#and instead jumping from project to project to project

[sssammich]

cyborg alien + scientist AU

just gonna drop this bit and go

--

Lena doesn't look up from her work desk when the handle of her door turns followed by the thudding footsteps that beeline for her, the sound growing louder with each step. Instead, she takes her time fiddling with the final bits of solder at the tip of her iron, investigating her handiwork through the large magnifying glass perched between her and her desk. Her movements are steady, at ease, even though her visitor has been standing by the doorway for close to almost five minutes now.

When she eventually deems her work adequate, she stops. She takes her safety goggles off, folding them and placing them in the breast pocket of her fraying lab coat. She pulls the ventilator mask down, unbuckling it from the back of her head, her cheeks exposed to the barely cool air. She brushes the back of her knuckle on her face, noticing the indentations of where the mask had kissed her skin. She curls her fingers until they make a fist before extending them, her joints aching and popping as she stretches her hands.

All the while, she pays her visitor no mind, her green eyes scanning her workspace and the monitor at the corner of her desk. Her visitor makes no noise, raises no complaints, simply exists somewhere behind her. It's not until the old cuckoo clock—bright springtime carnation yellow and baby blue hues of a pastoral relic so mismatched with the dullness and coldness of the wires and gadgets and tools scattered in her office—jumps out of its window to signal that it's the top of the hour that she finally glances over her shoulder.

Standing just in front of Lena's bookshelf full of haphazardly shelved research notes and half-abandoned projects is her visitor, a woman, with messy blonde hair that stops by the lobes of her ears, highlighting perfectly sunkissed skin. Her shoulders squared and her hands held behind her back, her body standing at attention. Truly a product of the military, Lena notes.

The only difference, of course, is the focus of oceanic blue eyes on Lena paired with a small but radiant smile etched on the woman's face, a smile directed right at her. A smile that her visitor flashes at her during every visit. If Lena didn't know any better, she might think her visitor was doing it intentionally.

"Hello, Dr. Luthor."

"You're late." Lena looks away, wheeling her office stool towards some metal drawers, one foot atop the casters, the other planted on the concrete floor, controlling her speed.

Her visitor huffs before striding towards the only other seating in her office, a metal folding chair with paint chipping off, and sitting on it backwards so her front pressed up against the backing of the seat. "I got held up."

"You're always held up," she retorts, the very same words echoing what she'd said when her visitor had shown up in her office for the first time, a gash across her face before Lena patched her up.

"Blame the war. Otherwise, I'd be here on time."

Her visitor unbuttons her shirt revealing the vast expanse of her back, littered with intersecting silver lines of intricate circuitry that are visibly more apparent up close, each and every one following the various paths of her body's muscles. This time, there is a darkened and jagged crater about the diameter of a tennis ball just left of center of the spine. Lena's index finger traces the crater, her mouth slanted in a frown. She can tell that it's begun the healing process, though if her visitor is here, then that must mean that the process isn't moving fast enough to return back to normal.

The first time her visitor had taken off her shirt, Lena had gasped despite herself, her gaze latching onto the slowly-healing injuries that adorned intertwined with inked circuitry that mapped her visitor's back. It wasn't until Lena began her first inspection that she had noticed the defined musculature of the woman in front of her. Piercing blue eyes had stared at her in a mixture of curiosity and concern, but she only shook her head and needlessly advised her visitor to be more careful.

No, her patient.

The woman in front of her is her patient, though Lena certainly doesn't feel qualified in the slighest.

The only patient that's been assigned to her because she's the only living person in the whole of Terran who is knowledgeable and capable of working with Kryptonian physiology. A particular fact that sat uneasily on her conscience. Not when the only reason she'd ever learned was due to the copious and obsessive notes and files that her now deceased brother had compiled about Kryptonians when they first touched down on terran soil for the first time fifteen years ago.

Not when she'd been entirely too late to stop her brother from murdering the only other Kryptonian—her patient's cousin—in the name of human advancement.

She wheels herself towards a dresser of drawers on her patient's other side, pulling on a lead-lined drawer labeled KZE, carefully extricating tools out and placing them on the table nearby.

"That can't always be your excuse," she murmurs, even as she puts on her gloves and quickly inspects the tools, each one more likely to be found in a surgical room than an engineer's workbench. Radiating green crystals are in every single one as a means to penetrate through what has otherwise been considered invulnerable skin.

"How about 'I was helping get a cat named Streaky unstuck from the top of a tree on my way here'?"

Lena stops to meet her visitor's gaze and goofy grin, even in the face of visible effects to the proximity of her glowing green tools. Lena narrows her eyes to avoid rolling them. She just knows that her patient will be watching, is always watching, just to give more meaning to her simple response.

"This is not a negotiation, Ms. Zor-El."

Her patient sighs. "Zor-El was my father. You know you can call me Kara. I've never heard of anybody ever once wearing it out."

"Face forward, Ms. Zor-El." She says, waiting until her patient turns around. This is a familiar song and dance between them starting from the moment Kara Zor-El was assigned to her care only four months ago, the Cadmus Council providing Lena very little room to protest or decline—not when she wanted to avoid any ramifications for her experiments at Mount Norquay.

When they first shook hands (Lena noting the faint traces of circuitry that adorned her patient's perfectly sculpted body), the Kryptonian had insisted on being called by her first name. Yet, Lena did not budge, citing a need to maintain professionalism. Naturally, her patient has attempted to change her mind ever since.

Truth of the matter is that Lena can't allow herself an inch of this familiarity. Not when she knows what she knows, not when she carries the burdens of her family's sins, of their legacies, not when her healing hands learned everything from the success of a murder.

Instead, she focuses on the tasks in front of her, fixing and healing the fresh new injuries to the Kryptonian's systems.

"Hope," she calls out to her virtual assistant, surveying the damage on her patient's back. The damage isn't so severe, she surmises, but she does need to re-update internal systems before she can physically patch the massive crater on the Kryptonian's back so it can heal eventually itself. "Roll back to an old Myriad update, please."

"Of course, Lena." The voice responds from somewhere up above, her centralized computer system whirring in the background. She then opens another drawer and pulls out more traditional wound treatments.

"Howcome your robot gets to call you by your first name, but this robot can't?" The Kryptonian asks, thumb pointing at herself, befoere twisting to look over her shoulder. Lena immediately pauses, ensuring that she does not cause any unnecessary harm to her patient.

"Hold still, Ms. Zor-El."

The Kryptonian exaggerates her sigh, resigned to what Lena can only assume is another bout of failure, all while she attempts to ignore the jut of pouting lips as blonde head rests on strong forearms.

Lena, steady yet gentle in her touch, tips the Kryptonian's head down so she has better access to the nape before inserting a trapezoidal rod from her tray of fine tools. The silver circuit lines begin to emit a green glow, as if powering her patient's body on, matching the glowing from the green crystals embedded in it, in the center of the diamond markings inked on alien skin. The penetration causes indigo blood to trickle out, Lena quick to use the back of her sleeve to wipe it off.

"Alright?" she asks after her patient sucks air through her teeth before releasing a shaky breath. Lena subtly rubs a couple of gentle circles using the side of her palm on the skin just to the side of where the rod sits.

"Never better."

She does roll her eyes then knowing that the Kryptonian can't see her. Lena proceeds by turning the rod ninety degrees until the expanse of her patient's back begins to glow around particular inked lines, three stacked panels along the spine appear, revealing the Kryptonian's internal systems. It's a technological marvel to witness every time, a perfect combination of mechanical innovation so well integrated with organic lifeform.

She makes quick work of the more technical components of her patient's body, fiddling with some delicate wiring amidst flesh and updating and upgrading where necessary. All the while, she keeps a close eye on her patient's skin, the circuitry glowing green, and her breathing—steady in parts, haggard in others. She tries to speed the process along as much as she can, even knowing that this truly requires a deft and delicate touch, the knowledge not lost on her that the Kryptonian must be in immense pain while her internal systems are meddled with.

As expected, her patient does not complain, does not react save for an occasional twitch or stiffness in tension. After a silent twenty minutes, she finishes with a relieved sigh. She's quick to treat the injury with specialized antibiotics before properly dressing it, more than eager to cover that wound. Regardless of how she feels about her patient, she genuinely does not want to further the pain the Kryptonian experiences, war soldier or not. She pushes her stool back after placing her tools back on the table.

"Go ahead and put your shirt back on."

"Not so bad this time, right?" The Kryptonian asks with her own sigh of relief, already shrugging her shirt back on.

"Just be more careful next time," she advises, though she knows that these words mean nothing, have never been heeded. Not for what the Terran government and Cadmus Council want from their superpowered alien.

"You got it, Doc." Her patient then rises from the chair and begins walking towards the door. By this point, Lena has come to expect that on her fifth step towards the door, she will turn around, hands in her pockets like she's just a regular woman, and opens her mouth. "Say, Dr. Luthor, would you like to join me and some of the others for drinks later at Noonan's? I think it'd be nice."

The Kryptonian stands to her full height, another smile on her face. Lena doesn't know what's more tragic to watch: how her patient continues to try to invite her out to spend time together after every visit, or the fact that her patient truly believes it'd actually be nice to spend time with her cousin's murderer's sister.

Lena has since rolled back in front of her workbench and pointedly stared at the Kryptonian. Admitting defeat, her patient only widens her smile and nods in understanding.

"Until next time?" she asks, now at the threshold. Lena offers her a polite smile, the best she can do.

"See you then."

—

So it goes.

Each visit near identical.

Lena fixes her patient.

The Kryptonian pursues the impossible.

—

A month later, it all changes.

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And YOU will feel healed of the last 15

... when you read this fic. That is, as long as you suffered from an abandonement wound like i did.

Ello lovelies, i have another wonderful fanfic-rec for you! 🤓

But you are an ocean by @ineffably-good

Coverart by @ineffableclassics

What it is about:

After Aziraphale's defection, Crowley tries to figure out how to live life for himself.

Notes:

Ok so, the end of season two broke me. Figured I was maybe done writing stories about these two after that. And yet, several hours later, a sentence appeared in my head, and then this happened. Guessing at chapter totals… I'm finding I like the idea of Crowley going off in a different direction than what I'd initially expect. Not just raging, not sleeping for a century, but actually trying to move on. And why the hell shouldn't he just move to the South Downs by himself? So here we are.

What i like about it:

🩷This fic doesn´t jump in on pushing the story - their story - forward. Instead it goes a totally different path. A quite big part of it is dedicated to Crowley mending the pieces of his broken heart. It´s endearing, it´s breathtaking and it will have you cry. Not only for Crowley but for every single person who ever had to endure heartbreak.

🩷Fun fact no.1: in real life I am a relationship-coach specialised in toxic relationships and heartbreak. And the way Crowley´s heartbreak is described couldn´t be any more accurate. Every thought, every pain, every action he takes, the strength it costs him, the weight of it all - its written absolutely to the point. I could have copied several pages for the "most beloved quote".

🩷So Crowley tries to build a life for himself. Not just living without the angel and rotting in a pit, but really trying to carve out a nice little existence for himself. He is doing his work, he is healing and you can follow along with him, as he learns to build at least new "friendships" - though he would never call it that himself, thanks a lot.

🩷This healing-journey takes quite some time and somewhere in the middle of it i started to think - he could do it. He COULD heal his hurt, mourn the loss and still somehow at least live a life on his own. Maybe feeling the missing part of himself for the rest of his existence, but not being miserable about it the whole time. And that is a thought - a wish - i would have for my dark angel.

I could see him living that life and at one point i almost thought - i would love to see how that would´ve played out for him. A life without Aziraphale. What connections would Crowley have made? How would he have coped with the loss of those humanly connections lifespan after lifespan? Would he have relocated each century? Would he have moved to Australia and learned surfing at one time? Would he have become a timelord and travelled - i mean seriously, Crowley could do that probably?

But you, my dear, are an ocean.

And oceans are ancient

And can survive everything,

Even the wrath of weather and planets.

-- Nikita Gill

SPOILERS AHEAD - if you don´t want to know the plot, stop reading here.

Stop reading if you dont want spoilers!

Ok - you´ve been warned! Here we go: 🤗

🩷Fun fact no.2: I actually downloaded this fic some time ago but had another fic in mind i wanted to start next. So after i finished the last one (also really brilliant, i wrote a rec on it too), i started my e-reader the next day, THIS fic was already open instead on page 1. Huh?

I have absolutely no idea how this is possible, but i DO believe in hints-of-the-universe. Or little demonic miracles on their own. Because i needed this fic.

🩷Because of course - this is a Good Omens fanfic and eventually the other angel arrives. And without giving away to much: Aziraphale has to fight for Crowley. A long long time. He has to be steadfast and consistent and earn the trust of his has-been-companion-for-millenia. Nothing is a given any more.

And i am NOT saying that this is what Aziraphale needs to do or that he was wrong in any way. (The fic doesnt say that either by the way.) But what cracked ME personally about the last 15 was my own abandonement-wound which got triggered massively. I felt retraumatised even.

So reading and feeling that Crowley does not jump on the next best possibility to be back with the angel was a big thing. Having the Angel slowly earning his trust and simply showing up again and again - I needed that. I needed Crowley to take his time, not be the sick lovefool he is often proclaimed to be. For him to have doubts, to feel conflicted, to feel love and the need to self-preserve at the same time.

All these ambiguities we all have. And to take the steps with him. Watch the turning point, when the fear of losing Aziraphale again becomes less and less and the fear of wasting time gets stronger. Taking one step at a time, sometimes even backwards. All those things, typical for a healing process, which is never straight forward but most of the time a rollercoaster instead. I loved this. I needed this. I could sit back, breathe and watch my own heart grow. Just. Wow.

Most beloved quote:

So if you feel like maybe you need a fic in which Aziraphale really shows up and cares while Crowley really takes his time to learn to trust again... And not because one of them has been an idiot, but to experience them both learning and growing together ... and that might be something for your own healing journey, this might be just THE fic for you. I absolutely loved it and so will you.

Reading is therapy! 🤗

[all-chickens-are-trans]

One thing I really didn't expect is that watching/reading/listening to actual news (instead of avoiding them mostly due to anxiety and then being jumped by the worst ones in push notifications) has made me more hopeful overall. It's hard to explain because of course, there's a lot of terrible shit going on and the news report on that -

but there's also good stuff happening. especially when you listen to local news on the radio or something, there's a new community centre built, or a fund supports school kids' science projects, or a city nearby is launching its new green campaign. and sure, you could be cynical or depressed enough to go like 'what does that matter in the grand scheme of things' but the thing is. It does matter. There's people around you right now, maybe next door, maybe a few blocks down or a little further, but people around you care. and they make stuff happen. and they try to make things better for everyone.

so I can highly recommend to get your news from local sources. and get a little hope from it. <3

[thevioletcaptain]

someday soon i'm going to post several 10k+ deancas fics on ao3 all at once because i'm deranged and didn't want to start posting any of them until they were complete, but that also means that they'll probably all be done at the same time. or maybe i should stagger them over a week or something. we shall see. anyway, lotta words incoming.

[spiritonadventure]

...Londoners are truly sentimental, and nothing delights them more than romance and secrecy.

[thedrotter]

not-yet-dead-person

silly comic of a conversation in-game i thought was too funny not to make something proper for instead of a doodle ww

(timelapse + wip images (thus silly process commentary in read more if you like artist commentary :3)

i think the sketch looks silly and goofy and funny so i find it important to share with you the mere presence of the faces i drew on it. i drew it on top of the boxes without staying inside its borders because i find my proportions can get wonky if i draw them cropped in a restricted space. and I feel trapped otherwise and i will draw BAD!!! give me spaceeeee to go wild!!!!

the head circles are there for emotional support

very low res speedpaint because truth is the canvas was much bigger than the space where my comic was placed. i didnt account when exporting my timelapse in 720px that that tiny space would look so pixelated ... but it's able to be percieved, so its okay.

(i will now comment on my process and it is not brief sorry)

usually i would try to clean up my sketches and figure out what goes on top before jumping into linework, but since there are multiple panels and drawings i chose to jump into inking right away for the sake of brevity. i just went in with a brush that uses pen pressure and drew what was needed. i added extra line thickness and contrast in areas around the face because it helps direct your eyes there more easily that way.

according to her equipment rei has a chain belt but i only remembered it existed once I was going to color, and i did not like that discovery... I chose to ignore it to maintain my peace. i already have the color palettes for these characters figured out, and i didnt really want to think about a new element at the moment www I tend to overthink those things a lot so i skipped it

the rest is rather straightforward! not that anything else wasn't, but in here i could turn my brain off and sing. linework and sketching require mumbling so i cannot turn my brain off. just block in the characters with a solid color so i can have a mask (something along those lines,) where the color can stay inside. then just color in !!!

Base colors just had slight cell shading on the skin, and for the hair i airbrush a bit of the skincolor in low opacity near the forehead... I'm not sure what it means, but i can look at the faces easier with it somehow. i like the gentle subtlety it adds even if you cant really tell. it makes things look nice.

background was just me blocking in the color of the wall and floor, shade the wall a bit, then slap a noise and free use wood texture on top. work smarter not harder ! yet it took a bit to make it look stylistically fitting with the characters, and even now i think bottom middle panel looks odd. whatever!!!

for the middle panel i thought itd be funny if the background was a solid silly and colorful one to contrast the next panel's sketchy black one. a contrast to how the word widow is seen. on that note my handwritting is not pointy. i gaslighted my hand into thinking that it was indeed pointy in that moment so i could write "not-yet dead person" in letters that didn't seem cute. my hand did not fall for it but it complied anyway

that's basically it! I'm not sure what else i could say that doesn't feel barebones because it really is that straightforward. if you're curious I used clip studio paint for this. only special brush used was for linework (a brush named Lemon Brush), the rest used were just the default. my computer gets the least credit. it was trying to convince me a 20mb file was going to nuke it all the time and hardly let me save multiple times so i do not appreciate it

[rawliverandgoronspice]

If I keep my motivation up with the animatic project, I plan to make ganondorf just. soooo uncomfortably correct about things. you know, in that event horizon of being both indefensible enough in his actions that you feel like he's just saying things to make himself look less bad, but also you can't really retort a proper counterargument without revealing huge biases in your own perception of reality

just riding that wind waker swagger to more extreme extremes

[someone-else-entirely]

If there's one thing I'm gonna come away from this Passover with it's a new and enduring love for the wicked son

[saline-coelacanth]

Coming up with ideas for stories and aus is all fun and good until you realize that you don't have any actual story planned, just the concept, OR you're trying not to come up with new ideas because you already have so many goddamn aus, brain why are you trying to make that list longer???

[swordmaid]

AM thinking that if shri’iia had not been kidnapped by the nautiloid she would’ve still been tadpoled and enthralled by the absolute just because they were targeting drows and I’m thinking shri’iia’s matriarch had told her to investigate the drows that have disappeared like specifically a baenre highborn and her army disappeared when they went to the surface? that’s sus and her matriarch is like in everyone’s business anyway. SO in like a companion au if she isn’t recruited, shri’iia become one of the absolute goons you see in moonrise. probably a guard or something. likewise, i like to imagine in her playthrough she’s kind of like 🧍‍♂️ once they’ve visited moonrise and she saw that most of the guards there were the drows she was sent out to investigate. kind of like oh so THATS what happened to them. then when she finds that journal in ketheric’s desk talking abt how they were specifically targeting drow exiles she’s like …huh.

[strawglicks]

my mood every day

[sillimancer]

a spider built a nest in my ipad case so that's how my day is going

[hedgehog-moss]

Last spring my neighbour asked if I could let Pirlouit mow the grass around his barn from time to time, which Pirou was happy to do at first but if I left him there several days in a row he got pretty sad about being alone (lots of wistful, melancholy braying). So this year when my donkey was hired for this job again, I went for a different formula: for the past few weeks I've been bringing all the animals to the neighbour's barn for an hour of landscaping services now and then at apéritif time.

The fence is extremely not Pampe-proof so I have to have my apéritif while sitting on the road in a strategic position from which I can toss a stick in her direction if she tries to escape, but other than that I've been really enjoying this peaceful evening ritual, just sitting there reading and watching the animals while feeling like I'm doing my neighbour a favour. Pirlouit doesn't get all the grass to himself anymore but I've learnt that he prefers to be rich in friends than in food.

You'll notice that Merricat is present in every photo, looking alert. She too has been hired, but for the thankless job of Thought Police. She may look like she's just napping on the warm asphalt with not a care in the world...

... but she is working! Keeping an eye on the llamas, always.

I've discovered that in a specific context my three cats can act as precogs and warn me of Pampe's future crimes. My theory is that they developed this skill because of Poldine, who loves cats. Any cat who enters the pasture will soon be noticed and (lovingly) chased by Poldine, who wants kisses. Cats not only do not want llama kisses, they don't differentiate between individual llamas. They are all potential kissers. So even if it looks like she's all relaxed, Merricat is constantly monitoring where the llamas are and what they seem to be planning. If we are on the other side of a fence and Pampe approaches it a bit too slyly, Merricat will jump to her feet, ready to flee (and I will toss one of my anti-Pampe sticks, and say NON.)

Merricat and I are a very good team! We've foiled several of Pampe's plots, but we need to be on the road for Merricat to remain wary (if we were in the pen Pampe's escape attempts would involve getting away from us and the cat wouldn't care.) Cars are rare so it's okay (plus it's so quiet you can always hear them coming), and on the few occasions when someone showed up and asked why I was having apéritif on the road, I pointed at Pampe and they were like, "Ah! Didn't see her here. Good luck!"

"Hedgehog-moss, you're exaggerating. Pampe can't be that—"

She is! She is. And she always seems to notice when Merricat is on a bathroom break and I'm absorbed in a book.

There was one evening though, when she got distracted by a fascinating new idea. I don't claim to know what's going on in this llama's head (except when she's looking at a fence, then it's easy) but as you can see, once I brought the animals to the barn Poldine started eating flowers, Pirlouit started eating grass, and Pampe started eating the wall.

After a moment she slowly circled the barn, then stopped and lay down right next to it, settling down in a comfortable position but with focused ears and her head still turned towards the wall. It was suspicious behaviour, but on the other hand she now looked so uninterested in the road that I decided to take a risk and run home to bring back some dinner—and she didn't move while I was away! I even brought Pandolf, who is usually banned from these soirées because he would disturb my Merricat alarm system. He was happy to be finally included.

It's unclear if Pampe was eating the wall, talking to the wall, or carefully examining various parts of the wall as Step 1 of 27 of a complex plan only she understands, but she stuck close to the barn all evening instead of lying in wait by the fence so I was able to have a picnic in the grass rather than on the road, which felt more bucolic. I know that "Pampérigouste has a new, mysterious project" is a worrying sentence but at this early stage (feasibility study) it felt to me and Merricat like a little holiday!

[hencheri]

18+. mdni.

riding bf!mark because he doesn't give you enough attention :(

.

lately, mark seems to be always working, spending the majority of his time on his computer with his headphones covering his ears. he gets totally immersed in his work, and even though it’s a good thing, he also forgets about the world around him, including you. 

mark sure gives you a lot of attention on a daily basis — with a high sex drive like his, he needs you all the time — but he can easily go a day without thinking about anything else other than his current project. he’s someone who’s very passionate about what he does.

so you miss him a lot on those days.

but honestly, if you want attention, you simply have to ask for it. mark isn’t difficult to convince, especially if it involves fucking. 

“mark.”

upon hearing your voice calling him, he only answers a ‘yeah?’, not looking away from the screen in front of him. but feeling your hand laying down on his shoulders distracts him enough to glance your way and he’s surprised to see what you’re wearing, cock jumping in his shorts.

“what’s up?” he asks with raised eyebrows, trying to keep his cool, but his mind goes wild instantly. it really doesn’t take him a lot.

dressed in a satin robe, the long sleeves draping over your arms and the belt tied around your waist, you don’t answer him and instead pull his headphones off his head. you straddle his legs and sit on his lap.

“miss you,” you simply say.

“ah, i’m sorry. i- i’ve just been…” he pauses for a moment, watching your hands untying the knot of your robe. “caught up, with, um… work.”

“can you make some time for me, then?” you taunt, the knot now undone, nothing keeping your robe from opening and revealing your nude body underneath. 

“of course, baby,” mark breathes out, satisfied to see you pulling the sides of the bathrobe apart, tits and stomach uncovered, naked pussy sitting right on top of his clothed cock. shit.

he can’t help himself from grabbing the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his, kissing feverishly. you moan into his mouth, hands on his chest, fumbling the fabric of his graphic tee between your fists. 

he kisses you until you’re a disheveled mess, lips swollen and glossy from both of your saliva. you move your hips back and forth , basically humping his bulge, until you reach down to pull on his shorts, impatient to take his cock out. 

he lets go of your lips when your hand wraps around his length, slumping down against the chair’s back. his glasses slip down his nose a little while he has his mouth open, letting out heavy breaths. 

mark groans when you spit in the palm of your hand, smearing your saliva all over his cock, slowly pumping it to make it hard. 

“gonna ride me, baby?” mark looks into your eyes, his lenses reflecting the ceiling light, eyebrow lifted up. 

you grin, twisting your wrist, wanting his cock as hard as possible like you know it can be. rock hard, like he loves to tell you when he’s got a boner in the middle of the day for no apparent reason other than ‘was thinking about you’.

“yeah,” you confirm, “gonna make it wet and messy,” you tease, a small smile adorning your lips. 

“you’d like that, hm? little minx,” he lightly chuckles, wetting his lips with his tongue, laying his big hands on your hips as you lift them up. 

you bring his cock to your cunt, tapping his head against your clit and passing it through your wet pussy lips. with the curse he lets out, you know he’s pretty sensitive now. you can feel it; he’s heavy and hard, ready to be snuggled between your walls.

you slowly sink down on him, taking your time while he stretches you out deliciously. you both moan in unision, the feeling of him in you so familiar and addictive. 

when you’re fully seated down on him, you start grinding your hips, his hands guiding you over his strong lap. 

“fuck, yeah-” he frowns, clenching his jaw, “just like that, good job, baby…”

you only whine in response, rocking your hips back and forth, his cock covered in your slick, arousal dripping down his balls. your bodies moving make the leather of the chair creak underneath you, the skin of your knees sticking to it because of the heat and sweat.

his hands go further into your robe, grabbing your asscheeks firmly. he’ll probably leave the trace of his fingers on your flesh, but you really don’t care. you love wearing his marks. 

you roll your hips over his lap vigorously, already out of breath, your chest heaving up and down rapidly. you remember that your tits are completely out when mark dives down, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking on it. the feeling makes you mewl, gripping the damp hair at the nape of his neck. 

he shifts to your other breast, giving your nipple the same treatment. he leaves plenty of kisses there, too, especially on the valley between your tits. when he pulls away, your skin shines in his spit. 

mark tries to suppress another groan from leaving his throat, but you hear it well and loud in your ear, letting you know he’s close. you clench around him, and he tightens his hold on your ass at that, nails digging into your soft, sweaty skin.

��mmm, baby,” he lets out an unbashful moan, throwing his head back before glancing at you, “you’re gonna be a good girl and take all of my cum, right?” 

you nod your head, excited to have him filling you up good like he always does.

“yeah,” he mimics the movement of your head, grinning. “you love it, don’t you? love being my little cumdump,” he purrs, and his words literally drive you crazy.

“love being yours,” you reply back, riding his cock when he suddenly stops you from moving.

he raises his hips from the chair, thrusting up in you. he takes control over you, slapping his hips upward until his cock twitches, spurts of cum flooding your pussy. at the same time, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, waves of pleasure shooting through you as you cum around him. 

his hips fall back down, now completely exhausted. his glasses fog up as he breathes out heavily, chasing the air back into his lungs. 

you eventually lift up your hips and mark’s cock slips out of your sore pussy. he looks down, a little chuckle escaping his mouth.

“weren’t lying when you said you’d make it messy, hm?”

[astralleywright]

you know in retrospect fcg growing so attached to frida after barely two weeks dismantles quite a bit of this lol

given ashton's specific issues, it's quietly tragic that they don't have someone on team uthodurn to specifically remember them, the way orym and laudna do. fearne goes to the wildmother shrine specifically to reach out to orym, and imogen- well, thoughts of laudna run through everything imogen does. fcg is ostensibly that person, for ashton, but they've known each other for significantly less time than fearne and orym or imogen and laudna, and fcg wasn't emotionally reliant on ashton in the same way. and fcg's had his hands full with meeting frida and all the new feelings coming with that, and maybe it's an intentional reflection of the fact that, as much as they care, fcg is a little self-absorbed, and also still very bad at processing and expressing their feelings.

but when frida asks if they ever had a person like frida has deanna, they mention dancer. which is- fcg was essentially a servant to dancer, she told him what to do. ashton's place in their life is much more parallel to deanna. and i think it makes sense for fcg to mention dancer, given their own issues and belief that someone else has to give them meaning (which is something that could be very interesting to explore in their relationship with frida!!), but. ashton's definitely gonna be worried sick about fcg when we eventually get to team ???, so seeing them apparently occupy fcg's thoughts so little is sad.

[tibby-art]

hitman au save me .. its been seven years ..

haven’t been able to draw/write much of this au lately but i want to write a few little scene snippets i have stored my brain :’D ill include them under cut

=+=

“This better be something good,” Scar muttered to Cub as they stepped out of the elevator. The hitman, while bound to his contract, considered ‘boring’ missions to be a waste of his time.

“I hope so,” Cub hummed. “Hope so.”

The ConVex swung open the doors to the NHO conference room, not bothering to check if their bosses were actually ready for their meeting.

“Holy mother of—! Knock next time, will you?” A man setting files down on the conference table jumped visibly as the doors slammed open.

“The Vex require a dramatic entrance, Beef,” Scar said casually. Cub snickered.

“Sure, whatever.” Beef furrowed his brow, used to this behavior. He didn’t have time for this. “Okay. Doc was supposed to do this briefing, but he’s busy with his machines I guess, because of course he is, so.” He huffed, composing himself. “Your new top-secret project. This one’s a doozy. Have a look.”

Beef slid the folder across the table. The hitmen flipped it open, absorbing its contents with hungry eyes.

What caught their eyes immediately were the photos. The person of interest looked nothing like a powerful crime boss or a dangerous anomaly. A young adult with glasses, dark eyes and short, sandy brown hair stared back at them.

“Who’s this?” Scar raised an eyebrow. Is the NHO asking them to assassinate some normal-looking university student?

“That is Grian,” Beef explained, both hands planted firmly on the table. “Grian has been with us at the NHO for months.”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Scar remarked.

“Grian’s case is top-secret. He’s been staying in high-security, private quarters… as well as our research laboratories.”

“I thought you guys seemed super suspicious lately! I knew they were hiding something from us, Cub,” Scar nudged his partner with a grin. Cub did not budge as his sharp eyes combed through the documents. He hadn’t heard a single word spoken to him.

“Cub? What’s the deal?” Scar asked. He preferred to let Cub read their mission files and summarize it for him, anyways. Dyslexia and top-secret government files were not a great mix. Oh, what would he do without Cub?

“Watchers?” Cub finally spoke, looking up at Beef with a quizzical frown. The other man nodded slowly. “You’re kidding.”

“After months of testing and analysis, we can confirm that this individual is the only currently documented case of a mortal possessing Watcher abilities,” Beef nodded slowly.

Scar had heard whispers of the Watchers only a handful of times. As a vex, he knew plenty about the realm of magic, the divine, the fae, you name it! But Watchers were said to be ancient entities, perhaps as old as time itself. So old that they were widely considered to be a myth.

“So this is not a hit,” Scar said after a moment.

“This is not a hit, Scar, good lord, do not kill this person,” Beef put both hands on his forehead and let them slowly drag down his face.

“Mortal, you say?” Cub raised an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Beef said. “She was a completely normal citizen until he got these abilities in some freak accident. Lucky for everyone involved, the NHO was able to take control of the situation before anything… dangerous happened.”

“So,” Scar narrowed his eyes slightly, “If this isn’t a hit, then what do you want from us?”

Beef sighed. “After months of testing to determine Grian’s situation, the NHO has decided that he is too important to return to life as a normal citizen at this time. Instead, we’d like to utilize his abilities in our goals to maintain order in Hermit City, and we need someone to train her how to be a special agent in the field.”

“You want the ConVex to train a Watcher how to be a hitman,” Cub said with a slight smirk at just how insane that sounded.

“Yep.”

“Huh.” Scar put both hands on his hips. “Well, that’s not what I was expecting.”

“I suppose we could give it a shot,” Cub said. Although the ConVex were bound by a fae contract to work for the NHO, the vex took every opportunity to feign control over their situation. There was no choice here. Beef had given them an order.

“Sure, sure! We are very good at our jobs, after all,” Scar grinned. Whatever happened, good or bad, would at least be entertaining, surely.

“You’ll come back here to meet her tomorrow morning,” Beef instructed. “Hand me that file back and be here by 9, will you?”

“Sure thing,” Cub replied coolly, sliding the file back to the man. Scar couldn’t help but grin wider when he noticed Cub’s hand casually in his pants pocket, some folded white paper barely visible in his grip.

“Don’t be late. I’m serious this time,” Beef called out as the hitmen turned and exited the conference room.

=+=

The conference room was tense that morning. Towards the end of the table sat the NHO - Beef, Doc, Etho, and Bdubs. On one side sat Cub and Scar. Across from them, Grian sat alone.

“So, how about introductions?” Doc clapped his hands together. “Er… Cub and Scar, this is Grian. Grian, this is Cub and Scar. You guys already know the deal. Grian is going to come with you on missions from now on.”

The ConVex hadn’t taken their eyes off of Grian since they entered the room, unable to resist their curiosity. They had both read the files, but still found it hard to believe the person before them was a Watcher. Grian sat rigid in his chair, fiddling with his hands, looking tense and exhausted. She eyed the vex curiously as well.

“Well hello there,” Scar greeted. “I’m Scar, and this is Cub.”

“Hey, hey,” Cub said quietly.

“Hello,” The corner of Grian’s mouth twitched in a possible attempt at a smile.

The three continued to stare at each other until Bdubs cleared his throat.

“Wonderful introduction. Now that we’ve broken the ice, let’s talk about your next mission.” The man picked up a small remote, and the large screen on the wall behind them illuminated.

“Before we send our agents out into the field, we meet like this to discuss the details and ensure that the mission is clearly understood,” Doc explained to Grian, throwing a disapproving glare in the ConVex’s direction.

A lengthy file on some high-profile criminal appeared on the screen, as Bdubs proceeded to read off the information. Scar slumped back in his chair. These mission briefings were the worst. It was time to zone out and have Cub tell him the details later with all the fluff cut out.

At about ten minutes in, Scar yawned absentmindedly.

“Oh, are we boring you, sir?” Doc interrupted Bdubs to shoot a piercing stare at Scar.

“Oh, not at all!” Scar said cheerfully, but slumping in his chair slightly lower.

“As I was saying,” Bdubs continued loudly.

Scar glanced over at Grian. Her eyes quickly darted back to the presentation when they made eye contact. Scar looked over at Cub and found he had still not taken his eyes off of Grian. Hopefully Cub was at least somewhat paying attention, because he sure wasn’t.

Grian continued to fidget with his hands. Scar felt a pang of pity for him. The vex were used to this sort of environment, but according to the NHO, Grian had a completely normal life up until a few months ago. Now suddenly, he gains these terrifying powers and spends months in a top-secret lab having tests run on her all day. Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed?

Scar yawned again, this time more intentionally. He earned another death glare from Doc, but Bdubs droned on. He glanced over and saw Grian rubbing a hand on his cheek to help hide a grin.

The art of annoying your boss was a delicate one. Timing is everything. Let enough time pass until they’ve forgotten, or they think you’ve stopped, to continue the game. Scar lets about ten minutes pass before his next yawn, bigger this time.

“Quit it,” Beef hissed. Even Etho glanced over. Doc kept his eyes on the screen, but his jaw was clenched. Grian let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Five minutes later, Cub clears his throat rather loudly. Bdubs stutters over his words for a second, but because Cub is Cub, none of the NHO seems to be able to tell if that was a deliberate cough or not, and they decide to ignore it. Cub shows no emotion.

After an hour that felt like an eternity of Bdubs explaining every possible detail about the case, it seemed to be almost concluded. That was, until a rather loud yawn was heard throughout the conference room.

“WILL YOU LET ME FINISH, FOR GOODNESS SAKE?!” Bdubs finally erupted, whipping around in his chair to face Cub and Scar.

The hitmen stared back blankly. They glanced over across the table, and Bdubs followed their gaze, where Grian sat with both arms over her head in a large stretch.

“Sorry,” Grian said simply when all eyes were on him, lowering his arms. “Just had to stretch a bit.” He stared back at Bdubs innocently.

The NHO stood there, confused. Bdubs was at a loss for words, unable to get a read on the new recruit. He sighed and turned back to the screen. “Well, regardless, I think we’ve about summed things up,” he grumbled.

Scar made eye contact with Grian once again. The two cracked a smile at one another for a second, too quick for the NHO to notice.

Scar had a feeling that him, Cub and Grian were going to get along just fine.

=+=