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#and hit them in a loving way
goregeousbruise · 7 months
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Hear me out:
MEN IN LACE PANTIES.
Thank you.
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jackshiccup · 6 months
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some modern hijacks for the soul (and bumping shoulders as a love language)
shoutout @midoristeashop for these swag brushes <3
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htub · 10 months
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I really like that they made Jor-El speak Kryptonian and Clark unable to understand him. The whole "aliens speak English" thing that happens in every goddamn media has bothered me all my life. Ik sometimes Clark just gets zapped in the brain for insta-second language but that always felt like a cheap shortcut.
Jor-El had a lot on his mind when he set up that magic spaceship okay. The world was ending and he was trying to do as much as he could before time ran out so he could be there for his son. He was rushing. He likely didn't consider Kal would be raised with a whole different language and not know any Kryptonian nor have anyone to teach him.
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taxinealkaloids · 1 year
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horrible children who are. so so mean to each other
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ohitslen · 1 year
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OMG the sillies!! ✨✨
Also I’m sorry (not really) Wolfwood, but since you became one of my favorites it was only a matter of time until I did a drawing of you all beaten up 🦅🔥🔥
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canisalbus · 7 months
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hi sorry in advance if this is weird but i couldn't for the life of me figure out who machete was reminding me of and just now i figured it out - surku the dog from the moomins. can't remember enough to tell how accurate that is personality wise but something about the image of a distressed pointy-nosed dog shivering in a coat... plus ne on molemmat ahdistuneita queer ikoneita
I love Surku! Surku must be protected at all costs.
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If you ask me, he's even more distressed in the comics.
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I keep him on my fridge door as well.
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But now that we're on the topic of Moomin characters, I must add that I see Machete in various Fillyjonks a lot. The short story Fillyjonk who believed in disasters is one of my favorite pieces of literature ever, when I first read it it shook me to my core, I still revisit it on yearly basis. For someone who seemed so wild and free spirited by nature, Tove Jansson did remarkable job at catching and depicting the essence of anxiety, uncertainty, vague sadness and irrational fears. At least in my opinion.
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contact-guy · 4 months
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In September I watched Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes and it ruined my life I really cannot stress how much I love these movies
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solarisfortuneia · 2 months
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— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.
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and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.
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✦ 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.)
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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.” 
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✦ 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.
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saltycryptidz · 11 months
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"miguel is the villain spot is the villain miles himself is the villain" no youre all wrong the REAL TRUE villain of atsv was that bitch ass school counselor lady
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heich0e · 2 months
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every year on your wedding anniversary osamu convinces you to take your ring off and go wedding cake tasting at local bakeries while pretending that the two of you are still engaged
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shrimpchipsss · 1 year
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ode to x_los’ gender swap, three styles
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introspectivememories · 2 months
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the funniest possible thing that could happen is if mercedes keeps hiring childhood best friends for their team and everybody's holding their breath waiting for them to tear each other apart like brocedes except it doesn't happen bc everyone else is normal about each other and brocedes is just that fucked up that they would've torn each other apart even if they were on different teams
#i like to think that in this hc both nico and lewis were waiting for the new team to tear each other apart just so they could feel like what#happened to them was an inevitability. except the new team doesn't tear each other apart and now they have to deal with the fact it was#their faults. not competing for the championship or the stress of being on the same team but just them. ripping each other apart for even#the slightest advantage. just them digging their fingers into the rotting carcass of their childhood friendship to hit each other where it#hurts. just them cannibalizing their childhood dream for even the most miniscule chance of beating each other. and what do you do then?#when the reason your friendship fell apart is bc you two couldn't put each other before the trophy? and what do you do when you know that#you wouldn't be you if you chose each other? what then? maybe it was inevitable. maybe it was fate.#auugh i love the inevitability of tragedies!!! this all came bc ppl kept saying that albon in merc would be brocedes 2.0 and like no!!! no#will ever be brocedes 2!!! nobody has the drama or the ethos/pathos/logos to be brocedes 2.0!! you dont have the frosties or the dreams or#greece!!! you dont have greece!!! and more importantly!!! nico and lewis were /weird/ about each other!!! no 1 else on this grid is weird#about each other the way nico and lewis were/are!!! nobody else is obsessed with each other the way they were!!!#anyway breakdown over#nico rosberg#lewis hamilton#brocedes#f1
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ohmthipakorn · 5 months
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bed friend, episode 3
middleman's love, episode 3
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myspacepoet · 7 months
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silly gerard i drew in biology 🫶
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mugentakeda · 5 months
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not even harvards top scientists could understand the complexities of the azula-iroh beef lore that i made up in my head
(silly bonus under the cut)
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mobius-m-mobius · 17 days
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thought we had it all, thought we had it all, thought we had it all...
- So Much (For) Stardust - Fall Out Boy (i/n/sp)
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