^2022 Art Summary!!^
Gosh, what a year!! With the 10th anniversary going on I sure picked a hell of a time to jump into posting huh? There was so much going on and everything happened so fast; it still feels kinda unreal ^^’
With Tumblr being such a huge part of my life now, it’s pretty weird to think how short of a time it’s actually been; heck, if you’d told me a year ago that in 12 months time I’d be posting my art online (and fairly regularly at that!) to hundreds of people (how are there so many of you) there is no way I would’ve believed you. It’s honestly kinda wild to me that I’ve only really been active on here for a year now with how far I’ve come, and I am so dang proud of what I’ve managed to get done ^^
(I probably should’ve taken it a lot slower at the start though. Like I don’t regret it or anything, but man, just diving right on into the deep end with zero preparation was NOT the best plan and pushing myself that hard left me super burnt out. Still haven’t quite recovered. Mistakes were made T^T)
It really means the world to me that you’ve all stuck around. Thanks for being here guys 💛
Links to all the posts under the cut ^^
JAN: Relativity Scary-Oke Mabel
FEB: Stan O’ War II
MAR: Young Pokéfalls Stan
APR: Portal Stans Meeting
MAY: Second Summer MonsterFalls Girls
JUN: Land Before Swine Caves
JUL: Mabel Palette Challenge
AUG: Realistic Stan Sketchdump
SEP: Cast Photo Redraw
OCT: Pines Halloween Costumes
NOV: Waddles Sunday Sketch
DEC: Christmas Tree
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The Tenno holds no memory of who or what suggested he pay Cetus a visit. Were he the sort to gamble, he may have begrudgingly placed his credits upon the Lotus, who remains ever eager to tug his strings one way or another across the stars. The particulars of this memory escape him, as so many others do, and it is only when he is attending to his weapons in orbit of Venus does the thought of passing nearby Earth even occur to him.
Conferring with Ordis confirms that his docket, nebulous as it has been these past days, could certainly allow him a detour from wherever it is duty takes him next. The Tenno considers it while he oils the barrel of the Vectis he's taken to lately. Slowly, slowly, his ship crosses into Venusian night.
New Loka can wait. The thought of dealing with the Perrin Sequence agitates him more than he thinks he can bear. Of the Red Veil, he remains uncertain and uneager for rendezvous, overdue as it may be. So, the matter is settled.
"Set a course," the Tenno says aloud in a ship near silent as a grave, and he prepares himself for planetfall.
-------
The very last thing he takes note of is the smell of it all.
Fondness for Earth is more instinct than anything. It is the home he cannot fully recall, the mother he knows only through hearsay and missives and histories available to him only by other accounts. Its atmosphere is bruised with toxins yet to heal, ugly whorls that, he is told, once existed only in cautionary tales well before planetary invasion was ever a possibility. That the planet is now infested by Grineer boils something deep within the Tenno, hateful without truly knowing why. This, too, is an instinct so deep it may as well be primal, and as the orbiter peels beneath atmosphere and crosses before the face of a singular, tremendous tower of suspiciously Orokin design, he prepares himself for the worst.
He hears the ocean before he disembarks. He hears other things, too: the barking of people from across the settlement, the shriek and laughter unmistakably belonging to children no older than he himself once was before the Void cracked he and so many others open. The Saryn he commands this day, jet black and indomitable in combat, barely makes it off the landing pier before he is rushed by young faces - young human faces, who babble excitedly at him in a language he does not recognize. And when they are chased off, herded by an older woman built like a barrel, thick in the middle with arms that look as though they could bend steel, the Tenno can only stare. Dark smears of blue enshroud bright, steely eyes, as well as a brow the Tenno only belatedly realized is arched, unimpressed.
She lifts a meaty, beckoning hand, and then she is gone, swallowed by the course of natives and travelers both that pour into Cetus.
Outside his consciousness, the Tenno hears Ordis chirp, "Oh, doesn't this seem like fun?"
-------
The sight of other Tenno has long since ceased to fill him with wonder. Not that it really ever did after the first few encounters: the novelty of their misfortune and the realization that it is shared lost its luster quickly enough, and when he crosses them in the field or upon the relays, he himself tends to keep his distance.
Here, they are impossible to avoid. It is a far cry from the clinical cleanliness of the relays, with their broad bulkheads and pristine corridors. Here, the ocean itself is drowned out by more chatter than the Tenno can remember hearing in his life; here, the narrow passages between tables and stalls and craftsmen hunkered down on small, rough-spun rugs are teeming with Warframes and people alike. Someone cries out about knives and dashes of viridian, cerulean, the colors to make the eyes of a lover shine bright and brilliant. Another hoists a sliver of some sort of flesh for the Tenno to presumably appreciate, though the color of it is immediately off putting. People in bloodied aprons cry over people with sharp blades, and then the people with pottery and stoneware and small jeweled keepsakes join in the cacophony, loud as seabirds, louder than the sea itself.
It is alive in a way the Tenno cannot immediately parse. This small settlement persists at the very edge of a world that, for all the galaxy knows, no longer welcomes them. Yet still they smile and laugh and raise their hands to greet the metal-and-curse beings that mill amongst them, weapons of war with weapons of war strapped to their spines. Yet still they live.
It is unlike anything he can remember. It is too noisy and too wet and there is a smell, he realizes, of salt and animal blood and sweat and strange fruits and hearth-fire, a bouquet so strong compared to the sanitized and recycled nothing of his vessel that he genuinely fears it will imprint upon and stain his senses permanently, that anything and everything forever more shall be overpowered by the smell of Cetus.
Another Tenno, cloaked in the form of a Rhino, gently buffets him aside. He tracks their form to a narrow stall near the center of the thickest part of the markets, where a young human is masked in the crude but unmistakable affectation of a Trinity. Behind them, rows of other masks are loosely hung upon a rack, where the Tenno can recognize Volts and Mags and something else, bulbous about the brow like some deep sea fish. The Rhino gestures, says something the Tenno cannot hear, something that makes the young stall-keeper laugh bright and loud and shameless.
There are worse smells, the Tenno decides then, watching small, delicate things pass between hands both living and false. The Rhino holds a Volt mask with care, as though it were still a living thing and not just carved from formerly living things. There are worse smells, the Tenno decides, than salt and sea and life.
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