#that drawing killed me and i had to write something for it
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Day 58
Hey remember when randomly a couple days ago in the event I mentioned that one of these days makes me irrationally angry??? Yeah this is the one.
So context for this one is that in the danganronpa section of a server I’m in someone asked a question around the lines of-
“Who is your favorite character for a Mastermind AU?”
Nowadays if you asked me, I’m very fond of the Mastermind AU I drew for Toko and Komaru during Tokomaru Week this year, and it’d probably be my answer nowadays.
However if you asked Jem from several months ago, who was brainrotted to absolute hell over these two to the point that she could barely form an opinion on other characters (don’t worry I fixed that issue in my brain, kinda), you know damn well her instant response was Mikan.
At first it was kind of a non-serious filler answer because I didn’t have anyone else who piqued my interest for that at the time. Arguably at first I wasn’t even interested in Mastermind Mikan initially. And then my brain saw I was apathetic to it and was like “Hold my drink” before it spiraled into an AU, which I of course would then use for Day 58 at the time.
I drew up a character design and some basic details in a total rush, and then drew a really basic but cute enough image of the two alongside various headcanons for this version of the relationship. I actually intended to draw a bonus image of the two on their own just because I felt like I was kinda scamming ya’ll if I didn’t. However I have like, none of the time for that on my hands right now, I’m JUST starting to learn Web Design at the time of writing this. If people like this enough I might try and actually draw some proper art of this AU again though.
As for why this day makes me angry, uhhhh yeah no it’s completely irrational. I have no justification in the slightest I just know that every time i scroll past this one while looking through the folder of Junkan art for the project I just get annoyed.
I’m actually really happy with the Mastermind Mikan design, might be a biiiit overdesigned? But let’s be real if we’ve learned anything over the course of whatever the hell you’d call this project, it’d be that I am nothing if not a woman of pure excess, especially within the small realm of this ship.
Okay so hi this is Jem from like, slightly in the future. And when I say slightly I mean like 20 minutes ahead of the previous paragraph.
So I drew a Monokuma for this AU. Something I didn’t do for my Mastermind Tokomaru AU. I kind of had the idea for a Mikan version of Monokuma in my head for a decent amount of time, partially because I also want to do some art of Mikan and Junko in Shiro/Kurokuma cosplays later (yeah sorry spoilers there is no shiro or kurokuma representation in this project. But worry not, UDG does have representation, muuuuuch later). That made me think about how Shirokuma does kind of have similarities to Mikan (i think, it’s been awhile), which made me realize that monokuma but purple sounded neat. So there’s this now.
I imagine that Junko would still be voicing this version from behind the scenes. Partially because unless it’s literally an Ultimate Voice Actor Mikan AU there’s no way she can do that for a whole killing game. The other reason is I just kind of imagine that Mikan would take a similar role to Tsumugi, being both a member of the killing game and the mastermind, rather than what Junko did where she faked her death and orchestrated from behind the scenes without suspicions. Also yes this would mean that Junko is behind the scenes as normal, just that this time she’s solely focused on managing Monokuma. The Control Room is directly connected to Mikan’s room for easy, non-suspicious access to all the mechanisms. And also so the two of them can cuddle at night, obviously.
Oh yeah with this Monokuma Redesign I would probably also change Mikan’s hair pin to reflect the same color scheme, even if I do like the way it looks with normal Monokuma colors. I would also probably make a “normal” Mikan design for this version. Just tone back certain parts of it to give the illusion that she isn’t the mastermind. Y’know, for the game that will totally exist based off this au, definitely.
Honestly I think rambling about it has made me soften up on this one a bit, for now at least. So for real I might try and draw more of this AU regardless of whether people want it or not. That said y’know, if you DO want more of it feel free to say so cause that will in fact give me some mild motivation lol.
Oh I guess last thing. When I first showed the initial Reference image of this Mikan to friends one of them pointed out that I accidentally made her plan into, what is essentially the American Healthcare System. I swear to god that wasn’t intentional but it did make me laugh.
As always, Reblogs, Comments, and Little Notes in the Tags are appreciated!~ They always make my day!~
#danganronpa#junkan#junko enoshima#mikan tsumiki#enomiki#junko x mikan#junkomikan#enoshima junko#tsumiki mikan#shipping#mastermind au#au#monokuma
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the duel
Pairing: knight!Din Djarin x f!reader
Word Count: 5.8k
Rating: Mature
Summary: When a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.
Warnings: graphic violence | animal death (a horse gets killed) | death of a close family member | a hint of “who did this to you?” | a lot of historical inaccuracies | reader has long hair | a dash of self-loathing
Notes: I know I'm the slowest writer ever when it comes to working through my 10k follower celebration requests but we're getting there. A very sweet anon requested "Can you just look at me? Please?" with Din Djarin and my brain made that into a medieval AU somehow. Dear anon, I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind but I had THE most fun writing it, and I'm so so in love with knight!Din that it's going to be incredibly hard to let him go. As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who said this is the best fic I've written recently - it's amazing what I can achieve when there is no smut to overthink!
The air smells of smoke and horse manure and cold. It smells of blood and death too, but Din isn’t quite certain that he isn’t imagining that. No one has died here, at least not today, and if he keeps his cool, then the sun will set without him having taken yet another life. All he has to do is immobilize his opponent, make him surrender. If he can do that, he’ll win more than one victory today.
He bows, deeply, in front of Lord Marlowe and the assembled guests. To his left, Rhyswald the Crusader does the same, the insincerity evident in the way he inclines his head, moves his feet. Din has every reason to hate Lord Marlowe, every reason to wish the worst on the other man, but he wouldn’t dream of disrespecting him, least of all in his own house.
Rhyswald lifts his head, runs a gloved hand through his blond curls, and dons his heavy helmet. Din ignores the smirk on his face, the way he bares his teeth in something resembling a snarl. He can’t let these things get to him if he wants to walk away from this duel victorious, his hands clean. He lifts his own helmet, ready to hide his face behind the T-shaped visor, when he sees you stand and abandon your seat next to Lord Marlowe. You walk to the edge of the berfrois, your pale blue wool dress looking almost white in the soft light of the winter morning, your dark blue coat billowing behind you. You don’t wrap it around yourself, even though the cold morning air makes you gasp. Your eyes are fixed on Din’s, but he can hardly bear to look at you, his heart in his throat threatening to choke him.
You reach the edge of the berfrois and you seem so close that he thinks if he just extended his arm, he could touch you. And then you extend your arm and his hands begin to tremble. If he had to draw his sword right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the weapon. There is something in your hand, a piece of white silk, and you smile at him before letting it go, the cloth gently gliding down in the calm air, toward Din. He steps forward, his hand outstretched, and everything around him vanishes – the lists, the nobles, Lord Marlowe on his high-backed chair, even Rhyswald and his vile face. It’s just you and the token you’re bestowing on him that Din sees.
He secures the piece of silk around his left lower arm, gently pulling it tight with his teeth. By the time he is done, you have returned to your seat, regarding the spectacle before you with cold detachment. Like him, you can’t let this get to you. The world begins to come back with shouts and the sounds of stomping hooves and Rhyswald’s voice snarling some insult Din doesn’t quite catch. He walks over to his horse Razor, tied up at the edge of the lists. Razor is covered in Din’s colors, the dark blue of his father and the silver of his liege, its black fur shiny with sweat already. Din hoists himself up, takes his shield from a knave, and draws his long, heavy sword. With a deep breath, he turns Razor to face Rhsywald.
Din tastes blood on his tongue as he charges at his opponent, blood from where he has bitten the inside of his cheek. Rhyswald’s helmet is obscuring most of his face, but Din can imagine the smirk he is wearing beneath, sure of his victory. After all, didn’t he fight in the crusades? Didn’t he risk his life and soul for king and country? And where was Din while his fellow countrymen were risking their lives overseas? Where was he? Din raises his sword high above his head, channeling all his strength into his right arm, and a growl erupts from his chest, drowned out by Razor’s hooves hammering against the frozen ground.
Din manages to hit Rhyswald’s shield, but the steel glides of the leather reinforcements uselessly. Rhyswald misses Din’s shoulder because he twists out of the way in time but even before Din manages to turn Razor around, he’s there again with a second attack, splintering the top of Din’s shield with a forceful blow. Din changes direction, his back facing Rhyswald for a moment, but the bold move pays off. When he goes in for a second attack, the other man parries his blow with a surprised shout.
Beneath the horses’ hooves, the ground slowly breaks open and becomes uneven while the knights try to gain the upper hand. They are evenly matched, Din has to admit that, but whereas he fights for an advantage, Rhyswald fights to humiliate. When Din parries a blow, Rhyswald tries to hit him with his shield, when Din tries to free his sword, Rhyswald tries to punch his chin or scratch his unprotected lower arms. The longer the horses dance around each other, the harder it is for Din to keep the promise he made to himself.
“You should give up now,” Rhyswald suggests after a while, his voice coming out in strained pants, “because I will kill you if you don’t.”
Din doesn’t reply because there really isn’t anything he could say.
Rhyswald tries to grab Din’s arm but almost loses the grip on his sword and has to straighten his back. “Did no one teach you manners, boy? You answer your superiors.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Din presses out through gritted teeth, the blade of his sword coming down hard against the spaulder protecting Rhyswald’s shoulder but bouncing off it without leaving a mark.
Rhsywald pulls back his steed, disengaging, and Din drops his arm to relieve his straining muscles. “Why not? Did your little harlot forbid you to speak? Because she knows if you talk to me, it’ll only expose her lies?”
Din doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop himself from charging at Rhyswald in a rash move and missing him when he swerves.
“Oh, so it’s true?” Rhyswald taunts, making his horse prance around Din’s. “Do you always do as she says?
“Shut up,” Din growls. Rhyswald’s grating voice is making his blood boil.
“Apparently not,” Rhsywald remarks, and Din can make out the smirk beneath his helmet. “So tell me, do you believe her little story? Or do you know she’s a liar?”
Din spurs on Razor, the pounding hooves quickening his heartbeat. He’s aiming the blade at Rhsywald’s head, but his opponent predicts the move long before Din can carry it out. Their blades clash and send out sparks. The force of the impact makes pain shoot up Din’s arm and he grunts. Rhyswald doesn’t let him catch his breath. He lands blow after blow, and Din can barely keep him in check while Razor nervously prances beneath him.
“That would explain why she picked you as her champion,” Rhyswald goes on while his blade comes down hard against Din’s shield. “Gullible Din Djarin who’d do anything for the taste of a ma–”
Din kicks, hard, and is surprised when his foot connects with Rhyswald’s middle. Rhyswald gives a shout of surprise, and Din knows his eyes are wide beneath that helmet. With a rattling crash, Rhyswald lands on the hard, trampled ground and his horse takes off with a whinny. Around them, the berfrois erupt with cheers.
Din closes his eyes and the sound changes. It now is the gentle rustling of newly grown leaves swaying in a warm spring breeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in Headdon Fort walking the corridors, climbing steep stairs. Outside the windows, the world is breaking out into colors, bright and fresh, while inside the mood is dampened by bad news recently received. As a knight passing through, no one has informed Din of the tragedy.
Din doesn’t know what he is looking for, only that he is too restless to quietly sit in a chair yet too exhausted from his recent travels to spend his time training. The fort is almost empty since everyone is enjoying the spring sunshine, and Din, in turn, is enjoying the quiet. Until he hears a stifled sob, turns a corner, and finds you leaning against the damp stone wall. You’re crouching, face buried in your hands, a scroll of parchment lying at your feet, and your chest is heaving with violent sobs.
Din should walk away, spare you the embarrassment of being seen at such a vulnerable moment, but he can’t. It’s not his upbringing and training, the chivalry demanded of him. It’s the love he feels for you that makes him rush to your side instead of turning away from you.
You must hear his heavy footsteps despite your preoccupation, and you look up, eyes red, cheeks wet. “Din,” you breathe, your voice hoarse.
His chest tightens at the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a familiar manner. He steps in front of you, unsure whether he is allowed to approach, flexing the fingers on his right hand, still stiff from a recently sustained injury. “What do you need?” he asks.
You smile at him, gently, your grief momentarily forgotten. “It’s Eldrin,” you answer. “He … he died.”
Din’s chest grows tighter, a feeling no longer welcome. Out of your brothers, Eldrin was his favorite. Din had always looked up to the older man, and Eldrin had always treated him like an equal. “How?” he asks.
You shake your head as a new wave of grief rushes over you. Din can’t bear to see you like this. He drops down to his knees next to you, the floor uncomfortably cold through the fabric of his chausses. But he doesn’t care when you lean into him and bury your face against his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything anymore except the warmth of your body against his and the way his heart flutters in his chest.
Steadied by Din’s presence, you finally answer. “He was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Din echoes, slinging an arm around your shoulders. The bright spring sunshine seems to darken at your words, and despair settles over the both of you.
“He was trying to save a friend,” you go on, your words muffled against Din’s tunic. “Lord Raaf. He had gotten into a fight, and Eldrin was trying to help him. They were all drunk, it was a stupid, drunken fight.” You sob, and Din can’t help himself. He kisses the top of your head, and feels a stab of pride when you pull him closer.
“Raaf,” you go on after you have somewhat collected yourself, “he said Eldrin got stabbed in the back. I don’t know why.” You look up at him, your eyes impossibly bright with tears. “Why, Din?”
“I don’t know,” Din replies. He could talk about honor, call the murderer a coward, curse his name, but none of these things would help you. Instead, he asks, “What can I do?”
“Nothing,” you reply, grabbing fistfuls of Din’s shirt. “He’s dead.”
“Does Raaf know who stabbed Eldrin?”
You nod. “A knight. He calls himself Rhyswald the Crusader.”
“There are witnesses,” Din goes on. “Lord Raaf. He saw it happen. Rhyswald will be brought to justice.”
You give him a tired smile. “I don’t want justice. I want Eldrin to be alive.”
Din’s stomach knots painfully, as if he had been stabbed himself.
It’s the same pain he feels now, back on the lists, watching the murderer push himself into a kneeling position, reaching for his sword. “Stay down,” Din whispers, but Rhyswald lets loose a deep growl and stands, picks up his mud-caked sword.
“You coward!” he shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I should have known that you won’t be able to win this fight without cheating.”
“Enough!” Din barks. “Do you surrender?”
There are whispers all around him as he waits for an answer.
Rhsywald spits, and it comes out red. “No.”
The whispers stop.
Din circles Rhyswald, Razor snorting beneath him. “Then you have made your choice,” he declares with a heavy heart, raising his sword.
Rhyswald charges. Razor, surprised by the sudden movement, rears up and then collapses, the front legs giving way, breaking with a sickening crack. Din hits the ground, hard, the impact pushing all the air from his lungs. One leg gets buried under Razor’s body, while the other twists at an odd angle, and he loses both his sword and shield. The crowd gasps, there are one or two shouts, but Din only hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the rattling sound of Razor’s dying breath.
Din’s vision darkens when Rhyswald casts his shadow down on him. He pulls his sword out of Razor’s chest with a sickening squelch and huffs. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”
Din places a gloved hand on Razor’s back, the body warm and alive to the touch. He can’t allow himself to feel, can’t allow Rhyswald’s dishonesty to get to him. He pushes the horse off his leg and stands, ignoring the pain in his calf, the way his vision goes dark as blood pounds behind his eyes. He limps to where his sword lies half-buried in the mud, then to where his shield sticks out of a heap of soil. He picks up both weapons, his grip like iron, and turns to face Rhyswald.
They circle each other; every other step is agony to Din, but it doesn’t escape him that Rhyswald holds his elbow at an odd angle or that his helmet has shifted, obscuring his view. Din shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears but it doesn’t help. He loosens the grip on his sword, then tightens it again, and before Rhyswald can take on a defensive stance, he rushes toward him, his only goal to inflict as much pain as possible. He can let himself have that, he decides, as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgement.
Steel meets steel, and Din’s ears are now ringing with the sweet sound of combat. Rhyswald manages to keep him at bay, but no matter how hard he tries to get a blow in, Din doesn’t let him. He forces Rhyswald to defend himself, forces him to back away from Razor’s dead body, forces him to fight for his life. Rhyswald is strong, his defenses are tough, but once in a while, there is a crack in them, and Din exploits it ruthlessly.
Rhyswald’s shield splinters in half after Din hits it repeatedly, and the two halves fall to the ground, useless. Din can’t help but smile a cruel smile, already tasting victory, but without the additional weight, his opponent is faster and finally gains the upper hand. He pushes back against Din’s assaults with vicious jabs, forcing Din to divide his attention between parrying Rhyswald’s blows with his shield and defending himself with his sword.
Din’s arms grow heavy, so heavy that every time he has to raise his sword it feels like a task impossible to accomplish. Rhyswald seems to tire too – his footfalls are heavy and he grunts every time he swings his sword at Din. But when the blade lands against Din’s right cuisse, he feels the blow in his entire body and his knee gives way, making him stumble. Rhyswald goes for Din’s standard next, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he manages to parry that blow. The audience gasps, groans, and then falls silent.
“Don’t you hear?” Rhyswald hisses, pushing his blade down against Din’s. Every muscle in Din’s arm is screaming for him to give in. “They hate you. They want to see you dead. Why don’t we give them what they want?”
He kicks Din in the chest, swirls around, and with the force of a final blow lets the blade of his sword rush toward Din. Din lets out a hoarse shout as his lower arm is sliced open and hot blood spurts out, drenching his tunic. Steam rises in the freezing air.
“You should give in now,” Rhyswald suggests. “It would spare you the pain and humiliation.” He reaches for Din’s injured arm, for the piece of silk tied around it; Din draws back with a hiss. Darkness settles over Rhyswald’s face. “Have it your way then.”
He raises his sword high above his head at the same time as Din raises his shield, and when blade hits wood, Din pushes himself up, flinging his cover at Rhyswald. He feels bile rise in his throat at the effort; instead of air, it feels like he is breathing in fire, but he stands, and Rhyswald struggles for a moment, caught off-guard by Din’s resistance. Still, Rhyswald has a point – it would be so easy to give in, to stop here and let fate take its course.
The glove on Din’s left hand is growing heavy with blood. He glances down to examine the damage and his eyes land on the piece of silk Rhyswald tried to touch, the token you gave him, convinced he would be victorious. He promised you, did he not? He offered his services to bring you justice, to right that terrible wrong that had been done to you. He can’t give up, no matter how much he wants to. Not when you are up there in the berfrois, all your hopes resting on him. Your hands are doubtlessly clenched in your lap, your eyes are wide with terror. You are praying, he is sure of that – not to a merciful God, but to him, begging him to keep going.
“You’re tougher than I had thought, I’ll give you that.” Rhyswald’s voice sounds tinny from beneath his helmet, and it lures Din out of his thoughts and back onto the lists. “But you still have to resort to tricks to gain the upper hand.”
Din is barely listening to the words. His eyes are roaming Rhyswald’s armor, looking for a weak spot, a small opening he could attack. There is nothing, not even a loosening rerebrace. But the way Rhyswald is holding his sword, his grip lax … if Din could disarm him, this fight would be over.
With an outcry, hoarse and violent, he storms at Rhyswald who is too late to raise his sword to defend himself. It flies out of his grip and lands somewhere to his right, halfway sinking into the mud. There is some careful applause coming from the berfrois, one or two cheers, as people are trying to figure out what just happened. Din feels a smile forming on his lips, one that is cold and calculating, as he allows himself this small indulgence because no one can see it.
Rhyswald looks at his useless sword, lets the implication of it no longer being in his hand sink in. Then he huffs and rolls his shoulders. Din steels himself for another insult, hopes for a swift surrender, but stiffens when Rhyswald loosens his heavy morning star from his belt.
“We’re just getting started,” he sneers.
Din rolls his neck, his shoulders, then flings his sword from him. There is one faint shout of, “No!” somewhere in the distance, and all he can hope is that it did not come from you. “Forgive me,” he whispers, pulling his pernach out of the loop on his belt.
When Rhyswald charges, morning star swinging at his side, Din is ready for him.
The air around him warms as the lists vanish and are replaced by a ground of dust, dry air being swirling up in the hot summer sun. Din takes a step to the side and twists his upper body, avoiding his opponent who rushes past him with a curse. Din turns and kicks him in the backside so he lands on the dry ground, face first. The other men clap and cheer, and Din runs the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt.
That is when he spots you rushing toward him, your hands balled into fists at your sides, your footfalls heavy with anger. Din hears the other knights snicker, one or two whistle, but he ignores them. His entire world has become you – there is no room for anything else.
“What happened?” he asks as soon as you are close enough to hear him.
You stop in front of him, your eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know who else to talk to,” is all you say.
Din softly closes his hand around your elbow. “Come,” he says, “let’s go.”
There are some lewd comments, some more whistles, but you don’t seem to hear them. You let yourself be guided into the shadow of one of the trees in the enormous courtyard, where the heat is a little less punishing, and prying ears have a hard time overhearing your conversation.
Din takes in your appearance, your fine dress, your long hair, braided intricately, and his face heats with the realization of how he must look next to you, dirty and sweaty and half undressed, with his tunic hanging open and its sleeves rolled up, curls rumpled, hands brown with dust. You don’t seem to mind though.
“Rhyswald was acquitted.” Your voice is strained with anger and hatred; Din barely recognizes it. “The king has acquitted him.”
Din wishes he could offer you words of comfort. Instead, all he manages is a suppressed, “What?”
It should not be like this, was not supposed to go like this. You were convinced the king’s verdict would bring you justice, and Din was convinced of the righteousness of your cause. After all, Rhyswald had stabbed Eldrin in the back, in front of witnesses. Maybe you had misheard the king, misunderstood his verdict.
You lower your eyes at Din, and for a moment he thinks you’re redirecting your anger at him. “He didn’t believe Raaf, said Raaf was too drunk to know what he saw.”
“But there were others,” Din presses, unable to make sense of it all, “other witnesses. People who say Rhyswald …” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.
You begin to pace beneath the shadow of the tree, your face shiny with sweat. “None of them confirmed Raaf’s story. They said it was too dark, they can’t be sure of what they saw, Rhyswald wasn’t drunk, they want to believe his story. The king said it wasn’t enough.”
Din watches you pace, rooted to the spot by his uselessness. He hears the clanging of swords, the shouts and cheers – the other knights must have resumed their training, already tired of poking fun at him. He hears the song of a bird high up in the tree above you, and the high laughter of a little girl somewhere close by. They all go on with their lives as if the world had not just ended.
“There must be something we can do,” Din finally says. “Maybe the king will reconsider if …”
“If what, Din?” you snarl. He flinches. You notice, and your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but there is nothing we can do to change his mind. There is only …”
“You can’t give up,” Din interrupts you. “There has to be a way. We will find one.”
Your face softens as you gift him a smile. “There is one way. The only way. But it’s hopeless.”
“Tell me,” Din demands, taking both your hands in his.
You lower your gaze to where your hands are joined. “Trial by combat,” you answer. “If God’s verdict were to be in favor of my brother …”
Din tightens his hold on you. “Why would that be hopeless? Aren’t you convinced of Rhyswald’s guilt?”
You wind your way out of Din’s grip. “It’s not that. I don’t have a champion.”
Din blinks, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m sure your fiancé …”
“Lord Marlow accepts the king’s verdict,” you cut him off. “There’s nothing I can do.”
Din pulls you close. “Yes. There is.”
The sharp pain in his right arm brings Din back to the present. It has to be broken, judging by the way it uselessly hangs at his side. When the morning star hit the rerebrace, Din could hear the sickening crack it made. Rhyswald could too, and it put a cruel smile on his face, one Din could see all too clearly now that Rhyswald lost his helmet somewhere in the mud. Din tries to flex his fingers, tries to bend his right arm at the elbow, but the responding pain makes his vision darken and stars dance in front of his eyes.
Opposite him, Rhyswald looks how Din feels. His bottom lip is split, his teeth are red with blood. He spits and a tooth lands at his feet. Din inhales sharply and tries to straighten his back, but Rhyswald chooses this moment to charge at him, the morning star long forgotten, lost somewhere on the battlefield. Din glances longingly at his pernach, now too heavy for him to wield with his broken arm, then widens his stance, bracing for the impact.
Rhyswald is aiming for his shoulder, but Din takes a calculated step back and Rhyswald misses. He stumbles but immediately regains his balance, his eyes wild with rage. Din can’t help but smile.
Rhyswald reaches for Din’s left arm, which is still bleeding, and Din hisses when his hand closes around it, hard. He struggles against the grip, but can’t use his right hand to push Rhyswald off, and when he yanks back his arm, he only pulls his opponent toward him. Rhyswald closes his other hand around Din’s throat, but Din twists back his head, then brings his helmet down hard against Rhyswald’s temple. That does the trick.
Rhyswald stumbles back and Din falls forward, grunting in pain. He can make out the tears and dents in Rhyswald’s armor where he was able to do some damage with his pernach, cut so deeply he drew blood, but it wasn’t enough. Rhyswald still stands, still fights. And Din knows he cannot take much more of this.
Rhyswald kicks, aiming for Din’s legs, and when Din tries to evade him, his leg gives way and he folds, falling to his knees in front of Rhyswald. Then his head starts ringing, and he realizes Rhyswald is pommeling the helmet with his bare hands, trying everything to make Din surrender. And Din wants to. By God, he wants to! He’s so exhausted he can’t even tell if this fight is real or if he blacked out minutes ago and this is all a fever-induced vision.
Rhyswald lands a kick against Din’s chest, and Din crashes to the ground. It has begun to snow, and as he is lying there, looking up into the sky, he can see the flakes dancing around him. When Rhyswald straddles him, sinking to his knees on either side of Din’s torso, he can’t find the fight in him to oppose him. Instead, he lets Rhyswald punch him, his chest, his chin; his head rings every time Rhyswald’s fist connects with his helmet, but there is no point in fighting back when it’s so easy to lie here and watch the snow come down gently.
Rhyswald curses, trying to pull Din’s helmet off his head. But his gloves are slick with blood and mud, and he cannot find purchase against the smooth iron. Din shakes his hands off with a grunt and his head comes to rest on its side where he has a clear view of the berfrois. A clear view of you.
You are halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide with shock. His chest constricts, the pain unbearable, so much more violent than anything Rhyswald did to him today. If he doesn’t fight back, this will be the last thing he sees, his last conscious thought will be that he disappointed you. And maybe that’s what he deserves. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives – this is his punishment for all the hurt he brought into this world. What’s one more broken person? What’s one more ruined life? Of course, the only thing he can give you as his present on your wedding day is for you to watch him get butchered. He lived his life dishonorably, of course it has to end the same way.
Drained, he closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come.
When he opens them again, it’s you he sees. Your eyes are bright, and you try to hide a grin behind the back of your hand, but he gently takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile like this, and he wants to savor every second of it.
You kiss him again, and it’s as if he was forgotten how to breathe. All he feels is the gentle press of your lips against his, the way you’re still so unsure but so, so eager to have him like this. It makes his heart bloom like a meadow in springtime. He can’t help himself – he has to cup your cheek. You shudder against him in response.
“Let us stay here forever.” The words are out before he can stop them.
You glance up into his eyes, your face so unguarded it makes him want to fight for your affection. Makes him want to die for it too. “I wish we could.” You push him back against the hard stone wall of the alcove you’re hiding in. “Let’s not talk about it.”
The next time you kiss him, he can taste your grief on your lips. “There’s –,” he starts, but you shake your head.
“No.” You touch your finger to his lips, and he freezes, blood rushing downwards, tight between his legs. “Din … I’m so sorry.”
There is nothing for you to be sorry for, no choice he regrets making where you are concerned, but hearing you say those words makes a lump form in his throat. “Don’t.” He kisses you to hide the ache that has to be written all over his face. “It’s what you have to do. You have your duties, as I have mine.”
You lace your fingers with his, squeezing them hard. He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling.
“I’ll always be yours, Din. Always.”
Din reaches for his dagger strapped to his thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain. Rhyswald’s triumphant grin is wiped off his face when Din knees him in the crotch before stabbing him between his ribs where his armor has shifted. Rhyswald lets out a pained grunt, his eyes falling shut, as he tries to grab Din’s wrist to pull the dagger back out. Din does it for him, relishing the wet sound it makes against Rhyswald’s flesh. Then he pushes Rhyswald off him and rolls onto his side, arm braced against the other man’s chest, pushing himself onto his knees. The pain that is everywhere in his body now is almost unbearable, makes him want to vomit and pass out, but the sight of Rhyswald’s eyes, widened in terror, keeps him going.
Din closes his left hand around Rhyswald’s throat and Rhyswald starts kicking his legs in panic, clawing at Din’s fingers and arm. But Din doesn’t let go, only pushes him deeper into the mud. This isn’t the first time he is taking a life, and he knows it won’t be the last, but he will never again enjoy killing someone this much. He tightens his hold on Rhyswald’s throat, watches as his eyes begin to bulge, and he feels a strange calm come over him. It’s easy to grab the dagger, even with his broken arm, so easy to press the blade against the skin of Rhyswald’s throat, and even easier still to cut, one smooth motion, followed by blood, so much blood. It seeps into Din’s gloves, hot in the freezing winter air, drenches his hands so all the world can see he has taken another life.
Din doesn’t let go until Rhyswald’s eyes cloud over and he stops twitching. He pushes himself away from the dead body, a pained growl passing his lips. He isn’t shaking – that will come later – but he isn’t feeling the satisfaction he thought he would feel. He raises his eyes and glances up at the berfrois, up to where you are sitting. It’s not as if he had expected you to jump out of your chair and cheer for him, but he had hoped for some acknowledgement of a job well done. Instead, he finds you staring at him, eyes wide with terror, and he looks down at his soiled gloves and the man next to him, his throat cut open like a red, angry maw.
You would look at Din like that. Not with relief or adoration, but with terror. After all, now that you have seen his uglier side, you recognized the kind of monster he truly is. And who could love a monster, even if that monster killed for you?
Din kneels in the cold mud, eyes fixed on his hands, his terrible hands that have done so much bad in this world. He should have surrendered, should have let Rhyswald kill him. But there are men carrying his corpse away, and Din has to go on living, knowing the only person he truly loves despises him. He wishes there were cheers or curses, people talking, getting ready to leave, discussing the duel, anything, but it’s so quiet and he is alone with his thoughts that are so loud. He’s even alone on the lists now, Rhyswald’s corpse having been carried off, and still, he can’t bring himself to get up and leave. He can’t even raise his head because looking at you again would kill him.
His world turns pale blue as you come to stand in front of him. You kneel, not caring about spoiling your wedding dress – you’re kneeling in the dirt and blood, and you say, “Can you just look at me? Please?” but Din can’t. He doesn’t want to face your hatred, even if that makes him a coward.
Your voice is so soft as you repeat that, “Please,” and it does something to him, reminds him that he can never refuse you. His broken arm twitches painfully as his heart picks up speed, and then he looks up.
You have a soft smile on your face, one he had thought he’d never see again. You raise your hands, lifting the helmet off his head, and then you press your forehead to his, just like he did with you before you told him you’ll always be his.
“I love you,” you whisper into the cold winter morning.
That’s all he needs from you.
If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …
dividers by @saradika-graphics
#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars fanfiction#pedro pascal character fanfiction#the mandalorian#10k follower celebration
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i've had constant aus and self-insert stories spinning around in my head for the past two months that i've been back into spn for, but i wasn't planning on doing anything more with them until i was browsing the fanart tags and discovered so many cool artists on here have been making spn ocs? it just never occurred to me that there would be any, let alone multiple, and to especially see ones being queer and trans made me really happy to see. so i took one of the too many different plots i'd been rotating in my head and made a little character out of it.
august north. he was killed by a demon when he was 26. his body was experimented on with the intent of creating an alternate long lasting vessel for lucifer. but a small amount of lucifer's grace bonded to august's body, reviving him as something not human, but not an angel. he meets the winchesters during season 4 of the show. he has some powers due to the archangel grace in him (healing factor, telekinesis) but it is not to the level of an archangel's power, possibly similar to regular angel's power or a bit less. he is a suitable alternate vessel for lucifer, if he were to say yes lucifer wouldn't burn through him like he does with nick. if lucifer's grace were to be removed from august's body then august would die, it is keeping him alive. the scar on his chest is from where lucifer's grace entered his body.
because of the whole 'boy with the devil's grace label' he ends up bonding a lot with sam, the two of them both being tied to lucifer through no choice of their own, and them both experiencing distrust and disgust from others because of this.
i really don't want any comments telling me that's not how angel grace works, i just liked the idea and it's my self-indulgent au. and august is entirely here for me to ship with lucifer so if that idea or lucifer in general makes you uncomfortable please just scroll on and don't judge me. i can't help falling back in love with this terrible archangel. i actually made a couple shrines on my website for sam and lucifer and boy i ended up writing way more about why i like them than i thought i would. the tldr is that i find things to relate to with lucifer in terms of the whole being cast out, family issues, being the black sheep of the family etc. and i find him fascinating, especially season 5 lucifer.
i'm not 100% sure on the storyline for august and lucifer, but lucifer does want to seek august out, partially because he's disgusted at a human having any of his grace, and partially because since sam is so hesitant to say yes it's nice for him to have this other option. i can imagine him visiting august in his dreams like he did with sam, trying to convince/manipulate him into saying yes, august not being bothered by his presence and instead feels drawn to him and ends up spending these dreams asking lucifer questions, and while lucifer is still trying to manipulate august into saying yes... he is lonely and this dead-alive human-angel boy is looking at him without disgust, isn't flinching when he touches him and he hasn't had anyone react like this to him in a long time and while he won't admit it a part of him is visiting august so often because out of all these hairless apes, this one isn't awful.
wow i wrote so much more than i meant too, oops. i guess that's good though, been a long while since i had an oc ramble this long.
[ID: a digital sketch page of my supernatural oc 'august north'. there's a half-body and full body drawing, with text around them. some of the text on the image i've already repeated in the text under the post but the rest reads: august north, supernatural oc, the boy with the devil's grace, pronouns: he/him, gender: trans man, height: 5'8", orientation: omnisexual, demisexual, demiromantic, nationality: english, occupation: hunter. august has pale brown curly hair that comes down to his collarbone in length, with a grey streak at the front right. he has two little braids going in front of each ear. in the half-body he's wearing a black coat, black long-sleeved shirt, a red bandana tied around his neck, white feather dangling earrings. in teh fullbody he's wearing black pants, black boots with spats over the top that look like little corsets, red with gold ribbon to lace them over the boots, a shirt button up that's unbuttoned and opened revealing the star shaped scar in between his pectorals from where lucifer's grace entered his body. he has two moles on his face, one under the outer corner of his right eye, one above the left side of his lip. his eyes are a blue-ish grey.]
#supernatural oc#spn oc#myart#mine#supernatural ocs#spn ocs#fandom ocs#fandom oc#supernatural#spn#did i ever make a tag for my ocs? i cant remmeber#oh! i did#my ocs#aa all the most recent things in it are others drawing my ocs for artfight#i have neglected my own oc tag#artists on tumblr#spn fanart#supernatural fanart
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me when
me hwhen the------
the brainworms-
#i was thinking about fic ideas but this would have needed too much setup#writing a fic is a commitment you gotta stick around from the beginning to the end and#drawing the thing as one picture however is#uhhh#something something i really don't know man#just inject the gravecest straight into my veins already just fuck me up thank you#art by me#gravecest#coffincest#tcoaal#the coffin of andy and leyley#technically safe for work but let's be real here#not safe for life#how's that gun taste andy#did you realize that's what she meant when she said she'd blow your brains o-#what do you mean that's even better#oh wait i forgot to tag the characters too#ashley graves#andrew graves#this image was so powerful it had to be dithered or else it would have killed everyone who looks directly at it#nsft
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if dust takes off his hood and scarf then nobody can recognize him. he has literally no permanent traits that make him recognizable (which actually kinds upsets me because,,,,, there is no physical representation of his character development from sans to dust BUT EAAHHHH whatever,,, we cope with it.) but in like a silly goofy comedic way. it's like perry the playapus ans dr doofenshirmst (incorrect spelling but only by societies standards)
dust with hood down and no scarf
killer: a sans?
he puts on the scarf
horror: a GENOCIDE sans???
the hood goes up
killer: DUST SANS AKA MURDER SANS AKA DUSTTALE SANS FROM HIT AU DUSTTALE?????
horror's skull breaks a second time on the other side from sheer shock
#why use mtt for this example? WHY NOT USE MTT FOR THIS EXAMPLE#heh. buddy pal chummy chum friend you forgot who you're talking to. this is triglycercule pal.#the fella with the name mttmttmtt? the fella who has a pfp and banner of them? the fella whos posts are 78% about them?#heh.... these beta beginners have no idea whos post theyre reading..... 𝓸𝓲 𝓸𝓲 𝓸𝓲..... 𝓫𝓪𝓪𝓪𝓪𝓪𝓴𝓪...........#please do not let that previous tag effect your perception of me that was in a satirical way#anyways this ide is so funny. i think if i had more motivation to draw comics this one would absolutely pop off. but i dont#my issue is that majority of the ideas i think of in my head appear in COMIC form#so its either slave away at drawing and burn out motivation or write a post that cant fully encapsulate all my ideas#well of course i'll take the easier route because i'm a lazy prick#BUT STILL. guys if anyone ever wants to steal my content to make a comic or write something or draw something#i give you permission to do so. you can steal my content all you want#as long as you say it was inspired by someone. dont even have to say who.... but you'll know. and i'll know. and that's enough for me#no but on a serious not if someone actually used my shitty tumblr posts as inspiration to draw something i would be SO FUCKING HONORED#the day that happens is the day i ascend to heaven. not because i killed myself tho. i'd go to hell if i did that#i hope someone laughs at these tags because i sure am#it may just be the lack of friends to tell me if i'm funny or not but i consider myself the funniest person. ever#put me up to a stage and tell me to do stand up i'd have everyone chortling#except the crowd has to be my fans#ANYWAYS time to get to work. dattebayo ‼️‼️‼️🤣👊👊#killer sans#dust sans#horror sans#murder time trio#utmv#ohhh is this a hc. absolutely but a really really silly one#often times than not i come up with headcanons and then i proceed not to actually headcanon characters as that. huh#tricule hc
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Aun (Durge) and Enver on a rooftop somewhere in Lower City, 1477 D.R.
I knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, I couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometimes verging on prayer. (from Heaven by Mieko Kawakami)
#zoom into their faces and wail with me#it's still early days. gortash hasn't earned his flames yet#durgetash#gortash#durge#bg3#oc: embrace!aun#They look very sweet but this happens during/after the events of Blood in Baldur's Gate. Aun just got done serial killing 💀 and was#running around in the sewers. She runs into Enver who she hasn't seen in two years (they had met under strange circumstances#and spent six weeks of the summer together before having to part). They don't have time to chat in the sewer and go their seperate ways.#Though neither said a word to the other -#they both end up at this dilapitated building where they spent of their time together that one summer.#(Have yet to decide who is there first.)#They spend another night on this rooftop together - looking out at the city - right on the cusp of *everything* changing.#I'm writing a proper thing about it but I got too excited I had to draw something#gortash x embrace!aun#my art
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Crazy people were calling me a misandrist for my beauty and the beast comic 💀
#1. i was like 17 when i made this and yes its hard to read and theres a fake word in there#english and french are similar enough that i englicize french words sometimes my bad#2. did everyone miss the part where the first guy str8 up hired the beast to kill the other guy? Beast just didnt like their vibes its not#that deep#the story is not that deep#i did in fact just wanted to draw a lesbian fairy tale#queer ppl complaining about predictable writing 🫵 sit down and touch grass#sometimes people just want to make something and it doesnt have to be the best#im good btw its just been circulating again and its funny seeing how serious so many ppl took it#like. its just a comic#its literally just a story made in one day by a 17 yo who had never read a queer fairy tale can you calm down#everyone being confused by convoited was funny to me tho 🤡 here random fake word for free#meanwhile me : yea thats a word. convoited. from the verb convoit which means to admire and desire something#totally a verb i can directly translate from French i dont need to look it up
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reading back my own wip is driving me crazy like fuck me this writing is so GOOD AAAAAA.
its not Objectively good of course, its too long winded and heavy handed and outright confusing in some parts bc of how wordy the sentences are, but its so absolutely perfect FOR ME. like its so good. im obsessed w myself. amen
#i wrote it just SO long ago like before a lot of my other wips and theres still nowhere to really Take it#which is why its sat there for months untended#-actually wait i distinctly remember writing the climax argument on the plane to utah. beautiful. anyway-#but the way i wrote it just. grisps me. like that picture of the hand holding the pigeon you know.#its so short maybe if i can just bridge the middle part without trying to draw it out too much i might even just post it#like why nawt. im sure someone out there would love a hard to read overdramatic fic<3#obsessed w self but also killing self a little bc i read back the wips i wrote before my life fell apart and its so#it wasnt That long ago but the style and quality is different#up and down in different ways but overall the creative energy i had feels so completely out of reach now#i know im still writing and publishing and its doing alright#but theres just a certain spark thats been missing and im trying hard to compensate and work around it#but it makes me a bit sad to go back and have concrete proof that i used to have it#like idk there's something that feels so much more alive and dynamic in those wips...idk how to get that back ):
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ngl i think i kind of was a genius for being like 'yeah this character is a scary killyou cannibal scary killer who scary kills you' and then realizing that the way my worldbuilding works out is that there's a nonzero chance that if you leave literally any body parts over they can just come back, depending on what they believe in their heart of hearts can kill them. Of course she'd start eating her kills. She probably tried normal stuff first and then realized it didn't work and she had to try harder if she wanted to actually keep them dead.
#red rambles#im working on a character who i made up years and years ago and wasnt even happy with then because he didnt seem to have enough like#interior thoughts he was just like a guy who killed people when he was stressed and his life was constantly stressful and then he killed on#person too many and they were like 'this is fucking untenable and he has to die' and then they killed him#which is soooooooooo absolutely nothing honestly. Like it works as a barebones summary but i want to stress there was actually straight up#nothing else there. the entire rest of his whole whatnot was just being entangled with Haven who is a different character who at the time#ALSO felt unsatisfyingly lacking in interiority but at lesat he had really complex motivations and action flowcharts. that werent just 'i#get grumpy and i just go kill some random person with no regard for what the consequences will be and then i am so mean and i kill you'#now theres a lot more happening. i really didnt. like.#okay so i had a Backstory worked out but it was vague because i didnt know what the fuck he WANTEDDDDDDD right like. i had no motivations a#literally all except 'oohhh i kill people ooohhh i like killing people ooohhh im erratic i kill people' and the background i HAD was like.#Upper class scion of some rich family whose family honest to god just did not like him very much and also [gestures vaguely] i guess he#maybe kicked dogs or something and then he ??nebulous timeline meets haven and then kills his sister or kills his sister and very quickly#thereafter meets haven but i usually lean toward the former because haven LOVES convincing people to kill their whole families its like#cathartic for him because he would love to kill his entire family but physically cannot do it. but like kind of the implications of this#as far as i was concerned given this is set in the mid 1800s was like. ehhh he's getting away with this because he's rich white and male an#it pays to turn a blind eye to his indiscretions or w/e. a genderswap means that she'd be subject to a lot more scrutiny on basis of like#misogyny. LOL. and i already had the preexisting 'hates half sibling' (i genderswapped the sister into a brother because why not) and 'hate#parents' and 'parents strongly dislike her' and 'unsettling' and it worked nicely to start giving me actual fucking. Literally anything to#work with there. because it means that by going off with Haven she walks out of one situation where she has like 0 agency into another one#and like to be clear i respect anyone who is sitting around in haven's general vicinity for snapping and just starting to kill people. me t#but this works. SOOOOOOOOOO much better for real#im still working the kinks out but like also this means that she wins. she wins like multiple times actually. she comes closer to killing#haven than anyone since he learned what fucking species he was and causes him more trouble in the interest of getting the FUCK out of there#than anyone else has and then she fucking gets what she was going for against literally every effort haven could've made over ~five decades#get owned loser.#every time i draw her i cant help it i write some shit like PLEASE JUST GET DIVORCED on it even though i wrote the fucking narrative i know#it will never fucking happen and thats why she does all this shit instead#in another world she'd be like the wildly capable owner of Raytheon 2 or some other shit like that. like she'd never be a nice or good#person but she wouldn't be dead. god she could be in charge of a country or some shit. Alas. Please get divorced.
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inspired by the lovely fic, “Sacrifice” by Bloopy42 on AO3:
“Having something to lose or having nothing to lose,” He mused, pretending to be distracted by his current, tedious endeavor. “I ask you, which is more tragic?”
#andor#kleyaluthen#star wars#kleya marki#luthen rael#luthenkleya#andor fanart#sw andor#star wars fanart#this fic is soooo good it killed me read it and give it a bunch of kudos for me ok#that's just one of many good lines#thank you for writing Bloopy42 I HAD to draw something for it <3#not my fic#have i drawn almost every square inch of the backroom at this point#maybe#but will i stop drawing them in the back? probably not
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for months now i have had this little story idea bouncing around in my head for an AU of Jetpack Joyride where Barry is stuck inside a big expermental time loop conducted by Legitimate Research to create an army of randomly selected time-travelling soldiers. the idea is very much still rough and i dunno if and when i'll develop it into a bigger thing, but it's a pretty cool idea and it's a twist on the JJ game that i've never really seen much exploration on.
basically, it focuses on Barry, who is the sort of Patient Zero of an experimental concentrated time-fuckery technology LR is working on. every single day, at exactly the same time, Barry goes out to work his salesman job, discovers the jetpack, breaks into the laboratory, takes it for a joyride, eventually gets hit by an obstacle and dies. the next day, Barry goes out to work his salesman job, discovers the jetpack, breaks into the lab, takes it for a joyride and dies. and he does the same exact thing the next day, and the next day, and the next day, and the next day... he's pretty much stuck in a loop of the exact same events happening repeatedly every single day, and he has absolutely no idea about it. that is, until there's a glitch in the system, and Barry progressively becomes a lot more suspicious and paranoid about the situation he's in. the rest of this post is gonna be REALLY spoilery (like i literally just explain big important chunks of the story for several paragraphs) if i ever make this into a full-fledged fanfic, so i'm gonna put it under a keep reading thingy. also it is... quite long and convoluted lol.
as the story goes on, it focuses more on the mental degredation of Barry as he starts uncovering all these weird clues, slowly trying to piece together what's going on and driving himself insane, because every time a reset occurs, his memory of the previous loop ever happening is completely wiped and everything he did that day goes all the way back to square one. since the malfunctioning of LR's technology though, Barry has been getting little nuggets of deja vu and half-remembered fragments of dying before a reset. this eventually becomes him repeating things to himself, little phrases and codes over and over and over in hopes that it will persist into the next reset. this eventually becomes symbols stuck up on the walls of his room and then progresses to entire rituals to help him remember and little behaviourisms like tics and stims to let him know he's in another loop. he becomes more and more panicked and unsettled, paranoid that someone - or something - is watching him closely. additionally, he keeps having disturbing dreams in the early hours of the morning before he gets up to go to work, ones that are symbolic and prophetic, as if they're trying to warn him about something. i've had concepts of him waking up on top of a pile of millions of mangled carcasses that all look exactly like Barry, and having on them them forcefully grab onto his leg and pull him down with the rest of them. it's kinda like the nightmare Woody has in Toy Story 2, but like, dead guys everywhere, lol.
the backstory of this whole thing is kinda insane. basically, Legitimate Research is a sketchy government funded facility that's doing secret time experiments to create the strongest beings for a purpose that's somewhat similar to Brains' Zomb Bomb plan from AOZ (i haven't fully decided yet). Barry is someone who has been randomly selected for their newest version of the concentrated time loop experiment, where patients will be put under looping tests to extract data about their strength, agility and performance and decide what they need to supplement them with in order to create the perfect soldier.
Barry was 22 years old when he was selected. he was actually a relatively normal local Fish N' Chips vendor living in New South Wales, but one day, when he recieved an exciting letter in the mail about a new ambitious job opportunity, he completely disappeared without a trace and seemed to have been entirely erased from the minds of everyone he had ever known. Barry had actually been kidnapped and ensnared into a mind-experiments facility of the laboratory, where they proceeded to wipe his mind, proof of his existence and his entire personhood up to this point, and replaced all of it with fake memories to fill in the gaps. he was then placed in stasis and to be injected with high doses of strength drugs as they crafted a new life for him behind the scenes. a new house, in a new state, all with new stories and memorabilia meant to be lived out by new person. now, he was Barry Steakfries in Queensland, a rough-around-the-edges guy with a passion for action movies and destruction. he was a revel with a thirst for chaos and freedom, but he just didn't have the means to achieve it yet. it was all according to plan.
a big part of the story i want to tell that involves him is that at some point, Barry tries to break free from the time loop by doing something different. this takes a lot of pre-planning, memory rituals and repeating details to himself, but after he wakes up from a reset and gets out of bed, he hesitates, choosing to go to a different place to sell his gramophones that day. he deliberately tries his best to avoid Legitimate Research's headquarters as much as he can, and while he doesn't completely remember why he's doing it, he has a deep gut feeling that he should stay away from them at all costs. so he does. and at first, it goes well. the day is different, his choices seem to actually matter and for once, the feeling of deja vu isn't tearing him apart... until a crazy freak accident happens that forces Barry to die and reset the time loop again, wiping away everything he had done that day. Legitimate Research is now forcefully trying to stop him from knowing what the hell is going on by forcing him to die with each now discovery he makes, and Barry has to figure out more and more creative solutions to averting their surveillance and trying to get the hell out of the loop.
Craig will also be involved with the story too!! i'm not exactly sure what exactly the events leading up to Barry discovering and meeting him would be, but it'd be kinda halfway-late-ish into the story where Barry manages to cut off LR's surveillance of him, breaks into the laboratory and searches through its archives for anything relating to time. during this raid, he accidentally discovers the true Patient Zero to this time experiment: a broken, decrepit shell of a man who has been hooked up to a set of wires and locked away deep into the laboratory, never meant to be discovered by anyone, only known simply as #000 'Craig'. Craig was the very first human they used to run an early prototype of these experiments, but through malfunctions in the threads of LR's technology, he ended up knowing too much and tried to break free from his time loop, which resulted in him being dragged out of reality and becoming completely detached from his own time, stopping his aging process completely and practically allowing him to exist forever and persistently through every reset unaffected. LR relocated him and considered him a catastrophic failure, locking him away in a cell deep in the bowels of the laboratory before destroying and erasing every archive of him ever having existed in any point in time. and now, the same thing is about to happen to Barry if he doesn't figure out a way to stop what's happening quickly. Barry, outisde of LR, is the only one who is aware of Craig's existence in this timeline. Barry makes a vow to make sure that he will never ever forget Craig, no matter what happens to him, no matter how many times his timeline gets reset, because he is the only other person on the whole world who truly understands what he's going through.
at the very end of the story, when Barry finally escapes the time loop and is about to enter into a new reality where none of this ever happened, he reaches out a hand to Craig and offers he come with him to live. Craig, however, rejects the offer, sadly confessing to Barry that because of his disconect from the threads of time progression itself, Craig must stay behind and be erased along with everything inside this one and let Barry live his life. Barry protests, insisting that his life wouldn't be complete without him and that they've already gone through so much together, but Craig assures him that this is the best for the both of them, and that Barry must leave him soon before the window to escape closes. Barry gives Craig once last goodbye, holding him close and basking in his presence for the final time. he closes his eyes, presses his head against Craig's and whispers "I promise I'll never forget you." before he slowly lets him go, not breaking their locked gaze on each other for even a second as he steps into the portal and ventures into an entirely new reality, never to return.
i want there to be an epilogue part where Barry starts his new life and goes looking for a place to stay, and he comes across the place where LR used to be, which is instead occupied with a big square fence plot and a sign that says "UNDER CONSTRUCTION: NEW RESTAURANT TO BE BUILT". Barry stares at it for a moment and reflects on everything that has happened. all the hellish experiments that were once held inside this very plot of land, all the trauma he went through to get to this point, Craig's sacrifice, everything has lead up to him standing here, in the right place, at the right time, to finally live the life he should've had to begin with. eventually, he turns away, continuing to walk down the street. he should go check that place out sometime.
(insert "what a fucked up dream for a baby to have" ending from 'then what' here)
#barry steakfries#jetpack joyride#fanfic idea#alternate universe#this is really just an idea dump post. y'know just throwing eggs everywhere and hoping one sticks to something#also i like how every au idea i've had for jetpack joyride always involves a deep queer-coded relationship between barry and craig#the aoz total apocalypse au has them go through hell together and become closer bfs who would die for each other as a result#the timeloop au has barry and craig destined to find each other but are separated from each others' timelines and must eventually let go-#-of their bond with each other and have barry sacrifice the existence of craig so he can go on and live a normal life without him#the toni/revenge au is literally just barry and craig/toni having a messy breakup ffs lmaooo#every au i'm making for this game is so unequivocally gay and i love that#we got the 'i'd kill for u' gay. we got the tragic destiny love story gay. we got the bad blood by taylor swift gay. it's all here#now that i think about it the relationship that barry and craig have in timeloop kinda reminds me of kirk and spock always being destined-#-to find each other across space and time.....#i will make sure every au i make deliberately goes out of its way to have something so very gay in it and you can trust my word on that#i wanna draw all three of my au barrys at group therapy with each other sharing their traumas#and canon barry is just there looking at them like ''what the fuck happened to you people....'' lmaoo#toni/revenge au barry: my bf turned evil and broke up with me...#timeloop barry: my bf literally got erased from existence for me...#total apocalypse barry: .... my bf is a hardened professional zombie hunter. wtf is happening in your universes???#canon barry: *taking a slow sip of coffee with an extremely concerned look on his face*#anyway yeah. barry is stuck inside a timeloop and that's why jj always starts the same way after you die#not even kidding this whole au was spawned from me playing the game again in late 2022 and thinking ''hey isn't it interesting-#-how barry always dies at the end but then bursts through the wall again just fine when you start again? like a loop? hmmm''#i'm gonna sleep now. it is. 11 pm and i have been writing this for god knows how long. good night snoorrrkk mimimimj
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peace and love on planet earth.
this fic is. going places.
#haunted ecosystem#my day can be summed up in : two shitty conversations that i hated & one nice comment on asomatous#and also shaking like a sick dog. but thats unrelatedly related#idk i was gonna make an actual post about this fic then i opened the vault and felt nauseous so nvm about the original point of this post#i drew something? i dont think it really counted as drawing but today has been. a day. its 2:50am. why am i awake#pro tip go the fuck to sleep when it gets dark. you arent going to make good choices when its dark.#i have an ending for artificial stars? i have the idea for the other main fics of the series. i have an ambition that'll kill me one day#remind me to delete this later#im gonna go watch some random videos and hope this feeling passes. it's going to be okay and there is love in the world.#there is so much love you cannot even imagine. you'll learn about it when the time is right. there is love there is love there is love#there is so so much love and it exists for everyone out there. especially the people who are hurt / hurting. i love you. forever.#i care and i will listen to your woes and hardships and i will be there god damnit. stay. stay just a little longer#i learnt i write hardships that i wish i hadnt had to overcome alone. i write love ive never understood. i write the world the way i see it#so brimming with life and beautiful. its so beautiful.#goodnight tumblr. so much love <3
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So hmm i need to come up with two projects and make concept art and shit, all of it for wednesday and guess what I have :/
#i didn't go to consultations either cause i didn't have anything cause i just can't come up with anything#the only idea i pitched to my prof i had to abandon and i haven't even told him#im just#head empty you know#i have four subjects i have to pick two and come up with something#and it has to be#a combination of different medias#im going to die#this is literally the last chance to pass this class is me going there on Wednesday and showing him the two projects#i cant come up with anything#im going be killed#ToT#i can't just draw something it has to be like ambitious and shit#if i go to that prof and say i don't have anything and need more time he will bite my head off#hnhrrenrhenjenrj#yo bro all i wanna do is finish my sonic comic binge i didn't sign up for this i thought i would just be drawing here#in the... you know... art uni... faculty of DRAWING#why do they want me to make some video istallations performance shit i didn't want that pleamse#i might just try to write a comic script for one of the subjects and see if he considers that intermedia lmfao#im just so tired#my blood freezes whenever i even think of this class i wanna die
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i WAS gonna complain about horror being a skeleton and therefore never able to do the akanbe face but then i remembered. i'm an artist!! i can just DRAW him doing it 😇😇😇 ok but he doesn't have eyelids iKNOW ill figure it out ok
#im going on a short vacation that means prime time to slack off and mtthink#and i have some drawing ideas froM LIKE TWO WEEKS AGO that i never drew because i had no motivation or even time#so now i can do it :3333 lets (me) see if i still even like the ideas#and i have Saturday and sunday and mondayOFFschool and then i leave on wednesday morning ヽ(≧∀≦)ノ#and that gives me prime time to draw draw DRAW#and theres like 20 days left of October i really should get to work on that animation meme#i WILL trust i swear#if not i kill myself#jk! (fashion au?)#ive been using kaomojis now. jk killer would too#ヽ(≧∀≦)ノ#me taking like a whole week on a shitty hrkl little writing thing when it was leagues easier to just describe my idea#i REALLY had a vision and then i was reminded that writing is boring and that a vision expressed through words cant keep my attention#anyways i finished another little dust doodle of a song that reminded me of him#now it is time to actually get my life together and shower and brush teeth#the only homework ive got is reading a few pages#i have been ON TOP OF MY HOMEWORK since school started bro😭😭😭😭 ive been SUCH a good student 😭😭😭😭#so much free time at home and yet none of it is spent on doing anything but laying down and lazing about#come on! come on! you need to get up! use your brain! PLEASE TRIGLYVERUVLE PLEASE FOR YOUR OWN ENTERTSINMENT#forcing myself to do something i find fun when i have no motivation to get up is so annoying#iWANT to draw iWANT to think i WANT to write (eh) but i just nonono feel like it (༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ)#tricule rant#actually today i found another song that could fit horror but i just glanced at the lyrics#if i aint mtt pondering at the very least ill be connecting them to songs#new art project is gonna have HINTS of mtt in it. not really but if im aware of them then they exist#i love art class i love learning about art principles i just wish i could apply that shit to my work#well DIGITAL work. doing stuff traditionally always feels so much easier
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i think i would have gone loco if jo and aoki got to meet up just once after ichi breaks through to him like. the damage to my psyche id have wouldve been immeasurable, irreparable even
#snap chats#im at the vet waiting for my dog please listen to shit thats been tormenting me for months#finally releasing all of my drafted thoughts im ill and im free#srry i know i talked bout it already in todays ask but im still thinking about it#this is also inspod by one of my twitter mutuals saying aoki’s death was the only foreseeable path for him like girl i thought we were fam#but no 😭 ill stand by forever that him dying was legit so dumb and unnecessary idc idc 😭#anyway. let me begin. because its not as if aoki wasnt conscious of jo constantly tailing him#take a shot every time i quote the Lost Dog comment its just such a good line and just exposes jo its my everything ok leave me alone#but please just like. in the weird timeline where jo and aoki did get to be cellmates- or at least were in the same cell block right#id throw up and cry if aoki looked at jo differently that day. like it doesnt help that jo’s without all his flash and flair#hes just in slacks and his hairs all tussled and he just looks So Normal. like hes Not a murderer#as soon as that warden bring aoki in i know jo movin to see him with all the love and concern only a father got#aokid never say sorry i just know hed be awkward as hell in jo’s presence now#like if aoki really did take ichis words to heart and starts to actually see jo as his family and as someone who cares about him for him#id kill myself on the spot thats why they had to kill aoki#no id die and throw up if aoki just outright asks jo if he does care about him or something like that#jo gonna need to muster up every ounce of his will to say he does not because he doesnt but because hes Just Like That. hes a hard nut#but he loves his kid more than anything and im gonna tear my organs out thinking about it#jo your kid sucks but ik you still love him thats the worst part#i wanna write or draw somethin with them in jail together so bad but i always get distracted#and again i have comms to do today.#OH BUT SPEAKING OF MY DUMB ASS DOG GOT LYME DISEASE 😭😭😭#they said he should be fine in like six months if we’re good with meds but still.... this is lame.....#ALSO I FOUND OUT MY POM MIX IS PREDOMINANTLY A PAPILLON..... thats fucked up yo butterfly dog...#ok im gonna go be insane idk how much else i could elaborate on this bye bye
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HAHAHA i found it funny how these two AUs have The Sword Child and The Yakuza Child, so i'm surprised and pleased to see some play on that. all whilst getting some lore in the process YIPPEE!!
a key part of kendo's philosophy is modesty, to the point where if someone strikes a point against you but doesn't have good form when they do it, the you have to point out it's bad form. so harumi roasting natsuki's sword skills is really funny actually
(and then i ramble more in the tags bc of course i do)
My Kuzupeko daughter interacting with @the-only-teruteru-fan and @detective-dick-gumshoes-pot-room SDR2 fankids
Harumi is actually a naturally gifted prodigy with the sword. But Peko never taught her the dangerous techniques, so Harumi has to work harder to surpass her mother. Unless it’s specified, you can assume Harumi can smoke any of her siblings in a sword fight. Her personality is very Ranma Satome.
#i think the scar was removed from natsuki's design? because i was going to ask abt it but then i double-checked the updated design and. gone#also the expressions... he's DEFINITELY kuzuryuu's child lol#characterisation ref#<- look knowing how characters riff in a casual conversation is important to me (important to writing funny fics which is important to me)#but with apparently 20 pages worth of lore... even if i had fic ideas i wouldnt be confident writing them any time soon LOL#re: Harumi Sword Lore#i remember a thewildwilds fic where Pekoyama has an advantage in kendo because she doesn't have physical hesitation towards killing#therefore she doesn't have hesitation towards delivering something close to a killing blow (e.g. throat strike) like regular people would#so I can see Harumi observing stuff like that (that there's a subtle difference which makes peko better) and being like 'damn'#'i gotta train even harder'#i got a convo idea between those two but i might just draw it#because i need to practice drawing more anyways#ALSO DOES THIS IMPLY THAT HARUMI INHERITED PEKOYAMA'S SWORD BAG#my brain had a little prickle of a fic idea but i do not have nearly enough info for that lol#uh oh wait with the aforementioned interaction idea in mind.... FUCKKK IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN#but that's still not going to come soon unless i get the confidence to go 'fuck it we ball' (which is a 50/50 because i have anxiety but-#-also adhd)#wait no. i just remembered ppl other than kuzupeko and their fankids exist and i have no idea what 2 do with them. false alarm!#but i'm still going to have to write what i have rn down. so if you want to discuss that with me feel free to#i might have to go back to my original idea. aka to the drawing board (automatic laugh track plays)#cosmic the yapper#reblog#danganronpa#drnextgen#Harumi kuzuryu#Natsuki kuzuryu#Fumiko kuzuryu#aiko mioda#Hotaru Tanaka#Koji Hinata
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