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sarahw-writing · 6 years

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“Let It Snow” - 03 Fire

Well guys, here's the new prompt!

I finished it a few days ago, but my Christmas and post-Christmas days have been a bit busier than I first anticipated, so it took me a little longer to find the time to edit this one.

I've actually enjoyed one of my best Christmas in a long time, and I really hope that you've all had an amazing time too!

I hope you like this one, and Happy New Year!!!

Summary:

After a highly unusual Christmas Eve, Vegeta will take delight in an even more remarkable Christmas Day...

This may or may not be a naughty prompt, so as always:

You can read the uncensored version on AO3.

You can read the censored version on FF.

Or you can keep reading under the break:

03. Fire.

Vegeta stood his ground in the midst of the storm, feet firmly planted on the barren rocks as an endless tidal of vast, raging waves broke against his immobile form, buried amongst a flood of tempestuous waters, an ocean just as turbulent as the thoughts suffocating his perturbed heart.

He could still feel them, he could still feel those small hands clutching his sweater in her sleep as she’d drifted off in his nervous embrace the night before, just like he could still hear those drowsy, whispery words, begging him to stay after he’d carried her to her bed, trying to carefully untangle her arms from his neck, and get her to let go of him, with no success.

“Please don’t go…” Bulma murmured in his ear, shimmery eyes still half-open, but already drizzled with sleep.

It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying how easy it’d been for him to obey her wishes last night, sensing his body freely choosing to stay beside her long before his mind could catch up with his own reckless actions.

He’d quietly removed his shoes, trying to ignore the nerve-racking emotion that that pair of greedy little hands evoked inside of him, obstinately refusing to set him free, not even after he managed to sneak into her girly bed, joining her under the covers and lying with her.

At first, the Prince had expected a repeat of their first night together in the infirmary, hoping for the sleepy earthling to release him, perhaps curling by his side, now that she’d finally convinced him to ease her loneliness by keeping her company.

But Bulma’s body seemed to have different plans for him, and it wasn’t long before the intrepid woman broke the rules, one more time, smashing yet another one of his boundaries by getting even closer, pressing her lithe figure against his pitifully trembling one, and holding onto him as if she’d always been meant to be right in his arms.

The weak hands that had once been draped around his strong neck for support, had now found refuge in the broad protectiveness of his chest, tiny fingers grasping his warm clothing as her legs naturally entangled themselves with his own, languidly rubbing her cheek against his flushed neck in exactly the same way she had when she’d leaned into him underneath that white mantle of snow.

Everything in her was soft, gentle, so terribly inviting that his anxious indecision quickly vanished into thin air, chasing the memory of the chaste cuddle they’d both indulged in outside, and instinctively trapping her in his arms, binding her in a placid hold as the longest sigh caressed his skin, as if the only thing she’d ever needed to find some peace was for him to give into her humble pleas.

She’d felt smaller than ever beneath his touch, and he couldn’t help but panic at the realization of just how fragile, how absurdly defenseless she truly was, and how brave it’d been for such a delicate creature to get as close to him as she undeniably had, not only in the physical but in the emotional realm, touching and reaching out to him, tugging at his darkened heart in ways no one ever had.

He’d hardly gotten any rest that night, merely dozing on and off from time to time, acting like some inexperienced juvenile as he watched her sleep with ingenuous fascination. He couldn’t deny to himself any longer that he’d fantasized with a moment such as this more times than he could count, yet no fantasy would ever come close to the sensation of that minute body flowing in his hands, that slow, rhythmic breathing reminding him of how marvelously comfortable the gutsy woman felt in his presence.

Vegeta spent the night drowning in the purity of her essence, in that clean, lily-white scent incessantly emanating from her. And, either he was getting close, dangerously close to losing whatever remained of his sanity, or he had, as sure as creed, heard his name slipping from her lips in her state of blissful unconsciousness.

The Prince had, at least, possessed enough willpower left in him to part from her before she’d rise and shine, reluctantly disentangling his needy body from her own deprived one, and giving her one last, longing glance as he’d stood on her balcony, a defeated figure bathed by the early rays of sunshine, devouring the heart-wrenching sight of the small woman swaddled in a cocoon of pink sheets and floral blankets, whining faintly in her sleep, lamenting the loss of the man who’d kept her safe all through the night.

His new masterplan had taken shape the moment he’d flopped down exhaustedly on his miserable bed, furious with himself for having behaved, yet again, like some silly puppet in the hands of that wicked woman, gladly allowing himself to fall into whatever sentimental trap she’d conceived, and built, especially for him, and vowing to duck out from that blasted house as soon as he squeezed in a few vital hours of sleep.

But then Panchy Briefs had to make another one of her annoying entrances, barging into his room with her perky giggles and that disconcerting, maternal tone, followed by another irresistible whiff of succulent foods and, before he knew, he was sitting at the table once more, impotent to escape the nightmare that these infernal ‘Christmas’ celebrations had become.

He’d partly found some consolation in the abundant feast of tasty goodies, and in the comforting fact that the only ones enjoying with him that heavenly ‘Christmas Day’ lunch would be Dr. Briefs and his peppy wife.

And then she came along, brightening up the whole place with her invigorating presence, and making the food in his mouth instantly fall into his stomach, hard as a rock, when she brazenly sat right in front of him with zero hesitation.

There had been no fancy jewels or elaborated hairdos this time but, much to his shame, the Prince had been entirely unable to keep his eyes off her throughout the whole meal, powerless to ignore those shiny blue curls, which she’d chosen to carelessly set free, or that simple, but oddly elegant, little black dress, with long sleeves and a demure décolletage, openly exposing the most kissable collarbones with every casual flick of her hair.

But the most unbearable torture of them all had been that smile, that pure, honest-to-Gods smile of hers, perhaps not as bright as the one she’d proudly displayed before her ex-lover’s betrayal, but just as candid, inundating his confused mind with absurd thoughts and the most ridiculous of hopes, the secret hope that he’d been the only one responsible for the rebirth of her lost happiness.

Too much.

It had all been too damn much, and the only thing left for him to do, the moment his ravenous Saiyan appetite had been fully sated, was to awkwardly mumble the pathetic shadow of an excuse, getting the Hell out of Bulma’s home before he’d end up making a fool of himself, just like he’d done the previous night.

He’d practically galloped straight to the door, blasting off into the freezing skies with not one look back, not even bothering to get out of his formal clothes as he sped up, setting loose in a futile attempt at letting off steam, desperately striving to leave such madness behind, from her every gesture and charming mannerism, to those increasingly intimate moments shared in confidence, away from the rest of the world, and that turmoil of foreign emotions overruling his spirit, taking over from his usual cold, detached self, and scattering suggestive ideas and fantasies that he’d never truly indulged in before.

It’d been a long while since he’d run from the Briefs household like this, seeking solace in the silent comfort of solitude. But now, as he stood stoically amid some thunderous sea storm in the middle of one of Earth’s majestic oceans, he bitterly discovered that loneliness no longer seemed to pacify his insanity as effectively as it once did.

His shoulders fell in defeat, his regal body growing limp at the frightening realization that there was nowhere to run, no place to hide anymore, and that the time had come for him to make a choice, to either walk away from the bewitching female, and from everything she represented, or to cave in and let Destiny take charge, surrendering to the woman’s magnetism, once and for all.

And Destiny turned out to be a golden light, an illuminated window guiding him through the dark of night as he walked the perennial fields of snow that Capsule Corp.’s immense gardens had become, deliberately letting go, with each hypnotized step, of his fears and inhibitions, not even knowing what Life had in store for him yet, but accepting, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his capricious Luck would somehow be bound to one being, and one being only.

Destiny was a woman sitting by the fireplace, finding shelter in the cozy seclusion of her home’s small guest house, a sacred place that no one but her ever made use of anymore. He watched her unashamedly through the glass doors, not afraid, for once, of the possibility of getting caught in the act by the brilliant woman whose stunning blue eyes were now daydreaming in front of a sea of sizzling flames, a small hand swirling a thick glass of liquor distractedly, while the other toyed with the fringes of the Persian rug that served her as perch.

Destiny was a jubilant smile, followed by a lanky finger curling in a come-hither motion, happily inviting him to join her, without qualm, the second her curious gaze discovered the unmistakable silhouette of the familiar intruder lurking outside.

Destiny was Bulma.

“There you are!” She exclaimed with relish, her genuine joy at seeing him joining her for the evening racing a barrage of emotions all through him. “I’ve been looking for you all day… Come! Come sit with me!” She asked enthusiastically, already patting the cushy rug with the excitement of an impatient little girl, eager to share her special surprise with the stunned object of her affections. “I have a surprise for you!”

“You do?” Vegeta asked in bewilderment, cautiously joining her on the carpeted floors by sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Yup!” She announced, the thrilled pride in her voice making her anticipation contagious by the minute. “I guess it’s my Christmas present for you…” Bulma confessed, letting go of her untouched glass and turning to her side, where a pillow, a furrowed blanket, and a pile of wrinkly blueprints revealed that, whatever it was that she had in the cards for him, she must have been working hard at it for a while.

He waited patiently for her to find what she was looking for, doing his best to stop his stupefied face from showing any emotion, especially his honest surprise at discovering that the woman had one of those holiday gifts for him too.

She’d already briefly introduced him to such a bizarre tradition the night before, after having exchanged quite a few of them with her closest friends, but Vegeta had simply assumed that he would be excluded from this ritual this time. After all, Bulma and her family had already shown him far more generosity than anyone ever had, and it wasn’t as if he was in the position to give her anything in return, should she ever choose to present him with some sort of special gift.

“Alright… I found it…” She murmured to herself, successfully finding her chosen blueprint and crawling clumsily towards him, her knee casually touching his as she sat nearby. “Look!” She proclaimed, proudly spreading out the large piece of paper before his inquisitive eyes.

“What…?” Vegeta mumbled reticently, with that sense of embarrassment striking him every time he was in the presence of one of Bulma’s prodigious inventions. “What is it?”

“It’s a new training bot!” Bulma clarified, a sympathetic smile etched on her lips at how strangely vulnerable the proud warrior looked whenever he was shown something he knew nothing about. “Look…” She calmly proceeded to explain, making the Saiyan’s mouth run dry when she leaned almost indecently into him, resting the mysterious document on his lap and running her fingers all over it. “The exterior is made of this new alloy that my Dad and I have just patented. It’s much more resilient, not only to your blows, but also to extreme heat. And, you see this?” She asked, pointing to one of the circuit designs with her index finger, without even giving him the opportunity to answer before she resumed her masterful presentation. “I’ve finally solved this equation that’s been driving me crazy all week! So, basically, this bot will have several settings, and tons of aleatory programs, so it’ll make things really challenging for you!”

The Prince gawked at the enigmatic blueprint in sheer shock, aiming to digest, with severe difficulty, not only the tsunami of brand-new information that she’d just put at his disposal, but the incredible thoughtfulness of such a gift. It wasn’t one of those useless, sentimental presents that these foolish humans were so inexplicably fond of, but a real gift, something that would help him grow and improve, something that would allow him to attain the one dream that mattered to him the most.

“So…? What do you think?” Bulma prodded, her good-hearted smile never faltering, trying to lighten the mood of a man who was clearly struggling with a generosity that he, very possibly, thought himself wholly unworthy of. “Pretty cool, uh?”

Vegeta’s gaze returned to the woman, and to that gorgeous smile of hers, awkwardly clearing his throat while trying to think of something, anything, to say, yet knowing that he’d fall pitiably short regardless of his choice of words.

“It’s…”

“Acceptable?” She guessed gingerly, a playful expression dancing in her eyes as she secretly tried to spare him from embarrassing himself.

Even if the pigheaded Saiyan still remained an enigma in far too many ways, all these months living together hadn’t been entirely wasted on her and, by now, Bulma had already unraveled quite a few of the Prince’s secrets. The main one being that, for all of that pompously conceited mumbo-jumbo that he loved to babble about on the battlefield, Vegeta was painfully uncomfortable, most times verging on pathologically shy, when it came to expressing his emotions anywhere else; and, though he loved to bicker and order her around any time he needed repairs on his beloved Gravity Room, he always seemed to be at a loss for words whenever she was the one who’d take the initiative in helping or having a nice gesture with him.

“I’m glad you like it…” Bulma whispered fondly, her heart breaking a little at the way he timidly nodded in assent, those obsidian eyes now evading hers, getting lost in the spellbinding flames of her fireplace. “You’ve never had these before, have you?”

Her new offer, and a warm, appealing scent he’d never smelled before, instantly made him peep at the woman’s hands, which had now put down her precious blueprints, and were graciously holding a large bowl in front of him.

“They’re chestnuts,” she pointed out, delicately resting the bowl on the rug. “I just roasted a few. They’re really nice, you’ll see… They’re kind of sweet…” She carried on, picking up a few of the small brown items and placing them on the open palm of his hand. “You have to peel them like this, and then… Wa-Wait!”

“What?” He frowned, his mouth freezing, having popped the whole thing in right after hearing the word ‘sweet’.

“Um… Uh… You’re… You’re supposed to peel them first…” Bulma broke down, trying as hard as she could not to crack-up at the hilarious view of her alien guest holding a mouthful of unpeeled chestnuts in his mouth. “See? Like this…” She demonstrated, slowly peeling one of them and splitting it in half. “And then you open it first, like this, in case there’s a worm inside of…”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence and Vegeta was already spitting out a bunch of half-chewed chestnuts, at the speed of light, straight into the fire.

“There are WORMS in this?!” He barked, absolutely horrified at the mere thought of such repulsive critters.

“What? No, no!” She exclaimed defensively, surprised at seeing him so openly disgusted by something of this nature, particularly considering that little Goku had once offered to share one of his centipedes with her for supper. “It’s… It’s actually very rare, I swear! It’s just in case…”

“Hmph!” He snarled, his scrunched nose reminding her of some bratty five-year-old refusing to eat his Brussel sprouts.

“Aw, come on Vegeta…” She pleaded, both incredibly amused and a little worried about such a strong reaction, wondering if perhaps there was some obscure, traumatic event associated to those scary worms. “I’ll do it for you. Here…”

Bulma expertly peeled one roasted little nut, cracking it in half and examining it with great attention, before tentatively offering it once again to the offended Saiyan who kept side-eyeing her as if she were holding a bottle of pure poison in her hand.

“Please? Pretty please?” She begged, puckering her bottom lip like a needy brat. “You trust me, right?”

“…”

‘Damn her!’

Damn her and those sad puppy eyes, and her blushing cheeks and fluttery eyelashes, and her luminous smiles and unreal kindness. Damn her and those stupidly pointless ‘Christmas’ celebrations, and her sappy gifts and fluffy pink socks. Damn her and her foolish generosity, and her steady hands, never relenting, never letting go, treating him like a man instead of a monster. And damn those goddamned roasted chestnuts for tasting so goddamned good, just like every goddamned thing she’d ever given to him, when he finally had the courage to accept her invitation and eat the goddamned thing.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She whispered, her tone subdued, but brimming with the calm satisfaction of a woman who was gradually discovering that, perhaps, she held more power over the man she was falling for than she ever knew.

They both ate in silence by the fire, with Bulma peeling and meticulously checking every single one of the warm delicacies, before passing them to the compliant Saiyan quietly appreciating them. Every now and then, she’d eat one herself, but she gladly gave most of them to her guest, happy to see him enjoying yet another one of her home’s traditions, and overcome by the most nostalgic déjà vu as she evoked the times when it was her Mom the one peeling her chestnuts for her, it felt like centuries ago now.

When they were done, Bulma discreetly set the empty bowl aside, stifling a muffled yawn while stretching like a mellow kitty, ready to share one more treat with him tonight.

“You must taste this…” She murmured naughtily, taking a small sip of the half-full glass of liquor she’d been idly stirring in her hand when he’d first found her tonight, closing her eyes and moaning softly as she savored every drop, before offering it to him. “It’s my Dad’s favorite cognac. It’s more than fifty years old…”

Vegeta didn’t vacillate this time, bringing the heavy glass under his nose and inhaling a long, deep breath, before getting a leisurely taste of the intoxicating brew. The Prince had never cared much for alcohol, finding Earth’s wide assortment of liquors especially weak for his insanely fast metabolism, but he had to admit that this particular blend was pretty damn good.

He savored it slowly, deliberately, letting it melt in his tongue the same way her tiny moan had melted in his ears, never taking his eyes off the woman who kept staring at the comfy fire as if it held the answers to her every question in life.

“I haven’t thanked you yet…” She muttered, her stare low, but with a shy confidence that implied that she’d already made peace with whatever Demons had been tormenting her in recent times.

“What for?” He asked genuinely, so deeply overwhelmed by the swell of foreign emotions and events experienced during those past few days, that he didn’t even know what to think of her, of them, anymore.

“I don’t know,” she confessed in a meek whisper. “For understanding, I guess…” She turned to him, the peacefulness in her serene smile awakening something occult and forbidden inside of him. “It’s nice to have someone on my side…”

Her side.

A man like him, an eternal outlander with no real home or roots to speak of, had no one’s side but his own, taking and plundering as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, without owing anyone a goddammed thing in return.

And yet, as preposterous as it sounded, if there was one being, just one single being who deserved to have his side no matter what, it should be Bulma. The one who’d offered him a home, and everything his heart could ever desire, in order to conquer his most coveted dream, the one who’d given him more, far more, than a penniless scoundrel like him would ever deserve, without asking for a thing, not one blasted thing, in return.

All in all, Vegeta figured that, since the beautiful dummy had been foolish enough to take his side, it would only be fair for him to take hers as well.

“And thank you for staying with me last night,” she insisted, laying a soft hand on his forearm and petting it lightly. “I know it wasn’t easy for you…”

Bulma cheekily reclaimed her glass, briefly running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as she brought it smoothly to her mouth, bracing herself for her grand revelation.

“Yamcha called after lunch, you know?” She confided, breaking into a roguish smile when she saw one of the warrior’s eyebrows raising with unexpected curiosity. “He tried to tell me about some big fight he just had with that dumb girl… I don’t know…” She shrugged with palpable disinterest, taking another sip of the bittersweet drink and languidly tilting her head back as she tossed it down. “I told him to go fuck himself…” She proudly concluded, looking Vegeta right in the eye with a cocky smirk that he could have easily made his own, instantly erasing his sudden fear that she might consider taking that worthless idiot back in a moment of weakness.

“Good girl…” He purred in approval, sending shivers down her spine with his husky bedroom voice, and with that sly smile curling his lips as he leaned to her, covering her hand with his own as he stole her glass, washing down the rest of the potent drink in one clean gulp.

His fingers lingered around hers as they both held the empty glass, his touch anxious but firm, rugged fingertips stroking her shaky hand with a closeness he’d never shown her before, holding her stare for a lifechanging instant until he lost his nerve, letting go of her as that irresistible smirk died out on his lips.

Bulma’s gaze remained fixated on the empty glass, captivated, enthralled by that almost magical exchange as the room spiraled around her out of control. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the direct contact of the Prince’s flesh against hers, but such innocent moments of intimacy had always been accidental, casual, a far cry from the affectionate nearness they’d both engaged in ever since he’d agreed to keep her company in that cold infirmary.

In any other man, she would have never dared to look much into such apparently superficial instants but, in this man, a man who kept his masked heart guarded under lock and key at all times, she couldn’t help but feel that such wonderful gestures of kindness had truly meant something, something real, something that could lead them both to the most extraordinary path, if only she succeeded in helping him set his emotions free.

“All those years…” She whispered pensively under her breath, contemplating her future at the bottom of an empty glass of expensive cognac. “All those years wasted…”

The glass was soon discarded, and she sat still on the spot, tucking one lock of that aquatic mass of tousled curls behind her ear as her abstracted stare walked through those scorching flames, under the watchful eye of a certain Saiyan Prince who simply didn’t know what to believe anymore.

There was longing in her words, but not in her demeanor, nothing but a cool, collected calmness, a quietude that let it slip that the woman freely sharing her inmost feelings with him, had already made her choice.

“Sometimes…” Bulma thought out loud, that unnervingly blue gaze falling right back on him as she cutely tipped her head to the side, looking at him through brand-new eyes. “I think sometimes you don’t… You don’t really fall in love with a person…” She resolved, the palms of her hands now splayed on the lavish rug, proceeding to crawl in his direction, with the idle indolence of a sensual little tigress who’d just spotted her next prey. “Sometimes…” She concluded in a raspy whisper, taking advantage of his unusually low guard, and effortlessly straddling his strong thighs as he kept sitting sloppily on the floor. “Sometimes you just fall in love with an idea…”

She truly was delicious, the most lethal combination of virtue and sensuality he’d ever met, carelessly discussing words of love with the childish naiveté of a teenage girl, but seeking, and taking control of him, with the savvy expertise of the finest of women.

And, although she was the one who knew emotion in ways he never would, her softness never got lost on the way, that compassionate purity of spirit that made him understand that she’d never cross a line he wouldn’t wish her to.

“Do you know what I mean?” She asked meaningfully, amazed by how young he suddenly looked as he let her docilely caress his cheeks with those silky fingertips. “What we did last night…” Bulma muttered gently, knowing that he had no possible reply to her first question. “I liked it…”

“Woman…” He mumbled in gruff warning, fighting not to lose himself between that pair of curvaceous thighs narrowing around him as she pressed herself even tighter against him.

“Did you…?” Her shaky question spilled from her lips, hating herself for feeling so completely naked, so exposed to a man who could so easily break her heart before she’d even give it to him. “Did you like it too?”

She gasped in mild shock when he clutched her wrists without warning, taking her bold hands off his face as he huffed sharply through his nose, lips pursed into a cautionary thin line, not even sure if he was about to caution her or himself at this point.

All he knew was that he was about to lose, he was about to lose his own battle of self-control to this woman, and the stupidest truth of the matter was that he didn’t care anymore, because nothing really mattered, nothing but her and her inspiring presence, and the only question worth asking tonight, the only measure of reassurance that she could ever offer to someone like him.

“What about your human lover?” He blurted out, the disgust overtaking his cracked voice, at the mere thought of Bulma ever belonging to anyone but him, plain as day.

His irrational jealousy must have boosted her confidence, for she smiled grippingly at him, exquisite and delighted, already savoring the triumph of the unintentional admission of his selfish interest in her.

“I just told you, Vegeta…” She whispered bucolically, her fingers grazing his jaw, despite having her frail wrists still trapped under his firm hold. “He was just an idea…”

“I am not an idea, Bulma…” He murmured darkly, hands tightening in desperate warning, reminding her of who he was, trying to stop her from ever forgetting that she was about to dance, quite literally, with the Devil himself.

“I know…” She promised, her delicate face finding his, resting her brow against him as she held his starved gaze with unblinking confidence.

She knew.

He was real, perhaps the realest man she’d ever encountered, nothing like those Ivy League sycophants who used to prowl around her father’s mighty company, professional adulators trying to charm Capsule Corp.’s golden heiress, uselessly doting and kissing up to her, in hopes of getting into her bed and loaded bank account.

But this man, this untamable alien warrior, was anything but a charmer, he’d never lie or be untrue, because he was who he was, and nothing and no one would ever change that, or so he thought. Vegeta would never pretend to be something, someone, he was not, if anything, Bulma had learnt by now that the Saiyan Prince seemed to go out of his way to make himself as unapproachable as he could, not because he didn’t possess a heart, but because he was utterly terrified of anyone finding out that he did.

She couldn’t afford the luxury to ever forget that, if she got too close, she might get burnt, but she also knew that the man trembling in need beneath her, staring at her with an intensity that would have made any other woman slip instantly away, would never pretend to be anything but fire.

Her binding words brought his surrender, arms dropping submissively on both sides, letting her merge her lips with his as her eager hands explored him, leisurely sliding across his heated skin until they found the nape of his neck, velvety fingers holding onto him as she boldly sought to deepen their kiss.

She could think of nothing but how surprisingly gentle he was, how anxious and untried, even after having already shared a first innocent smooch last night. His mouth was soft, twitchy, too afraid at first to part his lips for her as he did his best to follow her lead, indulging in an exotic human ritual that he’d seen before only in those ridiculous soap operas that the earthling’s mother seemed to adore so much and, of course, whenever he’d inadvertently walked in during one of the scarred-faced man’s visits to the woman who was now giving herself to him with such fervor.

He’d hated her mate back then, even before he’d ever toyed with the implausible fantasy of one day making her his, even before he knew what they did, or why they did it, why did they engage in such a pointless practice with such irritating frequency.

But now he understood, now, as he reveled in her intoxicating taste, grunting in exhilaration when her tongue lovingly caressed his, Vegeta learned the meaning behind such a gesture, an act that felt almost more intimate than sex itself, making him hate her ex-lover even more for having been given the undeserved chance to feel like this with her too.

The more he steadily relaxed in her arms, the more her supple body responded to him, arching and grinding in his lap, until the excruciating sensation of those ten little fingers passionately clutching fistfuls of his wild hair proved too hard to resist, temptingly inviting him to put his hands on her, encircling her waist with such force that her breath instinctively hitched in her chest, making his touch stop at once, petrified by the possibility of having hurt her.

“Ssshhh…” She shushed him with maddening tenderness, deeply moved by the touching concern blurring his features, and instantly calming him down by enfolding his thick forearms with her hands. “Softly… Like this…” Bulma panted lightly against his lips, drawing slow, lazy circles on his wrists with her tiny thumbs, instantaneously loosening his possessive hold on her. “That’s nice…” She reassured him, nuzzling his cheek when she sensed him getting comfortable once again, learning how to hold her just the right way. “That feels good, Vegeta… Really good…”

Oh Gods, what a fool she was, what a pretty little fool, letting him near her, letting him touch her like this. One wrong move and her ribs would have cracked beneath his fingers, and yet here she was, trusting him again, and taking his breath away by kissing him within an inch of her life, her erratic breathing accelerating as he run his hands all over her, cherishing that small figure hidden under the unbearable softness of her oversized sweater, while he wondered how much, just how much of herself would she give him tonight, and finding his terrifying answer when he felt those needy hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his clothes.

Vegeta needn’t think twice, groaning in frustration as he humbly submitted to her, breaking their kiss with reluctance and taking off his jersey in one quick, smooth motion. He didn’t move any further, barely keeping his breathless puffing under control as her enigmatic stare, now roaming across his naked chest, chilled him to the bone.

Hideous, he thought gloomily to himself, she must have found him absolutely hideous, utterly repulsed by that grotesque roadmap of macabre scars, cuts and bruises. His flawless Saiyan anatomy should allow him, in theory, to heal and regenerate at a shockingly fast rate, but his ghastly, self-destructive training regime was making it virtually impossible for him to ever be fully healed these days, always plagued by fresh wounds and swollen lacerations, purple-and-blue slashes that the sensitive woman would so expertly clean and stitch for him, every single night without fail.

He was unlike any other man in her life, and he knew, nothing like those suave sons-of-bitches always prowling and lurking around her, with their expensive suits and leather briefcases, unscrupulous bastards who merely saw her as some attractive, wealthy trophy, instead of as the extraordinary creature that he now knew her to be.

After a painful silence, a secret part of him was already dreading the very real possibility of the woman getting cold feet now that she had him, quite literally, bare before her stunned eyes. But, as usual, Bulma Briefs was about to prove that she was no ordinary female either, and that the cryptic gleam in her eye stemmed, not from any form of repulsion towards his flawed flesh, but from her own beautifully distorted view of the world.

“Does it hurt?” She asked with candid concern, airy fingertips tenderly outlining the large scar crossing his marred chest, his most recent one, the one which had ended up prostrating him on that damned infirmary for a whole week this time. He’d taken off his bandages as soon as Bulma’s father had given him his approval and, though the disturbingly deep gashes had mostly healed by now, they still retained a faint pinkish color, a reminder that the skin wasn’t fully restored yet.

“No,” he answered throatily, not knowing how he could find a way to even talk to her anymore, not when she kept looking at him like this, touching and exploring him as if she’d never had a man before.

“That’s good…” Bulma murmured almost inaudibly, her shy hands regaining their confidence as they swirled slowly all over his muscular torso, her touch light as the wings of a bird, playfully running her fingers up and down, right until the thick waist of his jeans, only to travel upwards again, tracing a languid path up to his robust shoulders. “You’re beautiful…” She quietly professed, awe-struck eyes meeting his, cupping his blushing cheeks in her hands, and catching one of his thirsty moans in her mouth when her lips descended on his for another sensual kiss. “You’re so beautiful…” She reassured him, kissing him again, and again, lustfully indulging in the most pleasurable friction as she rubbed her body against him, her fear of hurting him slowly fading away.

He was beautiful, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, a body slim, yet built to perfection, moving, flowing, with the sinuous litheness of a black panther. He may not have been the biggest of men in the physical sense, but he surely walked with a command larger than life itself, brave and resolute, fearless and tenacious, a courageousness that demanded respect, even from those who held him in low esteem. The man holding her in his arms had lived hard and battled even harder, and perhaps, someday, he’d love with more intensity than any human heart ever could.

But there was no time tonight for fatuous thoughts of love and romance, there was only now, only this moment, and the way he was disarming her, her body like clay in his hands as he kept kissing and imprisoning her in the fiercest hold, finally taking control as he carefully nestled and lifted her body from the ground, rolling them over and lying her defenseless on her back.

Bulma stubbornly refused to let go of him at first, her lips aching for more, always for more, trying to make up for all the times, oh Kami, all the times she’d envisioned him like this, giving himself to her with such abandon, allowing her to open his blinded eyes so that she could teach him her ways. But it was he who put an end to their kiss this time, leaving her whimpering breathlessly on the extravagant rug, mourning the loss of his heat when he cautiously nudged her knees, spreading them apart as he knelt at her feet.

His large hands glided smoothly across her squirmy legs, until they found the perfect hips buried underneath her baggy sweater, dark eyes silently begging for permission to undress her as he hooked his fingers around the old fabric of the waist of her washed-out jeans, earning a shaky nod of assent from the restless woman inflamed with need under him.

The most enraptured glint burned his features as he slowly unzipped her clothing, pulling from it with gentle determination, and marveling at every inch of flesh unveiled just for him. When her lower body lay fully undressed, Vegeta paused for an instant, mesmerized by the hypnotizing effect that the warm glow of the sweltering fire had on her ivory skin, reds and oranges bathing those long legs already yearning to wrap themselves around him with ardent zeal.

Only when one of her feet boldly tried to reach the very evident proof of his desire for her, right between his legs, did he choose to resume his erotic journey, deftly removing those cursed, fluffy pink socks which had recently invaded his daydreams with such shameful frequency, and crawling bit by bit atop her, sinking his knees domineeringly on both sides of her small figure as she awkwardly helped him take off her baby blue sweater, avidly waiting for him to make his final move.

Years later, the Prince would still recall just how insanely adorable she’d looked to him that night, clad in nothing but her everyday cotton underwear, plain white adorned by a girly pattern of those bright red strawberries she loved so much. Just like it would take him far too long to understand that she’d been just as nervous as he had, as if they’d both intuitively known, even back then, that once they gave into each other, there would be no going back.

“Do…? Do you want to stop?” Bulma asked weakly when she sensed his vacillation, tremulous mouth breathing heavily against his as he kept still, staring anxiously at her as he committed to memory everything that she was, every beautiful curve and gesture, never wanting to forget her just as she was tonight.

Her insecurity moved him like nothing ever had, fervently putting her mind to rest with a smoldering kiss, basking in his own relief when she passionately kissed him back. A flash of scarlet seared his cheeks when her lips smirked playfully against his, giggling excitedly as she reached her back to unhook her bra by herself, when it soon became obvious that his clumsy hands had never before handled such a bizarre garment.

Vegeta’s hands hurried to get rid of whatever remained of his clothes, his need intensifying when her eager little fingers frantically reached down to his belt, unbuckling it with frenzied impatience as he unzipped his jeans, rapidly discarding them with the help of those feverish legs, wriggling and twisting against him until he was fully naked before her.

There was no indecision anymore, not even shame at the way his body was already reacting to her closeness, yanking off her panties as he kissed her again, a deep grumble reverberating in his chest when one of her hands draped itself around his hardness, while the other one settled fiercely on the back of his neck, pressing her mouth even harder against his, and nipping at his bottom lip as she sensually stroked his length.

Bulma’s movements were slow, sensuous, dazed blue eyes feasting on the masculine face contorting in pleasure at her timid but expert touch, squeezing his eyes shut in some poor attempt at self-control as he felt himself already coming undone with agonizing ease, his dam shattering, hopelessly exposed to the only woman who’d ever own his heart.

“Bulma…” He implored helplessly, exhaling a heavy sigh of release when she guided him to her wet entrance, plunging inside of her, burying himself to the hilt as a breathless cry tore up her throat.

“S-Slowly…” Bulma pleaded, teasing his lips with hers, clammy hands still barely holding onto his corded neck as she struggled to accommodate him.

He quietly fulfilled her wishes, just as he always would, bowing shakily, and reading the poem writing itself on her lovely face as she threw her head back, sobbing in bliss when his hips set out a new pace, slow and deep, a rhythmic quest to get to know, and possess, every beautiful part of her.

It was impossible, it was impossible for such a woman to ever fully belong to him, but perhaps, tonight, as they made love under the warm protection of her sheltering fire, they could pretend. They could pretend that he wasn’t who he was, and that every conceivable sin didn’t hang over his head, fooling themselves into the impossible fantasy of being just a man and a woman, giving into each other in the most ancient and primal of rituals.

Bulma’s rosy cheek met the opulent rug as she pressed it against it, closing her eyes and pouting deliciously, filling the room with soft, muffled moans that were like music to the Prince’s ears.

He held as tightly as he could, clutching one of the thighs possessively encircling his waist with one of his arms as he cradled her delicate head in the curve of the other, gently removing a damp curl from her pale forehead as his nose found her temple, nuzzling her darling face while drowning in her provocative aroma. Her porcelain skin was already coated in a thin sheen of moisture, glistening faintly under the warm, flickering radiance of the fire, and it was becoming impossible not to get lost in the thick, lusty scent of sex heavily permeating the air.

“Vegeta…” She whimpered with want, supplicant eyes finding his as her hands descended uncontrollably from his shoulders to his perfect bottom, nails digging into his unyielding flesh and pulling harder, inviting him to rush that luscious, animalistic flow already making her fall into pieces in his arms.

His dizzy mind might have lost any semblance of reason long ago, but his body knew just what she needed, gladly caving in, giving her his all, anything she’d ever want, by quickening his pace and thrusting faster, harder, stripping the most extraordinary cries of pleasure out of her lips, and forever keeping them to himself.

He heaved a relieved breath of gratitude when Bulma hid her smitten face in the crook of his neck, never letting go of him, but sensing how vulnerable, how incredibly unguarded he was feeling in that instant. His body told her that he’d had other women during his turbulent past, but an even stronger instinct was screaming at her that he’d never had someone in such an intimate way.

And she was right for, as Vegeta held securely onto her, glorying in that sweet, fluttery voice, whispering words of encouragement and desire in his ear, and confessing how much she liked, how much she loved what he was doing to her, he knew that it’d never been like this.

He’d never had the honor to experience this wistful emotion taking a hold of him, loving hands touching and caressing him as if he were the only man in existence, or that rush, that exhilarating rush of satisfaction when he felt that small, hopelessly soft body writhing in ecstasy underneath him as her impending climax ripped through her.

She tightened urgently around him, a stream of blinding electricity ravaging her as she cried his name with intense ardor, crumbling in his arms, those ravenous arms pulling her even closer, insatiably nestling her body against him, already bursting at the seams, grappling with his own desperate need to succumb to her.

“I-It’s okay… You can let go…” Bulma’s trembling voice murmured into his skin, gently seducing him as she recognized the aching tension overpowering him, beckoning him to surrender, to forget about his every haunting inhibition and give himself to her, if only this once. “Let go, Vegeta…”

The ghost of a string of alien words ruptured from his lips as he spilled himself inside of her, a deep grunt thundering in his lungs, swamped by the sensation of those silky arms and legs still clinging to him, never abandoning him, never letting go, relishing his own peak of pleasure as if it were her own.

Vegeta fell tiredly on top of her, without thinking, without speaking, melting powerlessly under the soothing power of that pair of shuddering hands fondling and stroking his magnificent skin, kissing and petting his hair, and happily luring him to stay with her for as long as he’d ever want to, the sad atlas of tortured scars tainting his back suddenly feeling just a little closer, a little less foreign than it used to be.

A soft, snug blanket carefully covered his stark-naked form, enveloping him in a cottony cloud of safety, almost as soft as the woman providing it for him, heavy eyelids drooping on her contented shoulder, vaguely registering the distant uproar of the stormy blizzard pouring outside, and the crisp rustle of the logs gradually turning to ashes in her luxurious fireplace.

For a lifetime of carnage, snow had always signified the most degrading pain, and fire nothing but cancerous destruction. But, on a cold Christmas night, everything was Her, and the first dreamless sleep he’d ever been blessed with as he peacefully dozed off in her caring embrace.

*sigh*

It looks like Veggie finally got to discover what Christmas is all about?

I hope you've enjoyed my lil' Christmas stories so far! I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I may add a few more chapters in the future, if you guys are okay with it, since I had some little tales in mind that I really wanted to explore.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading, as always, and I hope you all have the BEST 2019!!!

*hugs*

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #dbz #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #let it snow #fire #multichapter #sarahw-writing #sarahw-world #MERRY (LATE) CHRISTMAS!!!

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years

Text

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’ ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids x Reader #kpopwonderlandtag #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang

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animebw · 6 years

Text

Binge-Watching: Symphogear G OVA

Me throughout this entire OVA.

Okay, listen, whoever among you insisted I should watch the Symphogear specials, I just want you to know that I am so fucking thankful. Because without your persistence, I would’ve just gone straight through the entire show without witnessing this masterpiece. I would’ve missed out on one of the gayest experiences I’ve ever had watching anime. Holy. Fucking. CHRIST. I thought Symphogear G proper was already embracing its queer foundation more fully than I ever could’ve dreamed, but this? These 25 minutes were, no joke, possibly the single most concentrated endorphin rush of pure, undiluted, uncensored, explicit gay softness I’ve ever seen. Not even the goddamn Kase-san OVA- a fifty minute short completely centered around two girls explicitly in a relationship- was this fucking gay. And it’s AMAZING. I felt like I needed to pry my cheekbones back into place from smiling too hard when it was over. I was laughing, I was giggling, I was grinning like an idiot, I was squealing in giddiness, I was in fucking heaven. The entire rest of the show could just be this and I wouldn’t care at all.

I mean, holy shit, just- just LOOK at this! Just LOOK at the places the characters go over the course of these minute-long skits!

-Hibiki talking about Miku while she’s still in custody: ”There’s no doubt she’s sleepless without me!”

-”I know all I’m good for is warming up the cold futon-” Hibiki is Miku’s space heater, it’s canon.

-”Why is she only being silent and staring at me so intently?” Because she loves you, Chris, you useless lesbian.

-”Do that sort of thing at your house!” I am choosing to interpret Tsubasa’s impatience as jealousy that Hibiki and Chris are holding hands and you can’t stop me

-Hibiki and Miku just holding hands and tearfully hugging as the sunset frames them in warm colors and hrrrrrrg somebody help I think my heart’s stopping

-And once again: ”Clearly, is is something they’re better off doing at home.” Literally everyone else knows what’s up too.

-WAIT A FUCK WAS SHIRABE BLUSHING AT THE THOUGHT OF SHARING AN INDIRECT KISS WITH KIRIKA JESUS WEPT

-”Kiri-chan, let’s sleep together.” No commentary necessary.

And listen, can we just appreciate, like, literally everything about Miku in this OVA? Every. Single. SECOND she’s on screen, she is so aggressively, uncompromisingly in love with Hibiki that she honest to god almost made me cry from joy. I mean, forget the fact that it’s now canon that Hibiki explicitly sets up their sleeping arrangements so that she and Miku can sleep in the same bed, Miku’s fucking reaction to that: ”Though, I don’t see any reason to stop her...” And she spends that entire skit with the softest blush on her face looking at Hibiki and her VA’s performance is so fucking sweet and tender and- and-

”My friend who calls me her sunshine doesn’t realize that she herself is the sun.”

GOD. FUCKING. HELP ME. I legitimately had to pause the video for a good few seconds there, I was so overcome with warm, fuzzy feelings. That was the single purest, most adorable expression of love between them I’ve ever seen... at least until literally just a few minutes later, when Miku gets jealous of Hibiki gallivanting around the world with another woman and tries to bring it up in a roundabout way: ”You know... the old saying about how sailors have a new woman at every port?” SHE LITERALLY JUST COMPARED HER LOVE FOR HIBIKI TO ONE OF THE OLDEST ROMANTIC CLICHES IN THE BOOK AND MY HEART CAN’T FUCKING TAKE IT. Nor could I take Miku’s flustered realization that her Symphogear’s song had ended up revealing her deepest feelings, singing “I love you” over and over and collapsing into a puddle of embarrassment and blushing like the wonderful useless lesbian she is. God, I just- how? How do these two just KEEP GETTING GAYER?

Well, if nothing else, this special confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt how overwhelmingly gay these girls are all for each other. It’s the way the characters treat each other, it’s the way they talk about each other, it’s the way the other characters talk about them, there is just no explanation for any of it that isn’t romantic in nature. This OVA was Chuunibyou levels of pure adorableness, and I don’t throw that designation around lightly. Nothing but a concentrated bundle of Symphogear’s most explicitly gay sequences yet, and I loved every single second of it. If the next season is even half as gay as these 25 minutes, I’ll consider it time well spent.

Odds and Ends

-I will say, was not expecting the crayola art style. But I dig it!

-”Chris is so mad she turned into a bully!” Hibiki, I appreciate you.

-”If that’s what you call a personality, it’s on a level even a psychiatrist would run away from!” Fucking. Rekt.

-Maria is me with catering. All the food, in my face.

-”Somewhere in the world, malicious rumors about me are definitely spreading!” I find this Japanese old wives’ tale quite amusing. Who knows, perhaps whenever I have a cold, that’s just someone out there lusting after the raw eroticism of my anime analysis.

-Ogawa is secretly the cruelest villain in the show, isn’t he?

-”You can’t just add ‘deeeeeeath’ at the end of a sentence.” Bill Wurtz voice: How bout I do anyway?

-Equilibrium? God damn, now anime’s even reminding me of live-action films I need to see. Hold your horses, Christian Bale, I’ll get there eventually.

-”Go to hell!” “Super repentance time!” I have no idea what I just witnessed, but I love it.

Wow, what a fantastic way to kick things off. Welcome back from hiatus hell, folks. I can’t fucking wait to share the rest of this incredible show with you all.

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #symphogear #senki zesshou symphogear

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bevioletskies · 6 years

Note

Starmora movie verse Prompt: Peter proposing marriage to Gamora with a ring?

spoiler warning for avengers: infinity war and one quick mention of avengers 4 speculation.word count: 1.5k | ao3

It had been six months since…that moment in their lives, and still, it never quite felt like there was enough distance between then and now. Peter still woke every other morning half-expecting the mattress to be too cold from absence and his chest to burn too hot with longing, only to find himself pinned to the bed by the welcome weight of another body, only it wasn’t just another body, it was hers. She was warm, she was steady, she was here.

Things were the same, and they weren’t. The others were as rambunctious as ever, squabbling over nothing and everything at the same time, only now, they fell silent whenever she entered the room, staring at her with big, liquid eyes and a nervous, half-hearted smile. Rocket was the worst of them, being the only one who never “died”, aside from Nebula, who was oddly fidgety, avoiding her sister as much as one could on a ship as cramped as theirs.

Gamora supposed it couldn’t be helped; she was the only Guardian to have actually died. It still stung something fierce, however, to be woken by the sound of Peter pacing outside their bedroom door. “I’m here, Peter,” she would say every time, reaching out for him.

“You are,” he would reply with a watery chuckle, following her back inside.

Lately, though, Peter seemed worried over something of a different nature. A fog had lifted over his head, only to be replaced by a storm. If anything, it was the complete opposite of before - instead of hovering, he would vanish, slipping into the supply closet with nothing but a tablet and a nervous passing hello for hours at a time. He came to bed late and rose to wake early, had private conversations with the others far more often than he usually did. Gamora wanted to pry, she really did, but she respected him as a person - and them as a partnership - too much to ask.

It was only when he didn’t come to bed at all one night that she finally decided to investigate, shrugging on one of his hoodies, the kind where the hem grazed her mid-thigh and swallowed her up like one of his hugs, and tiptoed up the ladder to the cockpit without so much as a creak. It was early-late, her eyes were tired and her brain was pleasantly fuzzy, and she just wanted them both to get a good night’s sleep. “Peter.”

He swung around in the pilot’s seat rather comically, eyes bugged out of his head. “Gamora! What’re you - go back to bed, I’ll be right there.”

“I’ve entertained you long enough. You can’t hide from me,” Gamora said accusingly. “I’m not mad, I promise. I just want to know that you’re okay. That there isn’t someone after you, or us, or - ”

“What makes you say that?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, yeah, I’ve been a little…all over the place lately. I was, um…I was having trouble. Finding the words that I wanted to say. And how I wanted to say them.”

“I never thought of you as the type to struggle for words.” She smiled wryly, sitting opposite him. “Try me.”

“It’s meant for you, it’s…it’s why I haven’t been the most attentive boyfriend these past couple weeks,” Peter said apologetically. “I didn’t wanna give up the ghost. Though I guess you figured me out anyways, so really, I was just delaying the inevitable.”

“As you continue to do. You’re stalling,” Gamora observed, though not unkindly. “Peter, refined orator you are not. Tell me what’s on your mind, as it is.”

“Uncensored, hey?” Peter chuckled, his eyes softening, crinkling at the corners as they were oft to do. He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together and bringing them to rest in his lap. The other hand went into the pocket of his sweatpants, and slid out with a small, nondescript box. Gamora let out a soft noise of surprise. “So…I guess you know what this is.”

“Peter,” she breathed.

“I know we had this conversation when we were two years in, and you told me we could talk about it again in five. So I’m a little early,” he admitted. “But…I love you. And I lost you. And I dunno about you, but I’m done losing people before I get the chance to do and say everything that I need to.” His eyes grew suspiciously glossy. “Sometimes, I…I think of my life as being split into three parts. The eight years with Mom. Twenty-four years with Yondu. And now…four years with the team. With you. I just…I don’t know if losing the people that I love most is…is my fault, or…or if it’s just the universe’s way of screwin’ with me. But somehow, you’re here again, and I don’t wanna waste that. I want more time. All the time I can get. I want to marry you.”

“Show me.” Gamora nodded towards the box. Wordlessly, Peter flicked it open with his thumb, revealing a simple silver band, not unlike the silver of the rings she already wore every day, only this one was embedded with small, pale gold stars. “Oh, Peter.”

“It’s not for ‘Star-Lord’, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not that much of a self-obsessed a-hole,” Peter laughed. “It’s for you. As cheesy as it sounds, you guide me. You light the way back. You were the one who made the Guardians happen, you were the one who figured out how to escape the Soul Dimension, you…you are the most incredible woman in the entire galaxy. And I would be the happiest man in the universe, whether you want to marry me or not.” At Gamora’s surprised expression, he chuckled again. “Marrying you is…yeah, it’s something I wanna do, but if marriage isn’t your thing, if we spend the rest of our lives as partners, I would be just as happy. I spent so long looking for the family that I’d lost or could never find, and I found it with you. Even if you aren’t my wife, I always want you to be my girl.”

Gamora let out a shaky breath. She felt rather lightheaded, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the exhaustion, or the unfamiliar words making a home in her brain. Her other hand came to rest on top of his, her knuckles grazing the side of the box, though she didn’t want to touch it quite yet. “Before the Guardians, but after my parents, love was just a word to me, not a feeling. And now I hear it, I see it, I feel it in everything, and it…it changed me. It’s in your music, your words, the way you hold me and kiss me. You are full of so much love, Peter, and it’s one of my favorite things about you. And there are so many things about you that just make me so happy. I can’t speak to exactly what it is…I don’t have the eloquence for it. But what I can say is…your loss, it’s not your fault. None of them were. And…I love you. More than anything. And yes, I will marry you.”

There was a pause, then - Peter smiled at her, something wide and gentle and a little crooked, the smile he reserved especially for her. His hands trembled with nerves as he eased the ring onto her outstretched finger, brushing a kiss into her knuckles before bringing their joined hands to rest on his lap once more, tears streaking down his cheeks in silent joy, unable to say or do much more than observe her and savor her presence. Gamora used her other hand to gently wipe them away, only to realize she, too, was starting to cry. “We don’t have to do anything big, by the way,” Peter sniffled as they both got to their feet, moving to leave the cockpit. “But I do have one request.”

“What’s that?” Gamora asked.

He let out a wet laugh. “To have a first dance as husband and wife.”

“Of course,” she snorted, shaking her head amusedly. “Do you have a song in mind?”

“Oh, about fifty. But we might be thinkin’ of the same one.” Peter gently swung her around to his front, taking her other hand in his and swaying back and forth, stepping to the beat of the song that was playing in both of their heads. Gamora, happily overwhelmed with pure, unadulterated bliss, stood on her toes to kiss him, pleased as he chased her lips to meet her halfway. Her hands slid into his hair, his around her waist, tangling themselves together until their shadow was one. They continued to take small, measured steps as they kissed, when Peter suddenly stumbled over his own feet, breaking the kiss.

Gamora tilted his chin upward with her thumb, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…I’m really tired. Spent way too long looking for places that could make that ring, and comin’ up with everything I wanted to say…” He interrupted himself with a well-deserved, albeit ill-timed yawn. “Dunno if I can make it all the way back to bed.”

“That’s okay,” Gamora replied, patting him sympathetically on the chest. She, too, was beginning to lose her balance from deliriously happy exhaustion. “I’m here.”

Peter smiled. “You are.”

#ask #Anonymous #starmora #starmora fic #myfic #marvel #tried to get this up yesterday but i had a real bad stomach bug D: sorry anon #i hope this is what you were looking for!!

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lv-iceprince · 2 years

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@ourclaryme

Hi there love! First of all I need to apologise, I truly planned to have this up earlier but alas I had fallen ill and had little to no energy. Thank you so much for requesting! As far as I’m concerned you are (and always will be) an angel. Sending you all the love in the entire universe xoxoxoxo

~BTS~ Jungkook

I’m just going to kick this ship off by saying that this was an incredibly easy choice to make! As soon as I saw your selca’s and re-read the old description you sent me I was convinced that you and Jungkook would be absolutely perfect together. I went with my heart in this ship so I will try to explain this the best I can, I also like to begin these ships by mentioning visuals. Both you and Jungkook have quite similar visuals, yet oddly enough this actually adds to the charm that would be so apparent in your relationship. I want to discuss what I think is the most flattering part of your relationship: The fact that you both have such a youthful and bubbly look. You both have such bright and curious eyes, but what makes this factor interesting is the underlying sense of maturity that is maintained. The maturity mentioned can actually apply to both your appearance and personality. It’s a very safe almost nostalgic feeling when I picture both you and Jungkook, it seems natural that the two of you were meant to be. At minimum you are definitely his ideal type, your features are so prominent but also come across as being quite delicate. Though your physical attributes will play a role in your relationship it won’t be what keeps the two of you together. The driving force behind your relationship would be the manner in which your personalities come together to form some sort of uniting bond.

Something that is also notable to mention is the type of beautiful romance that blooms when Capricorn and Virgo fall in love. These types of romances are the definition of wholesome, it’s very charming and you will both find that it won’t take long for you to become hopelessly devoted to one another. It would feel like you had finally met your soul mate, and Jungkook would feel the same way. You see eye to eye when it comes to the very nature of your relationship, both of you priding loyalty and commitment over other aspects. You are both seekers of something that lasts rather than a quick fling. But all of that is seems to be a minor aspect of your relationship when you consider how perfect your interests and personalities match up.

Jungkook will always approach you with a gentle touch, so to speak. If you were keen on learning Korean, he would be willing to teach you. The whole time he would never anger easily or lose patience with you. He views you as an angel, your heart is so pure and deserving of love and all of the joys that are associated with it.

Jungkook truly cherishes the fact that you are so open to life and all that it has to offer. You seem to be an adventurer of sorts; it is something that I feel is so deeply engrained in your entire character that it reflects in your sense of style. I personally think that Jungkook suits someone who doesn’t fit into a definitive box so to speak, Jungkook has some parts of his personality that appear to be a contradiction of some sort. He is a fairly shy person yet he still manages to exude a sense of confidence as he presents the best version of himself, he is gifted in various areas yet he still remains humble. This sense of duality works very well with you considering that it matches your own. You are both highly fascinating individuals, so it is pretty safe to assume that you will be able to show each other an uncensored version of each other. It will never even cross your minds to critique each other either, as far as you are concerned your significant other is the definition of perfect.

#kpop ships #kpop matchups #overall ships #bts #hippie aesthetic #blue and yellow edition

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jilliansmirrorimage · 5 years

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The Lie that Ruled a Nation

unedited, unabridged, uncensored...

Happiness. From our parents, our friends, our church, our schools, to our job, we are told that it is our right and our goal to be happy. Happiness is our goal. Somewhere along the way we started believing that this was truth and that anything less than our view of happiness was more than just undesirable, it was wrong. It is wrong to have any perceived unhappy circumstance.

So, living in this lie we decided that we would eat what we want, love what we want, do what we want, act like we want.... because if we don't do those things we will become unhappy..... and that is bad. Regardless of right or wrong.... regardless of good or bad.... regardless of our impact on those around us.... because what is right anyway other than what makes me happy? What is good or bad other than the things that make me feel good? What makes me happy is really what is best for others, right? As Christians i urge you to look deeply into scripture and discover truth... life is not about what makes you happy and what makes you happy isn’t always the thing that is true and honorable and pure and lovely and commendable and excellent and worthy of praise.

Lets start at the very beginning... its a very good place to start....

Adam and Eve were created and lived in perfection. They walked and talked with the LORD God everyday. They had each other. They had all the food they needed. But one day Eve allowed herself to believe that the one the the LORD God asked her not to do would make her happier than she was then... Eating the fruit that the tree in the middle of the garden. She saw the tree and to her it was beauty and sweetness and wisdom even though the LORD God had warned her that it was separation, turmoil, and death.... But the fruit would make her happy.... wouldn’t it? Why then she would have more in common with the LORD God Whom she walked with daily. Why then she would have better food to eat and her cravings for it would be satisfied.... it was such a mouth watering piece of fruit.

Lets move on the the very people that the LORD God called “His people”: Israel. The LORD God brought them out of slavery and placed them in the land He had promised to given them, the land flowing with milk and honey. He said to them, “Now if you faithfully obey the voice of the LORDyour God and are careful to follow all His commandments I am giving you today, the LORDyour God will set you high above all the nations of the earth. All these blessings will come upon you and overtake you, if you will obey the voice of the LORD your God:…” But living this lifestyle made them different from all those around them. They could not marry whomever they wanted, they could not eat whatever they wanted, they could not worship whomever they wanted.... so they did the things that made them happy and war and famine and slavery fell upon them.

Then there was Jesus. Jesus lived a life no one would choose. He lived a life that was not the model for the “American dream happy life”. He gave up His place at the right hand side of the God the Father to become human so that he could suffer and be tempted to pursue His own happiness above all else just like we are only to choose day by day and moment by moment to put our good above His “happiness.” And at the end of it all, He died to save us from ourselves and our pursuit of our own happiness that has led us astray.

Often the things that do not make us happy in the moment are the best things for us. Eating well help protect our bodies from hypertension, diabetes, high cholesterol. Not smoking or doing drugs or drinking copious amounts of alcohol keeps us from liver and lung disease. Refraining from excessive spending protects us from financial stress and debt we struggle to pay off. Saving sex for the marriage of one man and one woman until death do they part protects us from sexually transmitted diseases. Choosing to love this person and honor your wedding vows protect your family from destruction and your children from from depression. Not releasing plastic balloons as a wedding send off protects the sea creatures. Recycling protects our planet and keeps us from living in a contaminated environment.

None of the things listed are easy. Eating isn’t the choice that makes me happy. Eating the cinnamon roll or drinking the sweet coffee drink or eating the Chinese food always does.... until it doesn’t. Refraining from substance abuse and under age consumption isn’t the choice that always makes me happy. It makes me feel ostracized, alone, and different. To party and do what my friends are doing would make me happy.... until it doesn’t. Being frugal is not the choice that always make me happy. Buying whatever I want whenever i want makes me happy.... until it doesn’t. Saving myself for marriage is not always the choice that makes me happy. Having sex whenever and with whoever I want would make me happy.... until it doesn’t. Staying with the person that I married even when I don’t feel the same way about them, they bug me, or because I simply don’t feel happy anymore is not the choice that always makes me happy. Moving on to a different relationship would make me happy.... until it doesn’t.... getting the picture? You are unhealthy, disease ridden, hurtful to those you love and never really loving them, in massive debt, killing baby sea creatures and living in the filth that you have accumulated for yourself in the pursuit of your own happiness.

Happiness is not our goal. “I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back.” Phil 3:12-14 The Message. The pursuit of happiness is limited to moments. The pursuit of Jesus is looking to a future and caring for other more than yourself. Christian or not, married, divorced, or single, virgin or not, drinker or not, smoker or not, health addict or food addict, big spenders or frugal savers, environmentalist or not, when someone puts you before them you always feel honored, loved, cared for, grateful. Turn away from seeking self.

“But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.” Matt 6:33

The pursuit of happiness is not our goal. We are not defined by what makes us feel happy in this moment. Our identity is found in Christ. Our Worth is found in Christ. Our JOY, our HAPPY is found in Christ.... even if it doesn’t feel happy. And honey, You are worth so much more than what makes you feel happy at this very moment.

"Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Hebrews 12:2

"And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you received the word in much affliction, with the joy of the Holy Spirit." 1 Thes. 1:6

“You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.” Pslam 16:11

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” Gal. 5:22

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Rom. 15:13

This lie rules our nation. Will it rule you?

#talkingtomyself #truthseeker #seektruth

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vvampyr-blog · 7 years

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A quiet sigh slips through parted lips &. it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be doing this. His actions , however , show the opposite. So do his eyes: they’re shimmering with pure, uncensored joy , but it’s hidden so well that even it’s owner doesn’t realize what it is. After all , it’s not entirely his feelings , it’s more so the pure instinct ingrained within him &. Dimitri will never stop suppressing it.

He’s got a pair of used pliers dangling in one hand &. bottled water in the other. He’s been ordered to extract information from this person &. he can’t disobey. So he’s got his target tied tightly to a chair &. weapons of destruction scattered about around him. He’ll do what needs to be done , of course , but he won’t enjoy it --- at least not consciously. -------- He’ll take a quick sip of water , jaw tightening as breath hisses out from between clenched teeth.

❛ I don’t want to hurt you. ❜ He murmurs quickly , Russian accent laced intimately throughout each syllable , forced smile gracing his lips ; perhaps it is comforting to his prisoner ?? Regardless , that is Dimitri’s intent. Watch as evil tries so hard to be ... good !! ❛ I won’t have to , though , if you answer my questions. I’ve got a ... job , you see ?? &. I have to do it. So you’ll cooperate , yes ?? ❜ Because those pliers ?? They’re for teeth &. Dimitri isn’t a dentist !!

#if u wanna flesh this out a little more just lmk guys!!#indie rp #indie horror rp #indie crime rp #indie spn rp #❪ ✦ ┊ open starter.#❪ ✦ ┊ in character.#❪ ✦ ┊ v. killer king.#queue.

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harrisxbby-blog · 8 years

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ненормальный

It didn’t really hit him until the laptop closed that what he’d thought was an easy out for Justin was actually very true. Panic lurked just behind every heartbeat, his body had tensed for a fight his conscious mind didn’t know they were about to happen on, and his breaths came short and fast. There were words going on around him, but they were impossible to make out through the rushing in his ears. He knew where he was and what was happening — he was safe, on a couch, those touches were coming from Justin, his voice and Casey’s were dancing above his head somewhere, they were in Paris. Things were fine.

But the itchy restless desperation wasn’t letting up.

His skin was beginning to crawl and he had the endlessly frustrating urge to be alone fighting with the urge to never let go of Justin ever again. A few key words pierced through the fog descending on his brain (leave, groceries, wanna come), forcing his gaze to snap up to Casey’s before switching to Justin’s. There he found himself pausing, because everything in him was screaming that he didn’t want to go but he knew his fiancee. Justin needed a physical task to keep his mind busy. He couldn’t sit still long enough to read, or be soothed by a long playlist, and Harris knew without a doubt that if he so much as hesitated that Justin wouldn’t go.

So he resisted the call of his body demanding retreat, even held out against the impulse to curl in defensively on himself, and just stretched up to press a kiss on Justin’s cheek and get close enough to talk without feeling overheard or judged by Casey.

“I can’t go right now. But you go with Casey. You need to go as much as I need to stay and that’s okay. We both deal differently and I’ll be safe right here waiting for you to come back, yeah? You won’t be gone long. I won’t even have time to miss ya.”

Dropping his head onto Justin’s shoulder, he cuddled close for a few moments, but made it clear that if Justin didn’t willingly walk out the door, he’d do his best to push him out. Things had been strained between Justin and Casey and granted Harris’ probable irrational distrust of Casey wasn’t doing them any favors, but if this year had taught him anything — it was that being alone was the worst feeling in the world.

Every human needed connections, needed friends, needed family — and Justin was no exception to that.

Neither was Casey.

So he’d push and quell the shaking, ignore his brain, smile and tease and pass every one of Justin’s are you sure I can leave you alone mini-tests to give them both that.

Eventually, Justin agreed and after a bit more teeth-pulling over a grocery list and a few concerned glances passed around over his continuing disinterest in all things edible, the boys went on their way. Harris followed them out via the patio, lingering outside just long enough to blow a kiss and wave before retreating inside before they were even fully out of sight.

Trying to avoid notice and eye contact, he silently made his way back to their room, curling up on the made bed with his hood up and earbuds in. It was only in moments like this - alone and protected by his favorite comforts that he would let himself feel. Raw and uncensored.

To his own surprise, it wasn’t the basement that bubbled up, nor the horror that follows finding yourself an actual killer, not even grief — not today.

It seemed talking about friends and old times had made him nostalgic.

Today was about his mother.

Dimly, he’d come to the realization that this was the longest he’d gone ever not talking to her and it didn’t feel right. No matter how many times his brain tried to tell him he was a fool, she was no mother, his heart still cried out for her.

For so long, she’d been his candle in the dark. Ellie’d been his world, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know the parts of Harris that’d grown broken and dark under an impossible-to-beat hatred. She’d never sat on a wordless phone call, exchanging nothing but choked breaths and coughed swallows in a shared bout of grief. She’d never known the pure joy of a perfectly done routine done only for the joy of dancing.

So much of who he was had been Noémi’s influence. She picked him up, brushed him off, encouraged him to keep his head up, to keep being who he was, who was the only gentle touch he’d known… he could have been a bully. Or worse festered with more anger than he’d known what to do with and become an arsonist or worse.

But she instilled compassion, empathy, sensitivity in him and he’d never resented those parts of himself.

How could he now?

He could almost feel more than hear footsteps coming his way and wanted to roll his back to the door to hide the evidence of water on his cheeks, but he couldn’t make himself. Not yet. What if it wasn’t who he thought it was? What if they grabbed him?

So he just stayed put, giving his current handler a moment to make his assessment, but when they didn’t immediately turn and walk away, he glanced up. It’d been pretty blatantly obvious even to him that he was being monitored and not only in Justin’s absence. And to be fair, he couldn’t blame them. His mind was a minefield, his childhood questionable, and his coping strategies non-existent; he was quite literally the walking definition of ‘a danger to himself’. His only issue was constantly asking himself why did no one else see that Justin could use the same monitoring?

That’s mostly why he agreed on Liz flying out here.

There may be hope in the distant future for a mending or at least a peace between Dairen and Justin but it was not now. Justin’d not take kindly to the same kind of dynamic that had Harris allowing Dairen to see the most vulnerable parts of himself.

Not yet.

But he was just as troubled as Harris was — it just manifested in different ways. The nightmares, the violent outbursts, the hot and cold he ran with Casey and even his family.

He was just as much a danger to himself as Harris was. Only Harris had no idea how to help him. Not when Justin’s mind was wired not only differently but almost entirely opposite of his own and especially not when his own was so compromised.

But for now he just gave the man in the door a faint smile hoping to signal that he wasn’t ready for any kind of interaction just yet and looked away. His body remained alert, not completely trusting that he wouldn’t attempt to rush in or try to grab him or something else equally as irrationally, but after a moment, the footsteps turned and faded.

There’d probably be coffee the next time. A tissue. An awkward shoulder pat or two and despite his current low, the thought did tug a small genuine feeling of something warm in his chest.

He was still cared for.

Though…was that part of her plan?

Nausea made him bolt upright on the bed, thoughts beginning to race, unable to resist connecting a newly seen pattern.

She’d never left Piers. She’d never admitted his crimes. Not to any concerned parent, neighbor, teacher — but then she flies to Hawaii. She meets Dairen. She meets a man who puts Harris’ best interests in front of peace, money, … all of it. A man who offered --insisted -- to keep him protected despite his father’s wishes.

Then she buckled.

She sealed Harris’ trust and hope with that man.

His mind was a mess of rage, of helplessness, of that sickening guilty feeling after you realize you’ve been played, of disbelief, denial.

This was the one thing he’d been holding on to.

Had it been part of her plan all along?

Shoving off the bed, he started to pace, trying to keep time with his dueling thoughts. Each time he found support, he tried to pick it apart, only to fail again and again.

Time passed. He lost track.

But eventually he boiled over and recklessly charge out of the bedroom, on a mission, checking the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room, before opening the patio door and meeting Dairen’s gaze head on.

“Where is she.” he demanded. Or at least, as much as one could ‘demand’ when your body was battling rage, grief, exhaustion, and a shit-ton of crying. Belatedly he realized that was entirely vague and needed clarification. “My mom. Where is she? I need to talk to her. I need…I need answers. I can’t trust the answers but if I have them then at least I can make the choice then whether or not to believe it, but I can’t —my head. It’s driving me more insane and none of us can afford that so just please. Can I write a letter? Talk on the phone? Bloody Skype. I don’t care. I just…I need to know.”

Feeling embarrassingly young and heartbroken, he deflated a little, wrapping his arms around himself and falling a step or two back. “I need to know what was real. If there’s fucking anything…like did she chose you? Was this all part of her grand design? I’m like a mouse who doesn’t know he’s in a maze despite the amount of times he’s run into a fucking wall. Jesus.”

It was all so clear now. Dairen sure was head of the agency, a real tough guy, a real useful guy — who also had a giant fucking void from the son he failed and a desperate need for redemption.

Harris had a giant fucking void from the father he never had and desperately needed to be saved.

What a fucking match made in heaven weren’t they?

How could he have been such an idiot?

He was so fucking weak. Pathetic. Stupid.

Piers, Marty -- they’d been right all along. They’d seen him for the mouse he was and taunted him. He’d been so fucking naive.

“It all...she...what do you do? What would you do? If you were here, right now, standing in my shoes. It’s all lies and deceit and betrayals and not real and I ... I am not okay. Please, don’t call Justin. Don’t tell him. I’ll be fine. I won’t -- I won’t do anything. I won’t worry him more. But it’s all - I’m all - forget it. Sorry. Stupid, it’s stupid. I’m - I’m sorry. Forget it. Dumb stupid naive...I don’t learn. Talking to her won’t fix any of this. Just gives her another chance to say what I want to hear and I’ll buy it ‘cause I’m desperate for .... fuck.”

He just wanted his Mom back. And she knew it.

“Now’d be a good time for Vlad to go childproof or mental-patient-proof anywhere I’d have access to.” he said dully, backing up until he hit the glass off the door and wedging himself between it and the wall as he folded down to his knees. “Just let me know when I can go lay down again.”

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naiasonod · 7 years

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Shifting colors; they moved like tides, like glaciers, like fractal-scattering starlight racing at the speed of thought.

Passing into his realm was not like walking through a doorway out of one room and into another. To enter Oblivion, one had to Be there. Magic was an illusion in many ways; it did not take you anywhere, and it did not do anything for you. It was, in every conceivable way, the fake horn glued to the forehead of a real unicorn, but it was not meant to fool others.

It was there only to fool yourself. Nobody needed magic, to Be here, or to Be there; not truly. Not really.

It was a needful rest that he sought here, though not needful for trauma or violent misfortune's sake. His manufactured corpus was rarely destroyed. These trips home were not nearly so pleasant when that was how he wound up going home.

It was beautiful, this morass of ebbing, flowing possibilities everyone called Oblivion. It had many names in many languages, but as with all things, the only real name for it was what it was, and quite possibly no being nor thing save itself truly Knew what it was, and thus could ever know its own Name.

Being destroyed and catapulting home was not nearly so pleasant as discorporating and taking the slow, scenic route. Bodily destruction left the psyche in agony, or at least disoriented and off its own rails if death were unexpected and so sudden as to not even be felt. Neither made for lovely trips home, though being home and convalescing, even after the most torturous and agonizing of bodily deaths, wasn't so bad, all things considered.

It was like being violently ill in a way. For a time, he'd be too weak and jittery and raw to reform himself, but that would stabilize soon enough. The more he focused on calm things, the better off it went. Centering, focusing and settling out enough to reform himself was made increasingly difficult by his mindset more than anything.

If he was happy, centered and getting back to feeling confident, it came easy as you please. Being killed had a way of fracturing those things, leaving one more than scattered and worse than depressed; it felt bleak. It felt like being made of sand held together by will and collapsing, scattering everywhere and being unable to move or even to want to try to move again at first.

The Will to Be had to be strong though. Even if it sagged for a bit, it had to resurge, and indeed he'd never found it a struggle to eventually reform. Sometimes it took far longer than other times, but he always found his will to live and Be again.

In that respect, moving through Oblivion even of his own volition was somewhat similar. Those that lacked the will to remain themselves...wouldn't. Those that lacked the centered focus tempered by Knowing themselves would be scattered, perhaps physically warped or mentally warped; often enough both.

Just now, he was passing through a five-dimensional ocean, and it was so achingly beautiful that he was almost tempted to stay a while and Be a part of it, to Know it better. The temptation for such things was great for him, such was his hunger to Know and to Understand; great, but not uninformed by prior experiences.

He'd done such things before, and usually wound up with cause to regret it. Just because he Knew himself didn't mean he was somehow invulnerable to the predations of other things that also Knew themselves, and glorious things like this five dimensional ocean of wonder were sometimes traps set by just such beings.

One had to be careful of that out here. Nothing was safe. The whole notion of 'safe' was best discarded entirely in all considerations of everything to do with any of it. If one every got it into their heads that anything in Oblivion was safe, they could rest assured that they were wrong.

That was part of what thrilled and delighted him so much about it; it was never boring. Not even a little. The dangers were many, but the rewards in terms of wisdom and comprehension, chiefly of himself, paid dividends he measured out as priceless.

So it was that he turned a loving admiration upon many things even as he turned away from most of them. One need not spring a possible trap to admire it. One need not make a mistake in order to appreciate the beauty of the possibility for it to have been made at all. Possibility itself was beautiful to him, and a great many had thought him quite mad when he truly spoke his mind about such things as beauty.

A single grain of sand was something he could easily be moved to tears of bewonderment over, if he wished to look at it as he sometimes was moved to do. He'd spent a while being most everyone and everything else's idea of barking mad by diving headfirst into absolute wonder and amazement over such things a long while back, and then again some while thereafter, and then again not long after that.

It was a process of letting go of the fetters of both expectation and concern for coherence, then simply experiencing whatever came exactly as it was, unfiltered, unmitigated, uncensored by sanity's rigidities.

Control was vital for Being and holding distiction of the I AM from everything one was not...but it was also the first thing that needed to go, in order to Understand and to Become.

He'd once struggled with the seeming contradictions in that quite terribly. Control and all the definitions and tempering it brought would bring one to a doorway within, but needed to be shed entirely in order to pass through that doorway.

It was a maddening lesson in life that he'd not learned quickly or easily, to let go and not be terrified that he'd never find himself again, or that if he did at all, he'd not be himself at all anymore.

Realizing that that was the point and being terrified of the point were easy things to be at the same time, and getting over that terror was never a job fully done. The five dimensional ocean of luminal beauty was far away now. He was moving into a place of lines and sharp edges, every one of them cold or hot with anger.

Even he would be destroyed quite permanently in a 'terrain hazard' like this if he did not navigate it properly, and navigating it properly required Being. He became Cold Anger, preferring the razor lines to the burning havoc contrasting them in this expanse. Murderous rage frozen into vorpal intention was skated down with ease, and there were no surprises to be found in it this time.

There rarely were with pure primalities like that, he'd found. The convoluted concepts often held surprises and nuances unexpected, and that was always a game of adapt-or-suffer. Finding a nice expanse of pure dichotomous anger to ride out was comparatively effortless, and his adaptation of Cold Anger flew swift and unerring, defined by its needly precisions and focus.

It wasn't long before the expanse of dichotomous anger gave way to a churning storm of grief, anguish and mellencholly that took pseudophysical forms. Hitting a patch of Agony was never fun, but it was much like being caught out in the rain in its own fashions - one just had to huddle in and either trudge with conviction or, if the Agony was too severe, make shelter out of one's Peace, Joy and Love and weather it out, if one could endure long enough to do so.

This wasn't a particularly intense or churning Agony storm, so he elected to gird himself in his joy over any number of things he was joyful of and wander right on through. Several times, the Agony storm took shapes and forms reminiscent of things anathaemic to his joy, but it wasn't maliciously done. Agony storms weren't malicious. They weren't creatures unto themselves, usually. This one certainly wasn't.

Cold rainwater would seep into your clothes, your boots and get into everything water could get into. Agony would seep into your animus, into your psyche and dampen, mute, stultify and dull everything it could get into.

It was like water; just a thing Being. To hate it was pointless. To fear it was useless. To love it?

That was difficult. Often enough, he couldn't do it, but this time? This time, he was seeing reflections in the Agony deluge of people that had brought him joy before; people he'd lost, people that had suffered because he'd failed them even if only in his own mind, people he'd never gotten to do or be or say all he meant to with.

The Agony storm was reciprocating off his particular tonality of Joy in antithetical fashion, like they typically did, but he was choosing to feel love for those things the storm was reminding him off rather than regret and sorrow.

It wasn't easy, but out here, one had to be able to exercise that degree of control over their own feelings. Just like how one had to be able to relinquish that control entirely in order to Become something in order to have a hope of adapting to, and surviving, anything out here at all.

The love he felt for the things the Agony storm was reflecting had the desired effect; it muted the storm and slowly quelled it into being a small but tender expanse of poignant, bittersweet reflection. Seeing the visages of old friends and hearing the whispers of their voices echoing out of his own memory was not a poor thing. Neither were the small number of tears he shed in departing from the quelled stormzone.

One could not touch a thing without also being touched by it. To quell a storm like that, one had to let it in, feel it and change the feeling. Oblivion was every bit as sanity-shattering and deadly as most believed, for those that could not even let themselves feel and experience their own emotions let alone anything much more and beyond such rudimentary things.

Soon enough, he was in the familiar umbra of his own domain. It was a small thing, but familiar. It was wrought of his will, suffused with his spirit and formed like a walled estate mirroring a goodly number of Nirn's own expressions of material forms and shapes and physical functionalities. Passing into his realm at last, he took a moment to let his senses adjust.

Definite up and down, the illusion of gravity and the seemings of material coherence and stability were all in effect. As always, it felt momentarily jarring, but only for a moment.

There were things to do and matters to attend at hand. Wielding his staff as a walking stick, he gazed up the winding jungle pathway and, with the heady fragrance of his small realm's atmosphere buoying him, set forth up the small, easy-to-miss path.

He'd soon enough reach the heart of the landmass, where his bastion stood. Taking a short bit longer to enjoy the sensation of being home on pleasant terms was always in order, and he resolved to do precisely that.

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