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#it's been literal years
toxicwrench · 9 months
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hbd clown boy sorry for being almost a week late or whatever
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kurosmind · 1 year
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sudden urge to draw Dorian again
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lgbtkanda · 3 months
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hoshino sensei wants lavi to return this year so... how do we think he's doing?
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artemistheauthor · 1 year
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You know what? Screw it! I'm gonna rebrand! This is MY BLOG and it no longer brings me joy so I'm gonna change it.
Starting with a new pfp; everyone meet Isadora Masters, she's a retired Vigilante who just got out of prison and is about to cause as much chaos as brings me joy.
Anyway if my name changes 20 times this week that's why, still Artemis, just trying to move from the archer to the apple she shoots. We'll see where I land.
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the-cookie-of-doom · 5 months
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i hate myself :' )
just picked up my drawing tablet for the first time in over two years, to finally recharge it so I can start drawing again. Very thankful that the chargers for the tablet and pen were still in there. Only to find out. The pen charger. Is for a vibrator.
cries
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elialys · 1 year
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i am trying so hard not to give in & rewatch fringe omg
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Alex, upon being made team leader: I'd like to also give a shout-out to my fellow nominees, who will now and forever be known as the guys who lost to fucking Alex Hart.
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leagueofidiots · 1 year
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You know I do still write meta. If anyone. Wants to discuss Spinner
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rmjagonshi · 1 year
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To Carry On - Chapter 10
On AO3
Previous
-Hurricanes-
Nothing was ever going to be the same. This was the end. Krillin just wasn’t sure of what. Of them, the lives of his family and friends? Of faith? Whatever remained of his innocence? Of Junior? The world? What would give first?
It was hard to deny they were all interconnected. The audience wasn’t blind. They all saw the events of the semi-finals. Kami. God. Something some believed in, something others only thought of in passing. But seeing it. Seeing God. Some couldn’t take it. Some dropped to their knees in prayer. Others scoffed. Others still regarded Kami with trepidation, recognition, and fear. Murmuring to themselves about how he looked familiar. How scary he looked. Some even left the ringside, whispered prayers under their breaths, signing wards against demons in the air around them.
Tien took to standing guard and moving Kami to safety, shielding him from direct observation. But the damage was already done. Fear had crept like smoke into the hearts of the audience and now had a stranglehold on their minds.  
Ten minutes flew by faster than he could blink.
Some tournament official had preemptively called in security. Magic was nothing to be trifled with, even for the more modern and scientific minded. A ring of twenty guards stood between the arena and what remained of the frightened audience. Whispers, murmurs of a name floated through the crowd. Doubt, trepidation.
Mazakou.
Daemon.    
Even the battle-hardened fighters, retired masters, and past tournament winners could feel it. Something was wrong. The world was on edge.
The hairline cracks were already forming. Spidering out in all directions. A clawed hand tightening around the throat of the world.
And then, the announcer was calling the final two fighters to the arena. And once again, Goku, the boy who saved the world, stood alone against an enemy unlike any other.
They stood face to face as the crowed cheered. Louder now than they had ever been for the previous fights. Krillin could barely hear the announcer over the roar. But he could see Piccolo’s ears twitch and his brow furrow.
The opening blows graceful. Powerful. There was no doubt why these two had been the ones to make it to the final round. Goku’s feet barely touched the ring, gliding across the tiles. Light as a feather and landing punches as heavy as bowling balls. Chi blasts that could level the entire city thrown around like toys. Each feeling out the boundaries of their opponent.  
It was all just a warm up to the real deal. To when the gloves came off and the battle between good and evil began.
But something was wrong. While Goku was controlled, Piccolo was agitated. His movements jerky and stilted. His blows more reminiscent of a frightened animal. Sweat beaded on his brow. His breaths coming out in harsh pants. Eyes darting ever faster to all corners; barely straying to Goku’s form before flicking away again.
Piccolo crumpled as Goku took advantage of his weakness. Saliva and blood erupted from his throat as he gripped Goku’s arm and twisted it almost out of socket. Goku’s scream was cut short by a kick to the back of the head.
Goku rose and let loose a volley of chi, Piccolo responding in kind.    
What remained of the audience murmured to themselves, some screaming and ducking at energy volleys that swung too low above their heads to explode into the lands beyond the city.
Piccolo’s ears twitched. He swung wide and completely missed landing a hit on Goku, leaving himself wide open. Again.
Bodies huddled together, whistles ringing out over the agitated crowd as the guard tried to corral the panic. Static crackling and buzzing from the radios strapped to every guard’s chest. A tangle of garbled voices overlapping and getting louder.  
Piccolo ground his teeth as he dodged a charge from Goku; sending the man crashing to the tile floor.
Children crying. Some animals nearby barking and yelping. A siren blaring in a distant street. Loud
Some asshole crunching caramel corn with his mouth open. Louder
Piccolo spun in circles trying to pinpoint where his opponent disappeared to. Throwing wild punches at afterimages. By sheer luck, Piccolo felt his fist connect with Goku’s jaw.
An ear-piercing screeching feedback from the announcer trying to provide commentary.
Louder!
Piccolo slammed an energy ball into the speaker system. Molten metal shrapnel rained down on the heads of the tournament staff. The screaming on grew louder! He fired three more balls into the buildings around them before Goku was able to tackle him to the ground.
They traded blows, fumbling and rolling over and over until Piccolo got a foot underneath him and rose to slam Goku’s face back into the tile. Once. Twice. His ears rang. His head throbbed. He rose to his feet, hands bloodied.  
He stood before the crowed, looming above them. If they were to scream; he’d give them something to scream about! He tore away his cape, letting the turban unravel. White cloth sliding from his shoulders and fingers to the screams of the crowd. They recognized him. How could they not? It had barely been three years since the capitol had fallen to the demon king.
Despite Krillin’s hopes, Piccolo did nothing to mitigate the growing panic.
“I am King Piccolo, Mazakou and ruler of this world, reborn.”
“Monster!”
“Deamon!”
“Help! Vile Creature!”
“Mazakou!”
What followed was a colossal clamor to leave the island. Some few brave souls letting bullets fly to ping off Piccolo’s impenetrable skin. People piling aboard every conceivable vehicle to escape. Ferries and planes, some even swimming if they could. Harbor buoys repurposed as makeshift vessels. Barrels and wooden crates served as lifeboats for those too slow to be the first on the ferries. The sky was littered with scarves, hats and bits of cloth as the people ran. Toys dropped in the rush, teddy bears and dolls left lying on the pavement like the last standing soldiers to cover their comrade’s retreat.
When it was over, the world around them was silent. Blissfully, blessedly silent. Wind passing through the desolate island like a phantom. All was still. All was calm.
Finally. He could fight Goku unrestricted.
Only ten remained. Ten to stand in the way of Piccolo’s wrath. But even their combined effort would amount to nothing. In reality, only one had any chance to defeat the demon. They were forced to place their hopes on Goku, again. How many times could this one man save the world? How many times would it ask him to?
At least once more. At least one.
And it was explosive.
Their first clash filled with more ki than any fight before. Aura surrounding them strong enough that even those without the gifted sight could see it. Goku’s blinding red, Piccolo’s chilling blue. The combination was a violet blast that nearly took down the stadium.
Krillin hated every second. He wanted to run, to close his eyes and cover his ears and hide in the smallest place he could find. But he couldn’t look away. Not yet.
Their fight was brutal. Everything about it was nothing short of devastating. Two opposing superpowers meeting at last. Every blow was painful to watch. Every sickening crunch of bone ringing in his ears. And Every splash of blood cloying in the back of his throat. He could taste it. The sweat. The blood. He screamed when Piccolo ripped off his own arm and left the broken one lie in the ring like a discarded shirt, twitching and spurting blood as veins tried to circulate the vital fluid.  
Krillin wasn’t sure if he should feel relief or revulsion when he saw a new arm regrow in its place.  
When Piccolo tried to wipe the island out, Ten-shinhan drove his energy into the ground to create a pitiful shelter. Everyone clamored inside, squashed together in hopes that the blast would wash over their heads and leave them unharmed. Launch pushing Bulma and Chi-Chi to the corner and guarding them with her trusty machine gun. Not that it would do much against Piccolo if he designed to turn his gaze on them.
Krillin refused. At first, remaining behind to make sure everyone got in safely. Then...he didn’t know. He refused out of principle. He’d caused this. Everything that happened. Would happen. All the atrocities, all the deaths.
All because he saved one scared little boy.  
A scared little boy that grew into a deamon staring down his nose at Goku, ready to level the island to kill him.
Krillin didn’t deserve to hide. Not after this.
He stood, braced in front of the pit his friend huddled in. He ignored their commands for him to take shelter. A green hand snapped from the pit to grab his ankle and tried to drag him in. It recoiled at his kick, and Krillin refused to meet Kami’s eyes when he turned away. Another stone in the scales of judgment.
The ball of energy he formed was barely anything compared to the two superpowers fighting. But it didn’t need to be. All it had to do was shield his friends. All he had to do was absorb the impact.  
For a brief moment, he thought he saw blue eyes flicker in his direction. A moment, a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a change in the deamon’s face. A frown. Confusion. Fear. Maybe. But no. He was imagining things. He was nothing. And Piccolo was nothing to him. Right?
The explosion was colossal. Krillin could do nothing but brace with his energy shield. And endure. He remembered nothing but force and wind. And the feeling of swallowing his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Or hear. Or anything. He was numb. He only knew his skin had been sheared away by sand when he felt the grains grind in his teeth.
But he was standing. Somehow. When he risked opening his eyes, he saw the devastation. The stadium was gone. Save for a few cement foundation pillars. All that remained of the arena was a vague outline in the dirt. The buildings around them, the hotels and shops and apartments were toppled. Twisted metal and splintered wood blasted back. Skyscrapers flattened. But he was still standing.
He was still standing because Goku had stood in the way and absorbed most of the blast. Two gullies dug into the dirt on either side of Goku. A perfect silhouette that wrapped around him.
Goku panted, form sagging. His hands and forearms a mess of blood.  
Even in his attempt to save his friends, his friends had to save him.
His gut clenched when Goku dropped to his knees.  
The Krillin knew he was a fuck up. He’d been told nearly every day of his faults as far back as he could remember. Every day, his brothers at the Orin Temple would call him weak, slow. Short, ugly. Dumb. He made mistakes, always. Always. But this was the worst. By far the worst thing he’d ever done.
Goku was going to die.
And it was all his fault.
He was granted a second chance at life. A second chance to make things better, to try again and learn. To be better. And what had he done? What had he done with the gift of life that Goku had fought so hard to grant him? What had he done to return the love and loyalty his best friend had given him?
Krillin had killed him.
He’d even been given a second chance to make things right. A second chance to save everyone. And all he had to do was nothing. All he had to do was sit there and do nothing. But no. Stupidity this bad took effort.
It hurt to watch them fight. To watch blood spill from both green and ivory skin. Every blow exchanged between them felt like a blow to himself. His chest ached. Squeezed tighter and tighter.
What would he do? If Goku died? Would he fight? Anyone else, anything else, and there wouldn’t be a moment’s hesitation. But this wasn’t just any fight with some random bad guy. Could he fight Piccolo? In reality, no, he couldn’t, because there was no way in Hell he could stand any chance, but....would he try?
He prays to whomever has the power to grant his wish that it doesn’t come to that.
He had the sickening feeling his prayers would go unanswered.
Before long, Goku was down. Both legs broken. One arm useless and mangled at his side. Holes seared into his skin, filling the air with the sickening taste of burning flesh. His master whispering to Kami and Tien, asking them to prepare themselves to jump in once Goku fell. Yamcha giving one last look to Bulma, knowing they were all about to meet the same fate. This was the end.
One last blow. One last moment. One last chance. Life rarely gave three.
Krillin was tripping over the gouge in the earth marking where the ring used to be before he could even second guess how utterly stupid it was to try and stop this. The world was painted in streaks of color and mud through the tears.
“STOP!” His voice quivered. Fitting that he landed on his knees. He’s begging. Pleading. Mercy. If his foolish bleeding heart and kindness were good for anything, let it be this.
Goku’s voice pitched with pain, rang out in the silence. “Krillin, stay back!”
But Krillin ignored him. Pushing himself up to his knees, eyes blurry with flashes of color. He couldn’t even look at Goku. Too ashamed at what he’d done. He’d caused this. And he was the only one who could stop it. “You won! You won, just stop! Please stop. Let him go.”
Piccolo had won. No one could stop him. But If Goku lived. If they all could just live, then he would deal with the fall out.
And if all Piccolo wanted was death, then…
Krillin would take Goku’s place.
Piccolo snarled, eyes trained on the prone figure before him, not even bothering to look up at the pleading man. “I care not for the world. Let it rot as it always has. This has been about Goku. This has only ever been about Goku.”
“I said get BACK!” Krillin flinched. He’d never heard Goku use that tone before. Not on him. Krillin reluctantly met Goku’s gaze. Hard, weathered and in pain, but solid. Stone. “This is my fight!”
Except it wasn’t. It had never been Goku’s responsibility. It was Kami’s, but when Krillin sought to protect a demon child, he took the burden upon himself.
This was no one’s fight but his.  
Krillin’s head hung low, tears dripping to the ground. “Please...don’t do this.” He didn’t know who he was asking anymore. For Goku to stand down, for Piccolo? It didn’t matter. He just wanted the fighting to stop.
A harsh sigh and a wave of one emerald hand, “Flee, then. Save the others. Keep your petty kingdoms as they are. I don’t care.”  
Krillin jerked his head up. A glimmer of hope. He felt a chill run down his spine under Piccolo’s gaze. He stared as Piccolo’s shoulders slumped. The demon was barely standing. The battle strained both of them to their limits. Piccolo clenched his jaw. “Just let me kill him.”
“NO! Please don’t.”
“One man is worth the world to you?”
Trade the world for one life? If it was his own, he wouldn’t hesitate. But this wasn’t his own. This was his best friend. His first ever friend. The one who risked their life to bring him back. The one who stood by him time and time again. The one who would forgive him no matter how bad he’d screwed up.  
He couldn’t trade the world. It wasn’t his right. But he could trade something else.
“I’ll give you anything you want.”
His life was the only thing he could give.
“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” Kami’s voice echoed across the field. The same tone he’d used before. “He cannot be reasoned with!”
Next his master, calling out to him, reprimanding him. Again. “Do you think he’ll listen to you? Do you think he’ll let a threat like Goku leave? He’s not going to make the same mistake again!”
Krillin was unswayed. He prayed. To Kami, to the Spirit of the Earth, to the Universe itself. He prayed.  
“Anything…”
Piccolo stood. Silent. Everyone stood silent as they waited. Tien and Yamcha still prepared to fight, Launch, with her shotgun loaded, protecting Bulma and Chi-Chi. The announcer was still hiding in the pit and peeking out over the edge to see the fight, Puar and Oolong huddled behind him.
More silence. More stillness.
Krillin felt the deamon’s eyes roll over him. Felt the gaze pierce his heart, flay his skin. It prickled. He swallowed. Twice. A nagging tug at the back of his head twisted into a knot. He could hear it. Again. Junior’s voice in his head.
 Would he?                          Would it matter?                             My pet.
He chose Goku.                                                              He gave you a name!      
                                      He’s begging.                                                                      Goku isn’t worth it.
                            MINE!
Where would we go?                      Would Goku come after us?
  Phrases and images overlapping and echoing, twisting. But one stood out Louder than the rest.
‘Would he come freely?’
“Surti su saturr chie serc’la kypha riaphix mekee-dah lafkah akkai obnefaial[1] ?” Krillin’s ears rang with the overlapping sounds. Their meaning unraveling a moment later, like being fed through a filter. But he understood. This was a question to him and him alone. A question he didn’t have an answer to.
Would he? He might have, a few hours ago. Might’ve even meant it then. Would have meant it. Now?
“I…..I…..”
He didn’t know.
His uncertainty was more than enough of an answer.
“To think I saw you worthy.” Piccolo spat, “No better than the sniveling worms around you. Empty words only there to protect your facade of pride.” Piccolo’s eyes turned cold. Gaze fixed on Goku. Bloodthirsty. Fueled by the fires of revenge and betrayal. “You think me a monster? Then you’ll get one.”
Goku’s screams filled the air as Piccolo took to using his body as a toy. Krillin was numb. Even as Tien and Yamcha ran past, only to be blown back by a wall of ki volley. Even as they tried to pull him back to the safety of the meager pile of bricks that remained of the barrier wall of the arena. He watched as Goku coughed up blood. Listened to his bones snap. Knowing there was not a damn thing he could do. Knowing that if he tried, he would die. And then Goku would die anyway.
The world for one man.
And he couldn’t do it.
The world for one man and he said ‘No’.
His last, colossal fuck-up.
Piccolo raised his hands, ready to make his final strike and finally kill the man that took away his birthright. The man that was his birthright. Yellow glinting eyes paused on the group of quivering humans and the insufferable, meddling God. Making sure they all saw the moment their savior died.      
But Goku vanished. Gone. One second a helpless child quaking on the ground. The next, gone. Piccolo’s eyes darted around the remains of the arena, ears straining to pick up any sound at all. Wind, and the harsh breathing of the humans, but nothing else. His own heart beat.    
The next moment, ground became sky as Goku seemed to appear from the ether to crash into him, a ball of roiling chi, blood and flesh, knocking him from the outline of the ring. He was unconscious before his body buried itself in the dirt a mere two feet from the outline of the ring.
The deamon king was down. Beaten.
Goku had won.
The battlefield was still. No one moved. Too stunned to really believe it. Too wary to celebrate before they knew for sure the daemon king wasn’t getting up.
When the announcer called the fight, proclaiming Goku the winner of the twenty-third martial arts tournament, everyone clambered to reach Goku’s side. Checking his injuries and collectively combing through their pockets for senzu beans. Everyone but Krillin. He hung back, pausing after only taking a couple of steps. He was relieved it was over. Of course, he was. Goku won. Goku was alive. And Piccolo was beaten. The world was safe. The...enemy...defeated.
It hurt. It shouldn't hurt this much. It shouldn't be this hard to see the fallout of the inevitable. Piccolo wanted to take control of the world. He was evil. They made a career out of ending evil tyrants and their conquests. But this was different. It shouldn’t be any different from destroying the Red Ribbon army or kicking Pilaf’s keester. It should be the same. It was the best possible outcome.
So why did it feel like someone had reached into Krillin’s chest and pulled at something vital? Why did seeing his best friend come out on top fill him with doubt?
Even as he walked closer, even as he could see the prone form of his best friend in the gaps between the crowd that formed around him, Krillin couldn’t help but let his eyes dart over to the gouge in the earth where Jun...Piccolo lay. The spawn of the demon king, or the demon king himself, reincarnated, depending on who was talking. It really didn’t matter in the end. He was defeated. Though not quite dead. Kami still stood among them. Weak, and visibly trembling, but still alive. If what Kami and Goku were saying was true, then that meant Piccolo was still alive.
Right?    
When he finally reached Goku’s side, he felt numb. Disconnected. Like walking through a dream. He grinned at Goku as Yamcha helped the injured man sit up. Grinned, but with empty eyes. Grinned with an empty heart.
He caused this.
It was his fault.
Someone passed Goku a senzu bean and he chewed it slowly, mumbling around the green pasty taste, “Hey, Krillin, ow. Go check for me, okay?”
Krillin blinked. “Check?”
Goku jerked his head in the vague direction behind him. Piccolo. The only real thing of note. Krillin blinked again. Avoiding meeting Goku’s eyes. “Yeah. I….yeah.”
Krillin sidestepped around his master, keeping his head low and trying to shake off the feeling of his master’s eyes boring into him.
He would be interrogated later. Lectured. Told off. He didn’t need to be told how much he’d screwed up. He knew. And now he was going to see just how much he screwed up to make sure it sank in.
Like a death march, Krillin walked the short span of exposed soil. His legs felt like lead. His breath grew short every inch he got closer. Squeezing his lungs until he was practically gasping for air.
He feet stopped just a few inches from the body. His mind betrayed him. Even now, knowing that this person was Piccolo, it was hard to see him like that. Emerald face lax. Asleep. How many times had he woken in the middle of the night to see that face beside him? How many times had he seen it smile. Heard his laugh?  
Krillin dropped to his knees, and leaned over, brushing the dirt and debris from his face, feeling for a heartbeat. For breath.
Alive. Weak, but alive. And completely at their mercy.
Krillin passed his hands over the demon’s throat, checking to make sure it wasn’t broken. Had he been conscious, Junior would have batted his hands away. He was never too keen on anyone touching his neck. Too sensitive. It felt wrong to be doing it while Junior was helpless to stop him. While running his fingers down the back of his neck, checking the spinal column for any fractures, Krillin felt Junior twitch, shudder. A weak and pitiful sound curled in the back of Junior’s throat.
Krillin yanked his hands away. Everything seemed intact. He didn’t need to check anymore.
Leaning back to take in everything, Junior really did look mere inches from death. Scrapes and lacerations seeping blood. New skin from his regenerated arm a brighter green around the bicep where he’d torn it off. Krillin couldn’t help running his fingers over the new growth.
He hadn’t known Junior could do that. It had never come up before, but then, neither one of them had ever broken a bone before. It should horrify him. Everyone else had been. But the only thing he could think of was how much it must have hurt.
He pressed his hand to the center of Junior’s chest to feel for his dual heartbeat. A low continuous thrum under a slow beat. Weak. With a stutter. Some internal bleeding maybe? Junior’s breathing was growing shallow. He was entering the critical stage.
Krillin felt his body grow cold.
He knew very little of first aid and nothing for internal injuries. He could try chest compressions, but there was no knowing if that would only make the internal bleeding, if there was any, worse. And which beat did he work on? Right or center left? Which thrum was a heart? Or where they both? He had to try something. Soon.
Krillin ripped the remaining cloth away from Junior’s chest, trying to remember where he was supposed to place his hands for chest compressions, when his fingers tangled in something stronger than broken fibers.
A charred and clumsy wooden carving made nearly a year and a half ago. Leather cord snapped, and tangled in the frayed threads of a violet gi, but it was there. The little wooden carving of a dragon ball.
Junior kept it. Even through the fight.
Krillin untangled the chord, pulling it free. He ran his fingers across the carving, remembering the night he’d made it. It had started as something to keep his hands busy at night. But when he bought things for Junior, the kid had seemed so confused, so astonished that Krillin had made it a game to give the kid something new every time he could. He winced as the unrefined wood left a splinter.
Krillin shook his head. No. This wasn’t Junior. This was Piccolo. The demon King reborn to take control of the world and raise a demon army. This was the mons-no, this was the person who had just tried to kill his best friend. This was the being that had caused so much pain and suffering in the world.
He could do it. Right now. He could end this. Piccolo was weak enough that even Krillin could kill him. It wouldn’t take much. A little pressure in the right spot, and he would die. Kami would die and the dragon balls would disappear, but it would end.
He could do it.
He could.
Krillin raised his hands above Piccolo’s exposed throat...
_
_
_
_
...and lifted the back of Junior’s head to re-tie the leather chord.
No. He couldn't. He could never do something like that. He doesn’t know why he even entertained the thought.
Maybe he was hoping for redemption.
Or maybe he was afraid.
But Junior’s breath was labored, and his pulse erratic. If Krillin did nothing, it was all going to end the same anyway.
If he had done nothing in the first place, then none of this would have happened.
A shadow loomed over him and Krillin glanced up to see the stern and foreboding gaze of the guardian of Earth.
Guardian of Earth. For all intents and purposes, God. Not arbiter of all life on Earth, but parent. Protector. Able to hand out praise and gifts for good behavior, and demand retribution for acts against their fellow beings.
The one the world prayed to for guidance, and blessings. The one they begged for divine forgiveness from.
The one Krillin had often prayed to in his youth.
It was surreal. Here was God, and Krillin felt that overt pressure of looking upon a divine being. And yet, there was a disconnect. God, Kami was the same as the ‘demon’ laying in the dirt between them. Held a connection strong enough that if one died, so did the other. The child he’d found in the forest, so scared, cast off by the world, was of the same divine origin as Kami. And yet…
It didn’t feel the same.
Junior didn’t feel divine. He felt hu-
Mortal.
“Move.”
Krillin shuddered at the command. He felt compelled to follow orders. Some switch in the back of his mind from years of drills and meditations flicking on. But his legs wouldn’t cooperate.
“Move, boy, so I can end this properly.”
“You can’t…” he murmured, lips numb and uncooperative.
Yellow eyes narrowed at him. “Why can’t I?”
Krillin swallowed. “He, he said you would suffer eternal damnat-.” his words faltered, voice dropping and trailing off into silence. Kami looked at him as if he was a surprisingly interesting insect. Mildly intriguing, but still worth crushing under his boot
“You’ve learned well.” The foreign words slowly filtered through his mind. “And what is it to you what happens to me?” The guardian’s eye flicked over Junior’s limp body. “Or him?”
Kami’s eyes narrowed. The boy was suggestable, malleable. Desperate for attention and validation. The perfect vessel for Piccolo’s evil to influence and corrupt, twist into the ideal servant. There was a chance, even now, that Piccolo could lure the boy to him. Whisper promises of safety, fame, devotion to cloud the boy’s mind. False love to bind the boy to him.  
Kami had watched them for months. Judging their interactions, predicting outcomes. He had held hope that some of Piccolo’s evil had ebbed with his reincarnation. Had Piccolo not come to the tournament, Kami was ready to believe that the boy had done some good to dissipate the evil in the demon. But no. Piccolo was set on his goal. And Kami would do everything he could to stop it. He would suffer eternally, but he would endure. He would spare the world from this. Even this meddlesome boy who already struggled against Piccolo’s influence.
Krillin wet his lips, urging them to just cooperate. Just say the right thing to fix it. “What about the Earth? It needs a guardian.”
Kami scoffed. “It will go on as it has. My job is to protect the balance of morality of the planet. If that means killing myself to prevent his evil. Then so be it.”
“No…”
Kami baulked. The audacity of this welp. He could forgive the boy's actions before understanding the calamity of the situation. But to continue to defend the demon when the boy was aware of his identity? Just how much had Piccolo corrupted the boy? Was it already too late? He could sense darkness in the boy’s heart. But how much of it was inherent to his humanity, and how much was born of Piccolo’s evil influence.
“Excuse me?”
“No. I won’t let you.”
Even for a God, his patience was nearing its end. He would not suffer Piccolo’s existence a moment longer. All the evil in his heart. All the terrible atrocities he’d committed. All of Piccolo’s actions were a product of Kami trying to ease his own evil thoughts. He felt a guilt unlike any other. This would end today.
“MOVE, BOY!”
“NO!”
“Move, or I will go through you.”
If he was to be damned for all eternity, then the death of a single innocent would add nothing to his punishment, and subtract nothing from the world. Not if the boy was already one of Piccolo’s servants.  
Krillin threw himself over Junior’s prone form. Curling himself around Junior’s head and torso. His mind was screaming at him to just move. To do as God had told him. Just follow instructions. Fix it! But something pulled him to stay. Something deep in him told him this was wrong. He cradled Junior’s head, eyes clenched tight against the inevitable.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Goku. Ever the savior they needed. Always stepping in at the most convenient moment. He stood over them, facing off against the Guardian of Earth.   
“Kami, stop this.”
“Piccolo is my responsibility, my mistake. One I plan to rectify.” He sighed. “It is my job to protect the people of Earth. Please, let me do my job.”
“But if you kill him, then you die, and you wouldn’t be able to do your job anymore. You won't be able to fix any other problems that happen after.” Goku gave Kami a soft smile. “Besides. If you kill him, your no better than he is.”
Kami's shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes. Goku was correct. Of course he was. And Kami knew that. To finish this, to kill Piccolo, and thus ultimately killing himself, he would be abandoning his post. His divine oath to protect the people if Earth and keep the balance of morality. 
It still did not alleviate his guilt at causing Piccolo's evil. Through his own selfish desires to purge his own evil and take guardianship of the planet he'd grown to love, he'd caused the very imbalance he sought to maintain. He was unfit to keep his post. Had been from the start. But he sought it all the same. Out of love and devotion to the planet he called home.  
Kami looked at the diminutive man, hardly more than a child, cradling his other half in his lap. There was no doubt that Piccolo was dying. Kami could feel his own breath grow labored along with his counterpart. 
He was an unfit guardian. He would stand aside and allow the beings of this world to choose their own path. Allow Piccolo to live, or let him die. 
Goku nodded as Kami took a step back. He dug through the folds of his belt and palmed something before kneeling to hand it to the monk. “Hey, Krillin, here.”
A senzu bean. Krillin had two in his pocket. Why didn’t he think about it? Kami, he was an idiot. 
Krillin pinched the bean between his fingers and brought it to Junior's parted lips. He watched Junior reflexively swallow, wincing as the bean passed through his dry throat.
A moment passed before Junior opened his eyes, blinking up at the sky and letting his eyes focus. He could see splashes of orange and white in his periphery. He blinked again when someone leaned over him. Warm fingers passed over his face, pausing briefly at his neck to feel for his pulse. He weakly pushed their hand away. 
“Hey…" His cherub’s voice broke through the echo of his heart in his head. 
Piccolo watched his cherub through the haze, letting the monk murmur to himself as he checked for lingering injuries. His head felt like it had split open, but he was no longer close to death. Mind floating and piecing together fragments of memories as they came to the forefront of his mind. He weakly reached to run a knuckle along his cherub’s face.
He blinked away the dust collecting in his eyes in time to see another face materialize above him. 
Black hair, wide eyes and a face that haunted his dreams. 
His mortal enemy. 
Was grinning down at him.  
With a jolt, Piccolo leapt away from the touch and slid into a defensive position. His eyes darted between Goku and Kami, mind filing through potential escape points if they both rushed him at once. Though Kami looked furious and ready to throttle him, Goku was lax, open and completely nonchalant. He still wore that insufferable grin. 
“Whew, I was kinda worried you were gonna up and die on us. That was some fight!”
Piccolo chose to ignore Kami in favor of giving his full attention to his prime target. “You say that as if the fight’s over.”
Goku just grinned wider. “Well, yeah. I mean, I knocked you out of the ring. I won! But it was close.”
Piccolo snarled. “Won? You won nothing. Who cares about the tournament?” Piccolo was here for revenge. The tournament was convenient, but unnecessary. He was done playing by the illogical human rules.   
“I do! I care!” Goku had the nerve to look offended, as though the petty tournament was something sacred to him. “Though I guess there isn’t gonna be any official thing since everyone ran away and all the buildings are gone.” He spun in a slow circle to inspect the buildings and rubble around them.  
Piccolo seethed. How dare he? How dare he act like this was all some petty entertainment. Like this wasn’t life or death. As though Piccolo wasn’t the threat he was. 
As if he was nothing. 
Piccolo bristled. His energy flaring and muscles tensing. He would beat the man bloody all over again if he had to. No rules. No barriers. He’d win this time. His fists clenched, knuckles jutting like jagged mountains from the flesh of his hands.
He would break the man! He would break him until Piccolo saw the spirit die from his eyes and then he would finally kill him!
Small hands wrapped themselves around his arm, gently pulling. Piccolo risked glancing down at his cherub. “It’s okay. Goku gave you a senzu bean.”
Piccolo felt a jolt run through him. Confusion and trepidation closed around his heart. Goku just grinned, flashing the demon king a wide toothy smile and a thumbs up. 
“I’m your enemy.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have’ta kill ya. You haven’t killed anyone.”
“I’ve killed hundreds.” Piccolo felt the hands around his arm tighten.
“That was the old Piccolo.” Goku laughed.
“I AM that Piccolo!”
“No you’re not. You feel different.” Goku’s eyes lingered a moment on Krillin’s hands. Piccolo growled, jerking his arm free and stepping back. He felt nothing when Krillin stumbled with the force of it.
Piccolo turned. Facing Goku fully and leveled a finger at the man. “You have no idea what you speak of. You will regret giving me mercy. I will only grow stronger. It is only a matter of time before you meet your end.”
He was in the air in seconds. A tiny spec in the sky after only a moment. Then gone.
There was a clamor from behind them. A tangle of voices all overlapping.
“Goku! Are you crazy?! He’s just gonna come back!
“I could have tried the Mafuba again. Kami would have survived.” 
“Why didn’t you just kill him? Or at least let Kami finish it!”
But Goku just gave them all a soft, knowing smile. “He’ll be fine. I think he’s just grumpy because he lost.” He turned to Krillin “Right?”
Krillin felt his face flush and he nervously began scratching the back of his neck. “Uh….I...yeah, actually. That isn’t out of the norm. He’s not…uh, good about losing face.”
Goku placed his hand behind his head, rocking back on his heels. “Ya’know. I was kinda scared it was the same Piccolo. But after fighting him, I’m sure he’s different now. He’s not as mean as before.”
Krillin avoided the questioning stares and focused on the fascinating patterns in the dirt. “Hah, I wouldn’t know.”  
“To that,” Muten Roshi cleared his throat and stepped forwards, can in hand and holding it ridged. Like a weapon. “Krillin, we need to have a talk about what exactly you think you were doing! What has gotten into you boy!? What did you think would happen? Where is your honor as a martial artist? What did he promise you that you wou-.”
But Goku interrupted. “Ah, don’t be like that, Old-timer. Krillin was just protecting his friend.”  
Krillin mumbled. “It doesn’t feel as good as it should.”
And it never did. Years passed and that moment never felt like a victory. Just a horrid bitter memory of watching the near death of two people he cared about.
A bitter memory of watching Goku fly away with his new bride. Of watching Tien make his way to the hospital to pick up Choutzu, and Launch chase after him. Of watching Bulma fly away in her plane with Yamcha and Puar and Oolong. Even the announcer fled the scene, seeking refuge in a corner store three blocks away that still had people huddled in it.
Leaving him behind.  
Leaving him behind with his master who was disappointed in him. And a God who felt him unworthy.
Krillin remained on the desolate island alone for two days before news of the end of the tournament lured the army and disaster relief teams in.
He endured hours of lectures before his mater would let him inside the lonely house far away and isolated from all of civilization.
He felt more alone than ever before.
-End-
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charminalocket · 2 years
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So...
I'm only ike halfway through season 1, but... Jujutsu Kaisen is fun :)
Opening: Hype (although not as HYPE™ as Kyōran Hey Kids!!) Ending: Funky Dance Off
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Although in some weird way it reminded me of Bleach, and once again I started to randomly say BANKAI! to myself (damn, those were the days.. i'm so old, good God...)
Anyway, I need more absurd and ridiculously overpowered fights in my life now :D
Wow.
I missed anime.
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chernozemm · 4 months
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Don't go calling after ghosts.
I am here - flesh, blood, bone
and devotion.
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inkskinned · 8 months
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you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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roppiepop · 2 months
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Who’s coming to the cookout?
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figgyblossom · 1 year
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starlit-mansion · 4 months
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there's something so poetic about coyote vs acme being the thing that causes wb's 'the producers' ass scheme of shitcanning movies for tax breaks to blow up in their face and cause them to turn to the camera, blink twice, and dissolve into a little pile of ash that their eyes fall down into with a little bounce
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mintaikcorpse · 3 months
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I love this photo because this was Aziraphale's reaction after the priest lady interrupted Crowley pinning him to a wall. And he seems bothered by it
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