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Galerie Humiliation verbale

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character: bakugou_katsuki 1boy, solo, bakugou katsuki, blonde spiked hair, short hair, red eyes, school uniform, white shirt, black pants, brown leather gloves, elbow resting on desk, eating, corn dog, cheese dog, holding food, open mouth, biting, hungry, drooling slightly, wide-eyed, furrowed brows, messy hair, classroom, school desk, tray, from below, close-up, comic panel sequence, three panels, wrapper, trash can, throwing, crumpled bag, burp, hand to chest, loud, open mouth burp, leaning back, half-closed eyes, satisfied, after half an hour, motion lines, dutch angle, dramatic lighting A three-panel comic sequence read left to right, drawn from below so the spiked crown of his hair and the hard line of his jaw sit against the ceiling of the classroom, and each beat gets its own frame. Panel one: he is hunched over a scuffed wooden school desk, weight thrown onto his left elbow, right hand wrapped around a cheese dog — a battered golden corn dog on a pale wooden stick, a slick sheen of hot oil on the crust, steam curling off the top and catching the window light — jammed toward his open mouth mid-bite. His brows are crushed down, red eyes gone wide and glaring at the food itself as though it owes him something, a thin thread of saliva at the corner of his lips, a single crumb of fried crust already fallen to the desk. His shirt collar is dragged loose, tie hanging crooked, blazer shoved back over one shoulder. Panel two, marked "half an hour later" in a small handwritten caption block at the top corner: the desk in the same position but littered with the aftermath — crumpled glossy wrapper, an empty paper tray, a scatter of crumbs — and he is caught in a half-turn on his seat, torso twisted to the right, arm cocked and swinging, the balled wrapper leaving his fingers with a blur streak behind it, arcing over the frame toward a blue-tinted classroom trash can in the lower right of the frame, the can open-mouthed and hungry. His teeth are grit on a said-grin, red eyes fixed hard on the can, chin down. Panel three: he has slumped back in the chair, spine against the seat back, one gloved hand flat on his stomach, chest puffed and head tipped back with mouth wide open in a full-throated belch, a jagged burst of lettering "BUOOOOP!" blasting out of his mouth in bold inked capitals, a small satisfied tick-mark smirk settling at the corner of his lips and his eyes gone lazy half-lidded. The classroom behind is a plain Japanese high school room — rows of wooden desks, a blackboard running along the left wall, afternoon sun spilling through tall windows in long bright slabs that cross the floor, the columns of chalk dust and oil vapor turning visible in the light beams. Windows on the left are the only light source; the far right of each panel falls into a soft blue-gray shadow. Palette: warm amber and shaft-of-gold daylight against cool blue-gray shadow, black lines, and the red of his eyes and the blue of the trash can as the two accents; nothing else saturated. Slight paper grain and halftone dots on the panel borders, screentone on the shadow sides. Distant classroom lettering on the blackboard reads as illegible scrawl. Greedy, rowdy, and satisfied.
Princess Diani The FNAF Gal 2000
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Avatar image of Prodigal Sun
copyright: rpg_maker purgatory_art_style, classic rpg maker aesthetic, Solo, fantasy-setting, Sometimes, a Proximus stirs into a dream, standing at the cusp of an Awakening. The symbols of the Supernal — the Bless- ings of their Dynasty — flare into their sight and they are left to either overcome their quest or turn away and forever lose the opportunity. However, for a Proximus there is a third option. By neither turning away from the sym- bols nor pursuing it, their soul becomes a beacon (some would even say, dinner bell) for something else, causing an intercession. Soon, the symbols of the Supernal are obscured by a foggy mist, and the sounds of monsters are heard ap- proaching from every side. What was supposed to be an Awakening quickly becomes a night- mare as the Proximus is left with one goal. Survive. Whether by flight, fight, or cunning, if the Proximus lasts long enough against the horrors traveling throughout the Mists, they’ll find themselves at the base of a large wall, covered in the same symbols that beset them at the start of their waking dream. Some may hear a voice, others just an urge, but what- ever it is, it calls them to leave a symbol of their own. When they do, the stone shifts inward, beckoning the Prox- imus inside the newly formed cave. The next time they awaken, it is as some- thing inhuman, bearing a monster with aspects reminiscent of their bloodline in place of a soul. They are a Beast, but more Awakened than they were before and far more dangerous. These deviations come in two known manifestations — Crones and Wyrms.
Prodigal Sun
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