this time to slid back that hair and start using a katana same as yamato and more power
better make a style same as darkslayer
Devil Trigger (Devil May Cry/Worm AU)
- Thread starter SkyRig
- Start date
- Crossover
this time to slid back that hair and start using a katana same as yamato and more power
better make a style same as darkslayer
Tisaku
Head Chief Thinkomancer
-It is rather important that an induced coma ends when you stop the drugs. If it doesn't then it isn't an induced coma.-
-as a public school the suit would be against the district, not the school itself.-
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Let's list all the possible people who this could be:
Vergil
Urizen
Mundus
Sparda
Dante (not likely)
Plus anyone from the novels/anime/DMC 2 because I refuse to play the trash fire that is DMC 2
- Location
- Washington, USA
AFAIK, the only person from DMC 2 with the power to do this (that wasn't already mentioned in your list) required a long winded ritual to enact the plan of power to do this.
TheStranger
Of course you realize, this means war.
- Location
- Take a Guess!
- Pronouns
- Who
Well, in that case, we can write off Sparda and Dante simply based off the wording of that whole glitch text, especially since the tone was pretty damn sinister. That leaves Vergil and Urizen, who I think are the most likely since Taylor happened to get powers similar to what Vergil himself has. That being said, I'm leaning more towards Vergil, since Urizen really doesn't have a good opinion of humans and would rather die than give power to a "weak human."
- Location
- Washington
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Yeah, no. The Reboot is non Canon, thank God, and Skye said this is a crossover with Devil May Cry, not Devil May Bitch.
Guardsman_Sparky
The Clueless Wonder
- Location
- Virginia
What exactly happened there with the reboot? I'm afraid I never had the opportunity to join the DMC fandom beyond a few dabblings before now.
- Location
- Washington
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Oh you sweet summer child.
The Developers of the Reboot made some Serious mistakes when making it and that's all that I'm gonna say.
- Location
- Louisville, KY
It was an utter piece of shit, and was summarily taken out behind the shed and shot.
- Location
- Sea of Quanta
In general, they rebooted the series with completely remaking all the characters. Gameplay wise the game was good (Definitive edition), but everything else, from plot and horrible characters to insulting fans of the original DMC games earned it a bit of a... negative reputation.
Huh someone really did tamper with Queenie, alongside the fact that this particular someone has a Vergil level of angst going on.
Also @SkyRig this is merely a suggestion of mine but...
Also @SkyRig this is merely a suggestion of mine but...
Or something more... of a scientifical thingy manner.
TheStranger
Of course you realize, this means war.
- Location
- Take a Guess!
- Pronouns
- Who
Let's just say there's a bit of a controversy about DmC. It's a good game gameplay wise, but story wise... Oooooh boy, where do I even start?
Well, I'll just say it's an Alternate Universe and not the reboot one of the devs said it was going to be.
Speaking of, didn't one of the devs throw a bitch fit about all the negative reception DmC got?
- Location
- Washington
- Pronouns
- He/Him
If he didn't see why insulting us is bad, then he should take some PR classes. Comparing the Sparda bloodlines glorious hair to a Mop tends to piss people off. And that's just one of the controversies made by the idiots.
SkyRig
Wake the f#ck up, samurai.
- Location
- Someplace in California
- Pronouns
- He
Plenty of people have already said their piece about DmC, so I won't say anything more.
Honestly, my biggest pet peeve with the game barring it just being a try-hard for a gritty take and Dante dramatized angsty emo teen syndrome (I mean, really?! Tearing open your chest just to see if you actually a heart?! Come on! How emo can you get!) is the wasted opportunity that was Vergil's character. They had plenty of opportunities to explore how and why he wanted to become the next ruler, and they wasted it. Same with the Vergil's Downfall DLC. They wasted a VERY good opportunity there to actually give Vergil a legit reason instead of it coming straight out of nowhere and went all for making him some edgy bastard.
I'm half-tempted to actually write a DmC fanfic with my own version of events post-DmC, starting with Vergil's Downfall, but at the same time, I'm a little hesitant to do so because of all the flak that series has.
...still, at the very least, Itsuno seems to have some care for it since it's thought of as an alternate universe to the main series, and DMC!Dante has a palette swap of DmC!Dante in Devil May Cry 4: Special Edition and in DMC5 as an EX Color.
Speaking of DMC5, can't wait to replay the game as Vergil when his DLC drops. Not gonna lie, I'm a little salty that Legendary Dark Knight Mode and Turbo Mode also isn't included and is exclusive in the Special Edition for Playstation 5.
Which I don't have yet, namely because I'm waiting until the fucking storage problem is dealt with. I mean, really?! Only 600?! And I can't move any PS5 games over to my external hard drive?! ...well, not that it matters. Fucking scalpers. By the time the PS5 is available for purchase, Sony might already have already fixed what issues I've been hearing about online plus the storage.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying the speculation you guys are coming up with. I can confirm, however, that Urizen was definitely not the one fucking around with QA for reasons that @TheStranger already stated. Urizen would see absolutely no reason with gifting a "pitiful, powerless, weak human" with more power than she would deserve, even if doing so fitted with some agenda he had in mind.
Anyway, no more updates for Devil Trigger for the rest of the month. Taking a small break for now, but I won't be gone long. Maybe 3 or 4 days? Depends on my mood.
I haven't been on SV for long, but I'm already enjoying my time here because no one is pushing me to update soon. Back on FF, it felt like I was rushing to update my fanfics to appease my fanbase over there.
You guys fucking rock.
👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍👍
TheStranger
Of course you realize, this means war.
- Location
- Take a Guess!
- Pronouns
- Who
Lies and slander!
I kid, I kid.
But seriously, the platforming is one of the best parts of DMC, even if it can be a little ridiculous at times.
TMTM™
Your New Waifu
- Location
- In Your Mind-Fuzz
If you have DMC5 on PC you can substitute both of those with mods. Turbo mode has been available for ages as part of various cheat tables and the like along with 120fps modes and the like. The best version of this is on the SSSiyan Collab Cheat Table, which also includes things like easy mid mission weapon and inventory swapping, custom difficulty options (and a Must Style mod toggle), some moveset related toggles (disable wiresnatch, allow Cavalier R in BP, etc.), and most notably a custom and remixed moveset for Dante inspired by Guilty Gear that you can enable or disable in parts if you feel like using it or individual new mechanics.
Legendary Dark Knight mode meanwhile has a replacement in the Legendary Dark Knights mod which two modders made entirely out of spite. Its got custom made encounters for all missions that aren't just straight up bossfights, and you can actually customize the enemy difficulty and change the hard and soft caps on the amount of enemies spawned. Its probably better than the official LDK just for that alone.
Basically, Capcom makes good games but they can get fucked.
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Did have one idea I hope happens in the future. That after learning that Victoria managed to handle Taylor's Devil Arm with only some frostbite, Rodin offers her some of his speciality wares. In particular, a pair of vambraces thanks to an Golden Angel LP he had been saving for a special occasion. Cue Victoria's shock when Rodin "pops downstairs for a bit" and comes back bloody, clutching a still smoking Devil Arm custom fit for Anatares.
Style 2.4
SkyRig
Wake the f#ck up, samurai.
- Location
- Someplace in California
- Pronouns
- He
Feb. 2, 2011
Hebert Household
I woke up to the familiar sight of my ceiling and poster of Alexandria in mid-flight, Legend and Eidolon on either side of her. Rays of sunshine poke through the blinders of my window, hitting me square in the face. Oddly, the light hitting my eyes didn't irritate them as much as they should have. My eyes adjusted to the brightness more quickly than I expected.
Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed and to my feet. It occurred to me just now that I had yet to change out of the clothes I had been wearing since I got out of the hospital. A quick whiff told me that, yes, I probably did stink, and I was in desperate need of a shower. Probably several more. I swear, I can still smell the shit from that locker lingering on me. Dad probably didn't say anything, knowing how tired I had been and because I just woke up from a month-long coma.
Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was still pretty early in the morning. Dad probably wasn't up at this time, so I might be able to use the washing machine without waking him up. Even though that really shouldn't make sense, since that thing could wake the dead. Either my hearing was bad, or Dad slept like the dead. In any case, I grabbed some spare clothes and dumped my smelly old ones into the washing machine, then took my morning shower.
It's been two days since I left the hospital. Two days since I learned that I no longer had to go to Winslow. Two days since I learned that my Dad, the lovable dork who talked Mom and mine's ear off about Dungeons & Dragons, somehow came back into my life after having thrown himself into work. For the first time in a very long while, I felt as though things were going right in my life.
Of course, I knew that just because I didn't have to go to Winslow anymore didn't mean I wouldn't run into the Trio. From what Dad told me, even though the lawsuit against Winslow settled, there was still the matter of Emma, Sophia and Madison. They were underage, so in the event they were found guilty, they would be tried as minors and sent to Juvenile Hall. That being said, Dad also mentioned something interesting about Sophia from what he learned from Carol Dallon, the lawyer he and Alan hired for the Winslow lawsuit.
It really should not have surprised me to hear that Sophia was on probation, it really shouldn't have. Regardless of what became Emma or Madison, Sophia was screwed. Between violating her parole and the prosecutor who started it being none other than one of the best lawyers in Brockton Bay, never mind the fact that it was the same woman who earned Canary her freedom, Sophia was fucked six ways from Sunday.
It was oh so very vindictive, not to mention cathartic. I wish I could have seen the look on Sophia's face.
When I heard the washer go off, I turned the knob and stopped the shower, proceeding to dry myself off. Once I was sure there wasn't any lingering water on me, I started to throw on my clothes, staring with my underwear, when I stopped and stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't pay attention to my body while I was washing my body, having done it so many times it became an automatic response, but actually seeing my physique for myself for the first time in the bathroom mirror…
"What the hell?"
It had not just been my hair that changed during my coma. The doctors explained my hair changing as part of a syndrome caused by stress and would regain its original color over time. What I was fairly certain was not part of that syndrome was my body becoming that of an athlete. I was by no means a runner, having only decided to start exercising and going on jogs when Sophia convinced some jocks to chase me around school on the thin hope of getting a date. At best, I did just enough exercise to burn off some fat and give myself a little muscle. There were days where I didn't exercise or go on jogs because I was either not feeling well or the Trio brought me to a low point, but in any event, I did not have the body of an Olympic sportsman.
Which was why, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I developed a fucking six pack and actual muscles!
And I don't mean the "grill a steak on those" kinds of abs, I mean the abs you see on an amateur athlete who worked hard. They weren't very developed, but they were noticeable enough for me to see them. My arms were slightly thicker than they were before, barely bigger than usual.
I stared at my reflection for several seconds, wondering whether or not I was pulling a Peter Parker moment before I heard Dad call out to me from downstairs. "Taylor! Breakfast's ready!"
Shaken from my thoughts, I scrambled to throw on my clothes. I made a mental note to figure out what the hell happened to me while I was comatose for me to get so fit so quickly and hurried downstairs. I found Dad waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table as he set down a plate of food consisting of buttered toast, eggs and bacon.
"How'd you sleep, kiddo?" Dad asked.
I smiled slightly, doing my best to hide my earlier shock. I felt tempted to tell Dad about my newfound physique, but given all that's happened recently, I didn't see a reason to freak him out any further.
"I'm doing okay, I guess? I finally took a shower. You know, you could have told me if I stunk."
Dad raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't want to push you. You got out of the hospital not too long ago. Speaking of, how are you feeling?"
"Better than I was yesterday. I felt so tired."
"You hardly ever left your room yesterday," Dad remarked before frowning in concern. "Don't push yourself, okay? I get wanting to act all tough, but-"
"Dad, seriously. I'm fine."
He still looked unconvinced, but he sighed and shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Just like your mother, I swear." I blinked, realizing that he said it just low enough that I couldn't hear it, yet I heard it anyway. When did my hearing get that good? I didn't have time to question another new development like that as Dad suddenly asked, "Are you doing anything today, sweetie?"
"N-no, not that I can think of. I thought I would play it safe, follow the doctor's suggestion, and do some morning exercises. Why? Did something come up?"
"Nothing like that. I was just thinking that maybe it's about time we invest in phones."
I stared at him wide-eyed, wondering whether or not that really was my father sitting across the table from me. When he learned that Mom died because she was on her phone, he had come to despise phones with a raging passion. He did own one, yes, but he rarely ever used it and it was strictly for work-related purposes. I hardly ever saw him use it at home when he was present, since he was usually almost always at work.
To hear him suggest that we actually buy phones for actual use…
"W-why? I-I mean, don't get me wrong, having a cell phone does sound nice, but why the sudden decision to buy them? You hate phones!"
Dad's smile faded into a stern look. "Because of what happened last month, that's why. If you had a phone and called me, I would have come to tear you out of that goddamn locker myself."
The way he said it spoke with genuine conviction. Hearing him say it for myself, I had no doubt that Dad would have done just that. The image of him coming to my rescue like a knight in shining armor, tearing the locker door from its hinges and carrying me home like a princess filled my mind, much to my embarrassment and shame. Of course, there was still that moment of shame that filled me when that small part of me, the one from Winslow, wondered if Dad really would do that.
Now that I thought about it, Dad hadn't brought up the bullying or Winslow once since we came home from the hospital. Was he purposely avoiding that particular landmine to be considerate, or was there another reason he was dancing around the bush?
"…I don't see the problem in getting a phone, but can we really afford one?"
Dad's smile came back. "I was browsing the store the other day and gauging the prices. So long as you don't want one of those smartphones, I think we're good."
"No thanks, I don't think I can handle touch screens yet!"
The two of us laughed at my little joke as we ate breakfast. For some reason, the house felt more lively these last few days then it had in years.
Hebert Household
I woke up to the familiar sight of my ceiling and poster of Alexandria in mid-flight, Legend and Eidolon on either side of her. Rays of sunshine poke through the blinders of my window, hitting me square in the face. Oddly, the light hitting my eyes didn't irritate them as much as they should have. My eyes adjusted to the brightness more quickly than I expected.
Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed and to my feet. It occurred to me just now that I had yet to change out of the clothes I had been wearing since I got out of the hospital. A quick whiff told me that, yes, I probably did stink, and I was in desperate need of a shower. Probably several more. I swear, I can still smell the shit from that locker lingering on me. Dad probably didn't say anything, knowing how tired I had been and because I just woke up from a month-long coma.
Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was still pretty early in the morning. Dad probably wasn't up at this time, so I might be able to use the washing machine without waking him up. Even though that really shouldn't make sense, since that thing could wake the dead. Either my hearing was bad, or Dad slept like the dead. In any case, I grabbed some spare clothes and dumped my smelly old ones into the washing machine, then took my morning shower.
It's been two days since I left the hospital. Two days since I learned that I no longer had to go to Winslow. Two days since I learned that my Dad, the lovable dork who talked Mom and mine's ear off about Dungeons & Dragons, somehow came back into my life after having thrown himself into work. For the first time in a very long while, I felt as though things were going right in my life.
Of course, I knew that just because I didn't have to go to Winslow anymore didn't mean I wouldn't run into the Trio. From what Dad told me, even though the lawsuit against Winslow settled, there was still the matter of Emma, Sophia and Madison. They were underage, so in the event they were found guilty, they would be tried as minors and sent to Juvenile Hall. That being said, Dad also mentioned something interesting about Sophia from what he learned from Carol Dallon, the lawyer he and Alan hired for the Winslow lawsuit.
It really should not have surprised me to hear that Sophia was on probation, it really shouldn't have. Regardless of what became Emma or Madison, Sophia was screwed. Between violating her parole and the prosecutor who started it being none other than one of the best lawyers in Brockton Bay, never mind the fact that it was the same woman who earned Canary her freedom, Sophia was fucked six ways from Sunday.
It was oh so very vindictive, not to mention cathartic. I wish I could have seen the look on Sophia's face.
When I heard the washer go off, I turned the knob and stopped the shower, proceeding to dry myself off. Once I was sure there wasn't any lingering water on me, I started to throw on my clothes, staring with my underwear, when I stopped and stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't pay attention to my body while I was washing my body, having done it so many times it became an automatic response, but actually seeing my physique for myself for the first time in the bathroom mirror…
"What the hell?"
It had not just been my hair that changed during my coma. The doctors explained my hair changing as part of a syndrome caused by stress and would regain its original color over time. What I was fairly certain was not part of that syndrome was my body becoming that of an athlete. I was by no means a runner, having only decided to start exercising and going on jogs when Sophia convinced some jocks to chase me around school on the thin hope of getting a date. At best, I did just enough exercise to burn off some fat and give myself a little muscle. There were days where I didn't exercise or go on jogs because I was either not feeling well or the Trio brought me to a low point, but in any event, I did not have the body of an Olympic sportsman.
Which was why, for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I developed a fucking six pack and actual muscles!
And I don't mean the "grill a steak on those" kinds of abs, I mean the abs you see on an amateur athlete who worked hard. They weren't very developed, but they were noticeable enough for me to see them. My arms were slightly thicker than they were before, barely bigger than usual.
I stared at my reflection for several seconds, wondering whether or not I was pulling a Peter Parker moment before I heard Dad call out to me from downstairs. "Taylor! Breakfast's ready!"
Shaken from my thoughts, I scrambled to throw on my clothes. I made a mental note to figure out what the hell happened to me while I was comatose for me to get so fit so quickly and hurried downstairs. I found Dad waiting for me, sitting at the kitchen table as he set down a plate of food consisting of buttered toast, eggs and bacon.
"How'd you sleep, kiddo?" Dad asked.
I smiled slightly, doing my best to hide my earlier shock. I felt tempted to tell Dad about my newfound physique, but given all that's happened recently, I didn't see a reason to freak him out any further.
"I'm doing okay, I guess? I finally took a shower. You know, you could have told me if I stunk."
Dad raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't want to push you. You got out of the hospital not too long ago. Speaking of, how are you feeling?"
"Better than I was yesterday. I felt so tired."
"You hardly ever left your room yesterday," Dad remarked before frowning in concern. "Don't push yourself, okay? I get wanting to act all tough, but-"
"Dad, seriously. I'm fine."
He still looked unconvinced, but he sighed and shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Just like your mother, I swear." I blinked, realizing that he said it just low enough that I couldn't hear it, yet I heard it anyway. When did my hearing get that good? I didn't have time to question another new development like that as Dad suddenly asked, "Are you doing anything today, sweetie?"
"N-no, not that I can think of. I thought I would play it safe, follow the doctor's suggestion, and do some morning exercises. Why? Did something come up?"
"Nothing like that. I was just thinking that maybe it's about time we invest in phones."
I stared at him wide-eyed, wondering whether or not that really was my father sitting across the table from me. When he learned that Mom died because she was on her phone, he had come to despise phones with a raging passion. He did own one, yes, but he rarely ever used it and it was strictly for work-related purposes. I hardly ever saw him use it at home when he was present, since he was usually almost always at work.
To hear him suggest that we actually buy phones for actual use…
"W-why? I-I mean, don't get me wrong, having a cell phone does sound nice, but why the sudden decision to buy them? You hate phones!"
Dad's smile faded into a stern look. "Because of what happened last month, that's why. If you had a phone and called me, I would have come to tear you out of that goddamn locker myself."
The way he said it spoke with genuine conviction. Hearing him say it for myself, I had no doubt that Dad would have done just that. The image of him coming to my rescue like a knight in shining armor, tearing the locker door from its hinges and carrying me home like a princess filled my mind, much to my embarrassment and shame. Of course, there was still that moment of shame that filled me when that small part of me, the one from Winslow, wondered if Dad really would do that.
Now that I thought about it, Dad hadn't brought up the bullying or Winslow once since we came home from the hospital. Was he purposely avoiding that particular landmine to be considerate, or was there another reason he was dancing around the bush?
"…I don't see the problem in getting a phone, but can we really afford one?"
Dad's smile came back. "I was browsing the store the other day and gauging the prices. So long as you don't want one of those smartphones, I think we're good."
"No thanks, I don't think I can handle touch screens yet!"
The two of us laughed at my little joke as we ate breakfast. For some reason, the house felt more lively these last few days then it had in years.
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Style 2.5
SkyRig
Wake the f#ck up, samurai.
- Location
- Someplace in California
- Pronouns
- He
The drive to the store was a relatively quick one, though being out in public and earning more than a few weird looks because of my hair made me feel more self-conscious than ever. I don't blame them for staring. I mean, really, whose heard of a teenage girl with white hair? I should probably invest in a wig or start wearing hoodies while I'm out. The stares weren't as bad as Winslow, but they were a little judgmental.
Like Dad said, more than a few phones were fairly good in prices, but the smartphones were worth a fortune in my opinion. As far as I was concerned, only people with good paying jobs or were filthy rich would even consider buying something like that. At any rate, finding a phone that was decent in price and felt right for me was easy. Dad had a harder time, but a quick recommendation from the clerk at the counter fixed that problem. Once our phones were set up and our numbers registered, we decided to make a quick trip to the store for dinner. Apparently Dad had been living off of fast food and thought it was time for actual decent food for once.
…now that I think about it, it does kind of look like his pants are tighter than they usually are around the waist. I wasn't about to say that to his face, though. I valued my eardrums, thank you very much.
We arrived at the grocery outlet and went to work in finding ingredients for tonight's dinner. It had been while I was searching for carrots and cabbages that I ran into a familiar face. The god-awful bowl haircut made him stick out in my mind, much less his somewhat pudgy physique. He wasn't fat by any means, not in the way Uncle Alan had let himself go, but he was far from thin.
"Taylor?" Greg Veder stared at me with wide-eyes, performing the picture-perfect performance of a goldfish. "Is-is that you?"
"Long story," I told him before he could ask about my hair. "A very long one."
"Y-yeah, I bet."
Greg avoided eye-contact with me all together, his body shifting uncomfortably in place. To tell you the truth, I had mixed feelings about the fact that out of all the people that chose to help me by way of actually showing Uncle Alan footage of the locker incident, it was Greg Veder of all people.
Now, don't get me wrong, Greg was not a bad person by any means. Sure, he was like everyone else in Winslow and never once tried to help me when the Trio decided it was Bully Taylor day, but also unlike everyone else who tried to avoid me like the plague out of fear of earning the ire of the Trio, Greg actually made attempts. He would always ask the stupidly obvious questions like "are you okay?" but he always meant them with genuine concern.
On the one hand, I was a little happy that, after all this time, someone decided to step forward and help me, and it was the guy who made an attempt, but on the other hand, I couldn't help but feel irritated. It was only when someone was building a case that would actually stick on Winslow that someone finally stepped forward to provide the silver bullet that would become the final nail on Winslow's coffin, and by extension, Blackwell's.
I reigned in my feelings and did my best to make sure my irritation didn't show on my face. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh…shopping?"
Oh. Right. Duh. Of course he was here for shopping. What else was there to do in the fucking grocery store? Niiice job, Taylor.
"Well, I mean, I'm mostly here to grab some stuff for my folks is all," Greg continued. "Dad invited a co-worker of his and wants to make a big dinner. Mom was busy, so here I am."
Silence fell between us after I accepted his answer for what it was. He looked at cabbages, trying to see which ones were good and which ones weren't while I was picking tomatos. Every now and then, I caught him stealing glances at me, occasionally opening his mouth as if about to say something, only to decide against it. This went on for about a minute before I sighed. If I had to see him act like a miserable puppy dog any longer, I was going to lose it.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him straight out.
Greg winced. "Er, that's, well…" He stared at the floor for a while before grimacing. "I-I guess it's… Well, um, how do I say this?"
"Is this about Winslow?"
"…yeah, it is." Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm really sorry, for what happened."
My fingers curled into my palm. It took everything I had to keep my face perfectly calm and bottling my anger. Greg meant every word he said like he always did, but something about the way he said it, how it felt like he was pitying me…
I don't know why, but it pissed me off.
"…a little late for that, don't you think?" I said with more bite than I intended. Greg went from being a puppy dog to a kicked Chihuahua. The guilty and hurt expression on his face made me feel guilty. "Sorry, that was a little uncalled for."
"No, no, I deserved every bit of that."
"If you don't mind me asking, how'd you even get that video?" I asked curiously. "I sincerely doubt that Sophia or Emma would have allowed anyone to do that."
Say what you will about the Trio, but if anything they were careful about their bullying. They made sure there were very little witnesses, and if there were any, they would do their damndest to make sure they did nothing or tried to tell the teachers. It was why I was surprised to hear that there was a video recording of them shoving me inside my locker. I tried asking Dad about it, but the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. I was better off not knowing.
"They tried, actually. When they realized some people were recording the whole thing, Sophia went on the warpath, threatening to break their bones if they didn't delete the video," Greg told me. "One of my friends sent me the video instead of deleting it by pure accident, by the way. It was dumb luck I ended up with it."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Greg nodded. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what to do with it. I thought about deleting it. It didn't seem right, having it I mean. Imagine my surprise when Emma's dad comes knocking at my parent's door and asks if I knew what happened to you."
"What's going on at school anyhow?"
He shrugged. "It's the same as usual, I guess? Skinheads, addicts and Asians screwing around, picking fights and recruiting, and the teacher's don't do much. I mean, Mr. G and Mrs. Knotts are trying to keep everybody from killing each other, so I guess that's a plus? I heard Blackwell resigned, though." I stared at Greg in shock, performing my own imitation of a gaping fish. "It surprised everyone else, too. I don't know when it happened or why, but I heard that two weeks ago, Emma's dad had a talk with her."
Dad mentioned that Uncle Alan managed to make the Principal settle on reparations, but what had he said to Blackwell that made her resign? I was both mildly curious and afraid to find out. Still, hearing that Gladly was doing something productive instead of trying to act like the student body's best friend was a little surprising. Mrs. Knotts was less so, since she was usually the one who tried to help me, though her efforts were usually null and void thanks to either another teacher or the Principal forcing her to back off.
I bit my lip as my thoughts directed to somewhere unpleasant. "And the Trio?"
"They've been keeping their heads down since this whole thing started, but ever since Emma's dad started the lawsuit, we haven't seen much of them." Greg frowned slightly as something occurred to him. "You know, now that I think about it, I haven't seen Sophia at school since this whole thing started. I don't know about Madison or Emma, though. Maybe they're just playing it safe?"
That, or they're scared. They were caught on video and likely to face some serious charges. Again, the idea that they're finally getting what's coming to them made me more giddy than it should.
Greg finally found cabbages worth grabbing and left, offering me another apology as he made his way to the cashier. I met back up with Dad and we paid for our groceries, making our way back home.
Feb. 3, 2011
It was early in the morning that I decided to look into my physical changes. I opened the web browser on my phone, thinking about the locker, my body and my hair. Something about my 'changes' were nagging at me. It was the first time this happened to me, but it felt familiar for some reason, as if I had seen this happen before.
When I typed in what happened to me, physical changes after a traumatic event, I realized why.
The first search result displayed on my phone read:
"…no fucking way."
Like Dad said, more than a few phones were fairly good in prices, but the smartphones were worth a fortune in my opinion. As far as I was concerned, only people with good paying jobs or were filthy rich would even consider buying something like that. At any rate, finding a phone that was decent in price and felt right for me was easy. Dad had a harder time, but a quick recommendation from the clerk at the counter fixed that problem. Once our phones were set up and our numbers registered, we decided to make a quick trip to the store for dinner. Apparently Dad had been living off of fast food and thought it was time for actual decent food for once.
…now that I think about it, it does kind of look like his pants are tighter than they usually are around the waist. I wasn't about to say that to his face, though. I valued my eardrums, thank you very much.
We arrived at the grocery outlet and went to work in finding ingredients for tonight's dinner. It had been while I was searching for carrots and cabbages that I ran into a familiar face. The god-awful bowl haircut made him stick out in my mind, much less his somewhat pudgy physique. He wasn't fat by any means, not in the way Uncle Alan had let himself go, but he was far from thin.
"Taylor?" Greg Veder stared at me with wide-eyes, performing the picture-perfect performance of a goldfish. "Is-is that you?"
"Long story," I told him before he could ask about my hair. "A very long one."
"Y-yeah, I bet."
Greg avoided eye-contact with me all together, his body shifting uncomfortably in place. To tell you the truth, I had mixed feelings about the fact that out of all the people that chose to help me by way of actually showing Uncle Alan footage of the locker incident, it was Greg Veder of all people.
Now, don't get me wrong, Greg was not a bad person by any means. Sure, he was like everyone else in Winslow and never once tried to help me when the Trio decided it was Bully Taylor day, but also unlike everyone else who tried to avoid me like the plague out of fear of earning the ire of the Trio, Greg actually made attempts. He would always ask the stupidly obvious questions like "are you okay?" but he always meant them with genuine concern.
On the one hand, I was a little happy that, after all this time, someone decided to step forward and help me, and it was the guy who made an attempt, but on the other hand, I couldn't help but feel irritated. It was only when someone was building a case that would actually stick on Winslow that someone finally stepped forward to provide the silver bullet that would become the final nail on Winslow's coffin, and by extension, Blackwell's.
I reigned in my feelings and did my best to make sure my irritation didn't show on my face. "What are you doing here?"
"Uh…shopping?"
Oh. Right. Duh. Of course he was here for shopping. What else was there to do in the fucking grocery store? Niiice job, Taylor.
"Well, I mean, I'm mostly here to grab some stuff for my folks is all," Greg continued. "Dad invited a co-worker of his and wants to make a big dinner. Mom was busy, so here I am."
Silence fell between us after I accepted his answer for what it was. He looked at cabbages, trying to see which ones were good and which ones weren't while I was picking tomatos. Every now and then, I caught him stealing glances at me, occasionally opening his mouth as if about to say something, only to decide against it. This went on for about a minute before I sighed. If I had to see him act like a miserable puppy dog any longer, I was going to lose it.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him straight out.
Greg winced. "Er, that's, well…" He stared at the floor for a while before grimacing. "I-I guess it's… Well, um, how do I say this?"
"Is this about Winslow?"
"…yeah, it is." Greg sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm really sorry, for what happened."
My fingers curled into my palm. It took everything I had to keep my face perfectly calm and bottling my anger. Greg meant every word he said like he always did, but something about the way he said it, how it felt like he was pitying me…
I don't know why, but it pissed me off.
"…a little late for that, don't you think?" I said with more bite than I intended. Greg went from being a puppy dog to a kicked Chihuahua. The guilty and hurt expression on his face made me feel guilty. "Sorry, that was a little uncalled for."
"No, no, I deserved every bit of that."
"If you don't mind me asking, how'd you even get that video?" I asked curiously. "I sincerely doubt that Sophia or Emma would have allowed anyone to do that."
Say what you will about the Trio, but if anything they were careful about their bullying. They made sure there were very little witnesses, and if there were any, they would do their damndest to make sure they did nothing or tried to tell the teachers. It was why I was surprised to hear that there was a video recording of them shoving me inside my locker. I tried asking Dad about it, but the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. I was better off not knowing.
"They tried, actually. When they realized some people were recording the whole thing, Sophia went on the warpath, threatening to break their bones if they didn't delete the video," Greg told me. "One of my friends sent me the video instead of deleting it by pure accident, by the way. It was dumb luck I ended up with it."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously," Greg nodded. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what to do with it. I thought about deleting it. It didn't seem right, having it I mean. Imagine my surprise when Emma's dad comes knocking at my parent's door and asks if I knew what happened to you."
"What's going on at school anyhow?"
He shrugged. "It's the same as usual, I guess? Skinheads, addicts and Asians screwing around, picking fights and recruiting, and the teacher's don't do much. I mean, Mr. G and Mrs. Knotts are trying to keep everybody from killing each other, so I guess that's a plus? I heard Blackwell resigned, though." I stared at Greg in shock, performing my own imitation of a gaping fish. "It surprised everyone else, too. I don't know when it happened or why, but I heard that two weeks ago, Emma's dad had a talk with her."
Dad mentioned that Uncle Alan managed to make the Principal settle on reparations, but what had he said to Blackwell that made her resign? I was both mildly curious and afraid to find out. Still, hearing that Gladly was doing something productive instead of trying to act like the student body's best friend was a little surprising. Mrs. Knotts was less so, since she was usually the one who tried to help me, though her efforts were usually null and void thanks to either another teacher or the Principal forcing her to back off.
I bit my lip as my thoughts directed to somewhere unpleasant. "And the Trio?"
"They've been keeping their heads down since this whole thing started, but ever since Emma's dad started the lawsuit, we haven't seen much of them." Greg frowned slightly as something occurred to him. "You know, now that I think about it, I haven't seen Sophia at school since this whole thing started. I don't know about Madison or Emma, though. Maybe they're just playing it safe?"
That, or they're scared. They were caught on video and likely to face some serious charges. Again, the idea that they're finally getting what's coming to them made me more giddy than it should.
Greg finally found cabbages worth grabbing and left, offering me another apology as he made his way to the cashier. I met back up with Dad and we paid for our groceries, making our way back home.
Feb. 3, 2011
It was early in the morning that I decided to look into my physical changes. I opened the web browser on my phone, thinking about the locker, my body and my hair. Something about my 'changes' were nagging at me. It was the first time this happened to me, but it felt familiar for some reason, as if I had seen this happen before.
When I typed in what happened to me, physical changes after a traumatic event, I realized why.
The first search result displayed on my phone read:
HOW PARAHUMANS ARE BORN – AN EXPLANATION ON TRIGGER EVENTS
"…no fucking way."
Style 2.6
SkyRig
Wake the f#ck up, samurai.
- Location
- Someplace in California
- Pronouns
- He
I stared at my phone for several seconds, my brain spluttering and rebooting dozens of times before it finally registered. I flopped onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling, where my poster of the Triumvirate sat staring back at me. My mind was like a whirlwind, thoughts and feelings spinning around and leaving me confused. When I sorted through it all, trying to wrap my head around the fact staring at me dead in the face, I was left with excitement and dread.
Like every kid who was born in raised in the generation of capes, I dreamed of being a hero. Out of all the capes in the Protectorate, the one that idolized the most was Alexandria. Why wouldn't I? Other than Eidolon, she was the undefeatable. The strongest hero in the world who never lost a fight (the whole debacle involving the Siberian aside). I always dreamed that I had powers like hers, that I could take on anyone. The fact that I did have powers now, that I was a cape, told me that those dreams weren't far off anymore.
But being a cape now had its own set of problems. Especially if you lived in Brockton Bay.
It was no secret that Brockton Bay was the worst city to live in, namely because the gangs had more power than the PRT. Even the number of villainous capes outnumbered the heroes, if you included Faultline and her crew when she was hired by someone who wanted to do some damage. Independents didn't last very long, usually having a lifespan of six months before they either died or were recruited (read: forced) into a gang. There were some rumors that Squealer wanted to join the Protectorate, but Skidmark got to her first. I wasn't sure if those rumors were true, but who knows?
Being a hero sounded great on paper, but when you actually got your feet into the action and came face to face with someone dangerous, especially one like Lung, you were faced with a chilling reality. There was a real possibility that could die if you weren't careful or weren't strong enough.
There was also Dad to think about. If I told him I had powers, he would definitely freak out. I had no idea if he would believe me, and if he did, he wouldn't let me out of his sight. He knew how much I wanted to be a hero, he and Mom both, but after nearly losing me to the Trio, there was no way in hell he'd allow me to join the PRT.
Am I jumping the gun here, though?
That was what was bugging me about this whole thing. Aside from going from stick thin to amateur athlete and my hair dyeing all by itself, I wasn't floating off the ground, having the urge to build some sort of doomsday device that may or may not blow up in my face or shoot laserbeams from my eyes. For all I know, I was overreacting. Maybe me suddenly becoming athletic was because of something that happened in the hospital.
If I wanted to confirm my suspicions, I would actually have to go out and see for myself.
That being said, I don't think Dad would appreciate me shouting weird things or, god forbid, I blast a hole in my wall.
…ugh, I can barely think right now! Ever since the locker, it feels like there's too much happening all at once! This and the whole deal at Winslow!
I need some fresh air. Maybe a quick run will help clear my head and I can make sense of all this.
After me and Dad had breakfast, I told him I was going out for a jog. As I expected, he wasn't too keen on me going out, but I managed to convince him by taking with me a stun gun and pepper spray. You could never be too careful, even if all you went to was the Boardwalk. I left around noon and started my run.
As I was running to the Boardwalk, I noticed some weird things. Even though it was February and I was wearing a thin sweater, I could hardly feel the cold wind whipping across my face. The doctor told me I would have felt some sort of fatigue or muscle atrophy, so exercises would help me regain my strength. Yet as I was running, I didn't feel any fatigue whatsoever. In fact, the fatigue I normally felt when I ran was nowhere present. If anything, I felt encouraged to go even faster and run harder. I could see farther than I was used to, making out the silhouette of the Rig standing amid the ocean waves when I was nowhere near the Boardwalk.
By the time I reached the Boardwalk, I was nowhere close to being out of breath. My legs still felt as though they could move and my lungs weren't begging me to stop.
I wasn't sure if all that was enough to say for certain that I was a cape, but at the very least, I knew that something about me had changed. If I was a cape, then…
What do I do?
I never considered what I would do if I ever did develop powers. If anything, my dreams were just that: Daydreams that would never come true. It's so easy just to imagine a life where you did have powers and everything went how you thought it would, but when it happened for real, you weren't sure what to do. My dream finally came true, but now I'm not sure what to do next. I mean, what do I say to the PRT? "Hey, I found out that I have powers now and I want to join the Wards?"
Yeah, like that would boil over well.
And that was if Dad would let me.
I let out a tired sigh as I slowed into a walk, running a hand through my hair. Was this how things started for the Wards when they got their powers? Lost and confused before they finally decided on what to do with them? I shook my head and stared up at the sky, as if hoping I would get some kind of answer. I promptly froze when I realized something was wrong.
Last I checked, the Boardwalk didn't have any tall buildings.
I looked around and cursed, realizing that I wasn't in the Boardwalk but somewhere else entirely. The sign on a street post read "Avery Street," which made me do a double-take.
How distracted was I to run from my home, to the Boardwalk, to the downtown area?!
As I was about to double back to the Boardwalk, the door to the building right next to me exploded into teeny-tiny pieces. I was not ashamed to say that I screamed like the girl that I was, falling flat on my ass. I barely felt myself hit the concrete. I looked up and stared at the fact at something I never would have thought I would see in my life.
Sprawled across the street, groaning and trying to get up off the pavement, was Hookwolf, mask slightly broken and metal bits over his body shattered and cracked.
"W-what? H-how in the-what?!"
The person responsible for Hookwolf's state stepped into view, walking out of the building. A tall black man, totally bald with tattoos decorating the side of his face. His eyes were hidden beneath a pair of black sunglasses, yet I could clearly the see the blood red glow behind them. He wore a red scarf with a brown leather jacket over a black shirt, brown leather pants and black boots that came up to his calves and were halfway laced up.
The second I saw him, every part of me screamed danger. I knew that if I ever found myself in his crosshairs, he would kill me without batting an eye or so much as struggle to do so.
"Never thought I'd see the day when some dumb bitch thought it was a good idea to play Nazi," the man chuckled. Hookwolf stumbled up to his feet and roared, a metal blade growing out from his arm. He swung it at the man, and to my disbelief, the blade shattered to pieces the second it make contact with his head. Before Hookwolf could react, the man grabbed him by the throat, hand wrapping around his neck and lifting him off the ground. "You got some balls, mutt. How 'bout I do you a solid and bust a cap in your ass?"
"F-fuck…you!"
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Hookwolf snarled. In the next moment, all I saw was metal. Metal growing out of every part of his body and wrapping all around them. I had no idea what its purpose was, but there wasn't any need to. Just like his blades, the metal covering was destroyed. The man barely looked bothered by the act. If anything, he seemed amused by the fact that Hookwolf was trying to fight back.
Who in the hell was this guy? Where did he come from? Was he a new cape? If so, why wasn't he wearing a mask? Did he not care if people knew who he was? What onlookers there were out on the streets were like deers in headlights, some staring in gobsmacked shock while others were taking the moment to capture the event on their phones.
Just as the man was about to do something, the fingers on his free hand curling into a fist, someone shouted, "Wait!"
My jaw touched the floor as I saw Kaiser emerge from the same building the man came out of, the glowing form of Purity following after him.
The man craned his head to look at Kaiser. "You lookin' to start trouble too, brother? Your boy already got me in a foul mood by smashing my counter."
"F-f-fuck you!" Hookwolf snarled. He winced when the man tightened his grip around his neck. "I-I'll kill you, you son of a-!"
"You will do no such thing," Kaiser snapped. He walked up to the man, his body tense and ready for a fight to occur at any moment. "I would appreciate it if you let go of my subordinate."
WHAT?!
Everyone present looked at Kaiser as though he grew a second head. I had to be hearing things, right? There is no way—no way—that we just heard Kaiser, the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight, politely ask a black man to drop Hookwolf.
"Your boy attacked me first," the man shot back with a growl. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't pop his head like a grape."
"If you kill him, you paint a target on your back. The Empire will fight you, as will others," Kaiser pointed out to him. "Do you really want to risk attracting the eyes of every cape in the city?"
The man looked at Kaiser for a moment, eyes boring into the Nazi's helmet before he casually threw Hookwolf aside as though he were garbage. Hookwolf's body crumpled to the ground with a hiss. Kaiser roughly picked him up, clearly pissed at him. Purity was looking back at her boss and the man before she reluctantly followed Kaiser as they left, leaving the man alone.
I just saw Kaiser back off from a fight. A fight with a man who he should hate by all rights simply by the color of his skin.
What. The. Fuck.
The bystanders whispered excitedly to each other, each and every word clear to me. The man walked back over to the building, but stopped when he noticed me. He turned his head and stared at me, lowering his glasses just enough for me to see his eyes, which dimmed in their glow. I could still see the pulsating red lights in his irises, but otherwise, he looked normal, if a little intimidating.
"…well, never thought I'd see the day I would run into a halfer in this backwater shithole," he remarked as though he saw something only he could. "You gonna just sit there, or are you gonna come inside?"
"…huh?"
Like every kid who was born in raised in the generation of capes, I dreamed of being a hero. Out of all the capes in the Protectorate, the one that idolized the most was Alexandria. Why wouldn't I? Other than Eidolon, she was the undefeatable. The strongest hero in the world who never lost a fight (the whole debacle involving the Siberian aside). I always dreamed that I had powers like hers, that I could take on anyone. The fact that I did have powers now, that I was a cape, told me that those dreams weren't far off anymore.
But being a cape now had its own set of problems. Especially if you lived in Brockton Bay.
It was no secret that Brockton Bay was the worst city to live in, namely because the gangs had more power than the PRT. Even the number of villainous capes outnumbered the heroes, if you included Faultline and her crew when she was hired by someone who wanted to do some damage. Independents didn't last very long, usually having a lifespan of six months before they either died or were recruited (read: forced) into a gang. There were some rumors that Squealer wanted to join the Protectorate, but Skidmark got to her first. I wasn't sure if those rumors were true, but who knows?
Being a hero sounded great on paper, but when you actually got your feet into the action and came face to face with someone dangerous, especially one like Lung, you were faced with a chilling reality. There was a real possibility that could die if you weren't careful or weren't strong enough.
There was also Dad to think about. If I told him I had powers, he would definitely freak out. I had no idea if he would believe me, and if he did, he wouldn't let me out of his sight. He knew how much I wanted to be a hero, he and Mom both, but after nearly losing me to the Trio, there was no way in hell he'd allow me to join the PRT.
Am I jumping the gun here, though?
That was what was bugging me about this whole thing. Aside from going from stick thin to amateur athlete and my hair dyeing all by itself, I wasn't floating off the ground, having the urge to build some sort of doomsday device that may or may not blow up in my face or shoot laserbeams from my eyes. For all I know, I was overreacting. Maybe me suddenly becoming athletic was because of something that happened in the hospital.
If I wanted to confirm my suspicions, I would actually have to go out and see for myself.
That being said, I don't think Dad would appreciate me shouting weird things or, god forbid, I blast a hole in my wall.
…ugh, I can barely think right now! Ever since the locker, it feels like there's too much happening all at once! This and the whole deal at Winslow!
I need some fresh air. Maybe a quick run will help clear my head and I can make sense of all this.
After me and Dad had breakfast, I told him I was going out for a jog. As I expected, he wasn't too keen on me going out, but I managed to convince him by taking with me a stun gun and pepper spray. You could never be too careful, even if all you went to was the Boardwalk. I left around noon and started my run.
As I was running to the Boardwalk, I noticed some weird things. Even though it was February and I was wearing a thin sweater, I could hardly feel the cold wind whipping across my face. The doctor told me I would have felt some sort of fatigue or muscle atrophy, so exercises would help me regain my strength. Yet as I was running, I didn't feel any fatigue whatsoever. In fact, the fatigue I normally felt when I ran was nowhere present. If anything, I felt encouraged to go even faster and run harder. I could see farther than I was used to, making out the silhouette of the Rig standing amid the ocean waves when I was nowhere near the Boardwalk.
By the time I reached the Boardwalk, I was nowhere close to being out of breath. My legs still felt as though they could move and my lungs weren't begging me to stop.
I wasn't sure if all that was enough to say for certain that I was a cape, but at the very least, I knew that something about me had changed. If I was a cape, then…
What do I do?
I never considered what I would do if I ever did develop powers. If anything, my dreams were just that: Daydreams that would never come true. It's so easy just to imagine a life where you did have powers and everything went how you thought it would, but when it happened for real, you weren't sure what to do. My dream finally came true, but now I'm not sure what to do next. I mean, what do I say to the PRT? "Hey, I found out that I have powers now and I want to join the Wards?"
Yeah, like that would boil over well.
And that was if Dad would let me.
I let out a tired sigh as I slowed into a walk, running a hand through my hair. Was this how things started for the Wards when they got their powers? Lost and confused before they finally decided on what to do with them? I shook my head and stared up at the sky, as if hoping I would get some kind of answer. I promptly froze when I realized something was wrong.
Last I checked, the Boardwalk didn't have any tall buildings.
I looked around and cursed, realizing that I wasn't in the Boardwalk but somewhere else entirely. The sign on a street post read "Avery Street," which made me do a double-take.
How distracted was I to run from my home, to the Boardwalk, to the downtown area?!
As I was about to double back to the Boardwalk, the door to the building right next to me exploded into teeny-tiny pieces. I was not ashamed to say that I screamed like the girl that I was, falling flat on my ass. I barely felt myself hit the concrete. I looked up and stared at the fact at something I never would have thought I would see in my life.
Sprawled across the street, groaning and trying to get up off the pavement, was Hookwolf, mask slightly broken and metal bits over his body shattered and cracked.
"W-what? H-how in the-what?!"
The person responsible for Hookwolf's state stepped into view, walking out of the building. A tall black man, totally bald with tattoos decorating the side of his face. His eyes were hidden beneath a pair of black sunglasses, yet I could clearly the see the blood red glow behind them. He wore a red scarf with a brown leather jacket over a black shirt, brown leather pants and black boots that came up to his calves and were halfway laced up.
The second I saw him, every part of me screamed danger. I knew that if I ever found myself in his crosshairs, he would kill me without batting an eye or so much as struggle to do so.
"Never thought I'd see the day when some dumb bitch thought it was a good idea to play Nazi," the man chuckled. Hookwolf stumbled up to his feet and roared, a metal blade growing out from his arm. He swung it at the man, and to my disbelief, the blade shattered to pieces the second it make contact with his head. Before Hookwolf could react, the man grabbed him by the throat, hand wrapping around his neck and lifting him off the ground. "You got some balls, mutt. How 'bout I do you a solid and bust a cap in your ass?"
"F-fuck…you!"
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
Hookwolf snarled. In the next moment, all I saw was metal. Metal growing out of every part of his body and wrapping all around them. I had no idea what its purpose was, but there wasn't any need to. Just like his blades, the metal covering was destroyed. The man barely looked bothered by the act. If anything, he seemed amused by the fact that Hookwolf was trying to fight back.
Who in the hell was this guy? Where did he come from? Was he a new cape? If so, why wasn't he wearing a mask? Did he not care if people knew who he was? What onlookers there were out on the streets were like deers in headlights, some staring in gobsmacked shock while others were taking the moment to capture the event on their phones.
Just as the man was about to do something, the fingers on his free hand curling into a fist, someone shouted, "Wait!"
My jaw touched the floor as I saw Kaiser emerge from the same building the man came out of, the glowing form of Purity following after him.
The man craned his head to look at Kaiser. "You lookin' to start trouble too, brother? Your boy already got me in a foul mood by smashing my counter."
"F-f-fuck you!" Hookwolf snarled. He winced when the man tightened his grip around his neck. "I-I'll kill you, you son of a-!"
"You will do no such thing," Kaiser snapped. He walked up to the man, his body tense and ready for a fight to occur at any moment. "I would appreciate it if you let go of my subordinate."
WHAT?!
Everyone present looked at Kaiser as though he grew a second head. I had to be hearing things, right? There is no way—no way—that we just heard Kaiser, the leader of the Empire Eighty-Eight, politely ask a black man to drop Hookwolf.
"Your boy attacked me first," the man shot back with a growl. "Give me a reason why I shouldn't pop his head like a grape."
"If you kill him, you paint a target on your back. The Empire will fight you, as will others," Kaiser pointed out to him. "Do you really want to risk attracting the eyes of every cape in the city?"
The man looked at Kaiser for a moment, eyes boring into the Nazi's helmet before he casually threw Hookwolf aside as though he were garbage. Hookwolf's body crumpled to the ground with a hiss. Kaiser roughly picked him up, clearly pissed at him. Purity was looking back at her boss and the man before she reluctantly followed Kaiser as they left, leaving the man alone.
I just saw Kaiser back off from a fight. A fight with a man who he should hate by all rights simply by the color of his skin.
What. The. Fuck.
The bystanders whispered excitedly to each other, each and every word clear to me. The man walked back over to the building, but stopped when he noticed me. He turned his head and stared at me, lowering his glasses just enough for me to see his eyes, which dimmed in their glow. I could still see the pulsating red lights in his irises, but otherwise, he looked normal, if a little intimidating.
"…well, never thought I'd see the day I would run into a halfer in this backwater shithole," he remarked as though he saw something only he could. "You gonna just sit there, or are you gonna come inside?"
"…huh?"
Style 2.7
SkyRig
Wake the f#ck up, samurai.
- Location
- Someplace in California
- Pronouns
- He
If you were to tell me that I'd find myself in a bar owned by a guy who kicked the ever-loving shit out of Hookwolf, I would probably laugh in your face or ask you if you were on crack.
After having met the man for myself, witnessing him manhandle Hookwolf as though he were disciplining a child, I definitely would have believed them now. I still don't understand why I'm sitting at a table, watching the man picking up the smashed remains of his counter. I don't even know why I took him up on his offer. Was this one of those Master/Stranger effects I've read about? I don't feel any different, though…
"S-so, who are you?" I asked timidly. "A-a-are you a new cape?"
The man looked over his shoulder and at me, eyebrow raised. "Do I look like some kind of whacko in his pajamas to you?"
"Well, no, but…"
"'s fine, sister," the man waved a hand in dismissal. "The name's Rodin. Call me Boss. I run this bar."
"I didn't know we had a bar near the Boardwalk."
"I opened up shop last month. Came to Brockton Bay for vacation and all that," Rodin told me, making me blink. Who in their right mind would come to this place for vacation? "I wasn't expecting those idiots to try busting my shop in daylight, though. The LARPERs always this active this time of day?"
I sweatdropped. "LARPER?"
"The assholes calling themselves Nazis."
I wasn't sure what amazed me more, the fact that he could act so calmly when he more or less painted a target on his back or that he was calling the Empire Eighty-Eight a bunch of fakes.
Rodin held up a fragment of his counter up to his face and grimaced. "Bastard owes me a new counter."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath. I remembered what he called me when he saw me sitting on my butt near his bar.
"Why did you call me a halfer?" I asked as calmly as possible. "If it's because of my hair, it's-"
"Wasn't talkin' about your hair," Rodin cut me off with a chuckle. He tossed the last piece of debris over to the pile near the corner of the room before taking out a cigar from his pocket. He somehow managed to light it up with the snap of his fingers. "I was talking about what you are. How the hell did you end up that way? Last I checked, Triggers don't make you half-demon."
I blinked a few times before staring at Rodin in confusion. "…what?"
"Well, unless one of those Cthulu rejects found a way, but I don't remember that gold bastard going off anywhere."
I'm so confused. What on Earth is he talking about? Is he crazy? Or just one of those "weird" capes who believe their powers are magical in nature? I swear, I've heard about a cape group like that in New York.
"Ah, whatever, what that asshole does ain't my problem," Rodin grumbled before turning to me. "Anyway, how long has it been since you Triggered?"
"H-How did you know?!"
"Your old man." At the mention of my Dad, I went ramrod straight. Rodin continued, "He came here last month, probably a day or so after you got sent to the hospital. At first I didn't pay him any mind, since he came for a drink. Then he showed up again every once in a while, rambling on and on about how fucking pissed he was, how he failed his daughter and how he much he screwed up. He even showed me a picture he had in his wallet." Rodin gave me another look, this time more amused. "Though last I checked, you had dark hair in that photo. Decided to start your angsty teenage years or something?"
"I wish…"
The pain in my chest grew worse. When Rodin talked about Dad, I felt like I had been sucker-punched in the gut. Dad was wrong. He wasn't the one who screwed up here. I knew that better than anyone. If I just told him about what was going on at Winslow…
"That still doesn't explain how you knew I Triggered?"
"Trapped in a locker full of shit? Got stuck in a coma? People getting superpowers from experiencing the worst day in their lives?" Rodin snorted. "An idiot could figure that much out, though I gotta admit, wasn't expecting to see any parahumans like you. Speaking of, are all parahumans a bunch of douche bags, or are those Empire assholes just the special ones?"
"Well, you are black," I pointed out to him. "And I've heard they want to expand their territory a little. A black man who just arrived in Brockton Bay and opened up shop? They probably thought you were a prime target."
The dark-skinned man scoffed. "I noticed."
That's probably what happened before I arrived; Hookwolf must have come here to intimidate Rodin, maybe run him out of town or kill him before things snowballed. Why Purity and Kaiser, one of the heaviest hitters of the Empire and the other the head honcho himself were present, I had no idea. Maybe they happened to be here by chance. In either case, I couldn't help but worry what was going to happen to Rodin now. He may be a little weird, what with his mention of demons and all, but he seemed pleasant enough, yet he was likely to be hounded the moment those videos taken by the bystanders hit the net, whether by the Empire or people looking to recruit him.
Still, for some reason, I had a feeling he would be alright. That tingling sensation, that primal fear when I saw him deal with Hookwolf, lingered on the back of my mind. I had no idea why I reacted like that, but if that sense of danger wasn't unfounded…
The more I thought about it, the more confused I was. Who in the world was Rodin?
"You should probably head on home, sister," Rodin suddenly told me. "Didn't mean to call you in my place just to talk your ear off 'bout something you ain't ready for."
Something I wasn't ready for? What did that mean? I was about to ask what he meant before I heard footsteps approach the bar from outside, followed by a sharp knock against the door frame. I looked over my shoulder and barely repressed the urge to squeal in shock and awe when I saw not one, but two Protectorate capes standing outside.
"Sorry, is this a bad time?" Assault asked with a disarming smile, clad in his trademark red suit. Next to him was Battery. "We came because we heard something interesting happened over here while we were out on patrol, so…"
Rodin smirked. "Only interesting thing around here are you two. Unfortunately, we're closed right now. For maintenance, obviously. Don't suppose "parahuman insurance" is a thing?" Assault laughed as though what Rodin asked was a joke while Battery rolled her eyes. I saw her glance at me for a moment, but she passed me over in favor of speaking with the bar owner. "Head on home, kid. Don't make your dad worry. Oh, and word of advice. Try to steer clear of the Trainyards. Been hearing some weird shit going down over there."
I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant by that before shrugging. I left the bar behind me and made my way back home. I had no doubt that Assault and Battery were going to ask Rodin about the incident with Hookwolf and the Empire, maybe even offer him a job with the Protectorate. That would definitely make headlines: "Bar Owner Wrecks Hookwolf And Joins Protectorate."
…still, I can't shake the feeling that something's off with that guy. Something about him doesn't feel normal. Stranger still, I don't think he's a cape, despite evidence saying otherwise. I'm not sure why I know that, but something inside me recognizes Rodin as something else.
…maybe I should get myself a Master/Stranger screening from the PRT. Everything just feel strange, and it's happening way too fast.
I returned home and spent the rest of the day doing menial tasks, such as doing laundry and cleaning my room. It was late in the afternoon when I finished my self-appointed chores that I made a decision that I should have done a long time ago. It started when I happened to glance at Mom's picture, the one showing her when she was alive and I was still a baby, safely held in her arms. Something in that picture spurned me to head into a place I hadn't thought of going into in years.
I closed the door behind me, descending down the stairs. I ignored the fact that, despite the lights being off, I could see clearly in the darkness. It was just another oddity that I wanted to think about another time, choosing to focus on what was in front of me. I reached the bottom of the steps and found myself staring at an assortment of boxes, all neatly piled and stacked in the corner. I grabbed the first box I saw, undoing the folds keeping it closed.
Inside the box was an assortment of knick-knacks and items that didn't look like they held any sentimental value. It was just kid toys I used to play with when I was little, along with books that Mom used to read to me when I couldn't sleep. The book in my hands was my favorite growing up, the cover and spine being so worn out that it was unraveling and coming apart.
The books and toys were just the tip of the icerburg, though. The thing that captured my attention the most, the one thing that I wanted to bury and never look at again until now, was a simple photograph. It was the sort of photograph you would see framed and put out in the open for friends and family to see, but to me, it was so much more. It showed a father and a mother standing together in front of a house, their six-year-old daughter smiling and grinning while holding up a victory sign with both hands.
I hadn't looked at this photograph in years. I even forgot it existed. Yet the moment I picked it up from the bottom of the box, I couldn't stop crying. The tears refused to cease and dripped from my cheeks.
An hour later, I emerged from the basement, holding a box of stuff Mom used to own or things that she gave me. Dad showed up then and there, finding me holding the box with wide-eyes before he saw how red my eyes were. Neither of us said anything. There wasn't a need to. He gently took the box from me and set it on the ground, and the two of us spent the rest of the day going through the boxes.
It wasn't the same, but as we looked through the things that Mom owned or the things she gave us, it felt like she was sitting there with us.
Feb. 4, 2011
I looked up from my breakfast and stared at Dad, slightly dumbfounded. "…could you repeat that?"
Dad's smile threatened to break his face in half. "I finally got word back from the faculty at Arcadia. They want you to come by and take an assessment test on Sunday."
For a moment, my brain stopped working. I could barely believe what Dad just told me. When my brain finally rebooted and properly processed what I just heard, I spluttered. "B-but my grades were shit. I-I mean, even if they know about the bullying and want to give me a chance, what about the tuition fee? W-we can't afford that, can we?"
"Funny you should mention that…" Dad pulled out something from his pocket and set it down on the table. It looked like a leaflet, showing an insignia or marker I didn't recognize. "Apparently, Alan got in contact with these people and told them what happened, and they had a talk with the school faculty."
I took the leaflet and examined what was written. From what I gathered, it was a lot like a troubled youth program. Instead of focusing on kids that went through all kinds of trouble, like say rehabilitated gang kids or troublemakers that went through Juvie like clockwork, they leaned more towards the kids who were severely affected by, and I quote, "harsh and unsafe environments that ignore the plights of children." The way it was worded, I swore they were talking about Winslow specifically.
"'Brockton Bay Junior Adult Safety Organization'…" I read aloud with a frown. "I've never heard of these guys before."
"Neither have I, but Alan says they're legit. Apparently, they have ties to the Youth Guard and are something of a subsidiary, but instead of being geared towards underage capes, they work with average day kids." Dad snorted. "From what Alan told me, the organization was founded by Naomi Hess."
Again, my brain froze.
"…Hess?" I choked. "As in, Sophia Hess?"
"Her mother, as it turns out." Dad nodded. "Alan spoke with her a little after Blackwell settled on reparations. He didn't know she was Sophia's mother at the time, but when he informed about the reason why he was contacting the BBASO, she wasn't surprised in the least by what she heard. Well, up until she learned the specifics."
I leaned in, curious. "How bad?"
"Let me put it to you this way. If what Alan said was true, had this Naomi woman met your mother when she was alive, they would have hit it off within seconds of meeting, because they both have tempers that would make even the devil cry."
It felt so weird, hearing how Sophia's mother would have gotten along with my own if she were still alive. Still, as suspicious as I was about this whole thing, I wasn't going to hold what Sophia did to me on her. She may have been Sophia's mother, but that didn't make her responsible for what happened. If anything, I pitied this woman for having someone like that for a daughter.
"…so, how does she fit into me getting into Arcadia?"
"A program for kids who suffered because of hostile environments, be it from their homes or in school facilities, etc. They're basically paying out of their own pockets to ensure troubled youths get into better schools."
"And they're good?"
"From what it seems, yeah. I've heard nothing but glowing reviews." Dad nodded. "It's up to you, though."
I looked back at the leaflet as I read its contents. The TV was going off in the background, a news reporter talking about how Fallen were aggressively starting some kind of public notice campaign. I ignored it completely in favor of understanding what the group was about. After I read it thoroughly, I set the leaflet down on the table and looked at Dad square in the eyes.
"I think we should go for it," I said seriously. "I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, and from what it sounds like, they mean well. Plus, I feel like I'd just be spitting in Uncle Alan's face with all the work he put into getting us this far."
Dad grinned. "Great! I'll talk to one of the teachers and tell them you'll be taking the test in three days."
After having met the man for myself, witnessing him manhandle Hookwolf as though he were disciplining a child, I definitely would have believed them now. I still don't understand why I'm sitting at a table, watching the man picking up the smashed remains of his counter. I don't even know why I took him up on his offer. Was this one of those Master/Stranger effects I've read about? I don't feel any different, though…
"S-so, who are you?" I asked timidly. "A-a-are you a new cape?"
The man looked over his shoulder and at me, eyebrow raised. "Do I look like some kind of whacko in his pajamas to you?"
"Well, no, but…"
"'s fine, sister," the man waved a hand in dismissal. "The name's Rodin. Call me Boss. I run this bar."
"I didn't know we had a bar near the Boardwalk."
"I opened up shop last month. Came to Brockton Bay for vacation and all that," Rodin told me, making me blink. Who in their right mind would come to this place for vacation? "I wasn't expecting those idiots to try busting my shop in daylight, though. The LARPERs always this active this time of day?"
I sweatdropped. "LARPER?"
"The assholes calling themselves Nazis."
I wasn't sure what amazed me more, the fact that he could act so calmly when he more or less painted a target on his back or that he was calling the Empire Eighty-Eight a bunch of fakes.
Rodin held up a fragment of his counter up to his face and grimaced. "Bastard owes me a new counter."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath. I remembered what he called me when he saw me sitting on my butt near his bar.
"Why did you call me a halfer?" I asked as calmly as possible. "If it's because of my hair, it's-"
"Wasn't talkin' about your hair," Rodin cut me off with a chuckle. He tossed the last piece of debris over to the pile near the corner of the room before taking out a cigar from his pocket. He somehow managed to light it up with the snap of his fingers. "I was talking about what you are. How the hell did you end up that way? Last I checked, Triggers don't make you half-demon."
I blinked a few times before staring at Rodin in confusion. "…what?"
"Well, unless one of those Cthulu rejects found a way, but I don't remember that gold bastard going off anywhere."
I'm so confused. What on Earth is he talking about? Is he crazy? Or just one of those "weird" capes who believe their powers are magical in nature? I swear, I've heard about a cape group like that in New York.
"Ah, whatever, what that asshole does ain't my problem," Rodin grumbled before turning to me. "Anyway, how long has it been since you Triggered?"
"H-How did you know?!"
"Your old man." At the mention of my Dad, I went ramrod straight. Rodin continued, "He came here last month, probably a day or so after you got sent to the hospital. At first I didn't pay him any mind, since he came for a drink. Then he showed up again every once in a while, rambling on and on about how fucking pissed he was, how he failed his daughter and how he much he screwed up. He even showed me a picture he had in his wallet." Rodin gave me another look, this time more amused. "Though last I checked, you had dark hair in that photo. Decided to start your angsty teenage years or something?"
"I wish…"
The pain in my chest grew worse. When Rodin talked about Dad, I felt like I had been sucker-punched in the gut. Dad was wrong. He wasn't the one who screwed up here. I knew that better than anyone. If I just told him about what was going on at Winslow…
"That still doesn't explain how you knew I Triggered?"
"Trapped in a locker full of shit? Got stuck in a coma? People getting superpowers from experiencing the worst day in their lives?" Rodin snorted. "An idiot could figure that much out, though I gotta admit, wasn't expecting to see any parahumans like you. Speaking of, are all parahumans a bunch of douche bags, or are those Empire assholes just the special ones?"
"Well, you are black," I pointed out to him. "And I've heard they want to expand their territory a little. A black man who just arrived in Brockton Bay and opened up shop? They probably thought you were a prime target."
The dark-skinned man scoffed. "I noticed."
That's probably what happened before I arrived; Hookwolf must have come here to intimidate Rodin, maybe run him out of town or kill him before things snowballed. Why Purity and Kaiser, one of the heaviest hitters of the Empire and the other the head honcho himself were present, I had no idea. Maybe they happened to be here by chance. In either case, I couldn't help but worry what was going to happen to Rodin now. He may be a little weird, what with his mention of demons and all, but he seemed pleasant enough, yet he was likely to be hounded the moment those videos taken by the bystanders hit the net, whether by the Empire or people looking to recruit him.
Still, for some reason, I had a feeling he would be alright. That tingling sensation, that primal fear when I saw him deal with Hookwolf, lingered on the back of my mind. I had no idea why I reacted like that, but if that sense of danger wasn't unfounded…
The more I thought about it, the more confused I was. Who in the world was Rodin?
"You should probably head on home, sister," Rodin suddenly told me. "Didn't mean to call you in my place just to talk your ear off 'bout something you ain't ready for."
Something I wasn't ready for? What did that mean? I was about to ask what he meant before I heard footsteps approach the bar from outside, followed by a sharp knock against the door frame. I looked over my shoulder and barely repressed the urge to squeal in shock and awe when I saw not one, but two Protectorate capes standing outside.
"Sorry, is this a bad time?" Assault asked with a disarming smile, clad in his trademark red suit. Next to him was Battery. "We came because we heard something interesting happened over here while we were out on patrol, so…"
Rodin smirked. "Only interesting thing around here are you two. Unfortunately, we're closed right now. For maintenance, obviously. Don't suppose "parahuman insurance" is a thing?" Assault laughed as though what Rodin asked was a joke while Battery rolled her eyes. I saw her glance at me for a moment, but she passed me over in favor of speaking with the bar owner. "Head on home, kid. Don't make your dad worry. Oh, and word of advice. Try to steer clear of the Trainyards. Been hearing some weird shit going down over there."
I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he meant by that before shrugging. I left the bar behind me and made my way back home. I had no doubt that Assault and Battery were going to ask Rodin about the incident with Hookwolf and the Empire, maybe even offer him a job with the Protectorate. That would definitely make headlines: "Bar Owner Wrecks Hookwolf And Joins Protectorate."
…still, I can't shake the feeling that something's off with that guy. Something about him doesn't feel normal. Stranger still, I don't think he's a cape, despite evidence saying otherwise. I'm not sure why I know that, but something inside me recognizes Rodin as something else.
…maybe I should get myself a Master/Stranger screening from the PRT. Everything just feel strange, and it's happening way too fast.
I returned home and spent the rest of the day doing menial tasks, such as doing laundry and cleaning my room. It was late in the afternoon when I finished my self-appointed chores that I made a decision that I should have done a long time ago. It started when I happened to glance at Mom's picture, the one showing her when she was alive and I was still a baby, safely held in her arms. Something in that picture spurned me to head into a place I hadn't thought of going into in years.
I closed the door behind me, descending down the stairs. I ignored the fact that, despite the lights being off, I could see clearly in the darkness. It was just another oddity that I wanted to think about another time, choosing to focus on what was in front of me. I reached the bottom of the steps and found myself staring at an assortment of boxes, all neatly piled and stacked in the corner. I grabbed the first box I saw, undoing the folds keeping it closed.
Inside the box was an assortment of knick-knacks and items that didn't look like they held any sentimental value. It was just kid toys I used to play with when I was little, along with books that Mom used to read to me when I couldn't sleep. The book in my hands was my favorite growing up, the cover and spine being so worn out that it was unraveling and coming apart.
The books and toys were just the tip of the icerburg, though. The thing that captured my attention the most, the one thing that I wanted to bury and never look at again until now, was a simple photograph. It was the sort of photograph you would see framed and put out in the open for friends and family to see, but to me, it was so much more. It showed a father and a mother standing together in front of a house, their six-year-old daughter smiling and grinning while holding up a victory sign with both hands.
I hadn't looked at this photograph in years. I even forgot it existed. Yet the moment I picked it up from the bottom of the box, I couldn't stop crying. The tears refused to cease and dripped from my cheeks.
An hour later, I emerged from the basement, holding a box of stuff Mom used to own or things that she gave me. Dad showed up then and there, finding me holding the box with wide-eyes before he saw how red my eyes were. Neither of us said anything. There wasn't a need to. He gently took the box from me and set it on the ground, and the two of us spent the rest of the day going through the boxes.
It wasn't the same, but as we looked through the things that Mom owned or the things she gave us, it felt like she was sitting there with us.
Feb. 4, 2011
I looked up from my breakfast and stared at Dad, slightly dumbfounded. "…could you repeat that?"
Dad's smile threatened to break his face in half. "I finally got word back from the faculty at Arcadia. They want you to come by and take an assessment test on Sunday."
For a moment, my brain stopped working. I could barely believe what Dad just told me. When my brain finally rebooted and properly processed what I just heard, I spluttered. "B-but my grades were shit. I-I mean, even if they know about the bullying and want to give me a chance, what about the tuition fee? W-we can't afford that, can we?"
"Funny you should mention that…" Dad pulled out something from his pocket and set it down on the table. It looked like a leaflet, showing an insignia or marker I didn't recognize. "Apparently, Alan got in contact with these people and told them what happened, and they had a talk with the school faculty."
I took the leaflet and examined what was written. From what I gathered, it was a lot like a troubled youth program. Instead of focusing on kids that went through all kinds of trouble, like say rehabilitated gang kids or troublemakers that went through Juvie like clockwork, they leaned more towards the kids who were severely affected by, and I quote, "harsh and unsafe environments that ignore the plights of children." The way it was worded, I swore they were talking about Winslow specifically.
"'Brockton Bay Junior Adult Safety Organization'…" I read aloud with a frown. "I've never heard of these guys before."
"Neither have I, but Alan says they're legit. Apparently, they have ties to the Youth Guard and are something of a subsidiary, but instead of being geared towards underage capes, they work with average day kids." Dad snorted. "From what Alan told me, the organization was founded by Naomi Hess."
Again, my brain froze.
"…Hess?" I choked. "As in, Sophia Hess?"
"Her mother, as it turns out." Dad nodded. "Alan spoke with her a little after Blackwell settled on reparations. He didn't know she was Sophia's mother at the time, but when he informed about the reason why he was contacting the BBASO, she wasn't surprised in the least by what she heard. Well, up until she learned the specifics."
I leaned in, curious. "How bad?"
"Let me put it to you this way. If what Alan said was true, had this Naomi woman met your mother when she was alive, they would have hit it off within seconds of meeting, because they both have tempers that would make even the devil cry."
It felt so weird, hearing how Sophia's mother would have gotten along with my own if she were still alive. Still, as suspicious as I was about this whole thing, I wasn't going to hold what Sophia did to me on her. She may have been Sophia's mother, but that didn't make her responsible for what happened. If anything, I pitied this woman for having someone like that for a daughter.
"…so, how does she fit into me getting into Arcadia?"
"A program for kids who suffered because of hostile environments, be it from their homes or in school facilities, etc. They're basically paying out of their own pockets to ensure troubled youths get into better schools."
"And they're good?"
"From what it seems, yeah. I've heard nothing but glowing reviews." Dad nodded. "It's up to you, though."
I looked back at the leaflet as I read its contents. The TV was going off in the background, a news reporter talking about how Fallen were aggressively starting some kind of public notice campaign. I ignored it completely in favor of understanding what the group was about. After I read it thoroughly, I set the leaflet down on the table and looked at Dad square in the eyes.
"I think we should go for it," I said seriously. "I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, and from what it sounds like, they mean well. Plus, I feel like I'd just be spitting in Uncle Alan's face with all the work he put into getting us this far."
Dad grinned. "Great! I'll talk to one of the teachers and tell them you'll be taking the test in three days."
Whiskas
This Thyme? Disco Time.
Double Update! Also wow yeah, that was awesome. Accidental Greg, bitch slapping Hookwolf around and having Kaiser bail him out and bitch out.
EDIT: IT WAS A TRIPLE UPDATE. THE BEST GOD DAMN NINJA POSSIBLE.
EDIT2: I like the very non-subtle Devil May Cry joke
EDIT: IT WAS A TRIPLE UPDATE. THE BEST GOD DAMN NINJA POSSIBLE.
EDIT2: I like the very non-subtle Devil May Cry joke
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TheStranger
Of course you realize, this means war.
- Location
- Take a Guess!
- Pronouns
- Who
...holy shit you've been busy. Good god, where do I even start?!
Out of all the chapters you posted, the last one I find to be the best, partially because of the length and these segments.
First off, kudos to you for using Sophia's mom. The only other fanfic I've read that uses her was I'm HALPing I think it was called? I honestly don't think she gets enough attention.
Secondly, how long has this BBASO been around if Naomi's the one who started it?
Out of all the chapters you posted, the last one I find to be the best, partially because of the length and these segments.
This bit made me tear up. Like, holy shit dude. It's maybe the best moment in DT so far in terms of pure heart factor.
Now, this bit is interesting for a whooooooooooole other reason.
First off, kudos to you for using Sophia's mom. The only other fanfic I've read that uses her was I'm HALPing I think it was called? I honestly don't think she gets enough attention.
Secondly, how long has this BBASO been around if Naomi's the one who started it?