#but also technically

[badlydrawnmeulin]

EVIL yaoi

Excuse you we only partake in EVIL YURI here

[sotogalmo]

5:58

First time drawing an ecto body ... (Technically an OC but also technically swap)

(oopsie, under cut. SLIGHT underboob but it's obscure, and also ecto body. If that isn't your thing then shoo)

[toomanywordsnllines]

heyyyy~ poses on the floor sexly.

Do you ever think about how Roach didn't immediately die from his wounds back in the original mw.

Do you ever sit down and think about Roach, laying down on the floor bleeding out, helpless, having to watch his soulmate (his other half, the love of his life (so much more than romantic love, so much farter from platonic love, so much them), his Ghost) die instantly by the gun shot wound.

Do you stare at the wall and imagine Roach still having time to feel agony and grief, even while in pain, even if short, even as he bleeds out himself, even as he gets drenched in gasoline and consumed by fire.

Maybe he had time to caress Ghost's unmovable cheek one more time. Maybe he took his glasses and closed his eyes for his own peace of mind and for the deep respect he felt for the man. Maybe he cried his final tears not because of his own pain or for his own death but because Ghost went first.

He left first.

Because I sit down sometimes and I think about how Roach didn't die right away. And it seemed like the universe looked at him and laughed because Ghost died instantly. Like a cruel joke.

A final fuck you to him.

Roach didn't die immediately. He could've maybe tried to get away, maybe get a knife and kill Shepperd. Get revenge. Proceed with the mission. Use Ghost's radio and warn the others- But no, he stayed, watched tiredly, that sick fuck turn away after taking everything from him, watched Ghost's lifeless body singe, watched as the flames consumed his own flesh and tried to burn him before he succumbed to his own wounds.

Him and Ghost became, together, the ashes that later fed the land and grew the greanest grass.

Price and Soap probably didn't even have enough of them bodies to put on a casket.

They, together, will be on that field forever.

[therealwaffleking]

[mistdad]

kuroboro headcanons as requested :D

when he gets de-mistified, he just. looks like oboro but like 20 years older and his hair's not really white anymore, but the purply-black of the warp gate portals.

will respond to being called both oboro and kurogiri depending on a] the situation, and b] who's talking to him. he probably wouldn't respond to aizawa or yamada calling him kurogiri the same way he wouldn't respond to tomura calling him oboro. it doesn't light up the right wires in his brain for him to register them speaking.

look at this man. this is not a straight man. i am personally a believer that he's bi, but you're free to speculate if you want. also he was definitly in love with both aizawa and yamada as a teenager and you can fight me on that one.

he has a younger sister! her name is amaya and she actually grew up to be a hero - her hero name is loud cloud and her quirk... well, her quirk is kind of just warp gate but clouds. its not listed that way in her quirk registry, though. :)

after the war and everything, kurogiri actually fell into a coma while his brain was coming down from all the months of missed management on his programming. he was unconscious through the majority of any legal trials the remainkng members of league faced.

if i think of any more i will add them :)

[daisychainsandbowties]

Tapping my fingers evilly. "Do you ever regret it?" Avalil

let's all politely pretend this is five sentences.

newton's third law of motion

also on ao3

....

lilith opens her eyes first.

she always does.

takes in the sweat-slick length of ava’s shoulder, curved in messy reference to lilith’s body like a question tucked into the end of a sentence. where she’s contorted in sleep, one arm outstretched one hand fisted in her pillow one heel kicked back and pressed against lilith’s calf, her shoulder blade makes an L-shape.

that’s strange, isn’t it? sometimes, when ava speaks her name – aloud, loud – it feels as though she swallows that first consonant. beatrice bites down on it, but ava’s tongue tucks the sound back inside her mouth.

on the very edge of a cry it lingers in her so that, slipping her tongue past teeth, she can almost taste it; her name loosely concealed in the breathless sounds ava makes as lilith speaks to her with her hands.

this is a form of worship so alien to her that it has its own language, like ava’s body when she sleeps.

helplessly, knowing it will wake her, lilith leans down and puts her mouth on that spot. the L-shape blooming into her mouth.

ava’s skin tastes of salt, of the decontamination flush from the airlock where the pair of them strip side-by-side in the deafening volume of their breaths.

sound becomes a physical thing when you have spent hours in a medium through which it cannot travel. the inside of the suit contains your heartbeat and one set of bated breaths, sometimes the crackle of the radio and ava’s voice turned strange, pressed through electrical signals. but all else is silence.

and so they emerge, blinking at the sudden soundlessness of their hearts. at the creaking of the ship and beatrice’s voice through the intercom, wry. “are you two going to stand there all night? i made bluudles.”

that alone enough to knock lilith out of her stupor. “what the fuck are bluudles?”

ava, next to her, shaking out her sweaty hair with her helmet cupped in the crook of one arm, “they’re noodles, but blue.”

“that’s not a thing.”

“neither is your sense of humour.”

quiet then. contented. ava taking a bite out of lilith’s bottom lip and then struggling to take off her exosuit, exhausted from patching the hull of the ship.

they work well together, out there; ava kicking lilith in the chest to start her moving, thrown away and turning into a silhouette against the nearest star, laughing at the third law of motion. equal and opposite.

lilith, flung out into space herself and then grabbing at the airlock door, slapping it open, hauling ava inside  hand over hand by a long tether that keeps them linked, moored.

ava’s fingers clumsy on the zips and catches of her suit so that half the time lilith has to undo them for her.

the smell of their sweat fogging around them before the walls douse them in water, cold and then warm. lilith rolls her eyes when ava shrieks, tries to hide in lilith’s arms and ends up staying there, shivering against her.

warm water, then, and ava dancing in it like summer rain.

tonight, she smells of it; oddly ozone, strangely clean.

beatrice is on the flight deck – again. driven there by nightmares.

the spillage of the hall light and ava burrowed under the sheets, just the crown of her head visible. before, beatrice used to wake from nightmares and climb onto lilith’s hips, sitting there like a blood-drenched ghoul in the middle of the night and lilith would trace the lines of her abdominal muscles flowing into hips. would never ask her what was wrong.

they’d dissolve into each other, a flurry of movement, moans. a repetition of bleak desire that solved nothing.

these days, beatrice presses a kiss to the corner of lilith’s brow and she walks to the flight deck and she puts on her ocean sounds. she goes alone, but she is never alone, their Force bonds stretching sinuous between them like tethers into space. every heave of emotion in these two orbiting bodies feels the same as a creature crossing over lilith’s grave.

when she left, everything was slanted moonlight and ava’s hands roamed out of the sheets, landed on her naked chest. they were, for a while, just a tapestry of muted breaths, not doing anything, but ava muttered into the darkness that she liked to have her palm against lilith’s heartbeat. 

“reminding yourself that i have one?”

“no, you bitch.”

she’s wickedly sentimental in her sleep and her half-asleep, muttering things from underneath the covers like: “i like to have my hand there so that if your heart tries to run away with you, I can catch it.”

lilith is always speechless about that.

then she closed her eyes, feigning sleep, and in short order ava’s hands found her jaw, thumb sweeping over the fluttering muscle right at the edge of it. “she’s okay, lil.”

“i know.”

and then it was ava straddling her. like she’d been there, like she knew that lilith needed grounding. that her heart wanted to run away from her. ava dipping down, the brush of her lips over lilith’s. “told you, didn’t i? i’ll catch it for you.”

now, lilith kisses her shoulder and ava comes awake very carefully. heel pressing harder into lilith’s leg, and her arms have to come undone from around ava as she twists, flipping herself over so she’s facing lilith. her eyes are a colour lilith cannot find a twin for in all her art.

how can she match the butter hue that hides up in the far right corner of each iris? a golden afterthought. or how they shine even with no light to reflect against them? lilith, certainly, has no light to give anyone.

ava looks at her, oddly contrite and there it is, finally; the furthest edge of the question that’s been humming in ava’s mouth for days and days.

they could all feel it in the bond, of course, just as ava can tell whenever lilith uses her toothbrush, but beatrice would never be so impolite as to ask after a feeling unprompted.

and lilith is too afraid.

“can i-” ava starts

“yes.”

it’s hard to believe, holding this incredible thing in her arms, that once upon a time they tried to kill each other. that one of them succeeded.

a little scowl, undermined by the fact that lilith knows she could lower her head and taste herself on ava’s cheeks, next to her mouth.

in it.

“do you ever regret it?” ava speaks to her hands, in a whisper. “sorry,” she adds swiftly. her voice is light, and Lilith thinks this literally, sometimes. it is the light she has never touched.

“regret what?” lilith asks, because the answer is yes, to so much of it. and also no, because it brought me here.

lilith knows, hears, senses what ava means the instant before she speaks again. her eyes flicker up to the bedside table where ava’s lightsaber rests next to her carton of apple juice, the straw sagging down with a bead of sticky-sweet on the end of it. ava knows where she’s looking, at the invisible brilliance of that yellow blade, that incredible beam of light.

she tucks a kiss into lilith’s collarbone, mumbles into the scars sitting there. “do you regret giving it up? your lightsaber.”

breathing.

she does it for a while. nothing else, just the slow slippage of air over her bottom teeth, over her tongue.

ava likes the filters set almost frigidly high, so that hiding under the blankets creates a cocoon of warm air, so that she can rest her face against lilith’s arm and hum at the heat of it.

beatrice likes it too. her room on the station was always icy.

they both leach off of her, cold cheeks and cold hands roaming in the dark, but lilith has no special preference for temperature. what she likes is them, is beatrice sleeping sound beside her or ava muttering, eyelash-shadows thrown over her face.

she responds, at length, by rocking her head side to side, “no, i don’t regret it.”

“why not?”

lilith sighs. “you’ve touched it, haven’t you?.”

“your sword? recently, in fact-”

“ava.”

her turn to sigh. a parody of sound, huffing down lilith’s chest. she almost shivers, but manages to hold still even as ava’s tongue touches where her breath travelled. “yes,” she admits. “I touched it when you were angry with me.”

“good times.”

“you were much more interesting back then.”

they can laugh about it now. in their bedroom with the stars outside and nothing else for miles beyond counting. for years measured in light.

ava drapes an arm over lilith’s shoulder, her fingers finding nubs of spine and river of bad-textured tissue. her eyes are on the burn over lilith’s heart. so much flesh and so much evidence.

her mouth wobbles and lilith catches it, makes it still. fingers stalling on her back, turning into the press of blunt nails.

“what did you feel?” lilith asks, “when you touched my lightsaber?”

ava looks at her. buttery light in her eyes and the shadows worse for it. she’s unblemished by all the years of fighting and running and fighting again, but lilith knows where the injuries lurk.

she knows what she did and where she did it.

they are both marked by one another, so deeply that sometimes the scars and the kisses ava has laid over them have no special distinction in lilith’s mind.

“i felt… too much. you were angry with me, with her. it was confusing.” ava bites her lip, makes it bleed and lilith watches tendrils of light climb up from under her chin and heal it.

ava hardly seems to notice.

“i felt someone crushing your hands again, and again. the feeling of your fingers in… inside her” – beatrice – “old paint stains and broken things that were people that were things. i felt fire.”

ava takes a deep breath, wrenches away from the memory. her eyes are full of tears. taking pity – always taking pity on her. lilith reaches down and brushes the wetness away with the upside of her thumb. she remembers the blood leaking through ava’s fingers as they closed around the hilt of lilith’s saber.

the air superheated at her wrists so they burned and blackened, the veins popping open, blood sizzling so quick that it hardly had the chance to patter back onto ava’s boots. the pouring of power around them, air whipped up into a channel that blocked out the whole world.

nothing but her rage and the girl who took hold of her excised heart and knew her suddenly and absolutely and forever, by touch alone.

“I felt pain,” ava says eventually. she shivers, shakes her head. “at the time i couldn’t tell the difference between mine and yours.”

lilith’s hands shake where ava cannot see them. she nods, “that’s what it was to me. an artefact that never really belonged to me. a flame that burned me as much as anyone else. it was so easy to let it go.”

not adding that she could never quite get ava’s blood out of the metal. hallucinated it there, looked down the length of her blade and saw popping veins, a girl begging her to please, stop.

please, let us go.

the word sorry traps itself behind lilith’s lips, but she doesn’t say it. all she does is look away and fix her mouth into a line. do not cross.

and, as ever, ava doesn’t cross the line.

she kisses it.

[frankendeth]

Not quite right

[theshadowrealmitself]

Completely forgot to show this off when I was showing off the other cups I had 😭, I got this from an art walk several months ago! It’s a cup, a coaster, a pin, and a couple of stickers!

[foxboidrew]

This is making me laugh unreasonably-

I'm so sorry

[max1461]

Disgust has absolutely no ethical weight. If you are basing your ethical positions on the emotion of disgust you should stop, it is entirely unjustified and leads to a huge amount of harm.

[noodles-and-tea]

Haha whoops

[paintedcrows]

Nooo little Stanley watch out! Your striped shirt, bandage, and sad backstory are too Fallen Human Coded!! The Undertale narrative is going to get you!!!

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[fineapple20]

Portraits

Retouched this set from last year, because it was haunting me laying there 80% finished

[artistic-cocoon]

Saw someone on twt say they wanted to see Percy drawn like Yusuf Dikec and I couldn't help myself

[magentasnail]

I'm absolutely obsessed with the book of bill, best thing i've ever read and it no joke gave me actual nightmares !! 100/10