#character archetypes
Does anyone else have those “go-to” hairstyles for characters? I noticed when I start a character concept or if I’m mindlessly drawing, I tend to lean towards these styles lol
Batman: The Dark Knight - Mechanical version by Mark ChangviaStan Winston School of Character Arts
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Supernatural season 5 was the culmination of Sam & Dean’s original story arcs. Through the whole episode we keep having brother dialogues like:
S5 Dean: “Family is great, I want a family, I wish we’d had a different childhood, kids & a dog & a white picket fence please”
S5 Sam: “family sucks glad I got out of that one I just want to hunt forever”
And those sentiments are reflected in Sam’s supernatural sacrifice (throwing himself into the pit) and Dean’s immediate retreat to normal life (returning to Lisa, retiring from hunting).
Watching 15x20 with this in mind, really nails home the point that the writers did NOT understand the complexity of the characters they were dealing with. Dean was not a hunter who only liked pie and cars and wanted to die in action, and Sam was not a Boy Scout who would ever be able to move on from Dean’s death to start a family (not with his soul in tact anyway) and just abandon the world when monsters still exist.
Trope: when A is taken in by B, after being found hurt and unconscious
I open my eyes to the feel of something cold pressed against my chest. All I see is a blur of color, and all I can feel is pain. Pain in my side, my legs, the muscles of my arms, the sharp throb in my head.
Consciousness, it seems, is cruel—and I want to go back to sleep. But I can’t. Something feels wrong.
Then slowly, as I blink a few times, I see the metallic object take form into the metal shape of a stethoscope. They don’t press too hard against my chest.
Confused, I watch as the hand moves from one side of my chest to the other. They try to go lower, and I move my hand to stop them.
“You’re awake.” The voice comes from somewhere above me. Faintly, I recognize it. My pulse picks up.
I try and roll off the surface underneath me when their hand catches my shoulder, firmly rolling me back. At the touch, a soft whimper slipped through my lips— I bite down hard to silence the sound, but I know it’s already too late.
“Don’t move,” they say. Their words sound clipped—almost irritated. But the tone is gentle.
How… how could they find me? I shouldn’t be here. I had no memory of how I arrived.
good guy, or the bad guy?
