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who up kissing their eve
they’re in their own little corner 💙❤️
ITS THE BOYYSSSSSS!!!
Thinking aloud here;
This isn’t me saying you shouldn’t ship soukoku (or literally any other ship) because idc do what you want. There’s nothing wrong with shipping.
But I think everyone should forget about the romantics and just acknowledge the bond characters like Dazai and Chuuya have, without boiling it down to romantic (or sexual) attraction to one another.
Just for yourself to think about.
Regardless of what anyone else’s opinion is.
I just find that aspect kind of beautiful in itself.
And I think more people should recognise that as well.
the crows are his allies now.
my favorite thing about steel ball run is johnny humoring gyro
BART OWEN CONTENT YES YES YES FINALLY DAY FULFILLED
5th batch of ko-fi doodle comms; if you're interested, check the deets here!
[ID: 4 doodles drawn with a brush pen.
Simon Blackquill laughs.
Harry Wells holds a mug of coffee, posture relaxed.
Tim Drake wears Conner Kent's leather jacket; Kon nuzzles his cheek against Tim's head.
Owen Mercer and Bart Allen eat fast food at a table while talking.
End ID.]
Batboys and Bart: Part- Grayson
Okay so now is time for the long rant of Dick and Bart's dynamic. I'd like to state rn before anyone @/s me, I don't ship these two romantically, if anything it's more brotherly companionship than anything.
To start off, Bart would definatly be broken up about Wally's death just as much as Dickie would, and in a weird sense they'd have sort of an understanding. After Wally disapears, Artemis goes off grid so it's not like he can talk to her. Barry is off-limits for obvious reasons. (honestly some things Barry's said in the comics makes me feel like he blames Bart for Wally) More often than not, Bart would go to Bludhaven to talk to Dick and find comfort. Dick was, after all, Wally's best friend. And Bart would give him the same comfort.
Dick had already known Bart, he's seen him hang around the mannor, following behind Tim like a puppy with it's tail wagging. For a long time, he'd thought the two were dating with how close they were. Dick, being the awkard brother that's trying his best to get closer to his siblings would try and get to know his friends better and Bart really enjoyed his company whenever Dick stuck around.
Before Wally's death, Bart would always do anything and everything to make him jealous, upset, or a combination of the two. So every time Dick and Wally were in the same room with him, Bart would use his pick up lines on Dick just to piss Wally off and it worked every time. Dick, of course, knew what was happening because Bart had given him a rushed explination before he started doing that and he found it hilarious how Wally's face matched his hair as he dragged Bart away with the younger speedster yelling out "CALL ME". Tim pinched the bridge of his nose when he learned of this and Jason finds it hilarious as well. Damian, not so much.
Bart would definatly give Dick all the hugs, and Dick- being the touch starved boy he was with brothers who aren't too touchy and neither was Wally- always allowed it. He never really did anything in company but whenever they're having silent time just hanging out Bart would lean up against his shoulder or lean back to back with him. Speedsters are also actual furnaces so it's nice in the winter time. Dick would return the affections by a random hair ruffle in public or a touch to the shoulder to show he was there.
Just Batboys and Bart things
drunk walk home ; soukoku
synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.
author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3
In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.
Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.
That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.
All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.
“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”
“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”
Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”
“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.
“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”
“It was your idea to go drinking!!”
“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”
“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”
“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”
Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.
The fuck?
A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.
“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”
Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”
Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”
Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.
The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.
But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?
The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.
Tap.
The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.
“Think we can make it if we run?”
“Yeah, think you can keep up?”
“Any day, slug.”
Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.
Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.
Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.
I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!
I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!
And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.
By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.
It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.
So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?
It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.
Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.
“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”
my ugly dumb son and his nasty crusty boyfriend...
Twitter rlly liked this one
For the past 2 months, I've been near silent due to an art project I've been creating. This is my first time ever animating, so I hope it came out good for me being a first-timer. While this was exhausting and time consuming, I cant thank the Risathon discord and this art exchanges host, Petra, and the other mods enough for helping me finally get into animation and pushing my limits wen it comes to art. This was a blast to participate in! Thank u all! And ENJOY the art!
Here are the gifs of the separate turtle piles.
And finally, the colored finale turtle pile!
Hi if you think Théo didn't deserve the title because he has less wins you can very kindly fuck off <3
Maybe you didn't know this but the championship isn't decided on the number of wins! There's a reason points are there and being regular and getting good points is how you end up winning the title!
The point is Théo and Fred both fought very well and I'm very proud of them and I can't wait to see what they'll be up to next year and the years after that. Go boys!
OH, I CAN’T BELIEVE I HAVEN’T SHARED THESE YET.. What good is a Psychonauts au without some good ol brainswap shenanigans?
THIS!!!
if season 1 was a testament to sieun’s fight of self-determination — standing up for himself, punishing those who hurt him and his friends — and eventually realizing through beomseok’s plotline how damaging that sort of mindless violence can be, then season 2 is the portrayal of sieun’s reckoning with that, tempering down his viciousness, choosing force only when it is necessary, in an effort not to be cruel or do excessive harm.
it offsets so well with the baku-baekjin plotline — baekjin, a similarly intelligent and calculating boy who grew up bullied by others, who has that capacity for swift, harsh violence that sieun demonstrated all through season 1. but that’s not the person sieun is anymore, nor is it the person he wants to be.
“don’t cross the line” - that’s what embodies sieun’s approach to violence now. it’s why his takes resonate so much with his new friends at eunjang, who have all seen and felt very personally the harm of those who carelessly do so (jun-tae with hyoman, gotak with seungje, baku with baekjin). this is what broadly characterizes the motivations of our protagonists in s2, and it’s certainly a breath of fresh air in the vicious cycle they more broadly exist in.
"What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going, I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all"- The quote at the beginning of WHC.
And this is so perfect because:
This time Sieun didn't fight to avenge, he didn't to damage, to hurt, to win, he never fought for himself. Not once. This time, he fought to protect. And what makes WHC2 great is that you can actually SEE this difference in his fights this time. He is not vicious, just calculated, just enough to hold it at bay. He was calculating before, too, but this time it was subdued, quieter.
Park Jihoon truly is amazing as Yeon Sieun. Because everything this season, the way he acted genuinely showed the trauma, he embodied loss, hopelessness, not really belonging, the desperate plea to not get into a fight if he could avoid it, not to make the violence personal, Jihoon portrayed this all soo sooo well: from his body language to his eyes.
WAKE UP WORLD
Like, seriously. Stop sleeping on talent.
I found Kpop thanks to them and I feel like they should get more love from people.
They’re great dancers
They’re extra
They’re CRAZY
They’re SEXY
And they’re COOL
STAN ASTRO
RE-ANIMATOR ART DUMP.
Because my brain is rotting with it.
Thank you for your attention.
Me and the boys are back in town (to revive an old meme)
I really want something where Crystal and Charles see all of Edwins memories. Maybe Crystal is trying some new stuff with her powers and accidently drags Charles with her into Edwin's memories.
Some of it flashes by quick. His childhood, the years with Charles before they met Crystal, the cat king, Monty, a majority of Port Townsend.
Some of it drags by. His death, hell, meeting Charles, hell again, Esther, Niko.
She knows Charles kind of has an idea of what to expect but knowing and seeing are two different things.
Crystal can't even watch most of it. Crouching down and covering her eyes, crying and occasionally making a sound like she was going to be sick.
They can't make any changes, of course, and they can't talk to anyone. These things have already happened and they're just watching them but Charles breaks her heart.
He bounces between furious and devastated.
He walks around the boys holding Edwin down to sacrifice him like he's looking for an opening, around and around restlessly. He knows, even better than she does, that he can't do anything.
Hell is even worse. Charles is clearly upset but he's not surprised, a grim determination that has him trailing after Edwin like a shadow. He keeps up with Edwin, running with him through the hallways and making himself watch each time it all starts over. He runs back to find the new Edwin and sticks close again, right beside him or behind him. He doesn't get in the way or try to stop it, he can't do anything so he's trying to provide a comfort that Edwin can't feel.
He sits with Edwin when he finds a place to hide, just watching him. Sometimes he talks. She can't hear what he's saying but she can guess.
Sometimes the demon doesn't kill Edwin right away and he isn't hiding so much as trying to find a place to curl up and die. Charles follows, sometimes circling him like he had when they saw the boys who sacrificed him.
She doesn't understand why he's making himself watch it all. How can he watch it when Crystal can barely tolerate just the sounds?
She's never seen him so focused. She thinks he might have forgotten she's even here.
Ghosts bleed here, they can feel and, the last thing Edwin felt as a living being was hands holding him down and the last thing he truely felt while dead would have been the last time the demon ripped him apart before he escaped hell. No wonder he's less bothered by iron than Charles. Iron is nothing compared to this.
She wants to tell Charles to come over to her. Tell him to stop watching, god why is he watching?
She knows why though, because he needs to know. Usually the mind can conjure up things much worse than reality but she thinks that neither of them could have imagined something like this. She knows Charles saw some of it when he went to get Edwin the second time but it wasn't a lot. He and Edwin were both tight-lipped when it came to hell, other than Edwin mentioning it vaguely here and there, usually in arguments.
He passes her again as he follows Edwin, again and again, and she goes to yell at him but she stops. His jaw is clenched the way he does it when he's truely furious, and his mouth is a thin line.
Charles can be scary when he's angry, especially when he's angry because someone has hurt Edwin. He would never hurt her but there's a cautiousness to how she speaks to him when he gets like this. Forget the cricket bat, he looks like he'd throw himself at the demon with just his nails and teeth if he could.
The memories go on and he's just as restless during Edwin's second trip to hell, only relaxing when he appeared in the memory.
Watching Esther is hard, Charles doesn't move during this one, just stands by the table Edwin is stuck on and stares.
This one is different and she thinks it because Charles was here for this one. She knows he's in the kitchen, kept in place with an iron collar and stuck listening to Edwin scream.
Crystal loses track of them as she sees Niko in the corner and sudden she needs to see it. She can feel Charles look over at them as Niko dies on the floor but he stays where he is until Edwin is up and next to Niko too.
More memories slip by until they're suddenly thrown back into the real world.
It's jarring, like something smacked them on the back of their heads. It takes them a minute for the world to stop spinning and their thoughts to reform. It's been seconds, maybe a minute, since they'd been thrown into the memories. Crystal feels like she's aged 10 years.
She does think she understands Charles a lot more now. She knows she's going to be reluctant to let Edwin off somewhere by himself, not that Charles would let him.
Edwin looks nervous, looking at them then the floor and back up to them again. He straightens the ends of his sleeves the way he does when he needs something to do with his hands and then he starts to press against each other. He must have a good idea of what happened and what they probably saw.
She remembers one of the deaths where he had ended up close to where she's been curled up. The way he laid on his side and just stared at the wall, quiet and accepting, the way tears rolled down his face and he just kept bleeding. Until he didn't anymore and Charles took off without a word to go find the new him again.
Niko is beside him and looks at both Charles and her with big eyes. She wonders what they look like, if they look any different to her and Edwin.
Charles makes a vague stangled noise beside her, makes a move towards Edwin, and she takes a deep breath.
Right. Okay, she and Niko need to leave. Like, right now. She has a feeling that the boys need to have a very long talk. And just cling to each other for awhile.
She grabs Niko, who looks at Edwin to see if he wants her to stay but he shakes his head just enough for her to let Crystal get them both out the door and away.
As they're leaving, she wonders what she'd do if someone had shown her Niko's death over and over. She looks at the other girl, who still looks worried but gives Crystal a little smile.
Maybe they need to have a talk too.
🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙
Two side notes:
*Currently living for the idea of Charles and Crystal going feral over Edwin and Niko being hurt. And vice versa.
*You know when dogs/wolves circle something over and over, like they're trying to herd it or just watching from all sides? Idk for some for some reason I just picture that from Charles in certain situations. Especially when he can't do anything. Just circling it over and over like eventually he'll see something, find a way to do something.
I gave NEVS a pap, and I’m losing my mind over him (note: this is not his final design, his new shiny look will be posted fairly soon)