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Coolest thing about lord of the rings? The king of horses shows up. It appears he is no different from all other horses

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[ID: Photos of a painted clay sculpture of two horses with simplified features resting their heads on each others backs in an embrace. The way they are painted is inspired by the Pech Merle cave paintings, with white bodies covered in black spots and a black dorsal stripe, with black heads and neck. Each photo shows a different angle. End ID.]

New design combining my older Embrace piece with my palaeolithic horse figures. Third pair. This piece will be available on my shop on Thursday 6th February 8PM GMT. Shop link

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Any setting where the elves have weaker booze than the dwarves isn't committing to the bit

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LMAO SOMEONE GIVE BRUCE A MEDAL FOR DEALING WITH THIS AWFUL, AWFUL CHILD OF HIS, THE MAN IS A SAINT TO PUT UP WITH *WAVES HAND* ALL THAT

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Carl Kahler aka Karl Kahler (Austrian, 1856-1906, b. Linz, Austria, d. 1906, San Francisco, CA, USA Earthquake) - Portrait of a White Cat, seated before a Mirror, Paintings: Oil on Canvas

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thought I'd share this. Thank you Captain!

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Of bows and ducks 🐤

Patreon | Bluesky | Instagram

(Ficlet 👇🏻👇🏻 👇🏻)

[W: 1.6k - Rated M: Chrissy's POV, angst, eating disorder, abusive household]

Chrissy Cunningham wears bright eyeshadows because it distracts people’s attention from her crooked teeth.

Chrissy Cunningham wakes up half an hour before to curl her ponytail to create the impression that she has more hair than she actually has.

Chrissy Cunningham wears oversized clothes because it creates the illusion that she’s smaller.

Chrissy Cunningham has been shaving her legs since she was eight years old.

All of Chrissy Cunningham’s underwear is cotton white, and her mother cuts all the decorative little bows off.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t slept more than five hours at night in years, because perfection takes time.

Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t finished any meal since she was eleven, because it makes her look exemplary to her parents’ friends when she says she’s full before finishing, even if she's still hungry.

Chrissy Cunningham’s mother taught her all of this.

So, it’s safe to say that every morning, when she wakes up from yet another short sleep, Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t know who Chrissy Cunningham is. She feels like her own skin isn’t hers, it’s just some character that her mother has carefully created, and it’s a role she can’t break free from. 

Chrissy Cunningham doesn’t exist, not really.

Her friends don’t talk about this. They occasionally whine about the food or their body size, but they always take a few minutes to look at themselves in the mirror of the school restroom to style out their hair, or to put some make up on that they have to hide from their parents. 

Chrissy hates mirrors, because she always has the supernatural feeling that her reflection is someone else’s, but it was starting to get suspicious that she didn’t even put lip gloss, so she bought one last summer at Starcourt mall. 

She liked the mall. It was one of the few places she was allowed to go with her friends without her mother’s scrutinizing eye on her at all times. She used to side eye that one lingerie shop, wondering if she would ever wear one of the lacey black panties.

Well, not actually those, but something that is not white. Hell, if she was honest to herself, she would settle for just keeping the little bows. She’d settle for her mother not manipulating her intimate clothes.

She thought of stealing a pair of hot pink panties, but she’s too much of a coward. 

There’s something Chrissy’s friend used to do every time after shopping, though, and it would later keep her awake at night out of pure guilt. They would go to the ice cream parlor. She couldn’t buy an ice cream, actually, because her mother always counted the money and made her give it all back, then asked for the receipts, and she couldn’t just see one of an ice cream because that’d mean that she won’t have dinner for the following week (unfinished meals every night are better than no meal at all).

But she would go there, anyway, and let her friends engage with the Harrington boy so they could get a discount from him, and she’d glance more than once at the display of several flavors behind the glass, fantasizing how many scoops she’d have, or which ones she would choose, and then, with no fail, the other cashier, Robin Buckley, from school band, would come to ask which one she wants to try. It makes Chrissy feel naughty, she always picks a different one, but buys nothing. 

That happens several times. She tries not to think how sad it is that this little thing is actually thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she still exists.

Robin’s in uniform but she manages to own it. Her shoes are scribbled all over, she wears a lot of trinkets, little chains, silver (her mother doesn’t let her wear silver, just gold), her hair is cut unevenly, and looks like she tried to make highlights at home with cleaning bleach, and her smudge eyeshadow seems to be done with her finger.

Chrissy likes that so very much. Robin shows through the uniform. She slips through the cracks, like yelling at the world that Robin exists, that Robin is.

It’s not nice to compare, but she looks at her group of friends and thinks that they all… they all kind of look the same. And they worry about the same silly stuff that seems ordinary but is out of Chrissy’s reach, like parents not going for a weekend so they can sneak their boyfriends in.

They all share that they won't see Chrissy, either. Not really.

Not ever.

Because they are all the same person.

That’s an unkind thought.

Maybe Chrissy is unkind.

Then the Starcourt mall burns down and it feels like a divine intervention for how secretly petty she is when she’s there.

It happens in July, and since Chrissy’s mother won’t let her go to any parties, she starts training near the school for when the cheerleading season begins again, and that’s when she meets Jason Carver. 

He’s on the basketball court and she’s running laps. They steal glances and that’s exciting, because the boy is beautiful. His smile looks like  the prologue of a tragedy and she falls in love with that feeling. They exchange more than glances and smiles and she wants things she never wanted before. It all fades into the blur of a far away memory right when school begins and they trade hot kisses and love bites for holding hands in the hallway. 

She feels nothing for him when Chrissy realizes Jason loves the curated version that her mother has made out of her, not actually her. He loves that she’s girly, and perfectionist with her looks, that she’s fit and petite, that unnatural lovely hair swirl, that she wears cute colors on her eyelids and that she always leaves fries for him whenever they go to a diner. 

Nothing.

And what’s about her to love, anyway? Who is Chrissy Cunningham? She’s just—

She is just gone.

Maybe she was never there to begin with, inside this tight suit of skin and heavy bones she wears everywhere.

She keeps avoiding the stranger in the mirror when she realizes she only can see what her mother sees wrong in her, or she can only hear the comments of Jason about her bony hips that one time they were at the backseat of his car. Chrissy knows how to do her makeup without using the cursed mirror, she knows how to style her hair without it, and it’s weird, that’s why she always helps the coach to store all the stuff they used, coming into the dressing room after her team, and fakes to take more time in the shower after practice, to be the last one to leave. To dress herself with the profaned underwear without looking at it, to reconstruct the image she hates so much and not having to put a smile upon her face while she fades away one day more.

That time she’s not alone when she comes in, all sweaty in her uniform.

There’s the ice cream girl, Robin. They had band practice and she was the only one who actually took it seriously about practicing with the stiff jacket of the uniform for an upcoming rally. She heard the rehearsal from the gym.

Robin hasn’t seen her yet, and Chrissy just can’t move. Robin is listening to something that she’s humming to in her walkman, that she stops with a loud click and puts away, unbuttoning her shirt.

Something is happening inside Chrissy when she sees Robin’s ducky bra.

A ducky bra.

Sky blue background and a god damned yellow ducky pattern.

Chrissy has never in her life seen something like that. That looks… Okay, that doesn’t even look the right size. Maybe it’s from past years and she still uses it. It looks comfortable, though, even if a little old.

It has the little, bright orange bow between her breasts.

She gasps audibly, and Robin spots her.

They lock gazes and Robin actually looks like a deer caught in headlights. Pink cheeks, big, blue eyes focused on her.

She’s so gorgeous without even trying. She always has been.

Chrissy is in a strange chokehold. It has to be nice to be someone, she thinks to herself, and not being afraid to exist.

They talk, but Chrissy’s not even paying attention to what she is saying. She’s only looking at Robin, and Chrissy must have said something funny because Robin laughs. She can’t look away, notice Robin’s cheeks growing darker, her hand accommodating her hair behind her own ears, the low conversation taking place in an empty space.

She does remember asking Robin if she could kiss her, though.

She does remember standing there in silence before their mouths meet halfway, experimental and new, soft and wet.

Chrissy hears herself whine in Robin’s lips, and dares to ask for more. Begs Robin to touch her and she’s feeling Robin’s cold fingers around her waist, lips locking, mouth opening, tongue curling around hers.

Robin is chatty, but Chrissy doesn’t mind. She spares a few words here and there in between kisses, and then Robin whispers to her ear, over, and over again, “I saw you. At the mall, I saw you. Every time.”

Chrissy gasps and kisses her again, grabs her hair, puts her body against her, skin touching skin, they fall to the floor and keep kissing until her lips are sore and someone opens the door of the locker room and they both hid from that uninvited person to keep kissing in silence, which was rather hard, but ultimately thrilling and funny. 

It’s hours later, under the safe covers of her bed when she realizes that for a little while she actually felt her skin as her own. And that’s new, that’s fresh. 

Thrilling. Something so small that makes her feel like she actually exists.

Maybe Chrissy wasn’t gone after all.

Maybe Chrissy Cunningham actually exists.

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🍂 holy melancholy

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"in your life" meaning you met them enough times and substantially enough to remember them. and not just consider them some faceless, theoretical stranger.

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If you've seen that one screencap, you know what it's about.

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The Randomizer

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I had one of those over once. (Friend of a friend. Board games.) She was very insistent that there was "a very old spirit" trying to get my attention. I said "yeah. That's Dicky," and she went into conniptions about the age of the spirit and how it really wanted my attention and couldn't possibly be what I thought it was. I then brought her over to the bookcase, pointed at the antique taxidermy bird on top, and explained that Dicky was the family spirit the got brought over from Ireland in a songbird which was then preserved and I knew really well what Dicky was and he wanted my attention because like the cat he insists he's never been fed before in his life.

She didn't want to be my friend after that. Something about how I don't respect the spirits.

I forgave her, but an interaction I had with Client Friend made me feel very weird about how we both interact with Woo.

We'd talked previously about our various beliefs and our religious baggage, so I wasn't surprised to hear certain things come from her mouth. But when I invited her to my house she was manic the whole time for unrelated reasons.

Later, she told me that there was Something in my house and that I need to seal up all the mirrors in my house. That it was a portal and there were things coming in from it. I told her that I already sealed my mirrors and she told me to do it again, but her way this time.

When she came back for another shoot, she said that the Something was still there and I said:

"Well, we have critters."

"That's not what I mean, you know what mean."

"Yes. Critters. Like... ahhh.. nisse..."

"What?"

"Nisse, like.. oh what's the word... house wight."

"The fuck is a house wight?"

"It's a critter. Lives in the house, 'bout knee high, don't like being seen much. Pretty chill guys, don't bother us much but the cat chases them sometimes. They haven't got mad yet, so I assume there's no hard feelings."

"You've SEEN THEM?"

"Like early mornings once or twice. Lil hairy guys."

"They do NOT want to be seen."

"Well, me neither at 6am. But neither of us freaked out about it so I figured we'd just go about our business."

-does not compute sounds-

She still gets weird about the house, and the various things that hang around me, which is a thing that kind of happens when you grow up talking to spirits and critters and things. I realize yall got spiritual and religious trauma but hes literally the size of a small dog and i dont think hes got any teeth. And it's like... hon... I promise not everything The Other is out to hurt you. Stop trying to excorcise my grandmama, she's helping me pick out stationery.

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I wish we had been born into a kinder time.

But we weren't. So we're going to have to build one.

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Eddie’s bullet belt 💘☠️ + bonus: Erica the fashion stylist

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thinking about edvard munch's "The Sun" (1911)

like yeah thats how it feels. thats what it feels like to exist sometimes. he gets it

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I am once again working on a big drawing so have this in the meantime lol