#silence and squall

[beneathshadedbower]

silence & squall.

[grieverled-moved]

HE'D ALWAYS MADE IT WELL KNOWN TO THE MAN HIMSELF THAT HE WAS SOMEONE WHO WAS HARD TO READ. Practically a walking surprise, the gun-blader could hardly say whatever he'd come to expect from him was ever accurate or played out how he'd thought it should've. Usually, he had a heavy handle on that particular skill of his, honing it as sharp as he'd managed to be able to get an perfect read on someone long before he'd approached so he could anticipate what action to take next.

In his line of work, being able to make such a call well in advance held the difference between life & death, & yet . . . here the frustrating bastard was yet again proving that for all his self-perceived skill in this field, for all the things he'd seen or claimed he had — he still couldn't anticipate just who Zack Fair was, what it was he'd wanted, or whether his intentions were completely pure with no malicious motives.

Every bone in his body wants to trust him, but given his past, all he'd seen . . . it's a hard task to accomplish. In his opinion, there was no such thing as a good man — but Fair came scarily close. But it'd never upset the other. No, instead, the optimistic, forever sunny First would always reassure him that whatever answer Squall's given when he did ask him anything, it was fine in the end. While many SOLDIER's were hardheaded, stubborn, bearing their own sort of inflated pride at even making it within these ranks, Zack carried himself differently in a way that couldn't help but lure his attention.

He was genuine. Honest in his empathy, while ensuring his attitude was one that never harmed, always did his best to uplift those in his presence & under his care.

That sort of gentle tenderness was rarely seen by the Turk, enough that once he’s face to face with it for as long as he had been, getting to know the other man bit by bit, it stuns him frozen solid when the other reaches over to brush a bit of his dangling bangs from his eyes, slow as gloved fingers tuck the odd strands behind an ear more securely — he isn’t sure just how to react, what he’s supposed to do. He moves like he’s going to startle him, & maybe it’s wise he is, because Squall’s heartbeat is pacing so loud it’s hard to think logically, breath curiously catching in his throat as he glances up to watch the strange man with wide, questioning eyes.

His pen ceases its glide along the pages it scrawls atop, grip tightening in some budding anticipation, some fear, wielding it like a weapon if only for comforts sake. When Fair moves his hand to hover, a canopy ready to cradle the curved edge of his jaw in the open side of his palm, Squall exhales through his nose with a slow swallow.

❝ . . . Can I? ❞

The bastard doesn’t even need to ask.

*Send “...Can I?” for my muses reaction to yours asking to kiss them. ➤ @myristicisms [ ; ] “ Can I…? ”

[emcads]

ship tag drop.

[foldingfittedsheets]

My beloved wife is adding me onto a savings account. We put all my info into the website which then logged us out. When we tried to log back in it locked the account.

Simultaneously Korben is being an absolute menace and attacking us because we have not dispensed more delicious crunch ‘ems.

So my wife calls customer support to be like, “Hey, my account is locked.”

While talking to the lady on the phone they put the call on speakerphone.

In a lull I yelped loudly, wailing at a pitch to convince Korben that he had committed bodily harm to me and he needed to be gentler.

The lady on the phone very clearly heard me squalling. Into the silence she quietly said, “I do need to inform you that this call will be monitored and recorded….”

“It’s our cat! The cat is being naughty, everything is fine!!!”

“Oh! Okay, that’s fine then.”

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 18

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: extremely soft

A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.

Series Masterlist

-

FIVE YEARS LATER 

“Honey?”

Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.  

Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you. 

The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard. 

“Honey?”

“Yea?”

Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses. 

“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”

You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand. 

“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”

“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it. 

“How we feelin’ today?”

“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.” 

Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his. 

“How was your day?” you murmur. 

“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”

“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace. 

“That’s the one.”

“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”

“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”

You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”

He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead. 

“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”

His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.  

“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”

Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back. 

“You need me to carry anything into the house?”

“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply. 

He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.

You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”

“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”

Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.  

The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots. 

His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.

Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time. 

Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same. 

Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor. 

Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin. 

“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months. 

Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”

One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her. 

“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms. 

“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder. 

“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”

Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.

After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside. 

“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”

“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod. 

“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”

Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.

The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go. 

The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow. 

“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours. 

He is different. 

The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.  

Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You tired, honey?”

“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”

Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut. 

His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him. 

The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children. 

Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving. 

The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.

THE END

[batbux]

It's forty minutes into the latest state of the company press conference and Bruce has had to mute his mic entirely to avoid being turned into a meme AGAIN for sighing too much at his own event. For all that he's spent almost 20 years coaching his own children on not making scenes, he's really not much better. It's hot and he doesn't want to be here. His ribs hurt. He's tired. He's hungry. He's every excuse Dick or Jason have trotted out over the years.

(Tim understands company manners and can almost always be trusted to stick it out as long as he's allowed to vent his frustrations afterwards. He's recently taken to smashing ugly thrifted dishes. Stephanie and Damian have been collecting any ceramic not entirely pulverized and turning them into pavers for Alfred's garden.)

(Bruce gave up after Tim. He really only needs one kid to tag along to social events. If the kid start to outnumber him they start getting IDEAS.)

His distraction is why it takes two very rude repetitions of his name for him to take notice at the young reporter pushing his way to the front. Lucius stands, cutting off the project manager currently presenting and speaks into the mic.

"Please keep hold all questions until the end of the presentation, thank you."

"Mr. Wayne," the reporter tries again and Bruce waves away Lucius's further protests.

"Can I help you?" He asks, smiling with the full force of Brucie Wayne's charm behind it. It's been awhile since his last scandal, but if the press is inventing drama then it's less work for him.

The man holds up a photograph almost accusingly. He reeks of gotcha journalism.

Bruce squints towards him, unable to fully make out the contents of the photo. Dick may have been right when he gently suggested Bruce add glasses to his Brucie Wayne persona but that was a hill Bruce was still willing to die on. It was bad enough he had to have a prescription COWL.

"What do you have to say about the presence of your adopted son, Timothy Drake at the illegal mob in Robinson Park last Saturday?"

"Drake-Wayne," Bruce corrected because Tim hyphenated, damn it. He was the first of his children to let Bruce tag the Wayne name on and it mattered, damn it. "Wait do you mean-"

"How about reports of him kissing a man while there?"

"A blond man?" Bruce asked, finally giving up and crossing to take the photo for himself. "Oh. No, that's his boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence before Bruce realized his mistake. Just as the reporters began to squall, he dropped the blurry photo and began to speed walk off, phone suddenly in hand.

Through the podium's microphone, the gathered reporters heard one thing as Bruce evacuated the immediate vicinity.

"Tim? Don't be mad."

---

Despite Bruce's best efforts, he becomes a meme.

---

Immediately following the bombshell that Timothy Drake-Wayne had a boyfriend, social media blows up, clamoring for more information. They're ravenous for it, desperate. Tim doesn't have a personal social media presence but they stalk his professional accounts religiously. Bruce does have personal social media, but he maintains radio silence.

In the end, a Gotham based "influencer" stumbles across Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne getting donuts at Kosher Donuts and Co. Dick is personable, as always, and stops to speak with the young woman briefly.

"Yeah, Tim wasn't mad," he laughs when asked. "Just disappointed. But man, he knows how to milk it."

"Bruce is in the doghouse, huh?" she asks, full of false sympathy.

"A little bit," Dick says as Damian mumbles, "Titus would never share."

"But," Dick continued. "Tim's spun it so Bruce is on the hook for like, half a million in donations for local LGBT charities. Tim says it would hurt less if he sponsored a new shelter too, so that's something to look forward to."

"That's a lot of money! Where's it all going?"

"Oh you know," Dick says and gestures vaguely. "A lot of different programs."

"Yeah? Anything you personally want to see done with the funding?"

"Drag story time," Damian answers before Dick can. He looks intense. "But not for children. For dogs. In the shelter."

---

A day later, Tim breaks the silence. He goes live on Bruce's Instagram.

"So the problem was that Bruce thought the reporter was saying I was being unfaithful," Tim explains. "He totally forgot I wasn't out to everyone yet. Bruce was just worried because he's already told me if I break up with my boyfriend, he's not uninviting him from any future family events."

"Luckily, I was in fact just kissing my boyfriend at PRIDE. Just because people got shifty with the permits at the last second because of protestors doesn't make it an illegal mob. If you wanna hear about Wayne's and illegal mobs, talk to Dickie about his younger years. Nothing I do can compare."

[vetalopis]

it's true though. there's nothing like winter's wrath. and i say that as a hunter main

best super sound and why is it Winter's Wrath

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Olive

Summary: On your knees, open up and apologize!

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x afab!Reader

Word Count: -2.2k

Content Warnings: Hardly Any Plot Just Smut 18+!, Misogyny-play (I dunno what else to call this, okay?), Oral (M Receiving), Karl Being A Little Shit About It, Deepthroating, Slight Choking, Subspace, Uhm…Sweat 😬, Bodily Fragrances, Body Worship, Humiliation/Praise, Manhandling, Karl Has A Dad Bod, Aftercare <3

A/N: Anne, this is all your fault and you know it! This is a little gift from yours truly <3

Tagging: @queer-crusader @ohlookapan @blueberrypancakesworld @somethingblu3

Me and my babe relax and catch the manic rhapsody

All reason flown as God looks on in abject apathy

A squall and all of me is a prayer in perfect piety

A moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me

- Moment's Silence By Hozier

For a split second, you halted, mouth already agape and the tip of your tongue ready to fire an entire tirade of complaints into the stuffy air of Karl's workshop. Unsuspecting, not even looking at you after you made a grand entrance barging through the door like that, Karl just sat there, soldering iron in his right and his nose scrunched up to keep his glasses from sliding down the bridge alongside some wayward droplets of sweat.

Your eyes darted at him, glaring with annoyance and frustration-fueled fury as they scanned his slightly hunched-down statue. He looked enragingly good with his shaggy hair tied into a low ponytail and his stupid, olive-green work overall pooling around his waist, giving way for you to ogle at his bare torso, skin glowing in an orange hue emitting from the embers of the furnace behind him, pale scar tissue forming a krass contrast all along his shoulders and chest.

You cleared your throat to remind yourself why you were here and to actually stay mad instead of letting your anger slide because of some silly pretty privilege.

“Huh?” Karl's eyes behind his glasses moved, inspecting curiously.

“All I do is clean up after you!”, It practically broke free from your throat in a strained groan, uncomfortably strong emotions bubbling in the pit of your stomach,

“I'm fucking sick of it, Karl. All I asked of you was to do the bed and put your damn dishes in the sink to help me out for once!”

“Uh-Huh.” Karl nodded briefly, not appearing moved by your frustration at all.

“Uh-Huh?! Karl.” It took every bit of composure to not just stomp your feet in a childish burst of anger.

“That's my name.” He mocked, his words stinging just like the white-hot tip of his soldering iron.

“Oh, fuck you!” That made him straighten up eventually.

“Excuse me?” Karl put his tool down before raising his glasses to lazily sit at the crown of his head.

“I said that you can go fuck yourself because you do fuck all to pull your weight with the chores. I'm trying to keep this place from turning into a trash dump!” You watched him intently, trying to decipher what was happening in this awfully stubborn head of his.

“Would you please say that to my face again, sweets?” The anger in your stomach dropped and rendered into a sharp jolt of embarrassment because you knew just fine that you were getting yourself onto fragile ice.

“Hm?” You tilted your head to the side and furrowed your brows into a questioning arch.

���Come here.”, Karl repeated himself swiftly, tapping his palm onto his thigh, “And say that to my face again.”

Regret kicked in almost immediately, growing into a nervous buzzing sensation with every step bringing you closer to your lover.

“There you go, I'm all ears.” Gray eyes beamed at you as you leaned your behind against the edge of the table.

“You don't help me with any of the chores.” You dropped your gaze and mumbled away meekly.

“That's not exactly what reached my ears a few minutes ago, now is it?” Karl crossed his arms in front of his chest, scarred forearms finding rest against curly, white hairs.

“I said you can go fuck yourself because I am angry with you. The bed still looks a mess and it wouldn't even take you 5 minutes.” Heat crept into your face because you knew all too well that you screwed up big time.

“Okay. Heard.”, Karl clicked his tongue before absentmindedly sucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a brief moment, “But what makes you think you're eligible to talk to me like that now, huh?”

“ ‘M sorry.” You felt like taking a step back but the table wouldn't let you.

“Alright, that doesn't really cut it, pumpkin. All that foul stuff leaving your mouth? Filthy, don't you think?” The way his voice had a rather peculiar edge to it made you look up again, your eyes being met with a sly grin that reached up to his eyes, laugh lines, and crow's feet wrinkling softly, pretty bastard.

“I don't appreciate you talking to me like that and I really believe you should make up for it, no?” A jolt of embarrassment went through your chest before the very same sensation went straight down amidst your legs.

The way Karl looked at you, eyes sparkling with twisted mischief, weirdly reassuring you that he heard you although you certainly overstepped a line here, rendered you weak in the knees. Like a teenager in love, serotonin and dopamine wreaking havoc and working overtime to soothe the pounding frustration from earlier.

As much as you tried to stay mad at him, you just couldn't, not when he played you so deliciously just like that, knowing full well that he had you wrapped around his finger with ease.

“Do you need me to shut you up or are you going to behave and do that by yourself?” Every word made you more self-aware about your face probably glowing with a double-edged sense of shame.

“I'm really sorry…” You repeated yourself under your breath, forcing your stunted body to move, to nonverbally admit to your failings and sink down to your knees whilst bashfully aware of your mouth watering, conditioned to do so just fine.

“There you go.” Karl cooed, teeth nipping at his bottom lip whilst his granite eyes watched your every move, pupils blowing in lust as they followed you working the buttons on his jumper.

He felt himself getting harder with every oh-so-innocent bat of your lashes, his pulse picking up significantly just like yours. You halted for a brief moment, inhaling deeply through your nose, breathing him in at his full intensity, pheromones hijacking your brain immediately.

“Too much to handle, pumpkin? Uh-oh, if that ain’t the consequences of your actions.” His snarky comment pushed heat into your face.

Karl was right, it was more of him that you were used to but you quickly came to find out that that wasn’t necessarily something bad. Instead, you embraced it, took it the way it was because you’d successfully gotten yourself into this situation. You didn’t deserve anything else right now and you accepted it.

“Fuck…” The Lord of Metal hissed under his breath as you shamelessly nuzzled your face into his crotch, the tip of your nose snugly nestled amongst curly, gray pubes and lips playfully nipping at his stiffening shaft.

It wasn’t even a matter of a whole minute until his entire length stood against your cheek, the tip of his cock soft to the touch but throbbing.

“I know you’re a whore but I never took you for the dirty, nasty kind.” He egged you on, only feeding into this rather new and rapidly forming fantasy that was taking all of you by storm.

You already enjoyed it plenty when he got out of his workshop in the evenings, cuddling himself into bed next to you with hints of oil, fire, and sweat clinging to him, rendered you feral in seconds, but this right here made you dizzy; cock-drunk without even having him inside you just yet. And although your lips found themselves busy with kissing and nibbling the lack of having your impertinent brat mouth stuffed turned you impatient. You wanted to drag it out, for his pleasure…and yours, however you nearly couldn’t manage, saliva pooling beneath your tongue.

“See? That’s exactly where you’re supposed to be instead of right in my face yappin’ about dirty dishes, sweets. Be thankful that I touch the dirty fucking dishes at all, bitch.” The nearly threatening shift in his tone sent you spiraling in the best way possible.

“ ‘M sorry…” You mouthed against the tuft of hair.

“Huh? What’s that?” In a firm smack, his palm found your cheek before the same hand clasped at you by the jaw, squishing your mouth in mockery and you nearly cried out in need for him to manhandle you like that.

“ ‘M SORRY, SIR.” You pressed from a squeezed mouth to the best of your abilities.

“Ah, that’s it. Now quit playing around.” Karl released your face from his grip with a little bit of momentum, making you sway in your position before leaning back in and wrapping your lips around his girth.

A wanton moan echoed around his cock because not only did Karl smell much more intense, he also tasted the part, effectively rendering you dumb with only one objective on your brain: serve.

“Freaking slut, enjoying yourself, huh?” He thrust his lap right into your face, your nose pressing against the soft curve of his belly pooch whilst he spearheaded along your tongue down into your throat.

The sudden jut of his hips made you gag around him, the root of your tongue contracting in tandem with your larynx, coaxing a pleased grunt from Karl’s lips. In a juxtaposed, twisted way your overwhelming discomfort brought a nearly unimaginable amount of pleasure, your love for consensual pain and humiliation nearly as large as the one you felt for Karl.

Your knees scratched over the concrete floor of his workshop as his fingers snaked along the back of your head, grabbing it by your hair in fistfuls to harshly guide your mouth to bop on his cock. An amalgamation of spittle and eager droplets of salty precum covered the inside of your mouth and squelched from the corners of your lips, dripping down into his lap.

“Sloppy bitch.”, Karl commented between quiet groans, half-lidded eyes watching you taking him whole with every jerk of your head, “Keep it together.”

Punishment followed immediately, Karl’s other hand darting to pinch your nose shut.

“Uh, no, no, no.”, The Lord shushed upon you starting to gag and slightly panic instantly, “I gotchu, be good.”

You suppressed the intrinsic instinct to breathe, nose incapacitated and your esophagus gagged with Karl’s pulsing girth, tongue pressed right against the bottom of his cock, involuntarily caressing the thick vein that prodded along your tastebuds.

Don’t gag, don’t gag, don’t -

Tears threatened to spill over your lower lash line, the watery blur glazing over your sight, lungs pulling and tearing inwards in a gradually worsening need for fresh oxygen.

“Just a little more, fuck- so tight…” Karl groaned, pointy canines digging into the tender flesh of his bottom lip, scratching over and slightly through the skin.

Not being able to breathe turned increasingly painful, your ribcage being set ablaze by an itch you simply couldn’t scratch right now.

“There, there, good fucking girl.” The words rumbled through his chest accompanied by a final forcefully maneuvered jerk of your head.

Little black patches danced over your retina and you felt dangerously lightheaded as the first thick ropes of cum gushed down your throat and for a split second your body nearly spasms in such panic that you almost bit his twitching dick right off. Instead, Karl released the tip of your nose from his pinching clasp and your jaw went slack, joints aching in overuse, and yet you obediently swallowed, took it all down to the very last bit, saliva, tears, and mucus gathering at your chin whilst you breathed yourself through it.

However absurd it would’ve sounded to explain it to someone who’d never been in your shoes just like that, finishing your task sparked a sense of pride to bloom in your chest.

“So good, so perfect, come’ere.” Karl pulled himself out of you, leaving you pleasantly sore whilst you catch your breath, your body still feeling wobbly and overly sensitive.

He held you by both wrists as he helped you get up before pulling your slightly shaking form onto his lap, his lips leaving a wash of kisses all across your heated face the very second you sat down.

“You okay, hun?” You nodded in response, weak arms wrapping around his shoulders to find more purchase.

“Was a bit rough, no? I know.”, Karl started wiping the tears from under your eyes with his thumbs, both palms encasing your face tenderly, “I’m sorry, got a bit carried away.”

You couldn’t be angry at him for it had felt too good and you knew that he would never seriously hurt you on purpose.

“Issok.” Your voice was but a breathy little whisper.

“Sure? How ‘bout I make it up to you?”, Karl started grinning as the spark of an idea flickered behind the pale gray in his eyes, “How about I move my partially lazy ass into the kitchen, do the dishes, meanwhile, you’re free to enjoy a nice hot bath I’ll pour you and afterward I’ll take good care of you, hm? I better have my jaw sore by the end of the day too, only fair.”

The lightly damp tip of his nose gently nudged against yours, his wicked smile contagious enough to catch on to you.

[astarionposting]

I. [photoset] MOMENT'S SILENCE (COMMON TONGUE) ♡ Hozier

❝All reason flown, as God looks on in abject apathy;

ㅤㅤA squall, and all of me is a prayer in perfect piety;

ㅤㅤㅤA moment's silence when my baby puts her mouth on me. ❞

[gifset 18+]

i'll be doing dark justiciar shadowheart scene later tonight + some of astarion's mischievous smile (as per lovely anon's request)

[musubi-sama]

Thunderbolt and Lightning

An after-dinner walk fulfills one of your hidden fantasies. Where the electricity is both metaphor and diegetic.

“Ready? Did you grab your keys?”

“Yeah, but I’ll leave my phone at home,” you finish slipping on your shoes as you step out your front door being held by Suguru.

In the summer, you enjoyed evening walks around town, walking off the incredible meals you prepared together. Well, mostly Suguru prepared, and you were his doting sous chef. Sometimes stealing a cherry tomato here, or a pinch of freshly grated cheese there.

Tonight, the weather felt heavy, the humidity oppressive and the clouds dark and roiling. But you walked on, arm looped around Suguru’s arm, clutching him close. You could smell the remnants of dinner on him mingling with his earthy cologne. Butter chicken curry, thick and rich. Fresh toasted spices lingering through his midnight-black hair, spread across his back and shoulders.

Admiring the dying hydrangeas lining the path, a signal of the change into the peak of summer. The rainy season is dying, soon you’ll face endless days of brutal humidity and burning sun.

You turn and head towards the river. As the wind picks up, a small gust ruffles the edges of your skirt leading to a brief cheeky peek of your panties. You snap your free hand down to push the fabric snug against your legs. You see Suguru looking further down the path, an almost imperceptible smirk on his lips.

Of course, he enjoyed that brief glimpse. He wanted to slip his hand closer to you, but you reacted just a fraction faster than him.

The soft evening sun is hidden behind a few clouds, the last few shimmering rays smothered by the darkening skies.

A flash in the corner of your eye. You turn your head, expecting to see a camera, but there is no one in sight.

“Did you see something?” Suguru breaks the calm silence between you. Eyes ever soft, inquisitive. He gives your looped arm a gentle squeeze, taut muscles applying gentle pressure to you.

“I just thought I saw a flash. But it was just nothing,” you lean your head on his broad, strong arm and continue walking along. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

Another flash.

This time you’re certain you saw a flash, a crack in the sky.

“That was defin- “

You’re cut off by a faint, but low roll.

“Hmm,” Suguru frowns, looking up at the clouds with scrutiny.

“That was thunder?” you ask rhetorically, secretly wishing for more, you mask your anticipation while looking around the sky.

Suguru feels a few stray heavy drops hit his face and shoulders. Frowning at the inevitable, wishing he’d chosen to wear boots over his cloth tabi shoes.

“Let’s head back. I didn’t bring an umbrella,” Suguru starts on a wide U-turn, but you stop him. Eyes pleading, pulling him back towards the riverbank.

“What’s a little rain? Maybe it’ll feel better once the storm passes. I’m sure it’s just a little summer squall.”

Flashing your husband a wide smile, he buckles to your will, this moment no different than all the others.

More flashes, the coinciding thunderclaps getting louder and closer together.

“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, thr- “ you’re cut off from counting at the next thunder roll comes. “The previous one was five seconds, it’s getting closer!”

Suguru chuckles fondly at your childhood game.

The rain starts to pick up in earnest; warm, heavy, fat drops of rain begin falling and the river gets choppy. The earthy and distinctive scent of petrichor fills your lungs.

Giggling as you run closer towards the sloping floodplain embankment, hand in hand pulling along Suguru, you both fall on the plush and verdant grass to accept your rainy fates.

The rain now fully coming down, wetting your faces, soaking your clothes. Cotton sticking to your skin, hair matted into the grass. Your heart warmed by the weather.

“I have a confession,” you roll onto your side, feeling a squish under your shoulders and hips as they sink into the softening earth.

Suguru raises one eyebrow as he faces you and matches your pose. He rests on his left forearm, slipping his leg across your hip and thigh.

“I love thunderstorms. The angrier, the fiercer, the better. I know some people hate them, but to me, it’s the purest expression of power. Electricity is created and shot through the heavens, the air shouts back with applause. I can’t get enough of it.”

Immediately regretting admitting your excitement over the storm, you start to roll into your stomach, tucking the flush of embarrassment seeping across your face.

“So why aren’t you watching it right now? With a little luck you might see a good bolt of lightning right in front of us!” Suguru pushes his leg fully across as he rolls you onto your back. His arms and legs bracketing you in, you feel a warmth beyond the heavy rain spreading through you.

Something about the electric atmosphere, nature’s booming soundtrack, erased any inhibitions over your next move.

You look up directly into Suguru’s amethyst eyes and see a mirror of the storm raging above you. Another flash of lightning beyond your field of view and before the light is gone, Suguru is biting at your lower lip, slipping his tongue against yours, matching the intensity of the storm.

The ensuing roll of thunder is felt deep in your core, a primal urge pushing you up from the sodden grass. You start to grasp haphazardly at Suguru’s back, trying to find purchase along his soaked back, shirt stuck to his skin.

Finally, you wind a handful of his hair into your hands, slipping along the wet and soft tendrils spreading out. With one snug pull, Suguru whines louder than the storm and his head rears back.

Suguru’s one weakness, coupled with the weather, made him feel like a Van de Graaff generator. Surely if you had let go of his mane, it would stand out in every direction and his head filled with nothing but static electricity.

Snapping back to reality, Suguru in one swift movement grabs your wrists from behind him and pins them with a squish above your head. Your eyes shoot open as you look down Suguru’s face and body, rain splashing across your cheeks.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as another flash illuminates Suguru’s intense features. His eyes are narrowed and focused on you, lips slightly separated, and thanks to the soaking rain and thin pants, an incredibly revealing outline of his full erection.

Suguru rocks against you, dragging as much of his bulge as he can against the thin layers of polyester and cotton from your skirt and panties, making his presence and intent known.

Between the cracks of lightning and rolls of thunder you let out a long whine.

Keeping one hand pinning yours down, he snakes his other hand up under your soaked shirt and reaches into your bra to take your nipple in his fingers. He firmly rolls it between his thumb and pointer as you arch your back into him.

“Look up here and watch the sky,” you look back up just in time for another flash and another harsh pinch on your nipple. Your moans match the thunder in response.

Suguru moves his hand out of your shirt and releases your hands. He sits back on his knees and shucks down his pants just enough, letting his cock spring free with a twitch. In the same moment, another sky-splitting flash of lighting. You release the breath you hadn’t noticed you had held in a breathy gasp.

Leaning down on his forearm, Suguru pulls the edge of your skirt up and rubs his middle finger along your rain-and-arousal-soaked panties, pulling another arch from your back.

“Ah-ahhh! Don’t stop, please, don’t,” you whine, writhing in the sodden grass. The rain is coming down hard, but the cold splatter sets your skin ablaze from the sensations Suguru draws from you.

Pulling your panties to the side, Suguru slips his finger slowly, millimeter by millimeter into your warm, soft pussy. As his finger sinks in and curls upward, his thumb grazes and then pushes on your clit.

“Oh god, right there, right-“

As if on cue, a lightning bolt strikes, and you don’t know if the shock through your cunt was from the storm or Suguru’s touch.

“Fuck!”

Suguru smirks in response as he adds a second finger and slides them out and in lazily, thumb circling with gentle pressure. You grasp again at his shoulders, hands slipping until they find purchase at his tense biceps.

Mind beginning to go blank, filling with electric static, you force your eyes open and see your husbands’ dark eyes looking right through you.

Flash. Boom. Roll.

“Cum for me. Let me hear you louder than the storm.”

The electricity shoots through your bones, your body alternating between writhing pleasure and rigid shocks of ecstasy. You scream out, a garble of expletives and moans drowning out the storm for just a moment. The rain continues to pour down, small rivers sliding down the hill around you.

“I-I-“ you pant, barely coming down from your high as another flash of lighting and roll of thunder overtakes the skies. “I need you, Suguru. I need more.”

“I think this might be the neediest I’ve ever seen you,” a strained edge to his voice, Suguru sits back after nipping a few sharp kisses on your neck.

He quickly unzips his pants, freeing his swollen, heavy cock. He holds the base and gives it a few slow, lazy strokes as he moves to straddle you and align himself with your sensitive core.

Suguru has a wild streak - he practices shibari, occasionally taking a day or two for a full dom/sub scene, and you’ve even discussed attending a sex party together. But public sex, in broad daylight (more-or-less), without any nature to obscure yourselves from people wandering by? He can’t say he had considered it. But as cliche as it is, the air is electric, and he won’t deny that he’s turned on by the thrills.

Giving your needy cunt a few teasing slips as Suguru grip his length at the base before sinking into you in one thrust. His breath catches in his throat. He anticipates the coming sensation, but every time it never fails to make him see flashes - and not just the lightning this time.

As soon as you feel his girth split you open, you bring your knees up, ankles wrapping around Suguru’s thighs as you attempt to accommodate his length fully seated in you. Thankful that he is not moving, however you can feel yourself getting lightheaded from unconsciously holding your breath again.

Another crack of thunder and lightning, and that’s his cue to pull out just until his tip catches at your entrance before he slams back in. Normally one to tease and take his time, Suguru felt the intensity and urgency of the storm. Knowing it would pass before too long, and to reduce the risk of getting caught, he sought to rail you within an inch of your meager sanity quickly.

You can feel his urgency and you start to roll your hips up to meet him. In doing so, the angle of his cock inside of you shifted just so and you can feel the pressure beginning to build. Having already reached your peak once (and especially since this is round two of the day!), your body begins to fill with static much faster now.

The storm has picked up its intensity, joining you both in poetic harmony.

“I can’t-hold on-much longer,” you reach your head up to kiss the need off Suguru’s lips. To swallow his whines as his speed increases and he continues to chase his end. You hold on again as an anchor. You plant your feet firmly on the ground as your body is pressed further into the soft, sodden ground.

And in one last thrust, a blue-white bolt of lightning and immediate, near-deafening crack of thunder hits nearby, obfuscating the moans and cries from your shared orgasms.

Suguru pushes himself firm against your cervix, letting thick ropes of cum splash into you, filling what space there is in your cunt. His head drops into the crook of your neck where he mumbles words of love into your skin. Surely the residuals from this morning have dissipated and he must replace them with new affections.

The rain continues coming down, unsure if your eyes are weepy or the rain running down your cheeks. Your heart is beating almost too fast, now slowly relaxing, matching the pace of Suguru’s breathing above you.

After a moment in the afterglow, Suguru slowly pulls out, eliciting a hiss from him and a groan from you. He quickly slides a hand in to gather up the spilling cum, pushing it back in. You squirm at the welcomed tender touch, letting more soft moans escape your lips.

The rain has now subsided some, a calm gentle rain now softly falling.

“I think we should pay more attention to the forecast next time,” Suguru states, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you sit on your response for a moment. “Or do you mean…?”

Suguru stands up, having re-zipped his pants, and offers his hand down to you. You take it and catch a mischievous glint in his eye.

Once standing, he holds you with your back to his chest, arms crossed your chest, your hands reaching up to grip his forearms. You look up at him, and he leans down to kiss you. And grind his clearly-not-fully-soft dick into your ass. You fight every urge to not push back and grind against him.

“I think we should go home and get out of these clothes, maybe take a bath?” you suggest, knowing it won’t just be a straightforward bath waiting for you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 52

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Andy's palm clamps over your mouth, smothering any noise you try to make. You grasp at his thick fingers, puffing through your nostrils as you kick out, fighting his indomitable strength. This can't be. He wouldn't do this. Andy's a nice guy, the only decent guy you knew. It's why you couldn't bring him into your mess.

His arm tightens around your neck as he drags you backward. He presses his cheek to the side of your head and hisses, "shhhh, I don't want to hurt you. That's the last thing I want, honey." You whimper as your feet bounce off the ground, "even though you hurt me. Over and over." He rasps as he hauls you with him, "I only wanted to give you everything. If you let me, I still can."

He swings you around and wrangles you behind his house. Your panic surges as your eyes prick hotly. You shudder and try to calm yourself. Luna. You have to get Luna.

You let your arms go limp, taking careful steps to alleviate the constraint around your neck. He fumbles to open the door and turns you inside. He slams it behind him, closing you inside the impenetrable silence of his home.

He marches you forward. You don't resist. He takes you to another door, this one you've never been past. To be fair, when you were there, you didn't stay long enough to explore. There's a thick deadbolt on the outside.

"Andy," you force out your tight windpipe, "please, don't hurt me--"

"Honey, I won't. We got a daughter to take care of," he opens the door to a carpeted staircase.

"I know, I know," you shakily reach back to touch his hip, "let me go, I'll go down but I could fall if you don't."

"I won't let you," he insists and lurches you forward.

He keeps his arm around your neck, walking you awkwardly down each step, following the sharp angle of the staircase. The basement is made up like an apartment of its own. It's finished with carpet and paint on the walls, changing colours to delineate the space. The kitchen in one corner, a living space in another, a queen bed against the wall, and the corner where the crib looks eerily similar to the nursery in Lloyd's house. You stop and look around, horrified.

Luna whines. You pull against Andy without thinking. You have to control yourself. You repress the urge to claw and fight him.

"Andy," you bring your hands up to your throbbing chest, "I need to feed her. She's hungry... I hurt so bad."

He doesn't let you go right away. He exhales and slowly drops his arm, grazing your hip as he does. You restrain yourself from running across the room. You move cautiously towards the crib. She's there, squirming and squalling for you.

You lift Luna and hush her as you hold her close. She's bawling in fear, you can't let her feel your own. You pull up your shirt and put her to your nipple, angling her to latch. You sigh and turn, sitting on the rocking footrest in front of the glider. You coo and pet her head as she feeds greedily.

"I'm sorry. I tried to feed her," Andy says as he shuts the door at the bottom of the stairs, "she wouldn't take the formula."

"It's okay, she's fussy," you assure him, trying not to think of the surreal circumstance. Just be calm. "Very hungry."

He nods and comes closer, his cheeks kissed red from the bitter winter. He looms across from you, watching as Luna suckles noisily. His gaze weighs on you as you find his eyes fixed on your chest. You don't let the shiver roll up your spine.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

You try not to react. He's asking if you're okay and he's brought you down to his weird bunker? A place like this doesn't just appear overnight.

You gulp, "I'm just happy to have her back. Thank you, Andy."

He smiles and looks you in the face, "I'll keep you safe. Both of you."

You force a smile of your own. There's something off. You see it then in his glassy eyes, as if he's hypnotised.

"Do you have any tea?" You ask softly, "I'm cold."

He flinches and puts his hand on his chest. He clears his throat, "yes, honey, I'll get you some. You like green or--"

"It's late, chamomile?"

"Of course."

He finally backs up and you breathe through your nose as you look down at your daughter. You listen to him moving around the kitchenette. You hug Luna tighter. It's going to be okay, baby girl. I'll make sure of it.

You switch sides as the plucking turns painful. Andy sets down a steaming cup. You could throw it back in his face but you know better. That will only make him angry. You're not fast or strong enough to beat him. You're not getting out tonight.

"Thank you," you feel Luna ease in her hold, "she's getting sleepy."

He stands over you, turning to face you. His hand tickles over your shoulder and he leans it to caress Luna's head as she closes her eyes. You stiffen, livid as he dares to touch your child. You swallow it down as his hand wanders further and he squeezes your other tit. You wince.

"She's so beautiful, just like her mommy," he lets go and gets down to kneel beside you. He leans his head against your shoulder and watches Luna.

"Thank you," you breathe, roll your eyes back against a new wave of tears.

You never expected this, so how could anyone else? No one will come for you, you have to find your own way out.

🍑

Luna fusses and rouses you from your trance. Not sleep, just terror. The arm slung around your middle has you paralysed but it cannot keep you from your child. Slowly, you move Andy's arm away from you and sit up. He grumbles as you cross to the crib and lift your daughter, rocking her.

"What're you doing?" He rasps in his morning grit.

"Shhh, she might go back to sleep," you whisper, "she's just not used to her new... home."

He pushes himself up on his elbows and looks at you from under sleepy lashes. He yawns and sits up, fluffing the pillow up behind his back. He stretches his arm towards you, waving you closer, "I'll take her."

"Maybe in a bit, let me just calm her down," you cradle Luna tighter.

"I can do it," he insists, "let me hold our daughter."

His tone deepens, hard as iron. Our daughter? You can't let him hurt her. Or you, you're the only one there to keep her safe.

"Just be gentle," you gird as you come around the bed, "she'll be hungry if she stays awake."

"I know how to hold a baby," he retorts as he sits forward to take her. You carefully put her in his arms, reluctant to back away.

She wriggles as he gazes down at her. You twiddle your fingers, standing close, your chest tight and pounding.

"I go her," he insists, "can you get some coffee on, honey?"

You stare at him, blinking, then glance down at your daughter. "Sure."

You back away, inching to the kitchenette as you can't help but peek back over and over. He coos at her, his voice soft and higher than usual. It makes you want to throttle him even more. Luna feels much the same as her babbles turn to uncomfortable grunts.

You find a bag of coffee and open the machine in the corner. You quickly load it up as your daughter's voice tugs at you. You hear Andy growl.

"She won't stay still," he huffs.

"Like I said, she's probably hungry."

You go back to them and offer to take her. He hands her over but not without muttering. You pull up the same sweater you've been in since the previous morning. You get Luna latched and yipe as you feel a pinch on your other nipple. Andy tweaks through the rumbled fabric and pushes it up.

"Ow," you try to back up but he catches you by the hip.

You keep Luna in place as he turns his legs over the side of the bed and guides you close. You can't resist as you try not to jostle your child. He bares your other tit and in a second, his lips seal around your nipple. You cry out in shock, almost smacking his head as he suckles.

"What are you doing?" You exclaim.

"Mmmm," he hums and pops his mouth off, "you taste good."

"My milk is for her, Andy," you block him from trying again, pushing a hand against his chin as you keep your other arm under Luna. "Don't--"

He pulls his head back and reaches up to grab your tit, squeezing it until your yelp. It hurts so bad. A trickle leaks out as Luna's mouth detaches and she gurgles.

"Andy, you're going to hurt her," you snap.

He only kneads you harder. You whimper and your legs buckle.

"You have more than enough," he insists and slides forward, nibbling on your tender nipple. You whine and move Luna away from him, disgusted by what he's doing.

"Andy, please, I don't-- she needs to feed first--"

He ignores you and keeps suckling, your stomach churning as your daughter begins to wail. He doesn't care at all about your daughter, he's sick and twisted and would let her starve. Well, you won't stand for that. You will get her out of here, at any cost.

[lesbian-i-ching]

Picture a man Seen like a speck out from the shore Swimming out beyond the breakers like he's done his life before He feels the coming of a squall will drag him out a greater length But knows his strength And tries to gather it

And he swims on Turning back to shore again Above the outer atmosphere of a world he's never seen And looking down to his new home, he feels the rising of a wave And knows at once he will not weather it

Like that man I looked down into the depths when I met you I couldn't measure it

Any time I've struggled on Against the course Out on my own Every time I'd burn through the world, I'd see That the world, it burns through me But when I'd let go My struggling form My willing soul Every time I'd flow through the world, I'd see That the world, it flows through me That the world, it flows through me

Picture a grave Picture six feet freshly dug The sharp temporary walls at the long-term cliff edge of the world Light and air find some new deepness there and usher down the sky Where one stands by and tries make sense of it

But try measure loss Measure the silence of a house The unheard footsteps at the doorway The unemployment of the mouth The waking up, having forgotten And remembering again the full extent of what forever is

With each grave I think of loss And I can only think of you And I couldn't measure it

Any time I've struggled on Against the course Out on my own Every time I'd burn through the world, I'd see That the world, it burns through me But when I'd let go My struggling form My willing soul Every time I'd flow through the world, I'd see That the world, it flows through me That the world, it flows through me

[cynautica]

i remembered i can just make stuff up (stream sketches + scrapped designs)

uhhhh quick fire for the second image from left to right juvenile vessel - old world cable maintenance - artistic diplomat vessel

Headcanons below the cut:

(Im not kidding word counter marked this as a 5 minute reading time open at your own risk)

While the sentiment of the architect network as "a thousand strings in a melody, not one louder than the rest" is a poetic interpretation of the network, it is not necessarily reflective of the precursors society as a whole.

At its peak, the species span billions of planets with billions on billions of individuals, all with their own degrees of autonomy and divergence. If each architect is equal in its power, than it is equal in its power to choose. Even if the soul of an architect, its very essence and its personality, is designed so perfectly that its primary desire is the perpetuation of order and advancement (two inherently divergent concepts), faults occur. Breakages occur. Pockets, cultural subsets, faded transmissions, and any other element of lost insight be it archaic or modern, lends itself to the impossibility of an entirely homogeneous society.

Whether a hive minded society reflects the only means to perfection is debatable, but its important to remember that our main portal in to the precursor world is Al-an, a known prodigy born and raised in to a society that has done nothing but benefit him. His view of his people is intrinsically skewed. He has never had a reason to see beyond the propaganda, nor question his directives. They have never once failed him.

But what of the little guys? The constructed failures so to speak. Those destined to be cast in to the bowels of poisonous cobalt mines and those who's birth purpose is to be irradiated and isolated for the greater good of the collective. Those who's genes prompted sub-standard intelligence who will never be seen as truly important. Their needs must be cast aside by design for the greater good of the collective. By design they must be ignored, their thoughts not relevant to the forwarding of progress.

Because there is true power disparity there is a true hierarchy.

Aware of this, the precursors devised a system of checks and balances to ensure that scientific progress remains at the forefront, rather than the accumulation of power by any individual.

As with all things though, power inevitably seeks to maintain and grow like a cancer.

One such exertion of power comes in the form of a "hive master". These unique individuals require precise expensive machinery in order to be produced, and as such are very rare. The vessels they require are likewise uniquely suited to only these hive masters and their unique ability to sway the voices and personality of any individual connected to the network. They themselves are invisible, completely undetectable except in physical form. Their unique telepathic abilities only work when paired with these vessels. They have no voice nor will of their own and are said to represent architect society on its most basal level.

Given their difficult to produce nature established personalities are very often used in place of new seed combinations. Personalities most suited for repurposing as a hive master include those who are most senior, intelligent, and aligned wholly with societal goals.

They are typically only found on heavily populated planets with more than a few thousand individuals. There they go undetected, like the sound of wind lost in a sea of voices, whose squall directs its very rampage. They are also enlisted for many unique duties on populous planets, such as the refactoring of corrupted individuals and silencing cultural sub-sets.

The average architect probably isn't even aware of the existence of a hive master unless their profession lies in the refactoring and diplomatic processes.

Despite the cultural drive for a monotonous and orderly society, artistic expression is common and encouraged in some sects. All architects possess the desire to express themselves, similarly to humans. Some do this simply with their inbuilt biolights that vary naturally with the individual, while others (less commonly) modify their vessel or design new and unique ones for themselves.

A vessel after all is a costly investment you cant just change like the season, its built to last you a couple thousand years. It's only natural that some seek to don something unique.

This behavior is sometimes detested by more traditional architects, but is not universally frowned upon.

Diplomats are actually encouraged to take on more artistically designed vessels. Often with their respective species' artistic values in mind. They've found greater success with alliances when they don't look like massive sticks in the mud.

Subsets of culture also at times develop unique vessels. Such as an order-over-progress movement that developed on the fringes of the network and preferred pie-bald esque vessels. Alternatively in the past as wars waged between the architects the opposing sides often don differing forms to show their allegiances. In more recent history, a wave of white-clad vigilantes advocated for a complete reset of the old-world collective.

Aside from artistic and affiliation vessels, mainstream precursor society also used a series of varying vessels to reflect personal occupation. Some of the most notable included the warrior vessel, who by design met the largest accommodations of standard architecture for the purposes of intimidation and physical altercations. Al-an's vessel likewise is very common as a heavier-built variant meant to face harsh outer worlds such as 4546B. On base, more light and energy efficient vessels make the dominant force where defense isn't a huge priority.

Microvessels such as those seen above in grey are fairly uncommon despite their energy efficiency. They are most efficient on old world planets that have been in development for hundreds of thousands of years, where the march of time means that not all builders past and present were on the same wavelength and as such small and precise forms mean that construction can be completed with minimal risk to crowded infrastructure.

Another unique and uncommon vessel is that of a juvenile grow-out vessel. These are seldom customized beyond survival needs, and are designed to acclimate a freshly generated architect to the physical world. Like a living vessel, they grow with the individual starting from broodling all the way until young adulthood. They tend to be a bit clumsy and lack the ability to interface with most technology. Always running a blue biolight, these vessels to not require a lot of energy to function physically. A juvenile architect must prove its maturity before it is allowed to graduate in to an adult vessel. This change-out phase is a diplomatic process and one can sometimes wait many years before being approved in to maturity.

The treatment of a new architect varies quite significantly depending on their birthplace and genotype. High performing juveniles are singled out very quickly for better education. Despite the rarity of children in architect society they are not given much importance. A single broodmother may be the ward of up to fifty broodlings, each of which given little attention in favor of allowing them to develop social skills among themselves. Despite architect's seeming infinite power to control resources, broodling mortality is surprisingly high.

[kckt88]

I Just Can't Help Falling In Love With You.

Summary:

After the birth of their daughter Y/N worries about the changes to her body, so her husband Aemond takes it upon himself to show his wife just how much he loves her.

Contains a small flashback!!

Warning(s): Body Image Issues, Upset, Kissing, Spitting Lactation Kink, Smut – Oral Sex (F Receiving), P in V Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Different Positions, Language.

Word Count: 2639 - Some Fluff and SMUT!!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

MODERN AU - AEMOND x Y/N

PART OF DON'T MESS WITH MY MIND - But can be read as a one-shot.

Inspired by the song: ELVIS - I JUST CAN'T HELP FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU.

Tag List: @immyowndefender, @zenka69, @iloveallmyboys, @summerposie, @namelesslosers, @dixie-elocin, @aemondsfavouritebastard, @toodlesxcuddles, @ammo23

As he entered the flat Aemond couldn’t help his sigh of contentment at the smell of talcum powder and baby shampoo lingered in the air.

After taking his shoes off and putting his car keys in the bowl, Aemond quickly tugged off his coat and ran a hand over his face, it was good to be home.

Walking over to the bookcase, Aemond picked up a photograph and smiled, it had been taken the day his precious daughter was born.

Aemond had no idea how much time had passed since Y/N was instructed to push, even as the labour tired her, she kept going. Her red face covered in sweat and tears.

Her nails dug into his skin as she pushed with all her might.

“That’s it, I can see the babes head”.

“You can do it my love. That’s it. Keep pushing” urged Aemond, grimacing slightly as Y/N squeezed his hand even tighter.

“Keep going. Your doing so well-“

"You’re doing it my love" exclaimed Aemond.

“The head’s out. Now just wait until the next contraction and push”

Even though she was exhausted, Y/N took a deep breath and gave one last push.

Then an ear-piercing cry shattered the silence of the room. 

Aemond’s heart swooped at the sound, his lips parting in amazement as a squalling pink baby was placed on Y/N’s chest.

Y/N whimpered next to him, her eyes shining with relieved tears. 

The baby was a girl.

“Mr Targaryen, would you like to cut the cord” asked the Midwife.

Aemond nodded eagerly as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, his hands shaking as he took the small medical scissors and cut where the Midwife pointed to.

“Aemond. Look, our girl” gasped Y/N.

“She’s perfect” whispered Aemond in awe.

His heart bursting with love at the sight of his newly born daughter in the arms of his wife.

“She looks like you” said Y/N happily.

The baby had a full head of dark blonde hair, never in his life had Aemond ever seen so much hair on a babe.

No wonder Y/N had suffered constantly with heartburn.

Suddenly a small cry broke Aemond out of his reverie and he went into the second bedroom that they’d converted into a nursery.

The light pink walls, adorned with butterfly wall decorations courtesy of his sister Helaena and pictures of various family members.

“Shhh my sweet girl, what’s wrong?” asked Aemond as he lifted his three month old daughter out of her cot.

“S-Sorry I was tidying the bedroom” urged Y/N as she entered the room.

“It’s ok, I just got here, I think she’s hungry-hey little miss, you won’t get any milk out of there” laughed Aemond as his daughter began rooting against his chest.

Y/N giggled sweet as she took their daughter and sat in the rocking chair by the window, Aemond watched silently as she undid her dressing gown and allowed their fussing daughter to latch onto her exposed breast.

“Is everything ok?” asked Y/N.

“Yeah, it’s fine, why wouldn’t it be” replied Aemond.

“You have that soppy look on your face”.

“Only because you’re so beautiful” said Aemond smiling.

“It’s only because I’m so in love”.

“No-no, it’s because I’m so in love with you” laughed Aemond.

“So, love has blinded you?” asked Y/N teasingly.

“Well, that’s not exactly what I meant” replied Aemond.

“But it’s probably true” smiled Y/N.

Aemond laughed again, and then furrowed his brow as his attention was caught on a pink bunny rabbit teddy.

This was new, he’d not seen it before.

“It was a gift” said Y/N as she rubbed their daughters back, trying to encourage her to burp.

“From whom? I thought my mother had sent some blankets she’d knitted”.

“She did, but it’s not from your mother. It’s from Aegon” replied Y/N.

At the mention of his brother’s name, Aemond’s head whipped round so fast, he almost gave himself whiplash.

“Please tell me he wasn’t in this flat, if he came anywhere near Mila I swear-“

“-Relax my love, the postman delivered it this morning” said Y/N.

“How do you know it was from Aegon?” asked Aemond as he took Mila from Y/N and laid her on the changing table.

“There was a note” said Y/N as she re-tied her dressing gown, watching as Aemond rolled up his sleeves, exposing the tattoo of Mila's footprint on his forearm.

“What did it say?” mused Aemond as he changed Mila’s nappy.

“That he was sorry for the way things had turned out, he said he missed you and he hopes to meet his niece one day”.

“Not a chance” quipped Aemond as he finished redressing Mila and then placed her in the cot. He took one of the blankets his mother had knitted at then covered their daughter with it, making sure she was safely tucked in before he turned on the dragon mobile.

As a soft melody began to fill the air, Y/N tugged Aemond out of the room leaving the door slightly ajar.

Aemond obediently followed his wife to their bedroom.

“What happened in here, looks like a hurricane has hit it” wondered Aemond as he noticed all the clothing strewn on the floor.

“W-Well, I-I Just-“ muttered Y/N shuffling her feet awkwardly on the carpeted floor.

“What’s the matter?” asked Aemond, noticing his wife’s shift in demeanour.

“I was trying on clothes and some of them don’t fit and-“ whimpered Y/N as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Hey” gasped Aemond as he walked over to his wife and wrapped his arms around her.

“I don’t look the same as I did before-how can you even stand to look at me”.

“Because I love you so much and you are the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever laid my eye on” said Aemond firmly.

“I-I’m not the same-my body it has changed” muttered Y/N.

“Your body grew and nourished our child; you are so beautiful my love” replied Aemond as he clasped Y/N’s face in his and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Aemond” gasped Y/N, her cheeks tinged pink.

“What will it take for you to believe me?” mused Aemond.

“I-I don’t know” whispered Y/N, her fingers fiddling with the cord of her dressing gown.

Aemond’s singular eye roved over Y’N’s breasts that were visible through the gap on her dressing gown and smirked as his cock began to grow hard in his trousers.

“Hm-I think I know how” growled Aemond as he reached forward a loosened the dressing gown cord, his mouth watering as it fell open to reveal his wife’s luscious body.

“Aemond” exclaimed Y/N as he slipped the silken material from her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor.

“I’m going to show you just how beautiful you truly are” said Aemond as he stepped back and began pulling at his own clothes and in no time at all he was completely naked, his cock now fully hard and leaking.

“Is such a thing possible?” asked Y.N.

“All things are possible little mouse” replied Aemond as he directed Y/N to sit on the bed.

“You are a goddess, now let me worship at your throne” said Aemond as he took hold of Y/N’s legs and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

“Ooo A-Aemond” exclaimed Y/N.

“Such a pretty pussy " breathed Aemond spitting on her pussy before he ran the flat of his tongue up Y/N’s soaked slit, from bottom to the top, tasting her.

“Oh, my god” moaned Y/N her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it my sweet. Let me hear you”. 

“YES! It feels so good. Don’t stop. Aemond. Please” begged Y/N.

"Delicious" purred Aemond as he began lapping at Y/N, running his tongue along every fold.

"More" panted Y/N. "Please. I need more”.

Aemond inserted two fingers, sliding them in and out of her slick wet folds.

“Oh, fuck" whimpered Y/N; her chest heaving.

 Aemond’s fingers were soaking wet as they continued to pump in and out of her tight heat.

“I can’t wait to get my cock inside you. I don’t want to wait any longer, come for me” moaned Aemond.

Gods his cock was so hard, it was almost painful.

Finally, he felt Y/N’s inner walls start to flutter around his fingers, squeezing them. Her back arched taut as a bow, and she screamed her release.

Aemond pumped slowly and lapped at his wife whilst she came.

Soon her tense body went slack and pliant, her chest heaving with every breath.

Aemond slowly moved up Y/N’s body, pressing kisses to her soft body as he went, until he reached his desired destination.

“Daddy” whispered Y/N as she writhed against him.

Aemond looked at Y/N and smirked before he bent down to lick her nipples, he couldn’t contain his excitement as he went back and forth between his wife’s wonderful, enlarged breasts that nourished their daughter.

“Oh” muttered Y/N as she flung her arms over her face in embarrassment, as pearly white liquid began to leak from her breasts, running down her body in rivulets.

“Do not feel embarrassed my love” whispered Aemond.

Aemond ran his tongue over the milk that had dripped from his wife’s rosy nipples and delighted in the sweetened taste.

“Hm” moaned Aemond as he continued to lick and suck his wife’s breasts.

“A-Aemond” gasped Y/N.

“Surely you would not deprive me wife. Your mother’s milk tastes delicious” muttered Aemond softly.

“I need you” exclaimed Y/N.

“-Just a second” muttered Aemond as he reached into the draw of the bedside table and pulled out a condom.

Placing the square packet in his mouth, Aemond ripped it open with his teeth and quickly rolled the condom down his cock.

Aemond couldn't wait any longer. He surged forward and ploughed his hard cock into Y/N’s soaked cunt.

"AEMOND!" shouted Y/N, her eyes popping open from her post-orgasm haze.

"You feel so good" rasped Aemond.

"Fuck me, Aemond" urged Y/N, her tone bordering on desperate as she thrust her hips upward towards his.

Aemond chuckled and bit down lightly on a nipple, making Y/N moan and squirm.

He started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his wife squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Y/N.

"Patience, little mouse. This is our first time since you birthed our daughter" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Y/N’s neck.

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Y/N.

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse and gripped him - pressing him into her harder.

“Gods, Y/N" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me, filling me up. Give me what I need. Make me scream, make me come”.

Aemond knew exactly what Y/N was doing, but he couldn’t help himself.

Y/N wanted faster, and he was going much faster now; so much for having the control in the situation. His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his wife’s luscious lips.

Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Y/N’s legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet pussy.

Y/N folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Y/N.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Y/N always looked amazing when she came. Her head thrown back in pleasure, her eyes alive with lust, and her pale skin shining with sweat.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Y/N’s legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Y/N, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside Y/N once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

Y/N arched her back and screamed as Aemond pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

“Fuck. Y/N-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of Y/N’s hair, twisting his fingers in the silky strands before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Y/N tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Give it to me daddy” pleaded Y/N her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Y/N.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Y/N breathlessly.

“Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he pulled Y/N on top of him.

His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“Oh” gasped Y/N as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”.

Aemond placed his hands on Y/N’s hips and marvelled at his wife as she rode him.

Y/N dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Y/N as he moved his hand to her breasts and once again took one of her nipples into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Y/N’s thighs began to burn, as she felt her third climax approach, if her husbands face had been sculpted by the gods themselves, then his cock had been given to him by the devil.

It was sin incarnate and Y/N was ready to let it claim her fully, her husband had possessed every fibre of her being and she revelled in it.

“AEMOND” screamed Y/N her vision going white as she came around his cock.

Her husband threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Y/N” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed inside the condom, collapsing on top of his wife, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses.

Meanwhile his wife was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

“I love you little mouse, and you are beautiful never forget that” whispered Aemond as he slowly pulled his softened cock from his wife and disposed of the quite full condom in the bin.

“That was a lot of-“ muttered Y/N

“Well, we haven’t had sex since before Mila and I haven’t touched myself either” replied Aemond as he climbed back onto the bed and enveloped his wife in his arms.

“Oh” exclaimed Y/N.

“H-Have you touched yourself?” asked Aemond curiously.

“Once or twice, it’s those damn sweatpants that you insist on wearing-they fit your body perfectly and it was driving me insane, especially when you came back from the gym all sweaty-”

“Hm, you naughty little thing, I must insist that you show me” said Aemond.

“I will once I get the feeling back in my legs” laughed Y/N.

[hyvyinjie]

𓂃ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒙𝒊𝒂༄˖°

ᴄᴀᴍᴀʀᴀᴅᴇʀɪᴇ | ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀʀᴀᴅɪꜱᴇ

ᴍ! ᴍᴜʟᴛɪ-ꜰᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ! x ɢɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⋆｡ ✧° ☁︎ come be lonely with me ✧˖°.

𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹, a shadow that lingers long after the sun has set.

how curious that something so jagged and raw can be the only companion that remains.

'are you okay? '

a query like a wisp of smoke from a forgotten altar; bewitchingly deciptive, answered by a mirrored gilded lie—a guise that conceals the soul’s deepest lament, like a siren's song cloaking hidden depths.

are you okay?

of course you are.

even as the cold rain—an icy deluge that seeps into your very marrow pours. the unyielding cascade chilling you to the bone.

of course you're okay.

in a reality alive with fleeting visages and laughter like the songs of ancient bards, why does the heart still bear the burden of solitude?

people flit like restless shades, phantoms that never truly pierce the essence of your soul, leaving behind the bittersweet ache of a connection unformed.

it feels like a movie, doesn’t it?

a grand performance where you are but a spectator, watching your own life unfold on a stage where you aren’t the protagonist in your own tale.

'it'll get better!' they chirp, voices bright as the sun, yet their words seem hollow, echoing in the cavern of your heart.

but did they ever consider if it was advice you truly crave?

of course.

...not.

what you seek is a stillness, a presence that holds space for your unspoken truths.

someone who listens, even in silence.

someone like a scroll of old; their pages turned with unguarded ease, revealing tales laid bare for you to read.

'i love you.'

'i care about you.'

such phrases, tossed around like autumn leaves slowly losing their weight in the wind.

just because they slip from the tongue, do they resonate with the mind? the heart? the soul?

perhaps they do—but will one act on them when the tempest of need rages the fiercest?

the brutal truth is, the chance that words blossom into action is as rare as finding a rose in a desert.

yet, when one hurls, 'I hate you.' you feel the sting of authenticity in those words, a far more potent rawness louder than any hollow praise of love.

drip.

drip.

drip.

Is it really the rain that falls, or are those the tears you didn't know you were shedding?—

wait—you’re..crying?

the hand that reaches to brush your cheek feels like a mirage, a distant echo of touch, as if you are caressing a specter, even while knowing it is real.

'why the tears?'

ask that question, and though you don’t have the words, the tears continue to flow, a silent rebellion against a world that insists you should stay strong.

even more perplexing is the emptiness that accompanies your sorrow.

why does even crying feel so void of meaning?

"guess we're both hiding in the rain."

the effort to engage, especially with a stranger—feels monumental, leaving you unmoved, eyes cast downward, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

everything feels exhausting.

yet, it’s clear he stands with you. and regardless of the umbrella in his hand, he never once offered shelter to himself or to you.

amidst the howling winds of a titanic uproar; a mere shadow of the inner maelstrom that echoed the battles of gods—you both stood, steadfast warriors against the squall’s wrath.

his gaze is drawn upwards, rapt in the skies as if searching for answers among the clouds—while yours remains tethered to the ground, too heavy to lift.

thunder rumbles, a low growl in the distance.

but it feels..strangely comforting now.

the stranger offers no more than his initial greeting—was it even a greeting?—and the silence stretches between you like a vast ocean.

you are two strays, wandering adrift in a deluge.

lonely together.

♡ ˚ · . 良い一日をお過ごしください、愛 !

[grieverled-moved]

𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒. Never really had a real reason to celebrate them before. Growing up as he had, it'd been nothing more than another day on the calendar, another day of the year with little time or incentive to actually bother. Or maybe that's just what he told himself to make the sting of it easier to bear. He'd watched as others celebrated theirs, surrounded by family or friends, loved ones that made sure to make it a true celebration of life, treating it as a gifted day where they'd been granted the others presence. It was sweet admittedly.

A reminder that someone was cherished.

Though again . . . as with most things he'd come to leave well out of his hands, he’d accepted it wasn’t meant for someone like him. With little to his name & an even smaller social life outside of those he knew in passing within his workplace, he was content enough to continue on as always without another thought.

It was fine — same as it ever was. Just like always.

So when he opens his eyes this day, he goes about his normal morning routine with little to no expectations of anything different to break that cycle. He finds it a little strange that Tseng hadn't given him a mission or stack of tasks to go through. Usually he was kind enough to give him something to do to distract himself. Gaze thinning, his lips press together, listening to his machine as it idly brewed away at his morning drink. Fatigue still drapes itself well along his frame, in need of something to chase it away if he wanted to function well enough — with nothing on the schedule, nothing to do, he's admittedly lost on what to do for his birthday. He fidgets with his pendant, turning it between his fingers in pensive thought, wondering if he should just hole himself up in his room to avoid anything that'd sour his mood or suck it up & go out, pretend it was a normal day like any other.

Before he can try to think further on his plans, he goes stiff when he hears someone at his door. Part of him says to ignore it, pretend he wasn't home, but before he can pay it any mind, he hears a familiar voice on the other side of the door that unfortunately, lures him to do the opposite. Clicking the locks, they twist, before he cautiously, suspiciously pries the door open a crack, just enough to peek through with thinned eyes that land on bright aurora sights. He looks him over a moment, blinking in confusion when he spots the cake in Zack's hand, pale eyes lifting back again questioningly to that brightly beaming face. Without needing to be prompted further, Zack explains, tone warm, honeyed in something affectionate, openly fond — complete with the use of his nickname of all things. Normally he'd scoff it off, divert attention to something else or reciprocate with something physically affectionate to make up for the fact he never knew just how to express his own cares back out loud.

But the others presence from the way he plants a chaste kiss to the edge of his nose, to the way he delicately handles the home-made cake — something gives, enough for him to duck his head & feel his icy walls melt, light smile teasing along the edges of his lips as he tries & fails to process how to respond & thank the other for being so . . . thoughtful.

Kind . . . gradually he knows Zack presence in his life is beginning to burrow away under his tough skin, that gentle, reassuring warmth of his, making itself right at home like the growing roots of a blooming plant within the hollow of his chest. He cradles it, sheltering it, willingly allowing it to blossom & grow even if it bears the chance of dying & withering away. It's worth allowing some softness, some vulnerability even with the risk of pain when the other man has more then earned it, displaying his own tender heart for Squall to study & hold with such honest trust.

The laugh he lets out is more of a short, quiet bark, shaking his head softly. It's a wet sound, uncertain if he wanted to cry or stubbornly hold it in before he opens the door, stepping through to use an arm to half hug the sunny man in thanks. He gifts a kiss of his own to the space just below his eye, mumbling a hushed thanks before a more genuine smile is given. He's still not the best with words, but he gets the feeling the other understands.

❝ . . . You say it like that's a bad thing. ❞

When he moves to step back into his housing unit, he leaves the swordsman ample room to enter, trying hard not to focus on the irony of him seemingly letting him in in more then one way.

❝ . . . But, really. Thank you, Zack. ❞

How strange it was to be able to spend someone's birthday with them; Sure he'd been able to see Angeal on his, or spend his own birthday with Kunsel and Cissnei, but to be able to greet someone he cares for and actually spend it with them? That was something that left Zack almost overwhelmed with anxiety, especially given his relationship to the birthday boy in question.

They've yet to actually put a label on their relationship but that's how most things within ShinRa worked to begin with, as it stood, Squall had the raven haired man's devotion fully, his heart and loyalty ever longing for the brunette Turk and that's what really pushed Zack into stressing himself damn near sick over what to do, what to get, what to say, anything and everything and slowly he understood why his former mentor always seemed particularly irate around July each year.

Squall doesn't appreciate large and social though, that's a fact that he made sure to keep in mind throughout his planning up until the day he showed up to Squall's residence, small cake that he'd baked in hand with a giant grin sat atop his lips, seeing his lover's confused expression had been worth the worries and stresses of the prior weeks full of careful planning. He's just grateful that Tseng was nice enough to not force the brunette on some stupid mission, birthdays might not have meant anything to ShinRa but they meant a lot to Zack, especially when the day was to celebrate someone he cherished far more than was likely normal.

“ Happy birthday Starlight, ” He begins, voice soft and so full of warmth as he plants a gentle kiss to the tip of Squall's nose, waits to be invited in before continuing onwards. “ Here's to another year yeah? This time you're stuck with me though. ”

a little happy birthday from Zack to Squall | @grieverled !!!!