#last time he did it he followed his usual spiel up with “im not trying to embarrass you guys though”

[thepresidentstolemyfuckingsafe]

One of my college professors told us that the reason he makes things due at 5:00 pm and not midnight is because "we already have so many other assignments due by midnight, it'd be cruel to assign more, I'd rather give you more time during the weekday, I want you to be less stressed"

like, but you do see how that's less time right?? You do know that making things due at a time when many students are in other classes is actually more stressful, right???

[amysteriousmessenger]

Hey im kinda late, but... Do you mind writing snowball fight with reader + rfa + V and saeran? If that's too much to ask, then its okay love! Oh, its kinda late but merry holiday, or christmas if you celebrate it! May your holidays be blessed and filled with only happiness and love 😽😽. Here, take all your loves you deserve!

AAAAA this is so kind of you, thank so much and a happy holidays to you too!! <3 You’re always so lovely to me! I’m sorry that I’m posting this on Boxing Day, but I hope it’s still okay for you!

RFA and Reader Snowball Fight Headcanons

Yoosung Kim Snowball Fight Headcanons 

You would have been visiting Yoosung at his university over Christmas, it has already started to heavily snow whilst you were on your way so by the time you actually got there, the snow had fallen to several inches. 

Yoosung was so excited about the snow, it reminds him of when he was young and would make snowmen in the garden with his Rika and his sister. He’d look a little crestfallen thinking about it, and you offered to build a snowman outside on campus with him. 

The two of you built the snowman together, dressing it in a scarf and sending silly pictures of the three of you to the RFA chat. It was then, as Yoosung was trying to take his own selfie with it, that you launched a snowball right into the back of his head and he caught it on camera. 

He feels so betrayed, pouting as he looked at you with big puppy eyes. 

He won’t retaliate until you laugh and begin scrambling to craft another snowball, at which point Yoosung with try to hide behind the snowman as a shield. He has to fight back, his time on LOLOL has trained him for this. 

He throws a few snowballs out from behind the snowman, and then gets hit with one in the face when he peeks around to see if any made contact with you. 

He’s laughing and having fun as you throw the snow, and it continues for a few minutes until you’ve tired yourselves out and return to his dorm for a hot shower and warm hot chocolate.

Zen/Hyun Ryu Snowball Fight Headcanons 

The two of you would be on a winter date in the park. Zen was marvelling at how the pure white snow compliments his air, and makes the red of his eyes stand out against the crisp background and how th- Bam. You hit him on the side of the head with a snowball, instantly silencing his handsome spiel. 

‘Jagiya! How could you do that to m-’ Bam, another one hitting him in the shoulder. He watched as you giggled, scrambling to gather enough snow for another attack and his heart just melted, he can’t stay mad at you. But, he also can’t lose: his ego would not allow it. 

He grabs a fistful of snow and starts chasing you through the thick snow, his trousers are getting a little wet but he doesn’t mind, you’re having fun. You turn back mid-run to throw another snowball at him, but miss. Zen takes this opportunity to throw his own snowball at you, hitting you on the ass and earning a smirk from him. 

You try to throw more, but Zen runs for fun, there’s no way that you could overtake him. You manage to get a few more snowballs thrown in his general direction but the majority of them miss and you somehow strumble and fall backwards into the snow as he got close.

Zen tried to stop himself falling, he really did, but the snow was heavy on his feet and he ended up falling on top of you, caging your body with his own.

After the initial moment of distress, he couldn’t help but think how beautiful you looked with the snowflakes falling into your hair and on your eyelashes. He leaned in and planted a kiss onto the corner of your mouth, his lips slightly cold from the weather. 

The two of you smiled, and then you scooped up a handful of loose snow and threw the dusting into his face. 

Jaehee Kang Snowball Fight Headcanons 

You were hard-pushed to get Jaehee to go out in the cold weather, she was too busy and didn’t particularly fancy getting her clothes wet. After enough pleading, she finally relented and agreed to make a snowman with you as long as it didn’t take too long. 

The two of you made a small snowman together, and gave it a small ponytail. You sent a picture of it to the RFA chat with the simple caption ‘Snowzen’.

She would be getting ready to go back inside to make coffee when you hit her in the back of her shoulder with a snowball.

After a brief moment of disbelief followed by a sigh, Jaehee would wait until you weren’t looking to quickly grab some snow and throw it at you. Obviously, she missed. 

But that still instigated a war. You grinned.

You both started gathering snow and throwing it at one another: yours in attack, Jaehee’s in defense. It wasn’t often that she got to loosen up, so you were happy to see her laughing on this rare occasion. 

Snowzen got beheaded in the fight. 

Saeyoung Choi in a snowball fight Headcanons 

Firstly, it’s not a snowball fight, it’s war. 

Seven would have been working into the early hours of the morning when he realised it was snowing and had an absolutely awful idea for a prank.

He went out into his garden, calmly grabbed a fistful of snow, took his time on his way back inside to smooth it into a perfectly spherical ball, prayed, and then launched it into your sleeping face from across the room and fucking bolted.

He knew he was a deadman. You sent in a text demanding that he meet you outside in twenty minutes to settle the score like men. 

Once the smug bastard comes out, you immediately throw a snowball into his face but he ducked, so your snowball missed the target. You forgot he had physical training from the agency and realised this was going to be a lot more difficult than you originally thought.

You weren’t even sure how he manages to make so many snowballs in such a small amount of time  but in the time it takes it you to craft three, he’s got twice as many done and he’s beginning to propel them at you. 

There were about twenty minutes of all-out warfare, with Seven doing dramatic leaps behind bushes and rolls to escape your attacks, all whilst managing to hit you with practically every snowball he threw. 

You were so happy to see him having such fun, knowing that he never got to do this as a child.

It was safe to say he won the snowball fight, and had to give you pouty kisses afterwards to make up for his prank. 

Jumin Han Snowball Fight Headcanons

Jumin had never been in a snowball fight before and isn’t entirely sure what he’s supposed to be doing, so he sends you a wary look when you threw a snowball at him, hitting him in the chest. He had come outside onto the rooftop terrace to admire the scenic snow on the city with you, and you assault him? He is offended.

‘____, what are you doing? You’re going to get my suit wet an-’ You threw another one into his leg followed up with the sweetest, most innocent look you could muster. He sighed. He resigned himself to humouring you, since it would clearly make you happy and he was always one to indulge you.

You explained to him what he was supposed to do and he asked for a practice shot, which you were unwilling to give him. 

Jumin’s aim was absolutely terrible and he mentions making a note to practice such things as this imperfection should be ironed out and- you threw another one at him. He smirked and gave you a look, before attempting to throw more of the snowballs he had delicately crafted at you and even managed to hit a few on your thighs and stomach.

Despite not particularly caring for such activities himself, he enjoyed seeing this playful side of you, even if it was a bit cheeky.

Jihyun Kim/V Snowball Fight Headcanons

The two of you would be out early in the morning so V could take pictures of the sunrise hitting the untouched snow, reflecting the beautiful colours of the scenery. 

V also decided that he wanted some pictures of you in the same setting, with your long flowing dressing gown settled softly atop the snow. Of course, you indulged him.

After a few minutes of him taking your picture, you noticed he had smiled and was satisfied with his images for today. He turned to put his camera down on the table and take a sip of his coffee when something cold and wet exploded on the back of his head. It was a snowball.

It’s a little difficult for him to imagine himself in a snowball fight since he can’t see brilliantly and he feels like his aim will be off, but he’s more than willing to try since you wanted to play. 

You run over to help him down the steps and into the large garden before you retreated back to your original position. You kept it fair though and stayed in his field of vision.

V wasn’t usually one to let off steam in such a way, so he seemed a little tense at first and didn’t throw the snowballs too hard in fear of accidentally hurting you. He missed more than he landed, so you were definitely winning the snowball fight.

He didn’t mind though, he was far more invested in the sight he saw before him: the adorning smile on your face, the red flush of your cheeks from the cold, snowflakes clinging to your hair and your dressing gown flowing against the breeze behind you as you ran. He could never capture such beauty if he tried.

Saeran Choi Snowball Fight Headcanons

Saeran doesn’t really enjoy the cold weather, it chills him straight to the bones so he either needs to wrap up in a bundle of layers otherwise he can’t stay out in it for very long. 

However, the boy must go and buy his ice-cream from the convenience store since his ‘idiot brother’ ate the last of it without ordering more. You offered to go for him, since you were worried about him slipping and hurting himself, but he didn’t know which flavour he wanted, so you decided to accompany him instead. 

The both of you were almost back at Seven’s when you got the idea to start a snowball fight, so you suddenly grabbed some snow and threw it at Saeran, hitting him in the shoulder. 

He turned around and was both confused and annoyed, demanding to know why you hit him. You were also confused at his annoyance, but it quickly dawned on you that he didn’t know what a snowball fight was. He’d never had the chance to do it. He was never allowed out when he was a child and even if he had, he would have been too sickly to go out playing in the snow anyway. 

You explained it to him and his expression softened when he realised it was a playful activity, and that he should try making up for the lost time. Saeran awkwardly knelt down, collected some snow and stiffly threw it back at you in the hip. He seemed nervous to make sure he was doing it correctly and looked at you for affirmation. You smiled and laughed, encouraging him to do it again as you collected more snow. 

It was a very small, soft start for him.

Bonus: When the two of you got back to Seven’s house, his brother came to the door to plead Saeran’s forgiveness and asked if you got him any snacks from the shop, and was immediately met with a snowball to the face from Saeran. 

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

ricin

summary: you started working in the bau because your boyfriend spencer had convinced you to transfer due to your knowledge of chemistry and background in psychology. despite your accolades, you’ve only worked on three cases so far with the team and hotch doesn’t necessarily trust your intuition yet, but after proving your abilities when solving a case, you finally gain respect. 

word count: 1,111                                                                                                  reading time aprox: 4 mins

masterlist

“Wait, so let me get this right. Our guy here is kidnapping both men and women right and left?” Morgan asked, staring at the evidence board in front of him that showed the latest victims of multiple kidnappings and two homicides. “Do you think it it could be sexual? Maybe personal?” He inquired. 

“No, the unsub used a Heckler G36 handgun and it was from a distance. The Heckler G36 is actually what is commonly used in the German Military, which is a contrast to the G3 which is generally us-” Reid explained, falling into yet again another spiel of facts. 

“If you look at the track marks in the dirt, it seemed that the victim kept stopping to look back, the unsub was most likely following the victim” Hotch expressed, cutting Reid’s jabbering short. 

Reid’s expression turned blank as his lips curved into a straight line, twiddling his thumbs against the case file he held in between his hands. I chuckled to myself as I witnessed the redness that began to appear on ‘pretty boy’s’ cheeks. 

“Maybe the victim escaped?” JJ suggested, peering into the photo of the lifeless body that sat deserted in the woods. 

“You may be right” Hotch agreed, tossing the file aside and looking into the crime scene details. “But the unsub’s MO changed from the first murder. Last time he used a blunt weapon” 

“So it is personal?” Morgan inquired again 

“No it couldn’t be. Our unsub left quite a mess” Reid explained. “But, the killer is too organized to be able to leave a scene like that”

“But that makes no sense, how can this guy’s MO change in the midst of a kidnapping?” JJ questioned

I shot up from seat, walking closer to the board looking at the layout of the victims and the missing persons reports. We usually laid them out chronologically in order to keep the evidence organized and concise. 

“Let me see that forensics report Garcia” I demanded, leaving my hand out for Garcia to give me the files. 

“Do you see anything Y/L/N?” Hotch asked

“Po...ssibly” I hesitantly replied, moving the victims pictures out of the sequence they were placed in. 

“What are you doing Y/L/N?” 

“With all due respect sir, I’m trying to find an answer for you right now” I retorted, earning a few snickers from Morgan and Reid. 

“What if...what if the first homicide was his first attempt?” I hypothesised. I looked at the team to see them all gawking at me with baffled expressions. “I mean what if this first victim was his first attempt at kidnapping” I elaborated. 

“But that doesn’t corroborate with the timeline that was given to us. The first reported missing person took place 2 days before this victim was found” Hotch contrasted. 

“Yes that’s true, but look at the forensics report and the conducted autopsy” I pinned the two reports to the board, hastily reaching for a dry erase marker. “It says that in the forensics report, there was a residue of 4 moles of N-acetyl-glucosamine. Although, forensics ruled that out as an environmental waste due to the forest herbs. But if you look over here” I pointed at the autopsy recordings, “4 moles of N-acetyl-glucosamine and 11 moles of mannose were found inside the victims esophagus, meaning that-” 

“It’s Ricin” Reid concluded, finishing my sentence for me. I gave him an affirmative nod, thanking him for the support and continued to explain my theory. 

“I-I don’t get it Y/L/N” Hotch confessed. 

“Ricin is a toxin that takes days, sometimes a week, give or take to have full effect on an individual. It’s usually found when manufacturing Castor beans and also is-” Reid began 

“made up of polypeptide A and B making the toxin virtually lethal, even in small doses” I finished Reid’s sentence, earning a sly smirk from him. “Most importantly, now that we know his method of abduction, we also know his location”.

-

“I’m trusting you on this Y/L/N” Hotch expressed warily, following the team into an abandoned barn that was hidden in miles of forest shrubs and tall trees. 

“I know it’s here sir...I have a feeling” 

“Let’s just hope that feeling’s right Y/L/N” 

Hotch talked into his walkie talkie, signaling the first team to clear the main floor. Men began filing into the double doors, surveying every corner of the lot. 

“Nothing here sir” was heard from Hotch’s monitor. He sighed heavily, returning his gun back to it’s holster before facing my direction. Disappointment was etched onto his expression and I began to feel a heavy weight form in my stomach. 

“Damn it Y/L/N-” 

“Wait- sir, there’s a basement down here” 

-

“Good job today Y/L/N” Hotch complimented. I have him a nod of gratitude, yet I still felt unsatisfied by his comment. He began to walk away, but then suddenly decided to make a 180 to face me again. “I’m...I’m sorry kid, I should’ve had more faith in you” He apologized with an expression of remorse. He laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, whilst looking at me with a light smile. “You’re going to be a great agent someday”. With that he left, walking towards the van while Reid and Morgan came up to me. 

“Hey there princess, great going today” Morgan complimented. I simply blushed and shook my head, “It wouldn’t be a good case if it wasn’t for you guys” I confessed, smiling as the case was finally over after a grueling week. Morgan came up to give me a hug, patting me on the back before leaving to the van. “It’s great to have you on the team kid”

Spencer took this as an opportunity to come up behind me and snake his arms around my waist. “You did so well Y/N” he praised, pulling me back into his chest as he buried his face into the crevice of neck. 

“Thanks Spence, that means more than you know” I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder as we watched the rest of the team pack up the investigation. He placed a sweet kiss on my forehead, emphasizing the great difference in our heights, before taking my hands in his. 

“You know I still can’t believe that YOU figured out the chemical residue left behind at the scene before ME” He exaggerated. I giggled in response, shoving him lightly to the side as we walked hand in hand back to the van. 

“Scared of a little competition Dr. Reid?” I teased, grinning at him. 

“Not at all agent Y/L/N” He replied. “Especially since I’m the one with three PhD’s and three Bachelors” He slyly added. I groaned, rolling my eyes as he began to flaunt his intelligence once again. 

“Shut up Spence before I poison you with Ricin” 

--

A/N: if you’re familiar with my other writing regarding timothee, this must be bizarre to see, but please bare with me considering im actually in love with matthew gray gubler

[gerudospiriit]

One of the Lucky Ones

A Chrimbus Prezzie for @royallunatiic that I adored writing for her! <3

Basically a thing about Vegeta I’ve been entertaining in the back of my mind for several months. It’s a lot of things and very centralized in Vegeta’s head and feelings and oof. It focuses on canon and non-canon moments and kinda explores themes with Vegeta’s character I feel get overlooked inside and outside of canon material. It is also based on a mix Lau’s (royallunatiic’s) hcs and my own. I wouldn’t call it a retelling but more of a change in perspective that delves into darker themes surrounding Vegeta.

As a fair warning for others that might choose to read: this fic includes violence, gore, abuse, harsh language, some sexual content, mentions of depression, and probably things that people who hold canon as the Holy Grail will not like. It is a very rose colored glasses off kind of read. There is probably something in this that everyone won’t like but that’s the beauty of things, isn’t it? And this IS about Vegeta so :3

Also, side note, some of the formatting got lost between here and google docs and im too lazy to go through and try to fix that, so unfortunately some italic emphasis within the bulk of it will be lost, rip.

Most importantly, I hope this lives up to the hype, Lau! <3

Vegeta raised a white-gloved hand to his scouter, options flashing across red glass until he settled on the general’s name and scouter number. “Nappa, what is our estimated time of arrival?”

Several seconds of silence passed, the prince’s temper flaring a centigrade more with each impatient tap of his foot on the pod’s floor. Just as he clenched his jaw and prepared to snap at the other Saiyan and more forcefully request the information he sought, his scouter beeped followed by the unmistakable grumble of the man who served to raise him in lieu of a biological parent. 

“Let’s see…” Vegeta rolled his eyes when he heard Nappa yawn. How the large Saiyan stayed comfortable crammed into the tiny space pods even with the help of the pod’s assisted stasis setting baffled him. Less than half the other man’s size, Vegeta struggled to rest for any proper amount of time no matter his level of exhaustion or the length of the trip. Nothing a usual plague of similarly themed nightmares helped. Years of getting used to it was the usual spiel the general gave when the prince cared enough to question him. “Twelve hours, give or take. Twelve hours before we get to take revenge for Raditz and destroy that damn mud ball.”

Vegeta grunted in response. He could have laughed at their cover to keep anyone listening in on their conversations from knowing their true objective. Neither Saiyan cared to avenge their fallen comrade, Saiyan or not. Raditz foolishly set off to find his weakling of a brother and got himself killed. If such lowly warriors could best him, he was a waste of space and resources. Good riddance; Vegeta had no time for coddling the third class fool, anyway. They had Dragonballs to secure and immortality only suited the strong. To overthrow and kill an all-powerful tyrant, he would only suffer the company of the very greatest warriors.

“Very well. Rest up, Nappa. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

“Don’t tell me these Earthling’s got you scared,” the general scoffed, the creak of leather sounding as he shifted in his seat. “Raditz’s power level didn’t hold a candle to ours. We’ll blow ‘em all away, no trouble, a year of training or not. And without Kakarot, it will be a cinch. In and out, just like we planned.”

Vegeta snarled. “Watch your tongue, Nappa. I’d sooner fear Cui than a lowly Earthling.” He hoped the bastard heard that. Or that Frieza did and would relay the message to amuse himself with the soldier’s rage. “They are at least clever enough to gang up on Raditz. I would hate to see you meet your end over stupidity.”

“Fat chance.”

If Nappa had anything else to say, Vegeta missed it. He had switched his scouter off to take his own advice. Or try. His anticipation to achieve immortality, to finally avenge his people and end Frieza once and for all. Kept his mind from shutting down. To take back what was promised to him, what was rightfully his. For his own, personal revenge for the abuse and embarrassment he endured under his rule. As little more than a slave. Jaw tense at the memories, he closed his eyes. 

His nerves went into overdrive as the door slid shut behind him, the fur of his tail standing on end at his waist. A request for an audience with Frieza never bode well in past experiences. It usually meant a beating or other form of degradation in front of his cronies or for his own sick amusement. And with the weight of his planet and his race perishing still heavy on his heart and mind...what more could Frieza say or do to him?

Before he could kneel or greet the tyrant, Frieza turned from his locked view of the passing stars to the young Saiyan rooted a few feet in front of the door, trying his best to keep the hollowness he felt in his chest from his gaze. In front of Nappa and Raditz, he had tried to remain aloof. Stunned by the suddenness with a hint of anger at cruel fate and be the strong leader he now had no choice but to be to them. They answered to him, not his father. Not any more.

“Ah, Vegeta! Such shocking news!” Frieza threw his free hand in the air to complement the dramatic flare in his voice. He set the glass of wine he clutched in the other on the nearest surface and floated toward him, reptilian feet meeting tile before the Saiyan. “My condolences, of course. An asteroid of all things wipes out the Saiyan race!”

Vegeta swallowed, gloved fingers curling into his palms and his tail tightening around his waist. He did not need to be aware of Frieza’s general distaste for his people to hear the mocking undertone dripping from every word. The misfortune of his race was a cause for celebration to the tyrant.

“We will move forward,” he responded robotically, straightening his posture and meeting Frieza’s wicked, crimson eyes. His mouth went dry when he saw the humor dancing in them. “We will continue to serve as we always have.”

The emperor of the universe placed his hands behind his back, contemplating. Searching for ways to toy with the boy like a predator who had cornered its prey. “Spoken like a true prince with so much responsibility suddenly on his shoulders.” He sighed, the latter portion of his tail idly striking the tiled floor. “Such a shame to lose so many monk--I mean, soldiers. Their lives are irreplaceable.”

Rage burned hotter in his hollowed out body. It danced on his tongue and clawed at his jaw, desperately trying to pry his mouth open to retort or spit in his face or simply scream. Anything but the fear-soaked silence that pervaded. What did he have to lose? Everything he had been promised--his kingdom, his people, his planet--had all been obliterated. Dying now would grant him mercy. But the fighter in him, the angry, scorned warrior, screamed louder. He screamed for blood. For vengeance. He was young, but he didn’t believe that asteroid story. It stank worse than Nappa after a long day of training in the wastes back home. And this performance, this farcical show of compassion, only fueled such suspicions.

“Come now. Don’t look so glum, Vegeta. After all...” Frieza rested a clawed hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Tight. “You’re one of the lucky ones.”

No, no, no.

This had to be another nightmare.

Vegeta clung to the last dregs of consciousness his weakened state would allow in order to type the coordinates--any coordinates--to what he hoped would land him at a base to get patched up. His hand shook over the buttons, and his vision doubled and tripled while trying to make sense of the screen. Blood trickled down his forehead and off the tip of his nose. Every inch of him screamed in agony. A few more seconds of focus...that's all he needed….

He fell back once he thought he counted enough characters punched in, gritting his teeth as the careless motion jolted a new bolt of pain through his body. Obsidian eyes hooded, he watched the stars, asteroids, and planets whizz by in a blur through slitted gaze. He felt his consciousness fading, his mind replaying the bad dream Earth had turned to in a jumbled chronology of events. The fight with Kakarot, how the third class stood up to his every attack. That damn brat and his bald friend and the fat one interfering. Cutting off his damn tail. Squeezing the life out of that clown in his Oozaru form. Saibamen and the joy of watching those worms struggle against them and Nappa when they wouldn't give them the Dragonballs. The brat transforming. Nappa's blood on his hands for his failure. The bald one sparing him.

Spared. Not victorious. Not immortal. Broken. Beaten. Bloody. And spared by a worthless third rate warrior and his weakling friends. The great Prince Vegeta bested by a troupe of circus performers. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he had the breath and fortitude for it. Pride damaged, a small part of him hoped his battered brain had typed the coordinates in wrong. Dump him off on some random planet to die alone with what little dignity he had left. Let his race perish once and for all with him. Kakarot was no Saiyan. He did not deserve the warrior blood that roared in his veins. He was an Earthling. He barely knew what it meant to be a Saiyan. The hardships he had faced. How it felt to lose everything.

Kakarot. His bloody fingers twitched as the name of that fool spun around his mind in a taunting sing-song like some sick nursery rhyme. Yet. He didn't know that feeling yet. Sparing him was the biggest mistake those Earthlings could make. He would make Kakarot suffer. He would kill each of his friends one by one in front of him. Slow. Grueling. Starting with the fat one that robbed him of his tail. Then, he would kill Kakarot. No. He would spare Kakarot. Beat him to a gurgling mess of blood and broken bones and destroy his planet with him on it. Yes, that would do nicely.

First things first: immortality. Namek. Frieza. Then, Kakarot. 

Quaking hand rose to his scouter. He sent out a distress signal. Just in case.

He convinced Nappa to let him out of his sight with relative ease and bored Raditz with some excuse about checking out the moons of the planet for vegetation types to keep him from tagging along to leave the planet they were ordered to recon alone and undisturbed. The assignment was close to the coordinates of his home planet, committed to memory in his youth. After nearly a decade, the close proximity tugged at an emotion he couldn't place. Deeper than curiosity but darker than nostalgia. A need to put to rest his doubt and disbelief, and affirm it had not all been a cruel joke Frieza played on him all these years. 

Though, as his pod flew ever closer to his destination, a dim hope flickered in the buried part of him that still mourned and despaired over the fall of his race. For that reason, he kept his eyes closed, the vision of his home planet painted on the inside of his eyelids. Until the pod slowed, and the change in motion coerced the Saiyan Prince's eyes open to see…

To see nothing. Nothing but stars and space dust.

He didn't know how long he stared, or how many times he cancelled his pod's attempts to reroute him to a place for a proper landing when the current coordinates yielded nothing solid. His chest tightened, his throat and eyes burned as he rested a gloved hand on the red glass of the pod. Tears poured from his obsidian eyes as his fingers curled into his palm and he banged his fist against the window. Gone. All gone. He had known it all along, hadn't he? What did he really expect to find out here? 

He buried his face in his hands with a shuddering breath, sliding them back into his hair before letting them fall limply at his side. He couldn't deny it now; Planet Vegeta had been obliterated along with everyone on it. Reduced to no more than space matter idly drifting among the stars. In that moment, even his memories of his youth seemed to join them as any attempt to recall them left him numb.

Another request to reroute to the nearest planet echoed too loudly in his ears. Vegeta spared the empty vacuum where his home once lay one last glance before inputting the coordinates to the planet he and the others had been assigned.

Vegeta switched off the ship’s gravity controls soon after touchdown on the long forgotten planet he had chosen for training. The gradual shift from 450 times the Earth’s gravity back to normal levels welcome after hours of pushing through the training drills. He gripped the console to steady himself and hunched over as he caught his breath, sweat dripping from his visage and pooling between switches and buttons. Every muscle, every fiber of his body ached from the strain of training at the high level of gravity. So much so that just a twitch of his fingers depleted far more energy than anything should. He slammed his fist down on the control panel and straightened up. He had no time to rest. He had to push himself, push through the pain and strain and keep going. He was running out of time. He needed to become a Super Saiyan no matter the cost.

Measured steps carried him to the bag he had packed. He rummaged around and pulled out a fresh set of armor. He tore off the sweat drenched rags his training reduced the current set to and tossed it aside, replacing it with the clean suit and chest armor. He ignored the toll the simple action took on him and yanked his boots and gloves on. He punched the button and released the door hatch to descend onto the planet’s surface. Away from the distractions of Earth, the planet that had become his chosen prison. He had to stay close to his prey, keep his enemies close. Make this unexpected resurrection count.

His second chance at life had begun with sucking in dirt before rising out of a shallow grave. Followed by witnessing a third-class warrior fill the slot in his race's history meant for him. Vegeta had stared up into a tumultuous sky as the very planet beneath his boots breathed its last breaths, erupting and quaking as a greater power threatened its very core. Awestruck, the Saiyan prince watched legend become reality. Kakarot had achieved what most wrote off as legend, aglow in gold, hair and eyes changed from dark hues to light: a Super Saiyan in the flesh. And he faced off with Frieza. Would soon kill Frieza. Both milestones he promised himself and only fit for the last living Saiyan royal. The clown snatched his birthright and vengeance for all he and his people suffered under Frieza from him in the span of hours.

The realization only settled after the whirlwind of astonishment, initial pride in the irony of a Saiyan ending Frieza, and momentary swell of invincibility with the idea of being back on top with Kakarot and Frieza both dead suddenly switched direction and whipped him into the nearest wall. The damned fool survived after all, according to those bumbling Earthlings. His mood tanked, and something akin to panic intertwined with his rage: what now? Where did he go from here?

Immortality didn't strike his fancy anymore when living forever seemed worse than death, the easy way of winning. He could cross Frieza off; he couldn't kill a dead man. That left Kakarot and his friends. He could kill the latter whenever he chose, the only one posing a possible challenge being the Namekian. But what use was that when he could not stand up to Kakarot's retaliation? The fool had thrown his whole plan off kilter! Stole everything promised to him and made him look like a fool! The Saiyan Prince would not--could not--be bested by this low class a third time. Kakarot would die by his hand, that would not change. But he needed to train first, achieve Super Saiyan and do it better. 

And so he trained. Day and night until he flirted with death. Haunted by the image of Super Saiyan Kakarot battling Frieza on a dying planet. The memory of sensing that power for the first time seemed stamped on his ki perception, a power that threatened to bring him to his knees. Bitterness, vengeance, and rage surged him onward, a man possessed. Driven by an ever present need to take his place as the most powerful being in the universe. 

And yet, despite all that, he remained unchanged. Stronger, certainly. But he still lacked the key to transformation, and that only ignited his fury further. What did that buffoon have that he lacked? How? The singular word bounced around his brain like the simulated ki blasts of his training program. What was the secret? Time ticked down until these androids meant to doom them all arrived. He refused to die to some mechanical monstrosities, not before he got his chance to prove once and for all that he was the superior warrior. 

They would serve as a testament to his strength. His ascension to legendary status. But he had to get there first.

The sky above him raged in a violent storm, lightning streaking the dark at intervals of mere milliseconds. The air around him surged with power, a reflection of the intense wrath that blazed within him. The ground shook from the force of the accompanying thunder, rattled his very being to the core. He felt awakened, his previous exhaustion forgotten as a new wave of invigoration overpowered it. 

So his training began. Unencumbered. Uninhibited. Free of the petty distractions that interrupted him on Earth. Until the meteors threatened his ship. Fine. A new training exercise. He zipped through the shower, punching and blasting his way through the chunks of space rock with precision and finesse. The warm up, he found, when a meteor half the size of the planet entered the atmosphere, parting the clouds in a fiery cascade. The Saiyan prince soared upward, confident when his previous employment required him to destroy entire planets on a whim. He pulled his arm back, energy building in his palm before he shot it toward the meteor. Though, instead of resulting in an explosion, the behemoth swallowed the light, only spraying a few chunks of matter from its surface. Another blast. A barrage of them. Still it inched closer to his only means to escape this planet. His training had left him too drained. This damn rock was going to strand him there on that empty planet. No! He wouldn’t let that happen!

Mustering every last ounce of energy he could, he pulled both hands up to his head, the back of his right hand pressed into his left palm. Purple energy built around him and in his hands. “Galick Gun, fire!” With all he had left, he shot the violet energy through his hands toward the encroaching meteor, energy bursting from his palms and striking it at near point blank range. The explosion shot him straight toward the planets surface, his used up body crashing through rock formation after rock formation before slamming into the ground.

Immense pain and the ringing in his ears were all he could register as he lay prostrate in the wide crater for countless minutes. He cracked his eyes open, squinting at the lightning streaked sky above him. He needed to move, to ensure his efforts yielded success. He pushed up with his elbows, snarling as pain ripped through him, and he shifted to his knees and dragged himself to the edge of the crater. He stretched his hand out on level ground and hoisted his upper half from the hole; it was all he could manage. The Prince of all Saiyan’s reduced to crawling, clawing his way out of a crater. Too weak to best a meteor and stay on his feet. How fucking pathetic.

Vegeta beat his bruised and bloody fist on the stone ground, the guttural growl growing in volume with each pound to echo the thunder rolling around him. How many more times did he have to fail? He failed his own race, and then couldn’t even take proper revenge for their murder. He failed Nappa and Raditz, no matter how damn weak they were. At this point, what made him any better? Kakarot bested him, too. Isn’t that why he killed Nappa? Because the bumbling idiot couldn’t even kill an Earth-raised, third rate Saiyan? Even a damn kid from the future had surpassed him! The Prince of all Saiyans! He who had been promised the universe and then some by his damnable father! What did he have to show for it? For all the pain and abuse and training? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. He had been reduced to buying his time on a planet he should have just destroyed upon landing, surrounded by the very idiots that began his streak of shitty luck!

What had Frieza told him? “You’re one of the lucky ones.” Ha! At that moment, he would bet the universe got off on shooting him down and kicking him in the ribs.

He bowed his head as tears of rage and shame filled his eyes, though his gut boiled fiercely. He forced himself onto his feet, stumbling a step before regaining his balance. Nothing. The word echoed in his ears, roaring in the thunder as it answered the lightning. He had nothing left. Had lost it all long ago, but he refused to admit it to himself. And suddenly...everything that had driven him the past three years meant nothing. He didn’t care about Kakarot or killing him or surpassing him. He didn’t care if he left this planet. He didn’t even care if he lived. How long had he walked on borrowed time? His second chance at life was a damn joke, a literal accident, extra time for the universe to taunt him for his failings. 

Vegeta’s heart pounded in his ears, beating on his sternum like a war drum. The rest of the world fell silent around him as his rage exploded. Pure power rushed through his body and he tilted his head back to bellow his fury into the void of space above. Blinding light flared from his form and burst with a planet-quaking boom. 

Consciousness flooded back like a sea’s tide, the area around him now illuminated in a golden glow. A glow that originated from him. He raised his hands and flexed them before balling them into fists. Such power. It felt incredible. Endless. Roiling throughout every ounce of his being. His shoulders shook as laughter rumbled in his chest and finally burst from his mouth. He took to the air and shot through the angry sky, admiring his speed. He destroyed mountains as he whizzed by them, each target bigger than the last. If he didn’t need the ship, he would have destroyed the planet itself just to see how easy his new power made it.

Landing near the ship (still intact, surprisingly), he powered down, acutely aware of the toll it took on him. He would have to fix that, master the form and improve upon it. It felt surreal, like he would wake up at any moment. But he knew better. He knew he only had nightmares.

He had truly done it. He had become a Super Saiyan.

“Well, I guess there really is a first time for everything.”

Vegeta didn’t care if the bartender’s comment was meant for him or merely the young woman musing aloud; he kept his attention on the drink sitting in the open space within his crossed arms on the polished wood. He could still hear the vapid giggling of the two women as they trotted to the elevator at the back of the room, clinging on the arms of his charmed comrades. It was nothing new to the prince, especially on obvious busy work like this meant to keep them out of Frieza’s line of sight for a little while. Until he needed them again. Everyone knew years of mining and drilling by the Cold’s forces had sucked this planet dry of any valuable resources. The inhabitants ranged from an occasional surprising street fighter to abysmally weak, and very few even knew how to control Ki. The bulk of Frieza’s force there had already evacuated, sent on more fruitful endeavors for the empire. At best, this planet would be made a base, and the inhabitants would have to continue to live with Frieza’s soldiers. But, this far out, Vegeta wasn’t that optimistic.

A misstep had earned them this pointless assignment on the edges of Frieza’s claim to the universe, and they were given three days to complete a full recon and report, not counting travel time. Peeved and annoyed with the gall Frieza had to assign them busy work, even Vegeta agreed that, after finishing up the assignment in just over a day, they could use the remainder of their second day to use as they saw fit and send the report in on the morning of their third day. For Raditz and Nappa, that typically meant booze, food, and fucking whoever would have them. For Vegeta, he would likely find a space to train at his leisure. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group of three or more men not break out into a fight over my sisters’ company. Unless you’re just not into women...I suppose I shouldn’t assume…”

Obsidian eyes finally slid over to the woman, and, in comparison to her siblings, he understood why she would not appeal to the masses as easily as her sisters. Shorter and more plainly dressed in a shabby-looking, moss green jacket (the bar blocked the rest of his view of her outfit), she appeared to prefer avoiding attention rather than grabbing it. Two, beaded braids framed her face while the rest of her tawny hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, the same braids appearing intermittently throughout. She lacked the nearing gaudy makeup her sisters donned, and freckles dotted her lightly sun-kissed cheeks and the bridge of her slightly misshapen nose. A preference for the outdoors, perhaps, if not natural. The long ears inherent of her race jutted out from the side of her face, and he noticed the rose color dusting their tips.

“Your sisters aren’t my type,” he said finally, in hopes of shutting her up. She seemed to be the type to talk more when nervous. If she didn’t continue to ramble, he could at least take some solace in the fact that her voice held a more mellow timbre than the near screech of her sisters’.  He picked up his drink and took a hearty gulp. Supposedly the strongest they had, but he knew he would need to drink these all day to even earn a buzz. 

He heard her hum and he thought she might take the hint and busy herself with cleaning the counter or glasses. Something other than making small talk with him. Wishful thinking.

“I would ask what your type is, then, but I’m going to assume you won’t answer that.” He offered her a grunt in response, though he couldn’t stop himself from casting her another glance, as if her unasked question reflexively piqued his curiosity to check if she fit such a bill (not that he really knew his type, anyway; he didn’t care to figure it out, but he always knew what wasn’t). The only features he would consider striking in her face were her eyes, an unusual shade of shimmering silver he could not recall ever witnessing. “You’re Frieza’s soldiers, right? You and your friends?”

He fixed her with a glare, insulted, but unsure of how to correct her first: the Prince of all Saiyans answered to no one unless he wanted to and he would never refer to Nappa or Raditz as a friend. However, in an attempt to avoid more pointless conversation and seem interested in talking to her, he replied with a growled, “Yes,” and drained his glass.

“So, you can fight, then?”

Vegeta slid the glass across the bar toward her--which she expertly caught, much to his surprise considering the suddenness and speed--and rose to his feet. A stupid question, and he was sure she knew it. He pulled the neck of his armor out to fish out his pay chip, intent on paying for his drink and making a hasty exit, and slapped it down on the bar.

The woman retrieved his chip, but made no immediate move to run it. “Um, this is going to sound like an odd question but would you spar with me? I need the practice…” Silver eyes darted to the tapping of his fingers on the wood, and she rushed to the terminal behind her. She returned and offered the chip back to him. However, when he reached out for it, she snatched it out of his reach. She didn’t flinch when he growled; she expected an answer.

The Saiyan prince lifted a hand to his scouter, but it hung in midair. A habit to check a prospective opponent’s power level. He lowered it again. His tongue wrapped around a haughty rejection, but held it firmly in his mouth. Such a strange request when none that he surveyed on the planet could touch even the lowliest of Frieza’s men, and most showed no signs of any fighting prowess besides. He doubted she was much different, but his boredom and curiosity convinced him to humor her. If she had the guts to challenge him, he could grant her the satisfaction of understanding just how grave her mistake was.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Her eyes widened; she obviously expected him to refuse. A show of sharp canines in an annoyed snarl reanimated her. She slapped the chip back into his waiting palm and darted toward a door off the bar, tearing the apron from her waist and shrugging out of her jacket as she went. Vegeta tucked his pay chip away as she shouted into the next room that she was going out. She slammed the door before whoever was behind it could protest and joined him on the other side of the bar. Unencumbered by the bar and her jacket, he saw that she wore a baggy pair of pants that matched her jacket in color and a pair of boots common in style on the planet. The white shirt turned out to be a tank top that clung to her body and bore a strip of her midriff, accentuating toned arms and abdomen. Heat rose in his cheeks when his mind registered that she was...shaplier in the chest area than the jacket allowed onlookers to guess. He turned on his heel quickly to preserve his pride and class.

“Great! I know a place not far from here. Nice and open and people don’t usually hang around there.” The woman followed him outside and, before he could ask if she could fly, her feet left the dust-riddled street and she took off. He huffed and flew after her, catching up with ease. She could use ki. That at least meant this spar might scratch the surface of interesting, at least. 

“I am surprised you can leave your bar unattended on a whim, even in a backwater town like that one. Is business truly that slow?”

“My parents will handle it,” she responded shortly, her attention set in front of her. “They own the place, anyway. They’re lucky I give enough of a shit about my sisters to stick around, help out, and protect them, and they know that. They sure as hell never do it. Besides, they probably think I’m off to earn money, anyway, so of course they’re not going to question it.”

Vegeta had his suspicions about the two women when they fluttered over to the trio upon entering. His icy demeanor spurned them immediately, but Nappa and Raditz welcomed their flirtations without qualm. He heard their whispers and the exchange of terms through their giggles; he had tagged along to enough brothels to understand their inner workings, no matter how low key and whether he participated or not. However, he could not recall any where parents pimped out their children. Such vile beings this universe hosted…

They touched down in an open field, the patches of green within the nearly dried up landscape the most he had seen in miles. “Do you plan to charge me for this spar then, woman?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. A slight smirk curled his lips. “Do you charge per punch landed? Extra for using ki?”

Her brows lowered and corners of her lips dipped downward as she stretched an arm over her chest. “You like to hear yourself talk after all, don’t you?” She snorted and switched limbs. “Obviously, I knock out or kill those who agree to spar with me and rob them blind. Requires much less calculation.”

He might have believed her if he hadn’t caught the quiver of her lips in a flash of a smile. “Ha! Well, I think you’ll find I’m much more difficult to take down. But, if you can, I’ll give you every bit of currency I have to my name.”

“Great, I’ve been eyeing a new pair of boots.” 

She sprang forward before the last word could register meaning in the Saiyan’s mind, punches and kicks flying in a flurry of speed he did not expect. He dodged them without issue, his arms remaining folded, and allowed his focus to gauge her skill level. Quick. Unpolished but confident and strong swings, suggesting she taught herself to some degree and had enough success. The ever lessening presence of her smirk further suggested the latter; she was not used to having this much trouble.

Finally, Vegeta allowed an easily dodged uppercut to connect with the underside of his chin, a test of her strength, how hard she could hit. His head snapped back, the point of contact smarting and his teeth ringing from the impact. He expected her to celebrate her small victory, but she proved him wrong. A sweep of her leg sent him skidding several feet from where he stood. He only just recovered before she attacked again. Fine, she proved clever enough. Though a piss poor strategy like wearing her opponent out wouldn’t work on him.

He ducked beneath a fist aimed for his face and caught her ankle as she attempted to follow up with a kick. He responded to her surprised gasp with a rumbling chuckle of his own. “Not bad. But I’m not just some urchin you picked a fight with off the street.”

Vegeta tugged the woman forward, taking advantage of her lack of balance, and sidestepped. He shoved and elbow hard into her spine and sent her sprawling face first into the dust. “Hmph, if that’s all you have to offer, fly home. I don’t waste time with weaklings.”

She pushed off her hands and twisted at the waist to shoot a wave of lavender ki straight for his face. He bent back to avoid it, the heat brushing past his face before he heard it explode in the cliff face behind them. His smirk widened when he found her back on her feet and charging him again. He dodged and blocked her blows once more, but he noted the significant boost in her speed and strength. Good, she was taking this seriously now. He had given her an immediate understanding of what kind of opponent she dealt with, and she rose with that challenge. Respectable, even if her power level only ranked among the middle levels of Frieza’s ranks.

Their spar continued on much the same way: Vegeta allowed her to punch, kick, and toss ki blasts his way to her heart’s content, then he would return a few blows and knock her away. Each time, she came back stronger, faster, more determined to level the playing field no matter how wide the gap between them or the blood and bruises on her body from his strikes. An admirable warrior in her own right. She impressed him, as far as the denizens of this doomed planet went.

As the daylight began to fade, the sky dyed various hues of burning orange, he noticed each time she fell, she took a few seconds longer to rise up again. Finally, a kick to her side sent her sailing sideways and skidding along the ground. Her body slammed into the bottom of the cliff, and she laid motionless for several seconds. Just when he thought he had knocked her unconscious or her body had finally given out, he heard her groan and flip over from her side to her back, a grin on her face.

“Alright, that’s it. I give in.” She forced herself to a sitting position, expression contorting in pain with every miniscule motion. “You win. But you knew you would this whole time, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” He cocked his head to either side, stretching the tendons in his neck. Their spar hadn’t been the most productive for him, but it hadn’t bored him either. A rarity, even with those meant to be on his skill level. “You surprised me. I would have never guessed anyone on this planet could even come close to the level you’ve achieved.”

She shifted to face him and swept her forearm over her face to rid it of sweat, blood, and grime. “It was actually a Saiyan that inspired me to learn to fight, even if I had to teach myself. I was little, but I watched a Saiyan woman fight off another of Frieza’s soldiers when he wouldn’t leave her alone. It was eye-opening when I was taught all along that women didn’t fight. Not respectable ones at least.” She shrugged a shoulder and rolled it for a stretch and Vegeta grunted; too many societies he had come into contact with believed similarly. He found it pathetic and ridiculous. “I couldn’t turn down the chance to fight one, to test myself. It’s been ages since I’ve seen another Saiyan…”

“That’s because we’re the last three.” The admission tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, and he scowled. He usually did not correct anyone ignorant of his people’s fate, kept his comments to himself when some merchant or whore wondered aloud about the last time they did business with a Saiyan. And yet, this woman had him yapping about something so personal without even trying. Must be the lack of food. When had he eaten last? That morning?

The woman’s face fell. “O-oh...I-I’m--”

“Save it.” Vegeta stomped over to her and stuck out his hand, the suddenness causing her to flinch back. She took it and he pulled her to her feet, a little rougher than he initially intended, though, if it bothered her, she said nothing. He released her hand. “Where is the best place for food here? Everything I’ve tried here tastes like molten garbage.”

“Well, there’s really not much left, as I’m sure you noticed.” She dusted herself off and pulled the strap of her tank top back into its proper place. “But...you’re welcome to stay at my place for the night. If you want. It’s quieter than the hotel, that’s for sure, more comfortable, too. Many of the rooms there haven’t been cleaned in quite a while, if you want the honest truth. My parents have yet to hire new help after skimping on paying the last batch of employees, my sisters refuse to help with that sort of work, and…”

She trailed off when she noticed his pointed look, how she hadn’t answered his question. She swallowed. “And I can cook. So you’ll get food, peace, and comfort. The offer’s open so take it if you want.”

Vegeta watched her take to the sky and mulled over the offer. With how she seemed determined to chat with him, he questioned the validity of her claim to quiet. The growl of his stomach voted in favor, proposing that almost anything could beat the trash he and his cohorts had wolfed down the day before. Comfort...his mind lingered on that word, twisting it into a more lewd definition. Images of her toned, nude body beneath him among a tangle of sheets, glistening in sweat as her moans filled the air…

White energy surrounded him and he shot into the sky after her. Fine. What did he have to lose anyway? Unless Frieza felt some sort of sentimental value toward this planet and those who roamed on it, she would likely be killed in the near future anyway. A shame, considering her potential. It was too bad there weren’t more like her. Enough to make her planet a worthwhile gem among the tyrant’s endless trove…

He wondered if she knew that...understood what his and his lackeys’ stay here likely meant for her and her home…

"We're getting married, Vegeta. That's final."

He swore the damn woman had an alarm on every door he frequented, from his bedroom in the guest wing to the gravity room. Perhaps on his bed, too, as he had just convinced himself to roll out of it, dress, and hole himself up in the gravity chamber to train until his body begged him to stop. He had just pulled the door open and there she stood, scowling and balancing her brat on her hip. The kid seemed unfazed by the aggravation in her voice, more intent on sucking his thumb.

Vegeta gripped the doorframe, the only thing to keep him from shoving her out of the way and continuing on his way. He had spent months away after Cell's defeat, once more a man lost and unsure of his purpose. His pride in tatters when even Kakarot's brat had surpassed him. Those days remained a blur in his memory as he worked through his rage until it fizzled out and he had nothing left to fuel him. Hollowed out, unfeeling, unmotivated. One moment he wanted to steal the woman's father's ship, blast off into space and challenge every powerful warrior he could find to validate his own strength. Take over the Cold empire as he was meant to. In the end, that all felt pointless. A set up for another string of unfortunate failures. Thus, he settled on the only thing that felt familiar, the only thing that brought even the remotest sense of contentment for him: training. Even if it meant suffering the woman and her worthless friends.

"Hello! Earth to Vegeta! Did you hear a word I said?" Bulma swapped the half asleep child to her other hip. "I know you decided to disappear on me and your child for months, but surely that didn't affect your hearing!"

He wished it had, her shrill shrieks unfriendly to sensitive ears and already threatening a pounding headache. "I heard you, woman," he growled, making to shove forward only for her to shift in front of him. Marriage to a weak Earth woman who could not even fight...he could hear his ancestors laughing in Hell. The only attributes she possessed he would consider remotely worthwhile were her decent looks and intellect when it came to technology. Nothing marriageable about her to a true Saiyan. Not to mention her obvious desire for Kakarot no matter how she tried to hide it. In his time there, he found Earth's ideals, especially those surrounding marriage and mating, starkly differed from those of Saiyans. And not for the better. They craved companionship and what they called love as the highest goals in their lives. They would set aside everything for it, change themselves for it, no matter how long or hard they worked to achieve whatever goals they had before. Saiyans rarely married, even his parents married as a mere show of power, the Saiyan King with their most powerful, accomplished, and terrifying general. They mated when they chose, and if a brat resulted from it, it didn't always mean they stuck around as a pair. Here he found, that was taboo. Unacceptable and improper.

"And just why do you think I would want to marry the likes of you?" he asked, hoping a thinly veiled insult would upset her and send her crying to her parents or that beta male she still fucked around with.

His words only deepened her glare and she stood her ground. "Are you kidding me?" She pointed at the brat, now babbling and tugging on the neckline of her shirt. "You knocked me up, you creep! It's the right thing to do, and you owe me and Trunks at least that!"

"Because you weren't throwing yourself at me the moment the damn Namek dragon sent us all back to Earth." He could insult her, belittle her, nearly kill her friends, treat her like utter trash and order her around like a damn servant day in and day out and she still flirted and tried to bed him. The meaner he was, the hornier it made her. Of course he caved eventually; he had needs, too. He hadn't even thought of impregnating her, his bestial instincts begging him for release in more carnal avenues and blinding him to the possibility in the moment. He stupidly forgot their races were even genetically compatible. She wanted to fuck, he needed release; the answer was simple at the time. "I don't owe you shit, woman, now get the hell out of my way before I force you out of the way."

"After I let you live, eat, and train here for free, you really think you don't owe me anything? I don't think you've ever even said thank you!" 

Vegeta rolled his eyes. He had had enough of her shit for another few months. He shoved forward only to be blocked again. His temper flared, hackles rising in warning. 

Bulma merely scoffed. "You need to man up, Vegeta. Own up to your 'mistakes'," she huffed and yanked a strand of her hair out of the child's clutches before he could stick it in his mouth. "I'm going to be straight with you since no one else--not even yourself--will. Your entitled, cocky prince act was cute at first, but it got old real quick. Your outbursts and temper tantrums are childish. Newsflash, Vegeta! You're not even a prince anymore! Your planet and people are gone, and the few left would never bow to you! You're not royalty, and no one will ever treat you like it! Get over it and stop acting like a baby. You have a child now, I'm going to be your wife, and you're going to learn to live here like a responsible, normal person!"

Had she spewed this drivel a few months, a few years ago, he might have blasted her where she stood for her disrespect. The emptiness inside him kept him from caring about her stupid opinions, her expectations of him, the grains of truth in her prattle. He did not care if she thought him a "real man." He did not even care that she insulted his title, his bloodline, or attacked a sensitive subject she could not begin to understand the gravity of. But the attack on his pride as a Saiyan, to order him to conform to her idealistic model of normalcy and perform the part of the happy husband and father, roles he didn't care to fill with the likes of her...that threatened to put her through the wall she stood in front of.

"That's rich coming from a spoiled brat like you," he snarled. She didn't know shit about him and she didn't try either. Why the hell would he want to bond himself with a woman like her? His dark eyes found her blue ones, the darkness in him bubbling to the surface. "Say one more word to me today and I'll rip your voice box from your throat."

This time, Bulma stepped back, her spine meeting the wall as she swallowed. He could smell her fear, no matter how little her stubborn frown wavered. He huffed and moved past her, stomping toward the glass doors at the end of the hall that would lead him onto the manicured lawn still drenched in the morning dew. 

"How typical! Hear something you don't like and you throw a fit! Solve all your problems with violence like the ape you are!"

Vegeta halted halfway to the door. Every muscle in his body tensed as a war for control raged inside him. His mind had converted Bulma's voice to Frieza's, the slur and similar ones echoing in his skull joined by the cruel laughter that often accompanied it. One fist slammed into the wall beside him while the other clutched his head. He had to move. Get out of that damn hallway and away from the damn woman. He could hear the brat screaming from somewhere far away, his mother trying to hush him and throwing another insult his way.

He willed his feet to walk. Once outside, he shot into the sky. Away from Capsule Corp. Away from the city. He would not suffer her shit another second that day.

Glass and bone crunched beneath his boot, fresh blood further staining once ivory leather. The screams and groans of pain had subsided, the only sounds around him the crackle of flames and the occasional whistle of the wind. The scent of death and burning flesh filled his nostrils, fueling the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. 

He kicked a corpse aside--a soldier, if the armor meant anything--and tapped the button on his scouter with bloodied fingertips to perform a scan of the area. See if any unlucky fools escaped his initial razing of the planet. He had the whole assignment to himself. Nappa had protested; the planet had been in rebellion for quite some time and housed unexpectedly powerful warriors in great numbers. How even the strongest warriors could fall when outnumbered. Vegeta ignored him and threatened to toss him out an airlock if he tried to follow without his say so. It would be a worthy test of his strength, an uninhibited and untethered display of his power, if the reports had any merit.

As it turned out, they didn’t. Not that he could see.

His scouter beeped three times as it picked up a reading, the yellow characters flashing on the red glass indicating it originated behind him. Close, weakened if ever strong. Attuned ears picked up the slow approach with one foot landing heavier on the pavement than the other, a poor attempt at stealth. One left. And here he thought he had been thorough…

“You damn monster,” the lone survivor croaked behind him. Vegeta opened his eyes enough to note the surge in his power level on his scouter, a light behind him lengthening his shadow. So, he would fight to his last breath.

The Saiyan turned on his heel to face his heckler, tongue lashing out to lick gore--his or someone else’s, he didn’t know or care--from his face. The local had definitely been caught in the crossfire, armor cracked and broken, his body littered with bruises and painted with blood. He put all his weight on his right leg, the left hanging limply beside it. He held a ball of ki in his hand, though the light guttered with the fading of his energy.

“How very original,” Vegeta drawled. Terrifying speed placed him directly in front of the dying soldier. He gripped his wrist and snapped it back in a sickening crack, sending the attack meant for him jetting into space. The man howled in pain, widening the smirk the Saiyan wore.

“Y-you’re no better than him...than Frieza!”

His smirk fell into a tight frown, and his grip tightened. “You’re right.” Vegeta raised his hand level with the soldier’s face. “I’m much, much worse.”

Vegeta fired the blast at Kakarot. Point-blank range and putting him on guard with no chance for immediate retaliation. He had to be if he wanted to protect all those people spectating in the stands behind him. He watched as the force behind the energy forced him back, back, back. Until he finally had to relent and fly out of its path. Yellow light soared into the crowd and exploded through the cement structure, a path of ruin left in its wake through the city beyond. Screams of terror and anguish filled the air, a symphony to the Saiyan’s ears.

Finally. Finally he would get what he wanted, what he craved for all these years: revenge. To best Kakarot and once and for all reclaim his rightful place as the most powerful Saiyan in existence. Babadi’s magic did no more than reach into the depths of his mind, his soul, and resurrect Vegeta. Tearing the man once feared the universe over, the savage and ruthless destroyer, from the shallow, unmarked grave he himself had shoved him into. For comfort. For ease. For conformity on this wretched planet. The fingers of the wizard’s black magic plucked the pesky attachments he developed from his mind like overzealous weeds. Vegeta, the Prince of all Saiyans was whole once more, beaten down pride and burning rage reignited and flaring hotter than any star.

They called his decision to succumb to Babidi’s mind control weakness. Slavery. No. The wizard had no more control of him than anyone else should have these past years. He felt more powerful than he ever had. He raised his hand again and shot another blast into the crowd. This. This was what he wanted. He would not let anyone or anything stand in the way of his battle with Kakarot. Not the Kai. Not Gohan. Not this Buu creature or Babidi. They settled this today. He would reclaim his honor, his destiny. 

He would stand in Kakarot’s shadow no longer.

Vegeta struggled against the powerful arms that restrained him, tail lashing in fury as he fought with fists, feet, and teeth against Frieza’s goons. He could hear Nappa bringing up the rear, pleading the young Saiyan’s case with Frieza: he was young and hadn’t learned to respect his betters, his mourning made him mouthier, that he would handle punishment himself and ensure it never happened again, anything other than locking him away like that, to lock him up in there instead. They both knew his words fell flat in the tyrant’s ears; Vegeta had finally crossed the line and told the emperor just what he thought of him and Frieza did not tolerate insubordination.

The soldiers tossed the young Saiyan to the back of the dark room. He roared and darted forward, only to collide with the cold metal of the door slamming in his face. He only just registered the pain it caused, already launching himself for the door again, intent on busting it open. He screamed and rammed into the door, bellowed for Nappa to let him out this instant. Deep down he knew his protests were swallowed by the darkness that encompassed him in the small space, but it didn’t stop him from yelling until his throat was raw. From bashing his full weight into the door until his small frame went numb.

Furious, he bounded back. Ki built in his palms and he shot every ounce of energy he had toward the door. The blast rebounded straight back and struck him in the chest. The force knocked the wind from his lungs and smashed him into the wall behind him. His body slid to the ground and he laid still. Limp, too weak to move.

It was too easy to lose track of time in that pitch black cell, and he did not know how long he lay there. Light filtered into the room as the door cracked open. Freedom! He willed himself to fly toward it as a tray with a paltry sum of food was set on the cold floor along with a glass of water. Vegeta nearly grasped the edge of the door but, once more, it slammed in his face and nearly took his fingers with it. He growled, his throat screeching in protest at the guttural sound. He felt along the edges of the door--or what he thought were the edges of the door--for any kind of hand hold. A way to grip it and force it open. Sealed tight, as expected. He kicked the tray into the wall in his stubborn frustration.

He counted six meals. Six failed attempts at escaping. Sometimes, he woke up from his slumber, and when he felt around the cell, he found the food waiting for him. Missed opportunities. The meals barely kept him alive and awarded him no energy. He slept more often than not, plagued by dreams of spending the rest of his life there. The deaths of his parents and people burning up in the wake of an exploding planet. Nappa and Raditz being tortured in his absence...He always woke up in a tighter ball after such nightmares, tail squeezing him in makeshift protection…

Light flared and burned his eyes, causing him to hiss and tuck his face into his chest and arms. Large hands slipped beneath him and scooped him up. His tail bristled in warning and his body stiffened, all senses on high alert. The restraints held fast, the familiar scent of the Saiyan general filling his nose and calming him. Nappa carried him out of the cell, and Vegeta buried his face in his armor, fighting the tears of anguish that threatened to fall.

Before long, he was deposited onto his bed. The young Saiyan prince squirmed beneath the blanket and faced the wall in his bunk, knees tucked to his chest. He heard Raditz shift above him but his light snoring remained uninterrupted. He held his blankets tight around him, clutching them like a lifeline and laid perfectly still. He still felt tired, drained, but his eyes remained wide open and set on the wall. He never knew he could miss a bed or a pillow so much. Or the sound of Raditz snoring. Or light.

After a long while, hours perhaps, he heard Nappa sigh; he had forgotten the general remained in the room at all. “I’m sorry, kiddo...so damn sorry.” He spoke in nearly a whisper, his typically strong and boisterous voice close to shaking. “I wish I could protect you like your parents wanted...like you deserve.”

Vegeta’s grip tightened on the blanket that failed to warm him. He felt cold. Always so cold. “Feeling sorry for yourself won’t do you any good, Nappa,” he mumbled, a half-hearted reprimand in comparison to his usual temper. He turned to face Nappa, staring him down with a blank expression and hollow eyes. “Mother, father...everyone else is dead. We survived, and we’ll keep doing it...no matter what it takes.”

He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’re the lucky ones.”

Upbeat dance music filtered up to the balcony on a light summer breeze to the balcony on the other side of Capsule Corp. where Vegeta had taken refuge from the ongoing celebration. No one noticed his exit, and he had no qualms with that. While most left him to his own devices, he tired of the idle conversation, the laughter and music. Thus, he snatched up a cooler of beer and took off to the other side of the building, settling in at a table on one of the balconies.

He tipped the bottle back and drained the rest of its contents. He threw it into the air, toward the setting sun, and blasted it into nothing. Since Majin Buu’s defeat, he felt as if he floated through space and time, a phantom going through the motions of a routine that felt more pointless by the day. Not even training held his interest long and, more often than not, he found himself flying around the planet aimlessly but pretending to have a purpose.

Kakarot had once more proven himself the better warrior and killed Buu. He swallowed his pride and accepted it, accepted the fact that he would forever be second place. In the moment, he thought acceptance would free him and perhaps it had at the time. But as time passed and he returned to life on Earth playing the role of husband for show and father and took up his training regimen...a weight bore down on him, growing heavier each day. He grew restless and craved direction, purpose. How long had he chased that dream of revenge? Of surpassing Kakarot and anyone else who challenged his birthright as the most powerful Saiyan--no, being--in existence? After losing Raditz and Nappa, being humiliated on Earth and Namek...he had clung to the only things he truly understood: rage, pride, and vengeance.

Vegeta reached down to fish out another beer from the icy confines of the cooler. He flicked the cap off with his thumb and pressed it to his lips, draining half the bottle in a single gulp. He considered the idea of taking the spaceship and wandering the universe that always lingered at the back of his mind. Search for warriors to train with, test his limits and break them and the monotony. The desire to conquer and claim what his father promised him had faded to a fever dream. He lacked the patience it required these days. As usual, he squashed the idea before it could spur him into action. 

Maybe someday he would find something that sparked the fire in him again, gave him purpose. Or he would spend the rest of his days in inanity, performing a part in a play he neither tried out for or wanted. Waiting for the next tragedy to befall the Earth or universe so he could feel alive for a day or two or until the threat was exterminated, likely by Kakarot. And then the cycle would repeat: he would train to get stronger, a new threat arises, Kakarot proves he’s more powerful. Maddening. Unfulfilling. Reality.

He let his head fall back and watched the whisps of clouds lazily sail through the darkening sky. What had Frieza told him when he found out about the destruction of his planet and people? That he was one of the lucky ones. Lucky...by Earthling standards, many had told him that for one reason or another: you have a hot, rich “wife” and don’t need to work, a place to live and food to eat, a healthy son, the fact that he was alive to live the next day. Nothing that truly mattered to him; an ideal Earth life did not appeal to his Saiyan warrior mentality. In fact, he could not think of a single moment in his life where he would consider himself lucky, even with Frieza dead and unable to be the source of his despair. 

Raised voices and laughter from inside shifted his attention to the glass doors. Kakarot had finally showed up. His friends surrounded him like flies on shit, grinning and laughing with the buffoon like he had been there all day. Even his shrew of a wife who had complained about his absence all afternoon to anyone who would listen smiled in welcome. Kakarot...the damn bastard. He drank the last of his beer and stood up. 

Vegeta had lost everything else--his title, his race, his birthright--but, as he stared down his longtime rival from behind a pane of glass, he knew he could cling to one, single truth: he was a warrior. Always would be. And he would never stop pushing and breaking his limits his way. 

[scenariosofkonoha]

Hi! Could i get HC for kakashi falling for his s/o? Like, dealing with the whole “im scared to get close to you but im definitely feeling something” also how long it would take before he would ask her out? How would he do it? How would people find out and react to him having a girlfriend? Non-shinobi s/o please! Thanks and ily!!

Hello again colors! I’m really happy you came back with another ask. So…I’m not 100% with this one. I hope I answered it correctly and hope you like it! * nervous finger taps* ~ Admin Little Lace 🎀

“You’re distracted,” she said after taking a sip of her tea. Looking over to his dazed look, she placed her cup down on the windowsill. Moving slowly enough to not startled him, she touched his hand. The feel of her skin on his broke him out of his thoughts, his uncovered eye blinking toward her. “Welcome back,” she joked smiling. “What has you thinking so hard?”

‘That I’m in love with you but that’s probably not a good idea.’ he thought, “Oh nothing,” he answered.

Kakashi Hatake is not one for love at first sight. One cannot simply fall in love with someone they had never spoken to. It had nothing to do with beauty, lots of people were beautiful. It had nothing to do with kindness, though honestly rare nowadays. It didn’t even have anything to do with conversational skills.

No, if the Copy-nin was going to fall in love with anyone it would not happen that quickly or superficially.

This was why falling in love with her had taken him by surprise. When he had met her, he had not believed he would feel anything for her. The girl that was walking out in the middle of a rainstorm as if the drops hadn’t bothered her at all.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” he said from underneath the awning. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to tell her this. She looked old enough to know better.He also wasn’t sure if he was expecting her to reply to him. But when he felt a presence from behind his book, he closed in to look at her. Hair soaking wet and kimono clinging to her. But she wasn’t looking at him, her eyes were trained to the book. “Hm.” She answered before turning her back to him. As if feeling his question gaze, she answered.“Perverts shouldn’t tell others what to do,” with that she marched off leaving him a little stunned.

She was a strange girl. Maybe that is why he fell in love with her? He had seen her a few times throughout the Leaf. Her family owned a textile shop. The girl would often be out for deliveries, cheerfully handing off parcels to civilians and shinobi alike. When he saw her again, she was not as cheerful.

“Achoo!” her body convulsed as she sneezed. Her steps a bit staggered as she entered the shop.“Hm.” he retorted standing in the door way. The ‘holier than thou’ look she had once given him, didn’t have the same effect with a dripping nose.“Coming to say I-” her sentence staggered by a sniffle, “told you so?” Wordlessly, he walked up to her and, as if by magic, produced a handkerchief. “Perverts shouldn’t tell others what to do,”he parroted, handing her the cloth. The pale-haired man had expected her to blush, look at least some what abashed. But the challenge in her eye did something to him.

That had been the look for him to keep his distance. The sign that he should get no closer. Like a snake’s rattle or bright colors on a poisonous animal. Attachments did not bode well for him in the past, surely he didn’t want to engage in any now.

You see, he continued to tell himself that. Honestly, not wanting to go anywhere near her, lest he have that feeling again. But it was awfully hard to keep to this self-rule when his work commute now just so happened to pass by her family’s shop. Near every day on his way to the ANBU building, he saw her. The open front window giving both a view of one another. Near everyday he would give her a pleasant look, and near everyday it was returned with a roll of her eyes and a reluctant smile.

Kakashi could concede such a little interaction, if was just a look it wasn’t so bad. That is until he received his handkerchief back. The white cloth folded in with the repaired ANBU uniforms. Being a shinobi taught him not to believe in coincidences, so it had to be her. His thoughts were confirmed when in the corner there was a little Henohenomoheji embroidered into it.

He could have left it there, he really could have. There was no need to see her to confirm anything further. But he had gone against his self rule and went to see her any way.

“You know my name but I don’t know yours,” he said one evening. She gave her little challenging smile.

From that point on he had stopped into see her. Short visits, or helping her by bringing in the repaired ANBU uniforms. They spoke, the conversations growing in length with each visit. Each as snarky as the last

“And how do you think they get repaired Kakashi? And if you say repair no jutsu I swear.” His hidden smile, as if daring himself to say it, only served to irritate her more. Point 1 for him.

His evening visits grew to her offering him tea.

“I can give you a straw to shove up your mask.” Point 1 for her.

She had slowly became a fixture in his life, a greeting in the morning, a cup of tea in the evening. When he went away, she was the first person he told, when he returned, she was the first to know. The ninken had even gotten to know her. How close they had gotten, he hadn’t known until she had made them clothes.

“Aren’t they the best?” she asked holding up Pakkun to show off her work. Kakashi was a little shocked to see the smallest of his pack dressed in little blue sweater, his name stitched into the back. The ninja dog’s usually grumpy face soften a bit. A shrug of his tiny shoulders told his partner ‘this wasn’t so bad’.

But all of these moments shared with her had culminated into the feelings he had as he looked at her now. All these months later, as they sat on the window seat in her home above the shop, he fallen in love with her. The thing he had tried hard to avoid. That is to say, falling in love with her wasn’t bad, he had to admit it was the most freeing feeling he had had in a long time.

No, it was the attachment he had work to steer clear off…or so he thought. He was already too close to her. At this point, he had just given in.

“We should get Ichiraku,” he suggested shrugging. The girl looked up from her mending raising a brow.“Oh, and how do you intend to eat that?” her expression giving the challenge he loved.“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

This was how the elite shinobi asked her out. Much like everything else they did, it was challenge. Much like the challenge of her watching him in hopes to see him remove his mask to eat. He had successfully avoided her seeing him this way, and enjoyed her pout each time she missed her chance. It led to him asking her out many more times.

Now she isn’t stupid, she’s noticing the trend but she doesn’t say anything. Through all the laughing, joking and sassy comments, she knows he is still healing. She’s heard the stories that the village gossips share. The seamstress is just allowing him to tell to her in his own time. Because of this it is no surprise how he makes things official.

“Welcome home,” “Good to be home,” they customarily greeted one another as she closed up the shop for the evening.“You look tired,” he rested his head against the door frame. A sigh agreeing to her statement.“Captain, if you think I’m going to do your paper work again you-” both heads turned to see a brown haired shinobi join them. The man stopped in his tracks as the girl came into view from behind his captain. “Oh,” Tenzo, never seeing his fellow ANBU with a woman, wasn’t sure how to process the information. “Hello,”“Hi,” she responded amused at the man’s experience.“Sorry about that Tenzo,” the man’s captain shrugged not looking sorry at all. “I was just about to take my girlfriend out to dinner, you don’t mind taking care of it do you?” he’s smooth tone followed his gestures as he took her hand and walked her down the street.“Nice meeting you!” She called to the confused looking man. She then turned her scrutiny to her companion. “girlfriend huh?”Kakashi gave another shrug. “Why not?” “I would have liked to be asked.”“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”“I’ll think about it,”

From that point on he just assumes she has accepts they are together and moves on. Poor Tenzo doesn’t know what to say. Not sure if he was playing a joke or if his commanding officer was serious. Because of this he doesn’t tell anyone. He genuinely doesn’t want to be the butt of some joke.

His vice-captains turmoil aside, his other friends are aware of her but aren’t sure what to call the girl the once isolated shinobi spends his time with. Asuma and Kurenai have a feeling but since their former classmate isn’t saying heads or tails, a running bet starts between them.

Gai is oblivious. He has seen the girl more than once. (he and his father got those green suits from somewhere…) But not at the same time as Kakashi and if he has he acknowledges the girl before putting all his attention to his rival. The man never putting two and two together.

Just like everything else in their relationship, being public takes time. It doesn’t really matter to him as most of his life is private anyway. With the added fact that she isn’t pushing him, he will keep it this way forever. Or so he thought. Naruto is the one that finds out.

“Who are you?” he asks squatting on her shop counter squinting at her.“Annoyed, and you?” While the boy goes through spiel about how he is Naruto Uzumaki and how he is going to be Hokage Kakashi walks through the door.“I’m-” he stops seeing the boy, who is now standing and yelling believe it. Her face gives him two options, either he can grab the child or suffer the consequences. The man returns her challenging look, before trying to back out of the door. Challenge accepted.“Welcome home my darling!”

2.5 seconds. 2.5 seconds is how long it takes the whisker-marked child to run out of the store yelling for the rest of team to tell them Kakashi-sensei is married. Thus alerting the who village of this as well.

“You should tell him,” his partner said that night as they had tea in the home they now shared home.“It’s best we don’t make him a liar.”“Is that a proposal?”“Possibly.”“Then I possibly accept.”

As the news spreads, thanks to Naruto’s loud voice, the response is generally positive. While team 7 goes out on higher ranked missions, she receives visits from his friends. Each other them well wishing, and gently threaten some sort of harm if she hurts him.

Except for Gai, that man cries while he hugs her, proceeding to say how wonderful she is and she should take care of his rival. Trying hard not to find his enthusiasm amusing, she just pats his back. The exuberant Jonin is her favorite.

With all these visits, she never tells Kakashi. It is a little bit of a circus but she strives to make him more comfortable with most of the village knowing his business.

Not that the village knowing changes very much. They still act the same around each other. Save for now she has his team meet in the shop, therefore the man has no excuse for being late for missions. At this little move, he changes all the labels around in her sewing room.

For years to come the challenge and try one another, being the same people they were when they met in the rain.

“What has you thinking so hard?” she had asked him again, the question familiar as they shared tea in the Hokage’s office. This time he gave her an answer.

“I love you,” Kakashi said, his admission getting his wife to smile.

“I know,”

“You can at least say it back.”

“Perverts shouldn’t tell others what to do,” she smirked as she peered at him over a volume of Icha Icha Paradise. He gave a long suffering sigh. “I love you too husband.” her soft admission brought a smile to his mask-less face.

[maknaesdancersrappers]

Warm (14/16)

prologue

cotton, wind, blow, blouse.

hair, flower, aroma, scent.

cold, eyes, ice, dive.

touch, warm, melt, lips.

a/n: i cried writing this one

-

You’ve noticed ever since your 7th anniversary, Taeyong has been distant and jittery around you. It started with him blankly staring at you when you would tell him about your day and it would take a few calls of his name for him to snap out of it. Next, he would always come home late, either from working overtime or hanging out with Johnny ever since he moved back to Seoul from Chicago.

When you consulted your best friend, she said it might be the infamous ‘7-year itch’ that happens between couples; when the relationship starts to recede. You argued that it can’t be because he’s always just as passionate and enthusiastic when you two would fool around in bed.

“Well, maybe he just wants sex. You two are still unbelievably celibate.” She scoffs and under her breath she grumbles, “I still think his pepper is an inch.”

You scold her when you caught what she said, shoving her shoulder.

“Then he’s probably cheating on you! Like, are you sure he’s really working overtime or meeting Johnny?”

You frown at her suggestion, “It’s not like him to lie.”

“Remember that little incident with what’s-her-face and wanting to have him ‘study each other’s anatomy’ back in senior high?”

That left an unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach and it stayed there until you got back home where Taeyong was browsing through the usual stack of papers he brings home from work in the living room.

He looks up from the file he was holding, his eyes a little red and the bags under them were darker than usual. “Oh, hey.” He briefly stands up to kiss your cheek before plopping back down on the couch. “Have you eaten? I made some beef stew.”

“I’m still full… Aren’t you going to bed yet?”

“I will in a while. I’ll just sort these out.”

You nod and get ready for bed, trying to forget the suggestions your best friend had mentioned earlier.

Taeyong clambers onto the bed just a few minutes after you settle in and as he was about to scoop you into his arms and warm you up from the cold airconditioning, his phone rings. He mumbles an apology when he sees your dismayed expression before getting up and answering his phone.

“Why are you calling? Ya! I’m thinking it through, wait, I’m in the same room as her.” He says into his phone in a hushed tone, thinking you didn’t hear him as he slips out the room.

Your chest tightens, thinking what through? And why did it matter that you were in the room.

“Maybe he’s cheating on you.” Your friend’s words echo in your head.

You fell asleep before Taeyong came back to bed and when you woke up the next morning, he was gone already. He left a note by the breakfast he made you, telling you he had to go work early, and you can tell he was in a rush because of his handwriting.

As you dusted your face with setting powder, your gaze lands on the small jewelry box Taeyong had gotten you for your birthday 2 years ago. You haven’t been wearing any of your jewelry since you only used them for night outs or formal events, but today you felt like wearing at least one of them. Upon opening the navy faux leather box, it was a mess of tangled chains of necklaces and bracelets on one side and neatly arranged rows of your earrings where rings are supposed to be. You see the rose pendant he had gotten you before and untangle it from the others. On the leaves, it had his initials and since you felt so distant with him the past weeks, you decided to wear it.

But it had still bothered you all morning about Taeyong’s actions and your friend’s words still haunted the back of your mind. You hated it that it made sense in your head, but you refused to believe any of it. You were so out of it during work that your boss had advised you to take the rest of the day off.

You barely worked in the morning, yet the second you got to your apartment, fatigue started to set in. Without another thought, you open the door and toe off your shoes on the mat. You thought you were seeing things, but you see Taeyong’s loafers--the one he wears to work--on the mat, and what made you feel ten times worse were the black pumps beside it.

“Taeyong?!” You didn’t mean to actually screech, but when you hear more than one hurried footsteps inside the living room, you repeat yourself and stomp towards the noise.

“[Y/N]!” Taeyong awkwardly stands in the middle of the living room, hands behind his back and looking flustered. “W-what are you doing home so early? Are you sick? Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” You scoff, “Are you okay? What are you doing home so early?”

“I, uh, forgot some papers.”

“Oh, did you?” He nods his head at your question. “Did you bring a co-worker with you, huh?”

His eyebrows furrowed together and as if a lightbulb went off in his head, his eyes widened. “Uhm, I--”

“Where is she?” You demand as you looked around the room. When you feel his hand on your shoulder, you push him off and glare at him with wet eyes. “Are you cheating on me?”

“No! You know I would never even think of that!”

“Then whose heels are on the mat?”

“Miyoung’s!”

You and Taeyong had never screamed at each other like this.

“Who the hell is that?!”

“Johnny’s girlfriend!”

And as if on cue, the front door shuts and Johnny’s voice booms, “Hey, Taeyong, the flower shop only had peach roses, [Y/N] is fine with that, right--oh…” He walks into view with a three large bouquets of the roses he was just talking about. “A-am I late?”

On the corner of your vision, you see Taeyong shake his head while covering his face with a hand.

“Late for what?” You asked, calming down a bit.

Suddenly, a girl runs out from the laundry room and went straight for Johnny. She looks at you with a tight smile. “Hi, uhm, I wish we met on better circumstances, but I think it’s best that Johnny and I leave. Let’s go, hun.”

“Wait, what’s happening?” Johnny looks at her and back at Taeyong, but she hushes him.

“Hush, Taeyong can handle this.” She says, glancing at him and gives him a thumbs up, mouthing “You got this.”

When they left, you turn to Taeyong and wait for him to explain.

“Uhm, do you want to sit down first?”

“No, I’m good standing up.”

He sighs, “Okay. Uhm…” His eyes fall on your neck, making him reach out and touch the necklace you wore. “You haven’t worn this in a while.”

“Don’t change the topic. What the hell is happening?” You snap at him and he offers you an apologetic smile.

“When I bought this, the store also had these rings; really expensive rings. And I knew I didn’t have the money to buy them so I didn’t think much of it until I saw this one particular ring. I immediately thought of you and I don’t know why I did, but when the lady who sold me this necklace offered to reserve the ring for at most 3 months, I took it.” He pauses to swallow. “After I gave you this necklace, I started working different part time jobs so I can save up for the ring. I didn’t even have enough when the 3 months were up, but my mom lent me the money because she knows how much I wanted it for you-- how much I love you.”

Taeyong pulls out a square box from his back pocket and you recognize the packaging as the same one that came with the necklace from years ago. “So I’ve had this for 4 years because I didn’t know when to give it you; I kept waiting for the right time, and if you came home a little later, I could have given it to you like I planned.”

You stare up at him, “But, we already celebrated our anniversary… w-what’s with today that you have to ask Johnny and his girlfriend for help?”

He inhales deeply, closing his eyes as he slowly exhales. With one last breath, he gets on one knee and holds your hand, gazing into your eyes.

“I swear to God, I had a whole spiel to tell you, but you came too early and now I can’t remember most of it.” He chuckles, “And I feel like I should apologize for taking so long to do this, but [Y/N], you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re patient and understanding with me, you know how to put up with me, and I’m--I’m me because of you. I loved you for 7 years and I promise to love you even more for the next years to come,” He opens up the square box and reveals the most elegant ring you’ve ever seen. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t even realize that you had held your breath or that you’ve began crying until you attempted to answer him. “Wait, I just feel so stupid for thinking that you were cheating on me.”

He shushes, vehemently shaking his head. “No, no, it’s okay. Please answer me, baby. One word, yes or no. And whatever it is, I’ll accept it.”

You choke back your tears at the thought of him understanding if you reject his proposal, “Of course, it’s a yes!” You pull him up from the floor and throw your arms around his shoulders.

He hugs you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and you feel it: the warmth of his body that you missed so much; the warmth that made you feel that you were home.

“Is this really happening?”

He laughs, breaking the hug off to put the ring on your finger. “Why? Are you having second thoughts?”

“No!” You cry, briefly admiring the ring before returning your attention on Taeyong, who wipes your tears with his thumb, “Never.”

-

a/n:  i will always cry while writing marriage proposals bc its the only time i allow myself to be so cheesy and im so soft rn it didnt help that taeyong had apple hair for inkigayo :c

this is still open  (u kno if anyone else is interested in getting to know me)

follow me on twitter? @ohyesjaehyun

[cyrusgoodboye]

(1) I have so many prompts 😩 how about a supportive bf Cyrus at one of TJ’s basketball games

His Biggest Fan - a Tyrus fanfiction

I’m shook, I actually wrote this relatively fast (which I know you sent this in a long time ago but I just started working on it).  Hope you enjoyed this (I also hope no one minds that I kept with this basketball theme, whoops).  And let’s all collectively hope that I actually got this basketball lingo right, and if not then you can all laugh at me.  Anyway, on with the story:

“Whoo!” Cyrus cheered from the stands, clapping incessantly.  “Go T.J. and Buffy!”

Andi cringed at her best friend’s exceptionally loud volume.  How could a boy so small cheer so loudly?  “Cyrus, do you have to be so loud?” she exclaimed, shrinking away from him.

Cyrus smiled at Andi sheepishly, and he lowered his voice a fraction in order to appease her.  “Sorry.  You know I love it when they score a touchdown!”

“It’s a basket,” Andi corrected.  She drew her eyebrows together, pausing as she second-guessed her own correction.  “I think?”

The two friends were currently gracing the gymnasium with their presence, just like they did with every other Jefferson Middle School basketball game.  Neither of them were ever exactly sure what was going on, but they were always there to support Buffy, and, more recently, T.J., so understanding the game wasn’t usually their top priority.

“Really?” Cyrus asked in confusion.  He shook his head exasperatedly, and he scrunched up his face as he whined.  “I can’t keep up with all of these sports terms!”

Andi laughed.  “Don’t worry, no one’s asking you to,” she assured him.  Andi turned her attention back to the game with a twist of her head.  As her eyes focused on what was unfolding in front of her, she frowned and squinted uncertainly.  “Is there a break?”  

Cyrus followed her line of sight, where each separate team had gathered on the opposite sides of the room, staying within their own group.  He searched for the ones clad in the blue-and-white uniforms, and he saw them all pat each other on the back supportively as they wiped the beads of sweat from their brows.  “Is this the intermission?” he asked in confusion, tilting his voice up on the last syllable.

Andi shook her head at him.  “No, Cyrus, they only have intermissions during plays,” she said, typing rapid, slurred keys on her phone (with probably a few typos in the search engine bar).  After a few seconds, she hummed in understanding.  “It’s actually the game’s ‘halftime,’ like their halftime show,” Andi elaborated, clicking her phone off and stuffing it back inside her jacket pocket.

“Oh, okay.”  He only ever watched the halftime show on the Super Bowl.   Why watch football when you could watch Lady Gaga’s spectacular rendition of her own greatest hits?  “We really need to go outdoors more.”  

They both exchanged a glance before bursting out into laughter.  Like that was going to happen.

As the halftime show commenced, Cyrus examined the court once more, his eyes sweeping over Jefferson’s players, and he found T.J. skimming his eyes over the crowd in concentration as well.  When their eyes finally connected over the vast crowd, Cyrus waved excitedly at his boyfriend (his boyfriend!  It was still so exhilarating to say) from the bleachers that were overlooking the gym.

T.J. beamed back from his spot on the court, blushing bashfully, and Cyrus smiled in return.  “Do you think we should start chanting with our posters for the second half of the game?” he asked Andi, keeping a light gaze on T.J. as he spoke.

Andi shrugged.  “Why not?”  

After the cheerleader’s impossibly complex cheer routine (how did they bend that way?), Andi and Cyrus each held up a sign, one for Buffy and the other for T.J..

“Clever!” Andi remarked on the poster Cyrus’s holding up: T.J. KIPPEN IS ALWAYS DRIBBLIN’!

Cyrus grinned, proud of his poster.  It was decorated with bold, black letters, and the ‘i’s were even dotted with tiny little basketballs.  “Thanks!  I had to ask T.J. to make sure that dribbling was a good thing, and then he went into a long spiel about basketball that I didn’t understand at all,” he told her, his brow furrowed together.  He then smiled at the memory; he hadn’t exactly grasped what T.J. had been getting at, but it was still cute to see him ramble about something that he so obviously cared about.  “So I’m pretty sure it’s right.”

Andi snorted.  “Even I know what dribbling is, Cyrus,” she said, holding up the other poster for Buffy.  YOU CAN’T OUTUFF THE BUFF’!

“Hey,” Cyrus defended himself lightly, “we all have our strengths and weaknesses,” he pointed out in a teasing manner.  Andi smiled and gave a gentle shake of her head in response.

As the game started back up again, the two friends started cheering for Buffy and T.J. again, both of them wishing the best for their friends.  Ever since Cyrus and T.J. had gotten together, Buffy and T.J. had (to everyone’s immediate surprise) been getting along, and T.J. now willingly passed her the ball multiple times a game if he had the chance.  Whether the two actually enjoyed each other’s company or were just doing it for Cyrus’s sake, Cyrus was grateful.  He didn’t know what he’d do if his boyfriend (he grinned as he thought of the word; he didn’t think the effect the word had on him would ever wear off) and best friend despised each other.  

Jefferson snatched the ball from their green-and-white enemies, and Buffy dribbled strategically away from the defense.  She stealthily maneuvered herself out of the grasp of the Knights, but more and more of the players began to surround her, reminding Cyrus of how gnats surrounded a piece of spoiled fruit.  They were unrelenting.

Buffy glanced towards T.J. helplessly, and Cyrus could practically see the conflict in her eyes.  Should she try to make the shot herself, or should she try and give T.J. a try?

“Come on, Buffy,” Cyrus whispered desperately under his breath.  Buffy was one of the most athletically inclined people he had ever met, but sometimes she needed to trust and rely on her teammates.  While being confident in your skills isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Buffy could be too sure of herself at times, and it got her into trouble.

Finally, after Buffy could no longer fight off the Knights’ defense by herself, she wildly hurled the ball to T.J., her last alternative, in desperation, and he caught it with ease.  He dribbled the ball against the gym floor swiftly, but, as he jumped up to make a two-pointer from his side angle, a Knights player swiped the bright orange ball from T.J.’s hands, knocking him down in the process with a sickening thud.  

Cyrus gasped at the action, standing up in shock as the entire gymnasium held bated breath.  In the distance, the whistle that normally hung around the coach’s neck was brought to Coach Anderson’s lips, causing a sharp hiss to echo throughout the gymnasium.  The referee then turned to the anxious crowd and made a ‘T’ with his hands, and Cyrus felt a hand land softly upon his shoulder as his stomach whirled.  “Does that mean a timeout?

Cyrus couldn’t even answer; his mind was too busy reeling with worry for T.J..  What if he was hurt?  Or worse, dead?  His eyes darted around wildly in panic, hungrily searching for any shred of evidence that T.J. was okay, but he found none as Jefferson’s coach and the referee were both blocking the view of the basketball player.  Why wouldn’t the referee and coach just move?

“I’m going down there,” Cyrus said, determined.

Andi’s eyebrows drew together.  “Cyrus, I’m not sure if you can do tha—”

“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” Cyrus assured her, trying to ignore the frenzy going on in his belly.  Cyrus snatched the towel he had brought (you’d be surprised by how much basketball players sweat!) just in case and some extra supplies before he descended down the steps, making sure to apologize to anyone he bumped into.  Once he finally hopped down onto the outskirts of the court, right next to the team huddle, he caught Buffy’s eye.

“Is he hurt?” Cyrus asked worriedly, a nauseated feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.  He hoped that she would reassure him; he did tend to imagine the worst things possible without her and Andi’s redirection.

Buffy shook her head frantically, shrugging as her hand came to comb back some loose tendrils that were obstructing her view.  “I don’t know.  They won’t let me over there!” she said, her arms crossed in annoyance.  Cyrus raised his eyebrows in surprise; maybe Buffy actually cared about T.J. more than he’d thought.

Cyrus opened his mouth to answer her, but the coach’s piercing whistle was blown again, shaking him from his train of thought.  As T.J. hobbled his way over to his teammates (plus Cyrus) with the help of Jefferson’s coach, he tried to give Cyrus one of his famous, sweet grins, but a sharp wince was drawn from his lips instead.  

“Ouch,” T.J. scowled as the coach eased him down onto the front row, the referee setting a chair by his feet.  He turned toward Cyrus, a slight grimace on his face.  “That guy made me twist my ankle,” he explained, and Cyrus let out a sigh of relief.  He’s not dying, he told himself.  Cyrus breathed deeply as if to get rid of any  leftover tension in his body.  What worrying could do to a person!

Coach Anderson cast T.J. an apologetic look, but it was soon replaced with a stern expression.  “Driscoll, you’re filling in for Kippen,” he informed as T.J.’s carefully propped his leg on the chair in front of him.

Buffy looked shocked, albeit pleased.  She glanced towards T.J., expecting him to be furious.

“Go ahead,” he told her, a mock tone of exasperation lining his voice.  The mirth dancing in his eyes gave him away.  “I know you’re dying to.”

Buffy smirked.  “I was going to accept whether you were happy about it or not,” she told him.  She turned to the coach, her demeanor changing from being smug to ecstatic within seconds.  “Thank you so much, Coach!” Buffy said, not bothering to hide her enthrallment.  “I won’t let you down.”

Coach Anderson nodded once, seeming impatient as the delay of the game drew on longer.  “I wasn’t expecting you to.  Now, go! We need to continue this game!”

Buffy bobbed her head eagerly, racing back onto the court with the rest of her teammates.  Cyrus sat down next to T.J., careful not to bump into his injured foot, and smiled at his best friend happily as he watched her give orders to her teammates.  “Thank you.”

T.J. glanced at him, and a soft smile grew on his face as he studied Cyrus’s face.  He raised his eyebrows at his boyfriend.  “What for?”

Cyrus cautiously shuffled closer, tugging the towel he had draped around his neck and bringing it to T.J.’s forehead.  There were probably a million eyes on them, but Cyrus’s tried not to care, instead trying to focus on wiping away the moisture from T.J.’s brow.  “For trying to get along with Buffy.”  

T.J. shrugged.  “She’s actually bearable,” he admitted.  “Getting along with her isn’t as hard as I thought.”

The corners of Cyrus’s mouth tugged upwards. “I’m glad.”  After wiping the beads of sweat from T.J.’s temple, Cyrus lowered the towel, carefully folding it and setting it aside.  “I brought you some water,” he offered, handing a bottle to T.J..

T.J. grinned lazily, but he winced when he leaned forward to grab it.  “Thanks,” he said, brushing over Cyrus’s hand so subtly that no one else but them would be able to catch it.  He gripped the bottle, gulping down its contents before wiping his mouth contently.  “Thanks for cheering for me,” he mumbled into Cyrus’s ear, casting a shiver down the boy’s back.

Cyrus shook the feeling off, and tried for a wide smile.  “Would you expect anything less from your biggest fan?”

T.J. shook his head.  “Of course I wouldn’t.”  He scooted over as well as he could manage, bringing him and Cyrus side-to-side, and Cyrus had to hide his smile.  He’s sly, I’ll give him that, Cyrus thought to himself.  As T.J. casually slung an arm around Cyrus’s shoulders (Cyrus noted that that was sly, too), he turned his attention towards the game.  “Looks like Buffy’s managing pretty well,” T.J. observed aloud, gesturing towards the court with a dip of his head.  

Cyrus glanced in the direction T.J. had signaled to, and a proud feeling bloomed in his chest at the sight.  Buffy had just made a shot with the basketball, and her teammates patting her encouragingly on the back after her amazing toss into the basket.  “And you said she wouldn’t make the team,” Cyrus teased.

T.J. sighed.  “I was wrong,” he admitted, glancing at Cyrus.  His hand absentmindedly reached up, brushing against the nape of Cyrus’s neck, and Cyrus blushed in response.  “Don’t tell Buffy that, though,” T.J. added as an afterthought.

Cyrus laughed, and the two kept a steady gaze, causing a ripple of butterflies in Cyrus’s stomach to flutter.  I love his eyes, Cyrus noted dreamily.  And his smile, and his hair, and his mouth…

A wave of cheers erupted from the stands, breaking the two boys from their stare; Buffy had made another shot for Jefferson.  

Cyrus’s gaze flitted back over to the court, and he gave a slightly delayed response to Buffy’s basket.  “Go Buffy!”  He noticed T.J.’s amused expression, and he grinned.  “What?  I can still manage to cheer for her without my posters.”

T.J. just shook his head with a slight grin on his face.  His boyfriend could be so adorable.  “I know, I know.”

For the rest of the game, Cyrus asked T.J. questions about the sport that he wasn’t for sure on (the list included “What does a shooting guard do?” and “Why doesn’t the basketball team wear better uniforms?”), all to which T.J. responded to almost automatically, and Cyrus was glad that the boy was humoring him.  

After Buffy made the winning shot for Jefferson (Cyrus’s voice was still hoarse from the shouting that had induced), Cyrus aided T.J., wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s torso while T.J. slung his arm around his shoulders.  The two walked as seamlessly as they could manage, but, with Cyrus controlling both of their movements, it didn’t end up so well.

“Ow, ow,” T.J. winced as Cyrus tripped over the threshold, and Cyrus paused by the wall.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he apologized, rubbing a hand over his flushed face.  Luckily, before he started to move again, an elated Buffy found them, nearly squealing with excitement.

“We won!” Buffy exclaimed, throwing her arms around Cyrus.  She accidentally hit T.J. in the process, and he grimaced at the action but didn’t say anything.

“I know, I’m so proud of you!” Cyrus said, just as enthused as she was.  “Did you hear me cheering for you?”

Buffy raised an eyebrow incredulously.  “Hear you?  Cyrus, you were the loudest one out there! Of course I heard you.”

Cyrus smiled.  “Thanks, I try.”  He glanced over at T.J., who had an amused expression adorning his face at the two’s exchange.

Buffy’s gaze shifted to T.J., and she had a smug smile on her face.  “I did good, didn’t I?”

“I don’t know about that,” T.J. protested, but he grinned, showing that he was joking.  “Nice job, Driscoll.  Don’t get used to being captain.”

Buffy said cockily, “I’ll be taking over soon enough.”  As she spoke, the scanned the two boys questioningly.  “Do you need help?  I don’t think Cyrus can manage to walk you out by himself.”

Cyrus heaved a sigh of relief.  “Yes, please!”  

Buffy laughed giddily, the last few moments of the game still ticking behind her eyelids, and she took over T.J.’s other side.  Fortunately, with Buffy acting as T.J.’s left crutch, the three of them managed to get to the outdoor picnic tables without too much hassle.  

“Ugh,” Buffy grunted, removing herself from T.J.’s side.  Jeez, Cyrus was really no help when it came to strength.  “So, are you in for some post-celebratory tater-tots?” she asked her best friend hopefully.  

Cyrus grinned.  “I’ll be there!” he promised.  

As she stalked off, leaving them with one last squeal of excitement, T.J. awkwardly straddled the picnic table bench, allowing his wounded foot to settle on Cyrus’s lap while his other one was tucked underneath him.  

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, watching Buffy talk to Andi animatedly about a play-by-play of the game as they walked to The Spoon together.  Then, once the girls were out of their sight, Cyrus squeezed T.J.’s shoulder comfortingly.  “Hey, I know you didn’t get to play a lot today, but I’m proud of you, too, you know.”

“So I’ve heard,” T.J. quipped.  He glanced around at the vacant space around them and, after making sure there were no prying eyes around, he kissed Cyrus chastely on the cheek.  “Thank you for always being my biggest fan.”

Cyrus felt his heart drum rapidly in his chest at the action, and he beamed at him.  “Of course.”  After all, would T.J. expect anything less from his boyfriend?

This was just a little fluffy prompt, one that I certainly appreciated!  Thanks to everyone who reads, it means a lot to distribute my content for other people to view and enjoy.  To show me what you thought of it, please reblog or comment below, or check me out on AO3 or fanfiction.net.  Thank you!

~emmagrace13

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 14: Juxtaposition 

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of abuse and neglect, mentions of terrorist activities, one moment that looks like a tense shift from third to second but i promise isn’t trust me im doing a thing, portrayal of what is either a panic attack or the prelude to one; Illustrated

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

Terezi sniffed over the color-coded notes spread across her table, chewing ruefully at the spoonful of cereal in her mouth and scowling as if it would somehow make the evidence before her make more sense. She could hear Pyralspite happily shredding a toy somewhere else in her apartment, but she ignored the sound for now, too fixated on the work in front of her.

Anticipation and nerves were cutting into her sleep, at this point; she was turning into a workaholic over this mess. She couldn’t help it, though; it had been over two damn months, and Strider hadn’t done anything in response to the rescue of his son yet.

Granted, she had no real precedent to work off of to know how exactly he would react to a loss of this magnitude. In the time he’d been leading these terrorist activities, he’d never actually had any incidents which he could be described as having lost. He always swept in and seemingly accomplished his goals with alarming, brutal efficiency, leaving multiple civilian casualties and rarely leaving enough of a trace for him to be followed. Only a couple of his men were ever captured, and they had both refused to talk.

She did, however, have eyewitness accounts showing that during the invasion, he’d reacted to his brother’s death with what could only be described as cold, calculated fury. He’d gone from a fighter who was harsh, but allowed enemy survivors of engagements to crawl away and lick their wounds, and who had even on several occasions temporarily taken prisoners (usually to have the captured troll send a message of warning back to their commander) to someone utterly ruthless. In the final two years of the invasion, there’d been almost no Alternian survivors of fights involving Derek Strider. She’d therefore been expecting a harsh retaliation in response to Dave’s rescue, but so far, nothing had really changed. There’d been a few small strikes, sure, but nothing big, and certainly nothing that could be considered a direct response.

The best case scenario here, and the one that Terezi’s superiors seemed to believe, was that the man cared so little about his own son that he wasn’t bothered at all by his loss, but Terezi doubted that was the case. Whether he cared for the boy or not was not the real important information, here. What was important was the fact that Strider had lost. A man as fiercely proud as Derek Strider would not take his son’s arrest laying down. But he’d given absolutely no indication of what he’d been planning, and all reports she got from New York indicated that things there had been perfectly quiet.  

It didn’t add up. Not one bit, and Terezi didn’t like it at all.

She dumped her spoon halfheartedly into her bowl, and leaned her weight on her folded arms, drumming her fingers against the table.

“What are you planning, Strider?”

The more time ticked on in days and weeks, the more antsy Dave could feel himself getting. It was fine, everything would be fine, he just had to get through a little bit more of being here without getting too used to it, and then he’d be going back to Texas and everything could go back to normal. Just ignore that voice that kept whispering about how he maybe didn’t actually want to leave; it was bad enough he was too much of a coward to try and get back on his own, he couldn’t go and add on being selfish on top of that. The sooner he left, the better off everyone would be. Maybe some people’d be sad, but it’d be for the best. Karkat could get moved somewhere safer, and be left alone for good, and no one else’d have to deal with Dave’s fuckin’ bullshit.

Still, it was…hard not to want to hang around, a little bit. He’d apparently done pretty good of a job at not fucking anything up, and no one had made him fight or tried to hit him yet, and the initial fear he’d had that it was building up to be something awful had started to fade. That might’ve also just been because it was getting closer to time for him to leave, though, he supposed.

Not to mention that’d all change in a fuckin’ heartbeat if he were to tell them the truth. He’d be in so much fuckin’ trouble if they knew. Better to just go along with things.

Late in the evening of the eleventh of June, Rose tapped on Dave’s door.

“Sup?” Dave said, moving the chair and swinging the door open.

“I’m planning on doing a bit of stargazing tonight with the trolls in the observatory,” said Rose. “It’s fine if you don’t want to come, but I wanted to at least make sure you know you’re invited.”

“…We have an observatory?” said Dave.

Rose shrugged. “I don’t know the full details of why, something about Mother receiving this house as a gift from some affluent fellow, but it’s attached to the house and therefore you’re allowed in it. Didn’t you see it in your little misadventure on the roof?”

“I mean, I saw some bigass telescope, yeah, but I didn’t really think anything of it at the time, on account of your cat beating the shit outta my arms.”

“Fair enough,” Rose shrugged. “In any case, the invitation stands.”

“Uh…yeah, sure, why not,” said Dave. He might as well spend a bit more time hanging out, since it’d be about the last chance he got to do so. Maybe then he’d feel a bit less nervous about what was to come. That, and it might soften the blow for the others. Give everyone one last good night before…

Rose blinked. “Wait, really?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I got nothin’ better to do, and it’s — uh, you know.”

He could’ve hit himself for that. Shit, he couldn’t just fuckin’ tell her it was his last night here.  Couldn’t let his fuckin’ nerves show, either. C’mon, Dave, it’s just a fun night lookin’ at stars and shit, he could handle this. Especially with how much his agreeing to it seemed to make Rose all kinds of fuckin’ happy; the slow smile that spread across her face made him all the more sure this was the right decision.

“I’ll show you the way, then,” she said, “Come on. The trolls are already there, I think.”

The observatory turned out to be accessed by an unwalled walkway, which was all kinds of weird and made Dave think maybe this was actually maybe possibly breaking his house arrest a little, but it was Rose’s idea, and it should be fine, right? And it wasn’t like he was gonna be getting into trouble for it now.

It wasn’t a fuckin’ huge observatory, or anything; pretty much just a round room with a big fuckin’ telescope. Right now, there was also one of those big camping-style lanterns set up in the center of the room, with a thick looking tome set next to it, and four sleeping bags set up around it. Proper fuckin’ sleepover, then. Damn. The trolls were seated on top of the sleeping bags, Kanaya looking excited if slightly bewildered, and Karkat just looking like his usual grumpy self. Rose pressed a button on the wall, and the fuckin’ roof slid right open, showing off a sky still a bit pink with sunset and yet already full of more stars than Dave had ever seen in his entire life.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, pushing his shades up into his hair for a better look.

“Bit of a better view than down in Texas, isn’t it?” said Rose, smug.

“I mean, maybe out in the cornfields somewhere I coulda seen somethin’ like this, but we were in towns and cities the whole time, so…Jesus fuck, there’s so many.” He took his shades off altogether, setting them down on the floor as he slumped down on the sleeping bag next to Karkat and opposite Kanaya.

“I don’t recognize any of them,” Karkat said, uncharacteristically quietly. “I never even paid that close attention to the stars back on Alternia, but I knew a few constellations, and these look completely different.” Kanaya rested a hand on his shoulder, and Dave nudged his arm with his elbow. Rose sat across from Karkat, picking up the thick book resting on the ground in front of her.

“Yes, well,” said Rose, “Hopefully, by the end of the night, I’ll have found at least one familiar star for you. But that won’t be visible for another hour or two, I’m afraid, so in the meantime…”

She launched off into what sounded like a fucking practiced spiel about some of the constellations already out, and holy fuck, the girl must’ve done her research. Every one, she had some trivia about the stars, oh look that pink one’s not actually a star its a whole fuckin’ nebula full of them, that one’s a fuckin’ supergiant, so on and so on; and beyond that she of course knew every fuckin’ old legend about them. Most of them involved Zeus being a jackass and wanting to get his dick wet, which amused Dave to no end, right up until he commented as such and Rose immediately pointed out that he would be the one to make it about dicks.

Dave insulted her right back, shifting into Spanish for what he thought was a really fuckin’ funny bilingual joke, and that ended up leading into explaining to the trolls how many fuckin’ languages Earth had, which they found to be really goddamn wild; apparently Alternia only had about three languages, and only one that people really used, with the other two slowly going extinct, and the idea that humans had as many fuckin’ languages as they did was super bizarre to them. Then Rose made a joke about how Dave could translate soap operas for Karkat, and that shut that conversation up right then and there.  

(“I’m surprised you still remember any Spanish, though,” Rose had said. “I didn’t think our father knew any.”

“Oh, yeah, and it was so hard to find someone to practice with in fuckin’ Texas, Rose,” Dave shot back. “Fuckin’ grew up surrounded by a bunch of god damn white guys, Sis, someone had to fuckin’ translate for ‘em. My Spanish is just fuckin’ fine, don’t worry.”)

A couple hours in, and Rose paused. “Alright, that’s enough time to have passed, it should be up by now…Ah, there he is! Cygnus, right there, see?” She reached out and pointed at a very bright star. “That’s Deneb, his tail, and down below we can trace along his neck, and to the sides, his wings.”

“That’s a fuckin’ cross, Sis,” said Dave.

“To the Greeks, he was a great swan,” she said. “There’s many legends about Cygnus the swan, and there’s been little in the way of historians agreeing on which one inspired the name of the constellation. One involves the son of one of the gods losing control of Helios’s chariot, there is of course your cursory ‘and then along came Zeus’ storyline which, as Dave so brightly noted, is so very common in Greek myth…but in this case, the legends are not why I wanted to draw your attention to this particular set of stars.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Karkat, resting his cheek in one hand.

“You see,” said Rose, grinning as she pointed again, “Unless Google has lied to me, that star right there, beneath Cygnus’s wing, is the Alternian solar system.” Karkat immediately perked up and followed her finger, eyes wide. “There’s a lot of star systems with planets within the swan, it seems, and your home planet is one of them. There’s also apparently a binary system of a supergiant and a black hole, which is intriguing, but I felt that being able to pick out Alternia in our night sky might be of more interest to you two.”

“That’s it?” said Karkat. “That’s…that’s home, then?”

“I believe so,  yes,” said Rose.

“It’s so small,” he said, his ears drooping a little. Rose sighed and frowned.

“I was…hoping that pointing it out to you might alleviate some of your, er, homesickness, but it seems I’ve only drawn attention to the distance instead. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…I mean, yeah, it fucking hurts that it’s so far away,” Karkat grumbled, “But it’s…comforting to know it’s still there.” Dave saw him rub at his eyes, wiping away what might’ve been the hint of a tear. He remembered  that conversation he’d had with Karkat a while back, about the whole ‘it sucked but its home’ thing, and nudged Karkat’s arm with his elbow again in what he hoped was a sympathetic-ish gesture. Poor bastard, he didn’t even have the reassurance of being able to go back someday. (Which…admittedly, Dave found less and less reassuring, but…No, not now, couldn’t let that train of thought keep going.)

Rose smiled softly. “Cygnus, and therefore your home, should be visible through December, if you’d like to keep looking for him at night.”

Kanaya was fucking beaming at the sight of Rose and Karkat getting along for one goddamn minute, and Dave despite himself, couldn’t help but feel similarly happy. It was…weird. Peaceful? Yeah, that was the word for it. Peaceful as fuck.

Midnight was edging closer, and Kanaya and Rose had both long since drifted off. Even Karkat had fuckin’ dozed off, his head buried in his arms on top of Rose’s star book, which was unexpected as all hell. Things had to be hells of fuckin’ idyllic if even Karkat “Insomnia” Vantas was taking the train to snoozeville.

Dave was, to his own very contented surprise, pretty happy he’d gone along with this. He felt the most peaceful he could ever remember being. There was a lingering worry in the back of his mind, as always, that something bad would happen, some surprise attack or something, but it was, like, a really quiet worry, quiet enough that Rose’s really light snoring was enough to drown that shit right out.

Yeah, he’d made the right call going along with this —

It was certainly a real nice way to end his time here. One last bit of time to not be stressed before getting back to the ole’ grindstone, back to getting fuckin’ ambushed for the great crime of having to take a goddamned piss, back to getting his ass beat for accidentally putting one foot out of line, back to not getting so much as a smile, nevermind Mom’s hugs or this weird cuddly shit that was almost happening right now. Yep. Great vacation.

Shit.

What a fucking pain in the ass this whole getting-brought-home mess has been, huh? Nothing but getting people loving you and trying to make you feel welcome, just a whole lot of niceness and gentleness and all the shit you fucking spent your whole life wishing you had but never believed was an actual possibility. What a drag, right? Thank fuck it’s time to go back to your REAL home, huh?

That…no, he….

And what about Karkat? He’s gonna be fucking heartbroken if you leave after all those heart-to-heart chats and shit, just because you won’t be around to see it doesn’t mean it won’t be true. Rose’ll be upset, too, and fuck, poor Mom’s probably gonna hit the booze even harder! Such a fuckin’ shame, but it’s all for the best, right?

“Fuck,” Dave muttered. How the fuck was he supposed to leave now? This was — he couldn’t, but —

Stay.

He couldn’t —

Stay.

He had to —

He couldn’t leave. He — but if he told anyone, he’d get in so much fucking trouble, he’d get crucified for this. But if he didn’t tell them, and just tried to stay anyway, people were gonna get hurt — fuck, what was he supposed to do?!

Dirk sat back from his computer and tilted his head. Something was happening upstairs, it sounded like.  Someone was pacing back and forth, maybe? Why else would the creaking he could hear slightly be so consistent? It was getting louder, too; at first he’d barely noticed it, but now it was hard to miss.

He saved his current drawing and went upstairs to check. He’d been expecting Karkat, the most heavy walker of those currently at the house and the one who seemed most likely to do something like pacing in the middle of the night, or maybe Mom, who sometimes did so while she was thinking (and sober - an unlikely combination, sure, but Dirk was allowed to be hopeful).  He was not expecting it to be Dave. Not with how quietly Dave usually moved. But, there he was, pacing back and forth in the kitchen with increasing speed, occasionally rubbing at his arms or running a hand through his hair, almost trying to pull it out. Dave’s breathing sounded fast and erratic, and was interspersed with the occasional soft, fearful moan.

Dirk started toward him, paused, and took a few steps back into the shadows. He stepped forward again, this time purposefully walking with heavy steps, and was rewarded by the sight of Dave jerking to look up at him.

“Fuck, Dirk, I can, I—“ Dave’s breathing sped up even faster.

“Dave, easy, you’re not in trouble,” Dirk said, holding his hands up and trying to keep his voice gentle. “I need you to take deep breaths, okay? You sound like you’re gonna have a panic attack.”

“I — I,” said Dave, and then took a really hard, shaky breath. Dirk rested a hand gently on Dave’s shoulder. Dave wasn’t wearing his shades, surprisingly, and his eyes were wide, darting around rapidly.

“It’s alright,” Dirk said. “Just breathe.” It took several more shuddery breaths for Dave to at least sound like he wasn’t gonna pass out, but Dirk could still feel Dave shaking underneath his hand. “Better?” he asked.

Dave shrugged.

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” Dirk said. “What’s got you so worked up? Maybe I can help.”

“I, I can’t,” Dave said, and forced himself to take another breath (this time it sounded painful, like he was trying to breathe through a windpipe full of gravel), “I can’t leave, I don’t, I can’t go back, Dirk, I don’t wanna leave, please.”

Dirk raised an eyebrow. “Uh, you’re…not leaving,” he said. “This was never going to be a temporary thing, Dave. This is your home. You’re not going anywhere, I promise. The old man’s never gonna lay a hand on you ever again, okay? You’re safe.”

“No, no no no, no, I’m — he’s, they’re gonna be here, and, and I’m — fuck,” Dave wheezed, shaking his head. Dirk’s eyebrows knitted into a concerned line. A slow dread built up in the pit of his stomach.

“…Dave,” he said, “What’s going on?”

Dave swallowed, and locked his terrified eyes with Dirk’s.

“I m-messed up,” he said.

[priceforrottenjudgement]

ok, i’m rewatching TST and writing down everything that bothers me. part 3

1:00:00 onwards

part 1: [X]  part 2: [X] 

long post

-sherlock is easy to follow apparently. aj was not able to follow mary, but he found her through sherlock. is that sherlock blaming himself?

-john watson always wanting to talk about everything. john?!

-when mary tries that “it was always the four of us” spiel aj responds very cynically. not that much of a family then?

-considering her earlier outburst, mary looks pretty chill after being told someone out of her ‘family’ was tortured to death

-his captors forgot about him for six years, but he didn’t starve or died of thirst? and was still able to pick up ‘whispers’? why didn’t they kill him after he wasn’t “fun to torture” anymore? i’m calling psychological reconditioning.

-”every day as they tore into me. amo amo amo” yeah, reconditioning.

-was all of this based on a misunderstanding or was it conscious misdirection to make aj act like this?

-mycroft, walking wikipedia, not picking up a word in latin?

-john obviously sees that he’s being hypocritical about the ‘so many lies’ thing.

-john is always so much more smug, cocky and flirty in sherlock’s mind. is sherlock really making all of this up?

-btw who took the pic from john’s lockscreen? it wasn’t mrs hudson, bc they’re not looking into the camera. did sherlock take the pic with his phone and sent it to john?

-what is that smug little playa grin supposed to mean? john is NOT like that.

-e... eeeeee... are there any female characters from doyle canon starting with e?

-he sends hey, not hi.

-the texts from bed don’t start with ‘hi’ either. but sherlock usually ends his with SH. maybe it really is harry watson? then again the ‘miss you’ reminds me of moriarty’s ‘miss me’

-i don’t think it’s sherlock sending these, but maybe they’re something he wishes he could send?

-the texts he sends from the bus sound waaay guiltier and not playful at all. but ‘it was nice to get to know you a little’ implies at least some correspondence. so maybe the texts in bed really were from the woman?

-she looks dejected and understanding even before he sends the last text, she couldn’t possibly have read it yet.

-also the big bad of this season LITERALLY looms from the poster behind her. can’t ignore this

-what doesn the poster say? HE’S BACK; Business; it’s murder (?) in the...???

-mary is the key to solving the case, “They know eeeeverything”

-was john going to tell mary about the bus woman before they got the texts? also: why did they get the textx almost simultaneously??

-sherlock send a riddle to mary, only john got the exact location? but both knew where to go? how did mary know?

-so the old lady also has an obsession with sharks and just so happens to be sitting there waiting for agents all the time. what a feckeng coincidence.

-the lady sees agents as sharks. sherlock sees sharks as predators. agents are predators?

-”couldn’t have chosen it better myself. then i never could resist a touch of the dramatic.” sherlock is calling himself out. is this the confirmation that all of this is just happening in his head?

-how many times does someone say “i knew this would happen someday” this ep? the destiny thing again.

-”you are very sure of yourself aren’t you?” “with GOOD reason” ouch this hurts when you know what he’s going to say later on.

-and again the samarra thing. to me that’s the biggest proof for the mind palace/coma/dream theory. they cannot possibly all have this story at the tip of their tongues at any given moment. that just makes no sense.

-sherlock is too cocky in thinking he can manipulate the secretary and it ends badly.

-”maybe i can still surprise you” this is either sherlock @ himself: don’t be to sure of yourself or it is the authors telling us to suspect a big twist.

-”come on, be sensible!” “nah, don’t think so.” boy, they gonna do something big.

-why is sherlock not moving? mary had the time to jump, why didn’t sherlock move? is that him scolding himself for hesitating?

-norbury says “surprise”, but doesn’t look surprised at all that mary would do something like this.

-john didn’t see anything and doesn’t have any context.

-mary’s goodbye sounds incredibly textbook. like she practiced it.

-what is she saying? “hey sherlock, i still like you, did I ever say?” is she saying that?

-look, i love mary, but this death doesn’t make me sad, because i knew it would happen and it just feels so..... weird? idk how to explain it.

-”you were my whole world. mary watson was the only life worth living.” i’m sorry but ive heard that exact sentence in different versions at least 20 in different movies. its so ...fake?

-I needn’t say how ooc john blaming sherlock is to me, there have been a lot of posts about this

-lestrade’s and mycroft’s looks though. we know from tab that sherlock instinctively knows that the both of them will always be there for him, i think you can see this here as well

-we don’t see the funeral, just a coffin burning (blue flames) and john walking across a graveyard, pacing in his home, ignoring his phone

-then, almost like waking up, we hear ella’s voice while still seeing john’s face. maybe we are just now waking up from the ‘reoccuring dream’

-so i have two theories. either most of what we see in the ep was a dream or mindpalace and ella is real or it’s the other way round and sherlock is hallucinating her in his mindpalace, trying to help himself cope with everything (would explain why the office looks different). it looks like they’re in an attic, maybe a metaphor for ‘head’?

-mycroft’s fridge is pretty empty, but he has lots of stuff sticking to it, what’s ‘13th’ supposed to mean? or is it 13.00, can’t read it

-yay sherrinford. who may be a girl.

-the baloon john is still there, but deflated, hanging from the table

-ouch, sherlock using ‘norbury’ to keep himself in check, bc he’s so afraid of fucking up again

-miss me? is moriarty’s catchphrase and mary knew that. was kind of cruel to use it.

-judging by mary’s hair this video is not very old at all

-telling that we do’t get to see john’s note, but molly’s ‘you don’t need to read it now’ makes me think that the content is either hurtful or should be kept a secret

-the way molly repeats ‘anyone’ makes it sound like john also stressed it when he told her what to tell sherlock. maybe it’s a clue? or maybe im just grasping straws here

-again samarra and sharks

-idk, but her ‘go to hell, sherlock’ doesn’t sound all that hateful to me.

soooooooo, in conclusion. the major motifs of this ep were: sherlock feeling insecure and hating himself for his arrogance, is destiny inevitable? and an upcoming plot twist. oh and that everything is impostant, but should be taken with a grain of salt.

[geektified]

New Post has been published on http://www.geektified.com/2017/05/16/the-raw-expose-the-welcome-to-the-braun-strowman-im-not-finished-with-you-yet-postponement-tour-edition-5-15-2017/

The Raw Exposé: The Welcome to the Braun Strowman "I'm Not Finished With You Yet" Postponement Tour Edition (5-15-2017)

By: Keila Cash

Hello everyone and welcome to another installment of The Raw Exposé. Tonight’s episode of Monday Night Raw emanated from the Prudential Center in Newark, New Jersey. The two-week European Tour is in the books which mean only one thing: The Raw crew is bound to be tired and lethargic after such a grueling trip overseas. With the creative team in a rush to revise their plans for Brock Lesnar heading into the summer, did the talent rise to the occasion or did they wilt under the pressure? The answer to that question can be found throughout this blog. Without further ado, let’s dissect tonight’s episode of Raw in no particular order.

  Due to Braun Strowman’s elbow injury, Kurt Angle announced that there would be a Fatal 5-Way Extreme Rules match at the eponymous PPV featuring Seth Rollins, Samoa Joe, Finn Bálor, Bray Wyatt, and Roman Reigns with the winner going on to face Brock Lesnar for the WWE Universal Championship. Angle wisely omitted the July PPV by name because it absolutely sucks.

  Reigns, Bálor, Joe, Wyatt, and Rollins had the obligatory spiel about being the guy to face Lesnar for the Universal Title until Rollins charged after Joe which led to a full-on melee.

  Rollins targeted Joe’s knee by yanking it between the ropes while Wyatt attacked Bálor which caused Reigns to get involved. Chaos ensued as Reigns nailed Wyatt with a Superman Punch which allowed Bálor to double dropkick Rollins and Wyatt into the barricade before laying them out with a flip dive on the outside.

  Balor capped things off by hitting the Slingblade on Reigns as the opening segment came to an end.

  This was a fine way to start the show. The segment could’ve ended with Angle’s announcement, but the other wrestlers had to air their grievances in order to stretch out the opener. The jibber jabber was pointless, but it set up Wyatt vs. Rollins and Balor vs. Reigns for later tonight. Predictability aside, the in-ring action should be very good if the wrestlers are given enough time to shine.

  Jeff Hardy defeated Sheamus with the Swanton Bomb in a solid match. It was hard hitting and physical throughout, but the closing sequence was a little messy as Sheamus nailed Matt Hardy with two sloppy Brogue Kicks while Hardy was standing on the ring apron. Outside of that, the Twist of Fate followed by Jeff’s finisher ended things on a high note.

  Alicia Fox evened her feud with Sasha Banks when Fox pinned Banks with the Scissors Kick. Fox and Banks are embroiled in a battle of 50/50 booking as they are tied at 1-1. For fear of burning through this feud too quickly, Fox and Banks need to explain why they are beefing with each other. Then again, the hit or miss scripts the female performers have to recite is sub par at best which puts the creative team in a damned if you, damned if you don’t situation. Allowing both ladies to speak in their own voice would be helpful, but the odds of that happening is highly unlikely. A girl can dream, though.

  In a bizarre finish, Dean Ambrose retained the Intercontinental Championship by getting himself disqualified when he kicked The Miz in the nether regions in plain view of the referee. The ref DQ’d Ambrose which probably is building up to a rematch for the IC Title at Extreme Rules in three weeks.

  It should be noted that Ambrose grabbed Miz’s hand while the latter was trying to deliver a low blow of his own while Maryse distracted the referee. The Lunatic Fringe was simply paying it forward, but he got caught for his efforts.

  Prior to the DQ finish, Ambrose and Miz had a very good match that featured fast paced action throughout. Ambrose must’ve had a double shot of espresso because he was extra energized tonight.

  The crowd was hot from start to finish which pushed the match over the top. The fans were split down the middle which is little surprising, but Miz has been such an awesome (no pun intended) heel over the past year that it’s not completely shocking that a portion of hardcore fans cheer him unabashedly. He’s come a long way from being Hollywood A-Lister with no bite to becoming one of the best pure heels in the wrestling business.

  Alexa Bliss taught Bayley a thing or two about being extreme when she whacked the Hugger Extraordinaire in the back with a Kendo Stick. It was a sick shot and Bayley did a great job selling her back on the floor while Bliss posed in the ring with the Raw Women’s Championship.

  The verbal exchange leading up to the physical confrontation was fine, but Bliss continues to blow Bayley out of the water when it comes to her mic work. Bayley is a lovable character, but her saccharine and uneven promos do more harm than good when it comes to garnering fan support. Her in-ring work will smooth things over, but she has to become a better talker in order to stand out in the Women’s Division.

  Neville and TJP defeated Austin Aries and Jack Gallagher when TJP nailed Gallagher with the Detonation Kick for the win. The match was fine, but it was marred by the fans being distracted by something in the arena which led to a chorus of boos followed by a CM Punk and Justin Bieber chant. Neville being visibly pissed made things even worse. The Cruiserweight Division is already fighting behind the 8-Ball. Having the fans turn on the action from the opening bell is rubbing salt in an already open and battered wound. Here’s hoping things get better soon because this match was tough to watch as a fan.

  Bayley will face Alexa Bliss in a Kendo Stick on a Pole Match for the Raw Women’s Championship at Extreme Rules. Angle was extra giddy after Bayley told him she was ready to live up to the PPV’s namesake. The stipulation is fine, but I had an instant flashback to the horrid Paddle on a Pole Matches during the Divas Era. A No DQ or No Holds Barred Match would’ve sufficed instead of putting the women in a generic match that brings back bad memories from a recently bygone period in WWE history.

  Roman Reigns vs. Finn Bálor II was better than the original as they had a really good match that was filled with a balanced dose of physicality and grit. Reigns did a great job selling his shoulder while Bálor went on the attack.

  Reigns targeted Bálor’s ribs and shoulder which evened things up. Bálor had the match in control when he laid out Reigns with the Slingblade followed by a running dropkick in the corner.

  Bálor went up to the top rope to deliver the Coup De Grace, but his injured ribs made the climb slower than usual. This allowed Reigns to knock Balor off the top rope to set up the Spear for the win.

  Bálor lost nothing by losing while Reigns picked up a key victory heading into Extreme Rules. From a pure promotional standpoint, Bálor winning the match in order to promote his WWE 24 Special on the network after Raw would’ve made more sense but the booking team had other plans. Yes, I am closet PR Maven at heart.

  Goldust just went rogue! So much for The Golden Truth being on the same page.

  Big Cass defeated Titus O’Neil with a big boot in a quick match. The fact that Cass beat O’Neil while the former Mega Dad of the Year was wearing a suit made the win that much sweeter.

  After the match was over, Enzo was busy taking a selfie as Apollo Crews tried to shake his hand. Enzo kept ignoring him which caused Crews to nail him with an enzuigiri. I wouldn’t call this a heelish act because Enzo was acting like an asshole, but Crews developing a mean streak is much better than smiling his way through life.

  Bray Wyatt vs. Seth Rollins ended via Disqualification when Samoa Joe attacked Rollins at ringside before dropping him with an Uranage Slam in the ring. Wyatt joined in on the beat down before turning the tables on Joe by hitting him with Sister Abigail from out of nowhere. Rollins suffered the same fate as Raw went off the air with Bray Wyatt telling the audience to “Follow The Buzzards.”

  Before the DQ finish, Wyatt and Rollins had a solid match but it never got past a certain level. The match went a bit long and Joe’s interference wasn’t surprising due to what happened during the opening segment. The crowd was a little flat as well because the action was pretty paint-by-the-numbers.

  Despite those shortcomings, the crowd popped for Wyatt being his own man which is a positive considering his lackluster pair of matches against Randy Orton last month which caused the fans to boo him for all the wrong reasons during the House of Horrors match at Payback a few weeks ago. If Wyatt is going to face Lesnar for the Universal Championship, he has to be built up like a legit threat who isn’t crippled by his supernatural tendencies. History tells us that said tendencies will play into his eventual downfall. It’s sad but true.

  Overall, I thought tonight’s episode of Raw was solid. The Newark crowd was hot outside of them completely shitting on the Cruiserweight Tag Team Match during the second hour of the show. The in-ring action ranged from solid to good which was a nice surprise because the first show after the European Tour has been historically uneventful. Fortunately, the wrestlers rose to the occasion which made the show feel livelier than usual.

  The creative team have a clear course heading into Extreme Rules as they booked the Fatal 5-Way Extreme Rules match featuring Seth Rollins, Samoa Joe, Finn Balor, Bray Wyatt, and Roman Reigns with the winner going on to face Brock Lesnar for the Universal Championship. Braun Strowman will be sorely missed, but this is the perfect opportunity for someone fresh to step up to the plate and prove that he is worthy of being in the main event spot. The outcome is not clear cut which adds an element of surprise heading into the PPV.

  The Extreme Rules card is coming together nicely, but WWE has to hype this thing to the hilt because the go-home show for the PPV takes place on Memorial Day which tends to be a ratings killer. There is no John Cena to pop the number this year. The next couple of weeks is critical because the deck has been reshuffled due to Strowman’s injury. Let’s hope the creative team takes care of business because it’s been rough sailing for the red brand since the Superstar Shakeup last month. Fingers crossed!

  On that note, this wraps up another edition of The Raw Exposé. I hope you enjoyed it and I will back tomorrow night with a brand new installment of The SmackDown Files. See you later, boys and girls!