#how do i clean my walls

[outsideyourhousewithaknife]

Just found red liquid of mysterious origin splattered across my wall. Am I in the beginning of a creepypasta?

[bacchuschucklefuck]

doing chibi is a good design exercise bc it forces u to think on shapes n essential details, essentially thumbnailing ur designs. its also a terrible design exercise bc it ends up looking cute no matter what

[usertoxicyaoi]

"They despised you, trampled on you and cursed you, just because you don't belong to the same race as them. How did it feel? Don't you hate them? Don't you feel aggrieved? You're not a sinner, but they still hate you."

FANGS OF FORTUNE (2024). EPISODE TWENTY FIVE.

[marigraphia]

I've had this pose ref saved for a while and the Superman set photos just gave off the same energy 👉🏻👈🏻

The reference is this photo of Katharine Hepburn as Antiope and Colin Keith-Johnston as Theseus in the 1932 play 'The Warrior's Husband' (and I'd love for people to turn into a draw your otp meme pls pls pls this pose is so good)

And also, of course, the Superman (2025) set photos

[b0amagination]

Home Is Where The Fanart Is

Happy Fanuary! What's Fanuary, you ask? It's my own little excuse to draw some very long overdue art for my friends, and develop better style with lineart at the same time!

Without further ado, I started with an author whose work captivates me in a truly indescribable way. It would be truly terrifying to a hacker to see how often I'm on her blog rereading an old favorite or an entire story. I will never be able to find the words to explain the magic of her storytelling, but I sure try my damndest every time.

Kirsten @whumblr 's Zayne and Jay of HIWTHI have had a deathgrip on my soul since the first chapter back in 2020 and, though I've drawn them before, once was never going to be enough.

And, well, maybe I figured out the plot of this interaction and impulsively wrote fanfiction. At the end of the cut are a few bonus detail shots as well <3

Content warnings: Belting, forced stripping (partial, not sexual), and canon-typical home invasion.

~~~

“Aren’t you tired of this old song and dance?” Zayne flashed him an unimpressed look, then glanced down at his own outstretched hand. Still empty. 

“I am. Glad you finally agree,” he huffed and brushed past, only to be caught by the collar of his button down. The grip tightened and pulled him, stumbling, face to face with his unwelcome visitor. His eyes cast down. 

“Then why is that belt still around your waist?” 

Jay bristled. He knew damn well how long his day had been, because he’d started unloading it on Zayne the moment he arrived home. If it weren’t for the sudden order that cut him off, his tormentor would have still been listening to that afternoon’s office melodrama. The last thing he needed was to present his battered body on a platter before the long weekend. 

“I have more than one, you know. If you can rummage through my fridge, you can give my closet a passing glance every now and again.” Regret only came on after handing him an open invitation to look through more of Jay’s belongings, but he suspected Zayne had already done more than his fair share of that.

“As it happens, I was looking for this particular belt.” He drew a finger along the smooth leather. “If you’re craving ice cream, an ice lolly just won’t cut it.”

“Does the trick for me,” Jay shot back and turned away down the hallway. “Here, I’ll show you where they are.” His brisk pace far too closely resembled running, and the heart pounding in his throat mimicked that well. He’d hung last time’s belt separately when he remembered he didn’t have the funds to simply keep discarding them. Probably the same reason Zayne didn’t care to use it again.

Just like a cat. The moment something was designated his, his interest dissipated. 

On an instinctual level, Jay knew he wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, but some part of him still had the audacity to be surprised when a hand twisted his hair and flung him toward the wall. Even though his shoulder took the brunt of the impact, the blow to the head was enough to skew his glasses. Jay leaned back and raised a hand to set them straight when Zayne took hold of his shirt and yanked it from his trousers.

“Get off!” In finding a stable place to lean back, Jay had unwittingly trapped himself against the wall where a knee now dug into his hip, holding him still enough to free one button, then another. He wrapped fingers around Zayne’s wrist. “The hell are you doing?!”

“Why don’t you deduce that yourself, Jayboy? Surely you can be a more reliable source than your coworker found.” A fist drove into his gut and Jay lost his grip, allowing the shirt to be shucked off him and thrown aside. 

“You could’ve just asked!” He tried to swallow the clear hypocrisy. Somehow, he only happened to think these plans through about two minutes after initiating them, and wondered how he hadn’t already anticipated the outcome.

“Try giving the same order three times in a row. See how patient you are when your punching bag cusses you out,” Zayne shrugged, reaching for the undershirt next when Jay hugged his waist in protest. He didn’t understand why Zayne held him by the hip instead until nimble fingers flicked out the end of his belt, pulled to free the buckle’s prong, and whipped it out in a single flourish. 

“On your knees.”

“Wait, wait- fuck!” The full length cut across his front, only shielded by thin cotton, but the familiar sting throbbed on his jaw. A tentative touch found hot, angry skin just below his cheek. “That was my face, Zayne!” 

“You clearly don’t care to heed my requests today. I don’t see any reason to return the favor.” He doubled the leather over and tilted his head.

Finally Jay made eye contact, turned his back, and slid to his knees. 

“No. Face me.”

“I’m not letting you bust my lip with a belt!” 

He’d already resigned himself to the shove when it came and caught himself just before he hit the wall again. Zayne’s boot landed on his ankle and couldn’t hold back a smile at the yelp it forced out. 

“Then you’d better get your arms up and make sure I can’t.”

[canisonicscrewyou]

my eye-spy sitcom best friendcore ass apartment. btw. just thought you should know. I kind of recommend zooming in if you want to.

Constant Visual Stimulation. No Escape.

bonus: the newest addition that we stole rescued from my place of work yesterday after taking these pics. a lovely lady.

[raddest-laddest]

gonna have to bury myself in the dirt for a thousand years to recover from all this rejection

[bunnyboy-juice]

ngl. every time i see someone talk about a fairly standard/innocuous bong or pipe that isnt that structurally complex and they talk about the way it would be "impossible" to keep it clean my concern for the ways y'all treat your glass (and therefore your lungs) rises by 10 notches........

[mkstrigidae]

Winter's Child Preview Snippet

This one is Jon's arrival and first day at the wall, and a conversation with a LOT of subtext. It's a pretty important one for beginning to unpack the mythology/lore driving the story, and I'm curious to hear what you guys think of it! This one is wildly unedited, so pardon the possible capitalization errors/clunky sentences.

Jon reached out, placing a trembling hand on the great wall. immediately, he began to feel his knees buckling, taking a gasping breath to try and center himself again.

He had always known that Bran the Builder had constructed the wall, had used magics beyond any house’s gifts today, to create the towering monolith.

What he hadn’t realized was just how much magic was humming in the layers of ice and- he blinked, unsure.

He’d always thought the wall was ice and rock, but something nagged at the back of his mind.

“Uncle-“ he asked, later, quietly, as they stood atop the structure, “what is the wall made of?”

Benjen was quiet for a moment, turning eyes on him that had always been more perceptive than Jon cared for. Twyla didn’t blink as she stood behind her bonded, her golden eyes piercing him.

The oldest stories we have speak of it being Bran the Builder’s creation.” Benjen murmured, his voice pitched so that only Jon could hear it under the whistle of the wind atop the wall. “Ice created of magic wilder than you or I could dream of.”

Ghost gave a snort beside him, his breath clouding the chilled air. Jon agreed.

“And what do you believe?” he asked his uncle, grateful for the fire that flowed through his veins as the temperature dropped.

“I believe that no stark- not even a winter-blooded one has ever been able to do anything-“ Benjen gestured around him, “Like this. Not Torrhen, not Brandon the Breaker, not even-“ he swallowed, looking down into Jon’s eyes with something that looked oddly like guilt. He turned away the next second, continuing. “If the Stark gift before Torrhen was really that powerful-“ he sighed, looking down over the frosted landscape, “Then why did the gods take the winter-blood gift from us when we needed it the most? Why, if Bran the builder could use our gift to protect the entire north with something as massive as the wall, did it not protect us from the clutches- the claws- of dragons?”

Jon felt a hot rush of shame in his veins as he thought of the Targaryen conquers bringing the north to heel 300 years ago. Would that his blood was only Stark. His uncle’s hand on his shoulder cut him off the next minute, though, and Jon realized that his expression was affectionate, and held no blame.

“You are a Stark.” Benjen reminded him, softly. “Not what blood the man who sired you gave you. The old gods granted you the gift of skinchanging- no Southerner has ever been able to do that.” Jon nodded, his throat tight as his uncle squeezed his shoulder. The flames leapt up his throat, flickering against his insides, but he held them down.

“The winter-blood gift was… harsh.” Benjen continued, looking Northward with a distant expression on his face. “Skinchanging- warging- is akin to communing with the old gods through the creatures they brought forth in the first days. It brings out the truth of a man-“

“Or woman.” Jon said, thinking of Arya’s ferocity and the ease in which she slipped in and out of various creatures.

“Or woman.” Benjen chuckled in agreement. “it allows us to connect to the old gods in a way the winter-blooded never could.”

Jon frowned.

You have heard tales of our ancestors, Jon.” Benjen sighed, his shoulders dropping. “Harsh, cold men- many of whom held a powerful ambition and the gift to make it truth. All of whom were winter-blooded. It’s a magic that can easily corrupt- turning hearts to ice as the self is lost. It doesn’t feel akin to greensight or skinchanging- but rather something other. Something older and harsher. Winter was never meant to be a gift.”

“But it’s been gone for 300 years.” Jon’s brows drew together.

Benjen was quiet for a second, and something prodded at the back of Jon’s mind.

“What testimonials we have written of it are telling.” he answered, finally. “And the feel of it can be found in the crypts among the oldest of the tombs. Magic harsh and alien enough that, at times, not even the weirwood will draw on it for nourishment.” they were silent for a moment.

“Do you think it will ever come back?” Jon asked, feeling the bite of the wind on his skin. “The winter-blood gift?”

“We are better stewards of the north- better men- as skinchangers.” Benjen told him, with some finality, his face darkening. “The greatest stories of the winter-blood gift speak of impossibilities like the wall, or of power that twisted the minds of men and made them something less than human. Less than alive.” He smiled at Jon, but something about it was strained. “As skinchangers, we can see through the eyes of others- we can hold a sacred bond with the guardians of the weirwood.” He buried a steadying hand in Twyla’s thick fur. Though still massive, she was a leaner creature than most of the direwolves, though Jon knew it only lent her a speed that none of them had. “If the winter-blood gift ever was returned to us, I would pray it was given to someone who could tame it. Who could temper the danger. and not be swallowed whole by it.”

Jon frowned, searching his uncle’s face. It felt as though they were having two separate conversations.

“But to be able to create something as magnificent as the wall-“

“No man could ever create something as powerful as the wall.” Benjen shut him down. “Not alone, and not instantly. Magic undoubtedly helped build the wall, but no man could ever hold onto a power that absolute. It would destroy them.” He twisted his face. “Regardless of whatever magics built the wall, you have to decide soon if you’ll devote yourself to guarding and protecting it. There’s little room for questioning once you’ve chosen, and it makes men uneasy to speak of the wall’s origins, Jon.” he sighed. “The wall is a strange and not well understood marvel. such things can inspire awe, or they can inspire suspicion. To discuss it is… not done.”

Jon nodded, his tongue heavy in his mouth with more questions, but he remained quiet, thinking of all his uncle had spoken of as they watched the night fall over the far north.

[springlock-suits]

Hnnnnnng

[iamanartichoke]

There’s not enough discourse in the paranormal fandom about those of us who are such space cases that we could walk into the kitchen and find all the chairs stacked on top of the table in a manner that defies physics and either a) not notice, or b) notice and think, huh, I don’t remember doing that - maybe it was the cat?

[tj-crochets]

No crafting update today, because I did a bunch of cleaning, ran some errands (had to mail some stuff and get a replacement headset for work because mine spontaneously separated into two pieces yesterday) and now I'm making chicken and dumplings for dinner So like, got a lot done, but absolutely none of it craft related and I'm really pushing my limits physical spoons-wise (in that my POTS is flaring up not in that I used all the actual spoons cooking lol) I have a really really cool art trade thing to show y'all but it has to wait until I can take photos, so that'll be later today or maybe tomorrow

[buildingunderstanding]

I understand the sentiment behind a post I saw recently about having a tidy and cleansed space before invoking a deity, I genuinely do, but also it triggered something deep within and now trying to tidy up feels more like a threat on my life than it already did and I am deeply afraid of trying to clean up because it won't ever be enough and I should be deeply ashamed of myself for clutter existing in my lived in space.

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

every time u reblog those paintings of coloured squares and rectangles I get so happy

“yay yippee” <- me

omg i’m SO glad u like them i love rothkos sm they make me so happy i’m so glad you like them too!!!

[pietroleopoldo]

The problem with my life is that I am not the mom friend by choice it's just that my parents actually taught me how to be a functional human being

[deus-ex-mona]

l e t m e i n ! ! !