#noa simmons

[maelkisser]

art by the ever spectacular and talented @wishfulsketching !!!! you should go comm them like. immediately btw!!!! look at how gorgeous this is, you’d be crazy to not want a piece of your own from them!!! i absolutely adore their art with all my heart yall don’t understand. never fails to blow me away. <3!!!

@buttercup-art surpisseeeee!!! gift art BOOM 💥💥!!!! we’re totally playing to see who gets to mess with wallethead next. noa got her game face on fr.

[arachegeek]

@buttercup-art getting u BACK for drawing our girls!!!!! annoyed vs loud ♡ i love them sm

[tommieglenn]

The sketches I did for @hyperionhugo <3

Having to draw Hugo Vasquez was fun (feels so weird that I never did before, I played that game ages ago, and I like his character a lot). And I just love seeing people's OCs and figuring out how to honor all the previous art done for them, while drawing my version <3

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Also in December I'm having -25% off the digital commission prices. Here is my post about that, if you'd like to commission me <3

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Links

[hyperionhugo]

A beautiful series of sketches I commissioned from the amazing @tommieglenn !

Featuring Noa Simmons (OC by @buttercup-art ) with Hugo Vasquez (Tales from the Borderlands).

[hyperionhugo]

A Hugo/Noa Simmons drabble I wrote during a writing sprint!

Based on this post by @buttercup-art :

Reese's Art Blog

One Hope - midas touch

This wasn't working. What happened to liquid courage?

Hugo tilted his head back, resting it against the back of the couch. He stared at the ceiling, or perhaps through it, past it, beyond it.

After a moment, the melting ice in his scotch glass shifted, clinking softly. He exhaled and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

He picked up the ECHO. The screen illuminated obediently, and he squinted slightly in the blue light.

He saw her name in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the selection.

He tapped.

His thumb hovered over the confirmation. And hovered.

Another moment passed.

"Dammit," he muttered, under his breath. He sat the device back down on the coffee table.

He reached for his glass and was irrationally annoyed that there was no more scotch in it.

"Dammit," he said aloud, almost emphatically. He rose to his feet and lumbered to the liquor cabinet, taking the bottle back to the coffee table. Who was he trying to impress, anyway?

He fell heavily back onto the couch, poured himself some more, and didn't even bother to drink it.

He picked up the ECHO again.

The confirmation prompt had timed out. He stared at her name in his contacts again.

He tapped. And hovered. And hovered.

"Fuck."

Was he overthinking it? No, he decided. He didn't overthink. He was thinking what was most likely a perfectly normal and appropriate amount.

The ECHO timed out again, this time in his hand.

He huffed and tossed the device on the couch beside him. He sat back with a wordless grumble, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He was sure she had seen him looking at her. He was also sure she had wanted him to look. There was no reason for her to wear a skirt like that, to wear a pistol strapped to her thigh, to cross her legs like that when he had a perfect view of the gun. The timing was too perfect.

So why couldn't he open the comms?

She could carry any gun she wanted, as openly as she wanted. But that, that had to be a statement, right? A message.

He picked up the device one more time and tapped her name with renewed resolve.

His thumb rose to just as confidently tap the confirmation -- 

And it wouldn't come down.

He caught himself before the device could time out in his hand again, and he canceled out of the prompt himself.

With a sigh he turned and laid down completely, across the length of the couch. The ECHO clunked softly to the floor beside him.

Hugo stared at the ceiling again with a sigh.

No more of that tonight. He was done.

He reached up to his collar, where his tie would normally be, and absently stroked a fingertip over the base of his neck. A lot like the way she had done it when she adjusted his tie.

It didn't feel the same when he did it.

It was the last thought he had before he fell asleep.

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Noa Simmons sat in her bed, propped comfortably against the headboard with a couple of pillows. Her laptop tray lay across her lap and her nails tapped lightly on the keys.

She was almost done with this particular project, more or less. Not that it was especially urgent. She simply wouldn't sleep until she had finished this train of thought. A bit of fatigue couldn't penetrate her focus.

At the edge of her screen, a user's status was updating in her contact list.

Vasquez, Hugo:

Online. Active. Offline.

Online. Active. Offline.

Noa's fingers hovered over the keyboard, her eyes drawn to the oscillating status.

Online. Active. Online. Offline.

But there was no more activity.

"Hm."

A moment passed.

She continued typing.