#misery and abuse and grief for literal laughs

[donnatroyyyy]

Can I be honest with everyone a second? I honestly think that every instance used to justify calling Dick Grayson the “angry robin” is him being justifiably mad at something that would make anyone who was put in the situation mad.

#like people really be like “oh look nightwing got angry and killed the guy that murdered his brother. paralyzed his ex. and made him think #that he murdered and tortured his other brother. also the guy who’s been torturing and playing with him and his father figure for over a #decade and has killed countless people. but nightwing killed him out of anger he must have anger issues.’’ #like wtf?? #you read all of that and instead of reading someone finally killing someone who’s put him and his family and the WHOLE WORLD through such #misery and abuse and grief for literal laughs #you read someone with anger isssues killing a bad guy cuz he got mad #also while we’re on the topic of this whole thing #Bruce revived joker FOR Dick. Bruce probably wanted to let that motherfucker die more than anything but he didn’t want joker’s death on #Nightwing’s conscious. he saved the person he wanted dead most for his son. #dc comics #comics #batfam #robin #batman #nightwing #dick grayson

[astarionapologist]

Hello! I was looking for people were wanting write and stumbled across your blog. I was hoping for an established relationship with Astarion and bard!tav. After the graveyard scene where she asks him to listen to a song that she’s written about them and what his love means to her. With the song turning page by sleeping at last in mind.

AHHH oh my god you literally described my tav! On another note however this request is so adorable ohmygods.

Our new chapter

Astarion x fem bard!tav

Word count: 1.7k

Spoilers for act 3 graveyard scene!

Song:

As you collapse onto the soft sleeping bag in front of you, your body aches and your armor clings to your sweaty skin. You can't help but think back to the battle that ended not too long ago, still panting from the exertion.

Memories of having to see the love of your life struggle after killing his abuser of over 200 years flood in. How heartbreaking the scene painted in your mind was as you envisioned the pale elf sobbing out all the pain and misery that intoxicated a part of his heart for all these years. How his tears were a mix of anger and grief as he mourned the man he was before knowing Cazador.

You gave him some time to collect himself, and then you appeared behind him, taking off your cloak to wrap it around the upper half of his body. He was surprised by your sudden movements, and he looked up at you, his eyes heavy with torment and anguish. However, after a few seconds of keeping each other's gaze, his eyes grew softer. His wet, dewy eyes pierced into your heart as you dropped to your knees to hug him. He sniffled as he nestled his head on top of your shoulder and continued to release his agony, but this time his heart didn't feel as empty. In fact, it slowly began to fill with hope, and he imagined his newfound freedom with you by his side.

You snap back to the present as you hear the sound of your tent unzipping. Astarion's figure appears behind the thin sheet of your tent. You had left him alone to gather himself and bathe after the day's events. You half expected him to be already asleep by now, considering how tired his eyes look.

“Hello my love…” he says with a small pause

“There’s… something i’d like to show you if that's alright with you.”

Without hesitating you stood up swiftly.

“I would be happy to follow you. Please show me where you need me to go," you say with a hint of urgency. Your ultimate goal has always been to nurture and care for Astarion, which is why it took him so long to warm up to you. He was confused as to why someone so sweet and pure would want to be with someone as ill-minded and tainted as he is. However, after the events of moonrise, your relationship has greatly improved and flourished. Astarion has grown so attached to you that he now savors every second he spends with you.

A shocked expression fills his face only for a few seconds then changes into a small smirk.

“My dear don’t hurt yourself.” He says as he lets out a small laugh. “It’s not far from here so don’t worry, we won’t be out too long”

You gaze at him and give a nod as you both proceed to walk down a path outside the camp. The path eventually leads you to a cemetery. He stops in front of a small grave which is overgrown with thick and lush vines. He bends down slowly and carefully removes each vine off the sad-looking tomb.

“It’s been… 200 years since I’ve been here… 200 years since I’ve escaped this wretched grave.”

He begins to explain how he escaped his own grave and how he had to dig and claw his way viciously out of six feet of dirt. In the end, after all that fighting, he was met with the piercing eyes of Cazador himself who stood waiting for his new spawn.

“For all those years… I was his…” he says with disgusted scowl on his face

“He didn’t have the right to take you, you were never his in the first place… you never deserved this!” You say with anger on the tip of your tongue

He hums, "Maybe. But in the end, he took everything from me. There's nothing left of my old self, only fuzzy memories and an old rock with my name on it."

“For 2 centuries I was a monster… a ghost out on the streets looking for a new soul to fetch for Cazador… I was a shell….a husk of the person I was before”

Just as you were to say something he cuts you off

“But….. now I’m free…. Now I have to figure out who I am and what I want now.” He says with a small smile on his face as he turns towards you.

“And what exactly do you want?” You ask with another smile forming only this time it’s on your lips

“isn’t it obvious… I want you. Only you. I’ve only ever needed you.”

“You were by my side through.. well everything. You sided with me, protected me, cared for me and gave me a sense of comfort I’ve never felt before.”

"Hells. You trusted me too? Which was a terrible idea." He says while laughing at you.

You roll your eyes at his snarky little comment. “My apologies for falling head over heels for you” You say with a small sigh towards the end

“Apology accepted, falling in love is like falling through all the layers of the hells.” He quipped while dramatically putting a hand on his chest

“But seriously, I do love you. You know that, right? I love the person I am around you, and I'm so happy I get to stand by your side. Having the choice to be with you gives me hope that I deserve more in life. Being with you makes me feel a tad bit selfish. It makes me believe I deserve to be happy despite my past.”

” Thats because you do deserve to be happy… you do deserve to feel loved…” you say

“I’m glad you believe so.” He says looking at the tomb “ I think I’m beginning to believe that too…”

He clears his throat “Anywho I think so should fix this.” He bends down knife in hand as he changes the date on the tomb in front of him.

He stays down on his knees looking at the fresh markings in front of him.

You pick a flower away from the graves that caught your eye as it glistened in the moonlight. You picked the beautiful white tulip and carefully placed it on his grave.

“How cute” he dotes on your action a bit before turning to face you as you sit down next to him.

“I've been dead for long enough. It's about time I finally started to live for myself.”

“My dear, do you have any ideas on what we should do next?”

“well…” you say biting the bottom of your lip. “You don't have to but I have something planned for you… I've been working on it for a couple weeks now but I've been a bit too timid to show you. That is of course until now…. If you agree to it of course” you say looking at the ground in front of you.

“My my my… a gift for me? I’m assuming it’s another one of those beautiful ballads of yours” He carefully holds your face forcing you to look back at him. “I’d be honored to hear that captivating voice of yours darling” He coos quietly.

“It is.. specifically about us.. about my love for you about how I feel for you.”

His heart skips “ Very well then… let’s see what you have…” he blushes a bit while looking away then Turing his head to look back at you.

You pull out your spider lyre, a gift from Astarion. He found it during one of your adventures together and decided to gift it to the most beautiful and talented bard he knows.

You lick your lips timidly and clear your throat. Your hand gently strums across the lyre releasing a beautiful cadence with every strum.

a chill when up his spine as soon as you begin to sing

“I’ve waited a hundred years..

But I’d wait a million more for you”

His heart began to beat so fast it felt almost frozen in place.

” Nothing prepared me for… the privilege of being yours would do”

Gods you’ve barely started and he already want nothing more than to have you hold him already as he cries with appreciation.

As you continue to sing his eyes fill with adoration as he leans in so focused on your voice and on those beautiful plush lips of yours.

"If I had only felt the warmth within your touch

If I had only seen how you smile when you blush

Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough

Well I would have known

What I was living for all along

What I've been living for”

You softly sing while looking into his eyes. You use the tadpol to allow him to enter your mind… to allow him to feel how you’ve been feeling this whole time. He feels nothing but admiration… nothing but love for him. He feels like he’s floating… he feels so pure. So at peace. Gods is this how you’ve felt around him? Tears being to spill from his eyes. How could anyone feels so at peace with him…? How is he at the center of each of these pure and sweet emotions.

“Your love is my turning page… where only the sweetest words remain”

He lets to finish you song before he quickly grabs and wraps his arms around you crying. You gently rub his back in return which gives him a deep sense of reassurance. Yes he’s felt your emotions just now but your soft gentle touches are more than enough to calm his soul from almost anything.

His puffy red eyes meet yours “you really meant all that…. You really do love me…. I- thank you”’

You carefully cup his face kissing his forehead softly before he pulls you by the shoulders for a deep yet gentle kiss. He stops looks you in the eyes and whispers in your ear

“I never thought a love so pure could exist in this cruel heartless world…. Thank you for providing me wrong again… thank you for showing me what it’s like to be cared for….”

You place a gentle kiss underneath his eye, “It was my pleasure… now then, let’s head back yeah? We should rest while we can tomorrow will be a busy day… and you’re more than welcome to stay in my tent again if you’d like.” You rub the back of your neck after saying that last part.

He gives you another kiss however this one is a small peck “It would be my pleasure…”

Holy shit I hope this isn’t ass when I post it LMAO but still I hope you guys like it!

Ps if you see any mistakes on here no you didn't <3

#bg3 blogging #bg3 tav #bg3 #baulders gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #fic writing #bard tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #x reader

[flyingwide]

In one interview MPG says he plays sir with just enough likability to keep people tuning weekly and it made me laugh bc one glance at social media proves that once fans saw MPG they were sat for this show regardless of sir’s intentions. Not all but a significant amount for sure. I’m in the camp of yuck-go-away (Gabi being a kid when he took her nullifies any shipping on my part plus there’s so much raw hatred on her part I just can’t see the leap to sexy) but that being said I do think that this show being on network tv makes for an interesting angle because they have to find ways to acknowledge and work around the inherent darkness of the premise which makes for an intriguing story. On the other hand it sometimes comes off a bit too sanitized because of that. The victims are always nice or nice enough, and the villains are mild or basically caricatures. The writing just isn’t there with the missing peoples aspect of the show (honestly it isn’t really there with Gabi and the basement either but I’m more willing to forgive that since it makes for believable messiness) and I hate it because it’s an important issue. Idk. It’s not like I want some misery fest but it’s all so…tidy and dull. Also the emphasis on Lacey and Gabi’s friendship falls flat because they’ve literally never given besties. I buy Margaret and Gabi way more even.

I honestly came into this show for MPG (I had just rewatched Pitch for the 5th time in 2 weeks when I learned it existed) and I’ve been a villain lover since watching Gargoyles at 6 years old (David Xanatos, the man that you are…) so there’s very little he could do that would be beyond the pale for me. A friend noted that they honestly wish he was a little worse because it seems like the show is afraid to have him go too far, which is interesting when they’ve made clear that they have no intention of redeeming him. If he’s beyond redemption, why does it matter that he never goes too far? Just go all in on him being an irredeemable bastard.

I’ve personally made the leap to sexy because how fucky the power dynamics are. She was a child and he was in control. That’s not sexy for me, that makes my skin crawl. But now she’s an adult and she has him at her mercy but he’s shown time and again that he’s not helpless. It’s not a straightforward abuse of power like it would have been when she was 16. They’re not equals now but they’re closer to it. The idea of consent between the two of them would be deeply fraught and that makes the wheels in my brain start turning: what would that dynamic look like? How would it change what they have now? Would it change it? Would it change how he sees her, her purity? I don’t ship it in a “I want them to end up together and in love” sort of way; I want to take a baseball bat to a hornets’ nest just to see what will happen.

I will agree that the writing overall is fairly weak. It seems almost like it’s just checking boxes at some points. I would like to see some sort of overarching case keep coming up in season 2 because Tony’s case wrapped up way too quickly and they haven’t done enough with the idea of Annie to make it compelling. Yet. I think it could get better but it needs to get there quickly.

I like the relationship between Gabi and Lacey but I would like it more if they would acknowledge that Gabi is unintentionally an obstacle to Lacey’s healing. Being around Gabi is impeding Lacey’s ability to move on because she is this big sister figure that Lacey has shaped her life around but that means that her life is shaped around someone intrinsically tied to her trauma. We see Margaret mired in her fear and grief, trapped in that bus station, but there’s much less acknowledgement that Lacey is mired too, held in place by her love for Gabi. I really like the actor and don’t want to see her go but for the character? Lacey, baby, run.

#asks #found nbc

[themonotonysyndrome]

Hey i just want to know that if you still make headcanon holy quintet in twst series , if you not is okay ,but if you still make , i have several question ,

What if madoka transform to madokami i want to know boys reaction especially diasmonia boys ?

I want to know what if sayaka got corrupt and the boys reaction(especially adeuce) see witch form sayaka for first time and their think sayaka got overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

I want to know that what boys reaction if they see the witchs and Walpurgisnacht for the first time are they gonna fight or not?

What all boys(especially dorm leaders)reaction homura tell the truth of soul gem and she tell how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

Sorry for making many question

Hello! I’m happy that you enjoyed the TWST x PMMM series! Most of my writing projects have taken a back seat due to work and since it’s currently the Ramadan season, I just don’t have a lot of energy to write anymore more than for work. I mean, it took me half a day to answer this ask. 

I definitely want to get back to writing for this crossover series and maybe even copied what I’ve written so far into my AO3 for easy reading and navigating but we’ll see. For now, I’m indulging whatever plot bunnies that come my way so I won’t stop writing altogether. 

So lay them on me, dude! Expanding the series is always fun. (Also, bear with me. This is gonna be a long post). 

@lionheartanotheraccount and I had discussed these actually on Discord! Some were pinned, some were not (I’m an idiot. I should have pinned all of our crossover texts!), so lemme explain what I still remember. Feel free to pinch in if I forgot something incorrectly or left something out, Lion! 

1. What if Madoka transforms to MadoKAMI, I want to know boys’ reaction, especially Diasmonia’s boys

After the anime ended, Lion and I talked about how not that she’s a Goddess, she has the ability to visit Twisted Wonderland on her own and she approached Malleus and the rest of the Diasomnia gang in her human disguise so as not to freak them out. Well, Lilia and Malleus could feel the divinity within Madoka and you can expect the immense shock that not only could Madoka travel across worlds, but she’s also no longer human too. It’s a teary reunion and Malleus’ and Lilia’s hearts break when MadoKAMI explain everything. They comforted her to their best ability but ultimately, it’s been done. There’s nothing else they could do for her. It’s bittersweet for Lilia. Why, a human child ascended into a Goddess so she could save the fates of her friends and every Magical Girls in the past, present and future - she grew up out of necessity and love. Both Lilia and Malleus is proud to be her friend. 

2.  I want to know what if Sayaka got corrupt and the boys’ reaction(especially Adeuce) see Witch form Sayaka for the first time and they think Sayaka got Overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

The existence of a Witch’s Labyrinth is enough to make the boys instantly wary and a bit frighten (not that any of them would admit it). Bad times for everyone. The boys so confused, wanting to help Sayaka. The girls are horrified at the truth of Witches and Magical Girls and Homura is rushing in to kill Sayaka. Chaos everywhere with Octavie shrieking and trying to kill them all, Symposium Magarum blaring in the background and the Witch’s familiars flying everywhere to make sure their Witch could enjoy the music. 

No one could fight Octavia so they had to retreat. Homura causing enough distraction for them to escape. By the time they went out of the Labyrinth, shouting and screams begin. 

Adeuce would the most horrified, Madoka of course, heartbroken. Mami is losing it (to which Homura’s getting trigger happy and refused to look away from her. She’s ready to put Mami out of her misery the moment Mami so much as flinch) and Sayaka is both furious and still in shock. At this point, Homura has no choice but to reveal the fact she knows the truth about Magical Girls in order to explain that no, they don’t Overblot. They... mature into Witches when their Soul Gems turn pitch black. Here’s a little gem(lol) from explorerofsy on Discord:  vil internally: mami is a gem 

vil later when he finds out about soul gems: 

when i said that mami is a gem, i did not expect that to be literal

It’s sad but it made me laugh sick. 

3. I want to know that what boys’ reaction if they see the Witches and Walpurgisnacht for the first time. Are they gonna fight or not?

The moment Homura explains that turning to Witches is irreversible and is the ultimate fate of all Magical Girls, some would deny it. Their magic is different from the girls, maybe they have a way to stop the transformation here in Twisted Wonderland. The academically-inclined students (Malleus, Riddle, Jamil, Vil and even Idia) would delve into hours of research, only to find nothing (I mean, Kyubey is akin to an Eldritch being, something beyond their comprehension so how on Twisted Wonderland would they push their magic against his strange abilities?). The other students are keeping a very close eye on the girls’ Soul Gems. I mentioned in a long-ago post that even Lilia would demand Madoka present her Soul Gem to him for inspection once every week since Madoka is still distraught over what happened to Sayaka. 

Will the boys fight the Witches? Well, in terms of Octavia, the Heartslabyul boys will struggle to kill her, even after Homura explains that the Witch is no longer Sayaka and it’s better to put her out of her despair and give her Grief Seed to Madoka (though Madoka would let Adeuce keep Octavia’s Grief Seed; it’s the only thing the boys have left of Sayaka after all. Madoka at least have years worth of memories of them together). 

In terms of Walpurgisnacht, Homura would debrief the girls and boys the strongest Witch to ever exist (Keeping Kriemhild Gretchen to herself. For now. She really, really doesn’t want to open that horrible can of worms) and showed them just how powerful and destructive she can be using her magic. Malleus would be intrigued in fighting her though. 

4. What would the boys’ (especially dorm leaders) reaction be when Homura tell the truth of Soul Gems and she tells how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

Characters like Leona, Lilia and Malleus would be shocked stupid. Time magic is already an insanely OP power and Homura, a human child, been abusing and looping time just to find a way to kill Walpurgisnacht? Leona will straight up spit out that Homura’s insane and Lilia will silently agree with him, wondering if Homura has gone mad. Malleus couldn’t help but applaud Homura’s will and her careful planning in making sure her Soul Gem remains pure. Kalim will cry for her; he couldn’t imagine what sort of pain Homura purposely gone through just to save her friends (cue Homura’s awkwardly patting him on the back, telling him not to cry because she made her choices) 

5. And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

It’s cool! Twisted Wonderland and its fandom are some of the very few fandoms I really enjoy. But then again, I tend to keep to myself and some close friends so I don’t really see the dramas. And you’re right, the story and characters’ design are what hooked me in. I was introduced to Twisted Wonderland when I saw a fanart of a little Azul holding hands with Floyd and Jade, looking disgruntled at being treated like a kid while the Tweels just smirk. That’s why Azul and the Tweels will always be my favourite in the fandom!

Yeah... when you think about it, most of the characters have unhealthy relationships with their family. Riddle with his Mum, Leona with his status and brother, Azul with his childhood bullying, and while we don’t know what exactly happen with King and Queen Draconia, Malleus probably knew them for only a short time (hell, they could even pass away before he was hatched). 

#Monotony's rambling #Holy Quintet in TW series

[the-wlw-cafe]

[E]nnui - a 2BA2 fanfic

Warnings: Self-harm, self-destructive behaviour, heavily implied suicidal ideation - there’s comfort in there too I swear!

Read it on ao3 here!

Another piece of her skin had come loose near her hips. It had to have happened a while ago, judging by the dust and dirt clinging to the adhesive on its underside. She hadn’t noticed it back then, being occupied with fighting for her life, the misery, the toil and pain and the war . But now, after the end of it all? Nothing would take her mind off it. She’d catch herself absent-mindedly tugging at the loose piece every now and then, or rather, Pod would catch her and admonish her in his usual robotic manner.

Alert: Continuing to irritate the area will cause further damage to unit A2. Proposal: Stop.

And he was right, of course, but that just made her want to throw a brick at him all the more.

(She also hadn’t noticed when she’d switched to referring to Pod as he instead of it, but he didn’t call attention to the change and she’d rather die than admit she th ought of him as anything but an annoyance.)

Well, Pod wasn’t here now. Being assigned to two units, he usually split his time between monitoring 2B and herself, or sometimes the pods just headed out by themselves to do God knows what. Maybe there was a part of A2 that wondered what they were up to, a part of her that might have been curious enough to ask about it lifetimes ago, but now? The task of having to ask and listen to a reply seemed insurmountable.

Shit, she really needed to trash something. Before, whenever such thoughts threatened to overtake her, she’d simply pick a fight with the first machine she saw, rinse and repeat until she was too exhausted to continue on or move or even think. But of course even that was taken from her as the machines were gone now. Not physically gone, of course, they were still dotted throughout the landscape, but they were empty. Just vacant shells, unmoving, staring off into space.

“They’re among the stars now”, 9S had said, as if that would explain anything. A2 hadn’t had the energy to ask for clarification. They kept their distance from each other anyway, since being in the other android’s presence dredged up emotions and red hot flashes of pain pain pain she no longer had a release for.

The sound of tools scraping and metal being torn and bent drifted to her from way down below. She came up here often now, to the window where she’d first awoken again. It was a long way down, and not for the first time she wondered whether the pods had placed her there intentionally. A second chance, and an easy way to refuse the gift. Again and again she found herself drawn to this spot, looking down until the instincts she was programmed with to keep her body safe flooded her system with dizziness that forced her to back away from the window. She used to feel so far away from everything here, but apparently, the real world had forced itself even into this space. The resistance had begun scrapping the empty machines down for parts, and even though she’d tried to help them initially just to have something to do, once she was actually faced with one of the shells, still faintly whirring with the machinery still ticking away in the rusty chassis but at the same time nothing going on inside, she felt like vomiting. An echo of the time she’d shared a mind with 2B, she supposed, she’d looked into the machine’s unseeing eyes and seen Pascal, seen the children, and she just couldn’t…

With an abrupt sting of pain she realized she’d been doing it again, finding that loose piece of skin and mindlessly tugging, only this time, Pod wasn’t here to tell her off. She gritted her teeth against the sting and began pulling, watching with an almost morbid fascination as the skin peeled to reveal more of the black exoskeleton underneath –

“Stop that.”

The sudden interruption startled A2 enough to actually obey, letting go of the abused patch of skin as if it had burned her. She turned towards the newcomer, one hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword she no longer had a use for. She relaxed incrementally when she found that it was 2B who’d snuck up on her, her hand uselessly coming to rest at her side. She wasn’t at ease, she figured she hadn’t been at ease since the day she was fabricated, but something about the combat model seemed to calm her – a sentiment she would have laughed at weeks ago, given the many times 2B had been sent to execute her only for A2 to destroy her again and again, each time coming closer and closer to defeat as 2B profited from combat experience while her own body degraded. But there was no way of sharing a mind, memories and decades of pain with another person without retaining some familiarity after the fact.

It was difficult to see the unfiltered version of 2B she’d experienced through her memories in the carefully schooled expression of the android in front of her. The version A2 had experienced loved fiercely, cared deeply, and was hurt beyond measure, but the 2B she saw now let almost none of that show. Calm, collected. The very model of a YoRHa executioner. A2 didn’t have to ask why 2B still saw the need to guard her expression so thoroughly. After all, it was the same reason why A2 cleaned and sharpened her weapons every day with more care than she’d ever afforded her own body, or why 9S had taken to painstakingly record ing all of his memory, each minute detail of e very day he experienced with pen and paper and was keeping this treasury of memories hidden under his pillow.

“You need maintenance”, 2B stated, taking tentative steps closer and, when A2 didn’t object, sat down beside her. She didn’t look at her, instead fixating on some point in the distance, beyond the grey husks of concrete buildings leaning heavily against each other, as if they might collapse at any moment. Her voice betrayed no emotion, but the faint golden glow of the lunar tear tucked neatly above her ear said otherwise, said it’d suit your stylish looks, said thank you for the flowers, said desert roses are beautiful, aren’t they. The grief A2 felt upon these echoes flashing through her mind might as well have been her own. They’d both lost so, so many people, and yet they were still here, alive even after having literally died. It was almost funny. Almost.

“Nah, I’ll be fine”, A2 said, “I’ve survived this long even with machines looking to destroy me at every turn, I won’t fall apart now.”

2B made a non-committal sound, and a long stretch of silence followed. A2 had to stifle an irrational urge to laugh, because for two people who literally had their minds melded at some point, they sure were bad at communicating. But the silence continued, gaping, deafening, and a strange anxiety rose in A2, a compulsion to fill it with something, anything, even though she knew that no words could ever do justice to the things she longed to express, the things that bubbled and churned inside her like a vile acid she needed to expel.

“I miss it.”

A2 was almost surprised that she had spoken. She might have been inclined to believe it was a hallucination caused by one of the many glitches she’d contracted over decades of neglect of maintenance, if 2B hadn’t turned to look at her, head slightly inclined to the side, encouraging her to go on.

Well, shit. The rat was out of the bag now, or whatever the humans used to say, so there was no point in backing down. A2 leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh, craning her neck to stare at the webbing of cracks along the ceiling, because making herself vulnerable was hard enough without looking into 2B’s face and seeing whatever pity or disdain she might be too slow to hide.

“I mean, the fighting. Always being on the move. Never having a moment of quiet, never having a moment alone with your own thoughts. I was so busy surviving that I didn’t have the time to ask myself why I was surviving in the first place. I think it was spite, mainly”, she added with a mirthless chuckle that sounded hollow in the empty room. “But now, with YoRHa gone and the war over, there’s nobody left to spite, and that leaves me with…”

She didn’t voice the nothing that was on the tip of her tongue, but it hung over them like a heavy, suffocating blanket nonetheless. Truly, how selfish was she, to prefer the never-ending suffering of the war over this peace, this chance for Anemone and her people to build something new, something substantial. She didn’t dare to open her eyes and face whatever 2B must be thinking of her, and this was new too: She cared now, cared what others thought of her, because now she ha d people with opinions to care about.

And yet, the silence continued, the tension reaching a fever pitch until A2 could be ar it no longer. She braced herself and turned to face the combat model once more, no matter what she –

Oh.

2B’s gaze was trained on the horizon once more, but she’d placed a gloved hand over A2’s own, her thumb rubbing comforting circles over the exposed exoskeleton.

A2’s core temperature spiked with embarrassment as she cleared her throat. “Yeah, I…I can’t actually feel that, sorry”, she huffed. “I don’t know how it is with you newer models, but my more delicate sensors were located directly under my outer skin and I lost that ages ago. So, yeah, it’s gonna take nothing short of shoving my hand between two moving gears to actually generate some feedback.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry”, 2B murmured, removing her hand to clench it in her lap in a demure gesture that was so unlike her it made A2 feel even worse. She’d never felt self-conscious about the state of her body before. She’d been frustrated, sure, when she found her capabilities steadily decreasing the more time she spent on the run, but she’d never felt so outright ashamed that she could hear her black box whirring in her ears, but now that her deficiencies had been brought into such stark contrast against 2B, perfect, pristine 2B -

“A2.”

2B’s firm voice pulled the attacker model out of her spiralling thoughts. 2B’s eyes were focused on the spot on her hip where she’d been subconsciously scratching at the loose patch of skin again. A2 clenched her blackened fingers into a fist, fighting against the overpowering compulsion to just rip it.

“You need maintenance”, 2B repeated, with more insistence than the first time.

“Are you still on about that?” A2 groaned, running a hand through her hair.

“You’re literally coming apart at the seams!” 2B hissed, and there was fervour there, a real concern.

“Don’t I know it”, A2 said, throwing her head back and barking out a laugh that was devoid of any happiness. She just wanted this conversation to be over, she wanted 2B to stop wasting her concern on her, she just…wanted everything to stop.

Another pause, and then…a sensation, a touch, ever so lightly, ever so softly, a pair of lips against her cheek. The contact lasted a second at the most, before 2B pulled back an inch, her face still so close that A2 could feel her breath ghosting over her skin as she spoke her next words.

“Can you feel this?”

A2 didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to, not when the staccato beat of her pulse and the stuttering of her breath spoke volumes. 2B slid closer to her now, sitting directly next to her so close close close that their thighs were touching and A2 could feel it and shit, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched with care, like she mattered, like she deserved any of it. Pressure was building in her throat and she clenched her fist tighter until she could hear the joints of her fingers cracking. And still, she leaned into the contact, closed her eyes and held onto that moment while it lasted.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing”, 2B said quietly. A2 couldn’t guess how much time had passed, how long they’d simply been leaning against each other.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, A2 lied without any conviction. She had no doubt 2B would be looking right through her.

“Refusing maintenance. Coming up here every day.”

A2 opened her eyes as an errant breeze blew in through the window. She squinted against it. It was a long way down.

“Anemone is worried about you. I – we all are.”

“Well, you’re wasting your time”, A2 bit out, her voice tight against that god-damn lump in her throat. Too much, it was all too much. She had to go, go…somewhere, anywhere. Away. Away from people who looked at her, saw right through her, right down to the very core of her as if she was made of glass. She made a motion to get up, but 2B grabbed her wrist and tugged her down harshly.

“A2, you deserve to be cared for.” 2B’s voice was still so quiet, but as unyielding as the concrete beneath them. “You deserve this”, she said, one hand coming to rest against A2’s cheek. The touch was nothing but gentle, and yet it felt scalding. She batted it away.

“You of all people should know how it feels. We’ve killed, more times than we could count, more times than can ever be forgiven, it’s the only thing we were made for and the only thing we’re actually good at, and you’re telling me I deserve anything?”

2B shrunk back as if she’d struck her, and immediately a cold wave of guilt washed over A2 and settled deep and heavy in her core. She knew 2B, she could still feel the disgust and self-hatred emanating off of her whenever A2 had addressed her as 2E, they’d shared the pain of killing her closest friend over and over and over again. A2 reached out, to touch 2B, to hold her perhaps, but she thought better of it. She wasn’t made for gentleness. Everything she touched fell apart.

“I’m sorry”, she mumbled, her words falling pathetically short.

“Appreciated”, 2B said through gritted teeth, her fingers clenched into the hem of her dress so tightly her knuckles were turning white. She was close enough to touch, and yet they were miles apart. A2 had broken them miles apart. She had broken them apart, and she had no idea how to fix this divide. She wasn’t made for fixing.

“Shit, 2B, that was a fucked up thing to say to you, I’m-”

2B silenced her laughable attempts with a single, stiff wave or her hand.

“You’re right.”

A2 immediately opened her mouth to protest, to silence whatever nonsense she’d put in the combat model’s head, but then she met her eyes, cold steel blue more fiery than ever, and any words she might have said wither ed on her tongue. She was fixed to the spot, unmoving.

“And if we really are one and the same, A2, then you’ll understand why I can’t bear another death.”

It was too much, it was far too intimate. A2’s first instinct was to deflect, this was her they were talking about, she’d hardly be missed by anyone, having outlived almost all who might at some point have cared about her. And 2B, especially 2B, whom she’d killed dozens of times…

Unbidden, the ugliest memories reared their head, flashes of deep, oozing slashes in 2B’s body as her teammates stumble over themselves in retreat, flashes of loosing herself in B-Mode when she couldn’t keep up with her opponent anymore, only coming to again when her form was beaten, bloodied and almost unrecognizable. The same nausea she’d felt when asked to dismantle the machine husks rose in her again, that feeling of wrong wrong wrong and she couldn’t stomach it, not even the thought of it…

This time, she caught herself. Her hand halfway to her hip, she froze, biting her lip to distract from the urge to just tear at pieces of herself. 2B noticed, of course she noticed, placing a hand over the damaged area. It was tender, and though every fibre of her being cried out that she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she didn’t deserve it she swallowed them down. Laid her hand atop 2B’s. Threaded their fingers together.

She watched 2B fail to hide a soft gasp, and it made something within her lurch in delight. She gave 2B’s hand a gentle squeeze, wishing now more than ever to be able to feel the warmth of her hand radiating through the smooth satin glove.

It was a stupid reason. It was as good as any other.

She allowed herself to rest in this moment for a few seconds longer, then she slowly rose to her feet, groaning under the aching of her stiff joints. How long had she been up here?

“Come on, let’s head back before Anemone sends out a search party”, she said, pulling 2B upright, and when she was standing, A2 was struck to the core when she saw her smile. It was a subtle, understated thing, barely even visible, but shit, if she could make 2B smile like that one more time she knew she’d be worth something more than the scrap metal she was made of.

She took one last look out of the window over her shoulder. She could barely stomach it – it was such a long, long way down.

Feeling 2B’s hand in hers.

Making her smile.

They were better reasons than spite, she decided.

#nier #nier automata #a2 #2b #working title of this fic was freddie projects their depression onto robots

[bbclesmis]

Salon: Watching PBS's "Les Misérables" as Notre Dame burned: A lesson in processing spectacular loss

The new version of Victor Hugo's tale has no familiar tunes to sweeten its tragedy. That feels very fitting now

By way of processing the shock of watching Notre Dame burn in Paris on Monday, I turned away from social media, where livestreams of the spreading flames were sadly plentiful, and turned on the latest adaptation of “Les Misérables,” currently airing on PBS’s “Masterpiece.”

This was mainly out of obligation, to be honest. The six-part series aired its first episode Sunday, the same night as the debut of a certain show starring zombies, dragons and queens. It is currently streaming online and via video on demand. Scheduling new installments of the “Masterpiece” epic as time-slot competition to the most popular show on the planet is pure folly; then again, something has to air at 9 p.m. Sundays. If you can’t serve up the flashiest show on television, might as well come in second.

Except this “Les Misérables” trades in substance, not dazzle. It has no music to it — literally. No renditions of the Broadway musical’s most familiar ditties such as “Master of the House,” no “On My Own.”

Andrew Davies’ adaption of Victor Hugo’s literary hulk (my softcover edition is 1,232 pages long) relies on the beholder to drink in the bitter imagery and soften her heart to the plight of characters who often cannot outrun their past failings regardless of what they do.

And although Hugo’s other great work, the 1831 novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” has a direct influence on the history of Notre Dame — Tuesday it soared the top of Amazon France’s n the bestseller list on Amazon France — the spirit of this new “Les Misérables” is better suited the age in which we collectively bore witness to a conflagration consuming one of the world’s great monuments.

On social media the chorus could not quite find true harmony in our collective mourning. People shared photos taken from recent visits and musings as to what Notre Dame means to them; others stonily called out the Catholic Church’s various sins over the centuries, citing everything from its participation in and funding of the brutality of colonialism to its protection of sexual abusers. Still others scoffed at what they saw as another example of manufactured grief showcases by way of Twitter.

The voices became a dueling chorus between the Fantines and Jean Valjeans of the world and the Javerts, to look at it another way. In that respect, the PBS version of “Les Misérables” needs no melodies to sell it, because the sorrow and the harsh lawful judgment demonstrated throughout the story, as well as the grace radiating through its performances — with Dominic West as Valjean, Lily Collins’ Fantine and David Oyelowo’s Javert — are its songs.

Presenting the story as an abridged version of Hugo’s writing forces the viewer to absorb the misery its characters endure without the sugar of melodic performance, without distracting spectacle that allows us, in a way, to emotionally split from the horror of what we're seeing.

And his makes it a diametric contrast to "Game of Thrones," a pure act of spectacle and escapism. HBO’s epic is pure fantasy, even though it too has a historical basis, borrowing aspects of the plot from England’s War of the Roses.

But by incorporating mythical elements and magical forces, the series’ fans can emotionally detach somewhat from the tale’s tragedy. In no way am I suggesting that certain Monday mornings in the upcoming weeks won’t be bluer than usual as the show’s fans come to grips with the death of a beloved character or three in the previous night’s episode. But we can also count on such demises being rendered in ways fitting to how the character lived. Each will be a spectacle among spectacles.

This is what struck me as I watched a place to which I’ve made several pilgrimages over the years be devoured by an element as careless, cruel and unreasonable as flame. I abandoned my Catholicism years ago for the reasons the vocal critics who showed up on Monday listed, as well as much more personal ones. And yet I have laid some of the most significant prayers of my life at the stone feet of Joan of Arc; I have knelt in prayer at her chapel inside the landmark in honor of my deceased loved ones and the troubled living I hold dear. To see the spire fall felt like a conduit to the divine being broken, even though I can’t remember the last time I went to church on Sunday.

But for a portion of witnesses, at least some of those voicing their opinions on the Internet, bearing witness to the public destruction of a world landmark prized in part because it is a work of spectacle on a grand scale became a struggle between the desire to feel and remember, and an insistence on emotional remove, a mode of thought that insists, as we watch this grand wonder crumble in faraway France, that this is not about us, whoever “us” may be,  and it's certainly not about you as an individual.

The second episode in the series, airing Sunday, shows the tale’s tritagonist Fantine at her lowest point: she’s cut off all of her hair and sold it, along with her front teeth, in exchange for a measly sum of money to send to the Thenardiers, a pair of cruel grifters with whom she’s left her daughter. She’s already been fired from the factory where she found work. Left with nothing else to offer, and no other place of employment willing to take her, she’s turned to selling herself off piece by piece: first, her most prominent assets, then her body.

The sight of Collins’ Fantine in this version of “Les Misérables” brings to mind the word most  appropriate to the novel’s title: at her lowest point, she looks wretched.

Unlike Anne Hathaway, who won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her portrayal of Fantine in the 2012 theatrical version, Collins’s Fantine wears the gaps in her dental work like a badge of shame. The darkness in her mouth yawns wide at the viewer as she grimaces through physically and emotionally torturous encounters, particularly at the pivotal moment that a certain gentleman crosses her path.

The man is carousing and laughing with the other ladies of the evening, all in much better shape that Collins’ tragic heroine. And when he encounters her, he treats her like a joke. Asking for her rate, she responds, softly, with the offer of however much he thinks she is worth.

“How about… nothing, then?” he counters, roaring along with his friends. Fantine is too weak to offer much of a defense, only a plea for mercy.

“I have to live, monsieur,” she softly says, adding. “Same as you.”

The “gentleman” laughs in her face. “Same as me? Cheeky cow.”

In the musical version of “Les Misérables” this exchange is preceded by Fantine’s climactic solo “I Dreamed a Dream,” the kind of song that transfixes the audience, making it impossible to look away.

This is the song that made Susan Boyle famous, in case you may have forgotten. Back then Boyle’s looks were as frequently discussed as her angelic voice, after she found fame by way of a 2009 episode of “Britain’s Got Talent.” Would she have achieved international stardom if she hadn’t chosen that particular song? It is an anthem of human tragedy, one of the most beautiful created in modern times. And it romanced Boyle, a woman in her late 40s who had never been kissed, never gotten a chance to take center stage, into an international symbol of triumph.

Point being, we’re all made to be the same creatures under the sky, but not on the same playing field unless someone wills it to be so.

Central to “Les Misérables,” which was first published in 1862, are the various trials of Valjean, actual and spiritual, some imposed on him by Javert, the law enforcement officer obsessed with bringing him to justice for a petty crime for which he was never caught and tried. West and Oyelowo are outstanding individually and in the few tense scenes they share, because they each grapple uniquely with the concept of righteousness. Oyelowo’s assured severity evokes the weight of the law and righteousness as defined by man, which serves as Javert’s north star.

West on the other hand digs into the agony of Valjean’s ongoing spiritual conflict, as he’s constantly torn between doing the right thing by man’s law and following the way of divine justice. His life is a perilous tightrope walk between these poles, particularly when it comes to making amends for his failings by raising and caring for Fantine’s orphan Cosette (Ellie Bamber).

And there’s a comfort in engaging with “Les Misérables” denuded of the songbook that made Hugo’s 19th century story popular again among the late 20th century’s masses, particularly as we come to terms with what’s been lost in the fires that nearly destroyed a place many thought would stand forever.

The spire of Notre Dame has been replaced before; it fell in 1786. It has survived eons of natural deterioration and assaults at the hands of men, notably during the ages of Napoleon and French Revolution, two eras surrounding the main action in “Les Misérables.”

“The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and Hugo’s tragic story of the cathedral’s bell-ringer Quasimodo and his unrequited love for a gypsy named Esmeralda so thoroughly seduced 19th century Parisians that they were moved to campaign for the crumbling church’s restoration, an effort that spanned decades,  continuing even up to the day of the fire. If American Francophiles revisit the tale via the page or the various films it inspired in the coming days, no one should be surprised.

But I also hope that as part of that reconnection to history, more people balance the all-encompassing passion for “Game of Thrones” by also taking time to appreciate Davies’ latest take on Hugo’s other tale. “Hunchback” is a story set in Notre Dame, but “Les Misérables” captures the soft clash of emotions resulting from our insistent lamentation over its loss. It is a story that captures the essence of humanity and redemption, appropriate accompaniment for a great work of humankind revived time and again over the centuries, out of an urgent need to redeem what is best in us. That has been the case throughout many centuries, and it holds true even today.

https://www.salon.com/2019/04/17/watching-pbss-stoic-les-miserables-as-notre-dame-burned-a-lesson-in-processing-spectacular-loss/

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #reviews #articles #salon #notre dame de paris #pbs

[blenderbender1811]

The Iron Queen: On Alannys Harlaw

There’s some high quality meta going around about lots of under appreciated women in ASOIAF who we just don’t know much about. Take literally anything written about Joanna Lannister ever by @joannalannister for instance. There’s not a whole lot to go on about Alannys Harlaw though. We don’t have much to go on - Theon rarely thinks about her and even Asha doesn’t talk much about her relationship with Alannys. But from what little we do know (and some good old fashioned head canon), here is my picture on what she was like and how her life turned out. Trigger warnings for discussions of physical abuse, including spousal abuse.

- She, her brother, and her sister got along but weren’t particularly close. That is to say - they enjoyed each other’s company and cared about each other, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends. Rodrik seems to spend most of his time talking about her when he wants to convince Asha not to go to the kingsmoot and Gwynesse mostly talks about her rights to Ten Towers. 

- I think @goodqueenaly is right when she suggests Alannys was married off to Balon because Quellon hoped Rodrik’s sister would be able to bring more progressive ideas into their marriage (and hopefully be on board with his reforms) (And PS - if you’re not following her, do. She ALSO writes great meta about under appreciated ladies). I also tend to think she and Balon were married rather young since during the Greyjoy Rebellion they had two sons who seemed to be grown men when they died. Westeros considers a grown man at 16 so I’m going to say Rodrik was 17 and Maron was 16. So let’s say Alannys and Balon were married at 17, the same year Balon became captain of a longship, that’s a nice milestone.

- I don’t think Quellon’s plan worked. I think Alannys was squarely in Balon’s corner in the Ironborn culture war. For both political reasons (if Balon becomes a king, she’d be a queen and their children would be princes and princesses) and personal reasons (I suspect the Old Way spoke more to the strong and proud Alannys - perhaps not as much as it did to Balon, but more than Quellon’s ideas did). I don’t see Alannys as anywhere near as bookish and interested in greenland thoughts as her brother. Quellon probably ended up sorely disappointed - as did Alannys when she realized why Quellon arranged their match. 

- From the scant descriptions we have of Alannys, we get ‘strong’, ‘proud’ and ‘fierce’ with ‘laughter in her eyes’. I think a lot of posts about Alannys focus on what she is now - a woman brokenhearted over the loss of her children, and that is fair. But there’s more to Alannys than that. This is the woman who ‘raised Asha to be bold’. I think Asha’s probably bolder than Alannys was, since Theon never thinks of her the way Asha did, but I do think she was more headstrong than the traditional Westerosi ideal lady. I see Alannys as someone who didn’t do things halfway. If she was happy, she was happy. If she was angry, she was angry. 

- Her and Balon’s relationship was tumultuous to say the very barest minimum. When things were good, they were good. I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say they were ever really in love, but I do think they were more or less on the same page and capable of enjoying each other’s company. But when things were bad, they were BAD. I imagine Balon got into quite a few furious arguments with his family (his dad, his stepmom, Euron, Aeron and Urri when they were being Aeron and Urri) and his wife was no exception. For her part, Alannys gave as good as she got - she was stubborn, fierce, and bold, you could not yell at her without her yelling back. There were days she would have killed him in his sleep and happily faced execution for it, and I do think there were days where one or the other laid hands on their spouse. So, yes, their relationship, much like a lot of Balon’s, was a big mess. I do think she cared at least a little about him when he died though - enough that she was convinced it was murder and would tell anyone who asked about it, even on days where she wasn’t as lucid. 

- I think she got along with Aeron (and probably Urrigon) and Victarion, just because I don’t see them fighting a lot (and Aeron doesn’t seem to harbour her any ill will when he tells Theon she’s at Ten Towers). She probably rolled her eyes at Aeron and Urri’s antics when they were younger and let Balon deal with it. They’re not HER little brothers making fools of herself. Euron on the other hand....I think most people could tell he was weird and off and I don’t think Alannys was an exception (though obviously nobody knew how bad he was until later, obviously, except Aeron). She probably kept her distance from him.

- As for Quellon, I don’t think she particularly hated him, but his obvious disappointment in her lack of support for his reforms probably kept them from warming up to each other. I don’t think they got along and so Alannys kept her children at a distance as well (which is why Theon and Asha never think much about their Grandfather). The person I think she REALLY disdained was his Piper wife. I can’t imagine the new Lady Greyjoy much enjoyed Pyke. It’s cold, bleak, and broke, especially compared to Pinkmaiden. I can see Alannys, a woman of relative action, growing annoyed VERY quickly. She probably kept her children away from her too and quietly (or not so quietly) was pleased when Balon ascended to his seat and his Piper stepmother fell from favour.

- I think Alannys loved all her children, but Theon was the one she was the closest too. He was her youngest, her baby boy, and he was so shy. I’m sure she was probably involved in raising her older two to be raiders, but Theon was only just learning when he was taken away and so she probably figured he’d grow out of his shyness. 

- I think Asha’s always been closer to Balon than to Alannys, and I think Alannys has always had a sort of conflict regarding her daughter. She delighted in how bold Asha was and obviously wanted to encourage her, but at the same time she also knew she was ‘supposed’ to be teaching Asha how to be a lady. I think there were definite times when Asha was being stubborn and Alannys was torn on how to react - she ‘should’ be shaking her and ordering her to act like a lady, but all she wants to do is give her daughter a hug and say ‘good girl’. I think for the most part, she ‘looked the other way’ when her daughter was off doing things she ‘shouldn’t’ and then she’s shrug and say ‘Sorry, Lord Quellon, didn’t see it, couldn’t stop her’. And then go off and laugh at whatever Asha’d done.

- Speaking of Asha, I like to think she gets her snark from her mother. I think Alannys DEFINITELY sassed anybody who gave her a hard time, especially after she became the Lady of Pyke. 

- After the Rebellion was over and her boys were gone, I think she and Balon were both broken up in different ways. I think Balon drank a lot and was particularly vicious when any chance of a raid came up (say, in the Stepstones). Meanwhile, for a long time, Alannys was just...numb. She couldn’t let herself feel anything because once those floodgates opened, EVERYTHING hit her at once. That numbness is probably when she began sleepwalking and searching for her boys. Both of them were haunted by their sons, that was for sure. I think they probably TRIED to have another baby, since Alannys was desperate for another son, but it didn’t happen. So they tried fostering and that didn’t work (and oh dear Drowned God, they were UNAMUSED when their maester caught Tristifer with Asha). 

- Sure enough, once the floodgates were open, there was no shutting them up again. Alannys was completely desolated by the loss of her three boys. She got up looking for them, forgot they died, and even began mistaking people for them (and ow, I just had a very painful mental image of her mistaking Aeron for Rodrik). I tend to see her vacillating between fury and misery before she finally had a breakdown.

- Her sister had a similar breakdown after her husband died in the rebellion, so I’m wondering if Harlaws are predisposed to break down in reaction to grief? Her sister focused on wanting her rights back, and Alannys focused on her dead children. 

- I don’t think she left until recently, when she contracted her cough. She was growing weaker, so Rodrik suggested to Balon that the more comfortable Harlaw might be better for her than Pyke, so they shipped her off. She’s been doing better - her cough comes and goes, but she’s eating more and is sleeping through the night and has days where she’s more lucid than others.

#Alannys Harlaw #Alannys Greyjoy #House Greyjoy #asoiaf meta #asoiaf headcanon #asoiaf

[scarletraven1001]

Worth

Bulma is drowning in self-doubt following her break-up with Yamcha, but comfort comes from the strangest of places as her seemingly insensitive Saiyan house guest reminds her that she is worth much more than she believed herself to be.

A three-year gap fic. One-shot.

My entry for @tpthvegebulsmutfest

Day 3: Just This Once

Also on Ao3.

Hi there! Mind if I join the DB fandom? :)

This is my first fan work for this fandom, in spite of being a fan of the series and an avid Vegebul shipper for literally decades. Why did I decide to do this now? Nearly all in-universe fics I have read so far have painted Bulma as a sexually-experienced woman. I wanted to explore the possibility of her being the innocent one in her relationship with Vegeta. I thought that perhaps this TPTH prompt would be the perfect chance to explore that idea.

This is also my first fanfic after being dormant since 2005, so please be gentle with criticisms.

And yes, this is most definitely smut. Enjoy!

8-8-8-8-8 

Worth

8-8-8-8-8

She looked absolutely miserable.

Granted, Vegeta would never consider himself particularly perceptive regarding emotions, never mind human emotions. One glance at the woman though, and even one as emotionally-stunted as himself could see that the woman was unwell.

He had been too busy training for the androids to notice anything that went on outside of the gravity chamber. All he knew was that after the explosion that damn near destroyed him along with the ship, the woman had been even more… friendly towards him. Perhaps she felt a peculiar kinship with him after having watched over his bed-ridden form for several days. Or maybe she believed that he had gained a modicum of humanity from his humbling experience and wanted to help him ease into their world.

Or maybe, she had always been like that, and he had just never realized it until then.

He had always treated her as just another pawn thrown into his life to help him attain a goal. A tool, if you may, to aide him with his mission to attain the legendary. A tool wrapped in a sinfully beautiful face and a body that could make lesser men weep, but a tool, nonetheless.

Regardless of his opinions of her though, even he could not deny that things had changed. He was more tolerant of her, more open to spending time with her, for reasons not even he himself could fathom. Somehow, whether he liked it or not, the little witch had grown on him.

The woman had the audacity to sit with him during his post-workout meals. She fuzzed over his minor injuries as if they were life-threatening, despite all the data she had regarding Saiyan physiology that showed that nothing short of a hole through his entire torso would have any lasting damage on him. Some of the said data came from samples he had allowed the silly woman to take from his own body, just to placate her into allowing him to train in peace.

He recognized her intellectual capacity as being far superior to those of the other beings living around her. She had inventions so advanced that they had to be kept in top secret facilities as the concepts were so far beyond their time that they had to wait for specialized parts to be invented or custom-made.

She was fiery, with a quick wit and temper matched only by his own. She would allow him to vent but would only take so much abuse until she decided to fire back at him. Their arguments were always epic, a volley of insult after insult, but he derived a perverted sense of satisfaction in watching her cheeks turn red with her indignation, her chest rising and falling aggressively with her deep, angry breaths.

It did not take a huge leap for him to imagine her in other situations that would make her flush and pant so powerfully.

But she had a mate, the weakling that often stayed with her, and Vegeta accepted that he had no business fantasizing about her.

That right there was another problem: he had been celibate for far too long, and the woman was too physically appealing. Especially when she was worked up, glaring at him fiercely, a harsh insult on the tip of her tongue.

Which was why her melancholy mood from the past few days struck him as strangely disconcerting.

He started to walk past the female’s forlorn form, seated on a barstool in the kitchen. Her hair, currently a straight cut that fell past her shoulders, shielded her eyes. She had not noticed him there yet, he could still make a run for it.

‘I shouldn’t interfere,’ he told himself. ‘This is none of my business. It is absolutely not my concern if the woman drives herself mad with whatever benign issue she has in mind.’

But damn, if he didn’t miss their quarrels… Her resistance to fix the bots he ruined. Her anger had become one of the highlights of his days, but she had been so out of touch recently that she had simply sighed and walked quietly to the gravity chamber the last time he demanded she repair his bots.

He refused to believe that what he felt was concern.

She heaved a dejected sigh that was so out of character for her that he had to pause and reassess.

‘I will approach her,’ he thought, wondering where this sudden streak of compassion had come from. Whether he would regret this lapse in judgment later…

‘I will approach her,’ he asserted to himself as he began to walk towards her. ‘I will get to the bottom of this nonsense and have the vitriolic harpy back into proper form. I will indulge her human propensity for talking about her problems, but… never again. It will be just this once.’

8-8-8-8-8

“Woman.”

The rough voice startled Bulma out of her self-imposed isolation. She was so focused on her misery, on blaming herself for how things had unfolded, that she didn’t realize that her ridiculously powerful Saiyan house guest was only a few feet away and seemingly intending to sit on a stool across from her.

She watched as he sat down gracefully, then his vivid eyes settled directly on her.

She looked around and noticed that he did not set out any food for himself, which was strange. He normally only ever went to the kitchen to eat, but here he was, seated almost primly before her, not a scrap of food in sight.

‘Maybe he wants me to make some for him,’ she mused. After all, she had done that for him for quite a few times. God forbid he tried to use an oven on his own.

She started to get up to find him something to eat, when his voice, and the unexpected words said in that voice, nearly made her fall off the chair completely.

“What has been bothering you?”

She gawked at him, completely unprepared for the question. ‘So he had noticed?’ she wondered as she righted herself again, still looking at him in surprise.

“Umm… I beg your p-pardon?” she stammered.

He sneered at her before he bit out, “You have been acting like a fool for several days, and I want to know why. Your morose mood may affect your ability to enhance my training room and I want you back in form. I will ask again, and you will answer me properly this instance: What. Has. Been. Bothering you?”

Bulma didn’t know if she should be offended or be touched by his question.

She mulled over it for a bit. What brought this on? Why did he want to know? Was he actually concerned about her?

She considered him her friend, after all. Perhaps he was finally beginning to accept her as his, as well.

Her thoughts had probably started to reflect themselves on her face, as he quickly barked out, “Don’t look at me like that! I just demand to know why my brilliant scientist is suddenly behaving like such a dejected fool.”

She bit back a smile at his words. ‘My scientist?’ she thought with a chuckle, knowing that he was probably too flustered to realize what he had said.

She tried to school her features into a blank mask as she looked back at him, mulling it over. ‘He’s gonna call me an idiot if I tell him. But he did ask.’

Taking a deep breath, she whispered one word, “Yamcha.”

A raised eyebrow was all she got from the Saiyan. “What about him?”

“We broke up.”

“What exactly did you break on him and why has that made you act the way you have been acting?”

She burst out laughing, the first time in days, a kind of cathartic release from the pain that her break-up had caused her.

Vegeta snarled in confusion, and just as he was about to yell at her, she started speaking.

“Vegeta, breaking up means that he is no longer my boyfriend. We are no longer together romantically,” she smiled at him, some of her earlier grief evaporating as she watched him scrunch his face up in confusion.

“Is that the reason why I have not seen his pathetic hide for several days now? I was under the impression that he was your mate,” Vegeta asked, genuinely confused.

“Mate?”

“A lover, a life partner. Like your father and your mother.”

“Oh no, Vegeta! Not like that!” she laughed sadly. “My parents are husband and wife. Yamcha was my boyfriend. It is not the same as being a married couple, but…” Bulma looked down at her hands before continuing. “It entails a certain level of commitment. One that we no longer have, now.”

“Well,” he began slowly, seeming to weigh her words. “If this is what your problem is, why don’t you just ask the weakling to come back?”

She sighed. “It’s not that simple, Vegeta. You see, Yamcha, he… He left me.”

“He was the one who chose to abandon you?” he sounded incredulous.

She nodded. “Yes. He cheated on me. He found someone else,” she laughed bitterly before she snarled out, “Someone who fulfilled his needs.”

A low growl from her alien house guest had her looking back up, and Bulma was startled to find an enraged look on Vegeta’s face. He looked nearly insulted, indignant, and she realized that he was angry on her behalf.

“The ungrateful weasel,” he hissed. “How dare he. Have you not given him everything?”

She was surprised by the level of hatred in his voice as he kept talking, “No self-respecting man, Saiyan or not, should ever be unfaithful to his chosen woman.”

Bulma stared in astonishment as apparently, her words touched on something that was a sensitive topic for the prince.

“I am staying in your home, in your debt, I recognize this fact,” he started again, surprising Bulma further, “But I intend to recompense you by defeating the androids. That fool, on the other hand, has taken from you, and he repays you by betraying you with another female?!”

Bulma felt tears spring to her eyes, touched by his words. Vegeta seemed genuinely enraged at the concept of Yamcha leaving her for another woman.

“You are a highly desirable female on this planet. You have given him your food, your time, shelter. You have given him pleasure, your body, and he dares-”

Her thoughts screeched to a halt at those words, and without thinking, her face redder than a ripe tomato, Bulma sputtered out, “No!”

Vegeta stopped ranting, looking at her in confusion. “No?” he asked, pausing to let her clarify.

She blushed even deeper, before she looked him dead in the eyes, “Vegeta… I never slept with Yamcha.”

“Tch,” he sneered. “Don’t lie to me woman. As loathe as I am to admit it, I can hear the sounds of your copulation through your bedchamber walls. He, specifically, can be disgustingly loud.”

“But you don’t hear me, right?” she asked, the flush refusing to leave her cheeks as she forced herself to keep her gaze on Vegeta.

The look he gave her then was so absolutely mystified that she had to choke back a laugh in spite of her debilitating embarrassment.

“Vegeta, we have… Umm… fooled around. But I have never had actual penetrative sex. Not with Yamcha, not with anyone. Ever. So yes, he may have gotten some pleasure out of me, but I never…” she stammered, before covering her face with her hands and whining, “Why am I even telling you this?”

The Saiyan sat back in his chair, silently mulling over her words. He was looking at his crossed arms, and appeared to be blushing a little as well, but Bulma was far too embarrassed to even think about needling him about it.

When he finally looked back up, he had a confused look on his face again.

“Why?” he whispered, almost too low for her to hear.

“Why what?”

“You were together for over a decade. You told me this. Why then did you never fornicate?”

Her humiliation vanished, replaced by guilt and sadness once again. “I… I don’t know. I honestly don’t understand it either. I mean, I loved him. I guess I was just never ready yet. I wanted to be ready, but I just couldn’t.”

 A sob broke out of her then, and she watched Vegeta tense in front of her, obviously uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken.

“I knew what he wanted. I wanted it too, at some point, but I just can’t. I always froze up and stopped him before we started,” a sardonic laugh escaped her as she shook her head, looking away from his piercing dark gaze. “I was always such a flirt too, you know, back when we were younger. I’ll bet he never expected me to give him a decade-long case of blue balls.”

A hint of bitterness entered her voice as she kept talking, “I tried to fix it. I agreed to touch him, to get the edge off, as he put it. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

She couldn’t stop her next words, as she had been thinking them repeatedly over the past week. “I should have just let him do it… This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have made him wait so long. It was just sex after all, and I could have just -”

“Woman, shut up,” her eyes widened as she snapped her eyes back to Vegeta, and was surprised by the anger that had sprung back into his eyes.

“Shut up. Stop thinking this way. This is not your fault.”

A gasp escaped her as what he said sunk in. She was about to refute him, but instead, he raised a hand to stop her self-pity party, his eyes still hard, but the softest she had ever seen them, and trained directly into her own.

“Listen woman, and listen well, for I will only ever say this once, and if you repeat this to anyone, I will deny having said every single word. The most valuable conquests are always those that you have waited for and worked hard to attain. The measure of a man can be counted only with victories that were hard-fought. You are a woman of worth. The wait and the effort he would have put into courting you should have challenged him to prove himself worthy of your surrender. If the weakling was foolish enough to indulge in inferior liaisons with other females as he grew impatient waiting for you to be ready to give yourself to him, then you were right to have never given in because he was clearly never man enough for you. You are not to blame for his infidelity. Never think that his indiscretion was due to your misgivings. You cannot, and must not, force yourself to lay with anyone if you do not want to. It is your body. Your mind, your life. For such things, you must never, ever compromise.”

His eyes grew even more intent on hers, “Now pull yourself back together, Bulma. He is not worth your misery. No man should be worth your tears.”

Bulma was stunned into silence. Vegeta, the alien prince who had spent his life exterminating countless civilizations, had just told her that she was not to blame for her break up. The biggest alpha male she had ever met was now sitting across from her, telling her to never compromise her body, and a cloud of happiness surged into her chest at being told that she did the right thing, to have stood up to Yamcha and not slept with him until she was sure and ready. Tears began to fill her eyes again, but this time with relief that someone else believed that what she did was right. And he had said her name.

Vegeta looked away from her dampening eyes, then slowly stood up and began to walk out of the kitchen.

“Vegeta,” she called, her voice hoarse with her unshed tears. “Vegeta, thank you.”

He nodded at her once, then walked away, his silent steps letting Bulma know that he was headed once again to his training room.

Her heart beat faster, hope blossoming in her chest as her eyes trailed after Vegeta long after he had left her line of sight, and in the back of her heart, a part she was yet unaware of, the name of the proud prince quietly started taking root.

8-8-8-8-8

Weeks passed quickly within the walls of Capsule Corp, and before she knew it, Bulma was buried in so much work that she had no time to eat, and even less time to dwell on her break up with Yamcha.

Vegeta certainly kept her busy: between all the broken bots and demands for more improvements to the gravity room, he always managed to find something for the blue-haired scientist to do. His latest demand: a set of armor to replace the last set that he owned, the one baring the holes that reminded him of his death on Namek-sei.

He was even bossier than before, but Bulma noticed that the man was also a lot more visible. Prior to their fateful conversation in the kitchen, she would sometimes go days without seeing him, but nowadays, like clockwork, he would be in the kitchen at midnight, impatiently tapping his feet while he waited for her to prepare (mostly just reheating what her mother had made) his dinner.

He routinely engaged her in petty little arguments that ended with them screaming at each other, but she could see a peculiar glint in his eyes that she at first could not understand. All she knew was that a side of her, the headstrong little she-devil as he liked to call her, enjoyed the verbal sparring, and she began to see that he did, too. After a few more days, she finally understood… He was doing it to distract her.

He was distracting her from her misery, and it was working. It was working very well. She would never acknowledge it since she just knew he would deny it, but she was unendingly thankful to him for what he was doing. She felt her heart softening more and more towards him, and though she could feel a change coming, she still, stubbornly, refused to name it.

And if his ultimate goal was distraction, well… Those glimpses of his perfect physique while he went about his business without a damn shirt on was definitely an even better strategy.

Physically pure she may be, but her thoughts, turning more and more lascivious at a frightening pace, were another matter entirely.

She had always acknowledged that Vegeta was very attractive. If she was being completely honest, that attractiveness was one of the reasons why she invited him to live with her in the first place.

However, it concerned her how easily she could daydream about touching those delicious Saiyan muscles nowadays, when she had previously been regarded as a prude by her ex-boyfriend. Her ex, whom she had loved for nearly 15 years. And whom she knew had also loved her.

Vegeta, on the other hand… She would be reaching if she even claimed that he may care. Or was she?

Tossing away her improper thoughts, she huffed, blowing her bangs away from her face, to concentrate on fixing the latest casualty of Vegeta’s ridiculous training regimen.

8-8-8-8-8

He knew what he was doing. He didn’t dare dwell on the why’s, but he damn well knew what he had been doing. Didn’t mean he was doing it willingly, and he cursed himself poignantly for his ridiculous actions.

Bulma was now a single woman. And he had unconsciously started moving in on her now that she was unattached.

He was furious with himself. The woman should be allowed time to heal, not to have a monster like himself suddenly trying to siddle in.

It had begun as him trying to, for once in his life, make things more pleasant for another. He wanted the spitfire woman to be back to normal, and he had an idea: He knew that he, personally, always managed to stave off any feelings when he had something to focus on, and he had begun piling work onto her, hoping it would have the same effect… And it did.

The woman worked with a single-minded intensity that amazed even him, barely stopping for breaks even when he could tell that her fragile human body was close to giving out.

He didn’t wish to go as far as bringing her fucking food to her, so he found a way to get her to eat. He started finishing his training at a fixed time, demanding that she make him some food, then giving her some of the said food so she had some sustenance. A couple of weeks later, a routine had been established: they would both stop what they were doing at midnight, head to the kitchen, and she would cook while he waited, then they both ate in increasingly comfortable silence.

He wanted to blast his own face apart with his Galick Gun, livid at his perceived hypocrisy. The Prince of all Saiyans, trying to cozy up to a human woman, whom he knew was probably still nursing a broken heart. He felt like a fiend.

And worse of all, he did not understand why he was doing it, and being the coward that he currently thought himself to be, he adamantly refused to analyze his own motivations. At first he thought he was doing it to get into her pants, but he realized he was wrong when he started thinking less about what she would look like naked, and more of what else he could do to erase the haunted look lingering in the edges of her eyes.

“Fuck!” he screamed in irritation, hurtling a tremendous ki blast at a bot, only for it to dodge, with his blast ending up frying the gravity room’s control panel. The emergency lock down that Bulma had installed after the old ship blew up engaged, and he flew up and crashed harshly into the domed ceiling as the 450g gravity stopped weighing him down.

The woman’s face, smudged with what appeared to be axel grease, was immediately on the communication screen, the lockdown sequence also alerting her that something had gone wrong.

“Vegeta, what-”

“Woman, I am fine,” he flew to levitate in front of her image, quickly cutting off her rising panic. “I missed a fucking bot and blew up the controls. Now you need to fix it.”

“Dammit Vegeta, I told you to be more careful with the room! No amount of reinforcements can protect the sensitive control panel from you!” She rubbed her forehead in agitation.

“I can’t fix it today. I used some of the special spare parts on a machine that locked up in the main engine room, and I need to wait a couple of days for the parts to be delivered. You’re gonna have to find another way to occupy yourself, in the meantime.”

“Woman,” he growled threateningly. “That is unacceptable. Another day I waste not training is another day I do not get strong enough to destroy the androids. We only have less than two years to go and I have not ascended yet!”

“And I still can’t fix that thing today! I don’t have the components!” she shot back, before an idea seemingly came to her and a smile lit up her face.

Vegeta just stared at her brilliant eyes, then angrily shook himself out of whatever-the-hell-that-was when she started speaking again.

“I know! Come down into my lab and we can test out your armor!” she enthused, and he immediately perked up at the mention of his Saiyan attire. She had been working on it for weeks, saying she needed to figure out some compounds to toughen up the material while keeping it malleable enough to wear comfortably.

“Have you finished it?” he asked, barely managing to hide his own enthusiasm at seeing Bulma so animated.

“I think so. I have been testing out my prototype and it has managed to stand up to the strength tests. Your ki blasts are stronger than any artificial energy I could produce though, so I would like to see if it could withstand your ki. It is also soft enough to wear now, unlike my first failed attempt,” she laughed, and Vegeta smirked as he too recalled the unfortunate first suit that could indeed stand up to ki blasts, but was also so tough that he could not put it on.

“You will fix this infernal machine once the parts arrive?” he asked again, just to clarify.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I will fix my beautiful creation that you destroy again and again, once the parts arrive.”

Nodding once, he shut off the communication link before exiting the gravity room, heading for the woman’s personal laboratory.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma was practically vibrating in excitement as Vegeta entered her lab. He was sweaty and a bit haggard, but like his gravity-defying hair, he stood proud and straight, looking around her lab expectantly.

Bulma inwardly groaned as she realized that her mind was currently squealing about how handsome he was, standing there in his tiny lycra shorts and those droplets of sweat clinging to his amazing body, honed and toned by years of hard work.

“It’s in here!” she called out, pointing to a box on the table beside her.

He approached her silently, peering into the box that she had opened, pulling out the blue battle suit and the white breastplate. She handed him the breastplate first, and she watched as he pulled it onto his torso, testing the elasticity.

She noted how the armor hugged him perfectly, nodding in satisfaction as it became apparent that the breastplate was now wearable.

Next, they had to test the strength. Vegeta took the armor off and held it in his left hand, then pulled back his right hand and gave it a solid punch. His punch was strong enough to start tremors within her lab, and she grinned proudly when the armor didn’t even budge.

Vegeta looked up and caught her eye, an impressed smirk on his lips. He then opened up his fist, clearly intending to try a ki blast, before he stopped and regarded her again.

“Woman, you may want to stand back,” he said softly, and Bulma nodded, going behind him to shield herself with his strong body.

He released a small ki blast, and Bulma shrieked in excitement when the armor simply absorbed the energy. Vegeta then used more energy on another blast, and another, slowly increasing intensity until he stopped, turned to face her, and to Bulma’s eternal shock, he grinned, a genuinely happy light entering his obsidian eyes.

“Great work, woman,” he remarked, and Bulma was so ridiculously happy about her success that without thinking, she laughed giddily and grabbed Vegeta around his neck in a big hug.

She felt him stiffen, dropping the armor in his hands to the floor. Realizing what she had done, she moved to release him…

Or at least, she tried to, but his arms, far stronger than her own, suddenly wound around her waist. She looked down at his arms in surprise, not quite believing the sensation of his embrace until she saw it with her own eyes.

A choked sound escaped his throat, and she looked up at his face, her own flushing at the intensity of his gaze.

He was staring at her, piercing her soul with this eyes, and before Bulma knew what was happening, she felt his lips against her own, and her heart burst in elation as his lips moved firmly, demandingly, coaxing a strangled moan from her as she heatedly kissed him back.

His hands roamed her back, caressing her arms, clutching at her sides, as his kiss dominated her, her mouth desperately keeping up with his urgent but gentle movements. She heard him groan against her lips when she moved one hand to clutch at the hair on the back of his neck, the other moving down to greedily grasp the hard planes of his chest.

He wrenched his lips away from her mouth, only to turn his attentions to her throat. She moaned deeply as her hands moved to grasp his forearms, finally feeling the ridges that she had previously memorized with her eyes.

Her sounds seemed to spur him on, as he suddenly grabbed her by the waist with his two large hands, lifting her onto her desk as she impulsively wrapped her legs around his hips. He kept kissing her, becoming more forceful, even as her nails began to rake almost painfully across his muscled back.

A near animalistic growl reached her ears and she found her blouse pulled roughly down her shoulders, trapping her upper arms against her as he continued to ravage her neck, quickly going lower, and she felt his rough tongue lapping nearly at the tops of her breasts. She cried out in delight, clutching his head with her hands, egging him on.

However, as suddenly as he started, Vegeta suddenly reared back, panic in his eyes as he held her back at arm’s length.

“B-Bulma…” he stammered, eyes wide, and she tried to reach for him, to pull him back to her, but he was suddenly gone, the only sign that he was ever there was the breeze left behind by his speed, in his haste to leave.

Numb with shock as what just transpired finally registered in her brain, Bulma slowly adjusted her top, noting that the seams had been torn by his forceful pulling. She stared down at the armor on the floor, reeling from the chaotic thoughts crowding her mind.

But the foremost thought screaming at her from inside her head, was asking just one thing…

‘What the hell just happened?’

8-8-8-8-8

It has been three days since Vegeta fled Capsule Corp, seeking the calming refuge of a quiet wilderness. He had proceeded to systematically decimate the said wilderness, and when no structure or living thing remained standing, he had morosely sat down in the center of the wide span of land, his mind in chaos, his hands itching to either do more damage or cling to the woman that he had run away from.

“Fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself, lifting his hand and sending a ki blast onto something that moved in his peripheral vision. He was a mess, he knew, but he had no idea what to do to fix this debacle that he just foolishly thrust himself into.

What had he been thinking?! He was a horrible person and should not dare to touch a woman whose hands were unsoiled by death

But she was so soft, and she smelled so good, and he had been thinking about her so much in the last few days that when she touched him, he lost his damn mind and let himself ravage her.

He thought many times about just leaving Earth altogether, so he could gather his wits about him, but something held him back. He still couldn’t identify it, this damned feeling in the back of his head, that made him impulsively touch her.

She was broken, lonely, and most likely still hurting. And he, a career assassin who never felt anything more than irritation over killing off entire races of beings, felt like an absolute ass about taking advantage of her this way.

But then he realized, he was lonely, too. He always had been. And in Bulma’s loneliness, he started seeing her as a kindred spirit who could complement his own solitude.

He needed to go back.

He blanched at the idea of going back to Capsule Corp, but he steeled himself, mentally protesting that he was no fucking coward and he can go and face the heiress whenever he pleased.

8-8-8-8-8

It was past midnight, but Bulma lay awake, unable to sleep. He was back. She knew he was back, the moment he stepped into her home. She didn’t know how, she had no ki control or detection skills to speak of, but she just knew. She felt it when he went in to take his shower. Knew his routine, that he always washed himself right after coming back from any venture, or right after his nightly meal.

And she was going to speak to him tonight, whether he liked it or not.

When he left three days ago, she realized that all the misery, loneliness and self-blame that she thought she had gotten over had all suddenly come back. Vegeta, brash and uncouth as he was, was the one keeping her sadness at bay, in ways he didn’t even seem to realize.

She didn’t know what it was about him, but she wanted to reach out to him, touch the loneliness she can feel in his heart and heal it with her own. She wanted to hold him in her arms and give him the same comfort and reassurance that he had given her when he told her all those weeks ago that her break up was not her fault.

But mostly, she wanted him here, to help her figure out why, why, she felt this way about him now, and just what this feeling was.

She had been in love before, and she knew what love was. But being around Vegeta was something different, and she couldn’t tell if it was just an intense longing or an even stronger emotion that she absolutely wished to not put a name to just yet.

He was confusing her, and she was sure she was confusing him.

But mostly, she was appalled at what she discovered as she picked up the pieces of herself after he ran off right after kissing her.

She knew, that if he had tried to have sex with her then, she would have let him have his way with her.

It made no sense, how she was so, so ready for him now, in a way she had never been ready in a previous relationship that lasted 15 years.

She was terrified, but in her mind, she knew that this awakened need would not go away until she found a way to make him touch her. She knew that her virgin sensibilities had flown out the window the moment he clutched her close to his body, and she knew that, her inexperience notwithstanding, she truly, undeniably, wanted him.

She started walking towards his room, the one he had selected when he first came to earth to live with her and her family. And as she came closer and closer to the door, she also came to the realization that she didn’t really have any plans regarding what to do or what to say to him. All she knew was that she needed to see him.

She stood outside his door, nerves frazzled as she quickly tried to come up with a way to start a conversation, to have an idea even, of what she was actually doing there.

She ran out of time when he suddenly opened the door, looking at her through narrowed eyes, his body language taut and seemingly ready for flight.

And just like that, she knew what she had to do.

8-8-8-8-8

Vegeta stared at Bulma with trepidation, stepping aside to make way for her, in a silent ascent to let her into his sanctuary. She walked in with a tiny smile, letting herself sit at the corner of his bed, gazing at him through her bright blue eyes.

He felt exposed, standing before her in only his wet hair and loose sweatpants, berating himself for feeling exposed when he knew for a fact that she had seen him wearing much less.

The woman was wearing a thin blue sleeping gown, a thin robe covering her further to protect her from the chilly night air. She appeared unsure of herself, looking everywhere but at him. She then seemed to steel herself, and she looked straight at him, finding her words before he could even think of what to say.

“I fixed the gravity chamber,” she began, her smile widening slightly. “I made some adjustments to the control panel, too. I placed a specially crafted fiberglass material over the controls. It is made from a polymer that I derived from the components I used to make your armor, as that seemed to withstand your ki blasts well enough. I’m not sure it can withstand a direct hit from you, but it can easily stand up to stray blasts. I hope it works well enough.”

“Hnn,” he nodded, uneasy at her cheerful tone and news. He was anxiously waiting for her to begin screaming at him, either for kissing her, or for disappearing without a word.

She surprised him, yet again, when her lips curved into a full blown smile, and she whispered conspiratorially, loud enough for him to hear, “Also, I enjoyed that thing we did in my lab, and I really wouldn’t mind if we tried that again.”

His jaw dropped in shock, reminded that he had initially thought her a “vulgar woman”.

“What?”

“Oh come on, Vegeta. You heard me,” she blushed deeply even as she grinned widely. “I liked it. I wish you hadn’t stopped.”

“W-woman, are you insane?” Vegeta raged, but Bulma stayed seated, seemingly nonplused in the face of his ire. “I took advantage of you there. Why aren’t you angry?”

She just smiled at him, and a blush stole across his own cheeks as he snarled, “Stop smiling! Are you messing with me?”

Her smile dimmed slightly into a more placating stretch of her lips, rather than the earlier almost tauntingly wide, full toothed grin.

“Vegeta, I am not kidding. I really did enjoy it. And I want you to continue where you left off.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded, his guilt at what he had done gnawing at him as he bit out, “Woman you are mad. You ask me to continue? Do you know how much farther I would have continued if I hadn’t caught myself?”

Bulma stood then, walking towards him with her eyes locked onto his, hips swaying tantalizingly, reminding him of how those thighs felt as he clutched them against his waist on that day in her lab. Oh, how he remembered, and now his body remembered it as well. He could feel heat rising within his chest, his mind growing fuzzy as he smelled her delicious scent more strongly as she came closer, and closer…

“Yes, I know. And I want you to,” she whispered as she closed the distance between them, and he could hear her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her chest. She was nervous, he could tell, but she was also determined. “You told me not to compromise my mind and my body. I am not compromising it now. I want you, Vegeta. And I think, you really want me, too.”

He almost reared back, but her small hand, pressed softly against his abdomen, almost felt like a balm on his soul and could not move away. “Bulma,” he started, realizing his mistake when her mouth opened for a soft, pleased gasp, obvious delight filling her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips.

“I will not insult your intelligence by lying to you and denying that I do. I would very much like to have you in my bed, woman. But tell me,” he paused, searching her eyes, “You have not allowed any human male to taint you for as long as you have lived. Why would you decide to give in to a being like me?” he asked, desperately needing her to understand that her body, her beautiful, precious body, should not be squandered on a man like him.

He felt unworthy as he thought back to all the atrocities he committed, all the cheap fucks he had indulged in, and as he wallowed in self-disgust, a voice in the back of his head kept asking him why he even cared enough about this human woman’s welfare to attempt to turn her down on such a delectable offer.

She simply smiled beguilingly at him, her hand on his abs moving up to take purchase on his chest, as the dainty fingers of her other limb moved softly across his cheek.

“I don’t know why, my prince,” she all but cooed as her face started moving closer to his own, her lips barely a hair’s breadth away. “All I know is I want this with you, and I don’t care if you never wish to come near me again, but I need you… I need to know what it’s like… I am ready. And I want to do this with you.”

Something about the way she said that she needed him, wanted him, made something snap inside Vegeta, and he growled, wrapping one arm around her waist as his other hand quickly fisted into her thick hair, pulling her impossibly close. His eyes narrowed, his desire manifesting in his gaze.

“I am no good for you woman. But I will fuck you,” he rasped out, a gasp escaping her as he smelled her arousal like a thick perfume, clinging to each particle of air in the room. “And I need you to really feel, Bulma, because it will only be just this once.”

She sighed, sagging against him as her knees buckled, before she responded, “Yes, just this once.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma nearly fainted as the full intensity of Vegeta’s masculinity hit her, a seemingly tactile wave of pleasure that reached her even before his lips descended hungrily onto hers. He was so warm, inhumanly so, but in spite of his heat, goosebumps sprang up all over her body as his hands began to roam, his powerful legs quickly backing her up until her knees hit the edge of his bed.

It felt as if he was everywhere at once, his body wrapping her in its force as he hastily pulled her robe off of her so he could touch more of her flesh. Her thin, sleeveless night gown might as well have been gone for all the cloth did to keep her from feeling his hands as they skimmed across her stomach, winding around her back as he kissed her with even more fervor than the last time.

His lips crushed against hers, taking no prisoners as she gasped, and his tongue swept into the recesses of her mouth like he was starved and desperate for her taste. Bulma arched up, pushing her breasts against his hard chest and he growled against her as he pushed down and made them both fall onto his bed.

She could only hold on to his arms as he assaulted her senses, and she felt a peculiar wetness between her legs, something that she had not experienced with Yamcha. She still could not understand why she hadn’t felt this way for a man she had spent so many years with, and yet she felt so much desire for Vegeta, a man whose sanity and capacity to care for her and Earth were probably tenuous at best.

The Saiyan finally abandoned her lips, moving southward, lavishing her neck with wet licks and strong nips that she just knew would leave large bruises on her skin. His hands, previously holding onto her hips and waist, moved upwards, meeting his lips that had begun to taste the skin at the tops of her breasts.

She felt too hot, but she wanted more, and she found herself uselessly pulling at her night dress in an effort to pull it out of the way so she can have Vegeta touch her more. He seemed to understand, and he reared up, grabbing a hold of her dress, before he savagely ripped it apart, exposing her body in a quick second.

He stayed above her, kneeling as he looked down at her body, his eyes feasting on her nakedness. Bulma flushed deeply as he stared hungrily at her, and she almost moved her hands to cover herself, but a low, warning rumble sounded from deep inside Vegeta’s chest and she obediently kept her hands at her sides.

When he leaned back down again, Bulma was surprised when he gave her a gentle, probing kiss instead of the hot, urgent kisses from earlier. She sighed deeply, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as his hands continued exploring her form, until his questing hands reached down and cupped her right breast.

She gasped into his kiss, her eyes flying open as he began to squeeze her breast. Vegeta broke their liplock, leaving her to pucker her lips in desperation for more. He merely chuckled, before he began to lick and ravish her throat once again, going lower and lower until his sinfully soft lips finally reached her chest and searchingly wrapped around one of her nipples.

She arched her back, pushing her chest closer to Vegeta’s mouth as a sharp cry of pleasure flew from her startled lips. He sucked on her breast, moving to pleasure the other as he had done to its twin.

Bulma was shaking, the pleasure already too much, and he was only at her chest! She curled her fingers into his thick hair, unthinkingly calling out broken fragments of her lover’s name.

Vegeta’s questing hands felt like they were everywhere at once, and she suddenly found that he had already reached down and was caressing the inside of her thighs.

When had she even spread her legs?! When did she lose her underwear?

She was utterly lost in sensation, and she cried out when his large, calloused hand started edging closer to her center. When he finally cupped her there, she swore that she literally saw stars.

He started kissing her lower abdomen, and Bulma’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that he was about to look… down there. She had seen that place, and it was not very pretty. She didn’t know if she wanted to buck him off or egg him on, as every touch he had bestowed her with so far had been delightful, but she was nervous about letting him see her there.

He must have felt her trepidation because he stopped, his dark eyes looking up at her questioningly.

And suddenly, Bulma, strong, outspoken and sometimes vulgar Bulma, felt her tongue turn to cotton as she tried to speak.

“Ve-Ve-Vegeta,” she rasped out, a deep flush covering her face to her upper chest. “Down there, I…”

He simply smirked at her, “Woman, just take it, alright? I told you to just feel,” he said to her, his devastatingly handsome face distracting her just enough that she didn’t realize that his hand had again travelled down to her core, rubbing her nether lips lightly, making her quake with desire.

She watched as he moved down, eyes searching for her center, and she saw a pleased smile stretch his face as he murmured, “I have never seen a human female’s sex organ before. This,” he crooned, inserting one finger inside her, making her gasp, “is most definitely much more attractive than any other that I have seen.”

Bulma couldn’t even summon enough brain power to quip back at him, as his middle finger slowly began to inch deeper and deeper inside her. She let out a keening noise as another pleasurable shudder racked her body, but Vegeta, apparently as merciless in bed as he was on the battlefield, simply smirked lasciviously, and began pumping his finger in and out of her.

“You are soaking, Bulma,” he remarked, at once embarrassing and arousing her further.

She wanted to lurch forward, thrashing around wildly, but one strong arm placed across her stomach stopped her aggressive movements. She could only watch, helpless but frighteningly aroused, as Vegeta continued to fuck her with his finger, and she could feel a strong pressure start to build up from deep inside her gut.

He increased the speed of his pumping finger and suddenly added a second one, and Bulma felt a spasm begin from deep inside her core, washing over her body until she could do nothing but scream, shocked at the feeling rushing through her body as she shook, realizing quickly that the incredible feeling washing over her was an orgasm.

She was still reeling from her release when Vegeta suddenly pulled his fingers out of her body, and just as she thought he was going to give her a chance to catch her breath, he suddenly grasped her hips with two powerful hands, pulled her towards him, and gave her center a long, languid lick.

Bulma screamed in shock, both at the action and at the pleasure he caused her. She called out his name, not really sure why, but he proceeded to ignore her as he dove down and crushed his mouth against her core. She could feel him kissing her, licking her, his tongue entering her there the way he had pillaged her mouth, and Bulma thrashed about, her arms desperately searching for something to hold onto. Her hands found purchase in his spiked hair, and she curled her fingers into the thick strands as he continued to pleasure her with his mouth.

The now familiar pressure started to build in her again, and Bulma cried out, closing her eyes as she tried to fight off the near hysteria she felt as her climax started taking over her body again.

Vegeta licked her again and again, before suddenly giving a sharp nip to the hard nub above her opening, and the pleasure that washed over her then was so intense that the scream she had been about to release got stuck in her throat, leaving Bulma a gasping mess, barely able to breathe.

She had tears standing in her eyes and she couldn’t quite believe that Vegeta, of all people, was this amazingly good in bed.

He started to crawl up her body, and for the first time, Bulma noticed that he was already naked. She had to wonder when he took his pants off, before her eyes traveled down to fully take in the glorious sight of a fully naked Vegeta.

He was, in a word, magnificent.

His body was absolute perfection, well-muscled and without an ounce of extra fat. Each muscle was well defined, covered in delicious caramel skin.

And when she looked down between his powerful thighs, oh! He was as thick, hard and perfect down there as the rest of his body was.

She reached down, wanting to touch him too, as he had given her so much pleasure and she wanted to give some back. She knew how to do this, as she had reluctantly done this for Yamcha before. But Vegeta’s hand on her wrist gave her pause, and she saw his dark eyes narrow at her before he wordlessly pushed her back to lie down onto the bed.

She didn’t resist when he moved to cover her with his body, his powerful hips cradled between her thighs, his erection pressed snug against her lower abdomen. She thought he was about to enter her, but instead, he planted his arms on either side of her, then he hunched down and kissed her soundly once again, his lips even gentler now, and as he coaxed sighs out of her with his lips, she felt him align himself against her entrance and start to push in.

She stiffened, nervous about the intrusion. He looked impossibly big to her, and despite all of her knowledge on human anatomy, she suddenly had the irrational fear that he might not fit.

His right hand started running up and down her left arm in a soothing caress, seemingly trying to wordlessly reassure her that he was going to take care of her. His tender manner in bed, so unlike his usual gruff self, made tears spring to Bulma’s eyes, and she kissed him passionately as she felt him finally enter her.

A short, sharp pain shot through her, and then…

That was it. She wasn’t a virgin anymore.

She found that she had no regrets, and as Vegeta gasped above her, she looked up into his face and was astounded at how beautiful he was right in that moment.

She was having sex with Vegeta. And it was glorious.

She felt as he pulled back slightly, then pushed back in slowly, and she looked into his eyes as he stared into her own, both gauging what the other was feeling. Bulma then smiled and reached up, stroking his cheek tenderly, before she arched up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Vegeta took that as his cue, and he started pumping in and out of her body, at first slow and gentle, and gaining speed as they went. She tried to keep up, raising herself to meet his thrusts, and soon, they were writing against each other, mindless in their pleasure.

Soon enough, Bulma was lost again, gasping incoherently as Vegeta took her breath away with each movement, each delicious pull and push into her wanting core. Her hands reached around him to clutch his back, his buttocks, clinging to him desperately as he drove them closer and closer to completion.

Vegeta was groaning now, his eyes closed as he rested his forehead against her own, his hips growing more and more desperate as he too started chasing his own completion.

Right as Bulma felt the climax creeping onto her again, Vegeta opened his eyes, his  gaze unwavering, refusing to let her look away as he continued to pleasure her. His hands had started getting restless, and he stroked, caressed, and squeezed each part of her he could reach as his steady rhythm started to falter, as her cries kept growing louder, and both knew that the other was oh, so close.

And suddenly, Bulma’s peak came, crashing over like a tidal wave, and in her moment of ecstasy, she felt Vegeta lose himself within her as well, her name spilling from his lips in a mix of a groan and a sigh, the sound of which, Bulma will remember for the rest of her life.

He collapsed then, half on and half off of her, his breathing hard and labored, and Bulma tangled her hands again into his hair.

She sighed, content, amazed at what sex was like, or at least, at what sex with Vegeta was like.

Tomorrow, her doubts would surface again. She would again analyze and over analyze everything that took place tonight until her head ached, but for tonight…

Tonight, she would rest and be careless. Just this once.

8-8-8-8-8

END

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day3justthisonce #october 2017 smutfest #vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfic #dragon ball #i am so nervous about posting this oh god #scarletraven fanfiction #fall 2017 smutfest #Convergence fic series

[awed-frog]

I just want to say - this is what worked for me, and this is my personal experience, so it’s not a universal truth or anything like that, but since I’ve been accused, again, of inducing a panic attack in someone, I thought I’d share.

[suicide stuff under the cut]

So, the thing is, I’ve been luckier than most - I know that, and I am truly thankful for it. Nonetheless, I’ve still gone through episodes of abuse and depression and general life misery. The event that likely marked me the most occurred twelve years ago, almost to the day (the anniversary was last month), when a friend of mine committed suicide and I was forced to deal with the consequences. That included telling everyone (friends, relatives, our professors, his girlfriend), speaking with the police, and also accompanying his father to a funeral home to pick a casket and arrange trasportation and try to be there for him as he fell apart over his son’s dead body. For reasons I won’t go into now, despite the fact I was a kid myself, it was all on me. It was a horrendous few days which stretched into an awful summer and a difficult couple of years after that. I went through the usual stages - I was angry with my friend for a long time - but this post is not about that. What I meant to say is - I was in a bad place for months after his death. I couldn’t study, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t sleep. I could barely leave the house. It was hard being with people and it was hard being alone. I was lower than low, and most things would reduce me to a sobbing mess. And the reason I’m telling you guys this is because I think that, in a way, the turning point for me was going to the theater with my mom - she’d chosen a comedy, it was the first time I’d been out of my bedroom in weeks - and, I don’t know - things went okay for about twenty minutes before someone made a fleeting reference to a 19-year-old cousin who’d died in a car crash - and, since my friend had been 19 himself, I was immediately overcome with tears and had to run out of the theater. My mother followed me, and on the way home I think I insulted her and shouted at her for forcing me to go to the movie - and she just took it, without saying anything. The next morning, however, she told me that my behaviour had been out of line. 

(“I understand that things are difficult right now, and you feel everything is about you and your pain, but unfortunately that’s not true. The world is not about you, and you can’t be angry at it for not conforming to your needs. I will help you in every way I can to get past this, but this is something you must acknowledge.”)

Man, it’s difficult to think back to that summer, and I’m not sure if this will be useful to anyone, but the thing is, my mom was right. I was so miserable and broken inside that I could be pushed over the edge by anything - one line in a comedy movie, a waitress mixing up my order, the wrong photograph in the paper, the colour blue (his eyes), foxes (he’d been in love with Le petit prince), a certain brand of tea, people crying, people laughing, people doing literally anything - and my grief had been made worse by the sheer fury I felt - by the fact the entire world could so unthinkingly push painful things under my nose day in, day out - could make me start to grieve all over again without even trying - but those words made me realize I was going about things the wrong way. It was unfair, maddening, and hard to accept, but - my mom was right. My mom was right. And so, as difficult as it was, from that day on, and for months, I did my best to stay away from everything I didn’t know (and, therefore, from things that could hurt me). I didn’t read any newspapers and didn’t watch the news (which was a huge sacrifice), I didn’t start any new novels or movies (ditto), I didn’t even see all that many people, and not anyone who didn’t know what was going on with me. In fact, I limited my world to things I knew and trusted wouldn’t set me off - old children’s books, a dozen of movies I knew by heart, some embroidering. And I waited. And waited. And waited some more. And eventually, slowly, painfully, I got better. I got over the paralizing sadness, the anger, the huge sense of injustice and missed potential and sheer unfairness that a 19-year-old boy would choose to die (would make me his fucking guardian angel, and way too late to save him). 

Looking back, I realize that’s when I stopped writing fiction, and it’s only because of Supernatural, because of the fanfiction community, that I’ve been back at all, and for that, I am very, very grateful. Writing stories is a huge, crucial part of who I am, and I don’t know how I managed to even breathe during those ten years I didn’t write a word. And, to be completely honest, writing is mostly everything I am, but is also, inevitably, upsetting, because I tend to go as deep as I can in all sort of feelings, and I often touch on some flayed thing inside me that, I don’t know, maybe wasn’t meant to be touched. 

(Or maybe it was.) 

In any case - as I said, precisely because I know what writing these stories does to me, and I know what a profound experience reading can be, I always try to be there for my readers. But as a meta writer and a fic writer who sometimes deals with shitty things because, well, our show’s canon is incredibly shitty, beyond tagging the most problematic things and keeping both my inbox and my email open 24/7 for questions, spoilers, and hugs, there’s not much I can do. So, well, I do my best, and I do not appreciate being accused of ruining someone’s entire life when all I’m doing is writing a story and posting it on AO3 with the appropriate warnings. 

So - please remember that it’s not my responsibility to protect you and look out for you, and, more importantly, that I am not capable of doing so. I’m not in your head - I don’t know your pain, your past, what is too much and what isn’t. I simply do not. As I said, I don’t go out of my way to upset people, and I always encourage readers to come and talk to me, even before reading my fics, if they’ve got any questions about the triggers I listed or the direction the story will move towards, but the thing is, if you’re so upset and affected by non-graphic fanfiction, by innocent discussions about a show’s characters (by the mere existence of a specific character, in fact) - by a whole series of things that are commonly found in the world around you - well, don’t take it out on me, because that’s not on me. Please, look after yourself instead of shouting at me. Take your time, build your walls, ask for support instead of policing my behaviour, and come back to a life of starting new fics and sailing the unpredictable waves of the internet when you know you can take it. I know it worked for me, and I truly hope it will work for you, too. Really - I wish you all the best. 🖤

#fanfiction #triggers #suicide for ts #depression for ts #panic attack #trigger warnings #spn fanfiction #spn fandom #mental health #personal