#yellow wall paper

[charlierises]

Study Home Office Image of a study room with a small, elegant freestanding desk and a medium-tone wood floor and yellow walls.

[alicesbookshelf]

Phoenix Living Room Formal

Living room - mid-sized traditional formal and open concept dark wood floor living room idea with white walls, a plaster fireplace and no tv

[ubreblanca]

3/4 Bath Bathroom Birmingham Mid-sized elegant 3/4 dark wood floor and brown floor bathroom photo with white cabinets, recessed-panel cabinets, multicolored walls, an undermount sink, marble countertops and gray countertops

[razorberries-art]

✨ New art print "Aurosa" ✨ watercolor & ink painting on paper • 8x10 & 11x14 available: https://razorberries.com/product/aurosa-print/

[have-you-read-this-short-fiction]

[angelsaxis]

The yellow wall paper is about how bad interior design will make you go crazy

[a-wacky-story-for-you]

You can see yourself across the hall. You are looking down the carpeted hall, with multitudes of the same, brown door and you can see yourself a ways down it (maybe twenty feet?), facing the same direction as you. You walk towards it, wincing as the old domed lighting fixture above you shines a little too brightly. The figure mimicking your appearance walks forward too, keeping the same distance from you. It feels like it’s laughing at you. The hallway doesn’t end.

You look behind yourself, seeing the same yellowed walls with floral wallpaper and- yourself. Again. The figured ahead of you– but on the other side this time– looks like they just turned around also. It’s in the same stance as you. Sure enough, you look back at the one you tried approaching and it also has the same posture as you. You look between them for a bit, backed against a door – number 623.

You’re on the third floor, right? The plush red carpet accepts your steps too greedily, the lights buzz just enough to give you a headache without covering the ringing of silence in your ears, and the ceiling seems slick with stains of something. The air is too warm, too close, and you can feel yourself breathing your own breath back. You step back into the middle of the hall.

They follow; the imposters. They take the same steps as you. It’s hard to tell, but you think that there’s only those two. There’s no infinite amount of your reflections– your imposters– unlike the hall itself. As far as you can tell, the hall keeps going on, it’s been going on forever, and there’s never not been just the hall. Why did you ever think you were on the third floor? There’s only one floor, (this one,) and it stretches out into infinity. 

Did you know, infinity is a process? You can get infinitely close to zero, just keep halving the number you got the last time you halved it, and you have something closer, but you’ll never quite reach zero. Suppose you’re on infinite train tracks (that never have any trains, despite there being a schedule in every station), you can take a step forward, and there will be tracks. You can keep stepping forward, and there will keep being tracks. There will never not be any tracks below your feet, if there is nothing but the infinite train tracks.

Suppose you have two copycats, always mocking you despite their inability of showing their own emotions (if they even have any. If they were ever their own things instead of empty husks, always forced to take an identity for their own, forced to copy other’s emotions and… where was that going?) and are trapped in an infinite hallway. There are doors on the sides, and the doors have numbers. Well, if this door is number 724, then surely there must be a door numbered 100 somewhere.

Next

(@flamingears )

[solradguy]

I mentioned these in the tags on a post I made last night, but here are the pieces I submitted for the original design/composition part of my AP art portfolio when I was in high school. While digging these out, I found my sketchbook from this period too, where I'd written down which ones I was going to mail in, and I actually submitted 12 pieces. I don't know where the other 5 are so I must've given them away. The theme connecting them was that spooky creepy monsters can feel loneliness.

These are done in acrylics, colored pencil, and white gel pen except for the black and white one, which is charcoal.

[creaturefeaster]

a color you cant stand? ❤️

Dusty rose.

For some reason it just feels soooo gross to me x_x

[tenderrednet]

[assigned-boyking-at-birth]

I hope I’m not just a blog to you but also someone who clearly needs therapy

[faaun]

non-zero amount of swans and a non-zero amount of lakes.

[sourkitsch]

I want to be home already dear fucking god

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[elyxir]

Traditional Dining Room - Dining Room Inspiration for a large timeless light wood floor enclosed dining room remodel with yellow walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[bug-maniac]

[Image ID: A picture of a bee and a wasp, both labeled. Both are colored yellow and black. Facts are listed about each one in their respective columns.

Bee:

Cute and fuzzy, like a friend

Make honey

Come in pretty colors with different occupations (blue orchard bee, carpenter bee)

Pollinators!

Freeloaders who will come build hives in the walls of your house

Communicate with dancing

According to all known laws of aviatin, honey bees can fly up to 15 mph

Like sweet things

Over 20,000 species--not just honeybees!

Wasp:

Cool and sleek, like a motorcycle

Prey on pests

Come in pretty, iridescent colors (ruby tailed wasp)

Will try to mooch off your drinks (so check your cans!)

Pollinators!

Leave you paper nests that you can sell to collectors

Communicate with smells

Like sweet things

Over 30,000 species--not just [kind I hate]

At the very bottom, in smaller text, is the URL bug-maniac.tumblr.com. /End ID]

NO ANTI-WASP SENTIMENTS ON THIS POST