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Jamie Lam

@jwhlam

2 months ago

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of child, street, night and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of sketch, park and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of picnic, park and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of ship, barge and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of signboard and text that says '201 SOURDOUGH BREAD ZUCCHINI 12'.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of grass, picnic, park and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an illustration of diary, magazine, poster, book and text that says 'OLR 자미인니 Types of Tears and How Fall They by Mariel Rotherham'.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of grass, park, bridge and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of cereal, popcorn, wafer and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of kayak, canoe, lake and text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of text.

Photo by Jamie Lam on September 02, 2026. May be an image of campsite and text.

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Posted On: September 2nd 2026, 08:55 pm

life lately aka the summer I turned blonde-ish

Comments (5)

rachelj.chen

2 months ago

rachelj.chen

glad u didnt fall in the water

jlamarts

2 months ago

jlamarts

Hehe so much joy ❤️

kait0fu

2 months ago

kait0fu

new hair for new city (soon) 😍

More posts

Megatron’s fusion cannon hissed, a low, predatory hum that vibrated the very air molecules in the valley. “Impressed by a monkey in a cage?” Megatron sneered, his voice dropping to a gravelly, lethal register. “You play with our dead, fleshling. Now you die with them.”
Before Megatron could pull the trigger, a shrieking sound tore through the clouds—not the clean sonic boom of a Decepticon seeker, but the dirty, screaming roar of twin-turbocharged engines. A sleek, midnight-blue Cobra Hurricane jet dropped out of the sun like a falling brick. It didn’t pull up. It rammed straight into Megatron’s shoulder at Mach 2.
The jet exploded in a blinding sheet of white-hot magnesium, the kinetic impact staggering the Decepticon leader and throwing his fusion blast wide. The purple beam obliterated an entire mountain peak behind Destro instead.
Through the smoke and raining burning debris, a figure descended. He hadn’t ejected; he had ridden the goddamn fuselage down until the last possible second.
Cobra Commander hit the shattered ice on his boots, his chrome faceplate gleaming through the ash, a heavy-barrel laser rifle slung over his shoulder and a trench coat whipping wildly in the concussive wind.
“Did you miss me, Destro?!” the Commander shrieked, his voice stripped of its usual theatrical whine, replaced by a raw, throat-tearing venom. “You thought I ran?! I was fetching a bigger boot to crush these oversized microchips!”
Devastator, limping and leaking glowing green hydraulic fluid from his ruined knee, roared and swung a massive fist down to turn the Commander into a grease spot.
Cobra Commander didn’t even look up. He pulled a heavy, customized dark-matter grenade from his belt, flipped the pin with his teeth, and hurled it directly into the open maw of Mixmaster’s mixer drum on Devastator’s left leg.

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