#I was in the play as a teenager though

[goldensunset]

i’ve been thinking about the pokémon memes where it’s like playing off of that one quote that’s like ‘truly strong trainers should try to win using their favorites’ and it’s like ‘ok well my favorite is [something blatantly overpowered]’ and it’s got me curious. how many people genuinely love pokémon that also happen to be really strong competitively?

so if you will. pick a favorite pokémon (for any reason! whether it’s cuteness or strength or nostalgia etc. no judgment) then go here https://www.smogon.com/dex/sv/pokemon/ and look it up

(you’ll see something that looks like this. see where it says tier and has some gibberish afterwards? don’t worry if you don’t know what that means but tell me what the letters/words are)

also if there are multiple forms and the distinction matters to you make sure you get the right one lol cuz the tiering can be different

edit: forgot to mention i mean specifically in SV! which is what comes up by default. rip every pokémon that either isn’t in SV (it’ll say ‘national dex’) or used to be better but has since fallen off relative to new pokémon

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you all for voting in the poll to decide who was going to be the leader of the band! It turned out to be such a close race!

[turtleblogatlast]

I honestly love the clothing styles of each of the turtles in this show and I love how these styles really incorporate their personalities as well.

Like, obviously Donnie has the best sense of style, yeah? Think that’s something pretty agreed upon here. Everything we see him put together is very meticulously crafted and clean. That goes with his personality because Donnie is a very meticulous person in general, and he knows what he likes very, very well, and knows how to flaunt it in turn. Him commenting on colors he enjoys or disapproving of outfits that the others see no problem with also shows how he just generally has an eye for this kind of thing. He doesn’t just know what looks good on himself, but also what looks good on others - and I think this ties into his love of gift giving too. Donnie also has a flair for making sure that his things have his “mark” on them, and his clothing is no exception. All that he wears and how he wears them screams “Donnie.”

Mikey is really fun because his styles are honestly a pendulum between super simplistic and incredibly out there. And often, you’re going to see a lot of color or patterns to both. And in my opinion I think that all reflects really well on Mikey’s character - he’s got a colorful personality but even more than that he’s incredible sure of who he himself is. Mikey’s style, I feel, is less what looks good as clothes and more what sparks joy in Mikey himself. His bright stickers he wears are a testament of that! He’s comfortable in his own skin and his style reflects this perfectly, whether he goes for a more out-there look or a more toned down one.

Now, for Leo. Okay, I think I’m actually in the minority here I feel because Leo’s style isn’t really that bad? Hear me out- if you actually look at what he wears, try taking out, like, one accessory. Suddenly, that outfit works! He even manages to put together many good outfits in the series, but his “bad” ones are the ones that tend to stand out, alas (just like how his mistakes tend to be big ones oop-) Basically, my personal look at him is not that he’s inept at styling at all, but that he has a “too much” gene. And like everyone else, this sense of style is completely like him, too. Going too far to impress when all he needed to do was slow it down some to think things through. (And funnily enough, a lot of his outfits take random aspects from his brothers too - “nothing without them” huh?)

For Raph, I feel bad for him since pretty much all of his clothes are inevitably going to be ripped, but he makes them work pretty much each time. Like Leo, Raph tends to go more sporty with his looks, but I also noticed that his stuff often goes in that in between of comfy, cool, and cute. His pajama suit in particular comes to mind in terms of “cute” as it’s more something you’d see younger children in rather than older kids, and I think it can be a subtle nod to the fact that for all Raph tries to seem older, he’s still just a kid too.

I could probably go on, but these are just all off the top of my head - I love how the boys’ personality’s come out in so many different ways.

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

albus severus is the human embodiment of be gay do crime, in this essay I will-

[sammygender]

trans headcanons of the winchesters are always extremely fun to play around with and i can see most of them. but one that always rings slightly false to me, despite a love for it due to self-identification and the fact it’s definitely interesting, is transmasculine dean. simply because if you’re going according to canon this would require him to have transitioned at some point prior to johns death, probably much prior, probably as a youngish kid. and i genuinely do not think that ever could’ve happened. he values johns approval too much and is too scared of demanding too much of him.

like even aside from whether john is Actually transphobic (i doubt he’s like Cartoonishly transphobic he probably would be annoyed by it slash not care much, interpret ‘not caring’ however you want) just the whole Thing of coming out where you’re like. “Hey dad im actually a human person who has an internal sense of self and such that doesn’t happen to be You 2.0 and am not the gender you thought i was and i feel emotions to such an extent that i actually like need to transition”…….

no fucking way dean would ever be able to do that to john while he’s still alive. please. teenage transmasculine dean would be like Well yeah sure i want to be a guy but that’s not an option for me whatsofuckingever. and crucially he’d be like that even if he knew entirely about trans people. now this is why transfemme dean works so well. because you just know it would take her at least thirty years to even consider it for a singular second.

on the other hand transmasc sam works so well because you can picture teenage transmasculine sam realising he’s a boy and promptly making it part of the whole entirely justified and very cool and fun teen angst rebellion FUCK YOU DAD thing. he could let spite carry him to the point of coming out. dean? he is burying that shit deep.

[trebuchet151]

This is jumping the queue bc some really cool people reblogged my last post of Corey and they escaped containment.

Updated sidestep design perpetual WIP

Sidestep days vs retribution. They're slowly reacquiring their self expression. Next book will probably be the full return of the scene/punk look

Bonus Corey sans most of their clothing to show off their tattoos under the cut. CW for healed SH scars

Yes that is Ortega's bedroom yes I half assed it. I drew this background in my car at work when it was like 110 degrees idgaf

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[attractthecrows]

nothing gets my engine humming like the doomed origin romances of da:o. Tamlen my beloved. Gorim my beloved. Nelaros you poor fucking bastard and also my beloved

[kismetconstellations]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart) x.

[galewindstudios]

I saw your request are open! I was wondering if you know the game ‘Terraria’? If you do could you draw the truffle? They are a really cool character and I feel they fit your art style really good! If not that’s a okay! Thank you and have a good day! ^^

Sure thing! I hope you don't mind an MSPaint Truffle!

[britneyshakespeare]

can you imagine being a little twee simon and garfunkel fan in the late 60s and then buying your new vinyl at the record store and hearing mrs. robinson for the first time in your own home. i would’ve fallen over backwards

[dnangelic]

like it's just the way that outside of the BATB/POTO 'love what's ugly and ostracized' narrative itself cocteau was gay and everybody hated his gall about it, howard ashman was gay and had to conceal it and died of aids after finishing his work for disney's batb.... rather than have dark be homophobic and spitting in the face of his inspirational roots (the sole canon detail i can't stand) it's much much much more interesting for me to both read and write not someone who's meant to be a pervert (in humor) and an agape lover (in serious contextualization) only to turn and say 'no homo' to the crowd every single time but rather, instead of all that, someone who, simultaneously taking daisuke into account, is both extremely firm yet simultaneously insecure in the struggle to establish their identity not only in regards to themselves but also around others.

that applies to a lot, but i've been considering it especially in regards to dark's gender and daisuke's attractions. dark in my portrayal (while overall 500% nonbinary) is closer to someone bi-gender rather than agender; the feminine aspect to him isn't just theatrics, it's actively also part of his entirety to him, (compared to daisuke's passivity; the ten thousand canonical princess allusions,) and even if nobody ever recognizes it in a cognizant way, it is always, always there, the same way that erik blurs and obscures gender in leroux's novel (my second enormous inspiration, sugisaki's outright admitted primary) and sakurai occasionally discusses his relationship as both a performer and a person as well (my third enormous inspiration and sugisaki's secondary,) (see 1, 2.) simply put, the tragedy of (my!) dark does not ever derive from his being able to choose and sit comfortably and confidently with this sort of identity (in fact, it's one of the few things he can stubbornly, viciously decide for himself [alongside daisuke] as essentially a non-human, autonomous 'angel',) it's instead the way that his personality is so strong and 'anti-feminine' in the eyes of convention that said aspect of himself often gets disregarded for strictly masculine (and regardless, further self-contradictory and therefore isolating,) expectations.

dark himself alone does not care if others do not understand him; this is meant to be one of his far more admirable and impressive traits. he's staunchly independent: he knows who he is, what he's supposed to be, and he knows that if he actively presented himself more femininely (crossdressing to 'pass' essentially,) then people's behaviors WOULD be very likely to change around him, but he doesn't even do that because it goes against his overwhelming sense of pride. he never contorts, he never twists himself, what matters to him is that he and he alone understands himself and knows what he is, what he isn't. but he is, without proper support or acceptance, still alone. even bearing a strong character, the stifling loneliness and inherent, underlying self-sense of broken/wrongness of the 'other,' (god's luciferean problem child, the black sheep, the black-leather wearing punk,) is still inflicted on him. dark exists solely for himself, he exists solely for daisuke, which is simultaneously wherein the inversion and insecurities lie: if dark is canonically the live metaphor for all the aspects of daisuke's self that he attempts to and yet cannot possibly, conceivably repress, from his loves to his faults to his shames and his criminal sins as a thief, then the likes of daisuke's own personal confusions in regards to himself and his attempts at intimacy/socialization with others is the other, hidden side of dark's absolute self-confidence; it's every fear of perpetual isolation, misunderstanding, and abandonment for things outside of daisuke's own control.

queerness in relation to the self (transgender allegory) queerness in relation to others (non-hetero-romanticism) mental illness (depression, anxiety,) etc, etc, dark's thematic basis may at its most general simply be "a secret that feels wrong and that you feel you can't really tell anyone or else you'll get in trouble/won't be as liked as much" but it feels much better to give due respect to each of these primary roots.

[daily-hanamura]

[dreamsy990]

i drew silly gijinkas of my dogs

the dogs in question

[blue-eyed-giant]

actually, as i start approaching 20 i realize nana is not a cool coming of age story but it is, in fact, a horror

[basuralindo]

Hey do you think Jamil has trouble seeing people his age as peers?

Like, growing up having to be a caretaker to a guy literally a few months older than him, always expected to act like the adult in the situation, expected to work with adults and adopt their perspectives and pick up their slack. Do you think he just, forgets sometimes?

I mean we've seen him go into caretaker mode with other sophomores, and the only people I've seen him take seriously are juniors like Vil who also act much older than they should have to (his reactions to Leona look more like a trauma response and I don't wanna get into it here). People like Malleus and Cater still somewhat get the caretaker treatment. Like I just highly doubt that he subconsciously realizes he's actually part of his age group

Aaand that inevitably brings up Azul, who also acts like he thinks he's older than he is. Whether you're looking at it from a shipping angle or not, he reacts to Azul like an actual peer. With older students, he seems more in his element but there's still a status hierarchy which he compulsively reacts to. With Azul he doesn't acknowledge any status worth respecting or see him as someone who needs to be looked after. He just bickers like an equal, in a way that implies he actually does see Azul as a real peer, like subconsciously he's categorized this guy into the same group as himself, who was previously alone on that level (he gets like this more with the twins too, over time, but it seems to start with Azul).

And my favorite part about this is, while that response stems from them both acting more like adults in general, they elicit a pettiness from each other which drags them both down to actually acting their own age, and I just love that. Their characters are perfect foils for each other and it seems to make them both less isolated in a way.