#Up to interpretation

[chaos-ducks]

Writing prompt:

The artist stared at their painting. It was perfect, beautiful and everything. They had put their heart into it, they’d put their very soul into it.

The painting went unsold for weeks. It had taken years to complete, a lifetime of skill in order to master and complete the painting. And nobody wanted it.

They would show the world how much they missed.

[artisfaction]

[alienssstufff]

colour practice 1

[gutsroses]

Nauseating

I haven't made something like this in years, sorry if it's shitty as hell

[pocketgoats]

Two halves of a whole

[havenotwillnotreadthebooks]

So you guys think that Post-Canon Celebrimbor ever made stuff and then had to double-take when someone recognized the design from Angband?

Like,

Maedhros, squinting at a doorknob: Hey, why do we have a door from Angband in the house?

Others: what? 😀😨

Celebrimbor, who learned a better doorknob design from Annatar and never thought about the origins of the technique: …ah.

This is either crack or angst potential. Either way, I can totally see Celebrimbor making stuff, except some of it is just designs used in Angband, so every now and again Celebrimbor gets a hysterical elf trying to figure out why a stool is deeply unsettling.

Alternatively; Mordor has a coffee machine. The maker’s mark is scratched and ineligible. However, everyone knows that it’s not Sauron’s creation.

[lelee-tdn]

This was my first thought when I saw this scene lmao

Obanai 🤝 Akaza: hating the weaklings

[cupid-tune]

Some doodles I never got around to posting hehe

[uncontrol-freak]

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[cobaltbluesu]

thrill chasers / slatespar in the great year of 2025

[nightjars-nest-art]

"Don't worry, Sheriff. Everything will be alright." ...Maybe.

[decaytrain]

What's he looking at?

[binglepringle]

CassCainWeek2025 day 2!

Prompt: Alone | Together

Lyrics: “Meet You at the Graveyard” by Cleffy

Image description: a grayscale drawing of Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain next to each other. Both are depicted in a series of gray scribbles and blotches, while the black background smudges across some parts of them both. Stephanie looks down, while Cassandra casts a sidelong glance to her friend. The lyrics to the song “Meet You at the Graveyard” by Cleffy read: “Between life and past tense.” End description.

[reveryfics]

Heavier

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Male reader

Prompt: No doubt I've done this to myself. Am I a fake? Am I a fraud? Another morning on the floor. I take the blame, I wanna change. But I can't settle the score. Now I'm a slave to better days.

A/n: An ending left to interpretation, before I leave for a short hiatus. Above are some lyrics to the song Heavier by Rain City Drive, which inspired this.

The weight of the past pressed down on Bucky like a physical entity, an invisible fist crushing his chest. It wasn't just guilt or shame, it was the insidious whisper of self-doubt, a venomous serpent coiling around his mind. Every night, the same nightmare returned – a chilling tableau of violence, of his own hands, trembling and bloody, inflicting unimaginable pain on the ones he loved. He'd wake up drenched in sweat, the scent of fear clinging to his skin, the image of their lifeless eyes burned into his retinas.

The anxiety, a constant, gnawing presence, had begun to consume him. It festered in the hollows of his bones, a chilling reminder of the monster he feared he truly was. He couldn't bear the intimacy of shared sleep, the ghost of his nightmares hovering between them. The thought of his lover beside him, trusting and vulnerable, sent a jolt of icy dread through his veins. He imagined their peaceful slumber shattered, their gentle breaths replaced by the strangled gasp of their dying breath, his own hands, driven by some unseen force, the instruments of their demise.

He was a fraud, a counterfeit hero, masquerading as a loving partner. He carried the weight of his past sins like a shroud, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. He longed to confess, to bare his soul, but the fear of rejection, of losing the fragile connection he had built, held him captive. He was a prisoner in his own mind, haunted by the specter of his own violence.

The distance between him and his lover grew, an invisible chasm widening with each passing day. The anxiety radiated from him, a palpable aura of unease that permeated their shared space. His lover, sensing the shift in his demeanor, would reach out, a hand gently resting on his arm, a concerned gaze searching his eyes. But Bucky would recoil, his body stiffening, the touch a painful reminder of the fragility of their happiness, the precariousness of his own sanity.

The morning started like any other, the gentle sunlight filtering through the blinds. But for Bucky, the day began with the same suffocating dread. He stumbled to the bathroom, the cool tiles a stark contrast to the inferno raging within him. He splashed cold water on his face, the icy sting doing little to quell the tremors that racked his body. The image of his lover, their eyes wide with terror, their blood staining his hands, returned with a sickening clarity.

A sob escaped his lips, raw and guttural, tears streaming down his face. He sank to the floor, his back against the cool porcelain, the weight of his despair crushing him. He couldn't live like this, trapped in a cycle of fear and self-loathing. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting the one person who truly saw him, truly loved him.

The icy sting of the tiles against his bare skin offered little solace. Each drop of water that splashed against his face seemed to burn, a searing reminder of the fire that raged within him. He scrubbed at his face, his hands raw, desperate to erase the haunting images from his mind. But the nightmare clung to him, its tendrils wrapping around his throat, choking the life from him.

He saw their face, contorted in a mask of agony, their eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own. He heard the strangled gasp, the wet, sickening thud of their body hitting the floor. The scent of blood, metallic and acrid, filled his nostrils, a phantom smell that lingered even now, a constant, suffocating presence.

He doubled over, dry heaving, the bile rising in his throat. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, digging into the cold porcelain. Each tremor that racked his body sent a jolt of pain through him, a physical manifestation of the anguish that consumed him.

He was drowning, drowning in a sea of guilt, of self-loathing, of the suffocating weight of his own monstrous desires. He yearned for escape, for oblivion, for anything to silence the relentless whispers of his own depravity.

The bathroom door creaked open, the sound amplified in the confined space, a jarring intrusion into his private agony. His head snapped up, his eyes darting towards the doorway, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He saw them silhouetted against the morning light, their figure a stark contrast against the stark whiteness of the room. His face was pale, etched with worry lines, his eyes, usually so full of life and warmth, now clouded with a deep, unsettling sadness.

Bucky scrambled back, his back pressed against the cold tiles, his breath catching in his throat. He felt a primal fear, a deep-seated terror that threatened to consume him whole. "Go away," he croaked, his voice hoarse, his throat constricted. "Please, go away."

The figure hadn't moved, his gaze unwavering, a silent question hanging heavy in the air. Bucky could feel his eyes boring into him, assessing him, searching for answers. Bucky averted his gaze, unable to meet his boyfriend's gaze, unable to bear the weight of his unspoken questions, his unspoken fears.

A single tear escaped Bucky's eye, tracing a path down his cheek, disappearing into the swirling vortex of the drain. Bucky closed his eyes, the image of his face, his eyes, his blood, flashing before Bucky's eyes. He was a monster, a dangerous creature lurking in the shadows, a threat to the one person he cherished most.

The figure remained frozen in the doorway, his gaze still unwavering, their expression unreadable. The silence stretched on, an eternity of unspoken words, of unspoken fears. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the figure began to move, a single step forward, then another. Bucky watched, paralyzed with fear, as the figure approached, his outstretched hand reaching towards him.

[babeilovemonsters]

You know what? I'm so BORED of big monsters. Okay no, I absolutely love big monsters. Monsters that tower over you. But when I'm in a size kink mood, and I specifically want shorter monsters, absolutely zero content. So you know what? I'm making my own.

I can probably do a bigger post about different types eventually, but today, I want fae.

I want a short fae. A piskie, pixie if you're not Cornish like I am.

They stand at no taller than 1ft, usually only 13 inches, and live mostly in trees. Their skin feels more like scales, similar to the bumpy, rough texture of a bearded dragon, with tiny spikes, and often comes in green, orange, brown, and other such colours, and smoothed down their back is much softer than up towards their head. They have big, pointed ears on the sides of their heads, similar to a deer's in shape, with thin, jagged ends, mimicking that of a leaf. Their wings are also very reminiscent of leaves, but aren't for flying. While their bones are hollow like a bird's, they don't actually fly, but rather glide. That being said, they can hold their air time for quite a long while, travelling up to half a mile with the right height and wind strength. Their claws are sharp and perfect for climbing, and their feet are also similar to a lizard's, so they can still grab on. They have small, wirey thin tails, for keeping balance in the treetops, only reaching to their knees. Their eyes are big, and dark, perfect for spotting little details under the blanket of nighttime. Being omnivores, they have both sharp and flat teeth, similar to a dog's.

Some choose to wear clothing, fashioned out of leaves, ripped fabric, litter, and even wooden armour. But not all find dignity in covers, and so choose not to. This is a respected practice, so long as they keep their sexual deeds private.

Their genitalia is able to be concealed, hidden in their sheathes until horny enough to awaken and slide out on their own. The females are larger than males, and tend to be thicker in muscle mass. Males are smaller, thinner and faster, but not as strong. Thus, females are often the ones in charge. They aren't mammals, and ultimately lack breasts, laying eggs instead. During breeding process, the fucking is normal, until the eggs are fertilised. After the females are successfully bred, they'll wait a few weeks for the eggs to develop enough, before taking down some unfortunate mammal, usually a human. Y'know, cause these fae are cold blooded. They aren't warm enough for the eggs. All the currently pregnant females deposit their eggs via an organ reminiscent of a female hyena (if you know, you know), and keep this incubator nearby, before either letting them go or eating them when the job is done. Depends on how they feel.

Because of this, it's not uncommon for female fae to fall in love with the human. But it IS uncommon for the males to. The males don't really have a need for the human. But you know how it is. Maybe they just get curious, or have a human kink. They're not instinct driven animals, they're people too. They might just like humans. Hell, the human doesn't even have to be the incubator for a fae to fall in love! They might fall for someone who frequents the woods quite often. Maybe the human feeds the wildlife, or plants flowers in the trees. Maybe they bring their dog(s) every day, and the fae find it cute. Everyone has their individual reasoning.

Personally? I wouldn't wanna be an incubator. Sounds hot in concept, but realistically thinking, I wouldn't be very comfortable. But I'd love to feel a gaze on me in the woods. It starts very slightly, probably just a squirrel or bird, I think. But then I start getting that feeling more intensely. Sometimes the feeling follows me. Sometimes it starts the moment I enter the woods, like something was waiting for me in those trees. Sometimes I'd notice little flowers or berries put in specific patterns on the path ahead, always the same exact paths I take every day. I'd start leaving gifts in return, like little ribbons, or beads. I'd start noticing them delicately placed on the branches in decoration, and keep the collection going.

I just think it'd be nice. Having something wait for me every day.

However, piskies do tend to stay in 'packs'. I say packs lightly, as they are on the same wavelength as humans, probably moreso, and some aren't comfortable being compared to an animal. Sensitive topic. But point is, they stick together. You'd REALLY need to be someone special to have one leave it's family to accompany you, though definitely expect requests to visit.

Fae are smart. Incredibly smart. It'd find ways to get around, especially as small as they are. Maybe it'd hide in your bag? Or in the hood of a baggy jumper? Maybe it'd sneak alongside, hiding in the trees and bushes near the path, while keeping an ear out for your breathing and footsteps in order to navigate your location. In your house, perhaps it'd hide in the walls when company is around, giving nothing more than flash of mystery and wonder to your guests as they catch the slightest glimpse. It'd find ways to hide, while never really leaving your side. They are incredibly loyal, after all.

Most, but not all, piskies are asexual. They're not very sex focused. Of course, some are definitely kinkier than others, and they do get sexual pleasure, physically. Some are comfortable with the idea. Some are indifferent. Some are very much against it. But sex is rarely their first instinct. It's mostly food or games. This means you would probably have to initiate something. They'd do their absolute best, of course! But it can be difficult for something of their size to really do a good job. They weren't exactly built to satisfy monsterfuckers of other species. Maybe sex isn't their forte. You can definitely work with it! Some are wonders with their tongues, such long and agile muscles usually used for licking honey out of beehives, while others have more joy in using their hands and arms to reach in and drag their nails delicately across the insides.

But hey. If you can get a fae to love and trust you that much, you can do what you want with it. Cuddle, play, fuck... Just make sure your fae is comfy, and they'll never want to leave.

Hey, isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Damn, treetop piskies are pathetic, huh?

[sgt-scrimblo]

guh. hey I still draw by the way. have a doodle