So my dethklok tumblr is turning into a spam. I’ll be posting any works I have on here! As always don’t be afraid to send in asks! [BEWARE I AM VERY SLOW TO UPDATE!!]
Summary: After the events of the last martial arts tournament, life seemed to pick up as normal for Oliver and the rest of the Z fighters. Everyone is getting settled into their lives now that Piccolo seemed to vanish without a trace. His music career is on a steady rise in West City and the constant hustle and bustle of the noise, Oliver finds himself in solitude on a distant hill under a peach tree. Usually he watches the sunsets as he writes but after a busy day and an even longer night with his head swimming with ideas, he decides to catch the rising sun. But to his surprise, a familiar face was found under the tree.
This story is based off of a maladaptive day dream i had while listening to Melancholy Hill by Gorillaz.
Warnings: mention of alcohol
Word count: 1,578
Up on melancholy hill
There’s a plastic tree
Are you here with me?
Just lookin out on the day
Of another dream
Thunderous applause reverberated in Oliver's ears as he closed the door to his home, a wave of relief washing over him. A sigh escaped his lips, his hand automatically rising to rub his weary face as he set down his guitar case. The dimly lit living room seemed to amplify his exhaustion, a feeling that had become all too familiar over the past year. Night after night, he had fallen into the same routine—eat, sleep, work, repeat—save for the occasional interruption from Bulma, who would appear with a new gadget from Capsule Corp for him to test. With none of his friends facing imminent threats that demanded their constant attention and action, the monotony was starting to wear him down. For Oliver, whose music had always been his anchor through life's tumult, hitting a creative wall was a daunting prospect.
As the ringing in his ears began to subside, he found himself standing in front of the open fridge, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of his fatigue. He grabbed a cold bottle of water and remained standing in the stillness of his apartment. Without turning on a single light, he collapsed on the couch, his emerald eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling. His mind raced against the quiet, amplifying his thoughts in the tranquil surroundings. Moments stretched into what felt like an eternity until suddenly, clarity struck.
One all-night planning session, a fitful afternoon nap, and two cans of Red Bull later, Oliver found himself walking through the countryside, his bike abandoned on a trail a few meters behind him. Clutched under his arm were his notebook and tablature book, the other hand holding his trusty old acoustic guitar. He was determined to reconnect with his musical roots. In the distance, the gentle sway of pink blossoms caught his eye—a sprawling peach tree atop a hill, its branches and ground adorned with delicate petals. Enchanted by its beauty, he made his decision; this serene spot would be his starting point for something new. The view from the top was breathtaking, expansive grassy plains punctuated by patches of lavender. It felt oddly familiar, reminiscent of scenes from his childhood that his sister would have adored with her penchant for chasing waterfalls and scenic vistas.
Soft, idle strums broke the silence, the wind tousling Oliver's coppery hair as he searched for inspiration. The afternoon wore on, tinted with shades of orange as he found his rhythm, soft humming harmonizing with the natural melody around him. As the sun began its descent, a sense of melancholy settled over him—he knew he would have to leave soon. But the serene beauty of the hill refused to release its grip on him; he sat and absorbed it all. He watched as the colors of dusk painted the sky and the peach tree's silhouette against it. Though the air was still, the foliage seemed to sway to an unheard tune, wrapping Oliver in its tranquil spell. A rockstar known for his loud, aggressive performances found himself unexpectedly entranced.
After that serene night, he found himself yearning to return. The melody of the environment became hypnotic; one filled notebook turned into two, then three. Days melted into weeks and then a month, with a new album on the brink of release, adding to the familiar strain at the back of Oliver's mind. Paperwork cluttered his chaotic office, his phone lay ignored as he dodged calls during the pre-release frenzy—a time when he wished he wasn't solely responsible for every aspect of his career.
More grueling hours passed, the bags under his eyes deepening, yet sleep eluded him. It was 4:43 am when he finally decided to escape to the hill again, seeking peace and solitude until the bustling streets calmed by 9 am. As the familiar peach tree came into view, he noticed an unusual shape beneath it, catching the early morning sunlight.
"Hmm... didn't see another car here... or any footprints," Oliver mused aloud, approaching cautiously. He reasoned that since he usually visited in the evening, he might miss daytime visitors. A bit of company wouldn't hurt, would it?
The closer he got, the larger the silhouette loomed, its distinct greenish hue unmistakable—it wasn't human, that much was clear. But what caught Oliver's attention was the symbol on its garb, triggering a flicker of recognition.
"If you're going to stand there and stare, you can leave," a voice like rolling thunder interrupted Oliver's thoughts, the figure not even bothering to glance in his direction.
"Ah... so this is where you've been hiding all year, Piccolo?" Oliver ventured with a nervous chuckle, leaning his guitar against the tree. "Nice spot, huh?"
The Namekian remained unresponsive, dismissing him with a grunt. Oliver clicked his tongue and settled on sitting on the opposite side of the tree. "I suppose I'll work on lyrics today. Wouldn't want to disturb you," he said more confidently, though a yawn betrayed his fatigue as he flipped through his notebook.
"You'd be foolish to think a human like yourself could distract me from my training," Piccolo retorted brusquely.
"What does that make you, then? I must be at least a little distracting if you're talking to me," Oliver teased, a playful lilt in his voice as he tested the waters with Piccolo.
The Namekian grunted in annoyance, but Oliver seemed to have gained an upper hand, suppressing a grin behind his palm. It was surprising to find Piccolo, known for his stoicism and seriousness, engaging in banter. The hill fell into a comfortable silence as the sun climbed higher, its beauty coaxing Oliver into contemplating staying awake all day just to witness the morning scene again tomorrow. The wind rustled the leaves and grass around them, and Oliver could discern the steady rhythm of Piccolo's breathing, almost like a gentle purr—had the Namekian fallen asleep?
"Why do you come here?" Piccolo's deep voice broke the silence, pulling Oliver back from his thoughts.
"Well, it's peaceful, a good place to think," Oliver replied, his tone slightly sheepish as he leaned back against the tree. "Why are you here? I never pegged you for a nature enthusiast."
"It was a quiet place for meditation," Piccolo explained tersely, his grip tightening on his arm. "Shouldn't you be drowning your sorrows in a bar somewhere?"
"At this hour? I didn't know you thought so little of me," Oliver retorted with a grin in his voice, earning another displeased grunt from Piccolo.
"You and your kind will serve me one day. I don't need to hold you in high regard."
"Still hung up on that, huh?" Oliver chuckled lightly, though his tone was thoughtful. "Well, I better enjoy this peach tree while I can, before you enslave the Earth."
"Don't be flippant, human. Whether it's bravery or foolishness, it won't get you far."
"I don't know," Oliver mused, his voice losing some of its earlier bravado. "It got me into this conversation with you, didn't it? I guess I'll push my luck."
The exchange continued, Oliver navigating the verbal sparring with surprising ease, almost as if it were a game. Despite Piccolo's gruff exterior, he didn't leave, nor did he suggest that Oliver should. It made Oliver wonder if perhaps, in his own way, Piccolo enjoyed the company. He laughed that notion off silently as he returned to his own task.
"Why aren't you spending your time with your group of clowns?" His deep voice interrupted Oliver's train of thought, snapping him back to reality.
"Well... uh, I don't know, actually..." Oliver fidgeted with the pencil still in his hand, avoiding Piccolo's piercing gaze as he glanced down at the grass. "They're all busy with their lives now. Goku's married and surely enjoying his time, and Bulma is, well... she's Bulma."
"Is that what you're telling yourself?"
"Excuse me—?"
"—You're avoiding them and intentionally burying yourself in your career so you can amount to something. Goku will always be the strongest, Bulma will always be the smartest, so what does that make you?"
"Oh—ouch..." Oliver's voice faltered, his earlier confidence waning as he ran his free hand through his hair. "I'd say that leaves me as the life of the party... Geez, I wonder where that came from."
"I'm not clueless, nor am I stupid."
"Well, geez... that's for sure..." Silence settled between them again, minutes stretching into what felt like hours. With progress slow and the tension palpable, Oliver decided it was time to call it a day. He stood up, gathering his equipment. "Guess I'll leave it to you, beanpole. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"
"Beanpole!?"
Oliver's departure left Piccolo alone under the peach tree, the serenity of the hill once again enveloping him. He watched as Oliver disappeared down the trail, pondering the unexpected encounter. It was a rare moment of respite for both of them, a fleeting pause in their respective journeys.
As Oliver walked away, he couldn't shake Piccolo's parting words. They echoed in his mind as he pedaled home, igniting a new sense of determination. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to be the strongest or the smartest. Perhaps there was something uniquely valuable in being himself—a musician finding inspiration under a peach tree on a quiet hillside.
And with that thought, Oliver set his sights on the horizon, the promise of a new melody taking shape in his mind.
Summary: After the events of the last martial arts tournament, life seemed to pick up as normal for Oliver and the rest of the Z fighters. Everyone is getting settled into their lives now that Piccolo seemed to vanish without a trace. His music career is on a steady rise in West City and the constant hustle and bustle of the noise, Oliver finds himself in solitude on a distant hill under a peach tree. Usually he watches the sunsets as he writes but after a busy day and an even longer night with his head swimming with ideas, he decides to catch the rising sun. But to his surprise, a familiar face was found under the tree.
This story is based off of a maladaptive day dream i had while listening to Melancholy Hill by Gorillaz.
Warnings: mention of alcohol
Word count: 1,578
Up on melancholy hill
There’s a plastic tree
Are you here with me?
Just lookin out on the day
Of another dream
Thunderous applause reverberated in Oliver's ears as he closed the door to his home, a wave of relief washing over him. A sigh escaped his lips, his hand automatically rising to rub his weary face as he set down his guitar case. The dimly lit living room seemed to amplify his exhaustion, a feeling that had become all too familiar over the past year. Night after night, he had fallen into the same routine—eat, sleep, work, repeat—save for the occasional interruption from Bulma, who would appear with a new gadget from Capsule Corp for him to test. With none of his friends facing imminent threats that demanded their constant attention and action, the monotony was starting to wear him down. For Oliver, whose music had always been his anchor through life's tumult, hitting a creative wall was a daunting prospect.
As the ringing in his ears began to subside, he found himself standing in front of the open fridge, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth of his fatigue. He grabbed a cold bottle of water and remained standing in the stillness of his apartment. Without turning on a single light, he collapsed on the couch, his emerald eyes staring fixedly at the ceiling. His mind raced against the quiet, amplifying his thoughts in the tranquil surroundings. Moments stretched into what felt like an eternity until suddenly, clarity struck.
One all-night planning session, a fitful afternoon nap, and two cans of Red Bull later, Oliver found himself walking through the countryside, his bike abandoned on a trail a few meters behind him. Clutched under his arm were his notebook and tablature book, the other hand holding his trusty old acoustic guitar. He was determined to reconnect with his musical roots. In the distance, the gentle sway of pink blossoms caught his eye—a sprawling peach tree atop a hill, its branches and ground adorned with delicate petals. Enchanted by its beauty, he made his decision; this serene spot would be his starting point for something new. The view from the top was breathtaking, expansive grassy plains punctuated by patches of lavender. It felt oddly familiar, reminiscent of scenes from his childhood that his sister would have adored with her penchant for chasing waterfalls and scenic vistas.
Soft, idle strums broke the silence, the wind tousling Oliver's coppery hair as he searched for inspiration. The afternoon wore on, tinted with shades of orange as he found his rhythm, soft humming harmonizing with the natural melody around him. As the sun began its descent, a sense of melancholy settled over him—he knew he would have to leave soon. But the serene beauty of the hill refused to release its grip on him; he sat and absorbed it all. He watched as the colors of dusk painted the sky and the peach tree's silhouette against it. Though the air was still, the foliage seemed to sway to an unheard tune, wrapping Oliver in its tranquil spell. A rockstar known for his loud, aggressive performances found himself unexpectedly entranced.
After that serene night, he found himself yearning to return. The melody of the environment became hypnotic; one filled notebook turned into two, then three. Days melted into weeks and then a month, with a new album on the brink of release, adding to the familiar strain at the back of Oliver's mind. Paperwork cluttered his chaotic office, his phone lay ignored as he dodged calls during the pre-release frenzy—a time when he wished he wasn't solely responsible for every aspect of his career.
More grueling hours passed, the bags under his eyes deepening, yet sleep eluded him. It was 4:43 am when he finally decided to escape to the hill again, seeking peace and solitude until the bustling streets calmed by 9 am. As the familiar peach tree came into view, he noticed an unusual shape beneath it, catching the early morning sunlight.
"Hmm... didn't see another car here... or any footprints," Oliver mused aloud, approaching cautiously. He reasoned that since he usually visited in the evening, he might miss daytime visitors. A bit of company wouldn't hurt, would it?
The closer he got, the larger the silhouette loomed, its distinct greenish hue unmistakable—it wasn't human, that much was clear. But what caught Oliver's attention was the symbol on its garb, triggering a flicker of recognition.
"If you're going to stand there and stare, you can leave," a voice like rolling thunder interrupted Oliver's thoughts, the figure not even bothering to glance in his direction.
"Ah... so this is where you've been hiding all year, Piccolo?" Oliver ventured with a nervous chuckle, leaning his guitar against the tree. "Nice spot, huh?"
The Namekian remained unresponsive, dismissing him with a grunt. Oliver clicked his tongue and settled on sitting on the opposite side of the tree. "I suppose I'll work on lyrics today. Wouldn't want to disturb you," he said more confidently, though a yawn betrayed his fatigue as he flipped through his notebook.
"You'd be foolish to think a human like yourself could distract me from my training," Piccolo retorted brusquely.
"What does that make you, then? I must be at least a little distracting if you're talking to me," Oliver teased, a playful lilt in his voice as he tested the waters with Piccolo.
The Namekian grunted in annoyance, but Oliver seemed to have gained an upper hand, suppressing a grin behind his palm. It was surprising to find Piccolo, known for his stoicism and seriousness, engaging in banter. The hill fell into a comfortable silence as the sun climbed higher, its beauty coaxing Oliver into contemplating staying awake all day just to witness the morning scene again tomorrow. The wind rustled the leaves and grass around them, and Oliver could discern the steady rhythm of Piccolo's breathing, almost like a gentle purr—had the Namekian fallen asleep?
"Why do you come here?" Piccolo's deep voice broke the silence, pulling Oliver back from his thoughts.
"Well, it's peaceful, a good place to think," Oliver replied, his tone slightly sheepish as he leaned back against the tree. "Why are you here? I never pegged you for a nature enthusiast."
"It was a quiet place for meditation," Piccolo explained tersely, his grip tightening on his arm. "Shouldn't you be drowning your sorrows in a bar somewhere?"
"At this hour? I didn't know you thought so little of me," Oliver retorted with a grin in his voice, earning another displeased grunt from Piccolo.
"You and your kind will serve me one day. I don't need to hold you in high regard."
"Still hung up on that, huh?" Oliver chuckled lightly, though his tone was thoughtful. "Well, I better enjoy this peach tree while I can, before you enslave the Earth."
"Don't be flippant, human. Whether it's bravery or foolishness, it won't get you far."
"I don't know," Oliver mused, his voice losing some of its earlier bravado. "It got me into this conversation with you, didn't it? I guess I'll push my luck."
The exchange continued, Oliver navigating the verbal sparring with surprising ease, almost as if it were a game. Despite Piccolo's gruff exterior, he didn't leave, nor did he suggest that Oliver should. It made Oliver wonder if perhaps, in his own way, Piccolo enjoyed the company. He laughed that notion off silently as he returned to his own task.
"Why aren't you spending your time with your group of clowns?" His deep voice interrupted Oliver's train of thought, snapping him back to reality.
"Well... uh, I don't know, actually..." Oliver fidgeted with the pencil still in his hand, avoiding Piccolo's piercing gaze as he glanced down at the grass. "They're all busy with their lives now. Goku's married and surely enjoying his time, and Bulma is, well... she's Bulma."
"Is that what you're telling yourself?"
"Excuse me—?"
"—You're avoiding them and intentionally burying yourself in your career so you can amount to something. Goku will always be the strongest, Bulma will always be the smartest, so what does that make you?"
"Oh—ouch..." Oliver's voice faltered, his earlier confidence waning as he ran his free hand through his hair. "I'd say that leaves me as the life of the party... Geez, I wonder where that came from."
"I'm not clueless, nor am I stupid."
"Well, geez... that's for sure..." Silence settled between them again, minutes stretching into what felt like hours. With progress slow and the tension palpable, Oliver decided it was time to call it a day. He stood up, gathering his equipment. "Guess I'll leave it to you, beanpole. Don't be a stranger, yeah?"
"Beanpole!?"
Oliver's departure left Piccolo alone under the peach tree, the serenity of the hill once again enveloping him. He watched as Oliver disappeared down the trail, pondering the unexpected encounter. It was a rare moment of respite for both of them, a fleeting pause in their respective journeys.
As Oliver walked away, he couldn't shake Piccolo's parting words. They echoed in his mind as he pedaled home, igniting a new sense of determination. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't need to be the strongest or the smartest. Perhaps there was something uniquely valuable in being himself—a musician finding inspiration under a peach tree on a quiet hillside.
And with that thought, Oliver set his sights on the horizon, the promise of a new melody taking shape in his mind.
