Drawin Lucipher, the Fallen One...
cherry valley forever
Keni
Show & Tell
Monterey Bay Aquarium
occasionally subtle
Acquired Stardust
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

Andulka
Peter Solarz

No title available
Stranger Things
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Claire Keane
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
AnasAbdin
taylor price
trying on a metaphor

Janaina Medeiros

shark vs the universe
hello vonnie
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@sy666th
Drawin Lucipher, the Fallen One...
Great night yesterday in Rome.
The day was not so fantastic (same boring work, you know), but in the evening I enjoyed a show of Eponymous, maybe the best Ghost tribute in Italy.
Thank you, guys!
Quick portrait of bearded man.
B2 pencil
I'm enjoying my new hobby. My second portrait, pencil and charcoal. If you recognize him, we'll, I did a good work.
A Ghost Story - Capitolo 12 - l'eterno ritorno
Summary:
Terzo è arrivato a casa: sua madre lo ha accolto senza troppe cerimonie. Sono cambiate tante cose, ma in fondo tutto è rimasto uguale. Ora è tempo di godersi la tranquilla sicurezza della famiglia. Sapendo che un'oscura minaccia sta già arrivando a rovinare quel momento di pace.
Chapter Text
Insomma, di tutto quel chiacchiericcio aveva capito che Nireth era un aspirante hacker, un bravo pianista e tastierista, un discreto giocatore di basket nella squadra della scuola, col ruolo di playmaker. Non era sicuro di cosa facesse un playmaker: lui non aveva mai praticato sport di squadra; l’altezza lo aveva sempre penalizzato. Gli avevano proposto di tentare l’equitazione, che in effetti gli era piaciuta ed aveva fatto anche qualche gara al trotto. Ma non si era mai impegnato veramente, andare a cavallo era per lui un piacevole passatempo e basta. No, decisamente lo sport non era mai stato un aspetto importante della sua vita. Nireth invece sembrava molto ben inserito nella squadra; in camera aveva un sacco di foto con i compagni e gli allenatori. Era un ragazzo intelligente, allegro pure se un po’ caotico e probabilmente molto timido, ma lo mascherava bene con la parlantina. Parlava già benissimo italiano, inglese, francese arabo, e stava imparando il turco. La passione di sua madre per le lingue era arrivata a tutti i suoi discendenti. Aveva salutato il ragazzo dalla terrazzina mentre saliva in macchina con Amir per andare a scuola. Poi era rientrato dentro, non era troppo freddo ma il vento era davvero sgradevole. Si decise a sistemare le sue cose nelle stanze: il bagno era bello davvero, e non aveva dubbi che fosse opera di sua madre: l’acqua era il loro elemento. Il delicato profumo di gelsomino ed arancio gli ricordava la vecchia casa. Di sicuro nel giardino c’erano degli aranci, dei limoni e delle pareti di gelsomini che avrebbero diffuso il loro profumo in primavera. Non doveva mancare molto; era la fine di gennaio, presto avrebbero festeggiato il Giorno del Cambiamento: la Festa delle Luci, coi grandi Fuochi per chiamare l’allungarsi delle giornate e respirare la fine dell’inverno. Ci sarebbero stati riti di Acqua e di Fuoco, cibo e bevande inebrianti, musica forte e danze scatenate. Aprire la seconda valigia fu un piccolo trauma: l’odore di morte di cui era impregnata la tunica nera e viola con cui era stato imbalsamato si era diffuso dappertutto: portò la valigia in terrazza, indeciso su come procedere: doveva far lavare tutto. Nel frattempo, avrebbe tenuto fuori le sue cose, sperando il vento non si portasse via quei ricordi preziosi. Sistemò con cura gli abiti all’aperto, protetti dalle intemperie. Quando rientrò nell’appartamentino, sua madre era al centro del soggiorno. Aveva preso forma completamente umana, ed appariva regale ed incuriosita. “allora, piccino mio, ti piace?”
Capitolo completo in AO3
A Ghost Story - Chapter 12 - The Eternal Return
Summary:
Terzo has arrived home: his mother welcomed him without much fanfare. Many things have changed, but deep down, everything has remained the same. Now it’s time to enjoy the quiet security of family life. Knowing that a dark threat is already on its way to shatter that moment of peace.
In short, from all that chatter, he’d gathered that Nireth was an aspiring hacker, a talented pianist and keyboardist, and a decent basketball player on the school team, playing point guard. He wasn’t sure what a point guard actually did; he’d never played team sports himself—his height had always held him back. They’d suggested he try horseback riding, which he’d actually enjoyed, and he’d even competed in a few trotting races. But he’d never really committed to it; riding was just a pleasant pastime for him, nothing more. No, sports had definitely never been an important part of his life. Nireth, on the other hand, seemed very well integrated into the team: his room was full of photos with his teammates and coaches. He was a smart, cheerful boy, even if a bit chaotic and probably very shy, but he masked it well with his chattiness. He already spoke Italian, English, French, and Arabic very well, and was learning Turkish. His mother’s passion for languages had been passed down to all her descendants. He had waved to the boy from the small terrace as he got into the car with Amir to go to school. Then he went back inside; it wasn’t too cold, but the wind was truly unpleasant. He decided to unpack his things in the rooms: the bathroom was truly beautiful, and he had no doubt it was his mother’s project —water was their element. The delicate scent of jasmine and orange reminded him of the old house. Surely there were orange and lemon trees in the garden, along with walls of jasmine that would release their scent in the spring. It couldn’t be long now: it was late January, and soon they would celebrate the Day of Change—the Festival of Lights—with great bonfires to welcome the lengthening days and breathe in the end of winter. There would be rituals of Water and Fire, food and intoxicating drinks, loud music, and wild dancing. Opening the second suitcase was a minor trauma: the smell of death that permeated the black and purple suit in which he had been embalmed had spread everywhere. He carried the suitcase out to the terrace, unsure of what to do next; he would have to have everything washed. In the meantime, he would keep his things outside, hoping the wind wouldn’t carry away those precious memories. He carefully arranged the clothes outdoors, protected from the elements. When he returned to the small apartment, his mother was standing in the center of the living room. She had taken on a completely human form and looked regal and curious. “Well, my little one, do you like it?”
Full chapter in AO3
My first life class!
So difficult, but I like it
Red chalk and HB pencil
Thank You!
Some very good news
Trump officials likely violated Francesca Albanese’s rights by imposing measures after she criticized Israel, says judge
Still working on Robert Mapplethorpe portrait...
No, I'm not going to watch Eurovision 2026: no support for genocide state of Isra-hell.
(By the way, the italian song is simply horrible....but this is not the problem)
So people: end of the work. My David Gilmoure pencil portrait is finished. Considering is the second portrait I made, I'm really satisfied.
Now I've just started a portrait based on a Robert Mapplethorpe famous Pic.
Let's see...
Still working on the comix based on "A Ghost Story".
Thanks to Vanessa for the artwork;, the project is taking shape and I'm really enjoining it.
We'll see the final result.
Panel from the fourth episode, in progress.
And so here I am. Back home in a somewhat dramatic way, but still back after 4 months. With a bitter taste in my mouth, this time perhaps more than other times…. But anyway, coming home is always a pleasure. Just enough time to understand that I was back, and ready to leave again…but this time not for work. This time for one of life's small great pleasures: A Ghost Ritual. Milan, Unipol Arena, May 4, 2025. What a night! I only have a few photos of the exhibition, it was not allowed to photograph the concert. I didn't know the new songs yet, but it doesn't matter, I'll have time. For one night I left everything behind and let myself be carried away by the music. Thank you, Ghost. See you soon, I hope, Palestine.
L'Ombra della Sera (The Evening Shadow)
Volterra in Etruscan times, known as Velathri, was one of the most important centers in northern Etruria. Its hilltop location overlooking the Cecina Valley made it naturally fortified and strategically positioned to control the surrounding land and trade routes.
Already inhabited during the Villanovan period (9th–8th century BC), Volterra fully developed between the 7th and 4th centuries BC, becoming part of the Etruscan League, a group of twelve city-states that included Tarquinia and Cerveteri. During this time, the city grew prosperous thanks to agriculture, livestock, and especially the exploitation of local mineral resources.
One of the most distinctive features of Etruscan Volterra is its alabaster craftsmanship. This soft, luminous stone was carved into funerary urns, statues, and decorative objects. Many of these works are now preserved in the Guarnacci Etruscan Museum, a key institution for understanding the ancient city.
From an urban and defensive standpoint, impressive sections of the Etruscan walls still survive today, built from massive stone blocks. One of the most striking examples is the Porta all’Arco, a monumental gate from the 4th century BC that remains remarkably well preserved and is decorated with three carved heads, likely with a protective or religious meaning.
The society of Velathri was aristocratic and deeply connected to funerary rituals. Its necropolises, with richly decorated tombs and sculpted urns, reflect a complex view of the afterlife. It is within this cultural context that the “Shadow of the Evening” was created, with its mysterious and symbolic character.
With the expansion of Rome, Volterra was gradually absorbed into the Roman world between the 4th and 3rd centuries BC, though it retained elements of its Etruscan identity for a long time.
Volterra today is a small Tuscan town that has preserved its medieval character, with stone streets, historic buildings, and ancient walls. It’s known for its alabaster craftsmanship, cultural tourism, and its strong connection to its Etruscan past, which remains a central part of its identity.
A Museo Etrusco Guarnacci, when the last visitors had gone and the lights softened into a dim, amber glow, the little bronze figure stood alone in its glass case.
The Ombra della sera had watched centuries pass without moving. It did not sleep, because it did not need to. It remembered.
It remembered Velathri, the ancient Volterra, when the city’s walls were new and the wind carried the scent of earth and fire from the kilns. It remembered the artisan who shaped it—hands steady, eyes intent—stretching the body into that impossible length. Not a mistake, not a whim: a vision. “You are not a man,” the artisan had whispered while polishing the bronze. “You are what remains of a man.”
At dusk, the artisan had held the figure up against the fading light. The shadow cast on the wall was long, thin, almost endless. That was when the name was born.
For a time, the statuette had stood in a sanctuary, an offering between the human and the divine. People came, murmuring prayers. They saw in its form something they could not quite explain—something between presence and absence. A body, yes, but also a trace.
Then came change. The world shifted, as it always does. Rome grew powerful, and Velathri became something else. The statuette was moved, forgotten, buried. Darkness settled over it—not the gentle darkness of evening, but the long, heavy sleep of earth.
Centuries passed.
When it emerged again, it no longer belonged to a single pair of hands or a single belief. It belonged to history. To memory. To curiosity.
Now it stood in the museum, behind glass, observed instead of worshipped.
But something had not changed.
One evening, a young woman lingered longer than the others. She had wandered through the rooms of the museum, past urns and faces carved in stone, until she found herself standing before the elongated figure.
She tilted her head.
“It looks… modern,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
The room was silent. Outside, beyond the walls of the museum, the modern town of Volterra moved in its usual rhythm—cars passing, voices echoing through narrow streets, lights flickering on as the sun disappeared behind the hills.
The woman stepped closer. In the glass, she saw her reflection overlapping with the thin bronze figure. For a moment, the two shapes aligned—her living form and that stretched, ancient one.
And in that instant, something subtle shifted.
Not movement, not truly. But a recognition.
The statuette had seen this before—not her, specifically, but this feeling. The moment when a living person recognizes themselves in something impossibly distant. The same question, repeated across millennia:
What remains of us, when time stretches us into shadows?
The woman smiled faintly, as if she had found an answer she couldn’t quite put into words. Then she turned and left.
The lights dimmed further.
Night settled over Volterra.
And the Ombra della sera remained, as it always had— a bridge between the Etruscan city it once knew and the modern one that surrounds it now, a silent figure, endlessly stretched between past and present, like a shadow that never quite disappears.
I'm still working on my David Gilmour portrait. I changed a lot of things. I think I only need to add some dark shadows on the left side and work better the hair. Very satisfied
A Ghost Story: episodio 11 - qualcosa non torna.
Summary:
Si cambia nella vita: Peter "Perpetua" Cardinale ha appena scoperto che l'idea di diventare padre (biologico) non è per niente male. Terzo/Djer Emeritus che tornare nella sua decisamente inconsueta famiglia può essere difficile. Mentre il povero Anthony "Cardi" Cardinale è nella confusione più totale, ma ha due certezze: Che diventerà Papa Emeritus IV nonostante tutto e che tutti gli stanno nascondendo troppe cose. Ed è arrivato il momento di chiedere spiegazioni.
“ Cardi, ma dove sei finito?”. Zia Marika sembrava abbastanza preoccupata. “Sei sparito senza dire nulla, al ministero ti stanno cercando tutti. Stai bene? E’ successo qualcosa? Fatti vivo appena puoi, ci sono un sacco di cose da fare” Aveva saltato due giorni di prove ed un’intervista. Aveva tenuto il telefono spento fino a quel momento. Era profondamente scosso e non sapeva assolutamente come muoversi, cosa fare…ma sapeva di non voler tornare al Ministero, perlomeno non di notte. Ma anche di giorno non si sarebbe sentito tranquillo. Doveva assolutamente capire cosa era successo a Terzo. Anzi, al suo cadavere. Ammesso che fosse davvero un cadavere, ed a quel punto aveva molti dubbi in proposito. Chi poteva aiutarlo? Semat era sparita, i suoi zii avevano sempre mantenuto uno stranissimo riserbo su quel ramo della famiglia. Sister Imperator non voleva neanche se ne parlasse. E Papa Nihil ogni volta faceva finta di non capire e cambiava argomento. Beh, di sicuro tutti sapevano, anche se nessuno parlava. “Zia Marika? Ciao, scusami, come stai?” - “Cardi, ma dove sei finito? Che è successo? Sei sparito come un fantasma, ti stiamo cercando tutti!” “Lo so, scusatemi, ho avuto una….piccola …crisi. Non sono stato bene…Ma adesso va meglio” Le parole facevano fatica ad uscire. “Dove sei, ti veniamo a prendere” “Non importa, non sono lontano. Io…prendo un taxi. Ci vediamo al Ministero” Non aveva nessuna voglia di tornare lì, ma doveva farsi forza se voleva risolvere la situazione. Al suo arrivo c’era un vero comitato d’accoglienza ad aspettarlo: tutti schierati come fans davanti ad una venue. Non disse assolutamente nulla, scese dal taxi, prese la sua borsa e si limitò a salutare. Si diresse nella sua stanza, seguito dalla strana processione. “Io…Scusate se sono sparito. Dovevo…riflettere” Lo guardavano tutti con aria incerta. C’era preoccupazione, curiosità, ansia, stupore… “Sister Marian, buongiorno! Com’è il programma di oggi? Prove e costumista, giusto? Datemi … mezz’ora e scendo” Si chiuse a chiave la porta dietro e cominciò a sistemare con calma le sue cose. Quasi subito bussarono alla porta “Apri Cardi, sono la zia Marika” Aveva un’aria fra il preoccupato e l’infuriato. “Si può sapere cosa hai combinato?” “Senti Zia…mi sono spaventato. Lo sai che sono sbucati dal nulla Semat e suo figlio, vero? Hanno trascorso la notte nella cripta ed è sparito Terzo! Io non voglio restare qui finché non salta fuori quel morto. E non penso neanche sia morto, a dirla tutta”. “Ma dai, sono morti tutti da 2 anni, che te ne importa se è sparito un cadavere? Lo avranno preso per seppellirlo, insomma, che importanza ha?” “Sai benissimo che non è vero!” Gli era successo ben poche volte di alzare la voce in vita sua, e mai contro sua zia. Ne rimase impressionato anche lui. Marika lo guardava irritata e sconvolta. “Vuoi rinunciare a diventare Papa Emeritus IV?” “NO. E poi non mi chiamo neanche Emeritus. Loro erano Emeritus. Semat si chiama Emeritus. Non io”
Capitolo completo in AO3
Chapter 11: A Ghost Story: Something Doesn't Add Up.
Summary:
Life takes a turn: Peter “Perpetua” Cardinale has just discovered that the idea of becoming a (biological) father isn't so bad after all. Terzo/Djer Emeritus knows that returning to his decidedly unusual family can be difficult. Meanwhile, poor Anthony “Cardi” Cardinale is in a state of total confusion, but he’s certain of two things: that he’ll become Papa Emeritus IV no matter what, and that everyone is hiding too many things from him. And the time has come to demand answers.
“Cardi, where on earth have you been?” Aunt Marika sounded quite worried. “You disappeared without a word; everyone at the Ministry is looking for you. Are you okay? Did something happen? Get in touch as soon as you can—there’s a ton of work to be done.” He’d missed two days of rehearsals and an interview. He’d kept his phone turned off until then. He was deeply shaken and had absolutely no idea what to do or where to go… but he knew he didn’t want to go back to the Ministry, at least not at night. But even during the day, he wouldn’t feel safe. He absolutely had to figure out what had happened to Terzo. Or rather, to his corpse. Assuming it really was a corpse, and at that point he had serious doubts about it. Who could help him? Semat had disappeared, his aunt and uncle had always maintained a very strange secrecy about that branch of the family. Sister Imperator didn’t even want to talk about it. And Papa Nihil always pretended not to understand and changed the subject. Well, surely everyone knew, even if no one spoke of it. “Aunt Marika? Hi, sorry, how are you?” - “Cardi, where have you been? What happened? You vanished like a ghost; we’ve all been looking for you!” “I know, I’m sorry, I had a… little… crisis. I wasn’t feeling well… But I’m better now.” The words struggled to come out. “Where are you? We’ll come get you.” “It doesn’t matter, I’m not far. I…’ll take a taxi. See you at the Ministry.” He had no desire to go back there, but he had to pull himself together if he wanted to resolve the situation. When he arrived, a veritable welcoming committee was waiting for him: everyone lined up like fans outside a concert venue. He didn’t say a word; he got out of the taxi, grabbed his bag, and simply waved hello. He headed to his room, followed by the odd procession. “I… Sorry I disappeared. I needed… to think things over.” Everyone looked at him with uncertainty. There was concern, curiosity, anxiety, amazement… “Sister Marian, good morning! What’s the schedule for today? Rehearsals and the costume designer, right? Give me… half an hour and I’ll be down.” He locked the door behind him and began calmly sorting through his things. Almost immediately, there was a knock at the door. “Open up, Cardi, it’s Aunt Marika.” She looked somewhere between worried and furious. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into?” “Listen, Aunt… I got scared. You know Semat and her son just showed up out of nowhere, right? They spent the night in the crypt, and Terzo’s gone! I don’t want to stay here until that dead guy turns up. And to be honest, I don’t even think he’s dead.” “Come on, they’ve all been dead for two years. What do you care if a corpse’s gone missing? They probably took it to bury it—I mean, what does it matter?” “You know very well that’s not true!” He had rarely raised his voice in his life, and never against his aunt. He was shocked by it himself. Marika looked at him, irritated and upset. “Do you want to give up becoming Papa Emeritus IV?” “NO. And besides, my name isn’t even Emeritus. They were Emeritus. Semat’s name is Emeritus. Not mine.”
Full chapter on AO3