#somewhere along the way they kiss and bang and forgive each other <3

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 19~

Warning!! The story has strong language, gore, and attempted rape.

Chapter 18

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-------Part 1-------

Kurama: “I’ll feel better when you’re out of my sight....because I want to get rid of this feeling in my heart.”

Yoshino: “.......I see.”

Kurama’s voice sounded as if he was condemning my sin, which I falsely attributed to a small smile.

Kurama: “But you and I will meet again on the battlefield. It would be easy to snuff out a dream....It might not be a bad idea to leave you under the cherry blossom tree on this day forever.”

(Eh?)

The wind blew harder than ever, causing petals to fly in the air.

A moment later I squinted at the momentum----Kurama gently turned his head towards me.

Yoshino: "Mm....."

Our lips meet and a sad moan escapes from my mouth.

We didn't know which one of us was melting from the heat.

Yoshino: "Mmm....haa....ahh.."

(....Why?)

His tongue slipped through the thin lips and tickling the sensitive areas.

He stimulated all the right places and my body was supported by his strong arms.

When I opened my eyes, my view was blocked by my messy bangs disturbed by the wind.

Yoshino: "Nnn...."

Our lips separated with a faint wet sound.

My hair was a mess and Kurama gently adjusts it without saying a word.

Kurama: ".............."

Our gazes intertwined and our wistful breaths touched.

Kurama: "I'd rather kill you than have someone else kill you. Until then, stay alive."

Yoshino: "........"

The words were too dangerous to be an expression of possessiveness and smelled too much of blood to be a confession of love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. I won't get myself killed...(+4/+4)

2. Kurama is the one who must not be killed.

3. No reaction...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: "I'll do my best not to get killed..."

(For myself and for my friends...)

Kurama: "Good. I like that about you."

At some point, the residue of the withered tears was swept away by the wind along with the petals.

Kurama: "Yoshino. From now on....you're not my toy."

Yoshino: "......Mm."

I felt my heart tear into a thousand pieces, but I pretended not to know the pain.

Yoshino: "Because now....I'm Kurama's enemy."

I did not ask or speak about the meaning of that kiss.

.................

Time moves on, leaving stagnant thoughts behind.

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

-------Part 2--------

Yoshino: "I think that's pretty much it for packing."

(Finally, today is the day I leave here.)

The Shogunate and the Rebels each have a system whereby only the messenger and a few soldiers as my escorts precede them to the battlefield.

(The Rebel messenger is going to take me and hand over to the Shogunate messenger on the battlefield....)

(Then, as soon as the two sides' main armies join up, the war begins, right?)

I gently looked at the shiny stone in my hand.

(As a member of the Shogunate I fight against the Rebels.)

Yoshino: "Kurama.....is going to kill me."

(I, too, cannot protect anything unless I am prepared to do so.)

(And yet...)

(I still have such a crush on Kurama.)

I gripped the stone tightly and dammed up the emotions that were about to spill out.

Yoshino: "...................."

And then, I stood up and I went out-----

..............

Yoshino: ".......I'm coming in."

I called out softly and opened the sliding door to enter.

I already had a hunch that the room owner----Kurama would be out.

(.....Forgive me, Kurama. For entering your room without your permission. I'll leave as soon as I've done my business.)

I apologize in my heart and kneel down on the shelf at the end of the room.

The shiny figurines owned by Kurama were carefully arranged and sparkled.

Yoshino: ".................."

I take out the shiny stone I picked up from the Otherworld and placed it between the beautiful ornaments to hide it.

The small white fragments glow dimly like the daytime moon.

(....If we can't let go of our memories, let's at least leave them behind.)

Yoshino: "Thank you for everything. .......goodbye, Kurama."

As I said those words, my vision again caught the shiny stone and it started filling my memories.

(Somewhere along the line, I naturally accepted that I was your toy.)

(I felt like that was a manifestation of your typical possessiveness.)

(By the time I got to the point where I wanted to be more than a toy, it was..... too late.)

I stood back up and left the room quickly...

I started walking without even looking back.

........................

-----On the same day, evening at Kyoto.

The mysterious light of twilight illuminated the beautifully furnished room.

Ibuki: "I've made you wait, Akihito."

Ibuki walks into the room and sees a young man sitting in front of him smiling languidly.

Akihito: "You have a bad habit to call people immediately and make them wait, Ibuki."

Ibuki: "Looks like you were busy playing with that."

Ibuki pointed to Akihito's lap as if to make fun of him.

He was comfortably beating his drum to pass time.

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway..."

------Part 3------

Akihito: "What else can I do here? Well, anyway...Yoritomo has outwitted us all, hasn't he?"

A soft, unreadable smile crept across Akihito's lips.

Akihito: "I didn't think they'd take back the fox princess."

Ibuki: "Why are you laughing about it?"

Akihito: "Why not? You'll manage it, won't you? I sowed the seeds of evil, Yasuchika nurtured them and....Ibuki, it's your job to reap the harvest."

Ibuki: "Pain in the ass."

Akihito: "I thought you loved playing?"

Ibuki: "Okay okay, anything for you."

After a snide retort, Ibuki laughed and sat down next to Akihito.

----To discuss their future plans.

...............

Rebel soldier 1: "The sun will soon be gone. Let's start preparing the camp."

A rebel soldier riding in front of my horse looks back at me.

Rebel soldier 2: "Ah. Hey, are you feeling any better?"

Yoshino: "Yes, I'm doing fine."

As a prisoner of war to be handed over to the Shogunate, I have been treated with respect by the rebel envoys.

It was Yoshitsune-sama who gave the order to do so.

(Yoichi-san and Benkei also were sweet enough to see me off. It is as if they forgot I'm an enemy.)

------FLASHBACK------

Benkei: "I know you're gonna stubbornly say 'No' if I asked you to run away. But nothing can be done now, isn't it?

Yoichi: "We'll just have to hope that we won't run into you on the battlefield."

------FLASHBACK ENDS-----

(Those two also risked their lives to fight for Yoshitsune-sama and their friends.)

(I'm going to stand on the battlefield, so I should learn to face anything.)

On the back of the horse, I look ahead and think about the battle that lies ahead.

At that time-----

Rebel soldier 3: "Hm? What the....?"

(What happened?)

One of the soldiers suddenly looked at the mountainside on his right.

Yoshino: "......Sand dust?"

I gasp at the sound of many horses' feet galloping towards us.

Rebel soldier 1: "No way, an enemy attack!?"

(No way.)

Dozens of men jumped out of the slope and rushed towards us on horseback.

Enemy 1: "She's here! Get her!"

Enemy: *ROARS*

Rebel soldier 2: "Are they from the Shogunate!?"

Rebel soldier 3: "I don't think so. There's no point in making a surprise attack when we've already negotiated so much."

(That's right. So, who are these people....?)

Rebel soldier 1: "We can't let em hurt our prisoners..."

-------The oldest soldier turns to me.

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

-------Part 4-------

Rebel soldier 1: "And you, follow me closely! Let's get out of here."

Yoshino: "Yes!"

The rebels soldiers lined up their horses around me and ran frantically.

I was followed by the shouts of my escorts and the clatter of horses' hooves.

........................

At the same time---Kurama, who was leaning on his side in his room, was playing with the silver crown in his hand.

Kurama: "I don't like it. The glow should be undiminished, but it's not."

As he put the crown reflecting the orange of setting sun, back on the shelf.

A similar sparkling object falls off.

Kurama: "........."

He picks it and was about to place it back, when-----

Kurama: "What the?"

Kurama frowned at the dimly shine of a stone, placed hidden in between his collection.

Kurama: "This is...no way...."

It's as if he's trying to hold on to a memory of someone who's just popped into his head.

Kurama cradles the small stone in his palm.

At that time-----

Yoichi: "Kurama!"

Suddenly, the sliding door of the room opens and Yoichi rushes in, breathing hard.

Kurama: "What is it?"

Kurama's gaze sharpens slightly at the unusual appearance of Yoichi.

Yoichi: "There's an attack. The Court's hands have extended to the party which was sending over Yoshino."

Kurama: "!!!!"

........................

(It's been a day. ....We've managed to escape, but.)

Rebel soldier 1: "It's not good. The horses are getting tired. I wish the enemy would give up for good."

We jumped into the mountains and tried to move along the ridge, hiding from our pursuers.

(At least if we knew who the enemy was....?)

At that time----

Rebel soldier: "Shit! They're here again!"

Yoshino: ".....!!"

At the same time as we turned around at the sound of the impatient voice, arrows poured down like rain.

Rebel soldier 2: "RUN!"

He shouted at the top of his lungs, and when one soldier tried to return the fire with his own bow, he was shot and fell from his horse.

I was about to reach out to him when another soldier tugged at my horse's hitch.

Rebel soldier 3: "Just run!"

Yoshino "..... Okay."

(If the enemy's goal is to catch me, I must never be caught.)

Keeping low, we sprinted along the beastly path, which narrowed the further we went.

............

(How long has it been, since I'm running....?)

Running like mad, falling down the mountainside, still running away, but.....

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

-------Part 5-------

Rebel soldier 1: "They're catching up. We'll have to fight our way back!"

The rebels soldiers started protecting me with their backs.

The rebel soldiers drew their weapons in unison and they glittered in the cloudy sky.

(.....I can't believe I can only watch like this.)

Enemy 1: "What can you even do with such a small number?"

The enemy smiled hatefully and stepped forward as if he had plenty of room.

Rebel soldier 1: "LET'S FIGHT!"

Rebel soldiers: *ROARS*

Enemy 1: "COME ON!"

Some shoot arrows, others wield white blades.

(But the number of soldiers on our side is too small compared to the other side. At this rate....)

The rebel soldiers, who are slowly retreating to fight back, are clearly in a bad mood.

Enemy 2: "Eat this!"

Rebel soldier 1: "Nn...."

(Ah.........)

A soldier was cut down in front of me and fell into the mud.

Rebel soldier 1: "Fuck...you should....go first. Go!"

The horse's rump is beaten and he clings to the reins.

Enemy 1: "Don't let her get away! Go, go----"

(....I'm scared.)

I winced as one of the arrows pierces my arm.

But still, I ran with all my might------

Yoshino: "Kyaa!!"

My horse lets out a high-pitched scream and rocks violently.

(They shot him in the leg!)

There was nothing I could do, and my body falls off the horse.

(Damn it!)

Yoshino: "Ouch...!!"

I staggered back to my feet and stared in amazement at the hellish battle.

Rebel soldier 4: "Gwaa..."

One by one, the rebel soldiers fell into the mud.

I was immediately confronted by several enemies, who blocked my escape.

Enemy 1: "He ordered us to be careful. We were just ordered to capture and keep the woman alive."

Yoshino: "Nngh....."

Enemy 2: "Now now, don't make it difficult for us....come here, missy!"

One of the men who had dismounted grabbed me roughly by the arm and I winced in pain.

(Ah.....)

My eyes widen as I look over their heads, only to see the last of the Rebels soldiers fall.

Yoshino: "...Let go of me!!"

Enemy 3: "Hey, shut up!"

Enemy 4: "She looks like some ordinary town girl? What's so valuable about her?"

Enemy 5: "Who cares...? All our employers want, is her. But, well, it wouldn't hurt if we love her a little bit before handing it over, right....?"

I got goosebumps all over my body as he gave me a lecherous smile.

(No....)

I shake off their hands and try to run away from the emerging smirking men------

Enemy 1: "Where are you running off to?"

Yoshino: "Nn...No."

They soon caught up to me and dragged me down to the ground.

My vision darkens with despair as I see multiple arms stretching towards me....

???: "What the fuck are you doing?"

(Eh...)

At that moment---- the air around us was suffocatingly tense.

Enemy 1: "Ngh....."

The men's smiles froze, and they all turned their attention to the owner of the voice.

(No way....)

Kurama: "Did you touch the woman?"

Chapter 20

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #main story translations #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome

[killian-whump]

New Years Resolutions for the Covens?

Alright! I passed your request on to both the Hook Coven and the Colin Character Coven, and they’ve sent back an envelope, so let’s open it and see what’s inside...

What the fuck is this shit? “Donate to the Faceless Mark fund! Only 700 cents a day can help a faceless young man buy a new face! Your girlfriend will love it!” Fucking Mark, I swear to God...

ANYWAY! Strange fake charity fliers aside, let’s see what ELSE is in here... Oh, it seems like each of the covens’ members has gone home for the holidays, and rather than meeting in person to share their resolutions, they’ve each written their own on a little slip of paper and sent it to Detective Rogers in Hyperion Heights, who put the envelope together. That’s cute :)

Also, someone’s put a little scrap of something in here... just a small scrap of... Oh dear God, Harrison’s put his G-string in here. No, wait. I stand corrected. He’s written his resolution ON the G-string: “Bang more students.”

Well, the rest have to be better, right? Let’s hope so.

Oh, this is sweet, and a little sad. Rowe hopes that the new year brings an end to the fighting and that he won’t die, so maybe someday he can kiss a girl. That’s surprisingly poignant for someone with about 30 seconds of screen time.

It looks like Norman Quested has sent along a note, resolving that 2021 will be the year he’ll finally come out of hiding and let us all meet him! Yeah, sure, Norman. I’ll believe THAT when I see it. It looks like Emmett Fitzgerald, Nick, and John Bloom have all made similar resolutions for 2021 - and I think they’re all completely full of shit and believe none of them :( But who knows? Maybe one of them will pull off some sort of miracle and emerge from the great unknown where characters go when they are no more T_T

Oh, here’s Brendan’s resolution. Let’s see... In 2021, he resolves to kill less people. Wait. People? Multiple? Brendan, how many people have you killed?! I knew that guy was a nutter. Knew it.

Looks like the next one is Peter Sheerin’s... Well, more like smells like it’s his. This thing reeks of pot smoke and corn nuts. ANYWAY. Peter’s resolution for 2021 is to... get high with Snoop Dogg. Hey, Peter, you and everybody else, man. Get in line. Oh, he also wants to... *strains to read it* Show him his hairy micke- HEY NOW, this is a family program!! (Wait, is it? I don’t think it is, actually. Nevermind. Carry on with your bad self, Peter.)

According to this next bit of paper, Jamie hopes this might finally be the year he gets an article on the front page of Magazine Magazine, everyone’s favorite periodical for people who enjoy periodically-released periodicals.

Conor is up next, it appears, and he’s resolving to stay on his meds and try to win Daisy back in 2021! Good luck and godspeed, Conor, you adorable little peanut - we all want the very best for you! <3

The next piece of paper in here doesn’t have a resolution on it at all. It just says, “2020 was tough" and I think we ALL know who that was.

Oh. Wow. Someone’s put a fancy scroll in here, complete with a wax seal from... Bavaria? Oh, of course! This one must be from Duke Phillip. Let’s see what it says... “I am somewhere where I don’t know where I am.” Umm... Didn’t this come from Bavaria? Isn’t he from there? Oh. Wait a minute. When we sent him home for the holidays, did we remember to send him to Bavaria in the 1500s? Oh. Oh shit. If anyone in Germany happens to see a ridiculously handsome man in medieval clothes, send him back this way. He’s very confused.

Next up is Ben... who resolves to keep his girlfriend happy no matter what the cost, because he’s more than a little co-dependent and I added that last part myself, because we all know it’s sadly very true.

Michael Kovak’s sent us his resolution on a nice letterhead here. Seems like he’s doing quite well for himself with his exorcisms. Let’s see what his resolution is... “Go the whole year without getting vomited on by a demon.” Well, umm, okay. Thank you for sharing, Michael. We’ll all cross our fingers for you and also stay far, far away from you when you’re working. Ew.

...And here’s another pamphlet for Mark’s face charity. He’s scribbled on it, “Get money for a new face. Bang more girls.” Well, at least that little shit’s still on brand, I guess. Good luck with the face thing, Mark.

Oh no, this one’s sad. It just says, “Get a name” with a frowny face :( Aww... Now I feel bad :( Everybody feels bad :( Let’s cheer ourselves up!

Names are over-rated, baby. We love you, anyway 💗

Brennan Sullivan’s resolution is, as always, to never do that again - with “that” basically referring to almost the entirety of the film “The Dust Storm”. The human liver is simply not equipped to deal with that much liquor in one weekend, and the human heart is not equipped to deal with people like Nora :(

We already GOT Harrison’s resolution, unfortunately...

Oh, here’s a timely one! Douxie resolves to keep Nari safe and not let the Arcane Order catch her. Good job, Douxie! We know we can count on you to keep the world safe! Oh, he also wants to master time travel so he can go back in time and get more of those buns.

Let’s see who’s next... Oh dear. This one’s a piece of tree bark with the word “RESURRECT” burned into it somehow. Umm. We’ll just set that one aside and not talk about it anymore. It’s not like it’s an indication that a psychotic dead guy wants to be reborn to spread the word of his God in blood and hellfire or anything. It definitely doesn’t say that anywhere. I’d tell you if it did, of course, but you all might want to get your affairs in order anyway. Just in case.

Maybe we can convince Michael to cut his holiday short to come deal with this if we promise he won’t get vomited on... 🤔

Abe resolves to make sure everyone knows he’s actually r̶̙̥̲͈̐̊͑́̌̇́́ḙ̷͚̮̩͚͓͕̹̱̩̜̽̂̓͂̕͠d̷͓͈̥͈̞̱̗̥̼͌̎̌́͗̔͋͜ạ̵͎̯͍͉͓͚̬͖͓͐̈̏̄̈͜͜ͅͅç̵͍̻͕͚͉͚̯͔͔̝̮̜̪͛͌̌̂̂͊̊͌t̸̨̛̠̳̲̜̀e̵͚̞̾̇̆͑͠d̷̡̻͎͎͎̠͍͚̞̈́̍̓͐ͅ so he’ll finally get the respect he deserves!!

This next one isn’t so much a resolution as a... Huh. Well, this kinda looks like the sort of note you hand to a bank teller when you’re robbing the place: “Put all your money and the name of a doctor who fixes knees in the envelope and send it back or else.” Haha. Jokes on you, JJ... I ain’t got no money.

Next up should be Gordo Cooper, but there isn’t anything in here from him... the only other thing in the envelope is a smaller envelope the Hooks sent. I wonder what happened to Gordo’s resolution? I hope it didn’t get lost... Wait, is that my shower running? I’m the only one home and I’m writing this post, so who the hell is in my showe- OH. Hold on a sec.

Yep. Just as I suspected. Gordo delivered his resolution via the Shower Angst Vortex. He resolves to stop being a dick and win back Trudy, but also to bang more chicks, meet aliens, and ride on a star... so I’m not really sure how all of that’s going to work out for him in the long run.

Now on to the Hooks! Let’s see... OG Hook’s resolution is to be the best father and husband he can be, awww 💗 Wish Hook’s resolution is to spend as much time with Alice as possible to make up for lost time, awww 💗 Little Killian’s resolution is to grow up big and strong and be a hero like the other Killians, awww 💗 Slave Killian’s resolution is to stop letting his brother down, awww 😭 Navy Killian’s resolution is to make his brother proud, awww 💗 Captain Jones’ resolution is to avenge his brother’s death, yikes 😳 Captain Hook’s resolution is to kill Rumplestiltskin, double yikes 😳 Dark Hook’s resolution is... oh, dear. “Kill the lot of you and burn your towns to cinders” 😳😳😳 Detective Rogers wants to find peace of mind and learn to forgive himself 😭 And Cowardly Deckhand Hook wants... uhh... to try almond milk? Oh, bless his heart 😊

Wait, where’s Old Hook’s resolution? *looks again* Oh, here it is...

“Bang more girls.”

GODDAMMIT, HOOK 😩

#colin character coven #coven of hooks #not whxmp #happy new year #kw writes a thing #my attempts at humor #anonymous #kw ask box

[parkliet]

Dear anon that called me a coward. I am not, fuck you. //lh

*green was answered by Wei, Red by Harley, Blue by eirynn, Pink by aydi. Sorry if it’s confusing.

1. Is there a boy/girl in my life? There is someone in aydi’s life.

2. Think of the last person that hurt you? Do you forgive them? Yes, I know I actually shouldn’t but I do.

3. What do you think of when you hear the word meow? I’ll meow back because I want too.

4. What’s something you really want right now? A beer and some love 😭

5. Are you afraid of falling in love? Yes, because it involves vulnerability and sappy stuff and I hate that.

6. Do you like the beach? Kinda, it’s not bad.

7. Have you ever slept on a couch with someone? Yes and I hated every minute of it.

8. What’s the background on your cell? The lockscreen below. The Home Screen is none of your business.

9. Name the last 4 beds you sat on? Mine, aydi’s ex’s, xyr brother’s and a friends.

10. Do you like your phone? Well if I say no I sound spoilt but I wouldn’t mind better y’know...

11. Honestly, are things going the way you planned? No, I hate everything and need death :/

12. Who’s the last person you added to your contacts? A friend from school, he found my number and I dunno how.

13. Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler? Rottweiler

14. What hurts more, physical or emotional pain? Depending on what’s going on, currently it’s emotional pain being a bitch.

15. Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum? All I want is a date at an art museum ;-;

16. Are you tired? Absolutely exhausted

17. How long have you known your first contact? Since January 2019

18. Are they a relative? No, school friend.

19. Have you ever considered getting back with an ex? No but *some people* have and I personally find it annoying because the ex is a jerk.

20. When was the last time you talked to the person you shared a kiss with? ...yesterday

21. If you knew you had the right person would you marry them today? I don’t see why not, sure.

22. Would you kiss the person you kissed last again? No, don’t think I would.

23. How many bracelets are you wearing? Currently 2.

24. Is there a certain quote you live by? “No”

25. What’s on your mind? This really big teddy bear i saw in the store, but I couldn’t get it and I’m sad 😢

26. Do you have any tattoos? Can’t get any yet but I really want a few!

27. What’s your favorite color? Pink and green

28. Next time you will kiss someone on the lips? Do you want a date or sumn?

29. Who are you texting? Currently my Classmates

30. Think of the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch? Yes... why are all of these about kissing?

31. Do you ever have a feeling something bad is going to happen and it did? All the time bc nothing good happens

32. Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to? Yes, quite a few

33. Do you think anyone has feelings for you? From what I hear recently, I’m gonna say yes.

34. Has anyone told you you have pretty eyes? Yes and it makes me melt each time.

35. Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone else right in front of you? Not my problem, we’re not together so he can kiss who he wants.

36. Were you single last Valentine’s Day? No.

37. Are you friends with the last person you kissed? Yes

38. What do your friends call you? Whatever they want to at the time, I don’t care.

39. Has anyone upset you in the past week? Myself

40. Have you ever cried over a text? I do that a lot.

41. Where’s your last bruise located? My face, under my eye.

42. What is it from? I’d rather not say.

43. Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really badly? All the time when I have to be with people who don’t give me space.

44. Last person you were on the phone with? I don’t make calls so the last person I texted was a friend.

45. Do you have a favorite pair of shoes? Heels/boots make me feel good.

46. Do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day? Yea if it’s necessary or it’s a cute hat

47. Would you ever go bald if it was in style? No, I love my hair too much.

48. Do you make supper for your family? No but I can cook if need be

49. Does your bedroom have a door? Yes

50. Top 3 webpages? Tumblr.com, picrew and Pinterest

51. Do you know anyone that hates shopping? My friends like shopping but hate shopping with me bc I wanna go to every shop.

52. Does anything on your body hurt? Everywhere (not even joking) currently it’s my left arm that hurts the most

53. Are goodbyes hard for you? Depends on the person really, if you were a bully or just a bad person I won’t miss you.

54. What’s the last Beverage you spilled on yourself? Coffee

55. How is your hair? Currently curly and not set properly so my bangs look uneven ;-;

56. What do you usually do first in the morning? Lie there for a few minutes, cos I’ll probably still be tired.

57. Do you think 2 people can last forever? Yes, if they are happy with each other.

58. Think back to January 2007, we’re you single? I was 9 months old so yeah...

59. Green or purple grapes? Both suck

60. When’s the next time you will give someone a big hug? As soon as I can without the chance of death.

61. Do you wish you were somewhere else rn? Probably somewhere quiet

62. When will be the next time you text someoone? Later today bc time zones

63. Where will you be 5 hours from now? Still at home, maybe the store idk

64. What were you doing at 8 this morning? Still sleeping

65. This time last year can you remember who you liked? An ex I think, not sure

66. Is there a person in your life that always makes you smile? Yes, the tumblr mutuals

67. Did you kiss or hug anyone today? No

68. What was your last thought before you went to bed last night? “Ow my fucking head” after hitting it while trying to get comfy at 4am

69. Have you ever tried your hardest then get disappointed at the end? Yeah, happens a lot and sucked every time

70. How many windows are open on your computer? I’m on mobile but 16 tabs are open rn.

71. How many fingers do you have? 10

72. What’s your ringtone? Whatever’s the iPhone default

73. How old will you be in 5 months? I don’t know how old I am now but the body will be 15

74. Where’s your mum right now? Lol who?

75. Why aren’t you with the person you first loved or almost loved? If you are talking exes, then it’s because we weren’t happy

76. Have you held hands with someone in the past 3 days? No

77. Are you friends with the same people you were with 2 years ago? Sort of

78. Do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7? No

79. Do you know anyone with the name mike? Nope

80. Have you ever fallen asleep in someone’s arms? Yes because I sleep in class a lot and my classmates let me

81. How many people have you like in the past 3 months? Between all of us, 3

82. Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the past 3 days? No, or I hope not

83. Will you talk the person you like tonight? Hopefully

84. You’re drunk and yelling at hot people from your car, your with? All my guy friends bc I’m more likely to get drunk with and I’m more comfortable doing weird stuff with them.

85. If your bf/gf was into drugs would you care? I mean I would prefer them to not but honestly it’s their life in the end. I would try to help but if I can’t stop it it’s not my problem, it would also be kinda hypocritical of me

86. What was the most eventful thing that happened when you went to see a movie? Can’t remember

87. Who was your last received call from? A missed call from my friend, I texted her back tho

88. If someone gave you $1000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you? ...yeah

89. What is something you wish you had more of? Love

90. Have you ever trusted someone too much? Sadly yes

91. Do you sleep with your window open? No

92. Do you get along with girls? Yes, if they’re nice

93. Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth? I’m not exactly sure if they need to know

94. Does sex mean love? Absolutely NOT, lol just bc someone is horny and wants to sleep with you, doesn’t mean they love you

95. You’re locked in the room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem? Not really

96. Have you ever kissed someone with a lip ring? No but I did kiss a guy with a tongue stud...

97. did you sleep alone this week? All except one day, or was that last week...

98.do you have someone who makes you happy?Yea I guess

99. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, not really actually

100. Who was the last person you pinky promised? A friend

#this too a long time 😭 but am no coward

[benbarnesfrustration]

Black Days 3

A/N: I decided to make my entry into @banditthewriter‘s trope challenge my third entry into this series. Hopefully you enjoy! xoxo

Trope prompt:  Getting caught

Rated M/Explicit/NC-17 for smut, so much smut, and drinking and language, but mostly smut, all of the smut

Word Count: 2320

Black Days Masterlist

gif source

Three months later...January.

It was the rainy season in Kandahar. Everyone was feeling miserable from a combination of the dreary weather and the recently-passed holidays that many spent on base instead of home with their families. You had been going out on routine patrols, but there hadn’t been any drama since the ambush and your injury. You trained with Russo a couple more times and continued practicing on your own, but you hadn’t seen much of him in the last couple of months. He hadn’t been on base much, and was on a pretty steady rotation of hush-hush missions. On the rare occasions you did see him, it was only in passing; a quick nod or wave hello here and there, but you noticed that his beard had gotten scruffier, and the circles under his eyes had gotten darker. Whatever they were throwing at him, it must have been rough. He was an exemplary soldier and his sniper skills had achieved almost legendary status, so you were sure he could handle it-- whatever it was-- yet you did worry a little.

You hadn’t been intimate again since the first-- and only-- time, as it was literally against the rules and if you were caught, you both could wind up facing disciplinary action. However, that didn’t stop you from thinking about him as you lay in your cot at night, waiting to fall asleep. It didn’t stop you from thinking about him as your hands roamed your body in the shower.

You had another 19 months left in your deployment, and you were starting to feel the drain of the day-in-day-out trudge of life on base. You missed your friends, you missed your pets. Hell, you missed just being able to curl up on the sofa with wine and a good book. But this was what you signed up for, and you might as well make the best of it.

You were enjoying a rare and welcome midday break in your tent, lying on your cot with your eyes closed, when a shadow fell across your prone form. You opened your eyes and saw Lt. Russo standing over you, a small smile on his lips. You quickly sat up. “Lieutenant Russo, sir,” you said in a rush, as you started to stand.

Russo gestured with his hands that you could remain seated. “Corporal. No, please don’t get up,” he said. You nodded, and looked around the tent. You were not alone, so you must remain professional. “What can I do for you sir?”

“I’ve received a commendation, and I’m leaving base in a few days to attend the ceremony in Bahrain,” he said. You smiled broadly.

“Congratulations Lieutenant,” you said happily. “You deserve it.”

He didn’t seem to acknowledge the compliment.  “Well the thing is… the commendation is for my efforts during the ambush a few months ago. We neutralized a number of enemy soldiers despite our heavy losses, just the two of us. It didn’t seem right that I receive the commendation alone, so I put your name in for recognition and they agreed.”

You were dumbstruck. “I….wow. Um. Thank you, sir. It’s not necessary, of course…”

“It is,” Russo stated simply. “Without you, I don’t know if I would have made it out alive.”  He looked down at you, his face impassive, the intensity in his dark eyes the only indicator of how seriously he felt about the matter. “So, pack up your dress blues, Corporal. We’re going to a party.”

                                           ********************************

One week later you found yourself standing offstage in the ballroom at the Naval base in Bahrain, trying to steady your breathing. When your name was called, you ascended the steps to the platform, feeling strangely as if it was happening to someone else and you were watching from outside your body. What grounded you was seeing Russo, who had already received his award, standing at the back of the stage with the other awardees. As you passed him, he gave you a wink and a small smile, and you had to fight not to break out into a girlish grin.  You stood at attention as the general pinned the medal to your chest, saluted, and shook his hand before joining the others at the back of the stage. You stood on stage until the ceremony was over and you could be excused to enjoy the reception.

You milled around, accepting accolades from various people you had never met, feeling a bit self-conscious. Russo was the only one there you knew, and he was busy chatting up some high profile personnel. You stood somewhat aimlessly by the cheese station, popping cubes of cheddar into your mouth.  After about ten minutes of that, you went to the bar to refresh your drink.

As you were waiting for the bartender to return, you felt a small nudge against your left arm. “So, corporal,” a familiar voice purred into your left ear, “are you having a nice time?”

You turned to face him, and found him leaning against the bar, tilted in your direction, smiling. The faint scent of whiskey emanated from him.

“Careful, Lieutenant,” you cooed back to him, “People might see and get the wrong impression.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you mean the right wrong impression?”

You stifled a laugh. “Precisely.”

“Forgive me for not giving a shit at the moment,” he replied. “I’ve been dying to get you alone again for months.”

You were surprised to hear that. “You had ample opportunity on base,” you said.

“Sure, but there was always so many people around. It seemed too risky.”

You looked around the room. “And this is no different?”

“I don’t know these people. And once we’re out of here…” he shrugged. Was he suggesting you take off together somewhere?  Before you could respond, he pressed a key card into your palm.

“This is my room here,” he said softly.  “Wait fifteen minutes and excuse yourself. Meet me there.”  Before you could say anything, he turned and walked away, and disappeared in the crowd.  You stood looking down at the key card in your hand. You felt unsure and yet...exhilarated. Your heart fluttered and a nice warmth spread down to your core, blending with the first tinges of arousal. You grabbed your drink, downed it in one gulp, and began making your way toward the exit.

                                       *********************************

Twenty minutes later you were standing outside his hotel room door. Was this a good idea? You were definitely playing a dangerous game, but memories of the last time, along with the couple of drinks you had, steeled your nerves.  You knocked once tentatively, remembered the key card in your hand, and then unlocked the door. He was already approaching the door, having heard your knock, and he smiled at you. He had already begun changing out of his dress uniform before you arrived, and was wearing just his slacks, a white t-shirt that nicely accentuated the muscles in his torso, and socks.  “Hi,” you breathed.

“Hi back,” he said, and then he was on you.  You met his advance and he cupped your head in his hands as you kissed each other hungrily.  He bent to plant kisses along your collarbone and throat, causing you to break out into gooseflesh.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked between kisses.

"Oh yes,” you replied without any hesitation, making him chuckle.  

You hopped up to wrap your legs around his waist, and he held you up by your ass as you hungrily kissed, nibbled and sucked on his face, ears and neck.  He carried you straight back to the bed, and he threw you down onto it. He grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you toward him so your ass was right at the edge of the bed.  You yanked your shirt off and over your head, also knocking your bun loose, causing your hair to tumble down. He pulled off your dress shoes and pants, exposing the black underwear you were wearing.  He pulled them off of you and over your feet, tossing them somewhere absentmindedly.  You were completely exposed from the waist down, and you could feel the heat and moisture of your excitement take root.

He ripped off his shirt and pushed his pants down, tossing his own boxer briefs aside.  You licked your lips at the sight of his cock.  You wanted it, and you wanted it right then and there.  He held your ankles together at a one o'clock position so as not to obscure the view of your face, and lightly brushed your wetness with his fingertips.

“Oooh,” he cooed.  "You don’t need any foreplay at all, do you?“

"No,” you said, breathlessly.  "I need you Billy. Please.“

Wordlessly, he gripped his cock at the base and thrust it into you roughly.  You gasped and arched your back at the shock of him filling you so suddenly.  He held you by the ankles and slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass audibly.  He was not being gentle tonight, and that suited you more than fine.

He grunted as he pounded you roughly, and you cried out loudly as your first orgasm overtook you suddenly and powerfully.  You felt your walls pulsing tightly against his shaft as the waves of ecstasy washed over you, and every other muscle in your body tensed up.  You gripped the blankets tightly as you screamed.  

Without warning, he withdrew from you, knelt, and licked your entrance from one end to the other, ending with your clit.  The sensation of his tongue on you so soon after your climax was almost more than you could handle.  Your nerves were so sensitive that he sent you over the edge again almost immediately, your hips bucking as you clawed at his hair.  You felt him chuckle softly against your thigh before he stood up again.

He grabbed your hips and flipped you over without uttering a single word or command.  He climbed onto the bed, positioned himself behind you, and thrust himself back in.  He banged you thoroughly in this manner for quite some time while you screamed and buried your face in the pillow.  Again and again you came; never before had you ever known such pleasure.

"Billy!” you screamed.  "Fuck! God!“  The only thing your mind seemed to be capable of was screaming his name or swearing.  You were so loud that you were positive the occupant of the next room was most likely wide awake and hearing everything.  Fortunately, you didn’t give a shit.

Billy moaned as he continued to thrust into you, nearing his own climax, when suddenly, the door to Billy’s hotel room flew open. It startled you half to death, and you let out a small scream of shock. Billy stopped suddenly and quickly tossed the blanket around you both. “What the fuck!” he yelled.

“I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up!” a furious and red-faced man shouted from the doorway. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Billy looked confused. “Um, isn’t it obviou--” he began.

“People are trying to sleep!” he bellowed, cutting off Billy’s retort. “Now I don’t know if this is something that should be going on, if you catch my drift, soldier.” he continued. “But if I find out you’re bringing hookers onto this base, there will be hell to pay!”

You both gaped at the man, shocked. “Hooker?” you squealed. Billy laughed. “Man, get the fuck out of my room. I don’t pay for sex.”

The man in the doorway looked around, seeing the two discarded uniforms on the floor. “Oh I see,” he said, taking on a gleeful tone. “I wonder what rank you two are. Let’s see if this is in violation of something.” He took a few steps into the room, leaning down as if to scoop your shirt up off the floor.

Billy lunged as if he was going to do something, but you grabbed his shoulder.  “Sir, please,” you said with a conciliatory tone. “I’m so sorry we woke you up. I promise it will not happen again. But we are two consenting adults just having fun during off-hours. We’re both lieutenants from another base. We were actually in a relationship before joining the service,” you lied deftly while Billy’s eyes grew a little wider, “I promise there is nothing illegal going on. Just please, leave us in peace and we won’t bother you again.”  

“If you’re active duty, technically there aren’t off-hours,” he replied gruffly, and your heart sank. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Fine. I was young once. I get it.” He pointed at the two of you, huddled on the bed and clutching a sheet for modesty. “But knock it off now. I mean it,” he said. “I don’t wanna have to come back in here.” And he huffed out, slamming the door behind him,

Billy and you exhaled in unison.  “God,” Billy said. “I thought we were done for. We must not have closed the door all the way when you came in.”

“How humiliating,” you said, putting your head in your hands. “I figured there was the possibility we’d end up getting caught, but I hoped it would be later rather than sooner.”

“Well hey, it’s not so bad,” he said, putting an arm around you.  “He seems to have let us off the hook. We should just lay low until it’s time to leave base.”

You nodded in agreement. “We should lay low to such a degree that we shouldn’t even leave this room.” You smiled.

He nodded, also smiling. “Ah yes, good idea. Maybe we shouldn’t even leave the bed.”

“Agreed,” you replied with mock solemnity. “And that reminds me…” you trailed off.

“Yes,” Billy said, cocking an eyebrow.

“We have unfinished business,” you said, and disappeared under the sheet.

“Okay but quietly--” he was cut off when your mouth closed around his dick. “Ah!”

Turns out getting caught might not have been such a terrible thing after all.

#bandit's trope challenge #billy russo x reader #black days series #ben barnes character fic #the punisher fan fiction #smut

[wonderingarmy]

Prince Jeon Jungkook Part 3

Links - Part 1   Part 2

It’s been a couple months since Jungkook last talk to you. The other members’ relationship with their other halves seems to be getting better except for him. He knows he f*cked up so much that he doesn’t even know how to apologize or if you’ll even forgive him. The day after the confrontation, you submitted your two weeks notice. You tried to finish editing all of the BTS’ RUN episodes that’s under your direction and a music video. Jungkook tried to reach you, but you begged Bang PD to have him stay away from you, which he understood. He tried to call you many times, but you blocked him. He also tried to go to your place, but you don’t live there anymore.

“You should try to focus more on the tour Jungkook-ah”, RM told Jungkook after noticing that he’s giving himself a hard time. Working out extra, tiring himself out and barely eating.

“I’ll be okay Namjoon-hyung.”, he replied. “I am just really trying hard to get her off of my mind. And it’s really hard. I know I messed up so much. I am just really disappointed of myself. I can’t believe I did that to her. I wasn’t thinking hyung. I should’ve listened to Jimin-hyung. To everyone.”

“We all make mistakes, stupid mistakes. I mean, yours was really really, way stupid. But, you know what? At least you admit to it. And you stopped talking to Kumi.”

“I feel bad for Kumi too. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“I don’t know man. But, I hope you learned from your mistakes. I hope you get a chance to talk to Y/N again and I hope she forgives you.” Namjoon said, tapping Jungkook's shoulder.

Jungkook always talks about how he messed up so bad with you during his live broadcasts. A lot of fans asked him about you every time he goes live. How they don’t see him with you anymore and some people stopped being a fan of him. But, most fans, who’s been there since BTS debut have comforted him and told him that everyone makes mistakes and that they wish for you and Jungkook to be in good terms again. A lot of fans like you for Jungkook because they know how much you make him happy. And though, they didn’t like what Jungkook did to you, they still support him and the members.

As time passes by, Jungkook got tired of always being asked about you, especially during live interviews. Everyone already knows that he messed up, that he is childish, and that he doesn’t know what he wants in life.

“Uhhmn, I am sorry to interrupt”, Yoongi replied to one of the host of one of the famous show in the US, when they were asked about their relationship status. “How about we talk about our music and not about our personal lives.” he continued tapping Jungkook’s, who is sitting beside him, lap and smiling,  assuring him that he got him.

The interviewer apologized and tried to change the topic. The members, although happy with their own love lives, doesn’t really want to talk about their relationship with their other halves, especially when they know what Jungkook’s situation is in and how he feels left out when they talk about how they’re happy with their girlfriends.

Jungkook went on hiatus for a long time. He stopped posting a selca and stopped going on live broadcasts, even just to bother Jin and Jimin during Eat Jin. The fans noticed how he stopped being the playful Jungkook that he is during his stage performances. He started to look like he wasn’t interested in what he is doing and just not the same as before. Fans noticed that he’s been getting sick a lot lately too, and getting injured frequently.

“JK, I know you’re going through a lot of things right now, but please start taking care of yourself. You don’t want the fans to be worried about you.” Taehyung tol Jungkook one time during rehearsals and JK hurt his wrist.

“I just don't know what to do anymore, hyung”, he replied.

“You have to move on Jungkook-ah.” Hoseok said.

“Yeah, nobody heard from her and who knows where she’s at right now.” Jimin added.

“How about let's get some jajangmyeon and I’ll pay with my card? At least food doesn’t hurt us. Unless Namjoon cooks it, then ah, that’s heartbreaking even just thinking about it.”

Everyone laughed, except for Jungkook who just managed to smile a little.

After the last concert of their World Tour, before doing his speech, Jungkook started crying. The fans started cheering for him.

“Ah guys, I don’t really know where to start. First of all, I want to say sorry for not giving you the performance that you deserve.” Jungkook explained in between sobs. “As most of you all know, I am going through tough times. I have messed up five months ago. I did something terrible to the person that I really love. It’s hard to find a reason why I did it, which makes me feel like I am a really bad person.”

The members started to tap his back and letting him know that he is doing great and that they’re behind him no matter what happens.

“If only I had the power to turn back time and make everything okay again, I would. But, I am just Jungkook and I just messed things up, like how I keep on messing up this concert for my members and for all of you who put so much effort into coming here to watch us perform live. I am sorry to all of you guys. I hope you guys understand me and I hope to be better soon.” He broke down crying and the members started coming towards him and trying to comfort him.

“Ah, to that person that got heartbroken because of JK, please forgive him.” Hoseok said

“Yes please. He’s learned his lesson. Just give him a chance to make everything right.” Jin followed.

After the concert, a video of Jungkook crying has started to trend on social media along with a hashtags, #Y/NPleaseGiveJKaChance, #JKsaysSorry, and #YNJKSaysSorry.

***

You didn't feel like going out to get a pack of eggs at the grocery store at 9 in the morning but you really need it in order to achieve your first baking lesson on your own.

"I can't believe I forgot to get eggs! One of the main ingredients in baking." you muttered to yourself as you grabbed your coat and head out to your apartment.

After quitting Bighit, you applied at a local studio, where they do photoshoots and films for weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. It's not much pay, but you still save up some money. It's 45 minute train ride away far from where you used to live.

When you got to the grocery store, you noticed a familiar face. Kumi. You were about to walk out when he ran after you.

"Y/N, wait!" she said so loud some of the customers was startled.

You stopped and not really knowing what to say.

"Hey Y/N, I know I did something really bad to you but is it possible for us to you know, talk somewhere?" she asked her, holding her hands together.

"Kumi, I am really----"

"Y/N, that excuse is overused now. I just really need to talk to you. I mean, just please hear a sister out?"

"A sister?" you scoffed.

"Okay, okay. I did you wrong. And I don't have the right to talk to you whatsoever but, can we please just talk?" she asked again

"Fine. But, make it quick." you replied after hearing the sincerity in her voice.

You walked out of the grocery store and went to a nearby coffee shop. As soon as you both find a good spot to sit down, she started explaining herself.

"Y/N, I know what I did was wrong. I know that you and Jungkook have something. And I want to let you know that it's all my fault." she began. "I am a big fan of Jungkook that's why I applied at Bighit, and luckily I got the job. I knew that he liked you and that he is courting you, but me being selfish didn't stopped me from doing what I wasn't supposed to do. I flirted with him and did it when you are around to make you jealous, so that you'll get fed up with it. Everything I did went over my head and I didn't care about your feelings. I brainwashed him, telling him that he doesn't have any chance with. Because well, you are older than him and that you like more mature guys. And he fell for it. Y/N, Jungkook is still young and vulnerable. But he loves you." she stopped looking at you.

"Why are you telling me all of these?" You asked "Whatever is between me and Jungkook is far long gone. It's over and I prolly won't see him ever again."

"I am telling you because after you left him in that parking lot, I saw how devastated he is. I tried to comfort him for days and weeks and he is just not getting back to his old self. And I realized that everything was my fault. That he loves and cares for you and if it wasn't for me, he wouldn't have been like that. I liked Jungkook, but I don't want to be with someone who doesn't like me." she said, tears starting to fall down her cheeks. "I fucked up Y/N. I fucked up so bad, I left Bighit too. I got so obsessed with Jungkook I became a saesang. I am so disgusted with myself. You didn't even do anything to me. But I hurt you, and I hurt Jungkook too." Now she is full on crying that some customers looked your way with worried face.

You handed her a napkin and said, "How can you say that Jungkook doesn't like you? I saw the way you kissed each other"

"But he doesn't look at me the way he looks at you Y/N" she said wiping her tears with the napkin that you gave her. "When he looks at you, it's like you're his galaxy, like you're the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Like his happiness lays in your eyes. He loves you Y/N. He made a mistake and it's my fault. He's a man, and he is vulnerable. It's easy for him to make that mistake."

"Being a man doesn't give him the right to hurt anybody's feelings just because of his needs." you said.

"Y/N, you're not even his girlfriend yet!"

"Exactly Kumi! I am not his girlfriend yet, and look what he did?"

"For fuck's sake Y/N! just forgive him. Have you seen him lately? He is at his worst and he regrets everything that he's done you. He hasn't been doing great and the members and fans are worried about him. It's been months Y/N! Months that he's like that! it's not healthy anymore. You need to talk to him or I am dragging your ass to their dorm right at this moment!" she said, she talked so fast that she had to catch her breath.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" you asked again, not really knowing what to say anymore.

"Because I know you still love him and that you still care about him. Because he loves you and I want to make up from my mistakes and I want you guys to end up together. You love him Y/N. You just don't want to admit it".

You started crying and you told her that you still do love him and that you hate herfor doing what she had done and that you were so jealous you wanted to punch her in the face.

She smiled and said, "I am really sorry Y/N. And I mean it. Maybe I have to be in the picture for you to realize that you need to give him a chance and for you to realize that you love him."

You looked at him and started thinking that maybe she is right. You didn't really realize how much you love Jungkook until Kumi happened.

For the next couple of weeks you thought about everything that Kumi told you. You watched the videos of Jungkook crying in concerts and saying how he messed up. You feel bad and then you don't and you just lay in bed just feeling sorry for yourself and for Jungkook.

You woke up one day with a knock on your door. You grabbed your robe and with a messy hair opened the door but shut it back when you found out who it was.

"Y/N, let's talk please?" it was Jungkook. "I am not leaving until you talk to me"

"How did you--" you yelled, but realized the answer to your question. "Go away Jungkook!"

"I am not leaving Y/N. If I leave, it will be the last time."

"Fuck!" you said to yourself. "How am I going to work now?"

After 3 hours, Jungkook is still outside your apartment. You called your work and asked to be excused for the day as something came up.

You kept on peeking outside your window and you can see him just sitting on the ground looking so cold with just his hoodie on.

"Shit! Today's forecast is wind and snow!" you said again to yourself. "Oh well, he'll leave when he gets too cold."

Snow came and heavy winds around 5pm and Jungkook stayed outside. He was trying to warm his hands with his breath, but you know it's not going to help. After almost an hour, he still outside, shaking and looking like he's about to pass out.

Before you know it, you were outside with a big coat you hope fits him.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" you asked angrily

He looked up, smiled and said your name. He tried to get up but he fell instead. You struggled to get him inside your apartment, but you noticed that he's lost weight. When you finally got him inside, with a little bit of his help and he fell on the couch. You grabbed some thick blankets, your portable heater and you checked his temperature as he is burning hot. He is shaking so bad that you couldn't understand what he's trying to say. You grabbed some medicines from your cabinet and helped him drink it. After half an hour, he fell asleep. You made some soup and watched him close at the same time, scared that he might stopped breathing. After a couple of hours, his fever went down. You fell asleep watching him, you head laying on the couch where he is sleeping.

When you woke up, Jungkook was staring at you.

"Good morning." he said, smiling

You stood up suddenly and wipe whatever disgusting thing is on your face.

"Thank you for letting me in and for taking care of me Y/N", he said

"Yep.", is your only reply.

Jungkook got up on the couch, struggling from all the blankets that you gave him, and moved closer to you. You froze when he held your hand.

"I am sorry Y/N. For all the bad things I did to you. For hurting you. I was childish, I wasn't thinking. I was selfish. And I have learned my lesson. I promise to be a better person." he said, his voice still weak

"Jungkook, I--"

"I am not expecting you to forgive me Y/N. I just really want you to know how sorry I am."

"Jungkook, you hurt me so much that I thought something is wrong with me. I don't know if I will ever forgive you for doing what you had done to me."

"I am sorry Y/N. I wish I could turn back time and I promise to make everything right. I love you Y/N. I love you and I was so stupid to hurt you."

When you didn't say anything, Jungkook said, "Thank you for letting me inside again and for taking care of me. I owe you a lot. I came here to say sorry and like I said I don't expect you to forgive me. I won't forgive myself too if I were you. So, I am leaving now. And I am really sorry Y/N. But, I hope in time, I hope you will try to forgive me." he said. He opened the door and left.

You sat on the couch and stayed there for a good 5 minutes, thinking the would've beens if you forgive him. After arguing with yourself, you opened your door and ran after him. When you finally saw him, you yelled his name and he stopped and looked at you.

When you reached him, "Y/N." he said.

"If you fucked this up again Jungkook, I swear to God, i am going to burn you alive", you said trying to catch your breath

He hugged you and said, " I won't Y/N. I won't hurt you again. I am so sorry." He cupped your head with his both hands and said, "Hurting you is like suicide. I won't fuck this up again Y/N. I promise!" he kissed you and before you know it, you were kissing him back, tears falling down both your cheeks.

#prince jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan scenarios #Bangtan imagines #bts imagine #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x imagines #jk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x y/n

[quillovesdbz]

Week 3 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem Clandestine Downfall

Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Chapter 4: The Weeping Wounds

Rating: T

Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Horror, Dark Fiction, Mystery

TW: Violence, conspiracy for murder, assassination, injury description, poisoning, vomiting, death, graphic depiction of an autopsy, light smut, homophobic ideology

Summary: Death! Who has poisoned the general? Is the same person after the prince? The kingdom has been compromised! And just who is the regent? Find out all that and more, in this installment of: Clandestine Downfall!

From the slight crack in the cellar door Bulma and Tien saw 3 men forcefully enter the cottage. The two smaller men seemed to be carrying a much larger, nearly unconscious one. The concealed two instantly recognized Yamcha. And Bulma recognized the other to be the prince. Her mind was suddenly flying, trying to piece together the situation, and then…

“Who is trip trapping on my bridge, and trespassing in my home?!” yelled a familiar  prepubescent voice. The unsurprisingly agile young boy swung down from the rafters like an exotic eastern monkey. His feet landed in perfect sync as he immediately stabled himself. In his two hands he held a long staff, a memento from Bulma’s father. Though her father had only used it as a walking stick in his later years, Goku seemed to favor it a weapon.

Though she feared for the boy's safety she knew very well he could hold his own in one on one combat. And with the larger man seemingly incapacitated, Goku and Yamcha could defend themselves if need be. She frantically looked around for the other missing two, Oolong would be easy to spot, but Lazuli was a master at hide and seek. Neither were in plain sight, which comforted her to some extent.

“Well speak up mister!” the monkey boy bellowed, pointing the slender red rod towards the prince.

Vegeta scanned the boy, from messy black head to dirty bare toes. Something about him seemed familiar. The hair, his striking dark and determined eyes, even the way he held himself, ready to lunge. He was so familiar yet so foreign and strange. Even the way he spoke, authoritative and calculated. Yes, Vegeta had seen this boy somewhere before, though he couldn't tell where.

“Who are you boy? And do you know who you are talking to?!” he retorted, with a disgusted look on his face.

“I am Goku, and no I don't know who you are, I've never met you before.” the boy replied rather matter of factly.

Feeling the slight tension between Vegeta and Goku, Yamcha cut in to calm the situation.

“Goku, he’s fine, he won't hurt us… for now. We need Bulma though! Where is she?”

The ominous mention of “for now" horrified Bulma, but she trusted Yamcha and decided to reveal herself. She whispered lightly to Tien to keep the girls hidden while she figured the situation out.

Goku completely let down his guard at Yamcha’s reassurance. He grinned a playful and mischievous grin, announcing “Alright I'll go get her from her hiding spot!”

Oh come on! She silently uttered, raising her open palm to her clammy forehead. Disgruntled as she was, she climbed out of the cellar door as quiet as a mouse. Luckily the prince wasn't looking in her direction, rather he focused on Goku with a very odd concentration.

Bulma extended her legs, pushing herself to a mostly standing position. She brushed the dust and dirt from the cellar off of her flaxen colored shift and bloomers. Her hair was tied loosely behind her head, but a large portion of her bangs fell softly in front of her eyes. Some strands from that portion had begun to soak the sweat from her forehead, and stuck to her face.

She stepped from the hallway connecting the kitchen and entryway, fist to her brow in preparation to bow. But she immediately caught herself, a man bows, a woman minds her modesty with a curtsey. Her fingertips traced the lace bottom of her shift and her hands pulled in each direction spreading the cloth for a proper bend. She swept her right leg behind the left and slowly dipped into a low, respectful greeting.

“Your Highness,” she breathed.

Yamcha nearly cried out, your highness?! But was cut off by the prince.

“Disgraceful! Your immodesty is only forgivable because this is an unexpected… visit… but you should be ashamed to even present yourself to me in such a state. Begone! Cover your nakedness!” Vegeta spewed after taking in the shocking visual of her.

Her face spontaneously combusted into flames the second she realized what she was wearing. And the Prince called her out so… elegantly. He could not have worded his disgust in such a way to make her feel any worse. Damn that's embarrassing… She shrieked internally. Without hesitation she fled to her chambers for a heavier, more company appropriate smock.

Yamcha turned to Vegeta when Bulma was out of earshot.

“Listen, I don't know what kind of crime warrants a visit of the prince himself, but please know she's done nothing wrong. Let her pay by healing your friend, and let her go.” The scar faced bandit pled.

“Don’t speak so plainly to your Prince! And I'll see to it she is punished of her crime regardless of what happens to Nappa, mark my word.”

…

Soon, the physician's daughter had Nappa situated.

“I've given him quite a large dose of opium, taking his size into account. He will be comfortable for now, but I'll need to know what the ailment is to properly treat him.”

She stood with authority and intelligence in her posture. She sported a white smock, tied in the waist that fell loosely to her ankles. She had a cloth covering most of her face and gloves on in case Nappa vomited again. She'd given Goku instructions to gather the rest of the children and wait in the cellar until this was all over. I'll come get you as soon as they leave. She half heartedly promised. Honestly, she had no idea what would happen to her in the next few minutes or hours. But what did happen was very far from anyone's expectations.

“He said he'd been poisoned. However he's been sick for the last few days, maybe he is just delirious.” the prince explained.

“That would explain the vomiting and the pale complexion, but those would be symptomatic of most illnesses. I need more time to observe him... Your grace.”

Vegeta sneered at the girl. Tch. He wanted to say he didn't really care whether Nappa lived or died. But he needed backup, and if anyone would kill the Great General, it would be the most powerful man in the kingdom, the prince himself. There's no way the prince would let him be beaten by a coward who poisoned him.

“Do what you must.” he replied, grasping his long navy cloak. Before leaving the room he glared at Yamcha, the way an alpha wolf would intimidate another male during meal time.

“Let's let him rest, Yamcha. Thank you, for doing this and I am so sorry to have dragged you into my mess…” Bulma nearly choked out. She felt her eyes becoming hot and wet, feeling responsible for his predicament. Yamcha instinctively leaned in for an embrace or a kiss, but Bulma pulled back. Silently she swept past him to meet the prince in the kitchen. Yamcha stayed a while thinking about his decisions.

“I'll fix you some food, your highness. And you're welcome to stay as long as it takes for Nappa to heal.” she offered.

With a grunt he accepted the food, the sliced apple that was meant for Tien and Goku, along with cheeses, cured meat, and a glass of wine. She secretly hoped the wine would loosen him up because his sober state was nearly unbearable.

Bulma and Goku fixed a room for the prince, with the softest of the hospital's twenty mattresses and a pea blossom bouquet for fragrance. I don't even treat myself to such luxury. She lamented.

She decided to conceal the children longer, in case anything happened to her, they would be able to escape.

…

It was early the next morning when Nappa said his final words.

Goku had wandered into his hospital room early in the morning to observe the giant. Goku had never seen such a big man in all his life. It was both daunting and exciting. He wanted to challenge the man to a spar when he awoke, like he, Krillin and Tien did with the old martial arts master in town. Master Roshi had challenged Goku to find bigger and stronger opponents. Goku delighted in the idea of becoming stronger to protect his family… and for fun of course.

...

Nappa dreamt of one thing for the entirety of his sleep. He replayed a peculiar conversation he had with the Regent a fortnight ago.

“Your grace,” Nappa greeted, head low and fist to brow.  He had been called into a meeting in the King’s counsel, though he had no idea what it was about. He was generally not invited to such discussions unless they involved war or battle, both of which had not occurred recently. To say the call for him was odd may have been an understatement.

“General Nappa. Please stand. Join us at the table, our guest.”

Nappa lifted himself from the wooden floor. At the table sat several confidantes, and an ambassador. There was the Regent himself at the head of the table. He was cloaked in black and crimson, which suited him well. There were small golden chains latched from his cloak to his lapels. His collar was a frilly black satin that crawled like a lizard up his thick neck. His skin was dark, and scarred. He too had seen battles, many of the same Nappa had, though they once fought on opposite sides. As handsome as the Regent was, Nappa wasn't jealous. He was thankful that his own face hadn't  been scarred in such a way, or else the castle maids wouldn't favor him!

To the left of the Regent was Piccolo, the highest ranking monk in the kingdom who attended the meetings as a spiritual guide. He was draped in loose white linens, no doubt an inexpensive thread. He was a very serious man and rarely spoke. He was very tall and muscular, but he wasn't intimidating. Nappa respected him.

To the right of the Regent was another confidante, Mistress Baba. She was the master of coin, a mousey broad with a large body and witch-like face. She was a voluntary spinster, though it's not certain she would have married if she wanted to. She was ugly, with an ugly personality to match, but no man could match her expertise in kingdom finance. She too, was clad in black nearly an identical outfit to the regent but in female form. Of all the people in the room, Nappa feared her the most.

Finally, next to the mistress was a man that Nappa recognized as a French ambassador, due to his French Crest proudly displayed on his right breast. His long grassy blonde hair was fastened in a tight braid, flowing gently down his chest and ending in his lap. His uniform was of high military rank, though Nappa could not identify what rank exactly. The deep navy, crimson and white threads in his uniform beautifully highlighted the cool undertones of his skin and bright green eyes.

Nappa took his seat next to Piccolo, so as to not to look highly underdressed next to the ambassador.

“This is Ambassador Zarbon, hand selected by the French Emperor to discuss a treaty with us today. I trust you know the rest of us here?” the Regent inquired.

“Of course,” Nappa replied, trying piece together why exactly the emperor would send an ambassador for treaty talks.

...

Nappa was restless in his comatose state. His body fought violently to subdue the arsenic, but unfortunately it was too late for the general. He had soaked the hospital mattress with his perspiration. This was his greatest and final battle.

…

The meeting was more of a declaration than a discussion. There was to be an assimilation with France, a merging of the armies and joint power to the emperor and the regent, followed by the king when he came of age.

Though Nappa vehemently opposed the idea, there was no arguing as all four other people agreed to the treaty. Nappa could envision a future where the emperor would get his sticky lizard hands on the prince and control him to do anything he wanted. The empire of France would get so large it seemed world domination may even be possible. And that's if the emperor kept his treaty promise. There was nothing him stopping from gaining the kingdom’s army and viciously turning it against itself like he'd done with so many others.

Baba claimed war would be too expensive. This is the only way.

Piccolo claimed that the treaty would bring the least bloodshed. This is the only way.

The ambassador claimed anything less than assimilation would displease the emperor. This is the only way.

And the Regent claimed this was the way to protect the kingdom, themselves, and the prince.

“This is the only way, General. Please order your soldiers at every station to stand down as the French make their way in. They will not be harmed.”

Nappa could not bring himself to agree, his pride being trampled on as it was. Instead, he stormed out of the room, his thunderous footsteps were audible for some time even after his exit.

After the dream replayed, several sickening times, a new event unfolded itself in Nappa’s mind.

The Regent stood from his chair. With a growl he followed Nappa. The regent was smaller, quicker, and caught up to Nappa without even breaking a walk. Nappa felt his legs grow heavy, his lungs filled with heavy unbreathable oxygen. He opened his mouth to give the Regent a piece of his mind when suddenly…

The regent lifted his fist and clenched the space between he and Nappa tightly. His own blood made ribbons on his wrist from his fingernails. His face was suddenly demonic, twisting into an evil scowl. As he tightened his fist, Nappa felt his lungs grow tighter and heavier as well. He couldn't breathe, or speak.

“I will kill you!” the regent threatened, further tightening his grasp.

The general's vision blurred, his pulse weakening in dream state and out.

He opened his eyes for the last time, and beheld a child with wild black hair. The spitting image of the regent. Though he couldn't tell if he was dreaming anymore, his eyes widened.

“Hi! I'm Goku!” the boy said.

The prince stood on the opposite side of the room, leaned against the wall, silently watching his general. When Nappa saw the prince he was relieved to be in at least half friendly company. But as his last breath drew near, so did the prince. In Vegeta’s left hand was a dagger.

“B-bardock! He is going to…”

Vegeta took one look at Nappa and knew this was the end. His face was ashen, purple even, with lack of oxygen. His black eyes were glazed over, veiny and red. Blood vessels all over his face and neck had ruptured forming an almost web like blanket on his face. He looked just like his father had looked so many years ago…

“I won’t let you die weakly, Nappa.”

“Vegeta-" Nappa choked, acid snaking its way from his empty stomach to his esophagus.

“The regent,” he whispered as Vegeta slid the cold smooth dagger into the General's heart.

In that moment Nappa thought nothing and said nothing as his eyes inevitably faded into nothing.

“Hey!! Why'd you do that?! Bulma was trying to save him! I was going to ask him to fight me!! He was your friend!!” Goku valiantly pled.

The prince said one thing and one thing only, not even noticing the boy's tantrum.

“Bardock.”

…

Nappa wasn't the only one to be plagued by dark dreams that night. Bulma also had a restless and nightmarish sleep.

She was walking barefoot on moist ground. The almost mud felt soft on her toes, not an unpleasant experience. It was dark where she was, but she felt like she knew the way. She pressed on, wondering what was next. She could not see much of her surroundings, just black ground and black rock walls. It was a cave of sorts. In the distance she heard a river, an indication of an end to the dark tunnel. She smiled in relief that the trek would soon be over. The smell of the cave began to shift from musty, saturated dirt to a more floral essence. She recognized the distinct scents of lavender and sweet pea blossom. It was an intoxicating mixture, and the promise of a fresh cool drink of water made her press on.

It seemed like ages that she was trapped in the cave, alone but not fearful.  Finally she could see the end. The misty rays of morning sunshine leaked into the entrance of the cave. Outside she could see long blades of green grass, dotted with bunches of pink and purple flowers. Tall pines, junipers and a few silver birch trees lined the entrance of the cave and the river.

“Peasant,” an abrupt, deep voice called.

Curious in nature, Bulma twisted toward the voice, coming from behind her, inside the cave.

“You can never leave me.” the voice was rigid and almost predatory.  The voice began to take the form of a man. He was the same height as herself, and muscular though not overly so. His face was hidden in shadows. Bulma could only just see his chest was bare, but he had dark navy trousers on. She tried to speak but the words dissipated in her mouth before she could form them.

The figure grasped her wrist with his own coarse calloused hand. The hand of a swordsman. He reeked of lavender, a scent she now knew originated with him, and not the outside of the cave. She wanted to recoil at his touch but felt powerless in his grasp. His skin felt much colder than hers, almost stinging when he touched her. When she decided to stop resisting she was electrified. The forbidden feeling of letting go excited her. He pulled her in, wrapping his other arm around her waist and locking her there. Her chest was pressed to his, which she could now see was scarred with snow white lines. She now knew this was the prince, but he had captured her. It felt so wrong to betray her beliefs and ideals in favor of his tantalizing body, but she did so anyway.

“But I hate you,” she was finally able to say. His head moved ever closer to hers as if he hadn't even heard her. When he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her own face, she stopped breathing. Anticipating. Suffering. Craving.

And then she awoke.

…

Bulma wore the same medical smock from the day before as she prepared to check on her patient. Yamcha had spent the night with her, though not in her bed. He was still asleep in her large reading chair when she glanced his way. She felt a small pang of guilt for her heated fantasy about the prince, even though it was just a dream. His features were soft and boyish when he slept. She frowned though, when she remembered that he had left her. He had no intention of being with her and she had to accept that. And the feeling was surprisingly mutual.

Out of the blue she heard her small brother yelling incoherently. Goku! Her mind raced.

Without gloves, boots or mask she sprinted to where she heard the voice, the patient's room. When she reached the doorway she was stopped by the broad figure of the prince. Her heart fluttered with visions of her steamy dream. Involuntarily, her face began to redden at the thought of how close they were. “Eep!” she yelped, at the sudden shock.

Vegeta was in his own head trying to work things out when the doctor's daughter appeared. She seemed flustered, red and messy. She hadn't her shoes, gloves or mask, likely due to hearing the child and rushing here. Her skin was dewy and fresh, her hair tangled but soft looking. And her deep blue eyes were wide and easy to look at. She was slender with pale skin and shoulder length hair. If she weren't a criminal peasant, the prince may have even favored her. But those matters were far from his mind when she stopped him in that doorway.

“He is dead. We must discuss some matters urgently, over breakfast,” he ultimately decided to say.

Bulma had to replay what he said before realizing what he meant. She stepped to the side of the prince and forced her way in to see the patient.

“What?” She vocalized. Dead? He was stable last night! She questioned herself.  And then she saw the bloody mess of sheets draped over the patient's heart. And Goku, standing over and studying the corpse.

“What happened?!” Bulma yelled, exasperated. She was so infinitely confused, did Goku do this? The prince? Yamcha or an intruder? She pressed her bare fingers to Nappa’s throat for a pulse. Nothing. Her fingers made contact with some blood from his chest wound, making her regret not wearing her gloves.

“He killed him! I wanted to spar with him when he got better, but he killed his friend!” Goku answered back to her.

Bulma was shocked and even more confused than before. Was she housing a psychotic murderous prince? Was this all part of the nightmare?

…

Yamcha had risen just slightly after Bulma, though he was awake long before her. She was restless in her sleep, tossing, turning and moaning the entire night. All he wanted to do was get away but she kept reeling him back in. Her hooks were deep and jagged in his heart. He cared for her and her family so much, and even though he could have escaped in the night and let her make her own bed, he stayed. At some point he was curious about the other children. He assumed she had them tucked away in the cellar but he decided to test that hypothesis. When he found them down there, he brought them food. Six bowls of porridge of varying sizes and temperatures. They were grateful, having not eaten the entire day. Yamcha patted Tien on his fuzzy head. He said something along the lines of Keep everyone safe in case anything happens. And Tien accepted the command with a nod.

And now Yamcha was awake and he noticed the bed in shambles. He lifted the blanket and began to smooth out the sheets. He tucked the corners neatly and fluffed the pillows, when suddenly he heard a commotion. The scar faced boy immediately pursued the noise.

Leaving the room, Yamcha passed right by the kitchen where he only barely noticed the prince sitting at the dining table… In fact the prince was sitting in his own usual spot at the dining table which really seemed to burn Yamcha.

Yamcha didn't exactly grow up learning proper gentleman's etiquette. In fact he was an orphan from the time he was young and he had to beg and steal to survive. It wasn't until recently that Bulma had begun correcting his grammar and social appropriateness. He learned not to call every woman he met a broad because it was impolite. He'd never learned what polite was, but he figured it meant saying the right words at the right time. And it was not a simple feat.

“Hey, ya sod! Make yourself comfortable in my chair why don't ya?” he spat at the prince. Vegeta stared at the young bandit, who had just committed three crimes against the crown in one sentence.

Tch what am I even doing here? He questioned himself sincerely. He came to arrest the peasant woman and maybe publicly humiliate her, but he didn't expect Nappa to die and… I can't go back there… What if the murderer comes after me?

Vegeta now recognized the smaller black haired boy as very similar to the Regent, but he couldn't be sure if there was any relation. Maybe this plot went a lot deeper than he originally anticipated. Just then Bulma entered the kitchen with a scowl directed towards the scar faced delinquent.

“Watch your mouth, Yamcha!” You'll get us all killed! She thought.

“Would you kindly mind explaining exactly what happened in there?!” she screeched at the comfortable looking prince. He shifted silently contemplating whether to tell her or not.

“Your grace?” she added as an afterthought.

“I killed him because he wouldn't have wanted to die in disgrace covered in his own vomit and feces.” he said smoothly.

“He may not have died! He seemed to have a very developed constitution, and-"

“He was choking to death as I watched him! And you have no right to instigate me, the prince and most powerful man in this kingdom! I should be asking you if you accelerated his deterioration?!” Not only did he cut her off but he insulted her medical skill and intelligence and accused her of murder! Almost nothing could stop her from raising her furious fist to his face, almost.

Goku grabbed Bulma's outstretched fist.

“What's a Bardock, Bulma?” he asked innocently and sincerely.

All three adults were silent and waited for what would be said next.

Vegeta decided to break the silence first. “You've tread on very thin ice here, woman. As I see it you have very few options. First you answer every question I have for you honestly and without hesitation. Secondly, you help me clean up this mess and get to the bottom of the poisoning fiasco. Thirdly, you submit to your arrest and face trial and punishment when this is all over. Do this, and I may spare you and these two clowns’ worthless lives.”

With her hand in Goku’s she focused on what the prince said. He doesn't know about the other children yet. She sighed, relieved. But that doesn't mean he can't find out. And Bulma had sworn to protect them no matter what. So she grimaced and bowed low to the prince, who seemingly had her in a corner.

“You may be a vulgar woman, but it takes a lot of guts to raise your fist to a prince,” he said, almost grinning respect for her.

Though arguments were had, Bulma, Goku, Vegeta and Yamcha settled on a quick breakfast before the autopsy of Nappa.

…

“Someone's been eating my porridge,” Bulma rummaged frantically through her barren kitchen cabinets. Her voice was hushed, her hands searching. Her fingertips grazed the dust inside, and she frowned at the thought of her siblings going without. Giving up on the idea of porridge, she placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Faintly, the children in the cellar could be heard rustling.

Munching eagerly on a bright red apple, the prince hadn't heard the children at first. Bulma stamped her foot loudly on the solid wood floor, a warning to quiet down for the moment. Though he had been deep in thought, mostly pondering the significance of the boy Goku, the stomp shook the prince to attention. Dirt fell on the children like rain. Tiny Lazuli breathed in, filling her lungs with powdered air.

The moment was short but lasted a lifetime in Bulma’s mind. The little girl’s cough was heard by every ear in the kitchen.

The Prince's first reaction to the small cough was suspicion. Why would this woman be hiding a child? He stood from his chair, and traced the sound with his eyes.

“No,” Bulma breathed.

“What are you hiding from me, woman?”

Like a hunted doe she froze, she waited, she tried to figure out what to say but it was almost too overwhelming.

Tien decided he was done playing hiding seek now. He wasn’t afraid of this stranger. With Goku and Yamcha, they could take him down if need be. The boy grabbed his sisters by their hands and motioned for his two brothers to follow behind.  The six short orphans crawled up from the cellar door near the back of the kitchen, Lazuli still hacking away at the dirt.

Revealed and vulnerable, Bulma had no choice but to resort to her feminine wiles in hopes the prince would agree to leave them alone.

“Um, oh, they're just sick children I'm caring for. They aren't related to me at all in fact, run along home little ones,” she gestured to the back door, and then turned to face the prince once again, “so that the adults can get down to business…” her voice and eyes dropped low and sultry, towards Vegeta.

Yamcha flushed as he realized what she was doing. In his limited wisdom he could not see this ending well so he broke his silence.

“Uh look, this has gone on long enough! We all know you're here to arrest Bulma. This is her family and without her they will die. In order to take care of them she had to make a living, and if it's a crime to love and care for your family then this kingdom is doomed.” Yamcha hadn't planned to insult the kingdom or its laws, it just came out that way. He always said what he felt.

“Look, I don't care what is going on here, because the kingdom is compromised. I need your help to figure out what exactly happened to Nappa. Then I can handle that situation and then arrest the woman!”

“Arrest me and let her go!” Yamcha yelled valiantly.

“No! Oh my God stop trying to save me!” Bulma yelled at the bandit.

Yamcha was visibly confused.

“I'll help you,” she stated, a promise. “But you have to promise no harm comes to my siblings… or Yamcha.”

“So far my only interest is punishing those who've committed crimes. The children have not, and you have my word no harm will come to them.” he promised back.

There was no promise to Yamcha, but Bulma had to agree to the terms to protect the children.

With knowing eyes she told Yamcha to take the children to pick apples, silently. And silently he agreed.

…

To hasten the process of congealing Nappa's blood, Bulma mixed a fine powder of yarrow and myrrh sap. The mixture was a sticky sweet smelling syrup that she applied to each incision.  The result was thick, molasses like blood that did not spill all over the floor. Nappa was far too large to let his blood in the tub, so this was a necessary process.

While the woman worked her magic on his general's corpse, Vegeta wandered close by in the connecting library. There had to have been a hundred books on medicine, poison, gynaecology, pediatrics and more. Most of the books looked well worn, likely years of reading and rereading. The prince slid his right hand fingers on an odd book, seemingly out of place with all the medical texts; Richard III by William Shakespeare.  A play… how oddly refined for a peasant woman…

His calloused fingers admired the worn leather of its binding. He shook the book open to a page and read an excerpt:

“Foul devil, for God’s sake hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry’s wounds Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God! which this blood mad’st, revenge his death; O earth! which this blood drink��st, revenge his death; Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!”

Vegeta mourned the act of killing his friend. As if precautionary, he checked to see if Nappa was bleeding again in his presence, even though he knew it a superstitious and outdated practice.

The physician's daughter cut away, a long Y shaped incision into the general's chest. She was unphased by the sight of blood, organs and the smell. The smell was most horrible, a fleshy and iron smell that turned sour the closer she got to his stomach. Even Vegeta, who had seen some battle in his young life, almost turned away in disgust. But not Bulma.

“Eureka!” the blue haired surgeon shrieked after some time spent digging in the general's stomach. Her blood-soaked and gloved hand pulled out a small amount of what looked like mud to the untrained eye.

“What is it?” he demanded as he got closer, eyes wide as if it could help him understand better.

“Food.” She proudly proclaimed, as if it truly answered his question. She knew it didn't but it was fun to dangle her superior intellect in front of him, teasingly. She turned away from the prince, and towards a table with many dishes and vials. And, next to them was a machine the prince hadn't seen before, even in the castle's infirmary and laboratory. It was a cylindrical device mounted on a small stand which held a glass plate. Curious and disgusted Vegeta watched her work. She placed the bloody mud she identified as food on the small glass plate. Then she ungloved her right hand and grasped the cylinder in it. She delicately placed her eye over the cylinder, where the prince now noticed there was a circular glass piece.

“A magnifier?” the prince guessed, moderately educated in his own right.

“Sort of,” the genius girl teased.

But quickly his mind wandered from what she was doing at the moment, to what she was doing with her life.

“Why do you harbor these orphans and that street rat?” He asked, bluntly.

For a moment Bulma was quiet. Through a quick look she determined the sample was of an apple. Though, the stomach and mouth of the corpse smelled distinctly of garlic. An odd combination that is rarely seen in traditional cooking.

Something inside her told her to answer him truthfully. So she did.

...

“I see. My father also passed when I was young… He appointed the Regent, Bardock, to fulfill his duties until a time when I decided to take over. I promised my father I would follow in his footsteps and become the most powerful man in the kingdom. But here I am chasing a silly criminal getting my most valuable general killed.”

The prince had opened up to her, albeit not without calling her silly, but he had really left himself vulnerable to whatever she could say next. His insecurities and fears of not meeting expectations seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. Ignoring the “silly" comment, she opted for a sympathetic response.

“You are doing a fine job, Nappa's death was not your fault. But you can make it better. Avenge him, and prove to your father and the regent that your time to rule is now.” She raised her gloved hand in a fist of rebellion.

“And fulfill your promise to be the most powerful by eliminating the French threat and protecting your kingdom!”

Oops. She had gone off on a tangent and revealed her true political ideals.

“I… what do you know about France?!” Vegeta demanded, cross browed and inquisitive.

“I um, sorry, I just have strong opinions and I let myself get carried away… your grace.” She stated, much quieter than before.

He just stared at her and let the sight of her fill him. That passion…

“Well since you will rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life, you should know we are in the middle of a treaty with the emperor of France. We will assimilate and become one.”

Bulma was most shocked about the declaration of a treaty with France. It was almost as if she hadn't heard the rotting in a cell part. Almost.

“You fool,” she breathed, involuntarily. “he’ll kill us all before he even thinks of peace with this kingdom. What your father did was unforgivable and Emperor Frieza will make our kingdom pay… this ‘treaty’ is only a ploy and I can't believe you don't see it…”

It hadn't occurred to him that it was a trick, but she had made a fascinating point. If Frieza still harbored any ill will, he could flawlessly execute a coup d'état with the appearance of peace. It left the prince speechless, this woman’s intelligence.

“In fact, the plot may have already begun with the poisoning of your general. Arsenic.” and with that she removed her remaining bloody glove and began to cover the body with sheets.

…

They had made a makeshift wooden cart to carry Nappa behind their horses. His body was beginning to stiffen, but Vegeta and Yamcha were able to place him without too much effort.

Bulma mounted the fallen general's stallion with grace. Yamcha grabbed its reins to lead, but she insisted he join her on the horse. When he did Vegeta felt a small jealousy ignite in his chest. Alone on his own dark horse, Vegeta thought about one thing; the unexpected infatuation he'd developed with this vulgar cross-dressing harlot over the last three days.

God, how she glows. She is like a sinful fire and my body is freezing and my mind naive. She is not only beautiful, with porcelain skin, rivers of blue hair and deep twilight eyes, but she is intelligent and strong willed. She's got guts. The mousey maids in the castle are nothing like her. The dutchess suitors I'm accustomed to are so timid and withdrawn. None would even think to accomplish the feats this woman has in her eighteen years of life. I can never have her, and that makes me want her so much more.

Her beauty is nothing if not underrated by those around her. How she even managed to dress as a man for so long looking like that is beyond me. Her facial structure is angular and soft all at the same time. Her skin dewy and perfectly delicious. I don't know if I want to kiss her or eat her. I definitely want to touch every part of her, hair and skin, lips and neck even… Yes, she is certainly the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

Her intelligence is by far her most hidden trait. She has knowledge that could rival even the most skilled castle physicians. The graceful way she cut into Nappa, spilling the least blood and quickly identifying the poison. The exact food the poison was in even! She was taught well by her father. And to her credit he probably didn't teach her everything. Not a single book in her library was dusty nor pristine. All were well used, and well absorbed. Even the entertaining reads of plays and poetry showed her deep and critical knowledge. And she squandered her intellect, by working as a stable hand in my stables.

Her will power rivals even that of my own. In my life I have been dedicated to nothing but becoming a powerful warrior and king, to fulfill my father's wish. I can relate to her trials, she too promised her father, and kept it all these years. Here I am hiding away from the man who wishes to usurp me, or worse. And she is burying the friend of her enemy to ensure safety for her family. She has done all I have asked, albeit not without argument, for the prosperity of her family. She is passionate not only about them but the entire kingdom as well. It reminds me… well it reminds me of my mother. She was so strong even at her weakest. And Bulma is no different.

In fact, I respect her for all of this. How different and similar we are isn't so odd. In another world I'd scoop her up and steal her away, and she'd be my princess or I would be her peasant husband. Unfortunately...

Vegeta day dreamed silently as the trio rode further into the forest.

He made a decision then, and although he didn't know it yet, it would ultimately be the death of Bulma.

…

The group arrived at a clearing near a river shortly before sunset. Yamcha still wasn't sure why he needed to come, besides being secondary muscle to transport the hulking abomination.  

“Here will do.” The prince called out, halting his horse and dismounting. Bulma and Yamcha also dismounted and looked around. It was a far stretching meadow, mostly grassy with some large patches of sand and rock appearing closer to the river. Surrounding the clearing was a plethora of aspen trees and a few juniper and birch. In the distance the Jura mountain range could be seen, the citrus and peony sunset settled quietly behind it. No one said a word.

Once Nappa was buried, and as if on queue, hundreds of fireflies made their appearance in the dim and fleeting light of day. The floating flames danced around the trio, a spiritual sight to behold. Bulma smiled and reached out to touch one, her other arm rested safely on Yamcha’s shoulder. The prince took notice of the bugs, but to him they were far from wonderful. They stung him like bees, reminding him that his friend and mentor would never see the light of day again. Nor his father. Nor his mother. Nor his infant brother. His entire family, everyone who had ever meant anything to him was completely, utterly gone.

Darkly, the prince demanded “Get out of here.”

Taken aback by the demand, and not quite knowing the exact meaning, Bulma responded, “W-why, are you sending us home? Will you arrest me?”

“I will be back for you tonight. Make the final preparations for your family and leave them in his care,” he gestured to Yamcha. “You will be tried, and if found guilty you will be subject to punishment. There is a chance you may never return, so please make preparations for such a case. NOW GO!!” He roared, a lion towering above two mice. He grasped his cloak and turned to face the fresh grave, his back to the boy and girl.

“But you!” Bulma fought back tears. How could he? I've done so much! This isn't fair!

Yamcha threw his arm around Bulma, who was now a slobbering, whimpering mess, whose words felt like a different language altogether.  He took the reins, poorly leading the horse back home. Bulma sobbed and held her one time beau tightly as they headed back, slowly.

The prince stood in the clearing for what seemed an eternity. His chin was high, but eyes low examining the final resting place of the great general. The fireflies did not tire, even as the sun finally disappeared, they danced on. Slowly, a salty stream manifested in the prince’s eyes. Though he fought it, his thoughts had finally overwhelmed him. The annoying flying flames had finally bursted his last nerve. Withdrawing his sabre with finesse, he swung hard at the air, at the bugs. Frustrated from missing them, he turned his anger to the trees. He hacked and sliced for a while, until sweat had drenched his shirt and cloak. He discarded them without thought and returned to sparring the tree. He hadn't noticed but he was shouting with each swing. Only once he was hoarse and parched did he realize what strain he had put on his vocals.

He collapsed on the grassy, sandy earth in a huff. It was time.

…

Though Yamcha had plead for her to take her chance at escape, she declined. He had devised a quick and fairly executable plan to pack the children and run as far from the kingdom as possible. But Bulma was nothing if not brave and honorable. “This is my fault. I need to pay for my actions,” she told him.

They agreed not to tell the children, most of whom were sleeping. The rambunctious Goku was still awake and raiding what little stores of fresh food they still had.

Bulma and Yamcha spent most of the time they had left in silence, scrubbing the death soaked room that once housed Nappa. There was no arguing with Bulma, and there was certainly no arguing with the prince.

“Bulma,” Goku had made his way into the room where they were, seemingly without a sound.  

Bulma's face was colored deep red from hours of sobbing, her eyes swollen. She looked up from her position on the floor, to see him standing in the doorway.

Without words, the three of them just embraced. Each one felt it deep in their hearts, it would be the last time. But it wasn't in Goku's nature to give up like that.

“I will become strong! I will rescue you!” his eyes began to glaze and fill with tears.

“Shh, no, please don't. That would only get you killed and put our siblings in danger. Promise me you will take care of them, Goku,” she pled, a lump in her throat.

He just grasped her tighter, his arms around her neck, fingers digging into her skin. He never wanted to let her go, his sister, his rock, he loved her. She squeezed him back with all she had, her hand on the back of his wild head, fingers braided between his hair.

They couldn't let go. That is until they heard him coming.

Bulma grabbed a small bag packed with essentials. But the prince motioned for her to leave it. “You won't need a change of clothes when all you'll be wearing is a prison shift. Leave the unnecessary things and let's go. I tire of waiting.”

…

She was voluntarily silent for the entire ride to the castle. She was understandably furious with Vegeta, though he never lied to her. He always knew she would be punished, and he never said otherwise. But his reason for bringing her was not punishment, yet, it was for her help in determining the assassin. Once she helped him to clear out the bad apple or apples, he would release her. Though he hoped she would stay with him, he would never ask it of her. And he knew she would never want to anyway.

Vegeta tugged the reins and dug his heel into the side of the stallion, forcing it to gallop at almost full speed. Having nearly fallen from the abrupt change in acceleration, Bulma threw her arms around the prince’s waist to anchor herself. She grasped tightly, trying hard not to admire the feel of his firm abs against her arms. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he leaned forward and tightened his muscles. She'd teased him earlier with her superior mind, now it was his turn to tease her with his superior body.

She both despised and delighted the entire ride.

…

In the twilight Bulma could barely see the outline of the stables. Vegeta had slowed the horse drastically, and motioned for her to be silent. She wasn't entirely sure why he required her to be quiet, but she complied all the same.

When they were in walking distance the prince dismounted, and placed a hand on her thigh as a command to stay. She slid forward in the saddle and grasped  the horn. Vegeta soothingly patted the horse, an effort to keep it silent as well. The smell of hay and manure filled the air, a familiar scent to the whole company. Vegeta led the horse into its stall and moved to its side to help the girl down. Not wanting his help, Bulma kicked his hand away and growled like a feral cat. Then she dismounted most ungracefully, her shift sliding well above her thigh revealing her short bloomers. The prince tried to pretend not to see, but his face flushed at the audacity of this wild girl.

“Why are we sneaking?” Bulma asked.

The prince looked around the barn, that had been closed up for hours.  With no one in sight he moved toward the tack closet. “I can't explain you away in your current state of undress,” he explained, which made sense to him but not to Bulma.

“Just take me to my holding cell so that I don't have to be in your royal presence anymore.” she attacked.

“That's not why you are here,” he said, ignoring the insult, and pulling what looked like folded linens out of the tack closet. Becoming frustrated by his lack of explanation for anything, Bulma raised her voice.

“Oh? Then just why am I here, your majesty?!”

Horrified by her rash action the prince used his free hand to cup the woman’s mouth while simultaneously forcing her back to the stable wall.

He placed his head nearly parallel with hers, his lips less than inches from her ear. Her heart began to pound, in fear and in lust. His hand smelt of lavender, his breath like sweet honey.  

“I said you will assist me in my investigation. Until then you will present yourself as my apprentice, hand chosen by the late general. Do I make myself clear, Bull?” he whispered threateningly while shoving the stack of male clothing at her stomach.

She nodded her head and grabbed the clothing from him. He released his grasp on her face and turned the other way, allowing her a small privacy to change.

After removing her shift and boots, she pulled the off white trousers over each leg. She tightened the strings of the waist, this pair was just slightly large on her slender frame. She buttoned up the white dress shirt, more frilly than she was accustomed to, and tucked it neatly in the trousers. The overcoat was navy and gold, but not fancy enough to indicate royalty or similar. She looked the part of a wealthy young man, and not a bit overdressed. Her worn leather boots helped to tone down the prestige in her outfit as well. No one would have reason to question their story as long as she went unrecognized.

Bulma fastened the navy ribbon at the base of her head. That being the final touch on her costume, she turned to the prince and nodded a signal of her readiness.

It fascinated to prince just how beautiful she could be even in such form fitting clothing. It felt awkward admiring her masculine form, but his mind couldn't differentiate between this uniform and her tattered shift dress. All he saw was her beauty, inside and out. He wanted to touch her, so with authority in his movement, he grabbed her wrist. She followed without complaint.

Without a word he pulled her towards two large doors that she assumed connected to the castle. To her slight surprise the room behind the doors was filled with more hay, and what looked like training dummies. On the right wall, many different swords of different shapes and sizes were hung. The prince grabbed a smaller looking saber from the wall, and lifted it above Bulma's head and onto her shoulders. The sword was protected by a worn leather sheath and held to her chest by a belt of the same color. It was ordinary, just like her disguise. She was completely ordinary.

From the training room they made their way into the palace kitchens, no doubt a place the prince rarely entered. The kitchens were vast and empty of life. The walls were bare red brick and the floors hardwood. Several ovens lined the walls, butcher’s block on all the countertops, and dozens of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. There were more knives than swords in the other room, a fact which excited the aspiring chef in Bulma. To the north of the large open room were several narrow wooden doors. “Servant quarters,” he whispered when he saw her notice the doors.

Discreetly, he grabbed her hand in his and tugged her along. He seemed to know the exact route to avoid people, though most were asleep at this hour anyway.

Finally they arrived at a long hallway lined with several doors on both sides. There was a red carpet with an intricate design down the middle, but it was well worn and faded where it had the most traffic. The hall itself smelled dusty and old, and several spiders had woven their webs in the corners. It gave Bulma a small sense of sadness and emptiness to be present in this hallway, as though only ghosts were permitted here.

“This is my chambers,” the prince stated, pointing to the door closest to them. “You will not enter under any circumstance, you are forbidden.”  Bulma nodded in acknowledgment and watched the prince as he walked further into the hall. The very next door, roughly fifteen feet from the first, was another chamber. The prince grabbed the knob and twisted as he pushed the door open.

“This will be yours for the time being…” he lingered on what to say afterward, contemplating whether to be rude or hospitable. “You may knock on my chamber if you need anything. Do not break disguise, I will fetch you in the morning.” he whispered the last part before returning to a normal tone, “understand Ser Bull?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she responded meekly but masculine. She stepped inside the chambers and absorbed her surroundings. It was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight that peeked in the drapeless window. In the center of the room was a large bed, dressed with red and indigo sheets and quilts. The bed had a canopy frame, though the canopy was seemingly missing. At the foot of the bed there was a large chest, which she assumed held clothing. On either side of the bed were hand carved oak nightstands, on top of each a single unlit candle. Adjacent from the bed was an older looking desk and chair, somewhat out of style for the year, yet not quite antique. On the desk was a quill and an inkwell, though the ink had long since dried. She determined from the dusty state of the room that it hadn't been used in quite some time. But it was more comfortable than the stone cold floor of a jail cell, so she rejoiced.

She kicked her boots off near the door and decided to sleep in her costume, in case any soul dare visit her during her sleep, she would be fully concealed. The mattress was like heaven to her aching bones, and she drifted off in a matter of minutes.

The prince, did not have such luck.

…

He dreamt of a deep azure lake with placid waves. He was sailing on the lake, at twilight. Though it was dark the full moon and blanket of stars lit up his surroundings. It was peaceful, for a time. His mother was aboard the tiny schooner, clad in her yellow Sunday gown. Underneath the gown her white lace petticoat peeked through. Her outfit was embroidered at the edges with lavender blossoms, her favorite flower. Her hair was long, nearly reaching the seat she rested on. It was lighter than his own, he inherited his raven hair from his father, hers was a hazelnut colored waterfall of curls. She smiled tenderly at him, as he rowed, steady.  

From the middle of the lake he heard a cry for help. Shooting a glance toward the noise, the prince began to row faster.

As they neared the source of the cry, Vegeta was able to make out the figure of a girl with blue hair. She struggled to stay afloat, gasping as her head bobbed above and below the water. In an instant the weather turned violent. Dark clouds shrouded the once bright stars and moon, as heavy rain began to fall. The small boat began to rock as the waves gained speed and height. The prince bent his torso over the edge of the boat, stretching his right arm toward the maiden.

She flailed about, trying in vain to grasp his hand. As the environment became more intense, his mother stood from her seat. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and lowered her face to his ear. He struggled to reach the drowning girl, each second ticking by she got further away.

“You’ve doomed her,” his mother whispered lightly. The girl’s head sank below the surface as her arm seemed to go limp.

Suddenly, a deafening roar of thunder and lightning crashed in the sky.

And the prince awoke with a jolt, sitting upright in his bed.

…

Bardock sat alone at a small tea table in his personal chambers. It was early, still dark outside. Several candles lit the room dimly, just so he could see at about arm’s length. He pulled a small dusting cloth from a drawer in the table and began to wipe his porcelain set of tea cups. They were a gift from a long lost friend, she had purchased them from a ceramic artist in the orient. Of his numerous regrets in life, the one that pained him the most was not marrying her. The mistake had cost him too many years of unrelenting loneliness.

Her image had all but faded from his mind. The last time he saw her was over ten years ago, before the king had died. Each day, as he took his tea, he tried to recount her features. She had blunt black hair, and big brown doe eyes. She was thin, a product of malnourishment due to her chosen profession.  When he first met her she was covered in bruises, her eyes and cheeks sunken in her face. He’d wandered into the amoral establishment by accident when he was looking for the tavern his fellow soldiers where at. She was used, like a scribbled piece of paper,  wasting away in a dirty bin. But she had so many invisible words printed on her skinny face, he could never read them all, not if he had known her his entire lifetime.

She offered him services, to which he blushingly declined, at first. She gave him directions to the tavern he was looking for, but asked him to return to her if he thought of her. He promised he would. And he never stopped thinking about her. So when he did return he stole her away, taking her to his quarters at the castle. There were no women allowed in the soldiers barracks but he defied the rule for her. They laid together every night for four weeks until she was found out. After which, she was permanently exiled from the kingdom, and he was given a stiff slap on the wrist. And he never saw her after that. Their affair was the first and last time he had loved anyone. But he should have known better than to fall in love with a whore.

Slowly, he poured the tea that had brewed into the delicate looking cup. He knew not what became of her, but he assumed she had died at some point. The lifestyle she chose was not sustainable, especially outside of the safety of the kingdom. So to honor her, in his own private way, he drank tea dedicated to her. Gine.

After drinking his tea he made his way to the mirror. He removed the red drape from it, and began the ominous chant. “Mirror, mirror,” he uttered coldly. Inside the figure of a face took form. It was nearly impossible to tell whether the form was male or female, its skin pale blue and long white hair.

“Milord,” it answered predictably.

“I wish to know what has become of Nappa, and where is the Prince?” Bardock inquired.

“The general breathes no longer,” the mirror reported. “The Prince is returned home last night, from a quiet journey where he laid the great general to rest.”  

“And what of the blue haired girl?”

“She is very intelligent. She will help him discover that you were the source of the general’s demise. Should she be allowed to live, she will lead the kingdom in rebellion against the french, as his queen.”

Content with the answers Bardock dismissed the mirror, concealing it once again with the long red drapes.

…

It was before sunrise, and his chambers were still dark. The prince rose to light a candle, his body fully awake from the terrifying dream he’d just had. His hands still shook with adrenaline, his breath still hard and cold. He was dressed only in trousers, the rest of him bare. For a split second he worried about Bulma, and decided to check on her.

Quietly he pushed the heavy wooden door open. The hinges made a slight squeak, though no one was around to hear. Barefoot, he crept silently toward her chambers. Her door made a much louder squeak, due to many years of unuse, but she did not stir. He made his way to her bedside and concluded that she was in fact safe and sound. He decided to check her breathing, in case anything had happened in her sleep. As he got closer to her face he heard her gentle breaths. Relieved, he rested his bottom on the wooden floor. He admired her soft features for a long time, entirely too long in fact, as she began to wake up while he was still there.

He rose to his feet immediately, as she began to stretch her arms out. She hadn't opened her eyes or noticed him yet. His heart leapt from his chest as he scurried to get to the door. Safely on the other side, he let a large breath out of his lungs with an audible sigh.  

As Bulma stretched out her well rested muscles she turned to see a lit candle on her nightstand. Alarmed, she looked around the room for an intruder. Seeing nothing she slowly got up and walked to the door where she heard heavy breathing. Expecting to find a creep on the other side she grabbed the sword she had lent against the wall the previous night. Slowly, she unsheathed it and readied herself for war.

She gradually opened the door, where to her surprise the prince was waiting on the other side.

“Oh jeez, it's just you,” she sighed, relieved. And then she remembered the candle. “Oh my God, were you watching me sleep?!” she ordered the prince to answer, her face close to his, an intimidation tactic she'd been using most of her life.

“I! No! I was just!” the prince struggled to defend himself, his face reddening. Narrowing her eyes, she felt a slight smile begin to form on her lips.

“Oh, I see,” she purred, finally aware of his crush. She lifted her extended index finger to his bare chest. “You fancy me,” she accused as she turned her body around, the tip of her finger grazing his nose. She folded her arms with her back to him.

“What?! Of course not!” he growled, his face twisting to a scowl, his fist raising as a threat.

While the prince stumbled over what words to use to articulate his feelings, Bulma tied her hair in a navy ribbon. When she finished the bouncy bow, she turned back around to face the prince. He was frozen as she gracefully moved toward him, stopping inches from his face. Without saying a word she quickly pressed her lips to his, an action which seemed to stop his heart beating. It was just a peck, over in an instant. The feeling of his blood boiling over led him to believe he would surely die. And as if nothing even happened she strolled past him, through the open door and into the hallway.

“Well make yourself useful and show me to breakfast,” she demanded, disguising her voice to sound more masculine.

He found it physically impossible to say anything at all, his jaw clenched so tightly it would take more than will power to pry open.

…

In the kitchens several maids scurried about, preparing breakfast for the court.

Near the kitchen entrance the prince sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. It was his usual chair, that is when he didn't take meals in his chambers, which was a rare sight. Bulma sat in the chair to his right, and when she did so she received several wide eyed glances from the servants. No one else in the court had arrived for breakfast so every other seat was empty. It must have been an important seat, but the prince did not protest so she stayed put.

He did everything he could to avoid looking at her. His elbow was propped on the table, his head in it's hand, and pointed away from her. He was red as an apple, and the servants took notice. The most odd thing they noticed though, was that the two, the prince and his new friend, said nothing at all to each other.

“Who-" Fasha began to say to her servant counterpart, Maron, who interrupted her.

“No idea, but he's bloody cute I tell ya what.”

“I've never seen him around before, but he looks awful familiar,” Fasha replied, searching her brain for some indication of the blue haired boy’s identity. The two servant girls whispered away in the kitchens, as Fasha stirred the wild boar stew she was making for that night's dinner banquet. Maron had several baskets of rolls to deliver to the tables, but was neglecting that duty for an opportunity to gossip with her friend.

“Yes but… something is off about him. And the way the prince is blushing… Do you reckon…?” Maron suggested, heavily implying that Bulma may be a homosexual man.

“Gee I hope not,” Fasha aspired, wanting to make the new boy her own.

Just then another maid entered, in a rush to have the rolls served.

“The lords and ladies are arriving, please get these out!” She demanded, pointing to Maron and the baskets.

“On it, Miss Mai,” Maron apologized as she hopped to work.

Mai was taller and older than both Fasha and Marron but had yet to marry. Though it wasn't for lack of beauty. She had long black locks that she kept braided at all times, and lips like ripe plums. Recently she had become a sort of forewoman of the kitchen, since the head chef had disappeared. It wasn't unlike Hit to disappear every once in a while, so she was appointed to a supervisory position in his absence.

“Miss Mai,” Fasha started, still stirring away. “Did you notice the new boy who is sat directly next to the prince? How bold.”

“How bold indeed,” Mai said with suspicion in her voice and narrowed eyes.

Unknown to Fasha and the rest of the castle, Mai had witnessed a very immoral act that morning, of which she was very conflicted. She saw the new boy kiss the prince as she walked past his chambers. She struggled to define her role in the act, and wondered if it was her duty inform anyone. Afterall, sodomy was a sin, punishable by death. But would she risk an accusation on the prince, of all people?

…

Several of the high class knights and a few of their ladies joined the breakfast table. These were all high born men and women, who achieved their rank through birthright. Many of them were scarred from enduring many battles with the French. Bulma felt nearly sick wondering how they must feel about the treaty. She wondered if any had protested, or if they feared to do so. Most of the ladies wore a somber look on their faces and in their dresses. Maybe they had heard of the death of the general, though the only people who knew were herself and the prince. Finally, filling the very last chair at the opposite end of the table was a tall and handsome man, with a ruggedly scarred face and black hair. He looked familiar, but Bulma couldn't quite put her finger on who he was. His position seemed to indicate royalty or very close to it. He must be the appointed regent. She decided silently.

Bulma and the prince had nearly had their fill of bread and pastries, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive about being in the presence of so many people. She tapped Vegeta’s leg with her riding boot, and motioned her head toward the exit when he looked at her. He gave a light nod and looked away from her quickly. Just looking at her made his heart race, and he didn't want to risk anyone noticing. He grabbed his fourth Danish, and shoved it in his mouth.

“Prince Vegeta, so nice of you to join everyone,” the regent announced from the other end of the table.

“Not because I want to,” the prince began. “I have news. General Nappa has been slain.” There were some hushed gasps and whispers among the guests, but not a single reaction from the regent. He didn't even blink at the news, it was as if he already knew.

Bulma had a terrible feeling about this man, though it was hard for her to understand why. She swallowed hard on the dry muffin she was eating.

“Unfortunate news. How did this come to pass?” the regent inquired.

“We were dueling, and I mortally wounded him. We didn't believe it to be life threatening. I bandaged him and we rested for the night. In the morning he had passed.” Bulma studied every second of the regent's reaction, scanning him for abnormalities. He twitched slightly at the explanation, almost as if he knew it to be a lie.

“I see. And what of this... “ he motioned a hand to Bulma as if indicating whatever he believed her to be was a dirty word.

“My squire. Appointed by the general himself three days ago. I will train him under my wing until a time when he can join the militia. My apologies if he does not know proper court etiquette, he is of very low birth.” he made it sound like she was a child or at least not even fifteen yet, the age when it is mandatory for men to join the militia.  She pondered for a moment just how old she looked to everyone else in her male regalia. Her sort of short stature, slender figure, and smooth face probably made her look much younger as a boy. She decided she wouldn't be insulted at the implication afterall.

“Excellent…” the regent replied, losing interest in the topic as he turned to one of the other guests to ignite a new discussion.

Out of the limelight, Vegeta threw his hand on Bulma's and pulled her to her feet with him. Realizing that he had actually touched her, he dropped her just as quickly. Bulma felt a grin in her heart, though it didn't make its appearance on her face. I'm disgusting. She lamented, partially enjoying her newfound infatuation, partially hating herself for it.

…

Later in the evening, Bulma found herself in a slight dilemma. She'd been assigned a chambermaid, who wished to draw her a bath. In these instances, a normal person would undress and allow the servant to bathe them. This was not in Bulma’s best interest for she was concealing her gender.

“Ser… Bull was it?” the red haired maiden called.

Bulma panicked as she turned to face the servant. “I won’t won’t be needing a bath today, dear.” She claimed in her most baritone voice.

“As you wish,” the maiden said, rolling her eyes and turning up her nose. The gesture reminded Bulma that the last time she had bathed was three days ago, and her body odor did her no favors.

“Can help you dress down for bed, sir?” The maiden offered, with a slightly disgusted tone of voice.

“N-no,” Bulma answered, flustered by the prospect. Persistent broad. She sighed silently. Finally, the redhead left, taking her harsh judgments with her.

Bulma sat at her desk and pondered the events of the day. An awkward breakfast followed by hours upon hours of being alone in her chambers. The prince had several duties to attend to since he had been absent the past few days. He didn't trust her wandering about on her own so he ordered her to stay put. So she did, and the only human interaction save for breakfast; was the annoying chambermaid she had finally gotten rid of.

She pulled a piece of parchment from a leather bound notebook she had found within the desk. In these uncertain times she felt like penning a letter, an activity that usually brought her peace. As she pulled the quill and inkwell from the desk, her chamber door wailed open.

Vegeta had quite the day. He had run from one end of the castle to the other appointing high ranking officers to new positions within the army. Like a cascading waterfall, when he replaced Nappa with Toma the tall, he needed someone to replace him, and so on and so on. Bardock appointed him these responsibilities to prepare him for when he would become king. The day was so soon in fact, he would be turning eighteen in just one month. He always knew it was coming but deep inside his unconscious mind he felt apprehensive about the title. He had always been the prince. And now he had very big shoes to fill.

His heart told him to seek out Bulma in his uncertain mood, though it did not tell him why or what to say. So he stood in her doorway, staring at her intensely, saying nothing.

“Can I help you, your highness?” she asked as she twisted in her seat.

“Rise,” he said, ignoring that she may not know the context of his command. “Er, rise when your prince enters your presence. That is proper court etiquette,” he explained.

Wow, she thought, he isn't demanding me and demeaning me as he does so. She was nearly floored at his unusually kind demeanor. So she rose and bowed formally to him.

“Again, how can I help you?”

He stood for a moment gathering the vocabulary to express what he wanted. He needed her to investigate the safety breach that had occurred, resulting in the poisoning of his general.

“I was wondering if you had any leads,” he whispered, slowly closing the rusty hinged door behind him.

“Ah,” she spoke, bringing her hand to her chin and looking down at her boots. She did have suspicions, but no concrete evidence, of anything. And what's more, she had been ordered to stay in her chambers all day, how was she supposed to have learned anything?

“The typical smell of arsenic is very close to garlic. Although, it has been at least several days since the poisoning, and so anyone who may have had it on their hands would have definitely been washed by now.”

The prince shifted his stance to one side, pulling his hand to his opposite hip. The shift made a floorboard creak slightly, bringing her attention to him. Just the simple act of looking up at him made his heart skip, her eyelashes perfectly framing her large doe eyes.

His face flushed, an action he could no longer control. His treacherous body’s ridiculous crush was absolutely maddening to the prince. His mind involuntary shoved the picture of her soft lips against his to his eyes. His heart betrayed him again as it leapt. Just being in her presence is driving me… He lamented silently.

Bulma took notice of the odd behavior the prince was exhibiting but she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused her brain on the mystery at hand.

“We should investigate the kitchens and the servants who work there.” she suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed, still fighting a great battle with his hormones. “But should we wait until after dinner?”

Bulma nodded, agreeing that he had a good idea.

Again she noted his odd behavior, flushed skin and awkward, stiff stance. The evil prince had fallen so hard for her; she was resisting the urge to gloat. Maybe the key to her freedom was making the prince fall in love with her. He wasn't terrible looking, in fact his body was godly, but she wasn't keen on his personality or political policies.  And God forbid, what if he wanted to keep her because he had fallen in love? What if he never let her go and she was stuck here the rest of her life to be his mistress or else rot in a cell? Bulma mourned not having the answer, like she might have if he were a horse or a sick patient. Still…

She moved on him, fast and hungry like a predator. Without thought, she grabbed his face, and pushed her lips to his, again. Her hand ran through his shock of wild black hair, holding him in place. Her other hand cupped his cheek and square jaw.

He was stunned, his heart had stopped. He did nothing, she had complete and utter control of him.

Her lust enveloped her, controlled her every move. She could not think, she only felt and acted, a slave to her emotions.

Losing all sense of morality and pride he lifted her from the ground and pressed deeper into her kiss. In response she wrapped her legs around him, a surprisingly easy task when equipped with male trousers. She pulled back from his kiss and looked into his eyes, sending a message that she wasn't completely sure of. She wasn't exactly a maiden anymore, the sentiments of which she didn't find too important to her lifestyle. She still valued most virtues, and as a girl she wanted to save herself for marriage. But her carnal desires had soiled that dream not too long ago. Her eyes dared him to take her, she didn't care to debate the morality of the act any longer.

For the prince it was so very much the opposite. He had never laid with anyone, and his hesitation to accept her dare very dangerously showed it. She had been his first kiss even, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take her bounty just yet. His grip on the underside of her thighs loosened slightly, his courage faltering. He pressed some of her weight against the wall, anchoring himself to a more sturdy position.

As her body was lowered slightly, she felt the eager tightening of his pants, pressing into her. It was exhilarating, a dangerous situation on the horizon.

“Bulma,” he breathed, creasing his brow and questioning himself.

He was brave. He'd been in several battles. He had seen men die, some on his own blade. Some close friends to the enemy's blade. But for this, as with most firsts, he was nervous. And he also believed he would take her womanhood, an act he fervently believed should be saved for marriage. He waited for her verbal reply.

She did not give it. Instead she leaned her head to his and tugged his hair, lifting his face to hers. She again pressed her lips to his, but this time she took his lip in her mouth, and bit down lightly. His pained moans excited her, she felt powerful despite being pinned by him.

He couldn't take it any longer, he tightened his grip once again, lifting her off the wall. He swiveled around to face the bed and began to walk toward it. Not wanting to hurt her, he set her down on the bed gently, lips still tightly locked. When he pulled away from her she rose her hands to the base of her head. She untied the ribbon that held her hair, letting it fall heavy onto her shoulders. Her hands then reached for her shirt, and she began to unbutton it.

And then there was a knock at the door. Both of their hearts stopped, and resumed with an impossible speed. All Vegeta could hear was his heart pounding in his head.

Bulma had no clue what to do, she would be found out. Their sin would have them both killed, or at the very least just her. She looked to the prince for answers. His eyes wide and brow scrunched, he said nothing. She mouthed the words: What do I do? He shrugged in the same moment as he had an idea. Answer it, he replied while lowering himself to the ground, preparing to conceal himself beneath the bed.

She nodded, a determined look on her soft face. She cleared her throat, which she thought would conceal the noise of him sliding along the floor. It was successful. She made her way to the door and opened it, but only slightly.

It was a servant from the kitchen, Bulma did not know her name, but recognized her from breakfast. Her hair was long and dark as a moonless night. She had naturally dark lips that glistened likely due to regular treatment with animal fat. Bulma had heard of the fad of women using animal fat on their lips, but she refrained to maintain a manly appearance on her lips. The servant looked down on her, as she was much taller.

“Dinner, will begin shortly. Have you seen the prince? He did not answer my call at his door…” she remarked, a dark suspicion in her voice that Bulma immediately picked up on.

“No mam, thank you mam.” Bulma replied, wanting to close the door as soon as possible, and never open it again until she died of starvation.

“Please mind your seating at the table, boy.” the servant woman hissed, as she turned to walk away. Bulma noted the harsh remark, and said nothing, only closed the door. She pressed her back to the door, and her knees gave out underneath her. She slid down to the floor, landing quite hard. Ow. She groaned silently.

“She's gone,” Bulma beckoned the prince from his hiding spot. He crawled out, placing himself in front of her, also sitting on the floor.

“Close one,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Bulma however, had an entirely different attitude.

“What is this?” she demanded of the prince, not finding this kind of confrontation very funny in the least.

His grin vanished as he received the demand; though he had no idea how to respond. “I don't know,” he admitted truthfully.

Every ounce that was once lust and energy had completely changed to fear and depression in Bulma. Her eyes became dark and she stared at the ground. “I want to go home,” she said as her eyes shifted up at him. They began to fill with heavy, hot tears. She felt powerless now, playing with fire in a grease filled room. It was only a matter of time until someone realized she was a woman, even if she didn't pursue this perilous affair. Even if she would turn the prince to her side, he was unpredictable and until he was king he had no real power to pardon her.

He just stared at her. She couldn't leave him, he needed her. He wasn't safe until he knew his life was not in danger of the same assassin who poisoned Nappa. And he could only trust her. And now he wanted her, her body and her hand. He wanted to marry her, though the rational part of his brain told him that was just the lust talking. So he grabbed the ribbon on the floor and pressed it to her cheek, where her whale sized tears had fallen. She grabbed it from him and thanked him with her eyes.

He couldn't look at her when she was like this. He blushed and turned his head away with a scowl. The sickness that came with unsatisfied sexual desire began to hit him, along with the pains of hunger. He stood to his feet, smoothing his dishevelled hair to its original shape. Then he dusted off the floor dirt from his shirt and trousers. How unbecoming of him to literally stoop so low.

He reached out his hand, beckoning her to her feet.

She declined, symbolically using her hands to push herself to her feet. As she did so she averted her gaze from him, to the floor. She was embarrassed of her promiscuous behavior, and ashamed of her willingness to fall instantly in love with her enemy. She was utterly disgusted with herself, and she swore to never let it happen again. Then she opened the door and began to make her way to the dining hall.

Her rejection of his help to bring her to her feet felt harsh. Not two minutes ago he had her in his arms, inches from committing carnal sin. And suddenly, with the prospect of being found out on the horizon she froze to him. Her face had looked so hopelessly repulsed by himself, before she turned her back to him and ran off. What a pain it was to lose something he never even had. One thing was sure to him; he would never let that happen again.

…

Bulma had done well to place herself at a table very, very far from the prince. He should have told her the first time that she was disgracing herself by sitting in the late general's own chair. But no, he enjoyed seeing her embarrassed by the regent himself. Now she sat with low ranking, bachelor soldiers of no more than fifteen years.  They stunk, like overly ripe gourds and unwashed toilets. It sickened her so badly, on top of the night’s heart pounding events; she found herself unable to eat. So she pushed her stew around in her bowl and listened halfheartedly to the conversation the soldier boys were having. It mostly consisted of nailing the farmer’s daughters, and how many men each had killed already. The number of maidenhoods and French lives the lot of boys had claimed was numerous, and the most flamboyant fish tale Bulma had ever heard. She struggled not to roll her eyes at their exuberant lies.

Finally, after what had seemed hours, someone began tapping their silverware to their glass. A toast was in order, and Bulma was glad to hear anything other than fornication and murder. Her eyes followed the noise and determined it to be coming from the regent. She found herself suddenly very interested in him, a strange acting fellow indeed, whom she was certain played a role in the general's downfall.

Bardock stood, confidence in his posture and a laid back smile on his face. He was dressed very nicely for the occasion, he even had a long red cape attached to his lapels with golden chains. He certainly looked the part of royalty. After gaining most everyone's attention, he began to speak.

“I have an announcement to make to the court,” he began in a low and rich voice. “Very soon our kingdom will have cause for a wonderful celebration. In a few short days we will know peace with France for the first time since the late King Vegeta ruled!”

His voice rang through the halls, and pierced Bulma in the heart. No. She felt part of herself suddenly sadden, the prospect of a treaty with France could very possibly mean death for many people. She had no doubt this treaty was Emperor Frieza’s trojan horse. She scanned the table where Bardock was for the prince, but she did not see him. In fact she did not see him anywhere in the great hall. Whatever. She scolded herself for even caring. At this point she'd rather be locked away because she knew after helping him he'd never let her go anyway. Then the regent continued to talk.

“In one month our kingdom’s young prince will be a prince no longer. He will come of age, and it is time to honor him with a most wonderful coronation! It will be the biggest celebration in the history of our kingdom, we will have ambassadors from all over the continent attend as he is sworn in as the rightful King Vegeta!” this triggered a roar from every single guest in the dining hall; save for one. In the loud commotion Bulma could very nearly not hear herself think. But she wondered; if Bardock would willingly hand over control to the prince, and name him king, what motive did he have to assassinate Nappa? It just didn't fit. Either this was a farce, and Bardock planned to hurt Vegeta in some way, or he had absolutely nothing to do with Nappa at all. Bulma just wished she had no part in any of this. She missed the stables and the manure. Mostly she missed her siblings. But he snuck back into her mind too, as she pictured things that she loved.

Just then Prince Vegeta entered the room from the northern doors. He was dressed from head to toe in a most fabulous uniform. His doublet and trousers were a black velvet, with stripes of yellow, white and blue. He, too, had a long red cloak that attached to his lapels with golden hooks; though his cloak had what seemed to be a fluffy lynx fur around his shoulders. On his head was a small crown, what Bulma assumed was not the king's crown but a lesser version of it. Still it sparkled gold with specks of ruby and sapphire gems encrusted all over. He had on white gloves and white riding boots. He was the stunning image of a most regal prince. And Bulma hated him for his indulgences.  She decided to forego the meal all together, and return to her chambers for the rest of the night.

…

It had been two weeks since the announcement of the Prince’s coronation.  The annoying blue haired soldier had been hanging around the kitchen, fraternizing with the younger girls there. Mai had no doubt the deviant was planning to deflower them. She waited for more proof of his sodomy, but he had shifted his interest to her girls. He no longer visited the prince, nor did the prince visit him. Mai had garnered a sort of hatred for the boy, who favored any sex. He would probably fornicate with animals too, the poor sick bastard. She feared for the kitchen maids, this irregular sinner may have diseases of the flesh, and she could not bare him transferring it to them. Something had to be done.

She decided to come clean to the regent about the event she had witnessed two weeks ago.

Very soon Bulma would know the cold hard feel of the stone floor of a cell. She would know the piss and rat dropping smell that infiltrated every bit of oxygen in the castle's prison. She would know the feel of lice in her hair and cockroaches in her cot. She would know the hunger of slowly starving to death. She would wish for that death as mercy. And she would receive it.

To be continued…

#tpthvegebulmayhem #week 3 #clandestine downfall #vegebul #Vegeta x Bulma #vegeta #bulma #fanfiction #fanfic #au #fairytale au #dragon ball #dragon ball z #dbz #dragon ball super

[tpthvegebulevents]

MAYHEM 2018 - WEEK 3 - [ANON E] “CLANDESTINE DOWNFALL”

Title: Clandestine Downfall

Rating: T

Genre: Cloak and Dagger, Fantasy, Fairytale AU, Horror, Dark Fiction, Mystery

TW: Violence, conspiracy for murder, assassination, injury description, poisoning, vomiting, death, graphic depiction of an autopsy, light smut, homophobic ideology

Summary: Death! Who has poisoned the general? Is the same person after the prince? The kingdom has been compromised! And just who is the regent? Find out all that and more, in this installment of: Clandestine Downfall!

Reference: Excerpt from Richard III by William Shakespeare

Additional Requirements fulfilled: 1 and 2

Chapter 4: The Weeping Wounds

(Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7)

From the slight crack in the cellar door Bulma and Tien saw 3 men forcefully enter the cottage. The two smaller men seemed to be carrying a much larger, nearly unconscious one. The concealed two instantly recognized Yamcha. And Bulma recognized the other to be the prince. Her mind was suddenly flying, trying to piece together the situation, and then…

“Who is trip trapping on my bridge, and trespassing in my home?!” yelled a familiar  prepubescent voice. The unsurprisingly agile young boy swung down from the rafters like an exotic eastern monkey. His feet landed in perfect sync as he immediately stabled himself. In his two hands he held a long staff, a memento from Bulma’s father. Though her father had only used it as a walking stick in his later years, Goku seemed to favor it a weapon.

Though she feared for the boy's safety she knew very well he could hold his own in one on one combat. And with the larger man seemingly incapacitated, Goku and Yamcha could defend themselves if need be. She frantically looked around for the other missing two, Oolong would be easy to spot, but Lazuli was a master at hide and seek. Neither were in plain sight, which comforted her to some extent.

“Well speak up mister!” the monkey boy bellowed, pointing the slender red rod towards the prince.

Vegeta scanned the boy, from messy black head to dirty bare toes. Something about him seemed familiar. The hair, his striking dark and determined eyes, even the way he held himself, ready to lunge. He was so familiar yet so foreign and strange. Even the way he spoke, authoritative and calculated. Yes, Vegeta had seen this boy somewhere before, though he couldn't tell where.

“Who are you boy? And do you know who you are talking to?!” he retorted, with a disgusted look on his face.

“I am Goku, and no I don't know who you are, I've never met you before.” the boy replied rather matter of factly.

Feeling the slight tension between Vegeta and Goku, Yamcha cut in to calm the situation.

“Goku, he’s fine, he won't hurt us… for now. We need Bulma though! Where is she?”

The ominous mention of “for now" horrified Bulma, but she trusted Yamcha and decided to reveal herself. She whispered lightly to Tien to keep the girls hidden while she figured the situation out.

Goku completely let down his guard at Yamcha’s reassurance. He grinned a playful and mischievous grin, announcing “Alright I'll go get her from her hiding spot!”

Oh come on! She silently uttered, raising her open palm to her clammy forehead. Disgruntled as she was, she climbed out of the cellar door as quiet as a mouse. Luckily the prince wasn't looking in her direction, rather he focused on Goku with a very odd concentration.

Bulma extended her legs, pushing herself to a mostly standing position. She brushed the dust and dirt from the cellar off of her flaxen colored shift and bloomers. Her hair was tied loosely behind her head, but a large portion of her bangs fell softly in front of her eyes. Some strands from that portion had begun to soak the sweat from her forehead, and stuck to her face.

She stepped from the hallway connecting the kitchen and entryway, fist to her brow in preparation to bow. But she immediately caught herself, a man bows, a woman minds her modesty with a curtsey. Her fingertips traced the lace bottom of her shift and her hands pulled in each direction spreading the cloth for a proper bend. She swept her right leg behind the left and slowly dipped into a low, respectful greeting.

“Your Highness,” she breathed.

Yamcha nearly cried out, your highness?! But was cut off by the prince.

“Disgraceful! Your immodesty is only forgivable because this is an unexpected… visit… but you should be ashamed to even present yourself to me in such a state. Begone! Cover your nakedness!” Vegeta spewed after taking in the shocking visual of her.

Her face spontaneously combusted into flames the second she realized what she was wearing. And the Prince called her out so… elegantly. He could not have worded his disgust in such a way to make her feel any worse. Damn that's embarrassing… She shrieked internally. Without hesitation she fled to her chambers for a heavier, more company appropriate smock.

Yamcha turned to Vegeta when Bulma was out of earshot.

“Listen, I don't know what kind of crime warrants a visit of the prince himself, but please know she's done nothing wrong. Let her pay by healing your friend, and let her go.” The scar faced bandit pled.

“Don’t speak so plainly to your Prince! And I'll see to it she is punished of her crime regardless of what happens to Nappa, mark my word.”

 …

 Soon, the physician's daughter had Nappa situated.

“I've given him quite a large dose of opium, taking his size into account. He will be comfortable for now, but I'll need to know what the ailment is to properly treat him.”

She stood with authority and intelligence in her posture. She sported a white smock, tied in the waist that fell loosely to her ankles. She had a cloth covering most of her face and gloves on in case Nappa vomited again. She'd given Goku instructions to gather the rest of the children and wait in the cellar until this was all over. I'll come get you as soon as they leave. She half heartedly promised. Honestly, she had no idea what would happen to her in the next few minutes or hours. But what did happen was very far from anyone's expectations.

“He said he'd been poisoned. However he's been sick for the last few days, maybe he is just delirious.” the prince explained.

“That would explain the vomiting and the pale complexion, but those would be symptomatic of most illnesses. I need more time to observe him... Your grace.”

Vegeta sneered at the girl. Tch. He wanted to say he didn't really care whether Nappa lived or died. But he needed backup, and if anyone would kill the Great General, it would be the most powerful man in the kingdom, the prince himself. There's no way the prince would let him be beaten by a coward who poisoned him.

“Do what you must.” he replied, grasping his long navy cloak. Before leaving the room he glared at Yamcha, the way an alpha wolf would intimidate another male during meal time.

“Let's let him rest, Yamcha. Thank you, for doing this and I am so sorry to have dragged you into my mess…” Bulma nearly choked out. She felt her eyes becoming hot and wet, feeling responsible for his predicament. Yamcha instinctively leaned in for an embrace or a kiss, but Bulma pulled back. Silently she swept past him to meet the prince in the kitchen. Yamcha stayed a while thinking about his decisions.

“I'll fix you some food, your highness. And you're welcome to stay as long as it takes for Nappa to heal.” she offered.

With a grunt he accepted the food, the sliced apple that was meant for Tien and Goku, along with cheeses, cured meat, and a glass of wine. She secretly hoped the wine would loosen him up because his sober state was nearly unbearable.

Bulma and Goku fixed a room for the prince, with the softest of the hospital's twenty mattresses and a pea blossom bouquet for fragrance. I don't even treat myself to such luxury. She lamented.

She decided to conceal the children longer, in case anything happened to her, they would be able to escape.

 …

 It was early the next morning when Nappa said his final words.

Goku had wandered into his hospital room early in the morning to observe the giant. Goku had never seen such a big man in all his life. It was both daunting and exciting. He wanted to challenge the man to a spar when he awoke, like he, Krillin and Tien did with the old martial arts master in town. Master Roshi had challenged Goku to find bigger and stronger opponents. Goku delighted in the idea of becoming stronger to protect his family… and for fun of course.

 ...

 Nappa dreamt of one thing for the entirety of his sleep. He replayed a peculiar conversation he had with the Regent a fortnight ago.

“Your grace,” Nappa greeted, head low and fist to brow.  He had been called into a meeting in the King’s counsel, though he had no idea what it was about. He was generally not invited to such discussions unless they involved war or battle, both of which had not occurred recently. To say the call for him was odd may have been an understatement.

“General Nappa. Please stand. Join us at the table, our guest.”

Nappa lifted himself from the wooden floor. At the table sat several confidantes, and an ambassador. There was the Regent himself at the head of the table. He was cloaked in black and crimson, which suited him well. There were small golden chains latched from his cloak to his lapels. His collar was a frilly black satin that crawled like a lizard up his thick neck. His skin was dark, and scarred. He too had seen battles, many of the same Nappa had, though they once fought on opposite sides. As handsome as the Regent was, Nappa wasn't jealous. He was thankful that his own face hadn't  been scarred in such a way, or else the castle maids wouldn't favor him!

To the left of the Regent was Piccolo, the highest ranking monk in the kingdom who attended the meetings as a spiritual guide. He was draped in loose white linens, no doubt an inexpensive thread. He was a very serious man and rarely spoke. He was very tall and muscular, but he wasn't intimidating. Nappa respected him.

To the right of the Regent was another confidante, Mistress Baba. She was the master of coin, a mousey broad with a large body and witch-like face. She was a voluntary spinster, though it's not certain she would have married if she wanted to. She was ugly, with an ugly personality to match, but no man could match her expertise in kingdom finance. She too, was clad in black nearly an identical outfit to the regent but in female form. Of all the people in the room, Nappa feared her the most.

Finally, next to the mistress was a man that Nappa recognized as a French ambassador, due to his French Crest proudly displayed on his right breast. His long grassy blonde hair was fastened in a tight braid, flowing gently down his chest and ending in his lap. His uniform was of high military rank, though Nappa could not identify what rank exactly. The deep navy, crimson and white threads in his uniform beautifully highlighted the cool undertones of his skin and bright green eyes.

Nappa took his seat next to Piccolo, so as to not to look highly underdressed next to the ambassador.

“This is Ambassador Zarbon, hand selected by the French Emperor to discuss a treaty with us today. I trust you know the rest of us here?” the Regent inquired.

“Of course,” Nappa replied, trying piece together why exactly the emperor would send an ambassador for treaty talks.

...

 Nappa was restless in his comatose state. His body fought violently to subdue the arsenic, but unfortunately it was too late for the general. He had soaked the hospital mattress with his perspiration. This was his greatest and final battle.

 …

 The meeting was more of a declaration than a discussion. There was to be an assimilation with France, a merging of the armies and joint power to the emperor and the regent, followed by the king when he came of age.

Though Nappa vehemently opposed the idea, there was no arguing as all four other people agreed to the treaty. Nappa could envision a future where the emperor would get his sticky lizard hands on the prince and control him to do anything he wanted. The empire of France would get so large it seemed world domination may even be possible. And that's if the emperor kept his treaty promise. There was nothing him stopping from gaining the kingdom’s army and viciously turning it against itself like he'd done with so many others.

Baba claimed war would be too expensive. This is the only way.

Piccolo claimed that the treaty would bring the least bloodshed. This is the only way.

The ambassador claimed anything less than assimilation would displease the emperor. This is the only way.

And the Regent claimed this was the way to protect the kingdom, themselves, and the prince.

“This is the only way, General. Please order your soldiers at every station to stand down as the French make their way in. They will not be harmed.”

Nappa could not bring himself to agree, his pride being trampled on as it was. Instead, he stormed out of the room, his thunderous footsteps were audible for some time even after his exit.

After the dream replayed, several sickening times, a new event unfolded itself in Nappa’s mind.

The Regent stood from his chair. With a growl he followed Nappa. The regent was smaller, quicker, and caught up to Nappa without even breaking a walk. Nappa felt his legs grow heavy, his lungs filled with heavy unbreathable oxygen. He opened his mouth to give the Regent a piece of his mind when suddenly…

The regent lifted his fist and clenched the space between he and Nappa tightly. His own blood made ribbons on his wrist from his fingernails. His face was suddenly demonic, twisting into an evil scowl. As he tightened his fist, Nappa felt his lungs grow tighter and heavier as well. He couldn't breathe, or speak.

“I will kill you!” the regent threatened, further tightening his grasp.

The general's vision blurred, his pulse weakening in dream state and out.

He opened his eyes for the last time, and beheld a child with wild black hair. The spitting image of the regent. Though he couldn't tell if he was dreaming anymore, his eyes widened.

“Hi! I'm Goku!” the boy said.

The prince stood on the opposite side of the room, leaned against the wall, silently watching his general. When Nappa saw the prince he was relieved to be in at least half friendly company. But as his last breath drew near, so did the prince. In Vegeta’s left hand was a dagger.

“B-bardock! He is going to…”

Vegeta took one look at Nappa and knew this was the end. His face was ashen, purple even, with lack of oxygen. His black eyes were glazed over, veiny and red. Blood vessels all over his face and neck had ruptured forming an almost web like blanket on his face. He looked just like his father had looked so many years ago…

“I won’t let you die weakly, Nappa.”

“Vegeta-" Nappa choked, acid snaking its way from his empty stomach to his esophagus.

“The regent,” he whispered as Vegeta slid the cold smooth dagger into the General's heart.

In that moment Nappa thought nothing and said nothing as his eyes inevitably faded into nothing.

“Hey!! Why'd you do that?! Bulma was trying to save him! I was going to ask him to fight me!! He was your friend!!” Goku valiantly pled.

The prince said one thing and one thing only, not even noticing the boy's tantrum.

“Bardock.”

 …

 Nappa wasn't the only one to be plagued by dark dreams that night. Bulma also had a restless and nightmarish sleep.

 She was walking barefoot on moist ground. The almost mud felt soft on her toes, not an unpleasant experience. It was dark where she was, but she felt like she knew the way. She pressed on, wondering what was next. She could not see much of her surroundings, just black ground and black rock walls. It was a cave of sorts. In the distance she heard a river, an indication of an end to the dark tunnel. She smiled in relief that the trek would soon be over. The smell of the cave began to shift from musty, saturated dirt to a more floral essence. She recognized the distinct scents of lavender and sweet pea blossom. It was an intoxicating mixture, and the promise of a fresh cool drink of water made her press on.

It seemed like ages that she was trapped in the cave, alone but not fearful.  Finally she could see the end. The misty rays of morning sunshine leaked into the entrance of the cave. Outside she could see long blades of green grass, dotted with bunches of pink and purple flowers. Tall pines, junipers and a few silver birch trees lined the entrance of the cave and the river.

“Peasant,” an abrupt, deep voice called.

Curious in nature, Bulma twisted toward the voice, coming from behind her, inside the cave.

“You can never leave me.” the voice was rigid and almost predatory.  The voice began to take the form of a man. He was the same height as herself, and muscular though not overly so. His face was hidden in shadows. Bulma could only just see his chest was bare, but he had dark navy trousers on. She tried to speak but the words dissipated in her mouth before she could form them.

The figure grasped her wrist with his own coarse calloused hand. The hand of a swordsman. He reeked of lavender, a scent she now knew originated with him, and not the outside of the cave. She wanted to recoil at his touch but felt powerless in his grasp. His skin felt much colder than hers, almost stinging when he touched her. When she decided to stop resisting she was electrified. The forbidden feeling of letting go excited her. He pulled her in, wrapping his other arm around her waist and locking her there. Her chest was pressed to his, which she could now see was scarred with snow white lines. She now knew this was the prince, but he had captured her. It felt so wrong to betray her beliefs and ideals in favor of his tantalizing body, but she did so anyway.

“But I hate you,” she was finally able to say. His head moved ever closer to hers as if he hadn't even heard her. When he was so close she could feel his warm breath on her own face, she stopped breathing. Anticipating. Suffering. Craving.

And then she awoke.

 …

 Bulma wore the same medical smock from the day before as she prepared to check on her patient. Yamcha had spent the night with her, though not in her bed. He was still asleep in her large reading chair when she glanced his way. She felt a small pang of guilt for her heated fantasy about the prince, even though it was just a dream. His features were soft and boyish when he slept. She frowned though, when she remembered that he had left her. He had no intention of being with her and she had to accept that. And the feeling was surprisingly mutual.

Out of the blue she heard her small brother yelling incoherently. Goku! Her mind raced.

Without gloves, boots or mask she sprinted to where she heard the voice, the patient's room. When she reached the doorway she was stopped by the broad figure of the prince. Her heart fluttered with visions of her steamy dream. Involuntarily, her face began to redden at the thought of how close they were. “Eep!” she yelped, at the sudden shock.

Vegeta was in his own head trying to work things out when the doctor's daughter appeared. She seemed flustered, red and messy. She hadn't her shoes, gloves or mask, likely due to hearing the child and rushing here. Her skin was dewy and fresh, her hair tangled but soft looking. And her deep blue eyes were wide and easy to look at. She was slender with pale skin and shoulder length hair. If she weren't a criminal peasant, the prince may have even favored her. But those matters were far from his mind when she stopped him in that doorway.

“He is dead. We must discuss some matters urgently, over breakfast,” he ultimately decided to say.

Bulma had to replay what he said before realizing what he meant. She stepped to the side of the prince and forced her way in to see the patient.

“What?” She vocalized. Dead? He was stable last night! She questioned herself.  And then she saw the bloody mess of sheets draped over the patient's heart. And Goku, standing over and studying the corpse.

“What happened?!” Bulma yelled, exasperated. She was so infinitely confused, did Goku do this? The prince? Yamcha or an intruder? She pressed her bare fingers to Nappa’s throat for a pulse. Nothing. Her fingers made contact with some blood from his chest wound, making her regret not wearing her gloves.

“He killed him! I wanted to spar with him when he got better, but he killed his friend!” Goku answered back to her.

Bulma was shocked and even more confused than before. Was she housing a psychotic murderous prince? Was this all part of the nightmare?

 …

 Yamcha had risen just slightly after Bulma, though he was awake long before her. She was restless in her sleep, tossing, turning and moaning the entire night. All he wanted to do was get away but she kept reeling him back in. Her hooks were deep and jagged in his heart. He cared for her and her family so much, and even though he could have escaped in the night and let her make her own bed, he stayed. At some point he was curious about the other children. He assumed she had them tucked away in the cellar but he decided to test that hypothesis. When he found them down there, he brought them food. Six bowls of porridge of varying sizes and temperatures. They were grateful, having not eaten the entire day. Yamcha patted Tien on his fuzzy head. He said something along the lines of Keep everyone safe in case anything happens. And Tien accepted the command with a nod.

And now Yamcha was awake and he noticed the bed in shambles. He lifted the blanket and began to smooth out the sheets. He tucked the corners neatly and fluffed the pillows, when suddenly he heard a commotion. The scar faced boy immediately pursued the noise.

Leaving the room, Yamcha passed right by the kitchen where he only barely noticed the prince sitting at the dining table… In fact the prince was sitting in his own usual spot at the dining table which really seemed to burn Yamcha.

Yamcha didn't exactly grow up learning proper gentleman's etiquette. In fact he was an orphan from the time he was young and he had to beg and steal to survive. It wasn't until recently that Bulma had begun correcting his grammar and social appropriateness. He learned not to call every woman he met a broad because it was impolite. He'd never learned what polite was, but he figured it meant saying the right words at the right time. And it was not a simple feat.

“Hey, ya sod! Make yourself comfortable in my chair why don't ya?” he spat at the prince. Vegeta stared at the young bandit, who had just committed three crimes against the crown in one sentence.

Tch what am I even doing here? He questioned himself sincerely. He came to arrest the peasant woman and maybe publicly humiliate her, but he didn't expect Nappa to die and… I can't go back there… What if the murderer comes after me?

Vegeta now recognized the smaller black haired boy as very similar to the Regent, but he couldn't be sure if there was any relation. Maybe this plot went a lot deeper than he originally anticipated. Just then Bulma entered the kitchen with a scowl directed towards the scar faced delinquent.

“Watch your mouth, Yamcha!” You'll get us all killed! She thought.

“Would you kindly mind explaining exactly what happened in there?!” she screeched at the comfortable looking prince. He shifted silently contemplating whether to tell her or not.

“Your grace?” she added as an afterthought.

“I killed him because he wouldn't have wanted to die in disgrace covered in his own vomit and feces.” he said smoothly.

“He may not have died! He seemed to have a very developed constitution, and-"

“He was choking to death as I watched him! And you have no right to instigate me, the prince and most powerful man in this kingdom! I should be asking you if you accelerated his deterioration?!” Not only did he cut her off but he insulted her medical skill and intelligence and accused her of murder! Almost nothing could stop her from raising her furious fist to his face, almost.

Goku grabbed Bulma's outstretched fist.

“What's a Bardock, Bulma?” he asked innocently and sincerely.

All three adults were silent and waited for what would be said next.

Vegeta decided to break the silence first. “You've tread on very thin ice here, woman. As I see it you have very few options. First you answer every question I have for you honestly and without hesitation. Secondly, you help me clean up this mess and get to the bottom of the poisoning fiasco. Thirdly, you submit to your arrest and face trial and punishment when this is all over. Do this, and I may spare you and these two clowns’ worthless lives.”

With her hand in Goku’s she focused on what the prince said. He doesn't know about the other children yet. She sighed, relieved. But that doesn't mean he can't find out. And Bulma had sworn to protect them no matter what. So she grimaced and bowed low to the prince, who seemingly had her in a corner.

“You may be a vulgar woman, but it takes a lot of guts to raise your fist to a prince,” he said, almost grinning respect for her.

Though arguments were had, Bulma, Goku, Vegeta and Yamcha settled on a quick breakfast before the autopsy of Nappa.

 …

 “Someone's been eating my porridge,” Bulma rummaged frantically through her barren kitchen cabinets. Her voice was hushed, her hands searching. Her fingertips grazed the dust inside, and she frowned at the thought of her siblings going without. Giving up on the idea of porridge, she placed her hands on her hips and sighed. Faintly, the children in the cellar could be heard rustling.

Munching eagerly on a bright red apple, the prince hadn't heard the children at first. Bulma stamped her foot loudly on the solid wood floor, a warning to quiet down for the moment. Though he had been deep in thought, mostly pondering the significance of the boy Goku, the stomp shook the prince to attention. Dirt fell on the children like rain. Tiny Lazuli breathed in, filling her lungs with powdered air.

The moment was short but lasted a lifetime in Bulma’s mind. The little girl’s cough was heard by every ear in the kitchen.

The Prince's first reaction to the small cough was suspicion. Why would this woman be hiding a child? He stood from his chair, and traced the sound with his eyes.

“No,” Bulma breathed.

“What are you hiding from me, woman?”

Like a hunted doe she froze, she waited, she tried to figure out what to say but it was almost too overwhelming.

Tien decided he was done playing hiding seek now. He wasn’t afraid of this stranger. With Goku and Yamcha, they could take him down if need be. The boy grabbed his sisters by their hands and motioned for his two brothers to follow behind. The six short orphans crawled up from the cellar door near the back of the kitchen, Lazuli still hacking away at the dirt.

Revealed and vulnerable, Bulma had no choice but to resort to her feminine wiles in hopes the prince would agree to leave them alone.

“Um, oh, they're just sick children I'm caring for. They aren't related to me at all in fact, run along home little ones,” she gestured to the back door, and then turned to face the prince once again, “so that the adults can get down to business…” her voice and eyes dropped low and sultry, towards Vegeta.

Yamcha flushed as he realized what she was doing. In his limited wisdom he could not see this ending well so he broke his silence.

“Uh look, this has gone on long enough! We all know you're here to arrest Bulma. This is her family and without her they will die. In order to take care of them she had to make a living, and if it's a crime to love and care for your family then this kingdom is doomed.” Yamcha hadn't planned to insult the kingdom or its laws, it just came out that way. He always said what he felt.

“Look, I don't care what is going on here, because the kingdom is compromised. I need your help to figure out what exactly happened to Nappa. Then I can handle that situation and then arrest the woman!”

“Arrest me and let her go!” Yamcha yelled valiantly.

“No! Oh my God stop trying to save me!” Bulma yelled at the bandit.

Yamcha was visibly confused.

“I'll help you,” she stated, a promise. “But you have to promise no harm comes to my siblings… or Yamcha.”

“So far my only interest is punishing those who've committed crimes. The children have not, and you have my word no harm will come to them.” he promised back.

There was no promise to Yamcha, but Bulma had to agree to the terms to protect the children.

With knowing eyes she told Yamcha to take the children to pick apples, silently. And silently he agreed.

 …

 To hasten the process of congealing Nappa's blood, Bulma mixed a fine powder of yarrow and myrrh sap. The mixture was a sticky sweet smelling syrup that she applied to each incision.  The result was thick, molasses like blood that did not spill all over the floor. Nappa was far too large to let his blood in the tub, so this was a necessary process.

While the woman worked her magic on his general's corpse, Vegeta wandered close by in the connecting library. There had to have been a hundred books on medicine, poison, gynaecology, pediatrics and more. Most of the books looked well worn, likely years of reading and rereading. The prince slid his right hand fingers on an odd book, seemingly out of place with all the medical texts; Richard III by William Shakespeare.  A play… how oddly refined for a peasant woman…

His calloused fingers admired the worn leather of its binding. He shook the book open to a page and read an excerpt:

 “Foul devil, for God’s sake hence, and trouble us not; For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell, Fill’d it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. If thou delight to view thy heinous deeds, Behold this pattern of thy butcheries. O! gentlemen; see, see! dead Henry’s wounds Open their congeal’d mouths and bleed afresh. Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells: Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural. O God! which this blood mad’st, revenge his death; O earth! which this blood drink’st, revenge his death; Either heaven with lightning strike the murderer dead, Or earth, gape open wide, and eat him quick, As thou dost swallow up this good king’s blood, Which his hell-govern’d arm hath butchered!”

 Vegeta mourned the act of killing his friend. As if precautionary, he checked to see if Nappa was bleeding again in his presence, even though he knew it a superstitious and outdated practice.

The physician's daughter cut away, a long Y shaped incision into the general's chest. She was unphased by the sight of blood, organs and the smell. The smell was most horrible, a fleshy and iron smell that turned sour the closer she got to his stomach. Even Vegeta, who had seen some battle in his young life, almost turned away in disgust. But not Bulma.

“Eureka!” the blue haired surgeon shrieked after some time spent digging in the general's stomach. Her blood-soaked and gloved hand pulled out a small amount of what looked like mud to the untrained eye.

“What is it?” he demanded as he got closer, eyes wide as if it could help him understand better.

“Food.” She proudly proclaimed, as if it truly answered his question. She knew it didn't but it was fun to dangle her superior intellect in front of him, teasingly. She turned away from the prince, and towards a table with many dishes and vials. And, next to them was a machine the prince hadn't seen before, even in the castle's infirmary and laboratory. It was a cylindrical device mounted on a small stand which held a glass plate. Curious and disgusted Vegeta watched her work. She placed the bloody mud she identified as food on the small glass plate. Then she ungloved her right hand and grasped the cylinder in it. She delicately placed her eye over the cylinder, where the prince now noticed there was a circular glass piece.

“A magnifier?” the prince guessed, moderately educated in his own right.

“Sort of,” the genius girl teased.

But quickly his mind wandered from what she was doing at the moment, to what she was doing with her life.

“Why do you harbor these orphans and that street rat?” He asked, bluntly.

For a moment Bulma was quiet. Through a quick look she determined the sample was of an apple. Though, the stomach and mouth of the corpse smelled distinctly of garlic. An odd combination that is rarely seen in traditional cooking.

Something inside her told her to answer him truthfully. So she did.

 ...

 “I see. My father also passed when I was young… He appointed the Regent, Bardock, to fulfill his duties until a time when I decided to take over. I promised my father I would follow in his footsteps and become the most powerful man in the kingdom. But here I am chasing a silly criminal getting my most valuable general killed.”

The prince had opened up to her, albeit not without calling her silly, but he had really left himself vulnerable to whatever she could say next. His insecurities and fears of not meeting expectations seemed to weigh heavy on his shoulders. Ignoring the “silly" comment, she opted for a sympathetic response.

“You are doing a fine job, Nappa's death was not your fault. But you can make it better. Avenge him, and prove to your father and the regent that your time to rule is now.” She raised her gloved hand in a fist of rebellion.

“And fulfill your promise to be the most powerful by eliminating the French threat and protecting your kingdom!”

Oops. She had gone off on a tangent and revealed her true political ideals.

“I… what do you know about France?!” Vegeta demanded, cross browed and inquisitive.

“I um, sorry, I just have strong opinions and I let myself get carried away… your grace.” She stated, much quieter than before.

He just stared at her and let the sight of her fill him. That passion…

“Well since you will rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life, you should know we are in the middle of a treaty with the emperor of France. We will assimilate and become one.”

Bulma was most shocked about the declaration of a treaty with France. It was almost as if she hadn't heard the rotting in a cell part. Almost.

“You fool,” she breathed, involuntarily. “he’ll kill us all before he even thinks of peace with this kingdom. What your father did was unforgivable and Emperor Frieza will make our kingdom pay… this ‘treaty’ is only a ploy and I can't believe you don't see it…”

It hadn't occurred to him that it was a trick, but she had made a fascinating point. If Frieza still harbored any ill will, he could flawlessly execute a coup d'état with the appearance of peace. It left the prince speechless, this woman’s intelligence.

“In fact, the plot may have already begun with the poisoning of your general. Arsenic.” and with that she removed her remaining bloody glove and began to cover the body with sheets.

 …

 They had made a makeshift wooden cart to carry Nappa behind their horses. His body was beginning to stiffen, but Vegeta and Yamcha were able to place him without too much effort.

Bulma mounted the fallen general's stallion with grace. Yamcha grabbed its reins to lead, but she insisted he join her on the horse. When he did Vegeta felt a small jealousy ignite in his chest. Alone on his own dark horse, Vegeta thought about one thing; the unexpected infatuation he'd developed with this vulgar cross-dressing harlot over the last three days.

God, how she glows. She is like a sinful fire and my body is freezing and my mind naive. She is not only beautiful, with porcelain skin, rivers of blue hair and deep twilight eyes, but she is intelligent and strong willed. She's got guts. The mousey maids in the castle are nothing like her. The dutchess suitors I'm accustomed to are so timid and withdrawn. None would even think to accomplish the feats this woman has in her eighteen years of life. I can never have her, and that makes me want her so much more.

Her beauty is nothing if not underrated by those around her. How she even managed to dress as a man for so long looking like that is beyond me. Her facial structure is angular and soft all at the same time. Her skin dewy and perfectly delicious. I don't know if I want to kiss her or eat her. I definitely want to touch every part of her, hair and skin, lips and neck even… Yes, she is certainly the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.

Her intelligence is by far her most hidden trait. She has knowledge that could rival even the most skilled castle physicians. The graceful way she cut into Nappa, spilling the least blood and quickly identifying the poison. The exact food the poison was in even! She was taught well by her father. And to her credit he probably didn't teach her everything. Not a single book in her library was dusty nor pristine. All were well used, and well absorbed. Even the entertaining reads of plays and poetry showed her deep and critical knowledge. And she squandered her intellect, by working as a stable hand in my stables.

Her will power rivals even that of my own. In my life I have been dedicated to nothing but becoming a powerful warrior and king, to fulfill my father's wish. I can relate to her trials, she too promised her father, and kept it all these years. Here I am hiding away from the man who wishes to usurp me, or worse. And she is burying the friend of her enemy to ensure safety for her family. She has done all I have asked, albeit not without argument, for the prosperity of her family. She is passionate not only about them but the entire kingdom as well. It reminds me… well it reminds me of my mother. She was so strong even at her weakest. And Bulma is no different.

In fact, I respect her for all of this. How different and similar we are isn't so odd. In another world I'd scoop her up and steal her away, and she'd be my princess or I would be her peasant husband. Unfortunately...

Vegeta day dreamed silently as the trio rode further into the forest.

He made a decision then, and although he didn't know it yet, it would ultimately be the death of Bulma.

 …

 The group arrived at a clearing near a river shortly before sunset. Yamcha still wasn't sure why he needed to come, besides being secondary muscle to transport the hulking abomination.  

“Here will do.” The prince called out, halting his horse and dismounting. Bulma and Yamcha also dismounted and looked around. It was a far stretching meadow, mostly grassy with some large patches of sand and rock appearing closer to the river. Surrounding the clearing was a plethora of aspen trees and a few juniper and birch. In the distance the Jura mountain range could be seen, the citrus and peony sunset settled quietly behind it. No one said a word.

Once Nappa was buried, and as if on queue, hundreds of fireflies made their appearance in the dim and fleeting light of day. The floating flames danced around the trio, a spiritual sight to behold. Bulma smiled and reached out to touch one, her other arm rested safely on Yamcha’s shoulder. The prince took notice of the bugs, but to him they were far from wonderful. They stung him like bees, reminding him that his friend and mentor would never see the light of day again. Nor his father. Nor his mother. Nor his infant brother. His entire family, everyone who had ever meant anything to him was completely, utterly gone.

Darkly, the prince demanded “Get out of here.”

Taken aback by the demand, and not quite knowing the exact meaning, Bulma responded, “W-why, are you sending us home? Will you arrest me?”

“I will be back for you tonight. Make the final preparations for your family and leave them in his care,” he gestured to Yamcha. “You will be tried, and if found guilty you will be subject to punishment. There is a chance you may never return, so please make preparations for such a case. NOW GO!!” He roared, a lion towering above two mice. He grasped his cloak and turned to face the fresh grave, his back to the boy and girl.

“But you!” Bulma fought back tears. How could he? I've done so much! This isn't fair!

Yamcha threw his arm around Bulma, who was now a slobbering, whimpering mess, whose words felt like a different language altogether.  He took the reins, poorly leading the horse back home. Bulma sobbed and held her one time beau tightly as they headed back, slowly.

The prince stood in the clearing for what seemed an eternity. His chin was high, but eyes low examining the final resting place of the great general. The fireflies did not tire, even as the sun finally disappeared, they danced on. Slowly, a salty stream manifested in the prince’s eyes. Though he fought it, his thoughts had finally overwhelmed him. The annoying flying flames had finally bursted his last nerve. Withdrawing his sabre with finesse, he swung hard at the air, at the bugs. Frustrated from missing them, he turned his anger to the trees. He hacked and sliced for a while, until sweat had drenched his shirt and cloak. He discarded them without thought and returned to sparring the tree. He hadn't noticed but he was shouting with each swing. Only once he was hoarse and parched did he realize what strain he had put on his vocals.

He collapsed on the grassy, sandy earth in a huff. It was time.

 …

 Though Yamcha had plead for her to take her chance at escape, she declined. He had devised a quick and fairly executable plan to pack the children and run as far from the kingdom as possible. But Bulma was nothing if not brave and honorable. “This is my fault. I need to pay for my actions,” she told him.

They agreed not to tell the children, most of whom were sleeping. The rambunctious Goku was still awake and raiding what little stores of fresh food they still had.

Bulma and Yamcha spent most of the time they had left in silence, scrubbing the death soaked room that once housed Nappa. There was no arguing with Bulma, and there was certainly no arguing with the prince.

“Bulma,” Goku had made his way into the room where they were, seemingly without a sound.

Bulma's face was colored deep red from hours of sobbing, her eyes swollen. She looked up from her position on the floor, to see him standing in the doorway.

Without words, the three of them just embraced. Each one felt it deep in their hearts, it would be the last time. But it wasn't in Goku's nature to give up like that.

“I will become strong! I will rescue you!” his eyes began to glaze and fill with tears.

“Shh, no, please don't. That would only get you killed and put our siblings in danger. Promise me you will take care of them, Goku,” she pled, a lump in her throat.

He just grasped her tighter, his arms around her neck, fingers digging into her skin. He never wanted to let her go, his sister, his rock, he loved her. She squeezed him back with all she had, her hand on the back of his wild head, fingers braided between his hair.

They couldn't let go. That is until they heard him coming.

Bulma grabbed a small bag packed with essentials. But the prince motioned for her to leave it. “You won't need a change of clothes when all you'll be wearing is a prison shift. Leave the unnecessary things and let's go. I tire of waiting.”

 …

 She was voluntarily silent for the entire ride to the castle. She was understandably furious with Vegeta, though he never lied to her. He always knew she would be punished, and he never said otherwise. But his reason for bringing her was not punishment, yet, it was for her help in determining the assassin. Once she helped him to clear out the bad apple or apples, he would release her. Though he hoped she would stay with him, he would never ask it of her. And he knew she would never want to anyway.

Vegeta tugged the reins and dug his heel into the side of the stallion, forcing it to gallop at almost full speed. Having nearly fallen from the abrupt change in acceleration, Bulma threw her arms around the prince’s waist to anchor herself. She grasped tightly, trying hard not to admire the feel of his firm abs against her arms. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he leaned forward and tightened his muscles. She'd teased him earlier with her superior mind, now it was his turn to tease her with his superior body.

She both despised and delighted the entire ride.

 …

 In the twilight Bulma could barely see the outline of the stables. Vegeta had slowed the horse drastically, and motioned for her to be silent. She wasn't entirely sure why he required her to be quiet, but she complied all the same.

When they were in walking distance the prince dismounted, and placed a hand on her thigh as a command to stay. She slid forward in the saddle and grasped  the horn. Vegeta soothingly patted the horse, an effort to keep it silent as well. The smell of hay and manure filled the air, a familiar scent to the whole company. Vegeta led the horse into its stall and moved to its side to help the girl down. Not wanting his help, Bulma kicked his hand away and growled like a feral cat. Then she dismounted most ungracefully, her shift sliding well above her thigh revealing her short bloomers. The prince tried to pretend not to see, but his face flushed at the audacity of this wild girl.

“Why are we sneaking?” Bulma asked.

The prince looked around the barn, that had been closed up for hours.  With no one in sight he moved toward the tack closet. “I can't explain you away in your current state of undress,” he explained, which made sense to him but not to Bulma.

“Just take me to my holding cell so that I don't have to be in your royal presence anymore.” she attacked.

“That's not why you are here,” he said, ignoring the insult, and pulling what looked like folded linens out of the tack closet. Becoming frustrated by his lack of explanation for anything, Bulma raised her voice.

“Oh? Then just why am I here, your majesty?!”

Horrified by her rash action the prince used his free hand to cup the woman’s mouth while simultaneously forcing her back to the stable wall.

He placed his head nearly parallel with hers, his lips less than inches from her ear. Her heart began to pound, in fear and in lust. His hand smelt of lavender, his breath like sweet honey.  

“I said you will assist me in my investigation. Until then you will present yourself as my apprentice, hand chosen by the late general. Do I make myself clear, Bull?” he whispered threateningly while shoving the stack of male clothing at her stomach.

She nodded her head and grabbed the clothing from him. He released his grasp on her face and turned the other way, allowing her a small privacy to change.

After removing her shift and boots, she pulled the off white trousers over each leg. She tightened the strings of the waist, this pair was just slightly large on her slender frame. She buttoned up the white dress shirt, more frilly than she was accustomed to, and tucked it neatly in the trousers. The overcoat was navy and gold, but not fancy enough to indicate royalty or similar. She looked the part of a wealthy young man, and not a bit overdressed. Her worn leather boots helped to tone down the prestige in her outfit as well. No one would have reason to question their story as long as she went unrecognized.

Bulma fastened the navy ribbon at the base of her head. That being the final touch on her costume, she turned to the prince and nodded a signal of her readiness.

It fascinated to prince just how beautiful she could be even in such form fitting clothing. It felt awkward admiring her masculine form, but his mind couldn't differentiate between this uniform and her tattered shift dress. All he saw was her beauty, inside and out. He wanted to touch her, so with authority in his movement, he grabbed her wrist. She followed without complaint.

Without a word he pulled her towards two large doors that she assumed connected to the castle. To her slight surprise the room behind the doors was filled with more hay, and what looked like training dummies. On the right wall, many different swords of different shapes and sizes were hung. The prince grabbed a smaller looking saber from the wall, and lifted it above Bulma's head and onto her shoulders. The sword was protected by a worn leather sheath and held to her chest by a belt of the same color. It was ordinary, just like her disguise. She was completely ordinary.

From the training room they made their way into the palace kitchens, no doubt a place the prince rarely entered. The kitchens were vast and empty of life. The walls were bare red brick and the floors hardwood. Several ovens lined the walls, butcher’s block on all the countertops, and dozens of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. There were more knives than swords in the other room, a fact which excited the aspiring chef in Bulma. To the north of the large open room were several narrow wooden doors. “Servant quarters,” he whispered when he saw her notice the doors.

Discreetly, he grabbed her hand in his and tugged her along. He seemed to know the exact route to avoid people, though most were asleep at this hour anyway.

Finally they arrived at a long hallway lined with several doors on both sides. There was a red carpet with an intricate design down the middle, but it was well worn and faded where it had the most traffic. The hall itself smelled dusty and old, and several spiders had woven their webs in the corners. It gave Bulma a small sense of sadness and emptiness to be present in this hallway, as though only ghosts were permitted here.

“This is my chambers,” the prince stated, pointing to the door closest to them. “You will not enter under any circumstance, you are forbidden.”  Bulma nodded in acknowledgment and watched the prince as he walked further into the hall. The very next door, roughly fifteen feet from the first, was another chamber. The prince grabbed the knob and twisted as he pushed the door open.

“This will be yours for the time being…” he lingered on what to say afterward, contemplating whether to be rude or hospitable. “You may knock on my chamber if you need anything. Do not break disguise, I will fetch you in the morning.” he whispered the last part before returning to a normal tone, “understand Ser Bull?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she responded meekly but masculine. She stepped inside the chambers and absorbed her surroundings. It was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight that peeked in the drapeless window. In the center of the room was a large bed, dressed with red and indigo sheets and quilts. The bed had a canopy frame, though the canopy was seemingly missing. At the foot of the bed there was a large chest, which she assumed held clothing. On either side of the bed were hand carved oak nightstands, on top of each a single unlit candle. Adjacent from the bed was an older looking desk and chair, somewhat out of style for the year, yet not quite antique. On the desk was a quill and an inkwell, though the ink had long since dried. She determined from the dusty state of the room that it hadn't been used in quite some time. But it was more comfortable than the stone cold floor of a jail cell, so she rejoiced.

She kicked her boots off near the door and decided to sleep in her costume, in case any soul dare visit her during her sleep, she would be fully concealed. The mattress was like heaven to her aching bones, and she drifted off in a matter of minutes.

The prince, did not have such luck.

 …

 He dreamt of a deep azure lake with placid waves. He was sailing on the lake, at twilight. Though it was dark the full moon and blanket of stars lit up his surroundings. It was peaceful, for a time. His mother was aboard the tiny schooner, clad in her yellow Sunday gown. Underneath the gown her white lace petticoat peeked through. Her outfit was embroidered at the edges with lavender blossoms, her favorite flower. Her hair was long, nearly reaching the seat she rested on. It was lighter than his own, he inherited his raven hair from his father, hers was a hazelnut colored waterfall of curls. She smiled tenderly at him, as he rowed, steady.  

From the middle of the lake he heard a cry for help. Shooting a glance toward the noise, the prince began to row faster.

As they neared the source of the cry, Vegeta was able to make out the figure of a girl with blue hair. She struggled to stay afloat, gasping as her head bobbed above and below the water. In an instant the weather turned violent. Dark clouds shrouded the once bright stars and moon, as heavy rain began to fall. The small boat began to rock as the waves gained speed and height. The prince bent his torso over the edge of the boat, stretching his right arm toward the maiden.

She flailed about, trying in vain to grasp his hand. As the environment became more intense, his mother stood from her seat. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and lowered her face to his ear. He struggled to reach the drowning girl, each second ticking by she got further away.

“You’ve doomed her,” his mother whispered lightly. The girl’s head sank below the surface as her arm seemed to go limp.

Suddenly, a deafening roar of thunder and lightning crashed in the sky.

And the prince awoke with a jolt, sitting upright in his bed.

 …

 Bardock sat alone at a small tea table in his personal chambers. It was early, still dark outside. Several candles lit the room dimly, just so he could see at about arm’s length. He pulled a small dusting cloth from a drawer in the table and began to wipe his porcelain set of tea cups. They were a gift from a long lost friend, she had purchased them from a ceramic artist in the orient. Of his numerous regrets in life, the one that pained him the most was not marrying her. The mistake had cost him too many years of unrelenting loneliness.

Her image had all but faded from his mind. The last time he saw her was over ten years ago, before the king had died. Each day, as he took his tea, he tried to recount her features. She had blunt black hair, and big brown doe eyes. She was thin, a product of malnourishment due to her chosen profession.  When he first met her she was covered in bruises, her eyes and cheeks sunken in her face. He’d wandered into the amoral establishment by accident when he was looking for the tavern his fellow soldiers where at. She was used, like a scribbled piece of paper,  wasting away in a dirty bin. But she had so many invisible words printed on her skinny face, he could never read them all, not if he had known her his entire lifetime.

She offered him services, to which he blushingly declined, at first. She gave him directions to the tavern he was looking for, but asked him to return to her if he thought of her. He promised he would. And he never stopped thinking about her. So when he did return he stole her away, taking her to his quarters at the castle. There were no women allowed in the soldiers barracks but he defied the rule for her. They laid together every night for four weeks until she was found out. After which, she was permanently exiled from the kingdom, and he was given a stiff slap on the wrist. And he never saw her after that. Their affair was the first and last time he had loved anyone. But he should have known better than to fall in love with a whore.

Slowly, he poured the tea that had brewed into the delicate looking cup. He knew not what became of her, but he assumed she had died at some point. The lifestyle she chose was not sustainable, especially outside of the safety of the kingdom. So to honor her, in his own private way, he drank tea dedicated to her. Gine.

After drinking his tea he made his way to the mirror. He removed the red drape from it, and began the ominous chant. “Mirror, mirror,” he uttered coldly. Inside the figure of a face took form. It was nearly impossible to tell whether the form was male or female, its skin pale blue and long white hair.

“Milord,” it answered predictably.

“I wish to know what has become of Nappa, and where is the Prince?” Bardock inquired.

“The general breathes no longer,” the mirror reported. “The Prince is returned home last night, from a quiet journey where he laid the great general to rest.”  

“And what of the blue haired girl?”

“She is very intelligent. She will help him discover that you were the source of the general’s demise. Should she be allowed to live, she will lead the kingdom in rebellion against the french, as his queen.”

Content with the answers Bardock dismissed the mirror, concealing it once again with the long red drapes.

 …

 It was before sunrise, and his chambers were still dark. The prince rose to light a candle, his body fully awake from the terrifying dream he’d just had. His hands still shook with adrenaline, his breath still hard and cold. He was dressed only in trousers, the rest of him bare. For a split second he worried about Bulma, and decided to check on her.

Quietly he pushed the heavy wooden door open. The hinges made a slight squeak, though no one was around to hear. Barefoot, he crept silently toward her chambers. Her door made a much louder squeak, due to many years of unuse, but she did not stir. He made his way to her bedside and concluded that she was in fact safe and sound. He decided to check her breathing, in case anything had happened in her sleep. As he got closer to her face he heard her gentle breaths. Relieved, he rested his bottom on the wooden floor. He admired her soft features for a long time, entirely too long in fact, as she began to wake up while he was still there.

He rose to his feet immediately, as she began to stretch her arms out. She hadn't opened her eyes or noticed him yet. His heart leapt from his chest as he scurried to get to the door. Safely on the other side, he let a large breath out of his lungs with an audible sigh.  

As Bulma stretched out her well rested muscles she turned to see a lit candle on her nightstand. Alarmed, she looked around the room for an intruder. Seeing nothing she slowly got up and walked to the door where she heard heavy breathing. Expecting to find a creep on the other side she grabbed the sword she had lent against the wall the previous night. Slowly, she unsheathed it and readied herself for war.

She gradually opened the door, where to her surprise the prince was waiting on the other side.

“Oh jeez, it's just you,” she sighed, relieved. And then she remembered the candle. “Oh my God, were you watching me sleep?!” she ordered the prince to answer, her face close to his, an intimidation tactic she'd been using most of her life.

“I! No! I was just!” the prince struggled to defend himself, his face reddening. Narrowing her eyes, she felt a slight smile begin to form on her lips.

“Oh, I see,” she purred, finally aware of his crush. She lifted her extended index finger to his bare chest. “You fancy me,” she accused as she turned her body around, the tip of her finger grazing his nose. She folded her arms with her back to him.

“What?! Of course not!” he growled, his face twisting to a scowl, his fist raising as a threat.

While the prince stumbled over what words to use to articulate his feelings, Bulma tied her hair in a navy ribbon. When she finished the bouncy bow, she turned back around to face the prince. He was frozen as she gracefully moved toward him, stopping inches from his face. Without saying a word she quickly pressed her lips to his, an action which seemed to stop his heart beating. It was just a peck, over in an instant. The feeling of his blood boiling over led him to believe he would surely die. And as if nothing even happened she strolled past him, through the open door and into the hallway.

“Well make yourself useful and show me to breakfast,” she demanded, disguising her voice to sound more masculine.

He found it physically impossible to say anything at all, his jaw clenched so tightly it would take more than will power to pry open.

 …

 In the kitchens several maids scurried about, preparing breakfast for the court.

Near the kitchen entrance the prince sat in his usual chair at the head of the table. It was his usual chair, that is when he didn't take meals in his chambers, which was a rare sight. Bulma sat in the chair to his right, and when she did so she received several wide eyed glances from the servants. No one else in the court had arrived for breakfast so every other seat was empty. It must have been an important seat, but the prince did not protest so she stayed put.

He did everything he could to avoid looking at her. His elbow was propped on the table, his head in it's hand, and pointed away from her. He was red as an apple, and the servants took notice. The most odd thing they noticed though, was that the two, the prince and his new friend, said nothing at all to each other.

“Who-" Fasha began to say to her servant counterpart, Maron, who interrupted her.

“No idea, but he's bloody cute I tell ya what.”

“I've never seen him around before, but he looks awful familiar,” Fasha replied, searching her brain for some indication of the blue haired boy’s identity. The two servant girls whispered away in the kitchens, as Fasha stirred the wild boar stew she was making for that night's dinner banquet. Maron had several baskets of rolls to deliver to the tables, but was neglecting that duty for an opportunity to gossip with her friend.

“Yes but… something is off about him. And the way the prince is blushing… Do you reckon…?” Maron suggested, heavily implying that Bulma may be a homosexual man.

“Gee I hope not,” Fasha aspired, wanting to make the new boy her own.

Just then another maid entered, in a rush to have the rolls served.

“The lords and ladies are arriving, please get these out!” She demanded, pointing to Maron and the baskets.

“On it, Miss Mai,” Maron apologized as she hopped to work.

Mai was taller and older than both Fasha and Marron but had yet to marry. Though it wasn't for lack of beauty. She had long black locks that she kept braided at all times, and lips like ripe plums. Recently she had become a sort of forewoman of the kitchen, since the head chef had disappeared. It wasn't unlike Hit to disappear every once in a while, so she was appointed to a supervisory position in his absence.

“Miss Mai,” Fasha started, still stirring away. “Did you notice the new boy who is sat directly next to the prince? How bold.”

“How bold indeed,” Mai said with suspicion in her voice and narrowed eyes.

Unknown to Fasha and the rest of the castle, Mai had witnessed a very immoral act that morning, of which she was very conflicted. She saw the new boy kiss the prince as she walked past his chambers. She struggled to define her role in the act, and wondered if it was her duty inform anyone. Afterall, sodomy was a sin, punishable by death. But would she risk an accusation on the prince, of all people?

 …

 Several of the high class knights and a few of their ladies joined the breakfast table. These were all high born men and women, who achieved their rank through birthright. Many of them were scarred from enduring many battles with the French. Bulma felt nearly sick wondering how they must feel about the treaty. She wondered if any had protested, or if they feared to do so. Most of the ladies wore a somber look on their faces and in their dresses. Maybe they had heard of the death of the general, though the only people who knew were herself and the prince. Finally, filling the very last chair at the opposite end of the table was a tall and handsome man, with a ruggedly scarred face and black hair. He looked familiar, but Bulma couldn't quite put her finger on who he was. His position seemed to indicate royalty or very close to it. He must be the appointed regent. She decided silently.

Bulma and the prince had nearly had their fill of bread and pastries, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive about being in the presence of so many people. She tapped Vegeta’s leg with her riding boot, and motioned her head toward the exit when he looked at her. He gave a light nod and looked away from her quickly. Just looking at her made his heart race, and he didn't want to risk anyone noticing. He grabbed his fourth Danish, and shoved it in his mouth.

“Prince Vegeta, so nice of you to join everyone,” the regent announced from the other end of the table.

“Not because I want to,” the prince began. “I have news. General Nappa has been slain.” There were some hushed gasps and whispers among the guests, but not a single reaction from the regent. He didn't even blink at the news, it was as if he already knew.

Bulma had a terrible feeling about this man, though it was hard for her to understand why. She swallowed hard on the dry muffin she was eating.

“Unfortunate news. How did this come to pass?” the regent inquired.

“We were dueling, and I mortally wounded him. We didn't believe it to be life threatening. I bandaged him and we rested for the night. In the morning he had passed.” Bulma studied every second of the regent's reaction, scanning him for abnormalities. He twitched slightly at the explanation, almost as if he knew it to be a lie.

“I see. And what of this... “ he motioned a hand to Bulma as if indicating whatever he believed her to be was a dirty word.

“My squire. Appointed by the general himself three days ago. I will train him under my wing until a time when he can join the militia. My apologies if he does not know proper court etiquette, he is of very low birth.” he made it sound like she was a child or at least not even fifteen yet, the age when it is mandatory for men to join the militia.  She pondered for a moment just how old she looked to everyone else in her male regalia. Her sort of short stature, slender figure, and smooth face probably made her look much younger as a boy. She decided she wouldn't be insulted at the implication afterall.

“Excellent…” the regent replied, losing interest in the topic as he turned to one of the other guests to ignite a new discussion.

Out of the limelight, Vegeta threw his hand on Bulma's and pulled her to her feet with him. Realizing that he had actually touched her, he dropped her just as quickly. Bulma felt a grin in her heart, though it didn't make its appearance on her face. I'm disgusting. She lamented, partially enjoying her newfound infatuation, partially hating herself for it.

 …

 Later in the evening, Bulma found herself in a slight dilemma. She'd been assigned a chambermaid, who wished to draw her a bath. In these instances, a normal person would undress and allow the servant to bathe them. This was not in Bulma’s best interest for she was concealing her gender.

“Ser… Bull was it?” the red haired maiden called.

Bulma panicked as she turned to face the servant. “I won’t won’t be needing a bath today, dear.” She claimed in her most baritone voice.

“As you wish,” the maiden said, rolling her eyes and turning up her nose. The gesture reminded Bulma that the last time she had bathed was three days ago, and her body odor did her no favors.

“Can help you dress down for bed, sir?” The maiden offered, with a slightly disgusted tone of voice.

“N-no,” Bulma answered, flustered by the prospect. Persistent broad. She sighed silently. Finally, the redhead left, taking her harsh judgments with her.

Bulma sat at her desk and pondered the events of the day. An awkward breakfast followed by hours upon hours of being alone in her chambers. The prince had several duties to attend to since he had been absent the past few days. He didn't trust her wandering about on her own so he ordered her to stay put. So she did, and the only human interaction save for breakfast; was the annoying chambermaid she had finally gotten rid of.

She pulled a piece of parchment from a leather bound notebook she had found within the desk. In these uncertain times she felt like penning a letter, an activity that usually brought her peace. As she pulled the quill and inkwell from the desk, her chamber door wailed open.

Vegeta had quite the day. He had run from one end of the castle to the other appointing high ranking officers to new positions within the army. Like a cascading waterfall, when he replaced Nappa with Toma the tall, he needed someone to replace him, and so on and so on. Bardock appointed him these responsibilities to prepare him for when he would become king. The day was so soon in fact, he would be turning eighteen in just one month. He always knew it was coming but deep inside his unconscious mind he felt apprehensive about the title. He had always been the prince. And now he had very big shoes to fill.

His heart told him to seek out Bulma in his uncertain mood, though it did not tell him why or what to say. So he stood in her doorway, staring at her intensely, saying nothing.

“Can I help you, your highness?” she asked as she twisted in her seat.

“Rise,” he said, ignoring that she may not know the context of his command. “Er, rise when your prince enters your presence. That is proper court etiquette,” he explained.

Wow, she thought, he isn't demanding me and demeaning me as he does so. She was nearly floored at his unusually kind demeanor. So she rose and bowed formally to him.

“Again, how can I help you?”

He stood for a moment gathering the vocabulary to express what he wanted. He needed her to investigate the safety breach that had occurred, resulting in the poisoning of his general.

“I was wondering if you had any leads,” he whispered, slowly closing the rusty hinged door behind him.

“Ah,” she spoke, bringing her hand to her chin and looking down at her boots. She did have suspicions, but no concrete evidence, of anything. And what's more, she had been ordered to stay in her chambers all day, how was she supposed to have learned anything?

“The typical smell of arsenic is very close to garlic. Although, it has been at least several days since the poisoning, and so anyone who may have had it on their hands would have definitely been washed by now.”

The prince shifted his stance to one side, pulling his hand to his opposite hip. The shift made a floorboard creak slightly, bringing her attention to him. Just the simple act of looking up at him made his heart skip, her eyelashes perfectly framing her large doe eyes.

His face flushed, an action he could no longer control. His treacherous body’s ridiculous crush was absolutely maddening to the prince. His mind involuntary shoved the picture of her soft lips against his to his eyes. His heart betrayed him again as it leapt. Just being in her presence is driving me… He lamented silently.

Bulma took notice of the odd behavior the prince was exhibiting but she chose to ignore it. Instead she focused her brain on the mystery at hand.

“We should investigate the kitchens and the servants who work there.” she suggested.

“Yes,” he agreed, still fighting a great battle with his hormones. “But should we wait until after dinner?”

Bulma nodded, agreeing that he had a good idea.

Again she noted his odd behavior, flushed skin and awkward, stiff stance. The evil prince had fallen so hard for her; she was resisting the urge to gloat. Maybe the key to her freedom was making the prince fall in love with her. He wasn't terrible looking, in fact his body was godly, but she wasn't keen on his personality or political policies.  And God forbid, what if he wanted to keep her because he had fallen in love? What if he never let her go and she was stuck here the rest of her life to be his mistress or else rot in a cell? Bulma mourned not having the answer, like she might have if he were a horse or a sick patient. Still…

She moved on him, fast and hungry like a predator. Without thought, she grabbed his face, and pushed her lips to his, again. Her hand ran through his shock of wild black hair, holding him in place. Her other hand cupped his cheek and square jaw.

He was stunned, his heart had stopped. He did nothing, she had complete and utter control of him.

Her lust enveloped her, controlled her every move. She could not think, she only felt and acted, a slave to her emotions.

Losing all sense of morality and pride he lifted her from the ground and pressed deeper into her kiss. In response she wrapped her legs around him, a surprisingly easy task when equipped with male trousers. She pulled back from his kiss and looked into his eyes, sending a message that she wasn't completely sure of. She wasn't exactly a maiden anymore, the sentiments of which she didn't find too important to her lifestyle. She still valued most virtues, and as a girl she wanted to save herself for marriage. But her carnal desires had soiled that dream not too long ago. Her eyes dared him to take her, she didn't care to debate the morality of the act any longer.

For the prince it was so very much the opposite. He had never laid with anyone, and his hesitation to accept her dare very dangerously showed it. She had been his first kiss even, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take her bounty just yet. His grip on the underside of her thighs loosened slightly, his courage faltering. He pressed some of her weight against the wall, anchoring himself to a more sturdy position.

As her body was lowered slightly, she felt the eager tightening of his pants, pressing into her. It was exhilarating, a dangerous situation on the horizon.

“Bulma,” he breathed, creasing his brow and questioning himself.

He was brave. He'd been in several battles. He had seen men die, some on his own blade. Some close friends to the enemy's blade. But for this, as with most firsts, he was nervous. And he also believed he would take her womanhood, an act he fervently believed should be saved for marriage. He waited for her verbal reply.

She did not give it. Instead she leaned her head to his and tugged his hair, lifting his face to hers. She again pressed her lips to his, but this time she took his lip in her mouth, and bit down lightly. His pained moans excited her, she felt powerful despite being pinned by him.

He couldn't take it any longer, he tightened his grip once again, lifting her off the wall. He swiveled around to face the bed and began to walk toward it. Not wanting to hurt her, he set her down on the bed gently, lips still tightly locked. When he pulled away from her she rose her hands to the base of her head. She untied the ribbon that held her hair, letting it fall heavy onto her shoulders. Her hands then reached for her shirt, and she began to unbutton it.

And then there was a knock at the door. Both of their hearts stopped, and resumed with an impossible speed. All Vegeta could hear was his heart pounding in his head.

Bulma had no clue what to do, she would be found out. Their sin would have them both killed, or at the very least just her. She looked to the prince for answers. His eyes wide and brow scrunched, he said nothing. She mouthed the words: What do I do? He shrugged in the same moment as he had an idea. Answer it, he replied while lowering himself to the ground, preparing to conceal himself beneath the bed.

She nodded, a determined look on her soft face. She cleared her throat, which she thought would conceal the noise of him sliding along the floor. It was successful. She made her way to the door and opened it, but only slightly.

It was a servant from the kitchen, Bulma did not know her name, but recognized her from breakfast. Her hair was long and dark as a moonless night. She had naturally dark lips that glistened likely due to regular treatment with animal fat. Bulma had heard of the fad of women using animal fat on their lips, but she refrained to maintain a manly appearance on her lips. The servant looked down on her, as she was much taller.

“Dinner, will begin shortly. Have you seen the prince? He did not answer my call at his door…” she remarked, a dark suspicion in her voice that Bulma immediately picked up on.

“No mam, thank you mam.” Bulma replied, wanting to close the door as soon as possible, and never open it again until she died of starvation.

“Please mind your seating at the table, boy.” the servant woman hissed, as she turned to walk away. Bulma noted the harsh remark, and said nothing, only closed the door. She pressed her back to the door, and her knees gave out underneath her. She slid down to the floor, landing quite hard. Ow. She groaned silently.

“She's gone,” Bulma beckoned the prince from his hiding spot. He crawled out, placing himself in front of her, also sitting on the floor.

“Close one,” he said with a mischievous grin.

Bulma however, had an entirely different attitude.

“What is this?” she demanded of the prince, not finding this kind of confrontation very funny in the least.

His grin vanished as he received the demand; though he had no idea how to respond. “I don't know,” he admitted truthfully.

Every ounce that was once lust and energy had completely changed to fear and depression in Bulma. Her eyes became dark and she stared at the ground. “I want to go home,” she said as her eyes shifted up at him. They began to fill with heavy, hot tears. She felt powerless now, playing with fire in a grease filled room. It was only a matter of time until someone realized she was a woman, even if she didn't pursue this perilous affair. Even if she would turn the prince to her side, he was unpredictable and until he was king he had no real power to pardon her.

He just stared at her. She couldn't leave him, he needed her. He wasn't safe until he knew his life was not in danger of the same assassin who poisoned Nappa. And he could only trust her. And now he wanted her, her body and her hand. He wanted to marry her, though the rational part of his brain told him that was just the lust talking. So he grabbed the ribbon on the floor and pressed it to her cheek, where her whale sized tears had fallen. She grabbed it from him and thanked him with her eyes.

He couldn't look at her when she was like this. He blushed and turned his head away with a scowl. The sickness that came with unsatisfied sexual desire began to hit him, along with the pains of hunger. He stood to his feet, smoothing his dishevelled hair to its original shape. Then he dusted off the floor dirt from his shirt and trousers. How unbecoming of him to literally stoop so low.

He reached out his hand, beckoning her to her feet.

She declined, symbolically using her hands to push herself to her feet. As she did so she averted her gaze from him, to the floor. She was embarrassed of her promiscuous behavior, and ashamed of her willingness to fall instantly in love with her enemy. She was utterly disgusted with herself, and she swore to never let it happen again. Then she opened the door and began to make her way to the dining hall.

Her rejection of his help to bring her to her feet felt harsh. Not two minutes ago he had her in his arms, inches from committing carnal sin. And suddenly, with the prospect of being found out on the horizon she froze to him. Her face had looked so hopelessly repulsed by himself, before she turned her back to him and ran off. What a pain it was to lose something he never even had. One thing was sure to him; he would never let that happen again.

 …

 Bulma had done well to place herself at a table very, very far from the prince. He should have told her the first time that she was disgracing herself by sitting in the late general's own chair. But no, he enjoyed seeing her embarrassed by the regent himself. Now she sat with low ranking, bachelor soldiers of no more than fifteen years.  They stunk, like overly ripe gourds and unwashed toilets. It sickened her so badly, on top of the night’s heart pounding events; she found herself unable to eat. So she pushed her stew around in her bowl and listened halfheartedly to the conversation the soldier boys were having. It mostly consisted of nailing the farmer’s daughters, and how many men each had killed already. The number of maidenhoods and French lives the lot of boys had claimed was numerous, and the most flamboyant fish tale Bulma had ever heard. She struggled not to roll her eyes at their exuberant lies.

Finally, after what had seemed hours, someone began tapping their silverware to their glass. A toast was in order, and Bulma was glad to hear anything other than fornication and murder. Her eyes followed the noise and determined it to be coming from the regent. She found herself suddenly very interested in him, a strange acting fellow indeed, whom she was certain played a role in the general's downfall.

Bardock stood, confidence in his posture and a laid back smile on his face. He was dressed very nicely for the occasion, he even had a long red cape attached to his lapels with golden chains. He certainly looked the part of royalty. After gaining most everyone's attention, he began to speak.

“I have an announcement to make to the court,” he began in a low and rich voice. “Very soon our kingdom will have cause for a wonderful celebration. In a few short days we will know peace with France for the first time since the late King Vegeta ruled!”

His voice rang through the halls, and pierced Bulma in the heart. No. She felt part of herself suddenly sadden, the prospect of a treaty with France could very possibly mean death for many people. She had no doubt this treaty was Emperor Frieza’s trojan horse. She scanned the table where Bardock was for the prince, but she did not see him. In fact she did not see him anywhere in the great hall. Whatever. She scolded herself for even caring. At this point she'd rather be locked away because she knew after helping him he'd never let her go anyway. Then the regent continued to talk.

“In one month our kingdom’s young prince will be a prince no longer. He will come of age, and it is time to honor him with a most wonderful coronation! It will be the biggest celebration in the history of our kingdom, we will have ambassadors from all over the continent attend as he is sworn in as the rightful King Vegeta!” this triggered a roar from every single guest in the dining hall; save for one. In the loud commotion Bulma could very nearly not hear herself think. But she wondered; if Bardock would willingly hand over control to the prince, and name him king, what motive did he have to assassinate Nappa? It just didn't fit. Either this was a farce, and Bardock planned to hurt Vegeta in some way, or he had absolutely nothing to do with Nappa at all. Bulma just wished she had no part in any of this. She missed the stables and the manure. Mostly she missed her siblings. But he snuck back into her mind too, as she pictured things that she loved.

Just then Prince Vegeta entered the room from the northern doors. He was dressed from head to toe in a most fabulous uniform. His doublet and trousers were a black velvet, with stripes of yellow, white and blue. He, too, had a long red cloak that attached to his lapels with golden hooks; though his cloak had what seemed to be a fluffy lynx fur around his shoulders. On his head was a small crown, what Bulma assumed was not the king's crown but a lesser version of it. Still it sparkled gold with specks of ruby and sapphire gems encrusted all over. He had on white gloves and white riding boots. He was the stunning image of a most regal prince. And Bulma hated him for his indulgences.  She decided to forego the meal all together, and return to her chambers for the rest of the night.

 …

 It had been two weeks since the announcement of the Prince’s coronation.  The annoying blue haired soldier had been hanging around the kitchen, fraternizing with the younger girls there. Mai had no doubt the deviant was planning to deflower them. She waited for more proof of his sodomy, but he had shifted his interest to her girls. He no longer visited the prince, nor did the prince visit him. Mai had garnered a sort of hatred for the boy, who favored any sex. He would probably fornicate with animals too, the poor sick bastard. She feared for the kitchen maids, this irregular sinner may have diseases of the flesh, and she could not bare him transferring it to them. Something had to be done.

She decided to come clean to the regent about the event she had witnessed two weeks ago.

Very soon Bulma would know the cold hard feel of the stone floor of a cell. She would know the piss and rat dropping smell that infiltrated every bit of oxygen in the castle's prison. She would know the feel of lice in her hair and cockroaches in her cot. She would know the hunger of slowly starving to death. She would wish for that death as mercy. And she would receive it.

To be continued…

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#tpthvegebulmayhem2018 #week3mayhem2018 #mayhem #fanfiction #dark #au #thriller #horror #fantasy #ratedT #angst #chapter #anon e

[ayalanaylo]

i’m really confused about the writing in supergirl?

and i’ve tried to google my confusion away, but it led me to places i didn’t intend to reach and tumblr searching is leading me to spoilers (which i don’t actually mind that much, but i’m here for meta answers that i don’t find).

mainly i’m just baffled by james olsen and all the romantic arcs.

i’m turning to tumblr’s fandom expertise for answers but i need you to understand my zero point ground before i ask any substantial q’s - i did not read any supergirl comics before (have read some dc in general and am a huge young justice fan, yes) so comparison to the source material means close to nothing for me. i generally don’t watch superhero related stuff. so why did i even start watching supergirl?

i’m just a Simple Gay™. yeah, i’ve been bombarded for the past year or so with supercop gifs and whatnot - and don’t get me wrong, i absolutely know i’m not going to get any gay content out of this show - but i have a bit of free time and thought i’d give this series a shot because it had wandered the realms of my mind for so long, thanks to tumblr supercop fanbase.

also regarding expectations - i did not expect this show to be a stellar example of top tier writing. i knew this is a light hearted, carefree show i’ll watch for simple fun, and that meets my expectations quite well. i’m not, per se, disappointed of the writing - not every damn piece of consumable media needs to be shakespearean poetry (and people who dismiss those things on the merit of that alone are missing so much, imo) - but it bothers me to the core when i recognize a poor written character being paraded on the plot lines. what i mean by that - a character that seems so meaningless still stands on a pedestal the creators of said character created for it. it’s like a curator putting up his son’s kindergarten crayon doodle on the fine arts exhibition - like, i get that you love your son, but my dude this is so out of place.

i’m 13 episodes in (more than half a season?) and i think this is really early to be frustrated with james olsen, given there are 3 seasons out, but i find myself not indifferent but annoyed with his character and how it affects this perplexed romantic hexagon arc. now, this is the time i worry the thought of ‘you’re only here for the gay’ to come up, so let me put up a disclaimer - the fact that i considered watching this show in the first place because of a non-existent gay ship doesn’t mean i don’t get to criticize an existent (and prominent, mind you) romantic arc. yes, i crave for lgbt content that is not complete crap in mainstream media, but there are so many written and showcased fictional couples i appreciate regardless the gender and\or sexual orientation of the characters involved. but it’s not ‘despite’, it’s because i’m a gay person who lives in a time of decent and even good lgbt romantic arcs representation that i find it very hard to be forgiving for poor written cis-het ones. it’s because lgbt people endured the years upon years of piss writing of lgbt characters in romantic arcs that were generally concluded with ‘this personality-less gay character 1′ and ‘this personality-less gay character 2′ should end up together on the merit of their dictated sexual orientation alone, that i find myself angry of lazy writing of cis-het ones that try to condition the viewer to ship two characters together because the script said they will touch hands and camera direction said to zoom on their face. this is not writing and properly developing a relationship between two characters this is directed instructions from the production down, as opposed to from the writing up.

after my supposed establishment of why i’m an Angry Lesbian™ about hetero ships writing i want to get to the nitty gritty - james olsen and the oh so many other problems with other characters.

i get characters crushing on each other, it’s got real cute potential, but can someone explain to me, enlighten me please - why do i get to live through cringe worthy anguished characters with a crush that doesn’t let me on anything other than ‘okay, i get that they’re attracted to each other’. what is their human connection based on and why the story didn’t bother showing me? because literally every scene he has with kara (that isn’t his given alone screen time or the professional ‘friends helping supergirl with mission’) is either him telling her about superman in the first episodes or him giving her this eyebrow-frown look while she talks. we know nothing about this character and his dialog doesn’t make him voluntarily informative about himself - how am i supposed to connect with him and understand that kara finds his personality endearing if i know zero facts about him as a human being? i know he’s a photographer and he knows superman. when lucy lane is introduced it’s because 1. she was there and he didn’t voluntarily let the viewers know who she is, and 2. she was there to serve the romantic weird entanglement and nothing more. what it did give us? some info about their brake up and life together - it is still nothing about james’ personality traits. i don’t want a sad back-story as much as i want a well rounded character in the present-story.

i was just brushing it off or groaning in frustration most of the time, but somewhere in the middle of season 1 (don’t remember exact episode) alex referred to james as kara’s family. that ticks so many tickey things in me - alex is her sister since she was 13, winn is her good friend for presumably all years she’s working at catco, and james arrived a week ago and suddenly he’s family because kara is crushing on him? no. no. no, story, you need to show me and explain to me in so much detail why a week-long crush is someone’s family along side an actual sister and a very good friend, you don’t tell me about it retrospectively.

and for the ever loving fuck why does he keep advancing on kara when he’s in a relationship with lucy? winn even acknowledges this verbally to his face (episode 12 i think) saying he can go get kara if he wanted to, that he just need to end things with lucy - yet he sees that as a sign to gather up the courage for romantic advancement right after the kara-adam brake up before talking with lucy? that’s a big nope.

and adam. oh, adam, sweet summer child. he really is just a harmless side character who crushes on kara, and she reciprocates, for about an episode and a half - and then comes the time in a superhero’s journey for ‘my identity is known and that puts people in my immediate surrounding in jeopardy’ - ... while she’s on a date with adam? don’t get me wrong, it’s all fine, but it’s just fine. why did this moment have to come when our main hero is in a barely second date relationship? the brake up literally meant nothing to me because we had no time to get to know adam. who is he? he was there to advance cat’s character, we didn’t learn anything about him in his screen time that wasn’t already told to us by cat. we know 1. what cat told kara (that was confirmed in his screen time), and 2. that he thinks kara is amazing. all he talks about is her, never himself. i know gurnisht about this character - why should i care about him when kara brakes things up?

and then we have *spooky voice* the friendzoned guy. first, can someone please make this phrase disappear from existence, yet second, while winn is written with some mistakes (using ‘friendzone’, kissing without confirming mutual feelings) - he is the most developed character of this disastrous romantic blah and he is written is such way that makes me care about him. kara doesn’t reciprocates his feelings? fine and valid, i just wish i could care about who she likes because they would be rounded developed characters as the ones she doesn’t.

in conclusion - please explain to me why should i ship a guy-character and a girl-character if their only connection is shared screen time and not the blessed character and relationship development a lot of lgbt ships get on mainstream media recently?

*banging pots and pans* I’M A GAY WHO’S PRO WELL DEVELOPED HETERO-SHIPS.

#supergirl #james olsen #kara denvers #adam foster #winn schott

[miss-noo-na]

“Vos Anima Mea” (Kihyun Vampire AU)  Part 1

* See Masterlist for additional chapters

Title: Vos Anima Mea

Featuring: Kihyun (Monsta X) x Reader

POV: 2nd

Summary: You’ve always been attracted to the dark side of life, but even you aren’t sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, painting the portrait of a vampire prince.

Requested by anon! I really didn’t mean for this to turn into a chaptered thing BUT HERE WE ARE. Hope you enjoy :)

Your boots thumped against the pavement, echoing into each alley you passed. Steam rose from street grates and rooftops, curling into a starless black sky. You hugged your arms close to your body, eyes darting to every corner, just in case. You always had to be aware here.

You reached aninconspicuous staircase on the side of an old building that led to an even more unremarkable black door. You knocked three times and a slat opened to a small window. The person on the other side simply breathed.

“Hemoglobin” You uttered, and the slat slammed closed before the door swung open.

You came to a long corridor with a flickering fluorescent light, off-putting the first time you came here but you were used to it now, you knew what it led to.

You pushed open a door at the end of the hall into a dimly lit room, floor to ceiling black with a tinted window booth to one side. You approached and slid a black and silver keycard underneath the window, and after a moment it was returned to you with a red silk wristband.

You put away the card and slid the silk over your hand before heading to the other door, where a burly man examined your wrist and let you through.

Immediately the thumping bass of loud music hit you in a wave as you entered a large room that looked like a windowless nightclub.  Red satin draped from the ceilings and over black couches, bodies swayed hypnotically on a central dance floor with shiny black floors. People wore masks of leather, lace, or animal likeness, their bodies in elaborate costuming or very little fabric at all.

Amongst your friends, family, and co-workers you were mild-mannered, a little quiet, known for your sometimes off-kilter interests but that was about it. None of them had any idea about this side of you.

You started seeking in your late teens, places where the unusual, odd, and passionate convened. You had a few missteps along the way, finding yourself in places you didn’t quite like. Fetish clubs weren’t your thing, dungeons were too intense, and some places boasted about being truly unique but were just typical nightclubs; you didn’t seek cheap sexual thrills or debauchery, you looked for beauty and art that came wrapped up in a darker package.

Out of all the bizarre places you ventured, this was your favorite, known only as “The Corridor” to that privy to that information. It was never advertised, nor talked about openly; it was all word of mouth and invite only. Someone had to vouch for you, and an intense screening process kept out undesirables.

You’d been coming regularly for 2 months, and had made a fair share of new friends, ones you only saw in the clubs and nowhere else.

You moved to a long cherry-wood bar and waved to a bartender, Samantha, who grinned at you . She had black hair cut into a straight bob and bangs cut into a triangle.

“What can I get for you, Little Dove?” She asked, leaning on the bar, and you blushed. You had somehow acquired a nickname in your time here, given to you by Samantha and used by everyone who knew of you.  You didn’t really participate in all of the shenanigans like others did, instead you liked to take a seat on the balcony and watch, entranced at all you saw around you, and use it later as inspiration for your paintings. Samantha noticed you right away, and told you that you reminded her of a small white bird, perched upon a rooftop watching the world go by.

“The usual, please.” You said, sliding your money, and a generous tip, across the bar. Samantha snatched it up with a wink in your direction and went off to make your drink.

You turned around and leaned on the bar, taking in the scenery. It was fairly crowded for a weeknight, which was your favorite time to come by. Sure, the weekends got crazy, but there was plenty to see on a Wednesday night, too.

Samantha returned with your cocktail, making sure to add an extra cherry to the little black sword.

“Keep them coming?” She asked, and you nodded, thanking her as you went to your usual table on the balcony.

You had a great view from here, it was right over the dance floor and the stage, which was the real bread and butter. The club always had elaborate acts full of sparking metal, ambient music, costumes, fake blood, you name it.  Sometimes the acts were so convincing you forgot where you were, and had trouble separating reality from fiction in the most enticing way. It was the ultimate form of escapism.

The music faded out and a spotlight hit the stage. All of the revelers turned at once to watch, cheering as they did so. A woman lay on the ground in intricate period costuming, a white dress with a gold bodice and impossibly large skirt with lace hems and pearls covering her from neck to chest.  She sobbed audibly into a frilly handkerchief, lamenting about her lost love.

A man entered, in a 3-piece Victorian suit with ruffled collar and long black hair, face chiseled by the Gods. The woman gasped and sat up, clutching her handkerchief to her face.

“It can’t be” She wailed, shielding her eyes. Even from here, you could see that as the man smiled, sharp fangs glinted in his mouth.

“I have returned, my dear.”

He descended upon her, sinking his teeth into her neck. The woman screamed, at first, but then fell into his embrace willingly with a sigh. Blood began to run a gushing river down the front of her neck, coating her white pearls and white dress, soaking through the fabric and creating a bright red splatter across an otherwise stark white design.

“You’ve come home.” She said, elated, and the two kissed, blood smearing over their mouths. The stage went dark. The music came back on.

You sipped your drink as you thought about how realistic the blood looked, and wondered if there was some kind of complicated tubing hidden in the folds of her gown. Nevertheless, it created a beautiful image you could see yourself recreating in paint.

“You should really show some of your work.”

Samantha’s voice brought you out of your thoughts as she sat another cocktail down. You had almost finished the first, her timing was always uncanny.

“What? Me?” You asked, looked surprised, even if that wasn’t the first time she’d asked. You got a little too drunk one night and showed Samantha a bunch of your paintings on your phone, and she’d been bugging you ever since to bring one in, or have it displayed somewhere other than your studio.

“Of course, you! Your stuff would look great in here.” She said with an honest smile, and you shook your head.

“Ah, maybe someday.”

She tsk’d you, lovingly, and then waved as she headed back to the bar. Not long after that, you were approached by someone else. Someone unfamiliar.

“Miss? Would you mind coming with me?”

You blinked up at him. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all.” He flashed a quick smile, and you swore you saw fangs, but maybe that was just your eyes playing tricks on you, still enamored from the performance. “There’s someone that would like to speak with you.”

You stood from the table, finishing your cocktail and following the man. He took you toward the back of the club, down another strange corridor to an elevator. The man didn’t speak as you rode up several floors.

The door opened to what looked like a pent house, something you didn’t think this old stone building would have. It was lavishly decorated, with intricate wallpaper, lush carpet, and elegant red furnishings. A couple people slinked around the room as music played softly somewhere in the distance.  They were all immaculately dressed and gorgeous. You didn’t know what to think or feel.

You came into a room where guests were seated throughout, sipping cocktails and talking low; at the center of the room, in a large armchair sat a young man.

His dark hair was pushed up, styled, with the under part shaved short. He wore one long silver earring and a black sweater that hung off his lithe frame. His eyes met yours immediately and you felt a strange rush of adrenaline, swearing for a moment that there was hint of red that flashed through the otherwise nearly black iris.

Your escort brought you to stand before him and he sat up straight.

“Are you the one they call ‘Little Dove’?” He inquired, and you tried not to blush again. Every time someone uttered that nickname you felt something, pleasurable yet bashful all at once.

“I suppose I am.” You said coyly, averting your eyes a moment.

“I was hoping to meet you tonight.” He said, and you were starting to wonder if he had the right person.

“Come, sit.” He gestured to the chair nearest him, and then made a motion with his hand. At once, everyone else in the room left.

He leaned over toward a low table where a crystal bottle sat, pulling the top off and pouring some brown liquid into two small glasses. He offered you one and you took it, bringing it to smell first, then to taste. It was dry and sweet, like an old wine.

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, mostly from Samantha.” He started, and you should have known she was the one behind this.

“Forgive me, where are my manners. My name is Kihyun.” He said, and despite how youthful he appeared, he spoke eloquently and moved with grace as he extended his hand. You reached out thinking to shake his, but instead he held your fingertips and kissed the top. You swallowed hard.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Samantha mentioning me?” You asked, laughing awkwardly as you pulled your hand back.

He gave a slight smile. “In this case, it’s good.”

You watched as he took a moment to savor a taste of his drink before speaking again.

“You paint.” He said as a statement, and all you could do was nod.

“The ones she showed me, those were yours?”

You wondered how Samantha had gotten a copy of the pictures you took, and then remembered you’d emailed some to her. Now you were actually blushing.

“Yes, they were….I mean are.” You fumbled, staring down into the brownish liquid.

“They’re beautiful; detailed, ambitious, yet something emotional and dark about them.” He explained, and you were touched.

“Thank you.” You said honestly, finally looking up to meet his eyes once more.

“Would you mind painting something for me?” He asked suddenly, and you were taken aback once more. He brought you up here for a commission?

“It’s a portrait, of myself. “ He continued and you watched him for a moment, realizing he was completely serious.

“You want me to…paint you?” You asked, making sure you’d heard him right.

“Yes. I’ve been looking for the right artist for ages, and I’ve had a couple portraits done but I’m never satisfied with the outcome. I think you may have exactly what I’m looking for.”

You were thrilled, truly, but you didn’t typically do portraits, nor did you even know who this Kihyun really was.

“I’m flattered, however,” You swallowed another dry drink. “I don’t really paint portraits, and I don’t think I can do justice to someone I don’t really know.”

“So it would be a challenge then, no?” He posed, smirking as he did so. He did have a point; you were feeling a bit stale lately constantly having to come up with things from your imagination.  This might be an interesting departure.

“You will be paid, of course. How does $6,000 to start and another $6,000 once you’re finished sound?”

You choked on your drink, eyes widening.

“You’re going to pay me $12,000 to paint you?” You repeated, and he laughed.

“If you finish, of course. If for some reason you don’t, the $6,000 is yours, no strings attached.”

How could you say no to an offer like that? Even if he was a complete stranger, you’d consider this worth the risk.

“To start, I’ll tell you a bit about me. I own this club, and a few more in this city. I’m a purveyor and lover of all art, music, expression, and that’s why I pour all my time and money into these establishments. To have a great artist such as yourself capture my essence would be an honor.”

You liked the sound of all that, and gave a firm nod, reaching out a hand.

“Deal.”

He chuckled, standing from his seat. “Ah, that’s not quite how we do deals around here, Little Dove.”

His sweet voice repeating that name made you shiver and you stood to follow him as he left the room. You came to an office with a large desk and walls covered in bookshelves. He took a rolled up piece of parchment paper from a drawer and unraveled it, already inked with the agreements. He handed it to you, and then leaned against his desk with his arms crossed and watched as you read over it. It all seemed fairly innocuous to you.

“Where do I sign?” You asked, raising your hand to take a pen from him. He produced a silver tipped fountain pen, but instead of handing it over, grabbed your hand and turned it palm up.

“Do you mind?” He asked, pressing the nib into your fingertip, not yet hard enough to poke through the skin, but you knew that’s what he intended to do. You felt a brief moment of panic, before realizing who and what you were dealing with. Of course these kinds of people wanted things signed in blood.

“Go on.” You said softly, and Kihyun poked your finger quickly. You winced only a little bit.

As the blood rose into a perfect dot on your finger, you carefully turned it over and signed your name as best you could.  When you finished, you looked up to find Kihyun staring intently at your hand, breathing a little harder, and that same flash of color in his eyes. He quickly collected himself and smiled at you, rolling up the parchment and putting it away.

“Lovely. I’ll see you next week, same time. Instead of your usual password, tell the doorman “anima mea””

You agreed, giving your goodbye and being escorted back downstairs.  You decided you’d had enough excitement for one night and walked yourself home.

In all the times you’d traveled these streets alone, you never felt as if you were being watched, but tonight you did, and you wondered why it comforted you more than frightened you.

#kihyun scenarios #monsta x scenarios #yoo kihyun #monsta x #kpop scenarios #kpop au #vampire au #kpop fanfiction #kpop imagines

[all-sortsa-stuff]

Night on the town, part 9

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader

Word Count: 2699

Warnings: Angst and language

 Part 1  part 2  part 3 part 4  part 5  part 6 part 7  part 8

 To say that your grandfather was surprised at the announcement was an understatement.  It took him several minutes to finally make a sound. Thankfully, he was supportive and delighted that he would have a great-grandchild in the near future.  However, you could tell there was the underlying point of Leonard he was thinking about.  While he had never met him, he felt like he knew the man.  You had talked so much about him and how he was such a good man, it was obvious that you loved him.  He felt that Leonard should know about the baby.  That perhaps could heal some of the pain that was burning a hole in you both.  There was so much pain built inside you right now you were unsure of when or if you could tell Leonard about the baby.  You were still in shock, truth be told.  The signs were there all along and you are a doctor you should have seen them first. It had not been until you ran for the bathroom after landing in Maine had you realized what the cause had been. It was just a tricorder wave later and you were correct.  A little life made from love growing inside you.

You still loved Leonard; there was no doubt of it.  As you were certain he loved you as well.  Nevertheless, there was no choice between his daughter and you.  It would not be fair for you to force him to choose, not that you wanted to.  You preferred having everyone together but Joanna hated you and it was something that could not be avoided right now.  That was something to think about another time.  Now you had to decide what you were going to do.  Could you go back to the Enterprise, work beside Leonard day in and day out as you grew his child, and not be together?  Did you want to raise your baby on a starship like that? It hurt thinking of it.  

Two days later, just three days since you had been home your transmitted your resignation to Jim.  It had to go to him first before it would be passed on to Starfleet Command.  At the end of the crew’s leave, you would start looking for a job in a hospital or somewhere close by so that you could live with your grandfather.  You needed something close to the little family you had left so you had some support raising the baby on Earth.  The decision had finally been made when on the third day you knew that Leonard did not intend to contact you.  Not only did he let you walk out the door but also he had not made one attempt at contact.  Maybe it was for the best.  At least that it what you tried to tell yourself as you transmitted the request.

  There was so much more going on in the world that you did not know.  Especially down in Georgia where Margaret was berating Leonard daily about how he needed to go chase you down and get on his knees begging for forgiveness.  He had thought about it many times.  You were on his mind constantly and he did not know how to reconcile that with the anger Joanna had for you.  There was no doubt in his mind that you would never have hurt Joanna but you were right that he would question it if his daughter had said it.  How could he not?  She was his daughter.

At first, Joanna was ecstatic that her plan worked.  You were out of the way and she had her dad all to herself.  In her mind now, he would be happy just to have her around and they could spend all their time together.  It never occurred to her that she would be going back to her mother soon and leaving her dad alone, once more.  At least not until she saw him crying on the porch the night you left. In as long as she could remember she had never seen him cry.  Well not like this.  He cried whenever it was time for Joanna to go home with her mom but the crying now was different.  It was as though someone died.

“Dad?  You okay?”  Leonard sat up straight wiping his face quickly trying to hide the tears.  He voice cracked as he answered.  Clearing his throat quickly, he tried to sound like everything was fine.

“Yeah…  I’m fine baby.”  She knew he was lying.  As she walked towards him, she frowned with a tinge of hurt.

“No you aren’t.  Is it because [Y/N] left?  You don’t need her dad.  You got me.”  Joanna tried to show him the good side of it.  He sniffed, wiping his face again with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah I have you kid. Right up until your mom comes to get you.  And we go back to only seeing each other through transmissions until she lets me get some time with you again.  I’m not sure why you don’t like her, Joanna.  You never gave her a chance to show you how amazing she is.  She was so nervous to meet you and afraid you wouldn’t like her.  [Y/N] is a good person and I love her so much.  But doesn’t matter now.”  Leonard shocked her as he stood up and walked off.  He had never done that before.  Now there was guilt growing inside her and she did not like it.

  Across the country Jim was seated at one of the old bar hangouts nursing a beer.  He was remembering all the good times and a few of the not so good times, he had there in the past.  Iowa, while it was technically home, was not feeling so much like it anymore.  Jim was bored out of his mind and alcohol could only do so much.  He paid his tab before heading back to his mom’s house. At some point, he thought it would be wise to get a place of his own, especially for times like this when he really had nowhere else to go but here.

Jim’s mom kissed his cheek as he walked back in.  “Jimmy, there is something going off in your room.  It has been alerting for the past few hours.”  He frowned as he walked towards the back of the house, hearing the alert as he entered the room.  There only alerts he should be receiving were emergent alerts.  Everything else could wait until he got back to the ship. Picking up the PADD, he read over the request.  You were resigning, not only from the Enterprise, but also from Starfleet.  He through the PADD down on the bed, angrily.

“What the…  Oh hell no.  That’s not happening.” What happened in the short time on leave that you were leaving Starfleet and Leonard?  Jim needed to know for himself because he sure as hell was not going to let you leave without an explanation.  He packed up quickly and headed towards Georgia.  Good thing he remembered how to get to the McCoy place.  Within a few hours, he was standing on the porch banging on the front door.  “Bones, [Y/N], you home?”

Margaret open the door with a relieved smile.  “Oh James I am so glad you are here.  Go talk some sense into that man.”  Dread started to build in his stomach.

“What sense am I talking into Bones?  It got something to do with [Y/N]’s resignation I received this morning?”  She nodded, moving to make way to let him in. “Where is [Y/N]?”

“She left a few days ago. Went home to Maine with her family. Leonard is…  He is a mess James.  You have to talk to him.”  Margaret led Jim out towards the pasture in the back.  Leonard was watching Joanna ride one of the horses.  He looked worse than Jim had ever seen him.  Margaret nodded towards the pair before walking back into the house.

“Want to tell me why I got a resignation request this morning from [Y/N]?”  Jim’s voice startled Leonard, but was even more startled at what he said.  Turning to look at the man, he had to hold back to keep from crying.

“She resigned?  From the Enterprise?”  Jim shook her head pulling the PADD out of his bag and handing it to Leonard.

“No from Starfleet. Bones… What the hell happened? You just asked her to marry you. Did she change her mind and take off? What the hell man?”  Leonard looked down at the ground, unable to bring himself to look at Jim.  

“She knew she would lose against Joanna.”  He said it just above a whisper.

“What do you mean ‘lose against Joanna?’  [Y/N] wanted to meet her.  Damn if I didn’t listen to it many times about how she wanted the meeting to be perfect and how she couldn’t wait for you to have the time to spend with your daughter.”  Jim was growing frustrated, and it showed.

“I know.  I think she was as excited as I was when Joanna arrived. Just for the fact of how happy, I was to see her.  She gave me all the room and time with Joanna that I needed.  She did not ask for anything.  I accused her of doing or saying something to Joanna when she started acting rude towards [Y/N].  It did not even cross my mind that she would never do such a thing.  Especially something like that, that would hurt me. Joanna just thinks things should be great now.  I’m lost Jim. I lost the love of my life.  I can’t…”  Leonard’s words froze on his tongue.  He could not go further, for fear of completely losing it here in front of his best friend and his daughter.  Walking off towards the house, he did not give either one a glance.  He had to get away.

Joanna stopped her horse watching her father walk off looking defeated with his shoulders limp. Jim watched him walk away until he disappeared into the house, before looking back to Joanna.  “What did you do?  And don’t lie to me like you do your dad.  I don’t believe the bull.”

She bit the inside of her cheek before she tried to story out on Jim.  “She was trying to take my dad away.”  Jim rolled his eyes.

“That’s crap and you know it Joanna.  Your mom did that a long time ago.  Your dad loves you too much to talk bad about your mom but I don’t give a damn about that woman.  Do you know why your dad had to join Starfleet?”  Joanna walked her horse towards the gate, and then slid off landing lightly the ground.  Looking up to Jim, she nodded.  “Okay what story did your mom tell you?”

“She said he wanted to get away from us.”  Jim laughed coldly.

“Of course she did. Well that was a complete lie. Jocelyn forced him to leave the planet. He wasn’t allowed to come within distance of her or you unless she allowed it.  She made him miserable by keeping him from you.  He fought so hard to have more time with you but she lied and made sure she is in control of how and when he sees you.  I’m sure she filled your head with how awful [Y/N] is, and how she wants to do all these awful things like make your dad happy. Your mom wants to make sure that Bones is miserable for the rest of his days.  She is teaching you to be just like her too.”  Joanna eyes widened quick with the accusation.

“I’m not…”

“You shut up and listen, kid.  Your dad has given you anything he ever could.  Done every damn thing your mother has ever said to make sure you are happy and he can see you when she allows it.  [Y/N] was so excited that your dad was going to get to see you for these couple weeks. She was willing to not see her family so Bones could have more time with you.  Did you know that?”  She shook her head slowly, afraid to say anything else.

“Yeah I didn’t think so. Your dad is my best friend in the galaxy and he has saved my life multiple times.  He deserves every good thing life can give him and you just took it away. You hurt him and made him choose between two people he did not have to choose between because you are selfish just like your mom.  I hope you can look in the mirror at yourself and know how badly you hurt him.  Because he is in here hurting probably just as bad as when your mom took you away from him.  You just took away someone else that meant the world to him.  Why don’t you go back to your mom and live the rest of your life knowing that.”  Jim’s fists were balled at his sides, Joanna stood there with tears in her eyes.  She never meant to hurt her dad.  He walked off as he shook his head at her.  All of it made worse just standing in her presence.

 It took Jim a day to track you down.  He had pulled many strings to get the location of the former admiral’s home.  Leaving a note for Leonard in the morning, he said there was something he had to do.  He did not want to tell him he was going to try to stop you from resigning.  Try to convince you to talk to Leonard again and fix the whole mess.  Your grandfather opened the door when Jim knocked.  “Can I help you?”

Jim took a long breath explaining who he was before asking.  “May I see [Y/N]?”  

Your grandfather smiled allowing Jim to enter the house.  “I hope you can talk her into rescinding her request.  I believe she is going to regret it.”

“I hope so too, sir.”

“Come this way, she is in the kitchen.”  Jim followed, as he was lead through the house.  They found you sitting on the kitchen counter eating what looked like a bowl of ice cream with some kind of pink topping.  You were surprised to see Jim standing there in your kitchen.  

“I will leave you two to talk.”  Your grandfather left quickly to get out of the way.

“Umm I would salute you or something but I am in my pj’s in my kitchen, so, no.”  Jim laughed pulling out one of the chairs at the kitchen island to sit at.

“You know why I am here, [Y/N].”  You shrugged at him as you finished off the last of the ice cream in your bowl.  “What the hell was that?”

“Vanilla ice cream with Talulian pudding.”  He squinted his eyes in disgust.

“Talulian pudding? That stuff is disgusting.  How can you eat that?”  Slipping down off the counter you rinsed the bowl out setting it aside to clean for later.

“I don’t know, it just sounded really good.  I was craving the sweet and sour so...”  Leaning back against the counter you shrugged again.  Your arms crossed against your chest, in a sort of defensive pose.  He looked as you for a moment, narrowing his eyes for just a second before then went wide.

“You’re pregnant! Holy shit, [Y/N], he doesn’t know does he?”  Shaking your head, you looked down at the floor.  “You have to tell him.  He is going to freak and then he will beg you to marry him all over again.”

“I will tell him eventually but, I think we are done for good Jim.”

“The hell you are.  I came here to tell you I refuse to accept your resignation.  Get your ass to Georgia and talk to him.  He is a mess, worse than I have ever seen.  [Y/N] he needs you.”  Jim had walked over grabbing both your arms lightly.

“He needs Joanna.  I am just the woman, who loves him.”

“Why are you both so damn hard headed and stubborn?  You two are so perfect for each other it’s disgusting.  Fine, if you aren’t going to do anything about it, I will.”

Part 10 

@feelmyroarrrr  @bolontiku  @aquabrie   @malindacath  @supernaturallymarvellous @ryverpenrad  @imaginativefanatic  @newhappiness430 @hellhoundsandunicorns  @martinawalker  @pinkamour1588  @infinite-exist-ence   @thesummer-rain  @swiggityswagness @arcticbubby   @hamiltryingmybest

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[thepigsaysouch]

All of the questions

Dear lord

1: is there a boy/girl in your life?

I’m single and not really talking with anyone at the moment

2: think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

Yeah, it wasn’t anything he did on purpose

3: what do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

Cats? What else am I supposed to think about?

4: what’s something you really want right now?

Someone to talk to me

5: are you afraid of falling in love?

Nope

6: do you like the beach?

Yes I love water

7: have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

Yeah

8: what’s the background on your cell?

Some stock picture, I installed a ROM a few days ago and haven’t bothered changing the wallpaper yet

9: name the last four beds you were sat on?

Mine, Emily’s, and probably some family beds

10: do you like your phone?

It’s fine, but I have to take it apart to clean dust out of the front camera every now and again

11: honestly, are things going the way you planned?

I don’t have a super specific plan at the moment so yeah I guess so

12: who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

I think it was Emily

13: would you rather have a poodle or a rottweiler?

Rottweiler

14: which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

Emotional

15: would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

Zoo! I love animals

16: are you tired?

Not right now

17: how long have you known your 1st phone contact?

Uhhh I think it’s my sister so all my life

18: are they a relative?

Yep

19: would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

Maybe? I don’t think it would happen anytime soon though

20: when did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

Just a few minutes ago, but she threatened to block me (I think hope it was a joke?) so...

21: if you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

Nah, I’m not ready for that yet

22: would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

Not now

23: how many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

Just my fitbit

24: is there a certain quote you live by?

“Be excellent to each other” - Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

25: what’s on your mind?

How awesome that movie is

26: do you have any tattoos?

Nope

27: what is your favorite color?

Purple I guess?

28: next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

Oh god who knows? Probably not for at least a few weeks

29: who are you texting?

Nobody (if someone who has my number sees this feel free to fix that)

30: think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

Yep

31: have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

Yeah

32: do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

I think so

33: do you think anyone has feelings for you?

I don’t think so

34: has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

Probably?

35: say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

“The last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you”

36: were you single on valentines day?

Nope, I got a very unenthusiastic call from my then-boyfriend

37: are you friends with the last person you kissed?

We only broke up recently and I want to stay friends and she keeps sending me cute cat pics so I think so! (Unless she was serious about blocking me...)

38: what do your friends call you?

Charlie

39: has anyone upset you in the last week?

No

40: have you ever cried over a text?

Oh god yes

41: where’s your last bruise located?

I can’t remember the last time I was bruised

42: what is it from?

No idea

43: last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

Today on the car ride home from work

44: who was the last person you were on the phone with?

I listened to a message from someone at a contracting company if that counts

45: do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

Nope

46: do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?

No

47: would you ever go bald if it was the style?

Probably not

48: do you make supper for your family?

No

49: does your bedroom have a door?

Mine has four

50: top 3 web-pages?

Youtube, quora, tumblr

51: do you know anyone who hates shopping?

Me

52: does anything on your body hurt?

I got sunburn form the beach so yeah

53: are goodbyes hard for you?

Yes, I don’t have enough friends to be able to afford losing any of them

54: what was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

Water

55: how is your hair?

It’s a bit long but I’m waiting until next week to get it cut

56: what do you usually do first in the morning?

Drink a glass of water, then shower

57: do you think two people can last forever?

Forever is the wrong word, but yeah I guess

58: think back to january 2007, were you single?

That’s too much work I’m not doing that

59: green or purple grapes?

Purple

60: when’s the next time you will give someone a big hug?

Saturday

61: do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

Nope

62: when will be the next time you text someone?

Whenever someone else texts me first most likely

63: where will you be 5 hours from now?

Sleeping

64: what were you doing at 8 this morning.

Getting ready for work

65: this time last year, can you remember who you liked?

My boyfriend at the time

66: is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

At least one, yeah

67: did you kiss or hug anyone today?

No

68: what was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

I was texting someone about hanging out sometime so probably something related to that

69: have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

Yeah

70: how many windows are open on your computer?

Two, chrome and solitaire

71: how many fingers do you have?

Ten

72: what is your ringtone?

I always have my phone on vibrate I have no clue

73: how old will you be in 5 months?

20

74: where is your mum right now?

In the house somewhere probably

75: why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

We broke up

76: have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

Nope

77: are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

I thought we were friends but once high school ended they kept hanging out with each other and never reached out to me so I guess not :(

78: do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?

Oh god everyone, I had like 4 or 5 girlfriends in 7th grade

79: is there anyone you know with the name mike?

Yeah

80: have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

I think so

81: how many people have you liked in the past three months?

One

82: has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

Given that my mom still does my laundry while I’m at home, yes

83: will you talk to the person you like tonight?

Tough to do when I don’t like anyone

84: you’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

I can’t think of an answer for this

85: if your bf/gf was into drugs would you care?

It’s caused some problems before and I think I’d be more okay with it now but There would definitely be limits

86: what was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

I almost banged my ex the day before the first time I got together with my most recent ex

87: who was your last received call from?

The contractor lady

88: if someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

Probably not unless the butterfly is already dead

89: what is something you wish you had more of?

Friends or social ability

90: have you ever trusted someone too much?

I don’t think so

91: do you sleep with your window open?

No

92: do you get along with girls?

Yeah

93: are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

Nope

94: does sex mean love?

Not all the time

95: you’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

Not for me but idk how she’d feel about it

96: have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

Nope

97: did you sleep alone this week?

Yeah

98: everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

Yeah

99: do you believe in love at first sight?

No

100: who was the last person that you pinky promise?

Uh not sure

Thanks anon, if anyone has more questions feel free to ask