#ic post. the wrench

[byeolyeou]

☠︎︎ ❝ —- i'm just saying , it would look a lot cooler if there were explosions . or fire —- explosions AND fire ! ❞

[1-800-i-ship-it]

FINISHED LAST 2 EPS OF YURI ON ICE,

ON THE FLOOR

ON MY KNEES

VICTOR KISSING YURI’S HAND WITH THE RING, THE CROWD GOES WILD

THEN YURI ON THE ICE KISSING HIS RING BEFORE HE STARTS PERFORMING HHHH

DIVORCE ARC AR THE END OF THE SECOND TO LAST EP??? VICTOR CRYING BC OF YURI???? NOOOOOOOOO

“I’ll be sure to skate my and Victor’s love, laid bare to the world!” That’s more like it <3

UPDATE NVM IM SO STRESSED AHHHHHH

“I really want to kiss the gold medal” *pans to yuri and victor almost kissing* 🤔 damn straight gay

Not victor refusing to kiss yuri’s silver medal and then leaning super close and asking if he has suggestions…damn king

Did they just make vows again <3 good for them <3

THEYRE SKATING TOGETHER AT THE END AHHHHH

SO THEY'RE MARRIED NOW RIGHT

im so unwell about their tenderness its unparalleled

I NEED MORE CRIES WDYM ITS OVER HHH WHERES THE NEXT SEASON SOB BANGING MY FIST

[commander-spaceboy]

Finished up a couple of bust commissions for @op3ra!

Did Rusty in their design (its so so so cute btw i love his claws n fangs sm), and wrench from the on ice production!

[op3ra]

barely discernable wrench

[byeolyeou]

wrench's mask blinks a little before flickering into a smile , because even if he's been feeling a little down and alone lately --- marcus always lightens his mood , and he's missed the other hacker . ❝ means i did a good job making myself hard to find . ❞ his mask reflects the grin underneath as he tips his head , hands tucked into his pockets . ❝ gotta be careful with the grade-a psychopaths around here . ❞

Marcus tipped his head as he hears footsteps nearby, looking around before looking behind him to see someone running towards him. He let out a slow almost relieve breath as he held up a hand to wave before making his way over to him. "Bout time you came out of hiding." He said as he made a face. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you?"

[toast1862]

eddie feels very different. i think in the original he was more like... pathetic, weak, someone you looked down on, maybe even someone to laugh at. in the remake he's more... disgusting. repulsive. i don't... really understand why he was eating melted ice cream with his hands except to make the player feel gross. the option that makes more sense is to drink it, like i don't know the human reason he is doing that. what was originally obliviousness to his surroundings has become just like. nastiness for the viewer's benefit.

[horrifichaunts]

Tom tag dump

[wyervan]

thank u @certified-handler for the very inspiring imagery and good conversation 😜

and @sinister-sincerely i think i remember you requesting an @ a while ago when one of the slashies showed leg eheheheh

helllo~~~ moot friend @doofnoof~

Sun had a nasty fall a few years ago in his circus era while practicing a routine. Took months to heal. It doesn't bother him most days now, but yes, it can be sensitive to the cold and rain and he does wear a brace sometimes. He also can't do as much running or jumping and there have even been times when he's pushed himself too hard working the arcade and started limping.

Moon's usually the one to force him down with an ice pack and a pillow under his foot to elevate the leg. Sun grumbles a bit but largely obliges. He knows they can't afford for him to be out of action for too long because he overexerted himself.

And ye, it would most certainly throw a wrench in their machinations if Sun's knee were to give out in the middle of one of their... acts. At the very least it would be embarrassing 😵‍💫! But it's not like anybody's living through the night anyway to tell the tale of the masked sun clown who stumbled over mid-evil monologue cause his knee was stiff.

You remembered very correctly! I remarked on a post a while back that I pictured Sun taking Chica's classes at the local gym! Something low-impact. Probably popular with older people. In fact I had a very similar image in my head during that ask to the one you described of Sun above. Finally got a chance to draw it.

His heart is indeed full of dance 🤩, though old hens do be gossiping in Chica's studio. Sun's little old lady classmates sure love to chat about other people's business. Often informative and always entertaining.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 1

I catch a glimpse of the pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes have that telltale glaze of just having been wrenched out of herself.

I've never spoken a single word to her, but for a moment as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She raises an emaciated arm and her hand almost seems to beckon to me before something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips back into catatonia.

That brief moment of clarity, that piercing gaze, unsettles me. She recognized me.

It's neural bleed. I know it has to be. She doesn't know me, but Morrigan does.

Good god. In the pilot's present state of post combat haze, she probably doesn't even know where she ends and the machine begins.

Does neural bleed work both ways? Is it her head that I'm about to climb into?

My wrist strap buzzes. I have a job to do and I am late.

The pilot is a problem for the med team and the psychs.

The machine is my problem.

I hurry down the corridor, keeping my head down, avoiding the eyes of every passerby.

I don't like people.

I don't like how their eyes follow me. I don't like the whispered gossip that follows me.

One of the techs is waiting for me at the vestibule.

I don't know his name.

All clear, he says to me. Time to work your magic.

He says it without sarcasm. Others have been less kind.

Even so, he can't quite hide the leer as I strip down to the skinsuit. I don't have the physique of a pilot. My body hasn't been subjected to the stresses that ravage their bodies. Unlike them, I have fat and muscle and the skinsuit clings to every curve of my body.

I force a cursory smile and try to forget him as I walk barefoot to my destination.

The vestibule is small, windowless. It's impossible to assess the scale of the machine from here. The only part visible to me is roughly four square meters of pitted and scarred metal plating framing the access hatch and the pilot's cradle beyond.

B0-987T the stenciled lettering reads. And below, in flowing script, is “The Morrigan”.

She's a Javellin class, medium weapons fire support unit. She isn't meant to be on the front lines in a skirmish, but one-on-one, she can hold her own against a Wraith. Which is exactly what happened only a few hours ago.

I place a bare palm on the bulkhead. She thrums with some distant vibration. Her reactor is still online, still in the early stages of drawdown as she transitions to dock power.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to her.

I think of the pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I flinch my hand away.

The tech looks at me, asks if I'm alright. I'm fine, I tell him.

I climb through the hatch and into the cradle.

I feel like an interloper here. The cradle isn't calibrated for my body. Everything still smells like the pilot. Mingled with the smell of the machine is her sweat and her adrenaline and the particular scented soap that she prefers.

There is a faint whirring as her cameras track my movements from a dozen angles. The access ports open to receive me.

Against my better judgment, I imagine eagerness for this exchange.

This is immediately followed by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy. The engineers’ rig is not nearly as all encompassing as a pilots’. It's only the most basic neural interface. No haptics. No neurotransmitter feedback. No access to the suite of sensors studded throughout her hull.

I can't interface with her the way her pilot can.

My rig is a remnant from basic training. The pilot corps wanted me for my exceptional ratings in synchrony and neuro-elasticity, but after serval training exercises, they determined that I didn't have the temperament for the battlefield. I froze up too easily.

A neural rig is a massive investment and removing one will fuck a person up a hell of a lot more than installing one. The selection process is designed to weed out washouts before we even get to installation, but some of us still slip through the cracks. Most end up reassigned to logistics, operating loader mechs or piloting long haul supply frigates. But my aptitudes made me ideal for the engineering corps, so here I am.

Morrigan senses my mood and the cradle shifts slightly, aligning itself to my dimensions. Her eagerness to connect morphs into a sort of tender reassurance. It's a slippery slope, ascribing human emotions to these machines, but she does seem genuinely happy to see me.

I can never be part of what she and her pilot have, but I can be part of something in my own way.

The pilot knows about me, she would even without neural bleed. Does she envy the relationship I have with her mech? Does she envy that I can exist both together and apart with the machine?

Is she jealous of us?

Morrigan slips her jacks into my rig and my mind enters hers and I feel tension leave my body. Some dull ache that I wasn't even consciously aware of ebbs within me.

My senses dull and my visual cortex is fed a series of diagnostic logs and telemetry streams. The techs have access to the exact same data, but Morrigan highlights particular data points that she and the pilot flagged. I log them in the engineering report.

A wireframe schematic of the battlefield spreads out in my awareness. Green markers for our battlegroup. Red markers for the pack of Wraith interlopers.

I hear the ghost of music, strange and ambient, like whale song. The first time I heard it, I asked the techs about it. They had no idea what I was talking about. One even suggested I get an eval for some psych leave.

Later I realized Morrigan was singing to me. Or rather she was interpreting tightbeam comm links as something my brain could process. A human mind can't possibly interpret the full datastream, but with Morrigans's rendition, I can suss out the basic meanings. The battlegroup is a choir and Morrigan is playing me their song.

I caused quite a stir when I first made that connection and started flagging battle events the analysts had missed.

I survey the battlefield before me, reconstructed from feeds from TacCom and all the individual mechs.

Morrigan and I have done this enough times that she knows my preferred display layout, but she holds back, allowing me to pull off the virtual displays on my peripheral vision. There's an odd sort of intimacy to it, her letting me take charge like this.

God-knows how many tons of metal and ceramic and miles and miles of wire and optic fiber and see waits eagerly for me to start the playback sim. She wants to show off. She wants me to assess the actions of her and her pilot and tell them they did well.

Other engineers, few as we are, have mentioned similar experiences with their assigned machines.

“Alright,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “Show me the dance. Sing me the song.”

(Next)

[byeolyeou]

Again, dude, it's not confirmed. Grain of salt.

...But fuck, man, I want it so badly. And I want it to be good.

❝ the biggest grain of salt there ever was , my dude . listen , if i catch wind it's gonna be not-good -- i'm not saying i'm gonna make it be good , but -- it'll be good . ❞

[captainlexaproluvr]

NOOOOO i had been avoiding watching the luke interview but it just showed up on my tiktok fyp and i barely made it 10 seconds in r u kidding me.

(i originally started typing this with the intention of it being like a 1-2 sentence thing but then saved it to the drafts bc it immediately devolved into highlights/reactions. so the first sentence ^ was my real reaction to the vid showing up on my fyp and everything below this is real time thoughts that i frantically typed in my notes app while watching and then edited to make coherent).

first luke interview thought post lfg:

1. perhaps not the time but the lil laugh type sound he makes before speaking sometimes always makes me jaksjsjnssj luke hughes why are u so PRECIOUS. i continue to believe that he is the nicest hughes bro to interview

2. “there’s bigger problems in the world” oh god i am so- luke sweetie that is very noble of u

3. the way he keeps doing that thing with his tongue and the mouth movements at the beginning aw you can tell he was so sad stop

4. chat how do we feel about luke’s pronunciation of “organization” bc andy and i had…. differing opinions. so pls do weigh in on that (andy if ur reading this do NOT speak and bias the people’s opinions)

5. i would like to personally volunteer to fly to jersey and FIGHT that reporter for uttering the words “you gotta figure teams are thinking 'they’re without jack hughes, they’re done'” WHY WOULD U SAY THAT TO HIM. READ THE ROOM??

6. luke saying jack’s their best player 🫶🏻 i was gonna say is that awks for captain nico but tbh i suppose it's not

7. he said the word “competitor’ and my mind immediately went “omg quinn?!?”

8. his annunciation in this is actually soooooo quinn wow. does he always talk like that and i am just only now noticing ?????? sounds so much like quinn i love it

9. not super related to the interview but all the hughes bros have such delicate pretty little lips like stop making me wanna kiss uuuuu i’m trying to be serious here 🙄

10. also luke’s facial structure reminds me of quinn. cheek bones looking very sharp

11. ok him saying jack is gut wrenched is so sad and real. i literally said today BEFORE WATCHING THIS that it must be gut wrenching for jack- luke am i in ur mind or are u in MINE?

12. about that dallas game- thank u for bringing that up luke bc I STILL HAVEN’T SEEN THE CONTROVERSIAL ICING!!!! idk how that hasn’t shown up on my twitter feed yet given how much people were tweaking about it. someone plssss tell me they have a clip

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 28 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day six: "i can't stand you."

ᰔ pairing: joel miller x reader

ᰔ summary: joel made the mistake of telling you he was having trouble with his generator, and you offered to help.

ᰔ author's note: this was going to have a sweeter ending, but i think with joel, it's a more realistic ending. there's a lot left unsaid, and i've always been a fan of stories like that. a little angst as a treat ✨

ᰔ content warning: jackson!joel, grouchy joel being a bitch but he makes up for it- kind of, slight angst with a happy-ish ending, reader gets small cut/mention of blood, strong language (joel and reader are not afraid to drop an f bomb) reader has non-descriptive hair (enough for joel to put his hand in)

"For the love of god, can you hold the flashlight still?" Joel looked back with a scowl on his face. He damn near dropped the wrench on his foot as you shifted the flashlight again.

"I'm sorry! Jesus," you muttered the last bit under your breath. You held the light still, a bit more rigid than before.

Joel knew better than to tell you that he had to fix something in the house. He loved you more than anything— you had built a nice life together in Jackson. For the end of the world, you two had a welcoming home and a good relationship. It was the best anyone could ask for in this post-apocalyptic world.

You had brought him peace and solace in ways he hadn't expected. He liked to think he did the same for you, in his own ways. You two complimented each other, an odd balance others in Jackson chose not to question.

That being said, you were not helpful when it came to handy work. Joel preferred to work on his own, or ask Tommy for help if he really needed the extra hand. Not that he liked the idea of another hand in the pot, but he knew when he needed another set of hands.

When the generator shit out at the end of the last ice storm, Joel made the mistake of mentioning to you that he needed to talk to Tommy about fixing it before the next storm came through. When you got that look in your eyes, excited to jump on the chance to help, he knew it wasn't going to end well. Despite knowing that, he knew it would be worse to tell you no.

Now, you moved the flashlight all over and talked through the whole process of him running diagnostics. While it was endearing that you were eager to help, Joel couldn't focus on what was in front of him. He had changed for the better thanks to you, but old habits die hard— or Joel Miller's bark was still just as sharp as his bite.

"Just hold it still," Joel gruffed. "The sooner I can see what I'm doin', the sooner it'll be finished." He wanted the whole thing to be over and done with, to get back to anything but this.

"I'm doing my best, Joel. I'm trying to help," you huffed. What had crawled up his ass was beyond you, but you weren't going to sit and let him bitch at you.

"Well your tryin' ain't good enough. Hand me the damn flashlight." Joel held his hand out, an expectant look on his face. The two of your stared at each other, a silent battle for dominance. Eventually, you conceded and shoved it in his hand.

"God forbid I try to fucking help you. See how much help I am when you need it the most," you snapped. "I can't stand you sometimes."

"Better find a goddamn chair then." Joel dismissed you with a wave of the hand before he turned back to the generator. He ignored the sound of a stomp and the door that slammed behind you.

It was well over two hours before Joel finally climbed out of the basement. It only took him an hour to fix the generator, but he wasn't sure how to approach you. After these pissy little fights you two had, there were two situations that followed. One apologized and the other begrudgingly accepted. By the time dinner rolled around, it was water under the bridge and left in the past. The other? A battle of silence and cold shoulders for the next few days.

After the chair comment, Joel braced himself for the silent treatment and a few sleepless nights on the couch. He was quiet as he walked towards the kitchen. He heard the radio playing, along with the sounds of pots and pans clanging.

He lingered in the doorway as he watched you. Even from where he stood, he saw the way your mind raced without you saying a word. As he opened his mouth, he watched you stop peeling a potato and cuss under your breath.

"Fuck! Goddamnit!" You ran your hand under the sink water. It had taken everything in you to remain calm after Joel's whole... thing, whatever had possessed him in the basement. The chair comment had you seeing red, but you tried to let it go as you prepped for dinner. Working on the meal was cathartic, and your anger had come down some.

Slicing your finger, though, was the straw that broke the camel's back. Another thing you had fucked up— something else to add to the list of bullshit you couldn't do.

Once the blood had eased up for the moment, you finally let a few tears slip. Your chest felt heavy with anger and regret, along with every nasty feeling in between. Joel still hadn't returned, and you knew it was your fault. You knew well enough that you should have just let Tommy help him.

Lately, you felt as if you hadn't offered much to Joel. You did some things, sure. Kept everyone fed, worked hard to make sure all ailments were healed— you pulled your weight where you could. It just... it didn't feel like enough. Of course, you offered him your love and support, but it didn't feel like you did your part. You thought lending a hand with the generator was a step in the right direction, a way to prove that you were capable of more in Joel's eyes.

"Let me see it." You jumped at Joel's sudden presence, the way he brushed against you to take your hand in his. You stayed quiet but still let him look your hand over.

"You saw that?" You asked. Your voice was thick with tears, which had yet to stop. The cut wasn't bad— just a nick and a bit of blood. Nothing a bandage wasn't able to fix.

"I did." Joel held your hand as he grabbed for the first aid kit you kept in the junk drawer. It was small, only various sized bandages and a few crumbled alcohol wipes that you had scavenged. He grabbed for a bandaid and ripped the paper open with his teeth. You watched as he bandaged you right up.

There was a beat of silence that hung thick in the air. Neither of you knew what to say, how to concede after that little spat that left you both in a sour mood.

Finally, Joel broke the silence as he cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry for snapping," Joel sighed. "Didn't deserve that." He shook his head. His hand still held yours, careful of the fresh wound.

You looked down, unsure of what to say. Your cheeks were soaking wet, and it made it hard to string together the right thing to say. Finally, after another long beat, you met his gaze.

"I didn't, and I know you meant it when you said it." Before Joel cut in, you stopped him by continuing. "But I know I shouldn't have offered to help. I'm sorry for putting myself where I shouldn't have." You leaned against the counter as you spoke. One thing about you, something that Joel appreciated, was your frank nature.

"I just, I have a particular way of doing things. Havin' someone else there just makes me uneasy. Makes me too aware of every move I make," Joel admitted. It took time and effort on both of your parts to get to a point where you were transparent with each other.

"I know that," you assured him. "At least a little bit, anyways. I'm sorry for makin' it harder. I just thought I was helpin'." Joel tugged your hand and pulled you into a hug. He tangled a hand in your hair as he held you close.

"You were tryin', and that's what matters. I love you, darlin'." There was still a pit of unease in your stomach, but you knew it was best to drop it. Navigating what you two had took work, and sometimes that meant dropping the subject. Joel did the best he could for you, and you did the same for him.

"I love you too."

Maybe the fairytales you had dreamed of when you were younger had the perfect ending and the ride off into the sunset. Then again, they didn't exactly include zombies and the end of the world. As you grew older and harder around the edges, you realized loved looked different. Now, it was give and take— no sunsets to gallop towards. It may not have been perfect, but what you had with Joel was good.

He loved you, and you loved him. That's what mattered most, right?

[alchemyfreak321]

Bad Hunts

TLDR: Simon finds your reading lists and tries to surprise you.

CW: mostly fluff, primal play if you squint, Simon being bad at communicating, valentine surprise that goes sideways, and bad writing as usual

WC: 1.4k

Cross posted on AO3

When Simon finds out you might have a mask kink and that the last couple of books you read had characters that chased each other through the woods before doing things that made him blush and splutter, he decides to plan a little valentine surprise.

He takes you to a cute remote cabin by the lake surrounded by thick woods. You're excited thinking it's a cute little gateway where you'll both be curled up by the fire. He's nervous about the snow that's still on the ground. When you reach the cabin, you gasp and coo over how cute it is, exclaim over the view of the lake from the large windows in the bedroom and living room. Simon is frowning, thinking how much further the woods are from the cabin and how dense it looks. Were there wolves in this part of the country?

By the time you both start to unpack and settle in, Simon has already turned into a nervous wreck second guessing his decision. It's cold and the snow hasn't melted yet, but there's little snow in the woods and he can keep you warm, he reasons. Should he start the chase in the tree line, or from the cabin? It's a long stretch of ground before the woods what if he catches you before you reach the woods? You're not exactly a marathon runner but you do cardio on the treadmill, that's gotta count right? Shit, maybe he needs to give you a bigger head start, will twenty minutes be enough? Shit, what if you fall in the water, Simon panics trying to remember if you can swim.

It's noon by the time you've unpacked and settled in. Simon leaves you curled up on the day bed on the porch overlooking the lake. Wrapped up in a huge cozy blanket, steaming cup of hot chocolate in one hand and your latest read in the other. He sneaks back to the bedroom and pulls his mask out from the bottom of his bag, making sure to tuck the little ring box back. He tries to rub off the dirt and what looks suspiciously like a old blood stain, cursing himself for not cleaning it properly. Maybe it will add to the fantasy or maybe he should have made a pink one for valentines day, he chuckles to himself.

"Si, where did you go?" he hears you calling. Now or never. Simon pulls the mask over his head and shoves the bag away before he can talk himself out. He channels Ghost and stands taller, makes his steps longer as he walks down the hallway towards you.

You freeze when you see him from the front door. He's still wearing the soft sweater but nothing else about him seems soft. He looks bigger and more menacing as he strides up to you, covering the distance in a quick few steps. He stops just by the threshold, braces his forearms on top of the door frame and leans towards you. His normally soft, warm eyes look down at you with a sharper glint. You take a small step back, almost tripping on the edge of blanket wrapped around you.

"Si..?" he doesn't answer, instead he cocks his head to the side and rakes his gaze over you. Goosebumps break out over your arms and ice trickle down your spine as you stare wide-eyed at the figure in front of you. Tears prick your eyes and your heart beats in your throat when he continues to stare without a sound.

Ghost takes a step forward, his arms still stretching over the door frame, blocking any entry back to the cabin. You stumble back and this time you do fall, your feet tangled in the blanket. You stare up at Ghost in terror, he's also frozen, one arm stretched out as if to grab you before you fell . Your bottom lip trembles, "Simon?" you call once more before bursting into tears.

Simon wrenches the mask off and quickly sinks to the ground next to you. "Lovie are ya okay?? I'm sorry!" he exclaims pulling you into his arms. His heart falls to his stomach as you sob into his chest, terrified he hurt you.

"You-you scared me," you hiccup, clutching his sweater.

"I know luv, I know, I'm sorry" Simon whispers, stroking your hair, tucking you into his arms, "I'm so sorry". It was a bad idea, it was a stupid idea, Simon berates himself. Only now realizing he should have talked to you first instead of springing this on you.

You pull away, your fear turning into anger, "You scared me!" you hiss pushing him away. Simon looks at you wide-eyed and tries to pull you back only to be met with punches as you beat his arms away. "You giant asshole! I thought you were going to murder me!"

"I-shit-I'm sorry luv!" Simon apologized batting away your puny fists. "If I wanted to murder ya I wouldn't bring ya to the woods, too many people know where you are." Simon tries to joke only to be met with more punches.

"You" punch. "Giant" punch. "Asshole!" punch. "What were you thinking?!" you huff finally giving him a reprieve.

Simon gapes at you for a second before looking away, his face turning pink in embarrassment, "I saw the book you were reading before." he mutters under his breath.

Now it's your turn to be embarrassed. You didn't know Simon looked at the books you've read, the last novel did have a scene where the hero chased the heroine through the woods before catching her and doing all sorts of nasty things together for several pages. You may have even bookmarked a few of those pages. You look around at the woods surrounding you with the sudden realization. "Is this why you brought me here?"

Simon turns redder unable to meet your eyes, you bite your lips at how cute he looks, all flushed and bashful. "I thought I'd surprise you…".

"You surprised me alright." You huff, trying to stay mad at him. "We have to talk about things like this before hand, set boundaries and all that." you explain before you're hit with another jolt of realization. "Wait…is this one of your fantasies?" you ask.

Simon didn't think his face could get any hotter. Was it really your fantasy he wanted to fulfill or was it his? He had imagined countless times of taking you as Ghost. Ghost would be more rough, less giving, he wouldn't blush and whimper like Simon when you clenched around him. Maybe he thought he could pull different sounds out of you, turn into a baser version of himself. His silence answers your question.

You can't help but soften at his embarrassment. You know it's hard for him to ask for things. He always projected a cool and collected image, but over the last few years you've learned it's a facade. Sure, Ghost is self-assured on the field and unruffled in the face of danger, but Simon, sweet Simon whose hands were sweaty when you first held them. Sweet Simon would let out soft gasps when you kissed him. Sweet Simon who only wants to make you happy.

You lean forward and cup his face in your hand and draw his gaze to yours. You see the sadness in his now soft eyes and can't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips. Hoping it lets him know all is forgiven. He wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you back. You lick his bottom lip before nipping it gently. He groans and pulls you closer, crushing you to his chest, sliding his tongue along yours. His hands sliding down your back and shoulders before cradling your face and kissing you deeply.

You're not sure how long you two sat there kissing on the cold floor before finally pulling away, both of you breathless. You take in Simon's flushed face, half lidded gaze and swollen lips and decide maybe some running in the woods would do you both good. With a groan you stand up and start walking back inside the cabin. "Come on Si," you call over your shoulder, "chase me through the cabin first and then we can think about the woods." You giggle when you hear Simon scramble to his feet.

"Oh and bring the mask with you."

Happy Valentines! Hope you guys liked this. Likes, Reblogs and Comments are always appreciated!

[esotericdescent]

The left corner of Kaz's lips quirked upward with amusement — know-nothing. He didn't speak any other language than his own, but he'd picked up a word or a phrase here and there. It was impossible not to, when you surrounded yourself with people who were multilingual .... and especially when you loved someone with a different native language than your own. Perhaps someday he would take the time to learn to speak Suli fluently — but for now, picking up bits and pieces was good enough.

❝Your know-nothing," Kaz murmured teasingly. Similarly, it was a silly thing to say, but he'd missed their banter; now with a great deal of foresight, he could see how they'd often been skirting the edges of flirtation, not quite stepping over that line, but they'd come dangerously close many times over the years. Now there was no need to tread so carefully. It felt strange, yet exhilarating — perhaps he liked that idea. Being hers. Kaz had certainly never believed Inej would ever be his, especially given that she'd spent far too much of her life being trapped, being owned against her will. Inej didn't belong to anyone ... but he was more than happy to have her heart, just as she'd had his all these years.

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. Kaz had never asked her about that phrase she used, as she'd only said it within earshot of him once or twice. Dark brows narrowed just slightly, a clear indication of a silent curiosity, an unspoken question. He didn't have to wonder about it for long, however, as his own heart hammered against his rib cage. Tell me to stop. Kaz couldn't have stopped her, even if he'd wanted to. He'd never kissed anyone, nor had anyone ever kissed him and frankly, he had absolutely no idea how. He had instinct, which to him seemed to be the best way to go about it ... probably. He'd seen people kiss within his presence plenty of times and, while at the time he'd wanted nothing more than to evade it at all costs, he supposed it was good that he had some kind of visual aid to go off of.

He followed her lead, tilting his head, leaning in close, eyes fluttering closed. Kaz's breath was shaking, he couldn’t help it — but this time it was merely because he was nervous, excited, perhaps even a little giddy. If this was the feeling that people wouldn't shut up about, the feeling that made them act like fools, that sometimes clouded their judgement ... Kaz supposed could finally understand why. Electricity surged where their lips brushed and a small shiver ran down his back with the realization that Inej had kissed the scar that cut through his lips. It caused a swell of emotion so overwhelming and intense that Kaz almost felt dizzy with it — but he had no idea what half of what he was feeling even was.

It was only a brush of lips and yet his head was spinning, his heart pounding. He opened his eyes, gazing down at her half-lidded — and he saw her uncertainty, recognized it. Inej was trying to gauge whether she'd crossed a line she shouldn't have or not. Kaz shifted the hand still resting against her chest, slowly twining their fingers together, but remaining there all the same, still seeking the anchor of her heartbeat. He wanted to kiss her more firmly, but first ... his eyes briefly dropped to her mouth, then drifted back up to meet her gaze. ❝Inej, I want ...❞ Kaz swallowed thickly, struggling with his words. He settled on something simple, a question they now both understood the meaning of. ❝Can I? ❞

He made no further movement until she offered him a nod, giving him permission. Another shaking breath escaped him and he returned her nod with a faint one of his own — Kaz hesitated, however, feeling as though he needed to say these words out loud, for her. ❝You are in control, Inej,❞ he assured her, speaking with a firm certainty that conveyed experience .... despite the fact that he had none. ❝If you say stop, we stop, no questions asked.❞ He held her gaze, ensuring that she understood. Then ... it was his turn to lean in.

He started with that feather-light brush of lips, little more than grazing, giving Inej the time she needed to prepare herself. Then he gathered every bit of courage he had before he finally pressed his lips to hers. Electricity surged between them more vibrantly this time and suddenly, the world around them seemed to burst with something colorful and bright, something hopeful filling him to the brim in a way he'd never experienced before. The water remained beneath the ground where he'd banished it, the sound and the feeling of her warm breath alone more than grounding him in the moment.

Kaz was meticulous and intense by nature, but Inej drew something buried deep within him up to the surface; something tender and patient, gentle. Suddenly he was simply Kaz Rietveld, experiencing his first kiss with a girl he'd loved for years. A girl who was courageous and brave, who'd insisted on believing in him — whether it was believing that he could become the best version of himself, or believing he would always come for her, save her when she needed it or fight beside her when she didn't. The doubt he'd instilled in her that had taken root when she'd been captured by Van Eck still haunted him, but even despite that ... she'd believed him when he'd finally begun to speak the truth.

Inej had gone through her own hell, horrors he could barely fathom and somehow she'd made her way out fighting, keeping some semblance of faith intact despite everything, managing to balance her beautiful ferocity with her heart-wrenching softness. Kaz Brekker did not worship the Saints, but he would worship Inej in any way she desired it, any way he could manage without a moments hesitation.

The kiss only lasted a moment, but it felt like time had simply slowed to a stop — it felt like a lifetime before he was pulling back just slightly, eyes fluttering open again. Kaz was studying her features, trying to intuit she was okay ... and perhaps a tiny part of him was hoping his inexperience hadn't soiled their first proper kiss.

The moment felt paperthin underneath her fingertips, as if Kaz or herself could slip away at any moment and Inej was afraid to wake from a dream in the darkness of her cabin on the Wraith, never gathering up the courage to return to this city that held pieces of her impossible to put back together. Some of them would always remain broken, all sharp edges and cracked lines, other whole but no longer belonging to herself. Inej had given them away years ago and they would always lead her home.

As she felt his hands on her body it didn't cause the usual revulsion to pulse through her, even when skin brushed over skin. His hands felt cool against her heated cheeks, like a balm on her aching heart.

Silence stretched between them and after asking Kaz for forgiveness, a string insight her pulled taught, like a bow string ready to be released. Inej knew that she wouldn't survive a 'no' from him, not after she'd been missing him for so long, not after being held like this, after all the puzzle pieces finally falling into place. His coffee eyes were filled with a softness so foreign and familiar that it sent a wave of electricity cascading down her back. Inej shivered as she held herself together for him... no... with him.

They stood side by side on the battlefield that held their demons. She would never be able to drain the waters that wrapped around Kaz and threatened to drown him, but she would hold his hand and drown alongside him, just like he would disappear into her shadows with her. It was an unspoken agreement, the same they had held for years without ever adressing it.

'Unquestionable' It was a single word, but the relief it brought seemed to flood the room with light, banishing her shadows into a quiet corner of her eyes. He forgave her, even after leaving and not returning for what now felt like a small forever.

Inej held his gaze, warm tea eyes facing her. She stole the look of them, intended to hold on to it, to remember the was it made her chest ache in all the right ways.

They stood so close, her eyes trailed down to the wing of his pale lips and a new thought bubbled up inside her. How would it feel like?

A smile tugged at her lips. "Shevrati." Know-nothing. A different Suli word. It held all her warmth and matched his teasing tone. Her proverbs, the values her parents instilled in her, Kaz would have to live with them for as long as he wanted her near. "One day you will thank the Saints, Kaz. Mark my words. I thank them tonight that they brought me back to you." It felt so silly to say, but now that she'd passed through the door of keeping her words close to her chest and released them it felt easier, necessary even, to speak what she felt.

Her cheek leaned into his touch, almost longingly. "When fear arrives something is about to happen." she whispered, heart picking up it's pace against Kaz's fingertips as a new kind of fear seemed to gnaw on her.

Inej had been kissed before, roughly, with teeth, tenderly, without, possessively, hard, soft... she took a shakey breath. How would it feel to brush hers against his? Would they be cool and scarred like the rest of him? The thoughts scared her, but her actions suprised her. "Tell me to stop." She whispered as she leaned closer. "There is nothing left to forgive."

Slowly, carefully, her lips brushed over the scar that slashed hard across Kaz's own. Her heart swelled with something foreign, but it pitter pattered like a deer running for it's life. It wasn't a kiss, barely a touch, is what Inej told herself. She wasn't a girl anymore, dreaming of stealing kisses or a boy gifting her wild geraniums.

The Menagerie had taken all that from her, but there was another dream.

A dream she was finally willing to admit. She didn't want anyone near her, didn't want to let anyone touch her like that, but she wanted to kiss the scar on Kaz's lip, wanted to kiss every scar of his until he never thought of himself as a monster or unlovable and she wanted him to kiss hers too.

Her lips only lasted for a heartbeat, then a second, then she pulled back ever so slightly, warm eyes looking up at him again, scared she'd done something reckless and wrong... glad that she did it and a small voice igniting inside of her longing for stealing another moment like this, despite the shadows that were creeping in at her feet again.

[livefastdrivefaster]

My Other Half | CL16

Pairing: Charles x Reader

Summary: When Charles accidentally scares you, leading to him anxiously taking care of you. Complete fluff.

Word count: 900 words

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

An old Porsche was sitting in your garage. You managed to get it at a great deal, mainly because the car was close to falling apart. Almost every part needed replacing or some kind of work, and you were beginning to question if you should’ve just built a car from scratch at this point. But you weren’t opposed to the idea of a project, and you had been dreaming of owning this very car since you were young, so Charles stepped in to give you the best birthday present ever.

Because of how old the car was, the suspension was completely worn out. You decided to buy the necessary replacement parts and change it out yourself. You had worked on many cars before, so you weren’t afraid of the challenge, you just really needed to get this one right because the parts were astoundingly expensive. You were underneath the car, connecting the suspension parts to the undercarriage when Charles came home to your shared apartment. 

Not finding you in the main apartment, he knew you were likely downstairs working on the Porsche. Your boyfriend always told you there were too many things about you that he loved to count, but he especially adored your passion for your arguably unique hobbies, but how amazing you were at it all too. You always blasted music through your headphones while working, so you didn’t hear Charles come down into the garage to see you. Seeing your legs peeking out from under the car, Charles smiled to himself, lowering himself to the floor to surprise you. 

At the same time, you realised you had mistakenly grabbed the wrong size wrench for the bolt you were trying to loosen, and turned your head to look for the right tool lying somewhere near you. 

You weren’t expecting to find a face an arm's length away from you. You screamed and instinctively shot up, hitting your head hard on the metal framework above you. Recognising the face as Charles, your body relaxed and you lowered yourself back to the ground, placing your hand over the part of your head that made contact with the car.

“Ah! Y/N, are you okay?” Charles called out, reaching his arm out to you. 

You could only groan in pain as the initial shock of the hit wore off. Charles slides his body underneath the car to lie next to you, petting your head sympathetically. 

“Can you move? Can I get you ice? How much does it hurt?” Charles blurted out his questions at a rapid-fire pace, and you could tell his voice was close to breaking from worry. 

“I’m okay.” You say, giving him a weak smile before rolling out from beneath the car. He follows your movements, moving quickly in his desperation to get back to being next to you. 

You sit together for a moment in silence, backs against the evil, pain-inducing Porsche. You hear Charles mumbling about ice before he jumps up from beside you. 

“I’ll get ice, my love.” He says, darting off upstairs. 

“You don’t have to, Charles, it really isn’t that bad!” You call after him. 

It was. But you didn’t want to send Charles over the edge into a nervous breakdown. You hear some commotion from the kitchen, and the almost certain thud of Charles falling down a few stairs before your boyfriend appears next to you. He crouches down next to you, steadying himself with an arm placed beside your head, and gently places the cool ice on your forehead. You flinch from the harshness of the temperature, and Charles immediately withdraws from you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’ll only sting for a moment, I promise.” He says quietly, slowly placing the ice back on your pain. You wince a little still, but forget about it all when he leans into you. The remnants of the cologne he applied this morning, mixed with the sweet smell of his post-gym skin filled your senses. You wish you could bottle his scent, and keep it in a locket around your neck forever. It was addicting, just as yours was to him. 

“Mon preux chevalier (my valiant knight).” You sighed. He smiled at you shyly, before dropping his arm beside your head to cusp your face. 

“I am no knight, I did this to you.” He says, concerned eyes darting between yours, rubbing circles into your cheek with his thumb. 

“Yeah, sneaking up on me was pretty stupid, huh?” You say, half-suppressing a cheeky smile.

“Oh,” he says slowly, catching onto your joke, “not my fault you get all jumpy around me, hm? Almost like you have a crush on me, yeah?” 

“Just a little one.” You say, giggling lightly.

His cool complexion breaks at this, unable to stop the soft laugh bursting up his chest, born from the heart you warmed with your mere presence. The moment is brief, but encompassing. Despite the years you had spent with Charles, every day felt like the first night of a young couple’s honeymoon. Giddy and loving. 

“Does it hurt still?” 

“Not at all.”

He tentatively removed the ice from your head, his green eyes glimmering in the golden light of the dying day. Slowly, ever so slowly, he encompassed your body in his own, leaning down to place the most gentle of kisses on your hairline. 

“Ma moitié” 

(My other half)

[djarincore]

— vampire!simon punishes you

warnings: noncon/dubcon, smut, angst, dark, jealousy if you squint, blood, sorta based off this post

You're stiff when he throws you against the sheets. A silk nightgown does nothing to shield the feeling of his body molding into yours, trapping you against the bed.

His hands leave trails of ice along your skin as they slide beneath your thighs to force them apart. His lips are on your neck; his tongue drags against your rapid pulse for a taste. You shrink beneath him when it becomes teeth—pointed canines scraping against your skin.

Your voice wavers, a thick lump swelling in your throat. Tears gloss over your eyes as you force the words out. “My Lord, forgive m-”

“Shut up,” he hisses, wrenching away from your neck. His nose meets yours as he looks into your tear filled eyes. “You’re lucky I don't fuckin’ drain you.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” you whimper, shutting your eyes. His gaze, so intense, is enough to make you feel like you're being swallowed whole. If he wants to bite you, fuck you, then he can. You just want to be free of his grasp and breathe again.

“What did you hope to accomplish tonight?”

“N-Nothing, I-”

“Look at me!” He roars. A hand clamps around your jaw and forces your face back to his.

When your bleary eyes open, Simon is still above you, holding a carved stake. The same one you tried plunging into his back.

“Thought you could stick me with this twig? Who gave you that idea, huh? You think that bastard wants to save you?”

You know you shouldn't be going back to him, but you can't help yourself. John makes you feel safe, wanted, more than a lamb for slaughter. When he takes you into his arms, they're warm. Pressed against his chest, you hear his heartbeat, reminding you you're still alive too.

When you're forced to return to Simon at dusk, you're hit with the harsh reality of why you no longer belong to the living.

Simon barks out a mocking laugh. “No one wants to save a pathetic, sniveling thing like you.”

Your chest aches and the tears you hold back flow down your temples.

“I should stick this in you to teach you a lesson. You'd like that wouldn't you?”

A new cold washes over you. When his hands push your nightgown past your hips, exposing your naked core, you grab at his wrists. He ignores your clawing fingers and you begin pleading instead. “Please, don't. Please.”

“You'll take anything in that greedy cunt. This won't be a problem,” he sneers, smoothing a hand down to your mound. “I'll even get you nice and ready for it.”

His thumb presses down on your clit and your legs lock around his waist as the sensation jolts through your body. Quick circles are all it takes for you to shift your hips forward.

“Look at you. Already asking for it.”

You bite your lip and hold back a moan. You hate the way he makes you feel used and dirty and breaks you apart with his touch.

When the stake’s tip touches your folds, you gasp. Luckily, it's dulled at the tip, not sharp enough to pierce you, and the round base is sanded down.

Simon bullies the stake into you, ignoring the way you squirm. He's met with resistance as he pushes deeper because you're not wet enough to take it.

“I can't,” you insist, shaking your head. Its pointed head prods at your walls and you wince. You resist shifting your hips and focus on his thumb still slowly swirling on your clit instead.

“That's not what this cunt’s tellin’ me,” he retorts. “Look at ‘er, takin’ it just like a cock.”

Simon thrusts the stake further. The head stabs deeper into you, forcing a pained gasp from you. Tears swell in your eyes once again and your finger dig into the sheets.

“I can't—I've learned my lesson. Forgive me,” you cry.

He pulls the stake from your cunt. It drags against your walls, making you wince, as it is pulled free, glistening with some of your arousal. Simon throws it to the side with so much force it’s embedded into the wall. To serve as a reminder for the next time you get any foolish ideas.

You take in a shuddering breath, hoping the worst is over, but yelp when his hands suddenly grasp your hips and flip you on your stomach.

Simon bends to your ear, chest pressed against you back and his hard cock against your ass. “Next time the two of you try to kill me, bring him along and I'll drain you last.”

You burrow your face into the pillow and nod your head in shame. You would be a fool to try anything like this again. And you wouldn't dare put John in danger.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos, grinding his cock against your ass. A hand sneaks between your thighs, returning to your clit.

You can't help but move your hips against his hand now that the stake is gone.

His nose brushes your bare shoulder and his other hand forces your head to the side, baring your neck for him. “Now, stay still for me.”

The pierce of his fangs is a cold sting at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The shock is always first, rooting you in place and unable to even form a scream. And when that subsides, the pain comes hot like poison spreading through your veins.

You squirm beneath him, both the heat of his bite and your rising pleasure clash in you. But the pleasure always wins and the pain becomes nothing but an afterthought against his fingers. Instead of a scream, you moan.

You're so close, you can feel the knot in your belly tighten, but your vision is becoming blurry. You begin to fear he’ll make good on his threat to drain you.

He drinks and drinks, taking what he needs, but you feel yourself slipping between consciousness and your climax. You open your mouth but all that you manage is a weak, intelligible mumble and any pleasure you hoped for slips into a cruel darkness.