feelin super nostalgic; anyone still around?
Monterey Bay Aquarium

@theartofmadeline

Kaledo Art
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

Andulka
Jules of Nature

Product Placement
trying on a metaphor

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TVSTRANGERTHINGS

#extradirty
Cosimo Galluzzi

JBB: An Artblog!

Kiana Khansmith
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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wallacepolsom
sheepfilms
Misplaced Lens Cap

seen from Canada

seen from Saudi Arabia
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seen from Malaysia

seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Russia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from United States
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seen from South Korea
seen from United States

seen from T1

seen from United States
seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia
@besaidian
feelin super nostalgic; anyone still around?
come out to the sea, my love
Luca is a port at the southern tip of Spira’s main continent in Final Fantasy X and Final Fantasy X-2. Luca houses Spira’s only blitzball stadium, and is the home of the Luca Goers, one of the best teams in the league. It is the second largest city in Spira, after Bevelle.
final fantasy aesthetics; yuna & tidus’ instagrams
I doodled a yuna !!
Coming Home
His eyes are alive in every way that he is not. She hates his eyes. The veins around them look too much like roots. She wants to kill him all over again. She wants to tell him. She does not say a word. Seymour moves silently next to her, his footsteps lighter than the air itself, his robes not making a whisper, while her clunky combat boots stumble over themselves and her hair beads clack together.
She grips his clawlike hand tighter as he leads her–somewhere. She wants to stop the circulation that doesn’t exist. She wants to crush his roots under her feet as she dances for him. She doesn’t want to kill him, because that’s exactly what he wants her to do. That has always been what he wanted from her, and what he will always want from her. Oh, how he longs for it, the power that his death would give him. He desires that more than he has ever desired her.
“How will I dance for you?” she asks. She could make her skirt flare out so her ankles would be exposed. She could toss her head back, heave her chest as he burst through her, exposing her ribs and her still beating heart to the dead grass of the Calm Land.
How long would her heart continue to beat before he tore it from her? Would he claw it, raw and bloody, from the empty cavern of her body? Would he shove it down his throat in one piece? Or would he cradle it in the palm of his hand, slicing it and eating it slowly, piece by piece?
Would he even touch it at all?
She would rather swallow glass before allowing him to swallow her heart whole.
Ever since Lady Yuna had slipped her delicate little fingers over his gnarled palm, he had felt the world begin to shift. See, she was the embodiment of something that Spira thought itself abundant in - Hope, a dancing ember glowing white that not anyone, not even he, wished to extinguish. A true hope, an earthly kind of hope whose boots made heavy steps across the ground, whose ankles were constantly caked in blood, whose hair was shining and tangled with sweat. Awkward in speech, stumbling and with a mastery of the forced smile, eyes that promised bitterness and heat and resolve, an ungraceful package, but a graceful experience. And just as she was hope, he was Spira’s tragedy. Not that he wished to dwell on those kinds of thoughts, but he found it amusing - the way their fingers interlocked, his hands like twisted, thorned stems, and hers so small that they practically disappeared within his cage. Hope suffocated by a tragedy, is that what her Guardians would be thinking of them? A shame, they knew not of the shared callouses that they each shared, scars that shot through them both, a great tangle that breathed and ached beneath their surfaces. Now, that was enough of thinking. Lady Yuna seemed to think so too, her words lashing him. “For me?” He asks, sounding hurt. “Lady Yuna… Please, dance as only you would. If it is pleasure you wish to give me, then do only what you desire.” Liar, liar, and yet not entirely untrue. Even though he had forced her here, tugged her hand and made her undo him with those aching little fingers, made her taste his soul as it fragmented and died upon the air - all things were best, always best, when it crackled from her own flame. Little tiny sparks of hope, setting the dead tangle of roots inside of him alight. “… Are you thinking of our final dance?” He asks, Gagazet looming behind them, a tumor of dark caves pulsing and pushing and breathing before them. Not long, not long until the end. He tilts his head, and looks at her. “How many times have you danced for the dead, Yuna? Will it be a relief, to finally dance yourself to death?”
Pleasure. The word, the way he reveres it, the way it rolls off his tongue, sickens her. She listens to the silver words coming out of his mouth, how many times have you danced for the dead, Yuna?
Not enough, she wants to say. You didn’t let me dance for Home. I should have danced for those who died in Home. You didn’t let me.
How many of the Al Bhed will turn into fiends? She could have saved them, could have brought them peace.
She must play her part. He must not get the reaction he desperately wishes for.
“It will be a relief to know that Spira has been saved,” she says, meeting his eyes, and narrowing her own. “My death is something that I accepted a long time ago.”
Whether it’s from dancing so much her ankles break, or from his aeon form ripping her inside out.
“Your relief will not be found in death,” she says. A snowflake lands in her eyelashes, she looks away and blinks until it melts. She does not drop her hand from his to wipe it away.
“Nothing pleasurable,” she spits out, “is found in death.”
Gaming Fangirl Challenge - 4/5 soundtracks
Final Fantasy X
FINAL FANTASY X + COLOR TABLE ;
Macalania by Lauryell
Hey, use that if we get separated. Then, I’ll come running, okay?
The dead need guidance.
inspired by The Hunger Games. and Rabbit Heart by Florence + The Machine.
Coming Home
His eyes are alive in every way that he is not. She hates his eyes. The veins around them look too much like roots. She wants to kill him all over again. She wants to tell him. She does not say a word. Seymour moves silently next to her, his footsteps lighter than the air itself, his robes not making a whisper, while her clunky combat boots stumble over themselves and her hair beads clack together.
She grips his clawlike hand tighter as he leads her--somewhere. She wants to stop the circulation that doesn’t exist. She wants to crush his roots under her feet as she dances for him. She doesn’t want to kill him, because that’s exactly what he wants her to do. That has always been what he wanted from her, and what he will always want from her. Oh, how he longs for it, the power that his death would give him. He desires that more than he has ever desired her.
“How will I dance for you?” she asks. She could make her skirt flare out so her ankles would be exposed. She could toss her head back, heave her chest as he burst through her, exposing her ribs and her still beating heart to the dead grass of the Calm Land.
How long would her heart continue to beat before he tore it from her? Would he claw it, raw and bloody, from the empty cavern of her body? Would he shove it down his throat in one piece? Or would he cradle it in the palm of his hand, slicing it and eating it slowly, piece by piece?
Would he even touch it at all?
She would rather swallow glass before allowing him to swallow her heart whole.
//rolls in here and throws smooches
omg hello i miss you //catches them
You might as well just make it official that this blog and your Yuna muse is dead
hi that was rude af :)
You would play at marriage, just for a chance to send me?