#not arc related

[thetwofallenaskblog]

"Hahah...thats something similar to what happened...hahah...."

this happened to me in my first playthrough and i wanted to draw it for years

i can't be the only one this happened to, right ?

[egophiliac]

You can’t pick Lilia for this. But who is your other favorite short character in Twst?

I like the angry little king boy 🌹

[teh-inggris]

pvp civ nation...... this aint much but pls take my contribution for this series bc im going insane i love hate this man so much get him out of my head

[theidlespoon]

writer culture is creating a sunshine character and then making them go through so much trauma that they're unrecognisable

[ningadudexx]

born to be a sacrifice ^_^ forced to go wsg gang :3

without text

can you guys tell i rewatched a silent voice... festival scene got me like 😹😹😹😿😹😹😹😿😹😿😿😿😿😿😿

[hoofpeet]

An upside to they/them very abruptly being incorporated into the set of pronouns that I enjoy

[lyricalpiece]

[wasyago]

day 16482 of trying to figure out what color jay's magic is

[trauma-bot]

sin eater

[loxare]

On their wedding day, he put his hand to her cheek and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

He could have been correct, from an objective standpoint. Truly, she was one of the beauties in town. Her curls always in perfect order, her smile plump and joyous, her figure comely, even hidden modestly beneath clothing. From an objective standpoint, he was wrong, as nothing about beauty is objective, but none in the town would have disagreed with his assessment.

They spent several years together, in loving bliss. They built their house together, they planted their garden together, they grew together.

And then came the day that a hole in reality opened beneath him. Without thought, she jumped in after, a bare half second after he vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. The stars were different, and wrong. There was the wrong number of moons, and the sun was the wrong colour. But the worst, most egregious wrong was that he was not there next to her. This, she could not abide.

She had nothing to her name besides her labour, but that she had in abundance. She travelled, from town to town, trading hours of work for food and board. She taught herself to draw, and she drew her love. Over and over, she drew him. In the dirt, on walls, on her own clothes. Asking, always asking, if any had seen him. Eventually she acquired paper and ink, and drew her husband again. Her inquiries became easier, more frequent, although the answers never changed. For none had seen her love.

She learned many things as she travelled. She learned how to fix a carriage wheel. How to tend to livestock and how to weed a garden far larger than the one she had known. She learned to shape a bowl from clay and to chop timber and to carve wood. She learned to fight off brigands who would take from her her sparse money, her life, or worse.

She learned other things, about this place she was in. It was a place where many came, and few left. A nexus one called it. A refuse heap, another said. But the method of arrival was always the same. One moment in the familiar, the next falling into the strange. But the people were the same, for all that they were often of alien appearance. Some looked down upon her dirt covered hems and worn boots. Some ignored her. Most were willing to at least listen to her question, to look at her picture, so carefully drawn. To keep an eye out, and pass on a message should they find him.

Time passed, and passed, and passed. The world she came from did not have things such as magical crystals or soul mates or wizards, or if it did they had none of the power that those here did. Regardless, one town she stayed in recommended she find the local witch, for they specialized in red strings of fate.

And so she did. The witch gave her a bowl of stew and a comfortable chair, and then listened when she spoke, and looked carefully at the drawing. It was a different one. She had drawn many, over the years, as the old ones wore out, and as her skill increased. And the witch said that they did not know if he was indeed her soul mate, but if he was, then the red string of fate that they revealed would lead her right to him. She need only follow it.

It was not an easy ask. The witch wanted a blanket woven by her own hands in payment. And so she stayed in the town, longer than she had stayed anywhere. She traded her labour and her art for thick wool, and weaving lessons. It was near winter before she had a result she was pleased with, carefully folded in her arms to be presented to the witch. The blanket was unfolded immediately upon delivery, shaken out to its fullest extent. The blanket was scrutinized, for quality of the weave or for something else that she could not fathom. Finally, the witch nodded their head. They turned back to their cottage, moving to close the door. She protested, concerned about her end of the bargain, but needn’t have worried. For around her finger was tied a red string which hadn’t been there before. The end led off, through the woods.

And so she followed it. She followed it through fallen leaves. She followed it across rivers. She followed it through snowbanks and through melt waters and through hot summer sun. Finally, she followed it into a clearing on a mountain. And fell to her knees in despair. For in this clearing was nothing but moss, and the end of the string, fading into nothing.

She did not have long to weep however, as a hole in reality opened above her, and down he fell. Without thought, she moved to catch him.

He was just as he had been on the day she had left him. And as he opened his eyes, she suddenly felt ashamed. For he was here, perfect and whole and young. But it had been years and years for her. Her hair was frizzy and knotted. Her lips were thin, her hands were rough, and her figure both hard and flabby at once.

But he opened his eyes, and he called her name, and she nodded. And he smiled at her, and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

On a truly objective standpoint, he was incorrect. Both because beauty was not within the realm of objectivity, but also because there were many women who could be called more beautiful, subjectively.

But she also knew that he was speaking nothing but the honest truth. For he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. He loved her hair, frizzy as it was. He loved combing it free of knots, and helping her braid it in the mornings, and loved tucking flowers into it, to surprise her when she looked in the mirror. He loved her smile, and loved seeing it, and loved being the cause of it. He loved it when she spoke to him, when she told him of the things she had done, and what she had learned. He loved her art, even as he blushed darkly at being her only subject. She taught him what she knew, and delighted when he found particular pleasure in pottery. They travelled, to find a home that suited both of them. The first time she defended him from brigands had been a terrifying and yet exhilarating experience for them both.

And they built a house. With a room full of paper and clay. And a garden, and a loom. And always, forever, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

[melljam]

why does gitae look more related to shingen than gun does lol

[mikeslawyer]

never fails to piss me off how this fandom made steve into this huge lgbt ally, made him out to be practically perfect, forgot every bad thing he’s done in favour of his character development and yet seems to be simultaneously hating on jonathan.

jonathan, who has been the best older brother to will, a canonically queer character throughout the entire show, no matter what

jonathan, who understood what will was telling him in that one scene in s4 and told him that he knows and it’s okay and he loves him, always will love him

jonathan, who knows that will is in love with mike and has vowed himself to protect his younger brother from getting hurt because of it

but there is so much hate on jonathan, because god forbid a TEENAGER who’s been a glass child his whole life and practically has lived in fear of losing his whole family for the past four years - god forbid he smokes weed to cope with everything he’s been through, because - obviously - when he does, then ‘his character development has gone to shit’

so we can forgive steve for calling people homophobic slurs and still see him as a gay ally because he’s changed but we draw the line at an always canonical ally when he uses weed? yeah, okay

[nebulanightsky]

Life can be tough for some people

Characters from the Lux Comic belong to jakei

[kyasunn]

[taddymason]

ok i wasn't going to do this BUT

Some people in the fandom have the element of "independence" and Nya's phrase "I don't need anyone" SO attached to her as if any other trait contradicts her character.

Guys, Nya's vision is not OOC. That she shows concern for the whereabouts of her fiancé who she hasn't seen in years, and who could very well be dead or could have "moved on without her", is not out of character and even more so when her reaction to this is to instantly realize that it's fake, her fears always have to do with what is out of her control and this vision clearly emphasizes that.

Like, guys, do you really want "Nya is afraid of being normal / Nya is afraid of losing her powers 2.0"? Instead of showing us real vulnerability on Nya's part from irrational nightmares in which she ends up reacting with anger and denial? You want the character to remain static, and for her to have the same fears about herself as in season 11 when:

We've already seen that fear, so there's no point in presenting us with information we already know.

Nya ALREADY faced that fear. She sacrificed herself at the cost of losing her humanity, she returned and regained control of her powers. When you've been through something like this, it makes sense that your fears evolve.

I don't see anyone complaining about Lloyd's fears not being the same as those in s11 (and his fear also went from being something about himself to being afraid of disappointing someone else.) I'm sorry, but it doesn't make sense introduce a fear that won't make sense with the arc Nya will have this season with Jay's obvious amnesia. Nya showing vulnerability/concern for someone so important to her does not make her any less independent.

[lunarharp]

impromptu comic about agott and her art