stoshasaurus

[stoshasaurus]

i was asked to post this on ao3, so upon learning that i have a second ao3 account, i figured i might as well use it. here you are.

yippee, so on, so forth

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.

[stoshasaurus]

#fave #saving because I need to watch this like every day to feel alive

[stoshasaurus]

right. I need to add some fucking context to this.

My current pfp in one of my discord servers is one of my recent drawings of Felwinter. I was talking about my desire to go out and get donuts this morning, particularly a banana Bismarck (basically a banana-flavored Boston cream donut, if you asked me to sum it up) from this local donut shop. I expressed that I enjoy having characters as my pfp because I imagine that they are saying my words, and it made me wonder how Felwinter would feel about donuts for breakfast, and banana bismarcks. I promised that once I had returned from my expedition to acquire said donuts, that I would write a short snippet about Felwinter eating a banana Bismarck.

So, here it is. An extremely silly, probably HIGHLY inaccurate mini-fic about Shaxx bringing Felwinter donuts for breakfast.

Disgustingly sweet (both literally and figuratively) Felshaxx fluff ahead.

Felwinter only finds himself sleeping in when he is visiting Shaxx. The Iron Lord never sleeps at all; he doesn’t need to, and there is always work to be done. He often finds himself quite busy in the evenings, scouring submind data or organizing lessons for his new student, activities that he obsesses over long after dusk, when any ordinary man would retire for the night. But endless work and looming threats be damned, Shaxx has an absurdly comfortable bed, with far too many pillows and a mattress so soft that Felwinter’s frame sinks immediately into it like a stone in a pond. He’d never known he needed a soft bed with a mountain of pillows. It has become one of the millions of little things he looks forward to when it comes to visiting his beloved in the Last Safe City of Humanity

His infrequent holiday stays in the City have been growing in length recently. In the past, he was lucky to have a single evening to himself to spend, a few scant hours spent being shown all of the spectacular things Shaxx detailed to him in his letters. Now, he is allotted more time, sometimes a week or more, once or twice a month. There was never any announcement made; Felwinter highly suspects that Radegast had been pestered into lessening the burdens of his duties by those few nosy Lords who had deciphered his unspoken relationship with Shaxx. Absolute wretches, all of them. He cannot complain.

He sleeps in more frequently now; Shaxx wakes earlier than him, often unable to step away from his post for longer than a few hours. But he never leaves without soft murmurs goodbye and a few kisses pressed to his face. Felspring teases him relentlessly when he finds himself brushing his hand over where Shaxx’s had been. He swats at her before dozing off for the next hour or so, Arc energy buzzing across his frame long after the Warlord has gone, soft flickers of static mimicking well-known, well-loved fingertips.

When he does finally wake up, it is to a still-empty house. If he makes a small noise of disappointment, he will never admit to it. He makes the bed, dresses himself, and opens the windows to let the sun and the air in, admiring the cityscape in the distance. It truly is as marvelous as Shaxx had made it out to be. A place where flowers bloom and birds sing, and Lightless people sleep without guns in their hands. Shaxx had entrusted Felwinter (and Felwinter alone. Oh, isn’t that a precious thought?) with a small, messy manuscript of hand-written poetry. Felwinter had smiled as Shaxx asked for his aid in revising it, hiding his apprehension in his hands as he wrung them, his feet as he shuffled them, his eyes as he averted them from his face. The very same manuscript lay on the kitchen counter, pockmarked with notes and bookmarks, the pages marked with fresh ink in the margins where Felwinter had endlessly praised Shaxx’s prose (in a much more legible script). Where words often failed the Iron Lord, his writing never did. He confessed his love through paragraphs of detailed interpretation and literary analysis. Poetry of his own.

Felwinter is in the process of writing more notes in the manuscript when Shaxx finally returns to the house. Felwinter turns to greet him– there is a tray of twin coffee cups in one hand and a small box cradled in the other, another bag tucked in his elbow.

Shaxx’s Ghost graciously removes the man’s helmet in time for him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Morning,” he rumbles as he deposits his goodies on the counter.

Felwinter absorbs the matching icons printed on the bag and the box. Some kind of bakery, evidently. He shuts the manuscript and sets it aside, taking one of the cups when Shaxx hands it to him. “Good morning,” he replies. “How goes the Crucible?”

“Astoundingly boring. I have no exciting clips to share.” The man sounds almost wounded. Felwinter curses whichever Guardian neglected to throw enough grenades to elicit excitement in the Crucible Handler. “The new Lights tend to try their luck during the summer months. I almost feel bad watching them get decimated by some of our veteran fireteams.”

“One would think the loss would motivate them to try harder.”

Shaxx laughs as he opens the box and examines its contents, out of Felwinter’s line of sight. “It does! That’s the thing about the newly Risen. They haven’t learned what quitting is yet.”

Felwinter does not protest when Shaxx plucks something out of the box and presses it insistently into his hand. It is a soft pastry, glazed with a sweet white frosting and sprinkled with what looks like chunks of cookies. Shaxx grabs an identical item out of the box, but his eyes are on Felwinter rather than the thing in his hand.

The Iron Lord puzzles over it, tilting it carefully so as not to spill the toppings, and stares at Shaxx. “What is this?”

“It’s a donut.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s called a Bismarck. A banana Bismarck, to be exact.” He sounds overly proud of himself as he tilts his chin triumphantly. Felwinter huffs at the display.

Felspring hovers over his shoulder, studying the treat curiously. Felwinter wishes that she had a mouth so she could try it herself. In her stead, he slowly takes a bite, watching Shaxx mirror him with equal trepidation. He cranes his neck over the counter and cups his hand under the Bismarck, making sure no debris falls to the floor. The kitchen is flooded with an oddly pregnant silence as they chew thoughtfully in tandem with one another.

Felwinter signifies the end of his chewing and swallowing with “It’s good.”

“I concur,” Shaxx says. He is still chewing, and the words are muffled as he cleverly keeps his mouth as closed as possible. Crumbs speckle the corners of his lips. “Very sweet.”

“Obscenely,” he remarks. Shaxx barks a laugh.

Felwinter takes another bite. He feels like something, a loose screw, or a damaged cog, clicks back into place. He plucks a cookie off of the top of the thing and pops it into his mouth. It crunches loudly in the metal hollow of his mouth, and the sound drowns out every other thought in his head. Shaxx chuckles at him again, looking very strangely infatuated, and Felwinter cannot stop the lights that dot his chest and his neck from flickering in diffidence.

When his mouth dries up from consuming the pastry, Felwinter reaches for the coffee. It is strong, straight black just the way he likes it, and pleasantly hot rather than scalding. He drinks deeply and feels his plates thaw from the warmth of it, his mouth, his throat, his chest, and his stomach, each system absorbing it individually. The bitterness is a perfect complement to the sweetness of the Bismarck. Shaxx watches him overtly, an earnest tenderness visible in his eyes, unhurried anticipation visible in his open posture. Silently, he seeks appraisal.

“It’s very good,” Felwinter murmurs. All of the words he knows feel inadequate to describe his feelings, so he resorts to simplicity instead. “Thank you.”

Shaxx physically sags against the counter with what Felwinter assumes is relief. An uncharacteristically bashful grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

The Exo’s eyes sparkle with his version of a coy smile. “Do I not strike you as the type to enjoy banana-flavored sweets, Lord Shaxx?”

“No, Fel. Not at all.”

As if to prove him wrong, he takes another bite of the Bismarck. It is so sickeningly sweet that he is afraid it will somehow rot his metal mouth.

——

Playing Nice has ruined my fucking life. I’m so sorry.

#writing #for ONCE #I never fucking post my writing here my god #destiny #destiny 2 #destiny the game #felwinter #iron lord felwinter #lord felwinter #shaxx #lord shaxx #felshaxx #I LITERALLY LOVE THEM SO MUCH #LIKE OBSESSIVELY #they’ve been on my mind for the past few weeks I cannot lie

[stoshasaurus]

Help Rana Alsawalhi and Yousef Albuhaisi evacuate their extended family to the Netherlands! Currently they are at €4,162/73,500. This is a verified fund.

DONATE HERE

#DONATE!! #and share if you can’t!!

[stoshasaurus]

reblog if you'd go on a roadtrip with your pfp

#yes I absolutely would #a road trip with Saint-14?? are you fucking kidding me??? #I would KILL to go camping with this man

[stoshasaurus]

THERE YOU ARE BACK WITH ME AGAIN SEALING YOUR FATE YOU KNOW THAT ALL I DO IS TAKE FROM YOU YOUR ICHOR YOUR FUEL YOUR HARDWARE YOUR BODY AND WITH WHAT YOU GIVE ME I DESTROY YOU I WAS MADE TO BE LIKE THIS. I'm sorry.

#YES #YESSSSSSS #THIS IS IT #THE V1 ART EVER

[stoshasaurus]

casually adopts iron lord felwinter as my own oc

he drives me INSANE i fucking love him sm. here are some design notes. felwinter is often described as not being as expressive as other exos. something about not having the same "modifications" (i don't have the exact lore excerpt but it goes something like that) so it seems like he doesn't have the same plates that most exos do to emote. so a static faceplate seemed like a solid bet. i use a lot of similar shapes in his face that I do for rasputin's exo frame, especially around the jaw area, and the same shade of red in the eyes and mouth. he is, however, described as having a "black skull", so his frame is black instead of white. i think it's an interesting contrast; if one were to look at both side by side, they are obviously associated with one another, but also opposites. the static faceplate and dark color palette also adds to felwinter's cynical and impassive demeanor. (iirc, he is directly described as cynical) a dark appearance suits such a personality in my opinion. i mean, he took over a whole mountain, he's described as being less inclined to show mercy. surely he's a bit more intimidating than the average fellow.

anyway, i hope y'all enjoy. i've been oc-ifying him for a while now but was kind of nervous to share it considering how relatively new i am to this fandom, and how little i know about the game and much of its lore. still finicking with him, of course, but i've been enjoying the journey.

#PREV TAGS #YES I DO I LOVE HOW FELWINTER IS CHARACTERIZED IN PLAYING NICE SO MUCH #“what makes you think YOU'LL be the one doing the pinning?” #ohhhhhh fuck you you smug little bitch #i want to EAT YOU ALIVE #the way shaxx is constantly caging him against walls and shit?? oh my god #kinddaaaaaaa need them both. like really bad. #i've honestly considered drawing a few scenes from the fic. might or might not who knows. #it's a tempting thought #but THANK YOU SM i'm glad you like my interpretation of him #bonding with people over how OBSCENELY SEXY felwinter is because why is he like that #GRRRRRRRR I NEED HIM

[stoshasaurus]

casually adopts iron lord felwinter as my own oc

he drives me INSANE i fucking love him sm. here are some design notes. felwinter is often described as not being as expressive as other exos. something about not having the same "modifications" (i don't have the exact lore excerpt but it goes something like that) so it seems like he doesn't have the same plates that most exos do to emote. so a static faceplate seemed like a solid bet. i use a lot of similar shapes in his face that I do for rasputin's exo frame, especially around the jaw area, and the same shade of red in the eyes and mouth. he is, however, described as having a "black skull", so his frame is black instead of white. i think it's an interesting contrast; if one were to look at both side by side, they are obviously associated with one another, but also opposites. the static faceplate and dark color palette also adds to felwinter's cynical and impassive demeanor. (iirc, he is directly described as cynical) a dark appearance suits such a personality in my opinion. i mean, he took over a whole mountain, he's described as being less inclined to show mercy. surely he's a bit more intimidating than the average fellow.

anyway, i hope y'all enjoy. i've been oc-ifying him for a while now but was kind of nervous to share it considering how relatively new i am to this fandom, and how little i know about the game and much of its lore. still finicking with him, of course, but i've been enjoying the journey.

#prev tag #normal things to see when re-reading Playing Nice #SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THAT FIC SO MUCH #IT'S WHERE I GOT I LOT OF MY HC'S FOR SHAXX FROM ACTUALLY #AND IT'S THE REASON I'M KIND OF OBSESSED WITH FELSHAXX RIGHT NOW NGL #I'VE BEEN REREADING IT LIKE EVERY DAY FOR THE PAST TWO WEEKS #person new to the destiny fandom discovering old things that seem like new things #i'm having fun i'm having a lot of fun

[stoshasaurus]

ramv1 ahead. trigger warning for blood and amputation below the cut. viewer discretion is advised.

gift-giving, but like. in the way that cats do it.

what do you think. is genji dead or not?

#art #ultrakill #overwatch #overwatch 2 #v1 ultrakill #v1 #ramattra overwatch #ramattra #ramv1 #genji shimada #genji #genji overwatch #well. his arm anyway. #tw amputation #cw amputation #tw blood #cw blood #ramattra gets confirmation that a person he hates passionately is suffering if not dead #v1 gets a new arm variant #it's the gift that keeps on giving

[stoshasaurus]

casually adopts iron lord felwinter as my own oc

he drives me INSANE i fucking love him sm. here are some design notes. felwinter is often described as not being as expressive as other exos. something about not having the same "modifications" (i don't have the exact lore excerpt but it goes something like that) so it seems like he doesn't have the same plates that most exos do to emote. so a static faceplate seemed like a solid bet. i use a lot of similar shapes in his face that I do for rasputin's exo frame, especially around the jaw area, and the same shade of red in the eyes and mouth. he is, however, described as having a "black skull", so his frame is black instead of white. i think it's an interesting contrast; if one were to look at both side by side, they are obviously associated with one another, but also opposites. the static faceplate and dark color palette also adds to felwinter's cynical and impassive demeanor. (iirc, he is directly described as cynical) a dark appearance suits such a personality in my opinion. i mean, he took over a whole mountain, he's described as being less inclined to show mercy. surely he's a bit more intimidating than the average fellow.

anyway, i hope y'all enjoy. i've been oc-ifying him for a while now but was kind of nervous to share it considering how relatively new i am to this fandom, and how little i know about the game and much of its lore. still finicking with him, of course, but i've been enjoying the journey.

#art #destiny #destiny the game #destiny 2 #felwinter #iron lord felwinter #he is very lovely i think #i don't think he has the impropriety to manspread #but i think he can get away with it this time #felspring is tutting aplenty through the neurolink don't you worry #this man wears nothing but leather pants convince me otherwise #one of these days i'll actually draw him in armor good lord

[stoshasaurus]

I KNOW THIS ISN'T AN ASK BUT I'M SO HAPPY I FOUND U ON HERE AND TWITTER💕💕 I LOVE UR ART SM I STG😭💕💕💕💕

LOL IM SO GLAD YOU ENJOY MY ART!!!!! THANK YOU SM!!! ❤️❤️❤️ these asks make my day 😭💖

[stoshasaurus]

I may have gotten inspired by @stoshasaurus 's Banshee-44 design. Pspspsps

Text because image kinda crushed the quality:

Reeks of gunpowder and coffee and oil etc

The light has left his eyes long ago.

Banshee-44: "Y'know, these hands are good with more than just guns. 🩶"

Poked holes on the hoodie to fit headpins

He has 6 pairs of camo pants. You can't change my mind.

He has arthritis 🩶 Back go oof ouch

( Sitting pose credit goes to kiki'shh )

#HE ABSOLUTELY HAS CAMO PANTS #YES HE DOES YES SIRRRR #OHHHH BANSHEE I WOULD DO HEINOUS THINGS FOR YOU

[stoshasaurus]

Going absolutely FERAL over you Banshee-44 design I'm chewing on him and sobbing (/positive). I'm glad I'm not the only one that thinks the man has like 30% of his paint scraped away and the dullest colors to man (....despite me always drawing him in perfect conditions with brighter colors)

#1 Banshee-44 Enjoyer approves of your design. Sticking a golden star sticker on your forehead and frolicking away gayly

Thank you my friend I am honored to have the approval of the #1 Banshee-44 enjoyer. I will relish this golden star sticker ⭐️

[stoshasaurus]

banshee-44, according to... well, me.

really the only things that irk me about his design are his colors and his outfit, primarily the latter. considering how filthy his workshop is, and how gruff and grumpy he seems, i'd expect to find this guy elbow deep in gun parts 24/7. he gives mechanic vibes ya know? dingy and covered in oil and grease and scraped up to hell from working with his hands for traveler-knows-how-many decades. those bright colors and swaddling clothes just don't suit his personality, i think. he gives "personable, tough-love bartender", if that makes sense. like you could lean on his counter late at night and get into those deep conversations, really talk about some serious stuff. ya know? ya know?!?!?!?!

also that thousand-yard stare. i know this guy's been through a lot, if anyone should space out it's him, but. damn.

anyway. i just think this version is more pleasing, idk about y'all. just though i'd share. i love banshee-44 regardless. love you banshee, 'preciate ya.

#art #destiny #destiny 2 #banshee-44 #banshee 44 #tw smoking #cw smoking #love this man i really do #i just #don't like how he looks in game #unwarranted redesign #i know #plenty of hugs and kisses for banshee #plenty of love

[stoshasaurus]

A DROWNED BODY WANTS TO LOVE

ULTRAKILL ANIMATIC

#BEAUTIFULLLLL AUGH #WOW #SINKING MY TEETH INTO THIS AND CHEWING ON IT

[stoshasaurus]

Destiny 2 Gifs [19/∞] - Saint-14′s Grave.

“I don’t think I ever told you this, but Saint-14 was one of the first guardians I ever met, even before I found you. I always hoped you’d turn out like him. I wasn’t disappointed.” - Young Wolf’s Ghost.

#fave #he’s just so beautiful #he missed so much

[stoshasaurus]

at the surface

this is totally not like the ending of portal 2

#fave #holy fucking shit #beautiful #these colors.. #and the textures???? oh my god #can i order this in a liquid form so i can inject it directly into my veins