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For the whole month of June, get 15% off on all Pride Patches on my shop. Be Gay, Be Punk.

https://purpleelffiberarts.etsy.com

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How I got into MTG...

Funny story, we bought 8 booster boxes and I never once saw the extended or full art cards for Balthier and Fran. I sure as hell ordered them as singles, however. On the flipside we did pull a bunch of other stuff I was after and figured I'd share some of the fun pulls we managed.

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My gorgeous beautiful witch wife Y'shtola

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Your ship. Your radio station. Your rules.

You're flyin' with Blink 'n her misfit crew and you can't hear a DAMN thing over the tunes and bass blasting from the ship's speaker system.

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the flesh in the fruit and the blood in the wine

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Someone said she’s pretty 💕

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My favourite Disney princess~ ✨❤️

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Field medic

aetherweaver

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A silly add

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-- a release of tension.

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Bird from Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn

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6/11/25

Are there any other games you have put your wol(oc) into?

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What is your favorite physical feature of your WoL?

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While she did prefer the coffee made at home, Seifer wasn't entirely wrong.

...which of course she only begrudgingly admitted.

The coffee was good.

...but she'd hold off on passing judgement until she tried the mint dessert.

Anna and Seifer snuck into The Fireside for coffee and dessert, because they can't commit to making any possible business connections without knowing if the Scholar's Staple coffee would be worth ordering.

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CONTENT WARNING: Hallucinations, depression, miscarriage, death of a partner & spouse, grief & loss depiction, military themes AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not, by any stretch, a happy drabble as it comes from one of the darkest periods of Blink's life. Its part of why I chose to write it in first person, so you could really feel her perspective when it came to these events. Even my old writing partner who was the pen behind Das/Judas wrote 'Wow. From Blink's perspective Das is a monster.' And from this period of perspective, they're not wrong. In the midst of being mentally manipulated, Das was 100% her boogeyman and I wanted to portray that accurately.

"This isn't a mistake— it’s a pattern, Soldier."  My own low toned words hung in the air, sharp and brittle as shards of ice, each gravelly syllable a calculated strike against my subordinate's composure.  I could feel his white, cold gaze, a glacial weight upon my back, emanating from behind.  I didn't need, nor did I particularly care to spare a glance over my shoulder; the weight alone told me everything.  I knew, with a certainty which chilled me more than winter in Illsabard, that his glower was boring into my very soul, dissecting my thoughts with tactical precision, just like my Husband before him.  To turn and look now would be to invite a deeper level of scrutiny, to acknowledge the power he held over me, and I was not willing to concede that victory.

If I looked now, I might see him— not just the subordinate, physically standing a respectful, yet unsettling, distance behind me— but the manifestation, the grotesque embodiment of my Husband’s spirit.  Das had been twisting the familiar sound of my own footsteps, haunting every mirror, every reflective surface upon which I cast my mismatched gaze.  His singular white eye haunted my reflection, a wicked visage born of my own insecurities and failures, always there, lurking just beneath the surface of reality.  He whispered temptations, urging me deeper toward the abyss.  Each glance into a window, each polished surface, encouraged violence, a dark solution to every problem, a seductive siren call in the tempest of my doubts.  He was a constant presence, a relentless pressure, and I felt myself teetering on the edge of giving in to his malevolent influence.

I cannot pinpoint the precise moment, the exact precipice where his thoughts began to mingle with my own, where his inner monologue seeped into the very fabric of my being.  It could have been amidst the claustrophobic corridors of that godforsaken void ship, a vessel that seemed to exist outside the realm of natural law, its cold walls echoing with unspoken terrors.  Or perhaps, now in the insidious merging occurring amidst the oppressive decay and stagnant rot of the 13th, a place where time itself seemed to fester and putrefy.  But one thing is starkly, terrifyingly clear: for what has felt like an eternity, his voice was not just an echo in my mind, but an inextricable part of my own.

When I tried to sleep, a child's wail, utterly out of place in the nocturnal stillness, would tear through the fabric of my missing dreams.  It was a jagged sound that instantly banished any semblance of rest, quickly draining me of my sanity after just a week of torment.  It was a sound that echoed not merely in the decaying air, but within the hollow chambers of my heart, resonating with a pain too familiar, too raw. The high-pitched sobs, thin and reedy, spoke of twins- two lives that had flickered briefly within me, only to be extinguished by grief before they truly began.  Two tiny souls I had yearned to cradle, to nurture, but who I was destined never to hold. My body, once a vessel of life, now felt like a barren wasteland, ravaged by some unseen blight.

While others might find solace in grief, allowing the tears to flow and the sorrow to ease, such luxuries were denied to me.  My path was a different one, a harsh and unforgiving terrain where sentimentality was a weakness I could ill afford among the horrors of voidsent.  Instead I was compelled to steel myself against the emotional onslaught, to push down the rising tide of despair, and to force my weary bones to continue on.  The hell I now inhabited was only partially imposed upon me by external force, but also happened to be a creation of my own making, a twisted labyrinth of circumstance and consequence from which there seemed no escape.  There was no turning back, no undoing the past.  Only the grim resolve to endure, to navigate the darkness, and to somehow, some way, find a way to weather the storm and free myself from the cold white one eyed judgement of their Father's ghost.

I had to remind myself the subordinate, physically standing a respectful, yet unsettling, distance behind me— was not the manifestation of Das.  I took a deep breath.

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WIP sneak peek!

Another Sharlayan-themed build for an apartment that I made, featuring Butters the corgi.

I'll post full photos later today!

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junelezen day ten - boat