#i'm super happy with the results!

[treefish]

I've made a lot of walls in my day but these are some of my absolute favorites.

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

Thrift store ahegao t shirt lookin-ass

I only just realized how this looks now that they're all compiled here on a tumblr post....what. who drew these🧍🏻‍♀️

This is from something on my patreon. But dang it, these Ford expressions are too good to not share as a preview.

[kandismon]

totally lore-accurate swanqueen screencap redraws 4/∞

they're on their first date :3c

[amphibianaday]

day 1765

[miniiinebulaee]

[creates nebulae as if i'm making pizza]

[phuuca]

Sebek Zigvolt - 6/7

Werewolf Subspecies: Vancouver Coastal Sea Wolf

Sebek Zigvolt has an interesting relationship with his status as a werewolf, especially since he's been suppressing his transformations ever since he was a child. While he's not ashamed of his werwolf lineage, he's not exactly happy with it either. He feels the same way about his Fae lineage as well, but finds himself closer to his werewolf side since he's been the victim of the cold-shoulder, bullying, and harassment from his fellow Fae.

The chronic pain from suppressing his werewolf transformations and instincts has started to subside since he was welcomed into the Ramshackle Pack. He's become more in-tune with himself and has started to figure out who he his outside of his relationship with the other Diasomnians. Although, with this barrier between his werewolf tendencies and his appearance growing thinner, he has accidentally become more animalistic in his behaviors. Teething, growling, affectionate nipping, and sporadic, playful wrestling matches are the most common (nobody is mad about it though).

[koinotame]

quick apology fic to xiao for missing his bday </3 which doubles as a character study of xiao and an exploration of how you as the player interact with the self aware characters in self aware au

it’s been a couple of weeks since you last used him.

or has it only been several days? whether it’s days or years, it all feels like the blink of an eye to him. the flow of time is somewhat of a nebulous concept for someone like him, especially since you first appeared.

it doesn’t matter. however long you take to come back, xiao will wait dutifully for you.

he spends most of his time when you’re not making use of him subjugating threats around liyue and fighting off any unwanted foes. perhaps you’ll come back faster if the area is freer of enemies. you’re kind, after all. you seem much happier when it’s peaceful.

lately, when there’s no demons for him to quell, he’s found himself returning to the same spot on wangshu inn’s upper balcony. it’s the spot you always drop him off at before disappearing. it’s not the place at the top of the inn’s roof he’d pick on his own, though you do sometimes take him up there as well.

you’re not actually there, but if he closes his eyes it almost feels like you are.

his birthday was a couple days ago. as usual, the traveller had suggested he write you a letter. as usual, he wasn’t sure what he could possibly convey to you that you would be happy to receive.

the traveller insisted anything from him would make you happy, but xiao doubts that.

it’s easier when you’re here. it’s easier when you’re here and he can submit himself entirely to you and doesn’t have to think for himself.

he’s been dreaming more lately, particularly of you. he doesn’t know what you look like, and after he wakes up he can never quite remember what you looked like in his dreams.

waking up after dreaming of you is always hard for xiao. it’s shameful how badly he wants to go back to dreaming of doing such mundane things with you, and it’s disgraceful how long it takes him to pick himself back up afterwards.

he wonders if you’d like doing dull things like that with someone like him.

he wonders if he deserves that.

probably not.

he left the letter at the railing of that same��your—spot, along with a serving of his almond tofu (he might not like dreaming, but he hopes your dreams are as sweet as his have been lately), some dream solvent (the traveller had mentioned you seemed to want more) and a small bundle of qixing (you frequently go out of your way to collect it).

you never touch it.

…after a couple days, he decided to move the offering to his room. it stays there, on his windowsill where the sun touches it in a way that reminds him of your warmth, untouched.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. he’ll wait for you for as long as you want. even if another thousand years pass before you appear again, he’ll continue his duty and wait.

and then he blinks and suddenly finds himself in front of the adventurer’s guild in the court of fontaine.

another blink and he’s back at wangshu inn, this time heading towards the kitchen. the familiar aura of your possession fills him with a warmth he doesn’t think exists outside of you. he zones out for what feels no longer than a couple seconds, and suddenly there’s thirty servings of almond tofu in front of him.

your mood drops.

dissatisfaction seeps through you and into him. something deep in his gut squirms.

you set a large amount of sweet flowers to boil, then seem to fuss with something he can’t quite see or grasp. smiley yanxiao gives him a curious look, but doesn’t (cannot) comment any further.

in another couple of seconds—your teleportation hardly fazed him when you first started using him, let alone now when he’s so used to your presence—he’s in front of the liyuean general goods store. you buy up the entire stock of milk, and only milk.

your mood hasn’t improved. if anything, you seem even more downcast.

the milk dissipates as soon as it’s been bought, safely held in your near infinite storage.

he’s behind mondstadt’s hotel next, jumping down the railing and towards the local general goods store. again, you buy up all the milk. next you head for the good hunter (is that what it’s called? he thinks that’s what the traveller called it some time ago) and purchase as much of their sugar as you can.

tendrils of something truly unpleasant move upwards and wrap around his neck.

he finds himself in wangshu inn’s kitchen again. barely any of the sweet flowers have been processed, but you take the two packs of sugar anyway. you put him to work immediately.

usually, he finds the process of cooking much to tedious and drawn out. with you, he doesn’t mind.

you seem a bit more satisfied this time, and xiao finds himself ashamed of having made a few more of his specialty dish instead of only regular almond tofu like you’d wanted him to.

while you seem a bit happier now, he still finds himself in front of inazuma’s goods store. again, you buy all the milk. you talk to the restaurant owner up the stairs afterwards. some confusion creeps into him through you, but it doesn’t last long.

he’s in sumeru next. more milk makes its way into your inventory, and you visit the local tavern for good measure, though this time you don’t buy anything at all.

exiting the building, you seem to notice there’s a stove just outside of it and walk over in excitement… and straight into the clay oven.

a sharp pang of panic shoots through him and he jerks backwards. it takes him a second to realise it’s your panic.

immediately, you pull the astrologer from mondstadt out and have her set down her little hydro puppet. you then walk him through it, which does absolutely nothing except soak his clothes.

your panic doesn’t subside.

i’m sorry.

he blinks and finds himself in front of dihua marsh’s statue of the seven, the fire and the tinge it brought with it disappearing in seconds.

it’s rare to be able to make out what you’re actually saying as opposed to just feeling your vague emotions and intentions. are you that worried about him not performing up to standard with this little damage?

he’s yours to use. a little singe like that would never hold him back.

you don’t bother with fontaine.

something like shame curls up his body and makes a home near his ears.

soon after, he’s back at the inn’s kitchen again. yanxiao doesn’t even look in his direction this time as he gets back to work under your guidance, making even more almond tofu. he makes sure to take greater care to avoid displeasing you again.

your mood doesn’t pick up this time, but you seem to have calmed down a little. he’s not sure why (or what use you could possibly have for so much almond tofu), but it’s a small comfort.

part of him wishes he could be there with you properly to comfort you, but he knows better.

he might be your formidable weapon, but that’s all he is. he has no false illusions about his role or purpose to you, no matter how much he wishes he could be the one you turn to for comfort. he isn’t suited to something so delicate. he’s accepted that a long time ago.

your dejection doesn’t retract, even as you move him around a bit more.

then you sit him down at a table at the inn’s terrace and pull out a plate of his specialty.

your presence lingers for a bit, envelops him like a gentle dream, then falls through the cracks of his existence and disappears.

happy birthday, xiao.

he wonders if he deserves this much effort from you for something as inconsequential as his birthday.

probably not.

he hopes he’ll dream of this next.

[fallevs]

Back from the dead and cute and compact as ever!

Saw this beautiful edit made by the lovely @datshitrandom and couldn't resist.

Happy Valenklaine's day everybody 🩷

[arteapotstudio]

RIOT GAMES PRIDE ART

This year I was proud (ha!) to be selected among other artists to participate in Riot Games' pride month community art campaign. This piece was specifically made to celebrate pride on the Riot Games accounts on social media.

There's a lot of friendly folks featured there, but hopefully there'll soon be many, many more to feature!

[miramizar]

💜 ~Happy Birthday Junmyeon~ 💜

✫ credits: x x x x ✫

[thesilliestrovingalive]

To meet oneself - finale

The previous chapters: 1, 2, and 3

Chapter 4: As things get brighter

After what feels like an eternity, Marchrius' wrenching sobs begin to subside, his sniffles and tears slowing with each ragged breath. He takes five deep, deliberate breaths, exhaling the lingering sadness from his body, willing himself to let go. As he relaxes, his tight grip on Marco gentles, his tense muscles softening. Marco releases a quiet sigh of relief as Marchrius' intense weeping session begins to recede. With his breathing eased, Marco ceases rubbing Marchrius' back as he feels him slowly lift his head from the crook of his shoulder. His arms slip away from Marco as he shifts back, creating space between them. Marco ends his embrace and settles comfortably against the tree, gazing up at the starry sky with his hands clasped behind his head. Marchrius emits a few shuddering breaths as he wipes his tear-stained face and damp hands on his sleeveless platinum grey shirt and army cargo pants.

Marco's sparkling turquoise eyes flicker towards Marchrius, who bows his head, gaze fixed on his right forearm. With his cybernetic index finger, Marchrius traces the fresh, self-inflicted wounds, his expression stoic, unreadable. He gently wipes away the last remnants of blood, the liquid already starting to congeal and form a fragile crust over his open cuts. Marco's gaze shifts to the bloodied combat knife Marchrius dropped, its blade reflecting the moon's rays. For a moment, Marco looks down at himself, his flesh chilled by the night air, but he shows no sign of discomfort. As Marchrius calmly tends to his cut-riddled forearm, a dryness creeps up his throat, stirring a sudden thirst for another beer. But he suppresses the craving, his resolve hardened.

Marco's gaze turns inward, lost in thought. Marchrius looks up, his sorrowful eyes locking onto Marco's face, and his hands instinctively find each other, rubbing together in a familiar, nervous rhythm. He attempts to break the silence, eager to shift the focus away from the vulnerability he shared, but his words catch in his throat. Just as the awkwardness threatens to settle, Marco's expression transforms. A spark of inspiration ignites within him, and he turns to face Marchrius, whose curious gaze meets his. A soft, enigmatic smile spreads across Marco's face as their eyes lock, his bright gaze contrasting with Marchrius' dull, haunted stare. Before he can utter a sound, Marchrius abruptly straightens and speaks first, his words preempting Marco's.

"Thank youuu... f-for stayin' by my side," he slurs softly, his words barely above a whisper.

His face, once etched with pain and curiosity, relaxes into a warm, gentle smile, gratitude and fuzzy joy clouding his features. Marco didn’t anticipate the thanks, but the heartfelt gratitude warms his heart, causing his face to light up and his smile to broaden.

"You're welcome," he replies, noticing a faint sparkle in Marchrius' dull turquoise eyes, a hint of an emotion that resembles happiness.

Marchrius' soft smile fades, returning to his characteristic stoicism as he picks up the worn gauze he'd dropped. With slightly unsteady hands, he wraps the gauze around his right forearm, attempting to conceal the self-inflicted cuts. Marco observes with interest, impressed that Marchrius' intoxication hasn't compromised his delicate handling of the gauze. Composing himself, his words slur slightly as he turns to Marco and asks, "Where... a-are you froooomm?"

"Twin Falls, Idaho," he replies, his answer quick and honest. "What about you?"

"I'm… errr, f-from there toooo," Marchrius slurs, his voice dripping with nostalgia. His face relaxes into an awkward smirk, his left index finger tracing idle circles in the air as if stirring forgotten memories. "My ch-childhood... home."

Marco hesitated, considering asking about Marchrius' home life, but thought better of it, choosing instead to let him share on his own terms. Beneath his macho facade, he detects a deeply troubled person, wrestling with mental instability and a profound difficulty in trusting others. Marchrius averts his gaze, his eyes tracing the blades of grass as he secures the worn gauze around his forearm with a few awkward tugs. His lower lip catches between his teeth as he struggles to think of something to break the silence. He rakes his fingers through his unruly strawberry blonde locks, then glances up at the starry sky. The darkness gradually recedes, surrendering to a softer, midnight blue that hints at the edges of the night like the first whispers of dawn.

Marco picks up on Marchrius' unease and intervenes with a thoughtful query, "What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

Marchrius' gaze drifts up to Marco's, his expression relaxed and a passionate smile spreading across his lips. After a soft belch, he clears his throat with a rough cough, then speaks enthusiastically, his words emerging slightly slower and more deliberate, "Well, I... I have a f-few thingsssss I'm pretty into."

“Like what?” Marco raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he asks, maintaining an air of level-headed curiosity.

"Hah... I love spendin' time with my k-kitty, Perifa... She's my dramatic lil’ princess, ya know? Trevor just won't get it, man.... I adore her soooooo much, I just wanna squeeze those adorable cheeks and play with her all day, every day! And, uh, s-smoke breaks with Tarma, Eri, and Tequila... thossssse are the best! I… errrr, occasionally smoke w-weed with Trevorrrr. I-I-I like to hit up kittyyyy cafes and... it's just purrfection!"

Marchrius' eyes sparkle with excitement as he talks about his beloved shorthair calico, his face lighting up with a warm smile. His words tumble out in an enthusiastic rush, his passion momentarily boiling over into a fervent tone. But as he speaks, his sentences begin to falter, his thoughts clouding over as he struggles to articulate them. The lingering haze of intoxication still clings to him, and his words trail off into awkward silence.

Marco waits patiently, a warm smile spreading across his face as a gentle chuckle escapes his lips, triggered by the simple cat pun. The awkward silence that follows is brief, lasting only a few seconds before Marchrius collects his thoughts and continues.

"I t-take naps at my desk... not exactlyyyy a hobby, but... rest isss i-important, ya know? And, uh, I'm really into those… crossword puzzles! Yeah! Did m-myyy first one when I wasssss just a kid... at the age of 1, can ya believe it? My daddy was impressed... maybe a little scared, haha! My parents were a-amazed I grasped thosssssse political terms, even back then. But my mommy... she jusssst didn't g-get it. Th-Thought I was some kinda freak," as he speaks, Marchrius' composure falters for an instant, his right eye twitching before he regains control. "Ungrateful... y-y-yeah, that's the worddd. She’s one helllll o-of a biatch!"

He shakes his head, pushing aside the bitter emotions that surface whenever he thinks of his mother, and refocuses on Marco with a forced smile and renewed enthusiasm. Marco empathises with Marchrius' disdain for his own mother, as Marco shares similar feelings towards his own mom due to her emotional distance, which he believes stems from his exceptionally high intelligence.

"Makin' artificial intelligence and t-tech viruses from scratch... it's theeeee best, ya know? Tests m-m-my knowledge and I realllyyyy love it! Goes so well with my quick mental… errrrr, ca-calculations. Like bread and butter, man! And I-I like toooo calculate math stuff and pr-program run times in my head. Keepssss my mind off... off other stuff. But, ugh, hate it when my m-mind wanders to the wrrrrong pl-places... It’s the fu-fucking worst!" Marchrius slurs his words in a drunken drawl, yet his passion for computer science shines through, tinged with a hint of melancholy that lingers at the end.

He bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath, refocusing on the pleasant conversation before concluding, "St-stargazing... it's gorgeous, ya know? I love lookin' at the stars, thinkin' about their stories... and stuff. Especially with someone I-I careeee about. It getsss me a-all introspective and whaaat not… Reminds me of Fio... she's into that astronomy thing! Timid little thing, but don't let that fool ya, she's got spunk. And her bakin’? Forget about it, it's amazing. It's il meglio del meglio, j-just like she says! Anyways… Whaddaya like to do in your... uhhh, free time?"

Marco pauses, intrigued by Marchrius' shared interest in computer science, and smiles warmly as he rests his hands on the grassy ground. He's surprised to discover that Marchrius' Fio has a confident side, hidden beneath her shy exterior.

"I also enjoy mentally calculating the running times of computer programs in my head. I find it a valuable hobby that helps me stay sharp in computer science. I'm really into computer programming and hacking. I actually work with Trevor, a computer whiz, to create new software programs. He's a huge help. I also love learning about binary code—its complex language and underlying logic are often underappreciated. Aside from computing, I have a unique hobby: imitating drunken master moves. It makes me feel empowered and energised," he enthusiastically shares, his excitement palpable, especially when discussing his computer-related pursuits.

"Dr-Drunken... master movesss? Urrr... I-I actually taught myyyyyself... h-how to do drunken-style boxing... back in high school. H-Had to defend m-myself from those bullies... looking for a fight! I-I preferred to use my words... but sometimes... that w-wasn't enough," Marchrius' words slur, his body swaying slightly, as his speech stumbles out in fragmented phrases.

He inches closer to Marco, drawn to his warmth, and becomes lost in reminiscence, his eyes glazing over with memories of his high school years.

"I guess school was rough for you?" Marco asks, his voice laced with genuine concern, his expression sympathetic as memories of his own struggles with bullying flicker across his face.

Marchrius nods solemnly, releasing a disheartened sigh. His words slur slightly as he speaks with deliberate slowness, "Ahhh, l-lot of students... th-thought it'd be a rrrreeal good idea to p-pick on ol' me. I didn't have anyyyyy r-real friends, ya know? My freakishly high intelligence, courtesy of my... my... su-super special DNA, only made things worssssee! Unfortunately... I-I pushed away those who tried to b-befriend me... Stupid me, r-right?"

Marchrius curls into himself, knees tucked tightly against his chest, and lifts his gaze to the blue-tinged darkness above. The stars twinkle like diamonds scattered across the fabric of the universe, their gentle sparkle a soothing balm for his troubled soul. Marco quietly wonders what this special DNA might be, making a mental note to ask about it later. Marco pauses for a moment, noticing that Marchrius is trembling slightly, and decides to steer the conversation towards a different topic of interest.

"If you don't mind me asking, what are Trevor, Tarma, Eri, Tequila, and Fio like? I'm curious about the people you mentioned earlier," Marco asks respectfully, hoping to distract Marchrius from his concerns and lift his spirits now that he's feeling a bit better.

Marchrius relaxes his grip on his knees and turns to face Marco, his gaze drawn to his turquoise eyes. He notices the warmth and vitality in them, a stark contrast to his own. Clearing his throat softly, Marchrius extends his right arm, tracing gentle circles in the grass beside him. Lost in thought, he pauses, collecting his thoughts on how to describe the individuals Marco had asked about. After a moment of contemplative silence, Marchrius leans in, his voice taking on a more intimate tone. Marchrius' face breaks into a warm, lopsided grin, his dull turquoise eyes shining with genuine affection.

"They're... one of a kind, r-really! I love them allllllll, dearly... ya know? Each one's special... in their own wayyyyy. And I cherish... uhhh, every... moment... with t-them," he speaks to Marco in a tone that's warmly sentimental, his words infused with a gentle, fuzzy happiness and his speech slightly slower than usual.

He then elaborates on the friends Marco mentioned, providing a detailed description of each person. Marchrius begins with Trevor, describing him as a kind-spirited and easy-going friend, whose dedication to his military work is matched only by his love for security programming, hacking, and gaming. Trevor is also an avid weed smoker, self-proclaimed existentialist, and Nadia’s best friend. Despite his calm nature, he's not afraid to show his ruthless side.

He has a strong dislike for being called "old" or "Trevor Spicy”, nicknames used jokingly by friends and comrades. He's highly allergic to cats, often referring to them as "diabolical little buggers”. Marchrius finds it entertaining how Perifa constantly seeks cuddles from Trevor, which greatly annoys him. He’s strongly opposed to illicit drug use, advocating for responsible substance use and supporting friends and comrades struggling with addiction. Marchrius greatly values Trevor's expertise in technology, programming, and interrogation.

Marchrius then shifts his focus to Tarma, his emotionally intelligent queerplatonic partner and first best friend. He affectionately describes him as a "maniacal gearhead" with a contagious, breezy optimism. Marchrius credits him with filling the emotional void left by his father's passing, providing much-needed intimacy and companionship. Additionally, his expertise in robotics engineering enabled him to design and build Marchrius' cybernetic prosthetic. Alongside Eri, Tarma also taught Marchrius Japanese phrases, which he enjoys incorporating into his dry humour.

Marchrius attributes his growth as a person to befriending Tarma, who helped him recognize the value of friendships and step out of his comfort zone. As a self-described loner, Marchrius cherishes Tarma emotional support and delights in his nerdy enthusiasm and constant jokes. However, he occasionally finds Tarma's teasing about his serious nature grating. Marchrius is aware that Tarma suffers from separation anxiety, becoming distressed when they're apart and unable to reach each other.

Marchrius describes Eri as a tomboyish leader who fearlessly seeks vengeance for those she cares about. She leads a group of Ptolemaic Army deserters who show remarkable kindness and respect towards her friends and comrades. She has a soft spot for those who suffered a difficult childhood, like herself, and enjoys vodka. She's overly protective of Fio and Walter, like an older sister, and considers some Regular Army special operatives as family.

However, she has a troubled past with Tarma, viewing him as a hot-headed and irresponsible individual. This history leads to tension, and Marchrius and her team often intervene to prevent her from physically lashing out at Tarma, which is frustrating. Marchrius notes that Eri has a habit of smearing blood on herself to intimidate enemies and harbours a deep distrust of Christianity. She's not thrilled that Tarma has romantic feelings for Fio, particularly when he makes flirtatious moves towards her.

Marchrius portrays Tequila as a wise, battle-hardened, and compassionate Catholic veteran who has bravely confronted the harsh realities of war. He possesses unwavering moral clarity, believing that truth, no matter how difficult it is, must be faced. Marchrius holds him in high esteem, crediting him as a key factor in the success of the Regular Army and S.P.A.R.R.O.W.S. Despite his tough demeanour, Tequila struggles with emotional vulnerabilities. Years of combat have inflicted lasting trauma, and he periodically requires solitude to recharge and contemplate.

He's sensitive about his height and dislikes being teased about it. When frightened or enraged, he exhibits a quirky habit of jumping onto others' backs. His values are uncompromising: he despises cowardice, incompetence, and duplicity. Surprisingly, Marchrius discovered that Tequila intensely dislikes war, empathising with military recruits whose worldview will be shattered by the brutal realities of combat.

Marchrius concludes his discussion about his friends, highlighting Fio's exceptional ability to connect with children, such as Tarma, Gimlet, and Ralf. She’s unafraid to express her emotions and offer stern guidance when needed, yet willing to lend a helping hand. Although initially timid around strangers, she warms up once she feels comfortable. Her passions include baking, meticulously preparing meals infused with love and consideration for others' preferences.

She has a deep appreciation for nature and maintains impeccable cleanliness standards, but has a tendency to get flustered easily. Her Italian upbringing instills superstitions that influence her worldview. Despite struggling with entomophobia and being an unskilled fighter, Fio excels as a strategist, employing effective keep-away tactics. Her emotional comfort comes from carrying Peppino, her childhood teddy bear, though Marchrius views this habit as childish.

As Marchrius concludes his long, passionate, and surprisingly insightful speech about Trevor, Tarma, Eri, Tequila, and Fio, Marco is stunned by how vastly different they are from his own friends. Marchrius remained relatively calm throughout the entire rant, but became slightly more animated in an affectionate manner when discussing Tarma and Fio. Marco's face breaks into a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with gentle joy, as he's glad to discover Marchrius has found people truly worthy of his trust. He’s also grateful that his Tarma has played a pivotal role in coaxing him out of his solitary existence and into meaningful connections.

"Wow, you've got some incredible friends!" Marco exclaims, gently clapping Marchrius on the back. "It's great to have people you can trust. Life would be tough without them." 

Marchrius' face cracks into a slight smile, accompanied by a few warm, hearty chuckles.

"Y-yeah... But, honestly, I'm stilllll a loner, ya know? Socialising... uhhhh, sometimes it's just tooooo mu-much, ya feel me? And the funny thing issssss... I'm su-supposed to be a leader of… errrr, my t-team," Marchrius slurs, swaying slightly as he rubs the back of his neck and gazes up at the stars.

"I know the feeling," Marco says with a nod, his voice sympathetic. "We all need some alone time to recharge. Socialising can be exhausting."

He slowly crosses his arms, his expression thoughtful as he gazes up at the star-studded sky. Seeking a change in subject, he turns his attention to Marchrius, finding him an intriguing individual.

Marco's face lights up with curiosity and playfulness, and he asks with a sly grin, "So, anyone caught your eye lately?"

He's curious to know if Marchrius has a secret crush, someone he sees as a potential love interest.

Marchius waves his hand dismissively and shakes his head vigorously, his voice trembling slightly as he speaks, "No, no, no... Ab-Absolutely not! I’m aroace, okayyyy?! Romance, nahhhh... and... uhhh, t-the other thing... Just no! Makes myyy st-stomach do flips when… when I think ab-about it, mannnn.”

"Aroace, huh?" Marco murmurs, noticing Marchrius' uneasiness regarding the question about having any crushes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. Curiosity just got the better of me.”

"Nahhh... i-it’s fine, ya didn't knowww," Marchrius slurs, shaking his head slightly and looking down at the ground, his voice laced with a hint of regret. "Sorrry... overreacted, I g-guess..."

Marchrius absently scratches the back of his head, his hiccup and sniffle interrupting his thoughts. Right next to him, Marco settles into a cross-legged position, inhaling slowly and deeply.

"Hey... You mentioned something about special DNA earlier. What's that about?" Marco speaks up, breaking the awkward silence, his curiosity evident in the tilt of his head as he looks at Marchrius.

Marchrius pauses, swaying slightly, his fingers tightening around his right forearm as he exhales deeply.

"Tuatha Dé Danann DNA, yeeeahhh..." he mutters, his hand waving lazily in the air. "Ancieeeent bu-bunch, man. Lived back in t-the Hadean Eon, yeah! Whennnn life first p-popped up… Way, wayyyy before humans. Crazy advanced tech... and ma-magic... the wholllle shebang!"

Marchrius chuckles with amusement, shaking his head as he leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Their tech, man... it's like nothin' w-we can even imagine. Beyyyyyond wildest dreams, s-seriously! Everyone… everyone wants a piece: Rebel Army, Amadeus Syndicate, Ptolemaic Army... all crawlin' over each other like r-rats for a ssssslice of that… Tuatha Dé Danann’s pie. I mean, c-can yaaaa blame them?"

"Descendants got... uhhhh, sp-special gifts. We're like... super resilient! We caaannnn handle st-stuff that'd drive others straight to… uhhh, the looney bin! Like, full-blown se-sensory overload, man… We're sm-smarter than yourrrrr average Joe, no question! But, the originals? Wh-Whole different story. Hyperintelligence, far outta our leagueeee,” Marchrius remarks with a lopsided grin, tapping his temple lightly with his left index finger. “Physically, tooooo... w-we've got the signs. Skin's paleeee, sometimes gets d-duller with age. Hair's a-all over the map, black to blonde, and e-eyes... eyes are like the dammmmmnnn o-ocean, blue to cyan, everyyyy shade in between."

As Marchrius leans in closer, his voice barely audible, a shiver tracing his spine, he wraps his arms around himself, warding off a sudden chill, "I knowwwww Tequila and a co-couple of othersss… got that Tuatha Dé Danann DNA thing. I g-goooot that DNA fr-from my momma’s side... Daddy never noticed... th-those eyes. They're like... warning lights, glowing redddd. Onlyyyy show up s-sometimes, but it's like... they're watching me, man. M-Monitoring everyyyy damn move. Always lurking, ju-just out offfff sight."

He leans slightly back from Marco, crossing his arms as a tired yawn escapes him, his eyes growing heavy. Marchrius has a nagging sense that tomorrow will be another big day, filled with intense action and strategic planning. Marco still harbours concerns about his friends, the mission to Käthehirt Valley, and his own uncertain location. Before he can voice his questions, Marchrius interrupts, eager to pose one final question before returning to the Sparrowhawk Operations Base.

“G-Got anyyyy dreams for the… uhhhh, future?” he slurs, his head swaying unsteadily from side to side as he stares up at the twinkling stars, his words drawn out in a gentle hiccup.

Marco exhales heavily as he stands up, lifting the handle of the unused heavy machine gun with his left hand, and leans against the sturdy trunk of the ancient oak tree. Looking down at Marchrius with a hint of uncertainty, he replies, "I've been considering something. I need a bit more time to think it through, but I'm leaning towards starting a computer software business. What about you?"

Marchrius lets out a deep, slurred chuckle and smirks confidently, his dull turquoise eye glassy, "I've got a biggggg dream, man! Gonna be a me-mechatronics engineer... and… uhhhh, foster a whole bunch of kittens. And then... and th-then I'm gonna start thissssss company. Gonna make the most advanced computerrrrr models, AI, and cybersecurity stuff... for the mi-military and civilians, yeahhhh? I wanna ch-change the world. Or at least, most of it... Hopefully…"

Marco is enamoured with Marchrius' vision for his future, and he smiles softly, reassured that he has a clear direction to work towards.

“I believe in you. I know you’re going to succeed, no matter what comes your way. Your intelligence is your greatest ally. Don’t forget that,” he says with conviction, extending his hand to help him up from the grass.

Marchrius turns to Marco, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as his eyes shine with genuine happiness. As he sways slightly, he grasps Marco's outstretched hand with his right, seeking balance. With a thoughtful swipe, he brushes off his pants, sending grass and dirt flying, and replies with heartfelt gratitude.

"Th-Thank yaaaa... again," he speaks slowly and deliberately, his words slightly garbled. "Thank ya for... uhhhh, everything. I knowwww the future has… has greaaaattt th-things in store for ya! Anyways… errrrr, what dooooo I call ya?"

"Just call me Marco," he replies, his voice accompanied by a widened smile and a slight nod.

His turquoise eyes lock onto Marchrius' face, sparkling with gratefulness and acknowledgement. For a moment, he studies Marchrius' expression, convinced by the sincerity etched upon it.

“Mmmmm, Marchrius... yeah, that su-suits meeee well,” he slurs slightly with a gentle smile, offering a somewhat unsteady hand for a handshake.

He pauses to dab at his nose with a sniffle, his eyes squinting briefly as he struggles to focus, “We... uhhhh, share the same ni-nickname. Can't have us ca-causin' confusion... Bessssst keep things simple, right?”

Marco takes Marchrius' hand, and they share a firm but gentle handshake, Marchrius' grip momentarily tightening before they release. Marco crosses his arms as Marchrius carefully lifts the half-empty six-pack, its contents depleted by four beers. Gripping the handle tightly to prevent a drop, Marchrius' exhausted body sways slightly.

"Uhhmmm... Do you know where I am?" Marco asks, suddenly remembering his urgency. "I need to get back to my friends ASAP. I have an important mission going on."

Marchrius' eyes go wide with surprise, his expression stunned by Marco's revelation. He dips his head, his gaze falling to the grass, its blades now heavy with absorbed rainwater. As he processes the news, he subtly shifts his weight onto his left leg.

"Oh! In a mo-mountain forest, waaaaaay outta ci-civilization… Just critters and treesssss and stuff. We’re in some remote and… errrrr, to-totally abandoned part of greaaattttt ol’ Britain," Marchrius responds honestly, taking a deep breath to steady his thoughts.

“I see… Well! I better take my leave. I have a looooong journey ahead of me. It was nice meeting you, Marchrius. Take care!” Marco exclaims, adjusting his belt and the straps of his military-issued backpack.

As Marco waves goodbye and walks away from the oak tree, Marchrius swiftly clamps down on his arm, his powerful cybernetic hand closing around his bicep like a vice. Marco's exit is halted abruptly, his momentum arrested by the unyielding grip. Marco freezes, raising an eyebrow as he turns his head to face Marchrius, whose frowned expression suggests he's unhappy about Marco's sudden departure. Marchrius' dull turquoise eyes gleam with a hint of melancholy as he slowly withdraws his chilled hand, his index finger stained with the blood he tried to wipe away from his forearm.

“D-Do you… uhhhh, think we'll seeeee each other a-again?” Marchrius asks, his voice trembling and his words slightly stumbling out of his mouth as he struggles to articulate the anxiety and sorrow lumped in his throat.

Marco lets out a heavy sigh and looks down at the ground, feeling uncertain about the possibility of their paths crossing again. However, he shakes off the doubt and decides to remain hopeful, offering a reassuring smile to Marchrius. He hopes that his optimism will lift Marchrius' spirits and kindle a glimmer of hope that they might meet again.

"You know… I think we'll cross paths once again," he says with a gentle smile, his eyes radiating warmth and hopefulness. "Only time will tell."

Marchrius nods curtly and retrieves his combat knife, his stoic silence a testament to his exhaustion. The marathon session of paperwork and computer work with Trevor had left him mentally drained. As Marco departs, eager to rejoin his team and tackle their mission in Käthehirt Valley, Marchrius casts a fleeting glance over his shoulder, watching the distance grow between them. Despite knowing there's a chance their paths will cross again, a pang of uncertainty settles in the pit of his stomach, leaving him with the haunting feeling that this might be their final farewell.

With a weary shake of his head, Marchrius exhales a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of bodily exhaustion seep into his bones. He continues trudging towards the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, driven by a longing for the solace of his bed and a chance to move on from the day's events. Though his inner turmoil still lingers, this unexpected encounter has brought a measure of healing.

As he navigates the familiar forested mountain landscape, he pauses at the cerulean lake, its usually gleaming surface now muted by approaching gloomy clouds and the full moon's descent below the horizon. Seizing the moment, Marchrius cleans the bloodstains from his combat knife and left index finger, eager to avoid stirring unnecessary panic among his friends. The thought of their worry adds to his already mounting stress, a burden he can barely afford.

He kneels at the lake's edge, primroses crunching beneath his weight, and sheds his crimson vest. The water's calm surface reflects the fading moonlight as he washes the combat knife and his index finger, using the vest's inner lining as a makeshift towel to blot away the blood. After a few minutes of methodical cleaning, he swiftly dons his vest and grips the knife's handle firmly. Standing up, he shakes off the dirt and scattered petals clinging to his legs. As he approaches the Sparrowhawk Operations Base, he catches a fleeting glimpse of glowing red eyes observing him from behind a thicket of bushes near a large boulder. Although he shrugs it off without a second glance, the image lingers, leaving him with a nagging sense of unease.

Meanwhile, Marco navigates the forested mountain, his caution waning now that he's confident he's far from enemy territory. Yet, he remains vigilant, aware that the wilderness can be unpredictable. As he ascends, pushing through dense thickets of foliage and towering deciduous and conifer trees, a fierce gust of wind sweeps through, sending a shiver down his spine. The intensity builds, making every step a struggle. Marco's vision blurs, and he raises his right hand to shield his face from the biting wind. For an instant, it feels like a swarm of knives is slashing past him, his skin turning icy cold.

The gale forces him backward, nearly sending him crashing into a nearby Douglas fir. Marco's eyes snap shut, and he wraps his arms tightly around his body, desperate for warmth. He waits, bracing against the wind's fury, hoping it will soon subside. As suddenly as it began, the gale subsides, replaced by a snowy blizzard that, though still fierce, brings a relative calm. The biting cold seeps into Marco's skin, and the swirling snowflakes reduce his progress to a sluggish crawl. Each step is a battle against the unforgiving cold, his face stung by icy air and progress hindered by thickening snow. Undeterred, Marco pushes forward, driven by the urgent need to escape this chaos and reconnect with his team.

After what feels like an eternity, his surroundings gradually dissolve into a soothing thicket of fog, obscuring his entire view. Yet, paradoxically, it brings a gentle warmth reminiscent of spring, lightly heating his skin and alleviating the bitter cold that racks his body. As he continues moving up the mountain, he slowly opens his eyes, bewildered by the sudden change. The snow beneath him grows thinner, but still crunches beneath his feet as he presses forward with uncertainty. The fog slowly lifts, and the air is replaced by the all-too-familiar scent of warfare: the acrid tang of spilled gore and the burning fires ignited by explosives.

He freezes at the summit, scanning the snowy landscape with utter bewilderment. It takes him only a moment to recognize the familiar contours of Käthehirt Valley, scarred by remnants of the First Morden War. Scattered across the ground are the corpses of Rebel soldiers, their blood-soaked organs and bullet wounds staining the pristine snow crimson. The wreckage of tanks and aircraft, including Iron Isos, Di-Cokkas, and a Flying Tara, lies abandoned, burning and rusting. Marco clenches his heavy machine gun, brow furrowed, poised to unleash a hail of bullets at anyone who dares fire upon him. Then, a gentle, eerily calm voice pierces the silence, its curiosity and surprise infused with a familiarity that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Marco? Is that you?”

A melodious, Italian-accented voice drifts from behind him, its gentle cadence a stark contrast to the carnage surrounding him. He swiftly turns around, his grip on the heavy machine gun relaxing as he recognizes the voice. Fio stands before him, and a warm smile spreads across his face. He takes a step forward, relief washing over him at the sight of her, unscathed and safe amidst the devastation.

“Yep, it's me,” Marco says, his voice soothing and reassuring as he closes the distance between them.

Fio's tense expression eases, accompanied by a soft sigh of relief, her brown eyes locking onto his with gratitude.

"Thank goodness you're okay... The others and I thought you'd vanished and fallen into a trap. We tried to pull you back up, but the force beneath you was too strong, and it pulled you in too quickly. I was getting really worried..." Fio says calmly, taking a cautious step forward while remaining vigilant, her grip firm on her two machine guns.

"Hey, where are the others?" Marco asks, raising an eyebrow, his concern evident.

"Follow me. They're not far," Fio murmurs, her left hand beckoning as she quickly moves to rejoin Tarma, Eri, and Derek.

Without hesitation, Marco follows suit, overjoyed to finally reunite with his friends. Anticipating their questions and concerns, he knows he has a lot of explaining to do. Although unsure if they'll believe him, he's willing to try and alleviate their curiosity.

@fruitypixel

[mister13eyond]

talking to a friend about getting back into art and i think the #1 most important piece of art advice i could ever get or give is just "figure out what is FUN to you"

like i think there is sooooo much emphasis on how to build SKILL in art but a lot of it really treats art like a job or like video game grinding, like it's this thankless job that you have to work at in order to reach a Threshold and i know it's not EASY to make yourself have fun but like

imo a solid 70% of the reason i create art is because the Act of Drawing is fun to me. it's fun problem-solving and planning and putting down lines and playing with colors and tools. it's fun to depict little scenes in my head or to create outfits or to find ways to fill the canvas. never forget that creating can be fun. sometimes it's hard and sometimes you have to battle through your own blockades to get there but the ultimate goal should always be to ENJOY it, to find what you enjoy doing and then do it forever. improvement will follow enjoyment.

i think especially with all the debate about ML image generation it's more important than ever to embrace FUN. if you're only focused on the end result it's so easy to get in your own head- to think about what doesn't look good or what skills you don't have yet or to compare yourself to other artists. but photography didn't kill the art of drawing and AI won't either because, simply put, there will always be people who want to do the physical act of making art because it's fun to do! using paints and markers, splashing colors around, doing shitty pen doodles, using the symmetry tool in your art program to do abstract mandalas that are just squiggles formed into patterns. do art like you're 5 and you've been handed markers to pass the time. do art like you're bored in class and you're keeping your brain entertained by drawing stick figure comics in the margins. do art like an absent thing, do art because it satisfies your brain. the goal is not to make something beautiful and perfect, the goal is to make something because your hands need to make and your body needs to make.

[shannonallaround]

I rewatched the second sonic film with my sister tonight and man. I forget how much I genuinely love this movie

[swordsonnet]

little guy [pattern]

[metathemeta-art]

if I have to wear compression stockings then so do my characters. also monsters hot