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whumpitup · 4 years

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You Can Never Really Forget - a 9-1-1: Lonestar Fanfic

Summary:

TK couldn’t remember the night he was shot.

One night, everything comes back to him in his sleep, and Carlos is there to rescue him.

(AKA – you ever have a fanfic idea that actually physically hurts your heart to write? Lol)

Some Tags: #whump #shot #ptsd #panic attack #hurt/comfort

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It had been a few weeks since TK was shot responding to a call with the 126. While it had all seemed so big and heavy at the beginning, over time, TK found himself forgetting.

Once and a while TK would be too ambitious, making too fast a movement, or shifting positions and making his chest scream in protest. He would freeze, grimace, and take a deep breath, allowing the pain to subside. He would be reminded once again that he wasn’t there yet - he still had healing to do, as much as the waiting frustrated him.

He was spending a lot of time with Carlos, now. TK could tell something had shifted between the two of them recently. After they had teamed up to handle the solar flare incident, it was like something had just solidified. The shift was automatic, and maybe permanent. He was happy that was the case.

As much as TK pushed away at the beginning of their relationship, TK always hoped he and Carlos’ relationship would turn into something more. TK initially wanted to run away from the idea of a real relationship with Carlos, scared that he may get hurt like he did with his last boyfriend. But something about Carlos made him feel safe - like it was worth the risk.

Once TK finally opened up about his feelings, Carlos started to put a lot of effort into their time together. He was constantly taking TK to new places in the city, planning elaborate dates, and inviting him over as much as possible. TK originally thought this was due to TK finally giving him the “OK” to move forward, but after a week or so, he pondered if there was another motive behind his heightened effort of intiation.

Was Carlos trying to distract him?

TK noticed Carlos would get this look in his eyes every time TK forgot about the gunshot wound again and ended up hurting himself inadvertently. It was subtle. Carlos probably didn’t even realize he was doing it, but his eyebrows would furrow slightly, his eyes would widen. He looked at TK like he was fragile and was immediately prepared to do whatever it took to protect him from breaking.

TK knew Carlos didn’t intend to show his worry on his face, but he wasn’t very good at hiding his emotions. TK didn’t like seeming weak in front of Carlos (or anyone) but he knew deep-down that Carlos’ concern didn’t come from a place of judgment. So, TK tried to ignore the way it made him feel.

TK wondered if the sudden busy approach to their time together was Carlos’ way to help TK get his mind off of things. The dates, the detailed plans… it was like Carlos was giving TK as many opportunities as possible to forget what happened. They were always doing something. Never sitting still long enough for memories to resurface. How would TK tell Carlos he didn’t need to forget something he never remembered in the first place?

Yes, the weight of what happened was intense. He knew he almost died. He knew he had been in a coma. But the rest of it? It was like there was a blank space in his mind that TK just couldn’t get past. That whole experience - the answered call, the kid with the gun, the aftermath - was wiped from his memory. His father had insisted this was a good thing, but TK couldn’t shake feeling like something had been taken from him. It was a bizarre feeling, knowing that everyone else remembered the night he was shot except for him.

One night, when Carlos had invited TK over for a movie date, he thought about talking to Carlos about everything. He wasn’t mad about the way Carlos was acting around him, but he wanted to address it. To explain that he didn’t need Carlos to be so worried about him.

More than anything, TK wanted to express to someone how off he felt.

TK wasn’t good at being vulnerable with his feelings, but it was something his therapist had tried to get him to be better at. Carlos probably wouldn’t be able to offer much advice, considering how weird and personal the situation was to TK, but getting the thoughts out in the open might be helpful. Maybe it would help him process through the uncomfortable feeling of being unable to retrieve the memory of one of the most life-altering events he’d ever experienced.

The lights were low, however, and TK was lying comfortably next to Carlos, under his arm. TK’s head was resting on Carlos’ shoulder, and he felt his eyelids growing heavy with each passing minute. He wanted to talk, but his body resisted. Maybe the conversation could wait until morning. He was exhausted. With a final deep breath, he let sleep overtake him.

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“One, two, three,”

TK slammed the battering ram into the door.

Crack!

The shot rang out.

TK stumbled back in surprise, gripping the doorframe.

“Was that a gunshot?”

TK looked at his father, wanting to say something, anything. But he couldn’t connect his thoughts to his mouth. He couldn’t even pull air into his lungs.

“TK?”

He started to fall.

“TK!” His father shouted.

He was on the ground. His father’s panicked face appeared over him.

“Dad—" TK started, being interrupted by a painful fit of coughs.

“Michelle!” Owen shouted, looking over his shoulder.

TK saw the blur of a few teammates rushing into the room in front of him to dissipate the situation they had arrived for.

He felt a warmth spreading across his chest and pooling underneath him. His back arched as pain ripped through his torso. Holy shit, he was shot.

TK heard himself crying out in pain, though he sounded far away from his own body.

“Hey, TK, stay with us! Please, son, look at me,” Owen pleaded, his hands grasping the sides of TK’s face. Michelle was putting pressure on his chest, saying things to him he couldn’t focus on enough to understand. There was commotion everywhere.

“... hear me?”

“... too much blood...”

“Get him .... now!”

TK gasped, desperate for air. He forced out a wet cough, choking on something in his throat. Was that blood?

“He can’t breathe!” Owen shouted, still holding TK’s head in his hands. There were tears falling rapidly down his face. “TK, please stay with us.”

Michelle was frantically rummaging through the equipment next to her to find something.

TK used every ounce of remaining effort to grab hold of his dad’s wrist. A pang of guilt gripped him. His dad was watching him die. Again.

I’m sorry, Dad, he thought to himself. I’m so sorry.

He tried to hold on to the faces in front of him - to the voices, the pain, anything - but blackness crept at the corners of his vision and pulled him under.

TK woke again in the ambulance. There were paramedics around him, prodding him, moving him, strapping things to him. There was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, but it didn’t seem to do much. TK felt like he was drowning.

There was too much pressure building in his head. His lungs screamed for oxygen, but he couldn’t get them to cooperate. The heart monitor beeped erratically. TK was panicking. He caught sight of Owen to the left of him. The older man looked pale and terrified, his right hand combing nervously through his hair.

The ambulance hit a bump and TK took in a shuddering gasp, which caught his father’s attention. Owen sat upright. TK’s head lolled to the side to face him. He no longer had the energy to keep it up.

TK reached his hand out weakly. Owen jumped up to take it in his.

“Are you with me, son?” He asked shakily.

The pain was all-consuming. TK wanted to assure his dad somehow that he would be okay, but apart from his inability to speak, he also felt an overwhelming fear that any assurance would be a lie. He was certainly dying.

“Captain Strand, I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to ask you to back up so we can work,” one paramedic urged his father.

TK pressed his eyes shut, wanting to stay awake for his dad’s sake, but wanting the pain and struggle to be over. He could no longer tell if Owen had let go of his hand, or if he could just no longer feel it.

The heart rate monitor grew increasingly loud and fast in his ears.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

“TK!”

Was that Carlos?

“TK you’re okay! You’re safe!”

That was definitely Carlos. What the hell was he doing there?

TK kept his eyes pressed shut. He felt strong arms grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

The pain was gone somehow, but TK still couldn’t breathe.

“TK! Look at me! Wake up, please!” Carlos pleaded.

TK obeyed, shooting his eyes open to see Carlos’ worry-stricken face in front of him. TK was hyperventilating. His clothes were drenched in sweat.

“Where am I?” He choked out.

“My house, TK, my house,” Carlos insisted. TK shook his head vigorously, unable to grab a hold of reality. If he was safe, why did it still feel like he was drowning?

“Look at me, Tyler,” Carlos implored in a stern, but consoling voice. TK listened.

“I’m right here. You’re okay, I promise. You need to breathe, alright?” Carlos’ voice broke on his last word. TK noticed he was shaking slightly.

“O-okay,” TK stammered between his short breaths. His head pounded painfully.

“Follow my breathing, okay?” Carlos said. He took in an exaggerated deep breath. TK did his best to replicate it. Carlos exhaled, not releasing eye contact. TK exhaled with him. They repeated this action a few times. TK reached a hand up to his chest, feeling a jolt of unease when his shirt felt damp. He looked down, expecting blood, but seeing sweat. He sighed in relief.

“I thought—” he said softly, unable to finish his sentence. He was starting to relax, but his breathing wasn’t back to normal yet.

“You went back there, didn’t you?” Carlos asked somberly. TK looked up, his eyes threatening to fill with tears.

“I haven’t... been able to remember anything... about that night,” TK said between breaths. “It was like it all flooded back to me, somehow. Like... I lived through it again.”

Carlos frowned, sympathy in his eyes.

“I am so, so sorry, TK. That must have been so terrifying.”

TK couldn’t help his chin from quivering. He looked down, embarrassed that he couldn’t keep it together. He let out a sob and dropped his head into his hands.

Carlos pulled him into a tight embrace and TK buried his face into his neck.

They sat like this for a few minutes. Carlos held TK in silence as he released all the feelings he had been holding on to for the past few weeks. Carlos gently stroked the back of TK’s head as his shoulders shook with his sobs.

After a few long minutes had passed, TK pulled away, sniffling and wiping the tears from his face. His eyes were red and puffy. Carlos grabbed one of TK’s hand. TK noticed Carlos had been crying, too. He hated that he caused the people around him so much pain sometimes.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t even know what happened.”

“Don’t apologize for anything, TK. Seriously,” Carlos said with such sincerity TK didn’t feel the need to argue. “Trauma is a bitch, whether or not it’s immediate.”

“I thought I would just always have this blankness in my mind surrounding that day. It was so frustrating to not be able to remember it. I didn’t think it would ever come back to me,” TK said. “Now I wish it hadn’t.”

“I totally get it. I wasn’t right there when it happened, but hearing that gunshot, knowing you guys were in there and then seeing them bring you out on a stretcher...” Carlos trailed off. “If it was that horrifying for me, I can’t even imagine what it was like for you.”

“It was so clear just now. I legitimately thought I was there. The pain, the blood, my Dad’s face when he realized what happened, it was so real.” There was a beat of silence. “But then you pulled me out of it,” TK continued. “Thank you.”

Carlos gave a small smile and squeezed TK’s hand.

“How are you feeling now? Any better?” he asked. TK nodded.

“Yeah. I feel like I’m back in reality again,” he answered.

Carlos stood up and walked around to sit back down on the couch next to TK. Carlos pulled him close.

“I am so sorry that happened. I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Carlos whispered. He gave TK a kiss on his forehead. “If you ever are alone and that happens again, you call me, okay? I don’t care where you are. I’ll be there.”

TK hoped it would never happen again, but he knew it didn’t always work that way. TK let himself relax into Carlos’ hold. He would deal with it when the time came.

In that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The conversation TK had wanted to have before he fell asleep seemed incredibly inconsequential now. He was grateful for Carlos - every aspect of him. Maybe Carlos was being a little protective and insistent, but TK had a feeling a little extra distraction would be good for him, anyway. Maybe Carlos’ concern for him felt a little uncomfortable, but it was TK’s own insecurity that made him feel weak; Carlos only helped him feel strong again.

As Carlos lightly traced circles on TK’s arm, he began to drift again. This time, however, TK didn’t dream at all.

(Thanks for reading :) I don’t write very much, but I’ve read some great TK fanfics here recently and I’m so attached to the characters I got inspired)

ALSO I tried to edit this post and it dELETED the whole thing which was mega frustrating, but now it’s back. I had made some edits on the original post that are gone now, so that’s annoying, but hopefully it’s mostly the same. Ugh.

#whump #911 lone star #tk strand #tarlos #carlos reyes #shot #ptsd #panic attack #whump fanfiction #hurt/comfort #whump fanfic

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sarahw-world · 7 years

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My first fanfic: “A Dark Heart”

Summary: Vegeta and Bulma land on Planet Z365...

Notes: Hi guys! Here's the new chapter!

I was actually working on the second chapter of my "Yellow Roses" story, but I had this one already half-written and I've chosen to finish it first and give you all a little update so you won't have to wait so long.

This was really, really hard to write, but I hope you like it...

You can also read it on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9066958/chapters/28584436

And on fanfiction.net:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12294658/26/A-Dark-Heart

Chapter 26: A Binding Promise

Bulma stepped into the space ship’s main living area after having just gotten dressed hurriedly inside one of the small cabins. Within a matter of minutes, they’d finally approach Planet Z365 and make preparations for landing on its reddish, humid surface.

The initial idea had been for them to shower and get ready a lot sooner in order to face Krillin, Yamcha and Vegeta’s bizarre army of men but, as usual, things hadn’t gone according to plan. Her Prince getting a glimpse of her alluring naked body walking pass him towards their small bathroom was all it’d taken for him to grab her and have his way with her, once again, on their still unmade king-sized bed. By the time he’d had her laying completely spent beneath him, there was barely any time left for both lovers to prepare.

Vegeta was already standing by the central control console, adjusting the pair of white gloves of the new armor Bulma had built for him and offering her a subtle side-glance when she finally joined him and stood right beside him.

She instantly noticed a manifest change in his demeanor, as if he were mentally preparing himself to face the grotesque militia he himself had arranged. Even though by now Bulma had already gotten used to the Saiyan’s behavior, after having learnt, in the very early stages of their relationship, that Vegeta had a tendency to hide his weaknesses behind a carefully crafted mask of pride and indifference, she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of melancholy whenever she witnessed her mate’s mesmerizing metamorphosis. It was as if he were an actor playing a carefully constructed part he’d been tenaciously rehearsing throughout an entire lifetime.

In all truth, Bulma had grown to feel lucky, almost privileged, that her relationship with her mate had grown and evolved so much that she now had the absolute certainty of being the only person in the entire Universe fortunate enough to be able to experience, and share, Vegeta’s softer, almost vulnerable side.

Back on Earth, Bulma had already caught subtle glimpses, here and there, of Vegeta lowering his guard slightly in the presence of her friends and family. Sure, he was never the warmest of companions, but she could tell that the Saiyan warrior had grown to, at least partially, accept that he was, whether he liked it or not, amongst comrades; a motley crew of fighters who always fought together as a team, standing by each other’s side at all times, to the point of sacrificing their own safety and, under extreme circumstances, their own lives, to protect the people they loved the most.

If her Prince eventually chose to turn his back on her and fully embrace this existence of dominance and insatiable quest for power, Bulma knew he’d never find the peace she truly believed he deserved.

After all, this wouldn’t be a simple case of building a façade of aloofness in a friendly, welcoming place like her home planet. If her man adopted the life of a supreme ruler, it certainly wouldn’t be an easy one. He’d spend the rest of his days living in a dangerous, hostile environment, constantly watching his back and without a single trustworthy being by his side, until some form of betrayal would take his life in the end. The mere mental image of Vegeta having to live under such terrible, inhuman circumstances, made Bulma shiver in complete horror.

And the physical danger wasn’t even her only concern regarding his mate’s choices, but his psychological well-being too. The heiress knew all too well the enormous amount of pressure that holding a position of power entailed. She’d observed it in her own father through the years, ever since she was a little girl who loved sneaking inside of Dr. Briefs’ central offices, back in West City. Of course, lab work had always been fun for both her dad and herself, but as years went by and she grew up, developing a greater awareness of her surroundings, she’d come to understand that there was another side of her father’s company that relied heavily on its founder’s leadership abilities and, now that Bulma was finally starting the process of being groomed into someday inheriting that position of power, she’d gotten a first taste of the heavy responsibilities attached to it, understanding that it wasn’t quite as easy as it appeared to be.

The saddest part was that his father had been fortunate enough to have a wife and two little daughters awaiting him back at home every day, showering him with love and affection and helping him disconnect, at least momentarily, from the weighty pressures of his daily life. However, if Vegeta chose to play the role of some evil Intergalactic Overlord, without her and Trunks by his side, he’d be utterly alone and, the very thought of it, made her eyes sting with unshed tears of grief and compassion.

During that last, almost surreal night they’d spent together on Planet Virggo, Bulma had finally been able to experience, in her own flesh, what inhabiting Vegeta’s mind was genuinely like. His was a psyche filled with filthy, terrifying demons and dark ghosts, haunting and tormenting him relentlessly, over and over again, without respite.

She recalled her tête-à-tête with Dende, back on The Lookout, when the young God had alluded to some mysterious conversations he’d maintained with older, more experienced Gods, who’d disclosed certain aspects of Vegeta’s past to him. The Namekian boy hadn’t shared any specific details of such revelations, but he’d confirmed that this new knowledge had made him look at the Saiyan Prince in a new light, and Bulma found it impossible to forget his admission to being surprised that the warrior hadn’t committed even worse sins that the ones he’d carried out already, given his obscure, dreadful background.

After Vegeta’s revelation, when he’d reluctantly acknowledged that a powerful Saiyan bond had developed between them and that her spine-chilling, disturbing dream had been more than just a figment of her imagination, Bulma had been able to comprehend, at last, just how seriously damaged her lover really was, and her heart had broken for him, wanting more than ever to bring him back home with her and their child, in hopes that a life of peace would someday help him heal and recover from his torturous history. If he didn’t, she knew Vegeta’s broken mind would snap and succumb to madness sooner or later, and the Gods only knew what kind of mayhem could ensue if such a terrifying scenario ever took place. But the choice was his and his alone to make and, so far, the only thing her mate had given away was a series of confusing, contradictory signals.

Towards the end of their more than satisfactory stay on the pleasure planet, Bulma’s hopes for a future together had been higher than ever but, ever since they’d embarked on their return trip to Planet Z365, the earthling had sadly detected a more than palpable change in her mate’s attitude.

Indeed, Vegeta had grown sulkier, and much less talkative than he’d been during their prior week together, making Bulma feel as if they’d taken another step backwards in their still too fragile relationship. The topic of their bond had never been brought up again, and the woman was secretly grateful that their joint nightmare had turned out to be an isolated episode so far. During the few hours Vegeta had left her on her own after that incident, she’d managed to put all the pieces together, realizing that the highly sinister scenery she’d been privy to was not an illusion but a memory, an actual recollection of Vegeta’s childhood experiences no less. This discovery had turned out to be a cathartic experience, offering her, ultimately, a greater understanding of the reasons behind her lover’s secretive personality and his mysteriously unexpected departure from Earth.

Thus, Bulma had reached the conclusion that there was a good chance that Vegeta had abandoned her, not because he didn’t love or at least want her in some capacity, but in order to protect her from the raging Hell that was his mind and, very possibly, to shield himself from the humiliation of another being having free, unlimited access to the most intimate and shameful events from his past life.

As a result, their journey had been filled with long, uncomfortable silences and, ironically, endless marathon sessions of mind-blowing, passionate sex. It was as if her Prince was trying to compensate for his worrisome lack of words by expressing through his actions what he lacked the courage or the emotional skills to convey in any other manner, leaving Bulma utterly confused and equally depressed.

There was nothing in the world she loved more than making love to her Saiyan Prince, and no other man had ever made her feel as wanted and desired as he had. But, it wasn’t the act of sex itself what baffled and gave her reason for concern; it was the way in which Vegeta would take her, with a frenzied, needy desperation she’d never experienced before. He was both domineering and powerful and, yet, there was an almost childlike vulnerability in him that disconcerted her entirely, going far beyond the usual manner in which he’d usually kiss or hold her. After their never-ending hours of ardent lovemaking, followed by countless moments of unnervingly peaceful silence, they’d both lay exhaustedly in each other’s arms, where Vegeta would hold her as zealously as a lost kid clinging to a life preserver and no words were exchanged, other than the intense moans and feverish expressions of love and encouragement pronounced in the heat of their fervent coupling.

Overall, there was an immense sensation of hopelessness and disappointment lingering heavily in Bulma’s mind, an oppressive feeling inside her chest which gave her the impression that her lover was just as indecisive, if not more, as he’d been when they’d first been reunited. The almost obsessive way in which he’d ravished and possessed her for the past few days, far from bringing her peace of mind, had placed her in a constant pessimistic state, having the disconsolate suspicion that Vegeta’s true intentions were to have his fill of her, taking as much as he could from her body before he’d make the inexorable choice of letting her go, pushing her far away from his life in the end.

“Bulma?” A curious, masculine voice asked, bringing her back from the glum train of thought running furiously through her mind.

She blinked a few times distractedly, finally setting her questioning eyes on her mate.

“Yeah?”

“I said, it looks like there’s a storm taking place in the area surrounding our destination,” Vegeta explained in a low, strangely patient voice, as he examined her with a quizzical frown on his face.

“Oh… Right…” Bulma mumbled shyly, glancing at the large screen in front of her once more. “It looks like a minor storm, right?”

The Saiyan merely grunted, nodding in agreement without even bothering to look at the monitor, his inquisitive eyes still stubbornly fixated on her, as if that could actually offer him a glimpse of what was really going on inside of his beautiful woman’s mind in that moment.

“Well… It shouldn’t be a problem,” Bulma concluded with renewed confidence. “I’ve even managed to land this ship on an iced surface, so a bit of rain is no big deal.”

The couple shared another one of those awkward silences that had, sadly, become far too common lately and, after Bulma reluctantly admitted to herself that they wouldn’t really be discussing crucial matters until they reached their last stop, she chose to focus on the task at hand and try to land their ship as smoothly and safely as possible.

“All right,” she declared decisively, taking a seat on the pilot’s chair with self-assurance. “It’s better if I take care of it, then…”

Without questioning her resolute attitude, Vegeta sat by her side on the co-pilot’s seat, fastening his safety belt as he studied his little mate’s every gesture with avid interest.

The subtle but unmistakable frown present on her flawless features, and the way she was nervously chewing on one of her thumbnails, revealed an apprehension that went far beyond the slight tension that preceded their usually trouble-free landings. Indeed, Bulma kept anxiously tapping the long fingers of one hand on the hard surface of the vehicle’s controls while now timidly biting on her lower lip, typing in the required commands on the computer with the other.

By now, the warrior was painfully aware of how wrong his behavior had been on their return trip, knowing that his woman had most likely expected to finally be able to exchange views on their relationship status with him before having to face her friends again.

He was a coward.

An irresolute coward who’d much rather postpone indefinitely the most important decision he’d ever have to make rather than gathering the courage to even seriously consider Bulma’s offer of going back home with her and their infant son and discussing it in depth with her.

Now, mere minutes before reaching their destination and having to deal with the reality they’d so badly attempted to avoid during their brief but incredibly gratifying escapade, Vegeta knew the time had come for him to face their complex situation and make a choice, and the flagrant truth was that he still had no idea what that choice would be.

During that last lugubrious night on Virggo, as he’d made passionate love to his stunning woman, the temptation of choosing to listen to his heart over his brain, if only for once in his life, had been larger than ever. His heart, which had already been conquered slowly but implacably by Bulma’s kind spirit, was now desperate to believe that a life of peace and serenity could be a real possibility for him, especially now that his shockingly brave mate had learnt the truth about their Saiyan bond and, knowing the emotional danger and pain it entailed, she’d still begged him to come back to her.

Nonetheless, a dark corner of his mind, in truth more cowardly than rational, chose to rebel against the image of a life he felt he’d never been born to live and, every single time that Vegeta tried to picture what living on Earth would be like, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever turn out to be everything his woman expected of him. There was still an essential part of his being who craved loneliness above all things, even more than strength or power, not because he didn’t relish the incredibly fulfilling times he shared with Bulma, but because a lonely life was a simpler life, an existence with no moral or sentimental obligations where a warrior like him would only have to selfishly care about his needs and no one else’s.

Paradoxically, the closer he got to Bulma, the more he found himself willing to take the chance of giving up on the easiness of isolation if that meant not having to renounce to the only woman he’d ever truly cared about.

“Six minutes left,” Bulma announced, her pensive eyes never abandoning the screen. “What about the defensive shield?”

“I disconnected it already,” Vegeta simply replied.

The woman turned around and looked at him in mild shock. “You can do that?”

“Of course,” he chuckled playfully, a knowing glint in his eye. “It’s my planet, after all,” the warrior explained, holding a small, square-shaped device in one of his gloved hands, which Bulma guessed was some kind of miniature remote control, that he straightaway hid inside his armor.

“Fair enough,” the earthling concluded, raising her head proudly and taking in a deep breath, placing both hands firmly on the controls.

“Here we go…”

The spot Vegeta had chosen to land on was situated quite close to the luxurious palace, but far enough from it so as not to cause any damage to the building in case of any unanticipated error in their calculations. The landing had gone quite smoothly, but the storm had turned out to be rainier than predicted, making the surface of the scarlet planet a muddy and unstable one.

Bulma unfastened her chair’s safety belt with unsteady hands, standing on slightly wobbly legs. A sudden sense of déjà vu engulfed her at the memory of the night they’d departed from the very same place they’d just arrived in, when Vegeta had run to her side the minute he’d noticed something was wrong with her. The only difference was that, back then, she’d suffered from the effects of a severely empty stomach, while now she only felt lightheaded from the rougher than expected landing. Either way, her mate was, once again, by her side, instantly placing his strong hands firmly on both sides of her waist, incapable of hiding his obvious concern.

“Are you alright?” He asked in a husky, intimate voice, feeling like a doting fool for caring so much about this small, much too frail woman.

“Yeah…” Bulma whispered bashfully, unable to stop a rush of crimson from reaching her flushed cheeks.

Vegeta smirked shrewdly, amused by how easily flustered his mate could get by his near presence. The potent aroma of their recent lovemaking still wafted heavily around both lovers and, even though he knew it wasn’t wise to face his men with her scent all over him, his most primitive, territorial side, enjoyed the idea of every single male on the planet indisputably knowing that she was his and his alone.

“Wow…” Bulma said softly, her voice laced with amazement. “It’s pouring out there…”

The warrior looked through the same window Bulma was staring at, instantly discerning the huge storm taking place outside.

“Storms such as this one are pretty common here,” he explained collectedly, gingerly releasing her body with one final, questioning look. She assented timidly, quietly letting him know that she was now able to stand on her own, and Vegeta nodded back, finally letting go of her and walking towards the main window, inspecting the scene transpiring outside. Three of his men were already awaiting them, standing expectantly in the dark of night while carrying electrical lanterns, apparently unbothered by the heavy downpour of water falling on them.

“You will wait inside the ship until I call for you,” the Prince instructed in a low but steady voice as he re-adjusted his white gloves and straightened up his posture, sensing Bulma approaching him from behind.

His firm command swiftly caught the earthling’s attention. She was already expecting this change in his demeanor, especially now that he was about to become Lord Vegeta for the sake of his outrageous army of renegades, but here, standing coyly by his side, one single glance told her something was seriously troubling him.

“Vegeta… What…?”

“Do not argue with me on this, Bulma,” he interjected authoritatively, never taking his watchful eyes off the three obscure figures standing somberly under the heavy waters.

Under different circumstances, Bulma’s fearless and intrepidly rebellious nature would try to complain and defy his inflexible orders but, now, she could tell Vegeta was dead serious. The fierce scowl creasing his stern features, and the almost electric aura surrounding his compact body, let her know something perturbing was about to take place. After all the time they’d spent together, the woman could easily recognize the physical tension in his body language whenever her Prince was scanning or analyzing his surroundings in search of some unknown, impending danger.

“All right…” She replied reservedly. “I’ll wait.”

With a sharp nod, Vegeta left her side, walking decidedly towards the large exit door while Bulma waited by the window, watching with great curiosity the scene happening outside. After typing in the numeric codes, the gate opened, and the warrior stood patiently in a proud, confident stance, looking every inch the Saiyan Prince that he truly was and making Bulma momentarily forget about her nervousness as she admired his perfection, feeling almost giddy with excitement. For all his faults, there was something about her man that still drove her absolutely mad with desire, attracting her to him like a feathery butterfly to a bright, torrid candle.

Vegeta descended the metallic ramp at a calm, self-assured pace, inwardly pleased to see his men bowing reverently already, patiently waiting for their Master to reach the spot they were standing at. By the time Vegeta joined his soldiers, he was half-covered in mud and completely soaked to the bone, but this did not diminish in any way the immense amount of respect and regard his warriors seemed to profess him.

“Soldiers,” he greeted in a neutral but commanding tone, standing cross-armed right in front of them.

The three men replied almost at once. “My Lord…”

“You may stand now,” Vegeta simply ordered, making the men equally obey in unison.

“It’s good to have you back, My Lord,” Dodonne replied respectfully. “You have been missed…”

The Prince tilted his head to the side slightly, squinting imperceptibly with interest.

Something was wrong, he could feel it…

“Was I?” He asked sharply. “May I ask why?”

The three soldiers exchanged nervous, almost fearful furtive glances, as if they were trying to decide which one of them would break whatever news they had to announce to their terrifying Master. Dodonne, the pink alien, was distinctively the jumpiest out of the three, followed by one of those purplish fish-faced warriors whose names Vegeta could almost never recall. Only Kishoo, the tallest one, seemed to still be able to maintain his composure somehow, and proof of that was the fact that he was the one finally brave enough to break the tense, unnerving silence floating in the air.

“There… There was an incident, My Lord…” He explained, his voiced oddly confident but still sheathed in fear.

“What kind?”

“It…” Kishoo released a shaky breath, swallowing audibly before disclosing his confession to the Saiyan Prince. “It had to do with those… Those men you left to our care…”

“You mean the guests I left to your care?” Vegeta corrected harshly. “What about them?”

Kishoo peeked at the other two soldiers once again before stuttering. “Th-They… Well…”

“Nevermind,” the Saiyan cut him off, dangerously close to losing his scarce patience already. “Whatever it is, I’m sure they will be more than capable of telling me themselves. Bring them to me,” he ordered gravely.

“M-My Lord… I-I think…” Dodonne retorted, now clearly frightened by his Master’s immediate request.

“I said, bring them to me,” Vegeta demanded once more, his low, chilling voice instantly throwing his men into a frenzied fright.

After exchanging another round of terrified looks, Dodonne reluctantly chose to be the one to fulfill his Lord’s wishes and, after newly bowing nervously, he turned around, walking anxiously towards one of the sides of the cold, marbled palace. Vegeta raised an eyebrow undetectably at that, knowing far too well that it was the spot where the building’s dungeons were located, and he wondered in dread what had possibly gone wrong for the two weaklings to end up locked up in such a filthy, disgusting place.

The high-strung tension lingering heavily in the atmosphere reached a high-fevered peak as minutes went by, perilously intensified by Vegeta’s excruciating awareness of Bulma witnessing the entire scene from their ship, and his worst fears materialized when Dodonne came back accompanied by one prisoner instead of two.

Vegeta’s face remained immobile, but his inner fury kept growing as the realization of what had truly transpired on his planet while he’d been away finally hit him.

“Where is the other one?” He half-asked half-commanded to the now openly terrified trio of alien soldiers.

“M-My Lord… You see… H-He… Th-They…”

“He’s dead,” the earthling spoke in a soft, extremely fatigued voice.

The Prince snarled in pure disgust, both at the meaning behind the human’s words and the appalling state he was in; he was completely covered in dirt, not just the mud from the almost monsoonal rains, but actual filth, as if he hadn’t been allowed to shower or bathe for days. A quick scrutiny told him he was still quite healthy, despite the minor wounds and scrapes covering his body, highly visible through his tattered clothes. There’d been a fight, that much he knew, and the outcome had, unsurprisingly, not been favorable for Bulma’s comrades, after all. The man’s voice was muffled by his own enervation, and his entire form trembled, barely able to stand on his own. He looked crushed, his shoulders slightly hunched as he kept staring miserably at the ground while the abundant waters kept pouring over his defeated figure.

It truly was a deplorable spectacle…

“All of you! Step aside!” Vegeta bellowed furiously, his enraged tone immediately forcing the three men to anxiously take a few steps back as their Master approached their mysterious prisoner.

At once, the Saiyan grabbed the handcuffs restraining the earthling’s wrists which, unlike regular cuffs, were designed to subdue and minimize his ki. Of course, such an invention had its limitations, and it would prove itself to be useless with someone with a strength like Vegeta’s but, on someone with a minor ki level such as the human standing beside him, they’d turn him virtually defenseless.

“What happened?” The Prince heatedly asked the earthling, directly and without contemplations. “Who did this?”

“Ve-Vegeta… I… I don’t know…” The weaker man stammered meekly, unafraid of the Saiyan’s rage but utterly confused and overwhelmed by the situation. “It… It was one man… Th-There was an argument… I… I just… They were drunk…” The human covered his face with his still chained hands in a pathetic attempt at hiding his face as he broke into loud, choked sobs. “He… He’s dead… He’s just… Dead…”

“No…” A feminine voice abruptly whispered in horror, stealing the attention of every single male present.

Unbeknownst to Vegeta, Bulma had run to join them the minute she’d seen one of those nasty aliens bringing only one of her friends back with him, and she stood in the rain, her slender arms wrapped protectively around herself, shivering and shaking her head hysterically, unwilling to admit that one of her best friends was now gone forevermore.

“N-No… No… No…” She kept mumbling under her mate’s aghast eye.

Vegeta could tell she was in a state of complete and absolute shock, and very, very few times had he ever seen his woman in such condition. She was now clutching the shorter human’s gi, begging, praying desperately that this was nothing more than another petrifying nightmare, like the one she’d suffered back in Virggo.

“K-Krillin… Where is he?” Bulma asked in a hushed, desperate tone. “Where’s Yamcha? Where is he? P-Please…”

As it turned out, the Prince wasn’t the only one totally dumbfounded by Bulma’s erratic behavior, and not quite knowing what to say, Krillin held her hands tightly in a poor attempt to ground her somehow.

“Bulma… I’m… I’m s-sorry… I’m so sorry…” He whispered unhappily in her ear. “He… He’s gone… I tried to help him but…”

“No! Nooooo!” Bulma yelled in agony, falling to her knees and bringing the drained, bald man down with her. He raised his arms, trying to hug and comfort her the best way he could even though he was still pathetically subdued.

“Bulma…” Krillin muttered, sadly knowing already how futile his words would be, given how much Yamcha still meant to her. “Please… You need to calm down… I… I just… Gods! I’m sorry, Bulma… I’m so s…”

A loud thunder of fury and frustration suddenly boomed in the air, and the Saiyan Prince exploded in pure rage standing fiercely, surrounded by a cloud of blazing, golden flames. He set his turbulent teal eyes on the three stupefied soldiers, who were now openly trembling in sheer panic.

“WHO DID THIS?!” He roared ferociously, barely able to stop himself from murdering the three bastards in cold blood right in front of his woman, whose inconsolable tears were, ironically, the main reason behind his beastly wrath.

“Vegeta…” Krillin spoke wearily under his breath, still holding his fragile friend and clumsily petting her damp hair in a vain effort to soothe her. “I don’t know… I… He was…”

“The insurgent has already been terminated, My Lord,” Kishoo interjected, finally gathering the courage to inform his superior of the obscure event’s outcome.

“Is that so?” Vegeta asked the earthling for confirmation, not even bothering to look at the taller warrior speaking.

The monk nodded in agreement, but something in the fatigued man’s eyes and behavior told him there were hidden, unspoken details yet to be revealed. Finding it wiser to discuss matters privately with the earthling, Vegeta chose to pretend that Kishoo’s explanation was satisfactory enough, and he turned around, facing his men and crossing his arms authoritatively.

“Fair enough. Where are the rest of my men?” he enquired in a rough, ominous tone.

“Th-They’re all at the barracks, M-My Lord…” Dodonne informed, trusting that his Master was now pleased with the other soldier’s clarification, and ignoring just how mistaken he truly was.

“Any soldiers inside the palace?”

“N-No, Sir…”

“Good. I want all men inside their barracks until further notice. I will review the troops first thing in the morning. You are all dismissed.”

“My Lord,” the three warriors replied in unison, bowing one final time before proceeding to take flight, not before being interrupted once again by Vegeta.

“And, Dodonne?” He spoke firmly, looking the pink alien in the eye with an almost neutral, disconcerting calmness, instantly sending shivers down the soldier’s spine.

“Y-Yes, My Lord?”

“If any of the men gets anywhere near my palace, or tries to abandon my planet during the night, I will find and personally murder every single one of them.” He pronounced his sinister threat slowly, very slowly, savoring every looming word and viciously enjoying the look of absolute panic on the man’s face.

Oh, yes…

The pink, fat bastard had had something to do with the weakling’s murder, and he couldn’t wait until morning arrived in order to find out exactly what his role in the assassination had been so he could rip his filthy heart out and offer it to his woman on a silver platter.

“O-Of course, My Lord…”

Dodonne remained completely immobile in panicked expectation, awaiting any further orders from his Master, but Vegeta dismissed him with a simple grunt and a sharp nod, allowing the alien to finally leave his presence so he could enjoy his last night alive in this world. The Prince sneered, almost pitying the poor fucker incapable of recognizing just how close he was to the Gates of Hell already.

The Saiyan stood still, waiting stoically until the three soldiers were out of view. Once he made sure that the men were gone and at a safe distance, he powered down significantly, wanting nothing more right now than to comfort his tearfully desolate mate.

“Bulma…” he called, in a voice notably kinder than the one he employed when addressing his subordinates, but lacking the characteristic warmth reserved for their private times together, when it was just the two of them. After all, Krillin was still witnessing the unreal scene, and he had no intention of losing the weaker man’s respect by looking like some sentimental, devoted fool in front of him.

Bulma’s sobs never ceased, but she eventually relented, moving away from Krillin slowly, but clearly disoriented. Without the help of the artificial lights that Vegeta’s men had been carrying, she found herself helpless in the dark but, thankfully, her mate’s reassuring presence was at once by her side. His fingertips grazed her own, gently encouraging her to hold his hand, which she took without hesitation, and the Prince patiently coached her until she was finally able to stand unsteadily on her feet. Her petite, fragile body was still wrecked with tremors, looking as if her shaky legs were barely able to stand on their own.

Before she had the chance to open her mouth to speak, Vegeta held her with great care, carrying her in his arms as he immediately proceeded to walk on the way to the palace. Bulma hid her wet face in the curve of his neck, desperately clutching the collar of his shirt as she wept uncontrollably, painfully piercing the warrior’s blackened heart with every single shed tear.

“Follow me,” he instructed Krillin, who followed his orders straightaway, walking closely behind the couple. He was exhausted and malnourished, but relieved nonetheless, feeling safe at last, now that Vegeta had come back and, as the three of them strolled under the rain, he couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of affection Bulma and Vegeta were openly displaying right in front of him. Indeed, he knew some kind of a relationship had developed between his friend and the alien warrior, but he’d never seen them engage in a demonstration of physical intimacy such as the one taking place before his very eyes. The way the small woman kept hugging him, despite her obvious state of commotion, told him Bulma trusted her mate more than anyone, and such level of trust brought the human fighter some measure of confidence and hope that things would be alright in the end.

Once they reached their destination, the three of them entered the white palace, and Vegeta halted his steps right after crossing the luxurious building’s large gates.

“You see that large, red button over there?” The Prince asked, pointing towards it with a nod of his head and never letting go of his woman.

Krillin assented, quickly locating the object the Saiyan was referring to, situated right beside one of the massive doors.

“Press it,” Vegeta commanded. “And hold it until the green light beside it switches on”.

The monk followed Vegeta’s instructions, pushing the red button with some difficulty due to his still handcuffed hands. Once the green light was on, he let go of it, turning around with a quizzical look in his eye. “Anything else?” He asked tiredly.

“Yes, the buttons to the left,” Vegeta signaled. “Press the orange one three times in a row, then the blue one just once, and then the orange one twice again”.

Krillin newly did as he was told, reassured when a look of satisfaction crossed the Prince’s stern face.

“Good, follow me,” the Saiyan concluded, resuming his pace and walking through the never-ending lavish corridors, now barely illuminated by a limitless number of long, white candles.

“This is my room,” he announced confidently, suddenly stopping in front of two tall, wooden doors. “Open the doors for me and wait outside.”

The man followed his final orders without protest, standing by the semi-open gates as Vegeta walked into the place with Bulma still firmly trapped in his strong embrace. The Prince stood in the middle of the room for a moment, briefly sharpening his senses and scanning the place for any foreign ki signal that could mean any danger for him and his mate; once he concluded that they were the only ones in the room, he approached his enormous, king-sized bed, attempting to lay his woman there but, predictably, Bulma’s agitated, panicky state wouldn’t allow it.

“Vegeta…” She whispered frantically, her nails digging deeper into the rock-solid muscles of his neck. “D-Don’t go… Don’t leave me here alone! Please…!”

The memory of their last night in Virggo came back to him in full force, and he cursed himself once again for ever letting things with Bulma get as far as they already had.

This life wasn’t for her…

He’d always known it, of course, but now, seeing her delicate, tiny figure kneeling on that cold bed as she shivered, covered in damp, muddy clothes, he understood just how out of place his Bulma really was. She deserved better than a life of danger surrounded by sordid criminals with no concept of right or wrong, and who were incapable of following an order as simple as not killing a couple of harmless, weaker creatures.

She deserved better than him…

“Bulma…” He whispered, the unexpected tenderness in his voice surprising even him as he held her face delicately with gloved hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I just wish to speak to your friend for a moment.”

Bulma gaped at him while tears kept rolling down her wet, pale cheeks and, in the back of her cloudy mind, all she could think of was what a mistake this trip had turned out to be, just as pointless, apparently, as her efforts to bring Vegeta back from the dead. Seeing him previously dealing with his army of treacherous soldiers, who’d slaughtered one of her best friends seemingly without a second thought, made her realize it was very possible that all the time and energy she’d devoted to trying to help and heal her mate had been in vain.

What Bulma didn’t know was that, in that precise instant, her lover felt so appalled and outraged by the sight of her heartbroken state that he was closer than ever to just throwing everything away and going back to Earth with his woman. But he couldn’t; not before he discovered exactly what had happened in his absence and he made the sick, defiant bastards responsible pay for their insubordination and, most of all, for all the damage they’d caused to his mate.

“Okay…” She muttered in resignation, sighing blearily as she released him from her desperate, possessive touch and sited on the bed in acquiescence. “Do what you have to do…”

Vegeta gawked at her, astounded by how easily complacent she was all of a sudden, willing to let him leave her alone in spite of how clearly alarmed and upset she looked right now.

As if she’d finally given up on him…

He should be happy if that was the case, after all, he’d wanted her to leave since day one. He’d even recorded a message for her, trying to stop her from pursuing him, the moment he’d contacted her father and discovered her plans and, yet, the possibility that she’d actually surrender and abandon all hope regarding their relationship and the prospect of a future together, filled him with an astoundingly odd sense of despair.

But dwelling on his feelings was not something the warrior particularly enjoyed, especially not under their current circumstances, so he reached for a clean towel inside his private bathroom and wrapped it around his quivering mate, who’d remained sited on the bed, completely motionless. Her lifeless blue gaze evaded his when he explained, one final time, that he’d soon come back to her, her sad indifference feeling like the most brutal kick in the gut.

He exited the room and joined Krillin, who was now sitting dejectedly on one of the marbled benches situated in the extravagant, half-lit hallways.

“Don’t,” Vegeta instructed, removing the crippled man's handcuffs and seeing his struggles as he pitifully attempted to get up. “That won’t be necessary,” the Saiyan carried on, his tone somewhat less grim than usual.

Krillin nodded in gratitude, quite stunned by the Prince’s change of attitude. Even though he was still standing gravely in front of him, in his usual imposing, cross-armed stance, there was a rare softness in him, probably brought up by Bulma’s nearby presence.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded directly.

“Well…” The monk started, running his hands drowsily across his worn-out, grimy face. “The first… The first night was okay, you know? We… We were allowed to sleep inside the palace, and we were mostly left alone… And then…”

“Then?”

He sighed jadedly, the memory of the second night’s events racing through his head at a million miles per hour. There hadn’t been a single moment, ever since Yamcha’s brutal murder, that Krillin hadn’t wondered whether there was something else he could have said or done in order to prevent the atrocious crime from happening. His delirious mind had obsessively replayed the incident over and over again, drowning in a tormenting guilt that consumed him like burning wildfire.

“Then… On… On the second night, that alien, the pink one who brought me to you today…”

“Dodonne?” Vegeta questioned knowingly, on one side satisfied that his first instincts regarding the pink bastard’s involvement in the carnage had been right, but enraged at his own inability to foresee what could occur if he left the two earthlings abandoned to their own luck.

“Yeah…” He muttered in a whisper, almost absent-mindedly. “Anyway… He came to us on the second night, and he said we didn’t have to be alone all the time and that we should join the other guys for dinner and… I… I actually told Yamcha it wasn’t a good idea, but he didn’t want to offend them and so… We said yes and we joined them outside.”

“In the barracks…”

“In the barracks, yeah… At first, it was alright. I mean… Those guys are tough, nothing like people from our planet, but they were nice enough… We ate and we… We had a few drinks and then…”

“Yes?” Vegeta prodded, finding it increasingly harder not to lose his patience with the bald man while his woman was probably crying her eyes out right now, totally alone in the other room.

“Well, the guys seemed to be a bit curious about us, and they asked us where we came from and stuff like that, like… What were we doing here, that sort of thing… We didn’t mention anything about our home planet, because Bulma warned us before we landed, you know… To protect the planet, and especially because of Trunks…”

The Prince’s fingers dug harder into his forearms at the mere mention of his son’s name, loathing to even envision what would happen if any of those schmucks ever learnt of his child’s existence.

“You did the right thing,” he finally replied.

Krillin assented pensively. “I know. Bulma is one of my oldest friends, none of us would ever want anything bad to happen to Trunks…” He exhaled again, squeezing his eyes shut for an instant as he tried to compose himself so as to keep narrating the story to the clearly impatient Saiyan.

“One of the guys asked about Bulma… He asked if it was true that a woman had travelled with us. We… We didn’t really want to reveal much about her, you know… But then that pink one, before… Before we could come up with something to say he replied and he said… H-He…”

“You may speak freely,” Vegeta urged, sensing the man’s nervousness about reciting Dodonne’s words and having a pretty good idea of where this story was going already. “I know his words were not your words.”

“Yeah, I know, I just…” Krillin faltered tensely, feeling extremely uncomfortable about having to repeat the disgusting alien’s words regarding the extraordinary woman who was almost like a sister to him. “He said… He said something like, ‘Oh, I’ve seen her. And she’s a hot piece of ass’…”

At those words, Vegeta inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he employed every single ounce of self-control in his power to stop himself from flying to the soldiers’ barracks and killing the fat prig, slowly and very, very painfully, right fucking now.

‘That filthy son of a bitch…’

The image of that gang of idiots discussing his woman, much less his woman’s beauty, made him feel sick to his stomach, and Bulma’s words back in the ship, telling him how different those men were from him, and how little honor they possessed, kept running manically across his rabid mind, making more and more sense with every passing minute, much to his shame.

“And then? What else?”

“Th-Then… A few guys laughed, you know, the way men laugh when they’re talking about women… And then one of them said that… That you were selfish, because Frieza… He… He always…”

“Yes?”

Krillin swallowed noticeably, bracing himself for the Prince’s reaction since, by now, it was clear as water just how much Bulma actually meant to the ferocious warrior, way more than him or even Yamcha could have ever guessed or anticipated.

“He… He said Frieza always… He always shared his whores…” He pronounced the last word in a hushed, shameful whisper, sounding evidently repulsed himself by the extremely offensive words directed towards the Prince’s woman.

Vegeta stayed completely silent, fearing that opening his mouth would make him lose whatever minuscule amount of composure he had left in him, and wordlessly waiting for the earthling to conclude his recollection as soon as possible.

“Th-That’s when Yamcha jumped and he… You know how he is…” There was a short pause as Krillin noticed his piercing mistake. “How he was…” He released another shaky breath, holding back the tears brimming in his already swollen eyes. “He wasn’t the strongest but… But he cared so much about Bulma that he… He couldn’t take it. So he jumped at the guy, and after that, it’s just… Everything’s a blur… The guy threatened him to keep his mouth shut, but Yamcha kept demanding an apology, to take it back, but the other guy just laughed at him and then…”

The bald man shook his head to himself, too burnt-out and dazed to even make some sense of the madness that had immediately ensued.

“He was fast… Very fast, Vegeta…”

“How did he die?”

“H-He… He was…” The words burnt in his sore throat, aching to be released but too painful to even see the light. “He was decapitated… I…” He sobbed, covering his face once more as he fought the disturbing, deeply traumatic memories. “I… I saw his h-head at my feet…”

The Prince gave Krillin a minute to recover, knowing by now just how deeply sentimental these earthlings truly were, especially regarding the people they loved and cared about. Back in the day, he’d committed atrocious, despicable deeds, many of which he wasn’t even proud of anymore, but his warlike nature had always allowed him to cope with bloodshed and unbearable violence in a way he knew many weaker races couldn’t handle.

“Was the assassin terminated just like my man reported?”

Krillin nodded silently in acquiescence, wiping off his moist eyes with the back of his shaky hand while he tried to regain his composure.

“It… It was the tall one, the one wh-who told you about it…”

“Kishoo?”

“Yeah… He didn’t hesitate, he j-just did it… He called the other man a traitor and just k-killed him in the spot…”

The Prince pondered this new information, newly satisfied that his instincts regarding the taller warrior had been right from the start. Out of all his men, Kishoo had always been his favorite by far, and he’d even pictured him as the one who’d eventually become his right-hand man. Terminating the betraying bastard without a second thought sounded like something a loyal soldier like him would do.

“How did you end up locked up in the dungeon, then?”

“Ah… That… That was his idea too…” Krillin explained, gradually getting a hold of himself. “He protected me immediately. H-He stood in front of me when the others were arguing about what… About what to do with me next…”

A cold, terrifying tremor run through the earthling’s spine at the mere thought of what those monsters could have done to him if the young soldier hadn’t stepped in to protect him, knowing too well that he would have ended up sharing Yamcha’s abhorrent fate.

“H-He suggested that they locked me up as a prisoner until you came back… And then… Then he spoke to me in private, right after they took me to that cell, and told me it was for my own protection, that… That it was easier for him to keep an eye on me this way and… A-And… That the men would calm down if they saw me locked up instead of running around the planet on my own…”

‘Clever…’ Vegeta thought to himself, impressed by the younger warrior’s perspicacity and quick-witted skills.

“I see…” The Prince concluded, wrapping up the conversation now that he had obtained all the information he required. “You see that door over there?” He asked pointing out with a nod of his head to the wooden door right beside the one from his own chambers.

“Y-Yeah?”

“That will be your room for tonight. Bathe, eat something and get some rest,” he simply ordered.

“I… I have no food…” The tired man answered, awfully famished after having spent almost an entire week living off of that revolting prison gruel he’d been fed as sole means of sustenance.

“Here,” Vegeta remarked, searching inside his armor for one of Bulma’s food capsules and handing it to the earthling. “Get some food in you, we’ll discuss matters in the morning.”

“Thank you, Vegeta,” Krillin responded with honest gratitude, grabbing the capsule and standing from the bench, not without difficulty, under the Saiyan’s watchful eye.

“Those buttons you pressed when we accessed the palace,” he informed intently. “You activated a protective shield around the building. It is high-tech and extremely sensitive, so rest assured that no one will be bothering us tonight. Not without us noticing anyway.”

The human made his way slowly to the door, standing precariously in front of it before giving Vegeta a final questioning glance and realizing that he looked deep in thought still, almost as if there were some final words struggling to fall from his harsh lips.

“Krillin…” He muttered at last, his voice firm but remarkably amiable.

“Yeah?”

“You defended my mate’s honor,” Vegeta stated solemnly, his proud, impenetrable eyes avoiding his as he spoke his startling words of appreciation. “I am indebted to you.”

Krillin gawked at the Prince in utter shock, not only had the arrogant warrior just pronounced his name, probably for the first time since he could recall, but he was now openly proclaiming that Bulma was his partner and, what was even more outrageous, his words surprisingly resembled a statement bursting with gratitude.

“There’s no debt, Vegeta,” the earthling interjected, his face softening into a small but warm smile. “Like I said, Bulma is one of my best friends. We all love and care about her.”

The Prince frowned slightly at Krillin’s frank expression of his feelings towards his woman. The absolute frankness that humans consistently demonstrated would never cease to amaze him, and somehow, a secret part of him sometimes envied their shameless displays of affection towards one another.

“Goodnight Vegeta,” the exhausted man whispered, noticing that the Saiyan had already crossed the line where his comfort zone ended when it came to showing his emotions, and there was nothing left for him to say.

With a curt nod and a grumble, Vegeta said his goodbyes, turning on his heels and heading towards his bedroom, not without pausing to make sure that Krillin had locked himself inside his chambers. Once he felt that that particular matter was taken care of, he got mentally prepared for dealing with the devastated woman awaiting him inside.

Only to find out that she wasn’t there…

A fleeting but excruciating flash of panic took hold of him when, after walking into his spacious rooms and verifying that the doors were locked too, he discovered that Bulma wasn’t siting on the bed, right where he’d left her, anymore. But the distant sounds of running water and the hot, thick steam floating heavily in the air instantly revealed that she was inside his private bathroom.

Vegeta ambled cautiously in the direction of his mate’s presence, following a messy trail of what he promptly recognized as Bulma’s damp, muddy clothes, laying carelessly across the soft burgundy carpet.

The heartbreaking scene taking place before his very eyes left him completely stupefied…

There, inside the opulent marble shower, a tiny, lonely figure sat on the white stoned floor, clad only in her skimpy underwear. She was pressing her long legs to her chest, her delicate chin leaning on her knees as she rocked gently like a lost, confused child. One of her arms encircled her bent legs protectively, while she anxiously bit on the thumbnail of the other hand, just as she’d done earlier, when they’d been about to land on the planet. She looked completely gone, like the traumatized, shell-shocked victim of the most brutal of all battles, her entire form trembling like a leaf, convulsing in pure stupor.

He stood by the door, stock-still as he contemplated his options. All he wanted to do right now was to reassure her, to bring her back from the state of sheer horror she was submerged in, making her understand that everything would be alright, that he’d pledge, even if it was the last undertaking he’d ever set out to achieve in his entire life, that things would go back to the way they were supposed to be.

So Vegeta made his move, quietly removing his dirty armor, undershirt, gloves and boots and dropping them unceremoniously on the floor, joining her underneath the sizzling stream of hot water.

“Bulma?” He called in the kindest, most soothing voice he could muster, kneeling on the ground so as not to appear intimidating, but not daring to taint her with his disquieting touch just yet.

Those reddened blue eyes kept stubbornly avoiding his and, for the longest time, he was a bundle of nerves. Her demoralizing silence made him fear that she’d forever be lost to him but, once more, his courageous little woman managed to find the strength to speak to him, even though he knew he didn’t deserve her words anymore, not after the absolute disappointment he’d proven himself to be, yet again.

“It’s my fault…” She whispered sadly, her flawless face contorted in doleful anguish. “This is all my fault…”

The Saiyan’s eyes widened both in shock and disbelief. He knew the death of the scarred faced human had brought Bulma inconsolable grief, but never had he imagined that it’d also awaken sentiments of guilt inside of her. The vision of his mate taking responsibility for the murder of the weaker man was, not only heartrending, but almost offensive, and the warrior would not, under any circumstances, allow the pure-hearted woman to carry such a heavy burden upon her shoulders.

“What foolishness is this?” He whispered harshly, so much so that he finally caught his staggered woman’s attention, who was now gaping at him, surprised to learn of her lover’s disagreement.

“It is, Vegeta… I…” She whimpered, fresh tears newly pooling in her unhappy eyes. “I should have stopped him… He… He wanted to come and I… I should have said no! I should have…”

The Prince grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her in his direction and bringing her body closer to his.

“Bulma, look at me,” he demanded, in a voice both gentle but inflexible. “You will take no responsibility for this, you hear me? These are my men!”

The grief-stricken woman shook her head nervously in denial, so consumed by guilt that she fully refused to accept her mate blaming himself. “N-No, Vegeta…. No! It was my…”

Vegeta’s large, strong hands cupped her face delicately, the tender touch of his rough thumbs gingerly caressing her wet, rosy cheeks calming her almost instantly. He pressed his brow against hers, uttering a soft whisper on her anxious lips.

“This wasn’t your fault, Bulma. None of this was your fault.”

His dark, uncompromising eyes and the obstinance lacing his voice left no room for argument, and Bulma merely assented timidly, losing herself in his burning gaze. If she didn’t know any better, she’d almost dare to say that it was he the one thoroughly overcome by guilt this time, but as always, her Saiyan remained an indecipherable enigma to her.

“He’s gone…” She lamented miserably, her small nails digging meekly into his bare chest. “He’s gone, Vegeta…”

His unblinking eyes examined her closely, struggling to suppress that disturbing, troublesome pressure that crushed his chest without mercy whenever he was forced to witness his Bulma in tears, and all that was left for him to do was to ask the only question worth asking.

“Do you trust me, Bulma?”

Bulma frowned and looked at him, promptly grasping the importance of her future answer. There was a rare tinge of distress thinly veiled behind the familiar intensity of his gestures and, without the shadow of a doubt, she vanished those unwelcomed fears forever with two simple words.

“I do,” she quickly replied, her voice soft but unwavering, deeply moved when a manifest sign of relief crossed his tense features, making her finally realize that the warrior was feeling just as remorseful about her friend’s terrible misfortune as she was.

“Then mark my words, woman,” Vegeta whispered, lifting her chin carefully as his warm breath ghosted her trembling lips. “I will fix things.”

The exquisite woman sobbed in a delightful mixture of sorrow and relief, and she crushed her lips against her lover’s, drinking in his secret promise and sealing it with a binding kiss. Even though some of Vegeta’s mysteries had slowly unraveled just for her, she’d never know just how elated her Prince was to know that, against all odds, he still possessed her unshakeable trust. A trust he knew he didn’t deserve, but which he’d grown to value and cherish more than he’d ever care to admit, and only because it emanated from his woman’s bright heart.

Both lovers kissed for countless minutes, kneeling precariously underneath the warm stream of water as they held onto each other for dear life. Through his callous hands, caressing her enticing, ivory skin and melding her softness against him, and her long fingers urgently clutching the nape of his neck, they reminded each other that they were still alive, as they desperately clung, together, to the heartening thread of hope of Vegeta’s promising vow.

“I will make things right again,” he whispered ardently in her ear, feeling her pull him even closer as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, wanting nothing more than to hide from the cruel world they were living in, getting lost forever within his protectively fierce embrace.

“You have my promise, Bulma…”

Please don't hate me...

*sigh*

In the next chapter, Vegeta will reveal his plan to Bulma and they'll both begin its execution...

Thanks a lot for reading!

In case someone is interested in my other works, you can find them here:

http://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahW/pseuds/SarahW

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/8599955/SarahWDBZ

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #fanfiction #fanfic #dbz #dragon ball z #writing #love #angst #a dark heart #apocalypse now #sarahw-world

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booksong · 7 years

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Top 10 Books Read In 2016

Bringing this back again this year (and yes I realize March is now almost over, I’m a little late oops), because I really enjoyed putting together a list last year, and one thing I always love in a new year is looking back on the great experiences I’ve had with reading, and hopefully lining up some new recommendations from others to look forward to in the rest of 2017!

2016 was a rough year, but as with so much of my life, books were there to provide comfort, knowledge, escape, and new friends and perspectives. Here are my 10 best titles of them, in no particular order (long post warning as always because it’s me talking about books):

1. Hallucinations by Oliver Sacks

The experience of sensing things that aren’t really there has long been considered a hallmark of the crazy and overemotional. And yet hallucinations have been startlingly well documented in all types of people, and neurologist Oliver Sacks has compiled a wide range of anecdotes, personal accounts and sources, and scientific studies of the various forms they can take. Vivid, complex visual and auditory hallucinations by the deaf and the blind, near-death and out-of-body experiences, phantom limbs, unseen 'presences', supernatural-esque encounters, sleep paralysis, and hallucinations induced by surgery, sensory deprivation, sleep disorders, drugs, seizures, migraines, and brain lesions--Sacks takes all these bizarre (and occasionally terrifying) case studies and conditions and approaches them with an attitude of fascination, curiosity, and clinical appreciation.

I came into this book expecting to hear mostly about things like LSD trips and schizophrenia, which honestly are probably most people's touchstones for the concept of hallucinations. And while there is a single chapter devoted to drug-induced hallucination (with compelling and pretty eerie first hand accounts from the author himself), Sacks barely touches on schizophrenia, setting it aside right away in his introduction in order to focus on other altered brain states I'd barely heard of but found deeply engrossing. One of the things I found most personally fun about this book was that you get tons of potential scientific explanations for a lot of strange phenomena that have puzzled and frightened humans for centuries. Why might so many different cultures have similar folklore about demons and monsters that assault or suffocate people in their beds at night? You find out in the chapter about hypnogogic hallucinations and sleep paralysis. What about things like guardian spirits, demonic presences, the 'light at the end of the tunnel', or historical figures hearing voices from God(s)? There are case studies about them not just in history and theology, but medical science too. Instances of people seeing ghosts, faeries, balls of light, moving shadows in the edges of their vision, or even doppelgangers of themselves? All touched on in this book as part of various differences, injuries, and misfires in people's brains, brain chemistry, and neural makeup. It's really, really cool stuff.

2. Captive Prince trilogy by C.S. Pacat

Prince Damianos of Akielos has everything. He’s a celebrated war hero, a master sportsman, and the heir to the throne, utterly primed to become king. And every bit of is stripped away from him in a single night when his half-brother Kastor stages a coup and ships him off in chains under cover of night. Just like that, Damianos becomes merely Damen, robbed of his power, freedom, and identity—the newest slave in the household of Prince Laurent of Vere. Trapped in an enemy country that shares a bloody history with his own, surrounded by people and customs that confuse, disturb, and disgust him, and under the total control of the icy, calculating and seemingly unfathomable Laurent, Damen has no way of knowing that the only way to return to his rightful throne and homeland will be through strange alliances, brutal battles and betrayals, chess-like political maneuvering and negotiation, and the fragile, complicated, impossible bond he will come to forge with the man he despises the most.

I knocked out this entire trilogy in about two weeks, and it would have been much, much shorter than that if I’d been able to borrow the last book from my friend any sooner (thanks again @oftherose95!!). The second book, Prince’s Gambit, even traveled across the Atlantic and around a good portion of Ireland with me in a black drawstring backpack, and was mostly read in Irish B&Bs each night before bed. The series was the best of what I love in good fanfiction brought onto solid, published paper (and I mean that as the greatest compliment to both fanfic and this series); it had unique, complicated relationship dynamics, broad and interesting worldbuilding, angst and cathartic triumph in turns. It’s a political and military drama, a coming-of-age and character story for two incredibly different young men, and yes, it’s an intensely slow burn enemies-to-friends-to-lovers romance full of betrayal, culture shock, negotiation, vulnerability, power plays, tropes-done-right, and some of the most memorable and delightful banter imaginable, and it will drag your heart all over the damn place because of how fantastically easily you will get invested. Yes, be aware that there are definitely some uncomfortable scenes and potential triggers, especially in the first book (and I promise to answer honestly anyone who’s interested and would like to ask me those types of questions in advance) but in my personal experience the power of the story and the glorious punch of the (ultimately respectful, nuanced, and well-written) relationship dynamics far outweighed any momentary discomfort I had. A huge favorite, not just of this year but in a long while.

3. Where the Dead Pause and the Japanese Say Goodbye by Marie Mutsuki Mockett

After her beloved father dies unexpectedly, the author returns to the Buddhist temple run by the Japanese side of her family, not far from where the Fukushima nuclear disaster claimed the lives of many and made the very air and soil unsafe. She initially goes for two reasons: to help inter and pay respects to her Japanese grandfather’s bones during the Obon holiday, and to find some kind of outlet and solace for her grief. But during her travels she finds more than she ever expected to about Japan, its belief systems, its values, its rituals of death and memory, and the human process of loss.

There are actually two non-fiction books about Japan on my list this year, and they’re both about death, grief, growth, and remembering. It’s a coincidence, but seems oddly fitting now looking back on 2016. Part memoir and part exploration of Japanese cultural and religious traditions surrounding death and its aftermath, I was fascinated by the line this book walked through the interweaving of religion and myth, respect and emotional reservation, and most of all the realization that there is no one single accepted way to mourn and to believe, even within a society as communal as Japan’s. It’s something I find constantly and absolutely fascinating about Japan, the meeting and often the integration of old and new traditions, and of outside influences. Probably one of the most thoughtful and uplifting books about death I’ve ever read, and a great one about Japanese culture too.

4. Nevernight by Jay Kristoff

When Mia Corvere was a child, her father led a failed rebellion against the very leaders he was charged with protecting. Mia watched his public execution with her own eyes, the same way she watched her mother and brother torn from their beds and thrown into Godsgrave’s brutal prison tower. Narrowly escaping her own death, completely alone and a wanted fugitive, Mia now has only two things left—an ability to commune with shadows that has given her a powerful and eerie companion shaped vaguely like a cat whom she calls Mr. Kindly, and a desire to join the only people who can help her take revenge: the mythical and merciless guild of assassins called the Red Church. But even finding the Church and being accepted can be life-threatening—graduating from their ranks will mean more sacrifice, suffering, revelation, and power than even sharp-witted and viciously determined Mia could ever imagine.

Let me preface this by saying this book is probably not for everyone. Both its premise and execution are undeniably dark and graphic: the cast is necessarily full of antiheroes with unapologetically bloodthirsty aims and a range of moral standards and behaviors tending heavily toward the ‘uglier’ end of the spectrum. The violence and deaths can be brutal, emotionally and physically, and despite their pervasiveness they never seem to pack any less of a punch. But I’ve always looked to books as my safe guides and windows into exploring that kind of darkness every so often, and this book did so extremely well. Kristoff has a way of writing that makes Nevernight’s incredibly intricate and lovingly crafted fantasy universe feel rich and seductive even with the horrors that occur in it (the dry, black-comedy footnote asides from the nameless chronicler/narrator are a good start, for example). On one hand, you don’t feel like you want to visit for obvious reasons, but the worldbuilding—with its constant moons and blood magicks and fickle goddesses—was so fluid and inviting it caught my imagination like few other books did this year. I absolutely got attached to many of the characters (especially our ‘heroine’ Mia), both despite and because of their flawed, ruthless, vulnerable, hungry personalities, and I found myself fascinated by even the ones I didn’t like. This was one of the books this year I could literally barely put down, and I can’t wait for its sequel.

5. Nagasaki: Life After Nuclear War by Susan Southard

Ever since the United States dropped two atomic bombs on Japan and ended WWII, the name of the city Hiroshima has become synonymous with the tragedy. Nagasaki is almost always mentioned second if at all, almost as an afterthought, the city bombed three days later that was a second choice target. But 74,000 people still died there, and 75,000 more were wounded or irreparably affected. In this book, author Susan Southard tells the story of not just the day of the Nagasaki bombing, but the months and years that came afterward: of suffering and healing, protest and denial, terror and hope, interwoven at each stage with the painfully intimate and powerfully humanizing interviews and life accounts of five hibakusha survivors.

This was definitely one of the heaviest books I read this year (in length and content), but it also felt absolutely necessary and was luckily very readable, thoroughly researched, and respectfully told. You can tell just through the writing how much the author came to like and respect her subjects as people and not just mouthpieces for their stories, and dear gods the stories they have. Nagasaki is definitely graphic, and horrifying, and achingly sad, as you would expect any book that details one of the worst tragedies in human history to be. But ultimately the stories of the hibakusha and Nagasaki’s slow but constant recovery are ones of hope and survival, and much as when you read memoirs from Holocaust survivors that urge you to remember, and learn, and walk armed with that new knowledge into the future, this book also makes you feel kind of empowered. It’s been seventy years since the bombing happened, many of the survivors are passing on, and nuclear weapons are now sadly looming large on the political landscape again, so while it’s not an easy book, it was without a doubt one of the most important I’ve read in recent memory.

6. Front Lines by Michael Grant

The year is 1942. World War II is raging. The United States has finally decided to join the struggle against Hitler and the Nazis. And a landmark Supreme Court decision has just been made: for the first time, women are to be subject to the draft and eligible for full military service. Into this reimagined version of the largest war in human history come three girls: Rio Richelin, a middle-class California girl whose older sister was already KIA in the Pacific theater, Frangie Marr, whose struggling Tulsa family needs an extra source of income, and Rainy Schulterman, with a brother in the service and a very personal stake in the genocide being committed overseas. But while women and girls are allowed to fight, sexism, racism, prejudice, and the brutality of war are still in full effect, and the three girls will have to fight their battles on multiple fronts if they’re going to survive to the end of the war.

I think this is probably one of the first non-fantasy historical revisionist series I’ve ever read that worked so incredibly well. There are probably a million places author Michael Grant could have easily screwed up executing this concept, but I was extremely and pleasantly surprised to find my fears were pretty unfounded. Grant (husband of similarly clear-eyed Animorphs author KA Applegate) has always been a writer who doesn’t shrink from including and even focusing on uncomfortable-but-realistic language, violence, sexuality, and real-world issues of prejudice, and he brings all these themes into Front Lines and places three teenage girls (one of whom is a WOC and another who’s a persecuted minority) front and center without letting the book feel preachy, stilted, or tone-deaf toward the girls’ feelings, motives, voices, and flaws as individuals. It’s also obviously well-researched, and there’s a whole segment in the back where Grant shares his sources and the similarities and liberties he took with historical events in order to tell the story. Especially in today’s political climate, it’s a powerful and engrossing read. And what’s more the sequel just came out not long ago.

7. Ready Player One by Ernest Cline

In the year 2044, a single massive virtual reality interface called the OASIS has got most of the declining Earth’s population hooked into it, living out all kinds of video game and sci-fi fantasies. But some of the more hardcore players, like Wade Watts, are exploring the OASIS on another level—hunting for the easter egg clues to a massive fortune its eccentric developer left behind after his death. But no one’s been able to find even the first clue, let alone begin solving the weird and difficult puzzles and challenges that might follow…until one day, Wade does, and draws the dangerous attention and greed of everyone inside and outside the virtual world to himself in the process.

I’m honestly not that big of a gamer, or even someone particularly attached to or affected by pop culture nostalgia. Everything I know about most of the references throughout Ready Player One was picked up through cultural osmosis, and some I’d never even heard of—and I still thought this book was a blast, so take note if that’s what holding you back from picking it up. The book has a lot of the raw thrill anyone who loves fictional worlds (video game or otherwise) would feel upon having a complete virtual universe full of every world, character, and feature of fantasy and sci-fi fiction you could ever dream of at their fingertips. But it also explores, sometimes quite bluntly, a lot of the fears and flaws inherent in the whole ‘leave/ignore reality in favor of total VR immersion’ scenario, and in the type of people who would most likely be tempted to do it. All the different bits and genre overlaps of the novel really come together very seamlessly too—it’s a little bit mystery, a little bit cutthroat competition, a little bit battle royale, a little bit virtual reality road-trip, a little bit (nerdy) coming-of-age. And despite how much world-building is necessary to set up everything, the book rarely feels like it’s info-dumping on you (or maybe I just loved the concept of the OASIS so much I didn’t care). Probably the most unashamedly fun novel I read this whole year.

8. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman

In the 1980’s in Northern California, a little Hmong girl named Lia Lee began showing symptoms of a severe and complicated form of epilepsy. The hospital the Lees took her to immediately began issuing their standard observations, treatments, and medications. But her parents, first generation immigrants with their own complex cultural methods of interpreting and caring for medical conditions, didn’t necessarily think of epilepsy as an illness—for the Hmong it’s often a sign of great spiritual strength--and were wary of the parade of ever more complicated tests and drugs their daughter was subjected to. Lia’s American doctors, confused and then angered by what they saw as dangerous disobedience and superstitious nonsense, begged to differ. What followed was a years-long series of cultural clashes and misunderstandings between Western medical science and the rituals and beliefs of a proud cultural heritage, and the people who tried with the best intentions (but not always results) to bridge that gap.

I had never read anything you could classify as ‘medical anthropology’ before this book, and I’m kind of mad I didn’t because it was fascinating. Using her firsthand interviews and observations Fadiman creates an entire case study portrait of the Lee family experience, from their life in America and struggle with Lia’s condition and American doctors to the history of the Hmong people’s flight from Thailand, Vietnam, and Laos and their experiences as immigrants. And as the best anthropological works should be, there’s also a very compassionate and analytic line walked that criticizes, explores, and accepts both cultural sides of the issue without assigning blame or coming out in favor of one over the other. By the end of it, I think my strongest emotion was hope that we might embrace a new type of medicine in the decades to come (even though it might look grim right now); something holistic that can find a way to mediate between culture and science, doctor and family and patient, so that maybe everyone ends up learning something new.

9. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett

Crowley has a pretty good life for a high-ranking demon living on Earth. He can cruise around in his monstrous Bentley, and do assorted evil deeds here and there to keep from getting bored. He even has a pleasant frenemy in the fussy, bookshop-owning Aziraphale, the angel who used to guard the flaming sword at the gates of Eden a very, very long time ago. But then the various denizens of Heaven and Hell get the word from their higher-ups that it’s time for the Antichrist to come to Earth and the End Times to begin. The extremely unfortunate baby mix-up that ensues is only the first step in a very unusual lead-up to the end of the world, which will include the greatest hits of Queen, duck-feeding, the Four (Motorcycle) Riders of the Apocalypse, a friendly neighborhood hellhound, modern witch hunters, and a certain historical witch’s (very accurate) prophecies.

Reading this book was long overdue for me—I’ve read and enjoyed works from both these authors before, and had heard a ton about this one, basically all of it good. But I only finally picked it up as part of a ‘book rec exchange’ between me and @whynotwrybread and I’m so glad I got the extra push. Good Omens has a dark, dry, incredibly witty humor and writing style that clearly takes its cue from both Gaiman and Pratchett; it was really fun picking out their trademark touches throughout the novel. Couple that with a storyline that’s tailor-made to be a good-humored satire of religion, religious texts, and rigid morality and dogma in general, and you’ve got a pretty winning mix for me as a reader. It’s endlessly quotable, the characters are extremely memorable (and very often relatable), and despite the plot using a lot of well-known religious ‘storylines’, there are enough twists on them that it keeps you guessing as to how things will eventually turn out right up until the end.

10. Scythe by Neal Shusterman

At long last, humankind has conquered death. Massive advancements in disease eradication, nanotechnology, and artificial intelligence means that not only can people age (and reset their age) indefinitely, but they can be revived from even fatal injuries. And a benign AI with access to all human knowledge makes sure everything is run peacefully, fairly, and efficiently. In order to deal with the single remaining issue of population control, a handful of those from each generation are chosen to be trained as Scythes, who selectively mete out permanent death to enough people each year to keep humanity stable. And when Rowan and Citra are selected by the cool but kindly Scythe Faraday as his apprentices, neither are exactly willing, nor are they at all prepared for what the life of a Scythe will come to ask of them.

Neal Shusterman always seems to be able to come up with the coolest concepts for his novels (previous examples include getting inside the mind of a schizophrenic, two kids trapped in a very unique version of purgatory, and the Unwind series with its chilling legal retroactive abortion/organ donation of teens), and not only that but also execute them interestingly and well. They always end up making you really think about what you’d do in this version of reality, and Scythe is no different. Would you be one of the Scythes who gives each person gentle closure before their death? Glean them before they even know what’s happening? Divorce yourself emotionally from the process altogether so it doesn’t drive you mad? Embrace your role and even come to take pleasure in it? You meet characters with all these opinions and more. It doesn’t lean quite as heavily on the character depth as some of the author’s previous books, which gave me some hesitation at first, but the world was just too good not to get into. And the fact that it’s going to be a series means this could very well just be the setup novel for much more.

Honorable Mention Sequels/Series Installments

-Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo (‘No mourners, no funerals’—as perfect a companion/conclusion to the already-amazing Six of Crows from last year’s top ten list as I could have ever hoped for)

-The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater (one of the most unique and magical series I’ve ever read comes to a powerful and satisfying close)

-Morning Star by Pierce Brown (a glorious and breathtaking battle across the vastness of space starring an incredible and beloved cast kept me pinned to the page until the very last word—this was a brutally realistic and totally fantastic political/action sci-fi trilogy)

-Gemina by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff (I rec’d the epistolary sci-fi novel Illuminae last year and this was an equally gripping sequel to it—can’t wait for the third book out this year!)

-Bakemonogatari, Part 1 by NisiOisin (the translated light novels for one of my all-time favorite anime series continue to be amazing!)

If you made it this far, THANK YOU and I wish you an awesome year of reading in 2017! And I want to remind everyone that my blog and inbox are always, ALWAYS open for book recommendations (whether giving or requesting them) and talking/screaming/theorizing/crying about books in general. Or write up your own ‘top 10 books from last year’ post and tag me!

#top 10 books of 2016 #personal post #top 10 meme #long post #books #send me your recs!#and yell into my inbox/messenger/submission box about your favorite books!

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