#I dont know characterization

[taitavva]

yaldabaoth couldn't help but make his whole team overpowered huh ... how are the phantom thieves supposed to survive ?? "oh noo akechi ur so hot haha .. please don't kill me" brilliant strategy pego (entire ask under cut)

[ACTUALLY UR PUTFITS WERE SO ON POINT. I HAVE 2 OUTFIT IDEAS 4 HIFUMI & SHIHO (MINUS MASKS) & 1 mask idea for yuuki but idk what else. i was thinking for the leaders it would def be chaotic but goro has most metaverse experience so hes the leader. ken kinda acts like mona in giving useful tips abt personas etc and hifumi takes on the role of makoto where she gives out different strategies (her, ken, & goro debate over these tips & strategies but usually end up doing them anyway). I have an urge to show u these outfits omg. i can ramble abt these outfits & their personas for forever .. i chose jormungandr for yuuki, skadi for shiho hela for hifumi, and persephone for eiko. ik its not very in the literacy scene for them to all have deities as personas but... goro breaks it with loki anyway, so ..

explainations:: hela & jormungandr are 2/6 of loki's kids in norse mythology, aiding him in the ragnarok/end of the world, and hela is sentenced down to the underworld to be the goddess of that realm since she was born half alive half dead, and she's sentenced to it by odin (basically. kinda the zeus of norse mythology, like the "king" of all of them) because she's the daughter of loki & all this other stuff .. chose her for hifumi because hifumi's mom basically forces her to be a shoji star after hifumi's dad and yeah. jormungandr i chose because hes kinda just a sleepy little guy: in norse mythology he's known as "the World Serpent" and he wraps around the entire ocean with his tail in his mouth kind of in a constant sleep until the ragnarok (all of loki's kids --aside from 2, one being dead & the other being a gift to odin-- including loki himself, are kinda trapped somewhere before the ragnarok happens) and he's not talked about a lot but he aids in so much and he's important (like how yuuki is kind of ignored by the pts, the dialogue options being horrid, despite him aiding in them. also yuuki is the bm's navi in the au & he runs a "revenge site" like how Strega/takaya sakaki, jin shirato, & chidori yoshino do in p3-- strega also does death calling cards , mainly shown in the novels which is p cool.. first ppl to use mental shutdowns despite not beinf called that then either. i love strega sorry. they all agreed to it because shiho wanted to deal with more people like kamoshida, goro wanted to deal with more people like shido, hifumi wanted to deal w more people like her mom, etc).. i chose persephone for eiko because in greek mythology, persephone is (most commonly accepted form of the myth) kidnapped by hades and forced into marriage with him by eating a pomegranate out of the underworld .. point blank, persephone reminds me of eiko being trapped and persephone's shown to overcome it , ( honestly eventually making the underworld & hades her Bitch. she kills the goddess/nymph of mints and creates the mint plant because she got too handsy with hades).. also hifumi and eiko are a little gay for eachother so why not have their personas be, too? anyway. SHIHO!! i chose skadi for her because skadi , in norse mythology , is both jotunn (giant) and a god like how loki is, but she's an accepted form of it because she was given over to the gods as a peace treaty, and thats pretty important to norse mythology i'd say (like how rooftop scene is important to kamoshida arc), and skadi claws up the aesir (council of gods) thru both her marriage (ann? ann. hehe.) and her own sheer will (shiho's recovery and goro's ..... questionable aid.) and skadi just fits. the goddess of mountains and winter? sign me the FUCK UP.

Anyway . this was long I apologise]

[meruz]

i had. so many of these drawings lying around and i thought i would just like rearrange them but instead i ended up slapping together like 3 random battle nexus bgs IDK

of course this is heavily just borrowing @the-trashiest-pada's rise stuff...!

[aroaceleovaldez]

just read the plot summary for Wrath of the Triple Goddess and. wow this is. painful this just sounds painful to read.

Why is Grover the incompetent inciting incident character? That is not his narrative role ever, really. That's like, the fanon conceptualization of his character where he's reduced down to comedic relief and nothing more. He's mostly exposition and support. Why not have the inciting incident be something about Annabeth's hubris - something that has gotten the gang into situations tons of times before in a way that doesn't put down any of the characters? Heck you could have even tied it into some Sea of Monsters stuff, like Circe having told Annabeth that she'd make a good sorceress. That'd be perfect for how this book literally just exists to be advertising for s2 of PJOTV. Or maybe call-back to Percy's introduction, where he talks about how he doesn't try to cause problems but problems tend to find him. Or use the established personalities of Hecate's animal companions from HoO, since we know they have attitudes. Just what are you even doing here????

[silently-standingstill]

love these two

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Look out for magic mirrors~!

Congratulations you activated my trap card. Take a comic.

Ell: Holy shit they're idiots.

[navy-leader]

A softer beginning

[justladders]

PPFFFFFTTTAAHA

[lazaruspiss]

My name is Dick Grayson. I'm who you need me to be.

[finch1pinch]

started rewatching trollhunters out of a need of familiarity when everything in my life is new and bad and hard (college.) and now ive redesigned Claire to make her more of a alternative theater kid with the anger issues that they only hint at in the show

ive given her more of a personality than the #Feminist Only Female character in the group ur welcome lol

[possamble]

farcille postcanon characterization warmup that got way out of hand. beware, here be spoilers, dragoncock, and bottoming as an extreme sport.

~~~

Marcille has always loved Falin’s voice. Soft, high, airy and girlish—it was always as gentle as the rest of her, even in the midst of pitched combat. When things went to hell in a handbasket, it was always Falin’s whispery incantations that kept Marcille grounded as blood and monster guts sailed through the air. 

And that hasn’t changed. No amount of dragon could really change that, Marcille thinks. Yes, she she has moments when her voice becomes rough and ragged and guttural, mostly when she’s swinging her mace or her fists, or gritting her teeth through a monster claw stuck into her side. But maybe that urge to growl was always there, and she’s just finally able to voice it now. Marcille finds that she’s loud at times she would have been silent before—grunting with exertion when she would have grimaced quietly, singing some nonsense melody over a mundane task when she would have hummed it under her breath—and that’s a good thing.

But otherwise, nothing has changed. Falin’s voice is as delicate as ever, chiming in a lilting giggle behind a dainty gesture of her hand. Rustling like pages of well-loved books as she casts her protective wards, or ponders over how to cook a new monster, or murmurs right into Marcille’s ear while she…

Well. While she’s got Marcille bent over her own desk with her nightgown pooled at her ankles. Marcille’s not sure if it’s rude or considerate that she didn’t get a chance to dress herself before she had a girthy cock shoved up her cunt first thing in the morning. 

“Marcille,” Falin whispers, unfairly shaky as if she’s the one getting fucked within an inch of her life. She’s mouthing at Marcille’s neck, draped over her and pressing as close as possible in every way, gripping Marcille’s hands tight and keening like she’s found heaven between her legs. “Marcille, Marcille…” 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she gets to do that, that she gets to sound like that—with that sweet voice she’s always had, now making obscene little noises that are still whispery fine and almost ethereal coming from her mouth. These quiet, barely voiced sighs that puff against Marcille’s ear, the dulcet moans that thrum against her skin, and that demure little gasp when she thrusts a little harder and somehow finds even more space inside Marcille to bottom out in—

“Marcille…” she whimpers like she’s in pain, on the verge of tears, fingers tight between Marcille’s as they grip the edge of the rattling desk together. “You feel—so good, oh… You’re”—another moan buried just behind her ear—"so wet, so good…” 

It’s not like Marcille got the chance to be anything else right now, did she? Not when Falin fell upon her just as she was sorting through her documents, pressed against her back and already unfastening the clasps of her gown and slipping it off her shoulders. She was fully naked before she even got a playful good morning whispered into her ear—it’s a miracle she had the forethought to push her papers out of the way just before Falin had her wrapped around her finger in the most literal sense. 

Well. Fingers in the plural, really, since she always starts with two. Usually while pawing at Marcille’s tit with her other hand until her stupid knees give out and she ends up buckling over whatever surface is nearby—in this case, her desk, mercifully free of any uncapped inkwells at the moment. Now slathered with sweat that makes her tits slip and slide along the wooden varnish, of course, but otherwise non-disastrous. 

Hopefully her nightgown is catching most of the mess running down her thighs, or she’s going to have to make the most humiliating request to the castle staff about her carpets for the third time this month—

“Yes…!” Falin digs her heels in and fucks her even harder, taken with some kind of mindless momentum all of a sudden. “I love you,” she pants in that stupid—feathery, daisy-light tone that has no business being this sweet while she’s ravaging Marcille like this— “you’re perfect, you’re perfect—” 

Marcille’s going to die like this. This is how she’s going to go: Bleating like an animal with her cheek stuck to her desk with drool, eyes just permanently rolled back in her head, toes barely touching the floor as Falin keeps fucking her further onto the desk. She hasn’t said a single coherent word since her second orgasm however many minutes ago, just broken into an endless stream of guttural noises as her cunt slobbers and squelches around Falin’s cock almost as loudly as she’s wailing. 

“Marcille,” Falin keens, sounding like a bashful princess ravished to breathlessness—just something straight out of a high-minded erotica novel—all while hammering Marcille into the desk at a shallow, breakneck pace. “You feel—feel s–o good, you’re perfect, oh—oh, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I love you, I love you—” 

For the love of—fuck. Marcille can distantly hear herself scream, can feel the desk digging into her as she flails, her grasp on sanity getting thinner and thinner with each word that tumbles out of Falin’s mouth and shoots straight through her nerves. She’s—good god, she’s not usually this talkative. It’s almost always Marcille begging and blabbering about how much she wants Falin’s cock, how good it feels, how she wants it harder and faster and more, screaming and crying Falin’s name over and over—

But now, in the absence of Marcille’s pathetic yapping—after she’s already fucked the words out of Marcille so thoroughly—Falin’s taken it upon herself to murmur a stream of honeyed nonsense into her ear, her frail and gentle voice breaking with desperation—and fuck, it’s not fair.

“Yes, yes, oh—” Falin sobs into her neck. “I love it—I love it when you sound like this, I love you—you’re so good, so good for me, my Marcille—” 

No, no, no, she can’t do that, she can’t do that—she can’t say that, in that voice, while her cock is so deep in Marcille there’s hardly room for anything else, battering all her nerve endings and rearranging her so that there’s nothing left but her, Falin, Falin—

“Ah!” Falin cries out, like she’s the one getting reamed against her stupid fucking desk so hard she can barely breathe— “Yes, please, please—please say my name again!” 

Well. She can beg all she fucking wants, but it’s not going to be pretty and she has no one to blame but herself—it’s her fault Marcille can hardly speak, it’s her fault her name is only coming in rough wails with both syllables separated with heaving, crying breaths. Marcille gives it her all, scrapes whatever intelligence she has left to speak, and sounds like a dying animal in a way that can’t possibly be anything but hideous to listen to—

And still, Falin sobs, as if in utter ecstasy as she fucks Marcille so hard the desk starts scraping along the floor in harsh jumps. 

“Yes, yes—ah—” Her voice, not so whispery gentle now but still so melodious and clear, sounding out from deep in her chest— “I—love—you—” she weeps, punctuated by the hard slams of the desk against the floor as she drops the rapid pace in favor of mercilessly hard thrusts— “Beautiful—perfect—mine!” 

Then she finally, finally comes—not that it stops her, not with how she thrusts with every spurt. Like she’s not just satisfied with letting it spill out, like she needs to fuck it into Marcille with all her strength, once, twice, then one last time, stuffing her cunt absolutely full with searing heat—

And Marcille doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s unceremoniously ejected out the other side of the high, that telltale swoop of vertigo rushing through her veins. The orgasm doesn't even have the grace to let her go limp with afterglow, of course, and she’s left there convulsing and twitching like a drowning fish. With her jaw pressed to the desk, she can actually hear her teeth chatter from how hard she’s shaking, Falin’s warm weight on her be damned. 

(One day. One day, she’ll stop embarrassing herself like this—one day she’ll finish like a normal person during sex, instead of going off like a cheap firework every half hour and wringing an orgasm out of herself as soon as she feels Falin finish inside her, whether or not she even had one left in her to begin with.) 

“M-Marcille,” Falin stammers, her voice breathless but now shy and girlish again as she slowly untangles their hands. “Are you—are you okay?” 

The gall. To ask her that, when she’s nothing but a sweaty carcass slung over her desk, still twitching erratically. To be so gentle as she straightens up and kisses the back of her neck, tenderly brushing her hair to the side as she pulls out ever so slowly—

And still. Not. Slowly. Enough—apparently! Not with the sparks that explode in Marcille’s eyes again, utterly unclear if this is another orgasm or just a particularly brutal aftershock! She just goes squeaking and shaking and sliding off the desk onto her knees, hands clapped over her cunt like they’re going to protect her from the lightning racing up and down her spine. She doesn’t even know where she landed, really, convulsing and closing her thighs around her hand as cum and slick drools into her palms, falling forward and— and smacking her head against the edge of her desk.

“Oh!” Feathered arms clasp around her before she can slide past the wood with her sweaty forehead and land on her face. “Careful—are you okay?” 

The gall. The audacity. The—something, or whatever, fuck, Marcille doesn’t even care anymore. Her head throbs with an oncoming bruise, she can’t feel her legs, she can feel her pussy way too much, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart on the spot—

“Okay… let’s…” There’s some maneuvering going on, but hell if Marcille can actually tell what Falin’s doing. “Here, let’s take a bath—I’ll go draw some water.” 

Marcille whines, because no—she doesn’t know where she is, she just twists until her face finds feathers and buries herself there. She even manages to bring one cum-covered hand to grip at the quils, because this mess is Falin’s fault and if she doesn't like it then she can wash it off herself—but she’s not allowed to leave. 

A little chuckle under her breath—and it’s so fucking cute and girlish like she hasn’t just demolished a full grown woman to the brink of unconsciousness, but Marcille can’t even find it in herself to be mad. Falin can ask her whatever the hell she wants, do whatever the hell she wants, so long as she doesn’t let go. 

“I’m bringing you with me, I promise,” Falin whispers so tenderly, pressing a kiss to Marcille’s head. There’s arms tightening around her back and under her knees, and she feels herself being lifted. “I wouldn’t leave you like that…” 

Better not, Marcille grumbles to herself. Not sure if it made it past her mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Falin’s going to take responsibility for turning her morning into—into this, even if it means having to draw some bathwater with an elf clinging to her the entire time. She’s going to be the one to wash her off, bring her their missed breakfast, and tell everyone why she wasn’t there at the morning meeting—

Maybe not that last part. 

“I’m sorry,” she hears, in that soft and whispery tone she’s loved for so many years. That voice that didn’t change, even with everything that happened—everything that Marcille did to her, and it’s—

It would be so, incredibly stupid if she started crying out of nowhere. 

“Liar,” she whines, digging the indignant annoyance back up to pout like a spoiled brat. “You liked… every second…” 

Another giggle that so infuriatingly lovely. “I did.” The sound of a squeaky valve turning, then rushing water that slaps against stone. “Did you?” 

Marcille just grumbles again and clings even tighter. Falin just laughs a little louder and strokes her hair, too kind to demand an answer in so many words—or, perhaps, impishly content to let Marcille incriminate herself with her silence, as she so often does.

[kacievvbbbb]

Just one of the many great tragedies of Mishanks' relationship is that sometimes Shanks wants to feel wanted just as he is, that even beyond the strength he is worth the effort he is worth being loved and unfortunately that just isn't something Mihawk can over him it's just not something he can do, not as he is now at least. That's a level of emotional maturity that he just does not possess to be able to disentangle the strength from the man that makes no sense to him. Strength is all there is. Shanks is a person, has a life outside of his strength, his power is just another aspect of who he is but for Mihawk strength is his whole person, if he is not strong then he is nothing. If shanks is not strong well then....he's nothing to him.

And God that's a lonely way to live.

[mongeese]

Interesting that Kim is like almost always portrayed as being dominant and enjoying control in fanworks, which absolutely does have evidence in canon and is an interpretation I personally agree with to an extent. However, in the actual game, he's always letting Harry take the lead, letting you decide where to go, who to talk to, whether or not to take on additional cases, etc etc. Obviously, the doylist explanation for this is that Disco Elysium is a video game where the whole point is that the player can decide what happens and in what order, and Harry du Bois is the player character. Kim has to let you do whatever you want because otherwise it would be a boring and restrictive game. But if you look at it from a watsonian perspective, it can have so many different fascinating implications for Kim's character. Like, does he just implicitly trust Harry that much? Or does he trust the RCM that much, that he thinks any officer of the RCM must be worth following? Does he feel a lack of confidence in his own abilities to run the show? Is he simply more comfortable in a passive role? Is he just entertained by this deranged amnesiac man and wants to watch the show play out? Is he worried there would be consequences for stopping Harry from doing what he wants? Would it break some kind of unspoken rule (either for Kim personally or for the RCM) for Kim to outright refuse to let his temporary partner honor his strange whims? Kim is someone who clearly exercises an extraordinary amount of self-control, and is proud of it. But he doesn't appear to have any interest in controlling other people (at least in a professional context). I need to study him under a microscope

[shesmore-shoebill]

okay this IS honestly something i find deeply interesting and compelling in general. but more importantly WHERE IS THE REST OF COURTNEY'S STORY. The level of detail is Sending me but also if they're giving us all that the LEAST smosh can do is give us the rest of it 😭😭😭😭😭

[all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams]

LOOK AT THEM !! LOOK !! THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME !! ONLY 2 EPS ARE OUT BUT I ALREADY WANT 10 MORE SEASON IDC

clark and lois are so sweet already !! and look at their height difference 😭😭 idc height difference always gets me man I eat it up EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

[maxblonda]

thinking a little too much about how even after charlie saw everything in maxwell's study room that instead of just cutting her losses and splitting she looks for him and after she can't find him she sends him a letter telling him they need to talk about the study room and that they could get away, just the two of them after they're done performing. like she really deeply cared for that man and he never wanted to hurt her and it makes my heart ache knowing how things turned out. they never got to go up to that cabin up in b.c. together and escape the hustle and bustle of the city to just enjoy each other's company.

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Whoever decided to put the Batfam member who's supposed to come from a dark place in life and understands how slippery the slope really is when it comes to falling into crime in the fucking Kite Man show and have her mindlessly impale a guy should be slapped. Once for making a Kite Man show and once for Steph.

Like she's not above killing people. She's not like Bruce who refuses to take a life ever. She'd blow the Joker's fucking head off if given the chance. But she's supposed to understand the regular dudes. She understands the importance of a life. She knows that guy's probably got family at home, or at least deserves to be given a chance. It took a long time before anybody gave her a chance, she knows how hard it is in that life.

Then again it's a spinoff of the Harley Quinn show so what did I expect.