#WindowFrame

[anbuarchive]

Something in the distance. Something that stayed even after I left.

[fieldpractice]

[c0rpseductor]

i do realize it must sound kind of bleak to frame potential anemia as like, a cost advantage for utilities vis a vis air conditioning during the summer. however, i cannot fucking imagine how much more intolerable the heat would be if i were not probably some level of iron deficient, and it is genuinely important to be careful about the electricity we're using, so. if you think about it, ive kind of gamed the system

[vimbry-moved]

[cantankerouscatfish]

sideways related to an extended family member/friend dying and you getting a bunch of their stuff is when a coworker's pet dies and they give you a free 50lb bag of cat litter and bags of canned food.

[bitegore]

Incredibly. I think Bayverse Getting Drunk And Sitting Marathon may have given me the ability to draw digitally back.

[elibeeline]

Fighting the demons in my head one cup of coffee at a time

[great-photography-attributed]

Detail of the EUROPA building (2016) in Brussels By Matthijs Borghgraef | Kwikzilver https://flic.kr/p/2r2Fs68

[sconesfortea]

Was fully asleep when I either dreamt or hallucinated a massive spider on my ceiling that I could see clear as day despite not having my glasses on and my ceiling being 15ft away and it being dark in my room.

Still spent 15 minutes standing stock still in the middle of my room just in case, searching my room with my phone light like some kind of human lighthouse.

[westeckwindows]

It's #TipTuesday!

A quick tip on Care and Maintenance of your Westeck Windows

*Clean window and door frames with a mixture of mild dish detergent and water.

Abrasive cleaners or solvents are never recommended because they might cause permanent damage to frame finishes. Mild non-abrasive soaps are usually safest for most dirt and stain removal. Always rinse completely with clear water and wipe dry.

Ensure drainage holes are always clear of dirt and debris that might obstruct free flow of water, both inside and outside of the window or door in the bottom of the frame and sash.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

I'm watching interior design videos on youtube and I can't tell if the youtubers are fucking with me or if I just can't tell what looks good.

"As you can see, something is 'off' about this room. Let's fix it!"

That looks like a normal room to me.

"And now that we've added this lamp for interest, moved the furniture to create more balance, and repainted those horrible clashing windowframes to better fit the tone of the room, look at what a difference it makes!"

That also looks like a normal room to me.

[complete-gay-chaos]

boy who wacked him fucking head

[david-watts]

it fucken wimdy

[leo-regulus]

My website title page is going to look SO GOOD when I'm done this art. SO GOOD.

You ever just have A Web Design Idea and then drop everything to start properly sketching it out, and then you get far enough into making it that you can see what it'll look like, and it's GLORIOUS, EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED, PERFECT IN EVERY WAY?

Yeah babey. B)

[slurmdog]

modern businessman luo binghe is having a bad day - he's running late to his next meeting, his car broke down, his apartment has a leak, and he has mud on his shoes while walking to an important interview.

that's why when someone wolf whistles and goes, "hey sexy, need a ride?" he feels like he's going to unleash the fury of the gods on that person for catcalling him on, perhaps, the worst day of his adult life

binghe turns on his heel and walks up to the open window of the mediocre car that pulled up - the driver's face overcome with an ashen pallor the closer he gets - and suddenly realizes that this is the most beautiful man he's ever met. so then binghe finds himself leaning on the open windowframe and twirling his hair going, "yes, actually,"

the driver looks behind binghe and winces. binghe gives him his best eyes and the driver says, "i meant, um..."

"your jokes aren't funny, shen yuan," a woman says behind binghe, and then she gets into the backseat. binghe is strangely dismayed - the driver who must be shen yuan must've been catcalling her as a joke, not him. shen yuan meets his eyes, inexplicably blushes, and gestures at the unlocked passenger door.

binghe gets in. he bats his eyelashes at shen yuan and blithely gives the address of the building he's interviewing at, makes conversation, then gives shen yuan his number and name on the way out.

[ning yingying climbs from the back seat to the front passenger without opening the doors (sue her! it's a sketchy warehouse area!) and says to shen yuan, "so he's probably a murderer, right?"]

[wri0thesley]

Oh for lucas to wake up in the dead of night and find your side of the bed empty and start to panic, only to see you leaning in the open window clad in just his unbuttoned shirt staring wistfully at the moon and stars

cw: kidnapped reader, yandere character, allusions to past non-con/dub-con, references to cannibalism.

The breeze is just cool enough to be bracing, your fingers tight in the wood of the windowframe as you feel gooseflesh rise across the back of your neck, the open collar of Lucas's shirt. It is just enough to remind you that you are real; that you exist beyond sitting quietly at Lucas's side, at washing up dishes and smiling sweetly and keeping your mouth shut.

The moon is full tonight. You wonder if, somewhere else, the other people you love are looking up at that same moon. You wonder if they are wondering about you; whether your picture is splashed in newspapers, taped to flyers on streetlamps, shared on Facebook again and again with pleas for you to come home. It would not matter if it were; none of those things make it here, to this cabin in the edge of nowhere.

The sheets rustle. The bedframe creaks, and you feel your spine stiffen. You hear a low mumble of distress that quickly becomes a growl of anger, and you find yourself frozen still in fear as if, if he does not see you move, he will not see you at all.

It's instinctual for him to roll over and crush you against him in his sleep. You'd been amazed when you'd woken up earlier that night and had found yourself not in his bear-like grip; your cheek not squashed against the steady beat of his heart, your limbs not bound by a muscular thigh slung over yours, cuddling you close like a favourite stuffed animal that isn't quite yet worn enough to be disposed of.

You'd seen the moon and been drawn to it like a hypnotic force, as the reminder of where you are had crashed back down on you and choked you with longing to be somewhere else. You'd hated your life once - can you believe it now? You'd hated the monotony, every day the same, your own four walls and the knowledge that your life was probably going to stretch on like this forever--

But that monotony was certainly preferable to this. Get up, go to work, buy a nice sandwich from the artisan bakery, a walk in the evening wherever you wanted to go . . . you would give anything to have that back, rather than 'wake up in the arms of a monster and smile nicely and bite back your anger and pretend that it's alright that he feeds you people'.

"Darlin'?" There's a note of warning in his voice. Something steel-edged beneath the sweetness. You'll have to play this carefully. You're not stupid enough to run, and you're certainly not stupid enough to try and run through an open window when you're only wearing his shirt and no underwear (and too, when you can still feel what he left in you not hours ago, sticky on your inner thighs).

"The moon's full," you say to him, turning around and giving him a soft, sweet smile the way that you've learnt he likes. No teeth; a hopeful shine in your eyes, a naive kind of excitement at the wonderment of everyday life. If faced with it yourself, you'd scoff and think that you were laying it on too thick - but the reminder of the feigned naivety is one of the quickest ways to get Lucas to calm down.

(A pout and a sniffle and an apology, when he'd caught you on the front porch without him one afternoon, and you'd told him you just wanted to see the chickens he told you so much about. A sigh and a wistful look about your own favourite childhood movie, when you'd grown tired of the Western VHSes Lucas favourited - a romance, of course. A fairytale. Something that was set in a pretty cottage in the woods, that you told him with such a guileless look that you ought to have won an award for it reminded you of him).

"Isn't it beautiful?"

He stands up from the bed and it takes all of your grace not to flinch at the reminder of his height and breadth, at the scars scattered across his body in the moonlight, highlighted by what little he wears. You keep your eyes wide and your smile pretty, and you practically see the tension unknotting from his shoulders.

You heave a sigh of relief that you disguise as a sigh over how pretty the night sky is.

"You got outta bed just to look?" He says, with only the barest note of warning left in his voice now - it's been far too tempered by indulgence, because you have played the game so well that he's willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. "You scared me for a second there."

The part where you're barely dressed and nervously toying with the hem of one of his own shirts where it sits high on your thigh and the reminder of how you'd sighed and clung to him earlier probably doesn't hurt, either. Give and take. It's not so much, is it, to give him your body for that hunger to avoid it being used for any other kind?

"I'm sorry," you say, contrite, and you let your face fall the merest fraction. You will tears to the corner of your eyes. "I--I didn't mean to-- I just wanted to look, the night's so clear and pretty . . ."

Jackpot. One of them slides down the apple of your cheek and Lucas takes a slow, shuddering breath that he thinks you don't notice. He steps closer and then he's behind you, and one big hand is sliding over your hip, around your waist.

"It's cold," he says to you. "Lemme shut the window; it's just as pretty when you're not shiverin'."

Was it worth it, you wonder - that brief moment of remembering that life is still going on, even though you're trapped here? You think it might have been, even as Lucas presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and guides you back to the bed.

"Besides," he murmurs, the proof of how much your tears have affected him obvious in the want in his voice. "Ain't no moon that could ever be half as pretty as you."

The next morning, Lucas goes into the spare room and returns to the bedroom with his arms laden with red gingham. He asks for your help holding them whilst he puts the curtains up, and you pretend not to notice that the uneven but tiny hem stitching suggests they were made by hands other than your own or Lucas's.

He closes them carefully before you lay down to sleep.