#never for a second doubt that you are worthy of love and adoration | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lokiprompts · 1 year

Text

Burning Words - Loki X Reader

Summary: Loki is terrified to tell you that he loves you, but a whispered confession in the dark throws him for a loop.

Warnings: Pining. Some self deprecating thoughts. Otherwise pure fluff.

Words: 3.2k Exactly!

Joining in on the 14 Days of Valentines Event hosted by @muddyorbsblr!! This was supposed to be more crack, but after a rough week, we got ourselves a comforting Loki fic <3

Those three precious and meaningful words burned in Loki’s throat. Every day for months they threatened to bubble up from his chest and burst forth like a tidal wave he was happy to drown in. To scream his undying and relentless affection for you from the highest rooftops; to openly profess that you laid claim to his heart as much as he had yours.

I love you

Every little thing you did threatened to have the god bursting out declarations and weaving endless sonnets of adoration. From the way your hands were always dwarfed by his yet fit so perfectly together. How you always knew to give him that reassuring squeeze when his insecurities started to creep into his chest. And how you looked at him like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars as if he didn’t commit gross atrocities to your home planet. But it was your endless patience, unconditional understanding, and constant reassurance that he was worthy that made his heart tumble from like to love.

Yet, as each day passed, those three words died on his tongue as soon as he gathered a fraction of nerve to confess. As soon as you looked at him with your wide eyes, filled with a reverence for him he could never begin to truly understand, all his resolve would falter. Every insecurity that ever flitted through his mind would instantly dissolve his confidence like salt in water, leaving him parched for your acceptance and praise. And each time you would quench his need like the oasis you were. Endlessly filling his cup and building up a king who would never receive a crown.

It tormented him every night.

And this night was no different. You laid nestled in his arms, holding him as if he was the one true anchor of your life. It was a fact that you always insisted on, one of many that Loki would playfully debate with you. But there was always an underlying subtext of self-doubt in his banter that would make you hold him that much tighter. Like your embrace could scare away his insecurities and doubts and each time, Loki would soak up your affection like a dry sponge.

Loki’s arms held you close, the steadiness of his heart beating in your ear easily lulling you to sleep. This part of the night was always the god’s favorite. Due to his…biology, he didn’t need as much sleep as you, his precious mortal. It was the perfect time to greedily bask in your warmth and press lingering kisses into your hair, whispering promises that tomorrow would be the day he finally tells you his heart’s secret. And every once and awhile, Loki would find himself in the peaceful place of almost slumber. A semi restful place devoid of nightmares and only the feeling of you.

I love you…

The words were spoken so softly, so quietly that at first, he thought that he might have dreamed it, but it was enough for Loki to shoot his eyes open. He looked down at you, and you seemed to still be sleeping. Is it possible? Loki wondered, Could you have said…?

“Darling…?” Loki carefully whispered, testing your wakefulness, “Did you say something?”

A shudder traveled through your body as his velvety voice caressed your ear, a reminder of the effect he had on you that had Loki smirking. Yet, your eyes remained closed.

The idea of fishing through your mind to see if it was a dream of you confessing your love to him or to your beloved cheesecake – or worse to a romantic interest that wasn’t him- was the god of mischief’s second approach. You had given him carte blanche to access your mind; a gift that still astonishes him to this day.

I trust you, Loki. I know you will only use it if you absolutely must. Sweet girl, you trusted him so much. More than what he deserved. And for a fleeting moment, there was a twinge of guilt as his hand glowing emerald with dancing seidr hovered above the crown of your head. But the need to know ultimately placed his hand on your skull. Years of magic threaded through the fibers of your brain and pulled at your recent memories. Loki stifled a groan when he did not find anything there. No dreams that remained and no clues about those sweet words that escaped your lips.

Perhaps I dreamed it, Loki thought to himself, but just as that thought passed through his mind, he steeled his resolved. Curiosity burned through him and drove him to give your shoulders a little shake.

“Darling?” He not so carefully whispered this time. The endearment coming out more like a hushed yell. Your jostling made you shuffle a bit, but you only snuggled in closer and let out a content sigh as your nose brushed against the pale skin of his chiseled chest. The little gesture made Loki’s heart swell, and he almost reconsidered his next move. Almost.

He shook you more forcefully this time, jolting you awake.

“Huh? What’s going on?” You looked around the still dark bedroom, bleary eyes finally focusing on Loki, “Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?”

Guilt instantly washed over him. “No, sweet girl, I am perfectly fine…” Heat flooded his face, praying to the Norns that you couldn’t see the blush you constantly teased him about, “You, uh, had said something. I was wondering….”

Loki chewed his lip as he looked down at you; the perfect being who patiently waited to hear the reason why you were woken from your sweet slumber without a hint of anger or resentment.

“I was wondering if you – if you – if you would care to repeat it?” Loki hated how small he sounded, but he needed to know.

You scrunched your nose in confusion, and Loki resisted the urge to bend down and kiss it, “Huh? I am sorry, Loki, but I don’t remember saying anything. Was I talking in my sleep?”

The sight of you sleepily letting out a little yawn and apologizing to him, even though he was the one that woke you, had those three words laying heavy on his tongue. Every bit of his heart screamed to simply speak the words to you, and he yearned even more for you to echo those words back to him.

“No,” Loki sighed, stroking your hair, “I must have been mistaken. Go back to sleep, Darling.” You smiled at him and leaned up, kissing the corner of his mouth as if you knew what he longed to say. Like you could simply survive off the taste of the words on his lips until he felt ready to utter them.

Soon enough, you fell back asleep, and Loki was left alone to stew in his regret and confusion. If only he could hear you say those words again, he would know if they were truly for him…

The smell of fresh breakfast wafting into your shared bedroom had your nose twitching in anticipation, enough to draw you out of a restful sleep. Stretching out on the large bed, you only felt the softness of your sheets and not the firmness of your god. Your prince. Your love. A gleeful smile easily grew on your face as you realized he must have made you breakfast. The best meal of the day.

As if on cue, Loki burst into the bedroom with a beaming smile that mirrored your own, holding a tray with all your favorite breakfast goodies. When you saw the food, you immediately perked up, sitting up in bed, and your enthusiasm made Loki’s chest puff with pride. You always appreciated all the things he did for you, no matter how big or small, and he lived for the thrill of your joy.

“What have you brought me, my prince?” You chirped. The way you always called him ‘yours’ made his heart flutter endlessly.

“Breakfast in bed for, my princess.” Loki grinned back, placing the tray in your awaiting lap, “I recall that it is your favorite. I tried to include all of the things you enjoy….pancakes, eggs, fruit… a little bit of everything for you, Darling.”

“Oh!” Your cheeks flushed an adorable rosy color, making those three words ignite in his throat yet again, “This is wonderful, Loki! These are all my favorites! Thank you!”

Excitedly, you started to gobble down the delicious meal in front of you. Loki looked on with equal parts happiness and hesitance on his face.

“Do you like it?” He started, trying to choose his words carefully. You nodded your head eagerly, wiping a bit of syrup from the corner of your mouth making the god laugh.

“Yes, I like it! It’s amazing!” You quickly speared a piece of cantaloupe on your fork and popped it into your mouth as if to prove your point.

Loki looked down at his lap where his fingers played with a piece of lint that was on his loose hanging sweatpants, “But you don’t love it?” The crystal blue orbs that you adored so much did everything to avoid your eyes, but even without seeing you knew insecurity swam in them. A gentle hand covered his, the softness of your skin against his warrior calluses always serving as a stark reminder of how innocent you were and how monstrous.

“Oh, Loki, I love it.” As soon as the word left your honeyed lips, Loki’s eyes shot to yours. All he saw reflected at him was warmth and tenderness, a sense of home that he felt every time he looked at you. The way you spoke the word sounded familiar, like it could have been what you spoke in the night, yet it still wasn’t quite right. There was something….missing that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He leaned forward and kissed your lips, delighting how you immediately wrapped an arm around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair. With a playful tug of his tresses, you deepened the kiss. He groaned as he tasted the syrup that remained on your tongue- your taste, your essence, making it that much sweeter. Slowly, he pulled away, make sure to savor every drop of you.

“The sweetest treat there is.” He grinned.

The rest of the morning and afternoon was restoring. A perfect, lazy day entangled in each other’s arms. Your back was pressed against Loki’s chest and each of you held your individual books. The words flowed easily off the page as your eyes darted back and forth, but Loki found himself simply turning his pages for show while he quietly observed you. The little movements of your mouth as you silently spoke choice phrases, the gasps as you read something shocking, and the blood that rushed to your ears when you came upon a particularly erotic scene – all made Loki more entranced by you and more hopelessly in love.

“Darling?” He started carefully, much like this morning and the night before. You only hummed in response, still caught up in the story of your book.

“How long as it been since you spoke to your friend? The one you grew up with?”

That made you drop your book and look up at Loki in confusion, “It’s been a while. Why do you ask?”

You felt him shrug behind you before pretending to peek back at his book, “I just recall you enjoy speaking with them. Perhaps you should catch up sometime.” The comment was innocent, but it was enough to plant a seed in your mind. Sure enough, later in the day, you had picked up the phone to call your dear friend.

Loki stayed perched on the sofa, still pretending to read while you paced the room with your phone in hand and pressed to your ear. Fervently, you spoke to your longtime friend. The joy spilling from your lips making Loki’s mouth twitch at the corners. Every detail of your lives was shared, and laughter echoed all around the room. Loki would never tire of the sound of your laugh. Eventually, you said your goodbyes and turned to your lover with a content smile.

“I am so glad you reminded me to call them, Loki! It was great catching up.” But your smile faded as soon as you saw your prince’s frown. Quickly, you sat next to him on the couch and cupped his face with your hand.

“What’s wrong, Loki?”

Loki swallowed thickly, the sweet smell perfume bringing a fresh wave of butterflies to his stomach, “It is quite silly, really.”

You smiled so sweetly at him, it made his heart clench, “Try me.”

He avoided your eyes for the second time today, “You didn’t say you loved them when you said goodbye on your communication device. You always have before when you spoke to them. Is that…do you not care for your friend, anymore?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat, but you pulled Loki in close for a reassuring hug, “Oh, of course I love them! It must have slipped my mind.” You pulled away just enough, so you could press your forehead against his. The comfort from the closeness of your body and your mere presence brought him was already threatening to rip those three words straight from his chest once more.

“I’ll call them right now to tell them…” You tilted your head and left a lingering kiss on his forehead. The new agonizing ache in his heart lingering along with it.

Just as you said, you picked up your cell phone and called back your friend who immediately answered, as evident by your wide smile.

“Hey, I just forgot to tell you that I love you!” You smiled a bit wider as Loki guessed your friend repeated the sentiment back to you. The god tried to ignore the burning jealousy that started to well up within him when he heard you say those three words he so desperately wanted to say, so easily and to another no less. The only thing that gave him solace was the fact that much like this morning, this ‘I love you’ wasn’t the same he supposedly heard last night. Something was off about it. A missing puzzle piece he couldn’t quite solve.

The jealousy that coursed through his body and took a violent hold of his heart and his mind told him that you must have been dreaming of someone else. A person you pined for in secret when you were alone in your shared bed, awaiting Loki to join you in the late-night hours. Someone you desperately desired. Someone who was worthy of that desire.

“Loki, you have to tell me what’s wrong.” Loki hadn’t noticed that you hung up with your friend, only to join him back on the couch. The look of sincere concern almost had him cracking, but being stubborn as ever, he held fast.

“I am quite alright, Darling, I assure you.” He flashed you a tight-lipped smile that definitely didn’t reach his eyes. You gripped his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, reminding him of how you always knew when to comfort him. The ache in his heart grew tenfold, and he kept his eyes trained on his lap. Anything to avoid looking you in the eyes and facing the fact that you didn’t love him back.

“Loki…” The brokenness of your voice was the only reason why he lifted his head. Tears welled in the corner of your eyes and still, you gripped his hand like it was your lifeline, “You have been avoiding looking at me all afternoon. I know something is wrong. You tell me everything, Loki.”

You cupped Loki’s cheek with your free hand, and he leaned into the comfort of your palm, “Why won’t you tell me?”

Loki desperately wanted to tell you why he was acting so strangely. That he may have heard you whisper the words ‘I love you’ in the dark, and now it plagued his mind, and it was all he could think about. How he regretted not being able to confess his love for you every day for months on end due to his own cowardice and his own insecurities.

The tears in your eyes threatened to spill over when Loki didn’t answer you. The silence between you two was deafening and so different from the affectionate god you grew to love. Loki saw the wetness of your eyelashes, evidence of sorrow that should never be there, let alone placed there by him. Every day he vowed to be a source of happiness and comfort for you. A place of peace within the chaos like, you were to him. To be your home.

As soon as your first tear fell, the words tumbled from Loki’s mouth before he could stop them.

“I love you.”

Even though they were rushed from his mouth, each syllable conveyed endless promises of devotion and reverence. The promise that you were the treasure of his heart and something so precious that he would burn worlds to ensure your happiness.

A flurry of emotions swept across your face. At first, there was a look of confusion, then disbelief, and then pure joy.

“You, uh, what?”

Loki had imagined this moment for months, and the one thing he did not expect was to feel instant regret. The need to run away was overwhelming, and his heart hammered in his chest. He swallowed hard, looking away from you yet again.

“Please, don’t make me say it again.” The god that towered over many, the god who made the world kneel was only the frail fragment of an unsure boy.

Your hand never left his cheek, and your thumb rubbed the sharp edges of his cheekbones with soothing strokes. Tenderly, you coaxed his head to turn and for him to look at you once again.

“Please, Loki.” You leaned closer until your breath caressed his face with your pleading whispers, “Say it again.”

Tears began to brim his eyes as his ripped out his tortured heart and presented it to you. An offering to his goddess.

“I love you, Y/N.” The words were surer this time, but still breathless with the anxiety of your reply. A happy watery laugh bubbled up from your chest and your other hand was quick to now cup both sides of his face, ensuring that he wouldn’t turn away from you and hide.

“I love you too, Loki.”

It instantly was familiar. The tone. Each syllable. It was exactly like the sweet words that he thought were spoken last night. Loki quickly mirrored your happiness and was just as quick to capture your lips in a desperate kiss. Every movement of his mouth, every caress carried all the confessions of love that died on his lips and haunted him. The words flowed just as freely from you, as they did from him, and it was in that moment he realized why all of your other ‘I love you’s’ were not the same. Why the one spoken in the middle of the night, in his sweet embrace was so different.

That one was just for him.

------------------------------

Unicorns 🦄: @ozymdias , @lovely-maryj, @multifandom-worlds

@buttercupcookies-blog @fictive-sl0th. @meowmeow-motherfucker @tallseaweed @ladymischief11

3K notes · View notes

purple-writer8 · 15 days

Text

Heather - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“But I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky… she’s got you mesmerized. While I die.”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, hating on girl, self doubt, oblivious az

1.2k words

Masterlist :)

Crushing on the shadowsinger was a bad idea, you knew that since the moment you joined the Inner Circle centuries ago. It was a family, and familiar dynamics could very well be affected by your stupid little crush, but that didn’t stop your heart from beating for him.

You were a master of lies, Azriel’s second in command as Spymaster— you were good at being a chameleon— at lying. So you’ve spent your entire life in the Inner Circle, lying to everyone, hiding your feelings for Azriel because surely you were not worthy enough for the shadowsinger.

He was one of the strongest warriors in Prythian, the only current shadowsinger, an Ilyrian. You… you were just a sneaky thief turned spy. A lesser fae from the Winter Court, with eyes so white, you were terrifying to your enemies. Fingertips so cold, that with enough conviction, whatever you touched turned into frost.

You weren’t enough for Azriel, or anyone really. The High Lord had found you three hundred centuries ago, you had somehow snuck into Hewn City, and then you had stolen heaps of artifacts and sold them in the Winter Court for profit. You were stealthy and quick, something he had appreciated when Cassian and Azriel finally brought you to him.

Rhysand gave you two choices: to be handed over to Kallias as a criminal, or stay in his court and serve him— because he was sure you would excel as a spy. In exchange, you got a family, gold, clothes, and a warm bed. It was a no-brainer for you.

Azriel and you were a dream team and with time, your feelings for the shadowsinger went from admiration to adoration. Who wouldn’t adore him? He was perfection, he was everything, and he was the love of your life— you weren’t his, though.

You had never expressed your feelings because, frankly, you were not sure that you could handle rejection. So you pined and loved him in silence, hoping that one day a miracle dawned on him, and he would somehow fall for you— a frosty lesser fae. You knew you two were not mates, but cauldron, you could wish and yearn.

It was more than wishful dreaming, though sometimes you thought that just maybe— maybe he reciprocated your feelings. He was so kind to you, so doting, so careful.

Though, that all stopped when Elain Archeron dropped into all of your lives. You liked Feyre, and loved Nesta— but Elain, you hated her. The middle Archeron was perfection, everything you were not. She was soft, kind, beautiful, High Fae, and… Azriel liked her.

You knew it was bad that you hated her for being of his interest, but you had never once claimed to be a good person. Two years into her arrival and you could not stand the likes of her.

You were sitting in the River House, playing board games with the Inner Circle, Nesta, and Lucien. Much to your delight, Elain hadn’t joined. It was the beginning of winter in the Night Court, and though you were made of ice— you weren’t immune to the cold. You shivered as you laid down one of your cards, and it caused Cassian to laugh at you.

“You turned my room into ice last winter solstice, and now you shiver?” He teased you, making you roll your white eyes at him. “Should’ve brought a coat,” Feyre taunted you, and you nodded. “Guys, I really thought it wasn’t as cold,” you chuckled, rubbing your cold as ice hands together to get some warmth, which was to no avail because there was no warmth inside you. Frost appeared in your hands at this action, causing you to groan.

Your heart stopped, though, when you felt a warm sweater wrapping around your shoulders. Your eyes flickered to Azriel, who gave you a small smile, “thank you,” you said softly.

“It looks better on you than it does me,” the shadowsinger shrugged, his shadows coiling around your frozen hands, trying to warm you up. You smiled, about to answer, but his eyes snapped away from you, as did his shadows. Your eyes followed his gaze, meeting with Elain as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Your heart dropped, she was a sight for sore eyes, a sight for Azriel’s eyes.

She had him mesmerized, and you felt like you wanted to die. Inching away from Azriel, you continued your game, dropping his sweater unto the couch behind you. You were an ice fae, you could manage.

When dinner came around, you were quiet all through the affair. You seethed in silence as you watched him drape the very same sweater he had given you, over Elain’s shoulders. The cold pulsed through your veins, and soon your utensils were turning into ice as you watched the scene unfold.

Elain told some story about her up-and-coming garden, and you got the urge to go and freeze her flowers to death. Obviously you did not. She was an angel, a good person.

You kind of wished she were dead. You reprimanded your mind for being so evil. How could anyone ever love you? You were terrible… and not even half as pretty as Elain. Your thoughts were dark, and your heart made of stone-cold ice. Love was not something you would ever get.

After dinner, you seethed outside. The snow that fell over you felt like fire on your skin, and you could feel your fingertips freezing as they created small snowflakes. “Come inside, it’s so cold outside,” that husky voice you worshiped spoke from the from door, causing you to turn to him.

His shadows rushed to you, swirling around your body to shield you from the snow. You turned away from Azriel, not wanting him to see you in your essence. Your veins shone black underneath your pale skin, your eyes glowing white, while ice slipped from your fingers and wrapped itself around you.

You heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, then large wings wrapped around you in a protective manner as he towered over you. “Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, your eyes casting downward, not wanting him to see your eyes.

“Why?” He asked softly, scarred thumb wiping away frost that had gathered on your cheek. Then it clasped around your chin, tilting it upward so you looked up at him.

His hazel eyes skimmed over your face slowly, “what’s wrong?” He asked softly, making you tilt your face away from his grasp. “Don’t.” You stated. You wished he knew, wish that you had been obvious enough, because you were so tired of pining for someone who did not love you back.

“What?” He asked, a puzzled look happening upon his chiseled and devastatingly beautiful face. “You gave her your sweater,” you did not care how preposterous you were being, you couldn’t hold back. You had enough of this.

"What? It’s just a sweater, does it matter?” Azriel asked, his shadows coiling around his ear to whisper in his ear. Jealous girl, jealous fae.

“You like her better.” The jealousy was pouring out of you, manifesting in ice that crawled all over your body.

“I can’t keep wishing I was Elain.”

Author’s Note:

IK the elain/azriel x pining reader is done a lot butttttt i love this song and i wanted to write my take on the triangle with heather as inspiration!

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

310 notes · View notes

fizzyxcustard · 1 year

Text

One Night.

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, sexual references, angst, heartbreak, insecurity.

Comments/Notes: From the imagine, "You spend the night with Thorin, and then out of insecurity, you leave him." Requested by @lathalea. Timeframe of post-BOTFA requested by @sotwk

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Thorin was lay beside you, his breathing slow. You watched his chest rise and fall. His dark eyelashes fluttered and his eyes moved beneath their lids. He had fallen asleep not long after your final round of love making.

You sighed. He was so beautiful, and didn’t even know it.

The night had become full of tension, which had followed his coronation celebration. Of course you attended, being a close friend of the new king. For many months and you had travelled alongside him, helping and fighting for him to re-take the mountain kingdom of Erebor. Thorin had taken you aside, complimenting you on your attire for the celebration, his blue eyes alight for you. Your first kiss had been outside the main hall, in a cold, empty hallway. Everything else that had followed was back in his bed chamber. The two of you had snuck away, hand in hand, still stealing secret kisses along the hallways.

Never before had you ever been touched in such a way as how Thorin touched you. His hot skin sent intense vibrations through you. His gaze made your heart thunder, and pulsate in other parts of your body, acknowledging just how aroused you were. His voice made sighs slip off your tongue so effortlessly.

You kept your eyes on him as he slept, recollecting the beautiful memories of him opening his heart, soul and body to you. When he had first slipped inside you, he had been over you, his large hands holding your legs open. You had welcomed him so freely in those moments. However, in your second round of pleasure seeking, you had climbed on top of him. He was laid out beneath you, vulnerable, offering it all. Those hands had been clamped on your hips, guiding your movement as the two of you ascended higher towards that wonderful, earth shattering climax. The third and final time, Thorin had been behind you. His lips remained on your neck and shoulder, showing you that even when he could not see your face, he still adored you and admired your beauty.

This was all wrong. Thorin was the most amazing man you had ever met. And you were just mediocre. Nothing special or of substantial value. You looked upon his sleeping form, studying his slim lips which peeped from beneath his moustache. His beard was neatly trimmed, despite him now growing it longer after reclaiming Erebor. That was a promise he had made many years ago. Once the mountain was re-claimed and he would grow his beard back long, as was custom with the Longbeard Dwarves.

Slowly, and you slipped out of bed. There was an ache in your chest. You loved Thorin so much more than you could ever express, but you were not worthy of his hand. A royal Dwarf deserved someone of standing and position, not a commoner like yourself.

Tears fell down your cheeks, reminding you of the man you were originally pledged to many years ago. He had told you he loved you, showered you with gifts, but made it known through his behaviour that you meant very little to him. His actions did not speak louder than his words. And, of course, his attention then swept elsewhere. Thorin would no doubt do the same. Such a beautiful soul would never cherish you and mean it! If this man from your past could not love you, then surely Thorin couldn’t either.

But you had never been touched, kissed and made love to in such a way as that! Every movement made you quake beneath Thorin’s touch, and his whispers of adoration made you shiver. Maybe he just knew how to please women and had rehearsed the words many times.

You re-dressed and slipped out of the chamber, giving Thorin one last glance. The ache hit you hard once again and you placed your hand on your mouth, stifling the uncontrollable sobs.

The halls were quiet and dark, with only the faint light of torchlight guiding your way. And by the time you made it back to your room, you grabbed a quill, ink and parchment. Your hand shook as you tried to write, which meant that your normally laced handwriting became more squiggled. A tear fell onto the parchment, splashing, and caused a swirl of black ink to form under your signature.

***

Thorin woke, his eyes adjusting to the dark room. He looked up at the ceiling of the room and sighed, recollecting the evening before. And as soon as he saw your face in his mind’s eye, he turned to see you had disappeared. He called your name into the gloom.

A dread hit him and his stomach twisted into a hard knot. Something was wrong.

Why would you disappear like this? Even though you could have just slipped back to your own bed chamber, Thorin felt something in the depth of his very being that told him that he would not find you there.

Thorin pulled on a robe, tying it at his waist, and made his way to your room, his mind full of questions. He didn’t even knock as he got to your door and let himself in, finding the room empty. A lump swelled in his throat. He approached your desk. A candle had been lit, and there under the flickering light, was a piece of parchment.

My dearest Thorin,

I cannot remain here. I do not belong. I will never be enough for you, my love. Go and find happiness. May Mahal bless you.

The letter was simple.

Thorin crumpled the letter in his hands, feeling a whole array of emotion wash over him. Terror and frustration seemed to form the knot in his stomach, which was now gaining momentum. Only the night before and Thorin had been on the verge of offering everything to you, a life together. That was all Thorin wanted. You, in every way. He thought that you had been willing to give yourself to him. You had even told him you loved him, shivered at his touch, become undone beneath him. The two of you had panted, sweat, groaned against each other. How could he just let all of that go?

He would not let you go.

He could not.

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @knittastically @meganlpie @luna-xial @guardianofrivendell @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @mrsdurin @quiall321 @missihart23 @lemond57 @evenstaredits @catthefearless @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady @glassgulls @sazzlep @aliasauthor @solairewisteria @littlebird-99 @court-jobi @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @albionscastle @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @for-fuck-sake-im-alive

Thorin Oakenshield tag list: @braidedheart @emmyspov @dumbassunderthemountain

Middle-earth tag list: @mismaeve @sotwk @emmyspov @valkyrie-of-the-light

The Hobbit tag list: @flowerniche

#richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #Thorin #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Thorin x Reader #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin x You #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Fic #Thorin Oakenshield Fic #The Hobbit Fic

540 notes · View notes

annabtg · 10 months

Text

Headcanon post: the Sirius & James friendship

It is a well-known and irrefutable fact that James was Sirius's favourite person in the world. However, this sometimes leads people to think that Sirius treated James the way he later treats his new favourite person in the world, Harry - which I completely disagree with.

Sirius is very protective towards Harry, of course he is. Harry is a child, an orphan who was/should have been placed in his care. And at that point in his life, Sirius is a broken and disillusioned man with no other purpose than to care for the person dearest in his heart and at the same time atone for his best friend's death, which he still feels responsible for. Of course he drops everything, fights everyone, risks his life and freedom for Harry. But his relationship with James wasn't - can't have been like that.

Sirius and James are equals. Sirius sees James as a partner in crime, he appreciates his mind and skills; and James sees Sirius the exact same way. They've got each other's back; it's not one protecting the other at all costs. They both have lives at that point, even if one has a family and the other doesn't. (Single people are just as worthy of life as people with families! Follow me for more tips.)

I've said before that I see Sirius and James having an older brother/younger brother dynamic. Sirius has power over James that no one else does, as we see in SWM ("put that away, will you" - "if it bothers you"). He will die for him, but he *will* give him shit before he does. Oldest siblings will know what I'm talking about: you can make your sibling suffer if you feel like it, but Merlin help anyone else who think they can touch them.

Meanwhile, James adores Sirius and looks up to him. He is spoiled and attention-seeking, like a little brother would be, full of himself and stubborn. He won't admit to his faults or ask for help; and Sirius, who grew up under constant pressure and hated every minute of it, would never step up on his own "because he knows better". He is smart enough to know better, but he will never step in front of someone and tell them they're being an idiot. He is the type to let people suffer the consequences of their own actions (see: The Prank).

I think it's telling that, when the Potters are in hiding, it's Lily who asks Sirius to visit James. Sirius shouldn't need to be told to visit James; nobody doubts that Sirius loved James, that he was very concerned about the Potters' situation and he had them in his mind constantly. Yet he steps back and stays away - possibly on Dumbledore's orders (too many visits might draw attention) - while at the same time, James refuses to admit he can't deal with it. Sirius hadn't guessed James would suffer in lockdown? He's known him for ten years at this point, I'm pretty sure he did. And I'm pretty sure they talk often and exchange letters. This, imo, shows that Sirius, where James is concerned (or at this point in his life) is more logical than sentimental. He puts safety and the Order first, and James's feelings (and probably his own too) second.

Tl;dr: while Sirius was utterly devoted to James, I don't agree with the view that his actions always put James's wishes first and foremost. However, he'd do anything to keep him safe; which is why he was so devastated when James died, why he took it personally, and why he took such pains to take care of Harry and keep him safe afterwards.

#sirius black #james potter #james & sirius #hp meta #my headcanons

214 notes · View notes

pathetic-sapphic · 9 months

Text

Arcane milfs with an insecure S/O

CW: NSFW-ish for Ambessa, female reader

As confident as Sevika seems, she knows what an ugly feeling it is to be insecure. She loves hyping you up whenever you decide to dress up, making you twirl and show off your gorgeous body to her. Sevika will often praise you too, especially your personality and smarts so that you shall never doubt how competent and good you are. It irks her to see someone so wonderful feel bad about themselves so she'll shoo away all your doubts to the best of her ability.

Come on, pretty girl, do a little twirl for me, yeah? I want to see how that cute dress looks on you from all angles. Well, you can't blame me when you're such a vision, just imagine how lovely you'll look perched up on my lap. Oh, you are absolutely adorable when you blush, c'mere darling. You have no idea how lucky I am to have you.

It's hard to feel insecure next to such an attentive and kind partner. Grayson is a true gentlewoman, always putting your happiness and safety as her first priority. She will quickly pick up on your sour mood and insist that you confide in her. She will gently hold you as you cry and diminish all your doubts in a matter of seconds. She loves you more than anything and feels her heart squeeze painfully as she realizes just how bad of an image you have of yourself. From then on she will make sure to remind you how much she adores you and how none of this would make sense without you by her side.

It's alright my beloved, I'm here for you. I'm sorry you've been hurting for so long, I wish you'd told me earlier so I could have been here for you. No no, don't apologize, my dear, it's not your fault. What matters is that I know now and I'll help you and support you until you realize just how wonderful you are. Look at me, please? Ah, there's that pretty face that I adore. You're gonna be okay, love.

Listen, Ambessa isn't the best at comforting you about such an issue. Mostly because she hasn't felt like that much in her life as she wears all her scars with pride and loves her muscular physique. She isn't good with words and, although she notices your somber looks into the mirror, she will wait until you're comfortable enough to talk to her about what's bothering you rather than reaching out first. Once she understands the issue, she will dedicate her time and energy to making her girl feel loved and appreciated by worshipping your body as much as you let her. After she is done with you, you won't be able to walk, much less dwell on your insecurities.

Tell me, pet, do you think I'd have you right here next to me if I didn't think of you as worthy enough? Do you think I'd share a bed, give my love and touch to someone undeserving of it? Perish those foolish thoughts, my darling pet, you know I wouldn't have chosen you if you weren't as lovely as I think you are. Now come here, if my words won't do the job then I'll let my actions speak for me. You just lay down and let me worship you, sweetheart.

Believe it or not, Cassandra has her doubts too but is too afraid to admit to them. She often worries that you may feel trapped in your relationship with her or if you might feel as if she is too old for you. However, when it comes to your troubles, she is hands-on with making her sweet girl feel better. She'll shower you with gifts, take you out on lavish dates, and utter such kind and sweet words that you'll never have to doubt whether or not you deserve to be by her side.

Did you enjoy the cakes I bought for you, darling? Well, I'm glad they were to your liking, how about we go on a date later this evening after I'm done with work? Magnificent, there is a new dress waiting for you on your bed and I would appreciate it if you would wear it for tonight. I just know you'll look absolutely stunning on my arm. Look at that beautiful smile, I could stare at it all day. You know I'd do anything as long as that means you're happy, don't you? Good, I'll see you tonight, my love.

#arcane #arcane headcanons #arcane x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa x reader #arcane grayson #grayson x reader #arcane cassandra #cassandra kiramman x reader #requests are open #arcane x female reader

355 notes · View notes

moonmeg · 6 months

Text

Layout for next comic done, head empty only Breeil scenario once again - this time not in comic form!

TW// body insecurity (negativity), implied eating disorder

"Bree, what's the matter?"

"Look at me!", she freed herself from his arms, "Look at my chest, my arms, my legs, my stomach! How can ye think I'm pretty when I'm not as thin as I used to be?! How can ye love me when I look like this?!"

Neil stared at her. He didn't understand what she meant, where this was coming from. He never gave her reason to doubt his adoration for her - so he thought at least. Breena kept avoiding his eyes and quickly turned her back to him, hiding herself and her body from the man she loved. The thought that he will leave her now that her body is so different tortured her. She didn't want him to leave. Neil was the best thing to happen to her...

"Bree, you are beautiful to me. And I mean that wi' all my heart. A few additional pounds willna change that. Especially not because that's more than natural in yer circumstances."

"My circumstances?", she turned her head in his direction slightly.

"Aye, yer pregnancy. Ye're growing a person inside o' ya, love. Of course yer body is changing."

He slowly closed the gap between them and gently brushed a red curl out of her face. He examined her face and noticed her quivering lip and her still avoiding eyes becoming glassy. It's rare he saw his wife so upset and vulnerable. He knew a pregnancy had its impact on the becoming mother's emotionality but something told him there was more to Breena's feelings.

"I'm just wondering, where ye get the idea from that I only love ye when ye're thin? Did I make ye feel like that?", he traced his thumb down her cheek. His voice calm and soft.

"It's not you."

...

"Was it them?"

She closed her eyes and the longer she thought about "them" the more her brows furrowed above her red-brown lashes. "Them" referred to the people that Breena was raised by. She didn't think they were worth the title of "parents". Parents are loving, they're caring and they'd never cause their child to run away from home with 16 because it's become unbearable to live with them. To Breena those two people she had to live with were but merely her creators. That was also what she referred to them as whenever they still influenced her life... like now.

"Titan...", Neil sighed, knowing that he found the reason behind his wife's behavior. Breena's creators barely were a topic in their conversations or a part of their life but whenever they did come up, it was never in good context. "What did they tell you?"

She glanced at her husband. It wasn't long but Neil was happy she had met his eyes finally even if just for a second. It meant she was willing to open up about it to him and she was building up strength to reopen a part from that chapter of her life that she actually long had closed and desperately wanted to seal and lock away. It was hard for her. He knew that.

Caressing his palms over her arms until he reached her hands and curling his fingers around them, he let her take her time. His thumb carefully ran across her knuckles - back and forth. It was his way of reassuring her. He's here. He's listening. She has all his attention. She's not alone.

Breena squeezed his hand as she took a breath. She hated that she troubled him with her problems of the past. She learned to keep her frustration to herself and in fear of bothering people dear to her never let them out. Communication never worked in her home, why should it work outside of it? Of course, Breena never would've bothered her friends nor is she bothering Neil or her newly found family-in-law with her feelings. But unfortunately old habits break hard.

"Ever since I was a lass, no older than 6, I was told that my appearance is the most important thing I have to offer. If I'm not pretty and a certain weight, I dinna deserve affection or... love. Nobody wants me if I'm not thin. Nobody would think me worthy. If I'm not in the image of my creators, I'll be lonely til my last days. So I...", she paused, taking a shaky breath, "...I always tried to fit in that expectation. Whenever I didna fit it, I was called worthless, ugly and denied food. Whenever I did fit, I was praised... at least one thing I did right."

"Oh, mo gaol...", Neil whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He squeezes her trembling hand tightly. That was the reason behind her eating habits, he finally figured. She barely ate, only small portions if any at all, and his mother and himself were always trying to get her to eat more but without much success. With the pregnancy she had started eating more at last but she always felt bad afterwards and apologized for eating so much and would deny herself food "to make up for it". He had theorized there was a reason to it but he never wanted to push her to talk about it.

"They're so wrong.", he cupped her face and leaned his forehead on hers, "Ye're worthy of love no matter what yer body looks like and no matter what ye weigh. I love you regardless. I always will."

"Ye will?", she hicced.

"Aye. I asked ye to marry me because I dinna want to live a life wi'out ye. Bree, ye are so much more than yer looks. I'm sorry yer creators told you such terrible lies and treated ye so horribly. I only wish we had met sooner so that I could've proven them wrong and given you the love and affection that ye deserve earlier."

Breena sniffed as his thumbs caught her tears. She buried her face in his palm and gave her emotions uncontrolled freedom. Sobbing she threw herself onto her husband's chest, clenching his shirt. Instinctively, Neil wrapped his arms around her back, securing her in that position.

"Neil, I-"

"Shh. There's nothing more for you to say.", he turned his face to press a kiss to her temple. He held her for a while, let her cry, comforted her by brushing through her curls. "I can only imagine how difficult it must've been for ye and how difficult it still is but... if I may, and if ye want to, I will do everything in my power to help ye heal. I'm here."

She pulled away from his chest to look at him. Cracking a smile she was the one to cup his face now. "I am so lucky and thankful to have ye."

"Aye.", he smiled back adoringly, "And I'm afraid ye're stuck wi' me 'until death do us part'."

Breena chuckled at him quoting their vows. She brushed a brown lock behind his ear before she met his golden eyes once again, gazing at her as if she was a deity and the only thing he cared about. She never knew what love really felt like but when Neil was with her, looking at her, wrapping her tightly in his arms, kissing her and smiling at her, she was sure to have found it. And she was willing to allow him to help her actually heal and actually, at last, close the chapter of her past.

"I can live wi' that."

#breena bower #neil bower #toh ocs #tdaac #not main story related #tw: body insecurity #tw: eating disorder

94 notes · View notes

sleepiexx · 10 months

Text

Pillow Talk

Carlos Oliveira x fem!Reader

Note: so sorry I haven’t been posting, I’ve been working a shit ton and I have like no motivation to write

Summary: (Y/N) and Carlos reminisce about the first time they met, in Raccoon City.

Warnings: reader is super insecure, thinks she isn’t worthy of Carlos, but that’s abt it

Word count: 868

(Y/N) woke up and stretched, moving to go into the kitchen and grab breakfast but she was ultimately stopped as Carlos unconsciously tightened his arms around her so tight it felt like the grip of a dead man. Her hopes of leaving or trying to fight his tense grasp were crushed instantly, she’d been here many times before, none of which could she escape Carlos’s impossibly strong hold. At least this time she didn’t have to pee.

She sighed in defeat, turning over and burying her face into Carlos’s chest. She quickly realized that the position was completely impractical and turned her head so one cheek rested on his left pec. His steady heartbeat thrummed in her ears, a calming noise. So calming, it almost lulled her straight back into dreamland if not for Carlos’s groggy morning voice cutting through the atmosphere.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He groaned, holding her even tighter if at all possible. He kissed the top of her head with adoration, making her melt.

“Good morning.” She whispered.

They made eye contact, both of their faces breaking into a wide grin.

“You have bed head.” Carlos teased, messing with her hair which was going every which direction.

She scoffed, reaching out a hand to further mess up his already messy hair. “So do you, dipshit.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and smiled, leaning into the palm of her hand still placed at the top of his head.

“I love you.” He muttered.

She pushed his head down into the pillow and straddled him, pressing a firm kiss to his lips.

“I love you too.” She whispered against them.

Carlos’s arms snaked their way back around her waist, pressing her body against his. He buried his head in the dip between her neck and her shoulder.

“I’m never getting out of this bed, am I?” She joked.

He shook his head, beard scratching her neck. “Nope, never.”

She settled down on top of him, resigning herself to her fate.

She sat, tracing shapes into Carlos’s chest, “Y’know, if you would’ve told me this would be my life back when everything in RC was happening, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

Carlos smiled and laughed, (Y/N) laughing along.

“Oh yeah?” He muttered.

She nodded, looking up at his face. “Yeah, of course, I bet you’d have done the same.”

“Not me.”

“Not you?”

“Nah, I knew from the moment I saw you that I’d make you mine.” He smiled like he’d figured out everything. Like some omnipotent knowledge had been bestowed upon him and he’d never had any doubt whatsoever.

(Y/N) buried her face into his chest in embarrassment at how much his sentiment had flustered her, “You’re so sweet I’m gonna die,” she remarked.

“I’m serious!” He said, “I had the biggest crush on you since the second I met you. Would’ve made it more obvious, but we were kind of fighting for our lives.”

She smiled, staring at him in awe. “That’s crazy,” she mumbled.

“Well now I’m curious,” Carlos began, “when did you start to crush on me?”

She laughed a little bit, thinking back.

“Y’know, now that I think about it, I had a little crush on you back then too. Just didn’t want to admit it because of the circumstances.” The room was quiet for a second before she added on, “I also definitely thought you were out of my league. Still do.”

The last part was said quietly but Carlos heard. He furrowed his eyebrows like what she said was truly unbelievable, sitting up against the headboard so he could get a better look at (Y/N)’s expressions, “Me? Out of your league? (Y/N), come on, there’s no way.”

She sat up too, trying to pull herself off of him, but his hands maintained a steady grip on her hips. “I mean, you’re very handsome, Carlos. And funny, and sweet, an overall catch. I just never felt like I deserved you, honestly I’m still debating it.” She tried to laugh it off, but Carlos’s lips were pressed into a pout.

He shook his head profusely, pulling her closer, “But you’re my everything.” He frowned deeply, “Baby, you mean so much to me. You make me so insanely happy, you make me laugh so hard my stomach starts to hurt, and as an added bonus, you’re absolutely gorgeous.”

“Fuck,” (Y/N) groaned, “you’re so nice to me.”

His deep brown eyes continued staring holes into her own, “I’m not being nice, baby, I’m being truthful. I love you so much and I really hope that one day you can see yourself the way I see you.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, nodding along solemnly, “yeah, I really hope so too.”

Carlos kissed the top of her head, content with that answer— for now.

“Why don’t I take you out today? We could have a nice day out on the town.” He suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

(Y/N) tilted her head, “But I thought you wanted to stay in?”

“Changed my mind, wanna show you off.” He flirted.

Her face felt all tingly and she was buzzing at the thought. She agreed with a small, giddy smile, “Okay.”

#carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #carlos oliveira #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x reader #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil 3

176 notes · View notes

gilded-fern · 1 year

Text

Kratos x Reader Relationship Ramblings

A/N: Hello! God of War Ragnarok has quickly become one of my favorite games and Kratos is one of my favorite characters. These are some thoughts on what a relationship with Kratos would be like along with a brief mention of Mimir and Atreus at the end. Meant to take place before God of War Ragnarok but after 2018 God of War. Was written with the intent of the reader being female but I don’t think I use any gendered language (correct me if I’m wrong tho!). Enjoy!

Word Count: 541

Warnings: None

The beginning of your relationship is rocky and met with hesitance. Kratos has grieved Faye properly, and he does miss her dearly. At night the man wonders if Faye saw Kratos falling in love again after her death, was she mad about it? Would she be happy? These are only a handful of the doubts and concerns he has, don't even mention how he truly feels about being with you.

Kratos does not think he is worthy of love again. The man is still haunted by the blood on his hands and the ash that stains his skin. Kratos has lost so very much, especially those he loves romantically.

Kratos is quiet and not the most physically affectionate person out there. Kratos' main love languages when you first start a romantic relationship are acts of service and gifts. You offhandedly mention you need to chop more firewood or need a specific item. Next thing you know, the item is conveniently placed nearby and the wood pile is fully stocked.

When Kratos begins to feel more secure in the relationship, his anxieties and fears are soothed by your love. Expect the stoic man to engage in physical affection a bit more. It's small, Kratos resting a hand on the small of your back as he leans over you to see whatever little hobby you are doing. You’ll wake up in the morning to being securely wrapped up in his arms, his head resting in the crook of your neck. But that's on the rare chance you even wake up earlier than him, Kratos wakes up before the sun has even risen.

I believe Kratos would appreciate a lover who is capable and can take care of themself but not a fighter. If the situation called for you to defend yourself, you could but you don’t seek fights.

Your daily routine consists of normal household chores, you usually cook, clean, and fix the hole Atreus created in his shirt for the 3rd time that week. Not because Kratos is unable to but because the man thinks of food as just sustenance and you prefer your stews to not being plain with just deer meat.

Kratos spends his days' training, hunting, and doing physical upkeep around the home. The spartan is constantly finding something to fix, whether it be a hole in the roof or he refuses to believe his axe is sharpened enough Kratos is always doing something. It's impossible to get this man to do nothing for a moment.

You take Kratos's workaholic nature as a challenge, often distracting the man during the day. Atreus finds it entertaining as you playfully jump on the man's back, Kratos knows the second you walk out of the cabin you can’t scare him, pestering him until he stops whatever task he’s obsessed with and gives you attention.

Mimir enjoys your company, the head telling you stories to fill the silence as you work. Changing the book he is ready when he finishes.

Atreus adores you, you add calmer and warmer energy into the home which is a nice change of pace for the young man. Atreus is happy to see a softer side of his father with you, one he’s never really been able to see.

#kratos x reader #kratos #god of war #reader insert

698 notes · View notes

simpliao · 2 years

Note

UDBSISNDSIKF MADAM I CANNOT! STOP! SCREAMING!!! THESE FICS!!! UGGGGGHHHHHH

You are one of the few people giving me my JSchlatt fix, and I cherish every second of it. If I may be so humble as to make a request, can I suggest something involving praising and giving some lovin’ to the Big Guy himself? I feel like he’s the kind of guy to not recognize his own value and contributions, especially in a romantic relationship. Sometimes to just need to smooch, hold, pamper, and remind your boyfriend how much you love him. Thank you and bless your goddamn angelic heart🤍

hey, hey, hey lover ; (irl) schlatt x reader

summary : schlatt is adamant about breaking up, y/n sees through it. and even if he doesn't ever feel worthy, if it takes her an eternity of holding him close and assuring him; she'd do it in a heartbeat.

info : angst to fluff, feelings of unworthiness, depression, poor mental health, mentions of anger issues, reader comforting schlatt, she/her, afab reader. title sourced by the amazing song by the daughters of eve.

a/n : SO GLAD YOURE ENJOYING ANON, BLESS YOU TOO AWE ! decided to take his self deprecation to the extreme just to have some heart warming, chicken-soup-for-the-soul type fluff. Still doing my best to roll out requests!

to anyone who may relate to the way schlatt feels, even if you don't have your own y/n please do know you're not alone. people love you so please seek help if possible. you can get through this toots, we're all rooting for you. ♡

Everyone had their down days, days where everything seemed so hopeless and desperate; being that Schlatt wasn't always the most mentally healthy he would have these feelings more often than not. Never dare uttering the things his mind conjured up in the midst of his constant battle against himself. He took medication, medication that he hid in the back of drawers and never mention to his lover, sometimes he'd never find a moment alone and he wouldn't take it. He'd deal with it on his own, this was his problem, and therefore he figured it was his to deal with.

Other people had their own struggles, adding his would only hurt and stress other people. It wasn't worth mentioning, they'd only want to help him to be civil, because they were forced into it out of pity. He knew his girlfriend of so long didn't need that added stress when she's already practically worked herself to death, she didn't need him to weigh her down.

That's when real rainy days rolled in, when he wouldn't take his levothyroxine, when his lover found herself working late nights and leaving him alone at midnight with nothing but his own thoughts. Sleep would never find him, his mind too busy overthinking every decision in life, he wasn't doing enough, he wasn't enough. He'd find on those still, cloudy nights, nothing but doubt; Y/n must be working late because she can't stand me anymore. Every little distant memory finds a way to him, he wasn't the kind of guy to like PDA, she wanted to hold hands but he didn't, she must still resent him for it.

It sounds slightly exaggerated and stupid, like he was one of those alt, fifteen year old girls he oftentimes would poke fun at. But being in the right state of mind meant that he couldn't see past the fog of doubt that clouded his better judgement. She'd always kiss him goodbye, she'd always whisper the sweetest of nothings into the lobe of her ear, and repeat time and time again how much she loved him; but he was sure she did it out of pity. Who could possibly love him? His temper was short, he was by no means ever the hottest guy in the room, he told stupid jokes that he knew people only laughed at because they had to.

Y/n deserved so much better, just seeing her smile left a bittersweet ache in his chest; she would be happier with someone else. He adored her like she hung the stars and moon themselves, she was otherworldly beautiful to him, always so caring and bright. She was the light holding him together, but he was convinced he was the darkness that consumed and poisoned her life. Her insistence of her love was nothing more than sweet lies that he felt as if he just knew weren't true.

Those murmurs from within the confines of his mind reminded him of this constantly, a fake truth of his own worth and care from others. They whispered lies that would occupy his mind rent free, no one would ever truly love him because there was nothing there to love. Why was Y/n even with him? If he truly loved her he would want her to be happy, and how could she ever be happy with him? He was imperfect, he was damaged, why would she want a relationship that forced her to pick up the pieces he struggled to pick up on his own?

It all cumulating to a breaking point inside him, when Y/n confronted him about it. Her voice gentle and hesitant, she'd picked up on his behaviours for a while but marked it up to stress or just an off day. It slowly bled into his work, his relationship; becoming more closed off and distant. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening, that was until she found the pill bottle whilst cleaning up their bathroom. The original worry of some kind of addiction morphed into pain and regret once she searched up said medication's name to find out what it happened to be: anti-depressants.

She felt the realization sink into the bottom of her stomach, how could she not have known or have been there for him? She was determined to make it right on her end; be the girlfriend that she knew her boyfriend desperately needed and deserved.

"Darling, had there been something on your mind?" She didn't want to immediately jump into her findings, maybe he had an explanation for them? The last thing she wanted was to make him defensive and start a fight. She could have never anticipated the words that fell past his lips, all while never managing to hold eye contact longer than a few seconds at most.

"I..." want to hold you and have you tell me everything is okay "...want to break up." She stood before him shellshocked, mouth agape and seemingly straining to try and say even a single word. Eyebrows furrowed together with only a single thing escaping her, "what..?" Confusion evident upon her delicate features, Schlatt was breaking apart from the inside. She tried to take a step forwards, but all he did was take one back; maintaining the space between them. If she got to close, if her touch graced his skin and he'd be sucked back into his addiction of the feeling of her, he'd lose his self control and break apart. She didn't need his mess, it was his to fight alone; she deserved to fly.

"Why?" Her words were much firmer, a saddened tone lacing between them. At first came heartbreak, and slowly as she awaited for an answer to her cracked voice, she could see with the brief moments of eye contact something clouded in his eyes. He was hurting... It kind of clicked that he was pushing her away, he was trying to cope and prevent her from finding out the truth. He was still suffering, and knowing Schlatt as long as she has, it was in character.

She blinked away tears, he was ready to get into a shouting match and braced for the absolute worst. What he didn't brace for were the arms of his girlfriend to wrap around him, soothing voice never ceasing. It was a risk on her part, if he was genuinely wanting to break up and she babied him like this he would certainly blow a fuse; but she had faith in what she's learned in all their time spent together. And to her favour, rather than get upset, he melted into her embrace. "I don't..." He paused at his words, trying to bite his tongue of his words. "...I don't love you anymore." Those words did sting, no question about it, but he wasn't in his proper state of mind. Y/n promised to be with him until the end, she intended to live up to that promise, and now was not the end; just a bad day.

"I know, Schlatt. I know you're taking medication to try and help yourself." He tensed up at her words, in response she only made her grasp more reassuring and tightening her hold; letting him know she's there. "I really do love you, you know that right? I understand your belief in privacy, but you're obviously hurting; and seeing you hurt really does hurt me too." His large hands slowly came up to rest upon the back of her head and her back, head hung downward to face her. "Please don't hurt because of me." It was similar to that of a desperate plea of a disciplined child, as if he was the one at fault. "I don't hurt because of you, I hurt for you; that's because I love you."

"Then maybe you shouldn't love me." His words, spoken in a hushed manner whilst he kept his eyes glued to hers, filled with such belief of the falsehood. "I will always love you. Please, talk to me. What made you want to break up..?" He held a pause for a handful of moments, heart in a tough ache before he breathed out his confession. "Because you deserve someone better. Someone who won't hurt you, who'll make you happier." Her eyes watered at this, he'd been hurting so bad and what had she done? Seeing him like this, defeated, nothing like he should ever be, killed her a little on the inside.

"Schlatt." Her doe-like wide eyes are those that he could stare into forever, "no one will ever make me happier than you do. You're just... You're my everything. You think of me when I don't think of myself, you're secretly so damn compassionate, the most loving person I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting..." She burrowed her head into his chest, "and it kills me thinking you'll never see yourself the way I see you. You complete me, so please don't punish yourself to fight this alone. I'm here for you, and I always will be."

He practically fell into her arms at that point, gripping onto her like she'd be forever whisked away should his grip every loosen. Something in his chest alleviated, and for once he could finally breathe again. Holding her in his arms felt so natural, like they were always meant to be this close and interlocked together. For the first time a good while, he could feel the love again. She knew his feelings of self hatred and inability to handle praise wasn't just magically blown away, internally was still scarred and beaten down, he was still hurting. But at least for right now she could soothe his pain even just a little, and take the first steps towards recovery.

466 notes · View notes

thefiery-phoenix · 9 months

Text

YANDERE KUROO TETSUROU HEADCANONS

He'll call you kitten most of the times. Sometimes, he'll call you sweetheart and darling but don't think for a second he'll call you only THOSE 2 nicknames. Dude knows like, a ZILLION other cringe worthy nicknames in history

Yandere type: Possessive, obsessive and HELLA overprotective. Not to mention really CLINGY ASF

Honestly, all yo have to do is just walk by him and BOOM! He's gonna be obsessed with you. You and him walked past each other but Kuroo's eyes followed you since you were so dazzling and beautiful like an angel descended from the heavens

You know how much of a show off this dude is. Well, when he's around you, he keeps showing off a 10000000% than he usually does. He REALLY tries his best when it comes to you and he'll me sulking if you resist any of his charms

Kuroo will try worming his way into you life. If by chance you never saw him or talked to him, well NOW is a PERFECT opportunity since he's always gonna turn up and hang out at places you visit. Be it a library or a cafe or even an arcade. Boi's always there and that's just the beginning of his weird and creepy yandere tendencies

He's certainly going to stalk you, no doubt in that. He might occasionally break into your room to collect some little souvenirs for himself, you know... stuff that he knows you won't miss like some pens and your clothes and little pieces of jewelry. He'll read your diary as well and if you wrote about any other guys in your little diary, lets just say some of them will have an injury in less than a week. Oh, and as for that guy who's always flirting with you at the cafe you love? Don't worry sweetheart, he's all taken care of. Courtesy of your future husbando

His favorite yandere pastime is to watch you sleep. He knows its creepy as hell but does he give a damn? Of course not. You just look TOO CUTE and adorable like a cute small little puppy that's so peaceful and cute

Eventually he's gonna ask you out. If you accept him, good for you but if you reject him, he's gonna do a 180 and kidnap you and take you somewhere to the woods where there's no trace of civilization whatsoever. But, on the bright side, you'll have a WONDERFUL house

Kuroo is quite a delusional guy, not in a way that he thinks you're already in love with him but he thinks the world is too dangerous for his cute little bunny. So, he HAS to kidnap you. It's all for your safety of course

Kuroo just LOVES cuddle sessions with you and LIVES for those moments when you rake his fingers through his hair and when he's just peacefully basking in your angelic presence. It just seems to make time slow down and everything seems to be so peaceful when he gets to spend time with you. He also likes holding you in his strong masculine arms and admires how small and tiny you look compared to him

He'll let you out as well but on ONE condition: You do NOT leave his hand, like AT ALL. The SECOND you do, goodbye sunshine and birds, hello boring old house. He just wants to protect you and keep you safe that's all

He'll NEVER raise his voice at you even when you misbehave. He'll just shush you by hugging and smothering you with his love cooing how sorry he is for not taking care of you and he'll do a better job and he loves you with all his heart

Will never harm you and his level of patience is infinite. But when it comes to the others, he'll he Satan himself. He might kill people with the help of Kenma since he's his best friend and all that. Btw, Kenma will make sure you're doing good from time to time but don't try to escape from Kuroo. Cuz if you do, they both will be out to find you and Kenma will drag you back to Kuroo and be ready for the anime waterworks from Kuroo. After your escape attempt, Kuroo will obviously tighten the security around the house and will destroy any means of escape. The outside world is just too dangerous for you and his punishments are really tame like just taking away your favorite items. As much as he feels like someone is stabbing him with a knife when he sees you sad, he has to do whatever he can to make you behave

Aftercare from your punishment will involve LOTS and LOTS of hugging and cuddling. This man is a cuddle monster. And he's obsessed with giving you hickeys. He thinks you look really cute and hot when you're covered in his marks and if you resist, he'll be all like, "How else am I supposed to let the world know that you belong ONLY to ME?''

#yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kuroo scenarios #yandere kuroo oneshots #yandere kuroo headcanons #yandere kuroo imagines #dark tetsurou kuroo #dark kuroo x reader #dark haikyuu #dark haikyuu characters #yandere haikyuu characters x reader #yandere haikyuu characters #dark haikyuu characters x reader

109 notes · View notes

generositygullet · 2 months

Text

A letter to Akira Toriyama

Dear Akira Toriyama,

I first interacted with dragonball when I was in 6th grade or so, when I started playing dragon ball fusions for the 3ds since the trailer looked cool. Kind of a weird start right? But I was getting really into anime at the time, and wanted to check out one of the most popular ones. I had NO idea who the characters were, and had NO clue what the story was about. But for some reason against all the odds, as soon as I saw the title screen boot up with that soaring music I was hooked. The game was super fun, no doubt about it. But what REALLY kept me going when playing it, was the world of dragon ball itself.

Again I had no clue who any of these people were. But seeing these characters interact with each other, seeing these different setpieces made, seeing all of these powers and personalities, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It channeled the raw kid desire in me to see two buff dudes duking it out, and god I adored every bit of it.

I didn't dig any deeper than that initially, and like all my other hyperfixations it died down. But again in 7th grade I started playing fighterz, and I was hooked again. But this time I dug deeper in preparation for the release of the new GT dlc, and so the first dragon ball media I actually watched? Was GT. Which is hilarious in hindsight, but I still adored every second of it.

In 8th grade things were not going so well for me, I was losing friends due to being an asshole, and I had to change myself to be worthy of the people around me. I was pretty depressed, and everything seemed sad and hopeless (I know it's pretty dramatic for a literal like 13 year old but bear with me lmao). It's around that time when I decided to watch Dragon Ball Super. And again, I was hooked. I binged it so fast, all 130 something episodes. I could talk big about the characters and everything, but honestly it was just so plain cool. It made me feel excited and happy, it made me feel like everything was ok. And those positive feelings made that much of a difference in me.

From that point on I always was interested in Dragon Ball. my first and only hyperfixation to never really go away. I read the OG dragonball, and started REALLY noticing your artistic talent. From the way you drew Goku moving across the battlefield and the poses he struck. To the illustrations of the action and the punches thrown. It was all so dynamic and energetic. When I was reading it I was always engaged, excited to see the next panel. I wanted to channel the same energy in my own art somehow, to encapsulate the same excitement you instilled in me with your drawings.

I FINALLY got around to watching and reading Z a little later. And of course I loved it. I knew all the basic plot beats, and had a 3 in one Goku vs Vegeta volume collection that I would reread constantly. But seeing them play it is so different. I also started to admire your character design more and more. Trying to draw them in my free time, and getting a bit sad when I couldn't capture the same magic you could.

All of this, of course, was older material though. This was all before my time, I was never there to experience it when it initially happened. Not for super, not for the OG DB, and not for Z. I adored it all, but I always knew what was going to happen.

I remember the reaction on my face when the news of DBS Superhero dropped. I was so so SO excited. More than you could ever imagine. Something new, something I could see with my own eyes, and something about Piccolo and Gohan??? It was amazing. And seeing it in theaters a few years later? God I was on the edge of my seat the entire film. I even started reading the DBS manga, I think it's amazing so far.

When I heard that you were gone yesterday night, I was crushed.

I’m a junior now. And after a long time of thinking about it, being anxious, afraid, and scared of the future. I think I want to be an artist or filmmaker. I want to bring the same energy you did to the world. I'm still trying to figure out my artstyle, and how I want to draw. I’m not great at it, but no matter what, I want to keep going. Because I want to bring a character to life, like you brought Son Goku to life and so many others as well. I want to inspire so many others like you inspired me. With your messages, you brought me happiness. You told me that simplicity was ok with Son Goku. You told me that we need to fight for what we love with Son Gohan. You told me that we should aim to be better than our predecessors with Piccolo Junior. You told me that we shouldn't let our pride consume us with Vegeta. You’ve shown me and the entire world so so much. And I hope you were proud of it. I’m

I said the world of Dragon Ball earlier, but really, it was your world Akira Toriyama. And your world changed mine forever in the best way. Thank you, for letting me dream again.

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #dragon ball daima #dbz #dbz goku #dragon ball super #akira toriyama #dbs #dragon ball gt

16 notes · View notes

kookaburra1701 · 9 months

Note

I know you deal in adopted NPCs, so I'm gonna ask some specific ones based on that :>

For Kaidan: What is their stance on taking a life? Do they kill without a second thought, in the name of a god or daedra, or do they adhere to pacifism? For Lucien: Do they regret journeying to Skyrim? (You have to understand how much I restrained myself from asking "what's his opinion on the bandit problem?") For Pascale: If they are a magic user, what is their favorite school of magic? Do they have a natural talent for magic, or does it require diligence and study? For Borgakh: What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim? For Olur: What are their opinions on the civil war? Do they support a side or leave them to their own devices?

Hello friend! Heh you know me very well with my habit of adopting NPCs and shaking them very hard giving them loving safe homes. For this ask game I will take a page out of your book and answer in-character. :D

For Kaidan: What is their stance on taking a life?

"If you're doubting the strength of my sword-arm, you've no need to worry. I've killed many things, many people; I haven't lost a patron yet! To tell the truth... I used to not think about it at all. Brynjar never talked about how he felt when he had to kill someone, but by that time whenever we weren't on a job he was always at the bottom of a bottle, so maybe it bothered him more than he let on."

Do they kill without a second thought, in the name of a god or daedra, or do they adhere to pacifism?

"A pacifist? Do you know what a sell-sword is? I'll give you a hint, I'm not a shopkeeper specializing in edged weapons. The only thing anyone in Skyrim needs to know is that I was brought up by and as a Nord, and I honor our traditions. I call upon Kyne for strength, if She feels I'm worthy. Anything more is no one's business but my own."

For Lucien: Do they regret journeying to Skyrim?

"Skyrim, on the whole, has been simply marvelous! I'll grant you there were some slight hiccups in the beginning. And a few brushes with certain death in the middle. Some recent moments where I thought it would all end. But it all worked out ! And just think about all the exciting adventures I would have missed if I'd decided to stay in the Imperial City, locked up in some tower only reading about the things I've seen! I thought I'd be fortunate to write a few treatises, but now I've got enough material for at least ten volumes!"

(You have to understand how much I restrained myself from asking "what's his opinion on the bandit problem?")

"If that's supposed to be a joke I'm not laughing. Sit down Kaidan. I'm going to assume you didn't mean anything by it, and we're all going to forget it was ever asked."

For Pascale: If they are a magic user, what is their favorite school of magic?

"Oh I adore Conjuration! People don't seem to know all the things you can summon - sure they know about weapons like bows and swords, but did you know there's things like furniture in Oblivion? You can take it, too! Sometimes there's sticky stuff on it or it smells bad, but if you keep trying you'll usually get something good. Lockpicks are my favorite. And that doesn't even touch on my familiar, or atronachs! Conjuration means never being lonely, and your new friend has to do what you say!"

Do they have a natural talent for magic, or does it require diligence and study?

"Mistress Clarreau -my governess- said that I had the largest magicka pool of any of her students! I didn't have to study for most spells at all, but she always making me do exercises and such like. Do you know how tedious it is to light and extinguish a candle flame one hundred times when you could just as well burn the entire castle to ash with a thought? It's very tedious. Maybe I wouldn't want to burn down the castle if I didn't have to do such ridiculous things as exercises."

For Borgakh: What is their favorite kind of food that can only be found in Skyrim?

"My favorite food can now only be found in the Ashpit, Outlander. And that is if Hearth-Wife Grutha feels like giving the slaves who serve there her recipe golden-cup mushroom and goat cheese pasty."

For Olur: What are their opinions on the civil war?

"It's a lot of humans fighting a long way from here over one of their gods. The chaplains in the Legion always said the gods were better than Daedra like Malacath but if they were they wouldn't need mortals to fight for them, to my way of thinking. But if things go too poorly for the Legion they're going start calling up levies, and those of us who have served before will be first on the lists. I hope Mor Khazgur is too isolated for them to bother with me."

Do they support a side or leave them to their own devices?

"The last time a lot of Nords calling themselves "Stormcloaks" came through the Reach things were bad. I was very young, but I remember the smoke from the burning Reachclan camps turning the sun red, and the air poisonous. You know the stronghold Rahkzuga Yal? No you don't, because it doesn't exist any more. The Nords in blue didn't care if what they burned belonged to Reachclans or not, only that it didn't belong to Nords. The Chief and his Shield-Wife died defending their stronghold, and it still burned. Now his son Ghunzul and the Rahkzuga clan is having to make do in some ruin down south in Falkreath. I don't know why they didn't clear out of Skyrim altogether but they always were strange ones.

"But that doesn't answer your question. I support whichever side will leave Mor Khazgur alone, and not meddle in things they don't understand. I don't understand the Reachfolk and their hagravens so I don't meddle with them, and things are just fine as long as outsiders don't get involved. If only more people acted like me."

#kbs asks #skyrim oc asks #kb writes #kaidan 2 #kaidan skyrim #lucien flavius #oc:pascale #borgakh the steel heart #olur

43 notes · View notes

splinnters · 11 months

Note

YOUVE READ SPIRIT ANIMALS??? BRO I FUCKING LOVE SPIRIT ANIMALS THATS MY SHIT AGHHH.

Conor's my favourite too I love him sm he is literally so sweet. Tell me everything you think about it and if you made a spirit animal for yourself

SOBBING SOMEBODY ELSE KNOWS ABOUT SPIRIT ANIMALS ITS A MIRACLE I own the two main series in hard cover they are all lined up on my little bookshelf they have such shiny spines and I treasure them beyond compare

overall I think the whole series is amazing and there’s genuinely not many like,,, corrections or whatever that I have for it. while I adore the first series I actually like fall of the beasts better ESPECIALLY BECAUSE OF HOW OVER POWERED CONOR GETS I LIVE FOR THAT SHIT SO BAD

Conor has always been my favorite of the four main characters mostly because his character arc in terms of personality is a copy of my life. he had so many important moments for himself and for the team and overall I think it’s so interesting how he becomes the leader-figure of the group, ie the others pack bonded so hard to him. in reality I see Meilin as the inner-group leader but people outside the four of them see Conor as the leader. puts a lot of pressure on him as well as the pressure from being the wielder of the Staff of Cycles and the fact that he’s basically an oracle/prophet by the time the second series ends AND how he was the only one infected by the Wyrm. he’s one of my special blorbos I love him so much

also he’s genuinely one of the most powerful warriors to ever walk that planet. no I don’t take constructive criticism on that

BONUS THOUGHT I don’t care if nobody else on the planet thinks this but the four heroes are in a polyamorous relationship no doubts about it. despite Rollan and Meilin being the only ones in an actual canon relationship, they all act the same to each other like. once the characters who are dating are acting the same way with the two other friends you just. Know. they all love each other so much

in terms of making my own spirit animal, I did play the spirit animals game while it was still alive (?) and I usually picked a very large black panther/leopard/whatever I think?? or a tiger sometimes but I don’t think I ever claimed an “official” spirit animal. I always just wanted to be Conor, so I guess a wolf would be my official spirit animal

to be fair though I was biased toward having no spirit animal because I was obsessed with the redcloaks more than the greencloaks. I adored Worthy to death and I created multiple redcloak OCs despite never making a greencloak one. they are just so cool omfg

this makes me wanna do stuff with spirit animals on this blog ahajdjfhdhdhdh. maybe I’ll draw them or something that would be nice. I did write some stuff for it but it was all on paper so I’d have to dig it up. also I don’t think any of the stories were very serious like most of my fanfics end up being lmao

#YIPPPEEE IT MADE ME SO HAPPY JUST TO RANT ABOUT THIS #maybe sometime I’ll do some analysis or post parts of what I wrote or draw something we’ll see!#hmmm how to tag?#spirit animals #spirit animals books #spirit animals fall of the beasts #spirit animals conor

60 notes · View notes

002yb · 1 year

Note

I absolutely adore your DickJay fics, scenarios, and thoughts! They're so fun. I am curious, though. What are your headcanons on the other Bats reaction/opinions on their relationship? What members are supportive? Do any of them disapprove?

Oh, anon. The way my thoughts scattered every which way with this hahaha. We've got a little bit of everything here; vibes separated by bullet points. ٩(๑ơలơ)۶♡

Bruce

Simultaneously overprotective and aggressively supportive; wars with himself over how his dear boy is defiling his darling baby boy and like, he doesn't know how he feels about it. On the one hand, fuck Dick. On the other, there's no one that Bruce trusts more with Jason. So. Both earnest and begrudging acceptance.

'Don't get weird about it,' Jason says. Only Bruce gets weird about it anyway. Just so intense that it's embarrassing. Fuck forbid Bruce remembers his own anniversaries, but he'll send reminder texts to them both and send them congratulatory flowers or champagne the day of. Just weirdly involved despite keeping to the fringes.

Forever oblivious. Doesn't matter what precarious situation he catches dickjay in, it never registers. 'World's greatest detective' title revoked.

Pragmatic. Uncaring so long as it doesn't impact work. Seemingly indifferent, but would capitalize on what relationship can mean for his mission. Would probably try to use Dick to manipulate Jason.

Not supportive. No blessings given. Unfortunately this sort of situation feels more like Bruce holding onto grievances with Jason and not trusting him to not corrupt Dick's morals (though like, lbr; Dick doing a lot of corruption/defilement in his own right lol).

Tim

Accepting, supportive, but also very done with these two morons because dickjay harass him with their shenanigans (intentional and not); so tired.

The above, but Tim is sort of into it (freaky freaky (*°∀°)=3)

Pragmatic. Would play their feelings for each other to his favor. Not usually in a negative way, but not above it. Generally indifferent to the feels, just sees the utility in it.

Damian

Protective of Dick (but supportive)

Protective of Jason (begrudgingly supportive after a period of failed attempts to sabotage Dick hahaha; just a whole jealousy thing because Jason is Damian's and Dick is infringing on what isn't his and Damian's patience is short and his tolerance at the end of its rope so help him Grayson, Damian will fuck him up if he fucks Jason - sorry, fucks up Jason in any way).

Protective of both and at a standstill because of it (still supportive, but too many shovel talks too little time).

Oblivious. Just oblivious.

The above would be fun in a fic where father dearest, world's greatest detective, is also oblivious lol. It runs in the family.

Devastated, but bears the heartache well (unrequited crush on Jason)

Have I made it apparent that I really like Damian crushing on Jason? Because I do. Weird place to ask but if anyone has a fic rec with this premise (bottom!Jason if anything veers that way lol) then like, yes please??

Adamant supporter because it's like his second dad/mom are hooking up. Dick and Jason are the only people worthy of each other in Damian's eye, so it works. This Damian is having a good time, given Bruce won't make an honest woman out of Talia (alternatively, Talia isn't making an honest man out of Bruce either so lol)

Cass

Supportive, no doubt or question to it

Teasing (specifically of Jason hahahah she can fluster him so easy; she sees why Dick enjoys it).

Alfred

Supportive. Content. Pleased.

Concerned, given both boys are dear to him and both are moderate disasters. He doesn't want any heartbreaks. ):

Exasperation because he finds them all over the manor, without fail.

=======

Thank you so much, by the way!! It makes me all sorts of happy that you enjoy my stories and the little informal things I put out there. (´⌣`ʃƪ)♥ Thank you for the engagement, too! This was a lot of fun. Have a lovely weekend, anon~ ♥♥♥

#jaydick #dickjay

71 notes · View notes

insurrection-if · 1 year

Note

Ros reaction to pregnant mc 👀

(･⌄･)b The (needlessly long and messy) answer is below the cut for those uncomfortable with this topic!

The reactions are notably different depending on whether the MC is a HAWK or not . . . and that's putting it lightly! (；´∀｀)

There would be major repercussions towards a Gifted pregnancy within the HAWKS. It is considerably grim for those who would wish to retain custody of their child or a relationship with the other parent.

RO reactions to a pregnancy with a HAWK MC, thusly, would be heavily impacted by the external circumstances around the pregnancy. That isn't to say those circumstances can't and / or won't change in the actual narrative itself, but timing would be very crucial in determining the future their child would have.

Nonetheless, I’ll just say these reactions are ones that would be in the epilogue stage, assuming that both the RO and MC are settled, and certain events have taken place for each of them. If the pregnancy occurred prior to the epilogue, whether in either the "first" or "second" era of the main narrative, there would be other pressures that would determine their reaction.

Akil

He expected shock.

He expected dreadful concern. Fear. Hesitations and doubts, a paralysis or restlessness. He expected to be overwhelmed with too many emotions too foreign for him to process, to be crushed beneath the worries of his child's future.

He expected heavenly elation. Perhaps speechlessness, or joyful tears so unnatural to him. He expected a mindless state of pure adoration and a sudden thoughtlessness towards anything but you and the child.

Yet there is none of the grandeur he had predicated for this moment.

Everything, every detail in this life-changing scene on the brink of so many hopes and unknowns, feels perfectly natural. Fitting, and right. It is as though every trial and ache, every pleasure and sacrifice, has led to this moment where all his life falls into place.

This moment, he knows, is when his life has begun again.

And so the moment, by no conscious effort on his part, is greeted as though this were all meant to be. Calmly, warmly, as his worn features are eased by a smile that speaks only of a rare serenity.

There is something humbling within him as he studies your vibrant beauty, so fresh and new in this novel glow you wear, yet it is countered by the heavy rush of pride he feels towards you and all that you have become.

There is concern, but it is vague and conquerable. There is fear, but it is unfocused and revering. Hesitation and doubt wash from him in the wake of trust within you, together with him as one, and he moves with collected grace as he takes your hand into his own.

There is elation, but it is quiet and settled. There is a momentary speechlessness, and an unaccustomed joyful squint accents his eyes, but soon endearments from his native tongue flow from him at a slow pace for every little step he guides you to take closer to him. Heightened adoration does make itself known in the loving softness of his gaze, but it is surmounted by the renewal of unconditional devotion that blooms for you in his heart.

And soon his thoughts capture the entire world. Its condition, its quality, its worthiness as a home to his child. What hate lingers here that his child will face? What havens have been built to keep them cared for and safe? Where can the good be found, and where must it be grown? Every street, every town, every nation he has ever stepped foot in seems to require his judgement for approval or reform, all for the sake of his child and their ability to be free as you never had the chance to be.

But a word from you, a touch or slight change in the focus of your gaze, draws him back to the here and now. His apology comes in the form of a kiss on your hand, delicate and avowing.

“You are my heart, my life, my very bones and will,” he softly affirms as his breath brushes against your hand, "Thank you, my heaven and star. For everything that we've had, and everything that has yet to come."

Following the dissolution of his last relationship (prior to meeting the MC), Akil resigned himself to eternal bachelorhood and became fully married to his career. He did not (realistically) expect to ever have children of his own, especially not with someone he loves as deeply as you.

It would be impossible for him to not bask in the initial sense of warm joy and anticipation, but he would know enough self-restraint to not forsake the more practical matters that come with this news. Once the celebration-of-two between you (or, in this case, celebration-of-three?) begins to dwindle down, he will be quick to dive down into the logistics of the months (and, after that, years) to come.

The details of the nursery, potential schedules around visits to the obstetrician, dietary plans, health precautions, the travel arrangements for any of your family you might wish to have with you during the pregnancy / at birth, the timeline for baby-proofing the home, and so on. The moment you seem overwhelmed with it all is the moment he will end those discussions for the night, but these plans will still relentlessly rove around in his mind, nonetheless (even if he pretends to be living solely in this joyous moment with you). Akil is not lenient with caution when it comes to those he loves, and there is no question towards how much he will instantly love his unborn child.

He would, with your permission, want to be in close communication with your father to learn about any particular concerns, precautions, or general health information associated with your heretical gift (as experienced during your mother’s pregnancy). If the relationship you have with your father is tense / strained / hostile, then he would take immense care to limit the contact to the bare essentials of medical history and keep the man at far more than an arm's length.

Akil would likely not inform his family of the pregnancy, not wanting to place stress on his partner by summoning their outraged disapproval. It will break his mother’s heart, but he will wait until the child is born before notifying her (if you allow) since he knows she would not do anything reckless when the child is a physical, visible, breathing bundle that can be held compared to a bump attached to the 'son-stealing harlot' she sometimes accuses you to be.

For once, he would be open to a slightly spontaneous event over this news (if informed early enough in the day / night to arrange anything so last minute) - perhaps a date to a sentimental sight, or a taxing but special homemade dinner, etc. - without care for the tires and plans of tomorrow in order to truly appreciate one another's company at this moment in time during the waning days before your shared child very much makes their presence known and changes your lives forever (and, hopefully, for the better).

Fun Fact: In the original series, Akil never had children of his own. He was, however, a beloved (if distant) uncle-figure to Imka's children. Kind of like the classic mysterious benefactor type of uncle, haha!

Sigmund

Unplanned Pregnancy

The shock lasts no longer than a moment. A paralyzing rigidness, a tightening of his jaw, a marveled stare as though he were looking at a stranger rather than you . . . it all eased with a sigh from him.

It is in that sigh, that tired sound from his scarred lips, that you hear his fear. Silence stretches as he wrestles with his coming words; this is not a discussion to be rushed.

Not when it comes to a future he treasures so much.

"And you wish to keep it?" His arms cross together in tandem with the question: defensive, guarded.

There is hope in the question. Restrained, quiet, and longing.

"You know they will . . ." But his lips thin over what he intended to say. He doesn't need words to communicate his concern. Your child might inherit his gift.

No, more likely than not, they would.

That worried him, clearly, but not enough to forsake the desire for a child with you entirely. What worried him more, truly and unspeakably, was if you were against the chance— the possible guarantee and what it might mean for this world. What it might mean for your child themself if they ever harnessed their gift anywhere near the extent that their father could.

And in that doubt lied an even greater, deeper fear that he could not voice: Did you trust him enough, as a father, to raise this child to be a good, well-adjusted person?

Planned Pregnancy

Laughter, warm and deep, bubbles out from him before words have a chance. It’s a sound so lively, so free, that it seems better suited for the innocent joy of a child rather than the rugged and scarred man before you. It is especially not the reaction you would've once expected from the man who had seemed so terrified at the thought of being a father not so long ago, though you knew he hid his equal (if not greater) excitement at the prospect while shuffling his feet towards an agreement to try for a family.

His hands are cupped around your cheeks before you have time to let out another word, and whatever you might have intended to say is interrupted by a kiss as passionate as it is seemingly quick. Laughter again breaks it off sooner than he wishes.

"Meine bessere Hälfte, with my child," he murmurs, devotion and disbelief near palpable in his every word, before trailing kisses from your lips to your jaw, across your cheeks and nose before rising up to your eyelids and further up until he reaches the crown of your head. The sensation tickles you, and your squirms only make him laugh even more as one hand of his plants itself on your hip to keep your body close to his. "Mein Schätzelein, you better not be joking with me. You'll see a grown man cry if you are joking with me."

He laughs again, and this laugh you feel all the more when he lifts you off the ground to spin you around once, twice, somehow managing to capture your lips in a tender kiss once again by the time your feet connect with the ground.

For this moment in time, he finds himself in the eye of the storm. Respite, fleeting and heavenly, feels as though it tugs him towards the brink of delirium as he allows his heart to lead him as it may. His kiss lingers, deepens, breaks and starts again for a necessary moment of breath. And he knows this weightlessness he feels will not last. Fear will rise in him again. But fear for his child, for you, briefly withdraws from the present. Guilt for wrongs he has not yet committed and faults he has not yet revealed as a father quiet until, for this wonderful moment, it is temporarily released and forgotten.

"So ends the fun part," he eventually manages to mutter through a soft grin, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he can possibly have you. "Soon it will be aches and tears, messes to clean or prevent."

His tone is coated with a warm sarcasm, but the pinch in his brow implies the truth he anticipates in those words. Yet it is the softness of his smile when paired with a gaze so full of love that assures you in what he says next.

"I look forward to it."

Sigmund, if asked up to the earlier stages of an official relationship, would state that he's indifferent towards having children: fine if he has them and fine if he doesn't. Deep down, however, he is fond towards the idea of having a child or two of his own, but the appeal is dimmed by his fears towards the kind of insufficient or scarring father he might turn out to be (an insecurity rooted in the similarities he shares with his own father).

He doesn’t have an adequate parental role model for guidance, and so he would feel anxiously lost in the balancing act of parenthood: when to protect and when to let his child be free, when to punish and when to forgive, when to wait and when to act. He does not want to be soft on them, but he does not want to be harsh to them either. This stress towards the future would linger, rise, and decline in cycles throughout the pregnancy. In the meantime, he'd at least find some relief in over-prepping for the baby's arrival (trying to garner some sense of control in the midst of his insecure worries) in projects from nursery construction / baby-proofing home design, reading through parenting books, asking to check out local parenting / pregnancy-related classes, meal-prep for his partner, etc.

Ah, but really, the moment Sigmund is able to hold his child in his arms for the first time, experiencing first-hand their little breathes and clingy fingers, all his fear will quiet down into the faintest whisper in the wind in the face of the absolute devotion and papa-bear energy he'll have towards your shared and vulnerable little miracle. A total flip of the switch, like a man born anew, and soon you'll be struggling to pull him away from anything not baby-related as he becomes horribly attached to them and all their needs, quirks, and milestones. And it's best that he enjoys that time of infancy and toddlerdom while he can (when his child is needy towards him for attention, love, and assistance yet is also growing into a more defined individual with an emerging personality and interests in equal amounts) before the (for him) considerably grating years of teenage rebellion and demanded independence. But that's all getting far too ahead of things, haha!

He might attempt to reconnect with his father in response to this news, only for his child's sake (and only with his partner’s permission). There would be no reconciliation in this outreach but, knowing his father, it would be reassuring to have this distant and reliable assistance towards any material needs, comforts, or opportunities for his child to have . . . especially if something were ever to happen to him.

All in all, the anticipation of becoming a father would be a reason for elation with pride in his growing child and ever-growing love for his partner through the trials of parenthood, but it is a quiet contentment often tainted by early and worrisome guilt, fear, and swallowed hopes towards all that is to come - the finite moments of good and the inevitable conflicts he will never be able to take back.

Fun Fact: In the original series, Sigmund eventually had one son. The later years of adolescence with his son were the most contentious, though their relationship eased immensely once his son passed through young adulthood. He had one granddaughter as well in the far future who differed greatly from his son and daughter-in-law when it came to personality, which was a source of some (di)stress for him, haha!

Elouan

There is a moment of cold silence before a weak smirk shapes his lips. The humor it tries to convey does not reach his eyes. No, the truth lies in the challenged composure of his voice, though it is a challenge you alone could ever notice.

"You're joking."

An attempt to call your bluff. You sense the hope behind those words. The hope that it is indeed a bluff: some poor joke he can offer a breathy chuckle towards before waving it aside.

But it isn't. It is real. This child is real, and the truth of this slowly twists his expression into one of tired regret as it becomes undeniable through your firm silence. Regret, and pity.

For you, himself, or the child? Likely for all parties involved in this 'unfortunate' circumstance, or so he would put it.

"You know me, mon amour. You know my . . . reservations."

That is gentle wording on his part, for your sake, but he keeps an even tone as he says it. He maintains a courteous smile, but not eye contact, as his hands fold neatly together.

And it all makes him feel so distant. These are his barriers. Cordiality like this, like strangers, urges the need for concern.

As if sensing your sympathy, he dismisses any notion of distress through a (by his standards, horribly forced) laugh. (It would be a sign for the worse, more concerning still, if he couldn't even attempt to fake it.) And still his eyes cannot meet your own, fixed on some distant image buried into the nearest wall.

"I cannot imagine that you would want to," he starts, but the words die behind the pursed lips of his soured expression. Because perhaps you would want to raise a child with him, and he cannot dare to deny that fact on your behalf. His gaze flickers down to the tightened grip of his joined hands, their scars, and it is as though his entire visage dims in spite of the false smile he flashes.

"I am not fit to be a father," is what he settles on, a statement delivered in calm matter of fact, recited like lines in a prepared script, "As much as I force and welcome change, I remain the same. I am selfish. I am cruel. I am feared, and despised, by others and myself. I am no better than the monsters that raised me. Perhaps I carry this . . . this Curse of the Chevaliers, or whatever we were supposed to fucking be.”

And here his laugh is genuine: bitter, spiteful, and tinged with unaddressed sorrow as the past threatens to resurface. Time has yet to bandage all his wounds . . . And there remains uncertainty in whether it may ever be enough to heal them at all.

“No, I would not condemn a child to my care,” he affirms weakly, his body vaguely curling into itself as his hand partly covers the grimace he wears. Silence softly settles itself, filled instead with quiet thoughts not yet ready to be shared.

When it is broken, it becomes the first time he has managed to meet your gaze with his own. And he looks at you with the love you have become so accustomed to, unshaken and endless, but fear lies behind it all the same.

"You are magnificent.” Here is the moment his smile reflects something genuine, strength seeping into his voice once again. “Anything you put your mind to, you will accomplish with more grace and strength than any other could ever hope to replicate. Any child would be far more than fortunate to have you in their life."

Any trace of softness that graced his features before, a quality so natural whenever he spoke of you, vanished into something cold, adamant, at his next words.

"Whatever you decide, I will be there. But the moment I slip . . . as a father, the moment I am more harm than good, cast me aside as harshly as you see fit."

Elouan cannot name a single parental figure in his life who had been a healthy or stable influence / attachment, all despite having four different options to choose from. He has been shaped by each and every one of them, these individuals who (as much as it pains him to admit for some) had no place in caring for a child. It is Elouan's belief that he, too, is not fit to be a father.

It is his belief that, somehow or another, he will do nothing but cause a child of his own harm or ruin. Even his most well-intentioned guardians, those he is convinced were better people than him, had the very same effect upon him. The responsibility of a life so delicate and impressionable in his hands, scarred in remembrance of all the wrongs and suffering he has wrought onto the unfortunate, vile, and innocent, seems unsuited to him, no matter how repentant or redeemed he and others might claim him to be on any particular day.

But perhaps this all glosses over the deepest horror of all, a lurking truth he fears lies in his heart and soul and may only be unveiled by the arrival of his own child. The potential confirmation that he is no different than his mother, and the possible affirmation of this kindred lack (he declares it to be) would utterly tear him apart to a point of no recovery.

The deepest, truest, manifestation of his fears lies in the possibility of him feeling no love for this child at all: an absence of attachment or care that is instead supplicated by the horror, and humiliation, of forever falsifying some foreign paternal instinct . . . or, somehow worse, not bothering with such a facade at all.

It had taken years for Elouan to accept the fact that his mother was simply not capable of a maternal love for him, that it was not a reversible ‘opposite’ of love she truly held for him (hatred) but a sincere, apathetic detachment from him as though he were little more than a stranger's child playacting as her own. The love he desired could not be forced, and to think that such a love might not only be unnatural from him but impossible as well is a reality he does not dare to tempt.

It is not as though his biological father, or his other parental guardians, offer much reassurance in this realm either: similar either in an absence or diminishment of love, especially when placed at a crossroad with alternate, personal desires. No, Elouan cannot (or, at the very least, struggles to) imagine himself as someone who could consistently, sufficiently place the needs of a child (even his own) above his own - not after he has proven himself to be a lowly, self-interested beast for most his life.

Thus, the thought of an impending child would be considerably distressing for Elouan as a confrontation with his innate and taught nature when given charge of a creature, a small and helpless and unwanted thing born from his love for you, that will either free him from this self-degrading fear or affirm him as everything he has feared himself to forever be.

Fun Fact: Elouan never had any (known) children in the original series, but he warmed up to being an uncle for Sigmund's son, and to the children of other once-close associates as well (in a more distant manner). He would have been the "cool uncle" type with lots of gifts and stories to share, always coming and going without much a 'hello' or 'goodbye' but with an undoubtable love for them all the same.

Fyodor

Your name falls softly from his lips as though it were a prayer.

It is a dream. How could this ever be so? He does not deserve to feel this much joy, so much gratitude and fulfillment that it feels painful to carry it all. He has yet to deserve you. How could he think to be worth the honor of having you carry his child? Loving him had been more than he could ever wish to ask from you.

To have a child with you, and have them be loved you . . .

His lips cannot contain a smile large enough.

His heart, body, and soul cannot contain all the love he feels at this moment for all the world: for you, his child, luck and fate and miracles like the beautiful wonder that is life and the greater bliss that is a life shared with you as a family to this little wonder you've together made.

Never have you seen so much love in his eyes, his wide gaze tearful and searching.

His hands encase your own without a thought, his expression conflicted between blissful elation and giddy shock. His lips fumble over words that cannot be spoken over the sudden urge to sob, the silent tears and their stains around his breathless smile having gone unnoticed by him until now. And this touch is not enough.

His kisses are sudden. Intense, deep, fleeting, and scattered. His hands caress all he can reach: gentle then firm, worshipful and possessive. He curls around you, lifts you, carries you, and loses every sense of himself in all that you are.

Perfection. You and his child, as perfect as any man or creature or disembodied soul could ever hope for the manifestation of their love to be. You, his family, through joined blood and eternal promise. And it is as though, deep within him, a love bottomless and all-consuming that he once held for you alone has multiplied ten-fold, a thousand-fold, more and more, until a love for everything and everyone and every moment of this life in past, present, and future is all he feels.

It is a love that he expresses as much as he can through physical affection showered upon you. If you do not reign him in soon, this celebration will quickly find its way into the bedroom.

Fyodor knows he will not inherit the vices of his father. It is not a concern that crosses his mind. He would never repeat the violence or degradation he experienced at the hands of his father onto his child(ren). Though he will by no means be a perfect father, especially not by his own standards, he will be a father who approaches everything in relation to his child(ren) with a love that is genuine and deep.

In boyhood, Fyodor longed for the day he would have a family of his own. His vision of this dream back then was, of course, quite innocent and idyllic. It stemmed deeply from his desire to escape the environment of his own household and become the man / father his own father never was. Nevertheless, with age, this dream became more independent from the thought of his household and more personal to him as an individual.

To him, there are few expressions of love deeper or more fulfilling than those shared in or through a family. A family is both one's home and heart, loyal bonds meant to nurture and tend to one another in servitude and sacrifice. He cannot imagine a greater purpose than sacrificing all his labor, his riches, and his minutes on this earth in service to the well-being of his very own children and spouse, dedicating his life to their happiness and betterment.

Family, in his mind, offers a means for him to be both virtuously selfless and indulgently selfish. The selflessness, to him, is blatant: the idea of living his life in accordance with the needs and wants of others, his children and spouse, whether by material means (food, house, education, gifts, etc.) or the intangible (attention, time, aid, comfort, etc.). The selfishness, however, comes from the pleasing thought that his family is his. These children and their love are unique to him as their father, unique to him as children born from the love of his life who is reflected in their features, mannerisms, wants, fears, hearts, and souls. His household, his lasting legacy and mark on this earth (or, rather, the only mark and legacy he would truly care to be remembered by) is his alone to cherish as a father may. He is spoiled by their inherent love for him, their natural devotion to him, and is more than happy to return these rare treasures towards them in return. His affection is rewarded through their growth, joy, and care; their smiles and laughter more enriching than anything else (or, at least, anything other than you).

Family is eternal. Its love is unconditional, innate as no other love than that of soulmates can hope to achieve. Always there, undeniable (to him), a deep impression that can cause the heart to sing or ache in the sweetest and bitterest ways. It is a means of joining together as one unit, a seemingly collective being with a shared heart and an ever-growing love for each person added to its fold. The larger, the better, the happier (or so he would say).

Truly, atop all this, there is also nothing that can compare to the innocence of a child which inspires in Fyodor a hope in everything, for everyone, and especially towards himself as a father, husband, and simple, mortal man. Fatherhood is a gift and honor to him alike, and he does not wish to take a moment of it for granted.

Mm, Fyodor would also very much want his mother to be near during the pregnancy, and an oncoming grandchild would helplessly ingratiate her towards the MC regardless of the (sometimes, depending) bitter and cold demeanor she's held towards them. Frightened once by the influence you held over her son, disturbed by yet another force that threatened to tear him further away from her, an arriving grandchild would melt all her defenses as she wishes for nothing more than their happiness and well-being - sacred things (precious things she could not ensure for her own son, leaving her with unappeasable shame and guilt) best aided by settling her displeasures, distrust, and fears towards you for their greater good.

Fun Fact: In the original series, Fyodor had eight biological children: four sons and four daughters, including a set of twins among them. He was also the stepfather to a ninth child he loved as dearly as all his other children. Suffice it to say, he had a lot of grandchildren as well, an approximate seventeen of them! Fyodor held a generally positive relationship with all his children throughout their lives, with unavoidable hiccups here and there for a number of reasons, but each had a unique perception of their connection to him in their own special way: some with pure adoration, some with occasional humiliation, some with unfocused rebellion, some with quiet disappointment, some with buried envy, and so on.

I mean, really, there's so much development I put into all his kids, haha! (๑′ ᴗ ‵๑)♥ In my mind, there had been the prequel-era of Insurrection with Curadora / CARDINALS / Sigmund, the modern-era with Curadora / [spoilers?] / Fyodor, and then the sequel-era with Fyodor's children as its core ensemble cast (the eldest [biological] son of Fyodor, Stepka, often taking the center stage of them all). I had countless AUs for them, their spouses and love stories all detailed, their children developed, just so much overall! I just love them so much, even if they're only as canon as a headcanon now, haha! ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌

Niccolò

. . . Ah, and Niccolò is not applicable in this case! ╮ (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) ╭ But if his partner did decide to use a sperm donor or hire a surrogate (preferably, to him, someone trusted and close to them both), he would be overjoyed to hear that his child is on their way into this world.

Of course, he would prefer to hold off plans for children until some years into the epilogue stage at the earliest, not wishing to so quickly jump from one set of crushing responsibilities to another. He still wishes to travel the world some more (especially when he may freely do so with the MC at his side), satiating his wanderlust as much as possible before settling down into a life of greater stability and routine.

Aha, though even with a child / children, Niccolò will still be the kind of father who frequently and excitedly arranges long-distance vacations to not completely forsake his love for exploration and adventure— and in hopes of transferring his passion into his child(ren) as well. His kid(s) should never expect to have a lazy weekend with Niccolò as their dad, haha!

Fun Fact: In the original series, Niccolò had a more . . . ambiguous end in the eyes of his old friends. Yet, as uncertain as his future was, it would not have been so strange if (many, many years into the future) he and his partner did come to settle down with adopted children of their own, perhaps even finding contentment as foster parents or the caretakers of an orphanage in a calm, quiet corner of the world.

And as a bonus with the minor ROs . . .

Dearil

Try as he might, indifference is difficult to project as the past and future seem to crash down on him all at once. The news first seems akin to a poor joke shared in malice, or some torturous trick to skin back the crude scars of his younger days.

But you would not approach a matter as sensitive as this—as precarious as this—with such disregard for his mental state.

If he had been approached mid-activity, he would resume that task without more than a breath’s pause, his movements mechanical and his expression placid. Whereas his surface doesn’t allow a drop of his emotional turmoil to surface, his thoughts are all-consuming as he relives the torment of his youth.

If unoccupied when approached, he adjusts into a pose of picturesque calm, gaze fixed firmly, harshly, towards his gloved hands.

He considers what this child might become. An inheritor of his will, his gift, or a mixture with your ravenous power. A reclamation of all his ambitions, vicariously achieved through this beast born from your union. Your impending demise: a sacrifice he may remedy, though he would never again be the same once it came to pass.

With the deliverance of this truth, he feels as though he is dying. He feels the mortality that clings to him still. His fragility, his fear. His desperation and longing for what is doomed to die in his care. For what has been lost, and what is impossible for him to regain.

Ruin has no end for him.

“Mea vita, don’t think you can use this against me,” he warns in a near whisper, lips twisted in a false grin with a voice eternally rough and, for you alone, warm despite the sharpness of his tone's edge. “Whatever may come, I will not let anything tear them away from me.”

This so-called death incarnate would be equal parts repulsed and intrigued by the thought of his own child. It harkens back to a time he wants desperately to forget. A time where he was more commodity than child, more animal than god or human. He hates the thought of granting them this victory beyond the grave, yet he cannot deny that his modern interests may align with raising a child of his own blood.

Dearil will express grim solemnity as he ponders what this might promise, and it does not take an observant eye to note his resemblance to a man in mourning (far more than an expectant father). His mind seems to be lost elsewhere, fixated on shadows that he cannot escape. The names of the dead linger on his tongue, murmured when he suspects he is alone, and the memories of them attach themselves to his surroundings. Sometimes, it is as though his gaze cannot register who you are. In his eye, you resemble a ghost more than a lover, a past more than a future.

His moods become mercurial, more so than you have grown used to. Some days are the gentlest he’s ever been: loving, worshipful, trapped in his quiet contemplations of pure devotion to the once-vile divinity he faithfully adores in you. Other times are spent beneath the coldness of his spite: accusative, disgusted, enraged almost towards the sight of the life you carry within you. Detachment and apathy are all he can summon for the unborn child one moment, distaste and revulsion arise in the next, and soon the storm calms into a forbidden sense of longing and hope for its health and happiness before this too vanishes on a whim. One moment is spent with him unable to tear his gaze away from the perfection you project in pregnancy, the next he is repulsed by the sight of your swollenness and what it means for you both. To speak of it (the child) in terms of love leaves his tongue with an acidic taste. To speak of them in terms of spite leaves his stomach weighted with the foreign sentiment of guilt and shame. He loves it all the more for the pain it brings him and hates them all the more for the remorse they cause him.

And it is not right for them to prosper when the other never had a chance. How could they deserve to be loved when his cor et animam, innocent and unborn, never - ? For this all to happen now, with you, seems both a joke and punishment unto him as much as it feels fated and blessed once it has come to pass. And perhaps you very well may live past this with a soul like yours, aided by the possessive bond his own greedy soul shares with you. Your souls, together as one, will endure in this little parasite. He will do all that lies in his power to ensure this is so. And so, as months come to pass, he forces into himself a desire, an acceptance, and a tolerance to this emerging life born from the false love of Death. The tranquility he obtains is fragile, but if nurtured by you, there is very well a chance for it to persist above the turmoil he otherwise suppresses for his own greater good.

Nevertheless, Dearil will feel a possessive claim to his child from the very moment he learns of their impending arrival. The thought of it broadens his perception of the world, breathes into him a semblance of revitalization towards the wants and desires of his past as much as it reawakens old anguishes and unhealed trauma. To him, a child promises a use. A tool made in his image and yours, and what better image could he ever hope for them to replicate? Yes, he will not allow this cursed, miraculous little creature to fall to waste - he will not permit them the fate his own guardians once tried to condemn him into.

Godhood and greatness await them, and he will ensure they grasp it for themself no matter the cost.

My advice: take your child as far from Dearil as you can!

Fun Fact: Dearil did not have any (claimed) children in the original series.

Retriever

His chest rises with a deep breath, and he can't seem to decide whether to grin, laugh, or cry. Messy is a fitting term for his reaction. Euphoric is more accurate.

Gradually, inevitably, all three urges win out, and it's clear that Armend has been reduced into an absolute muddle of raw, rapturous emotions as his belly-deep laughter is interrupted by choked sobs, his all-too-perfect grin glistening beneath tears of pure unbridled joy.

“I love you,” slips past his lips without a coherent thought in his head, “My God, I love you more than anything on this earth!”

There is no finer truth than this. And you know he affirms this not only to you, but to your child as well, small and distant as they may seem to anyone but Armend.

He tries to dry his tears as best he can, sloppily with his burly arms or the shirt he wears, before encasing you wholly in his needy bear hug. Like a furnace, he produces so much warmth that is contrasted with the colder touch of dying tears pressed into the crook of your neck. And his laughter bubbles still as he forced himself into a sense of calm, ticklish and interspersed with kisses light, lingering, heated, and firm.

He sways with you, almost dancing with you, as he continues to spill laughter and unfinished murmurs of absolute adoration.

"I love you," seems to become a soft mantra as he calms down from the high of his emotions. "God, I love you. You're perfect. Everything about you, perfect, and goddammit do I love you!"

Retriever has had pregnancy scares before with his partners, and has met each with nervous excitement, unshakeable concern, and eventual disappointment when it turned out to be nothing more than that - a "scare". Retriever longs deeply for children of his own and could care less if his children were born from years of a strong marriage or a spur-of-the-moment one-night stand. But to have a child with a committed partner he loves so deeply and would want nothing more than to start a family with - you can expect that he'd be nothing less than over the moon.

There'd be much whooping and hollering from him after this announcement. For him, it’s as though the whole world has suddenly become all the more beautiful and vibrant as it anticipates the arrival of his child. He'd be shouting the news from the rooftops, announcing it out windows, and sharing it with anyone he passes by even into the next (several) day(s). Aha, and in regard to his family, he'll likely be buzzing with non-stop anticipation towards telling all of them the 'very good news', only to then get caught up in a feedback loop of positive energy when outmatched in his excitement by some of them (or not, depending on the MC, maybe, haha!).

He has waited for this moment for what seems like most of his life. This dream, goal, and once-hopeless desire that always seemed to slip away or lie just beyond his reach has finally arrived in a manner that cannot be any more perfect. It seems that fate, or a greater plan, just kept him waiting until he could start this dream with you and this world you have together fought to make. Outside of excited pacing to ramble and shake off excess energy, good luck having him anywhere but glued to your side with cuddles, kisses, massages, etc. for some time.

Fun Fact: Retriever had one child in the original series, though the two would never meet.

Bones

His eyes narrow as his focus flickers between your expression and stomach. His lips drag themselves into a cold sneer without a conscious thought, contrasting darkly with the quiet, self-directed fury in his eyes.

"Shit."

In the eyes of Bones, any child born of his blood would be nothing short of an (unwanted) abomination . . . a conviction that could only be challenged if other parent happened to be a deeply (begrudgingly) beloved Mockingbird (particularly if they had a positive opinion towards the pregnancy). It is the same condemnation his father held towards him from birth, but at least he has a (slim) likelihood of on day overcoming this instinctual disgust towards any child of his.

His instincts tell him to leave. In that moment, in the middle of the night, as soon as this unborn child is all too real or while it's still far enough to seem detached from reality. If anyone other than the MC were with his child, he would vanish from their life without a trace, leaving a sum of cash for a termination and a note firmly urging them to end the pregnancy for their own sake.

He might request to have time alone to digest this information before discussing anything else further, practically pleading (if the MC is resistant towards letting him go off on his own) to be allowed some solitude to organize his thoughts and emotions. He would very much be bottling a storm of conflicted emotions in the MC's presence, not wanting you to take any blame for whatever he might express in this state of mind.

His second instinct (once alone) takes some thought into account, and it urges him to provide any and all assistance his partner (emotional, financial, etc.) needs to pursue a termination of the pregnancy.

If this is a firmly rejected avenue, and the MC is determined to at least carry the child to full-term, then he is trapped between denial towards the situation, regret over his carelessness, and a frustration over possessing the same fears he used to despise in his own father.

Mm, though Bones is generally very negative towards the thought of having a biological child, he isn't necessarily against having children. He certainly does not hope to be a father as a young adult, far too occupied with turmoil internal and external to be a healthy parental figure. If he had a child in the timeline of the main narrative, he would more than likely be a disgruntled deadbeat of a father. (In that sort of case, Hopscotch would go out of his way to assume a sort of "godfather" type of role to Elov's child, hoping to befriend the other parent as well so he might remain in the child's life . . . maybe hoping to keep an avenue open for them to one day connect + reconcile with Elov in the far, far future.)

Neither is Bones against the prospect of, later in life, adopting or fostering children if his partner so wishes, or even having a surrogate / sperm donor provide a biological child for the MC. Past the epilogue stage, he would appreciate in-depth discussions about these options if children were so important to his partner. Even then, however, his reaction would be, though not cold, cool and, though not regretful, doubtful.

His core reservation would be children who have the potential to inherit his gift (knowing the toll it takes on the pregnant partner - especially a partner he cares about - and the lifelong consequences to the child themself). It's not a chance he wants to take, and he firmly desires to be the end of his gifted bloodline - or to at least contribute to his bloodline's end in whatever way he can. Still, no matter what, you'll have a free extra set of hands to help with child-rearing from Hopscotch . . . and Scales by extension if this is the epilogue stage (depending on the state of those two by that time).

But, accidents happen, and if the MC were to insist on carrying and raising his biological child . . . Elov would stick around, somehow even more quiet and subdued than he had been before. Good luck wrangling him down to have a healthy discussion about his reaction though. (；´∀｀)

Fun Fact: Bones had no children in the original series. He was, however, a somewhat beloved, and sometimes feared, grouchy, stern, and reluctant uncle-figure to the children of Hopscotch.

#tw: pregnancy #ro #c: akil #c: sigmund #c: elouan #c: fyodor #pregnancy ask #c: dearil #c: retriever #c: bones

56 notes · View notes