idea photos on Flickr

I didn't feel in the mood for half a year. I took time to relax in Taiwan for 4 days last week. Kaohsiung Quanshi Lake butterfly picture, it seems that there is only one kind of butterfly to shoot

dark ideas... by susan

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....fade to black

the current mood of half of the U.S. plus almost 3 million more.

Idea durvillei theia (B00803, IDC0054) by Still Air

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Photo taken around Kobe, North Maluku, Indonesia

2016/09/25

DSCN2192-PURRED052038-MWTEN02TOP16-CU-EXP1P20_AE_CM_M_SH-PURRED054058-BPP20-VAL26-FIN

Idea leuconoe by Joaquín Adán

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Idea Leuconoe

" Idea leuconoe..." by Kap'n'Kaos~Too

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" Rice Paper butterflies, also known as Paper Kites or Tree Nymphs, are found in Malaysia, Taiwan and the Philippines. They are a common species found in lowland rainforests and coastal mangrove forests. These large, striking butterflies have translucent white wings patterned with black streaks and spots. Their patterns serve to warn predators that they are poisonous. Their flight is slow and graceful, and they may rest with wings open or closed...."

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All Of My Photographic Images Are Subject To Copyright ! Each Of My Photographs Remain My Intellectual Property ! All Rights Are Reserved And As Such, Do Not Use, Modify, Copy, Edit, Distribute Or Publish Any Of My Photographs ! If You Wish To Use Any Of My Photographs For Any Reproductive Purposes, Or Other Uses, My Written Permission Is Specifically Required, Contact Me Via Flickr Mail !

No Idea ... by Grimnar Hellscream

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Photo Taken By:

Cassandra Middles

The Mystic Realms : maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/mystic%20realms/24/67/2499

TRABAZÓN DE IDEAS by oskarRLS

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Toda persona cuya fotografía aparezca en esta galería, puede solicitar que sea retirada en la dirección de correo nikondosh@yahoo.es.

Any person whose photograph appears in this gallery, can request that it be withdrawn at the email address nikondosh@yahoo.es.

serious idea by Bramdas

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version on google+: plus.google.com/118427617627864322981/posts/GUy9RDVazwg?p...

~ Held by the Wrong God ~ by Sora F. Aurelia

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This might be a slightly silly idea, but I had a lot of fun sharing a small glimpse of what was going on in my head while creating and editing this image and this character. Writing it down felt right in the moment.

For me, it’s never just about the looks.

Editing is the part where my brain goes off on its own little adventure and the character starts to take shape beyond pixels and poses.

Please keep in mind that I’m just a roleplayer whose biggest passion is emoting — not a professional storyteller. And yes… this was also translated from my native language into English, so please be gentle with me. 😅

Still, I hope some of you enjoy getting a peek into Arawn’s backstory. And if not — hey, at least I had fun doing it.

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Arawn was born where the water never forgets.

In the drowned groves beneath the world—where roots strangled the light and rivers murmured names no living throat should shape—he learned early that mercy decays faster than bone. The spirits there did not raise him. They claimed him. Fed him lies sweet as honey. Wrapped living vines around his wrists and called it protection.

He was beautiful even then.

That was his first curse.

They crowned him with antlers grown from living wood, not as a blessing but as a tether—proof that he belonged to the wild dark, to a bargain he had never agreed to. Power gathered in him like still water: patient, cold, inevitable. He learned to take what he needed. He learned that love, when offered, always carried a hook.

And in the water’s memory—long before Rowan was born—

their name already waited.

The spirits whispered it not as prophecy, but as warning. A flaw in the pattern. A future threaded into root and river alike that would not bow. Something the forest could not own.

They knew Arawn could be claimed.

He was dangerous, yes—but predictable. He could be bound with antlers. Tethered with ritual. Fed devotion until he mistook it for choice.

Rowan was not.

The spirits felt Rowan first as an absence—a hollow where roots refused to grow straight and rivers forgot which way they were meant to flow. Where futures forked and refused to settle. Rowan was not born of the forest, nor sworn to it.

They were not meant to kneel.

The spirits tried to erase them. Names misplaced. Paths misaligned. Chances quietly drowned before they could surface. But Rowan kept surviving—kept walking forward—kept becoming unavoidable.

By the time the upper world learned Arawn’s name, he was already a villain in their mouths.

The Forest King.

The Whisper in the Mire.

The one who traded salvation for obedience.

He conquered not with armies, but with want. Cities fell because people knelt willingly. He never corrected them.

But sometimes—rarely—Arawn would hear it again.

A name carried on running water. A presence just beyond the treeline. Not a command. Not a prayer.

A pull.

(You can find the rest on my FB Page)

Idea 22 🎶 by Dean Antorian

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★*:.:*☆ ☆*:. .:*★