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chiliyue-archived · 1 year

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One more kiss or maybe three

↬sometimes Riddle needs the reminder to rest

Includes; Riddle Rosehearts

GN!Reader

Tags; early bday gift for @cupids-chamber but anyone can read it <3

[Twst M.List] ♡

Clack clack clack

The sound of pen meeting paper, you came to learn, was rather obnoxious when listening to the same drone again and again and again. What hour was it now? You'd had lost sense of time as minutes molded into an impeccably long hour.

Your scarlet lover was a busy one, you couldn't hold it against him for the hefty amount of duties he had to perform now and again; however, such responsibilities kept you waiting beyond the hours of twilight just so you can bid a goodnights rest with him by your side.

Riddle Rosehearts would scoff at this behavior, finding it rather unhealthy(while he himself failing to recognize the hypocrisy in his words). His mouth would move in slow drawls, urging you to sleep in his absence and that he mustn't keep you from your subconscious.

" My rose, it is unwise to force yourself awake. Please get some sleep. I will join you soon." The words left him nonchalantly, his eyes stilling on the words dipped within the parchment. He moved his pen to position it upon the page, gliding it with ease whilst his free hand fiddled with spare documents.

Such concerns would fall on deaf ears and a cordial, " It's alright, I can wait," would slip from your lips. And such responses would coax a tingle of guilt to gnaw on Riddle's mind.

He truly felt awful for keeping you awake at late hours for his own needs, but a dormleaders' work is an upmost task. Even at the betrayal of his desires.

Tonight, his workload just happened to more than usual, he wasn't fond of it of it but it couldn't be helped.

However, while also acting upon the role of leadership, he also had to uphold his role - arguably similar in prestige - his academic studies. Normally, the Roseheart boy would plow through his paperwork and coursework with ease albeit with droopy eyes and buckling knees at the end of it - however, for reasons he struggled to fathom, his duties only doubled that week. His mother would certainly be displeased.

You were not blind to the way his shoulders sagged with each document he filed away, his fingers becoming sluggish, and the writing was starting to become ineligible. Nor did you turn a blind eye to small yawns he gave or the way his eyes flickered to the clock - a look of disappointment would flash on his features at just how much time has passed. And how much work was still left. It was evident in his stature, dropping with the weight of gravity.

"Perhaps we should turn in for the night." You mumbled your concerns, vacating the seat and instead coming to lean beside him. From this new angle, you could clearly see the bags in his eyes, taunting him in a display of mockery. The temptation to kiss it away was compelling, and your knuckle went to brush aside his stray strands.

Though your lover was the stubborn one, it didn't surprise you when he replied; " I will finish here soon, but please get some rest yourself."

Despite his laud achievements, even he couldn't suppress the urge to recline against your touch as your fingers ran along his sculp. A hum escaped him the more your nails lightly slaved to rose colored strands. And while he's been privy to such actions many times before, a light pink nonetheless doused his cheeks, deepening the longer your ministrations persisted.

You couldn't help but grin when he placed the mountain pen down, his eyes squeezing shut soon following. In a show of tenderness, a gloved hand reached out for your own.

Muscle memory kicked in, his lips pressing to the flat of your hand like he had done so, so many times at unbirthday parties. It still made his heart quake in a candor he struggled to scribe words upon - but it made his stomach tumble over a stirring of emotions.

He came to associate those emotions with a sense of warmth. It tickled and squeezed his heart far more than anything else did, and the feeling was palpable even long after your touch withdrew. It was embedded in hot streaks, cascading down his spine and coaxing mild shivers in his wistful reminiscent moments. It was unsavory how it would soon fade away, merciless to time - however, he never had to wait too long until he felt your familiar touch once again.

Silver eyes glanced at the ticking clock. It was terribly late indeed.

A sigh of resignation slipped him - and that's how you knew you won. " I suppose I should credit myself some leisure time." His murmur came out more to himself than to you and his head dipped in consideration.

A silence shrouded over the room. Before long, his gaze directed back to you, cheeks stretching to accommodate a gentle smile.

He was still getting used to that - smiling. For something so humane, it felt oddly alienated to him. But he was slowly familiarizing himself with it. He noted how the gesture was always flickered to his lips when he was in your presence. Smiles were associated with joy or some form of saccharine feeling. You had always filled him with vitality, so it only made sense.

He can't clearly recall when he last smiled prior to attending the school. His mind went vacuous whenever he called upon the memory. He does, however, remember having a nose stuck within a book at all times with his mother's voice in the background.

Still, the emotions you stirred meandered in a questioning trail. The abstruse truth was far from his knowledgeable mind, but he wasn't too frightened by that.

His reverie halted as your hands peeled him away from his desk, lightly tugging off the accessories that clung to his person. Afterward, you gave Riddle the time to properly dress into his night clothing.

You were already in bed when you felt the mattress dip in weight. Instinctively, his body arched to meet yours, hands - now freed from its gloves - moving around your waist. His pulse echoed in his ear as your chest pressed against his own, your head finding solace on his shoulder.

The gaze you sent him heated his body far more than the thick blanket did. It was punctuated by the fanning of your breathing - caressing his collarbone at regular intervals. Without realizing it, his hand had gravitated to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered. He didn't want to lose your touch just yet.

" Can I get a goodnight kiss?" He chatised himself with how shy his voice left him; however, it complimented the reddening of his cheeks even in the poorly lit setting.

You laughed softly to yourself, your "of course" barely audible. Leaning up, you pressed your lips to his carefully - he still had the faint sweet taste of jam from earlier. Riddle's hand traveled down to the dip of your back, holding you in place even as you withdrew.

" Another one, please?"

He was terribly pliant to your kisses despite being unable to admit it outloud. Even your touches yielded a similar effect and even more so your words. His penchant to your affection was unmatched, and your love felt like slices of dessert. His stomach grows full yet perpetually more greedy for each taste. And his heart feels even fuller in yearning of you. Just you.

He has heard a saying before that home was where the heart is. When envisioning home, his hometown residence always came to his mind in full clarity. The same place that stripped him of his empathy and tailored him to a life curated not by his own wants but his mother's.

And yet, he was also greeted by your gentleness. Reconstructing his marred understanding of emotions with patience and rewarding him with your love - even when he was greatly so undeserving of it.

As you press pecks along his warming cheeks, Riddle couldn't help but wonder if home was where you were. You had ownership of his heart, that much was certain. And you cradled it gently even when his demons surfaced.

And for a second, he pondered how much of a future he held with you. He questioned how much of his reverie was fatuous thinking as a means of satisfying his heart and how much it would be truly possible. Selfishly, he made a silent plead for it to be latter.

But for now, he centered his foucs back to you. For right now home was with you in this bed - smothering him kisses and leaving him breathless until sleep eventually overtook him.

He hopes to have you in his dreams.

A/n; sorry if this is just a bleh of words. I've been writing for the past idk hours. Poorly proofread too

Feedback is appreciated !!

Anyways, happy birthday, love/p. I hope this made you smile:)

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle imagines #twst fluff #twst imagines #twst x y/n #riddle fluff #twst oneshot #twst scenarios #riddle Rosehearts fluff #twisted wonderland fluff

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cinnamonest · 1 year

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//breeding, very heavy focus on impreg + pregnancy/motherhood stuff, sort of in conjunction with [this post] as well as [this post]

Happy (one day belated) Mother's Day, let's celebrate the joys of motherhood :)

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Childe has no concept of a small family. At least, not of it being acceptable.

It's part of the culture of certain nations' rural areas, Snezhnaya being one of them. Everyone in the rural, smaller town regions strives to have big families. Maybe it originates from a rougher climate leading to a need for ensuring the survival of one's lineage, or something like that, but regardless, for Snezhnayan men, having a lot of kids is one of those masculine pride things, and by contrast, not having lots of kids is unthinkable, shameful even.

So, of course, he's long since decided on having a large family. He's wanted it for so long, but his work has prevented him from following the other tradition that rural areas and smaller towns in all nations are known for... you know, marrying and starting to have kids practically the millisecond one reaches adulthood.

He's young, sure, most people would think him too young for that sort of thing, but in his mind, he's grown up seeing people marrying and starting families at very young ages to be normal, expected. Which means he's missing out on what he's more or less entitled to. He knows from visits home that all the kids he grew up with are already marrying and having kids at his own age. But is he going to let his position stop him? Of course not. So, truthfully, he had this in the back of his mind for some time, and he just so happened to take the opportunity that presented itself.

In other words, you were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and just so happened to not only fit a list of physical preferences that caught the wrong person's eye, but also just happened to be so defiant, so resistant, and far too often cold and mean. Perhaps if you hadn't been, he might have left you alone. If you had just entertained his fantasies, even in word only, he might have had a bit of pity on you, felt a shred of guilt at the thought of tearing you away from your life.

How ironic that a defense mechanism you intended to deter him, would have ignited the very urges you wanted to extinguish, an unintended consequence of applying normal tactics to a sick mind.

But regardless, you just happened to meet, and thus now you're here. That's what he tells you, after whisking you away and bringing you to live with him, constantly pulled from one dark room to another between his room on the ship, Fatui bases, hotels in various regions, and every other place he spends the night. Not with that exact wording of course, no, he's got that excitable, almost childish romanticized view of things, he portrays it as aligned fates, that you were destined to cross paths at the right time.

It's part of one big long spiel you get. The whole you're going to stay here and nothing you can do will change that part is spoken very quickly and nonchalantly, while he treats the other parts with much more importance, namely his intentions for the future.

That being, you're going to have a big family and have lots of his kids. That you'll be a mother. He says it very happily, like you're a young just-married couple or something, like the living scenario you have is normal, like you're here of your own volition.

It does take you by surprise at first — you had thought you were being taken as more of a sex slave than anything, but quickly find you're being treated more like a spouse, in a... really odd way. That, too, is done with a blissful but casual attitude, as if he's almost unaware of the gravity of the crime being inherently committed by having you here... although you suppose people like him are more or less above the law. He announces his arrival when he returns each day, is very affectionate towards you, laughs off any hostility from you as if it's a grumpy little kitten making a fuss, not a human being with a very justified reason for vitriol.

He's very transparent and straightforward with you, it's not like he's trying to slowly ease you into it or enact his wishes without telling you what will happen, no. No deception. No avoidance of the topic. And not a single shred of willingness to compromise.

No consideration of how you may feel about that matter. It's not a discussion, it's telling you. Merely communicating information that is already set in stone. The information is laid on you so fast and suddenly that your mind is left reeling. First you're forcibly fucked and dragged here, now you're being told it's permanent and oh by the way get ready to start the rest of your life as some mother-slave-wife amalgamation?

It's too much for you to handle. What's even more baffling is that even as you protest, he just blows it off like it's nothing, like this isn't an incredibly grave, serious ordeal.

B-but... I don't want--

Ah, you think that now, but you'll be happy, promise.

But... but you can't just do this to me!

Yeah? What are you gonna do to stop me? Haha....

That all still doesn't give you quite the same extent of nausea compared to the next set of information you're given.

Even if you were familiar with the cultural norm, you didn't realize the sheer extent. You knew he had like, what, six or seven siblings? That strikes you as a large number, so it fits with what you're aware of regarding the norm.

You didn't realize that was an average number to them. Not until he told you so, in the midst of his ramblings about your future, when you gathered the courage to ask what he means by "big" when the words big family come out of his mouth.

He pauses, looks up pensively. Well, anything less than five is small, he says, anything from five to eight is about the median, and anything above that is when you finally get to be considered to be "above average". So his family, with seven or eight or so kids total, is kind of in the middle, about average, in his own words.

But he wants a big family. So, you know, gotta at least hit double digits.

He says it very casually, like it's no big deal. He's too excited to notice the look on your face, at least not for a few seconds, finally turning to you after realizing your stunned silence.

Mm? Something wrong?

...That... that's... I can't...

But your protests are quickly brushed off again. Sure you can. Your body is perfectly capable, so what would be stopping you? You're just worrying too much. Don't think about it so much, just... lay back and let it happen.

In most regional cultures of any nation, people do tend to at least plan families — they save up a bit first to make sure they have enough money, they calculate the gap between when they have a first and second child, often not wanting to wait too long so that the children will have more time and similarity to bond, but not so soon that the added responsibility overwhelms the parents.

That's not something that crosses his mind. He has no reason to worry about finances, sure, but he also pays no mind to questions like is this really an environment to raise a kid in? Is the tsaritsa okay with that? Where will they stay?

Eh... that's all stuff that can be dealt with another time. He tends to take the philosophy of crossing bridges when he gets to them. Baby-planning later, baby-making now.

And nothing you can say deters him. Yes you'll be a good mom (don't worry, he'll make sure you behave exactly like he thinks a good mother should), yes you'll be fine, the Fatui has some of the best doctors in the world, so you'll be great health-wise, actually. Yes he has the resources.

And no, he's not waiting. You have this weird insistence on this idea that you should have a period of time where you just... aren't even trying to have kids. Is that normal, where you're from? Do people really get together, get married and live together and not immediately start trying for a baby? Won't that detract from the maximum number of kids you can have in the end? Then why would anyone do that? When he asks that very question, though, you don't really have a good answer, to him at least. You can't just rush something like that, is what you say.

But... of course you can? That's what he's trying to do, rush it so you can go ahead and get a head start and have more and more kids in the future. It's like talking to a brick wall. He cannot process, cannot fathom how people can exist for whom making as many offspring as possible isn't the number one priority in life. Well, whatever, it seems you just have these weird cultural ideas you're not going to let go of, so there's no point in trying to reason with you.

His determination is somewhat obsessive. Even when he's inside you, hips bouncing off the back of your thighs, he keeps talking about it, words slurring as he mumbles something about putting a baby in you, knocking you up, so on and so on, all the while, gripping at your hips and making sure to slam all the way in as far as possible when he finally cums inside you. Maybe he's already accomplished that, who knows, but he has to just keep trying until it's certain, so you only get a few minutes of respite before starting back again.

No condoms. No pulling out, even though you beg for him to do so. Whimpering and pulling at his hair, pushing at his chest, all night long, over and over.

N-not yet, please, I'm not ready, I can't...

Your pleas are partially just for the very sake of not wanting that, but of course, there's also the fact that you realize it will be a death sentence to any hope of escaping him. You've been looking for ways to do it since you were dragged here a day or so ago, you can't let this inhibit you. You just need some more time, just a little bit of time...

You don't get that time.

It doesn't take long. He's young and virile, so, perhaps that's why you don't even get a single cycle from the time you get brought to him. The realization hits you like a punch to the stomach. At first, you don't say anything, deciding not to bring the matter up unless he does, partially out of your own denial, and partially because seeing him get inevitably excited will irritate you.

Apparently, they must have some rather atrocious reproductive education out in rural Teyvat too (or, rather, you realize it's probably just fine, and it's more the fact that he probably paid no attention), seeing as he had no idea that that is the standard tell, instead asking you hey, is there a way you can tell if you're pregnant? Do you just wait for your stomach to get bigger or...? and thus, you had to reluctantly explain that.

You can sort of see the gears turning in that otherwise empty head of his. You've been here two months now... you haven't bled at all in that time (he would know, he's been fucking you multiple times a day)... so that means...? You can practically see his eyes light up before he reaches out and wraps his arms around you. He's ecstatic for the rest of the night, won't shut up about all the things you're going to do. You feel sick.

Not that this information in any way impedes him from continuing to empty his balls in you on a daily basis, no. It doesn't slow down in the slightest. In fact, you were sort of hoping he would get turned off the further along you got, since you know that happens with a lot of guys... but not him. No, if anything, you're pretty sure you have more rounds per day the further along you are, sometimes he'll just look you up and down, staring at your belly for a few moments with a haze in his eyes before more or less dragging you over to bed -- and it's not like you can resist much, you're all wobbly as it is...

And, of course, any negativity from you is shut down on the spot. At first, he mistakes it for nervousness -- don't worry! It'll be fine! He can recite those words with ease, over and over, telling you to just not worry about it is his default answer to any concern you have. But once you start getting a bit more openly negative, making it clear it's an attitude issue from you, and finally crossing a line when you outright state you never wanted this, and thereby implying the most heartless and callous thing he can conceive of, that you're going to be resentful of him and your child... it's one of the few times you ever see him not all smiles and sunshine about the whole thing. A complete change of expression, face going dark, eyes narrowing. He grabs your jaw with a grip so firm it hurts.

Don't say that.

It's one of the few times you've seen him so serious and firm. It makes your heart skip a beat.

But almost as soon as he says it, he's back to being cheery... ah, you're just grumpy because you're hormonal and all that. You're lucky he has thick skin. Besides, you're too cute to take your grouchiness seriously, haha... what's that look for...?

And soon, you find yourself in a state of dissociation, having to process and accept reality once you have a living, breathing infant in your arms. It's not until that moment that the reality truly sets in, that you can feel your fate being sealed, that you realize this is actually, genuinely the beginning of the rest of your life.

You try not to dwell on that.

It's hard not to, though, considering that you barely get any time to rest, being pestered each day with questions of how many more days left until the doctor said you can have sex again?? Because he's suffering and miserable. He was devastated to find out you can't go back to it in less than 24 hours, no one ever told him about that part. And you don't even seem to sympathize with him, are you heartless? Yes you gave birth five days ago and he's been very loving and taking care of you and all but haven't you thought at all about how this is affecting him? Yes you sucked him off because the whining was getting annoying but it's not the same, he needs pussy you don't understand, why are you looking at him like you're mad— did you just say "weeks?" As in plural? As in more than one week? Surely you didn't mean that, it can't be that long, right? Why aren't you saying anything. It can't be that long, it can't—

So he fucks you like a man starved when you finally give a green light. It does burn a bit, after having gone a while without getting so ruthlessly stretched and pounded as he always does to you. You're pretty sure he doesn't know his own strength, doesn't realize the sheer intensity of the force with which he grips your hips and arms and throat and presses your face into the mattress and fucks into you with such strength the whole bed creaks as it rocks back and forth. You'll be covered in bruises and sore spots in the morning, just from the grip.

And you notice the way his fingernails dig into your hips, holding your bodies as close as possible, the closer and closer you both get. You feel a sense of dread. You try to reach up and tap on his arm.

D-don't cum inside, it's too soon... I need more time, I'm not ready yet, please—

Just a little bit of time, just some time to feel like you can finally breathe, but once again, you don't get that time.

Shh... don't think about it... just focus on how good it feels, okay?

You whimper, but you're incapable of pushing him off, only able to make soft little sounds of protest when he stops fully inside, making sure not a drop goes to waste when he stuffs you with cum. He stays inside you for some time, not pulling out so as to prevent any from spilling. Just like he did before. And he holds you, rubs your back, says soothing little mumbled things about how you worry too much while you sniffle and tremble.

And then there's two.

He does take quite a bit of pride in it. That applies when you're alone too, he likes to lay his head on your stomach laying in bed and will just relax there for a while, grinning like an idiot. But it applies to others too; it's somewhat of an ego boost to have other people see what he views as an accomplishment. He likes showing you off in general, but he's especially happy to parade you around whenever you're very heavily swollen up. It's some sort of ego thing, you guess.

He likes getting to show off the kids too, a testament to a sort of success. It's a very simple-minded sort of pride, almost humorously so, you often think to yourself. A simplistic mentality of look at these! I made these!, almost a childish pridefulness.

Which, frankly, gets on your last nerve, how he loves to run around forcing his reluctant and rather annoyed coworkers to look at his offspring and listen to him ramble, so beamingly proud of the kid that you carried and you birthed and you care for and you feed and bathe and put to sleep, so proud of their existence as if he did anything to contribute to said existence other than being a sperm depository.

And then there's three, and then there's four, and then you get the special blessing of two at once. You think to yourself with bitter humorousness that you're over halfway to the set standard. And then there's another... and another... the realization even strikes you, a few years in, that since beginning your "new life," you've spent more time pregnant than not pregnant, information that you spend far too long taking in the weight of.

It's an incredibly awkward living situation — you basically were granted what used to be a few interconnected rooms they'd house a few bunk-bed-fuls of soliders in, turned into a sort of apartment-esque dwelling. It's where you carry out most of your tasks and live your life. You never get a break, always getting another one pumped into you as soon as it's physically possible again.

With him gone most of the days, and you having no job to speak of, you've essentially taken on a housewife role, and spend most of your day caring for the increasing number of offspring, each and every one of which, to your dismay, quickly proves to have inherited a rambunctious, hotheaded, and far too energetic nature. You will reluctantly admit, he does actually help you out quite a bit when he can, and genuinely enjoys doing so. You suppose you can admit he's actually more involved and enthusiastically helpful than a lot of fathers are... you don't give him the satisfaction of such praise, though.

Still, he's just gone for most of the day on most days, so you have to do it by yourself, or enlist whichever unfortunate newbie soldier has not yet learned to not go wandering around that one area, lest they be roped into helping out that poor slave-mother-girl that lives in that section with all those energetic kids, so they try to warn newcomers... still, some actually still offer to help, if nothing but out of pity.

Most of the time, though, it's just you and the ever-increasing number of children. You felt bad the first time you called one by the wrong name. They all look so much alike — and each one is so close together in age to the next immediate older and younger one — that you get confused sometimes, and it quickly becomes a habit, but they're quick to correct you. And you do end up loving them — you suppose that's just instinct — but sometimes... it's just too much. You can't get a spare second. You feel exhausted.

You're constantly moving, taking care of something. This one fell and scraped his knee and comes crying and blubbering to you, and you're still bandaging that up and mumbling words of comfort when you get a tug on your sleeve from behind you — Mama, I'm hungry — and you barely finish saying just a minute, I'll get you something before another one is calling for you from another room — MamaaaaAAAAAA — and soon you're holding one in each arm (a more difficult task than usual considering you're heavily pregnant again), waddling over to go check on the one that called you, and then another one comes softly shuffling over with a look what I found!, and you know it's going to be something very simple like a cool-shaped rock or leaf like always, but you don't want to hurt the poor thing's feelings and want him to be happy so you stand there smiling and feigning interest and awe and pretending it's the neatest thing ever while your arms start to tremble from the strain of holding two heavy sacks of flesh in each arm -- still trying to soothingly bounce the sniffling one up and down a bit -- and the other one is saying something but you can't make it out because three of them are talking at the same time and oh god where's the fifth and sixth ones because you told them to hang on when you went to bandage the first one and now you don't see either one and is the seventh one still asleep where you left him or not and you start to panic and -- hang on just a second, ______ -- no, I-I mean, ______ -- no, wait, uh... which one are...you're -- uh --

You feel like you're going insane. Each and every day wears you out in full.

When you finally get that rare, wonderful moment in which you can get all of them asleep at once, finally go lay down to try and get a much needed rest yourself... you always seems to have such precise timing, you barely close your eyes before the door opens and you get the announcement that your lover who you certainly must have missed is home, and what do you know, everything is so quiet, this gives you two an opportunity to make another one!

The only downside for him is that sometimes, the existing offspring have a habit of interrupting the sibling-making process... so, sometimes some poor underling (rather, usually, they need at least two or three to control them all) gets saddled with a command to entertain and herd the harbinger's offspring when he takes a day off, giving you two a day to yourselves... not to go out or anything, no. You usually spend the entirety of those days in bed, going at it like rabbits again and again.

And again. And again. Sometimes you get summoned by some underling to follow because his superior needs you for "something important," which you both know is just getting fucked over a desk or in a hallway closet because he has needs you know, and it's torture to have to wait until he can come back for the evening. Stuffs you full of cum and rests his head on your chest for a moment to recharge (they're so nice, all soft and swollen, more or less perpetually so these days), before sending you back, promising to hurry and come back for the night as soon as possible.

Oh, and you don't even get the respite of having him gone at times whenever he has to go abroad. No, he brings you with him... yes, all of you. He insisted, and eventually the few authorities above him gave in and now reserve a few extra rooms all next to each other on the ships and hotels. You don't mind that too much. It's basically just a vacation for the lot of you, and that's what you tell the kids it is too... at least they're more easily entertained than usual by looking out the window, which gives you chances to rest.

Ajax likes those trips too. He's usually more worked up and frustrated by the end of the day, and what better way to blow that steam off than to come back and breed your wife-pet again and again? He smiles when he tells you you should use these trips to set a new goal of making at least one kid in every nation. You know better than to think it's a joke.

When the people you're allowed to interact with and meet ask you how many children you have, you often have to pause and recall what number you're on now. Regardless, the answer always makes people's jaws drop. At least most of them know not to ask you why, since they seem to be well aware it's not a choice on your part. Sometimes people commend you for it, say something about how it must be so hard. Your eye twitches. You have no idea. Haha.

Everything happened so fast, the full weight of it all doesn't really dawn on you until one day, for seemingly no reason. Woken up in the early morning by crying, the same way you're woken up roughly 9 out of 10 mornings, groggily shuffling out of bed, tending to whatever the issue is before shuffling back to bed... you catch a glimpse of yourself in the window, the dark circles under your eyes, and for once, the rare sight of yourself not heavily swollen up. Still, your face is exhausted, the sort that sleep can't fix.

The reality of it settles in — you've been so busy with everything happening, you never really got to process how much time has passed, how deep into this life you've settled... you supposed in the back of your head, even after accepting the current reality, you kept this mentality that you'd still find a way out one day, but in that moment, you realize all too late that that will never happen. Even if you had the chance — and looking back, it occurs to you now you've had many chances to run — you could never bring yourself to abandon them... you get the sense that's part of his intention. It's just never really settled in in full until this moment.

Still, all you can do is stand there, trying to despair, but almost too numb to do so... you let out a heavy sigh and let yourself fall back into bed, pulling a blanket back over you and settling back into the warmth. Your weight falling onto the mattress makes it bounce a bit, causing your bedmate to stir, groggily moving closer to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close.

He murmurs something asking you if the kid is okay, you say yes, and then it moves onto asking what time it is, you say you don't know but it's definitely not time to get up just yet... on it goes, both of you with your eyes closed and words coming out groggy and mumbled. You can almost sort of enjoy the soft tenderness of the moment, if you forget a lot of what went into this life you live.

The exchange draws quiet after a moment, and you begin to drift back off to sleep, slowly breathing in and out in time with the rising and falling of the chest pressed to your back. You're just about to slip into slumber once again when you feel the arm wrapped around you move, hand coming to rest on your hip and slowly trail down your thigh.

Hey, I want another baby....

#chlde rambling while holding a human infant up like the baby lion harassing the other harbngers with the existence of his offspring #the tsritsa has had to specify that asking if anyone has anything important to share at meetings does not include personal life updates #and/or forcing coworkers to look at baby photos #also i realize its criminal that i didnt have a momcon post for mothers day but i had to get this thought out #rest assured ill be back on the momcon agenda soon #.ch

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grey-has-rusted · 1 year

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I was tagged by @jewishspiderwoman to make a playlist using each letter of my url ^_^

Gravity Rides Everything - Modest Mouse

Rosemary - Deftones

Empire - Black Angels

Yelling in My Ear - Operation Ivy

Hills of Eternity - Buckethead

Am I A Man Or Not? - USA Nails

Stella Was A Diver And She Was Always Down - Interpol

Rickets - Deftones

Untrust Us - Crystal Castles

Slave Boga - Trivalia

Tour de France - Kraftwerk

Everlong - Foo Fighters

Dream Catchers - Title Fight

Tagging @the-raven-is-rotting, @alliecatz, @listired, @ppriesttess, @louyook, @withering-wendigo, @fiesty-fishbiscuit, @androvampyre and anyone else who wants to do this :]

#thanks for tagging me! this was fun to do (albeit a bit difficult)#i had a hard time finding a song that started with the letter 'y' jsdsjdsj

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raiyine · 2 years

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SHORT STORY: Interview with a Mad Doctor by Somer Canon

View On WordPress

#foyer #Guest Post #Halloween #Halloween Extravaganza #Halloween Extravaganza 2022 #Halloween frivolities #Halloween shenanigans #Interview with a Mad Doctor #Killer Chronicles #Short Story #Slaves to Gravity #Somer Canon #The Hag Witch of Tripp Creek #Wesley Southard #You&039;re Mine

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dnd-smash-pass-vs · 4 months

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Got a whole photoshoot. They're one of like 5 monsters who updated art when making the MPMM, so you get old and new art!

These are philosopher monks with psychic powers. They live in the plane of chaos, holding entire cities together in endless chaos storms using sheer willpower and dedication. They're fiercely loyal, so anti-fascist it changed their species, put a high value on personal freedom, and their special martial art lets them see a few seconds into the future. Just enough to course-correct when they're about to mess up. Their many monks also get psionics like mage hand, and the most powerful even control gravity!

These are the ones who broke out of mindflayer slavery and said "Wait we already won the war for freedom, why are you still attacking everyone? Are those SLAVES? This is our chance to build a culture, not just become the new masters, what kind of animal farm bullshit is this?" They fought, but eventually got chased out by the dragon riding military. They were so strongly opposed to fighting thier fascist family and breaking the cycle of becoming like their abuser that they warped into a new species. Though that might've just been from untold millenia in a chaos dimension. Still, I figured it was relevant to tumblr interests.

#githzerai #dnd #dnd5e #DnD 5e #d&d #smash or pass #5e #monsters of the multiverse #mpmm

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nocturn-warrior · 3 months

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Kiss of seedcake• 🌧

Lotor x f!reader

Summary: building a life with Lotor on Earth after the galras were defeated, you decide to try for a child :)

Rating: fluff, smut (breeding kink)

Notes: this is set after season 8 events, in a timeline where my boy Lotor didn't die and lives happily with u on Earth. This smut has a plot.

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and lactation, body changes mentions, mentions racism towards Lotor, my grammar because i am not a native speaker lmao

since Sendak and his army was completely defeated thanks to Voltron and their allies. And with an extra help of the space visitors, human kind quickly rebuilt its structures, combining the advanced technologies of their new colleagues with their own. Flying vessels, space travels and colonies, complex security AI systems and media were a great leap in history.

Not surprisingly, interspecies relationships emerged among the coexistence of humans and extraterrestrials, besides it was a taboo for some people, the most conservative ones, you could easily spot a human walking and a balmeran holding hands on the streets. But as expected, racism towards the space visitors was a thing, especially towards the galra people.

Being blamed for the death of so many, even not having affiliation with Sendak’s deadly army, the purple skinned people were a target to bigotry not just coming from humans but also from other extraterrestrials. With your partner Lotor, it wasn’t different. Making public appearances together, you could feel the reproved gaze of your peers, judging the nature of your relationship as disgusting, selfish. Some showed concern, fearing Lotor could harm you in any way, while others called you an enemy, a traitor for engaging yourself to an individual of a species that slaved, tortured and killed so many in the galaxy.

As the only begotten son of emperor Zarkon, so many wanted his head for what his father caused during centuries, and for reprehensible actions of his own. You were constantly reminded of Lotor’s thirst to acquire quintessence and what he did to reach his goals, the hundreds of alteans locked in tanks he utilized as cattle to harvest the substance. The United Planets Council decided he would not receive death penitence or be locked for his crimes, but he should be exiled.

“Exiled… I am used to this condition”

It was better this way; though Lotor wanted and deserved redemption, not everyone including the paladins would accept it easily. When you established you would not abandon him, they immediately intervened reminding you of what his family caused to everyone, of what your late friend princess Allura would want. You were tired of it all. You loved Lotor and wanted to keep him safe, even if it means cutting connections with your friends. You couldn’t risk having your boyfriend stabbed from behind by a vengeful self-proclaimed punisher.

Lotor understood the gravity of his actions he didn’t even tried to defend himself. But he repined every day about how quintessence drove him mad, crazy for power, and that those moments of madness showed up as nothing but foggy memories in his mind. It broke your heart to see Lotor eager to be accepted in this new multispecies society, but being doomed by his past. Deep in his core, all he wanted was that: to be accepted and to fix everything up. Even when he was still the prince of the mighty galra empire, all he did was for a bigger purpose. He knew he took the wrong route, though.

Four years ago you moved together to your family’s old farm; only you, Lotor and the desire to begin a new life. Part of the farm, including the barn and the stable were destroyed by the attacks, but luckily the house you grew up in was intact, except for the dust and spider webs covering the rooms. Nothing you couldn’t fix up. Lotor is a quick learner, his intelligence was always something you appreciated, and with a quickly explaining of how to use house devices, he became a master at it except for the vacuum cleaner.

“How can you pilot a high technological spaceship and be defeated by a vacuum cleaner, my dear?”

You would tease him, leaning against a wall while seeing your lover struggle to clean the dust of the living room. Lotor in his endeavor would blame the device instead of admitting he was having a bad time using it. You find that silly and adorable. It took some days for your house to be properly inhabited again, with Lotor’s help, everything was easy.

He would wash clothes, cook for you – that thin waist of his looked adorable in one of your late grandmother’s apron, and a few other things. But still, he missed space and missed the adrenaline. That mind of his was always hunger for knowledge and staying so much time without absorbing anything was frustrating and tedious. Lotor in fact would not complain about it, but noticing the lack of enthusiasm in your love, you gifted him with a box of the old books you used to read while graduating; psych, biology, chemistry, and others you kept a special interest about but were not exactly linked to your graduation; history and anthropology.

Besides you were a good storyteller, talking about the myths and cultures of your species along with its advances and knowledge on science, nothing compares to touch, read and learn about something from primary fonts. As you expected, Lotor was more than happy when you handled him your collection. Some of the concepts stored in the books were at least eight years outdated, but still he could have a notion of humankind’s plurality, maybe hoping he could integrate himself into society one day.

Everything was so perfect you feared something bad would happen to spoil the moment. Your days were simple and cozy in your home, and occasionally you had to leave to buy some groceries but would come back soon.

Four years ago when the invasion occurred, families found shelter in the rural areas once the galras attacked the big urban centers first. And from this, a small agriculture and livestock centered community was born. They provided food for the cities near the reagion, and living only one or two miles away, you groceries from first hand.

In this specific day, you arrived home carrying a bag full of fresh fruits, vegetables, flour and some animal products. Lotor was sitting on the couch. He wore a grey sweater that reached the mid of his wrists and black sweatpants that barely reached his ankles, snuggling on his muscular calves. Big boy problems. His starlight hair tied into a messy bun was occasionally scratched as he concentred on the book he was reading. In fact, he was so focused on the book that didn't even notice you comming.

"Im back, love!"

You said opening the door and he slightly jumped on his seat.

"Hello, dear! I indeed didn't perceive you arriving. I was quite concentrated on this book i've been reading"

He got himself together, cleaning his throat before helping you to take the groceries to the kitchen. His gaze immediatly directed towards the sway of your hips as you walked.

"Which one is this?"

You ask, placing the bags on the table and cleaning your hands. Lotor blinks for a while, being snapped out of his beholding state:

"It is about the development of agriculture and how it's linked to the appearance of religious cults. I am quite amused by the first forms of art created by your species, dear, and how the belief in gods and deities is linked to the discovering of agriculture. It is pretty interesting how such topics that don’t seem to be linked at first sight are related.”

He continues:

“The most interesting part, my dear, is that most of these civilizations were situated in quite green and prosper lands, therefore their deities reflected in the places they inhabited. While the people that lived in arid and desert places had vengeful and warrior gods.”

He speaks with enthusiasm, smiling like you have not seen in at least four years. His lust for you was being masked with non-stop bragging about what he learned in that day. Lotor was indeed fascinated by how some ancient human civilizations valorized fertility and reproduction, but what excited him most was to put this in practice. His cock jutted against the fabric of his sweatpants when he saw those sensual statues of Venus in the pages of that book. He wanted you. He wanted to make you his own goddess of fertility.

After drying your hands on a towel, you swiftly turn to your husband, paying attention to his words. But the look on his feline eyes told you everything. The pupils were dilated, shiny like binary stars. You smirk, and when you do so, Lotor stumbles on his own words.

“I have been always fascinated with this topic too, my dear.”

You put on an innocent facade, crossing your arms and leaning your beautiful hips against the counter. Lotor’s hands twitched, urging to squeeze them as you ride his cock gracefully like the goddess you were to him. He licks his lips and smiles:

“Nothing fairer, darling. You are a goddess yourself. But do you know what is missing?”

You obliviously shake your head to his question.

“A seed to be fertilized in this womb of yours”

Just by hearing his deep sensual voice, you feel your core flutter with excitement. The galran prince approaches you, closing the space between your bodies. All you do is to let him guide you onto his arms and give yourself to this blissful heat.

His thumb traces your lowerbelly, imagining it growing as a proof of the seed he implanted in your womb. He imagines your breasts swelling, leaking the milk that will nurture your child.

Lotor sinks his hand under your hair, softly bringing you closer to him and intensifying the kiss. Your fingers travel under his sweater, tracing his divinely sculpted abs one by one. The desire of being impregnated by him only grew stronger and stronger.

He strips you down, taking off your shirt and giving your breasts good squeezes before attaching his lips to the plump sides of them, leaving soft hickeys on your skin. You pant caressing his jaw as he does it.

Then, his long fingers skim down towards your groin. He gently slids down the waistband and kneals down in front of you. Hugging your hips, Lotor attaches his mouth onto your cut, sweetly suckling your clit as you tug onto his hair, undoing the messy bun he had.

"Lotor..."

You moan sweetly, and it sounds like the chant of Earth itself, like the sounds of raindrops falling onto soil.

His skilled tongue dances around your clit. Your legs tremble and if he wasn't holding you still by your hips, you would definitly lose your balance with so much pleasure being given.

And like a water dam being open, your fluids flow into Lotor's mouth and he delights on it like honey. He moans pulling off and looking up to see your divine glory squirm in pleasure.

Standing up, Lotor holds you on his arms in bridal style, you lean in like a dandelion seed being carried by wind and he places you onto the canopy bed, the plush cushion softly sinking with your body.

Looking up at Lotor while he takes off his own clothing, you get a sight of his purple large cock deliciouspy jutting against his pants. It wiggles tantalizing when his boxers are finally down, hard and reaching his lower belly.

With your fingers you trace his abs again, they are sculpted and perfect like a statue meticulously carved in marble by the best of the sculptors. His silver bodyhair stands on ends with your touch.

Lotor gently inserts his large cock in your entrance, being enthralled by your moans. Your cunt is tight for his size, but soon it accomodates his full length.

He moans loudly and sensually twitching his hips, you reach out to squeeze his muscular butt as it recoils and releases with his thrust. Your motion seems like an extra stimulus.

"Stars. May your womb be a fertile field where i will plant my crops. You are perfect!"

He pants, the pace increasing and your bodies sweating, your pleasured noises echoing through the wood walls.

"I am going to fill you up, dear. I am going to make you a mother; i am going to make you my own fertility deity."

That was when you orgasmed.

It feels like you two were perfcetly designed for this, like your bodies were shaped by universe to create life. You bury your hand underneath Lotor's hair, his front strands are falling and tickling your face. As his pace increases, you hold it tighter and beautiful gasps leave his mouth.

"I- i am comming..."

Soon, the river flooded the land and you felt his warm seed inside your womb. Pace slowing down, Lotor remains the last frictions with his cock still in your vagine.

He pants a chuckle cleaning his sweaty forehead with his forearm. You let out a dizzy smile, reaching out to cup his cheek as your brain process the event, beholding his how graceful he looks.

Releasing his cock, Lotor gently pushes the oozing translucid liquid to inside of you again, rubbing it onto your still sensitive cunt. His ejaculation is so voluminous it feels like every inch of your tube is filled up. The alien man leans in and kisses your cheek:

"You were so great, darling... I... wow! I have no words to describe it. You will be a good mama"

His sudden use of an earthling slang makes you chuckle. How can a man be so sensually irresistible, and seconds later make your heart melt with such an adorable, silly thing? This is a Lotor ability, you guess. He messes with your mind in the better ways possible.

Cleaning up the sweat, you snuggle onto Lotor's chest while calming down your nerves after such a moment. The seed has been implanted to your womb, and Lotor couldn't wait for it to grow.

#lotor x reader #prince lotor x reader #voltron x reader #lotor fanfiction #reader insert #vld x reader #voltron fanfic #cw breeding #cw pregnancy #cw lactation #cw body image #cw racism

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ck2k18 · 7 months

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hey guys. how about we don't call sentimonsters slaves and refer to their plight as slavery. how about we don't do that. because here's the thing. you can argue that according to the actual definition of slavery, this is true! sentimonsters are controlled by something and therefore are 'slaves' to their 'master'. but slave doesn't mean just that anymore.

there's a lot of context behind words, behind the meanings of words. I'm talking about chattel slavery in America. about how Black people were stolen, tortured, beaten, turned into furniture and clothing, experimented on, bred, raped, bought, sold, dehumanized, and forced to work in terrible conditions with no pay for the profit of their masters. the aftereffects of which still affect people to this day.

and then there's slavery that occurs right now. the people of the Congo, for example. men women and young children forced to work in cobalt mines without protective gear, who are subject to sexual violence, who are suffering to this day, so the west can profit.

and if you feel compelled to argue that I shouldn't minimize the plight of sentimonsters just because there are worse forms of slavery out there, then I am compelled to remind you that sentimonsters are not real. I'll say it again: sentimonsters are not real. let's not take a serious issue and language and apply it to a children's TV show for the sake of discourse that, at the end of the day, means nothing. because the problem isn't offhanded comments that sentimonsters are basically slaves or anything; it's that people are using words like slave and slavery to add a sort of gravity or seriousness to the situation that does not need to be there. it's unnecessary. its insensitive. let's remember where we are and what we are talking about. thank you

#ml #ml fandom salt #being a black person in this fandom is fucking exhausting jesus christ #and if i see THAT POST (the one that inspired this one) on my dash ONE MORE TIME #stg

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posthumousvigor · 1 year

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This is a pretty common sentiment, but I really wish the psychological effects enslavement had on Anakin were explored more in the prequels/TCW. The subtext is there (or is it? Lucas probably just stumbled into it, since I doubt he appreciates the gravity of chattel slavery as more than just a plot device) and could easily be expounded upon to explain Anakin’s behavior.

His mother, the most important person in his life, could be taken away from him at any moment and sold to an unknowably cruel master. Friends, acquaintances, and even people he passed on the street could be there one day and gone the next without warning. That would be plenty to make someone possessive. So would growing up in an environment where people were possessions.

Anakin sees Obi-Wan and Padmé his things (his Master, his wife), and in the back of his mind he knows they could be taken from him at any moment, so he squeezes tighter, which results in him crushing Padmé and Obi-Wan slipping out of his grasp like a buttered eel.

You can’t just make your character a child slave and not have that inform the rest of their fucking life, man.

#they're called your formative years for a reason mr lucas sir #george explain!!#what do you mean its not important??#but we been knew the prequels were bad i'm just eating trash and saying thank you #star wars #obikin #anakin skywalker #anidala

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wildbluesorbit · 5 months

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Wounded II || JTK

…A Continuation of London

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MATERPOST

A/N: It’s arrival is finally upon us… so sorry it only took three weeks:( I promise the wait was worth though; out of the whole series, this installment was my ABSOLUTE FAVORITE to create !! Shoutout to @tommie-gvf for editing:) I am beyond excited to hear what y'all think!

i didn't notice the last 2k words cut off (x)

Summary || Navigating through the aftermath of your argument, you can’t bring yourself to face Jake.

Content Warnings || toxic relationship, agoraphobia, haphephobia, explicit depictions of night terrors/panic attack, brief mentions of anger and physical aggression and bodily harm and murder/death and sexual assault, verbal aggression, reckless/distracted driving, brief mention of drug use, unsolicited touched, allusions to depressive and isolative episodes, [non-aggressive] unannounced entry into readers bedroom, a very brief boner lol

Word Count || 7.2k

— JAKE —

You wince at the strain of your stiff muscles propped against her bedroom door, eyes accosted by the morning light. The sequence of how the cold hard floor became your bed for the night is less than clear. Your only clues, the taste of liquor and guilt still bitter on your dry tongue, you are most likely the asshole.

You will your aching body upwards, the pounding in your head follows your first step. You accomplish the odyssey that is the hallway to your bedroom and start on your appearance for the studio; the account of the night before depositing itself moment by moment as you ooze about your room.

Still couldn’t get your puppy out of her little cage?

You cringe as you brush your teeth and fight your tangled tresses to loop into a low bun, a tangible distraction to repress the clawing conviction.

I heard she won’t even let you pet her.

A huff escapes you as you slip on your socks and step into your boots. You grab your coat, intent on heading downstairs, but you instead find yourself not strong enough to withstand the gravity and accomplish your trek to the stairs; slave to the magnetic field of her bedroom door. You try to sketch out some impression of last night’s details, but clarity refuses to reveal itself to you. You study the ridges of the wooden frame and grumble to the clueless girl you pray is comatose on the other side.

The sound of your older brother calling you from downstairs breaks your spell as you shuffle towards the source.

The guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me.

Don’t you think you’ve carried this weight way too far?

Thick eyebrows furrow in your direction as a baffled Josh canvasses your face for any indication as to why you struggle to recite a simple breakfast order; your disconcerting recollections jerking you by the reins in and out of disassociation. You almost wish you could remain inviolable in your amnesic ignorance.

When are you going to stop being so apathetic towards this?!

You shake off your shame as you put aside the freshly delivered food on the kitchen counter for her to find after she wakes up. You lock the front door after Josh walks through and take a deep cleansing breath before you step into your car, knowing you can’t take this baggage to the studio with you.

You don’t get to speak to me this way.

I’ll be out the door.

Your twin yells over the roar of the rumble strips from the passenger seat as you stray into the shoulder, “Jake?! The road!”

Fuck you, Jacob.

Just another thing you have yet to do.

You plug in at the studio, butchering and tripping over riffs of your own design.

The completely broken and mortified look you painted on her face.

The vision curses you blunderingly dumbfounded.

“Okay, let’s take a quick five,” Josh says over his brother’s instruments while silently interrogating you from across the booth.

You mentally rewind to realize you had completely missed your entrance.

An aggravatingly tone-deaf Sam challenges the sudden hiatus, “But we just started?”

Josh blusters his youngest brother a look that threatens unbridled rage.

A sympathetic Danny steps in to rescue a clueless Sam from Josh’s wrath, “Sam, want to go get high?”

Like dangling shiny keys in front of a toddler, Sam’s attention is now fixated on Danny’s proposal. The two giggling men giddily scurry out of the booth up to no good. As soon as the exit door swings shut Josh stomps over to you, rolling his eyes.

He unpacks his authoritative older sibling's tone as his hands wildly comb through the air for your confession, “Okay, enough moping, out with it.”

You don’t even bother armoring a defense. You know very well you would end up confiding in Josh sooner or later. You ineptly unload every detail you can extract from memory in an iniquitous admission to your twin.

You haven’t even finished speaking your closing statement when a pinching sting burrows against your skin as a result of Josh’s backhand assailing your bicep. You hiss through pressed lips and rub over the infliction with your opposite hand, yet you don’t dare challenge the considerably clement treatment.

“You are such a prick sometimes, I swear,” Josh professes through gritted teeth.

You’re so consumed by your guilt you can’t even concoct an offense.

“Do you think she's going to leave- Fuck, I would never speak to me again,” you answer your own question.

Your pleading eyes frisk over Josh’s identical features, hungry for some kind of reprieving answer. Yet his same honest spirit that knots and kneads your stomach is the same one that always gravitates you towards Josh for counsel in the first place.

“I can’t answer that for you, but I think it's important you at least give her enough distance to think clearly,” Josh dismally warns.

Your thumb and middle finger start at the crease of your eyebrow and rub outwards to your temples, tugging at your skin till your fingertips reach your hairline and fall through your tied-back strands, “Did I fuck this up, Josh?”

You almost wish you couldn’t read his expression of pessimism as Sam and Danny reenter the studio, bursting at the seams with a laughter that you can’t even fathom in this moment. Their giggles cut right through your exchange with your twin. Josh squeezes your shoulder and gives you a smirk of consolation before resettling himself in his designated portion of the booth. His way of wordlessly telling you to keep your chin up and you’d discuss it later.

You try your best to adjourn your sins for now as you know it is time for studio work and studio work only, yet still stumble and topple through every note without a hint of grace until the very last beat of the session.

—YOU —

”Went to the studio, will be back late. Enjoy your day -J “

Jake’s handwriting on the cardboard coffee cup sleeve informs you of his whereabouts. You inhale deeply, allowing the sweet soothing aroma of your favorite roast to sweep you to a better day. You are also embraced with an alluring savory scent. You restively snatch the small paper bag on the kitchen island that rests against your drink to discover an entirely different note.

“p.s. Jake bought you a muffin too but I got hungry :) - the other J”

You smile to yourself and unfold the crinkled brown bag to discover the comfort of your favorite grilled chicken caprese sandwich. You giddily scurry back to your room to start your day.

You’ve found that making lists and organizing your time usually helps your mind from wandering where it shouldn't. So, you do just that. You make your lists. You order things low in stock around the house. You check your emails.

You know you should close your laptop once you finish your clients’ work. Yet you find your mouse hovering over a new search bar. Foolishly, the hunt for apartments has begun with only a few clicks; knowing damn well you threatened your leaving in anger and don’t plan on going anywhere.

But as you scroll through listing after listing you begin to feel like maybe it could be time to leave and move on. Maybe you are suffocating everyone, but they can’t bring themselves to tread through your undoubtedly trauma-infested waters, hoping sooner or later you’ll fall off like a rotting limb. Or maybe the problem isn’t you but your lack of a clean slate. Maybe Jake ties you to the root of the tragedy just as much as he shelters you and grounds you in its aftermath.

Instinctively, your monitor is slammed shut as your breath begins to flee from you. Even if this is true you can't make a decision based on some childish blurt. This would take genuine rumination. Which you are incapable of, considering you aren’t a hundred percent sure this isn’t some impulsive ammunition aimed at Jake.

You sweep your consciousness clean and distract yourself with other productivity. You journal and read and wander around till you’d find a guitar. You do whatever you can to keep yourself busy.

Before you know it, the day turns into a week. You had been going to bed early before the boys got home so you really hadn’t spoken to anyone. You hadn’t even been purposely avoiding Jake, but space is what you keep telling yourself is best for the both of you since the other night.

It is only five in the afternoon when you hear car doors slam in the driveway from where you have been stuck in the same book for hours in the library. You instinctively shut the hardback with a smack and fly upstairs.

Even though it has been over a week, you aren’t yet ready to talk to Jake. You have certainly forgiven his assailment but you hadn’t yet figured out how to face him or his words. So you tuck yourself away in your room, never to be seen.

That is until you hear a light knocking at your door a few hours later.

You freeze, careful to not make a sound. You hope that silence will discourage whatever suitor is on the other side, enough to leave you alone.

“It’s just me,” you hear Josh’s voice travel through your room.

Still cautious, you impugn before moving a muscle, “Yes?”

“It's okay, Jake’s not here,” he says flatly.

You exhale in relief but still inch the door open slowly. You guardedly investigate to discover it is, in fact, Josh and only Josh. You still greet him with narrowed eyes.

“You can relax, sunshine, the man is on a liquor run,” Josh reassures you.

You are accosted by his bugging eyes till he gestures to the slight gap in the doorway, “Can I come in or-?”

You ostensibly inspect him, “All right but I’m going to have to pat you for any wires.”

Josh throws his head back in a quick sharp laugh as he welcomes himself into your room, “Ha! Don’t threaten me with a good time, sunshine. But I would not spy for Jake. I’m strictly here on third-party business.”

He makes himself comfortable on your bed and sits resting against your headboard; something you’ve always admired about Josh is his ability to make home anywhere and draw close to anyone.

Once he settles, he sets your pillows against the wall next to him and smacks his hand against your comforter a few times, ushering you to join him on your own bed. You roll your eyes with a smile and jump onto your designated spot next to him.

You force a cheeky smile, “So to what do I owe this displeasure?”

He places his hands over his chest and feigns an offended gasp, “Well, I was just coming to check on you.”

You remind yourself that you are safe with Josh and it's only his way of showing he genuinely cares when he places his hand over yours. It's like running against the wind, but it's all you can do to not shudder and immediately pull away.

His speech carries concern as he lightly squeezes your hand, “I haven’t seen you in a few days. Is that on purpose?”

You tense a bit at the directness of his question, “Not really. You have just been going into the studio early and staying out late recently.”

“Well, just remember isolation isn’t good for anyone and-”

“Josh-,” you start but he sings over you to finish his sentence.

“...and we miss you,” he lovingly interjects.

Your words come out sharper than you intend, “We? Who’s we?”

“Yes, we.” he mimics your satire, “Me, Danny, Sam, and especially Jake.”

“Well, obviously not too much if it's you here and not him,” your tongue instinctually retorts.

“He doesn’t want to suffocate you is all, believe me, he certainly misses you,” Josh rolls his eyes, making you curious about Jake’s behavior after your argument.

“Sunshine,” Josh cuts directly to his inquiry tired of tip-toeing, “What happened the other night?”

“Please,” you almost snort, “I’m convinced you and Jake secretly compare bowel movements. Don’t act like he didn’t already tell you every detail.”

“I mean he did,” Josh confesses, “I just want to hear what you have to say and see how you’re feeling. It might help you to talk about it.”

“Also, you’re gross,” he blurts and narrows his eyes.

“As much as I totally want to relive your brother’s cruel words, Josh, I trust Jake told you everything like it happened but-,” you hesitate, the realization you might not like the answer just now seeping heavy into your bones, “what happened at the bar? Between Danny’s call and Jake's temper, I can tell something wasn’t right.”

Josh’s features drop with his shoulders and an exhale, “He didn’t tell you?”

You see an indiscernible visage dart across his features after you shake your head no. You recognize it as condolence as he carefully recounts that night in every stomach-knotting detail; depicting a very doleful Jake, a “bitch-for-brains loudmouth” as Josh put it and her insolent tears at Jake, followed by his solemn exit and dodged phone calls.

Your heart writhes from its relocation in the pit of your stomach, almost sick at the thought. Your inability to leave the house is now bleeding into all aspects of his life and polluting his liveliness you loved so; a light that has seen you through the ugliest dark.

Josh frees you from the quicksand of your spiraling thoughts with a fragmented one of his own, “He waits for you, you know?”

He must read the confusion on your face as he rephrases, coloring in the empty lines with a bit more context, “Every night- Jake- He’ll always have this stupid giddy look on his face when he tells us the good news that you should be joining that evening. And I know my brother, he genuinely believes it. I can tell he’s not being optimistic or even humoring himself, or you. Then when he shows alone, he’s never angry or upset. He’ll just tell us you were too tired or weren’t feeling up for the outing. But I swear to you- his eyes never leave the door. Even if distracted, his body is always facing the entrance. He’ll never admit it- I’m not even sure if it's a conscious habit, but he always holds out hope that you’ll show up. We all do- just can’t hold a flame up to him. I have yet to hear him speak a bad word of you or complain of your absence. He has such faith in you, more than I think you realize, and I have yet to see it dim. I’ve never seen Jake so far gone in love with someone and he only wants to see you grow.”

Your mouth opens to speak but all words seem 10,000 miles from your horizon. Your eyes begin to pool as you try to grab at any response, his last words poisoning any other ideations. Neither Jake nor you had spoken a word of “I love you” to each other since that harrowing night, much less did he mention being in love.

You want to ask Josh a thousand questions of what he meant by that. What has Jake said? What has Jake done? How does he know for certain? You have to leave now, right? Wouldn’t that be the selfless thing to do? Yet, you can’t vocalize one.

The debut of your salty streaming eyes ushers Josh to reel in his sermon, “Look- you don’t have to say anything- unless you want to. I definitely want to hear but I don’t want to pry. And I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad, I’m just trying to give him some credit and it's something I thought you should take into consideration. Just in case you felt as if that might be impeding you. So when you do return, that's one less thing off your plate. I promise no one will look at you differently. We're all just so eager and ready to have you back by our side again.”

His immediate addition is an exact echo of his brother, “No rush though. You do what feels right, sunshine.”

You swipe at your glossy cheeks and only nod in understanding, still unable to grasp a word.

“Alright, I also just wanted to let you know we have a flight in the morning and we’re out of town for the next few days,” he steers the conversation in a less hazardous direction.

“So you’ll have the house to yourself,” he playfully wags his finger in your face, “and no ragers, young lady. I mean it!”

“No promises, but I’ll see you when you get back,” you pucker your lips, caperingly blowing him a kiss.

“Unless you want to be a stowaway? No one would stop you,” his eyes grow wide along with his smile; the same one that always grants you such safety when it appears on his twin.

You lark, “But then when would I have my party?!”

“Ah, clever girl,” he accepts his defeat.

Josh takes liberty and scoots down to lay cozy in your bed, indicating he is going to regale you with his illustriously dazzling conversation. And he does. You catch up with each other on your weeks and he tells you what they plan to do on their trip. You ask him how Sam and Danny are doing, and then Jake.

Just as he's illustrating an anecdote of some embarrassing and eccentric stunt Sam pulled to infuriate Jake today, you hear the heavy steps of tired boots coming up the stairs.

Josh’s story is totally derailed by his twin, “He sure is heavy-footed for someone so small.”

“You know you’re just as-” you start.

“For my whole life, unfortunately,” he shakes his head in a faux grief.

“Well, we have an early start and I was told I can’t be late this time,�� he rolls his eyes, “I better head to bed.”

Josh exuberantly springs from the mattress to his feet and theatrically bows in a goodbye, knowing better than to attempt any sort of embrace.

He pulls away to make eye contact, “Be right back, call if you need anything.”

“Will do,” you throw him one last jest, “Have a safe flight and don’t forget Sam’s leash!”

“Please, he’s Danny’s pet, not mine,” he scoffs and saunters towards the door, “goodnight, sunshine, love you.”

You tell Josh goodnight and return his love before he winks you goodbye and gently shuts your door, disappearing behind it.

You giggle as the sounds of him dramatically stomping down the stairs in a motion to Jake’s prior thuds through your room.

That night, sleep hides itself away from you. Josh’s words chase each other, crashing and rattling around your head like a pack of rabid wolves. With each passing second you can’t help but think of the warm-bodied man down the hall from you.

Is he fast asleep, unbothered by you? Is he awake? Is he thinking of you too? Does your presence burden him? Is he fighting the urge to come see you? Is your name on his lips?

Your racing thoughts are broken by the trudging of a sleepy, no doubt grumpy, Jake.

The footsteps travel from his room and seem to concentrate as they get closer to your door, until directly in front. You hold your breath as you hear Jake mutter something and hiss in frustration. You’re only able to make out his last words as they barrel from his throat.

“Please, just- be here when I get back,” he implores the silence of an empty hallway.

Your chest pounds erratically, your heart threatening to escape its cage. It’d only been a week but you don’t realize how much you ached for him until your bones entered a state of conniption at the sound of his slumber-rasped voice.

You know he assumes you’re asleep and these words aren't yours to hear. You can’t help but wonder if this is the first night he’s addressed your inanimate door. Your malaised heart sings a mourning song to the resentful tune of Jake’s boots dragging him towards the stairs and away from you.

A decent night’s sleep still refuses to slip into your covers with you, so it's the sun that puts you to bed. The next few nights prove the same. You try your best to fix your sleep pattern, performing laborious tasks during the day to tire yourself out but it renders useless.

You refuse to take any kind of relaxant, as the haze always takes you back to a sensation you never want to return to. You aren’t sure if it's Josh’s words or another bad storm on your horizon, but you have become an insomniac.

It has only been 4 days, but each one is a bit more challenging than the previous; today rains over you like a hailstorm.

You don't want to get out of bed. You don’t want to get up to use the bathroom. You don’t want to shower or get dressed. You don’t even want to eat.

You have no wants, only musts.

You must get up, must relieve yourself, must shower, must dress, and you must eat. Or you will not survive. You will die here, swallowed whole by nothingness. No one is here to tell you what to do. No one is coming to your rescue.

Something different. Routine is a consistent companion until it is your cage.

A break. You convince yourself you need an unfamiliar happening to overwhelm your senses. An affair to shock you back to your feeble bubble of fleeting stability. A change in scenery.

You find yourself in a hysteric pace around that front door. There is nothing to lose at this point. No one here to witness if you fail. Everyone’s words run through you.

There is no rush.

But there is. You are already behind. This house is running out of oxygen. You are already rotting here. This habit will soon blur into home.

You take a deep breath and turn the knob. Not daring to chart with eyesight first, you fling yourself through that open door as if at any moment you might be sucked back inside.

The air enwraps you, brisk and cool. The undeniable fragrance of a distinct autumn breeze interrupts its commute, reminding you of how miserable you’ve been without it. Your sight is allured by your new porcelain shade in the sun; you have prodigiously neglected your melanin to a pallid skin tone you’ve never worn before.

You propel forward, telling yourself to just keep moving. You secure your place at the end of the extensive driveway and unwisely decide you can make it down the sidewalk.

You should know better than to think you could outsmart panic without strategy. You feel storm clouds roll in thick all around you; and wherever there’s rain, thunder is sure to follow.

Suddenly the boundless reaches of the stratosphere isn’t enough to save you from the suffocation of the world crumbling fast around you. You pivot until you’re barreling back down the path you came. You almost lunge through the door and lock yourself back inside.

You gait about the living room performing your breathing and self-soothing exercises. All children’s play in the wake of your hijacking terror. You eventually catch your breath but the tremors bond with you.

Whatever was eating at you earlier was only amplified by your brief spontaneous journey outside of the house. But you had foolishly led the demon inside with you, it is now clawing at the walls and howling throughout the halls.

You search for sleeping pills having no hope to rest organically tonight, accepting their necessity to your survival. You only look at your bed before deciding it's not even worth the noble fit of tossing and turning. You make sure you are ready for bed before scurrying into Jake’s room and crawling under his sheets. Yet you still can’t shake the feeling of a lurking apparition.

However, the ingested medication now emanating throughout your bloodstream is impervious to your stalking condemnation. You anchor your antidote to the soothing aroma of Jake present in his bedsheets as you are shoved into void.

You recognize the alley as soon as you are there. Beads of frigid rain pelt against your pink achy skin. The crying sky creates a misty halo against neon lights and coats everything it dances upon with a bleary gloss.

You are pinned against the wall in an instant by that vicious and nauseating smile. You try to fight but all at once you are being poked and prodded and beaten into an involuntary submission. Until your rescuer arrives.

Too enervated to attempt escape as your oppressor is distracted, Jake lunges forward. Yet he never makes contact before he falls to the ground, a dark red dye seeping from his center into his clothes. You somehow escape your attacker to see him wielding a blade.

You run to where Jake is withering away on the glittering asphalt. You attempt to cradle him, but he hisses at your touch.

Despite his wounds, he is the one to console you, telling you you’re perfect like he always does. Your only power remains in a helpless squeeze of his hand as he pours out onto the slick black top and you see his light flicker out.

– JAKE –

The headlights of the car illuminate your home sweet home as the chauffeur pulls up the driveway. The incline of the path almost causes light to leak into her bedroom window, where you hope she is fast asleep, deep enough that she won’t be bothered by the slight brightness.

You got home two days earlier than expected and you plan on surprising her in the morning.

God, how you have ached for her, lit yourself on fire for her; all to let it sift through your grasp over some drunken slurs. You wanted her to have space, but hope tomorrow will hold mercy for you as you can’t restrain yourself any longer.

The driver reaches the house and Josh and you exhaustedly crawl out of the vehicle. You retrieve your luggage before sluggishly dragging it and yourselves to the front door. You swear you grow weary with each second of jangling keys as Josh absentmindedly sifts through each metal shard; standing helpless till he feels the right shape in his hand. The click of the lock barely registers as you are greeted by the cool A/C of the foyer and the smell of home.

All vitality spent on your journey, neither of you has spoken a word since you landed. As you start to head your separate ways, you bid each other goodnight through a silent nod.

Only for it to be ambushed by her petrifying heart-grating scream, “JAKE?! JAKE?!”

One might only assume you’re prey to predators the way you instinctively soar to the stairs, up to your level, and towards her room. Without a word, you hear Josh’s footsteps apace behind you.

You almost slam into her door moving so fast. You swing it wide open, mouth agape as she is nowhere in sight. Your heart pounds in your temples as panic now starts to clamp tight around your chest. The only other time you recall this measure of a corrosive dread being the night you couldn’t find her anywhere at that party.

“JAKE?!”

Another scream immediately reveals her location to you. You dart out of her room, down the hall, and into yours.

There she is. Under the warm glow of your salt lamp-lit room, wrapped in your covers, leaking eyes scrunched shut, a lump of muffled indiscernible murmurs and whimpers, and visibly shaking.

“I think she is just having a nightmare,” you authoritatively order Josh out of the room, “I’m going to wake her, but you should go, I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

You pad towards the bed and caress whatever limb you contact first, buried underneath your blankets. Gently, you begin to coo her to consciousness.

She springs to life, petrified by your unrecognizable silhouette under the poor lighting and only just emerged from her dream state. Clumsily, she slips off the bed and tumbles to the floor, disoriented and gasping for air.

The thud from her spilled limbs on the hardwood floor nearly syncs with yours, as your knees plunge to the cold surface the moment you register her fall.

You place your palms visibly out to her, indicating her safety, “Hey- It’s me. It's Jake. I’m home.”

“No- Jake- you- he- he’s gone,” she bewilderedly sobs out almost in a question.

You aren’t sure if she is referring to your trip or something she saw in her dream and is convinced is reality.

You keep trying to rip her from whatever hallucination has its jaws around her, “No, baby, you're safe. You’re home with me, in Nashville. I got in early.”

She finally seems to digest your words, her glassy eyes [partially] pacified by your newly registered presence before whispering your identification, “Jake?”

When it comes to her, your first instinct is always a consoling touch, but you have learned an unsolicited embrace only runs her further from your protection. However, you have to try.

“Yes, babygirl,” you reassure before you approach, not wanting to spook her, “can I come near you?”

You’re astounded when she only responds by leaping into your lap and wrapping herself around your torso.

Within an instant, your arms have gratefully found their seal around her waist. Your calloused fingertips ever so slightly sink into her buzzing flesh, wrestling with every muscle, willing yourself not to tear her apart. How have you starved for the shape of her, the weight of her, the warmth of her very skin. Fuck- to finally hold her again feels so fucking good.

“Jake- this time- and- he got you- then you-,” she fights through stuttering breaths.

“Hey, no more of that,” you gently assert to sedate whatever terroristic figments are plaguing her in your arms, “I’m here now. I've got you.”

Still trembling, she nuzzles her face into your neck and hysterically rasps out, “Jake, please don’t leave me. I can’t- Jacob, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t take it!”

You have no idea as to what she saw in her nightmare, only that you have never seen one leave her this rattled. You can feel her at war with her own breath as her panic continues to steal it from her.

A trick from the therapist resurfaces and you take the dips of her waist within your firm grasp to briefly withdraw her from your embrace, “Hey, I’ve got you, but I need you to listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on what I’m saying, okay?”

You don’t wait for her to respond before taking her hand and running it across the material of your blue corduroy jacket, “You feel that? It's your favorite jacket of mine, the one you always steal when we go for a drive.”

You ever so slightly draw yourself back in closer to her, “I need you to take a deep breath. Smell that? It’s the cologne you bought me for my birthday?”

She concentrates on her inhalation, occupied with taking an exaggerated breath. She slowly begins to nod.

You can see the sensory stimulation starting to ground her so you attempt to redirect her focus, “And what did I promise? I need to hear you say it.”

She takes a long shaky breath, “You- You said no more leaving. You promised.”

You place her jaw safely within the shelter of your palm and press your forehead to hers; without warning, you’re captivated by a time of exigency to live off the same breath as her.

“That’s right, and I’m here now and I’m not leaving you again,” you vow.

You scoop her back into your arms and off the floor. She clings to you as you turn off the lamp and cradle her back into the fortress of your bed, curling up around her for safekeeping.

You caress and console and coo until finally, her quaking stops and breathing evens out as she is welcomed back to slumber. The rhythmic rising and falling of her rib cage underneath your touch lulls you into your own dormancy.