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#I. / CHARACTER STUDY.
humming-fly · 1 year
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Every now and then I'm reminded Real People with Actual Jobs use tumblr and I've always been legitimately curious what all you weird adults are up to when you're not on this site and with tumblr's New Poll Feature I can finally get an answer! (or the closest approximation of an answer possible with only 10 available options h a)
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 3 months
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You keep telling yourself that Namari.
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britishmuffin · 1 month
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Since you guys seemed to really dig the first bunch, here are a few more studies of the kids :>
★ patreon || website || twitter ★
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telleroftime · 4 months
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Once again as someone who hasn't watched more than two seasons of Naruto but googled a lot...
Why'd they do him like that? By that I mean...
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Where's his bookshelf?
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He has like... 7 books in the anime. Give back his books. Let this man collect his erotica in peace. Don't take that away from him. Put it back.
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qcomicsy · 8 months
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I think a thing that people get wrong about Jason's anger is that it's not explosive.
It's cold. Jason isn't the type of person who storms off at every little thing or goes throwing tantrums and setting things on fire blindfully.
He's the type of person who's very practical. He keeps to himself, always. You rarely see issues where Jason's anger is reactive at the moment where the trigger happens to him. If you see his character up close, most of the time when he's triggered his reaction is calm. Even cold.
He gets triggered -> He keeps to himself → He makes a plan → And then he reacts.
Jason's anger being something explosive and out of character and out of place is actually how other people (characters) see it, because they have no idea on how it's playing out on Jason's head.
And that's a thing you can see operating since he was a child.
Where the only exceptions about this effect is either when someone he believes needs his help is involved.
See Nightwing Annual (2021)
But In Batman #411 when Jason learns the fact that Two-Face was responsible for his father's death and Bruce was keeping that from him as a secret his first reaction isn't to blow up on him.
Was to seethe.
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Bruce goes up home after dealing with a Two-Face case (in my field we call that poetic irony) and asks Alfred where Jason is, Alfred's answer is that he's been sleeping all day (which is a conclusion that Alfred drew probably after going to check on Jason and seeing him in fact on his bed all day).
But when you see the next panel, even though he is on the bed, He's fully awake and both his expression and his body language shows that he's in fact angry.
This is the first time he appears again in the comics after learning that Two Face killed his dad.
Jason doesn't go towards Bruce immediately to demand an explanation or ask why he did this, or even to throw the truth on his face.
(Which could be debatable that that's something the Dick would usually do, but I'm not that literate on Dick's comics)
His reaction wasn't immediate.
His reaction was to go to his bed and stay quiet. Jason stayed calm and collected the whole trip until meeting Two Face again.
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But the moment Jason as Robin has the opportunity to get his hands on Two-Face he does this
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From Bruce, and maybe Alfred's perspective it could be interpreted as out of place or him storming off.
But it isn't. Jason was able to keep his cool (even though he shut off), until he was face a face to Two Face.
Does that mean he planned that to happen?
That's debatable, in any moment of this issue it is shown that Jason was actually planning to get to Two Face and do this. I my personal opinion, other and much more plausible explanation is: That he was in fact trying to keep to himself but couldn't hold back the moment that he saw his dad's murder.
You can see the same thing happening as Jason learns that Batman got another Robin in Red Hood: Lost Days.
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Talia asks "You all right?" and Jason's first answer is "Sure Why Wouldn't I Be Alright?"
When he's alone he finally has the moment to break down.
(Actually both Red Hood: The lost days and Batman: Under the Red Hood are great case studies on how that usually play out on Jason's head.)
Jason is way more in control of his emotions than people ever give him credit for. The thing is that Jason holds it back until he either blows off or is capable to throw it back in someone's face.
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puppyeared · 5 months
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these two are so interesting to me
characters belong to @canisalbus
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fucklestat · 1 year
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i know it's been said many times before but i will never get over how jacob anderson, a british man with a british accent, not only nailed a louisiana creole accent but also developed a studiously (almost eerily) generic accent that louis uses in the present AND showed the first accent bleeding into the second accent at key moments as a way of aurally externalizing his character's inner journey. what did god put in this man when she created him.
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bigfatbreak · 28 days
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who here likes junji ito. sound off
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imlostinmy20s · 2 months
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>didn't like how his face looked in my style
>got real mad and spent last three days just studying proportions of his face💀💀
most of my art journey i was drawing in realism\semi-realism style, but it affected my mental health for the worse.. Sooo, now I'm relearning how to, y'know, have fun again? enjoy drawing? yeah i do struggle with creating an art style, that i would like and which would stick around for a long time, but.. i'm feeling better than ever right now!
but DAAAAMN old habits die hard.
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yuwuta · 1 month
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CAN’T KEEP MY HANDS TO MYSELF (I MEAN I COULD, BUT WHY WOULD I WANT TO?) — JJK BOYS + TOO HOT
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featuring. gojo, okkotsu, choso, itadori, fushiguro
content, warnings. playing too hot with the jjk boys—(too hot is a party game in which two people kiss while keeping their hands to themselves; the first person to touch their partner loses), making out, tongue sucking, uhhh slight predator/prey in yuuta’s oops, they’re a bunch of losers to be honest, there’s a word for the thing yuuji does but i don't know it lolol
word count. 1.6k
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SATORU GOJO Satoru is prideful, but you also know that he is nothing if not handsy, borderline clingy on his worst days. The concept of personal space is foreign to him, he’s rarely not touching you when you’re in his proximity, and when you aren’t, he closes that gap—so you’re confident that he’ll lose this game. 
And he does. It takes ninety-two seconds for Satoru to put his hands on you; his palms cupping your cheeks, forcing your jaw open for him to lick at your tongue. You yelp in surprise, try to take in your victory, taunt that you’ve won, but Satoru’s playing an entirely different game now. “I know, I lost,” he pushes his thumbs at the corners of your mouth, parting your lips and staring at your open mouth. Briefly, his eyes flicker to yours, drinks in your pliant expression, the soft touch of your fingers around his wrists, the feel of your body sinking below him, and he smiles, “But I want something else right now. Indulge me?” 
You tap at his right wrist and he moves his thumbs away from your lips, stroking against the soft skin of your cheeks instead so you can speak, “You lost, you’re not supposed to make demands.” 
“Take pity on a rookie like me, won’t you?” Satoru hums, tilting his head to kiss your cheek, then closer, just below your bottom lip, “Please, sweets?” 
“Depends on what you want,” you pout, but your words are strained against Satoru’s kisses. He grins, guiding a thumb back to your lips, this time pressing past the barrier of your lips until they’re wrapped around his digit, smile turning cheshire when he feels you sucking, “I have a different game we can play instead.” 
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YUUTA OKKOTSU “Ah, ah—” you pull away from Yuuta, much to his dismay, pulling the hem of your shirt from his grasp, “That counts as touching. You’re not supposed to touch, Yuuta.” 
He’s looking at you intensely, gaze bordering on predatory, slow blinking with blown-out pupils. He nods shallowly, moving his hand from where it was to your side, palm pressing into the couch next to your thigh; it lets him that much closer to you, the tip of his nose grazing yours, you can feel his laborious breaths tickle your lips. Yuuta tilts his head ever so slightly and pauses, blinks, waits—for you to make a sound, for you to tell him no again, for you to run. 
You don’t. He shifts his weight and positions his other hand to rest at your side, caging you between his arms, slotting you underneath his gaze. You curl underneath him, backing up until you’re pressed against the arm of the couch, until Yuuta’s crawled to slot his knee between your legs. You crane your neck away, but you’re still within his reach, and now you’ve presented the perfect canvas for him. He dips his head into your collarbone, leaves a deceptively soft kiss there before nosing up the expanse of your exposed skin and sinking his teeth into your neck. 
Yuuta feels you tense underneath him, body going rigid in a moment of surprise, and then slacking with an exhaled moan, like a bitten bunny. Reflexively, your hands find purchase in his hair, and Yuuta nips over the tender skin, and smiles, “Caught you.” 
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CHOSO KAMO “You’re nervous,” you conclude, pulling away from the shallow kiss Choso gave you. 
Beside you, he’s flushed, a hand coming up to reach at the back of his neck as he replies, “I don’t know why,” he exhales, “It’s just... weird to not touch you. I have to think about not touching you, and that means I have to think, which tends to make me, you know... nervous.” 
You giggle, leaning in closer to him, careful not to touch; careful to keep your hips raised above his, even as you straddle him, keep your arms and hands at your sides even though the instinct is to wrap them around Choso’s neck. He doesn’t pull back, even though he should; you like that he doesn’t. “You don’t like to think about me?” 
“No—no! Not like that,” he’s too loud for the proximity, sighing in embarrassment shortly after; you’re too close, way too close, and he’s not supposed to touch, but he wants to—Choso doesn’t like this feeling of restraint, of constriction; it’s too close to when he had a hopeless crush on you, to when he was pining and praying you’d spare him the time of day. Isn’t the point of dating that he gets to have you? To touch you, to hold you—to not hold back? 
“Because I like to think about you,” you admit, leaning in even closer, pressing a kiss to the base of Choso’s neck—and he whines, “I think about you a lot, Choso.” 
The sound of his name from your lips is sweet torture, as is the way you trail your kisses up his neck, up his jaw, behind his ear. Choso’s certain he’s going to rip a hole in his jeans with how taut he’s pulling them between his fists. This isn’t fair—nothing about this is fair. “I don’t want to play anymore,” Choso whines, eyes screwing shut when you suck a hickey onto his collar.
“But we’ve only just started,” you giggle against his skin, “And nobody’s won yet.”
Choso bites his lips, his knuckles are sore, his resolve is weak, and you smell good, you feel good—and he can’t do this. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care; he didn’t make you yours to try and stay away from you. So, Choso gives in, unwinds his fists, places one hand on your waist, and the other against your back, pulling you flush against him, and burying his face in your neck. 
“There, I lose,” he grumbles, not caring for your laughter reverberating against his chest, “Now I can touch you as much as I want.” 
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YUUJI ITADORI “Th—this isn’t fair,” you tremble, attempting to move away from his kisses, but you’re caged in between Yuuji and the wall. There’s nowhere for you to run, nothing for you to grab purchase onto but Yuuji—nothing to do but lose. 
“I didn’t hear any rules against this,” he feigns innocence, suckling at your skin, “Think it’s fair game.”
You close your eyes, trying to focus on something, anything else, but it’s hard when all you can see, all you can feel is Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji. Kissing up your neck, at your cheek, then your lips, and you find yourself sighing into his touch, balling your hands into fists to avoid the temptation of cupping his face. 
Yuuji moans when he feels your tongue against his, kisses you back fervently, swirling his tongue across yours and into the cavity of your mouth. He inhales all your breaths, makes it impossible for you to do anything but succumb to his kiss, to swallow his moans, to take everything he gives you. You didn’t expect Yuuji to have this much resolve—you’d anticipated a short, cute round of a silly party game, but you should have known better; Yuuji has never lost a challenge before, and you were naive, at best, to think otherwise.
Predictably, it’s you that lets go first, whining when Yuuji sucks on your tongue, hands trembling and reaching to hold him, to cling to him as some kind of recourse, unable to squirm or move anywhere else. That doesn’t stop him—Yuuji only sucks harder, only forces more moans out of you until you’re digging your nails into his shoulders and bending your knees, weak. 
Then he pulls back, leaving you breathless, tilting his head up to kiss your forehead and flashing you a grin that’s equal parts boyish and wicked with intent, “I win.” 
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MEGUMI FUSHIGURO It’s the kind of thing he usually turns down; cliché, fruitless, and unnecessarily time-consuming; but it’s you, so he makes the exception. You’re too eager, positioning yourself to sit on your hands, your legs folded under your knees, peering up at him from where he’s sat slack against the couch, and he thinks you look awful cute on your knees for him.
“Okay, ready?” you smile, “Three, two—” but Megumi already knows his plan, already has his lips on yours before you can say “one,” drinking in your surprised yelp and greedily licking against your tongue when you part your lips to kiss him back. He turns his body towards you slightly, taking advantage of his height and position to bully you into chasing him upwards, to push his tongue into your mouth with ease. 
He indulges in the back and forth for a while, sighs into your kisses, groans when you nip at him. It’s when you pull away, that Megumi decides he’s played along long enough; when he can see your chest swell with heaving breaths, see your hands in your lap, neck craned and spit-slick lips that drive him to reach for you. He’s less than gentle, hands finding purchase on your hips, and forcefully pulling you into his lap, ignoring your yelping, choosing to turn them into moans when he sinks his teeth into your neck. Megumi licks, and bites, and bites, and bites, until he’s certain he’s left a mark, until he feels your hands tugging at his hair and giving him permission to splay his palms against your back and buck you forward.  
“I lose,” he hums, soothing over raw bitten skin with open-mouthed kisses, “So, how do you wanna punish me?”
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caemidraws · 9 months
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[The Endless March]
Undead patron, Tome of Pacts zine by @/SleepyWyrm_Ed
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chihirolovebot · 5 months
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on a real note that bit near the end of the video was genuinely haunting. hearing somerton talk about how gay writers are erased from history was one thing (with all the irony being that he stepped on the backs of numerous underpaid, underprivileged and uncredited queer writers to build his youtube channel) but when h revealed it wasn't even somerton's quote in the first place? the worst, most crushing sort of irony. how do you lament about the erasure of gay people and gay writers in history... whilst erasing a gay writer and taking his words as your own?
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pummelingbat · 5 months
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Persecution Complex, or: "Just You, Me, And The Weight Of Your Dead Girlfriend Between Us"
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bread-that-draws · 1 year
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Flowey’s so funny and has me so fucked up like he’s a talking flower. He tries to kill you upon your first interaction. He is ten years old. He is damaged beyond repair. He’s a flower named Flowey. He’s become friends with every single character. He’s killed all of them countless times. He knows everything about everyone. He doesn’t care anymore. He takes care of his mom when she can’t take care of herself. He’s killed her before. He doesn’t care if you kill her. He thinks she’s trying to replace him. He just wants to be himself again. He wants to destroy everything. He hates you. You’re the only one who understands him. He wants his best friend back. He’s terrified of them. He believes in kill or be killed because he died by giving mercy to the wrong person. He believes himself to be the wrong person. He doesn’t understand when you show him that kindness he showed others, even when you know he could kill you for it. He’s tried every route. He asks you if you have anything better to do when you try to do the same. He’s a direct reflection of the player. He’s a fucking talking flower named flowey and his only voice line is by Ronald McDonald and his officially licensed plush does a little dance for you
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vampireposter · 4 months
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meeting wyll at the grove, as someone who the tieflings trust enough to train their children, says so much about him. it's so sad that he doesn't get explored in acts 2-3 as deeply as the other companions, when his problems are equally intense. the average player probably long rests once before coming across the grove, but even if not, in that time wyll has already proven to the tieflings that they can rely on the Blade of Frontiers.
this is the immediate first thing he chooses to do after being condemned to slow death via ceremorphosis. his priority list in the first conversations with tav is: 1) hunt down a dangerous devil, 2) help zevlor with the goblins, 3) once nothing threatens the tieflings he will gladly search for a tadpole cure. wyll is perpetually his own last priority, and i wonder if it has to do with the lore about souls.
if he believes mind flayers' souls have been destroyed, and fiend warlocks will all have their souls sent to the hells after death, then becoming a mind flayer isn't the worst possible way for him to die. he would never become a mindless monster to save his own soul, but he's not gripped by horror the way that some of the other origin characters are. lae'zel has been made revoltingly impure to her people, astarion is terrified of losing the scrap of bodily autonomy he just regained, gale is guilt-ridden over the orb detonation if he dies, shadowheart has to survive to prove herself to her cult leader, and karlach has also just regained bodily autonomy and is desparate to live.
this is just another quest for the Blade, whose persona guards wyll ravengard against the vice of self-concern when he ought to be concerned for those in need.
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realising what I actually need from Suzanne Collins is just a multi-volume panem history book
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