#Rosuto's art

[oekakidogarchive]

Tryout 2 - Giraffes By Rosuto-Matsuro

[destinygoldenstar]

[rosutosoul-blog]

This should have been published long ago... But since I forgot about TUMBRL it is published now...

[dear-yandere]

☽ darling, don’t leave me.

yandere! jojos + dio. general headcanons. tw: mentions of physical abuse, gaslighting, confinement, and noncon (dio’s part).

art credits: rosuto, ぴの, wW 武 Ww, unknown, suan, tumbleweed.

Jonathan Joestar is obsessive.

A true gentleman, Jonathan knows better than to let his feelings stray from his control. Still, he’s never been one to pursue love, so these feelings are entirely new. He courts his darling like any other self-respecting man of his time, allowing them the space to choose whether or not they desire him too. He doesn’t take being turned down personally as he’s perfectly content with merely being by his darling’s side. Even seeing them fall for another man is something he cannot force himself to intervene in; every smile and laugh not directed at him hurts far worse than any punch he’s ever received, but Jonathan thrives in seeing his darling happy and carefree.

Clingy as he may be, he isn’t above taking a few of darling’s possessions should the opportunity present itself. A head band or hair tie here or there, perhaps a pair of gloves or a hat his darling is sure to not miss — Jonathan is surprisingly adept and subtle at stealing and keeping these little trinkets. Darling may notice a few missing possessions, but it’s nothing Jonathan can’t laugh off as a misplaced item and easily replace with something new and extravagant. Money isn’t a problem, especially when it comes to his sweetheart. If it means they’ll stay by his side — or even look his way as more than a friend or confidant — he’ll give his darling the world.

Overbearing and well-meaning as he is, even gentleman aren’t without their flaws.

“You don’t have to feel the same. All I ask is that you don’t leave me.”

Joseph Joestar is protective with a hint of possessiveness.

Acting much more like an older brother rather than a lover — similar to his grandfather Jonathan — Joseph is hyper-aware of anyone that might hurt his sweetheart. He’s not sure how it came to be this way, really; it’s a first for him to not know even his own feelings. His darling is easy enough to read, and perhaps that’s what got him into this situation, where even the slightest brush of skin against his or the mere sound of them saying his name sends his nerves on edge. He likes the attention they give him when he acts like a brotherly figure; there’s no need to worry about unwanted feelings developing between the pair. At least, darling doesn’t have to worry, because Joseph falls in love despite his precautions. It isn’t until a competent rival appears that Joseph becomes rather intensely possessive and competitive — a rival like Caesar.

He hates losing, especially when he had his eyes set on the goal first. The moment a suave man like Caesar sets their sights on Joseph’s darling, he’ll turn snarky, snappy with even his darling. It’s a brutally stark contrast to the playful, chipper demeanor he usually bears, but it’s easy for darling to play it off as him having a bad day — until he doesn’t relent. His grip is harsher these days, his tone more grating and condescending whenever darling shows interest in his rival. At some point, he’ll lash out whenever they show interest in any man other than him.

If his insecurities and one-sided love are kept unchecked, he has no qualms with cutting his darling’s connection to anyone he deems a threat.

“Of course I’m jealous! You’re mine! You need me!”

Jotaro Kujo is manipulative with a hint of sadism and lucidity.

With a cool and collected exterior, it’s easy to convince his darling that everything they believe is wrong. Even a lionhearted lover will doubt themselves; or rather, Jotaro would seek an individual like this out. He’s used to women and men swooning over his good looks and alluring physique, though he doesn’t care much for the attention. Even when he degrades and admonishes his admirers, they fawn and swoon over him — it’s nothing short of disgusting, really. 

His ideal darling — the only type of person he’d seek out, rather than let come to him — is someone with a steel heart, someone hellbent on rejecting his words as law, someone who puts up a fight. Degrading and humiliating them will be a treat, a fun little challenge to come home to. He doesn’t want them to enjoy this in the slightest; he wants them to slowly break, to slowly doubt every piece of information they hear unless it comes from his mouth. Even the death of a loved one will seem surreal, exaggerated, fake unless he says so himself, and even then he won’t allow his darling that sort of luxury.

Once he’s tied his darling down (with a ring, and with ropes), they won’t see very much of him. As he pursues his career in Marine Biology, he’s often away on business trips, his only excuse for long periods of absence being “it’s too dangerous”, or some slew of insults thrown his darling’s way. He isn’t fond of divulging much of his personal life with them even if they are the love of his life; to him, secrets come hand-in-hand with relationships. Darling’s life is in danger simply by association; it’s best to act as if they don’t exist. Still, that doesn’t mean he’ll let them slip through his fingers. When he wants something, he’ll get it even if it’s eventual. 

Darling was doomed the moment he found an inkling of interest in taming them.

“Don’t look so scared when I’m around. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

Josuke Higashikata is protective with a hint of delusion.

Sweet and compassionate as he may be, Josuke isn’t immune to feelings of inadequacy, jealousy, and obsession. He rationalizes these feelings as merely being protective of a good friend of his, but it’s not until his friends point out that what he’s feeling is love that he truly understands why his heart pitters and patters like raindrops when his darling’s around. He completely understands if darling doesn’t return his feelings — these things take time, he’ll say — but he doesn’t take kindly to jealousy of any sort. A mere mention of liking someone else will have him moping and distancing himself, but he’ll stay around just enough to ensure his beloved’s protection.

Josuke wouldn’t fare well with a darling who’s familiar with getting under his skin. Even an insult or two to his hair isn’t enough for Josuke to give up on his one-sided love; if anything, it’s an opportunity. Crazy Diamond has the power to heal after all, and when Josuke’s emotions run away from him, his darling may end up with more than a few cuts and bruises. Bones will be shattered, blood will be spilled, and apologies will fumble past trembling lips as darling’s abuser fixes them up — as if nothing ever happened. The only trace of evidence are the tears in Josuke’s eyes and the excuses on his lips — this easily becomes the norm. Both he and his darling will constantly tread along eggshells, the former worrying that his actions destroyed any chance of a relationship and the latter worrying the next time they step out of line, they’ll die.

But Josuke wouldn’t let his sweetheart die, no. He can heal whatever wounds they may receive, even its its from him. He’s a platonic yandere, at worst, and an overbearingly violent one at best. 

“Please don’t scream. People will think I did something terrible to you.”

Giorno Giovanna is manipulative with a hint of protectiveness and lucidity.

This soldato is cunning and intuitive, a natural-born leader with charisma rivaling his true father’s. He turns heads wherever he goes, inspires everyone he meets — it’s almost laughable how easy it is to twine people around his fingers. As a mere Passione soldato, he isn’t much threat to his darling, but as don, any hope of escaping his suffocating love is slashed. His control reaches farther than his darling can ever tread, and although he understands why his little coccinella would go so far as to run away, the thought of being without them is inconceivable. How can he protect them if they’re not at his side? Without him, darling could fall in love with the wrong person, someone who wears a mask and will hurt them once they’ve settled down together; without him, darling could fall in love with a monster. His step-father was like that, and he’d made Giorno’s childhood a living hell. So how could he let his darling tread that same path?

With a well-behaved darling, the don is a fairly normal lover... once they get past all the bodyguards and paranoia-filled lifestyle. Unlike his father, Giorno is not sadistic in the slightest; rather, seeing his darling in physical or emotional turmoil hurts him. He’s more apt to manipulate them in subtle, gentler ways rather than through brute force or threats. After giving them a new identity, he’ll keep them someplace safe, a private island off the coasts of Italy, somewhere heavily guarded and devoid of life except for his beloved and their bodyguards. It’ll be lonely, he’s sure, so he’s certain to visit whenever he has an ounce of free time. But even he can’t replace one’s need to feel social, safe, normal. That’s just the price his lover has to pay as the future spouse of a mafioso.

If he lived a different life, there’d be no need for all of this. Giorno’s love is bittersweet at best, but that realization isn’t enough to let his darling go. They need him, perhaps just as much as he needs them.

“I really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? You’re so pretty when you smile.”

DIO is sadistic, manipulative, and possessive.

Love has never done much for him, not in the way feeling powerful has. He prefers ruling over others rather than giving someone the ability to rule with or over him. His darling is nothing more than a plaything, at best — something to pass the time, something to sate his curiosity. Just how far can he push them before they crumble between his fingers and shatter like a precious gemstone? He takes pleasure in testing these boundaries, humiliating his darling as if that will help him understand this odd feeling humans call love. It’s possible for him to truly fall in love with his darling, but they will never take priority over his desire to end the Joestar bloodline. Perhaps, once he accomplishes this goal, his darling will be something nice to come back to, something stagnant and forever his.

He’ll go to lengths to break his darling, over and over again, see how much torture they can withstand before they realize that crying out or begging gets them nowhere. Will they hide their defiance under a facade of obedience, or will they truly break? It’s all an experiment to Dio, but either way, he’ll force them to be his little sex slave — sometimes, if they’ve behaved particularly nasty, darling will be the sex slave of his devoted followers, a little reward for being such wonderful subordinates. 

Apart from sexual torture, he’s keen on testing his darling on tidbits of information from the books he reads — completely mundane and often vague questions designed to make his little slave fail. It’s just a precursor, really, because he likes seeing them shine with determination only for it to shatter before their eyes. Punishments always follow, usually humiliation or sexual assault of some sort; though if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he won’t shy away from physically hurting his darling. All the better to break them with.

It’s a miracle if darling survives this little game of his, but if they do, he’s certain to keep them around for far longer than he originally anticipated. Being immortal can get so boring, you see, and what’s the fun of bottomless money and endless casual sex if he can’t keep an entertaining and worthy slave here or there?

“Tell me you love me as I fuck you into the mattress.”

[handlewcaare]

art by: ROSUTO

The Dojo was intended for self-defense practices, to disarm a belligerent enemy with but the pressure of the fingertips. Tai Chi depended wholly upon the synchronization of all points of the body. Though when one already mastered such things, it became tedious when no one would challenge them. It was as invigorating as a mindless act and that’s what made him seethe.

Garou made no exceptions to his opponents—or his sparring partners for that matter.

Initially, his much larger and taller partners would humor him by pretending to submit to his blows. It was only when he became taller and his baritone dropped an octave that such mirth was replaced with avoidance. It was one thing for a puppy to chew on your shoelaces, it was another when a behemoth of a wolf was.

Since he grew, his muscles lean and defined from nearly a decade of practice, he became one of the most difficult partners to fight against. What leisure and definitive strikes bloomed wisteria under his strong and strident onslaught, even when his partner seemed to half-ass it. His palms held the restraint of an unsheathed blade when he deflected a blow with but a bat of his hand, only to ram his elbow directly into their nose.

His sparring partner’s head was tossed back. The momentum of such a punctual strike evoked carmine ribbons to sprout. “Ow- what the fuh—!” There was little to no time before Garou outright rammed his right heel through the side of his partner’s jaw. The impact practically tipped the larger, stockier adolescent down to the ground.

There should have been vanity, the achievement of a Goliath being knocked down with but a pebble. However, what lingered in the depths of a leering tawny gaze was utter disappointment.

Could he really keep going at life like this? Constantly being subjected to those who would always pull their punches with him? It was rancid to envision that this was the requirements of being on the defense, to be rooted to the same technique and the same lifestyle consistently. They needed to fight back, to stop thinking that he was completely incapable of defeat himself.

“I left myself wide open several times,” Garou hissed at the adolescent who shakily collected his teeth from the ground, “I was givin’ you freebies and you still missed them.” It was safe to assume he anticipated it. The stockier adolescent wasn’t that good with deflecting facial blows.

In a beat, he swiveled his glower to one of the students who was kept on the sidelines. someone who very seldom partook in the sparring sessions. Too often would Garou hear him say he needed to use the bathroom, only to sneak out and flirt with girls.

“You.” There was little to no room to refuse, “you’re my next partner.”

Said student had fell into the same lines as the others with his refutation, but twice as obnoxious. His physique tensed under the beckon, though Charanko knew better than to outright hide or cower. It would have only made him a lesser man, especially when he knew Garou could possibly hunt him down.

Feebly was there an attempt to pacify the snarling wolf who hungered for a real opponent. “No way!” What words had been used to placate sounded like the equivalent of a terrified rabbit’s heartbeat, “L-Look, I’m only a white belt!”

Many might have considered it a waste of time at that point, but Garou saw no progress in holding back. His baritone strident and robust, as it had been accented with a snarl, “So? What’s the color of your belt got to do with fighting?”

What accessories of a belt should have been a masquerade of rank. At that point, he was exasperated with the reluctance, so much so he was already letting his knuckles tense. The hard and raw callouses felt within the tight grasp of Garou’s palms.

“Come at me.”

Was he berating him? Not exactly. Charanko was older than him marginally, but there was something child-like that only egged Garou’s irritation. A gnawing pressure unrelieved that had just became a blistering nuisance.

“Give me a break, Senpai!” The laments made by Charanko only split the blister open, fortunately Charanko was smart enough to (albeit reluctantly) approach. “Plus, this is only practice, we’re not fighting for real!”

It shouldn’t have mattered. What the Old Man had said about practice only being a leisure task was something that would not qualify for progression. Constantly shadow-boxing wouldn’t have given anyone the means of a hands-on experience.

This asshole was either taking Garou, Bang or the Dojo for granted; it was a wager to believe it was all three.

“Aren’t you older than me?” Garou barked—he didn’t look that old did he?—as he sharpened the dexterity of his fist to take the first swing, “aren’t you ashamed of being looked down upon? Huh??”

It was barely a half second when Charanko realized the intensity of the blow. The sheer momentum of it halting near an inch toward the tip of his nose released a hellish shriek. The fight was over with before it even began and Garou couldn’t suppress the disgust that curled at his lip.

The argumentative bark that had been accented with a frantic stammer couldn’t have hid the piss stain in Charanko’s pants.

“D-Don’t pull your punch before it lands!! That’s scary!!”

Garou wouldn’t have if the owlish gaze his opponent held wasn’t so pitiful. It was pathetic how badly Charanko was quivering, even for something that constituted as ‘practice.’ With a scoff, he diverted his gaze toward the rest of the disciples. “You’re weak as hell, you don’t even qualify for a punching bag.”

It was an insult to the punching bag, if he was being honest. Garou frowned when he stepped back, “do you even want to be strong?”

“I-I just wanna be popular, man!”

Popularity Garou thought with an inward scoff. To gain muscles for women to ogle at. To find some inward and self-centered worth that could have been described as abhorrent. It was a futile means of security, especially with how long Charanko had been in the Dojo.

“Say, what are you gonna do if I were a monster?” It was a decent push for a shove, as everyone there had some type of response: ‘I’d kick your ass,’ ‘I’ll walk away from you,’ and then—

“I-I’ll cry and beg and do everything I can to make you let me go!!”

It was pathetic.

The hypocrisy of wanting popularity, only to do nothing to achieve it. With a wrinkle to Garou’s nose and a curl of his lip, he turned his back to the whimpering waste of energy. He only sucked his teeth when he growled out, “get out of my sight.”

The irony of it was found six months later. Where the heckles were amplified. No matter how hard he would press or how hard he would taunt, none of his peers would have ever considered to take him seriously. For such a monstrosity became evident in his lack of consideration to those who would give him nothing anyways.

What had astonished him, truly, was how quick his peers were to team up against him. After he would take down one, two would surround him. Eventually five more would join the fray, leaving the atmosphere damp with salt and copper. Five more became ten and soon, the entire body of his class laid sprawled at his feet.

Even when they took him serious (finally), they were a pitiful bunch. Some had sustained dislocated shoulders and hips, others attempted to stagger onto broken limbs, only to howl in agony. All their techniques were an easy read for him and it made him wonder why he needed to pull his own punches for their comfort.

Why did he have to settle? Their hypocrisy was found in their means of justification: heroes only became good when it was a profit to their popularity. Wouldn’t he be no better than the pompous shithead who would refuse to acknowledge his definition of ‘the strong’ ? The heroes who thumbed their nose at a disaster that was ‘too weak’ for them to handle?

By the time Bang entered the Dojo, it was long over.

To have lost restraint, it needed to be there in the first place. What frenzy and bloodlust had circulated through Garou’s dilated veins had not quite reflected the capabilities Bang had under his feeble masquerade. Such vicious and hellish strikes were deflected and interjected simultaneously in fluid strokes. The only thought he could muster when he was forced through the threshold of the dojo was a regret.

It wasn’t a regret found in underestimating the old man, but of how he could have possibly assumed he was above everyone when he was just as bad. He didn’t know it then, but the compassion Bang provided him for nearly a decade was lost in the glare he met at the front of the Dojo. His curses seethed to a man who hid his pain well.

“You are no longer welcome to my Dojo.”

And thus, he began his hunt.

Isolation quickly became a company of his. What with Society ostracizing him for a hobby—a profession, really—and no home to declare his own, he sought shelter in the midst of street corners and old shrines long neglected. The old splintered wood and vacant promise of an eager hero never made his eye stay open as he slept. In fact, it made it easier to sleep.

Was this what Charanko wanted? The acknowledgement of his achievements by the word of mouth? Already were people talking about how the nefarious Hero Hunter had single-handedly made a joke out of the tank top squad (as if they weren’t already) and how it would be best for people to lock their doors at night.

Already were they eager to paint him in worse hues than he already was. To say he would outright beat a man to a pulp in his own home wasn’t the monster he wanted to be. His monstrosity unified people, unified those lesser than average and found solace when the top of the food chain met a larger foe.

He didn’t know what solace really was until he managed to save some old black cat.

It was by the end of the night after his encounter with the dynamic duo—Golden Ball and Spring Mustachio—when he heard the yowling near the shrine he would occupy that night. It was a grating sound, a similar sensation to the puncture wound within the depths of his hand, and it was incessant. Garou could handle annoyances, but persistent ones were just a bad joke that overstayed It’s welcome.

He had two options: simply ignore it and go back to sleep or investigate. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the time when the sound of a disoriented laugh resounded from the depths of the forest. What howling laughter would be accented with a harsh prod toward the feline’s belly, only evoking a protective hiss and a swat to the staff.

“Oi,”

There was little to no time to retaliate. The moment the monkey had swiveled it’s head, he rammed his fist atop of It’s nose. His cologne of salt and copper had been enough to lure the feline away.

The monkey swiftly twirled his staff along his scapulae to ram against the hunter’s diaphragm, a decent means to pry him off, but it came to no avail when Garou laconically intervened the space once more. The masonry served as a scaffold for him to leap off and burrow his knee into the staff—effectively breaking it in the process.

“Oh shit—!” The monkey could barely manage to utter, yet what deliverance of a blow prior was nothing to the natural strike of Garou’s fingers into the monster’s trachea.

At that point, it would have been a begrudging victory. A pitiful landslide that Garou shouldn’t have anticipated more from. Unfortunately, the monkey was proven to be a bit of a cheater when two more arms had sprouted from it’s sides and snapped to dislocate his shoulder.

What sharp pain that had ripped through his muscle was only reciprocated when the monkey tossed him across the shrine and through paper walls. Such mirthful chortles resounded as the monkey gradually approached.

“Ah~! I think I know who you are~! The hero hunter, yeah?” The four-armed monkey guffawed as he valiantly stepped forth, “you wouldn’t happen to know who I am, do you?”

Garou huffed as he obstinately popped his shoulder back into socket. What ribbons of carmine that dampened his temple only flourished a hint of irritation. “I know you’re annoying.”

The tyrannical monkey could only flaunt a grin made of needles, “I like you!”

A shame the feeling wasn’t reciprocated.

The instant that Garou stood up, his endurance amplified in tandem to his opponent. What jovial strikes made from the monkey became easier to read, as if they were verbally pronounced out loud to heighten the exposure. The full thud between each blocked hit or an insurge of strikes would soon be interjected with a hellish cry of agony.

In the same movement of Garou’s block, he had fluidly pried off the appendage of monkey’s arm. It’s eyes wide with horror when it staggered back to hold a crux of weeping amber.

Past the split contour, Garou offered a haughty grin, “what, you don’t like me anymore?”

The monster became but another pelt to drape along the floorboards. What furor Garou was greeted with had been sloppy and lethargic, as it lacked the precision and dexterity he could barely muster with the wounds he sustained. What bruises and hellish claws that scratched down from his nape to his chest was met with more golden bloodshed.

The monkey, now missing all four of its arms, was but a punching bag. It had only taken him a second to accept his fate when Garou harshly kicked It’s dead weight into the shrine’s empty lake outside. The air was bitter in his lungs, a caution for winter to come, as he watched the monkey melt under the depths.

The singeing of the scratches and the various other injuries he had yet to treat became more prominent in his enervation. He knew the cat was still there, observing how he would fare against a tyrant with a bo-staff, but those eyes were simply observant than they were anxious. Twin verdant orbs studied the irritated hunter.

“Go on,” Garou shooed with a wave of his hand, “get.”

The feline simply meowed in response. It was a quiet sound, but it was inquisitive enough to gingerly saunter toward his legs and nuzzle against his shin.

“did ya not hear me??” Garou barked. Apparently the cat didn’t, given how eager it was to flop over his shoes. The fat bastard practically thundered a purr when Garou’s hand tried to nudge him off.

After multiple attempts to send the black cat on his way from whence it came, he opted to simply carry it out of the forest and back into the town square. It’s head tucked under his chin as he searched for a possible pet shelter as it purred within his arms. It wouldn’t last long being under his care, especially if monsters were suddenly interested in sparring with him.

“Mochi!!”

He raised a brow when he saw someone practically jump out of their car and run after him. For a moment, he assumed—rather, he hoped for it—they found a mochi stand. Yet, when their gaze flickered toward the black bundle, he knew what the price would be.

As the feline mewed, the person’s hands hastily plucked Mochi out from Garou’s willing arms. Their brows slanted as they peppered kisses along the cat’s face, “oh my god, I was so worried!”

At that point, he was already well on his way. His hands drowned in his pockets as he made note to get a lint brush for the residue fur.

“Hey, thank you so much for—“

It was within that pause he anticipated it: the sudden recognition of him being the proclaimed hero hunter. The man who sliced Blue Fire’s hand from his olecranon and made a jab of his use with flamethrowers. He had already readied his verbal arsenal.

“—you’re hurt!”

Oh hell no, he wasn’t going to fall through to this.

“ ‘m fine,” he had to be.

Unfortunately, the person seemed to be less than obligated to believe that. They momentarily stooped down to set the black cat by their feet. What concern stained their doe-like demeanor was accented with a deliberate extension of their hands.

Despite his verbal protest, Garou made no attempt to pry himself away from their scrutiny. It was invasive, bothersome to no extent, but he saved himself the embarrassment by securing his hands along their wrists. Their hands were warm, much warmer than the adrenaline he would find in his furor.

“I said: ‘m fine,” his baritone was coarse, rough with a Hakata dialect and he could only furrow his brows. To find solace was to refute it, as well intended as it may be. Gingerly did they withdraw by his private request.

What should have been the end only prompted them to suddenly retrieve their shawl they had wrapped around their shoulders, “Here,” they said as the warm wool was draped over his broad shoulders, “For getting Mochi back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No, but I want to.” They said as they tucked their scarf along his neck. Given how silly his hair looked with its twin prongs, they practically suppressed the urge to chuckle, “it’s honestly the least I can do.”

He wouldn’t lie, it was a nice scarf, but leisure often came with future repercussions. How soon would he discover that they were a wealthy donor to the Heroes Association. He offered a small simper toward them, “...thanks.”

As long as he hounded after hunters, there would have been no means of quiescence within his accessable grasp.

“Don’t be a stranger next time,” they informed him when they collected their cat in their arms, as they retreated to their car, they called out from over their shoulder as they climbed in, “and rest easy.”

There should have been urgency to the change of his mind. How he would have been eager to call them back and tell them he would like to see them again. Solace was sought, to give him a moment to rest, but what was to gain from that when he hadn’t even finished halfway? Placing only twenty-five percent of effort was something the likes of his peers would do, to be adequate with just “enough” instead of what was satisfactory.

Solace was found, but he refused it.

Garou could only muster a gruff, “g’night” to them before he turned on his heels and sauntered off. He never glanced back at the owner’s car as he head back into the forest. Isolation was the only company he could ever afford.

[umamusume]

St-ART-ing Gate Contributor List

Hello everyone! I’m very excited to announce the list for the contributors of the St-ART-ing Gate zine!

CristalZhaduir - twitter

xmerun - twitter

Seere - twitter

Kezia - twitter

Simuppy - twitter

Cait - @caiterprince / deviantart

udon-udon - @udon-udon / twitter

Hay - twitter

Robin - @shipbells84 / twitter

TororoRose - twitter

Rosuto - twitter

SweetHime - deviantart

Rootie - twitter

Jiayi - instagram

Linryn - @zero-tsuu / twitter / deviantart

septuvariest - twitter

Koralynne

Emily Sara - ao3

Nemui - twitter

The zine is still currently set to be released on February 9th! Thank you to everyone who is contributing and everyone who will be buying a copy!

[trioxina245]

Forgotten Worlds (Rosuto Wārudo, Capcom - 1988), art by  Akira Yasuda

[destinygoldenstar]

Character Designs For My In Progress Book, Destiny’s Burden

This is Sherilyn Rosuto. She’s a seventeen year old Chosen One in the world of Fate. (A world where Chosen One’s take up about forty percent of the population, and Destiny is their driving force of life with stories of their lives predetermined for them)

Her destiny is to be the sidekick/right hand to the destined new great savior, Charlie Sue. As such, she is childhood friends with him, and they support each other. (Their relationship is platonic beginning to end)

Her destiny is a hereditary one, as the Rosuto family is full of Chosen One’s who are heavily bound to the Sue’s. The only exception is her little sister Fran, who was born an Average. (Destined background characters with no fantastical powers or story at all)

Unfortunately with the last generation, the family became associated with twin werewolves. The guy remained loyal to Destiny but was deemed a bad influence for a bad boy persona. The girl rejected Destiny and chose the life of a feral wolf, abandoning her family. The Mentor Circle didn’t want this to happen again, so they put extra work into shaping Sheri into a perfect strong woman with nothing problematic to be of concern of.

She inherits her family’s ice powers, and is a brash brawler in combat. She’s been trained how to fight at a very young age by her many superiors like her father, her uncle, and the Mentor Circle. She has werewolf DNA, so they’re concealing her full abilities. ‘Weakness and savagery is bad.’ The Mentor Circle often shames her for not reaching their standards on what a strong woman looks like. Especially one destined to serve their best friend.

Despite all of this, Sheri is heavily curious of her werewolf inheritage, and the secrets of her family regarding this. She’s well aware of her flaws. She’s not book smart whatsoever, she’s overbearing to the people she cares about, and she’s often impulsive and brash. Her entire life surrounds helping other people, and she wants to do that. When she feels like she can’t help and she’s failing these standards, she resorts in certain ways to get her flaws out of her system so they don’t get in the way of Destiny; Putting on a mask, pretending to be this cocky punk who picks fights on the street, and is trying to search for their missing wolf aunt. Charlie is the only one who knows about this and is eager to get her to stop that.

Other than that, Sheri wants to be seen by the public and her friends as a good kid and a reliable sidekick. She takes every combat training she can find to improve her skill. She willingly takes on responsibilities in supporting others. She’s known for being the upbeat one of the group, is incredibly loyal, and a social butterfly with charisma. She has a passion for certain sport’s tournaments like bike racing and boxing, rock music, and artwork, typically spray painting and sketching. She has an aspiration to be a rock artist, but her drawing, sports teams, and listening to music are only hobbies and she can’t let them go anywhere because of Destiny telling her that her place is to be a sidekick to someone else. She cares deeply about Charlie, and willingly takes her role and makes as much fun with their Saturday Mornings (Weekly holiday, lock your doors, Chosen One’s are fighting some one off bad guys at night) as possible.

Her association with Charlie and the Mentor Circle means her sister Fran is shunned from society, so Sheri has very little dynamic with her. That is until Fran comes along one Saturday Morning, and some bad guys get away with Diamonds (their version of electricity). On Charlie and Sheri’s mission and collaboration with the princess Akari, Fran joins in to train as a Chosen One, leaving Sheri with one more weight on her shoulder.

This story is in progress.

[destinygoldenstar]

Destiny’s Burden Main Character Designs

(I will clean these up in other drawings later)

Destiny’s Burden. An original story by yours truly.

The world of Destiny takes place a century into the future, where Earth and all its morally questionable implications were wiped out for the sake of a utopia.

The beloved savior, Mary Sue, rescued everyone from extinction by creating a world system that would change all of humanity.

Destiny, from all the Chosen One stories you’ve heard, is the dominant force of society. Those who’ve praised Mary Sue have been granted a loving world of kingdoms with the clearest right and wrong, and lives of great fortune. Those who’ve rejected her ideals were cursed to become the Dark Lords, the villains and the black of the stories that would come.

When certain children come of age, they are granted a destiny of their own, abilities of a Chosen One, and given clear stories for them to follow and train for. Stories that would bring peace to their wonderful world, against the Dark Lords who dare to try and change it.

A generation of Chosen Ones begins with Charlie Sue, the descendent of Mary Sue herself, being assigned the task of becoming the savior of the entire land after a group of Dark Lords steal power.

With the help of a few Chosen One friends, Charlie must train for the day he claims his place as Destiny’s savior.

And if Destiny really is that pleasing of a utopia.

An original fantasy action story by yours truly. Questions are free to be asked in messaging me, and followers of my blog will, in time, get a chance to beta read parts of the story and give much needed feedback to make this a great passion project. More info coming soon.

[destinygoldenstar]

Destiny’s Burden Character Designs (Will Be Updated)

This is the concept art of my characters in my book series, Destiny’s Burden. This will be updated for every one that I do, and other characters that get introduced.

Charlie Sue (Chosen One; Descendant of Mary Sue)

Sherilyn Rosuto (Chosen One; Sidekick of Charlie Sue)

Francena Rosuto (Sheri’s little sister)

Astrid Vesta (Chosen One; Future Queen of Scoria)

Agatha Joyce (???)

[rosutosoul-blog]

My fackin charater

[rosutosoul-blog]

Okay.. This is my OS on Countryhumans.. I was lazy to do a reference..

[destinygoldenstar]

Sneak Peak...

So I’ve been working on this for two years now. This is an original story made by myself, “Destiny’s Burden”

This is a fantasy story of a world where Chosen One stories are life’s necessity in a utopian world. 

‘Imagine a future of our planet where the classic Chosen One Tale has become the main function of the universe. Divided in four nations with different styles that have the same goal, the future utopia has a high percentage of young ones destined to become Chosen Ones that are given powers to save the world from Dark Lords with little effort. The first Chosen One to ever exist, Mary Sue, is a woman that designed the concept of destiny to give so many this opportunity to join the four Chosen Ones schools and solidify their adoration for this system. Francena Rosuto is a fifteen year old girl born as one of the daughters of the Rosuto destiny, where they would all have the fate of being allies to the combat that constantly takes place. Fran wishes to be a Chosen One herself, so she attends the school in Unmei Empire, Destiny Academia, even if it meant no one could know her actual identity...’

I actually created my blog to advertise for this, but it failed. But now I actually have Followers now, and people have a decent understanding of who I am. So why not try again?

Interested? Please like and reblog, this will help me a lot

Look Forward To More Sneak Peak Posts In The Future