#ig?? are we friends?

[m0ths-wanderings]

@little-banjo-frog

@tmntstorycomp

a very real (more or less) interaction between Banjo and I upon seeing the brackets

I'm processing lmao

Vote for Cardinal Rules!! :]]

[soranker]

98 lovemail doodles >_<

[thebrainrotsreal]

Drew this real quick because I fucking love these two so much ???? Especially Bee. I wish they interacted more so badly. PLEASE.

Also learning how to draw these guys.. slowly.

[isaacz]

[pussysidon]

Living with a disability, especially a progressive or dynamic one is so fucking stressful. I don't know whether I'll be able to do things I can do now in a couple of years or even a couple of months. Maybe today I'm up and dancing but tomorrow I can barely leave my bed. I'm already grieving the things I know I won't be able to do in the future and it's so, so so so hard. The worst part is that there's nothing you can do but try to enjoy life right now and hope you can keep doing what you love

[homielander]

ohhh antony is carrying the show on his back 😭 https://x.com/screenrant/status/1805265919741989352?s=46

i don't want to discredit the work that writers do, especially in laying the groundwork for a character like homelander and crafting a compelling arc for him with every new season. and i'm sure they were very involved in the making of ep 4 as well, despite kripke generously giving credit where it's due here. however...

it is nice to know that antony starr has not only elevated the character with a superb performance but also made some pretty valuable contributions to the script :) obviously i'm biased but i think he is the standout of every episode. i'm throwing emmys at him

[quillthrillswriting]

i'm sorry, but the atla fandom is the only place where i've ever seen people unironically use a 12 year old telling his friend that killing someone out of grief is maybe a rash decision and not healthy to argue that that same 12 year old is being controlling and is an unhealthy partner

you guys know that murder is like....a bad thing....right? especially for a 14 year old? you guys know that revenge murder isn't a healthy strategy? you guys know that anyone who would encourage that is probably actually the unhealthy one in that scenario...right??

[welcometogrouchland]

Disgustingly messy and crusty sketch dump but I couldn't get my own terrible theory out of my head and ended up making a bunch of sketches about it. Also at the end a bonus dickbats and Damian doodle bc I was reading an issue of their Batman and Robin run (IDs in Alt)

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[shimera]

the last transmission

__

shmol leland as a bonus because yea

[seafoamsol]

Hey, different post than usual, but this is just a PSA for people who may follow or have purchased anything from @/kagebros, or are looking to join any of the zines run by them @/allsparkzines. They have a history (and present) of tracing for profit.

I don’t think this one requires an overlay. It’s a trace of the yolopark bumblebee shockwave model kit promotional image, as a “sketch”.

Which they changed, once people noticed it! Changed most of it. They traced a different promotional image for the gun, which remained largely the same, even in the final piece (right).

Their matching Optimus Prime poster is a trace of the still from a [ Paramount promo video ], 36 seconds in.

There are several other examples that I can’t fit into this post without making it overly long, but if you have purchased or have been gifted anything from them, there is a chance it has been traced.

Regarding tracing as a tool:

Go hogwild! Trace all you want! Tracing is a very useful tool for learning shapes and forms, but like any other tool, it’s only useful if you use it correctly. The ultimate goal of tracing is to understand. It’s training wheels. Just don’t hide and lie about it, because as soon as you do, it becomes plagiarism.

Even within the finished versions of the Shockwave poster, it’s still clear where parts have been traced or copied without understanding. It’s a shame, because transformers as a franchise having so many toys makes it very easy to make references!

Here's an example of how I use them:

Luckily for me, the Cybertron toys and models are more or less exactly the same. I don't own the toys, so I have two images from a [ toy reviewer ] on top. Many angles to help me understand exactly what's happening. Granted, I could just ask my friend who does own the toy for him in the same pose, but tracing over that directly would make it too stiff and it wouldn't mesh with my style.

TL;DR: Kage traces, blindly and without disclosure, for profit.

[spiritoast]

my favorite coming-of-age teen sitcom

[girlypop-m0thra-supremacy]

Mabel and Bill supremacy yall

[livingislands]

Hi Punch Out Fandom

Close ups cuz slay

I’m committing to the Little in ‘Little Mac’ cuz 5’7 isn’t even that short

[strawberrybyers]

LMFAO the stranger things crew are so funny 😭 they’ve been filming for months with fans and paparazzi taking pics and videos, but of course right after we get pics of byler; now everyone on set wants to be proactive about leaks,, like if byler is not endgame then why are they always so afraid of us knowing anything about them 😂

[freddos616]

imagine being closeted and repressed and you randomly gain a harem in 2024 completely by accident. edwin payne you will always be famous.