in pleasure. Steve smiles tenderly and comforts him, even though he knows that Bucky isn't to aware of his surroundings right now. “There ya go, bub. Just gimme a sec and we’ll have you feeling real good, okay?” He rolls the cart over and hooks up the bags. The machine will warm it to the natural temperature of semen as it moves through the tubes and into Bucky’s body, but first: the apparatus.

An average adult alpha knot is about the size of a regulation baseball, and the artificial knotting apparatuses that hospitals like Hydra Sanatorium use are thus sized. Uninflated, however, the diameter is small—no more than Steve's own thumb. It’s very easy to lube the thing up and slide it inside of Bucky. The omega is already aroused, lax, wet and swollen, and Steve feels his dick start to get interested when he glances down to watch the rubber nozzle slip past Bucky’s pink and pulsing rim.

If you were mine … he thinks covetously, Bucky’s plaintive whimpers echoing alongside the treacherously unprofessional thoughts in his head. If Bucky were his, they wouldn’t be in this horrible, institutionally puke-green tiled bathroom right now. They’d be in Steve’s home, in bed or in some little space in the apartment that Bucky had chosen to nest. Steve would be fucking his mate naturally instead of using all this artificial crap.

If Bucky were his, he wouldn’t even be regressed like this in the first place, because he would know down to the marrow of his bones that he was loved and wanted. Steve would make sure of it. He’d keep him healthy and happy and satisfied. Maybe Bucky would even be pregnant for real, bred up all fat and happy with Steve’s pups. Steve can’t stop thinking about the drawing that Bucky did in art therapy, how he’d drawn himself pregnant in the picture. He’d expressed uncertainty about pregnancy, but maybe if it were Steve’s pup inside him, Bucky wouldn’t mind it then. Maybe everything would balance out in his system, if Steve put a litter in him. Maybe it would make Bucky happy if he—

On the bed, Bucky whines, and Steve shakes his head and huffs at himself. If, if, if. Too bad he doesn’t get paid for Ifs. “Get it together, Rogers,” he mutters, and reaches down to grind the heel of his hand punishingly against his trapped dick—It helps, somewhat. He grasps the hand pump for the knotting mechanism and squeezes it, observing Bucky carefully as he slowly but surely inflates the rubber bulb to its full size inside the omega’s body.

Bucky’s unseeing eyes blink up at the ceiling, glossy with unshed tears. “Ahn, ahn, ah,” he grunts softly. “Ugn, ugn, ah …”

Steve uses his free hand to rub over his lower belly. “You’re okay. It’s okay, Buck. S’that feel nice? I bet it does, huh? Don’t worry, Sweetheart. You just relax now for Alpha, mkay? Alpha’s gonna make it feel good.” He’s sure it’s not the actual words, so much as it is the sound of his voice that Bucky recognizes, but even still, it’s nice to see the way that Bucky responds to him. “That’s right,” he soothes. “Good boy. You’re such a good boy for Alpha, Buck. Alpha loves you.”

He starts the flow, remaining at Bucky’s side and massaging his tummy gently while the machine begins to pump.

The therapy mimics a pregnancy in that it fills the patient’s body with a physical weight. It inflates the colon and the uterus and mimics the influx of hormones that a growing fetus would create. These physical cues help to trick the brain into thinking an actual pregnancy is taking place, and it’s that input—in addition to the naturally calming feeling of the knot itself—which forcibly tells the omega brain that it is safe and bred, wanted and protected. Only a strong and dominant alpha can keep an omega successfully bred up, after all—that’s what the basest parts of a regressed omega’s mind hang onto. And Bucky is currently fully regressed.

His thumb is back up in his mouth already, sucking away. Steve rumbles in his chest in answer to every grunt and moan that Bucky makes, rubbing his tummy for him as he slowly but surely fills out from the liquid. Steve’s sitting on a stool beside the bed, down by Bucky’s bottom where the warm blanket doesn’t cover, so he can clearly see the twitch of the boy’s taught little sac, the way his shrunken prick is getting chubby underneath the swell of his belly. He frees one hand up from the belly massage and rubs him there, smiling tenderly at the pleased chirp he gets for his efforts. “Yeah,” he whispers, working the head between his fingers like he would a female patient’s clit, nice and delicate, gliding gently from the precum his little dick keeps blurting out. “S’that feel nice, baby?”

Bucky grunts in an adorably demanding way and shoves his butt down against the knotting mechanism to stimulate himself harder with it. Steve chuckles and uses his other hand to tug on the nozzle, rocking the inflated rubber knot nice and steady against the swollen glands inside. Bucky makes a very happy noise at that, and when Steve looks up at his face, he sees the omega staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes, hand fallen away from his mouth as he pants open-mouthed and drools. A wave of renewed want hits Steve so hard, he almost feels like he’s taken a punch to the gut. “Oh, bub,” he whispers, feeling his eyes start to heat with the threat of tears. He wants to take care of Bucky so bad that it hurts. Just absolutely fucking aches. He thumbs under his cockhead a little faster, and is able to pull the next orgasm out of him within seconds.

Bucky sobs, voice caught high and pleasure-pained in his throat, still non-verbal and lost in his own head. Steve swallows heavily and glances over at the enema bags. “Almost there,” he says, forcing himself to go back to rubbing Bucky’s belly as the boy takes the last quart of semen inside his body. “Doing so well, Buck,” Steve praises, running both of his big hands over the swell of his belly.

Fuck, he really does look pregnant. With his muscles all lax from the regression, and a couple liters of cum inside him, he’s filled out enough that he looks like he could be about four months pregnant. Steve eases him through the rest of the remaining bag, praising him with a bunch of rambling words when the machine cuts off from its pumping cycle. He removes the tubing from the knot and rolls the machine back out of the way, goes to grab another couple of warm blankets from the cabinet and drapes them over Bucky’s midsection and legs so that he’s totally covered and encased in warmth.

The boy sighs and grunts happily at the sensations, and Steve smiles down at him. “I know, Love, I know. That feels really good, huh? That’s what we want. Need to show your body that everything’s okay. Make you feel like a mommy for just a little while.” Bucky’s not really hearing him or seeing him, but Steve refuses to believe that the sound of his voice doesn’t have any effect. Bucky knows his voice, he does. Steve knows he does.

Bucky’s eyes are barely open. The tears that’ve been glazing over for so long have gathered at the corners and trickled down his temples as he lies there and feels his body telling him it’s pregnant. The knot is keeping him plugged up and the liquid will have made it past his cervix by now, filling him up with a warm, heavy pressure. Steve remains close and rubs his bloated belly from overtop the blankets, maintaining a steady stream of praise in his ear.

When it’s been a good half hour or so, Bucky begins to show signs of emerging from the fugue. His eyes seem to track Steve’s movements more, and he starts to become more aware of his surroundings. He doesn’t have his words back yet, because he looks to Steve and whimpers and whines little helpless sounds, rather than asking questions about what’s going on or what’s happened. Steve hurries to hold his hand and reassure him. “Shh sh sh. Hey, you back with me, Sweetheart? Hi.” He smiles gently and pets his face. “You’re doing great. Took your treatment so well, Baby.”

Bucky wiggles in place, and Steve can see the moment he recognizes the heaviness in his belly. His hands go there, touching the swell of himself, and Steve nods and places a hand on top. “Yeah, that’s right. We’ve got your tummy all filled up. It’s okay. Just a little inflation therapy. S’it feel nice?”

Bucky looks shocked, and incredibly vulnerable, but not upset. His eyes still leak sluggish tears as he nods at Steve. “...‘pha?” he warbles, the tail end of what is probably the only word he’s capable of articulating right now.

Steve’s face pinches and he smiles and nods. “That’s right, bub. Alpha’s right here takin’ care of you. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Bucky whimpers, dazed, and his eyes slip closed again. But down below, on the distended curve of his belly, he hooks his pinky finger over Steve’s.

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leatherbookmark · 9 months ago

Note

☁️🐚🍄🍓(all, or any combination you want) for the fanfiction author ask meme

kissing your hand reverently for the ask etc

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

i just like leather bookmarks!! originally lb was a non-kpop sideblog, and i wanted something that wouldn't be fandom-specific (i don't really like changing usernames) but that at the same time would fit my current fandom (the hobbit hehe). so, leatherbookmark!!

as for my ao3 username, oenanthe is a name of two genera: birds and plants, but i took mine from the bird one. specifically, this little guy. i love that the latin name is so pretty (wine+flower) but both english and polish taxonomers went "this bird has a white ass. alright then here you go"

by the way, huh, these arrows are fun! they're not -> but ⇢. they're dashed. cute

🐚 ⇢ do you like or dislike surprises?

oh boy i really don't... i used to when i was a kid, but at this point it's just a source of stress. though like -- depends, because if someone gets me a little postcard or a souvenir that's right up my alley, it's great and i'm happy they thought of me!, but if it's a big expensive gift... yeag

🍄 ⇢ share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

fascinated by the separation of ship and pairing here, btw

ohhhh my god i gotta get my fandom brain back in order.

xiyao. what do i think about xiyao? i like to think that in a better world they'd love to Eat. try out different stuff, ranging from "drowning in grease and made by a 78yo uncle who spits into his hands spiritedly before kneading the dough" to... hm. would they go for the "lick the citrus foam out of the plaster cast of the chef's mouth" dining, uh, experience? probably not, but lxc would be amazed and interested, half sincerely and half because he wants to check at what point jgy will go beloved, what the fuck.

but ALSO i think they'd just enjoy meals as a way of spending time together! so whether it's a modern au or not, they whip out the nice tableware, make sure there's a nice plantly being/something decorative on the table, etc. (they don't play music/put on tv in the background because they don't believe in that.)

(all of the above also means their meals take WAY longer than you'd expect, or rather -- as long as they can make them. breakfasts come with dessert now icydk)

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?

hm!! i think i just... started doing it? when i was a kid and browsing blogs about the witch comic series, i stumbled upon some blogs that weren't like, character profiles and comic arc summaries, but instead basically chaptered fanfiction. and since that, i kind of seeked out people's fics, often more than canon material like scans, databases and such lol.

iirc i started out making comics about my OCs, weird little AUs (like... utena characters, but magical girls/boys lmfao), or "original" comics obviously were just crazy mixes of whatever i was into at the moment. i only started writing fic when i was, idk, ten? and even then it was more like "ough i have a certain scene/image/mood/feeling in my brain and i need to get it Out" than actual stories :')

another thing that hasn't changed until sort-of-very-recently was me just.... starting anew every new fandom. i'd be into fandom X for years, produce tons of fics, and then once i got into fandom Y i was like oh fuck this is all so embarrassing, STARTING A NEW ACCOUNT RIGHT AWAY OR WE DIE. 👍 on one hand cool, on the other i sometimes envy writers who don't have to log into three separate accounts to see all their stats ='D

#answered asks #woobifiedvillain

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vaenevolence · 1 year ago

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Reigniting a Spark

(Very long post ahead, skip to bottom if you're only interested in Hiatus explanation)

Note: This post is specifically for my long-time readers

----------

Hey there! This is Vaeryn, it's nice to see you here!

A Very Big Thank You

If you're here reading this, it's safe to assume that you've been following my BenneFischl fic as it is currently being written and updated on Ao3. Before I say anything else, I would like to say thank you in every possible way for supporting this project of mine. There truly are no words to describe how much all the love you give means to me.

I am making this post because there will be a lot of changes moving forward and I want to share them with you!!

The Origin Story™

I started writing Etched in Fire and Lightning about a year and a half ago for an awfully simple reason: I was starved for some BenneFischl content but there's not much abundance of it in the genshin fandom. And so I took matters into my own hands and cooked a massive 12-chapter longfic featuring one of my favorite ships in the game. Originally I was planning a one-shot fluff smut fic but my ego said: "really? your first venture into fanfiction and its a one-shot smut?"

So as you can see, there was also some level of spite involved in the writing of this fic. And yes, this is my first work as a fanfiction writer. I used to be more of a poetry guy so this project was a really big step for me as writer.

I will be taking a much need Hiatus

Yes, I know I know, I'm sorry. But as much as I love this fic, I am admittedly burnt out writing it.

Chapter 6 will for now serve as a mid-point finale of this fic. Admittedly ending on a painful cliffhanger but wrapping up most of the arcs I introduced in the earlier chapters while setting up the rest of the fic to really be about the relationship between Bennett and Fischl.

In the beginning I have promised myself to not work on any other writing project until I am done with EiFaL wanting to be some goody-two-shoes writer who didn't have a million WIPs rotting away in my google drive. But that mindset is currently doing more harm than help.

I want to make it absolutely clear that I not abandoning this fic, I am just taking a break from writing it. I have so many other things I want to write and work on, so many things that I want to share to the world that are being hindered by the toxic promise I made to myself to finish this before anything else.

I'm also taking a break to reevaluate myself as writer and the way I post my work. In case you didn't know Chapters 1 & 4 have received major rewrites and Chapter 2 received a minor rewrite and all other chapters have had minor clean-ups and polishing. This is because I constantly see improvements I can make to the language and storytelling I use in my work. While it is an overall good thing, it comes at the cost of asking my readers (you) to re-read earlier chapters just to make sense of the newer ones (yes the rewrites do affect the story in a noticeable way) and risks confusion if you are unable to read the rewritten chapters. ...so what are my plans?

Change of Pace

Moving forward, there will be an overall slower but more consistent pace with how I will release my works. Currently, I post chapters as soon as they are done, if there are errors or things that need to change, then I do so after a chapter has been posted which is why rewrites have been a big problem. In the future, I will no longer be releasing chapters as soon as they are done and instead wait until I have a few chapters completed and reviewed before I post them all in intervals. This way, you guys will get more consistent content without me being pressured into immediate begin work on a chapter I've just finished one.

----------

And that's about all I have to say to you all. Once again, thank you so much for all the love and support you have given Etched in Fire and Lightning. I truly never expected that I'd be writing something like this. It's been a long and inconsistent journey for both me and you but I hope you stick around while I write the ending this story deserves.

Until the next story,

Vaeryn

#etchedinfireandlightningao3 #bennefischl

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anisaanisa · 2 years ago

Note

Hiii hope you’re well! i hope this doesn’t come off as rude or anything but i was just wondering if there was going to be a conclusion to members only, i just ask because i really liked that fic and the plot, but i understand that sometimes things get in the way and all that. again i hope this isn’t coming off as rude and you can totally disregard this!

Hi, anon! Thank you for the ask, I appreciate it. At first, I thought to respond quickly so you were more likely to catch it, but the further I moved away from it, the more I thought on it, and felt it deserved a more fleshed out answer.

You’re not rude for asking, and I’m glad you reached out. I remember very well what it’s like to be a reader that’s left wanting for a fic that’s seemingly been abandoned (some of my personal favourites have remained unfinished since 2006), so I understand completely where you’re coming from. I never considered that I might be that author for someone until I got this ask, so you have nothing to worry about. I’ve taken it in good faith, and if anything, I’m a little humbled.

The short answer: Yes, there is a conclusion! And it's...done. The final chapter is sitting at 27K, half-edited, and put to rest by me a while ago now when I stalled on the editing (my bain, my beloathed). I’d like to get it finished and out of the way soon, but I hate to make promises, so I’ve got a much longer answer below the cut.

The long answer: Members Only appeared at a very particular point in my (and everyone elses) lives. Covid was still at the forefront of…everything, and it was cathartic for me to outline and write here and there. I really like the characterisation, their dynamic and the world they were plopped into. The period of rest and relaxation (aka floundering on the editing) rendered it unfinished on the reader end for 2 reasons:

1) The world was moving on from a global pandemic whilst I remained stagnant (irl things). Like you garnered, things get in the way, stories need to be told at a certain time, and there’s a small ache there with tying up threads that feel a tad fragile and gnawed on.

2) The constant fluctuation of writing woes. I go through ups and downs with how I feel about my own writing – sometimes I read something back with wonder and I think “wow, I did this.” Other times, I cringe and think “wow, I did this?”. Fun factoid: they're the same story. I was just in a different mode each time. And I remember with stark clarity how much I did not vibe with my own writing at the point in time where I was editing that final chapter.

Fanfiction is an inherently selfish act, and because of this, I go with the flow when it comes to the things I share, and I’d be lying if I didn't acknowledge writing is my most emotionally taxing hobby. It takes so much more bandwidth for me than art and anything else that I have going on. Writing, editing, all that, it ebbs and flows with my mood. The state of the world. The position of the sun.

How much water I drank that day.

There’s a whole vault of stories and outlines living in my PC that may never see the light of day – but they were there for me to pour myself into when I needed them the most. That’s my satisfaction: the process, rather than the result, and unfortunately, sometimes that need or want being quenched leaves those that are along for the ride left unsatisfied.

And I get it. Cause I’m a reader just like you, and I've been left wanting.

I still care about this story a lot. It’s alive to me in a way that I can’t really articulate without you living in my head with me, and I know there are authors that might be reading this that know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s not abandoned – if anything, it’s so alive that putting it to an end is like a tiny death. There’s grief in finishing stories that are hard to navigate unless you’ve done it, and I think that’s one of the things that’s so personal to fiction – both fan and original – it’s just really hard to say goodbye sometimes, so it's easier to not say goodbye at all.

Thankfully, I’m in a place where I’m jiving with the words I’m making. Hopefully I can put that energy into seeing it published before the end of the earth. And thank you again for reaching out. Sometimes yer pal just needs a little reminder that her stories meant something to someone, somewhere.

ttyl bbs <3

#Members Only #anon asks #fandom culture #writing woes #anisaanisaff

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backtothestart02 · 2 years ago

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In the End, There Was Us - 5/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Updated!

...

Chapter 5 -

Iris woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. Her mind was racing, her heart beating fast, goosebumps spreading fast across her skin beneath the covers. And yet, for all of that, Eddie lay sound asleep beside her in bed.

She didn’t know how he managed it. Barry had always been hyper aware of when she got up for whatever reason when they slept together in bed. But she knew now was neither the time nor the place to be comparing the two men.

It’d just be nice if I didn’t have to wake Eddie up in order to get some help calming down, she thought, mildly annoyed.

Pulling back the covers, she climbed out of bed and padded out into the living room, turning on the TV. Sure enough, it hadn’t been a dream. That same news story blared across the late night news. Another earthquake, but this one had caused a crack in the earth’s crust. According to scientists, it descended several hundred feet when it broke through the floor at their local grocery store.

Miraculously, no one had fallen through the gaping chasm beneath their feet. When the shaking had stopped, there was just enough room in the aisle on either side for both Eddie and herself to sneak around the edges and make it to the safe part of the store. The crack stopped mid-parking lot, so they were able to join up again easily. Their car hadn’t fallen through the chasm either.

Running high on adrenaline, Iris had driven them both home without any groceries. They found some food in the back of the fridge that wasn’t expired and made sandwiches before taking separate showers and going straight to bed.

Iris had plunged straight into a nightmare after that. Turned out it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, and all she could think about was her babies so far away from her. It no longer mattered that this might be the only bonding experience they’d get with their father for some time – based on the wonky schedule Barry kept. All that mattered was that she could see and touch them, hold them, even if they were likely perfectly safe where they were now.

She needed to see them.

The sound of a toilet flushing from down the hall pulled her from her thoughts. Maybe Eddie would come out to see her now.

Maybe he’d…

“Can’t sleep?”

Iris looked up to see Barry leaning against the wall, watching her. She winced, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Can you blame me?”

He didn’t say a word, just wandered over to her and sat beside her on the couch, gathering her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin.

“I’m sure they’re having a wonderful time.”

“It’s their first sleepover,” she complained. “They didn’t even cry when I dropped them off, and there was no call asking to be picked up.”

“They’re at your dad’s, Iris.” He stroked her arm soothingly. “And it’s not the first time. Give it a few years. Wait until they’re overnight at a friend’s house, not the place they spend half their days at when we’re both working.”

She groaned. “I guess.”

He smiled, continuing to soothingly rub her arm until she’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he then carried her to bed.

A toilet flushing down the hall pulled Iris from the bittersweet memory. She waited for Eddie to appear and ask what was wrong, if something happened since they got home, if there was anything he could do. But when five minutes passed, she knew that wouldn’t be happening. Eddie had gone straight back to bed.

She didn’t know how he could be so calm, act so normal, after what had happened to the two of them, and with her kids so far from home.

But then, how could she expect him to? He didn’t have any kids of his own. As much as he’d bonded with Nora and Bart, they were more like little friends to him than children he took responsibility for. He was like the fun uncle almost…that sometimes kissed their mom in front of them.

She sighed and drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.

She should just go back to bed. She could feel herself getting mad at Eddie, and she didn’t want to be. If she went back to bed now, she could force a cuddle out of him, and that would give her more comfort than what she was getting now. Even if it wouldn’t be the same as…

She shook her said. She wouldn’t say his name. Wouldn’t even think it. They were divorced, and it had been years since that beautiful memory she’d recalled not too long ago. He was not that same person anymore. Or at least he hadn’t been when she’d finally made up her mind to leave him with their kids.

She missed the guy he used to be. She’d never say it aloud. But she missed the man she’d married fresh out of college. He’d been the love of her life. She’d thought they’d last forever.

“Iris?”

There it was. Finally.

Iris turned off the TV and pushed herself off the couch. Then she headed back into her shared bedroom with Eddie and smiled faintly at him where he sat tucked neatly in bed.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey,” he returned, sounding concerned. “Everything alright?”

She shook her head sadly, and he padded the spot next to him, her spot.

She dragged her feet across the floor until she was tucked in beside him too, her head falling onto his shoulder. He held her hand between them and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Nightmare?” he asked.

She nodded.

“About tonight?”

She nodded again.

“I miss my babies,” she admitted. “I wanted to call Barry and ask him to bring them back tonight, but I know that’s not…”

“I’m sure they’re okay, honey,” he attempted to soothe. “Probably sleeping or restlessly scratching at mosquito bites because Allen forgot to buy bug spray.” He chuckled.

She tensed, annoyed once more at his tendency to dig at her ex.

“Sorry,” he butt in, just as she was about to defend said ex. “You can call in the morning. Call Nora maybe to see if she’s okay, other than just taking his word for it.”

Irritation welled up in her again, but she didn’t move to say anything against it this time. Eddie had a point. Barry had a tendency to sugarcoat things, and if she heard her daughter’s voice she would know for sure.

“And until then?” she asked, feeling lost and hopeless.

“You sleep with me.”

She lifted her head and looked up into his eyes, saw the reassurance there and let herself succumb to it. Eddie was a great guy, and she felt safe with him. And he had come through for her, even if not as quickly.

“Okay.”

They adjusted on the bed, and within minutes Eddie was snoring. It took Iris longer, not just because of the noise, but because…

She shut that wandering thought down, as well as all other racing thoughts. There was nothing she could do about her children until morning, and nothing she could do about the other…ever. Probably.

She closed her eyes and went to sleep.

…

As Barry should’ve expected and would no doubt be berated over until the end of the time, his son and daughter woke up riddled with mosquito bites. Bart’s were worse than Nora’s because he’d slept with his arms outside his sleeping bag, and also more noticeable because he couldn’t stop scratching.

After a makeshift breakfast, Barry decided to take them to the tiny convenience ‘shack’ store they’d passed on their way into the park. It didn’t take long for the kids to race inside, Barry at their heels. Nora wandered around the store at leisure. Bart went straight to the counter, scratching his arms madly.

“Do you have anything for mosquito bites?” Barry asked, like a fool because – duh, it’s a shack inside the park. But he asked anyway.

“Before or after?” the redheaded teen behind the counter covered in freckles asked as she languidly chewed her gum.

Barry glanced at his son who was still scratching madly, despite his light scolding to tell him to stop, and then at the clerk.

“I’d get before and after,” she said, turning behind her to find the necessary products.

Meanwhile, Nora had resurfaced at the front of the shop at the same time Bart lit up when he saw a familiar face on the TV hanging from the ceiling.

“Hey, look, it’s my teacher! Miss Park!”

Barry looked up at the TV and saw the familiar face – familiar because she was an old friend of Iris’, not because he’d actually met her at his kids’ school. What really got his attention though was the footage of a massive crack in the ground that appeared to have completely separated the grocery store in half by several feet.

“Hello?” Nora answered her phone that Barry had reluctantly given back that morning. “Oh, hi, Mom.”

That got Barry’s attention too, and he zeroed in on his daughter who seconds later locked her eyes on his.

“She wants us to come home.”

Barry extended his hand for the phone, and Nora gave it up.

“Iris, what’s going on?” he spoke into the phone. “The kids and I were having such a great…” He spotted the eye roll from his daughter and the continued scratching from his son. “…time.”

“I was in the supermarket during the earthquake, Barry,” she said, her voice shaky. It alarmed him so much that he turned away from his children, so they couldn’t see how scared he was on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“I’m fine,” she said, but he knew she wasn’t. How could she be? Eddie didn’t know her like he did. He didn’t know the depth she needed to be consoled after traumatic events. He knew not to push it yet.

“I just want my children with me where they’re safe and I can see them,” she continued, still sounding as fierce as ever but a little less shook up.

He thought about arguing that they were safer with him away from the earthquakes, but he knew in her state that was about the stupidest thing he could do.

“Alright, alright, we probably won’t get there till tomorrow, but-”

“It’s fine. Can I talk to Bart?”

“Yeah. You’re sure you’re alright though?”

“Yes, Barry,” her voice softened. “Eddie’s been with me. We’re both alright.”

His jaw clenched. He could care less about Eddie. He muttered a reply, then turned around and lowered the phone to his son.

“It’s your mom.”

“Obviously,” Nora muttered, eyeing some gum on a lower shelf in front of the counter.

Barry turned to the clerk.

“Just the after,” he told her. “Looks like we won’t be sticking around.”

“$5.99.”

He paid up, grimacing when he overheard his son’s end of the conversation with his mother.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. Just itchy.”

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #in the end there was us #chapter 5

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theshatteredrose · 5 months ago

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Secrets: Best Left Untold? (Chapter 27) - Etrian Odyssey Untold 2 Fanfiction

AN: Oooh, only this chapter and the next left to go! This novel turned out longer than expected. I happen to say that a lot, don’t I? Oops XD Anyway, hope you enjoy reading~

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

Chapter 27:

Fafnir…

Fafnir was there.

Flavio knew that he could not relax just yet, but he did feel a sense relief upon seeing Fafnir standing there, amongst the rubble that he had he created. His strong, protectively foreboding stance. No danger, in any form, was any threat to him.

But as a movement from the corner of Flavio’s eye promptly reminded him, he was still in danger.

Something within the glass coffin was stirring.

“Fafnir!” Flavio called out, tugging desperately at his bindings. “Hurry!”

In his Fafnir Knight form, Fafnir quickly narrowed in on his location. He flickered out of sight for a moment before he appeared right next to the altar that Flavio laid upon. He effortlessly took care of the bindings that held him prisoner and the moment that Flavio’s wrists were free, he reached out to Fafnir.

And Fafnir scooped him up into his arms. One arm under his legs, the other behind his back. The moment he had him cradled against his chest, Fafnir launched them both backwards, away from the flowery gravesite.

Flavio breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around Fafnir’s neck. It was difficult to get a comfortable grasp due to the harshness of the Fafnir Knight form, but it was more comfortable than that damn altar.

“And your ability to be right on time remains immaculate,” he said.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Flavio sighed as he rested his forehead against the helmet of Fafnir’s knight form. “I’m all right now.”

“No!” Schaffer suddenly bellowed. “Do not interfere with the ritual! We do not know what will happen should the ritual be interfered with!”

Flavio winced and Fafnir held him closer. “And you don’t know what I will do to you if anything happens to Flavio,” Fafnir snapped in response.

But what did he mean? If a ritual was interrupted, it should just…stop, right? What unforeseen consequences could happen?

Schaffer whipped around to face the gravesite, his movements unexpectedly frantic. Gone was the composed, unapologetically arrogant man. He was desperate, even frightened.

“No! Stay where you are! I will get you the vessel you desire, I promise!” he pleaded.

Flavio looked between Schaffer and the glass coffin, his unease growing. He leaned toward Fafnir and began to whisper an explanation to him, “The original Wioleta is in that coffin. Apparently, he can hear her voice.”

A deep growl rumbled from Fafnir’s throat. “It doesn’t matter, he’s not getting you, no matter what.”

An ungodly, high-pitched scream suddenly sliced through the air.

The glass coffin exploded into a thousand different shards, and Wioleta’s mummified body began to twist and convulse into a malformed, repulsive…creature. A mutilated form of twisted, gnarled limbs. Half human, half tree. Not a monster but most certainly not human. Something else far more horrifying.

Flavio unconsciously curled closer to Fafnir and Fafnir took a step back and did a half turn, an attempt to shield Flavio from any and all possible danger.

It was unlike anything they had encountered before. In either Yggdrasil or Ginnungagap.

“No!” Schaffer actually shrieked, a pained wail of loss. “All these years I have kept this family alive, and death has finally found you?!”

Death? Was that creature the terrifying punishment of avoiding death for so long?

The distorted creature that was once the corpse of Wioleta slammed a gnarled limb onto the ground, sending petals of white lilies into the air. She, it, whatever gurgled and snarled, truly unearthly sounds as it began to scrape and crawl from the gravesite.

Fafnir leapt back several more feet, placing even more distance between them.

“Stay back, Flavio,” Fafnir instructed as he quickly placed Flavio onto his feet. “I will end this nonsense once and for all.”

That made sense. Flavio did not like it, but it made sense. Without a weapon, he did not have any offensive skills. Only the grimoire stone that he clutched like a lifeline. At the very least, he could ensure that Fafnir would not fall to any curses or hexes for very long.

But that was all he could do.

As Fafnir stepped forward to take on the hideous creature, Schaffer suddenly reappeared, back to his composed and arrogant self. And a war magus staff in his hand.

“Wioleta always knew that one day this would occur,” he began. “And should it occur, I have been ordered to commend those responsible to death, so as her loyal steward, I will see to it that no one leaves this hall alive!”

Flavio was instantly worried. Fafnir was skilled, no doubt about that, but could he handle two enemies at once? He would be too busy trying to protect him as opposed to fighting the two.

Fafnir was not deterred, however. He flickered directly in front of Schaffer and slammed his foot onto the edge of his weapon, crushing it into the ground. The force threw the elderly, deranged man off balance, which Fafnir promptly took advantaged of – by punching him square in the face.

It was amazing how a human’s face could distort like that, conforming to the shape of the blacken form of Fafnir’s cursed arm. And the way Schaffer’s head reared back at such a painful angle, his broken monocle with beads of blood and shards of teeth spiralling through the air after him.

Flavio had no problem admitting that it was a satisfying thing to watch.

“Get out of my way,” Fafnir hissed. “I’ve got better things to do.”

As least Fafnir got that punch in he promised.

But a man that old, that determined would not be that easily defeated, could he?

“Flavio!”

A chorus of familiar voices immediately put some of Flavio’s concerns to rest. And mere moments later, he was surrounded by his guildmates and friends. All of them asking him questions about his wellbeing and the situation.

“Are you all right, Flavio?”

“Did that bastard do anything?”

“Oh, Sir Flavio, we’ve been so worried!”

“No one more worried than Fafnir, though…”

He was so glad to see them.

“I’ll have to answer everything in detail later,” Flavio said as he reminded everyone of the malformed creature in the hall. “That thing is the original Wioleta and Schaffer is the one responsible for everything.”

Instantly, Bertrand and Hrothgar stood in front of him with their shields, and Arianna and Chloe took positions just behind them. Creating a protective barrier in front of him.

“Bertrand! Hrothgar! Protect Flavio!” Fafnir ordered as he engaged in battle with Wioleta. “This thing is after him!”

The disformed Wioleta was after him? That…Ugh, that made sense. Flavio was the vessel she wanted to possess. Or maybe she just wanted him dead out of revenge. But she wanted him.

He could not leave, either. That thing would chase him out into the streets, harming anyone and anything in his way. He had no choice but to stay. He needed to stay back and out of range.

He wanted to treat it as another battle, because that was what it was – a battle. The creature might be the disgusting, distorting form of the original Wioleta of the Sidero family, but she was simply their enemy. Something to be defeated. And she would be treated as such.

But it was not easy. Staying back, doing nothing but hope for the best as everyone readied themselves for battle. He was not used to it. He was used to being on the battlefield. Close to Fafnir’s side, using his skills to attack, to help, to support his teammates and friends.

All he could do was wince through each attack that Wioleta flailed, grimaced as it struck at each shield, pray that each attack from Fafnir would end the battle.

A cold chill suddenly prickled the back of Flavio’s neck. He recognised it and he immediately activated the refresh grimoire stone in his hand. When the chill dissipated, he whipped around to his left, where his gaze collided with that of Schaffer’s.

Schaffer. His face covered in blood and his eyes wide, full of hate and malice.

“You really are the most infuriating brat I have ever encountered…” Schaffer snarled.

Flavio turned to face him fully. “I told you it wouldn’t last forever.”

Schaffer snarled a beastly sound as he raised his weapon. Only for his head to suddenly reared back. And it took Flavio a full second to understand why.

An arrow was embedded right between Schaffer’s wide eyes. He staggered forward a step, somehow managing to stay upright and raised a hand toward his head. His fingertips brushed against the wooden shaft of the arrow.

He…he was not about to pull the arrow out of his head, was he?!

Where did it come from?

Another arrowed suddenly pinned Schaffer’s hand to his eye and he reared his head back on a choked, strangled scream. He fell to one knee, the war magus staff falling from his grip.

“Bastard!”

That voice was entirely new.

Flavio turned to look behind him. Where two figures stood amongst the rumble of Fafnir’s grand entrance. One a survivalist with his weapon drawn, and a figure with black hair leaning heavily against his shoulders.

Connolly and Grant!

“I’ve been waiting ages to do that,” Connolly stated as he pulled back on another arrow. “You killed my sister, tried to kill Grant, and for months you tried to kill me, too. But I can finally end this bullshit. And I will!”

He released another arrow.

Flavio spun around at the sound of a gurgled gasp. The third and final arrow struck Schaffer in the middle of his throat, and he collapsed to his knees. Frothy blood gurgled up from his mouth and seeped passed his gaping, gasping lips.

With a wince, Flavio turned away when Schaffer swayed and fell to ground.

It…was for the best. That man had caused to much pain and suffering to too many people. They may never truly know just how many people he had tormented and ultimately sacrificed in that ritual.

Another stark, inhuman cry cut through the air and Flavio knew that Wioleta had also been defeated.

Flavio breathed a sigh of relief.

“Flavio?”

“I’m here.”

Flavio finally released the steel-like grip he had on the grimoire stone and slipped it into his coat pocket. He pushed his way through the others and hurried over to Fafnir, just as he eased himself from his Fafnir Knight form. And the second he did, he reached out to him and pulled him into a tight, maybe even a little bit desperate embrace. Flavio immediately returned the hug, burying his face into his shoulder and grasping onto the back of his jacket with white-knuckle hands.

It was over.

It was finally over.

… … … … …

When Flavio returned to the inn, it was, to his surprise, quite a big deal. He thought that Hana would be worried, and she was, the poor thing. But explorers, those who stayed at the inn and those who did not, were loitering about, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

He supposed he should have expected as much. It was not every day that someone tried to burn down the clinic and then use an Ariadne Thread to brazenly kidnap someone.

Hana hugged him as soon as he was in the foyer. Almost suffocated him, she was so happy to see him again.

The concerned crowd did put him on the spot, though. As well-meaning as they were. Fafnir immediately went into protective mode, more than willing to shoo off everyone’s concern, but Flavio had stopped him. It was for the best that he told everyone what had happened. No gossip. No fearmongering.

The truth.

Get that out of the way so he could move on.

So, he told everyone what happened. He focused mostly on Fafnir and his guildmates, but everyone else listened in. He told them what Schaffer had said, what he had seen, what Schaffer wanted to do. One thing he did stress to them was that Connolly was right. About Mandelson. About the Sidero family. About Schaffer. He was right about everything.

He could not even begin to imagine what would happen to the Sidero family, and whatever family Mandelson was from. The scandals that would envelop those two families might ruin them both. Well, if there was anyone left of the Sidero family, of course.

Though, that world of gentry had nothing to do with him.

In return, he learnt that Fafnir and the others had ran into Grant as he staggered through the streets. He was the one who pointed the way to the estate of the Sidero family. He was the one who told them to hurry, what Schaffer wished to do.

That brought Fafnir to call on his Fafnir Knight Form.

And the rest was history.

He wondered where Connolly and Grant went after they left the Sidero estate. Though, the two were probably just spending time together, catching up. They had been separated for quite some time, after all.

He hoped the two could find some sense of peace.

“Alright!” Hana said, clapping her hands loudly to gain everyone’s attention. “Flavio has been through quite the ordeal. Let’s give him some peace. Flavio, dear, why don’t you head to your room? I’ll bring you something to eat later.”

Flavio gave the motherly matron a warm smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

With Fafnir’s arm around his shoulders, Flavio headed upstairs to his room. Instinctively, he looked down at the floor in search for flowers or another unwanted gift, but thankfully there was nothing there.

Fafnir opened the door and urged Flavio to step inside. Despite the fact that Flavio had endured several frightening moments within this room, those events of terror occurring just outside, he breathed a sigh of relief. The room still enticed a sense of peace and comfort.

As soon as the lock slid into place, Flavio turned and flung his arms around Fafnir’s neck and hugged him tightly. “It’s finally over. I can finally relax.”

Fafnir instantly slipped his arms around his waist and pulled him close. The way he held him, it was clear that he was plagued with little what-ifs, but with Flavio being in his arms, with Fafnir physically being able to touch him, hold him, that little voice was able to be silenced.

“Yeah, it’s over,” he murmured.

“I’m so glad.�� He was no longer a troublesome burden. “I can start living again.”

“Yes.” Fafnir ran his fingers through Flavio’s hair as he tilted his head to the side to press his lips against his temple. “And tomorrow will be your day. But for now, we’ve got some sleep to catch up on.”

Yeah. Sleep sounded nice right about now.

#etrian odyssey #etrian odyssey untold 2 #fafnir/flavio #fanfiction #flavio #fafnir #secrets: best left untold?

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thelast-and-theonly · 1 year ago

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Fanfic Update (and Ramblings)

So the day has come where I have finally completed my first draft.

I said I would get it done because the story haunted me and because I had learned that I am a writer in my heart and that I love these characters enough to embarrass myself with potentially boring/odd plots and so forth.

And now I can finally say that I have done it. My first draft, from what was originally supposed to be a one-shot has expanded to a 60-page monstrosity. I designed the outline into 15 parts specifically to help me tackle my pacing problem (I tend to rush the endings).

And for every section I wrote, for every part I didn't rush, it grew . . . into something that I wasn't expecting.

I procrastinated the hardships of writing for more than a decade now; I joined the fandom and Fanfiction when I was at the tender age of 12. And like any kids that age, my stories (that are still up and published) I feel lack real substance and the writing patterns aren't to my liking, not to mention they didn't garner much attention. I admit this hurt my pride and as a result, I shied away but now -

Writing this first draft, which is the equivalent of barfing on paper, even with all its flaws of which there are many, I feel more confident and joyful than I did then with any of my more polished works.

I understand now the purpose of writing ugly. I understand the point of writing the dreaded first draft. It's a damn coming unclogged for better ideas to flow. It tests different methods until you find or Frankenstein your own method. I can only imagine how the editing process will go, and I'm equal parts excited to start and fearful.

In my outline and in my mind I had an idea of how the story was going to go, but writing it I trusted my instants to lead me and some courses naturally went astray to someplace better. Others are half-baked, but the ideas are rising nonetheless.

I really expected this story to be no longer than 20 pages, and I still expect that as I edit in my 2nd and 3rd drafts for the pages to shrink. I know now that it will be divided up into a 3 chapter arc. Maybe it will be a stand-alone or maybe the opening chapters for my Drabble Sweettooth Series ( oh yes I have a list of stories for these dorks to come).

God, I have barely said anything about the actual fic.

Well, the fic is now currently in what I call its resting period. I have read over other fics I attempted to write in the past and looking back I see the flaws and potential of them all and I doubt I would have, had I not stepped away. So, right now it's gonna rest for a few weeks before I tackle the 2nd draft, where I will attempt to connect the dots and make the story more clever than it actually is.

But, never fear, I will spend this time improving my understanding of quality writing and, most feverishly, practicing my art. It's been far too long since I really sat down and learned how to draw again, and I miss it. I really, really do, about as much as I miss the decade I wasted not writing.

Because there is much fanart I would like to draw of them too, and many other OTPs of mine (tianaxnaveeen from Princess and the Frog to name one, they are criminally underrated) and I will not have anything but the best for my lovelies.

I plan to draw some character designs to support this fic of mine, and as I improve move on to concept art and even comics. They need more art of them as well! Besides, it about time I learned how to draw men and animals.

I'm excited YAY. Months of writing and my heart is light in knowing that I'm doing what writers do - bleeding at the type writer.

Thank you all for following, liking, reblogging, and for everything. I believe these rambling posts/updates help me stay focused too.

#sweettoothrotg #ask-the-sweettoothers #sweettooth #bunnymundxtoothiana #bunnymundxtooth #fanfic update #writing #creative writing #on writing

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kaphyr · 1 year ago

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THIS!!! I have been toying with the idea of explaining my frustrations with the fic (150K+) I'm currently working on and the previous one (51K). And length is the symptom of the main problems with my 150K+ fic.

I planned the fuck out of The Long Defeat and even as I did that, I knew it was going to be around 200K (closer to 300K+ now -don't be surprised, it's in the name, lol). As someone who has read many fics and original books of that length, I wasn't too worried about the length itself - because as much as in the publishing world that is definitely something to consider if you actually want to sell copies of your book, in the world of fandoms, there are plenty of 200K+ beloved fics.

But that doesn't make them good or deny that these stories are going to suffer from that word-length or that the length isn't a symptom of problems in the story.

The Long Defeat has 3 main POVs (so far) and is happening in mainly three timelines. In retrospect, I can see how I should have just split this into 5 fics - they would probably not be longer than 80K each, in fact, 1 might have been novella-lengthed. However, because this is fanfiction and because I am not bringing this to a publisher - and I am very aware of that fact as someone who writes and edits original fiction - I thought that it didn't matter.

I wanted to put all these highly connected stories together so that they could be enjoyed as I meant them to be - except that's not what's happening. I post 1 chapter every 2 weeks - for a year and half. I thought that if I was to post these different POVs as their own fics in a series, it would take away from the interplay. Also, what guarantee is there that a reader will read every POV and get the whole story?

However, if this was an original story, I know what I would have done. I would have cut out characters or mixed them together for a smaller cast. I would have removed the smaller B-plots, I would have stuck to maybe 2 timelines. I would have edited down the word count - I would have actually gotten my work professionally edited.

And you know the interesting thing about series - especially these days? The instalments tend to come out barely a year apart - if even that. And you know what a reader can do right before diving into the new installments? They can reread the book. You know what I can't expect my readers to do? Reread my fic before I post a new chapter.

Which brings me to one of the issues I have with such a long fic. There are a lot of details and if you don't remember them, you probably can't see everything I'm doing - you can't read it the way I meant it to be read. And honestly I have only myself to blame.

But the idea of not posting until I had everything ready? To miss out on the comments? The speculations? The theories? No thanks. I've already tried that with Making a God. I posted twice a week in under 2 months, only taking the time to read over chapters before posting. I know plenty of fic writers only post once they have it all written out, but that's not for me. It took me 2 years to write those 51K words. In a year and a half, I've written around 154K of this fic - and I've written so much more for work and my own original fiction.

Putting the work out there within a month or 2 from writing works from me. Even if it brings its own issues like not having the time to ponder over scenes long enough to see issues or how to phrase things better. Additionally, I still get many ideas - and because this is a fic and I want to indulge myself - I add them to my outline and watch the thing balloon. And sometimes, to set something up, I have to go back to a previously posted chapter and add a few lines and then in the notes of the newest chapter, I have to clarify that. That's... not okay. I know, I know.

Would I do it any differently if I could go back? Probably not. I really can't help it that I get too many ideas. But I might have changed the posting schedule to once a week or even more frequently (if I could hack writing that quickly). But it'd still be a mishmash of POVs and timelines because at the end of the day this is fanfiction and here, I get to not compromise - even when I know it's a bit of a disservice to the audience because at the end of the day, I am writing for myself (like honestly, it's kinda shameful how often I reread these fics of mine, lmao).

But I also understand that this doesn't change that my story will suffer from these indulgences. I think that as writers we need to consider what the aim of our stories are. With the 150K+ fic, I'm just trying to write politics with a poly-pan main character at the center of it and to use a manga/anime that squandered its setting and premise. With the 51K fic, I wanted to write about a rare pair (Rabou/Yato) and practice some literary devices as well as writing exercises. I... think I reached/am reaching my goal.

(And if I'm being honest, I think my 150K+ fic is better than the other one. It might be longer but the prose is better and is more action (less being in characters heads).)

I know some just want to share their thoughts but let me tell you, there is something sinfully good about creating something with all the layers you imagined. Like going from stick figure sketches to carving angels in marble. I'm not saying you can't write good stories without getting better at writing, but... god. The things we can do with just words... And the beauty of well-structured stories with beautiful prose?

And that's why I think it's important for writers to examine their stories. Why is your fic getting so long? Is there an underlying issue? And if you didn't mean it, are you fine keeping it like that? Writing more fics that you know go nowhere? Sag in the middle? I know we're just try to have fun but we can also make beauty at the same time - or just indulge ourselves. Just... know which you're doing. (And this is NOT me saying you have to do anything! It's supposed to be fun. Have fun!)

Very few fics need to be longer than a short novel. When we start getting into multiple hundreds of thousands of words, usually, we've actually just planned poorly, gotten stuck in the interminable middle of a story we haven't planned an ending for, or caved to peer pressure to write more of something that's come past its expiry date as a concept.

#finally have the time and braincells to add to this #fic writing #the long defeat #we'll see if I need to add to this

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paperjunk · 2 years ago

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Life or Death - Chapter 04

Summary: Anger issues and memories of a horrific past biting at her heels, Kenzie Ames is pulled back into active service. Sent to Top Gun to help train a handful of Navy Pilots on how to survive their next mission, Ames’ resentment and anger may hurt her and those around her more than she knows if she can’t get it under control. Secrets weighing her down, Ames soon finds a Lieutenant’s persistent desire to know her maybe more than she can handle as the clock ticks away the time she has to make sure that not only do they come home, but the part of herself she left back in the cold, barren, tundra does too.

Author Notes: I am out of practice writing fanfiction. Sorry. This is an OC x Bradly Bradshaw or Reader x Bradly Bradshaw. All 3rd person pov.

Table of Contents: Will update as we go.

Several days had passed. Run after run. It wasn’t getting any easier and they had been running sims all day in ninety degree weather. To say it had gone wrong was an understatement. No ground crew, no preflight checks. It wasn't just flying the Su-57; it was a long list of things to remember and do before even getting into the fighter, and once that happened, getting it off the ground was proving challenging. Landing the heap of junk was taxing and nerve-racking. Not because Rooster couldn't do it, but because he was worried something else in the fighter would break. It was a stripped-down version of a Su-57 sans everything a pilot would need to survive just flying.

It had been one thing after another. Warning after warning.

Rooster was sure more than half of them were frozen solid due to the lack of canopy. The shield protected them from most of the wind shear, but the rest was extremely undesirable, to say the least.

Needless to say, Ames wasn't happy... she was far from it. Clear left field if Rooster had to guess by her blank stare and pacing.

"There is not going to be enough of you left to put in a pine box," was all she said as she paced back and forth before the line of pilots. Her hands on her hips in such an exasperated way, she reminded Rooster of his mother scolding him over a broken plate later in her years.

Rooster spotted Maverick sitting out of the corner of his eye with an intensely frustrated sigh. He hadn't excepted them to fail as badly as they did—but they had.

'Well, that happened,' Maverick thought, his cheeks blowing out with his sigh.

"That was just fuckin' spectacular!" Ames' abruptly shouted after several minutes of silence. Her sudden words caused Rooster and many of the others to slightly jump. Sarcasm bounced off the tarmac in declarative echoes against jets and buildings alike.

"You know I'm going to have to be that asshole," she said, turning to face them in her pacing. Sunglasses hiding her real anger from the group.

"I'm going to be the one that gets to explain to your family why they can't have a proper funeral," Ames said, pivoting on her heel. "I am not a nice person. You can bet your pretty little stripes that none of the holier than thou whatever-the-fucks will explain why you're dead to your family...but I will! I will be that mean fucker that gives it to them straight and explains exactly what kind of failure you are in very explicit words."

Ames' pacing picked back up, and she was now walking back and forth at such a rapid gait that when she suddenly stopped and turned around to look away from them, all eyes landed on her.

"But do not despair!" She said theatrically. "I will tell them not to mourn your loss but to celebrate! Hallelujah!" She threw her hands up to the sky in a wild prayer. "That one more major fuckup is no longer part of their family."

Maverick would have laughed had it not been the truth. Pilots were used to having certain things checked off the board and not having to worry about whether they would actually be able to land their fighter. But this was Major Ames' show. It had been the only reason she had agreed to all this in the first place. Otherwise, Maverick suspected she would have preferred a court-martial. Two years was a long time to hold onto hope.

"Sir, this is impossible," Phoenix said suddenly, breaking into Maverick's thoughts. Green eyes turned to her. "The wind shear and cold alone are enough, but we can't even go above eight thousand feet without air pressure."

Several heads turned slightly in shock at Phoenix's impulsive statement. More than half, if not all, expected Ames to start shouting. Hangman definitely did. Yes, he had even failed the first few times they worked the sim, though not as incredibly as the others. Though Maverick still had managed to nail him in the end, he thought he did alright.

"She's right, sir," Rooster interceded, stepping forward, ready to take the brunt of Ames' anger.

Staring at Phoenix, Ames' head turned, her eyes still locked with the other woman's when green hues finally traveled to land on Lieutenant Bradshaw at his full height. Silence filled the space around them while birds flew by, and the sounds of crickets in the late evening pulsated in the heavy June air.

At some point, Rooster stopped staring into a distant point over her head and started looking at her. Really looking at her. Their eyes met in the stillness, and he briefly watched a deep sadness sweep over her face before it disappeared just as quickly behind a mask he suddenly realized she was keeping.

"You're going to die," she said softly, and it felt as if only Rooster could hear her. As if the words were something meant for his ears and his ears alone. "And your pride won't even let you see why."

A faint sigh escaped her as her own sight turned to the horizon beyond him, and a memory she wished she could forget played across her vision as she backed away from Rooster and everything the mission reminded her of.

"Your dismissed," was all she said before she left the tarmac and the group of fighter pilots behind.

"Mav, what's going on?" Fanboy asked, looking at his friend Payback and back to Maverick. Sighing himself, Maverick stood stretching out his legs, hand running over the stubble on his chin.

"This sim is crazy. We've done some banana things before, but this is pushing it," Fanboy continued.

"Yeah," several of them agreed.

"We'll likely die or at least have some sort of long-term damage if we accidentally go over eight thousand for too long. How are we supposed to engage the enemy if we can't even follow them?"

"We're not supposed to," Hangman replied, looking over at Rooster. "That's what she meant when she said we'd die because of our pride. We'll want to engage if fired at. It's instinct. We'd turn and fire...but we can't. So she's saying our instincts will get us killed up there."

Phoenix stared at him in disbelief for a full three-count before she retorted, "You've got to be kidding me? Hangman got this right?"

Maverick shrugged his shoulders scarcely in an apology, eyebrows arched as if to say, 'I'm just as surprised as you are.'

Phoenix sighed, looking away, shaking her head incredulously as Rooster picked his helmet up off the ground where he left it, having tossed it in a fit of rage after failing the sim again for the third time that day.

"The sim she's got you running," Maverick started, hands slipping into his pockets. "Wasn't a sim for her. It was life or death. Fly or die."

************************************************

A/N: As always thank you for reading! Will post more later! :D

#oc #rooster #oc x rooster #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw #OC x Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #OC x Bradley Bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #pete mitchell #Top Gun #Top Gun Maverick #mywriting

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drabsyo · 3 years ago

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I was wondering...I was always confused about Narcissa’s hair. It’s been a while since I read the books. Did she color it blonde to show her now belonging to House Malfoys. Or was it naturally blonde? Movies confused me a bit I guess.

Yes, this had me confused too! I've agonized and toiled over it, more than I probably should, about how I should draw her hair because people have generally different views, which is totally understandable! 💕

And I've always wanted to discuss it, so now that I've been given a reason to... Well.

If you take a look at some of my Narcissa fanart, you'll notice the different ways I'd color her hair. I was so confused. Is she a light blonde? Dark blonde? A mix of raven hair and blonde hair? If she has blonde hair then why does her family have (mostly) dark hair? And WHY does she have blue eyes?! This woman is absolutely confusing! (Which is kind of, you know, fitting because Narcissa always loves to be a mystery to literally anyone lol)

So I did my homework, asked around, and scoured every bit of information, canon or otherwise, that I could find about her. It led me to this:

In canon, this is what the Black sisters look like. You can find the page here. Narcissa is a child here, and already has blonde hair. So we can go ahead and safely assume that she was born with natural blonde hair. But in the films, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. I don't actually know why they gave her that hair color, maybe so that the audiences wouldn't question her blood relations with the Blacks--I don't know. I really don't. But now we have a book version Narcissa, one who has full blonde hair. And a movie version Narcissa, one who has raven and blonde hair. At least, that's how the different hair colors started: a movie version, and a book version.

So... here's where it gets confusing.

To my knowledge, it isn't actually explained why her hair color is the way it is in both the movies and the books. Having blonde hair does raise many questions, how is she the "only" blonde in a family of dark hair and dark eyes? To top it all off, it gets even more confusing, because fanon writes and draws her either as a full blonde or a mix of raven and blonde hair. We just have this large pile to sift through of her having either hair color. No one actually explains anything. She's just... infuriatingly there. She's either blonde or raven haired and blonde. BUT fanfiction writers, as I've observed, give their own reasons why Narcissa's hair color is the way it is in their respective stories. And it's actually pretty creative and interesting! It adds even greater depth to her character, and it fits the narrative of the story even better. Remember, the character we're dealing with is Narcissa Black. One of her main traits is "she won't do anything unless there is a clear purpose behind it." This character is deliberate, meticulous, and she makes sure to plan ahead at all times. And so, some fanfiction writers decide to play on that.

You can skip this part if you want to avoid spoilers but I've compiled a small list of instances in (Cissamione) fanfiction where Narcissa's hair is mentioned.

🔹 In Extinction by rubikanon in Chapter 10: Build and Break, Hermione asks Narcissa about it. Here, Narcissa has black and blonde hair. She explains that she only decided to dye it blonde to "fit in with the Malfoys." We can gather two things from that alone, which resonates with her character perfectly: 1.) Narcissa is loyal and 2.) Narcissa purposefully wants to show the rest of the world how loyal she is by committing to having blonde hair. The woman has some serious commitment, and it shows. But now, the way that it's slowly growing back into her natural black hair color, hints that perhaps Narcissa no longer wishes to fit in with the Malfoys. However, if we take an even closer look, we can safely assume that Narcissa isn't the kind of person to just leave her hair color "unattended" like that. Remember, she's meticulous. And this is a big deal for her, the fact that she's just kind of letting it grow back instead of either fully dyeing it back to black, or dyeing it back to blonde. It suggests that perhaps she's a little unsure this time, perhaps it is her uncertainty that is the reason why it's now a mix of both. Another grey area? Or maybe it's actually something more deliberate? Maybe now, she likes that it's a mix of both. That other half now being solely for Draco, and not to fit in (completely) with the Malfoys any longer. Who knows why Narcissa does things the way she does? We can speculate to the ends of the earth, or be as smart as Hermione Granger (or with the case of Extinction, see Hermione's thoughts), but something tells me we'd still be a good step behind.

"Which one is your natural hair color?" I wondered aloud.

(Narcissa) She glanced up at the unexpected question. I was relieved she hadn't sensed my attention yet. It's not like I meant anything by it, I told myself. She was so beautiful, one couldn't help but notice. And feel physically drawn to her. And want to see her two-toned hair fanned across her back, slipping over the bare skin, silky beneath my fingers...

"Why do you ask?" Her query brought me back to reality, and I hurriedly corrected my imagination to include a pretty dress covering the rest of her.

"I don't know." I chewed the inside of my cheek, suppressing my other thoughts. "I'm just curious."

Her gaze returned to the fire. "You've seen enough of my relatives to guess which color is genetic. The blond is something I added to fit in with the Malfoys, after Draco was born." She was quiet for a moment. "He looks so much like his father. I suppose I wanted to share some resemblance."

🔹 In Killing Me Softly by Looktotheedges in Chapter 4: Nagging, Hermione suggests that perhaps Narcissa is part Veela because of her blonde hair and very attractive features, like Fleur. Which is this whole other theory/plot that's very interesting, but won't be discussed in this post. Narcissa tells Hermione that Sirius has always been blonde, and that it isn't out of the question for her to be blonde either. Sirius Black. A blonde. I know! Maybe it's there because it's funny that Sirius is actually blonde like Narcissa. Prissy, haughty, lady-like Narcissa. Arguably the 'girliest' cousin that he has. No, no, no. He doesn't want to be anything like Narcissa. Anyway, if that's the reason, I think that's hilarious and cute.

Narcissa turns away. 'I am aware my appearance is frightfully drab. Work has been…'

Hermione holds back a disbelieving scoff. 'Narcissa. You always look beautiful. And you’re talking to the witch with grass in her hair who practically lives in her office all week.'

Narcissa just leans further over the crib. 'A blonde little boy. It has been so long since… I can almost imagine…'

Hermione stands next to her. Looks down at the peacefully sleeping Louis. He does look remarkably like Draco. 'Are you sure there’s no Veela blood in you? You weren’t secretly switched at birth?'

'Like a changeling?'

'It would explain your blonde hair.'

'Sirius was also blonde, it is not completely out of the question for us Blacks.'

What?!

(...) 'I know. But it is the truth. He was blond until he was about seven… then it began to darken. Mousy. Dull. He wanted to look cool and brooding instead, so he got his hands on some kind of charm right before he set off for Hogwarts. A new, edgy Sirius. It was around then he forbade us from calling him Siri. Said it sounded too girly.'

🔹 In Fixed in Time by TheWorldsaBeastofBurden in Chapter 9: Sisters and Saviors, it's also tackled a little humorously. Andromeda let's a little comment slip while they're in the middle of trying to heal Hermione. Something funny, something that suggests Andromeda and Bella, when they were children, have always wondered why Narcissa is blonde unlike them.

The first words spoken occurred after they’d risen and attempted their casting. Andromeda’s preparedness to take on their task had been clear in her mind so Narcissa rose with her sister, wrapped an arm around her waist and held her near as the woman raised her wand to draw up the rest of the injury she’d dropped, half a slash across Hermione’s hip bone…

That remained half, as Andromeda growled out, “...it isn’t working.” she looked to Narcissa, “Why aren’t you powering me?”

What nonsense? “I am!” she insisted. She was! Or “I- I am trying to!” Her magic was active and alive, pulsing to rise from her skin and transfer into Andromeda’s but it- it wasn’t working! “Could...could it be that you were disowned?”

“Disowning doesn’t take away the fact that we share blood, our magic is directly related. Ugh, Bella always said you were adopted!”

“Oh ha- oh.”

“...oh?” Andromeda returned.

“...it’s not an issue of power. It is what I intend to aid in casting,” Narcissa slowly worked out. Oh, it was most blessed Mister Goyle could be brought to assist the present Hermione. If her present self had been brought to aid Andromeda? “...I cannot harm Hermione.”

Andromeda sighed with some frustration. “I understand you are so tenderly in love-”

“It isn’t- I’m avowed! I- when we arrived from the future we had to escape Malfoy Manor, I couldn’t bring Hermione through the wards without...I couldn’t add her directly, that would be visible. I had to...attach her permission to mine.”

🔹 In Glass Silence by Zarrene Moss (Menzosarres), which probably gives one of the most interesting backstories for Narcissa's hair, for why it's blonde. I can't put a clip of the scene here without hogging up a huge chunk of space on your dash, so I'll try to explain it as best I can instead.

Understand that these come with serious 🛑spoilers🛑 so please do read it at your own risk.

In Glass Silence, Narcissa's hair and eye color was black at birth. But after an accident with raw magic, something Bellatrix wasn't able to control when they were children, Narcissa almost dies. Bellatrix, using even more raw magic, tries desperately to pull Narcissa's "life force" back, but at the cost of losing the eumelanin that made Narcissa's eyes and hair black. Narcissa survived, but now has very little eumelanin left, which is why she's so pale, blonde, and has blue eyes. Every time Narcissa looks at a mirror, her reflection is a reminder of the day she almost died. Bella, on the other hand, is reminded of that day every single time she looks at Narcissa.

So! These are only a few fanfictions I could think of at the top of my head that tackles the issue of Narcissa's hair. In the books, to my knowledge, she is described as having blonde hair and very pale skin.

But let's take another deep dive, if you're up for it.

These are mostly theories, which are largely unconfirmed, but I think they're interesting to think about.

There's this description in the wiki:

"Narcissa Malfoy is described as tall, slim, "nice looking", and very pale, with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and a clear, cold voice. Her hair colouring thus differs from most of the House of Black, who generally have dark hair, though Narcissa does possess the arrogant good looks characteristic of her family."

There's also this pinterest photo of the Black sisters being compared to each other side by side, descriptively and physically. I'm so sorry, I don't know who drew it, but here's a link to the post on pinterest.

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

Which is interesting because this hints that she's... different. It's a bit literal in this sense--she comes from a pureblood family, arguably the most influential and notorious one, the Blacks, who mostly have dark hair and eyes, and yet her physical appearance directly contrast that. There's also the matter of her namesake. She's the only Black to be named after a flower instead of a galaxy or a star. We aren't really given any explanation why she's the only one who's different. Even Sirius, who fought and died for the side of the Light, is named after the brightest star in the sky. Even Andromeda. It's been said that this is actually meant to be a parallel of some sort to Lily Evans. Narcissa and Lily are both named after flowers, even Petunia (Lily's sister). And I know there's this thing where it's a tie up to how Harry was ultimately saved by a mother's love: Harry lived at the beginning because of his mother's love, and Harry lives once again at the end of the books because Narcissa, a mother who wanted to save her own son, saved him.

If you read that scene in the books where Harry is saved by Narcissa, the whole scene is actually... pretty soft? There's that sort of disarming softness about Narcissa in that moment, where Harry expected to be callously dragged and prodded for a heartbeat. Instead, he gets a surprisingly gentle touch, a curtain of long blonde hair shielding him from the darkness, and the kind of tenderness he wouldn't expect from his enemies, "Is Draco alive?"

It's almost like Narcissa's appearance is something of a "tell". With Andromeda, she's described to have kind eyes, open, unguarded. She inherited her family's dark eyes and dark hair, and she even looks like Bellatrix's twin. I suppose we could say, Andromeda wants to fight that in any way she can by being openly kind. Narcissa is quite literally the opposite--guarded eyes, stoic expressions, cool and calculated emotions. We're veering into this fine line between fanon and canon in terms of their characterization (but only due to lack of canon materials) but personally, I think Narcissa having blonde hair and blue eyes is somewhat more fitting for her character. Again, this line:

"Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale she seemed to shine in the darkness... long blonde hair streaming down her back."

It's like that one glaringly obvious hint that everyone overlooks simply because... because it's the most obvious one. "Me! I'm different! I'm the last person you'd expect, but it really is me!"

Anyway. I've rambled on long enough. Hope this clears up some of that confusion, anon. Hoping it didn't ADD even more confusion... 😂 At the end of the day, this is just me speculating, gushing, and being One Big Fool™. So.

But either way, blonde hair, dark hair, mix of both, I adore her. Pretty much.

#narcissa black #narcissa malfoy #cissamione #anon #HAIR TALK #drabstuff #stupid ramblings

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rollercoasterwords · 3 years ago

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I love the new chapter! Your writing is amazing:)

Do you have any writing tips you use that you’d be willing to pass on?

hi this response is v delayed so the ch is no longer new but thank you!! 💕

i wish i had more/better writing tips but i feel like a lot of my writing process is largely intuitive and isn't coming so much from me like...thinking through "oh x works really well and y doesn't work well" yknow? that being said, there are 2 things i can think of that have sort of been helpful realizations for me over the past year or two (these will probably sound very generic and are most likely things that thousands of other people have already said, but for me personally they were both just driven home recently so bear with me lol)

1 - no writing is bad writing!!

i know this is so cliché but like...i personally am a big perfectionist and sometimes i'll give up on a project if i feel like i can't get it just right, so i think it took me a while to accept the fact that literally everything i've written (including the embarrassing fanfiction from high school and the god-awful self-insert oc stories from middle school) has contributed to getting to the point i'm at now, where i'm pretty confident in my ability as a writer :) writing is a skill just like playing an instrument or learning a language; you have to practice to get better, and any time spent writing is practice and is helping like...build creative muscle or whatever. i have years and years of bad writing squirrelled away on flash drives and old word docs and dusty corners of the internet, and most of it makes me cringe to look back on, but none of the time spent writing shitty stories was time wasted because i had fun doing it and it ultimately helped me improve! so rather than focusing on perfection in writing or worrying about making sure it's good, i think it's honestly more important to just focus on enjoying the process :) which leads me to my second point...

2 - write stories that you want to read!!

again, this might seem obvious and self explanatory, but i feel like especially with social media and influencer culture and the late capitalist hellscape we're all descending into there's this mentality that you need an audience to validate the things you're creating, like art and literature should only exist to be consumed. and i think this mentality is damaging for a lot of reasons, but the one i'll focus on right now is that i think it's incredibly easy to get burnt out when you're creating for other people.

like, ok. i feel like i've had the greatest personal growth with my own writing over the past year and a half, and it started because i was just like "fuck it i want to read the captive prince series from laurent's perspective," and so i wrote it. and part of me was like - oh, this isn't real writing because i'm just rewriting a book series, i'm not coming up with a plot or making up my own characters, etc etc. but the thing is i had tried to write original novels in the past and had always just hit a plateau partway through, so even though part of me was like oh there's no purpose to this, it's not like it's something i'll ever be able to publish--it was just fun! like i was just genuinely having a good time! and it ended up being really good writing practice, because i got to just focus on this in-depth character study + also prove to myself that i could sit down and churn out a book-length work of fiction, even if i was following someone else's plot.

and so then i sort of got out of my own head about like...only ever writing with the ultimate goal of publication in mind, and started focusing more on just writing for fun. and that led to atyd - sirius's pov, which sort of exploded, and then i found myself starting to get bogged down again in focusing on like -- oh, how many people have read this chapter, how many people have commented, what good things are people saying, what bad things are people saying, etc etc. and i started to get in my own head again about the fact that i was rewriting a story, the kind of impostor syndrome mentality of like "well this isn't real writing because it's not 100% original" etc etc etc. and so any time i started worrying about how my writing was being ~consumed by an audience~ i had to like check myself and take a step back and remind myself that at the end of the day, i was writing for me, because it was a story that i wanted to have and to read and while it was amazing and so so special to have so many people invested in the project, it was never really about providing a story for an audience--that was just a happy side effect and not something that i could sustainably centre my writing process around.

and again, even though i was following someone else's plot and building on an already-existing world and characters, sirius's pov helped me grow so much as a writer and also gave me the confidence to feel like i could actually, feasibly write a novel on my own, which is genuinely something that i never knew whether i'd be capable of because i struggled so much in the past. but now i'm essentially writing my own book with this dorlene fic, and i don't think that's something i'd have been capable of a year ago!

anyway, all that is to say -- don't worry about whether your writing is "serious" or publishable or something that will appeal to a broad audience, and try not to measure the worth of your writing based on other people. write a story that you want to read, because the best way to avoid burnout is to make sure that you're having fun writing! like even when i need a break from actually writing my current fic, i'll still find myself thinking about future scenes i want to write + daydreaming + planning it out in my head because it's a story i want to read, and that's what gets me excited to continue writing it! it's really fun to share your writing with an audience and it's so so so amazing to hear that your work resonates with people (seriously, cannot emphasize enough how much i appreciate those of u who send messages like this + leave comments + kudos + all that 💕), but for me the biggest breakthrough i had with my writing was realizing that my most important reader is myself (as cheesy as that is) 🕺 💞

#this got soooo long #basically just turned into me reflecting on my own writing ~journey~ lol #but at this point if ur still following me i feel like essays are expected #ask #thtf #writing tips

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hawksugarbaby · 4 years ago

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Kirishima x reader- Magnum

Smut

Chapter includes: Temp play (cold), blow job, sex in a small Space, slight praise.

After an hour or so in the freezer you were sufficiently cooled down, the hot summers day had gone cold as the sun lowered and you had spent your time teasing kiri. You had also ran out of ice lollies.

But it was time to get out of the freezer. Because you were surprisingly getting cold, there was only so much your quirk could do especially since you were keeping two people warm, it was more work with the air cooling down. "Can you help me back out?" You asked, flailing your arms over the side of the freezer, It was a little too tall.

Kiri on the other hand wasn't paying attention. His mind had been wandering for far too long. Popsicles. How dare they make you look so enticing. He couldn't stop the thoughts plaguing his head, and he felt a little guilty thinking such lewd thoughts about you.

He looked up for a moment, he hadn't realised you were trying to get out the freezer until now when you were in a rather compromising position. You were bent over the side of the freezer your arms dangling and you continued to try to hop over the side. "W-what are you doing?" His face burned red and hot, images getting more vivid the longer he stared. "Trying to get out of this freezer, its getting kinda cold"

Suddenly his confidence grew 3x what it was, he stood up and you sighed thankfully expecting him to help you out. Instead he grabbed your hips pulling you back into the freezer and sat down again "I could warm you up?" He whispered lowly into your ear sending shivers down your spine that you knew weren't from the cold.

"H-how do you plan on that?" Despite your best efforts of sounding alluring it came out a mess. You chewed on your lip, your ragged breaths coming out foggy and your heart hammered in your chest. He shifted you so you were straddling his lap and your face erupted in flames feeling the hard tent in his jeans. How hadn't you noticed that before? It should have been VERY obvious.

He hadn't spoke, he kept his lips clamped shut he tilted your chin up, Your (e/c) eyes met his, the black pupils swallowed the crimson making him look more shark like than ever. He leaned in meeting your soft, warm lips with his icy cold ones. He swiped his tongue (which was even cooler) over your bottom lip asking for entrance and as if under some spell you granted.

Why were his lips so cold?

You shivered and he pulled away with a grin holding an ice cube between his pointy teeth, it was melting fast and you looked away "where did you even get that? How did I not notice you put that in your mouth?" He shifted, and a bag of ice cubes was propping him up, you had thought the freezer was empty, guess you were wrong but how was he not absolutely frozen.

Your thoughts didn't seem to matter since he shrugged and pulled you forward locking your lips again, the icy cold cube melting against your tongue, trickling down your throat. You moaned into the kiss as he pulled you deeper under his spell, your hair stood on end, and you had goosebumps all up your arms. He pulled away from your lips and traced kisses down your jaw leaving drops of biting cold water off of his lips on their place.

"K-kiri what are you doing" you shuddered, his lips travelled further down your neck the ice cube starting to melt rapidly the closer it got to your chest where your fire was stored. It was a strange sensation, the freezing cold felt… good? It was different, very different, but it wasn't at all bad. "Your enjoying this a lot more than i thought you would" he murmured against your neck, he was right about that much You didn't expect this reaction in the slightest!

His shark teeth nibbled along your neck down to your collar bone, occasionally they would accidentally pierce your skin and a pearl of blood would stain the vest he had given you. Hot purple marks littered up your throat and neck, down your shoulders across your chest, competing with the cold kiri was dragging across yor skin.

"Slow down kiri, i can't be the only one getting attenton" you giggled, so innocent sounding for such a sinful situation. You grinded against him making him groan, the obvious tent in his shorts getting more obvious "is that your quirk at play or are you just happy to see me?" You teased, he rolled his eyes as if he's heard that joke a hundred times before and looks down at you. There's no innocence left in his eyes, they burn with desire and lust while he watches you unbuckle his leather belt and unbutton his constraints.

"No underwear huh? And in shorts too? How brave" you tease when his cock springs out of his shorts, laying flat against his stomach. Your only thoughts are 'Big… Very Big!' Almost on instinct you reach out and wrap your hand around the base of his shaft making him moan out, "i haven't even done anything yet!" You shout, both your faces are bright red and hot, the tips of your ears are burning like someone was holding a lighter to them. Kiri's eyes were squeezed shut as tight as possible, his fists were balled and the bag of ice crunched every time he moved.

You moved your hand up and down slowly, watching his reddening face intensely. It looked like you were doing everything right, it definitely sounded like you were doing everything right from the tiny grunts escaping his mouth. You picked up your pace drawing a long moan from his throat, and you chuckled "Y-(y/n)" he groaned. Your name sounded so salacious coming from him right now, you weren't sure you could ever fill in another form without hearing kiri in the back of your mind and you wanted desperately to hear more like that.

You would ignore the heat bubbling in your stomach, your thighs rubbing together for friction, and your now soaked underwear until you could satisfy kiri. You stopped your hand movements eliciting an annoyed growl and you shuffled forward again and sat on your calfs between his thighs. "Kneel" you instructed and he did as he was told. "Y-you don't have to if you don't want to (y/n), we can stop any time just say the word and its done" he said. You grinned contemplating how in the space of an afternoon you went from friends stuck in a freezer to, in a relationship while fucking in the freezer, either way you were glad to have someone so caring now.

"I know" you grinned. You reached behind him and grabbed an ice cube popping it in your mouth and in an instant it was just cold water sitting on your tongue "just like a popsicle right?" You laughed nervously while kiri laughed genuinely. How in the hell did he find that remotely funny.

You scooted closer wrapping your hand around the base and wrapped your lips around the head. he let out a high pitched moan, one you would never expect from him and you looked up at him through your eyelashes. His nails were scratching at the silver 'walls' of the freezer and his eyes rolled back the red on his cheeks, impossibility dark and his mouth hung open. "C-cold" he said barely above a whisper.

You bobbed your head up and down using your hand to get what you couldn't fit. Nothing like a popsicle. “Holy shit” he whispered and without thinking gripped your hair pushing you further down his cock without thinking, making you choke and gag. Your waterline filled with tears a few running down your face leaving red trails “s-sorry” he grunted, you hummed accepting his apology the vibrations driving him crazy.

You drew your head back watching his face for miniscule reactions, his nose twitching, his lip quivering, his hands tugging your hair and knotting it. You hollow your cheeks as you went taking as much as possible in his mouth when his member twitched, you looked up through your eyelashes "it hasn't even been that long" you said, though it was muffled but he could clearly hear what you were saying "shouldn't you be glad, your the one doing it" he rubbed his hands over the purple map of where he'd been and trailed his hands down squeezing your breast and rolling his thumb over your hard nipple. You couldn't argue with his logic so you used your mouth for other purposes setting out an unrelenting pace. He grunted and whispered curses and praises that bounced around the freezer then into your ears.

"S-shit (y/n) i'm gonna c-cum" he said, his tone sounded almost embarrassed making you chuckle. You pushed your head forward. You were all the way down when he twitched again, this time cumming into your mouth almost making you choke. You pulled off swallowing what you hadn't and looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and swollen pink lips. you were both panting heavily and suddenly you were being pushed down against the floor of the freezer with your knees bent so you could fit.

”aw getting impatient are you” you teased, he growled and pushed another ice cube in your mouth, his substitute for a gag even though it would melt in no time but you took it as a sign to shut up. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and fumbled through pulling out a condom and ripping it open with his teeth then rolled it on.

”you want to do this right?” he asked, the harsh intensity behind his eyes replaced by softness and his hand rested gently on your cheek where you nuzzled into it ”yes. I want this” you assured him.

Kiri had never cared for foreplay, it was the part he always skipped when watching porn, if he for some reason was reading fanfiction he would skim over it and go to the good stuff, and now in this situation, you were both far too desperate for him to even think about it. He knew you weren't a virgin, everyone knew you weren't, you wore it like a victory badge (some people do. Don't judge) and though he was upset it wasn't him he could never judge you. but God was he about to make you forget anyone else was your first, he would make you feel so good you would never say their name again.

He sucked on your neck adding to the gallery of hickeys trailing his hands down your stomach and pulling your shorts off. "You ready?" He asked and you nodded pointing to the bag of ice cubes. The cold made your heart race and the more you had the slower they melted. He raised his eyebrows, he hadn't expected you to like the ice as much as you had and he was really enjoying it.

He dragged the bag over propping it up in the corner and put an ice cube in his mouth, you glared about to get one yourself but the firm "no" from him was enough to make you retract your hand and pray. His icy cold hands held your hips in place and he leaned down kissing you again with his freezing lips drawing a moan from you. "You make such pretty noises (y/n), you should do it more often" he mumbled biting your bottom lip gently.

You whined desperately and he smirked "okay okay" he lined up with your entrance and pushed in. Your eyes rolled back and you bit back a moan. "Holy fuck" kiri grunted staying in one place "are you okay?" He asked. You nodded rapidly and reached up gripping his shoulder hard. He pulled out and slammed his hips back into you "A-AH KIRI!" You cried digging your nails into his shoulder "you're so gorgeous" he gushed. What a moment to be all sappy.

He thrust at a relentless pace drawing a moan from you with every movement, You were convinced If you put this on pornhub you would make bank. "Kiri please" you whimpered stretching your arm to the bag of ice that was centimetres out of reach "fine, since you've been so good" he praised and pressed an ice cube against your tongue while his other hand trailed another down your stomach where it melted and dripped off your sides pooling around you.

"Kiri god im so close please" you begged bucking your hips to meet his. Every time you said his name he went a little more feral and you had officially broke him. He pounded into you at inhuman speed gripping your hips so hard they would definitely bruise and the heat pooling in your stomach reached boiling point. "KIRI!" You screamed arching your back as your orgasm washed over you. Your mouth hung open in a silent scream while he thrusted a few more times until he came too.

You huffed propping yourself up on your elbows and he pulled out. "That was incredible" you panted. You were a shivering mess, your quirk no longer able to heat you up but there was no way you were walking for hours. "Fuck yeah it was" he grinned switching immediately back to his cheery self "sorry i went to hard didn't I" he kissed the top of your head helping you put your shorts back on which was a very hard task for such a cramped space. "No it was amazing" you grinned trying to pick yourself up but to no avail. "Im really tired now though" you giggled. He nodded picking you up like a gentleman and climbed out of the freezer with ease.

He carried you to your room and swaddled you in blankets to get the heat flowing through you again and snuggled next to you. "Is it to early to say I love you?" He asked "depends, how long have you loved me For?" "Since first year" he admit "then i'd say no" you nuzzled into him feeling your eyes get heavy and fighting to keep them open "then i love you" he wrapped his arms around you protectively even though there was nothing to protect you from "i love you too eijiro."

And into a peaceful sleep you sank yet your dreams were far from it

#my hero academia #bnha #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #wattpad #mha #boku no hero fanfic #kirishima eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #eijirou x reader #eijiro kirishima smut #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha eijiro x reader

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professorrw · 4 years ago

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All I Want, Remus Lupin Fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-Two (The End)

Warnings: FLUFF, smut, death, violence, swearing, age gap, slight angst, major spoilers for Deathly Hallows

A/N: It’s the last chapter!!!! This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever posted on anything and I can’t believe how well it’s done! I also just hit 100 followers on here too! Thank you to everyone that’s read this series, I genuinely hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like to be tagged in future works message me or comment what franchise or character you want to be tagged in and I’ll add you!

As the winter holidays arrived, the castle found itself empty. Students departed to be with family, leaving only a handful behind with the teachers. Snow covered the castle and it's grounds, creating a winter wonderland for those that remained. The weather was extremely cold, although beautiful at the same time. Most stayed inside though, relaxing near a fire while drinking from hot mugs.

Students and teachers alike switched to casual attire for the holidays. Everyone in the castle was wrapped up in thick sweaters, trying to keep cozy. On Christmas night the Great Hall was lit with hundreds of candles, illuminating the room with a warm glow. Christmas trees, decorated with ornaments and garlands, lined the walls. For the few people that remained, a feast of turkey, potatoes, cranberry sauce, and other enticing items appeared on the tables.

Teachers ditched formalities and moved to sit with the students, who had all joined at the Gryffindor table. Since Voldemort's death, dislike and prejudice between houses had dwindled. Many of the former Death Eaters' children didn't return to school so most Slytherins were innocent students that just happened to be placed there. You, Remus, and Minerva chatted with Luna, who was going on about the new things her father had planned for the Quibbler.

Hermione and Ginny both decided to go to the Burrow to celebrate the holidays. Like you, they were both in new relationships. Just as you predicted, Harry and Ginny got back together, and Hermione and Ron finally confessed their feelings for one another. A while after the battle Hermione informed you of the impromptu kiss between her and Ron which caused them to realize their mutual feelings.

Harry and Ron were both starting their training to become Aurors, which made Hermione feel better that they weren't attending school. Things were moving forward in the blink of an eye. The battle felt like it was just yesterday, yet it had been more than half a year. It was nearly foreign to you that things could be calm for this long, but this was the new normal.

Remus squeezed your hand under the table. You smiled fondly at him as he began to stroke the back of your hand with his thumb. The sensation made your whole body go fuzzy, that was the effect Remus had on you, even now. Over a year ago you both departed from the Burrow to be safe. Who would have known things would end up like this?

Even with the small crowd, dinner lasted longer than usual. Almost everyone was spending more time socializing than actually trying to eat. There was no need to be in a hurry, so you and your fellow teachers enjoyed the company of each other and the students.

Over an hour after the feast started, people began to leave the Great Hall and head to wherever they pleased. You and Remus were the last remaining in the Hall. You were about to leave as well when Remus stopped you, tugging on your hand to get your attention.

"Let's go on a walk."

It was lightly snowing outside and was getting dark, but the street lamps of Hogsmeade were wrapped in twinkling lights. The shops were open, allowing lone witches and wizards to stop by for something to drink and someone to talk to on Christmas. You had added gloves and a scarf to your already warm outfit and Remus had done the same. No matter how beautiful it was, you didn't want to catch a cold out there.

You and Remus strolled past the storefronts and stopped a little ways away from the end of the path. The light from the street lamps created a soft glow on Remus' face as he gazed at you. Your fingers of one of your hands were intertwined with Remus' and he brought that hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against your gloved knuckles.

You couldn't help but notice how quiet he was being. He didn't speak too much normally but as you walked he didn't talk and he still wasn't.

"Remus are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

"I've been through a lot in my life yet, I would go through it all again if this were the outcome. Being with you... is all I could ever wish for. You are the light in my dark life. I have lost so much, so many people. Never again will I waste the time I have with the people I love. Y/N I know we haven't been together long, but you are everything to me. I would be a fool to not do this."

Remus stops talking and gets down on his knee. You're filled with emotions as you realize what's happening. He pulls a velvet box from his pocket and opens it in front of you. Inside lies the most beautiful ring you've ever seen.

"Y/N Y/L/N, I promise to always be by your side, no matter the circumstances. I want to be yours for the rest of time. I will cherish every moment spent with you as if it were my last. Will you marry me?"

You sink on your knees and wrap your arms around Remus. Tears stream from your eyes as he returns the embrace. "Of course I will."

He gives you a long kiss before taking your hand in his. He pulls the glove off your hand and slips the ring on your finger. Everything felt so perfect. Nothing could possibly make this moment more special. No words could describe the pure joy you felt.

......

The next few months leading up to your wedding was a whirlwind. You and Mrs. Weasley corresponded daily making arrangements leading up to the wedding in June. You and Remus agreed you wanted to get married as soon as possible.

You sat in your bedroom with Hermione and Ginny, your maids of honor. They were dressed in beautiful champagne colored dresses that you picked out together. Your stomach was doing flips inside of you. In just a few minutes you would walk down the aisle, Remus at the end of it. The thought made your heart flutter.

There was a light knock on the door. Mr. Weasley poked his head in, "The music is starting girls. Harry and Ron are waiting at the door for you two."

Harry was Remus' best man and Ron was his groomsman. You walked down the hall and to the double doors that led to your backyard. In front of you Harry and Ginny linked arms and began to walk out. Trailing after them was Hermione and Ron. Mr. Weasley held his arm out for you to take and looked over at you.

"You've grown so much. Your parents would be proud."

You replied with a warm smile. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were like your second parents. Being close to their kids caused it. During the holidays you and your parents would go to the Burrow to celebrate with the Weasleys. It felt like ages since the last time you spent Christmas all together. You were all very close, so it felt right to have Mr. Weasley walk you down the aisle. He was glad to do it too.

You and Arthur walked out of the doorway together and began to walk. A few yards away was Remus, tears glistening in his eyes. He looked magnificent in his suit and tie. As the distance between you was closed, your eyes never left Remus'. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. The nerves you felt before dissipated. As you got to the end of the path, Remus took your hands in his.

You both listened and got through vows and the wedding ring exchange as rehearsed.

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Remus and Y/N Lupin. May now kiss the bride." The officiator steps out of the way and a camera flashes as you kiss. The small crowd of yours and Remus' friends cheered and stood as you both walked back down the rose petal covered path to the house. Looking around you saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Bill, Fleur, and Victoire in the second row. Mrs. Weasley had tears in her eyes as she clapped. George gave you a thumbs up, which made you laugh.

You made it through the double doors and back into the house. You cupped Remus' cheek as you kissed him again, more passionately this time. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "Mrs. Lupin.?"

"Mr. Lupin?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." You kissed Lupin on the cheek and then went back outside to find that your backyard had been transformed. In the center was a dance floor and off to the sides were tables so everyone could eat. Beige drapes hung on posts over the dance floor. Twinkling lights were wrapped around the trees and hung from their branches. Garlands were placed in the center of the tables along with white roses in vases.

All the Weasleys, Luna and her father, Harry, Hermione, Minerva, Hagrid, Kingsley, and Tonks were seated, awaiting you both to return.

The music started again and Remus pulled you onto the dance floor for your first dance. He pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around your waist. You pressed your cheek to his chest as your arms went around his neck.

You sighed, thinking about everything you went through to get to this point. Remus sensed your unease.

"What's wrong dear?"

"It's just... we've been through so much. We've lost so many people along the way."

"I know darling. There's nothing that can bring them back, but gaining you is a blessing I won't take for granted."

It was true. They had faced enough pain and loss to last lifetimes. In the past two decades Remus had lost his best friends. In the past two years Y/N lost her parents and one of her best friends. Nothing could bring them back but being together would heal so many other wounds. Together, you could mend the holes that had been left behind.

As you two swayed in time with the music and gazed into each others' eyes, anyone could see that you were looking at your universes. Because no matter what, nothing could break the bond that had flourished between you.

......

Nine months later you would welcome a new life into the world, your son, Farris Lupin, who was named after your father. You and Remus were both granted leave from teaching until the new school semester so you had plenty of uninterrupted time to spend with Farris.

One night, a few months after he was born, you went into Farris' bedroom. Sitting in a large leather chair was Remus and Farris. Farris was laying on Remus' chest, sleeping soundlessly. Remus too was asleep, the book he was reading to him lying in his lap.

Extra: (this happened at your wedding)

As the night began to wind down, you were sitting with George at a table. You both sipped out of your glasses, reminiscing on your adventures at Hogwarts.

"Hey Y/N?"

"Yeah Georgie?"

"Me and Fred had a bet."

"Oh really?" You were surprised George was freely talking about Fred. After his death, George broke down for weeks. Anything related to Fred was a sore topic for you both. You three were best friends all through school, and even past it. So close in fact, that Mrs. Weasley secretly thought you would marry one of them.

"Yeah. I just won it today." George looked down at his fire whiskey and tossed it back, downing it in one gulp.

"What... What was it about?"

"I promised Fred I wouldn't tell you." George would never break that promise, and it was possibly for the better. The bet was made in their fourth year, and would stay a secret for the rest of time.

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