#need him to break me in half

[draculasintern]

Claggor (S2 Au vers.) Headcanons

Transcript From DraculasIntern Internal file #V016-XIII

Gods Look at him.. Im so hungry I could eat a season 2 episode 7 of arcane buff inventor named Claggor.. WHO SAID THAT Sfw and NSFW

He’s got soot on his cheek, goggles pushed up on his head, and his hand outstretched toward you before you can even say hello. He missed you. He always misses you.

Keeps parts of his workshop “off-limits,” but it’s not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s because he’s building something for you, and he doesn’t want you peeking yet.

You don’t realize it at first, but nearly every tool he uses has some kind of engraving. Notations. Measurements. Then one day you spot it: your name etched into the handle of his favorite spanner. He doesn’t say anything when you notice. He just smiles.

Brings you home weird scrap finds like they’re flowers. A shard of stained Zaun glass. A rusted gear in the shape of a heart. One time, a wind-up music box that played half a lullaby. He called it “useless.” You called it perfect.

His hands are always warm. You don’t know how. The workshop is freezing. But somehow—when he touches you—it’s like coming home.

Has a deep, protective streak he doesn’t advertise. You’ll only notice when someone talks down to you and Claggor, normally so patient, steps forward with a calm voice and scary stillness. “Say that again. Slower.”

Never talks about Vander unless you ask. But when you do—his whole face softens. “He wasn’t just a fighter. He made sure the little ones ate first. Taught me how to listen with my hands.” (Then you realize—that’s how Claggor holds you. Like he’s listening.)

You fall asleep in the workshop once and wake up under his coat, tucked into the corner, with a soft cloth pillow made out of his shirt. He never says a word. But he kisses your forehead when he thinks you’re still dreaming.

He makes your favorite tea in bulk. Like… giant firelight-safe thermoses labeled with your name. “For the week,” he says. It lasts two days.

Sometimes he hums without realizing it—Zaun folk songs mostly. Ones Vander used to sing. You ask him where he learned them. “…They just come to me, sometimes.”

When he hugs you? He lifts you. Just a little. Just enough that your feet leave the ground and your stomach flips. You could stay in those arms forever.

You get a new scarf. He pretends not to notice. Then you find one of his old shirts dyed the exact same shade. He definitely noticed.

Claggor doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t need to. When he says, “That’s enough,”—people listen. But when he says your name? It’s soft. Always soft.

If you’re stressed? He’ll bring you to the rooftop. A hidden one, where the stars aren’t blocked by smoke. He lights a little lantern. You sit together in silence, knees touching, fingers laced. “There’s always something worth saving,” he says. “You. For example.”

He has grease on his jaw, burn marks on his sleeves, bruises on his ribs—and still? He cradles your face like it’s the most delicate thing in the world. Not because you’re fragile. But because you matter.

He’s the kind of lover who holds your hips like he’s built for it—like they’re his to hold, his to guide. Slow at first, grinding in deep, one hand steady on your lower back while the other strokes your thigh, coaxing you open with a quiet, “That’s it, love. Just like that.”

Claggor doesn’t command—he leads. Every word is warm, breathy, low in your ear. “Doing so well for me,” he murmurs, brushing his nose along your temple. “So good like this… Let me keep goin’, yeah?”

He loves overstimulation, but only if you're tucked against him—whining, twitching, trying to pull away while he holds you gently and shushes you through it. “I know, I know. You’re shaking. It’s alright, I got you. That’s it… give me another.”

Praise kink king. But never over-the-top. It’s always genuine. Quiet. Close. “Look at you. Taking me so well.” “You don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” And gods, when he groans against your skin after you clench around him? “Fuck, I feel that. You’re perfect.”

Big, warm hands that roam—not rough, but hungry. Palms over your waist, fingers up your spine, thumb dragging lazy circles into your hips while he rolls into you deep, again and again, saying your name like a vow.

Loves pulling soft little noises out of you. Loves it even more when you try to hide them. If you bite your lip or turn your head away, he’ll just press a kiss to your jaw and say, “Don’t hide from me. I wanna hear it.”

If you ever cover your face in embarrassment, he gently moves your hands. Not teasing—just murmurs, “Don’t go shy on me now.” And when you look up? He’s flushed, sweat at his temple, pupils blown wide with how much he wants you.

He’s a giver first. And a slow one. He likes to see your reactions. Likes to map every inch of your skin with his mouth, his calloused hands, the tip of his nose. “Tell me where you want me, darlin’.”

Loves giving oral. Like—loves it. He could spend hours between your legs, “Just let me taste you, c’mon sweetheart, lemme do right by you…”

Gets vocal when he’s close. Deep groans, soft cursing, the occasional breathless “fuck—feels too good—” when you tighten around him. He buries his face against your shoulder when he finishes, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Aftercare is quiet and devoted. Claggor’s the type to stay buried inside you for a while, forehead resting against your chest or shoulder, catching his breath. Then he gets you water, wipes you down with trembling hands, and asks “Too much? Did I hurt you?” If you shake your head and kiss him? He smiles—eyes soft, voice hoarse. “Good. You were incredible.”

Typed this entire thing with my left hand. Need him so bad its throbbing his name in morse code WHO IS SAYING THIS I SWEAR THE WIND IS GETTING WORSE

-The Intern

[avalencias]

I don’t know what to do—I have to trust someone—I don’t know who to trust

massive, massive props to aabria for this episode (here at this point and after!!)…to all of them really, but it was about here that I was driving yesterday morning and had to frantically try to hold the image in my head for the rest of my commute. I only kind of succeeded but it is what is. wow. what an episode

[hvezdnastreka]

WIP i'm probably never going to finish, because IT'S ANOTHER KLAUZURA SEASON BABYYYYY!!!!

^^(a black and white walk cycle animation of a girl, who's legs aren't drawn yet ) GET CONCEPT ARTED LOSER (This time we're making concepts for our own video game! :) )

[jynxedshapeshifter]

Another possibility for Trucy and Apollo finding out they're siblings just occurred to me. What if they find out by accident?

Trucy knows Thalassa's her mom. Like just to be clear. Phoenix asks Trucy about her in the 2019 section of the MASON System sequence in Turnabout Succession and Trucy says she "disappeared" and mentions her by name.

Now keeping this in mind, there are several ways for Trucy and Apollo to accidentally find out they're siblings.

Trucy recognizes Apollo's bracelet as identical to Thalassa's, which I don't think is likely because I feel like that should've happened already with how perceptive Trucy is without hyper-empathy

One of them gets their hands on a picture of Thalassa. Trucy mentions that Thalassa is her mom, Apollo points out that his bracelet looks identical to Thalassa's, and they think for a few seconds before realizing Thalassa must be Apollo's mom too

Trucy mentions she got her hyper-empathy from her mom, and her mom got it from her dad (Trucy's grandfather), leading her to realize the ability is genetic, so the only way Apollo could feasibly have it is if he's a Gramarye, leading them to the conclusion that they're siblings

In any case they confront Phoenix about it and Phoenix panics a bit, and when Phoenix says he needs to talk to Thalassa before they have this discussion and just makes them even more upset because "what the hell do you mean you need to talk to her? How long have you been in contact with our mom???" which makes Phoenix panic even more.

No matter how they find out, I, at the very least, want the fact that Phoenix and Thalassa haven't told Apollo and Trucy they're half-siblings to bite Phoenix in the ass, if not both Phoenix and Thalassa. Like Apollo's an adult and Trucy's almost an adult, I feel like maybe they should know by now?

[jacqcrisis]

Hmmm so Hermes has a physical interactable model now and it looks like Mel is just a few inches shorter than him.

And next to Charon, she's like half his size...

Much to think about. Looking into it.

[theswedishpajas]

Had a thought yesterday

[Clean version + bonus below]

[arcsin27]

Shuada does hit a lot of the power imbalance issues that come with huge age gaps like that: one is bigger and stronger, one is more forceful and actively instigates the relationship whereas the other just awkwardly complies, one could easily manipulate the other with blackmail including potential for “I’ll tell everyone you’re dating someone like me,” etc

The funny part is it’s the underage teen that has all this power lmfao

[moongothic]

...I... I do not know what on earth compelled me to make this nor why, but I will not be taking criticism at this time

[draculasintern]

Vander Headcanons

I need this old man. Sfw and Nsfw

Vander who is touchy. But not overly touchy, he knows when you want it and when you don't. Keeping his hands to himself when he needs to. When you do want it, hands everywhere. Waist, hips, the back of your neck, everywhere.

Vander who loves looking at you. He loves watching you when you're focused, trying to memorize every single face and twitch you do. 

Vander who loves having you sit in his lap or having your legs in his lap while you’re reading or working. He likes you being close enough he can feel the pulse in your ankle or the back of your knee. 

Vander who loves making you keep eye contact. When you get nervous and looking away, his big hands slip against the back of your head turning you back to look at him.  “Eyes on me, Lovie.” And when you avoid looking at him, hands slip up your legs, all the way up to your waist. ‘Let me see those eyes, sweetheart..’

Vander who blows smoke in your face when you’re smoking together. Or if you don't like smoking, he’ll slowly wean himself off of it. Just for you. Just for his lover.

Vander who loves how much smaller you are. Doesn’t matter if you’re plus sized, or really skinny, he’s bigger than you, he’s 6 foot 7 inches if you wanna measure him.(I'm going off research chat, don't quote me on this). Big arms, big hands, big ol’ smile. 

Vander who is a major black coffee drinker but if you put anything in the coffee he’ll drink it. He’ll take whatever you give him, just to make you happy because you’re his everything. 

Vander who can COOK. He is a BIG man, you think he doesn't know how to cook? WRONG. He can cook so well your pants fall off. Trust, this man can make anything, just say the word.

Vander who says ‘Atta girl/Boy/darlin’. He is very praise driven. Loves giving praise.

Vander who talks you through it.. I just know he makes you look at him, praising you consistently. One hand on your hip, the other on your cheek or back of your neck. ‘So good f’me. Just a little more, you can do it, sweetheart..’ UGH YES GAWD

Vander who hates when you talk bad about yourself. He’ll cup your face, telling you how great you are, how good you look before sitting you on his lap and making you look at yourself in the mirror. Making you repeat praise to yourself  as his hands slip up your knees, all the way to your inner thigh. His lips against your ear telling you what to day and how to say it. ‘Go on.. Look at you.. You’re so beautiful/handsome.. C’mon tell yourself how good you look.. Atta girl/boy/darlin’. No no.. keep your eyes up..’ 

Vander who gives head like a starving man. And he won’t let you close your leg either, his big hands hold you open. No matter how embarrassed you might feel, you’re not closing up on him. ‘No, no, stay open…there we go..’

Vander who doesn’t do attitudes. As soon as you sound disrespectful to him or yourself, or you are just being bratty. Big no. Bent over the bed or counter or whatever the closest flat surface is, begging him to slow down or go faster (depending on what you said). All he’ll do is smile, and do the exact opposite of what you ask.

So....are we liking this or should I should give up on my dreams chat.

[winepresswrath]

Armand's simpering little "and I never have" has taken on new dimensions for me. Technicality king and also I think very in keeping with his whole malign fairy creature deal. You can tell him not to hurt the bae, but you should really specify what "hurt" entails. Is chopping someone's hands off really hurting them? If they have annoyed you very much I mean.

-questions Armand might pose to Lestat that inspire him to leave the country

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[pedropascallme]

Thinking about crawling into Damien’s lap and kissing any skin that that fuckass black tank top (affectionate) exposes. Just letting his hands roam your body while you trail kisses on his shoulders and chest. Listening to him hum when you suck a tiny little mark on his pulse point that probably nobody will notice but the fact that it’s a secret between the two of you just makes it more fun. Euthanize me.

[storywestistrash]

learning some history for my gamer degree

[sapphiclinos]

what drugs did they put in sonic that attracts autistic people cos oh my god this shit has taken over my life in the span of a week how did they DO THAT

[immortalsins]

:/

[killerpancakeburger]

If I came across 5 millions I would probably act like Jesse. Buy a house, furnish it, and then keep living like i make less than a thousand a month.

Can’t believe I'm actually in favor of Saul trying to convince him to keep the money.