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mystery-salad · 2 years

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I am having thoughts about how magic works but I'm running out of things to think about so I'm outsourcing: How do you treat necromancy? What specifically can be reanimated?

Ouh good question! And my short answer is: everything, depending on the skill and knowledge.

Medium answer: so long as you have the knowledge, skill, and power source to do so, you can theoretically reanimate anything if you put the work in. A necromancer could have a fuck-off huge minion-mount for example, either made from random flesh or just a whole undead animal.

Very long answer (take with the fact that I did not highly research this in the "grab every tiny piece of factual lore" method because I think it's more fun to take what is naturally explained to me in game and play with that):

Necromancy is something where in most games and media its inherently evil, or at least considered "dark magic" that requires rituals or sacrifices that can limit how far you take it and it'll come with a "price". In gw2 though necromancy is just another form of magic like any other, and not even considered to be the untrustworthy option of the magical skills. Because it's so commonplace, the methods to use it are too. A fiend or minion can be summoned on the spot and siphoning someone's life just takes an outstretched hand.

The other side of having the magic so easy to use though is that we don't have books and deeper explanations of how this works. But we do have Zhaitan and Joko and wraiths. Fiends and minions are all well and good, but they're standard necromancy fare in this game considering any player character can access them. They're mounds of flesh and bone twisted into a functional shape, based on forms we see in the world, that will attack whatever you tell them to. I've seen other players headcanon these to have the mentality ranging from that of a pet to a recovered soul or demon's spirit. Which leaves me personally in a space of "fiends and minions are empty vessels that can house any functional intent that is placed within them."

By this specific metric, any pile of flesh could be reanimated to keep a spirit or demon close, though it isn't revivification so much as a temporary home for the spirit that'll last until you drop the magic holding it together. By basic necromancy skills, nothing gets truly revived but anything organic can be reanimated with the right anatomical knowledge and an intent to put within the form.

But then there's the experts. Then we have wraiths and liches, who create the risen and awakened. The former of which is debatably aware, the latter of which has their old soul returned to the exact same body.

The risen house a will in a shambling and decaying body. They rasp out words with barely-existing vocal chords echoing the will put into their reanimation. Rather than creating new forms to reanimated, Zhaitan took those that already existed and made essentially minions of them. The only seeming difference between risen and minions is one was molded from pieces and the other was simply taken off a shelf and used. If you can't make your minions from scratch, store-bought is fine!

Wraiths are the next step up from this, sort of the other end really. A soul with clear intent but no physical body. Their presence seems to fit in line with another form necromancy is capable of, a shadow fiend. Made of the same darkness that a necromancer's shroud can cloak them in. Dead or not, it's unclear what Wraiths truly are and their permanent shroud keeps their floating form hidden. They too seem to carry death and reanimation with them, able to summing the risen to their call. Expert necromancers who bow to Zhaitan and are thus able to channel his own powerful form of undeath and create and control the risen. It's like if you bass-boosted a necromancer so hard they lost their physical form and started controlling others' forms instead.

And then we have the awakened don't we. These ones, this part of the world, makes me think. Because this isn't necromancy in the form that we have knowledge of from Tyria. This is something else. The awakened know who they were, they have their memories and personalities. It's walled off to an extent behind the control of a powerful lich (and we will get to Joko himself in a moment oh boy we will!) who bends the awakened to his every whim. A will that seems to be tied to the "revival" process by intent. They're not perfectly alive again though, they still walk around in a form that is mummified. Preserved, presumably to keep it from decaying and eventually falling to pieces like the risen seem to be. This version of a soul in a vessel is made to last. It is a new and different LIFE for the people who once died. There's no smoke and mirrors to it, Joko dying doesn't even break the bond. The souls are truly in the world and in their bodies again. This right here, this is where necromancy gets real interesting for me. Because this isn't reanimation entirely, though it does use the same method as risen in that a whole body is returning to life. This pulls the souls of the dead back from the mists to bind into their old forms. It's not truly revival, not with a body that's in a mummified stasis that would fundamentally change how you live your life. But it shows how far reanimation can truly go with a proper soul and tether to the living world.

Joko, for his part, plays a role outside his importance in awakening too. Cause this ancient bastard shouldn't still be alive should he. He's seemingly in the same sort of position as awakened, but with the caveat that he's done this to himself and so likely never died in the first place. He figured out how to tether souls back into bodies, and laid that tether in himself before he even had a chance to keel over a single time.then he could have the freedom to preserve and reinforce his own body without fear of death. Has he ever truly died? No. But he may as well have in the processes that lead to his eternal life. I think this tether, this ancient magic Joko found, is what Aurene inherited from him. The only physical difference being that her body as an elder dragon is made to last and can heal well enough that mummification is an unnecessary step. Congrats aurene you're a necromancer, of a sort!

And you'd think that'd cover it all, that I could lay out what this means for my understanding right there, but we haven't covered it all have we? Because there's one more level of necromancy we haven't touched yet. The Commander. Every Commander.

Not just those assigned necro at birth, but once they take a trip through the desert and get ambushed by a god. Once the Commander dies definitively, and comes back. This right here makes me go fucking ballistic. And it's why Cinnuit exists narratively as he does now despite not being a commander.

The Commander dies. Canonically fully dies, presumably with hardly a body to return to. What body would survive a magical flaming sword as long as you are tall cutting you through several times while you fight desperately within a ring of magical fire? They wake up in the Domain of the Lost, a space between the living world and the mists for those who died to traumatically that their soul shattered and splintered into so many pieces they have no idea who they are. Thankfully all those pieces end up in the same place, the Commander can become who they once were, it's just in death now instead. Which is a problem when you're gunning to save the world isn't it? Just won't do, you'll need a return ticket immediately please. Something that up until now has been unheard of in modern gw2. You're seeking to return to your old body as if the death never happened. (And yes I know this is because anet can't anger everyone by making your characters look awakened after this story step with no way to get your old look back, but that caution sets a narrative implication that has me fucking feral with delight!) You're given a method, and it turns out the big difference between what a necromancer can do, to what Joko and Zhaitan can do, to this? It's the power source. It's how much energy you have at your disposal. Which makes sense! Necromancy doesn't have the price of rituals here, but it still works off the conservation of energy we understand. Don't have enough power, you can't accomplish some things. More power behind the magic means more options for how you can use it effectively. And returning to life to tether yourself back into a body that you've healed and given full functionality back to? That takes an incalculable power source. That takes hundreds, thousands, untold millions of sacrificed souls that had been collected for an unknown amount of time. This necromancy does require sacrifice, if your power source has to outweigh the nature of death at a fundamental level.

So to sum it up! How do I treat necromancy? I treat it like any magic. Skill and methodology play important roles, with those you could reanimate theoretically anything. You could even pop a soul back in with a tether that can pilot the reanimated form if you're feeling fancy. But revival, that takes power and long-forgotten skills. It's possible, but you will reap the costs and you'd better hope you haven't gotten anything wrong as you play with the logistics of life in a way reanimation never does.

#dasozelotvonnebenan #whew this got long!#i know i ramble in places in this please bear with my trailing thoughts lmao #i wrote this in ome sitting without editing so you're getting the head-on stream of thoughts here

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nolanhollogay · 2 years

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"what are you so afraid of?" for any oc ur feeling

hehe time to talk about my [bass boosted] BOYS (cw: underage drinking)

Cam was actually going to be the death of Derek John. And himself.

Somehow, he ended up babysitting him (again) and in a strange twist of events they ended up on the roof of the building where their label’s most recent party was being held.

Cam managed to hide a bottle of wine in the oversized suit jacket that had been draped over his shoulders all night, and had been taking very large sips from it for about five minutes.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” he asked, as a drop of wine - red- slid from the corner of his mouth. He then proceeded to climb onto the ledge of the building and Derek John’s stomach dropped.

Panic piercing his voice, he replied, “No- Get down! What is wrong with you?”

Cam laughed, absolutely delighted by Derek John’s distress. “What are you so afraid of?”

“Do you want a list?” Derek John was pretty sure he sounded close to hysterics but he was pretty sure it was warranted. Cam was notorious for his clumsiness, with a new video of his tripping or falling surfacing on social media every three days. The chance of him falling to his death was very high when he was sober, it was at least tenfold with the wine in his system.

“Aww, DJ, are you worried about me?” he teased, playfully pouting at him. He took a dramatic step, giggling as Derek John took in a breath.

Derek John was too distracted to chastise him about the nickname. (And maybe part of him liked the way it sounded falling from his lips. He’d unpack that later, if Cam didn’t manage to kill himself.)

“Get down!”

Cam rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Watch this.”

He did a silly little dance, wiggling in place and tapping his toes, a messy grin on his lips, mouth stained plum red. It was almost as endearing as it was terrifying.

“Okay, very cool. Please, get down.” Derek John’s heart was thundering against his ribs in a way he’d never experienced before. It was horrifying.

“But I’m having so much fun,” Cam whined. He turned to grab his bottle. “Maybe if you drank you’d be having fun have too.” Bending down to reach the bottle, he stuck his right leg in the air so he’d be able bend further, and Derek John could practically see him falling.

He marched over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and yanked him off the ledge. As if a switch was flipped, Cam started freaking the fuck out, thrashing wildly. Derek John stumbled, and they fell to the ground, a mess of limbs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said as they lied there, staring at the blueblack sky above them. “You are seriously going to kill the both of us one of these days.”

#was going to apologize for replying with my cringefail ocs but actuall im not sorry #and ill do it again!#derek john juarez #mcpg #my writing #chrome heart #mara tag 💕#cam x derek john

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scenekidfancams · 11 months

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410 Local Diy, Hardcore and Emo - June 2023

I've decided I want to highlight more local bands so here's a playlist

Bedroom Floor - Six feet / Konso / bankai

(I couldn't chose one song because this band is so good)

Bedroom floor is a self proclaimed "Carroll County Emocore" band hailing from carroll country maryland. Featuring members of Blackened Hardcore band knifesplitter, Bedroom floor is a djent/metallic hardcore project. When I think of Bedroom floor I think of the best parts or djent, kaonashi and counterparts. The vocals while sometimes off key on bankai add a real raw emotional authentic feel to the song. Six feet is a mosh anthem filled with two step/breakdown riffs, splash fills and aggressive bass and guitar chugs, the songs compostion is perfect for crowdkilling and doesnt overstay its welcome. and Konso literally sounds like deathcore kaonashi which i love.

Genres - djent, deathcore, mathcore, and emotional metallic hardcore.

FFO: kaonashi, counterparts, reflections, sworn in, the contortionist (later works).

Tix for Bedroom Floor Show w/ MD Deathcore Giants In Dying Arms

Deep Rest - The Equalizer

Deep rest kicks ass while being more open than most bands about the police brutality in Baltimore and being Black in Hardcore. The violence at the hands of the police state is not really something to take lightly but Deep rest still serves it up in great way, through hardcore.

also these lyrics haunt me.

"You killed my brothers How the fuck should i act? You killed my sisters How the fuck should I act? I see empathy is what you lack Now its obvious you think its a crime to be black Life is hard enough A worry for generations to come".

Genres - Metallic Hardcore, sludge metal, beatdown metalcore, and political hardcore.

FFO: Kharma, Knocked loose, sunami, Queensway.

Facebook if you use that.

ICUP - very weird

this is a maryland noise pop and hyperpop project from scenekidsfancams very own emrldenvy and Kyle from notveryradio.

this is literally the most obnoxious shit and I love it.

FFO: Black Dresses, Death Grips, merzbow, weatherday, if grant kirkhope made bass boosted donkey kong music.

https://twitter.com/NotVeryRadio

Strangers - Empty (feat. tyler beam)

Elkton Band Strangers is if Spite had more nu metal weedlies and bounce riffs in their songs.

I highly recommend their track "empty" feat. tyler beam. The track just pummels you in the face with the most nasty caveman shit ever.

AND THE VOCALS HOLY SHIT

Genres, Deathcore, Nu-Hardcore, Nu-Metalcore, Nu-Deathcore, Beatdown Hardcore, Rap Metal.

FFO: /papercut, e-town concrete, king-810, and spite.

The flat stanleys - me vs. your friends

Sadly while the flat stanleys isn't a band anymore due to complications with frontman Brian Radin's mental health. the most inventive emo / folk punk to come out of Bmore and maryland at large was from them. me vs. all your friends comes from a really dark and personal place that I relate too.

Genres: Folk Punk, Indie Emo, Emo, Rock.

FFO: Modern Baseball, The front bottoms, Morning Dew

Thus Spoke Zarathustra - Artery Records could never

Based out of Elkton Post-Myspace Scene Deathcore band is one of the best bands in the myspace / scene deathcore revival bands. They have what A lot of bands don't complicated but catchy riffs and hooks. most bands do riff salad without at least making an effort to connect it. Thus Spoke Zarathustra are nostalgia but keeping it fresh.

Speaking on their last project. "The Sun Will Never Shine Upon Us" -

This Project was made for anyone missing that time in like 2007 when Emmure and suicide silence were selling the gold foil logo on their gym shorts in the back yard of some dude's house when no one wore deodorant when you wished they did. This goes out to anyone who can't wear that Medium sized Chelsea Grin shirt anymore because they are old now.

FFO: Chelsea Grin, The Black Dahlia Murder, Emmure, Suicide Silence, and In dying arms.

Genres - Myspace Deathcore, Brutal Deathcore, Scene Deathcore, Old School Deathcore. Deathcore. Nihilism, Nietzschecore, sad deathcore

Playlist - coming soon.

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tranquiltunes · 1 year

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Pump Up Your Workout with High Energy Music Mix: The Ultimate Guide to Motivational Workout Music

Music has a powerful effect on the human mind and body. It can elevate your mood, boost your energy, and motivate you to push harder during your workout. This is why high-energy workout music has become an essential part of any fitness routine. In this guide, we will explore the best motivational workout music, including gym motivation music, cardio workout music, running music mix, powerlifting workout music, and more.

High Energy Workout Music: High-energy workout music is the key to unlocking your inner beast mode. It has a fast tempo and strong beats that sync with your movements and increase your heart rate. Some of the best high-energy workout music includes "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor, "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, and "Lose Yourself" by Eminem.

Motivational Workout Music: Motivational workout music is designed to inspire you to push through the pain and achieve your fitness goals. It often features lyrics that are empowering and uplifting. Some of the best motivational workout musicincludes "Stronger" by Kanye West, "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor, and "Hall of Fame" by The Script.

Gym Motivation Music: Gym motivation music is specifically tailored to the gym environment. It is designed to make you feel like a badass while you lift weights and sweat it out on the machines. Some of the best gym motivation music includes "Can't Hold Us" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, "Till I Collapse" by Eminem, and "All I Do is Win" by DJ Khaled.

Cardio Workout Music: Cardio workout music is designed to keep you moving during high-intensity cardio sessions. It has a faster tempo than other types of workout music and is often used for running and cycling. Some of the best cardio workout music includes "Don't Stop the Music" by Rihanna, "Can't Stop" by Red Hot Chili Peppers, and "Levels" by Avicii.

Running Music Mix: Running music mix is a combination of high-energy and motivational workout music that is specifically designed for runners. It has a steady beat that helps you maintain your pace and push through the pain. Some of the best running music mix includes "Born to Run" by Bruce Springsteen, "Run the World (Girls)" by Beyoncé, and "The Middle" by Zedd, Maren Morris & Grey.

Powerlifting Workout Music: Powerlifting workout music is designed to give you the extra strength and motivation you need to lift heavy weights. It often features aggressive beats and intense lyrics that push you to your limits. Some of the best powerlifting workout music includes "Indestructible" by Disturbed, "Hail to the King" by Avenged Sevenfold, and "Bleed It Out" by Linkin Park.

Workout Music for Women: Workout music for women is designed to cater to the unique fitness needs of women. It often features empowering lyrics and upbeat rhythms that inspire women to embrace their strength and power. Some of the best workout music for women includes "Roar" by Katy Perry, "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys, and "Confident" by Demi Lovato.

Best Workout Music Mix: The best workout music mix is a combination of different types of workout music that work together to create a seamless and energizing playlist. It should include high-energy, motivational, and powerlifting workout music to cater to different workout styles. Some of the best workout music mixincludes "Can't Hold Us" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, "Stronger"

Beast Mode Workout Music: Beast mode workout music is designed to help you tap into your inner beast and unleash your full potential during your workout. It often features intense beats and lyrics that push you to your limits. Some of the best beast mode workout music includes "The Way of the Fist" by Five Finger Death Punch, "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns N' Roses, and "TNT" by AC/DC.

Strength Training Music: Strength training music is designed to help you build muscle and improve your strength during your workout. It often features slower beats and heavier bass that sync with your movements and help you focus on your form. Some of the best strength training music includes "Back in Black" by AC/DC, "Warriors" by Imagine Dragons, and "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin.

Fitness Music Mix: Fitness music mix is a combination of different types of workout music that cater to different fitness goals and styles. It should include high-energy, motivational, powerlifting, and strength training music to create a well-rounded playlist. Some of the best fitness music mix includes "Lose Yourself" by Eminem, "Roar" by Katy Perry, and "Till I Collapse" by Eminem.

Pump Up Music for Workouts: Pump up music for workouts is designed to give you that extra boost of energy you need to power through your workout. It often features catchy beats and lyrics that make you want to move. Some of the best pump up music for workouts includes "I Gotta Feeling" by Black Eyed Peas, "Pump It" by Black Eyed Peas, and "Can't Stop the Feeling" by Justin Timberlake.

Dance Workout Music: Dance workout music is designed to make you move and have fun while you workout. It often features upbeat rhythms and catchy lyrics that make you want to dance. Some of the best dance workout music includes "Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson ft. Bruno Mars, "Cheap Thrills" by Sia ft. Sean Paul, and "Sorry" by Justin Bieber.

Workout Music Playlist: A workout music playlist is a collection of songs that cater to your fitness goals and style. It should include a variety of different types of workout music to keep you motivated and engaged. Some of the best workout music playlist includes "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor, "Can't Hold Us" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, and "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor.

Workout Music 2023: Workout music 2023 is the latest and greatest workout music that is sure to keep you motivated and energized during your workout. It often features up-and-coming artists and fresh beats that are perfect for any fitness routine. Some of the best workout music 2023 includes "Lose Control" by Meduza ft. Becky Hill & Goodboys, "No Diggity" by Lucas & Steve ft. Blackstreet, and "Stay" by The Kid LAROI & Justin Bieber.

Workout Music Mix: A workout music mix is a combination of different types of workout music that cater to different fitness goals and styles. It should include high-energy, motivational, powerlifting, and strength training music to create a well-rounded playlist. Some of the best workout music mix includes "Can't Hold Us" by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis, "Stronger" by Kanye West, and "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.

Epic Workout Music: Epic workout music is designed to make you feel like a superhero during your workout. It often features grandiose beats and uplifting lyrics that inspire you to push through any obstacle. Some of the best epic workout music includes "Titanium" by David Guetta ft. Sia, "Lose Yourself" by Eminem, and "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor.

Workout Music Remix: Workout music remix is a version of a song that has been remixed and edited to create a new and improved version for your workout. It often features faster beats and more intense lyrics to pump you up and keep you motivated. Some of the best workout music remix includes "Levels" by Avicii (Skrillex Remix), "Power" by Kanye West (Remix), and "Till I Collapse" by Eminem (Remix).

Workout Music Video: A workout music video is a music video that is specifically designed to motivate and inspire you during your workout. It often features athletes and fitness enthusiasts performing intense workouts to the beat of the music. Some of the best workout music videos include "Till I Collapse" by Eminem, "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor, and "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.

Workout Music 2022: Workout music 2022 is the latest and greatest workout music that is sure to keep you motivated and energized during your workout. It often features up-and-coming artists and fresh beats that are perfect for any fitness routine. Some of the best workout music 2022 includes "Better Days" by OneRepublic, "Higher Power" by Coldplay, and "Good Days" by SZA.

In conclusion, workout music is an essential part of any fitness routine. Whether you prefer high-energy beats, motivational lyrics, or intense bass, there is a type of workout music that caters to your fitness goals and style. With the help of this article and the list of key words provided, you can create a 3000-word article that covers everything you need to know about workout music and how it can help you achieve your fitness goals.

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en-amours · 3 years

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loser (affectionately).

☼ park sunghoon x reader; pure fluff, established relationship au.

sometimes, the definition of love is really just laughing over your soulmate nearly falling on their face and challenging them to a racing competition in a public ice rink (where everyone is prone to accidents).

warnings: none

notes: this is what happens when you indulge too much in what was supposed to be just a quick bullet scenario but kept on returning to it until it became a full-fledged drabble :D this is sunghoon’s part in the “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad” req i’m writing! hope y’all enjoy <3

♡ — taglist: @yoshinung @cyberhwng (tumblr won’t let me tag y’all for some reason :<) @stargirlstories @lovelycharm05 @honeyju

wordcount: 1.1k

Being with Park Sunghoon feels like getting whisked into the streets of a city brimming with life and light; like witnessing the first breath of winter unfurl upon the shimmering rooftops of your hometown; the sweet rush of euphoria as the wind breaks through your hair on impulsive afternoon drives, skyline in view—it’s been two summers, but he still takes your breath away like the first time you met on that lonely spring day.

You cannot describe half of the magic he invokes in your chest when you meet his eyes, when he intertwines his hands with yours as he walks with you along the streets populated with fragrant honeysuckles into the quaint café tucked behind the old bookstore downtown, when you see his eyes turn into crescent moons in a solemn spot beside the Han River, or any moment you share with him in these spontaneous little meet-ups when time finally decides to spare a little mercy to one more pair of starcrossed lovers. Even if you try, there is nothing more impossible than describing all the things Sunghoon makes you feel.

That and you think he’s an absolute monster for laughing at you as you try to avoid your near-death, you hurl your glove at his face, holding onto the rare space near the railings in your town’s public rink, and Sunghoon’s laughter ceases as your glove hits him square in the face.

“Deserved,” you state, gaining enough balance to push away from the barrier, you deliver a gentle slap to his shoulder with a half-hearted glare. “Boyfriends are supposed to help you out when you nearly get run over by a group of prepubescent kids, not laugh at your demise.”

“I just thought that your vision wasn’t as bad as I thought it was,” he reasons with a smug smile, putting your glove back on, but his hand doesn’t leave yours. “Plus, weren’t you an athlete before?”

“I haven’t been on the ice since the ninth grade, genius,” you huff, “it won’t come rushing back to me after a minute of skating around.”

Gently, Sunghoon pulls you closer, and you will never get used to seeing his eyes in close proximity, how they sparkle softly beneath the blinding luminance of a thousand dangling lights, yet you think it isn’t the lights that’s making him brighter. Your breath hitches, and he breaks into a smile. “But you’re okay now, right?”

“Y-Yeah. Why? What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to make sure,” he shrugs, and you try to assess his nonchalance, but he is skillful in calibrating his façade so you drop your efforts, and as snow graces the world in gentle whirls, joy paints his ribs golden and his heart plays a rapid boomboomboom because he’s seeing his two greatest loves together and warmth settles between his ribs and says, I am home.

—————

Ten minutes have never felt this short before.

Quietly, you marvel over the unbridled excitement that glazes Sunghoon’s eyes, that pools in his palms and taints his cheeks in a lovely glow. His steps are a ghost of all the programs he’s inscribed into his bones, he flashes you a grin after he performs a spin, and you’re about to commend him when a kid whizzes past you at Sonic-level speed, hysterical with laughter. Thus begins the formation of an idea.

“...woah,” Sunghoon breathes out as returns beside you, but both of your eyes still follow the kid, “I hope they don’t slip—or accidentally run over someone’s hand.”

“Yeah… that’d be disastrous,” there’s a clip of anticipation in your tone, and Sunghoon shares an expectant look with you. Silence. But then you ask:

“Wanna race me?”

He starts bolting along the sides of the rink without warning, the implication of a competition enough to propel him forward without any remorse; with an outraged cry, you follow suit.

(In hindsight, maybe going against a former speed skater is a bad idea but Sunghoon would rather lick the pavement than let you—his universe, the love of his life—think that he was giving up easily.)

You catch up to him quickly, the cold wind biting your cheeks raw, but hearing Sunghoon’s laugh feels like liquid electricity in your veins. “You know you’re going to lose so hard, right?”

“As if I’d ever let that happen,” he huffs, nimbly dodging a wobbly couple, and you chuckle softly.

“It’s cute how you think you can beat me.”

Your words add more coal to the fire, but part of Sunghoon is surreptitiously delighted that you think he’s cute. “Ooh, you just wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you?”

After two minutes you end up beating him anyway, and you come up to him with a grin that makes him think he can hold the world in his bare hands (are you even aware of the things you do to him? And even if you are, would you still have been this cruel?).

“I told you so,” you grin, hands fixing your scarf; Sunghoon sees the little chips and scars littering your skin, and he realizes that he’s grown to love everything about you all the same—he adores all of you. and he hates that he does. He hates how he loves you so much (he doesn’t).

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to rub it in my face.”

You laugh at him softly, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. his panting has transmuted into quiet breaths, and he is just as captivating as the first time you saw him—you let your hands fall to his waist, fingers dancing along to a vague holiday tune playing over bass-boosted speakers. Sunghoon traces your jaw, and he retracts his hand because his touch might make you colder, but your own one shoots up to keep his in place, wanting to keep him closer.

“You were right,” you whisper, half-defeated, half-elated by this revelation: “I do wanna kiss you. So, so bad.”

There it is again: that stupid, toothy grin of his. You didn’t ever think you would ever learn to love someone like this, but boy, you’ve fallen hard.

(Little do you know that Sunghoon has, too.)

He presses his lips against yours, softly, tentatively, and though maybe the world is just a speck of light in a macrocosm of galaxies, you are worth more than that.

You are worth everything.

When you pull away, Sunghoon laughs incredulously at your expression. “What's with the face? I thought you won?”

“Yeah, I did, but I’m also a loser in a way,” you frown, glaring half-heartedly at your soulmate.

“How so?”

“It’s you, idiot. I’m a loser for you,” a sigh leaves your mouth, and Sunghoon giggles; he places your foreheads together, and there is nothing more beautiful than him.

“That's alright, you and I can be losers together.”

#enhypennetwork #enhypenwriters #enhypen #enhypen x reader #park sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #park sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon fluff #enhypen sunghoon #this one’s for u sunghoon stans + ppl who have a massive crush on him

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bumbleberrysky · 4 years

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alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

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“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x x

The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

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#supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural fanfic #supernatural gabriel x reader #gabriel x reader #reader insert #spn fanfic #spn gabriel #gabriel x you #supernatural gabriel x you #supernatural soulmate au #soulmate au #wing fic #hhhhhhhh #supernatural au #supernatural series #gabriel series

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

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Family Reunion (Darth Maul x Reader) Pt. 1: Wild and a Quest

I had this idea and I thought it was fucking interesting and I wanted to write it

This will be in multiple parts as I made this first installment hecka long. Maul will soon be more heavily featured but for now, I just had to establish some stuff.

Story summary: Reader reunites with Maul for the first time in twelve years and...the ex-sith lord gets a strange surprise.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, slow start

Notes: Female pronouns, an OC child

Current read, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

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The roar of the ship as it took off was deafening despite you being housed in the cockpit. Instinctively, you reached up to cover your ears and closed your eyes as gravity shifted. You couldn’t wait to be in the vacuum of space; at least then gravity wouldn’t even exist. A gentle pat on your forearm was enough to make you open your eyes and look to the side. To your right was Wild, an eleven-year-old zabrak-human hybrid, the last piece of evidence you had of your life before all this. He was the symbol of your union with him. Wild was your son.

The carmine-colored, half-dathomirian, barely-tattooed boy was looking up at you with sympathetic saffron eyes, he knew of your deep-rooted hatred for liftoff. Gently, you smiled at the boy to ease his worry and offered a soft pat on his head, careful to avoid the tiny horns protruding from his skull. Wild didn’t return it and instead opted to grab your hand off of his head to hold it in his own before focusing on the viewport. You deflated at that as your heart suddenly ached.

Wild was so much like his father that it hurt you sometimes, not only in looks though (although he was practically his carbon copy) but in personality; proud, serious, and protective with a cunning unrivaled by anyone else on the outside but a soft-spoken, gentle, curious and sometimes anxious boy inside. It was hard to remember that he was eleven sometimes-not the adult he pretended to be and not your little baby boy that used to cling to your leg all day. You just wanted him to be a little boy who was free to dream, explore, and play as he pleased but it seemed the force would not grant you your one wish. Instead, it took his father away from you before he had even got the chance to know of the remarkable gift he’d given you. You did suppose that Wild’s predisposed traits that bound him so tightly to the father he’d never known were a blessing in disguise. It had always served as reassurance that if anything ever happened to take you away from Wild, he’d be fine on his own.

...His own. It was a thought you never liked to dwell on. Wild was born at a delicate time in your life. You were 21 when you learned you were pregnant with the baby of a sith-lord and the news had been...startling to say the least. It had occurred to you one day while you were preparing to face the Trials that your cycle had been off. Deeming it odd enough to warrant a visit to the medbay, you sought out one of the healers. You’d instantly wished that you had chosen a droid instead as it was soon revealed that you were two months pregnant. You had to feign ignorance about knowing of a father at all. It had worked for a time as the issue was immediately brought before the council who were all in various states of shock. The worst reaction, you remembered, was that of your master. But, the council did not kick you out like you were certain they would have had they known of the baby’s heritage. Instead, the council believed your lie-that there was no father. Of course, they believed it. You were Ki-Adi-Mundi’s apprentice, chosen specifically by him due to your, as he phrased it, “natural and strong alignment with the light side”. You were a model padawan who would never even think of breaking the code, let alone to this extent. Your training was put on hold for the time being as the council awaited the birth of your baby, some Jedi even began to wonder if the child would be the prophesied ‘chosen one’ (though Qui-Gon, most notably, believed otherwise). It was then that you knew that your time with the Jedi was up. You formulated a plan. Qui-Gon Jinn and his apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, were being sent on a mission to Naboo to protect the queen.

You begged your master to let you go with them as you had been cooped up in the temple for a whole month after the pregnancy announcement. Your master obliged, certain that no harm would come to you on the mission, and you were swift to join the grey Jedi and his stuck-up padawan. Your plan from there was to land on Naboo’s surface and disappear for a bit to get the Jedi off your back and to get in contact with him again. But, of course, that all went downhill and...you had seen your love be cut down by your fellow padawan. He wasn’t supposed to be there to your knowledge and now he was dead and you were still carrying his baby. Obi-Wan was swift to pick up on your anguish and even swifter to alert the council of your lies and treachery against the Order. You were ejected from the order and locked away in the temple prison to await the birth of your baby whereupon the Jedi would tear him away from you indefinitely. It would have been a fate worse than death for you. That is, had you not escaped and faked your death to get the Jedi off your back.

Wild came soon after, being borne to a disgraced and presumed dead mother and a most definitely dead sith-lord father. Yet, you had done your very best to love him in every possible way as he had no other family besides you.

It seemed that this was something your son was acutely aware of too as the young boy was fiercely protective of you just as you were protective of him. Case in point: the only other person in the room that could pose a threat-Wild’s own uncle, Saváge Opress.

The seven-foot walking mountain of a zabrak had found you and your son on Tatooine whilst during one of your rare visits to the desert world. Your first meeting wasn’t pleasant.

“You, woman, what is your name?” The low bass voice sounding from behind you would have been enough to make you run if not for the fact that your son was still in the store you had just left. Slowly, you moved your hand to one of your sabers concealed within the confines of your cloak before turning around.

“Give me your name, dathomirian,” You spat at the goldenrod zabrak despite the fact he towered over you and could probably crush your skull with one hand, “and maybe I will give you mine.”

He snarled, clearly displeased with the response but relented. “My name is Savage Opress.”

You analyzed him for a moment, eyes raking up and down his form. He was big and strong and going by the saber hilt hooked on his belt, trained in the force. Was he a Jedi? Was he a sith? Had he been sent here to kill you? He was in for a surprise if he had. “Why are you speaking to me, Opress?”

“You told me you would give me your name.” Savage growled, large hand landing on his saber.

“No, I said that maybe I would.” You removed your lightsaber from your belt but ensured you kept it hidden from view.

“I don’t have time for your games, woman.”

“That makes two of us, good day, sir.” You hissed and turned to walk away, intent on looping around and meeting up with Wild to get off this miserable planet. However, that wouldn’t happen right now as your ears soon met with the distinctive sound of a lightsaber igniting. With an agitated sigh, you whipped out your own weapon and spun around just in time to meet your attacker; green blade clashing with red. Sith. Most likely his master’s new apprentice.

Savage was strong, physically, but you could feel that he was weaker in the force than you. That would be your only hope; let the force guide you while he relies on his own physical prowess. You met the male zabrak strike for strike, each one threatening to knock you off your feet with the force Savage fought with. The fight was grueling and you could feel the rustiness in each spin and block-you only ever used your lightsaber when training your son-and as it went on, one thought became abundantly clear; you weren’t going to win like this. You had to figure out a way to make the mountain stand still. Thinking on your feet, you fell back before taking a running start at Savage. You feinted to the right and used the wall to boost yourself over the behemoth of a man, twirling as you went until you landed behind him and shot a well-aimed kick to the back of one of his knees. The move was meant to bring Savage down to your level so you could cut his head off but when the blow landed, nothing happened. Startled, you froze which would prove fatal.

Savage spun around and grabbed your ankle in one hand before roughly swinging you into the wall. The air was driven from your lungs as you felt your back connect with the sandstone of the building behind you. Savage released you, allowing you to crumple to the ground as you fought to breathe. You were granted little reprieve though as soon Savage was stooping down and roughly lifting you by your neck in one fist. Your feet kicked lamely at your attacker in your struggle for survival as your nails clawed at the back of Savage’s hand.

“I’ll ask one more time, what is your name?” Savage growled low in his throat and tightened his grip.

“Will you let me live?” You coughed out, looking Savage dead in the eyes which briefly reminded you of your son’s. Your son. You had to stay alive for him.

“Maybe, if you are who I am looking for.”

It seemed that that was as good a chance as any.

“Y/n, my name’s Y/n.” Savage’s necklace suddenly glowed an eerie blue and you were prompted to ask your next question. “Wha-What do you want with me?”

“I’m looking for someone-my brother. I was told that you knew him, jedi.”

Electing to ignore the incorrect title, you continued to talk. Maybe, if you lowered his guard, you could still make it out of this alive. “I know a lot of people but not a lot of them are zabraks.” Savage’s eye ridge quirked up in questioning. “But...if it’s who I think you’re looking for-he’s dead. Killed by Obi-Wan on Naboo twelve years ago.”

“That’s what I was told too-but I have cause to believe he is still alive and I was told that you would be the one to help me find him.”

No...impossible. “You’re....you’re a liar!” You screamed at the zabrak. “I watched him die! He’s dead-he won’t come back-he can’t come back no matter how much I-”

“Mom?!” A familiar pre-pubescent yet soft voice cut you off. Immediately your attention, as well as Savage’s, were on Wild who stood at the mouth of the alley with saffron eyes that blazed like molten lava. He had never looked more like his father than in that moment.

Savage looked at you, confusion and something else (regret maybe?) all over his goldenrod face. “Mo-?”

“Wild, run!” You cut Savage off and gathered enough strength to curl in on yourself and strike Savage in the face with both feet. The zabrak released you at once and you fell to the ground unceremoniously before summoning your lightsaber to you. Not wasting time, you ignited it and dove at Savage, ready to make him pay for his filthy lies. Savage was quick, though, and managed to block your blow with his own sword. However, what neither of you expected was for a second contender to join the match in the form of Savage’s nephew and your son wielding your old blue lightsaber. “Wild, I told you to run!”

“You also told me to never run from a fight!” The little boy shot back, pressing down with all the strength he had. Stubbornness. That was another trait inherited from his father and enhanced by your own strong will. With a roar, Savage launched both of you back, sending you to the ground and your son flying. You watched as his little body collided with the same wall you had been smacked against minutes ago and nearly lost it. Channeling all your anger, you reared on Savage and pushed him back with the strongest force push you could muster before immediately running over to your son. He had sat up and was clutching at the back of his head where you noticed a small cut. You were going to kill Savage; brother-in-law or not.

“Wild, when I tell you to ‘run’, think of it as a tactical retreat. And for the record, I told you to know when to run from a fight.” You reprimanded quickly as you picked your son up and ushered him behind you. The two of you began to back away as Savage struggled to his feet. The two of you were almost to the entrance of the alley when the zabrak got a hold of his senses.

“Y/n, wait, please.” Savage began, sheathing his lightsaber and holding out a hand to you in surrender. His yellow eyes flickered between your son and yourself, guilt prominent in his features. You found yourself pausing. “I know you do not believe me-”

“No, I don’t and frankly, you have given me no reason to. If...if Maul was alive, I would have found him.” You spat in anger at the arrogance of this zabrak. Did he think that you hadn’t searched? Did he think that you hadn’t cared for him? Did he not see the disproof standing behind you?

“But you did not have the magicks of Mother Talzin.” Savage’s voice was soft now as he tapped the talisman around his neck.

You were struck silent at that. He was of course correct-you hadn’t had the aid of his people. With a heavy sigh, you rose out of your defensive position and sheathed your lightsaber, much to the surprise of the two males. “Wild.” Your voice was soft, caring, and you could feel your progeny’s confusion as if it was your own. “Take everything to the ship. I’ll be there in a minute.” Wild hesitated for a moment and you expected to get some attitude later but for now, he just softly handed your second lightsaber to you and stalked off after sending a final glare at Savage.

“Alright, you have my attention, Savage. What do you need?” You asked in a steely voice.

“Everything you knew about my brother.”

From there, the three of you had begun your search. Savage had explained his story and you had explained yours (he was almost overjoyed to know that he had a nephew). However, you both agreed that, for now, you wouldn’t tell Wild who Maul actually was in relation to him. This meant that Wild didn’t know that Savage was his uncle which led to the current distrust you were witnessing now. You hated not telling Wild but you didn’t want to give him hope that his father was alive to then rip it away from him when Savage’s wild goose chase proved to be just that. Now, you were riding in a cargo ship on your way to the trash planet, Lotho Minor.

You had landed a few minutes ago after Savage took control of the ship and were now faced with a dilemma. Did you go with Savage or stay in the ship with your son?

“Wild,” Savage’s booming voice called the young boy’s attention to him, however resentfully, “Stay with the ship. Your mother and I will explore.”

“No.” Wild snapped immediately with a glare as his hand tightened around your own till his sharp nails started to dig into your skin. You sighed softly and turned to your son.

“Wild, I’ll be fine. Savage won’t hurt me. Protect the ship, sweetheart, we’ll be right back.” You placed a soothing hand on the side of his face. His little red face grew more grave. He didn’t trust Savage, plain and simple. You wrinkled your nose at him before placing a peck on his forehead and pulling him into a smothering hug. “You worry too much, little man.” The boy protested at the display and loosely pushed you away but you had done your job as Wild seemed much more on board with the idea. “We’ll be right back. Don’t let anyone else on board, got it?”

Wild sighed with an eye roll. “Yes, mother.” His tone was annoyed but, having raised the boy, you knew he was only exaggerating his feelings. You placed yet another peck on your son’s forehead and gently pinched his carmine cheek before striding over to Savage who had watched the whole interaction. Neither of you spoke until you were outside.

“You’re good with him.” Savage piped up suddenly, his low bass a welcomed contrast to the wind whipping through the heaps of garbage.

You were taken aback. For all the times Wild had been brought up in conversation with the older zabrak, your skill in parenting was never mentioned let alone complimented. “I should hope that I would be,” you began, uncertain where you were going with this, “I am his mother.”

Savage made a funny noise in the back of his throat that prompted you to look up at him. “I-I just meant that…you’re...different than the nightsisters. They...they didn’t care if they had a boy.” Ah, the nightsisters. The infamous clan of witches that had bought and traded your unofficial husband long ago and continued to do with Savage. You prompted Savage to elaborate as you two began to walk. “They cared if they had a girl as she would stay with their clan but...if it was a boy, he was sent to us to be subjected to the same fate as so many men before us.” Savage’s eyes were clouded in thought as he relieved what was probably some awful memory. “It’s strange to see a boy be cared for is all.”

“Dathomir sounds...awful. I can’t imagine what you went through, Savage.” You dared to lay a hand on his forearm, making the zabrak halt in his tracks. “But...but if Maul isn’t...but if Maul isn’t here to be found, you could have a place with us.” You smiled gently. “You are family, Savage. I see it and I’m sure Wild will see it as well.”

Savage’s other hand came up to rest on the hand on his arm. There was a genuine smile on his face, for once. “Thank you, Y/n.” With a dip of your head, you resumed your walk. “Y/n?” Only to be stopped by the questioning lilt in Savage’s voice. “I never asked, how did you and Maul ever meet?”

A wistful smile dared to dash across your face as your mind’s eye immediately conjured up the image of the stunning ruby red zabrak you’d come to love so dearly. “That, my dear brother, is quite the story...”

....………………………………

Next ->

#maul #clone wars #star wars #fanficiton #the clone wars #tcw #danger-xylophones #Family Reunion series

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years

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Chapter 6 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

Chapter six

~|Charlie Gillespie|~

To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I haven’t been back to the Music Store since Monday. Too scared Emily might actually kick me out because she doesn’t want to see me. Too scared if I don’t practice enough, I might totally flop on Saturday and risk a contract or Emily not joining our band. It does make me wonder if she ever missed me. If she’s been searching for me. If she’s listening to other music while cleaning instead of listening to me play the guitar. If she’s been thinking about me as much as I have been thinking about her. Whether it’s been her tiny little smile betraying her tough façade or her voice blending in with mine or belting out the lyrics, she’s been on my mind non-stop. “Another practice after school, boys?” Owen suggests when we’re at Jeremy’s locker, waiting for him to be ready to get to our first class. Jeremy and I both nod in agreement. We all need as much practice as we can get. Owen watches me tentatively, then says, “I went to the Music Store again last night, to make sure they got our name written down.” I don’t notice my eyes widening at this. “How was she?” I blurt out without thinking. “She seemed a bit off, actually. Easily startled, that one,” Owen chuckles, and I do too but I don’t know why. “I found her at the guitars, she was tuning one of the acoustic guitars when I walked up to her and tapped her shoulder. She jumped about five feet high before registering who I was,” Owen keeps his eyes on me tentatively, making sure he’s not overstepping because he knows how I’ve been feeling in the past week. “And when I asked her about the Open Mic Night, she had no clue what I was talking about at first, but then she checked the documents and she had us written down.” I can’t help but smile a little at his story. Sounds about right. That’s the Emily I’ve been keeping my eye on for the past two weeks. “She had us written down as Sunset Cure, but I made sure to change it.” “Sounds like her,” I mutter. Jeremy and Owen both chuckle and then the silence falls over us like a soft blanket until the bell rings and we all split up to get to class. I’m nervous with everything I do. Paying attention in class is hard because I can hear her voice singing that song she sang to the girl in the Music Store mixed in with the song we sang together. Then it makes me wonder if she’s been working on that and if she’s finished it. I left the piece of paper with the bridge on the piano, I hope she’s seen that and hasn’t thrown it out. Then my mind jumps to the question whether she was off yesterday when Owen saw her because she hadn’t seen me, but then again, that would be ridiculous. She’s pushed me away. Why would she think of me when she doesn’t even like me? “Charlie?” A voice shakes me awake from all my daydreams about Emily. When I look up, I find out every student in my class is staring at me, including the teacher. “Can you tell me the answer to the question I just asked the class?” I rack my brain trying to figure out what we were talking about. What class am I even in? “Pay attention, please, Charlie.” I simply nod my head in response but sulk back into Emily-thoughts the second the teacher turns away from me. This day is going to be hard. Tomorrow is going to be even harder.

“You’re still here?” Owen asks on Saturday morning when he finds me still in Jeremy’s garage. We’d been rehearsing until late last night, writing some more songs until we find the perfect one to perform tomorrow night at the Open Mic Night. We’d promised to pick it back up in the morning, but I never left. I’m not even sure if I slept at all. I kept singing Emily’s song. “Did you even sleep at all, bro?” Jeremy questions as he picks up his bass. His eyes are still squinty, meaning he hadn’t slept too much either. “I’m not sure,” I shrug. Owen sits down next to me on the sofa and I’m sure I’m getting the infamous Owen-pep-talk. Even though he’s solely interested in men, he does give some killer advice on women too. “I’m not telling you to forget about her, Char, but maybe don’t get your hopes up too in case she really, really doesn’t want to be a part of Sunset Curve.” He gives me a sharp look. “Then again, judging from how out of it she was Thursday, I think she kind of missed her favorite returning customer.” My heart swells up at the thoughts of her missing me. I push the feeling down because Owen is right. I can’t get my hopes up too high. “Can we rehearse Now or Never?” I ask, getting up from the sofa to pick up my electric guitar, “I think that one gives us the most chances.” Jeremy and Owen both hum in agreement and get to their instruments. While Jeremy grabs his bass, Owen settles behind his drums. “1-2-3!” Owen counts us in, clapping his sticks together in the air and off we go. Even though we’ve practiced this song the most out of repertoire, it’s still a bit rough and not good enough for any music execs. Or Emily.

We spend a good portion of the day rehearsing the song, having minimal breaks for food and toilet visits. I think my bandmates might already be sick of me saying “it’s not good enough, it needs to be perfect!”. I’m not sure if I care about what they think. “We’re doing it one last time, Charlie. If it’s not perfect after that, I think you might just have to take the odds and hope it’s good enough for the music execs,” Owen says an hour before the Open Mic Night. He’s a great friend, but he can’t hide his annoyance from me. “Or Emily!” Jeremy adds, a bit too excitedly, pointing to me for emphasis. “Yeah, sure, or Emily,” Owen agrees with an eyeroll. “Fine, one more time.” I grumble and put all I have into the song. We’re definitely going to need a shower after we’ve packed everything up to get to the Music Store. If I say the nerves are really kicking in, I mean my heart is nearly thumping out of my chest and I’m very near death. I don’t get this nervous for any other gig we’ve ever had.

“Alright, let’s pack up!” Jeremy claps his hands when we’re finally done and lifts his bass over his head to put the instrument in its case. Even though I think we could do with one more try, I follow his example and place my electric guitar into its case. “Oh, no! Emily actually told me we could use the equipment they have there,” Owen informs us right on time. “Let’s just all go home, take a shower, get dressed and meet each other there, okay?” Jeremy and I glance at each other, place our instruments in their cases anyway, and then leave the garage. Once I’m showered and dressed for tonight; my grey ‘RUSH’ muscle tank and black skinny jeans will do. Or should I make a proper effort since I’m seeing Emily again? Then again, I’m going to sweat my balls off during the song, so it’s not like I’m actually going to look hot. No. This will do. In attempts to boost my confidence a little bit, I comb my fingers through my hair and mess it up a little bit, looking up into the mirror. I never wanted to be that person that gives myself pep-talks in a mirror, but here we are. “You can do this. Whatever happens, it’s good exposure for the band.” After taking another deep breath, I grab the stuff I need and leave the house. Once I get to the Music Store, something inside me stops me from going in. Something is holding me back. I’m not sure if it’s the nerves of the gig or the nerves of seeing Emily again. All I know is that I can’t go inside. “What are you waiting for, Char?” The familiar voice of Jeremy’s relaxes me a bit. I look through the window of the shop, immediately spotting the girl I’m afraid of seeing again. She has a smile on her face as she sweeps up the shop, getting it ready for the Open Mic Night. I think she’s talking to her co-worker. “Ah! That girl! I’ve given her a three cent tip the other day. I think she appreciated me.” I turn my head to look at Jeremy for a moment, wondering what’s going on in that head of his. That’s when I notice someone else has joined us too. “Do you want us to go in first?” Owen asks. He’s halted behind me and Jeremy, looking at what we’re looking at. “Yes, please,” I squeak out, then cough, “Yes, please,” I repeat in my normal voice. Owen and Jeremy head inside while I trail behind them. I’m not sure if I’m hiding or just don’t want her to see me straight away. “Oh, hey! You’re the Three Cents tipper!” Her happy voice sounds so much prettier than the one she uses on me when she puts up that tough façade. Not prettier than her singing voice though. “I didn’t know you guys were in a band together.” “I’m Jeremy, I play bass.” It’s silent for a moment, probably as she’s figuring out how a bass player and a drummer would form a band by themselves. “Where are we playing?” he doesn’t leave her the time to think about who’s missing. He knows that if she thinks about it long enough, she’ll know I’m the third member of the band. “In the back,” she points to an open double door at the back, “Ash will show you. I’ll be in in a minute.” How is she so abrasive whenever she’s with me but a completely different, sweet person when talking to them? What did I do wrong? I follow Owen and Jeremy, who are following after Ash. In my mind, I’m praying Emily wouldn’t recognize me from the back, but as soon as I take a step, I hear the voice she’s reserved just for me. “Thought it would be you.” I turn to face her with my best apologetic smile plastered on my face. “You were hiding from me, Charles?” She points to my bandmates, who’ve left me to my devices. “Uhm… Not technically… I just stood behind them and they’re taller than me, so…” I hope my excuse is plausible enough for her to believe. Then again, she’s not stupid. “Haven’t seen you stalking my store too much this past week.” Her voice is somehow softer. Somewhere between how she sounds when talking to Owen and Jeremy, and how she sounds when talking to me. “Yeah, no… Uhm, I’ve been busy… You know, writing songs by myself and stuff.” I don’t mean for it to come out so passive-aggressive, but I can’t help it either. “I mean—” I want to correct myself, but Emily interrupts me. “It’s fine, Charles. I don’t care,” that stings, “Don’t you have a soundcheck to get to?” “Uhm, yeah… I guess…” I look at her one last time for just a second before trailing behind my bandmates who are already settled behind their instruments. At least we had that.

By the time soundcheck is over, the room has filled up to the brim with people. Some of them look very professional, others are really here for just the music. My lungs clasp together due to the nerves now even more kicking in. “Ready, Char?” Owen claps his hand on my back. “Nope, I think I might die,” I would never be able to hide these nerves from the boys. “Let’s hope you come back as a ghost then,” Jeremy jokes – I think, “Ooh! Maybe we could start a ghost band!” I can’t help but chuckle at that, and neither can Owen. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our monthly Open Mic Night!” Ash says into the microphone, her voice booming off the walls and filling the entire space. The crowd claps and cheers, but I doubt it’s because they know who’s coming. This is all Ash’s applause or maybe just excitement for some music. “First up, we have an up-and-coming band from our very own Los Feliz. Give it up for Sunset Cure!” I slowly turn my head to Owen, who’d told us he had made sure he changed the name. “I swear, I told her to correct it!” he says, holding up his hands in defense. When I look into the crowd and spot Emily in the back with the most mischievous grin on her face, I’m sure she did it on purpose to mess with me. As the three of us make our way onto the stage, surrounded by the excited cheers of the crowd, I glare at Emily at the back, but I can’t help but let a smile shine through. If this was her attempt to get rid of my nerves, it’s working because I’m distracted by all the questions about why she’d do this. “It’s actually Sunset Curve,” I say into the mic, not taking my eyes off of Emily. The mischievous grin isn’t going away anytime soon, I think. And for some reason, it makes her even more sexy. I strum my guitar a little, and so does Jeremy with his bass until Owen counts us in and we start rocking out. All of the nerves that had built up inside of me have subdued. Mainly because I don’t take my eyes off of the girl standing at the back, looking at us with her arms crossed and the mischief still persistent on her face. “Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge Electric hammer to the heart” Jeremy and Owen join in for backing vocals on the next part of the verse. “Clocks move forward But we don't get older, no Kept on climbing Till our stars collided” Jeremy and Owen now stop, leaving me to sing the next few lines by myself. “And all the times we fell behind Were just the keys to paradise” The chorus is for all three of us, our voices blending together nicely. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never” While singing, I don’t tear my eyes off of Emily. I think I even caught a smile during that chorus. “Hear the noise, in my head It's calling out like a voice I can't forget One life, no regrets Catch up, got no time to catch my breath” I throw her a wink when Jeremy walks up to me to sing the pre-chorus with me into the same mic, as we do pretty much every show. It gets the most cheers, most of the time. “Clocks move faster Cause it's all we're after now, oh Won't stop climbing Cause this is our time, yeah” I push him away from me, focusing on Emily again. “When all the days felt black and white Those were the best shades of my life” We lapse into the chorus again and the crowd gets up from their chairs to dance along with us. Emily, however, stays put in the position I saw her in when the song started. Besides the occasional head-bop, she just stares with that mischievous grin and her arms crossed. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never” As Owen takes the bridge, I walk to the edge of the stage to interact with the crowd. “We ain't searching for tomorrow” “Tomorrow,” Jeremy echoes. “'Cause we got all we need today” “Today” goes Jeremy again as I walk back to my microphone. “Living on a feeling that's been running through our veins,” I sing. “We're the revolution that's been singing in the rain,” Jeremy’s high note sends shivers down my spine, and I almost forget to move away from the microphone to do my favorite part. Owen and Jeremy move from their mics too, and all of us stop playing the instruments, shouting the first part of the chorus into the crowd whilst clapping our hands. Thankfully, the crowd obeys and claps along with us. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now” We pick up our instruments and move behind our microphones again, finishing up the song. “And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never It's now or never.” The crowd erupts into explosive applause and cheers. But all I see is Emily, slow-clapping her way towards us, but stops when she reaches the last row of the crowd. I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips as Owen and Jeremy join me for a bow. “That was explosive, you guys!” Ash says into the mic as she runs up the stage again. “Sunset Curve, everybody!” The applause doesn’t die down yet, instead, it just grows louder. “Tell your friends!” Jeremy yells, earning even more cheers from the ladies on the first row. The three of us walk off stage as Ash announces the next artist. The second I walk into the crowd; my eyes are scanning ferociously for any sign of Emily. “Sunset Curve,” a stranger approaches us, “My name’s Bob, I’m looking for hot new talent such as yourself,” he shakes hands with all of us, but I’m only half there. Emily is in the store again, cleaning up and sorting through stuff. It’s when I realize I don’t care what Bob over here thought. I need to know what Emily thought. “Yeah, yeah, just a second, Bob,” I say, not even looking at him and making my way to the store without saying another word or waiting for a response from Bob or any of the guys. “Hey,” I greet once I’ve approached the girl in the Music Store. It feels exactly the same as it did when I first met her, and she just sang that beautiful song. The nerves kicking in again, my hands getting clammy and my throat closing up. Exactly like that first day. “Ah, Rockstar,” she mumbles, not even awarding me with a glance. She does recognize my voice, though. That’s a plus. “That wasn’t half bad out there.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Half bad?” I ask, “Ems, me and my band rocked it out there.” If she’s surprised by the nickname, she doesn’t show it. I’m surprised myself that I used it. “Eh.” There’s that mischievous grin of hers again. Something tells me that means she doesn’t mean a word she says. I follow after her like an obedient puppy as she walks towards the piano again to sort through her sheet music. From over her shoulder, I can see my crumbled up paper sticking out of the bundle. “I think you liked our song, but you’re just too shy to tell me,” my mouth says without permission of my brain. She turns her head to me, giving me a sharp glare. “Sure, you tell yourself that, Charles.” I shake my head at her while she walks away from me again. “Can I help you with anything else? I still got work to do.” I bite my lip to make sure my mouth doesn’t go off without permission of my brain again. Because there are so many things I want to tell her. “Hey Emily!” Owen’s voice sounds from behind me, and when I turn my head, I find both bandmates standing beside me. Emily turns her head at the sound of Owen’s voice, a smile immediately turning her scowl reserved for me upside down. “Oh hey boys! You killed it out there!” My mouth drops open as I glance from my bandmates to Emily and back. “But—you,” I point to Emily, “W—me, Huh? What?!” All I get from her is that mischievous grin again. I knew she liked the song. Why can’t she just tell me the truth? She’s messing with me. “Thanks, girl!” Jeremy says with the widest grin on his face. “She’s nice, isn’t she, Char?” He pats me on the back, pointing to Emily for emphasis. “Yeah, very nice,” now it’s my time to scowl at her. “We just wanted to thank you for giving us a head’s up about this Open Mic thing,” Owen chimes in to simmer things down a little. “We had a very important guy talking to us just now.” I know the snarky emphasis on his words are directed at me, but I can’t be bothered to care. I just want to know what Emily’s deal is. Why can’t she warm up to me like she did to Owen and Jeremy? “Oh, that’s so good! But if it’s Bob, don’t believe him.” The boys and I glance at each other with wide eyes. “It was Bob, wasn’t it?” All three of us nod our heads in response. “Yeah, he’s a scammer. We try to keep him out, but he always manages to weasel his way back in.” “That’s why Ash came between us,” Owen now realizes. “Yeah…” Emily trails off, “Sorry, guys.” “Oh, it’s fine! At least you liked our song!” Jeremy says excitedly, “So much so you might join our band? Charlie over here tells us you’re an amazing singer-songwriter.” He pats my shoulder again. Emily’s smile falters, her eyes growing sadder with the second. She glances up at me. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t do that. I – uhm… If I told you I had a really decent reason that I can’t talk about, would you believe me?” At least this answer is a bit less harsh than what she’s given me the other day. “So she is a witch!” Jeremy whispers with wide eyes. “What?” Emily’s sad face makes room for a confused face. Exactly the face Owen and I pull every day at least fifty times. “She’s not a witch, Jere!” I tell him off with an eyeroll. “We believe you have a good reason not to join our band,” Owen replies to Emily, “If you change your mind, we’ll welcome you with open arms.” His words seem to put that gorgeous smile of hers back on her pretty face. I sometimes forget how beautiful she really is until she smiles like that. With her long, dark hair pulled up into a ponytail that cascades alongside her neck, and her magical dark eyes with a fleck of green. I think she might just be the most beautiful girl I ever did see. “Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.” She glances at me and for once, her smile doesn’t turn back into a scowl. There’s a fuzzy, warm feeling in my chest. One that calms my heart down. One that seems to solve all of my problems at once. “See you around, Emily,” Owen taps the counter and turns around to make his way to the door. Jeremy throws up a peace sign whilst muttering a “Bye” and following behind Owen, leaving me with her. “Thanks for telling us about the Open Mic,” I tell her, pointing to the now closed double door with the music streaming out of it. “I guess I’ll see you around.” I raise my hand in a wave and turn around to go and find my bandmates again. “Hey,” her voice stops me halfway there, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?�� I turn my face and get rewarded with an actual, genuine smile from Emily. It even turns the corners of my mouth upwards. “See you, Charles.” Still calling me Charles. “Right, yeah,” I wave again, “See you, Ems.” I still catch a glimpse of a blush before I head out the door to find my bandmates waiting for me. “She liked our music?” Owen tries to cheer me up, even though that’s not necessary. I’ve been rewarded with the most beautiful, genuine smile from the most beautiful woman on this planet. I don’t need cheering up. “I’m sure she’ll join our band in no time,” says Jeremy with a reassuring smile. Even if she does, she’s not that abrasive towards me anymore. She even gave me a smile. A smile. From Emily.

Taglist: @parkeret @lukeys-giggle @hannahhistorian92

Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this story/any of my other works!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #charlie gillespie #charlie x oc #oc emily fox #jeremy shada #owen joyner #madison reyes #luke patterson #reggie jatp #alex jatp #julie molina

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rosesareviolentlyread · 4 years

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WIJ Day 6: Water

SECOND PROMPT surprise yes it’s still Fae bb things. But this one is her perspective! Once again, this is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. (idk when I’ll stop plugging them and their series’ because I LOVE IT) I HIGHLY recommend you check them out.

CW: Intimate whumper, religious whump, captivity, toxic religion, toxic family, drowning/waterboarding, passing out from said water torture, creepy whumper

Besides the whole bathroom situation, it really isn’t any different than the intense bible study camps her parents would send to. Just the thought makes Faith’s heart ache, the thought of those times. So easy, so much taken for granted.

She will never take God’s gifts to her for granted again.

The Reverend isn’t bad per se. There’s a mini fridge down here filled with healthy snacks for her, chilled water, and leftovers for lunch. Every morning he whips up a bed & breakfast level creation: orange zest pancakes, eggs over easy on fresh baked bread with avocado and vegetables, bagels topped with salmon. Hell, she’s eating better than she ever did in her house. And he brings her fresh clothes, a rotating series of white dresses that remind her of Sunday School as a little girl.

But it doesn’t change the fact that the door out of the basement is locked. It doesn’t change the fact that all she has down here is a Bible and her thoughts, both illuminated by candlelight that dances on the walls. She’d figured out after the first day that it was sound proof, for some reason. A reason that chills her, that she doesn’t think about.

Because he cared. That’s what this was. Every day, he’d take time over dinner with her to discuss the Bible, Jesus, salvation for people of magic like her. Helped her meditate and pray, focus her mind where it had wandered away from Him. She knew it had, knew she had started to get deeper into the magic community, to drift away from the church that had been the cornerstone of her entire life. But isn’t that what growing up is? Exploration and growing?

Most people just don’t tend to grow into a magical heritage they had no idea of.

The worst thing is when he makes her watch the videos. Read the press releases. The news clippings, the facebook posts, the tweets. Never on a device, always printed, in black and white ink she can pour over for hours as if it’ll change things. Change the fact her parents have really disowned her. Literally, in every sense. Attempting to declare her - their real child, the one her real mother had put her in the place of as a changeling - as dead. It’s awful to read people’s posts, opinions, the ways they tear apart her thesis without having read it. Or if they have, they choose to scrutinize details and grammar rather than her intent.

But none of it, not a single word is from Adam. He’d been in the background of the first few videos behind her parent’s speeches. And then nothing. Gone. Somehow that absence, even from words of hatred makes her feel hollow, the way the days without a message from him did. A response. He hated her, she knew, but to hate her so much he couldn’t even come out and say it?

It's exhausting, so much so she’s grateful when the Reverend lets her read the Bible instead.

The source, the True Word. It’s comforting, words that slide in and out of her mind so easily she’s had to start marking it up over and over to stay focused. Based on her counts hidden in the pages, she thinks it’s been about a month, and she’s on her second copy now. The first is more penmarks and highlight than words anymore.

In a way it’s started to feel...better. Everything. All the awful things, all the thoughts so far away in the real world. Sometimes she wonders how her magic friends are. If they care or remember her. They certainly aren’t looking for her, no one is after her post about leaving to ‘go find herself’. For all the media is concerned, she couldn’t take the criticism and vanished.

It’s like Bible Camp. Just a time to refocus herself, her efforts, get it together. The Reverend has helped a lot with that, assured her this is only temporary, only for the safety of her soul. She hated him at first, hated all of this, screamed, but now, she just wants out. She just wants to appreciate the world again, to be able to love every part of it in her bare hands instead of her imagination surrounded by concrete walls and candlelight.

It’s why she perks up when he finally says, “You’ve done well, Faith. I think you’re ready.”

“Ready for what Reverend?” Faith tries to keep her voice innocent, humble, to not betray the excitement that makes her heart flutter in her chest, a moth as desperate to escape to the sunlight as she is.

“To become purified again, my dear. You have been sullied, but I believe you have embraced Christ again as your savior. Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.“ The words are so familiar in his dark voice, one that has followed her throughout her college career, but right now, they’ve never sounded so beautiful.

“Romans 6:3-4” The words come automatic now, a product of the quizzes she’s been subjected to every day. Before this, she had known her bible well. But now it feels like they are imprinted in every wrinkle in her mind, honeyed ink colored by his voice she doesn’t think she’ll ever erase.

But if she can get out of here, she can recolor it. Color it in love and forgiveness. Forgive him, for this, for all this. He was simply following what he thought best right?

Hell is full of good meanings after all.

“Yes, good. Come, I set up the tub in the other room” The other room. The one that’s locked, that she’s never seen the inside of. She’s seen the Reverend go in there before. Heard only gospel music reverberate loudly through the door. She’s imagined maybe it’s a study, perhaps a secret collection. Or a music room of sorts, since he loved to ‘feel’ music, with speakers to boost the bass. But now, it holds a tub? Still, her confusion is outweighed by the prospect of freedom.

Gently, he helps her from her kneeled position, the one that makes her knees ache in a way she longs for, only because it’s something that reminds her this is real. She is real. She will get through this, as the Lord intends.

The room itself is shockingly spartan. It’s rectangular concrete, blotted and patched over time like the ugliest watercolor of brown and grey. A spigot in the corner has a green hose attached, laughably out of place as it fills a large basin, what looks like a trough.

Something in her asks why she hadn’t seen him bring it down, thinks to the dinners and evening teas where she felt too tired to continue talking. But she crushes it under the belief that this is release, and she shouldn’t question God’s Plan.

This has to be God’s Plan.

“Come” Is the command as he beckons her into the tub. Slowly she lowers herself down to her knees, breathing in. God, it’s hot. She’d expected it to be freezing, but it feels more like that sudden dip into a hot tub in the winter, and overwhelming burn that leaves her skin tingling as she struggles to adjust, to focus.

“Thank you Lord, for bringing this lamb to my flock. For allowing her to grow under your light, to fail, so that she may grow greater for it. So that we may bring people into your light, and show that none of us are born sinners, or are abandoned for sinning. I do not know if I would have discovered this path you have intended for me without her, so I thank you. Truly, You are great.”

A thick hand, so much stronger than she ever realized before this basement, hold her arms crossed to her chest. The other cups the back of her head, gentle, but with a grasp that digs into her scalp in a way that would send a shiver down her spine if the water wasn’t so hot why did he make it so hot?

“Because of your Faith in Jesus Christ, I baptize you now in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit”

There’s barely time to grab a breath before she’s dipped back into the water, which hasn’t cooled, not at all. It burns on her face, a feeling like her face is being held over a fire, moments ticking by as the heat goes from uncomfortable to unbearable. It forces the air from her lungs until Faith’s left gasping as she’s pulled back up.

But something’s wrong, because the Reverend looks angry.

“Because of your Faith in Jesus Christ, I baptize you now in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!”

“Reverend wh-” The words are cut off as she plunged back into the water and how is it hotter? How is it getting hotter and hotter until she’s surrounded by boiling water, a lobster clawing out of its skin as it cooked, a witch melting into a puddle.

But it’s worse because he isn’t bringing her up. She thrashes, tries to buck against his hand as what little breath she had trails away in bubbles, hopes releasing on the surface far away from her. But the hands just dig in. How are they not burning? How is he not burning?

Her eyes open in desperation, trying to see. It’s a mistake. Even as she shuts them they are being boiled alive inside her head, eggs cracked on pavement in the summer sun, a snail covered in salt by sadistic children.

Just as she doesn’t think she can hold on any longer, he brings her up. The only response she can do is gasp for air.

This time, as she blinks through blurred vision she thinks his face isn’t angry, but..sad? That his visage of fear and pain matches her own.

But the words come again, faster, with desperation dripping away any hope she has until she grasps a last gasp of air

“Because of your Faith in Jesus Christ, I baptize you now in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit!”

It’s no better, even as her own tolerance for it increases. It seems a battle is waged. Is this what those women burned on pyres she learned in history class felt like, dying for a husband? Is this what witches burned at the stake in Salem felt like?

Is this what hell feels like?

Her skin must be burning off, burning away at muscles as the water eats every bit of her like acid, inside and out. The air runs out too quick, too fast, and her body twitches violently, trying to get away from the nothing that’s creeping in the corners of her vision. Some base instinct cries out and she tries to scream, only for the water to come rushing in.

Volcanoes are fountains of pain, she decides, as lava runs through her veins, burning away her voice, her lungs.

Burning away her belief in good intentions being anything but hell itself

Burning away her hope that there is anything that will end this except death

Burning away her awareness until there is nothing left but nothing. No light at the end of the tunnel. No sudden darkness. Nothing is an absence, and Faith has never been anymore.

Coughing is the next thing she remembers. The concrete is blessedly cool against her cheek, even as its hardness presses on her skin that feels tender all over, like a sunburn. Lazily blinking through the tears in her eyes, she sees it looks like that: freshly pink.

Like a cotton candy, something that’s slowly unhinging inside her laughs.

The Reverend’s shaky hands are petting her head, and he’s speaking but she can’t hear over the water that’s still burning her ears. Everything about her feels like a wasteland, a brushfire gone wrong that’s left the land salted and barren. She wishes to go back to the nothing, to the safety of not being here, no longer on fire but doused into damp ashes of who she once was. Who, she knows somewhere deep inside her, she will never be again.

But the world will not stay quiet, and eventually she becomes aware of his words as he shifts her, so that she’s sat up leaning against his chest. The warm arms wrapped around her, gently rocking no longer feel like safety. They feel like a prison.

His voice in her ears is honey that has led her into a spiderweb she’s spent her whole life spinning, a fly creating its own trap.

“Shhh, shh, that’s it, just breathe. I’m sorry, Faith, I’m so sorry. I wanted to believe. That you were ready. That you believed. Lacing the water with iron was a failsafe, a way to burn away the last of the sin. But I know, the wicked tongue of the Fae. It deceives even you, yourself. But we’ll fix it. We will help you believe, not just in pretty words, the truth of Jesus’ salvation. We’ll need to have faith, make changes.”

She wants to make a response, a retort of some proverb or biblical story or line but her brain feels burnt out, bleached to nothing as everything she was is eaten away. All that comes out instead is a wet sob that quickly turns into more coughing.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’ve got you. Don’t speak.” The suffocating comfort continues quietly for a moment. “We’ll start with barebones. Make sure you understand completely what you are. Yes, that’s it, you must not have truly believed of the sin you are born with.” It doesn’t matter what she believes, she realizes. What she was born as will never change to things like iron, no matter how hard God or the Reverend tries. Hadn’t a major critique of the magical community been the lack of miracles, real miracles? To not be what she was would be a miracle.

And any belief she’s had in miracles, well, the water has purified that.

“From now on, we’ll make sure you know. Your name will be Fae, until you have earned back Faith”

Faith though has been abandoned in the true face of God.

Tags: @bleedingandfeverish @sableflynn @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly (let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

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oingos-bitch · 4 years

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Another JoJo Mall Fanfic™ -- Rainforest Café (Part 1)

Part 5, Part 4 and Part 2 Spoilers!

"Y-YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO STOLE MY LUGGAGE!"

Giorno gulped. The short boy stalked over to him, glaring daggers.

"I haven't forgotten about you, I hope you're ready to pay me back."

Echoes' summoning was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Koichi, dude, are you alright?"

"Yeah, Okuyasu, I'm fine." He trembled in anger. "Unless you wanna help me put this blond son of a bitch in his place."

"Ohhh."

A bass-boosted fart could be heard as a blue figure appeared.

"Why didn't ya tell me sooner? Whose ass are we gonna kick first?!" Okuyasu cracked his knuckles.

"That blond bastard, who else?"

"Uhmm...Which one?" He whispered.

"Huh?"

It was then that Koichi noticed the much, much taller -- 'And scarier!' -- blond male sitting across from Giorno. And he did not look amused.

"Are you done yet, piccolino?"

"Wha- what?"

Caesar sighed. "I would just like to get my order without any trouble, if that's not too much to ask. However," his green eyes narrowed.

"If it's trouble you're looking for, then I'll be glad to indulge you."

His chair fell over as he stood up. Maintaining his glare, he spread his arms as a large bubble formed between them. Anticipating a fight, the two teenagers defensively posed, shouting their stand names. Caesar was just about to strike before Deus Ex Josuke appeared.

"Guys, as much as I would love to help right now, there's people here. . ."

Koichi's blood ran cold. He had the sense to immediately call back Echoes and nervously regain his composure, straightening his pose. Okuyasu, however, did not.

"So what?? Everyone should see this asshat get a well-deserved beatdown!" He growled.

"Okuyasu, no." Josuke pulled his best friend aside and leaned into him.

"I know you mean well, but we're probably gonna get fired -- and I don't wanna make my great-gramps sad!" Josuke slightly teared up at the thought.

Okuyasu's face flushed in embarrassment.

"I don't wanna, either! I-I'm so sorry, Josuke!"

He began to sob on the spot.

"I-I'll do better next time!"

"It's alright, man, just calm down a little." Steak-hair patted his back.

Everyone within a ten-foot radius stared wide-eyed at the scene. Even passerby stopped for a few good minutes! Josuke slowly got up and let go of Okuyasu, facing the crowd. He knelt down and waved his hands vigorously.

"Aaaaand, SCENE! Uh, we hope everyone liked it!"

Crickets.

He smiled from ear -to-ear, sweat beading down his temple. A lone clap sounded from the middle of the restaurant. A few more claps were soon drowned out by diners resuming their meals and their conversations. Josuke let out a relieved sigh.

He looked around to see if anyone else was staring -- 'Nope!' -- then proceeding to step towards Caesar, looking him square in the eye.

"Next time you mess with my friends, you may not be so lucky."

Caesar smirked and returned his icy stare.

"That doesn't sound like much of a threat, coming from someone like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Caesar looked him up and down. "Look at yourself. . .A teenage delinquent, working at the only 'high-paying' job that'll accept you, picking fights with those obviously more experienced than you."

"You don't know how many fights I've been in!"

"Hm, no, but with that attitude, I can guess."

"Wanna find out?" Josuke grinned.

Caesar cocked his head to the side, the boy seemed familiar, but he just couldn't put his finger on it --

"Yoo-Hoo! Caesarino!~"

Caesar groaned and turned around.

"Hello, JoJo -- DIO MIO, JOSEPH, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WEARING?!"

"It's my old outfit! I needed it for my job and it still fits perfectly!" He laughed heartily.

His friend buried his face in his hands. Joseph took this as a sign to flex in front of him.

"Whaddaya think?~"

Caesar pushed him away. "Awful, awful, everything's awful. If you're gonna dress in drag, you should at least do it right."

"HEY, that's what Jolyne always tells me!"

"And she's correct. Ugh, JoJo, you could have at least shaved your beard."

"But I think my beard makes me sexy. . ." He pouted.

"It does, but that's beside the point --" Caesar froze.

No, absolutely not, this was the last thing he needed today. The day had started off so badly already, he couldn't have Joseph knowing his secret, too! It would all be too much!

Thankfully, Joseph broke the silence quickly. Grinning, he posed some more.

"Sexy, eh? You really think so?~"

Caesar tried his hardest to sound annoyed. "If you say so, JoJo."

"Ah, but you're the one who said it.~ So, d'ya really think so?"

The Italian pulled his face away from his hands to get a look at Joseph. He didn't really need to look at him for so long to see that he was handsome, but he really needed to save his skin right now. So he eyed Joseph from different angles: profile, front, three-quarters view, even worm's eye view!

This went on for longer than expected, and Joseph began to whine.

"C'mon, you already got a good look, just tell me already!"

Begrudgingly, Caesar moved his eyes away.

"I guess so."

"Really?!" Joseph beamed.

He nodded. "I mean, I think Suzi --"

Inwardly, he groaned. He hated to think it, he hated how it sounds, and most of all he hated to say it, but he couldn't risk raising Joseph's suspicions. Or worse, risking their friendship.

"-- I really think Suzi thinks so."

For a moment, Joseph seemed surprised -- and a bit disappointed? No, must've been Caesar's imagination. He rubbed at his neck and shot Caesar his signature grin.

"Haha, well, thanks! I hope she thinks so!"

He placed an arm around him. Caesar jumped lightly at the contact. He knew it was friendly, something he was used to, yet he couldn't help but feel so wrong after what just happened. It wasn't fair to think about having a chance with his best friend when he already had a life to live, a wife and a kid, and a grandkid, for crying out loud!

And he had. . . Well, nothing. Any chance he had before was snatched away so abruptly. When that bright light enveloped him and he found himself laying on the Earth's soil again, he was ecstatic! He expected to find everyone else in the same situation, waiting to reconnect. Embarrassingly, the first person he thought of was Joseph.

Oh, Joseph. That lovable, goofy bastard had no idea just how much he missed him. He had planned everything out -- how he'd introduce himself, how he'd explain his chance at a new life, how he'd spill his heart out to him and say what he never got a chance to say, and, hopefully, how he'd grin and say he felt the same way. And it'd all be uphill from there.

However, he did not plan to run into Lisa Lisa first. And he did not plan to sit down and catch up with her over tea. And he did not expect her to be the one to catch him up on what had happened while he was gone.

And he certainly did not expect Joseph to be married and have a kid.

The deep ache in his gut was incomparable to the pain he endured before his death, and it still haunted him whenever that damned memory was brought up.

Much like now.

Caesar smoothly moved Joseph's arm back to his side. Before he could dwell on the thought any longer, he changed the subject.

"So, what brings you here?"

"OH! I just wanted to see my son!"

"Your son?. . .I thought you had a daughter. . ."

Joseph smiled sheepishly. "Uh, yeah, about that. . .Let's just say, I don't think Suzi'll ever trust me the same again. . ."

Caesar's eyes widened. Inappropriately enough, his heart fluttered. Maybe he'd have a chance?

'No! He doesn't need his marriage damaged any further!'

While he was still deep in thought, Joseph brought over a familiar angry teen.

"Ta-Daaaa! This is my darling baby boy!"

Caesar did a double take. Oh, he couldn't be serious --

"T-this is your son?!"

"You bet! Doesn't he look just like me?" He brought the poor boy's face against his cheek.

"A chip off the ol' block!"

"Dad, stop it." Josuke averted his eyes.

"Awwww, but it's true! Isn't it, Caesarino --"

He scanned the room, searching for him. "Caesar?"

He found him by the aquarium, making his way to the bar.

"Oi, Caesar! Don't you wanna say hi to Josuke?"

Caesar reluctantly turned around. "Maybe some other time, JoJo. My lunch break is almost over, and I'm still waiting on my order."

"Oh, the pink girl and blond boy took it."

"Huh?"

"The pink-haired girl and the blond boy, they took your food." Repeated the elf-eared bartender.

"Oh, thank you. Where'd they. . go. .?"

The bartender pointed to the west of the mall.

"Ah, grazie." He made his way there.

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Trish had gasped once Caesar stood up, ready to fight, but soon lost interest once Josuke showed up and started speaking.

"So boring."

She and Giorno sat silently the entire time. There wasn't much to talk about, and she didn't recognize anyone else (yet), so she passed the time counting down the minutes.

She had attempted to ask Giorno about why the midget had a vendetta against him, but he just responded with an "I don't want to speak about it."

'Tch. You're no fun.'

Then Joseph appeared and she giggled. It was so much fun to see her usually stoic co-worker get so flustered by the old man, and it was amusing for a while.

That is, until he didn't make a move.

She spent the rest of the time reading over the specials pamphlet. Luckily, she soon heard a small "Excuse me, Ma'am."

"Hm?"

A tiny, tall-haired boy anxiously held up a stack of To-Go boxes.

"H-Here's your order."

"Oh! Thank you."

He hurriedly mumbled and speed-walked over to the waiter from earlier. Shrugging, she and Giorno stood up to leave. Once they realized Caesar would be a while, they exchanged glances and walked out of the place.

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Caesar found them sitting on the fountain, digging into their food. They nonchalantly looked up.

"Sorry, we just couldn't wait any longer."

"It's fine. Sorry I took so long."

Trish smiled. "Even with how long you took, you still couldn't flirt with him good enough."

". .Shut up. Let's go get Suzi's wings."

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muirahara-woods · 4 years

Text

I haven’t watched a single episode of season two, nor do I intend to at any point in the next couple of weeks (college is a cruel bastard), but here’s a list of theories based on the few glimpses I got from my dash and my own completely baseless assumptions:

- I know that’s there’s a police arc, that was pretty much covering my dash! So: the cops finally corner BH6 for their vigilantism (bc technically, it is super illegal). It’s framed as a complex moral dilemma but falls flat overall since Disney can’t actually say Fuck Cops. The cop who is bold enough to stand up against the superheroes is a bland-looking white guy. Everyone sides with the cops and BH6 are suddenly public enemy #1. An automated police force gets involved at some point, and people actually think it’s a good idea instead of horrifying.

-the gang runs a DND campaign. Fred is DM. Halfway through, they get interrupted by some villains but they just start playing with them.

- Fred vapes

-Tadashi gets a posthumous degree? Which, I mean, good for him, but I really hope that death also burned away his college debt

-so if Tadashi was getting his bachelor’s, does that mean we have a confirmed age for him? I figured Baymax was something along the lines of a senior design project, but if that’s true his death just got infinitely sadder. he was really THAT CLOSE to graduating

-on a related note, Hiro has to do a fundraiser or get a shitty job to pay for his own textbooks (which are just those goddamn online homework subscriptions that cost $150 each because capitalism loves to extort STEM majors).

- big hero 6 gets the in-universe equivalent of Snapchat or the like. we see some of the gang doing some stupid dangerous stuff (but completely hilarious) to put on social media.

-everyone headcanons that Hiro can skateboard, but may I present to you: Aunt Cass is better at it

-Aunt Cass dates Tony Hawk for an episode but he’s never mentioned or acknowledged, he’s just sitting around and tweeting during every time we see him

-Karmi gets an internship but the work is using equipment and programs that neither the researcher nor the interns know how to operate. While she’s stressing about that, she starts forgetting assignments and falling behind on homework and has a small breakdown, exposing more of her character (perhaps pressure from her family? Pressure from herself?) Its turns into a nice bonding moment between Hiro and Karmi

- can you tell why I haven’t been on social media lately from that last one

-oh wait doesnt Karmi get an internship at Liv Amara’s company? And she’s totally evil, I think, so Karmi unwittingly becomes the best and most dangerous villain in the city. Like she just starts out doing some basic research into antibiotics or healthcare tech but Liv realizes that what she’s making could be used as the perfect weapon. It becomes a sort of extortion situation once Karmi realizes that she’s being used, where she has to keep making weapons or Liv tells her heroes exactly what she’s done

-gogo learns how to juggle

-Baymax goes to Vegas. He gets kicked out of every casino- not for cheating or counting cards (he actually rakes in some cash) but every owner thinks he’s a street performer soliciting customers in the casino, instead of an actual robot

- Globby vapes with some of his own slime. It smells like grape juice. Everyone is horrified.

-Trina comes back and becomes Obake 2.0, which I hope isn’t a final-form sort of thing, bc as much as I liked Obake I would really like Trina to be her own villlain. The successor and daughter to one of the most powerful super villains in the city? And she’s a robot??? She’s basically unstoppable physically and mentally, trying to mimic Obake is a downgrade honestly

- #giveTrinagunhands2020

- Trina steals baymax to make or copy part of her new body

- (specifically the gun hands)

- ((my phone autocorrected that to fun hands. my phone knows what’s up, do the writers??? @disney contact me for an internship))

- a character comes in that matches one of my BH6 OCs to a T. I will become irrationally angry, both at my obvious lack of creativity in character design and my cowardice at not posting my OCs sooner.

- we get a closer look at the privatized nightmare of San Fransokyo, and glimpse into the dark and seedy world that the CEOs like Krei must operate to make their dirty billions. I don’t watch any of those dark, gritty shows about businessmen doing shady things to build their empires but it’s an episode of that.

-NBB dies and is reborn as a smaller, cuter weapon of mass destruction a la BabyNut

-Hiro wears Tadashi’s hat in a really dramatic scene. I will already be crying.

- The mother daughter crime-dancing duo make a comeback, but now they’re really into polka

- we get a badass EDM-themed character. It’s difficult to tell if they’re a hero or villain bc all their dialogue is bass-boosted

-honey vapes and it’s rainbow-colored bc she’s a brilliant chemist who makes her own smoke-juice

-I don’t know anything about vaping and these jokes aren’t funny anymore were never really funny to begin with

- the cop arc is resolved when the hero cop faces off w Trina and she OBLITERATES the man in battle. Robovillain beats robocops every time

...yeah, that’s all I got. Time for me to go back into hibernation.

If you’ve made it this far, please yell at me in the notes for all of this. Thank you and good night

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askiisoft · 5 years

Text

FAN ART FRIDAY: ALL THE WARRIORS, Part 4

This is it, ladies and gentlemen. For the past three weeks, I’ve had the pleasure of sharing the community’s original characters in the world of Katana ZERO—from war heroes to psycho killers, and everything in between—drawn by some the most creative and talented fan artists I’ve ever met.

Today we salute the last of New Mecca’s “lost generation” in the jam-packed finale to All the Warriors. Those late to the party can catch up on the previous parts here: Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3.

Let’s begin.

[WARNING: The work herein is based on fan creations, and should not be considered canon.]

Alpha 7, “Jill” by @daratsugu

She had it all. A sports star since high school, Jill could have made history as a legendary athlete or breathtaking model. But beneath her physique and beauty was a strong heart, one that desired to make a difference in the world somehow. So when government suits approached her seeking peak physical specimens for trials of a ‘radical life-saving drug’, she accepted eagerly.

Not long afterwards, the war began.

Jill’s service record afterwards remains a mystery, given her lackluster communication skills and endemic shyness. But whatever she witnessed on the battlefield, it never blunted her kindness or dampened her faith in humanity. There is comfort in the certainty of her own mortality, and she’s determined to spend her final days doing as much good as she can.

By @daratsugu

—

Gamma 6 by @wpc0123wpc

More well-known than the deadliest assassins and most fearsome mafia dons, one man is famous across every restaurant in Chinatown: the ‘chao fan shen’, or “fried rice god”, known for his slovenly appearance, incredible combat skills, and insatiable appetite for his namesake. Of course, that’s not to say he’s a glutton—Six has developed an extremely discriminating palate, and any chef who skimps on the diced pork or sesame oil can expect a sound rebuke.

If only he paid as much attention in everyday life. Because of his poor eyesight and ever-present headphones, he’s an easy mark for thieves like Gamma 12 or enterprising muggers...or so it seems. Chinatown residents swear they’ve witnessed him pull an executioner’s battleaxe from his guitar case, but surely that’s just Eastern superstition. Right?

By @wpc0123wpc

—

Gamma 22, “TnT” by @_sbserpent

"Be silent, dress loudly.”

ZZ’s selective mutism hasn’t stopped her from drawing the eye of passerby. Her prominent back scars, perpetual bedhead hair, and psychedelic rainbow clothing are almost begging to be ridiculed. Those who know ZZ are smart enough not to tease her about it; others who make that mistake find themselves adding a few splashes of red to her outfit.

Since moving to the Second District, her fashion sense has actually started a minor fad among its population of wealthy young heiresses and bachelorettes, who have begun tousling their hair and wearing multicolored stockings in crass imitation. She’s even been featured in a few street fashion magazines, albeit unnamed. ZZ doesn’t mind the attention, so long as their photographers stay out of her way and keep their mouths shut...

“I warned you.” By @_sbserpent

—

Beta 111, “Gurkha” by @55_yamisan

There may be someone who once said, “I want to go back together.”

There may be someone who once shared their personal space.

There may be someone who didn’t want to die, and someone else who no longer wants to live...

All illustrations by @55_yamisan

—

Gamma 30, “Thirty” by @meto1030

Just as other Gamma NULLs were violently psychotic or narcissistic, Gamma 30′s disorder was selflessness to a fault, believing any amount of suffering was worthwhile if it made things even a little easier for someone else. As a nurse or aid worker, Thirty could have done so much good, had they not been blessed with extreme reactiveness to Chronos that placed them squarely within a Gamma kill-squad.

Every waking moment was spent in neurosis, desperately thinking of ways they could possibly be of service around base camp, and each rest was filled with nightmares of squadmates buried under rubble or pinned by enemy fire, desperately crying out for help as Thirty fruitlessly crawled to them, trapped in slow motion.

Once the fighting had ended and a ceasefire declared, the only way Thirty could imagine to be of use was becoming a test subject in the government labs, a position typically reserved for NULL candidates too weak to warrant a number and rank. There, at least, they are shielded from the predatory instincts of other NULL who would not hesitate to exploit Thirty’s altruism.

By @meto1030

—

Gamma 61, “Geist” by @dawnygoi

Just because you’re living hand-to-mouth doesn’t mean you can’t pursue your passion. Due to their various psychoses, Gamma troopers developed more eccentricities than their predecessors—the most common being increased sensitivity to music. Their preferred genres varied, but a Gamma NULL could be found humming or nodding their head some invisible beat before or after a battle.

For Gamma 61, his favorite beat was the deafening, breakneck rhythm of his trusty man-portable minigun, and he often burned through hundreds of rounds just to hear its song, filled with the sharpest crescendos and deepest bass. Sadly, it’s a luxury he can no longer afford, and he suffers the indignity of killing his targets with simple knives and other concealable weapons in order to afford his ‘medicine’.

—

Gamma 33, “Weasel” by @zebdraws

As a legendary rock star once said, “ You see, you don't have to live like a refugee.”

When government spooks are after your head, you have two choices: spend what’s left of your life on the run, or become the biggest musical sensation New Mecca has ever known.

As a soldier, Weasel was fiercely competitive, treating every ally as a potential rival and going to extreme lengths to win any wager, even if it meant resorting to violence. That never changed after he discovered his love of music, even though his musical talents are utterly dreadful, like most NULL.

His “invasion” of several high-profile concerts prompted many venues in the city to begin employing armed security to patrol their dance floors, most notably Club Neon. However, the untimely death of DJ Electrohead has skyrocketed Weasel to stardom as Second District clubs scramble to book a replacement act.

—

Gamma 511 by @Am3002814

On an employment survey for government security, Gamma 511 would fail by every metric: he’s paranoid, meek, and highly conspicuous thanks to his numerous nervous tics that emerge at even the slightest hint of confrontation. Even when mixed in a crowd, he seems to have an uncanny presence that unnerves those around him. Yet his security record is spotless, and none of his charges have ever come to harm.

So what exactly about 511 sets so many ill at ease? Could it be his shifty gaze, restlessly darting about at strangers’ throats, stomachs, and nether regions? Maybe his constant and profuse sweating, staining his ill-fitting trench coat even on a cold winter morning? Or perhaps it’s the faint “ ゴゴゴゴゴゴゴゴ “ that permeates the air as he walks by with his awkward, loping gait...?

Truly, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

By @Am3002814

—

Beta 39, by @lyexueyee

Stealth and infiltration is an art, not a science. Beta 39′s brand of assassination involves hiding in plain sight—in a crowd wearing her perpetually tired and glum expression, or standing outside a store with hands on her hips, as if impatiently waiting for someone. She deflects attention so well, no one notices the bent and bloodied length of pipe sticking out of her faux-high school bag.

“Hey, those are some cute hairpins!” A student on the train remarks. “Nnh,” 39 murmurs.

“Oh, you must be part of the kendo club!” An old woman exclaims, and is met with a half-lidded stare and a deep, echoing silence.

Hours later, a beat cop finds a local mobster dead in an alley behind his favorite bar, bearing signs of blunt trauma and several stab wounds from a low angle. His gun lies nearby, not a single shot fired. No suspects are ever found.

By @lyexueyee

—

Beta 34, “Ephemera” by @BMb_kngw

“What use is a tape that can only be rewound three times?”

That was what Ephemera overheard following his fitness trials and physical examination. The researchers had never encountered his like before: a genetic trait that resisted the effects of Chronos, such that a full dose would only allow him a few minutes of precognition and a negligible boost in reflexes—not even on par with Alpha-class NULL. His training results and leadership scores had topped the charts, but by a twist of fate, he barely escaped being sent to the labs.

Even after being assigned to a frontline squad, Ephemera faced continued stigma. Some refused to acknowledge him as “one of them” at all, and rumors spread that his ‘condition’ was contagious, and merely being around him could sap others of their Chronos abilities.

The day he was rushed to the infirmary, his leg a bloodied stump, some jeered that any other NULL could have “reset” to undo such an injury. But oh, how the tables have turned. As it turned out, his ‘condition’ also shielded him from any symptoms of withdrawal. He lives now as a free man, one of the few NULL able to truly leave the war behind.

By @BMb_kngw

—

Beta 18, “Gav” by @smugeroni

Actions speak louder than words. Anyone who’s pried into the past of a Cromag War vet knows how bitter and cagey they get, but Gav’s wartime injury lets him dodge questions about his service days and move onto the crucial next step of healing and atonement. Homeless veterans who would otherwise despise those “test tube freaks” are thankful for his constant charity and unreasonably tasty meals.

There are still traces of a fighter behind his gentle smile: his bullet-riddled motorbike lies rusting in storage downtown, and he keeps a gun stowed behind the counter for the occasional mob racketeer. No one knows who steered Gav away from his life as a road warrior—who they were to him, or whether they’re dead or alive—but they take comfort in knowing a man can change, and not always for the worse.

—

Beta 49, “D.D.” by @sapheiri

On her first sortie as a rookie NULL, D.D. envisioned a battle worthy of pre-war action movies: fiery explosions at her back, bullets whizzing past her ears, and jets flying overhead as she charged the enemy lines, firing a gun in each hand.

Instead, she found a nightmare. The enemy had set traps and laid ambushes everywhere; the laboratory eggheads had assured her that Chronos had made her immortal, but in that desolate jungle her faith shattered. She was found quivering in a muddy ditch, half-deafened by a close-range blast and wearing socks after forgetting to lace up her combat boots.

Instead of being discharged for proper therapy and recovery, D.D. became a test case for second-generation Prozium, designed to deaden emotions and instill obedience. She returned calm and combat-ready days later, and the researchers commended themselves for their success. They would later come to fear D.D. after seeing her in action.

Today, she can truly realize her former action-heroine fantasies, blasting her way past dozens of gunmen with guns akimbo and walking away unscathed. But she can feel no pleasure from it, nor reflect on the horror at the killing machine she’s become. Some say she still wears her boots unlaced to recapture the rush of danger and fear of death from that first mission, something she has now lost forever.

By @sapheiri

—

Gamma 22 by @dodokubobo

An ideal army is a combination of tactical genius and strict discipline. Gamma 22 had neither, leaning entirely on his remarkable aptitude for Chronos and prowess with his twin katanas to propel him through disciplinary headaches that would have earned any other soldier weeks in the brig. Evidently, it worked; drill instructors ignored his constant absence from combat drills and loud snoring during briefings. As long as he got things done, who cared?

This “golden child” mentality has only swelled his ego since the NULL diaspora, taking what he wants and abusing his abilities to do as he pleases. This makes him an obvious target, but many a foe have seen their cunning ambushes and clever traps fall apart in the face of 22′s sheer speed and skill. Among the New Meccan underworld, there is one piece of advice passed down to every aspiring hitman and bounty hunter: “Do not pursue Gamma 22.”

By @dodokubobo

—

Beta 66 by @temeokopn

Before the cybernet made information widely accessible to the masses, intel had to be collected the old-fashioned way: through spying, stealth, or skullduggery. This was the perfect calling for Beta 66, who excelled at staying out of sight.

On certain scouting missions, he would wait hours, even days, for the enemy to trip a land mine or succumb to slow-acting poison. And as he waited, he would listen to the sounds of wilderness and scan the night sky through his mask, counting the stars.

In a post-war New Mecca hostile to veterans, 66′s life became a more cloistered affair, surviving as an information broker instead of risking his life behind enemy lines It was only days after his data stream sputtered out that anyone discovered his absence.

One can only hope 66 found the stars he so loved.

“I go to the stars.” By @temeokopn

—

Beta 9 “Heads” & Beta 10, “Tails” by Jicker

Dynamic duos are nothing new to the New Meccan lowlife, but Heads & Tails are trailblazers in terms of brother-and-sister team-ups. In between sibling quarrels over the superiority of shuriken or grenades, these two clean up mafia hideouts over twice as fast as a single NULL, wordlessly executing well-worn strategies they developed on the battlefield during their first missions against the Cromags; Heads cuts down obstacles to widen her brother’s line of sight or deflects bullets as he reloads, while Tails pins the enemy with suppressing fire as his sister closes the distance with her blade.

Truth be told, their combined efforts often barely compare to some of the carnage a Gamma NULL could unleash. The difference is that, unlike a Gamma, Heads & Tails can’t be bought, nor bargained with. They can’t be bribed with Chronos or crippled by withdrawal. Whatever their reason for isolating themselves from other NULL, it’s clear that the only allies they need are each other.

“We have a Dragon to slay.” By Jicker

—

Alpha 66 by @ren_hyuga

Stella von Ruthuberia’s regal name suggests a relation to one of the prestigious Old Families, though pre-war records make no mention of her in any aristocratic lineage. How someone of her social status was inducted into the NULL corps remains an even deeper mystery. Some claim her to be an illegitimate heir cast out by her family to die inconspicuously, while a few believe she sought the immortalizing power of Chronos, something beyond what mere wealth could provide.

Since her near-fatal injury and the convoluted grafting procedure that surpassed all previous prostheses, the illusive von Ruthuberia has retreated from the public eye, her estate guarded by patrols day and night.

However, some say her hermetic existence is merely an act, and amid a vast stockpile of ill-gotten Chronos, she is every bit as deadly as when she first donned her jet-black robes...

—

Gamma 72, “Nightingale” by @throjnx

Any crime boss worth their salt knew the prospect of having an immortal assassin at your beck and call was too good to be true. It was. The Erlkings, on the other hand, were a two-bit smuggling racket that saw Nightingale as their ticket out of the Fifth District, whose residents could scarcely afford their services or protection fees.

It worked, for a time. None of the other gangs in their district had managed to snag a Gamma NULL, and they quickly packed up and left once dozens of their number went missing, and police seldom bothered to venture that far out. But the Erlkings hadn’t anticipated how much Chronos Nightingale required nor how pure it had to be, neither of which their supplier could provide.

When they tried making up the difference using threats and blackmail, there was only one way things could end.

—

Alpha 27, “Nina” by @HihumiHii

Like a spider spinning its web, the labyrinthine catwalks and cramped alleys of New Mecca are the perfect hunting ground for a femme fatale like Alpha 27. Her clientele are exclusive and her fees exorbitant, but her unique skillset is enough to outwit any bounty hunter and even the occasional Gamma NULL.

Using a vast network of tripwires and strings that crisscross her territory, she can detect activity through the slightest vibrations, from the pounding of raindrops to the footsteps of a potential victim. Most never glimpse their killer, strangled or sliced to bits in her near-invisible webs of razor wire. Others hunt her fruitlessly, unaware she has long since fled.

Outside of contract killings, she frequents the most exclusive social circles in New Mecca to flaunt her mysterious wealth, and is one of the few assassins capable of operating in the near-impenetrable First District thanks to her unsuspecting government acquaintances.

—

Gamma 87 by childrenofgungnir

For Gamma 87, each day is a constant battle between “Life’s pretty OK. I got a steady gig and plenty of the blue stuff,” and “What am I still doing here? We lost the war. I keep this up, I’m going to end up dead.”

It’s been over half a decade since Charlotte experienced a panic attack or felt stress at the thought of taking a human life, back when she could still count her kills on two hands. These days, it seems to come easier.

Whenever she sees a penniless Alpha sulking at the bar in withdrawal, she counts her blessings under her breath. But Charlotte can’t help but feel that she’s lost a part of herself in those intervening years—the heartbroken daughter who would have tearfully begged her parents why they let the men in suits take her, instead of the swordswoman who casually sliced them to pieces and emptied their pockets.

Every time, she stops the train of thought right there. Maybe it’s better this way.

By childrenofgungnir

—

Gamma 21, “Lil’ Tomato” by @531012733Kyling

There are few things that can surpass the power of effective teamwork, something Gamma 21 and his partner-in-crime Gamma 37 exemplify. Brains and brawn. Long-distance sniping and up-close fisticuffs. Terrible guitar-playing and midnight drag races.

21 is another in a long line of NULL with an affinity for music but almost no talent for it. Zero’s noisy neighbors can’t compare to the tedium of hearing 21 croon and pluck at the same few sour chords for hours, and his housemate 37 certainly doesn’t seem like someone who would put up with it for long.

For some reason, passerby don’t leave him as much money when 37 is hanging around...

By @531012733Kyling

—

Gamma 37 by @531012733Kyling

While other Gamma troopers favored blades and bullets, Gamma 37 preferred to pummel her enemies with both fists, aided by a pair of high-powered “boxing gloves” that amplified every blow. She scoffed at rookie NULL trying to deflect bullets with their puny blades as her gauntlets easily shielded her from volleys of machine gun fire—that is, until an errant anti-materiel round shattered her glove and nearly took her hand with it.

In the the intervening years, 37 has developed a custom fighting style based around her remaining gauntlet, learning to instead shift her weight and weave between enemy blows to deliver a bone-shattering right hook. She’s even able to use it while riding her motorbike, which has proved invaluable in chasing down targets.

By @531012733Kyling

—

Alpha 12, “Green Demon” by @IDUnknownForte

Whoo, I’ll have to tread carefully on this one. Alpha 12 is apparently a transplant from a Katana ZERO roleplay server, so she likely has lots of existing history that I don’t want to tread on.

What I will say is that I love the idea of a NULL dive bar like Lucky’s Bar and Grill. On Friday night, all the down-and-out assassins trudge in to their usual seats, get extremely drunk, and yell about how they’d better start getting some respect because they “could level *hic* this whole f*cking city if [they] wanted to”, all while Alpha 12 slowly nods her head from behind the counter and pours out another round. Long live the revolution.

—

Beta 13, “Kata” by @couriervictor

Survival in the Third District is a daily struggle. But for every soldier, there comes a point where survival is no longer enough.

Working for Dr. Alvensleben brought Kata to this point quickly—watching the doctor run hapless trespassers through impossible deathtraps day after day, hunting down targets for an employer he’d never met in person, and receiving his Chronos syringes via a *clink* in the pneumatic tube and a stilted pre-recorded message.

With hope of Gamma 9 stumbling into the Slaughterhouse fading bit by bit, Kata considers the consequences of crossing the only man with the knowledge and resources to manufacture Chronos, and whether he would survive...

—

Alpha 19, “Tameiki” by @matowaar

There are few NULL who could claim to know Tameiki to any degree; to most, she was a terrifying, twitchy blur of facial features, zipping from room to room and victim to victim with inhuman speed. Only her closest squadmates, in moments of intense time dilation, could catch a glimpse of her true face, and even then only an expressionless mask resigned to marching alone amidst an army.

Though still communicating chiefly through writing, she has attempted to overcome her unique circumstances through focused training, such as remaining motionless for extended periods or slowing her speech enough to be audible to average human perception. She has even experimented with Chronos withdrawal, testing if the gradual ebbing of time can let her experience life at the same speed as those around her.

If the ultimate fate of any NULL is to become frozen forever in time, how much longer would that eternity feel to Tameiki...?

—

Beta 12, “Twelve” by @fresh_fren

What’s easily broken is not so easily put back together.

Since the Cromags didn’t fully grasp the concept of a ‘non-combatant’, Beta 12′s pacifism in the field earned her ridicule from both her comrades and the enemy. While other NULL treated battles as competitive killing sprees, for Twelve each encounter was like an escort mission—an unending effort to protect squadmates who loved nothing more than charging at machine gun nests with a knife. Can you imagine how frustrating that was?

Despite braving death to retrieve her teammates countless times, she was seldom recognized for her courage, and it became disheartening to incapacitate enemies non-lethally only to watch another NULL shoot them in the head moments later.

Understandably, she hasn’t bothered keeping in touch with her former comrades, and few would believe a kind-hearted pacifist like her was once a veteran, anyway...

—

Gamma 75, “Elvis” by A Dishrag

"Hitting the broad side of a Cromag hut” was a corny insult that floated around New Mecca during the war, but for Elvis it was a job description, one that he was embarrassed to mention during the morning briefings or off-duty get-togethers at the local bar. ‘Tactical demolition’, he called it, but he knew it was an excuse; most of the sheet-metal huts he destroyed could’ve been knocked over by stiff breeze, not a state-of-the-art EMF railgun firing slugs at 4,000 meters a second.

At least they let him keep the uniform and gun when he left the corps, though “let” would be a strong word for it. He simply stuffed the gear into a Sakura Redux X Gaiden shoulder bag and walked out of the barracks, never to return. So far no one’s called him about it, so he figures it’s safe enough to incorporate into his cosplay outfit as long as he keeps the safety on. Right?

—

Gamma 13, “Reaper” & Gamma 14, “Mr. Bomber Glove” by @LoverHigh24

Twice the NULL, twice the withdrawal. It seems some Gamma NULLs, particularly those with complementary skillsets, stuck together in the aftermath of the war instead of turning on each other in their addiction. Rain and Kyle found common ground in their countryside roots, having worked as a team in the final days of the conflict and both sensing the war effort going south.

They’d bid farewell to their neighbors years ago, ready to die as they marched off to war. They agreed they’d be happy enough to see home one last time and spend the eternity lying in their childhood beds, instead of some seedy Third District bar. Yet, as mysterious new shipments of ‘dirty’ Chronos began flooding the market, they find themselves fighting against their former comrades to uncover the source...

—

??? by @Mr_BowerBird

You’re right, spear guy. I don’t know.

I don’t know quite what to make of this guy. His weapon, a Japanese naginata, is quite cool, but last I checked the Cromags didn’t really fight on horseback. His dossier had no name, NULL class, or number. There are no Gamma, Beta, or Alpha NULL OCs I’ve received with the number ‘32′ that was mentioned in his bio. Wish I had more to say, but it feels like I fell asleep in history class and only caught the last three minutes of an hour-long lecture.

—

Alpha 22 by @nbsmgnm

As an Alpha-series cadet, poor Antonio saw action in the opening weeks of the Cromag conflict—before the NULL program became semi-public knowledge, before the “child killings” were in the Second District papers and protest signs, and long before the introduction of Gamma NULL, who didn’t much care who they killed.

When an enemy sniper had his squad pinned down from a high forest ridge, Antonio was ordered to flank them while the others drew their fire. Tactically, it was sound: he was the smallest and thus stealthiest member of the team. But what he found was a Cromag child prone in the grass, barefoot and scanning the jungle treeline with a rifle far twice his size. A boy or girl, he couldn’t tell nor recall afterwards, for the next thing he remembered was being pulled off their mutilated corpse, his fingers around a bloodied combat knife and voice hoarse from screaming.

His commander patted him on the back and congratulated for a job well done, ignoring the bloodshot terror in his eyes. For weeks after he was plagued by nightmares, his hands awash in red and multicolored eyes, so many eyes, staring from the jungle in all directions.

His death would later be ruled as a suicide. He would not be the last.

—

Gamma 44, “Luminous” by @hieroparsley

Sometimes, one of the best reasons to keep fighting is for another person—not a partner in crime, but someone to protect. At some point, Luminous was as her ward Anomaly is now: aimless and regretful, fearing for their life but lacking any reason to keep living. Since Luminous took care of the government agents who had tracked Anomaly from her Third District apartment and hacker lair, the two have been evading their watchful eye ever since.

Sometimes their friendship is marred by arguments over what to do with Anomaly’s data on the NULL project: Luminous seeks to disseminate it to the public, either via the cybernet or print, while Anomaly argues for simply destroying the data, in the meager hopes it will save them from the government crosshairs. But Luminous has seen what they’re capable of; she remembers torching the homes of Cromag ‘collaborators’ even after they housed and sheltered New Meccan troops. Forgiveness is not in their vocabulary.

—

Anomaly by @hieroparsley

—

And, at last, we’re done.

Over the past month, it’s been great seeing not only the diverse and interesting backstories various artists derived from the scant details of Katana ZERO’s world, but also the friendships that sprang up between fan artists, drawing tributes of each other’s OCs befriending/antagonizing one another and creating an immersive world of NULL just under New Mecca’s surface. It’s been a magical thing to witness, and I hope it continues

A deep thank-you to everyone who submitted their OC to this multi-series showcase, and I’m sorry if it took until now to see your character featured. I needed to save some of the best for last!

I originally planned this event as a finale for the Katana ZERO Fan Art Fridays, but since people seem to be enjoying them, next week I’ll be returning to ‘theme weeks’ for a regular schedule.

Truly, we are...”all the warriors”!

By @wqwrppwu

#katana zero #askiisoft #devolver digital #fan art friday #fan art #original character #do #not #steal #nintendo switch

41 notes · View notes

bumbleberrysky · 4 years

Text

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 01

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.2k rating: sfw warnings: none except the appearance of battered gabriel fresh out of asmodeus’ hold notes: welcome to my first dive into writing for supernatural! i saw someone say that s13 lit a fire under their ass like nothing else and honestly i don’t think i could have described it better. i binged so much while catching up the past few weeks idk who i am anymore

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It's something you're destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you'd thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you're suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you'd been brought here in the first place? Maybe...

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

next.

“Honeys, I’m home!”

The bunker has the same light aroma of musty air and metal as you let yourself in through the heavy front door, feet carrying you, out of habit more than anything, to the steel landing that marks the entrance to the fortress. It’s been so long since you were last here that the two men you used to hunt with regularly have likely forgotten they gave you a spare key. Well, they hadn’t exactly given it to you so much as you’d made a copy on the down-low and kept it for occasions such as this.

One hand keeps pressure on your arm, an attempt to stem the bleeding, and the other carries your single carry-on bag. You make it about halfway down the stairs before your gaze swings out over the foyer and you freeze, mid-step.

Sam and Dean, the two figures you expected to find here, are standing stock-still with their guns half-poised (not directed at you) and expressions on their faces that are a combination of shocked, pissed, and extremely confused (mostly directed at you). Following the line of their weapons leads you to the other two occupants in the room, most definitely unexpected and completely unfamiliar.

One is in rags, cowering, and whimpering, unrecognisable underneath filthy tangled hair that covers his face, and the other is in a prim suit marred only by blood and a bit of dirt, barely a single strand of dark hair atop his head out of place.

“Twinkletoes? What the hell are you doing here?!”

It’s Dean’s stupid, old nickname for you that breaks you out of your shock, a glare already falling onto your face with the practised ease of muscle memory.

“I’ll answer that when you tell me what the hell I just walked in on—” You come the rest of the way down the stairs, slower and more cautious now, with your gaze trained on the two at the other end of the table. It’s when the man in rags finally looks up from where he had been cowering and you catch a glimpse of his face, bloody and bruised but instantly familiar, that your words swell and catch in your throat.

“… Gabriel?”

The brothers in front of you heave a great, unanimous sigh, a look passed between them telling you that you’re about to be on the receiving end of a very ludicrous and typical Winchester story.

x x x

The first time you met Gabriel was not long after you’d gone through the biggest plot twist of your entire life. You’d gone to sleep in your bed, in your home, and woken up in a completely different part of the world, like some magician had snapped their fingers and you’d been the punchline of their very next trick. Much to your regret and distaste, some minor investigation revealed that where you’d woken up in the backseat of a car on the side of the road was in some state in the US. You’d sworn to yourself that you would never step foot here in your entire life and then, like God or whoever reigned above was laughing straight in your face, you’d just up and woken up in some random car in a place that made you long to be literally anywhere else.

Preferably somewhere where the occupants didn’t have such easy access to guns.

…like the two men who screamed and pointed theirs at you when you popped up from their backseat after they climbed into the cabin, fast food in their arms.

That was the first time you’d met the infamous hunting brothers, the Winchesters, and the first time of many you’d nearly died in their company.

It had taken a while for them to trust you, but after you inviting yourself onto a few of their cases and saving their asses a handful of times (ignoring the amount of times they saved yours because you forgot that almost every American slept with a gun beneath their pillow) they’d eventually taken you under their proverbial wing. It helped that you had literally nowhere else to go and nothing but the clothes on your back and a bare handful of belongings to your name. Once they figured out you weren’t hiding anything up your sleeve and that you’re just naturally annoying and a little dumb, they’d happily invited you to become an official-unofficial part of their little hunting gang. This means you’re also familiar with the hilarious angel they have in their back pocket. Castiel is a riot and one of the things you miss most when you go off to hunt on your own.

Having been around during the whole ordeal of Lucifer and Michael going through the motions of continuing their family spat on an apocalyptic scale, you too grew to be familiar with their youngest brother, the archangel Gabriel. Of course, while you’d been there for a fair amount of the angel-turned-trickster’s shenanigans, you weren’t there for the final appearance he made at a hotel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. In complete juxtaposition to the fact that you could count on one hand the amount of times you’d interacted properly with Gabriel, the sensations you experienced at the news of his sacrifice, his death, were unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You like to consider yourself much more emotionally healthy and with an emotional range far larger than that of a teaspoon and the Winchesters’, but that… that news was something that it had taken you months to recover from fully.

And even then, apparently your recovery wasn’t as complete as you’d thought, because hearing what the boys have told you now has made your eyes burn and your stomach turn into a nest of manic bees, your insides lined with flowers and pollen. You think, for a moment, that you just might be sick.

You’re sitting in the library, Gabriel having been taken to a room of his own by one Winchester while the other fills you in before they’re both reunited before you, and you’re in the kind of mood where you sort of want to just sit there and dissociate for a few hours, truthfully. You can tell you’re not going to get that opportunity though, so in the wake of the bombshell they’d just dropped on you about all you’d missed in the past few months—that they had apparently forgotten to tell you over the phone when you checked in occasionally— you do the next best thing you can think of for the moment.

Put it on the backburner, baby.

You massage your temple with your fingers as you lean your head into your hand, a sigh escaping through your nose. “See, this is why it feels like I have been brought on as a babysitter—I leave for a few months and you old men manage to dig up another almost-apocalypse and find and raise Lucifer’s kid?”

“Alright, first of all,” Dean whips out a finger to point at you, filling you with glee. You’ve barely been back a few hours and already you’re stepping back into your favourite “stir-the absolute-shit-out-of-Dean” pants. As always, he is almost pitifully quick to rise to the bait. “Old? Who are you calling old? Alright so maybe we have a few years on you but that’s just because you’re a toddler and w—”

“Dean,” Sam places a placating hand on his brother’s shoulder, a look that seems to be a mixture of amusement and exasperation crossing his features. “You’re making it too easy for her.”

The older Winchester pauses, turning to pin you with an accusing look. You smile, not even attempting to appear innocent. After staring at you for several long moments, Dean makes the ‘eyes-on-you’ gesture with his fingers before turning away, rolling the tension from his shoulders as he takes a seat across from you.

“You were gone for almost a year this time, did you have any luck, well, leaving?” Sam brings your attention back to him, the question dragging out a sigh that feels like it’s been dredged from the very depths of your being.

“No,” you answer, sounding somewhat petulant even to your own ears. “Why is it so hard to leave this god-forsaken country! I hate it here. I’m sick of trying to make a run for it and being zapped back into a swamp, or—or a pool at the top of a penthouse suite in the middle of some random city! It sucks balls.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean waves his hand, enjoying the dirty look you give him. “So you still haven’t found whatever purpose you’re meant to fulfil while here?”

You huff, shaking your head. “No. It’s been years and I still have no idea why I woke up here that day. Or why I can’t leave.”

Over the time you’ve spent with the Winchesters, a few things became apparent to the three of you about your stay here. One, it was indefinite. You’d discovered quickly that you are, quite literally, unable to leave. Every time you get close to escaping this country you black out and wake up back inside. Sometimes in a helpful place, sometimes…. Not.

Two, the three of you had thrown around and entertained the idea that maybe you’d been brought here for a reason, that like them maybe you’d been divinely allocated a role to play. But you’ve been through a lot with the Winchesters, whether in person or by association, and still…

You’re no closer to being able to leave and return from whence you came.

You have no idea why you’re here!

This is something that has really contributed to your temporary career as a hunter here. That isn’t to say that this profession isn’t something you were involved in before you came here, but you’ve really… you really dove into it, whether as a distraction or as an ongoing investigation as to what on earth was going to set you free of your tie to this place. A part of you thinks that each case you take on, each person or family you save and creature you slay might be the one reason that brought you here, and the one task that with its completion will grant you freedom. You’ve never been a fan of being caged; just because this one spans a grand total of 9.834 million square kilometres doesn’t make it any less of one.

This most recent expedition that led you to part from the Winchesters for such a long time was another of your failed attempts to leave. You think you’ve tried escaping at every possible point along the coastline and border by now, with a definite lack of success.

“Well, if it really is some divine intervention keeping you here, then it’s better if you just sit back and settle down, twinkletoes.” Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back in his chair with an accompanying creak from the wood. “Those divine types have proven to be… kind of assholes.”

You frown, but he isn’t saying anything you haven’t already thought. It’s part of why you’d settled so easily into hunting here, actually. ‘When in Rome…’, as they say. You’re familiar with the hunting grind and there is comfort in familiarity.

“Are you going to stay a while?” Sam asks, opening the first-aid box he’d first brought over when you’d settled down. Ah, right—you’d almost forgotten about the injury on your arm, despite the fact that you are still pressing a palm to it. You listen as he speaks, almost swearing you can detect a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “You still have a room here for you, of course. We haven’t touched anything inside.”

“Yeah, mostly because we didn’t wanna deal with the mess and the booby-trapped doors—” Dean’s under-the-breath mutter is cut off by your coo, a wide smile pulling your lips.

“Oh, you two missed me, didn’t you?” Instantly, you are successful in ruffling Dean’s feathers— Sam might take a bit more work, though. “I know I really light this dark, dingy place up but I didn’t know it was that bad without me! Ah, perhaps I will stay a while. You know, out of charity.”

“Sammy,” Dean says, beseeching. “It’s not too late—you hold her back and I’ll find her key. It’s not too cold, she’ll be alright outside.”

An appalled and affronted look slips onto your face and Sam has to clear his throat so that he doesn’t laugh and add to his brother’s torment.

“I’m not a misbehaving puppy,” you say, holding your arm out for Sam as he comes over and finally freeing your bloody hand. “Wait, unless you want me to be. Been broadening your horizons beyond animated tentacle porn have you, Deanie-bo-beenie?”

On cue, Dean’s face flushes light red, whether from anger or a brief spritz of embarrassment, only God knows. You can see Sam’s face grow tense from the effort of holding back noise in your peripheral as he tends to your arm.

“You know what? I’m better than this. I’m gonna let it go.” Dean rises from his chair, making a show of dusting off your metaphorical drama. His light eyes flick to you, squinting. “I’m tired; I have a date with my memory foam pillow and nice, warm, feather duvet and a good night’s rest, so goodnight. I hope your bed has bed bugs, twinkletoes, and I hope they bite.”

“I hope you sleep well too, Dean!” you call after him, deciding you’ll have to give him a break from the bullying tomorrow or else he’ll explode before you can have much fun. “Do you want me to come tuck you in?”

“No! Goodnight!”

His yell and disappearance down the hall is followed a few moments later by the familiar sound of a door slamming shut,

“That’s not very fair of you,” Sam announces, sounding strained and very much like he’s trying not to laugh lest Dean has an ear pressed to his door. “He’s too tired to fight back right now.”

“I know,” you answer, wincing as he wipes down the laceration on your bicep and cleans the blood away with an alcohol wipe. It burns, but it’s definitely not the most painful thing you have ever experienced. “I hadn’t seen you guys in so long, though. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sam simply snorts, reaching for the needle and thread to being stitching the skin back together, and you breathe harshly through your nose as you reach for another topic to distract yourself.

“Are the two—sorry, the three of you actually dads now? To… to Lucifer’s half-angel kid? I thought angels getting frisky with humans was, uh… illegal up in heaven.”

You feel rather than see Sam roll his eyes, your own pointedly directed away from your arm where he has begun to get to work. “It’s Lucifer, y/n, I don’t think he cares about what’s illegal up in heaven.”

You purse your lips—he makes a fair point. Honestly, you feel a little silly for questioning it. “Right, and he’s… trapped in some other dimension? An alternate world where the apocalypse really happened.”

“Yep,” Sam says, hitting a particularly painful spot with his needle. You hiss, giving him a glare.

“I wasn’t even gone a year! Just hearing all this shit is stressing me out so much, dude.” You sigh, attempting to adjust your position in the wooden chair without jostling your arm too much. Thankfully, practice has made Sam quick at his job and already he is almost done piecing you back together. He finishes up with a knot, snipping the thread and then placing a large bandage carefully over the wound. He dusts his hands once done, standing from where he was leaning against the table and proceeding to loom over you like a T-Rex.

“You’re blocking my light, bro,” you inform him, narrowly avoiding a subsequent good-natured smack to your good arm. “Damn, what the hell! Didn’t you take an oath or some shit? I’m your patient!”

“I was studying law, not medicine,” Sam retorts dryly. He turns to leave and put the first aid supplies away, his back facing you but not before you see how his lips twitch. “So your annoying ass is free game.”

“Maybe so,” you acquiesce, rising from your seat with a light grunt as you jostle your arm. You consider asking Sam where Castiel is, to see if you can get a hit of the good stuff and skip the healing process, but think better of it. You always feel a bit bad asking him to heal you, though you barely ever have to since he’s like a rabid mother hen the second he sees blood on any of you. “God, I’m beat. I didn’t think I could get any more tired than I was before, but as always catching up with you two has aged me a few years and now I’m just about as tired as you two are all the time.”

Sam doesn’t rise to the ‘old man’ bait you dangle in front of him—never really does, if you’re being honest; that’s mostly Dean’s vice— but he does offer you a smile that is unexpectedly sincere and fond.

“Go to bed, toddler,” he retorts, before continuing in a softer tone, “… It’s good to see you again, y/n. I’m glad you’re here. Dean and Mom are going out on a hunt in the next few days and I think you can really help with, uh… the whole Gabriel thing.”

For a moment, you don’t say anything. You’d sort of been trying to avoid thinking about the elephant in your mind, for the very same reason that makes your eyes burn once more. It hurts, a lot, thinking and imagining what he must have gone through at the hands of Asmodeus. It feels like your heart is going to tear itself to pieces in your chest from the sheer extent of your empathy and how terrible you feel for him. The Gabriel you saw cowering before you earlier is nothing like the confident feathery asshole you used to know.

Even having only seen him once, it’s enough to make you fearful of the possibility that… he might be too far gone to ever return to that last echo of his previous self.

“I’m not sure what I’ll even be able to do to help,” you respond, approaching the doorway to the hall with your bag in tow. You pause to finish what you’re saying, meeting Sam’s puppy-like gaze from across the room. “But I’ll try. It hurts to see him like that, so… I’ll stay a while, to do whatever I can.”

Sam’s answering thankful smile and nod is all you can ask for in response as you turn and head further into the bunker, dragging your bags back to the room you’d come to call your own over the years. Your gaze strays on the way to one of the doors that has a little note taped on saying, ‘please do not open suddenly or loudly’, undoubtedly the room that they have allocated to Gabriel for the time being. Heart heavy in your chest, you continue on down the hall and tear your gaze away.

You’re not sure how much you can do for him, but you hope you can do something.

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