The Goblin's Tarot has been lying in wait for over a year now. But the wait grows short. In July, this gorgeously illustrated deck is coming to life on Backerkit.
Artist @charminglyantiquated gave such a wealth of incredible art to populate our first, regular 78-card Tarot Deck! It will gleam in green foil, and is being priced lower than any other tarot in our collection!
We want this to be people's first tarot deck, people's next tarot deck, a tarot deck to buy to use with games that run on tarot, and more. Look out, this marks Publishing Goblin's first steps into finding a million more uses for tarot decks!
From Publishing Goblin, LLC - Get Ready for The Goblin's Tarot
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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(Public is fine!) Thank you so much for the new EP, I have been listening to it on repeat for the last week. The first time through a few different lines made me tear up out of nowhere. Your writing is so so beautiful, thank you so much for making such a Nice Thing in this Bad Time
god it is SUCH a bad time and i just feel like everyone should do whatever they want. make whatever you want. be whoever you want. the Times Are So Bad. you might as well, like, give into your indulgences when you can.
Feeling artsy and only had a few hours free time, so I finally dug up the pictures Iâve had on my camera since... december and edited them to post!
Iâm so, so happy to finally share it with you guys.
Papercraft based on this reimagined fairytales artwork, with kind permission from the artist, @charminglyantiquated. Go check out the rest of her art!
hey, did you know @charminglyantiquated makes this rad webcomic, and also it fills me with glee? If you like cool friendships, lampshaded fantasy tropes & stealth worldbuilding it is probably for you!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
 The Edge of Things churned with a blasting inferno, the fierce heat tearing through the roasting winds that engulfed the University.
 In a gust of slamming energy, the great and terrible Wyrm had breached the Edge. With pale amber eyes, small and sunken deep within her heavy reptilian head, she darted her gaze about the strange Elsewhere University- her new kingdom.
 The Wyrm was no stranger to new and unfamiliar cultures, and as a lifetime exceeding twelve millennia tended to exhaust any semblance of originality, the world of humans in 1953 was barely worth a second glance.
 Indeed, she could remember the magnificent bygone days of kings and emperors; mere human believing themselves to be descendants of her kind. Sacrifices were made to her and she was worshipped as a harbinger of storm and desolation. They would pray to her as an avatar of destruction, emulating her fury in their marches of conquest. Her wrath marched alongside those who despoiled, looted, ravaged, and burned. It had been glorious.
 She had brought despair to the Mycenaeans, razing that ancient bastion of innovation and prosperity, till the once great civilisation had crumbled into ash. The men of Francia had wept and cowered in their castles as she had devastated village after village. Generations of Northmen had dedicated their lives to pursuing the glory that would come with her death, and when they failed, they settled for carving her likeness onto the bows of their ships.
 It had been a while since the Wyrm had gazed upon the world of humans. If she thought back, she could recall the use of iron becoming very popular all of a sudden in the sparse human societies. Yes, some time after then, she had retreated deep Elsewhere.
 Looking about, it seemed like humans had made a few minor changes since that time.
 Shifting her thick armoured coils into a more comfortable position, the Wyrmâs head lowered and she narrowed her eyes at the Fae army that stood between her and the vast hoard that she coveted-absentmindedly crushing nearby walls and tables beneath her winding, twisting serpentine body.
 They had been a bothersome little people back in Ăire as well.
 The hearth had always been a link between human-kind and the Elsewhere, and a connection that primarily belonged to her. Scavengers like the Fair Folk had been keen on using that link, whispering to any human willing to bargain with the flames. She had often had to flex her power to get them to stop, hissing through the hearth and watching, satisfied, as the Wee Folk crackled from the fire in fear.
 Unbeknownst to the Wyrm, things for the Gentry had changed drastically since old Ăire. No longer was every hearth, lake, or forest a soft spot that they could breach through and their territory nowadays was extremely limited. Fairy Hoards in particular were few in number and the Fae would viciously defend it from anything that threatened what little they had left. Even from a wyrm.
 But even if she had known, the Wyrm wouldnât have cared. She was an apex predator- the equivalent of a great white shark in the deep Elsewhere.
Her kind had no equal. The poor Fae wouldnât stand a chance against her wrath, and they would fall and they would scream before her, as she took all that she pleased. She would sleep and drink deep from the well of power that lay beneath the human building and nothing could stop her.
 Lengthy black spines, like thorns as long as spears, bristled along the mottled dark scales that ran across the Wyrmâs back, while her long belly was striped with pale creamy scales. Her vast body, wreathed with smaller horns and ridges, was hard with thick, powerful muscle that flexed as she steadily progressed toward the Fairy stronghold; half-slithering, half-prowling. Each step she took broke the concrete path and the pounding of her limbs reverberated into the roar of the storm, the sharp clack of lengthy talons echoed like lightning strikes- each claw the length of a car, and each tipped with a cruel, piercing point.
 As the Wyrm steadily moved toward the legion of Fae, more of their number fled in screeching terror. Yawning thunderheads enveloped the sky and the rippling hum of the airborne inferno blew though the campus, and as the Wyrm slowly bore down upon the remaining Gentry, one of their number stepped forward toward the gargantuan beast.
 The faery was tall and strong, with crooked horns protruding from its scalp and glittering spider silk wrapped about its shoulders. Three dark eyes flickered with fear, and the faery spoke in an ancient, alien tongue, crying out to the Wyrm.
 âWyrm, oh Wyrm,â shouted the horned fae, âof where, great Wyrm, hadst thou come?â
 The Wyrm paused, a mere 50 metres away from the Grand English Building. Her small, intelligent eyes narrowed in irritation and the golden tassel at the very end of her immense tail flicked and twitched, like a huge cat eager to pounce.
 Seeing the beast halt, the horned fae continued, raising its voice to be heard over the howl of the storm. âSay from whence thou came! Why hast thou come to our kingdom?â
 A deep sonorous rumble suddenly erupted from the Wrymâs maw. The Gentry flinched, as one, at the sound and the horned faeâs resolve shattered.
 It wanted desperately to run and hide itself from this terrible creature, to scuttle back into the relative safety of the Elsewhere, to flee from the scorching, fearful presence of the Wyrm. But it couldnât move. It was paralyzed with all-consuming terror. All its power and magnificence meant nothing in the face of such predatory might, and the horned fae could do nothing but tremble.
 The Wyrmâs coils shifted once more. Her muscular forelimbs pounded against the ground and her spines rattled threateningly as she slithered closer to the petrified fae. Her massive head curled downward and a long purple tongue flickered out from between her reptilian lips, relishing the sickly-sweet taste of fear that hung heavy the air. Her hackles rose and her body went taught in preparation to strike.
 âFoolish folk, oh fool! Whom art thou, little fool, to question me?â The Wyrm hissed, her voice a rasping mimic of speech that snarled past her jagged teeth and pulled back lips. âSay who thou art!â
 And the horned fae told the Wyrm its true name.
 Growling low with pleasure, the Wyrm inched even closer the helpless fairy.
 Though the horned fae was only a stoneâs throw away from the bulk of the Gentry army, none of them made a move to help. Instead, even more of their number fled, leaving only two dozen left to watch in horror as the Wyrm moved in to close the short distance between herself and the abandoned faery.
 âSuch feeble little folk,â purred the Wyrm, âSo small. Vain and vexing to mine desires. Thine hoard will be mine own. Mine to do with as I please!â She leaned down, even closer to the horned fae. So close she could almost touch the violet tears that streamed from the faeâs three eyes. âJust like you, little fool.â
 Her lips pulled back, revealing countless serrated teeth that dripped with bright-green saliva.
 âTurn to thine friends.â
 The horned fae turned around. An indescribable mask of anguish and terror looked out to the remains of the Fae army, and the horned fae wept, shuddering piteously.
 It could hear the Wyrmâs rumbling purr of sadistic delight. The enormous beastâs hot, stinging breath enveloped the horned faeâs senses.
 âTell those fools that thou do not wish to die,â hissed the Wyrm, âBeg.â
 âI donât want to die. Plea- â
 A resounding crunch of flesh and bone resonated through the howling storm, as the Wyrm slammed a huge clawed hand on top of the helpless faery. Convulsing, oozing limbs poked out from between her claws, spattering the concrete with starlight coloured blood.
 A moment passed as the Fae army simply gawked in shock; the Wyrm drinking in their fear, her eyes darting over those that stood before her.
 Abruptly, a gurgling shriek wailed out from beneath the massive limb and the others recoiled in horror. With a satisfied growl, the Wyrm clenched her talons to finish the job, her gaze still fixed upon the two dozen remaining Gentry.
 âDarâst thou die?â the Wyrm roared in challenge, her tail trashing violently, shattering apart wood and stone in her fury.
 For a moment, only the roar of the blazing winds and the gibbering moans of students in their dorms could be heard in the campus. Then, in one mighty voice, the Fae army howled over the storm, and charged against the terrible Wyrm with a thunderous war cry on their lips and hate burning in their eyes.
Like a whole bunch of other people, I saw @charminglyantiquated 's Elsewhere University Comic and got SUPER INSPIRED. And since sheâs so generously encouraging other people to play in her sandbox, I present âFeathersâ. Â EDIT : PART 2 HERE
You go to Elsewhere University. Youâve been going to Elsewhere University for (years and years and years and years) for three years now. You know how things are. Youâre not an RA, but⊠Mm, you could have been.
Might still be. Arenât yet.
This is your junior year (you think). You know how things are. You carry salt in one pocket, iron in another, trinkets to bargain away in your book bag, offerings in your purse, pearls around your neck.
(Pearls have no great stories attached to them that you know of, but your great grandmother wore pearls. Both your grandmothers wear pearls. Your mother wears pearls. Your aunts, your cousins, your sister, your niece. All the women in your family wear pearls.)
(Sometimes, when you go home, you think the only reason your family recognizes you is because you wear pearls.)
(Belief has its own sort of power, here. If you ever find yourself bargaining your pearls, you know you might just be bargaining bits of yourself.)
In your purse, you carry seeds, and nuts, and sweets, bits of bacon, squares of butter, packets of honey, of pepper (not salt!! Those go in your back pocket), or cream cheese, single serve tubs of creamer (in at least three flavors, ever since your first summer solstice). Your dorm raids the dining commons for condiments every Tuesday. Tuesdayâs are good for raids. Good for quests and adventures, too, but only if theyâre small. Itâs impossible for things to go too terribly wrong on tuesdays.
(Your first day enrolled at Elsewhere was a Tuesday. It was nearly fiveâoâclock, the sun was just going down, and you could hear things. Youâd turned, wide-eyed, pale-faced, to your RA, Jenna, who had rolled her too-bright eyes and said âItâs Tuesday,â and was so entirely unconcerned you had had to believe there was nothing to be concerned about.)
(Of course, a year later youâd found out that the real Jenna had been Away for over four years, whatever was wearing her face wasnât really her, and that Jenna wasnât even supposed to be an RA, to say nothing of whatever had replaced her. By then, though, The Tuesday Thing was a firm part of your dormâs understanding of How Things Work Around Here, and thus had become true-if only for the girls in your dorm- even if it hadnât been before.)
(You still wear your bra inside-out on raids. It hurts to wear your bras like this, underwire and straps biting into your skin, but there is power in sacrifice, and for all you wander, on Tuesdays youâre hardly ever lost.)
âŠYou also carry around the Complete Collection of Emily Dickinsonâs Poetry, but thatâs as much for you as it is for the crows.
The crows here like poetry, and even some music. Not metal, and not country, but folk, bluegrass, sure. Melancholy songs, or songs for battle. Lots of instruments with a single voice rising clear above. Your tastes mostly overlap, which is why you know this. They still like poetry best, but youâve charmed at least three with an only slightly off-key rendition of âIâll follow you into the darkâ.
Youâve named one crow (it allowed you to name it, more like, and the both of you know it) Barnes on account of it shows up- every time and without fail- whenever you hum along to âGlitter and Goldâ.
Youâre walking to the library, now, and Barnes is on your shoulder, bopping along and clacking its beak as you croon the lyrics. Barnes keeps impeccable time, youâve found.
(Youâve told Barnes this, and had to catch it when it fell from the branch, CRAWCAWCAW-ing its awful laugh at your pun.) (you woke up the next morning to feathers on your pillow. One good turn deserves another, and two years on you still wear them in you hair.)
âCorvus!â Not-Jenna calls out, and she means you. Corvus isnât your real name, of course not, but then again, Not-Jenna isnât Not-Jennaâs real name either. Real names, first names, True Names arenât things you share around here. Here, most people call you Corvus. To some, youâre Crow Girl, to others, youâre Feathers. To those of the Court, you are called Girl Who Sings to Crows.
(Youâd found yourself at a revel, last winter (these things happen) and had indeed been reveling (as was polite), when a hand (talon?) had caught your jaw. It tilted your chin up, and you looked up and up and up to black empty eyes set in skin the color you donât have words for, framed by hair that looked like the sound of feathers rustling. It laughed at your terror- rough, cracked laughter from a too-pretty throat- and asked you Girl Who Sings to Crows, will you sing to me? No fool you, you asked what a song was worth. A gift is a debt, and you want no debt between a member of the Court and yourself. It answered. You sang.)
(the next morning, you woke, safe in your bed, no memory past the first note to leave your lips, pearls still hanging âround your neck, and a second strand of pearls- black and grey and blue and so, so glossy (like feathers)- clutched inside your clenched fist, and you know each pearl is a song, is a favor, should you ever be brave enough to call one in) (you wear them tied around your left wrist, and it is as much a declaration as you are capable of making)
You slow down and wait for Not-Jenna to catch up. Every now and then, you wonder what she really is. You could find out, you suppose. Thereâs a girl called Cat-Eyes from dorm three that sells special sunglasses. Cat-Eyesâ glasses are for seeing the truth of things, but you canât ever unknown a truth. Maybe youâll look past Not-Jennaâs glamours when you leave Elsewhere, but for now you still have to live with her. Bliss and ignorance and all that.
âGood morning, Not-Jenna. Howâd that test go?â
(Not-Jenna likes being called Not-Jenna. She told you that it helped remind her who she was, who she was pretending to be. You figure Not-Jennaâs ânotâ is similar to your pearls. You didnât tell her about your pearls, but from the way she looks at them sometimes you think she already knows.)
âOh, just horribly. Itâs a good thing the professor offers extra credit, let me tell you!â
Youâre pretty sure Not-Jenna isnât actually enrolled in any classes, because she never give specifics. Itâs always âa paperâ, âthe test next weekâ, âthat one professorâ. In fact, youâve put money down that she just randomly shows up to take test and hand papers in to various classes and professors. Gambling aside, Not-Jenna is very good at pretending to be a person.
You hm, and offer, âWanna study with me and Barnes?â
She and Barnes eye each other.
âPsychology?â Not-Jenna queries, and you hum.
Barnes croaks âStanford Prisonâ at her, and Not-Jennaâs eyes light up. (More than usual, you mean). Not-Jenna has always liked hearing about the atrocities humans perpetuate upon each other.
âYouâve got that test in two weeks, Corvus, donât you?â She asks, considering.
âAnd a quiz this Tuesday,â you tell her. Not-Jenna nods, decided.
The librarian makes the âIâm watching youâ gesture at Barnes as the three of you head up to the third floor study rooms, and it fluffs its tail feathers at him.
â-
You go home for spring break. Your family waits for you past security, all warmth and smiles. Your mother sees you just fine (well, she looks at your neck before she looks you in the eye, but thatâs normal, now, and itâs not like your friends at Elsewhere donât do the same), but your sisterâs eyes catch and hold on the feathers in your hair.
Her brow is furrowed, and she reaches out to push a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
âDid you dye your hair?â she asks, âit looks darker now.â
âToo much time spent studying indoors, Sis, thatâs all.â You tell her, and she nods, still confused but willing to accept the lie.
Your father slings a heavy arm around your shoulders, his eyes bright and jovial (normal human bright, you mean. After Not-Jenna, even in your mind you find yourself clarifying âbright eyesâ) as he laughs.
âMy little girl, growing up at college. Studying inside!â He laughs. Itâs a normal human laugh, nothing rough or croaking about it. âThat place sure is changing you!â
You laugh along, smiling with him. You boarded the plane, went through the metal detectors, all of security just fine. You can still wear your metal earrings. You can still lie.
Walking out to the car, you trip, fall behind.
Your sister calls out, âCâmon, Feathers, keep up!â and you heart stops. Your family, your blood kin, these, of all people, these people should know your Name. They shouldnât know to call you otherwise.
âWhat did you call me?â You ask, intent. (this is against the rules. you donât call attention to things like this, not at Elsewhere. but youâre not at Elsewhere, and still the pearls looped around your left wrist, when they clack-clack-clack together it sounds like caw-caw-caw. it sounds like laughter)
âWhat are you talking about? I called you by your name.â
You can hear the lack of capitalization.
â
Spring Break passes slowly, so slowly, and every relative, every friend, calls you by the nicknames youâve picked up at Elsewhere. If you were smart, youâd never go back, let the feyness youâve picked up be rubbed away by steel, by silver, by iron, by the constant hum of electricity trapped in wires all through the city.
Instead, you drive an hour out of the city to the closest stable, shake hands with the farrier, and trade him your recipe for lavender lemonade for every single nail he pulls from the hooves of the horses he works on. Heâd have given them to you, and even offers the horseshoes he canât reuse, but youâve been at Elsewhere long enough that accepting a gift makes you uncomfortable, and horseshoes can be tricky. (Horseshoes have luck in them, good and bad, and you have to be careful to pull out only the good luck when you bring them home. Maybe youâll give it a try later.)
Instead, you go to the ocean, and bring home buckets and buckets and buckets of water. They yield a paltry palmful of salt, but it is sea salt you harvested yourself, and all the stronger for it. You carry it in a squat little bottle, draped from your neck by a leather thong.
Instead, you pluck careful handfuls of flowers from the garden you started with your mother your first weekend back from Elsewhere, and crush the petals against your skin, scrape dirt under your nails.
Instead, your mother takes you to visit a different relative each day, and each one presses a small pouch into her hands as you leave. You wonder, but you donât ask. Itâs not for you to know just yet.
Instead, you wait underneath a roosting tree for hours into the night, and when a crow feather falls you pluck it from the ground and tie it into your hair, leave a handful of grains where it fell.
Instead, as you say goodbye outside of the airport, your mother drapes a delicate silver chain around your waist. Solitary earrings, half a bracelet, the charm from a necklace, mutilated rings, none of them whole, all hang from it. All have pearls.
She tells you, âfor bargaining, when They ask for pieces of you.â
She tells you, âbe brave, be clever, be quick,â
She doesnât tell you to be safe.
You donât promise to come back.
(For all that you belong here, have the dirt and salt and scent and feathers to prove it, for all that, Elsewhere has a hold of you now. Time to see which hold is stronger.)
â