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Three Goblin Art
taylor price
Misplaced Lens Cap
Show & Tell
One Nice Bug Per Day
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
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blake kathryn
hello vonnie
Claire Keane

Love Begins
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wallacepolsom
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

roma★
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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@allasticus
Death and Shadow
You know Death, yes? I know it well... Tell me what you know... ------------ It stood. Shrouded in shade and soft leathers, its face concealed within the jewelled city, staring ominously at the portal that writhed in the shackles of the Void. The Voidstorm. Heralded as the land of the enemy, but to him it was home. It was freedom of both shell and disguise. The first step was taken. ------------ TELL ME It is a thread being cut. A journey all must take. It is pain. It is releas. Some coin it freedom from the burdens of this world. Others call it a bringer of dread. It is inescapable and...it hurts... gods it hurts. ------------
A breath, short and hitched, is taken as the maw of the Void grew ready to swallow him whole and bring him home. ------------ It is like a punch from a giant's fist. Relentlessly beating you with knuckles of anguish... pounding... punching... forcing your submission. Forcing your emotions to crack and break until you drown in a sea of despair. And when the beating is done. The bruises linger forevermore. You feel them, feel their memory, feel the hole that is left in their wake. Then desperation... desperation to cling to joy that life ushered before death took it... even when that life is gone. You claw and scrape, trying to find purchase in whatever minuscule thread of comfort you can find. Sometimes you find it. Sometimes you drown.... And you? I drown every day. I always fucking drown. I claw and reach for the river's edge, but another blow is struck, and I'm swept away. I'm consumed. Don't worry dear one... I will offer you a rope. I will offer you peace. -------------
Cloak and shadow did not follow him.... they welcomed him.
They unfurled like reverent hands as his final step carried him through the threshold, folding around his form with intimate precision. The portal did not consume him. It recognized him… and parted.
Darkness took him in its grasp, deep and endless... but he did not vanish within it.
He settled into it.
And as the void closed, sealing him from the Light, a smile lingered.... sharp, knowing, and entirely at home in the dark.
Babs Webb, “Awakening the Beyond,” 2026
illustration to ‘Witchcraft for Wayward Girls’ by Grady Hendrix
source
W̵̡̱͇̦̙͖̘̩̉r̶̩̦̘̙̼͔̼̔̆̏̄̒̽́͊ë̵̯͓́͆̅ţ̷̣̮͉̟͇͎̠̑̆̅̋̋͒̆̇̄̎c̵̨͚̻̺̹̝͖̼̈͐̋͆̾̽̅h̶̡̞̪͖̹̿̀̈̃̔͛͋́e̵͉̫̼̰̹͔̬̬͂́̆̚ͅd̶̡̯̜͇̬̫̓̄̌̐̆̈́ ̶̧͓̗͇̭͂̓̿̄͒͑̾͠S̴̪͙̗̳̯͛͋̑̈̚͘h̷̫͙̜̪̭̹̿́̄̄͛͂͜ḛ̵̛͎͍̹͐́l̸̛̩̰͇̦̫͈͉̦̏̂̌̈́̎l̶̫͍͖̼̦̰͓̎̾͋̀̈́̀͛̆͘.̴̡̰̣̼͂͊͂̔͆͐̉͋ ̷̬̣̔̽͂̂̎͑́̚͝ ̷̡̛̗̏̇̄͐͒̏Ú̵̢̢̡̹̳̣͑̊̕͘ś̸̳̎͂͒̂͠e̸̹͙̠͈̘̙͍͉̊̌̍͛͝͝l̵̡͍̺͌̿ȅ̶͚̰̻͈͛̓̒͌͐̕͝͠͠s̶̢̡̗͖͚̣̎̐̉̍͘ͅs̶̼̩̹͒̐̒̒̈.̵̢̞̜͓̲͇̓̃̈̚ͅͅ ̷̲̀̾̏̾̏̀̂̍͝ ̷̘̥͇̳̩̰̻̒̌W̵̱͕̲̰̆ḙ̸̭̆́͋a̷̭͐̚k̴̘̤͔͚̲̟̮̼͉͌̈́̄̽̈̕͠ͅ.̸̡̳̻͂̑̏̇̾̃͝ͅ
Commission for the very lovely @themadamelioness
Featuring @grumpyoldfker
After ten years I feel like this is long overdue. Thank you @allasticus for sticking with me. <3
AHHHHHHHH!!!!
House Shadowglade
Before its fall, House Shadowglade owned many plantations and paper mills, though these successes in agriculture couldn’t account for their wealth alone. Public records leave only one inheritor after the Scourge invasion, the youngest daughter, Lillandyr Shadowglade. Typically, the line of succession was patriarchal, but her father had no sons that were not bastards.
Astalon Shadowglade
Served in several military tours, impeccable reputation in life, Astalon was viewed favorably by his peers and feared by his enemies. Under this facade of respectability, Astalon was obsessed with bloodlines, the occult, and destroying the rival House Dracone. This rivalry ultimately saw him sacrifice his own children to the Scourge. Status: undead
Itherra Shadowglade
Itherra Riversong was from a minor noble house and was arranged to be married to Astalon Shadowglade without having even met him. It was common knowledge their marriage was loveless. It was rumored she had gone mad before the Scourge invasion. Status: deceased
Eramyn Shadowglade
Eldest daughter of Itherra and Astalon. A fiery and tempestuous girl described as disruptive and willful. Openly defied her father to become a paladin. Refused her arranged marriage. It was rumored she was about to be disinherited before the Scourge invasion, Status: deceased
Nycassia Shadowglade
The jewel of her house, middle daughter Nycassia was elegant, noble and had impeccable manners. Obedient and proud of her House, she was well on her way to become a Magistrix. She was arranged to be wed to Lord Kazimir Dawnfire but this agreement was rendered obsolete when she was raised in undeath by the Scourge. Status: undead
Varistan Veyne Sunmourne
The last living, bastard son of Astalon Shadowglade. The only son he claims and acknowledges. It is rumored the playboy is his father’s favorite child…he certainly acts as though he is. Status: undead
Lillandyr Shadowglade
Not much is known about the youngest daughter. She was said to be shy and sheltered, always in the company of her mother. The real Lillandyr died in the Scourge invasion, but a con woman stole her identity. Status: deceased
Anya Silverbough
The second youngest bastard daughter of Astalon. Her mother, Emaleth, ran away while pregnant and Anya didn’t know who her father was until recent events. In a twist of fate she is the con woman who stole Lillandyr’s identity. Status: alive
Ahnariel Sunmourne
The youngest bastard daughter of Astalon and his chosen inheritor. She was raised by the family magician/tutor, Tristan Black. She is now engaged to Lord Kazimir Dawnfire. Status: alive
Mention: @draconecastle
Haven't seen you post much as of late (Not that I have room to talk mind lol), tell us, what's been going on?
First off, I appreciate this question, so thank you! I've been hit with a bit of writer's block, mostly due to the holidays and all the chaos that ensues with it. I have a loose roadmap on how I want the story of the Entity to progress, and I'm hoping to start piecing it together soon. However, the "desire" to write isn't there, though I'm sure that as things settle and I get more of a routine down, the creative juices will start flowing again. Thanks again Din <3 @dinthoqaf
by Benjamin König (sperber.illustrationen)
Raum's Embrace by MaddGorem
"Define monster." - @haela-balcyan
“Ÿ̶̙́̍̓̓͊͝o̶̧̼̥̓u̵͖̫̇̕.”
...and those like you.
...enemy and ally alike.”
The smile that touched his face was not cruel, but a distortion of shadow and void stretched across the borrowed shape of a fallen Warrior. Darkness breathed from him in slow, patient wisps.
“You ask what a monster is,” he said quietly. “It is not the claw, nor the hunger, nor the act itself. Those are merely expressions.”
A shadowy hand extended.
“Light…”
The other followed.
“Dark…”
He brought them together, palms meeting without force. “They are not opposites. They are methods. Languages spoken by the same impulse... the will to impose oneself upon the world.”
His gaze moved across them, unhurried. “The difference between you and what you fear is not nature, but permission. Most of you build rituals, doctrines, and virtues to delay the moment you must admit what you want. You call that restraint holiness.”
A faint, almost regretful curve touched his mouth. “I am what remains when the hesitation is gone. When the walls fall. When the question of should is finally exhausted.”
He leaned forward slightly. “A monster is not the one who embraces the beast within… but the one who pretends it does not exist.”
@haela-balcyan
Alfred Kubin (1877–1959), ???
from the book ‘Alfred Kubin, der Künstler und sein Werk’ by Hermann Esswein, 1911
source
The Crescendo
The book called to him.
Not with voice, nor memory, nor any mortal sense of recognition. It pulled. A pressure beneath thought, an insistence older than language, crept through the Vessel’s bones and guided his hand to the tome as though it were reclaiming something that had always belonged to it.
He opened it. The script unfurled across the page in elegant cruelty, each stroke of ink carved with the weight of a quill wielded like a scalpel. The letters looked less written and more excavated as though peeled from living flesh and pressed into parchment before the blood cooled.
The Entity read, and its world was consumed by the words it drank in. So absorbed was he that Lillandyr’s prattle washed over him like distant rain. Only when the tug reached him did he lift his gaze, watching as her projection condensed toward physical form.
His eyes traced the “dishevelled” woman only long enough to register the truth of her presence. A flicker of attention... nothing more. The page reclaimed him instantly.
But then he felt it. The Vessel’s threads were slackening. The seams fraying. A slow seep of weakness whispers through the cracks. He recognized the taste of unravelling. It was not death, nothing so merciful, but dissolution. Unmaking. The ancient shadow he was did not fear it, but it despised it.
That was enough.
He drew one last measure from the tome. Then he shut it. The crack of the cover striking home rang out like a gunshot in a cathedral.
He returned it to its place with ceremonial care, almost reverently, almost mockingly, and only then did he turn fully toward Lillandyr.
The path was clear. The Entity took the first step.
He moved with a sovereign grace, cloak trailing behind him like the wake of a great creature rising from dark waters. The smile that touched his mouth was riddled with eloquence and a touch of suggestion.
His gaze pinned her as though she were the lone point of light in a voided firmament.