Takato Matsuki BT21-089, Guilmon BT21-064, Growlmon BT21-068, WarGrowlmon BT21-076, And Megidramon BT21-079

Do it!!!

Time to draw og frank west on a leash hehe

That man has a degradation kink fr fr

Gonna spam post cus I have so much art to share but here’s my Nick Shimeji!! He’s a lil desktop pet that just kinda hangs around your screen :)

You know, at first i found this funny, and it is, but I think what's happening is that Nick's suffering from hysteria. It makes sense knowing what he's going through. Also, the fact that he's dancing while saying he hates dancing just seals the deal. Maybe someone will write a fic about this i don't know

i had to go in and record this myself but nick can dance in dylan's fight (while simultaneously saying he hates dancing)

✨ 10 chaotic writer facts you didn’t ask for but are getting anyway ✨

I write 1,000–3,000 words a day. Not because I’m disciplined, but because I have no social life and mild control issues. It’s fine. I’m fine.

Before I ever touched a keyboard, I was an artist. Like, sketchbook-at-recess, drew-my-own-manga-level obsessed. I’ve been drawing since I was five. Now I use those powers to procrastinate writing.

I talk to my characters like they’re real people. I once argued with one out loud in a grocery store. We’re not on speaking terms anymore.

I name all my WIPs things like “pain_project” or “he cries again.docx” because I enjoy foreshadowing my own breakdowns.

I collect empty notebooks like a Victorian ghost who died tragically in a stationary store.

I have cried because a character forgave someone. That’s it. That’s the fact.

Sometimes I start new projects just to avoid editing old ones. This is not a healthy system but it is a personality.

I finish a gut-wrenching scene and then go eat cereal like nothing happened. Cold emotional whiplash is my brand.

I regularly forget what my characters are supposed to know, and when it happens, I just give them sudden intuition or full-blown memory loss.

I’ve rage-deleted whole chapters because a side character took over and made the main one look bland. And yes, I made the side character the lead.

Okay, now your turn—drop your own ✨10 chaotic writer facts✨. I know you’ve got them. Don’t leave me screaming into the void alone. Reblog this with your chaos, I want to see the beautiful mess.

Love u all!

everytime i watch redline im absolutely ass blasted by the idea that it was animated entirely 2d by hand

you had to have been out of your god damn mind to agree to work on this film

10 Secrets Your Character Is Desperately Hiding (and Probably Will Until They Die or Get Drunk Enough to Confess)

╰ They moonlight as an absolutely awful stand-up comedian.

They don’t just tell bad jokes, they commit to them. We’re talking full costume, dollar-store wigs, a fake name like “Chuckles McSuffer,” and punchlines that make people groan so hard their souls briefly exit their bodies. And....they love it. The stage is the only place they feel weirdly free… which is why no one in their real life can ever know. Ever.

╰ They can dance like their life depends on it, but they never do it in public.

We’re talking footwork that would make a music video jealous. Rhythm in their bones. But they’ve decided the world isn’t ready. Or maybe they’re not. So they only dance alone in the kitchen at 2 a.m. Or in the middle of a supermarket aisle when they think no one’s looking. And when they do get caught? “Nope. That wasn’t me. That was… a spasm. Mind your business.”

╰ They’re secretly freakishly good at imitating animals.

Birds. Dogs. Goats. Snakes. They’ve got the sounds, the gestures, the whole weird little zoo living inside them. It’s the kind of skill you don’t admit to having because it’s impossible to explain how it started or why you’re so good at it. They only let it out when alone… or, let’s be real, when they’re trying to impress someone and immediately regret it.

╰ They are the office prankster. And no one suspects a thing.

Every missing stapler, glitter bomb, whoopee cushion, and mysteriously replaced family photo? That’s them. The mild-mannered barista/accountant/space pilot you’d never suspect. They’ve got an entire prank calendar hidden in their sock drawer and a spreadsheet of targets and outcomes. But they also have boundaries. No emotional damage. Just chaos.

╰ They have a full-on karaoke alter ego.

Different name. Different voice. Whole new personality. They sneak off to karaoke bars in the next town over wearing sunglasses indoors and croon power ballads like their soul is trapped in a 2005 romcom montage. Their go-to number is “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” Their real friends have no idea. And if they ever found out? This character would simply evaporate.

╰ They collect the weirdest sh*t you’ve ever seen.

Not stamps. Not coins. Try: novelty rubber ducks. Ugly fridge magnets. Cursed porcelain dolls. Empty chip bags from every country they’ve visited. Their closet is one shelf away from being a museum of “What Even Is This.” No one knows. No one must know. It brings them joy. It’s their version of peace. And yeah, it’s a little creepy. But it’s theirs.

╰ They cannot cook to save their life. Like, not even toast.

They once set a salad on fire. The microwave fears them. Every “simple recipe” turns into a crime scene. But instead of admitting it, they just… lie. Constantly. “Oh yeah, I made that!” (They did not. Their neighbor did. And their neighbor swore never to speak of it again.) They’ve mastered the art of deflection, distraction, and showing up with “store-bought but plated nicely.”

╰ They live their life by a bunch of completely nonsensical superstitions.

Never wear green on Wednesdays. If a pigeon looks at you sideways, cancel your plans. Salt must be thrown over the right shoulder or the demons will know. They’ve got a ritual for everything, from writing emails to picking socks. But no one knows they believe this stuff, because they make it look casual. Strategic coincidence. That’s the game.

╰ They throw underground dance parties in their basement. Alone. In costume.

Disco ball? Check. Fog machine? Obviously. Elaborate themed playlists? You bet. Their Tuesday nights are sacred: just them, their playlist called “Sad but Funky,” and a new costume every week. No one suspects. Not the roommates. Not the neighbors. If anyone ever found out, they’d lie and say it was for a friend’s child’s birthday. Every week. Sure.

╰ Their hobbies are… specific. And objectively hilarious.

Like, not “I read books and do yoga” hobbies. More like: competitive pillow fighting. Binge-watching bug documentaries and taking notes. Collecting socks with political slogans. Writing erotica starring finger puppets (don’t ask). They act normal, mostly. But their browser history is a carnival. And their heart? Pure chaos.

Ah the 3 rejects who inspire to be better than the 3 protagonists that are better than them in every way possible. Nice work

SORRY I haven’t been super active recently but I fished this out of the depths

Having a little check up

I keep seeing people call the Trump administration shit like “schizophrenic” and “psychotic” and can we fucking not do this please???? schizophrenics and people with psychosis have a biological and neurological basis for their behavior and beliefs. there is no biological basis for being racist and sexist and a monster. schizophrenics and ppl with psychosis are innocent. you can’t beat bigotry with more bigotry