#tpthvegebulmayhem

[quillovesdbz]

Week 4 One shot for @tpthvegebulmayhem​

Title: Spindle

Prompt: Prick her finger on a spindle

One shot

Rating: Adult Only

Genre: AU, Dark AU, angst, death, smut

Summary: The setting is a post apocalyptic future where Gohan and Vegeta were successful against the androids, but unfortunately everyone else was not. Having lost Piccolo, and therefore Kami, no one can be revived including the blue haired mother of Trunks. Vegeta is left with her child, with no knowledge of how to raise him. Training and harsh words is how they bond. This is Spindle.

Vegeta kicked the dust in frustration. It had only been thirty minutes and the boy was already drained and crying… again. “Useless!” the prince yelled at his only son, before turning to leave.

Trunks lay in the dirt for a moment, his tears mixing and making his face muddy. It was a cheap shot, Vegeta sucker punched him in the stomach. He didn't usually play this dirty when they trained, but something was off lately. Yes, ever since Trunks had mentioned his eighth birthday coming up, Vegeta had been in a sour mood. For the few birthdays Trunks could remember he had always celebrated with Gohan and Chichi. Since mom died when he was an infant, those two were the closest he had to family. Besides his father of course.

The terror known as the androids had almost completely wiped humanity out until Gohan and Vegeta teamed up and were able to make a last stand. It took all the pride he had to do it, but Vegeta gave in and helped the young Gohan. Every single Z fighter had fallen, pushing Gohan and Vegeta to ascend past the power of a super saiyan, and together they defeated the androids. Trunks loved to hear Gohan tell the story of their victory, though most of the time Gohan became misty eyed near the end. Trunks hoped that one day he too could become a super saiyan and be as strong as his dad and Gohan. So he trained with Vegeta because he knew his father would not hold back. Even when it really hurt.

…

“I'll be eight in one week, dad!” Trunks beamed, finishing his canned rations. Humanity was still recovering, and food sources were scarce in this unforgiving world. Vegeta just stared at his own food when the boy mentioned his birthday. He was not sure what to say. He had never prepared for this. It came every year, and every year he failed to be the father Trunks wanted, the father he needed. Vegeta barely remembered his own father, a silent and powerful man, and wondered what he would do. This human idea of a birthday and a celebration was so foreign to the saiyan prince. He wasn't sure if he'd ever celebrated a birthday, or anything for that matter. What frustrated him the most was that she left the boy with him, a responsibility she assumed he could handle. And he knew exactly nothing about being a father. Stupid woman. He lamented. It was easy to pawn the boy off on Gohan and Chichi for a time, but now the boy wanted to train, and he couldn't even take a full force punch in the gut. What was it about this brat’s birthday that ignited his frustration so badly? Maybe it was the fact he wished it had never happened. He wished he never met that stupid, vulgar woman. He wished he'd never stayed on this sorry excuse for a planet. He wished he'd never trained to fight the androids because Kakarot ended up dying to a meaningless heart virus anyway, so what was the point? But most of all, the one thing that still hurt him every time he looked at Trunks… He wished he'd never fallen in love with that wild blue haired vixen. Because she was in him, his eyes and his hair. His smile was her smile. His voice rung with small pieces of hers. His hands and feet were like hers, dainty and agile. His attitude and humor. Everything about this boy was so characteristic of her, that he struggled to find any piece of himself in there.

And this birthday that meant so much to him was just an anniversary for a time that no longer existed. Just another reminder of what was lost, and what pain had been gained.

Without finishing his ration, Vegeta stood from the table and blasted off through the hole in the ceiling of the decrepit Capsule Corp house they called home.

...

Why is he so upset about my birthday… little Trunks wondered, still laying in the dirt. It angered him, because Gohan had always said birthdays were happy! Birthdays were a time to eat and play games and tell jokes with family. Yet, Vegeta never attended any of Trunks’ birthdays, and didn't seem to care at all! If family is supposed to love you and make you happy, why does my only living family member detest me? The small boy pondered while laying there.

Vegeta had faced away from the boy, embarrassed by his son's weakness. He thought long and hard about what his own father might do. Punish him for being weak most likely. And Prince Vegeta would not have been so weak in the first place.

“Get yourself together, Trunks. You disappoint me.” Vegeta spat the acidic words on the vulnerable boy.

Not enough, were the only words that trailed through Trunks’ mind. It hurt to be a disappointment to his father, when that was the only person in the world that he wanted to make proud. He flattened his palms on the dirt and pushed his upper body up. With anger in his sapphire eyes he glared at Vegeta, who had been looking at the boy through a side eyed glance.

The glare set him off guard, sparking a pang of guilt for his harsh words. But here, in this angry boy was the part of him that most resembled his father. Hate. Anger. This was the proof he was looking for that the boy was truly his son. Of course he knew biologically Trunks was his. But besides DNA, everything else was her. Now this, furious and hateful glare, that was Vegeta’s contribution. It excited him to finally see it, and he smiled a devilish and slight smile.

Trunks picked up on the change in mood his father showed. The smile he gave was mocking, taunting him. Inside his small body his hate and anger grew, and he growled a furious lion cub’s growl. Pushing himself up the rest of the way he began screaming to power up.

“I hate you!!” he declared, before charging the snickering saiyan. Effortlessly, Vegeta blocked the boy's attacks, though he was hitting much harder than before. This went on for some time, Trunks blindly assaulting and the prince gracefully blocking each time.

Eventually they both grew tired, and drew a silent truce. Trunks was fighting to catch his breath as he stared at his evil father. His eyebrows were clenched, his mouth open but turned downward at both corners.  He meant it when he said he hated Vegeta.

Vegeta looked upon Trunks with indifference, but acknowledging the hate. He was glad the boy hated him. What good was love anyway? It only resulted in pain. At least hate generated power, and Vegeta would strive to make Trunks hate him more and more, until his son was more powerful than himself.

“Good,” Vegeta breathed, a response to the hate comment as well as the strategic and powerful assault.

And then he blasted off, leaving the boy in a cloud of dust.

…

That night, as he lay in her bed, he dreamed a most bewitching dream. It was back then. The lights of the city glittered like a sea of stars. The roof was his favorite place to meditate back then. Until she found it. And when she did find it, she made it hers, inviting herself into his quiet contemplation, where he didn't want her or anyone else. But he didn't dislike her being there. It just shifted from being his alone time… to their alone time. That was where she first kissed him. Kissing was an action humans invented, at least he’d never heard of such a thing happening with saiyans. It was several weeks after she had first invited herself to the rooftop. She forced conversation on him and stupidly, he had opened himself up. She wanted to know all about him, though he was adamant that she truly did not want to know these things. He told her of his planet, what he remembered, and of working under Frieza. As if he dropped his arms in the heat of battle, he had lowered his defenses to her. And instead of exploiting them, like any opponent would, she hugged him. For the first time he had met someone who he could trust not to hurt him. She had every opportunity, and he had even dared her with his most private information. Yet she accepted him. She drew him in with her embrace. Her skin was warm and flush from wine. He felt defenseless in her arms, an attack he truly could not evade. His heart began to race, and he felt hers, as her breast pressed to his. From her position sitting next to him she threw one leg over his legs and straddled him. His hands moved as if on their own to her slender waist. There was a sort of animal inside him, that fought viciously for control of his body. He fought just as hard to resist it, that is until she laid her delicate lips upon his. He wasn't sure why she'd done it, but it had given the animal inside him a surge of energy that it used to overthrow the rational prince. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her hips into his. It was then he became firm against her, triggering a light gasp from the blue haired girl. Their breathing hastened, and neither said a word as they fell backwards onto the roof, her on top of him. She kept her chest pressed against his, pinning him down. Her legs curved around his outer thighs dangerously, begging to be touched by him. His hands, once on her waist, slowly found their way down, tracing every curve from her wide hips to her thick butt and finally to her voluptuous thighs. Every inch of her skin felt like the finest satin he had ever touched, and he couldn't get enough. His impulses completely commandeered his body when she began to use her tongue in her kiss. She grabbed the back of his head and braided her fingers in his hair. She held him, vulnerable to her assault, and showed him this new sensation. Her tongue was soft, luscious and sweet like candy. Her mouth was agonizingly delicious, and he shamelessly indulged himself with every bit of her kiss. He had lost control of his own body at this point. His animalistic saiyan instincts told him to devour her, and he bit down slightly on her lower lip. She whined from the shock of his nibble, though she didn't want him to stop. He moved his hungering mouth from her lips to her chin, from her chin to her neck. There he tasted her feverish skin that pulsed against his lips. She was sweet, like nothing he had ever tasted, and deep inside he craved to make her his. Placing his hands once again on her hips he swapped positions with her, crowning himself captain of her ship. It felt like they had no time, they were only seconds away from the entire world ending. Everything they did they rushed, racing toward the end. He unbuttoned her jean shorts, sliding them along with her white lace panties, to almost her knees. There was no need to remove them further. It would only waste time. He did the same with the light gray joggers he wore, though those only made it barely past his buttocks. With one arm he held his upper body up, with the other he scooped her pelvis up and pressed it to his. The abrupt collision of her to him made her yelp in dazed ecstasy. He thrust inside her, slowly fueling the hunger that overwhelmed him. She gave no resistance, her sheath was already well lubricated. It was then she kicked her shorts the rest of the way off. As a show of her enthusiasm she wrapped her legs around him, clasping her ankles together at his lower back. Her eagerness excited him, daring him to press further, deeper. He felt her whole body quiver beneath him, as she came close to climax. Her breathing was labored, as she struggled to keep up with her tenacious saiyan lover. The thought of pleasing her, successfully pulling off his attack, brought him closer as well. As he drove in and out of her, her muscles tightened, giving a slight resistance both ways. She began to vocalize her passion, moaning louder and louder. He raised a hand to her open mouth, in attempts to muffle her cries. As he reached his rapture, his own voice betrayed him, he let out an amoral moan with his breath. When he filled her with his issue she felt herself suddenly reach the edge. The intense orgasm forced her body to convulse beneath him, his victory achieved.

And then he awoke.

…

The dream was a lucid depiction of their first time, the most memorable. Though they had many clandestine trysts before her death, he always dreamt of the first time. He had dreamt of her so many times in the last eight years. Each time he awoke with physical pain in his chest and an emotional ache in his head. How could she be so stupid? He asked himself, lamenting the actions she took that lead to her death. It didn't help that he tortured himself by sleeping in her bed, where her sweet smell still lingered after all this time. It never became less painful, in fact quite the opposite. As the boy grew up Vegeta saw only her, and it drove him crazy. He tried in vain to shake her memory off, at least for the morning, as he dressed in his navy bodysuit.

Though he wouldn't consider Gohan a friend, they would still go scavenging together. Their relationship was an odd one. Gohan lacked a father or even a friend, and he definitely lacked another saiyan in his life. Vegeta only half-assedly filled these roles, and tended to insult him when they were in each other's company. To Vegeta, Gohan was a caretaker of his son, and a sometimes valuable asset when hunting and scavenging. Neither wanted to be together at any given time, but relied on each other all the same.

The world's population was drastically decreased in the four years the androids terrorized the earth. It took the two saiyans nearly four years to muster the strength to overcome them, and their dysfunctional bond was built in those four years. In truth, Gohan was the only person Vegeta had ever bonded with, save for her. And there she was again, plaguing his every thought.

Together, Vegeta and Gohan scoured small towns for food and other goods. Gohan always tried to find survivors, but they were few and far between. Even when they did find others, the people would rather be on their own than gather together to rebuild the world. And sometimes they would be evil survivors. Some resorted to cannibalism in order to survive. Some forced others into slavery or worse, a direct result of the anarchy the androids instilled.

Inside the remains of a Central City big box store, Gohan lost himself in several aisles of children's toys. Now seventeen years old, he was beyond interested in the toys for himself, rather, he was looking for a present for a certain lavender haired boy.

After Vegeta had gathered the necessary supplies, he searched for his demi-saiyan partner. Faintly, he heard the sound of electronic toys being set off. Figures. He scowled under his breath, making his way toward the noises.

“Your being careless, Gohan,” Vegeta jabbed, a slight worry in his voice that someone would hear them.

“There’s no one here, we've scoured this city top to bottom. Besides, if anyone was a threat to us we would eliminate them without breaking a sweat,” the teenager replied matter of factly.

“That's not the point, idiot,” the prince sneered. “What's your problem Vegeta?” Gohan raised his voice and stepped closer to his fellow saiyan. Vegeta felt the boy's ki raise with his voice, so he reciprocated and stepped forward as well.

“You're usually an asshole but lately it's gotten worse, and even Trunks can't stand to be around you,” Gohan poked, taunting the prince.

“Trunks is weak, withdrawing his anger is helping him become stronger,” Vegeta explained, though Gohan wasn't looking for that exact answer.

“No, you're weak. You're supposed to be the prince of all saiyans but you resort to petty insults and downright abuse to raise your child! Hell, you don't even tell him happy birthday, let alone celebrate it!” Gohan was beginning to yell, his ki surging around him.

“That poor child has it worse than you or I will ever know, and because you couldn't drop your stupid pride sooner, the androids were a threat much longer than they should have been! Because of you Piccolo died! Tien, Yamcha and Krillin too! And worst of all, because of you, Bulma died.” he nearly spit the last part of his sentence, a purposeful use of her name to ignite the saiyan’s fury.

Vegeta felt the blood vessels in his neck and face flare with anger. Who was this boy to disrespect him, and throw dirt in his perpetually open wounds?

“Why you!” he growled through clenched teeth. Both men were face to face, chests broad and filled with a size exaggerating breath.

“Trunks wishes his father was dead,” Gohan whispered, his dark eyes filling his fiery tears.

“And all I want is to have mine back,” he choked, the tears now falling down his face. He could no longer hold it in, his ki dipped dramatically, as he wailed in anguish. In sync with his energy, Gohan felt his knees buckle as he fell to the floor. Vegeta stepped back, his ki lowering involuntarily.  If true, the words he said stabbed Vegeta directly in the heart. Is that what Trunks wants? The prince questioned himself. As if in solidarity, he too lowered himself to the floor where he sat for a while contemplating their argument silently.

“Every day he becomes more and more…” Vegeta began.

“like her…” the both finished, the same thought rolling through both of their minds.

“Mom's been tutoring him,” Gohan breathed, a quiet transition to the same topic. “he's so smart, Vegeta. He really is a genius just like her.” Gohan didn't mean for that to hurt Vegeta, but it did all the same. Maybe his son, the prince of all saiyans was not destined to be a great warrior like his father. Maybe he was meant to be a great scientist, to help rebuild the crumbling earth. Or maybe he wasn't meant for anything at all, and destinies were just made up ideas to motivate lazy people to achieve more.

The saiyan stared blankly at the tile floor, tracing its imperfect cracks with his eyes. Gohan said all he had wanted to say, so he patiently waited for Vegeta to respond.

“Just who are you?” a deep yet feminine voice called from the end of the aisle. The long barrel of her shotgun pointed straight at the two men, her hands ready to pull the trigger.

Though a shotgun was no threat to them, the voice of another human being set them off guard. Just as Gohan leapt to his feet, she came closer. He could see her clearly now, she had curly blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and sea green eyes that dared him to move one more inch. She was clad in an old army uniform that she had cut the sleeves off of. Her feet even had the dusty combat boots to match. As if she couldn't get cooler, Gohan noticed she had an unlit cigarette hanging from her candy apple lips. Behind her stood another girl, much younger and innocent looking. She had black spandex and a large white tee shirt on. Her hair was long and black, done in twin braids that fell on her small chest. Her intimidating and large eyes were as blue as the ocean.

“Don't move, boy,” the younger girl called, pulling a pistol from her own combat boots.

The saiyan men nearly rolled their eyes at the ridiculousness of the two girls. Vegeta, for one, didn't have the energy nor was he in the mood to deal with them. So in an instant he charged his ki and blasted off through the roof of the supermarket.

Oh boy. Gohan thought as he lifted an open palm to his forehead.

“What the ‘ell was that?! He some sorta freak?!” the blonde woman shouted toward Gohan.

“You could say that,” he answered, lifting the current mood. The black haired girl chuckled lightly, and the other sneered.

“Oh funny guy, huh?!” she questioned in a thick New Jersey accent.

“No, the name’s Gohan. And you are?”

This triggered another adorable giggle from the smaller girl and a grin from the other.

“Not too bad, kid,” she said, lowering her shotgun. “Launch, and this ere’s Videl. What brings ya to Center City Gohan?” The blonde reached her open hand toward the saiyan.

He reciprocated.

…

2 days until his… Vegeta was restlessly obsessing over the events of the day. He was never good at expressing feelings, and as a result they usually boiled inside of him until they eventually evaporated. The prince had an idea, though he wasn't really aware he had it until he was already in her laboratory.

Slowly, he pressed his boots into the hard metal floor, trying not to make a sound. It was if he thought any sound would suddenly wake her furious ghost to haunt him for eternity. Oh, that's how it already is, he lamented. It took some effort to rewire the generator to this section of the house, in order to even open the door let alone use the lights. It had been so long since any power had been run over here, Vegeta wasn't sure it would even still work. But it did, and now here he was.

It was exactly as she last left it. Several small contraptions halfway done, various papers with scientific scribbles about. Her desk was littered with papers, pens and small tools that Vegeta could not identify. On the walls there were scales and charts, all in her handwriting.

Her lab coat.

Her lab coat.

He pictured her figure inside it, her sassy hands on her hips. Her blue locks draped over her shoulder. “Vegeta, what is it this time? Break the gravity room...again?” her voice rang in his head as clear as day. He'd never be able to forgive her, or forget her. The part that hurt the most was the memory of her. He could never forget her no matter how hard he tried. He shook his head in an attempt to shake her off his mind. It didn't work, but he did remember his original intention. He came to find inspiration for Trunks’ birthday gift.

He had almost no idea what any of her scrawling meant, and it frustrated him. Nothing seemed interesting or fun for a child. It was all so very boring and systematic. But then, in the corner of the room he spotted it. Made of mahogany wood and about six foot tall, stood a bookshelf packed with her books. He wandered to it, curious the kind of reading material she subscribed to back then. Most of the books were scientific in nature, physics and quantum mechanics were the majority. But on the very top shelf was a label; fairytales. Each book on this shelf was slender and featured vibrant paintings of animals and such on the cover. This might interest the boy. Vegeta thought, noting the fact that these seemed written for a more childish audience.

His gloved hands traced each spine, slowly reading the titles. There was Rapunzel, Rumplestiltskin, Snow White, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, Hansel and Gretel, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Princess and the Pea, The Three Billy Goats Gruff, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella and finally Sleeping Beauty. Reaching the final book he slid it from its place. On the cover there was a cartoonish blonde maiden laying on a bed with a dark prince towering over her. Vegeta had no idea the context but a princess in distress was a universal story trope. There were many tales on his home planet of princes and princesses, all of which he had no interest in. When he was Trunks’ age all he cared about was fighting. At age 8, Planet Vegeta had long since been destroyed and the young prince thought of nothing other than becoming the strongest warrior in the universe.

Shaking himself out of the long suppressed memories, he flipped the book open. There on the inside cover was her handwriting, in a bright fuchsia ink.

To my handsome and smart son, Trunks. I hope you never tire of reading and learning. This collection helped me find a passion for those two things when I was young and I hope it can do the same for you.

Love,

Mom

Beside “Mom" she had drawn a small heart. Vegeta had no idea when she was planning to give this to him, for he was only a year old when… and certainly he was not able to read, yet.

His heart was suddenly heavy, a completely different kind than when he was angry. It pounded in his chest furiously, his eyes beginning to swell. He hadn't cried in a very long time. It was unbecoming of the proud saiyan prince. But now the floodgates were open and the droplets fell like rain on the pages of the book. Quickly, he slammed the book shut and threw it in an empty cardboard box. He decided to fully commit to masochism as he grabbed her lab coat and inhaled deeply. It smelled just like her. And for a minute she was there. In her writing and her smell, her messy workspace and her book collection. He closed his eyes, the scent almost immediately put him to sleep, there on the cold metal floor.

…

When Trunks had returned from a day spent studying with Chichi, he saw the lights on in the far end of the house. The lights were usually never on in the first place, the generator was a huge expense in gas, which they had a scarce amount of. The fact that they were on in the far side of the house made his heart jump in fear of the unknown, but he decided to investigate anyway. He worried about his father in this moment, unsure of what possibilities could have happened. He concealed his ki, and quieted his footsteps as he trailed the hallway. He didn’t come to this end of the house very much, if at all, because his father told him there was nothing of importance over here.

As he came upon the door where the room was lit, he flattened himself against the wall. He listened intently, waiting for the sound of intruders. When he heard nothing, he slowly peeked his head inside the doorway. There he saw his father, sprawled out on the ground, his ki weak.

“Papa!” the boy yelled, fearing the worst.

Startled, the saiyan leapt up from the floor. “What?! What is it Trunks?!” he demanded, his heart racing. The boy instantly began to tear up, and charged to hug his father. “Papa, I thought something was wrong!” He said as he buried his face in his father’s stomach.

Stunned, he just let the boy smother him.

“I’m fine,” Vegeta lamented to his son, who still had a firm hold on his waist. He placed an open palm on the boy’s forehead and gently pushed him away. The boy’s bottom lip was still quivering, the last bits of his tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Well, why are the lights on over here?” Trunks asked, still visibly shaken. Not wanting to give away the surprise, Vegeta placed his other hand on the boy’s shoulder and began to push him out of the lab.

“Absolutely none of your business, brat.” Vegeta spat as he forced the boy out. Both saiyans were in the hallway, the door tightly sealed behind them. Tapping a control panel, the lights turned off, and Vegeta began walking toward the other end of the house. Trunks trailed behind like a baby duckling.

Once again, both were silent as they chowed down on their rations. Trunks had caught a small trout earlier, which they enjoyed together over the fire with several cans of baked beans.

“So how are your studies?” Vegeta inquired awkwardly. Trunks had never been asked about such a topic and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Um, good I guess,” he held, while trying to think of what else to say. “Miss Son and Gohan are really smart, so I’ve been learning a lot. Mostly math and things like that. Sometimes it's boring, but when I finally get to understand something it can be fun!”

“That's… good.” Vegeta tried out, hoping it was what she would have said. Though the conversation was awkward, Trunks was glad to be socializing positively with his father. Trunks smiled at Vegeta, who frowned and asked “What?!” as if the smile was an insult. Trunks just laughed and continued eating his dinner.

…

Two days later, there was a celebration at the Son family home. Though Trunks wasn’t her son, Chichi felt a sort of obligation to help him have a normal life. Goku would have done the same if he were alive and she was sure Trunks’ mother would have done so for Gohan. The black haired  mama sighed in remembrance of the two long passed friends. Hopefully they were keeping each other company in the other world. Chichi had prepared a special feast for everyone, including their two new female friends that Gohan had brought home. Launch and Videl were survivors who had recently lost most of their group. They were what was left, so Gohan invited them to stay with their family. Chichi didn’t mind, maybe he’d make her some grandchildren with Videl, a day dream she quickly shook away when she noticed the rice burning.

“Oh shoot!” she exclaimed, removing the cauldron from the fire and stirring vigorously to prevent charring. Smelling smoke, Gohan entered the kitchen.

“Everything alright, mom?” he asked.

“Yes, fine sweetie!” she replied.

Little things like burnt rice were small inconveniences, but they made her appreciate her life and her family even more than she thought was possible. Gohan smiled at his mother, a woman who had gone through so much hardship in her life. And she smiled back, even though he knew inside she was cursing herself for burning the rice.

Trunks arrived shortly before sunset. He entered the house with a joy in his step. He loved celebrating birthdays, especially his own. It wasn't just the presents, though they added a certain amount of enjoyment to the day, but also just being in the presence of people who loved and cared about him like a real family should. Over the past few days Trunks had come to terms with the fact that his father was a different breed. He would always be this way and the best way to accommodate that was to just accept him the way he was. Gohan and Chichi tried really hard to explain Vegeta and saiyans to Trunks, but in the end he had to witness it for himself. The cold prince had love in him, he just locked it away for fear of feeling pain. He knew that day he found his father, exactly where he was. Mom's old lab. And it was not secret he was in there to remember her. And ever since that day, Vegeta had been just a little bit softer and kinder to Trunks. He just needed to hurt a little to remember how to be happy.

When Trunks opened the door he was met by not two but four people yelling “Surprise!” at him. While at first he was confused the Sons quickly explained the presence of the other two people. The five of them enjoyed a beautiful meal and even a rice cake prepared by Chichi! Trunks couldn't have been happier. That is until he began to open presents.

“This one's from me, Trunks!” Gohan exclaimed as he hurriedly shoved the long box into Trunks’ outstretched arms. The lavender haired boy slid the top of the box off to reveal a long wooden sword with a hand painted navy blue and gold handle.

“It's just a practice sword, but when you get older maybe we can find a real one and really go at it!” the older saiyan explained.

“Oh my gosh I love it Gohan!” Trunks nearly burst with excitement in his voice. He pulled the sword from its place in the box and swung it around gracefully. He had been practicing with sticks for a few weeks now and he was grateful to have a real practice sword now. Gohan relished the smile his gift brought Trunks, for it was bright and sincere.

“I know we just met but, this ere’s from me and Videl,” the blonde woman said as she handed Trunks a smaller box.

“Thanks!” the boy grinned as he opened it. Inside were a small pair of combat boots, yellow in color. He looked to his own shoes, falling apart at the seams and several sizes too small. He decided to put them on right away.

“Gohan helped us pick them out!” Videl nearly sung with delight in her voice.

Finally, Chichi pulled a present from behind her back, but it wasn't in a box. She handed him a large book, with the words “Applied Physics" in bold font on the front. Trunks didn't even have to open it to know it was school work. Even so, he put on his best grin and uttered “thanks,” a tiny bit of disdain in his voice.

“Gee guys you didn't have to do all this for   me,” Trunks said as he looked at everyone with jubilation in his eyes.

“Well there’s one more,” Chichi began, walking toward the kitchen. “Vegeta dropped this off today, though he didn't say much and left pretty fast.” She carried a large box in her arms with some effort, it seemed to be heavy. When she set the box down in front of him, he noticed how dusty the box was, as if it hadn't been touched in years. It seemed like a relic, an artifact to be handled gently. Slowly, he removed the lid.

Books.

“Ugh!” the lavender haired boy sighed audibly. Realizing his mistake he blushed, and tried to cover his disappointment. “Uhhh, yes! Books!” he lied horribly.

Chichi had a knowing and motherly look on her face when she reached into the box and pulled out the copy of Sleeping Beauty. “I know this one, she pricks her finger on a spindle and falls asleep!” he exclaimed. She flipped open the cover and Trunks noticed a small handwritten note, addressed to him.

The room fell silent as he traced the bright pink ink with his index finger. Mom.

When he finally realized he was crying profusely, several drops had already sprinkled the inside cover of the book.

But despite his tears he smiled. He smiled and turned his head upward toward the company he kept. The tears continued to flow, his smile faltering.

“You know what hurts most about my mom? Not being able to remember her.”

No one said a word, they just knelt down and embraced the child.

…

Somewhere, in the distance the proud prince sat alone under the blanket of rain. He hoped he was doing right by her, for the boy's sake.

The desert soaked up the moisture the second it hit the ground. Vegeta just stared, blank mindedly on the horizon, as he waited for the festivities to be over so that he could spend time with his son.

The End

[grsl-xo]

part 2 of week 4 for @tpthvegebulmayhem

I continue with giving Vegeta a hard time for the prompt Cinderella.

He is dissapointed, which I accompanied with some blue.

part 1 -  part 2 - part 3

[scarletraven1001]

Mayhem Prize!

My gorgeous prize for the 2018 Vegebul Mayhem has just arrived!

Oozaru [Great Ape] Vegeta!

Picking this up from the post office felt like I had won all over again! 😍

He. Is. So. Beautiful. 💙😭💙

Thank you once again to @tpthvegebulmayhem for organizing this event, and to the wonderful @loveveggiehead for this prize! I am so happy!

And of course, thanks again to all of the lovely people who left comments, liked or reblogged my story, The Final Price!

For the other incredible entries, please see the Mayhem Masterlist.

THANK YOU, VEGEBUL FANDOM!

[wr1tersblock42]

If the shoe fits

My week 1 entry for @tpthvegebulmayhem​

Keep reading below, or read on FFic or AO3!

The base from the party vibrated through the compound, shaking the dining room chair Vegeta sat on. Much to his disgust, even the scent of cheap cigarettes and sickly-sweet alcohol managed to permeate its way to the eating area, tainting what should have been a delicious late-night snack of stir-fried beef and noodles with a spicy chilli and soy sauce.

With a growl, Vegeta forced himself to swallow his latest ashy mouthful, then stood up, scraping the chair behind him noisily and slamming his hand on the table. Not that anyone was there to hear his temper tantrum. No, the Briefs were all at Capsule Corp's annual winter ball, mingling with those revolting humans they called "employees".

Those humans repulsed Vegeta, every single one of them. The way they preened in front of the doctor and his daughter, practically salivating for a slither of their attention, was all too like the way Frieza's men paraded themselves around the self-proclaimed Lord of the Universe. Still, he could have put up with their presence it if they were on the grounds and not disturbing him. But now they had spoilt the first meal he'd had after eleven hours straight of gruelling training and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to do something about it.

Vegeta left his cooling food on the table and strode out of the main house, intent on insisting that they remove everyone from the property before he got rid of them all… permanently.

The air outside was brisk and heavy with frost, as if the clouds above might break with their load of frozen water at any moment. Vegeta shivered, wishing he'd grabbed something warmer to put on over his dark green t-shirt, and despite still being weary from his training, raised his ki slightly to compensate.

As he got closer to the raucous party the base only got stronger, each thud making his stomach turn. The scent grew worse, now mixing with pungent human body odour.

The ball was held in the west wing of the compound, in a large hall that Vegeta had ventured into once when exploring. A staircase led to large wooden double doors that he knew opened into a spacious marble floored room.

He hadn't made it to the base of the steps when they swung open and a woman swept out, silhouetted by the light from the room. Bulma, he realised, recognising her ki a moment before the moonlight hit her face.

A man followed her out, hissing something in a hushed tone, and he grabbed her arm to stop her descending. Vegeta recognised the scar faced warrior's ki immediately, and considered stepping in - not to assist the woman, but because he so enjoyed putting the weakling in his place. A part of him was curious to see how the woman would handle it though, so Vegeta suppressed his own ki and stepped back into the shadow of a tree.

"I'm sorry, B," the weakling said. "I know I shouldn't have come, but-"

"Damn right you shouldn't have come!" Bulma wrenched her arm away. "We broke up months ago Yamcha. You can't keep doing this." She began treading down the staircase in her blue high heels, letting out a sigh of irritation as he followed her.

"B, please," Yamcha said reaching for her again. "Things aren't the same without you."

The woman growled and stepped sideways, then yelped at the sound of a snap. She wobbled on the spot, then pulled her foot out of her shoe. It lay on its side on the step, it's broken heal at an odd angle. "Now look what you've done," she snarled. "Leave please, Yamcha. I told you I wanted space, and I meant it."

The weakling's face fell, but he nodded and made his way up the steps, disappearing into the hall.

As the doors closed once more, Bulma picked up the broken shoe, then threw it towards the garden with a frustrated yell.

Vegeta chuckled as it soared in his direction, and he caught it with one hand. "I thought the party was only food and dancing," he drawled, stepping into the moonlight and heading towards the staircase. "If I'd been informed there was a show as well I may have attended."

Bulma's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly masked it. "It is a ball, not a party. And what were you doing lurking in the shadows? I made sure you had plenty of food in the fridge."

"Your party was disturbing my meal." Vegeta bared his teeth into an expression that had made many an enemy literally piss themselves.

Bulma Briefs just threw her head back and laughed. "Please. I think you just missed me."

Vegeta scowled at that, then purposefully made sure he didn't stop his advance until he'd reached the same step she stood on to avoid being shorter than her. "I was looking forward to an evening without your constant yapping. But this…" he waved his hand in the direction of the hall, "this horrific noise is an insult to all good music."

The insolent women laughed again. "I didn't know you considered any music good." Her blue eyes sparkled inquisitively. "Now I'm curious. What sort of music does the mighty Prince Vegeta, destroyer of worlds, harbinger of death enjoy?"

Vegeta smirked back at her, leaning in close so the sweet scent of her perfume invaded his nostrils and blocked out all the other disgusting humans. "Anything. But. This."

Bulma cocked her head but didn't reply, eyes narrowing slightly and a half smile quirking her lips. She shivered slightly, and Vegeta realised that the clouds had broken and a flurry was descending. As snowflakes began to drift between them, he noticed how pale she was, her skin almost as white as the snow landing in her hair.

"You're cold," Vegeta said.

"No shit, Sherlock," Bulma replied with a scowl.

Vegeta frowned back, unsure what a 'sherlock' was.

Bulma's frown twisted into something more mischievous. "Are you offering to warm me up?"

Vegeta flushed, suddenly warm despite still having his ki suppressed. He looked her up and down, taking in the tight fitting silver dress that did nothing to protect against the elements. "You claim to be a genius. I'm sure you can sort that out yourself." He grinned suddenly as he noticed the pile of blue curls on her head, decorated with silver flowers on pins. "Or you could let down your hair. It reminds me of a fluffy blue sheep. That will keep you warm."

"A sheep!" Bulma squawked, her cheeks turning red and eyes flashing with fury in a way that made Vegeta's blood heat in response. "I'll have you know that my hair is the height of fashion, not that you'd know anything about that you-"

She stopped talking abruptly, her mouth still open as Vegeta reached out with the hand not still holding her shoe, then slid his fingers into her tamed mane to find one of the pins holding it up. He pulled it out and dropped it on the ground where it fell with a small clatter.

Bulma's breath hitched and she shut her gaping mouth, but she didn't move away, her blue eyes watching him with an unreadable expression. So Vegeta inched closer still, until he was mere millimetres away from her, and continued finding pins in her hair and discarding them on the ground until it tumbled loose around her neck.

He drew his hand away, catching a lock of hair between his fingers. "Warmer?" he asked.

Bulma's tongue darted out as she licked her lips. She shook her head slowly, looking at him through her eyelashes.

Vegeta dropped her hair and trailed one finger along her collarbone, watching the way her skin reacted with goose bumps to her touch. He leaned in closer, raising his ki so it pulsated around them both. "How about now?"

Bulma's skin began to regain its pink hue, but she shook her head with a smirk then leaned into him, looping her arms around his neck. "You'll have to try harder," she whispered, her warm breath caressing his lips.

Vegeta met her gaze, searching for any signs of madness in her eyes. They'd been dancing around each other for weeks, and while the last thing he needed was a distraction he could honestly say he'd never met anyone as physically enticing as her who'd also managed to match his verbal wit blow for blow.

Finding nothing but curiosity and the same heat he felt pooling in himself in her gaze, Prince Vegeta, destroyer of worlds, harbinger of death, leaned forward pressed his lips to hers carefully, half afraid that a mere kiss from someone as evil as him would make her spontaneously combust. She thankfully remained intact and tightened her grip around his neck, pulling him closer as she opened her mouth a little to deepen the kiss, and he found himself unable to do anything but respond in turn. He kissed her more forcefully and his hand opened of its own volition, dropping the shoe to the ground where it clattered down the steps.

When she pulled back, breathing heavily and cheeks red not from anger but from something else for the first time in his presence, she gave him a smile. It wasn't her usual mocking one, but an invitation. "You know…" she said slowly. "My bedroom has central heating."

Vegeta hesitated only a moment before completely throwing any concerns aside. He pulled her close, then took to the air with her in his arms and flew back to the other side of the compound, leaving the broken blue shoe at the bottom of the steps.

[tpthvegebulevents]

MAYHEM 2018 - WEEK 3 SUBMISSIONS OPEN / WEEK 4 PROMPTS REVEALED!

WEEK 3 SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Starting today, Participants can begin sending in their work to theprinceandtheheiress@gmail.com for Week 3!

Remember that even though Week 3 ends May 19th, you have until May 31st to turn in ALL work in order to be in the running for the prize! Please refer to the Submission Requirements associated with each Week for how to send your work. Do Not post your work to your personal Tumblr as everything must remain anonymous!

ANNOUNCEMENT: Second Notice Reminders will be sent out this week! Participants, please keep an eye out on your Inboxes! If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask! Remember that you must respond to all notices before May 31st to remain in the competition!

LET’S REVEAL WEEK 4!

Week 4 “AN END TO ALL” - May 6th to May 12th

Mayhem Theme: Fairy Tales

Prompts

The Better to Grab You With (Little Red Riding Hood / The Little Red Cap)

The Glass Slipper (Cinderella)

Prick Her Finger on a Spindle (Briar-Rose / Sleeping Beauty)

Author - Original Requirements Apply, see Vegebul Mayhem Guidelines Doc.

Word Count Minimum Requirement

20,000 words or more.

Entire submission may equal 20K (meaning, you may make multiple chapters, but your entire entry must be 20,000 words or more)

Genre/Rating 

Alternate Universe 

You may add more genres to suit the plot. Please refer to Additional Requirements.

Don’t forget to rate your work! (Explicit is allowed, rating is open)

Amount of Work

At least 3 entries that tells the ending for Week 2. 

If you continued the plot in every week, then make an ending for that.

All 3 prompts must be used. Words do not have to be in tandem.

Optional Work: If you want to be adventurous and made a different story each week, create an Ending for all of them - yes they will be part of the competition if submitted on time. 

Additional Requirements

If you continued your story throughout the last 3 weeks and have already ended it, you MUST create an Alternate Ending (the alternate version must be the complete opposite of your written piece; I.E. HEA turns Tragic or  Humor turns Suspenseful). 

Title each chapter and include a brief description of a length of your choice (at least one complete sentence long).

Artist - Original Requirements Apply, see Vegebul Mayhem Guidelines Doc.

Media Type - Choose at least three (you may mix and match within your work)

Watercolor

Ink (Fountain, Marker, Gel, Ballpoint)

Pencil/Colored Pencil/Crayon

Digital

Paint (Acrylic, Oil, etc)

Charcoal/Graphite/Coal

Indigenous Methods (Coffee, Rust, Mud, Tomato Juice, etc)

Palette - you may mix and match

Color

B/W  

May be Line-art - Optional Work: Each line must be a different color

Amount of Work 

3-5 Images

Backgrounds included

Optional Work: Create 10 images of all emotions listed below and connect them thematically.

Doujinshi is allowed.

Additional Requirements

Must draw 3-5 Emotions (of your choice) using the appropriate colors. ( (1) Euphoria, (2) Disappointment, (3) Pride, (4) Hope, (5) Loneliness, (6) Envy, (7) Contempt, (8) Regret, (9) Joy, (10) Apathy.)

Include the color name somewhere within the image! (You may use font for this)

Title each of your images. Do not use the color name. If you create a series, title the series.

A description is not necessary. 

Warning apply! Explicit work is allowed, but must be accompanied with a censored clip version of the artwork.

SUBMISSION REGULATIONS

All work must be submitted via email to theprinceandtheheiress@gmail.com. All work must remain anonymous until the event closes and voting has concluded. You may not post your work to your personal Tumblr until June 16th. You’re Beta/Editor may not post your work for you in any way shape or form! If you’re work is posted to your Tumblr before June 16th, you will be disqualified.

Universal Tagging Requirement

You must tag us in the description! (@tpthvegebulmayhem) In your Tagline, include the following…

#tpthvegebulmayhem2018

#tpth

#week1mayhem2018

You may include additional taggings of your own that suit your tagging system. Forbidden tags include…

#nsfw

#erotic

#sex

#porn

#hentai

PLEASE REFER TO THE UNIVERSAL REQUIREMENTS FOR FURTHER ASSISTANCE!

[cosmicslimeduo]

Um I was anon e

In the Vegebul Mayhem I was anon e, and I wrote both Clandestine Downfall and Spindle.

Tumblr mobile is being goofy so I'll post em when I get home!

[quillovesdbz]

Week 3 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem Clandestine Downfall

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

Chapter 4: The Weeping Wounds

Rating: T

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Highness,” she breathed.

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

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

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

Yamcha turned to Vegeta when Bulma was out of earshot.

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

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

…

Soon, the physician's daughter had Nappa situated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi! I'm Goku!” the boy said.

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

“B-bardock! He is going to…”

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

“I won’t let you die weakly, Nappa.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bardock.”

…

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

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

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

“Peasant,” an abrupt, deep voice called.

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

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

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

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

And then she awoke.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your grace?” she added as an afterthought.

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

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

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

Goku grabbed Bulma's outstretched fist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

“No,” Bulma breathed.

“What are you hiding from me, woman?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yamcha was visibly confused.

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sort of,” the genius girl teased.

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

She both despised and delighted the entire ride.

…

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

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

“Why are we sneaking?” Bulma asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prince, did not have such luck.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“Milord,” it answered predictably.

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

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

“And what of the blue haired girl?”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again, how can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bulma nodded, agreeing that he had a good idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bulma however, had an entirely different attitude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

To be continued…

[quillovesdbz]

Week 4 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem (3/3) Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7

Chapter 7: Deadly Conclusion

Rating: M

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

TW: Psychological abuse, physical abuse, homophobic ideology, depiction of intellectual disability, vomiting,  depiction of sickness, strong language, revenge violence, major character death

Summary: Bulma is saved! The traitors pay for their crimes. Yamcha has a slight mix up. Bulma discovers a new secret, and Vegeta breaks his promise to the Duchess Suno.

It was early morning when Bulma was pulled violently from her bed. She had crusted vomit on her cracked and dry lips. Her hair was a sticky, greasy mess. And worst of all, she smelled like death. She was a living ghost, the result of two weeks starvation added to freezing cold temperatures and an unknown illness to boot. She had never been worse for wear.

Toma picked the nasty, scummy skeleton from her hay bed and threw her over his shoulder. What a sick way to die. And Bardock had doomed her to this fate. Toma knew her crimes. She cross dressed and nothing more, maybe lay with the prince but that wasn't likely. She didn't deserve the punishment she got, at least not in Toma’s eyes. He shot a quick glance at Bardock. He was cuffed on both wrists and bolted to the wall. He was stripped of the fancy garb he wore and now had only a long white shirt that barely covered his manhood. Toma mourned the Bardock he once knew, but that Bardock was no more.

…

Vegeta paced back and forth in his chambers. What would he do? How would she ever forgive him? Would she be well? Prisoners were known to catch cold and die in their sleep in the winter. He prayed she was strong enough to survive. What was he thinking? Of course she was strong enough… she was the strongest woman he knew…

There was a knock at his door.

His heart racing, he opened it up. Toma. And? A foul smelling skeleton of a woman he once knew. Toma pushed his way past the king and laid the woman on the  bed. She was still, her eyelids at half mast. Vegeta could barely stand to look at her in such a state.

“Who did this to her?” he demanded. When Toma fell silent, he didn't know what to say, the king became furious.

“WHO DID THIS TO HER?!” He yelled, grasping the plainclothes clad general by the chest. The look in the king's eyes was that of a madman. The veins in his neck and temples bulged with anger. Vegeta's eyes began to swell with liquid. He was so furious he had started to cry.

Toma looked down to the floor.

“Bardock ordered her arrest. I was only following orders.” the tall general explained. Though he was outraged, he knew this wasn't Toma’s fault. The regent had superior power than the prince, at the time of her arrest. It was within his power to keep such a thing from the prince, even though it may not have been morally acceptable.

“Her charges?” he interrogated, fists shaking with the rush of adrenaline.

“Cross dressing, sodomy, lewd and lascivious behavior, and… witchcraft. Although I don't know the  basis of the last accusation.”

“Accusation? Who accused-" he almost finished when he remembered a certain blue haired kitchen rat that had walked in in them that fateful day. The day of her arrest.

The king dropped his fists from his grasp on Toma. He turned to the unconscious woman on his bed. He pressed his ungloved fingers to her neck. Weak, but she still had a pulse.

“Send for the best physician in the kingdom. I am going to get to the bottom of this and punish those responsible.”

…

“This is by far the worst case of neglect I've ever seen. Where did you find this woman?”  the physician was a short man with light hair, and his eyes told the story that he was much older than he looked.

“She was wrongfully sentenced and placed in our prisons. The care of criminals is not of utmost concern to those in power.” Toma replied bluntly.

The old man understood his explanation and began to get to work. She was severely malnourished, her stomach sunk low and her ribs were visible to count. She was pale white and nearly translucent. Her toes, ears and the tips of her fingers had early signs of frostbite. Her small toe on her left foot was dark, it had already begun to decay. He noticed signs of vomit on her mouth and determined she may have contracted a cold or worse, pneumonia.

She had begun to lose hair because of the lack of care and not getting enough nutrients.

The doctor contemplated given her morphine to lessen her pain, but he was sure it would kill her due to her weight. Instead, he ordered that the girl be fed hardtack biscuit soaked in water or milk, as many times as she could stand. And if she had energy to chew, fruits, vegetables and cured meats for balance.

Toma agreed to the order and immediately went to the kitchens to fetch some maids for the task.

…

The king had one thing and one thing only on his mind. Destroy the maiden Marron. As the prince, he was known for his downright evil scowls. There was almost never a time his brow wasn't pushed together in anger. Today, as the King, he had the blackest look he ever had. His eyes, though deep brown, burned with the fury of a thousand fires. His stride was confident, furious and ambitious. He was ready to inflict real punishment.

As he rounded the corner to the kitchen he saw her. Her long blue hair disgusted him, the fact that she looked so similar to his Bulma disgusted him. He approached her swiftly, catching her by surprise.

“The prince will never know,” he whispered in her ear.

Marron felt a stinging chill run down her spine as she knew it to be the King standing directly behind her. She froze in fear. Her entire body stiffened, her mind was blank, and her heart had never beat so rapidly. She felt as if she could die, then and there. But she would not have that luxury.

Vegeta twisted his gloved fingers through her hair, anchoring himself. Then he pulled so hard that several large chunks came out, and the girl was forced to the floor. She yelped in agony.

“But the King knows now. And I will make good on my promise to you.” and then he kicked her hard, in the ribs, she could not scream, she only felt the air from her lungs be forcibly expelled from her body. She gasped for breath, but it was only let in with tiny bursts. Even more so now, she felt like she could die. And again, she would be afforded that luxury.

The King picked her up by the collar of her apron, choking her. He turned her face toward himself. She was a pitiful sight, and he knew she felt remorse for her actions. But remorse was not enough punishment. He wanted her to see what she'd done to Bulma. And after, he wanted her to share the same fate. So with a firm grasp on her collar, he drug her out of the kitchen and headed toward his chambers.

…

It had been several weeks since Bulma and the prince left for the castle. There were whispers of a coronation, and an unexpected arrest that happened at the coronation. Yamcha knew it had to her, though why would he have kept her in the castle for nearly a month before her arrest? His mind went to dark places when he thought about it.

There wasn't a day that went by that the children didn't ask about Bulma. And each time Yamcha had no idea what to say. Once, Goku told Launch that Bulma was in prison and she would never come back. Yamcha had the most trouble that day, trying calm her down. Launch thought of Bulma as her mother, and Yamcha was a most shitty replacement. He'd never had such a difficult time with them as he did without Bulma. But she left him in this predicament. And for that he was almost glad she was serving her time.

…

Bulma was only partly conscious when Vegeta and Marron had arrived. She noticed that Marron was crying profusely, and held her sides in pain. She also noticed that the girl had large chunks of hair missing from her head, not unlike herself. Bulma lacked the energy to even greet them.

Toma had passed the two on his way to kitchen and informed the King of the doctor's orders. He would be arriving back shortly with another kitchen staff and the necessary food.

Vegeta had Marron by her collar in one hand, and moved closer to Bulma so he could put his other hand on hers.

“I am so sorry,” Marron sobbed at the sight of her once friend.

Bulma was highly confused as to what was happening. She mustered as much energy as she could to ask what was going on. “What is happening?” she breathed, directing the question to Vegeta.

“Shh, rest. I will explain it all when you are lucid.”

She wasn't entirely sure if she could trust him, he had gone back and forth between her enemy and her lover so many times. But she had no choice this time, so she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.

…

“Attention Citizens!! In one weeks time, there will be a public execution!! All citizens are invited to attend, and encouraged to ridicule the prisoner as much as possible. Their crimes include murder and conspiracy, and even betrayal and treason! Bring the children for extra hands to throw rotten produce!”

Yamcha stared wide eyed at the poster advertising an execution. His heart sunk when he knew. It had now been three months since Bulma was taken from her home and her family. He hoped she had been comfortable for that time. But this… this was madness. He felt his rage boil within his chest. He had to do something. Anything! She was a good person, an innocent woman just providing for her family. He had to do something. So he went to a man he knew would give him sage advice, Master Roshi.

“I see. You want to stage a rescue for this woman, who you love.”

“Well I'm  not in love with her, but she has a family and she's innocent!” Yamcha corrected the old man.

“Well I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll help you. I'd go to the ends of the earth if it meant you would get a nice piece of tail!” the old man said with a cackle.

Yamcha sighed. Hopeless. He lamented.

“I would rather not involve the boys, in case we get caught… they will be the only ones left to care for their siblings.” Yamcha said, worried the old master would want to include them. They were strong, there was no doubt about that. But the risk was far greater than the reward.  I'm sorry Bulma, he thought as realized he had equated her to ‘the reward’.

…

Bulma had been recovering for nearly two months, though she was still having trouble keeping her food down. The new King had waited on her hand and foot. He told her every day how sorry he was for his harsh words, and how he would never let her go again. She was glad to hear it, but she stayed angry with him for some time. He broke her heart, and it wasn't easily repaired. But in the last couple weeks her mood had vastly changed. She thought it was a side effect of her new found energy,  though his spoiling may have had an effect as well. She was beginning to remember what it felt like to love him. And she could picture herself doing so once again.

She lay in his bed, relishing the scent of lavender and the feel of fine satin sheets. She smiled in delight and thanked God for saving her. She would surely have been dead if she was not rescued when she was.

There was a tap at the door before it opened to reveal the old physician. She had called him for a very specific reason, and hoped he had the answer.

“Miss Briefs,” he greeted her with a bow she surely did not deserve.

“Oh please I am no lady nor anyones wife. Just call me Bulma.”

“Yes of course. You said you had some concerns?”

“Yes, though I have been gaining weight and energy rapidly, I still vomit almost daily. This illness is not related to my neglect in the prison.”

“Yes it seems you are right. For a woman you are very well educated in medicine. When was the last time you menstruated?”

Bulma heard his last word and her stomach began to feel ill once again. It couldn't be. But it could! She placed a hand on her abdomen.

“I… I can't remember.” She admitted truthfully. “Alright, dear, I'm sure you can put two and two together for a diagnosis, but to make sure…” He pulled what Bulma identified as a stethoscope from his medical bag. He placed the long wooden tube to her abdomen, and laid his ear on the other end.

“And there is the proof. A tiny heartbeat as clear as day. May God bless you with a healthy and happy child. For the remainder of your ailment I will check on you frequently. Please stay in bed as much as possible to ensure your health as well.”

Bulma had thought it a possibility once before. But she quickly put it out of her mind.

Now, this was real. She would birth the king’s child. She was terrified to tell him.

…

When the time came for the public execution, Goku would not take no for an answer. And then Tien and Krillin began to beg. All three boys were hitting and kicking Yamcha, screaming at the top of their lungs. They wanted in on the rescue mission, and the more he said no, the more they protested.

“Who will care for the girls and Oolong if we are caught? They need you, more than anything. You cannot come.” the scar faced boy insisted.

But they insisted back, threatening to come anyway and execute their own rescue plan, though it was likely much less thought out than his.

If only to stop their incessant crying and attacks, he caved in.

“Ok,” he said. “But if things turn sour, promise me you will run. Even if I'm in trouble, leave.”

The boys immediately stopped and nodded their heads.

Yamcha knew this was a bad idea, but maybe they could be of some help.

…

So the two men and three boys made their way to the town, to the execution. They were dressed in their plainclothes, so as to not draw attention. They adopted the role of participants for the execution they believed to be of their dear friend and sister. Goku carried a basket of overly ripe tomatoes. “So we just throw these at Bulma?” he asked.

“No! Not actually! Just pretend!” Yamcha whisper yelled at the boy.

“Oh!” Goku said confidently, as if he knew exactly what Yamcha was saying. “What does pretend mean, Yamcha?” Goku asked, completely undermining his so confident expression of understanding.

Yamcha feared their plan would not work, but he had no choice.

…

Marron was roused early on the day of her execution. Because of her crimes the king sentenced her to public humiliation before being hung. The same fate was to befall Bardock, the once trusted regent and long time friend of the crown.

It was a cold morning, it had just snowed the night before. It was a wonder Marron had lasted this long, but then again she did not suffer from the ailment of pregnancy like Bulma did. Marron’s feet and most of her fingers had succumbed to frost bite she was beginning to develop an infection in one foot. She was thinner than before, but not emaciated. She was able to keep her food down, most of the time.

Bardock had the constitution of an ox. He was hardly different at all, save for slightly skinnier and a small amount of frostbite on his toes. He had found it easy to keep himself warm by using the friction of rubbing his hands together, and placing them on any part of his body that felt numb. He lost some sleep over the cold, but not much. It was enough to conjure dark circles under his eyes.

He tried so hard to provoke Broly to his favor. But the tall burly man would not budge. It saddened him to see his friend and father figure in such a state, but his conviction to performing his job as close to perfect as humanly possible. Even though he had no one to make proud of him if he lost Bardock, he still honored his duties.

Bardock was not pleased with this behavior. No matter what he bargained or promised, he never got what he wanted. Even when all he wanted was an extra blanket.

Bardock awoke to Toma, fully armored,  pulling him by the hair on his head.

The two criminals were brought to the streets and cuffed to a horse drawn carriage, led by a single armored soldier. The two had no shoes, and only their dirty prison shifts on. The roads were muddy with partially melted snow. It was freezing cold outside, where most were wearing several warm layers of clothes, the criminals did not. The wind howled an agonizing cry. Today was the day.

Yamcha and the others could see the prisoners beginning their road to the gallows. One tall, black haired man, and one short blue haired girl. Bulma! Yamcha squinted to get a better look but alas they were too far away still.

…

Vegeta wantonly dressed in front of her. She was the intruder in his bedroom, even though he wanted her there. So he used his room as he usually did, and that included stripping naked to bathe, and dress. She admired his physique, every crevasse in his sinew was delicately carved, as if he was made of marble. The small white scars on his body made him even more handsome to her, a symbol of his strength and perseverance. She reminisced the only time their bodies had connected, and wanted so badly to relive those moments. With the news, of course, they would have to wait until it was safe for the baby. Which made her want him even more.

When he turned his head to glance at her, he noticed the look in her eyes. It was that of insatiable hunger, the craving call of a lioness in heat. He smiled slightly at her vulgarity.

“Go easy on her,” Bulma pled for the small girl who would lose her life today. “Make it quick and painless. For him too, afterall he raised you.” Her bleeding heart had gotten the best of her as she begged her king for his mercy on them.

Vegeta looked down to the ground and finished lacing his tall black boots. He said nothing, but nodded to her as he left the room.

…

In the street the cries and shouts of the entire kingdom could be heard. The people were like wild animals, calling names and throwing food all about. They enjoyed the spectacle, however disgusting and uncivilized it may be.

When Yamcha and the old master had attempted to make their way to the front to see their friend, they were kicked and shoved out of the way. This angered them both, and a fists were thrown. A fight broke out among the citizens in the confusion, and it spread like wildfire. Soon the entire street was in an all out brawl, people were hitting and kicking people they didn't even know, and in turn those people hit back. It had gone from riotous fun in one instant, to actual full on riot the next.

Yamcha decided the boys needed to leave, he could carry this out on his own.

“Roshi!” he yelled as loudly as he could, the crowd drowning out his voice. The old master turned to him and acknowledged the call.

“Take the boys and get out! This is my burden to bear!”

And although the old hermit hesitated, he accepted the order and scooped the boys up.

Yamcha tried to watch and make sure they made it out of the violent pit, but he lost sight of them. He hoped for the best, and swiftly took a dive into the crowd, toward the gallows.

…

When Vegeta arrived to the large wooden structure, aptly named the gallows, he was shocked at what he saw. His people were behaving like animals. They were turning on each other, and even his own guards. It was a horrible mess, an it was a wonder that the prisoners actually made it to their destination, and not gotten stomped into the cold mud.

They were escorted onto the platform, where the executioner placed the nooses on their necks. Bardock was solemn and said nothing. Marron was inconsolable, every cry seemed to choke her. It was pitiful, but to Vegeta and most of the kingdom, they were getting what they deserved.

The horns blew in rapid succession in attempts to gain the crowd's attention. The mob calmed down dramatically as the anticipated the main attraction.

The executioner read from a scroll each prisoner's crimes and their punishment before reciting their last rights.

Finally, they were asked for any final words.

Bardock remained silent, his eyes dark and face hollow. He was already dead on the inside, and he prayed for death to come quickly.

Marron chose to deny her crimes.

“I am innocent, as God is my witness. He will harken to me with open arms,” she recited through ugly sobs.

Yamcha had made his way to the structure, just in time to hear her voice. And he knew this woman could not be Bulma. Though they shared a hair color, her voice was completely wrong. He began to wonder what was going on.

The king gave a nod to his black clad executioner, who nodded back.

And as if in slow motion…

Their bodies fell hard, snapping their neck in harmony, like fragile glass slippers.

And they were gone…

…

After it was all said and done, Yamcha shoved his way to the king. There were many guards who held him back, but he shouted and pushed still.

“Vegeta! Prince Vegeta!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. It was just barely loud enough and disrespectful enough to catch the king's attention.

He turned his head toward the boy. He recognized him as Yamcha, the boy who had helped him when Nappa was dying. And who helped bury him as well. This peaked his interest so he signalled his guards to let the boy through.

“Where is she?!” he demanded.

The king was not in the mood to correct his atrocious behavior, so instead he said, “Follow me.” And the two headed back toward the castle.

…

Bulma had fallen asleep shortly after her king had left. She awoke to the sound of the chamber door opening…

Vegeta entered, in all his glory, and made his way to her side. He grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

“ You… have a visitor..” he said to her.

Even in their intimate moments, he refused to relax his scowl. But she didn't mind.

“A visitor?” She inquired.

Just then she saw Yamcha enter the room. She had never felt such happiness in her life. She was so grateful to be in that room at that very moment, and not swinging from a rope like her less fortunate friend.

...

They talked for what seemed like hours. She told him every detail of her stay, including her stay in the cells. And he told her all about what was happening back home, though it wasn't quite as exciting.

And when the time was right, she broke the news to both Vegeta and Yamcha. And together they celebrated their happy endings…

But there was one person in the castle who was not celebrating.

…

Suno had packed her bags, and gathered Zarbon to head back to France. She was tired of waiting for the king, and the fact that he had a whore in his bed every night since they had become engaged had angered her to no end.

In the middle of the night, the duchess and her ambassador fled the kingdom.

…

Several weeks later, Frieza declared war on the kingdom of Sadala. He was outraged that the new king would play around with his niece, only to break off the engagement and send her home like used tissue.

The king had a choice to make. Rally his army and lead them to victory, or stay with his heavily pregnant lover, and risk not being with his men.

He chose the former, thinking it would be wise to be with his men to boost their morale. Never had a battle been lost when the king fought side by side with his men. And this was no exception.

The war raged on at the French border for nearly seven months. The weather had gone from winter to spring, spring to summer, and summer to fall. It was nearing time for the arrival of his son.

…

Long ago, Vegeta had made the mistake of deciding to bring Bulma to the castle. It was a decision that would ultimately lead to her death, and that was true. While her king was away there were many complications with her pregnancy. For the last two weeks she bled near constantly. The physicians and midwives watched her round the clock. And then he decided to come early.

Trunks was born to his mother nearly three weeks too soon. He was small, and beautiful, with eyes just like his mother's. She fawned over him. Her very own baby, a perfect amalgam of herself and her lover. And the doctor had declared him healthy. His head was covered in light lavender hair, a feature that would be sure to please his father.  His tiny premature hands grasped at her breast when she fed him. And he ate ravenously, just like hia father. She hoped one day, he could learn to be gentle and intelligent like her, but courageous and confident like his father. She hoped that he would learn and become a great scholar… and that he wouldn't have to bear the burden of taking the throne at such an early age… like his father. She sighed as she brushed her hand on his uniquely soft face. She had never seen anything more perfect.

In three short days, she was dead. The doctors declared it death due to childbirth. She looked like a porcelain doll, motionless and pale. She had faded in her sleep, due to significant blood loss. It was both a beautiful and horrific sight.

The first to know were her family. The message took much longer to get to King Vegeta.

…

Victory. They had pushed back the French and won the war. Vegeta had slain the emperor on an open battlefield,  for all to see. The French soldiers submitted to him immediately.

It was over.

He could go home.

…

When he arrived home he wanted to see her, and their son. When he opened his chamber doors there was nothing. No Bulma in his bed, no son in the bassinet. His servants surrounded him, headed by the general Toma. Their somber faces said it all. She was gone.

She was gone.

Gone.

His pained and blood chilling scream echoed through the silent halls. Even in the furthest reaches of the castle, servants heard his anguished wails.

Gone.

She was gone.

…

It took a very long time for him to overcome his depression. Sometimes the sight of his beautiful son worsened the condition, sometimes he lessened it. But one thing was for sure. Trunks was all he had left of her. And King Vegeta would ensure he would protect the boy with everything he had. And when Trunks was old enough, Vegeta told him the story of his mother. A tragedy to be sure, with a bittersweet fairytale ending.

The end

[quillovesdbz]

Submission for week 4 of @tpthvegebulmayhem (1/3)

Clandestine Downfall

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

Chapter 5: The Lavender Lie

Rating: M

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

TW: Violence, psychological abuse, physical abuse, light smut, homophobic ideology, depiction of intellectual disability.

Summary: Bulma continues her investigation, and she finds a lead. Vegeta pushes Bulma further and further away, but does he mean to hurt her so? Or is he trying to keep her safe? Bardock orders the arrest of Bulma.

Nearly two weeks later was the first time she talked to him again. She had been on a pointless mission, investigating and sticking her nose exactly where it didn’t belong. She had befriended some of the kitchen staff, namely Fasha and Marron, two chatty girls who she confirmed had a crush on her. Bulma spun this to her advantage, playing hard to get or rather, impossible to get. But they didn’t have to know that. As long as she toyed with them, they fed her information. As useless as that information had turned out to be, it was information nonetheless.

From the girls she had learned of a servant who had come as a cook, but had recently disappeared, leaving the kitchen matron, Mai, in charge. This happened on the exact day the prince and Nappa had left to arrest Bulma. So Mai became suspect number one, and Bulma had to share the news with the prince. She felt almost too excited to talk to him again, and nearly danced to his chambers in the middle of the night. As she knocked, she unconsciously grinned toothily, anticipating being able to speak with him.

For two weeks he avoided her. He now knew that becoming king meant he could never have her. It burned him deeply, but over the course of the two weeks he was beginning to let go of her. His heart had begun to heal, and he realized the mistake of falling in love with her.

“You come with good news, I hope. Because if not, leave my presence.” Vegeta spit harshly at the disguised Bulma. She was wearing a blue jacket with knee length coattails over a pale yellow doublet. Her trousers were a very plain beige, and her boots slightly darker leather. Her sword hung at her hip now, she had refashioned the belt to fit her slight frame instead of hanging loosely at her back. She was a vision of regal style, though not overly fancy. He eyed her up and down suspiciously, awaiting her answer.

“No news, my prince. However I have a lead,” she glanced past his shoulder and inside his chambers where it appeared he was enjoying tea… alone. “Perhaps I could join you to discuss?” She suggested, dropping her smile and adopting a more serious expression.

He said nothing, just rolled his eyes to the ceiling and turned to make his way back toward the table. A very uninviting welcome, if Bulma had ever seen one.

The Prince’s chambers were over triple the area of her own, and contained several extra pieces that hers did not. He had a lavish bed with a full violet velvet canopy, tied to each of the four bedposts with golden rope. It had a plethora of fat purple pillows, and a thick purple comforter. Bulma was beginning to think his favorite color might be purple, but the rest of his room did not reflect that. He had a nearly identical desk to hers, though his was pristine, not a speck of dust upon it, and it looked decades newer. In the northern corner of the room there was a large grey brick fireplace. There was no fire burning at the moment but she could tell it had been recently used. It was nearing fall now, and the nights were getting ever colder. A small part of her hoped Yamcha was making sure her siblings stayed warm with lots of blankets.

Beside the fireplace was a large mirror, so large in fact it was on the floor and nearly reached the ceiling in height. It was framed in extravagant gold detail, delicately carved vines with dozens of golden roses. Each leaf had visible veins that must have been painstakingly shaped by a real artist. It was magnificent. On the floor near the mirror and the fireplace was the biggest brown bear pelt she had ever seen, three or four people could lay upon it comfortably without touching. It looked so soft, her hands begged her to touch it. But she withheld those urges, and took a seat at his small four chair dining table. The centerpiece was an exotic Asian vase, filled with fresh Lavender blossoms.

Without saying a words the prince sat adjacent to the blue haired girl and gestured for her to pour herself some tea.

She obeyed by taking the warm teapot in her hands and filling the small teacup closest to her.

“Milk?” she questioned, figuring that when in Rome, she may as well spoil herself. She eyed the handsome prince with reserved interest.  Lately when she had seen him about the court he had been dressing much fancier. In fact, ever since the announcement of his coronation, he had his small crown equipped every day. It suited him well, mostly covering up his large forehead and deep widow’s peak. Not that she minded those unique features, but it did well to accent them. Today he wore a dark doublet, almost coffee colored. It had golden embroideries running vertically from the base of his neck to the bottom of the shirt. His trousers were white, matching his gloves, and boots a deep and shiny black. His matching gold cloak was draped over one of the unoccupied chairs.

“No, I don’t usually take mine with milk, so they don’t include it when they bring the setup from the kitchens.” he explained.

“Well you should, there is nothing better.” Bulma replied, swirling the translucent brown liquid in her teacup.

Vegeta was beginning to get angry, she was wasting his time. She invited herself into his chambers, after two weeks of… nothing… and now she stalls by making small talk about tea! It was infuriating to say the least.

“And what is the information you wanted to discuss, woman?” he shouted, his voice and inflection fiery. Bulma was taken slightly aback by his sudden slide to extremes. He had avoided her for nearly two weeks, even though she had done absolutely nothing to deserve such treatment. Granted, she had been busy herself, but this sudden outburst was no way to treat her.

“Just what is your problem, Vegeta?” she retaliated, eyes wide and brow cinched.

“My problem?! What is your problem? I didn’t ask you here, you barged in, invading my private tea time, and you dance around telling me the information you promised in exchange! But I am the one with a problem?” his face began to flush with anger, and he slammed his gloved fist on the table with the end of his question.

“Why have you been ignoring me?” she plead, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. She liked him, genuinely, and maybe she loved him, so why did he distance himself from her?

He positioned himself closer to her, his face was inches from hers so that she could feel his hot breath. His face was twisted in a furious scowl that told her he wasn’t going to kiss her, but instead was attempting to intimidate her.

“Listen, whore, I want nothing to do with you, I only keep you here so you fulfil your duties and then I will throw you to the prisons like the scum that you are.” His words pierced her heart and brought the torrential fall of her tears to fruition. She gasped lightly at his attack, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You are but a low class harlot and your  infatuation spell has broken. I will be the king, and there is no chance in hell you will ever be worthy of me.” He stood from the table, looking down upon her. He placed his hand at her neck, and grabbed the collar of her doublet. His fingers ripped right through the delicate lace as he gripped the edge and picked her up from her chair.

She let out a small yelp in surprise mostly, but also in pain of her collar tightening on her neck.

He jerked her body toward himself, before throwing her down on the floor. She landed on her hands and knees, and she choked out an involuntary sob. She flipped herself over to look at him, and to speak.

“The maiden Mai was serving breakfast the day Nappa was poisoned,” Bulma informed him, letting out a small cry afterward. “I think she is a prime suspect, although I have been unable to gather concrete evidence.” she breathed hard, a side effect of the shocked crying she had been doing.

“Useless,” he uttered low and angry. “She has worked for the regent for as long as I can remember and she would never harm his most high ranking general.”

It was then they both had a thought.  

“Bardock…” Vegeta muttered under his breath.

The regent, Bulma thought at the exact same time.

“What motive would he have had…?” Bulma trailed, deep in thought.

“The treaty. Is it possible that Bardock is working with Frieza to ensure the downfall of our kingdom? Why else would he eliminate our most powerful and experienced general?” Vegeta pieced together small fragments of his theory, but he wasn’t fully convinced himself.

“He had no reaction when you announced Nappa’s death. However, he seemed to he surprised at the actual event of his death, because it didn’t match up with what he knew to be true, poison.” Bulma recalled from her first morning staying at the castle.

Silently the two young people stared at each other. They had a very solid suspect now, only a few doubts about it, but a dangerous suspect to be sure. And if indeed the idea that Frieza was behind the whole plot, puppeting the regent to gain control of the kingdom, the situation was far worse than either of them had ever imagined.

…

Broly was the son of a now disgraced ambassador, who was exiled for his crimes against the crown. When his father, Paragus, was exiled, the young boy stayed in the castle under the care of the regent. It was frowned upon by most of the other lords and ladies in the court, but Bardock didn’t believe that he was destined to follow in his father’s footsteps. So he hired the boy, then ten years of age, to be the dungeon keeper. He was a large boy, all muscle and tall as a horse. He would have easily passed for eighteen back then. Now, at twenty, he was a literal giant. He towered over every man Bardock had ever seen. He’s cursed, they would say. He talked simply, and couldn’t hold a conversation too long. He’s slow, they would say. And sometimes, he would get angry at their whisperings, and lash out violently. He’s dangerous, they would say. So, to protect Broly and himself, he confined the boy to only the cells and the kitchens. Occasionally Broly would be able to go outside to the stables where he enjoyed the company of the horses and one raggedy barn cat, but only after the court had gone to sleep, and the moon was high in the sky. He didn’t mind his confinement, in fact he felt pride in his occupation, and did his best to make Bardock proud of him too.

On this evening Broly had been ordered to clean out one of the empty cells, and dress it with less moldy hay for a new prisoner. To properly punish the criminals, they slept on hay, which would often become moldy in the dark and moist dungeon. Especially on nights it rained, which had been happening rather often lately.

So Broly prepared the new cell. He was almost giddy that he would have a new mate to talk to, as the last few prisoners had recently been executed. It always made him sad that his friends would be taken away from him, but he knew it was necessary, even if he didn’t know why.

…

Bardock paced his chambers restlessly. He now knew the mysterious squire to be none other than the blue haired girl, but he could not determine why she would be disguised, as a male of all things. The kitchen matron Mai, had informed him of certain lewd acts between the prince and his friend, and Bardock was able to piece the rest together when he recalled the boy’s hair color. He remembered that day that she sat in Nappa’s chair. It was the only time Bardock had seen her in her nearly two weeks of stay, but he remembered it vividly because of her audacity to take such a seat.

Immediately following Mai’s accusation, Bardock had Broly prepare a cell. Although he didn’t plan to imprison her immediately. He needed concrete evidence to support the servant’s claim. And if it were true it had the potential to damage the Prince’s reputation or at the very least, his trust in Bardock. So he needed to play his cards very carefully, to ensure the best possible out come.

…

Bulma had convinced her chamber maid to allow her to bathe in solitude, though it took some time. Finally, when she had gone long enough, the maiden agreed to it, if only because the blue haired squire was beginning to really reek. The maiden wondered what kind of deformity he had to be cause for such self consciousness. But she got used to their agreement and said nothing of it to anyone.

But her bathing time needed to be quick, because she was vulnerable to discovery at any moment. In case of intrusion, she lavishly filled the tub with bubbles, so as to cover her breast and kept a towel within reach. But what she wasn’t prepared for was a intrusion that she didn’t mind. The prince.

He came in as she was nearing the end of her bath, scaring the daylights out of her. Luckily it was the prince, because she yelped like a little girl before ducking her head beneath the water. He promptly closed the door behind him, and turned away from her.

Bulma knew she could stay under there forever. Plan B; apologize profusely and submit to the punishment she had incurred for her crimes. But when she came up she saw him. He respectfully faced away, allowing her to privately finish.

“Oh, your majesty…” she said with a tilted head and furrowed eyebrows. She wasn’t expecting him, but it was a welcome surprise either way.

“I’ve come to release you.” he nearly whispered, and Bulma sensed a small amount of pain in his voice.

“What does that mean?” she questioned.

“It means I am done with you. And it isn’t safe for either of us, to have you here.”

She rose from the tub and wrapped the towel around her body. Her arms and most of her legs were bare, and dripping soapy water.

“Do you mean I can go home?”

“Yes! Stop asking so many questions.” he comanded in a fiery tone.

“Just one more; can I ever come back?”

There was silence as thick as the snowstorms in winter, and just as cold. Vegeta thought it was a trick. She was teasing him. But the sincerity in her voice said otherwise, and what reason would she have now to trick him? He just gave her everything she wanted. The best possible deal for a harlot and scoundrel like herself. He turned to face her, his first mistake that evening.

Before she knew it she was directly behind him, close enough to touch him with an outstretched arm. When he turned to face her, she thought about what to say. Nothing was probably the best thing, but instead she said his name. And that was her first mistake that evening. And one mistake led to another and another, until they were breathless in each others arms. He had taken his pure white gloves off and thrown them to the side. The better to grab me with, Bulma thought as she quivered in anticipation. Nothing covered their bodies now; save for the maroon blanket that once only covered her mattress.

There was nearly no space between their bodies now; and what space there was, was hot a humid like the peak of summer. They were connected, one being. They said no words, it was far to heated for such nonsense. The quiet rang in their ears, only interrupted by the occasional sigh or moan. Their lips locked, and held there, each too afraid to let the other go. She held him, her nails digging into the skin of his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Every inch of her body craved him, and could never satiate the hunger. He felt the same,  one hand holding her thigh closer to his body, the other hand supporting himself.

They made love like it was the first and last time. Pressed for time, but trying to learn every crevasse of each other’s bodies. They both savored and rushed the act, the prospect of an intruder at any moment making them go as fast as possible.

She was close, on the edge of an explosion. She bucked beneath him, wanting desperately to be closer. Her voice betrayed her, letting out audible cries of passion as she got nearer and nearer to her end. He noticed her involuntary noises and clasped the thigh holding hand over her mouth. The action sent her over the edge. His control over her had excited her, when she herself had no control over her body.

When he felt her convulse beneath him, a sure sign of her orgasm, he relaxed, and came in sync with her.

“Vegeta! P-pull,” she began, but shuddered in ecstasy.

He thrust with a final grunt, releasing his seed deep inside her.

“Out…” she finished. Oh well. She lamented at his naivety, hoping this didn’t lead to her being with child.

He huffed, breathless, and moved to dismount her.

Then the door opened.

…

Though they had been caught, it was only Bulma’s chambermaid. Marron. She figured the squire had been bathing long enough, and it was time to dump the tub. She was shocked to find him in bed, clad in nothing but their natural skins, seemingly finishing their carnal sin. With the prince, of all people. At first she was flustered. And then she feared for her life.

Vegeta sprung from the bed as fast as lightning, and held the door closed with the maid inside.

“You’ve seen nothing here, peasant.” he growled lowly, lips pulled back like a threatening wolf. She dared not look at him, and took her chance to bow so lowly, she was almost laying on the ground. She stuffed her head down, between her knees, her small hands clasped together above her head. She groveled at his feet, crying uncontrollably. She didn’t want to anger the prince, he could have her killed!

“Vegeta!” called the familiar voice of the squire, though much softer and higher in pitch than usual. “She will be quiet, you have my word.” Bulma looked at the girl, and gave her a knowing look. Then she dropped the sheets from her breast, revealing herself as female. Marron became wide eyed as she looked up at the blue haired squire. She was at a loss for words, but it all began to make perfect sense.

“Of course,” the maiden said, piecing the puzzle together.

“I will not hesitate to kill you if this ever got out. Know that in two weeks time, I will be king, and this woman will be my bride.” he declared.

At first Bulma hadn’t heard his words. Or rather, she did, and her head chose not to hear them. And then her head did this silly thing where she played the words back again in slow motion.

“I- what?” she questioned, entirely taken by the surprise of this declaration. Was he asking her to marry him, or telling her? And… what would that be like? Would she see her family, would they live in the castle with her? The hooligans would tear it up. Or would the people even approve of a marriage between a lowborn like herself, and the King? All of these questions were contained silently in the single “what" she had vocalized. And the prince knew it because he too, had the same questions.

“Do you agree to this?” he was asking Marron if she agreed to stay silent, or die. But both women spoke.

“Yes,” they said in unison, though Bulma had a different idea of what his question meant.

“Oh,” she said, realizing her mistake.

“Oh,” Vegeta said, acknowledging that she accepted his odd proposal.

The maiden said nothing, only cowered on the floor, wishing for a swift exit.

“Begone,” he said to Marron, opening the door slightly to allow her to leave.

“Yes, your majesty,” she said meekly, as she rose to her feet and exited the room. It was then Vegeta turned to Bulma and began laughing.

“What’s so funny?!” Bulma demanded, her face an angry scowl. The prince just continued to laugh as he found his trousers. “What?!” she demanded once again. Her face became red hot, like fiery oven.

“Nothing, its just,” he paused to cackle some more, “I only said that because she might think it a sin if we were laying together with no promise of marriage!” he bursted out with laughter at the end of his explanation. “B-but you thought,” he giggled, “you thought I was serious!”

Bulma felt a sharp stab in her heart. He wasn’t serious? Her heart nearly shattered. She felt her throat become thick and her eyes wet. How absolutely cruel, she lamented silently.

“Oh no,” he said with almost a slight joy in his voice. “You thought… you thought I was in love with you?” he said with an evil smirk. She couldn’t bare to look at him. She was so entirely embarrassed and heart broken, all she could do was keep her head down. It felt like she was floating as her head began to spin.

“Like I said before, I release you. Go home to your tribe of savages, and never come back.” He was actually disguising his goodbye with more hostility than he actually felt toward her. But the more ugly he was, the easier it would be for her to forget him. The truth was, he cherished the memory they had just made, and more than anything, he wished more than anything that she could stay. But it would never work, the kingdom would never accept her. And he would be going to war soon with the French, and he couldn’t bare to think what may come of her if they lost. Frieza would surely kill her, but not before torturing her. Afterall, his father had done that very same thing to the late empress. Or so Frieza thought…

The truth was that the late King Vegeta fell in love with the woman who was promised to Frieza. He staged her kidnapping, but she was more than willing to go, for she loved the king as well. And she married him, and bore him two sons before her death. But to Frieza, he believed the marriage to be against her will, and the procreation a product of rape.

Yes, it would be gravely dangerous to marry her, in more ways than one. So he hurt her, to let her go. And when she was fully clothed once again, she left.

…

Marron and Fasha were chatting in the kitchen when the blue haired squire zipped past them. She had a long dark cloak on, that seemed to purposefully conceal her face. She was holding her hand to her face, muffling her light cries.

“What’s with him?” Fasha poked, when Bull had exited the kitchens, headed toward the stables.

Marron felt she could trust her friend. They had known each other since they were very small children. Their mothers still worked in the kitchens together. Marron made the grave mistake of trusting her friend, and confiding the secret with her.

“Is that so,” Mai appeared behind the two girls, startling them.

“Oh, um yes, I was it with my own eyes Miss Mai…” Marron said meekly. “But the prince made me promise not to tell anyone, on pain of death. Mai’s eyebrows raised with intrigue.

“Then he shall not know,” Mai replied, her voice sly, with malicious intent. “Follow me.” she comanded of her subordinate.  And Marron did.

They made their way to the Regent’s chambers, on the far east end of the castle. It was a long walk, and silent. Marron had the feeling that Mai was mad at her, but she couldn’t be sure.

When they arrived, the Regent was leaning on the wall outside of his chambers. It was odd, but Marron thought nothing of it.

“Is that so?” the Regent purred. His voice was deep and smooth, like a creamed cup of tea. Marron liked her tea with cream, and she really liked the regent’s voice. That and his body. Though he was probably twenty years older than her, she felt instantly attracted to him. It could never be, she lamented with an audible sigh. “I saw it with my own eyes, but the prince cannot know. Please, protect me.”

Marron’s big doe eyes looked up at the much taller than her man.

“Very well. No consequence will come to the prince. And we will hold her trial on the same day as his coronation, that way he will not know.” His guarantee comforted the young maiden.

Bardock motioned for one of his guards to come closer. “M'lord?” the armor clad knight asked.

“If Marron is to be believed, the blue haired girl should be on her way to through the forest to her home. She lives in the old hospital, though you probably won’t have to go that far. Just arrest her and take her directly to the cells, I will keep the prince away from that area so that he is none the wiser.”

“Yes sir!” the knight saluted, and made his way toward the other end of the castle.

Marron had a tiny pang of black, dirty, guilt in the pit of her stomach. She hoped to God that she did the right thing.

To be continued…

[quillovesdbz]

Week 4 Submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem (2/3)

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

Chapter 6: These Violent Ends

Rating: M

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

TW: Psychological abuse, physical abuse, homophobic ideology, depiction of intellectual disability, vomiting,  depiction of sickness, strong language,

Summary: Bulma is betrayed. She spends some time in a cell before her trial. Vegeta meets a suitor, and becomes the king. Bardock faces his accuser.

Bulma threw the sword to the ground in anger. She was furious. She was livid at the prince, for toying with her emotions. And on top of that, he used her like a tissue, and threw her in the rubbish immediately after. He even came inside, that bastard! She silently shrieked in her mind. The tears couldn't stop flowing. They just came in waterfalls, never ending.

She kept her hand clasped over her mouth,  muffling her involuntary audible cries. She didn't want to draw attention any more than she already had. She was ashamed that Marron and Fasha had to see her like that, but at least they'd never see each other again. And deep inside her an overwhelming anxiety took over. What if… what if she doesn't keep her word? Bulma questioned herself.

She wasn't halfway home when she was stopped in her tracks. There was a light rain, moistening the ground and falling cold upon her face. She pulled her hood more tightly around her face.

A knight, tall and dressed in heavy armor stopped her. He was mounted on a tall brown horse, whom she recognized from her job in the stables. The knight however, she did not recognize.

“Halt citizen!” he barked to her. “Remove your hood,” he comanded.

Bulma's heart dropped in that moment. She stopped breathing entirely, her corset restricting any movement in her chest. She wanted to speak, but without the air to do so, she was silent. The horse shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

And the next thing she knew she was face forward in the cold mud, on the brink of losing consciousness.

…

Bardock had arranged a lavish evening snack for just he and the prince. They were to take it in the prince's chambers. So the regent and Marron, carrying several trays of food, made their way to the prince.

When he answered their knocks, he rolled his eyes and slammed the door in their faces.

“Prince Vegeta, I've had some snacks prepared, I would like to speak with you.”

“I am not of a mind to have snack with you, at the moment, Bardock. Please leave.” Vegeta growled lowly, threateningly.

“Not going to happen!” Bardock replied, a playfulness in his voice.

Vegeta contemplated his options. He really needed something to get his mind off of her. And being alone just allowed him to really dig deeper into his head and eventually upset himself. So he decided to be civil and let Bardock in.

The trays of food consisted of cured meats, aged cheeses and some exotic fruits. In a basket there were some semi-hard rolls. How appetizing. The prince lamented.

“The truth is I came to speak with you about matters of the heart.” Bardock broke the silence that had plagued them for several minutes already.

Vegeta was confused, did Bardock know of her? Or was this about a betrothal? Either way it wasn't a topic he was ready to discuss. “The heart?” he questioned with a slight look of disgust and disinterest in his face.

“Yes, with your coronation very soon, it would be wise to find a suitor. May I suggest the Duchess of Colmar? She is the eldest niece of Emperor Frieza. The union would ensure no harm comes to the kingdom once the treaty is in place.”

The prince's anger showed in the crimson on his face and deafening silence of his reply. “I would-" he cut himself off to gag in disgust. “I will never marry anyone in his family,” Vegeta scowled.

Somehow, Bardock knew this would be his reaction. So he asked the Duchess to court for an extended stay. He hoped she would charm the prince with her looks and intellect, and ultimately he would fall in love with her. It was his best hope to ensure the safety of the kingdom, since he would no longer be ruling it.

“Well, just consider meeting her. She is really a very nice girl. I think her given name is Suno? Yes that's it.”

The room fell silent for a long time. Vegeta was silent in protest, Bardock was silent for lack of ideas of what to say. Finally, he decided it was time to say what he had been wanting to say for a long time.

“You know, I feel as if you are my own son. I've done everything in my power to ensure the prosperity of the kingdom, for you. I am so sorry about the loss of your mentor and friend. If you need to talk any time, please find me.” Bardock was sincere. It had really hurt him to have Nappa killed; but it was a necessary evil, for the good of the kingdom. Bardock never had any children, that he knew of, but Vegeta and Broly were as close to his own as they possibly could be. And he really, truly meant those words, with his whole heart.

“I am sure you mourn Nappa as much as I,”  Vegeta replied with numb and lightless eyes. It struck Bardock as sarcastic, but there was no way the prince knew. Right? He questioned himself, before explaining away as Vegeta’s adolescent attitude.

“Of course,” he said sincerely.

No more words were spoken, and Bardock left the prince to be by himself, as he had originally asked.

…

When he first saw her, nothing struck him as particularly interesting. She was plain, with large brown eyes and copper hair. Her dress was French and modern. He'd  seen this style on other women in the court, though rarely. It was especially lowcut on her chest, revealing her ample breast. Its slight pink hue with white trim did well to bring out the red highlights of her hair. And though she was beautiful, she wasn't Bulma. And he hated himself every time he thought of her. It had been one week since he sent her away. One week until his coronation. And every minute he thought of her. Her smell, feminine and floral. He thought about her hair, almost the blue of a cresting wave, and her matching eyes. He thought of the feel of her naked body against his. It had caused him physical pain when he reminded himself he would never have her, ever again.

And what's worse, he made sure she despised him. So even if he wanted to sneak away and make her his mistress by night, she would never have him back. It was for the best, he didn't want to be known for infidelity when he eventually took a queen.

But… Suno wasn't hard to look at, in fact she was very beautiful. Just not the same as his Bulma.

But he decided to attempt to talk to her, in hopes it would distract him from his despair for a minute or two.

“You majesty,” she said in a small voice, as she curtsey to him. She was shorter than he, a definite advantage for sure, she would make him seem taller.

“Would you fancy a dance with me?” he asked her. The court was having a small celebration in her honor, and there was music, food and people filling the great hall.

He held his white gloved hand out to her. She accepted by lightly placing her hand in his. Though she was hesitant. The prince seemed dark, dressed all in black save for the gold on his shoulders and trimming his lapels. But it wasn't just his outfit, his face was blank, his eyes stone cold. She couldn't read his emotions if she tried, though she guessed it to be mourning for his recently deceased general. She accepted the dance anyway, hoping to cheer him up a bit.

…

Bulma's stomach growled furiously, she had scarcely been fed in the past week. She lay on her small bed of hay, clad in only a thin shift, and a light blanket to keep her warm. It had begun to snow that evening, the small stinging snowflakes made there way inside her cell window. She wished for a quick death, though she had the feeling she would not be granted such a luxury. Her hunger pains had graduated to deep and forceful cramps, a stabbing pain in her abdomen. She wasn't entirely sure that they were hunger pains anymore, maybe she had eaten some rotten food. She confirmed this theory when she puked all over herself and her bed.

“You sick?” Broly asked her, after seeing her vomit. Though he was simple, he had a kind heart and worried about his prisoner.

“Yes, I need a doctor,” she managed to croak out between coughs.

“No can do, Miss Bulma, but I move you to different cell so I clean this one.” At the very least, he didn't make her stay in the soiled cell. “Are there any without windows, Broly? Please help me out, so I don't freeze to death before my trial.” She plead to the tall dark haired boy.

He said nothing in return, only cuffed her arms behind her and led her to another open cell. It still had a window, but at least it was clean.

When she was uncuffed, however unnecessary that was in the first place, she laid down on her new bed. She struggled to cover her entire body with the slight blanket, it was much to short for her.

She had formed a friendly relationship with the daft cell keeper. He was surprisingly gentle, despite his large muscular build. She had an affinity for befriending broken things, and Broly was no different. He spoke simply, a sign of his unfortunate feeble mindedness. But she treated him like any other human, and she was sure he appreciated her for that.

The problem was that he never broke the rules. No matter how many times she asked for an extra hardtack biscuit, he would never do it. It was frustrating because she would feel like he had really warmed up to her, only to turn down her every request. She didn't blame him though, he probably didn't want to end up in here just like her. And she would immensely regret it if she caused him to be in her situation. She would never be able to forgive herself. So she resolved to stop asking him for favors, no matter how cold or hungry she got.

She curled hard into herself, forming a tight ball to help keep herself warm. She had stopped shedding tears several days ago, no point in feeling sorry for herself, afterall, this was completely her own fault. Slowly, she drifted to sleep, though the cold never let her stay asleep for long.

…

Over the course of a week Vegeta had interacted with the Duchess only twice. First was their dance, and second was right now. She pursued him to his chambers, where he was preparing himself for the coronation later in the afternoon.

He had chosen an elegant military regalia with decorative golden breastplate. His trousers and doublet were a bright navy blue, with horizontal white embroidery. His undershirt was an overly frilly white button down, that peeked out at the top of his neck and at his wrists. His cloak was a deep red, in fact it was his father's cloak. He thought it would be a sentimental tribute to the late king. It hung from gold chains to the lapels of his doublet. The decorative breastplate had just been shined, it was engraved with lavender blossoms with stem and leaves. His hands were once again sheathed in his signature white gloves, with boots to match. His hair was greased and put delicately into shape. Finally, upon his head rested his small princely crown, anticipating the replacement with the bigger king’s crown.

Today was the day.

He released a heavy breath. It carried all his fears and hopes, and his anxieties and anticipation. It carried grief for what he could not change, and eagerness for the future. And it carried her. He would not be plagued by her today. Today was the day.

Suno tapped lightly in his chamber door. She wasn't sure about him, he seemed alright when they danced, but that was it. All they did was dance. And then he left her, even though she was only there for him. He was no where to be found the following week, as if he wanted to avoid seeing her. But now she knew where to find him, and he had to talk to her if he planned on leaving his chambers on his coronation day. He would talk to her. Today was the day.

…

Today was the day. In her two week stay in the cells, Bulma had deteriorated significantly. Her ears and toes had symptoms of frost bite. She had lost a large amount of weight, and she had contracted some disease that plagued her lower abdomen with sharp pains. Her eyes were dull, and encircled with dark violet colored skin. Her cheeks were sunken, she had never been less grateful to have prominent cheek bones. Most days she regurgitated the food she ate, but sometimes she was able to keep it down. Today was the day, and sometime in what she assumed was the afternoon several guards came to collect her for her trial. At first she couldn't lift herself. And when they assisted her in standing, she couldn't walk.

So they dragged her, a guard on each arm, her feet dragging behind her, to the justice hall. Since the great hall was being used for the prince's coronation, her small trial had to take place in another smaller hall, aptly named the justice hall. Lined on the walls were hollow suits of armor, starting with the most modern designs, descending into earlier and earlier models until at the end was what Bulma thought to be 12th century armor. It was truly a spectacle, and under normal circumstances she would be glad to study them. Now she just despised them and their meaning.

She could barely move her feet to walk at the same pace as the guards. She stumbled along, almost thankful that she couldn't feel her toes. She knew they were bleeding. At the front of the room was a large podium, behind which Bulma assumed would be a judge. There were several rows of benches, though no one occupied them. The only people in the whole room were herself and the two guards. Everyone else must be attending the coronation… After all, today was the day.

…

The prince looked down upon the mousey duchess with slight contempt. She was a halfhearted replacement for his true love, but none of that now. Now it was time to grow up.

“Can I help you?” he said almost condescendingly.  

“Your majesty,” she said lightly as she curtsey.  “I've come to ask you something…” she trailed, leaving the subject of the question a question in itself.

“Regarding?” he pressed, his tone beginning to show annoyance.

“I'm sorry its just… What am I doing here if you've no interest in me?” she returned from her curtsey, looking up at him with golden brown orbs. She was clad in all gold, quite the accent to his own outfit. Was that planned?

He sighed before softening his features.

“You're right. I've been quite cold. I have been very anxious about today, please forgive me.”

“Of course, my prince, it's no fault of your own, honestly! I shouldn't have been so forward with you… and I know your apprehension that stems from our families.” she quieted on the last part, a hushed topic to be sure.

“We should look past the sins of our parents, and toward creating a peaceful future for the next generation,” he said, just as hushed. She flushed at the mention of a next generation, it made her think of all the children she could produce should she become the queen. She grabbed on to his arm, and rested her head in his arm as well.

He pulled back at the first instance of her touch, but relaxed when he realized this was his fate. She was his fate now. It was the most logical option. He would announce their engagement immediately after his coronation. And then he would take care of other important matters.

…

Bulma could not stand. She knelt on the red carpet, her cuffed hands clasped in front of her. She closed her tired eyes. This room was warm, so much warmer than the cells. The warmth invited her to sleep. It beckoned her in and out of consciousness for several minutes. Or hours? She wasn't sure. She hadn't exactly been paying attention in her hazy state.

Finally she blinked, and saw a slender figure behind the podium. He had no hair, and wore black and white robes. The chandelier above him seemed to make him glow with heavenly essence. God. She thought to herself. Take me, I am ready. She begged. But he could not hear her thoughts.

“Bulma Briefs, please rise and face your accusers.” the heavenly figure comanded. Bulma faltered, swaying her body until she collapsed totally on the ground. She heard metal clinking, a guard was moving toward her. The guard picked her up, dismissing her fragility completely. She was able to stand with his help. So he stood behind her with his hands on her arms that were limp at her sides.

She weakly moved her head around, searching for anyone else. Accusers, she thought, trying to remember the meaning of the word. Starving had really started to affect her memory. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep, the blistering cold or the gut sickness she had caught. It was definitely one of those.

Then in the corner of her eye she saw a tall woman, dressed in serving gear, her black hair in a long braid. And there, next to her, was the small and innocent Marron. Her light blue hair hung loosely on her shoulders, her bright doe eyes misty.

Marron. Marron? God damn it all! Bulma screamed internally. Her primary accuser was none other than her one time friend, now mortal enemy. She sure didn't waste any time. She must have gone straight to the regent. Bulma thought back to when she was arrested. It was not a half hour after she left the  castle. Bitch. She sent the girl the meanest glare she could manage, though she barely had the energy to move her brow. Then she sucked all the saliva she had in her mouth and spit it directly at the girl. It fell short by several feet, but it was a good try considering.

“Miss Briefs,  you stand accused of cross dressing. Sodomy. Lewd and lascivious behavior. And witch craft.”

Witch craft? She did not expect that one, though the others sounded about right.

“How do you plead?”

…

Prince Vegeta walked with confidence and authority in his step. His boots clicked against the solid wood floor, creating a rhythm that seemed proud and kingly. His cape flowed behind him, like a river of red waves. The room was hushed in awe of his appearance. Many in attendance had not seen the prince since he was a boy, and he was anything but a small boy today.

He turned sharply to face the court, before taking his seat on the throne. The throne that had  been empty for nearly ten years. It felt cold but full, a kind of full that reminded him of his father, and more so, his mother. He glanced at the smaller queen's throne beside him. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. He would learn to love her. And she conveniently guaranteed peace with France. It was the right decision.

…

“Guilty,” Bulma breathed,  ready to face the consequences of her actions. She had come to terms with her sins and accepted her fate. She was ready to die.

“It is agreed. In one week's time you will be hung in a public display. May God have mercy on your soul.”

…

“Lords and ladies, by the power vested in me by God and his holy prophets, I present to you, your King! Long live King Vegeta of Sadala, the conqueror of Tuffle village, peacemaker, the sole survior!” Bardock yelled with gusto at the crowd. His voice boomed through the large hall. He removed the prince's crown. Everyone stood and began applauding. Then Bardock laid the King's crown upon his head. Vegeta had a dark black feeling in his stomach. He was crowned by the traitor. And soon the whole court would know it.

…

Bulma let out an anguished cry to the heavens. It took every bit of energy she had, but it was necessary. She yelled to Marron. “I hope you got a good fucking deal!” her voice was hoarse and dry. It sounded like the very words scraped at her throat as they made their way out. She was so very angry with Marron. She was angry at the prince, who no doubt had a role in her demise. She was angry that her father left her to care for her siblings, because if he had not, she wouldn't be here today. She would not have had to dress as a man just to feed them and keep them warm. But most of all, she was angry with God. He had forsaken her, though she tried to be pious in her life.

She was being carted off by the two guards once again, inevitably headed back to her cell.

…

When the crowd settled, Vegeta stood from his throne.

“I have a very important announcement to make,” he projected to the crowd.  Everyone quieted and hushed each other. “I would like to formally announce my betrothal to the lovely Duchess of Colmar! This union is a gesture of good faith for the treaty with France. To a new and brighter future for our kingdom!”

The crowd roared with excitement. Bardock sent a knowing look toward the King, nodding in agreement of his announcement. But the king stated blankly at the regent. Then he frowned.

Vegeta tapped his scepter on the wood floor, creating a wave of silence among the crowd.

“There is more. Recently there has been a breach of trust within the court. There was an unforgivable crime.” he stared directly at Bardock, his eyes bore holes in Bardock’s chest. Bardock felt his heart drop, his greatest fears realized. He had been found out.

Two guardsmen closed in on him, each grabbing one of his arms. They brought him to face the king in the center of the room. He looked at the new king with terror in his eyes.

“Vegeta, what are you-"

“It's ‘your majesty‘ to you, murderer.”

…

The guards who carried Bulma back to her cell threw her carelessly on the ground. They didn't even bother to aim for the bed, or secure the gate. They could not have cared less about her.

Broly approached her. He picked her up gently with his large hands, and slowly lowered her down to the hay pile. He said nothing, and secured her gate, once again a prisoner.

She quietly whimpered, grasping her cramping stomach. She wanted to do more than feel sorry for herself, but she just did not have the energy to do so.

“Still sick?” Broly asked from across the room.

“Yeah,” she squeaked out, dry and harsh.

“Water?” Broly offered.

“Please,” she accepted.

Though this was the extent of their simple conversations, she had really grown to close to him in a weird way. And the part of her that wasn't feeling sorry for herself felt sorry for him. She wished he didn't have to spend his life down here, just because of his mental ability. But life is hell. And then you die.

…

“I ask you what proof do you have?!” Bardock demanded of his accuser. He was on his knees in front of the new king, pleading his case. The king stared down at the black hair once regent, now criminal. “Fine. I am a fair and just king. I will have the evidence retrieved shortly. Until then, you will rot in a cell.” the king placed his immaculate boot on the shoulders of the accused. In one swift motion he pushed Bardock to the ground. Once there, the king dug his heel deep into the regent's shoulder, inflicting pain and effectively snapping his collar bone in two pieces. Bardock screamed out in pain.

“Take this scum away.” Vegeta ordered the guards. They picked him up by his arms, eliciting another agonizing screech from Bardock’s lungs. The crowd had fallen to a deafening silence.

People were frozen in their places, even Suno looked afraid. Everyone looked at the king in fear, worried for their own well being. They had trusted Bardock for over ten years, and to have him suddenly lowered to such a status, as soon as the prince was crowned? It was unthinkable. And the matter of evidence plagues everyone's minds. They were skeptical of the new king, and so very afraid.

…

After the festivities concluded for the coronation, Vegeta retreated to his chambers. He hated crowds, and they treated him entirely different after the arrest of Bardock.  He did not regret his decision to have him imprisoned however. The next order of business was convincing Bulma to testify. Since it had been some time, he hoped that she did not hold him in contempt, though he could not be sure.

He had called to his chamber one of his most trusted generals to take on the task. Toma had proven himself loyal time and time again, and Vegeta trusted no one more.

“Your majesty,” Toma greeted at the open door.

“Come in, Toma. Please close the door behind you.”

“I have called you here for a special mission.” the new king explained.

“Sir, I live to serve you.” Toma replied, a generic acceptance line. He never was one for words.

“I need you to retrieve someone for me. Specifically I need Bulma Briefs and the arsenic sample she harvested from the late Nappa.”

Toma’s eyes widened. The girl had performed an autopsy on the general?! And what of the secret of her imprisonment? Conflicted, Toma opted to be loyal to his king, but that meant disregarding every order he had recently received from Bardock. He really hoped this wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

“Sir… the Briefs woman is… detained in the cells.”

“What?! Since when?” Vegeta nearly yelled, outraged that he hadn't been told.

“For two weeks. She had trial today and plead guilty to her charges. She is to be hung in a week…”

Vegeta stared at his general. How many people knew besides he?

To be continued…

[quillovesdbz]

Week one submission for the @tpthvegebulmayhem

Clandestine Downfall

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

Summary: Once upon a time in a far away land lived two young orphans, destined to meet in a musty barn by moonlight. Enter Bulma, a teenager looking after her 7 young siblings and childlike boyfriend Yamcha. In order to make a living she must dress as a man and work for a monarch she does not support. The monarch being young Prince Vegeta, a fiery and powerful man, who wants nothing more than to fulfill his late father's prophecy. And, deep in the shadows exists a mysterious regent. Until a time when Vegeta comes of age, the regent will hold the kingdom firmly in his grasp. What will become of these 3 seemingly unrelated people? Will romance bloom between the two teenagers? Or will their personalities violently clash?

This is Clandestine Downfall.

Genre: Cloak-and-dagger, dark fiction, AU, angst, fairytale interpretation

Rated: T for violence and suggestive language.

TW: death and death threats, mild violence, cross-dressing

Prompts: Skin as white as snow, let down your hair

...

10 years ago.

The king was ill. After a long reign succeeding his father, he was finally in death's throes. Many rejoiced, for the heir was not yet 8 years, and the selected Regent was highly favored among the people. The Regent, chosen by the king and his council, was a powerful warrior and diplomatic leader; who sat on the king's council for more than 20 years. It was unfortunate that King Vegeta had such dismal approval among the common folk, but the acts he committed to achieve that were necessary for the prosperity of the kingdom.

“Come, my son,” he beckoned to the young prince who looked upon his father stone faced. The boy had first watched his mother die after the birth of his brother only 3 years ago. Then, without its mother, the tiny infant also died. The castle had gone quiet that day and never fully returned to its once loud and bustling self again. He saw the same longing look in his father's eyes as he had seen in theirs. And he was furious. The prince was furious that his father was going to abandon him, to leave him without a person in this world to love him. And for that, he decided he would shed no tears, he would be stone cold to the man who would soon betray him.

But he answered the call and moved closer to the bedside.

“Out there lies our great kingdom. There is none more powerful than ours. With it you can conquer anything, and this is my legacy I leave for you alone my son.” The king stopped to regain his breath. His face was pale and spattered with purple blood vessels that had ruptured in his vain attempts to breathe. His eyes were gray and red, an image young Vegeta would not soon forget.

“You are the most powerful man in the world my son. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. I have earned that for you. Do not disappoint me by throwing that away.”

The prince could feel his throat swelling and his eyes stinging. He grabbed his red cloak and abruptly left the room so the king could not see his weakness.

And later that day, the king died.

Present Day.

Bulma fastened her light blue locks in a ribbon at the base of her head. The ribbon was a navy color to match her riding jacket. She tightened her corset just so, to conceal her bothersome chest. Once dressed she made her way to the palace stables where she earned wages to support her funny family.

Bulma had a bleeding heart for orphans as she herself was one. Her father had supported them until he had fallen ill, and when he passed 2 years ago, she was the eldest who took over that responsibility.  Her seven siblings were all under the age of 10, and none of which were related to her by blood. Her father adopted the newborn infant Goku nearly 10 years ago after having delivered him from a whore who died in childbirth. The courtesan had no family to speak of and wouldn't name a father. Dr. Briefs felt partially responsible, as he couldn't save her life. So he took the baby home where 7 year old Bulma and he raised it. Over the years, Dr. Briefs had become known as the caretaker of orphans. And his legacy didn't end when he died, Bulma adopted the most recent child a year ago, a 3 year old girl named Launch.

Yes, Bulma worked hard for this funny family of hers. She would do anything for them. Even impersonating a man just to make a respectable wage.

…

Bulma adored her job. Though it was difficult at times, she enjoyed the peace of it. She enjoyed the horses who didn't talk back to her, or pull her hair or annoy her in general. And as disgusting as it was, she loved the smell. The horses smelled strongly of manure and hay, a smell that pierced the nostrils and intoxicated the lungs. And at the end of a long day of shoveling manure and tending the animals, she smelled the same. It was enough to deter the little ones from smothering her until she could properly bathe. For that, she was thankful.

Sighing, she dusted the dirt from her trousers.

“Hey beautiful. How's about you let down your hair?” Yamcha’s voice pierced her eardrums and sent a shock down her spine. Without missing a beat she rose her powerful fist to his cheek and knocked him back.

“Yamcha how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that!” her face reddened from the intensity of her shout. Shocked at the sudden noise a few horses whined and reared, but quickly settled down.

Yamcha lifted himself from the hay.

“Haha, I came to ask ya out on a date tonight Bulma!” the rascal grinned his signature grin.

“Yamcha please,” Bulma pleaded, “no one can know my identity here, unless you want to expose me and have me hung for cross dressing!”  the furious girl whispered.

“C'mon, Bulls. No one's around. Either way I'm sorry. Let's just get outta here!” he grabbed for her waist, but she pulled away.

Still slightly agitated, Bulma thought for a moment. Though her coworker and friend meant the world to her she just couldn't get as close to him as he was to her. Something about sharing his bed felt wrong, like she was romantically involved with her brother. Yes, Yamcha fundamentally felt like a brother to her. Just another orphan she’d adopted, but close to her age… and handsome. She'd never felt so conflicted about a person in her life.

“Yamcha, I…” she started. “The quartermaster ordered extra work tonight. The uh, stalls have been gathering cobwebs like crazy since spring started. Yes, and I've been tasked with cleaning them out tonight.” she lied, poorly. Yamcha caught her tone but didn't feel like another rejection.

“I'll feed the kids. Hurry home Bulma.” he said as the light in his grin faded.

...

The prince was sluggishly pulling his fencing trousers on when there was a knock at his chamber doors. It was General Nappa no doubt,  wondering what in the hells was taking so long. The prince sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Yes?” he called towards the door, annoyed.

“The General wishes to speak with you, my prince,” a mousey maiden called from the other side.

Vegeta scowled. He secured the last hook of his trousers and made his way to the door.  He swung the door open, with a sharp force.  The raven haired maid took one look at the prince's bare, scarred chest and reddened. Vegeta sent a corner eyed glare her way to let her know she was no longer welcome. With haste, she scurried away. The towering general stepped out of the hallway shadows towards the prince. The powerful man could nearly grab the tension from the air. The prince always had an attitude in the general's presence, though he tried vainly to get on his good side. He made an attempt to stifle a cough but he was unable.

“Your grace,” Nappa choked.

“Nappa,” the prince uttered disdainfully.

“Due to unforeseen events,” Nappa hacked out the mucus in the back of his throat. “I will be unable to train with you this evening.”

Without relaxing his scowl, Vegeta rejoiced internally. He wasn't feeling quite up to sparring with Nappa, and wanted to train alone instead.

“I suppose it can't be helped. You will lose a bit of your allowance as consequence,” the prince scolded.

The general nodded, and bowed before taking a hasty leave.

The prince inhaled the musty hallway air. For a split second he closed his eyes and imagined a brighter, cleaner castle, with noisy people and floral arrangements hung from every pillar. The memory was of the last time he was truly happy, when his mother ruled the kingdom. In the many years since those days, the castle had been rotting. No flowers adorned these halls, no singing voices echoing. Only dark, flickering candles, and cobwebs as decoration.

…

“Mirror mirror,” the rich and dark voice echoed.

The Regent ran his rough fingers along the smooth gold that encased the mirror. The mirror was a gift from the late king, who unfortunately put his trust in the rat of a man whom he'd chosen as Regent.

“M'lord,” the magic mirror answered.

“Who is the most powerful man of all?” the Regent asked, sure of the answer, but curious all the same.

For a moment, the mirror shown his dark reflection, but slowly faded to a new face. The new face was strong, determined, and ambitious. He had dark eyes and a shock of long black hair. It was none other than the Prince Vegeta.

“For now,” the mirror began, “you are the most powerful man alive. But soon, this boy will become a man. And when he has come of age he will take your throne. You must control him or kill him. Neither option will be easy.”

The Regent frowned upon the mirror, as it faded back to his own reflection. His own black look shocked himself, and he relaxed his face into a regal expression. Suddenly, he heard footsteps in the hall. He hastily covered the mirror with crimson drapes, and turned to greet the visitor.

…

Vegeta made his way toward the training arena. The sun had tucked itself into the mountains as dusk settled over the kingdom. Good, Vegeta thought, the few stable servants will be gone by now, and I can train in peace. He sent a quick glance into the amber hay covered barn, where all the horses were all safely locked in their stalls. The were no people to be seen, a relief for the lone prince. The training arena was conveniently connected to the stables, a large open area used for more than just training horses, but the prince as well.

Without hesitation the prince went to work on a sturdy training dummy. His sabre effortlessly pierced the dummy. It was no challenge to fight an unmoving target, but the prince sliced away nonetheless.

With Yamcha gone, Bulma decided to fulfill her lie. She decided to fully commit to her disheveled appearance, crouching hands and knees into the earth. Good thing I've got these gloves on. A pretty girl like me shouldn't lower herself to scraping cobwebs from horse stalls! She thought to herself. Just then a loud crash startled her. It sounded like someone was in the barn with her, and… metal clashing?! In her shock she knocked her head against the hitching post and cried out. “ow!”

Grasping at the new lump on her head, she looked up.

Towering over her, the dark figure stepped closer.

“What're you doing here, boy?” the prince wiped the sweat from his forehead, sweeping the sinful black bangs of his to the side. His grimace frightened Bulma, so she averted her gaze from his face to slightly lower.

“uh, um…” she stuttered, trying hard to maintain a deep and manly voice.

The moon was bright, its rays peeked through the almost closed windows. The thin slices of moonlight draped upon the prince's upper body like luminescent ribbons. Bulma gawked at his muscles, sinuous and bulging. Spattered on his dark skin were numerous white scars. In the moonlight they shimmered as pure white as snow. His smell, while strong, was not entirely unpleasant. A mixture of lavender and perspiration overpowered the existing barn smell.

“Explain yourself, runt!” he growled and lifted his fist as a threat.

“I'm Bull, sir, I work here, I was just-"

“Sir?! How dare you speak to your prince like that! You will address me properly unless you want to die!” his powerful voice silenced the entire barn. Even the animals stood motionless in fear of such power.

Bulma’s brain took a second to comprehend the situation. The prince? She looked again at his face and instantly recognized him.

“My- Your grace,” she stumbled. The hand that grasped her head tightened to a fist as she bowed further to the ground in respect. His glare burned holes into her back.

Tch. The prince lifted his boot and stepped on Bulma’s head, forcing it into the earth, the hay, and the manure.

She died a thousand deaths while he pinned her there. I'm dead, I will die here. She lamented silently.

“I should have you killed,” Vegeta whispered menacingly. “you are to leave the palace grounds by dusk every day. If I ever catch you here, at this time again I will crush your skull with my own hands.”

He lifted his leg and swiftly kicked the stable boy in the side. Bulma yelped in agony as it knocked the wind from her lungs.

“Yes, my prince,” she wheezed, grabbing her side and stumbling to her feet. As she made her way out of the barn, tears streamed from her face. She grasped her sides tightly, and started the long trek home through the forest.

What an evil man…

To be continued...

[quillovesdbz]

Week 2 submission for @tpthvegebulmayhem

Clandestine Downfall

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

Chapter 2: A Shark Among Koi

Summary: Bulma admires her family, and reflects on the danger she causes Yamcha. The Regent devises a plan to assassinate a King Vegeta loyalist who may spread propaganda to the influenceable prince.

Rating: T

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

TW: Violence, conspiracy for murder, assassination, injury description, poisoning, vomiting

Prompts: Trail of Breadcrumbs, Blood of an Englishman, The boy who lied

The attack was over in seconds. The great general had won the war with a simple stab in the back. There was no need for a bloody battle when King Vegeta had double agents on the inside. Nappa cradled the dying duke of Sadala in his arms.

“Forgive me,” he whispered lightly. The duke scratched at his throat, fighting for breath. But Nappa’s tiny dagger had been coated in a lethal poison. It was over in seconds for the duke. Sadala belonged to King Vegeta now. All its inhabitants would become slaves, or rebel and die. It was horrible business, but business nonetheless. The King's wife was with child for the second time, and nothing mattered more to him than providing for his people and securing a prosperous kingdom for his son to one day rule.

Nappa had spent most of his life loyal to the Duke of Sadala. But the king promised prosperity, wealth, and above all life. Yes, for the atrocious betrayal, the king promised not to kill General Nappa. The giant found himself unable to refuse when the price was his life. Coward. So he turned on his own friend, who had trusted him. His stomach felt heavy, his throat dry. He relaxed his hold on the duke, who rolled from Nappa’s lap and onto the cold stone floor. Nappa turned his head and clutched his stomach as he heaved. The bile seemed an endless stream, nearly suffocating the general. The taste was putrid and sour, the smell much worse. This is only the beginning of my punishment. Nappa lamented to himself. The hot sting of regret swept over him like waves of lava. His eyes could not contain the tears they fought to hold back. He let out an anguished scream, chilling and seemingly endless.

Then he awoke from the nightmare. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. He felt drips of perspiration down his back and neck. His sheets were wet throughout. His heart pounded incessantly, filling his ears with a rhythmic beat. He could hardly hear himself think. “Guh…” he vocalized as he tried to catch his breath. He hadn't had a nightmare quite so realistic in a long time, in fact years.

This is my ongoing punishment. Nappa lamented to himself.

…

It had been years since Vegeta had heard Nappa’s blood curdling screams in the middle of the night. It jolted him awake nonetheless. They didn't last long, the general woke himself up quite quickly. But... the prince couldn't help but wonder what trauma this man had endured to trigger such violently horrific dreams. He knew that before his father's death, there were many a bloody battle, led by the great general. But these screams weren't battle cries, nor were they cries of pain or injury. These nighttime howls were deep suffering cries. Cries of acts unable to be undone. True and raw regret, sorrow and heartache. And they chilled the prince to the bone. Though, he dared not ask of them.

The prince had always known Nappa. For as far as he could remember, the lumbering, bald man had always been there.

Vegeta sat up in his bed, squinting at the bronze rays of sunlight dancing through the drapes. His stomach bayed angrily, a call that the prince did not normally refuse. But today he wanted to avoid people. Especially Nappa. So he sighed and fell heavily into the oversized wine colored pillows.

Nappa…

Lately the general had been sick. He was hacking and coughing all day, in every wing of the castle. Someone get that man a hobby. There had been a long peace. The war the king started ended shortly after his death, and the general had been on babysitting duty ever since. When Prince Tarble and the Queen had passed, the king became ferociously protective of his first born. The first order of business was appointing a personal bodyguard to the prince, which became General Nappa. In times of peace the general would protect and train the young prince. In times of war others would be tasked with the job while Nappa led the armies in battle. The most recent political turmoil was due to the emperor of France. A sniveling lizard of a man, with a fearsome army. Emperor Frieza had tried to take over the kingdom of Vegeta in an attempt to gain more territory for France. The armies clashed in many great battles but it was ultimately a stalemate. The Regent and reluctant General Nappa called an armistice for the time being, but the emperor was not one to be trusted. And thus the mandatory enlistment was enforced.

So in this long peace, the prince and the general had become close. Though neither would ever express that sentiment.

But together they created many fond memories. In a strange way, this enemy turned double agent became a sort of father figure to the lost and lonely boy. He was the solid ground for which the prince could stand. A ribbon to hold the strands of yarn that were the prince's insecurities together. And for Nappa the prince was redemption. A cloth to wash the sins of his past away, a chance at atonement. They needed each other, these funny two, as physically contrasted as they may be.

…

“So it will be by poison?” the assassin inquired.

“Arsenic,” the Regent replied, slyly.

The assassin held the bottle to the dim candle light and examined the fine gray powder.

“This isn't the way I normally do things. I would much prefer slicing a throat or a dagger in the back. This feels…”

“Dishonorable? Any kind of killing is dishonorable, Hit. This is just a more discreet way.”

The assassin, Hit, shifted in his boots. He wasn't uncomfortable with the request, but he felt safer doing what he knew best, and he didn't know poisons.

Hit was an outsider, an englishman. The Regent selected him for his renown, there wasn’t anywhere on earth you could go without word of his work. He was taller than expected, bald and dignified. He wore a long violet cloak that held his form tightly to the waist, and loosely in the skirt. His skin was pale, almost lavender in shade, and his eyes were a blood red.

The regent sensed the unease from the killer he hired.

“It can't be helped…” The Regent began. “One trail of breadcrumbs will lead to another, and we can't risk being found out. You will not spill the blood of this, or any other man. Arsenic is the most clandestine method, and which I command you to use.”

Without argument, Hit bowed to the black clad Regent, and took his leave.

It is done. The Regent sighed internally, gliding elegantly to the crimson covered mirror.

“Mirror, mirror,” the Regent chanted, lifting the veil of drapery from the golden mirror.

“M'lord?” it answered, with the accent of a regal gentlemen.

“Will this be enough to control the prince? I will have eliminated all of the old king’s allies with the pending murder of General Nappa. There should be no supporters of his left to fill the young boy with his false propaganda.” There was a sadness in his tone, and as his words came out they fell like heavy bricks.

The mirror was silent as it felt around the otherworld for the most likely outcome.

“This plan will work under one condition. The prince will meet a blue haired girl, and fall in love. He will trust her word over yours, ultimately ending in your death. You must make sure they never meet, or kill her as well.”

The Regent pressed his fingertips on his cheek, the cup of his hand covering his mouth. His hand reeked of garlic, a side effect of coming in contact with the arsenic.

The mirror flashed a vivid image of the blue haired girl. She was pale with pink lips and a slender nose. She had a small frame, but she was taller than most girls. She looked to be about 17, the same age as the prince. She was dressed in peasant garb, no doubt a lowly commoner. She's just a girl. A peasant. How much could she mean to anybody? It would be a great hassle to hide the prince away, securing a future where he never meets her. She too must die.

…

Bulma had a horrific experience on her trek home. The forest was pitch black and foreboding. The rain beat down on the earth, the trees and the girl. Traumatized from her recent encounter with the prince, her mind was racing.

What a horrible man! She recalled. I am so lucky I am not found out, an evil person such as he would have killed me on the spot.

With each step she quickened her pace to get home as soon as possible. With each step her heartbeat also quickened. She had the most exasperating feeling that she was being watched, but she knew it was just her anxiety, heightened by the encounter.

The once full moon was completely encased by the dense tree tops. The animals rustled in the distance more so than usual, likely due to the storm. Damn animals, she reassured herself. When she knew she was close to home she untied her navy ribbon to let down her hair. It was drenched, and fell heavily to her shoulder blades. Her lie was undone, and finally she made it home.  

...

Yamcha rose from bed early. He stretched his arms out and let out a long windy yawn. It was a gorgeous morning, having just rained the night before, the sun was out and dusting it's glittery dew on every leaf and blade of grass. He looked at the bed space behind him and noted its distinct emptiness. She sure was mad at me. He concluded. But just then he heard a splash coming from the washroom.

...

Bulma had stayed awake all night, frightened of the consequences she might have to face at the stables. And the trauma from the kick in her side was too painful to let her sleep. She instead watched her siblings sleep. Each one rested in their own unique way. Goku, a raven, wild haired boy, was sprawled out with a foot in Oolong’s rotund face. Oolong, a fat pink boy with short light red hair,  had a hold of Goku’s entire left leg, as if it were a delicious turkey leg waiting to be eaten. Launch, a blonde petite girl, curled into Tien’s arms, one half of her body tightly to his, the other half outstretched like Goku. Tien, who was the second oldest at 9 years, had always slept far from the others in his own private corner. That is until Launch came along and she appointed the light blond boy her personal stuffed animal. He didn't mind. Chichi and Krillin were 8 year old twins who couldn't be more different. Chichi slept on her belly, legs and arms tucked in and rear in the air. Her dark hair was nearly as long as she was tall. To avoid entangling the other children she kept it braided tightly during the night. On the other side of the room, as far from his sister as possible, Krillin was on his back, arms behind his head and legs outstretched, hanging of the bed. He kept his head shaven, as he aspired to be a monk for the monastery one day. And little Lazuli, the 6 year old mute blonde girl, slept as straight as a board, hands to her side and heels at attention. It was funny how she looked just like a tiny soldier, disciplined and fearless.

After hours of listening to their small snores, Bulma picked herself up and decided to bathe before they awoke.

The scar faced delinquent stood from the bed. While hesitant at first, he decided to join Bulma in the bathroom. She was never mad at him for too long. He tiptoed so as to surprise her. He pressed his dark skinned hand to the curtain that separated their chambers and their washtub. For a split second he listened, enjoying the subtle sound of a beautiful woman washing herself gently. I’m sorry Bulma, he prepared. He never was good at talking to girls, so he went over conversations in his head quite often. I’ll make it up to you. How’s breakfast? Yeah, I’ll make breakfast. Decided on an apology, he grasped the curtain and pulled it open.

Startled, Bulma looked up from the washtub, to see the boyish face she was so frustrated with the night before. Quickly, she grabbed her side so that Yamcha didn’t see the large still-forming bruise. Unfortunately she hadn’t seen the one on her cheek from being pressed into the ground under the boot of the monarch. “Yamcha,” she said with a sincere smile.

He blushed at her nakedness and her smile, but he couldn’t help but notice the wound on her cheek. Not only was it blue from bruising, it also had quite a lot of brown dirt surrounding it. And boy, did she reek or manure.

“Gee Bulma, you stink,” he said with a hearty laugh. He bent down to her level and prepared to ask about her bruise.

“Well!” She yelled, flustered and angry that he would point out her smell.

“What happened to your face, it's all dirty and bruised. Did you fall last night? I know it rained it must have been slippery and dark on the way home.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” she lied.

He knew her too well to believe her lie. But he also knew that she didn’t like to be prodded and decided to let it go. Whatever happened was in the past, and she clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

Bulma lifted her hands from her side, confident that Yamcha wouldn't prod her any further. She looked at her once feminine hands, and noted how worn they’d become. Over the last two years, working in the stables had barely fed her siblings, but had an immense effect on her youthfulness and beauty. Is this worth it? She thought as she looked spitefully at her calloused and short-nailed hands. No man will favor me when I am ready for a husband, she bemoaned.

Yamcha was bewildered by the apparent beating Bulma had taken. Yamcha began to feel the rage well up inside of him.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded at her.

She was silent and gave him a begging look, asking him to drop the subject.

“No! This is unacceptable!” he barked, some frustration leaking into the words he said to her.

“The quartermaster,” she lied, believably. If she had told him it was the prince, he’d surely get himself killed for her sake.

“I’ll kill him!”

“NO!” Bulma yelled as Yamcha stood from the tubside.

She quickly decided on the truth, because she believed Yamcha wouldn’t go after the prince, surely.

“It was the prince! I didn’t want to expose myself so I took his beating!” she pleaded.

Yamcha froze as he felt a fear make its way down his spine. All his worry and anxiety of being found out came to the surface.

When he first met Bulma, her first day working in the stables, he knew her secret. The only person she hadn’t been able to fool was Yamcha. He played it cool for a while but something drove him to confront her. When all the other stable hands had left for the day, he pinned her, like the smooth delinquent he was, and asked her why she did it.

“Why do you cross dress, Bull?”

He remembered how red and confused she became at the question. She couldn’t answer it. Her river colored eyes begged him to keep quiet. He reassured her he wouldn’t tell, so long as she promised to tell him why. So she took him home with her where he met all 7 reasons why.

Since then, their relationship was complicated at best. It was an on and off romance, but neither of them could commit. Bulma ended up relying on Yamcha for help entirely too much, a thought which now suffocated him. But she helped him too. She was the reason he stopped thieving in the night, a habit formed in his early years of being an orphan. She harbored him when he dodged the mandatory enlistment. She, and the children, became something he cared about other than himself. But they weren’t good for each other. He had a wandering eye, and he knew he couldn’t make Bulma happy. He surely couldn’t make enough money on his own to take care of all of them. She had to continue the lie, for her family, and he was the boy who lied for her.

And suddenly, it was becoming too much.

Bulma’s eyes followed the motionless boy. She wondered what went on inside that messy-haired head of his in this confusing conflict.

“I release you,” Bulma breathed. “you don’t have to keep my secret any longer. This isn’t your burden to bear, and I don’t dare to think what might happen to you if I was found out and you were charged as my accomplice.”

Her words relieved his stress slightly. He had to let go of this wild blue haired woman, that he knew. It would hurt, but there were many fish in the sea. She was releasing him, the koi fish, vibrant orange and black, into the sea. He could feel the waves of relief rush over him.

He smiled his crooked, bandit’s smile. “Thank you, Bulma. You be safe. Take care of those kids. One day, I’ll have many riches and I’ll return to you and you won’t need to dress up anymore.” He meant it.

Bulma smiled back, softly. She didn’t want him to leave her. He was safety embodied. And she was chaos and danger.

A shark among the koi.  

…

His muddy boots were kicked in the corner of the room, a product of the night’s storm. The Prince had been curious of the stable boy, and thought he might be a thief. Afterall, it was exceptionally odd that a servant would still be tending the horses after dusk…

He followed the boy through a beaten but not overly so path. He stayed as far behind as he could manage, as the forest was nearly jet black. The sound of the heavy rain helped to cover the noise he created in his pursuit. What intrigued Vegeta most was that the boy lived so far from the castle. He wondered why the boy even made the commute. It wasn’t until the cottage was in view that he realized where they were. It was the old hospital. Yes, the one the insane old doctor used to run before he lost it and started kidnapping slaves. Did the doctor have a son? Vegeta pondered. Come to think of it, he looked just like the old kook, a spitting image with blue hair and eyes. Vegeta surely would have known, for it was mandatory for boys to enlist in the military for two years, just after their 15th birthday. He must be evading the enlistment. Then something unforeseen happened. She let down her hair.

Vegeta thumbed through the memory like a book. The reveal was so astonishing that the Prince almost fell over. He left promptly with the secret, vowing to return the following day with punishment. The crime of impersonating a man was one thing. But to appear in the prince’s presence and lie was another thing entirely. But he was intrigued. Before enforcing his punishment upon her and the senile doctor, he would find out why.  

The prince felt a small pang of guilt when he remembered the beating he'd given the girl. He pondered about the double standard. I would've done it again regardless of gender. In fact, he began to imagine just what sort of punishment he would give her for her crimes. The old doctor may just receive a slap to the wrist. After all he was old and senile. But the girl knew what she was doing, and she did it deliberately. She would need to be jailed, and made an example of. A king can't have his subjects parading around as people they are not. Ridiculing her in the streets before her sentence would do the job. Then she could rot in a cell for all he cared.

Once he kicked off most of the crusted mud, he left his chambers in search of Nappa.

…

[quillovesdbz]

Hey friends!! If you've been looking for good, fresh vegebul content, look no further! Head over to @tpthvegebulmayhem where they have fanfics and fan art with awesome themes! Make sure to "vote" by liking or reblogging your favorite pieces!! The contests ends on the 15th so be sure to get your votes in by then!! Thanks! Mondo Cool!

[grsl-xo]

This was my entry for week 1 of the @tpthvegebulmayhem last month!

Requirements for the first week were one full scene in the media of our choice for either rapunzel, rumpelstiltskin or snow white. I chose the second one and put it in a modern setting:

Bulma cursed the gods, her fusion reactor which should turn complex polysaccharides into gold was malfunctioning, again! Suddenly a little, evil creature appeared and offered to help her with his magic, on the condition that her firstborn shall be his. But Vegeta should have been more careful with the way he phrased his demand …

[grsl-xo]

part 3 of week 4 for @tpthvegebulmayhem

Vegeta is still having a bad time in Sleeping Beauty...

He feels some major regret, for which I chose the color grey.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

[scarletraven1001]

The Final Price (Chapter 7)

Chapter Summary: Vegeta’s gone, and Bulma is finding it impossible to cope with his death. In the midst of her sorrow, she finds hope when she begins to have strange dreams about him, and she realizes that there just might be a way to bring him back.

Entry for the @tpthvegebulmayhem, Week 4 (Part 1 of 4).

Prompt: The Glass Slipper

Chapter Warnings: Rated E - Profane language; Triggers: Mentions of depression and suicide; Torture; Slight sexual content.

All Chapters:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Also on Ao3.

8-8-8-8-8

Chapter 7: The Undying Bond

8-8-8-8-8

Note: This is Part 1 of 4, for my Week 4 entry. I hope you like it!

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8

In her thirty years of existence, Bulma had, on several occasions, experienced what it was like to be sad.

She had gone through breakups, and she had lost friends. She had even, at one point, lost literally everything, and has had close friends and family members pass away.

Loss and death were not new to her.

However, the feelings of hopelessness, her conviction that things would never get better, the complete loss of her will to even get up every morning… those were new.

She had usually dealt with her sadness and frustrations by burying herself in her work or studies, by going out with friends or by taking short vacations.

She had tried so hard to do the same things this time around, but she just couldn’t.

She could not keep her mind on her work, making stupid mistakes because of her wandering thoughts that made her lose her concentration.

She had thrown an epic tantrum when she failed to solve a simple equation that she previously could have done with only one eye half open and both hands tied behind her back.

She had filed for an indefinite leave of absence from work, after that frankly embarrassing meltdown.

Her parents were worried, confused as to why she had suddenly become so despondent and angry.

She didn’t care.

She did not want to see anyone, did not want to talk to anybody.

Every step she took made her shake with agony.

Every bite of food felt like sand on her tongue.

She was smart enough to recognize the signs...

She had never before truly realized that there was a profound difference between being simply miserable, and being depressed.

She needed to be strong enough to fight it…

But she did not want to.

Vegeta’s death had hit her hard, like nothing she had ever experienced before.

She loathed herself, for being useless, for being unable to save him, for ultimately not being able to do anything to keep him alive.

She was so utterly lost, so unspeakably dejected, and all she wanted to do was lock herself up in her room all day and sleep.

Yet all she saw, every time she closed her eyes, were gruesome images of his last moments… the ki beam that struck his heart, his shaky final breaths, the look of pride and acceptance in his eyes right before he faded from her arms.

All these horrible memories fill the backs of her eyelids, yet she preferred sleep to wakefulness, because in slumber, she found some relief.

Perhaps, if she slept, she could dream of him. Maybe she would have a vision of him, see him as he was in the afterlife.

Oh, how she wanted to join him.

But she could not, because he had asked her to stay safe.

“Stay safe. My precious Blue Moon…”

She could not, should not, kill herself, because she could not bear to disrespect his memory, his hard work and sacrifice, by failing him at this.

“My Bulma…”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, and she tried and failed to hold them back.

It had been three weeks.

She still could not get his voice out of her head.

She could still feel his hands on her body, his kisses upon her lips.

“My Bulma…”

She could still feel how cold his skin had felt as he began to fade into nothingness, how his lips had trembled beneath hers as he fought to keep his pain to himself, even as he wasted away.

He was gone.

Her Vegeta was gone.

And to her, it truly felt as if a part of her soul had died with him, as well.

Maybe, her soul really had been ripped apart.

After all, he was her soulmate. It made perfect sense for her very spirit to cry out and scream at his demise.

It wasn’t fair.

How dare the world just ignorantly go on, when Vegeta was no longer in it.

At the moment, Bulma was staring numbly out her large bedroom windows and into the distance, her eyes hurting from the weak rays of sunlight that filtered in.

She was hunched in on herself in bed, her hair a matted disarray while her white shirt hung loosely around her frame.

Vegeta had hugged her, while she wore that shirt.

He had lain his head on her pillow as he wrapped his arms around her, an arrogant smirk on his face as he told her of how he was going to melt that shirt off her if she didn’t immediately take it off.

The pillow he had laid his head on, was the same one he had placed under her hips, using it so he can tilt her up as he thrust into her more deeply. It was the one he had slept on after their last moments of passion, one night before he fought Frieza.

She had her arms wrapped around that pillow then, refusing to part with it in spite of the stains from her endless tears.

It was all she had left of him.

She had lost his amulet when she got kidnapped, and she never even managed to take a fucking picture with him.

A stained pillow case was all she had left.

It was so utterly unfair.

A soft knock came on her door, pulling her slightly from her lonely thoughts, and she looked on morosely as the knob turned.

Her mother’s small blond head peeked in, her normally jovial eyes brimming with concern while her small mouth was turned down in a sad frown.

“Bulma, baby? May I come in?”

Bulma nodded, and Panchy walked in slowly, feet hesitantly padding across the floor.

She sat down on the edge of the large bed, while Bulma squinted at her, waiting for her to speak.

Panchy took a deep breath, before she resolutely turned to Bulma.

“Baby, you know I love you, right?” she said softly, reaching forward to stroke Bulma’s thin hand that was clutching tightly at her pillow.

Bulma nodded.

Panchy stared at her, and Bulma watched helplessly as small tears began leaking out of Panchy’s eyes.

“You’re my little girl. And I love you. So, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” the blond said, scooting closer to Bulma.

She started speaking again. “That morning, when those three men brought you here… you were unconscious and so pale.”

Bulma didn’t remember all the things that had happened after Vegeta had faded from her arms, but she did remember her screams that seemed to go on for hours, until darkness finally overtook her… and the next thing she knew, she was back at home.  

“When I asked them where the fourth man was,” Panchy continued, “they didn’t say anything. And you… you never spoke to me either, Bulma.”

Panchy began sobbing as she looked at Bulma, watched her pale blue eyes look back at her blankly. “I want to help you, Bulma. Like you helped me when I was sick. I can feel… I can feel that your heart is sick too, but I don’t know why. Please baby, let me help you.”

Bulma drew her brows together, not even realizing that the tears had started flowing from her eyes, as well.

“Mom,” she said softly. “No one… no one can help me. It’s over.”

“No! Don’t say that, Bulma!” Panchy exclaimed, lunging at her and pulling her into her arms.

Panchy began to weep, soft, feminine sobs that broke Bulma’s heart just a little bit more, and before she knew it, she had clung to her mother, bawling desperately into her chest as she heard her own voice begin to cry out.

“He’s gone mom! He’s gone! Vegeta’s gone!” Bulma kept wailing, pounding the mattress with her fists as the very words made her body ache physically.

“Oh Bulma, do you mean he left, or-”

“He’s dead!” Bulma screamed, and she realized then that it was the very first time that she had dared say the words out loud.

She had never had the courage to acknowledge his loss out loud, in a fool’s hope that if she didn’t say it, maybe it could stop being true...

“He’s dead! And I – I couldn’t do anything, mom! I just sat there. He’s gone!” she cried, slumping into her mother, seeking comfort from her mother’s loving hold.

But Bulma was trying to fool herself. She knew that her mother’s calming touch would never be enough.

She could only ever find her peace from a thick pair of powerful arms that would never hold her, ever again.

“Oh baby, I’m – I’m so sorry!” Panchy whispered into her hair as she rained kisses on Bulma’s head.

Her mother spoke to her as she cried, and Bulma heard her mother trying desperately to hush her, to soften the flow of her tears.

“I knew… I knew there was something there… but I never realized that he meant so much to you! I wondered why a random team of soldiers had gone to rescue you when you got kidnapped,” Panchy said softly. “Oh Bulma, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“I miss him, mom. I need him. I don’t know how I could go on,” she sobbed, as she felt her mother push her down, gently lowering her so that she was laying flat on her bed.

Panchy sniffed as she pulled blankets around her, tucking her in before she lay beside Bulma as well, hugging her tight as they cried together.

“Bulma, I am sure that it hurts. But you have to try to move on. He… he would have wanted you to be happy, don’t you think?”

She nodded, sniffling loudly. “He… he gave his life for me. He refused to save himself because he wanted me to… to stay safe.”

Bulma peered up at her mother. “He… he called me, my Bulma. Do you… do you think he loved me, mom? Because I love him... I love him so much.”

Panchy burst into tears once again, pulling Bulma tight, laying her head close to her chest like she used to do when Bulma had been little, and upset over little things.

“Yes baby. I’m sure he did. It is impossible not to love you, my sweet little girl.”

Bulma sobbed against her mother until she was exhausted, and Panchy just patiently held her, offering her silent support as she soothed her motherly hands across Bulma’s back.

It took a long time, but Bulma finally felt the stirrings of sleep begin to wash over her, and before she knew it, she was lost in slumber, away from the aches of the waking world, and into the sweet nothingness of the darkness of unconsciousness.

Yet… it was not darkness that greeted Bulma as she succumbed to sleep.

8-8-8-8-8

She could still feel the dampness of her sweat as it dried slowly on her body.

She snuggled closer to Vegeta, laying her head close to his hard chest. She knew that the abnormal heat of his body should have been uncomfortable, but to her, it was like being in the gentle clouds of heaven, where nothing could harm her, and nothing could hurt her. It was just the two of them, nestled in each other’s arms, luxuriating in the warmth of their hearts.  

A small feather fell onto her nose, cutting off her tender musings.  She tried to flick it off with her breaths, blowing out her mouth so that the air would push it off her face.

Vegeta had ripped one of her pillows apart while in the throes of passion. She absolutely did not mind.

She felt his chuckle as it rumbled across his chest, before she heard the soft snickers leave his lips.

She watched him lift a hand, and he quickly plucked the offending feather from her before he lowered his head to drop a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I am sorry for the pillow,” he said with a totally non-apologetic smirk. “I can fix it.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Leave it for now,” she grinned back. She reached a hand up to trace the contours of his chest with the tips of her fingers, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I rather like the reminder that I was just so good in bed that you had to rip something up. It’s so… feral.”

She laughed as she watched him blush at her teasing.

She expected him to get back at her with an arrogant rebuttal, but the hand that he placed on her cheek, along with the soft look that entered his normally-stern eyes, threw her for a loop.

“I will admit this much, Bulma,” he whispered, as if a part of him was hesitant to say the words. “Being with you tonight was… different.”

“Different in a good way?” she asked, breathless at his solemn confession.

He nodded. “I have never… It has never been this way before. I nearly lost control.”

“Maybe it has just been too long?” she asked, hoping that it wasn’t for that reason.

It had been so incredible for her, as well.

He shook his head, and she nearly sighed in relief.

“No, it is not that… you are my most incredible experience,” he admitted.

She flushed happily, beaming brightly up at him. “That’s great Vegeta, because… it was amazing for me, too.”

He smiled back.”Don’t let it get to your head, woman.”

She laughed, huffing jokingly as she answered. “Excuse me? You’re the one with the huge head!”

“Oh, is that how it is going to be?” he growled, a playful smirk on his face as he turned, pouncing on her, hands crawling up and down her sides, making her squirm before her laughter began to ring around her bedroom.

“No! No tickling!” she yelled, trying in vain to push away from his hands.

He started laughing as well, tickling her sides more vigorously. “I got you now, and I am not letting go!”

8-8-8-8-8

She opened her eyes slowly as she woke, already feeling the tears welling up behind her lids.

She smiled bitterly as she recalled the last vestiges of her dream, her memory of happier times with Vegeta.

“But you did let go, Vegeta. You let go…”

8-8-8-8-8

The next morning was too bright, too cheerful, and Bulma almost felt as if she wanted to vomit as she tried and failed to get up from her bed.

It was really pointless, getting up. Why should she even bother?

She was contemplating going back to sleep, when a bright flash of light suddenly appeared inside her bedroom, and she gaped as a male form with spiky, golden hair materialized before her.

A dozen flashbacks went through her mind as she screamed, tumbling carelessly from her bed as she bolted without thought towards the man who had appeared with his back to her, wearing a blue tank top and loose black pants.

“Vegeta!” she screamed, heart pounding through her ribcage as she desperately tried to move towards him…

Was he truly back?

The man turned, and the hopeful spark within her chest died as quickly as it had been lit, when she realized that the person standing before her was definitely not her dead lover.

It was Goku.

Indescribable rage filled her as he turned to look at her.

“What are you doing here?!” she roared, making him visibly recoil.

How dare he get her hopes up?

How dare he remind her of what she had lost?

“Bulma, I’m sorry,” Goku said, raising his hands up in a gesture of placation. “I just wanted to check up on you again. I didn’t think you would be awake.”

Bulma’s rage continued to simmer. “What do you mean, again?”

Goku winced. “I have been checking on you once every three days. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She finally untangled herself from her sheets, rising up to stand and glaring lividly at Goku.

“Look at me! Do I look alright to you, Goku?” she yelled.

She knew her anger was unwarranted, but she was unable to stem the venom that flowed through her.

Goku appeared to deflate. “No, you don’t. You don’t look alright at all. You look awful.”

She glared. “Oh well, thank you, Goku! I-”

“You look sick,” he said, brows furrowing. “You are very thin. You look like you aren’t eating.”

Bulma was taken aback as she noted Goku’s hands clenching, and she watched his face slowly morph from a look of concern to one of irritation.

“You ain’t taking care of yourself, are ya?” he accused, and Bulma cringed under the accusation in his eyes. “Bulma, why? You have to treat yourself better. You-”

“What’s the point?” she asked bitterly. “Why should I?! There’s nothing left for me here. He’s gone, so why should I even-”

“He gave his life for you!” Goku said loudly, shocking her into silence.

She gaped at him, watching his aura flare angrily around him.

“Our Prince, our leader, who we waited thirty Earth years for, gave up on a chance to reestablish the Saiyan race because he couldn’t bear to let you die. He gave up on his legacy,” Goku hissed, “because you meant more to him than me, Raditz and Nappa combined, more than the thirty years of waiting and plotting to rise and lead us again. And all you are doing in exchange for his sacrifice is letting yourself waste away. The least you can do is to respect his death by surviving.”

He turned away from her, angrily looking out her window, and she was struck by the visible similarities between Vegeta and his fellow Saiyan.

That straight and powerful stance, the strong arms and narrowed, determined eyes... Vegeta and Goku looked nothing alike, yet, standing here now, Bulma could fully appreciate the fact that these men truly were not ordinary humans, as their presence resonated with something unmistakably powerful, and she was awestruck by the display.

Goku sighed, powering down so his hair turned back to its usual dark, spiky look. He turned back to her, his face now softer and slightly contrite. “I am sorry for shouting, Bulma. But Vegeta was our Prince. Our ruler, even before his father died. The first Saiyan to ascend to Super Saiyan in a thousand ages. We all looked up to him.”

He walked towards her, taking her limp hands in his, a brotherly gesture that had Bulma near-tears as she sensed his sadness through his somber gaze.

“He… he was my idol,” Goku said, swallowing audibly. “He had been telling me that I had what it took to ascend, and I never would’a tried so hard if it weren’t for him always telling me that I could. It… it hurts to know that he is really gone.”

“It does. It really does hurt, Goku. I… I’m sorry if I’m like this… I just… I can’t handle it,” she whispered, and she felt him steering her to sit on her bed, before he himself crouched before her, rocking back on his haunches as he watched her.

“You have to try Bulma. He wouldn’t wanna see you like this. And I’m here because I want you to be safe, like he asked. So I’m gonna try to look after you, alright?” he said. “I see why Vegeta liked you. You’re a strong girl. If I remember right, back on the mountain those years ago, you were the toughest in your group. You have to be that tough girl, again.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I… I am going to try. I am going to really try, Goku.”

He smiled back. “You should.”

8-8-8-8-8

The visit from Goku shook Bulma, and she decided then that she had to at least make an effort to try to get things to go back to normal.

She knew it would be impossible, but she should at least try to attain a semblance of normalcy, if not for her, then for the people who loved her and were worried for her.

Also… for Vegeta.

Goku had been right. Vegeta wanted her to be safe, he wanted her to live her life, and she was going to try, for him.

She tried to fight back the urge to stay in bed all day. She took baths with her phone right beside her, so she can call her mother to fetch her from the bathroom if the shudders started up again, or if she felt the urge to either not get out at all or to just drown herself in the bathtub.

She asked Goku for his number – which he had to go back home for a second to retrieve from his wife, Chichi – so she can call him whenever she was feeling down.

It apparently helped, to have somebody around who could understand the pain of her loss.

Bulma opened up to Lazuli, her assistant, and the blond surprised Bulma by sharing that she, apparently, had gone through a dark period as well when her parents passed away, leaving her and her twin brother as homeless orphans.

She tried to offer some help, supplying Bulma with books that had helped her cope with her own loss, and though Bulma knew that the self-help books would not really offer her much peace of mind, she took them, grateful for the kinship that she now shared more keenly with Lazuli.

Bulma tried to look back at her memories with Vegeta more fondly, and as the weeks passed, she found herself slowly becoming more able to smile as she remembered his words and arrogant smiles.

She could remember their small conversations, his nitpicking at her messy lab and office. She smiled as she sat in her office, chewing thoughtfully at some pineapple, remembering his face as he sniffed in disdain at how lazy humans were for slicing their fruit into bite-sized bits.

There was, however, one thing that helped keep her happier, that began after she cried her eyes out after coming clean to her mother… after she finally acknowledged out loud, that Vegeta was gone.

She had begun to dream of him.

The dreams were happy dreams, full of memories of their few days together, and sometimes of random encounters that she knew had never happened, and had regarded as simple figments of her imagination.

She thought of them more as alternate universe versions of a life with Vegeta.

She had once dreamed of them flying off to South City to fight villainous androids, where one of them looked uncannily like Lazuli.

She also once dreamed of watching him talking to a group of men who stood in neat lines before a large red mountain, and she realized that two of the men looked suspiciously like Raditz and Nappa.

Just that morning, she had woken up from a dream where they had met on a distant planet, where he had terrified her as they both competed in a search for what she had, in her dream, called Dragon Balls, wish-granting orbs that resembled the enchanted ball that had brought Vegeta into her life.

She dreamed of him every night, and she knew that she was bordering now on an insane obsession, but she reasoned that, it was still better than not seeing him at all, and just letting herself die alone in her room.

At least, with the dreams, she could be with him.

At least, in her dreams, Vegeta was alive.

After she finished her snack, she shook herself free of her thoughts as she stood, moving into the large laboratory that was adjacent to her office.

She sorted through her things until she finally found her ongoing project, a power core for a deep space machine that was inspired by her dream about meeting Vegeta on a distant planet.

In the dream, she had reached the strange green planet using a sophisticated ship that could enter into a form of hyperdrive, bypassing Earth physics and running at speeds faster than the speed of light.

She was trying to figure out if it would, in reality, be possible to engineer such a vehicle.

Bulma had been reading up on the possibilities of deep space exploration and the power sources that could potentially take the people of Earth into farther corners of the universe, but the answer constantly evaded her.

She was about to turn her attention to another project when she remembered a discussion that she had with Vegeta , just a few days after she and her family had returned to Capsule Corp.

8-8-8-8-8

“So this is what your family does for a living,” he remarked, looking around her lab, peeking through the various machines and smaller components that littered her workspace to look at her from behind her cluttered work table.

“Yep! We are engineers! Well, my father and I are. We are inventors; scientists, actually. And this is my home!” she crowed, gesturing grandly at the mess of parts before her.

“And what, exactly, are you working on here?”

“Well,” she began, lifting an energy source from her table, showing him the glowing liquid inside the large fiberglass capsule. “I am trying to make a compound that could function as an alternate energy source so we don’t have to be so dependent on gasoline. I know that there are several other methods now, but this one,” she shook it, “could potentially be powerful enough to send us to the moon with only a liter of it needed.”

“Impressive,” he agreed, studying the mixture. “So it is a highly-concentrated energy source that could potentially power your vehicles into farther distances, with far less quantity.”

“Yes!” she said, beaming with pride.

He frowned slightly. “Did you take into consideration though, how a compound like that could potentially drain other components of your ships? It would not be enough fluid to sustain the other functions that you would need for a habitable vehicle.”

“What do you mean?”

“It would cause a chain reaction of sorts within your ship,” he explained. “The other motors will be needing to work at an equivalently higher rate of efficiency for that compound to be able to sustain all of the functions.”

She chewed her thumb nail thoughtfully. “So you’re saying that if I use this energy source, I need to adjust all other functions on the ship.”

He nodded. “But I am sure you already knew that. What you could consider is this: is your planet’s current technology ready for a machine that could accurately utilize this compound?”

She looked at him, impressed. She had no idea that he even had an interest in mechanical processes and electronics. “You make a good point. However, are you saying that this experiment is not practical, then?”

“I believe it would be ambitious to use this experimental fluid on a large machine, such as a space ship,” he clarified. “Perhaps, you would do well to try testing it on a smaller gadget, to test how far the energy can go, so you can more easily make the necessary calculations as you proceed to larger undertakings.”

She smiled at him then. “Why Vegeta, that is brilliant! Any suggestions on what I could use it on?”

Vegeta smirked. “How about one of those phones that you use to communicate? The ones that you keep charging all the time? Or perhaps, something practical, like a blaster gun?”

Bulma stood from her chair, excited. “Vegeta, that’s a great idea!” she exclaimed, picking up the green capsule. “I’m going to start a different experiment right now!”

She moved around the table, and when she reached him, she leaned up, leaving a light kiss on his cheek.

She immediately noticed the dark blush that stole over his cheeks, before he covered up his embarrassment with a scowl.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma went to the back of her office, opening a small drawer hidden behind her filing cabinets.

She reached in, smiling when her hand met the small item that she had stashed in there, a confidential little experiment that she had been working on without the knowledge of her father, an undeclared idea that she had personally financed so she can test its viability.

She pulled it out, and her smile turned melancholy as she continued to look at it.

It was a blaster gun.

She had decided to make a prototype, as Vegeta suggested, and she had completed her first model only a few hours before she had been abducted by Frieza, and everything that she knew had gone to hell in a hand basket.

The blaster was small and sleek, made of transparent fiberglass and polished titanium. Due to some adjustments she had to make in the internal machinery, the blaster was unconventional, and did not look like a typical gun.

The handle curved slightly around her hand, and when placed flat on a table, the shape reminded her of a glass and metal slipper. She had wanted to show it to Vegeta, but in all the action, had completely forgotten, and she stared at it now with a mixture of sadness and longing, as she tried to imagine how he would have reacted to seeing that she had managed to turn his suggestion into an actual prototype.

He would have been so proud.

She slowly placed the blaster back into the hidden drawer, knowing that it was actually a rather dangerous trinket, as she had seen the damage it could inflict, first-hand. She had tested it out on some very thick metal sheets, and the powercore had aided the blasts so that the gun had easily melted through the tough metals, and she knew that with the energy held by the weapon – a mere medicine capsule-sized chamber of the fluid – the gun would not need to have its energy cartridge replaced for a very long time.

She turned back to her current experiment, intent on working on it now, to take her mind off the bitter taste that the happy memory with Vegeta had left in her mouth.

8-8-8-8-8

She was in space. That much was clear.

However, it felt strange, as she realized that she was enclosed in a single pod that was controlled by nothing but a very small keypad with unrecognizable square-shaped symbols.

The darkness surrounding her was thick, and she could feel a dull throbbing on the side of her left arm, an inconvenient sensation that had her wanting to rip off her own limb.

Now, that right there, was an odd thought.

She reached behind her, pulling out a thick roll of paper containing diagrams written in a foreign script, and she stared at the schematics as if she could understand the letterings.

“Tch,” a very familiar voice said, the sound ringing clearly in her ears, as if the voice had come from her.

“This makes no sense,” the same voice muttered, frustrated, and Bulma felt shock enter her as she finally placed the voice.

Vegeta.

She wanted to turn, to look for him. She wanted to see him, but her body refused to follow her, only reaching up, and apparently turning on a very dull light within the space pod.

The light filled the pod, and she squinted, looking up at the thick glass window that was right in front of her.

She nearly jumped when she saw Vegeta’s face reflected back at her.

She looked down then, and she saw his very familiar hands clenching and unclenching in what she knew was his way of displaying annoyance.

It was then that Bulma understood, that she was in Vegeta’s body.

What a strange dream…

She watched his fingers reach forward, tapping on a few keys before him, before a small screen lit up, a low beeping sound filling the pod, before Nappa’s face showed up on the screen.

A communication screen.

Bulma noted that Nappa looked younger, maybe more than ten years younger than the one she met a few months ago.

“Nappa,” Vegeta said. “How is the squad? Did you bring the boy with you?”

“The squad is fine, your highness,” Nappa responded. “As for the boy, Kakarot is within the larger ship with Raditz.”

Kakarot. That was Goku.

“Good. That boy needs to be trained, Nappa. I can feel his power within him. Raw and unused. He could… he could be another Super Saiyan.”

Nappa looked shocked. “You believe so, my Prince?”

“Yes, I do. We need him to get stronger. He could be a powerful warrior, more so than Raditz and their father, Bardock, combined.”

“Raditz is a very strong fighter, your highness.”

“And Bardock, before his injury, was stronger. This boy is even stronger than that.”

Bulma listened to their exchange, realizing that this dream was about Vegeta’s time before he had been thrown into the ball.

“We will need him,” Vegeta continued, “in our rebellion against Frieza. I shall train him, myself.”

“He is but a boy, my lord,” Nappa responded.

“And I was even more of a boy when I had first been stolen by Frieza and forced to work for them, until my father retrieved me. Kakarot will be fine.”

Vegeta fidgeted then, bringing his right hand up to clutch at his left arm, and she felt him violently tug at the limb, the pain making stars flash behind her lids.

“As you see fit, my Prince”, Nappa said, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

“If I am right, and the boy does indeed ascend, then we will have two of us able to perform instant transmission. It would be a tremendous tactical advantage,” Vegeta said.

“And I am certain that he will be delighted to be trained by you,” Nappa said. “Raditz told me that the boy idolizes you tremendously. That he has said that he wishes to be just like the Prince.”

Bulma felt Vegeta smirk at that. “As he should.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma woke with a start, disoriented by the darkness.

As her eyes adjusted to the meager light, she realized that she was in her bedroom, lying down on her same, soft sheets, clutching her favorite pillow to her chest.

That had certainly been a strange dream.

She could still feel the throbbing in her left arm, the ache of an old injury that sometimes recurred and refused to fully heal.

“Wait a minute,” she muttered, as a very small memory surfaced.

She could distinctly remember Vegeta begin to use his right arm more and more as she watched him during his fight against Frieza.

His left arm could have had a recurring injury.

She bolted upright, unsettled.

That dream… did not feel like a dream, at all.

She immediately ran to her dresser, pulling her mobile phone out. Uncaring of the time, she scrolled down to the number of the one person she knew could help her understand what had happened.

The phone began to ring on the other end, and a few moments later, a groggy voice answered.

“Hello?” Goku greeted, voice thick with sleep.

“Goku! It’s Bulma.”

“Yeah, hi Bulma. It’s two in the mornin’,” he said.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I need help,” she said.

Goku’s voice was more alert as he answered. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not really, but-” she cut herself off when the familiar glow of the instant transmission appeared in her bedroom once again.

“What’s up?” Goku asked as soon as he materialized into her bedroom. He was wearing a loose shirt and boxer shorts, clearly coming directly from his bed.

“Goku, I am so sorry. I just wanted to ask you…” she said, hesitating before she continued. “When you were younger, did Vegeta train you, because he thought you could be Super Saiyan?”

“Well yeah,” he answered. “He asked Nappa and Raditz to bring me with them to the outer base one day, and the next, he showed up in the training arena to train me. I was shocked.”

She felt the blood drain from her face, as Goku tilted his head, regarding her more closely.

“He… Vegeta was taken hostage by Frieza, at one point, right?” she asked shakily.

Goku nodded. “He was with them for about seven Saiyan ages – fourteen Earth years – before King Vegeta started an uprising to retrieve him. It was during that battle that the Queen Papaya was killed, and Prince Vegeta turned Super Saiyan for the first time.”

Bulma felt her hands begin to shake as disbelief filled her.

She had been right… That was not a dream.

She had seen Vegeta’s memories.

But how?

Goku stared at her in concern. “Bulma, are you alright? Haven’t you been eating again, because you are a little pale.”

Bulma looked up at the tall Saiyan, a confused grin on her lips.

“I’m fine, Goku. More than fine. I think… I think I just dreamed of Vegeta’s memories.”

Goku’s eyes went wide. “What? How? That’s impossible, ain’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s supposed to be impossible,” she confirmed. “But I am sure. I saw Nappa, and I heard them talking about you having the power to ascend.”

Goku looked baffled. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I need something from you now, Goku. I need you to talk to Uranai.”

8-8-8-8-8

A day after Bulma sent Goku off to Uranai, she began researching on the theories regarding sleep and memory transfers. As of then, it was nothing but a part of science fiction mythos, but Bulma was sure that she could find something that could help her understand just how it could have been possible for Vegeta’s memories to have manifested in her dreams.

She spent the entire afternoon reading up on various sci-fi novels and conspiracy theories, and the only thing she could come up with were a few readings about soul bonding and psychic connections, but most stories concerned subjects who were both still alive.

As the day gave way to night, Bulma was nowhere closer to finding the answer to her questions, and she went home, feeling rather dejected that her research had basically gone nowhere.

She contemplated calling Goku to ask how his trip to Uranai had gone, if his asking the old crone for her theories had been more successful than her own efforts, but she decided against it, thinking that she could just call him in the morning. It was a bit late, after all, and she didn’t want to bother his sleep twice in a row.

She went to bed then, hoping that she would dream once again of Vegeta, or that the answers to her questions would come to her in her sleep.

8-8-8-8-8

It was scorching.

Flames licked up every single inch of her skin, and she wanted to recoil from the agonizing heat of the perpetual fires that surrounded her.

However, her feet remained pinned down, and she realized that she was being held against an iron-like beam, her arms and feet bound by spiked chains around the searing barrier.

Around her were screams of agony, and she could sense the anger boiling up inside her, deep hatred for her situation blistering inside her soul as the fires torched her limbs.

The flames never left a mark, but the endless pain remained.

It was hell.

She wanted to scream, but her pride warred with her need to let her suffering be heard, and she remained silent, teeth gnashing in fury as she tried valiantly to ignore the ongoing torture.

A large blast of fire appeared beside her, clearing up to reveal the form of a large man with red skin, with horns protruding from the top of his head. He had terrifying yellow eyes with slitted black irises, a dark goatee, and he wore a large blue cloak with a long white cape.

She felt herself spit in disdain, a growl rising from her chest.

“Dabura,” she felt herself say, and Bulma was once again surprised to realize that the voice belonged to Vegeta.

She was in Vegeta’s body, once again, probably dreaming of another memory.

Vegeta’s voice had been dripping in contempt, so Bulma thought that perhaps, this was a part of his servitude under Frieza.

“Hello, your majesty,” the large, demonic man greeted sarcastically. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay.”

“Fuck you,” Vegeta hissed.

“Unfortunately for you, I do not find you attractive,” Dabura laughed. “I believe the only ones who would ever fuck you are your Saiyan courtesans, because they didn’t really have a choice, did they?”

“Tch,” Vegeta said. “I’ll have you know that I was the favorite lay of all the Saiyan courtesans.”

“And who was your favorite lay, Prince Vegeta?”

Vegeta shut his mouth, pinching his lips hard against the urge to say something caustic back.

Dabura laughed. “Oh, I had nearly forgotten. You did fall hard for that little Earthling woman, did you not?”

“You fucking leave her out of this, Dabura,” Vegeta growled.

Bulma felt his anger rising once again, and she realized that Dabura had hit a sore spot with Vegeta.

Wait… an Earthling? Vegeta had never been to Earth before he was sealed. Could this mean…

“Would you like to see her again, Prince?”

Vegeta turned his head away from Dabura, but the large devil simply floated towards him, holding out a small mirror that began to glow in his hands.

“Watch, you wretch. Watch!” Dabura leered, and Bulma saw the mirror begin to turn into a viewing screen of sorts.

She could see her bedroom, and she saw a small lump of blankets gathered into the center of her bed.

It took her less than a moment to realize that the lump was none other than her.

It was as she had been while she was still deep in her depression, a frail bundle of skin and bones that refused to get up from her bed, the worst version of herself that had been wishing for nothing but death.

It was difficult, even for her, to see.

She felt Vegeta gasp as his eyes fell on her miserable form, and she felt him clench his hands into tight fists. She felt his conflict, his wanting to look away, but being unable to tear his gaze from the sight of her in her darkest moments.

“Do you see, Vegeta? See how you have made this woman suffer?” Dabura asked, and Vegeta gulped, as she felt an onslaught of guilt and pain fill his chest, a pain that made the agony of the flames licking at his body seem dull in comparison.

“You were so selfish, Prince. If you had never tried to come back to life, this woman would still be living her wonderful life, full of energy and happiness,” Dabura whispered maliciously. “She would never have been targeted by Frieza, would never have had to suffer from her father’s trial. She would never have had to be in such pain…”

“Shut up!” Vegeta choked out. “Stop this, stop this right now!”

“Listen to her cry, Prince!” Dabura said, and all at once, Bulma heard her own voice surround them, her heart-wrenching cries of her own suffering leaving Vegeta breathless in despair and guilt.

“Vegeta… Why… Why?” she heard her voice say weakly, and Vegeta closed his eyes, willing the vision and sound of her sadness away.

“Please…” Vegeta began, and Bulma was shocked at the rawness of his voice. “Please stop. Let her just live. She… she does not deserve to be in this sort of pain. This was all because of me.”

“Well, I am glad that you at least know that, Prince,” Dabura said gleefully, removing the mirror as he began to back away from Vegeta. “Until the next time, your highness.”

With that, Dabura disappeared, leaving a despondent Vegeta to breathe heavily, fighting the despair in his heart.

Bulma could do nothing but listen to his harsh breaths, feel the heaving of his chest and the single tear that trickled down his cheek.

“Bulma,” he whispered, his voice soft, loving, reverent. “Be safe, my beloved...”

8-8-8-8-8

As she woke from the dream, Bulma bolted up, her chest heavy with Vegeta’s pained thoughts, her limbs still stinging from the fires that burned her body from the inside and out.

She had been in literal hell.

Vegeta was in hell.

And he was in extreme agony.

She stood up, pacing her room as she gathered the scattered bits of her mind to piece together all that she had learned.

Vegeta was dead, but somehow, whether he knew it or not, he was still communicating with her. Perhaps, it was the fact that their spirits had been linked for so long, that he was able to reach out to her from the afterlife.

Perhaps… if he was still linked with her…

Then maybe, she could still have him back.

She looked out the window, smiling at the rising sun, as she went to her cabinets and pulled out a pair of denim jeans and a comfortable white shirt.

She ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then she dressed hurriedly, before she picked up her phone, and dialed.

“Hello,” the man’s voice was more alert than the last time she had called, so perhaps, he had already been awake this time.

“Goku, hi.”

“Bulma, great that you called! I found something when I went to Uranai yesterday-”

“You can tell me later. I need you to come and pick me up, now,” she said.

Goku paused. “Where are we going?”

She grinned.

“We are going to Uranai, you and I,” she said. “We are going to bring Vegeta back.”

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

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