#we have everyday !!!

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

i think everyone who's ever had migraines should be financially compensated forever btw

[mobius-m-mobius]

#there are two types of actors 😂💖

[lambert-simnel]

Did you know Nana Visitor said in an interview she wasn’t considered a beautiful actress in the 90’s? absolutely insane

I actually had a hard time finding reference images for early season short hair big shoulder pads Kira. I guess they did less promo and the camera quality was maybe a bit shit in early on idk but this is my favourite outfit of hers ever I literally wrote about it for uni once

Anyway I can see definite improvement from my Dax painting, i’m still colour picking from the reference so I might challenge myself not to do that next time. I think this took around 3 hours? I should probably start timing myself

I’m really happy i’m getting better at digital painting but it has made me a little sad that I do so little traditional art now. that being said this is soo much easier to post getting a photo of the VVitch poster was so difficult and it would not scan correctly!!

all art is under #my art ,click for better quality !

[linoyes]

LEE KNOW + DLC VIDEO MAKING FILM

[cheese-water]

he is the only funny person on the damn app

[daikunart]

[clonerightsagenda]

"what if you had a mutual aid network that occasionally told interdimensional monsters to fuck off": Discworld witches as a concept

[mortalfortaxpurposes]

"oh but why does everyone have a big bandom-famous fic and fall out boy don't" look into your heart. this is a good thing

[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.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

so five and lila being a thing is going right next to allison literally sexually assaulting luther in the box of things we are absolutely under no circumstances accepting as part of canon right

[arkaix]

Celebration

Sometimes the real sitcom is the friends we made along the way. Ayyyyyyyyy ∼

That was corny af Imma go hide in the tags now ヘ⁠(⁠￣⁠ω⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠)

[ardate]

Every Boromir hater makes my enormous love for him grow stronger. Sorry you couldn't understand him, I get him tho and we're holding hands and the whole of Gondor is laughing at you

[liam-summers]

AtS 2.22 | BtVS 5.22

"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me."

[yuwuta]

Oh we need more of the tennis player yuuta.

so true we do. a match was cancelled and rescheduled due to inclement weather, which is fine, it happens occasionally. except, the reschedule interferes with your work trip, which is how yuuta ends up with your baby boy in his lap at his pre-match press conference. yuuta was worried at first, your son definitely wouldn’t be used to the cameras and reporters, and it was also seven in the morning, so he really hoped the baby wouldn’t become too irritated, but all his worrying was for nothing. 

your baby boy didn’t seem to the mind the cameras, or the large crowd of people, his father was right there to hold him through the entire thing. with them side by side like this, their similarities really show; their droopy eyelids and tired expression, the occasional slow blinking when they’re confused or in thought, the same nose scrunch that makes everybody coo when it happens. one reporter mentions you by name, and that makes the otherwise sleepy baby perk and babble “mama” into the microphone instinctively, which melts everybody’s hearts, yuuta’s included, “that’s right, baby, that’s mama,” he coos, pinching his kid’s cheek before returning his attention to the reporter, “but, yeah, my wife—she’s great. she’s away on work right now, and we miss her a lot, but i’m so proud of her. i got to speak to her right before this conference actually, and she said she’d tune in when she could, so i hope she’s watching—wait, sorry, um… what was the question again?” (his rambling off about my wife my wife my wife is not new. it happens in every conference and interview, he’s just a loverboy through and through). 

during the match, it’s dead silent when yuuta’s about to serve and then there’s the tiniest cry of “dada,” just as he’s about the throw the ball up, which makes him smile and stop and turn to his son, and the entire crowd coos. yuuta is not too proud to blow a kiss before going to serve again.

[fellow-fandom-fruitifier]

Edwin is way too fucking kind. Like, picture this. You JUST got dragged down into a pit that took you 70 years prior to escape and, while down there, you run into the very boy that SENT you there. Yes, it was supposed to be a “prank”. But it was never EVER a good one, even if it did turn out to be fake. You were dragged out of your bed, tied up and gagged like a pig, and held down. That “prank”, since it’s inception, wasn't funny or harmless. (Not even getting into how bad it would be to be labeled a homosexual in the 19-fucking-hundreds.)

Then you get dragged into The Pit™️ for 7 decades and tortured beyond comprehension. Now you're finding out its cause the boy ASSSUMED you were like him then ASSUMED he assumed wrong. All that because the boy couldn't handle you not being what he assumed you were, you didn't even know he assumed that! You didn't even know HE was that!

Edwin had every right to berate Simon and leave but he DIDN’T. He offered him a hand — all but begged Simon to join him — and promised a salvation no one had offered him before. (Before Charles I mean.) He’s just so kind it breaks my heart. Like, yes, he’s a petty bitch; but he read to a dying boy to comfort him in the same year he escaped Hell. He upended his entire afterlife to go save Becky Aspen despite his protests. He offered his killer a helping hand.

Someone get this jerk a break oh my GOD he deserves one.

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

The thing no one ever considers while writing up character analyses about Merlin is that. he must have been sooooooo sleepy.