A comic I wanted to get out of my system. I drew it the other day but only now had a chance to colour the first page.
Are demon girls cliché yet?
aiiiii!!!!i~~~~~
sddfdsafd
Hahahaha that fucking x-box tho.
(via mercy-misrule)
i guess it tickles
submitted by anoia
imagine coming home to garrus vakarian—who greets you at the door with a rubber round straight to the chest. you mark off the change to your score—garrus is still in the lead—and laugh together, his like steel sparks, and it feels right.
imagine coming home to kaidan alenko, a sweater tossed over the couch, a fire in the fireplace, a view through the picture window, low music…and kaidan power napping, since he already ate dinner. it was a long, hard day of teaching biotics and his blood sugar was crashing! it’s okay, though, cause second dinner’s on its way, and in the meantime—cuddles.
imagine coming home to liara t’soni, meditating on the balcony. you watch her for a few moments, the same wind from the open window touching both of you at the same time, and that’s it. your piece of eternity. the piece of eternity you share together. and the peace that comes with it.
imagine coming home to jack. she slams you up against the door, hisses hot curses against the side of your neck, fucks you hard and leaves a few marks that don’t know how to fade. tattoos come in all sizes, all shapes. she kisses the closest one, then heads off to the shower. you coming or not, bitch?
imagine coming home to james vega, who’s already got the cerveza on the coffee table, bottles sweating next to his feet. and when he sees you, he slides his elbow up onto the back of the couch, making a space for you. making a place for you. ‘real smooth, james,’ you say, and you drink to each other, lips against the bottle like you mean something else.
imagine coming home to steve cortez, who’s brought his work home with him again, and probably hasn’t slept in longer than you have. you rub his hands. he rubs that tired old spot in your neck. you share a hot bath. you fall asleep together, finally, and you don’t have to dream about anything.
imagine coming home to samantha traynor. she holds up that toothbrush. you ask her when she’s going to make an endorsement deal with the company already. she says, ‘i’m samantha traynor, and this is my favorite toothbrush in the galaxy.’ you know you’re worth laughing at—worth loving.
imagine coming home to tali’zorah, who just recorded the latest blasto special—you know, the musical one, with the fleet and flotilla crossover. she laughs until there’s some kind of condensation on the inside of her mask and you don’t have to take it off to know the light in her eyes is a light you’re a part of already.
imagine coming home to miranda lawson, who’s fresh out of the shower. naked, in a way she doesn’t show anybody else. comfortable, in a way she never thought she’d feel with anybody else. ‘thought i told you not to wait up,’ you say, and she replies, ‘like you ever do anything i tell you to, shepard?’ she’s right, of course. as always.
imagine coming home to javik. he doesn’t ask how was your day, but if he did—and one day, maybe he will—you’d definitely answer ‘primitive,’ before you kiss the joke away.
imagine coming home to thane krios. the light’s pale, the sun setting. you sit beside one another and the memories come in that same fractured, powerful way. instances. breaths. sunlight flooding the water. orange and red and midnight blue. joy before the darkness. fingertips brush together. together in time and place. belonging. to each other.
imagine coming home to david anderson. ‘so, kid,’ he asks, ‘how was your day?’ you tell him, and he smiles while he listens, hat off, shoulders relaxed. ‘you did good,’ he says. so that’s what it’s like to have a father.
imagine it. you have to. because mordin solus sang; thane said his goodbyes; legion waited for the answer to a question. but you? you imagine what you’re fighting for. imagine coming home, and make a goddamn choice.
in tonight’s sketch
edi kisses a smelly, diseased man
submitted by anoia!
There are multiple definitions of a virus. Jeff does not currently require a full system scan, merely one for body temperature. Despite the warmth of his skin, directing more fans onto his person will not accelerate the internal cooling process. For some reason, he prefers hot beverages to cold ones during this time. They cause his cheeks and nose to redden, his eyes to water. (There are multiple definitions of tears. It would appear they can simply be excess fluid leakage, rather than possessing any more complicated, emotional connotation.) Other excreta drips over his top lip. ‘I’m, like, krogan-in-heat levels of barfo disgusting,’ he says.
‘I do not agree with this consensus,’ she replies.
There are temperature sensors in the palm of her hand. She rests them against his forehead, under the fall of his messy hair, realizing his skin has excess moisture. He appears momentarily surprised by the gesture, as though it is familiar to him. Whether or not that is the case, the point remains that it is logical. Also, his forehead fits the contours of her palm. The body she inhabits does anticipate certain needs, not merely her own, quite satisfactorily. His nose continues to drip. There is a pile of medicated extra-soft tissues—with lotion—on the floor by the side of his bed. ‘Mount Moreau,’ he calls it, waving a delirious hand. ‘I claim this peak in the name of It’s the Goddamn future, so where the hell’s my cure for the common cold already?’
‘Pfft,’ he says, though perhaps it is a sneeze. ‘Science. Boo. Boo science.’
He looks at her through bleary eyes. His conversational abilities have suffered, though he is still capable of being entertaining. There is something else about the way he looks, though the basic assembly of his features has not changed. He considers himself disgusting but it is not disgust that she synthesizes when gazing at him, clutching his mug of soup. (‘The kind with the little alphabety animal thingies in it,’ he requested earlier. That was an unexpected mission into requisitions, yet not without its rewards. He held up one of them and said, ‘Hey, look. An elcor!’ then ate it. Humor is remarkable in its multifaceted adaptations.)
He is…cute, she supposes. This way. ‘Your suffering appeals to me,’ she says.
‘That was a joke,’ he supplies.
It was not. Or it was an infinite jest. But she kisses him without fear of saliva-born infection. ‘Yay science,’ she says.
(He later believes he hallucinated that.)
(via aforaffort)
sarah is the best
—
Stephen Jay Gould
(via knowledgeequalsblackpower)
(Source: pisumsativa, via slipstreamborne)
shoving this up cus why not
!!!!!! What beautiful colours and lines!
a+++ would smooch
Star Trek Into Darkness: the spoiler review (At io9)
After making a mere $84 million at the U.S. box office, Star Trek Into Darkness is considered by some to be a disappointment. Perhaps the problem is that it was a touch confusing. To help our readers better understand it, we’ve complied and answered these Frequently Asked Questions about the movie.
Maximum spoilers ahead…
How does the movie start?
Well, with Kirk and Bones fucking with a planet of primitive aliens. They steal some kind of holy scroll, and then get chased through a red jungle.
Seems like kind of a dick move.
Well, it’s not very clear, but ostensibly they’ve stolen the scroll to get chased, in order to draw the aliens away from a volcano that’s about to explode.
Okay, that seems reasonable.
Except that 1) when the volcano erupts, it’s going to kill everybody on the planet, so it hardly matters where they are, and 2) Spock is getting dropped down into the volcano to set off a cold fusion bomb.
Wait, what?
Yeah, he sets off the cold fusion bomb and all the lava freezes.
You know cold fusion isn’t actually cold, right? It’s only “cold” in the sense that opposed to regular fusion it’s not a bazillion degrees hot.
Huh.
And did you say Spock was in the volcano? Why the hell didn’t they just beam the bomb in there?
Um, something about the planet’s magnetic field. Although they do beam Spock out of the volcano just a few minutes later, so…
And why did Spock have to go with the bomb to set it off? Are you telling me in the 23rd century that people don’t have a way to detonate bombs remotely? That’s stupid.
Well —
And why the fuck is the Enterprise just carrying around a cold fusion suitcase bomb anyways?
Look, you’re getting very upset, and this is just the first scene of the movie.
(I was going to make a post about how mad Star Trek made me, but this does it better, with bonus tears of laughter. )
oh my god this is actually the best thing
(via slipstreamborne)
“A quarter of a century after Lt Uhura boldly went where no African American had gone before, her protogee returned the favor. Before blasting into orbit aboard the Endeavour in 1992, Dr Mae Jemison, the first woman of color in space, called actress Nichelle Nichols to thank her for the inspiration. And then she made a promise.
Despite NASA’s rigid protocol, Jemison would begin each shift with a salute that only a Trekkie could appreciate. “Hailing frequencies open,” she could be heard repeating throughout the eight day mission.”
(via slipstreamborne)
Josephine Baker, later known as ‘Bronze Venus’, ‘Black Pearl’ and ‘Créole Goddess’ was born in America in 1906 and later moved to France to become a singer, dancer, and actress. She was the first African-American woman to star in a major motion picture, and became famous worldwide.
Though she grew up as a maid in wealthy white households she eventually became an exotic dancer in France, famously appearing in next to no clothing, and became a French citizen in 1937.
Ernest Hemingway referred to Baker as ‘the most sensational woman anyone ever saw’ and she received approximately 1500 marriage proposals in her life time. She became a muse for Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Pablo Picasso, and Christian Dior. She had a variety of exotic pets including a cheetah named Chiquita, a chimpanzee named Ethel, a pig named Albert, a snake named Kiki, a goat, a parrot, parakeets, fish, three cats, and seven dogs.
When WWII broke out, Baker became a volunteer spy for France, and assisted the French Resistance by smuggling messages written in invisible ink on sheet music. She made great efforts to aid those in danger of enemy attack, sent Christmas presents to French soldiers, and smuggled information she gathered in Spain back to France by pinning notes containing the information on the inside of her underwear. She was awarded the Medal of Resistance with Rosette and later named a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour.
Baker also aided many civil rights movements by refusing to perform to segregated audiences and storming out of a club in Manhattan with actress Grace Kelly after she was refused service. She worked with the NAACP and spoke at a Washington march alongside Martin Luther King Jr. as the only official female speaker. Baker was actually asked by Martin Luther King Jr.’s widow to take his place as leader of the American Civil Rights Movement, but Baker declined on the grounds her twelve adopted children ‘were too young to lose their mother’.
Baker died in 1975, four days after her final show, attended by such names as Mick Jagger, Shirley Bassey, and Liza Minnelli.
Oh and she was queer and had a relationship with Frida Kahlo. All around badass.
Kahlo was quite the ladykiller.