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the casual lore drop that has been plaguing my brain for 4 years nonstop

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here’s the closeted furries “hey man… can u bum me a cig” and “the one uncle nobody invites to the family reunion but SOMEONE keeps telling him where it is anyways”

if you want an idea of what john is like, imagine hau from pokemon sumo

ALSO the ppl who kept asking me for trans thomas art, HERE he’s trans in this au (; 

ft John:

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 i tried to be funny and it backfired miserably

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Clearly getting a clear picture of Sylvia Drake is harder than it looks. This is as good as I can get it so here you go here Sylvia. I didn’t know what else to post. Not that I mind. It’s not all pixelated at least meaning around the figure.

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the door at the start of winterbane

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The Tomb of the Red King

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does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

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cyrus and sylvia drake

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sensory

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Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

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Happy plagueiversary

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THE WIGGLES JUST RELEASED A SONG CALLED “WE’RE FRIENDS OF DOROTHY”??????

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Analysis so bad you don't even know what it's talking about anymore.

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Showdown in Moosho!! Who wins myth or storm?

My new storm wizard just reached the same level as my myth wizard so I figured they could fight XD

[Image description: a digital painting of two child wizards. The wizard on the left has brown skin and is wearing yellow robes. The wizard on the right has light skin and purple robes. They both have blue hair. End description.]

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Fear and Hunger + Midsommar

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Kiai! For Bastion!

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entertaining the idea of a sylvia drake who started to love cyrus more than her husband in death

sylvia drake who told her husband that she wasn’t going to cheat her way back to health with necromancy, who insisted that she remain in bed and take time off and recover properly, fairly. 

sylvia drake who might have suffered endless sleepless nights of chills and delirium but was not so ill as to ignore her husband becoming disheveled, blue eyes starting to blacken with fatigue and forbidden dark magic. 

sylvia drake who realized there was not much she could do to stop him while bed bound and growing weaker every day, and screamed.

sylvia drake who weakly whispered to cyrus—the only other person who understood that her husband’s devotion was turning into obsession, cyrus, his brother, his keeper—to pull him back from the deep end, to burn that stupid book. 

sylvia drake who, after his efforts were futile, begged cyrus not to leave for too long, don’t go, don’t leave me with him, please, i love him, but he frightens me so.

sylvia who grew to fear her husband more than any cold, plague, or cancer.

sylvia who asks cyrus to take her away, carry her to his home on cyclops lane, away from the dizzying aroma of failed potions, salves, and balms, from the chill of death magic left in her husband’s footsteps. i don’t want to die here. you have always been a soldier, through and through; fight for me, even if that means saving me from my own lover. 

sylvia drake who closes her eyes and prays to raven and spider that this really is the end.

sylvia drake who, when yanked back into the world of the living by the man she once loved—whom she trusted with her mind, body, and spirit, who raised and morphed and mutilated her into something else—reached a rotting hand towards her husband and wrapped her fingers around his throat without a moment’s hesitation. this is not how you cherish life. how dare you insult the school of magic i so adored and excelled in, the only thing i loved more in this world than you.

sylvia drake who, in the blazing heat of the decrepit drake family tomb, is torn between begging the young wizard for death and demanding to know where her husband is, so she may reap him to the other side with her, because isn’t that what he wanted? 

sylvia drake, who, once finally subdued and pacified, can feel the familiar comfort of an artist’s touch, how carefully cyrus captures her spirit within the knowledge crystal and holds it in his calloused hand, before tucking the very last remainder of her being into his robe’s breast pocket, close to his heart. thank heavens, it was you who came back for me. i forgive you for your cowardice. i know it’s not easy, spilling your own blood, but i had a feeling you’d do the right thing. 

sylvia drake, whose very last memory is of being released, of being let go by cyrus’s hand. we cannot keep the dead, but we can set them free, and that is the difference between a conjurer and a necromancer’s grief.