#c-c answered asks

[cicada-circuitry]

I'd like to hear more about "acute problems in life-ruining mentorships / lessons in the advanced physics of self-sabotage" and "trapped-in-a-closet fic" 🥰

hi hi hi hello again!!! thank you so much for indulging me i am having way too much fun being given excuses to ramble about the wip pile

12. acute problems in life-ruining mentorships / lessons in the advanced physics of self-sabotage [placeholding multiple half-formed title variations on that theme] is the absolute dumping ground for every single Aleida / Margo mentorship related thought and emotion i had on second watch thru. suffers from... being a completely disconnected set of thoughts and emotions related to Aleida and Margo's mentorship i had on second watchthru haha. and from being very split in tone between some like, 'people on the outside looking in have gotten the completely objectively hilariously wrong impression about these two's relationship' bits (e.g. the multiple boyfriends who literally come in and out of Aleida's life across seasons 1-3 in direct reverse proportionality to how much she's working with Margo) and some more serious stuff (a la "You got in my head, Margo! Then never! Left! Your voice just... pushing me, telling me how to live up to you then shooting me down the second I was starting to succeed, over and over and over and—" which we'll call an excerpt of this one!)

13. trapped-in-a-closet fic is a margo/molly fic I actually really really want to finish!! the scenario is like right there at the end of S2 ok like it would actually make more sense if the reason that storage room was left open for Aleida to overhear Tracy and Gordo trying to make contact on the old comm was because that closet has a busted lock right??

honestly the only strugg with this one is trapped-in-a-closet is generally not the trope you apply on top of a situation as sad and serious as the end of s2 but listen you can get trapped in a closet for uncomfortably close-quarters grief and anger just as well as Other Things!!

start of the trapped-in-a-closet fic under the cut!

As soon as communication was reestablished with Pathfinder, Margo spotted Molly booking it out of Mission Control. 

Mid-conversation with Bill, she briefly closed her eyes. She knew where Molly was going. Three of her astronauts might be safe now, but two were still unaccounted for. She had to debrief with Ellen, but made her excuses two minutes in, and went after her. 

Sure enough, she found Molly hunched over the shelving, illuminated in outline by that staticky glow. Speaking on repeat: “Stevens? Stevens, do you read me?” 

She said it three times while Margo hovered in the doorway, working up the courage to tell her it was no use. 

When Molly’s voice broke on “Gordo? Tracy?” she stepped inside and closed the door. 

“Hey.” 

Molly’s head whipped around towards her. “Shit.” 

She held up her hands. “Didn’t mean to sneak up. I can see you’re very focused. But, Molly. You saw the timer. Even if they made it back in, the damage they’d’ve taken in almost twenty seconds of hard vacuum? In the Lunar day?” 

Molly glared at her. “I’m not giving them up for dead until someone shows me a damn body, Margo.” She leaned back towards the mic, voice harsh. “Gordo, if you’re ignoring me just to get even after I swapped out your liquor stash, so help me I’ll—” 

It was heartbreaking, how Molly’s voice cracked just then. 

[fyanimaldiversity]

If you ever wondered what the best living vertebrate is, it’s the alligator gar in my totally not biased 100% scientifically backed opinion. They are just a flawless creature. Nothing wrong with them. Good tooth to snoot ratio, they have a winning smile.

They and other monster fish absolutely should NOT be in the hands of most private keepers at all and I do NOT support morph breeding of them because of that, but pretty fishy cute :c

[cocksley-and-catapult]

c&c issue but its rectangular and vertical like a normal comic with multiple panels

ISSUE 1128: four panel cap

10 october 2024

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“Oh, Christ—” the hero cursed. They tried to laugh but this time, they couldn’t conjure the energy for it. Usually they laughed off most things but this was a little too serious.

“Stop moving,” the villain hissed. They pressed their palm into the hero’s side and although the hero wanted to pretend it didn’t actually hurt them, it burnt. It burnt a lot.

The hero had never experienced this kind of pain nor had they ever had the slightest idea how mortal they actually were. To be fair, they had never ripped open most of their torso either.

With the villain putting more pressure onto the wound each second, the hero could only pray that they wouldn’t pass out.

“And stop smiling, this isn’t funny,” the villain added.

“I’m nervous,” the hero explained. “And this fucking hurts.”

The villain slammed them back against the tiles when their hips moved up. It made the hero whine and beg like a dog but the villain didn’t seem to care about that. Eventually, they sat down on the hero’s hips and kept their hands on their flesh.

In other circumstances, this would’ve promised a good night. The hero was already without a shirt and the villain was, indeed, certainly attractive.

However, the hero was quite sure they had never seen this much blood in their entire life. If they had had the energy, they would have apologised for the bloody bathroom. The sink and floor especially.

“You won’t die on me. I know how to fix this.”

“Wouldn’t the bleeding stop if you pushed your fingers into the wound?” the hero asked. They felt light-headed. They had heard something like this in training. A sort of last-resort-thing.

But their thoughts already blurred together. They took in deep breaths as their body pumped blood through their torso. They were delirious, tasting blood. Oh God, the villain would kill them for ruining the bathroom.

“Do you actually want that?” the villain asked. The hero looked at the villain’s fingers move towards the cylindrical wound. Two fingers were on the raw and bleeding flesh, dipped in thick blood and nearly digging into the messy wound.

“Ah, maybe not—” It had been a screwdriver. The hero had been attacked with a screwdriver and their nemesis tried to save them from bleeding out.

It was so pathetic, so embarrassing, the hero could only laugh weakly. On their patrol the hero had been a little too confident, a little too cocky and now they turned the villain’s white bathroom into a red nightmare. This damn bathroom.

“Smart choice.” Instead of pushing their fingers into the wound, they used their palm again. Without much thought, the hero grabbed the villain’s arm but they couldn’t swallow the scream this time.

By now, tears ran down their cheeks and they could feel the wound pulsate. They wanted the villain’s soft touch and their sweet smile.

They wanted to fall asleep on their chest and forget about this stupid thing.

Longing for someone was something the hero loathed.

“Just let me die, please, this is torture.” They whimpered the last words. With one last rush of energy, they pushed themselves up to talk some sense into the villain but the villain only pushed them down again.

“I’m afraid this isn’t your decision anymore. I will save you and I’m sorry you’re hurt.” They grabbed the bottle of pure rubbing alcohol and the hero nearly managed to crawl back a little. “You need to survive.”

“Please, there is so much blood…”

“I am not going to let you die.”

“Then please be gentle.” The tears made it difficult to see them but the villain stared at them and the hero could feel something shift. Something was changing behind the villain’s eyes. They hesitated. “What?”

“Here.” The villain took their hand. “Squeeze as hard as you can when it starts to hurt.”

“You’re too kind,” the hero joked. Exhaustion took over them quickly. They were sweating. They felt disgusting. They were trembling. They waited for the alcohol to burn their skin.

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” The hero frowned but the villain slapped them immediately without an explanation. The hero was so confused, so offended that they didn’t expect the following pain of the alcohol on their raw skin.

They supposed it was better this way but they still cursed the villain with every single insult they could come up with.

[clownsuu]

It seems that fluffy howdy is canon

LETS FUCKING G O O OO O O O O OO O O O O O-

[rozugold]

goldenduo (purpled and tommy) for doodle recs? :333

Silly guys

[k4pp4-8]

Do you have a future version of Elodie?

I do!!! I just finished designing her<33

[wandasaura]

Imagining R falling asleep between one of the dom’s thighs in the college au 🤭 Like everyone is getting high and she’s on her knees eating one of them out but never gets told to stop so she keeps going until she passed out

going until she falls asleep is so real. she's def eating maria out, languishly lapping at her glistening folds, kitten licking her clit whenever it pulses and twitches, but she's getting sloppier and sloppier as the minutes go by. her face is covered in juices from the women sat around her, their naked thighs and cores still exposed though nobody really makes a move to get dressed again. maria's honestly not paying all that much attention to you, she's too high to really care about what you're doing between her legs and your touches have become to soft and feather light that it's merely a ticklish sensation she doesn't mind. when your head falls onto her thigh, heavy and unmoving, that's when she realizes you've fallen asleep and she feels the slightest pang of guilt for not realizing that you were waiting for her to tell you to stop, but its replaced by a need to show you love and affection even if you're not awake to feel its effects. she pulls you up into her lap, snatches carols joggers off the couch and wipes your face, and literally just holds you close as she passes the bong between natasha and wanda.

[ddwhaleshark]

can I just tell you I LOVE YOUR OC SD-C

HELLO??

FIRST OF ALL GREAT ART GREAT RENDERING GREAT ANGLE GREAT SHADING GREAT SETTING GREAT COLOR PALLET-

also JUST THE DESIGN IN GENERAL????

I MEAN THE BIRD-ISH FEET??? STEALING THAT IDEA (if I may)

THE HAIR???

just EATING it all up it’s a FEAST

AAA THANK UUUU !!! that one rendered drawing is still one of my best peaces fr im so proud of it !!

I'm glad ya love her as much as i do !!! :Dc i love drawing her clawed birdy legs heheh!

have some doodles of her :]c

[syndicatedsystem]

*points at you*

Silly

silly (if you put smth in my ask box im getting to it dw :^) )

[forevergoldgame]

Like with real animal husbandry, "Is it possible to..." and "is it a good idea to..." yields two different answers!

Is it possible? Hares are working animals. Sometimes it's necessary that a hare be trained to behave in the field around things it thinks of as prey. (Carriage hares can't be snapping up pursedogs as a mid-day snack, after all.)

The success of such endeavors depends on how good a trainer the hare's bonded person is, as well as the temperament of the individual animal. So yes, it's possible.

But is it a good idea? Only if you're willing to take the risk of Fido mysteriously going missing.

[cicada-circuitry]

Hello!!! For the WIP aks, 'Molly shaped trouble' made me lol so I'd love to hear about it

its YOU author of THE season 2 fic that came into my HOUSe made me experience emOTIONS on like a TUESDAY wow ok cool coooool.

8. molly-shaped trouble ! I am once again staring at my own list realizing i really felt the need to start a separate molly/margo fic basically every single time Any event happened in canon.

This one is when Molly first gets put in charge of the Astronaut Office! wanted to poke around in the time where they come to some kind of truce/understanding we barely get to see on screen. And poor Margo absolutely suffering through Ed's decision at the start.

Bit of it! ⤵️

"That's gonna be trouble," said Margo, but Ed was already saluting and walking away.

Molly Cobb. Chief of the Astronaut Office, was gonna be big-time trouble. But in the span of time it had taken her to read the personnel change notice, she'd already gone well past denial and bargaining. Margo Madison had accepted years ago that Molly-shaped trouble was simply one of the brands of trouble she was always going to have.

Just now it would be in her JSC business meetings. With her military trouble. And her political trouble. And the budget.

Well, she'd always had Molly-shaped trouble in space. And in Mission Control, regularly. And in just about every hallway NASA had to offer. Where Molly went, trouble followed, and the two inconveniently charted their average flight path to perfectly bowl her over.

'Course, Margo didn't have to make that easier for her, which didn't explain why, three days later, she found herself making her way over to Ed's nine-year office to watch trouble move herself in.

"If you're going to breathe up all my air in this cardboard box—" said Molly without turning around. "At least gimme a hand with that."

[goldthorn-archive]

sender chews on a lock of the receiver's hair. [13] - Bucky being dog-coded in his cute aggression with Gale

prompt list here

hi anon! i’m always down for some dog-coded bucky <3 here’s ~400 words, hope u like it x

Bucky’s pleased. Gale had agreed to come out to the pub with the rest of the boys, even though it’s really not how Gale would choose to spend an evening. It’s usually too loud, too brash, too like the places he was forced to wait in as a child. But tonight, Bucky hardly had to beg before Gale agreed.

Tonight there’s a warm feeling in the air, something like safety. Gale’s surrounded by his men, and they didn’t lose anyone on today’s mission, which really, is unheard of. Everyone’s in good spirits, including Bucky, who’s sharing the booth with Gale, bodies warmly pressed together. Curt’s just gone to get another round, and Crosby and Douglass are engaged in some light-hearted argument about something Dougie said in the plane earlier that day. Gale’s not paying close attention.

Bucky’s been drinking steadily tonight, but not to drown out the emotions of the day. No, tonight he’s drinking to celebrate being alive with his friends, and the alcohol has him feeling a little loopy with happiness. Gale is pressed up against him on the bench and John is giddy with the feeling. Gale’s not much shorter than him, but he’s slighter, and with the way he’s lounging against John, his golden hair is just below Bucky’s face.

Bucky presses a kiss to Gale’s hair, feels the man shift slightly but not move away. Gale’s hair smells so good, and so like him as Bucky breathes, deep inhales, face pressed to Gale’s head. The alcohol thrumming through his system is slowing him down, slowing his thoughts down so that his body feels like it’s moving ahead of him.

“Bucky,” Gale jerks upright, and John gazes at him, eyes a little crossed. Gale reaches a hand up to his head, makes a grimace when he touches a patch of spit-wet hairs. “My hair,” he drawls, a tone of complaint that Bucky can pick up, even in his current state. It’s just, Gale’s hair smelled so nice, and it was so soft under his chin, and, and, his mouth was right there, and Bucky wondered what Gale might taste like. He’d taken a clump of Gale’s hair between his teeth, felt the coarse fibres of gold on his tongue.

Bucky just smiles dopily at Gale, and really, Gale finds it hard to stay annoyed, especially when Bucky tells him, “just wanted to see if you really were that sweet.”

[cocksley-and-catapult]

Where is your skeleton?

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hurt//comfort with hero or villain tending to the other person’s wounds please….. tyty..

"I..." The villain felt their hands shake. How on earth were they supposed to handle this? Them being here in the hero's house was already too much contact, too much of a mistake. The villain was a mess, that much they could admit.

But was it because they had failed to do their job? Or because the damage they had caused was (inexplicably) too much for them to fall asleep to at night peacefully?

"Hm," the hero said. They closed their eyes. Jogging pants and a simple shirt had exchanged the fancy clothes from yesterday's evening and they sat on their couch, messy hair falling into their eyes. "Here to finish the job?"

The villain didn't find the right words. To be more precise, they didn't find any words at all.

In the back of their mind, the villain laughed at themselves for missing, but another part of them cursed themselves for picking up the gun in the first place.

It had been a simple order. To kill a target.

Killing people for money was merely work for the villain, nothing more. They had never had any ill feelings towards their victims, had never questioned what they were doing. It was as simple as it could get: a simple request, a simple answer, a simple amount of money. But when it had been clear to them that it was the hero, the person who got in their way regularly, they had felt worse than ever.

Although yesterday was already somewhat of a blur, they could remember the horrible feeling in their gut when they had seen the hero at the party through the spotting scope.

Their enemy was highly skilled and the villain had felt like a coward. Like someone who stabbed them from behind. The hero deserved a good and fair fight, not this.

Once the hero had been alone on the balcony, looking over all the other buildings, the villain had made up their mind. Their enemy had looked calm. Peaceful even. They had placed the glass of alcohol on a table nearby. They had leaned against the metallic bannister of the balcony and had stared into the villain's direction, almost as if they could sense them.

They could remember the way the hero's hair had moved in the wind. How tired they had looked, how the fresh air had cooled down the blush on their face.

So, for better or for worse, the villain had taken in a deep breath, aimed at their target and…missed the hero's head.

They had shot their shoulder instead. Had watched the hero's surprise, the quiet gasp, had watched as they had fallen to their knees, had looked around. Confused. Panicked. Desperate.

And the villain had stayed there on the rooftop, hadn't dared to move.

The hero had stood up, gone inside as quickly as possible, had grabbed their jacket and excused themselves. They had left the party without anyone noticing they had been injured and no one - the villain assumed - had gone after them to check if everything was alright.

The villain supposed the hero was good when it came to lying, when it came to excuses.

Now, the villain stared at them. Why were they here? Why hadn't they done their job?

It had been a clear shot. One entry wound, one exit wound. Not deadly. But very, very nasty. Why had they missed on purpose?

"You're bleeding," the villain said quietly. The hero's eyes followed the villain's gaze and together, they stared at the hero's shirt which slowly started to get drenched in blood.

The hero sighed.

"Shit. That's my third shirt this morning. Do you know how difficult it is to get blood stains out of clothes?"

"I...I am aware, yes." The villain didn't know what to do with their hands, they didn't know where to move, what to say. They had never been this stunned, this incompetent. But the hero acted instead of them. They headed for the bathroom and the villain followed like a dog without any hesitation.

"Thank you for missing, by the way," the hero said. They took off their shirt while they were walking and the villain did not miss how much they struggled with their injured shoulder. The villain wanted to touch them, wanted to help but in the last second, they withdrew their hand and the hero didn't even notice the villain's intentions.

"I'm a lousy shot," the villain said.

"Everyone knows that's bullshit." The hero came to a stop in the bathroom and the villain nearly bumped into them when they set a foot in the room.

The room looked like a scene from a horror movie. Blood was everywhere, bandages were everywhere. Pills were scattered on the ground, bloody clothes were hanging over the sink, the toilet, the bathtub.

"Excuse the mess, will you?" The hero crouched to pick up the green first aid kit.

And the villain didn't know their body was capable of those feelings. With their heartbeat in their throat and their heart sending waves of pain into their chest, the villain feared for a moment that they had gotten horribly sick in the last few hours. Judging by the dark circles under the hero's eyes, they had spent most of the remaining night here in the bathroom, trying to fix two wounds. One of which they could barely reach.

"Sit down." The villain managed to keep their voice steady. They swallowed, tasted bile. They were...angry?

"Just give me sec-" Not at the hero, though.

"No. Sit down. Right here, right now," the villain ordered. They put their hand on the hero's healthy shoulder and pushed them down until there was no protest. Once that was done, the villain kneeled behind them, put a flat hand on the hero's naked back and observed the doings of their bullet.

The wound on the hero's back was barely treated - it had been bleeding long before the villain had noticed the bleeding on the other side. Dark reds, fleshy pinks and sickly blues mixed together and created a gruesome painting the villain had seen too many times before but could barely handle now.

"You need to see a doctor," the villain decided.

"Pff, I'm fi-" The villain put minimal pressure on the red and purple bruises around the wound and the hero gasped hard enough for the villain to fear they would throw up any second.

"I can't tell how much your shoulder blade is damaged. If the bone splintered..."

"I'm fine," the hero said.

"I can stitch the wounds but that's all, you need to see a doctor nonetheless."

"I have never needed a doctor."

"I am not asking nicely," the villain said and this time, their voice cracked. The hero turned their head to look at them but the villain's attention was on the wound.

Or maybe they were too afraid to look at them.

"Honestly, I am not a resentful person, but let's not forget who did this in the first place."

The villain leaned back a little, the words stuck in the back of their throat.

"I'm..." They couldn't, they simply couldn't say it. They started to whisper. "It's just a job."

"Just a job," the hero sneered. They grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it into the open wound they could reach. Without another word, they grabbed the needle, cleaned it and gave it to the villain, along with some thread. "...like I said. I'm not resentful."

The villain got to work and pierced into the hero's skin. They could hear the hisses, the weak laughs to overshadow the pain. It wasn't pretty - soon enough the hero’s blood was running down the villain's fingertips but they did (somehow) manage to fabricate some decent stitches.

"...you don't have to say it. I forgive you either way," the hero said through gritted teeth. "And it doesn't matter anyway. You're...you are here now."

Once the villain was done, the hero turned around and the villain, for the love of them, couldn't look the hero in the eyes.

"But it was an order, wasn't it? You didn't just decide to shoot me."

The villain cleaned the needle and started again. This time, however, they could see the hero's grimaces, not only the pain in spasming muscles but also the pain in their eyes, the exhaustion between their words. And that made it more difficult.

The villain wanted to touch them, to comfort them. But they couldn’t, just like they couldn’t apologise to them.

There was something wrong with them, something broken within them. What kind of person couldn’t whisper a simple apology?

"Yes, it was," the villain said. Their hands were still shaking a bit.

"I was pretty drunk when it happened," the hero admitted. "And my adrenaline was kicking in immediately. At first, I barely noticed. Once I was home, I was crying instead of screaming. Didn't wanna wake up the neighbors. I honestly thought this was it."

The villain didn't answer. Their heart was heavy enough and even though the hero didn't consider themselves resentful, forgiveness was still arduous to ask for and even harder to deserve.

"Please," the villain said. "Please, just hate me. It would make this a lot easier for me."

"I'm not here to make it easier for you," the hero said and with that, the villain finished the stitches and felt even worse than before. They supposed they deserved it, but whatever peace of mind they had longed for, the hero didn't give it to them.

Instead, they gave the villain undeserved compassion, horrible understanding and infuriating kindness. It was enough torture for the villain already.

[fernlessbastard]

End of term is an utter mess, so I've decided to post my so-far attempts at updating my Quackity design, since I won't be able to make anything new right now, it seems

I experimented a little with the hair, face shape, and scar, and I'd say the two first pictures seem the closest to what I want, but do let me know what you think

I definitely like the updated scar shape much better - I tried to make it more realistic and lively, and I'd say I succeeded

Anyway enjoy, and I'll try to get chapter 2 of it's us that made this mess out next week (just gotta find the time to read through it all at once so that it's properly edited, but it's over 7k words and I really am short on time)