#literally hours laying in bed staring out the window feeling utterly useless and wondering if im just. undeserving of being upset by it.

[princeanxious]

I'm so frustrated that just one negative sentence towards me can ruin my mood for a whole day, at least in my experience w/ my adhd anyway

And im not talking about like, 'i dont like you' comments, im talking about the minor negative comments that you might get when you go looking for a little validation for finishing something, or those comments that misconstrue your words or the meaning behind your words when you're just trying to prefunctionarily say words bc you were asked something, bc then it just. Invokes a form of guilt that i dont know how to explain but its exhausting and literally just leaves me wrecked for hours??

[secretpeachtea]

five levels of affection

Scenario: Bakugou doesn’t seem like a very affectionate kind of guy at first glance, so you’re pleasantly surprised by the many ways he shows affection as your relationship with him grows

Genre: F L U F F

Pairing: Reader (Y/N) x Bakugou

A/N: oh shoot this isn’t haikyuu but i’ve really been into bnha and this is literally just something that I pulled out of my “things I would love to see from emotionally constipated men” bag of ideas. i literally love this man and his floofy hair

level 1: sharp elbow nudges

As Aizawa finishes explaining the hero training for today, you feel someone roughly jab their elbow against your side. You let out a small gasp in surprise and get ready to glare at whoever had the audacity to do so. 

As you turn to see who the culprit is, you’re met with striking red orbs that belong to none other than your classmate, Bakugou Katsuki. “Seems like we’re sparring today. Be my partner so I can crush you!”

You let out a scoff and prod your own elbow back at his side. “You couldn’t be a little more nice about asking me?”

Kaminari seems to have witnessed the exchange and decides to sling an arm over your shoulder. “Yeah, man. You can’t just manhandle a pretty lady like (L/N)-chan.”

“No one asked for your fucking input, Dunce Face.” Bakugou lets out a low growl and makes a swipe for the male. Kaminari leaps away from you with a yelp and proceeds to hide behind an unsuspecting Kirishima across the room.

The explosive boy is about to follow Kaminari but stops when you place a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take your offer. I’d take any opportunity to put you in your place with my liquid manipulation quirk, Bakugou-kun.”

“YOU’RE ON, SQUIRT GUN!”

level 2: aggressive head pats

Everyone has their off days in training. Today seems to be that day for you. 

Class 1A was at USJ for some rescue training and you were teamed up with Kirishima and Bakugou. The goal was to rescue dummies from collapsed buildings in the Conflagration Zone as quickly as possible. This fiery zone was absolutely the worst place for you to be in. With no water or any form of liquid for you to manipulate, you were practically running around quirkless. 

You felt utterly useless as you just followed your two teammates who were able to successfully rescue the dummies. All you could do was keep a lookout for any falling debris or potential hazards, but not being able to use your quirk frustrated you to no end. By the end of class, you felt defeated and sulked on the way back to the bus.

“Oi.” Bakugou’s voice takes you out of your daze, but you keep your head low in frustration. He takes a moment to scan your face and think about what to do next. 

Suddenly, you feel something heavy slam onto the top of your head. The sensation is gone for a second before you feel it again, the amount of force almost knocking you off balance. Once you finally look up to him, you can see a subtle softness in his usual scowl. “No one’s got the perfect quirk for every situation, and that includes you. You did fine, stupid.”

Bakugou’s words lift your sullen mood more than you’d like to admit. Perhaps he wasn’t as aggressive as he tries to give off. A smile spreads across your face when you finally realize that the heavy feeling from before was actually from Bakugou’s hand. 

“Was that your attempt at trying to pat my head?”

“AND WHAT OF IT, SQUIRT GUN?!”

level 3: gentle back hugs

“Thank you so much, Recovery Girl!”

“Please try to be a bit more careful next time, dear.”

During a free period, there was a bit of a situation between some of the students and it seemed to have rubbed Bakugou off in the wrong way. He was already in a bad mood at the time, so his emotions seemed to have gotten out of control as he literally blew up his desk with his quirk. 

Pieces of wood flew into the air and with your luck, an entire desk leg slammed right into your body causing you to stumble to the ground. Air was knocked out of your lungs as splinters of wood made small cuts on your arms.

“(L/N)-san!” Midoriya yells from across the room. Mina and Sero help you stand up and check over your wounds. Thankfully, none of your other classmates were injured, so you were the only one who needed some medical attention. 

Mina offers to take you to the infirmary and you agree to do so. As you leave the room, you briefly glance at Bakugou and see guilt replace his angry expression.

Your pink friend had dropped you off and went back to class after you insisted that you were okay on your own. 

You bow your head to the nurse as you exit the school’s infirmary alone. Once you’ve closed the door, you’re surprised to see Bakugou looking down and leaning against the wall next to you with his hands in his pocket. When he realizes that you’ve come out, he gives you a look that’s difficult to read before walking in the direction back to class.

You follow Bakugou quickly until you fall into step with him. “What are you doing here, Bakugou-kun?”

The boy glowers at the floor in thought before mumbling out something incoherent.

You tint your head in confusion. “What was that?”

He mumbles something again a little louder, but you still can’t understand a word he says. “Bakugou-kun, you’re gonna have to speak a bit louder than that.”

Bakugou’s scowl only grows deeper as if he doesn’t want to repeat what he had just said. You know he’s still upset from before, so you don’t want to push him any further. You’re so focused on wondering what could’ve made Bakugou this irritated that you don’t realize that he was lagging slightly behind you.

You’re startled when you feel gentle arms enclose around your shoulders from behind you and you freeze in place. You’re even more shocked when you hear Bakugou’s gruff voice next to your ear. “I said I’m sorry.”

Butterflies fill your stomach as you realize that Bakugou is voluntarily initiating a back hug and showing you a side to him that he would never dare to show anyone else. You lean back into his toned chest and let out a content hum. “It’s okay.”

He slightly tightens his hold and eventually leans his head against your neck. You both stay like this for a minute longer just enjoying each other’s company in the empty hallway away from the rest of the world.

You could get used to this.

level 4: lazy cuddles (+ a shared smile)

If someone had told you that you’d be cuddling Bakugou Katsuki in his dorm room on a rainy Saturday afternoon a couple months back, you wouldn’t have believed them. 

But, here you are, sitting comfortably on Bakugou’s bed while the boy himself was practically engulfing your body with his own, his arms loosely circled around your waist. One of your hands is scrolling through your phone while the other is carding through your boyfriend’s soft blonde locks. Bakugou’s eyes are closed and a comfortable silence fills the room.

It was kind of cute how Bakugou became much more sluggish on rainy days, but you’re not gonna say that out loud unless you wanna risk setting him off. There weren’t any plans for the day and you spend almost every weekend together, so there was no rush to do something. 

An interesting news article about a pro hero catches your attention, so you don’t notice that your hand has stopped its ministrations on Bakugou’s hair. 

Red eyes open blearily. “Why’d you stop?”

You blink twice as you take your attention away from your phone and stare at your boyfriend. There’s a slight frown adorning his face and it takes all of your self control to refrain from pinching his cheeks. 

Opting to give into Bakugou’s subtle pleading eyes, you place your phone on the nightstand and shift your body so that you’re now laying comfortably against his chest. Your hand returns to his hair and your eyes meet his. Based on the glint from him orbs, he’s satisfied.

You and Bakugou smile at each other. The kind of smile that’s only ever shared between the two of you.

level 5: pauses between kisses

You and Bakugou have been out of the dorms frequently since you both have been going to your own respective internships. You try to message each other as often as possible, but your busy schedules don’t really leave much room for free time. It’s been weeks since you’ve properly spent time together, and at this point, you just miss him.

It seems like someone has finally answered your prayers when the two of you are finally able to schedule to have lunch together for an hour today. It’s not as much time as you’d like, but you’ll take anything to be with him.

You both decide to meet up at a fairly secluded park near your internship before eating together. However, any thoughts about your hunger are thrown out the window as soon as your eyes meet. You and Bakugou begin to close the distance between you with hurried steps. 

The first thing you do is throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. Bakugou reciprocates the kiss with fervor and places his warm hands on your waist. 

There’s nothing you want more at the moment, so you’re a bit disappointed when Bakugou pulls away first. 

His face doesn’t move too far away from your own and he simply just stares at you silently. He does this every so often and you’re always surprised by the varying emotions swirling in his eyes. 

His gaze is deep as his eyes shift around each feature of your face before landing on your eyes. After a couple more seconds, a soft smile makes its way onto Bakugou’s lips. 

Your heart flutters and you suddenly feel a bit shy. You’re about to step back when Bakugou’s hands suddenly encircle around you and his arms embrace you tightly. His lips find their way back to yours and it feels like he’s pouring all of his love into the kiss.

You feel like you could stay like this forever, but a loud rumbling noise breaks you out of your trance. It seems like your boyfriend was hungrier than he let on. 

“Not a fucking word, (Y/N).” 

A giggle escapes your lips as you both pull away from each other. “Whatever you say, Katsuki.”

A light shade of pink tints Bakugou’s cheeks. He grabs a hold of your hand and begins to grumble about places to eat. You make the effort to interlock your fingers as you both discuss what to do for the rest of your time together.

[ohmyuqi]

Ｗｈｅｎ Ｉ ｗａｓ ｙｏｕｒ ｍａｎ

 When I was you man (Lucas x Reader)

genre: Angst, sad fluff

summary: “I was fool with the delusion of deserving a love like yours.”

an: im so sorry.

playlist: “when I was your man” - bruno mars

“y si fuera ella?” - alejandro sanz

“it will rain” - bruno mars

“talking to the moon” - bruno mars 

“photograph” - ed sheeran 

“chasing cars” - snow patrol

“cuando me enamoro” - enrique iglesias y juan luis guerra

“just give me a reason” - pink 

(order doesn’t matter)

________________________________________________________________

While lucas is moving out your shared apartment he finds a polaroid of you two and decides to write you a letter.

________________________________________________________________

Empty, desolate, different.

Lucas couldn’t believe his eyes, once an apartment full of life, love and a promising future turned into well, this. 

He started wistfully at the leather couch he would have to call Mark to help him move. The same couch where you guys had you first kiss.

The same couch you guys would spend hours cuddling and watching tv together, enjoying life for what it was. What you made it to be. 

The same couch where you would discuss how you guys would spend the rest of your lives together. Where you lay when your future kids frolicked in your future house. 

What you and Lucas had was ethereal, special. Unlike anything either of you had felt before. 

His love felt new and exciting but comforting and familiar. 

He felt different and new, albeit it also felt you knew him all your life. 

You both used to spend every living moment with each other. You could never get tired of him just like he could never get tired of you. At least that’s what you thought up until a couple months ago. 

When you realized that his smile didn’t light up when he saw you like it used to. He didn’t hold you like he used to, things were shifting. 

The dawn would flow into your room through your windows and he wasn’t there. 

When you talked you didn’t talk, just reassurances of love. 

Friday nights you would end up all alone, talking to the moon and your bedroom walls. The ones where you hung pictures of both of you actually in love. 

Friday nights where Lucas was hanging out with his “friends”, then later coming home smelling like a French Whore. 

You felt like were going mad without him, life felt so dull and different. You were alone. At times it felt like Lucas was all you had, now even he was slipping through your frail hands. 

You would spend nights on end wondering what you were doing wrong. 

You tried so hard to satisfy him. You loved him unconditionally, you tried to make him feel better on the days when life would beat him up. You supported him through all his decisions, whether you agreed or not. You even dressed yourself up to try to impress him. 

After a while you knew it was useless, in the beginning you could be in a stained hoodie with your hair a mess and he wouldn’t care. All he could see was that blinding smile and those charming eyes. 

One day you decided to let all trust out the window and test him, to this day a little part of you wishes you hadn’t. 

You shoved your keys in your purse making sure everything you needed was there. Your eyes trailed to Lucas, standing at the door. A juicebox and a pb and j sandwich in a paper bag securely held by his sure hands. 

You walked over to him and gave him a big great hug. It was painful, you knew this would be the last one. You stayed in his comforting arms for longer than usual, relishing its bitter sweetness. 

He handed you the small bag and took your crumbling face in his hands. “Don’t cry, princess. Your interview will be fine. If they reject you they don’t deserve the little jem they let slip through their hands.” He placed a light kiss on your head. 

How hypocritical of you, Lucas. 

You told him the interview would be very tedious process and you would probably be home very late. Late enough for him to speak his truths.

You waited a couple hours, oh how long those hours. Waited ‘till it felt right. 

You left your car as quietly as possible, opening the door knob, fingers trembling. 

All you could hear were your painful heart beats and lingering doubts troubling your heart. 

You looked around in the messy apartment, its appearance reflecting your peace of mind. 

You kept looking, nothing seemed out of place. Not a sound was heard either. 

A little bud of hope flourished in your tearing heart, just waiting to put you back together. 

You walked to the room that you and Lucas shared, once a place of love corrupted by ignorance. 

You stopped, fingers inches away at the knob. You were itching to know the truth, but at the same time you knew your ignorance was bliss. 

But you couldn’t live on like this, your heart wouldn’t be able to take it. 

You pulled open the door and their it was, the truth was staring blankly back at you. Yet, for some reason, you couldn’t believe it. You didn’t want to. 

In that second in time, Lucas didn’t break your heart. He took it, crushed it, stepped on it and spit on it. 

Dark oceans of regret stared back you, not a word. 

The silence was deafening, you wished he said something. Anything, any excuse to keep you. 

The part that truly broke you was the fact that he didn’t even try. He didn’t try to keep you, he didn’t do anything. 

Your eyes brimming with tears, you yelled at the top of your lungs. 

“SAY SOMETHING, ANYTHING.”  You grabbed him by his broad shoulders, waking up the woman laying soundly next to him. 

You yelled at him until your voice broke and your throat burned with all the truths you wished you spoken earlier. You pushed and slapped him weakly. 

You went crazy, you quite literally snapped. 

You stared at the woman next to him, she watched you both with guilty eyes. You didn’t know who she was and you didn’t care. 

“Get out of my house.” 

She stared at you for a second, clearing her throat and her eyes trailing to her bare body covered by sin and a thin, white sheet. 

“I said get out of my house.” This time you made sure you put all the pain and hatred in your command. Poison seething through your trembling lips. 

She took the sheet and made sure she was covered. Taking her purse and her last sliver of dignity out the door. 

You picked a red thong from the floor. Making sure you didn’t actually touch the filthy garment. 

“Is this some kind of cruel joke?” Unlike the unknown mistress, he had no dignity to spare. There was quite literally nothing he could say to fix this. 

He couldn’t lie his way out of this one, he couldn’t kiss it and make it better. 

You threw the dirty thing at him. “You’re a piece of literal dog shit, rot in hell.” 

That’s when he burst at the seams, all this wrongdoing and guilt getting to his decrepit mind. 

He watched as you rushed out the door, hair trailing like the fiery burning in your heart. 

He knew in him what he did was wrong, but he was blinded by lust and lies. 

How utterly cruel of you to blame him for his big heart. How absolutely wicked of you to hate him for blaming him for something he can’t control. How terrible of you for leaving him and not accepting that he is human and makes mistakes.

Anything, he clawed for reasons to hate you. He had all these ‘reasons’, yet he couldn’t find it in him to hate you. 

Walking into the room everything came back to him. It wreaked of alcohol and regret. 

The bed was bare and the old bed sheets were ashes in a near by forest. 

He looked around in the vacant shell of a home. He looked to his left and there it was, just like he remembered. It was a Polaroid of your first date at the amusement park. Even if it was your first date both of you knew it was love. But just like anything, love dies in negligence. 

He had a big cheesy smile, oozing with love. While you were lightly pecking his sun kissed cheek. A small droplet landed on the picture, rubbing salt in the wound. 

He picked a pen of your coffee table and took out a sheet of paper.  

 Same bed but it feels just a little bit bigger now.

When our friends talk about you, all it does is just tear me down

'Cause my heart breaks a little when I hear your name 

Mm, too young, too dumb to realize That I should have bought you flowers And held your hand Should have gave you all my hours When I had the chance Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made.  And it haunts me every time I close my eyes. Although it hurts

I'll be the first to say that I was wrong. 

I know I'm probably much too late

To try and apologize for my mistakes But I just want you to know, 

hope he buys you flowers I hope he holds your hand Give you all his hours When he has the chance Take you to every party 'Cause I remember how much you loved to dance Do all the things I should have done When I was your man Do all the things I should have done When I was your man. 

Ps. I don’t deserve you, don’t come back to me. 

Attaching the picture to the letter after snapping a picture of it on his phone, signing off the past to you. Letting go and accepting his mistakes. 

“I was fool with the delusion of deserving a love like yours.”  

[scarletraven1001]

The Final Price (Chapter 7)

Chapter Summary: Vegeta’s gone, and Bulma is finding it impossible to cope with his death. In the midst of her sorrow, she finds hope when she begins to have strange dreams about him, and she realizes that there just might be a way to bring him back.

Entry for the @tpthvegebulmayhem, Week 4 (Part 1 of 4).

Prompt: The Glass Slipper

Chapter Warnings: Rated E - Profane language; Triggers: Mentions of depression and suicide; Torture; Slight sexual content.

All Chapters:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Also on Ao3.

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Chapter 7: The Undying Bond

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Note: This is Part 1 of 4, for my Week 4 entry. I hope you like it!

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In her thirty years of existence, Bulma had, on several occasions, experienced what it was like to be sad.

She had gone through breakups, and she had lost friends. She had even, at one point, lost literally everything, and has had close friends and family members pass away.

Loss and death were not new to her.

However, the feelings of hopelessness, her conviction that things would never get better, the complete loss of her will to even get up every morning… those were new.

She had usually dealt with her sadness and frustrations by burying herself in her work or studies, by going out with friends or by taking short vacations.

She had tried so hard to do the same things this time around, but she just couldn’t.

She could not keep her mind on her work, making stupid mistakes because of her wandering thoughts that made her lose her concentration.

She had thrown an epic tantrum when she failed to solve a simple equation that she previously could have done with only one eye half open and both hands tied behind her back.

She had filed for an indefinite leave of absence from work, after that frankly embarrassing meltdown.

Her parents were worried, confused as to why she had suddenly become so despondent and angry.

She didn’t care.

She did not want to see anyone, did not want to talk to anybody.

Every step she took made her shake with agony.

Every bite of food felt like sand on her tongue.

She was smart enough to recognize the signs...

She had never before truly realized that there was a profound difference between being simply miserable, and being depressed.

She needed to be strong enough to fight it…

But she did not want to.

Vegeta’s death had hit her hard, like nothing she had ever experienced before.

She loathed herself, for being useless, for being unable to save him, for ultimately not being able to do anything to keep him alive.

She was so utterly lost, so unspeakably dejected, and all she wanted to do was lock herself up in her room all day and sleep.

Yet all she saw, every time she closed her eyes, were gruesome images of his last moments… the ki beam that struck his heart, his shaky final breaths, the look of pride and acceptance in his eyes right before he faded from her arms.

All these horrible memories fill the backs of her eyelids, yet she preferred sleep to wakefulness, because in slumber, she found some relief.

Perhaps, if she slept, she could dream of him. Maybe she would have a vision of him, see him as he was in the afterlife.

Oh, how she wanted to join him.

But she could not, because he had asked her to stay safe.

“Stay safe. My precious Blue Moon…”

She could not, should not, kill herself, because she could not bear to disrespect his memory, his hard work and sacrifice, by failing him at this.

“My Bulma…”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, and she tried and failed to hold them back.

It had been three weeks.

She still could not get his voice out of her head.

She could still feel his hands on her body, his kisses upon her lips.

“My Bulma…”

She could still feel how cold his skin had felt as he began to fade into nothingness, how his lips had trembled beneath hers as he fought to keep his pain to himself, even as he wasted away.

He was gone.

Her Vegeta was gone.

And to her, it truly felt as if a part of her soul had died with him, as well.

Maybe, her soul really had been ripped apart.

After all, he was her soulmate. It made perfect sense for her very spirit to cry out and scream at his demise.

It wasn’t fair.

How dare the world just ignorantly go on, when Vegeta was no longer in it.

At the moment, Bulma was staring numbly out her large bedroom windows and into the distance, her eyes hurting from the weak rays of sunlight that filtered in.

She was hunched in on herself in bed, her hair a matted disarray while her white shirt hung loosely around her frame.

Vegeta had hugged her, while she wore that shirt.

He had lain his head on her pillow as he wrapped his arms around her, an arrogant smirk on his face as he told her of how he was going to melt that shirt off her if she didn’t immediately take it off.

The pillow he had laid his head on, was the same one he had placed under her hips, using it so he can tilt her up as he thrust into her more deeply. It was the one he had slept on after their last moments of passion, one night before he fought Frieza.

She had her arms wrapped around that pillow then, refusing to part with it in spite of the stains from her endless tears.

It was all she had left of him.

She had lost his amulet when she got kidnapped, and she never even managed to take a fucking picture with him.

A stained pillow case was all she had left.

It was so utterly unfair.

A soft knock came on her door, pulling her slightly from her lonely thoughts, and she looked on morosely as the knob turned.

Her mother’s small blond head peeked in, her normally jovial eyes brimming with concern while her small mouth was turned down in a sad frown.

“Bulma, baby? May I come in?”

Bulma nodded, and Panchy walked in slowly, feet hesitantly padding across the floor.

She sat down on the edge of the large bed, while Bulma squinted at her, waiting for her to speak.

Panchy took a deep breath, before she resolutely turned to Bulma.

“Baby, you know I love you, right?” she said softly, reaching forward to stroke Bulma’s thin hand that was clutching tightly at her pillow.

Bulma nodded.

Panchy stared at her, and Bulma watched helplessly as small tears began leaking out of Panchy’s eyes.

“You’re my little girl. And I love you. So, won’t you tell me what’s wrong?” the blond said, scooting closer to Bulma.

She started speaking again. “That morning, when those three men brought you here… you were unconscious and so pale.”

Bulma didn’t remember all the things that had happened after Vegeta had faded from her arms, but she did remember her screams that seemed to go on for hours, until darkness finally overtook her… and the next thing she knew, she was back at home.  

“When I asked them where the fourth man was,” Panchy continued, “they didn’t say anything. And you… you never spoke to me either, Bulma.”

Panchy began sobbing as she looked at Bulma, watched her pale blue eyes look back at her blankly. “I want to help you, Bulma. Like you helped me when I was sick. I can feel… I can feel that your heart is sick too, but I don’t know why. Please baby, let me help you.”

Bulma drew her brows together, not even realizing that the tears had started flowing from her eyes, as well.

“Mom,” she said softly. “No one… no one can help me. It’s over.”

“No! Don’t say that, Bulma!” Panchy exclaimed, lunging at her and pulling her into her arms.

Panchy began to weep, soft, feminine sobs that broke Bulma’s heart just a little bit more, and before she knew it, she had clung to her mother, bawling desperately into her chest as she heard her own voice begin to cry out.

“He’s gone mom! He’s gone! Vegeta’s gone!” Bulma kept wailing, pounding the mattress with her fists as the very words made her body ache physically.

“Oh Bulma, do you mean he left, or-”

“He’s dead!” Bulma screamed, and she realized then that it was the very first time that she had dared say the words out loud.

She had never had the courage to acknowledge his loss out loud, in a fool’s hope that if she didn’t say it, maybe it could stop being true...

“He’s dead! And I – I couldn’t do anything, mom! I just sat there. He’s gone!” she cried, slumping into her mother, seeking comfort from her mother’s loving hold.

But Bulma was trying to fool herself. She knew that her mother’s calming touch would never be enough.

She could only ever find her peace from a thick pair of powerful arms that would never hold her, ever again.

“Oh baby, I’m – I’m so sorry!” Panchy whispered into her hair as she rained kisses on Bulma’s head.

Her mother spoke to her as she cried, and Bulma heard her mother trying desperately to hush her, to soften the flow of her tears.

“I knew… I knew there was something there… but I never realized that he meant so much to you! I wondered why a random team of soldiers had gone to rescue you when you got kidnapped,” Panchy said softly. “Oh Bulma, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

“I miss him, mom. I need him. I don’t know how I could go on,” she sobbed, as she felt her mother push her down, gently lowering her so that she was laying flat on her bed.

Panchy sniffed as she pulled blankets around her, tucking her in before she lay beside Bulma as well, hugging her tight as they cried together.

“Bulma, I am sure that it hurts. But you have to try to move on. He… he would have wanted you to be happy, don’t you think?”

She nodded, sniffling loudly. “He… he gave his life for me. He refused to save himself because he wanted me to… to stay safe.”

Bulma peered up at her mother. “He… he called me, my Bulma. Do you… do you think he loved me, mom? Because I love him... I love him so much.”

Panchy burst into tears once again, pulling Bulma tight, laying her head close to her chest like she used to do when Bulma had been little, and upset over little things.

“Yes baby. I’m sure he did. It is impossible not to love you, my sweet little girl.”

Bulma sobbed against her mother until she was exhausted, and Panchy just patiently held her, offering her silent support as she soothed her motherly hands across Bulma’s back.

It took a long time, but Bulma finally felt the stirrings of sleep begin to wash over her, and before she knew it, she was lost in slumber, away from the aches of the waking world, and into the sweet nothingness of the darkness of unconsciousness.

Yet… it was not darkness that greeted Bulma as she succumbed to sleep.

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She could still feel the dampness of her sweat as it dried slowly on her body.

She snuggled closer to Vegeta, laying her head close to his hard chest. She knew that the abnormal heat of his body should have been uncomfortable, but to her, it was like being in the gentle clouds of heaven, where nothing could harm her, and nothing could hurt her. It was just the two of them, nestled in each other’s arms, luxuriating in the warmth of their hearts.  

A small feather fell onto her nose, cutting off her tender musings.  She tried to flick it off with her breaths, blowing out her mouth so that the air would push it off her face.

Vegeta had ripped one of her pillows apart while in the throes of passion. She absolutely did not mind.

She felt his chuckle as it rumbled across his chest, before she heard the soft snickers leave his lips.

She watched him lift a hand, and he quickly plucked the offending feather from her before he lowered his head to drop a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I am sorry for the pillow,” he said with a totally non-apologetic smirk. “I can fix it.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Leave it for now,” she grinned back. She reached a hand up to trace the contours of his chest with the tips of her fingers, peeking up at him through her lashes. “I rather like the reminder that I was just so good in bed that you had to rip something up. It’s so… feral.”

She laughed as she watched him blush at her teasing.

She expected him to get back at her with an arrogant rebuttal, but the hand that he placed on her cheek, along with the soft look that entered his normally-stern eyes, threw her for a loop.

“I will admit this much, Bulma,” he whispered, as if a part of him was hesitant to say the words. “Being with you tonight was… different.”

“Different in a good way?” she asked, breathless at his solemn confession.

He nodded. “I have never… It has never been this way before. I nearly lost control.”

“Maybe it has just been too long?” she asked, hoping that it wasn’t for that reason.

It had been so incredible for her, as well.

He shook his head, and she nearly sighed in relief.

“No, it is not that… you are my most incredible experience,” he admitted.

She flushed happily, beaming brightly up at him. “That’s great Vegeta, because… it was amazing for me, too.”

He smiled back.”Don’t let it get to your head, woman.”

She laughed, huffing jokingly as she answered. “Excuse me? You’re the one with the huge head!”

“Oh, is that how it is going to be?” he growled, a playful smirk on his face as he turned, pouncing on her, hands crawling up and down her sides, making her squirm before her laughter began to ring around her bedroom.

“No! No tickling!” she yelled, trying in vain to push away from his hands.

He started laughing as well, tickling her sides more vigorously. “I got you now, and I am not letting go!”

8-8-8-8-8

She opened her eyes slowly as she woke, already feeling the tears welling up behind her lids.

She smiled bitterly as she recalled the last vestiges of her dream, her memory of happier times with Vegeta.

“But you did let go, Vegeta. You let go…”

8-8-8-8-8

The next morning was too bright, too cheerful, and Bulma almost felt as if she wanted to vomit as she tried and failed to get up from her bed.

It was really pointless, getting up. Why should she even bother?

She was contemplating going back to sleep, when a bright flash of light suddenly appeared inside her bedroom, and she gaped as a male form with spiky, golden hair materialized before her.

A dozen flashbacks went through her mind as she screamed, tumbling carelessly from her bed as she bolted without thought towards the man who had appeared with his back to her, wearing a blue tank top and loose black pants.

“Vegeta!” she screamed, heart pounding through her ribcage as she desperately tried to move towards him…

Was he truly back?

The man turned, and the hopeful spark within her chest died as quickly as it had been lit, when she realized that the person standing before her was definitely not her dead lover.

It was Goku.

Indescribable rage filled her as he turned to look at her.

“What are you doing here?!” she roared, making him visibly recoil.

How dare he get her hopes up?

How dare he remind her of what she had lost?

“Bulma, I’m sorry,” Goku said, raising his hands up in a gesture of placation. “I just wanted to check up on you again. I didn’t think you would be awake.”

Bulma’s rage continued to simmer. “What do you mean, again?”

Goku winced. “I have been checking on you once every three days. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She finally untangled herself from her sheets, rising up to stand and glaring lividly at Goku.

“Look at me! Do I look alright to you, Goku?” she yelled.

She knew her anger was unwarranted, but she was unable to stem the venom that flowed through her.

Goku appeared to deflate. “No, you don’t. You don’t look alright at all. You look awful.”

She glared. “Oh well, thank you, Goku! I-”

“You look sick,” he said, brows furrowing. “You are very thin. You look like you aren’t eating.”

Bulma was taken aback as she noted Goku’s hands clenching, and she watched his face slowly morph from a look of concern to one of irritation.

“You ain’t taking care of yourself, are ya?” he accused, and Bulma cringed under the accusation in his eyes. “Bulma, why? You have to treat yourself better. You-”

“What’s the point?” she asked bitterly. “Why should I?! There’s nothing left for me here. He’s gone, so why should I even-”

“He gave his life for you!” Goku said loudly, shocking her into silence.

She gaped at him, watching his aura flare angrily around him.

“Our Prince, our leader, who we waited thirty Earth years for, gave up on a chance to reestablish the Saiyan race because he couldn’t bear to let you die. He gave up on his legacy,” Goku hissed, “because you meant more to him than me, Raditz and Nappa combined, more than the thirty years of waiting and plotting to rise and lead us again. And all you are doing in exchange for his sacrifice is letting yourself waste away. The least you can do is to respect his death by surviving.”

He turned away from her, angrily looking out her window, and she was struck by the visible similarities between Vegeta and his fellow Saiyan.

That straight and powerful stance, the strong arms and narrowed, determined eyes... Vegeta and Goku looked nothing alike, yet, standing here now, Bulma could fully appreciate the fact that these men truly were not ordinary humans, as their presence resonated with something unmistakably powerful, and she was awestruck by the display.

Goku sighed, powering down so his hair turned back to its usual dark, spiky look. He turned back to her, his face now softer and slightly contrite. “I am sorry for shouting, Bulma. But Vegeta was our Prince. Our ruler, even before his father died. The first Saiyan to ascend to Super Saiyan in a thousand ages. We all looked up to him.”

He walked towards her, taking her limp hands in his, a brotherly gesture that had Bulma near-tears as she sensed his sadness through his somber gaze.

“He… he was my idol,” Goku said, swallowing audibly. “He had been telling me that I had what it took to ascend, and I never would’a tried so hard if it weren’t for him always telling me that I could. It… it hurts to know that he is really gone.”

“It does. It really does hurt, Goku. I… I’m sorry if I’m like this… I just… I can’t handle it,” she whispered, and she felt him steering her to sit on her bed, before he himself crouched before her, rocking back on his haunches as he watched her.

“You have to try Bulma. He wouldn’t wanna see you like this. And I’m here because I want you to be safe, like he asked. So I’m gonna try to look after you, alright?” he said. “I see why Vegeta liked you. You’re a strong girl. If I remember right, back on the mountain those years ago, you were the toughest in your group. You have to be that tough girl, again.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I… I am going to try. I am going to really try, Goku.”

He smiled back. “You should.”

8-8-8-8-8

The visit from Goku shook Bulma, and she decided then that she had to at least make an effort to try to get things to go back to normal.

She knew it would be impossible, but she should at least try to attain a semblance of normalcy, if not for her, then for the people who loved her and were worried for her.

Also… for Vegeta.

Goku had been right. Vegeta wanted her to be safe, he wanted her to live her life, and she was going to try, for him.

She tried to fight back the urge to stay in bed all day. She took baths with her phone right beside her, so she can call her mother to fetch her from the bathroom if the shudders started up again, or if she felt the urge to either not get out at all or to just drown herself in the bathtub.

She asked Goku for his number – which he had to go back home for a second to retrieve from his wife, Chichi – so she can call him whenever she was feeling down.

It apparently helped, to have somebody around who could understand the pain of her loss.

Bulma opened up to Lazuli, her assistant, and the blond surprised Bulma by sharing that she, apparently, had gone through a dark period as well when her parents passed away, leaving her and her twin brother as homeless orphans.

She tried to offer some help, supplying Bulma with books that had helped her cope with her own loss, and though Bulma knew that the self-help books would not really offer her much peace of mind, she took them, grateful for the kinship that she now shared more keenly with Lazuli.

Bulma tried to look back at her memories with Vegeta more fondly, and as the weeks passed, she found herself slowly becoming more able to smile as she remembered his words and arrogant smiles.

She could remember their small conversations, his nitpicking at her messy lab and office. She smiled as she sat in her office, chewing thoughtfully at some pineapple, remembering his face as he sniffed in disdain at how lazy humans were for slicing their fruit into bite-sized bits.

There was, however, one thing that helped keep her happier, that began after she cried her eyes out after coming clean to her mother… after she finally acknowledged out loud, that Vegeta was gone.

She had begun to dream of him.

The dreams were happy dreams, full of memories of their few days together, and sometimes of random encounters that she knew had never happened, and had regarded as simple figments of her imagination.

She thought of them more as alternate universe versions of a life with Vegeta.

She had once dreamed of them flying off to South City to fight villainous androids, where one of them looked uncannily like Lazuli.

She also once dreamed of watching him talking to a group of men who stood in neat lines before a large red mountain, and she realized that two of the men looked suspiciously like Raditz and Nappa.

Just that morning, she had woken up from a dream where they had met on a distant planet, where he had terrified her as they both competed in a search for what she had, in her dream, called Dragon Balls, wish-granting orbs that resembled the enchanted ball that had brought Vegeta into her life.

She dreamed of him every night, and she knew that she was bordering now on an insane obsession, but she reasoned that, it was still better than not seeing him at all, and just letting herself die alone in her room.

At least, with the dreams, she could be with him.

At least, in her dreams, Vegeta was alive.

After she finished her snack, she shook herself free of her thoughts as she stood, moving into the large laboratory that was adjacent to her office.

She sorted through her things until she finally found her ongoing project, a power core for a deep space machine that was inspired by her dream about meeting Vegeta on a distant planet.

In the dream, she had reached the strange green planet using a sophisticated ship that could enter into a form of hyperdrive, bypassing Earth physics and running at speeds faster than the speed of light.

She was trying to figure out if it would, in reality, be possible to engineer such a vehicle.

Bulma had been reading up on the possibilities of deep space exploration and the power sources that could potentially take the people of Earth into farther corners of the universe, but the answer constantly evaded her.

She was about to turn her attention to another project when she remembered a discussion that she had with Vegeta , just a few days after she and her family had returned to Capsule Corp.

8-8-8-8-8

“So this is what your family does for a living,” he remarked, looking around her lab, peeking through the various machines and smaller components that littered her workspace to look at her from behind her cluttered work table.

“Yep! We are engineers! Well, my father and I are. We are inventors; scientists, actually. And this is my home!” she crowed, gesturing grandly at the mess of parts before her.

“And what, exactly, are you working on here?”

“Well,” she began, lifting an energy source from her table, showing him the glowing liquid inside the large fiberglass capsule. “I am trying to make a compound that could function as an alternate energy source so we don’t have to be so dependent on gasoline. I know that there are several other methods now, but this one,” she shook it, “could potentially be powerful enough to send us to the moon with only a liter of it needed.”

“Impressive,” he agreed, studying the mixture. “So it is a highly-concentrated energy source that could potentially power your vehicles into farther distances, with far less quantity.”

“Yes!” she said, beaming with pride.

He frowned slightly. “Did you take into consideration though, how a compound like that could potentially drain other components of your ships? It would not be enough fluid to sustain the other functions that you would need for a habitable vehicle.”

“What do you mean?”

“It would cause a chain reaction of sorts within your ship,” he explained. “The other motors will be needing to work at an equivalently higher rate of efficiency for that compound to be able to sustain all of the functions.”

She chewed her thumb nail thoughtfully. “So you’re saying that if I use this energy source, I need to adjust all other functions on the ship.”

He nodded. “But I am sure you already knew that. What you could consider is this: is your planet’s current technology ready for a machine that could accurately utilize this compound?”

She looked at him, impressed. She had no idea that he even had an interest in mechanical processes and electronics. “You make a good point. However, are you saying that this experiment is not practical, then?”

“I believe it would be ambitious to use this experimental fluid on a large machine, such as a space ship,” he clarified. “Perhaps, you would do well to try testing it on a smaller gadget, to test how far the energy can go, so you can more easily make the necessary calculations as you proceed to larger undertakings.”

She smiled at him then. “Why Vegeta, that is brilliant! Any suggestions on what I could use it on?”

Vegeta smirked. “How about one of those phones that you use to communicate? The ones that you keep charging all the time? Or perhaps, something practical, like a blaster gun?”

Bulma stood from her chair, excited. “Vegeta, that’s a great idea!” she exclaimed, picking up the green capsule. “I’m going to start a different experiment right now!”

She moved around the table, and when she reached him, she leaned up, leaving a light kiss on his cheek.

She immediately noticed the dark blush that stole over his cheeks, before he covered up his embarrassment with a scowl.

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma went to the back of her office, opening a small drawer hidden behind her filing cabinets.

She reached in, smiling when her hand met the small item that she had stashed in there, a confidential little experiment that she had been working on without the knowledge of her father, an undeclared idea that she had personally financed so she can test its viability.

She pulled it out, and her smile turned melancholy as she continued to look at it.

It was a blaster gun.

She had decided to make a prototype, as Vegeta suggested, and she had completed her first model only a few hours before she had been abducted by Frieza, and everything that she knew had gone to hell in a hand basket.

The blaster was small and sleek, made of transparent fiberglass and polished titanium. Due to some adjustments she had to make in the internal machinery, the blaster was unconventional, and did not look like a typical gun.

The handle curved slightly around her hand, and when placed flat on a table, the shape reminded her of a glass and metal slipper. She had wanted to show it to Vegeta, but in all the action, had completely forgotten, and she stared at it now with a mixture of sadness and longing, as she tried to imagine how he would have reacted to seeing that she had managed to turn his suggestion into an actual prototype.

He would have been so proud.

She slowly placed the blaster back into the hidden drawer, knowing that it was actually a rather dangerous trinket, as she had seen the damage it could inflict, first-hand. She had tested it out on some very thick metal sheets, and the powercore had aided the blasts so that the gun had easily melted through the tough metals, and she knew that with the energy held by the weapon – a mere medicine capsule-sized chamber of the fluid – the gun would not need to have its energy cartridge replaced for a very long time.

She turned back to her current experiment, intent on working on it now, to take her mind off the bitter taste that the happy memory with Vegeta had left in her mouth.

8-8-8-8-8

She was in space. That much was clear.

However, it felt strange, as she realized that she was enclosed in a single pod that was controlled by nothing but a very small keypad with unrecognizable square-shaped symbols.

The darkness surrounding her was thick, and she could feel a dull throbbing on the side of her left arm, an inconvenient sensation that had her wanting to rip off her own limb.

Now, that right there, was an odd thought.

She reached behind her, pulling out a thick roll of paper containing diagrams written in a foreign script, and she stared at the schematics as if she could understand the letterings.

“Tch,” a very familiar voice said, the sound ringing clearly in her ears, as if the voice had come from her.

“This makes no sense,” the same voice muttered, frustrated, and Bulma felt shock enter her as she finally placed the voice.

Vegeta.

She wanted to turn, to look for him. She wanted to see him, but her body refused to follow her, only reaching up, and apparently turning on a very dull light within the space pod.

The light filled the pod, and she squinted, looking up at the thick glass window that was right in front of her.

She nearly jumped when she saw Vegeta’s face reflected back at her.

She looked down then, and she saw his very familiar hands clenching and unclenching in what she knew was his way of displaying annoyance.

It was then that Bulma understood, that she was in Vegeta’s body.

What a strange dream…

She watched his fingers reach forward, tapping on a few keys before him, before a small screen lit up, a low beeping sound filling the pod, before Nappa’s face showed up on the screen.

A communication screen.

Bulma noted that Nappa looked younger, maybe more than ten years younger than the one she met a few months ago.

“Nappa,” Vegeta said. “How is the squad? Did you bring the boy with you?”

“The squad is fine, your highness,” Nappa responded. “As for the boy, Kakarot is within the larger ship with Raditz.”

Kakarot. That was Goku.

“Good. That boy needs to be trained, Nappa. I can feel his power within him. Raw and unused. He could… he could be another Super Saiyan.”

Nappa looked shocked. “You believe so, my Prince?”

“Yes, I do. We need him to get stronger. He could be a powerful warrior, more so than Raditz and their father, Bardock, combined.”

“Raditz is a very strong fighter, your highness.”

“And Bardock, before his injury, was stronger. This boy is even stronger than that.”

Bulma listened to their exchange, realizing that this dream was about Vegeta’s time before he had been thrown into the ball.

“We will need him,” Vegeta continued, “in our rebellion against Frieza. I shall train him, myself.”

“He is but a boy, my lord,” Nappa responded.

“And I was even more of a boy when I had first been stolen by Frieza and forced to work for them, until my father retrieved me. Kakarot will be fine.”

Vegeta fidgeted then, bringing his right hand up to clutch at his left arm, and she felt him violently tug at the limb, the pain making stars flash behind her lids.

“As you see fit, my Prince”, Nappa said, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

“If I am right, and the boy does indeed ascend, then we will have two of us able to perform instant transmission. It would be a tremendous tactical advantage,” Vegeta said.

“And I am certain that he will be delighted to be trained by you,” Nappa said. “Raditz told me that the boy idolizes you tremendously. That he has said that he wishes to be just like the Prince.”

Bulma felt Vegeta smirk at that. “As he should.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma woke with a start, disoriented by the darkness.

As her eyes adjusted to the meager light, she realized that she was in her bedroom, lying down on her same, soft sheets, clutching her favorite pillow to her chest.

That had certainly been a strange dream.

She could still feel the throbbing in her left arm, the ache of an old injury that sometimes recurred and refused to fully heal.

“Wait a minute,” she muttered, as a very small memory surfaced.

She could distinctly remember Vegeta begin to use his right arm more and more as she watched him during his fight against Frieza.

His left arm could have had a recurring injury.

She bolted upright, unsettled.

That dream… did not feel like a dream, at all.

She immediately ran to her dresser, pulling her mobile phone out. Uncaring of the time, she scrolled down to the number of the one person she knew could help her understand what had happened.

The phone began to ring on the other end, and a few moments later, a groggy voice answered.

“Hello?” Goku greeted, voice thick with sleep.

“Goku! It’s Bulma.”

“Yeah, hi Bulma. It’s two in the mornin’,” he said.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But I need help,” she said.

Goku’s voice was more alert as he answered. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not really, but-” she cut herself off when the familiar glow of the instant transmission appeared in her bedroom once again.

“What’s up?” Goku asked as soon as he materialized into her bedroom. He was wearing a loose shirt and boxer shorts, clearly coming directly from his bed.

“Goku, I am so sorry. I just wanted to ask you…” she said, hesitating before she continued. “When you were younger, did Vegeta train you, because he thought you could be Super Saiyan?”

“Well yeah,” he answered. “He asked Nappa and Raditz to bring me with them to the outer base one day, and the next, he showed up in the training arena to train me. I was shocked.”

She felt the blood drain from her face, as Goku tilted his head, regarding her more closely.

“He… Vegeta was taken hostage by Frieza, at one point, right?” she asked shakily.

Goku nodded. “He was with them for about seven Saiyan ages – fourteen Earth years – before King Vegeta started an uprising to retrieve him. It was during that battle that the Queen Papaya was killed, and Prince Vegeta turned Super Saiyan for the first time.”

Bulma felt her hands begin to shake as disbelief filled her.

She had been right… That was not a dream.

She had seen Vegeta’s memories.

But how?

Goku stared at her in concern. “Bulma, are you alright? Haven’t you been eating again, because you are a little pale.”

Bulma looked up at the tall Saiyan, a confused grin on her lips.

“I’m fine, Goku. More than fine. I think… I think I just dreamed of Vegeta’s memories.”

Goku’s eyes went wide. “What? How? That’s impossible, ain’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s supposed to be impossible,” she confirmed. “But I am sure. I saw Nappa, and I heard them talking about you having the power to ascend.”

Goku looked baffled. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I need something from you now, Goku. I need you to talk to Uranai.”

8-8-8-8-8

A day after Bulma sent Goku off to Uranai, she began researching on the theories regarding sleep and memory transfers. As of then, it was nothing but a part of science fiction mythos, but Bulma was sure that she could find something that could help her understand just how it could have been possible for Vegeta’s memories to have manifested in her dreams.

She spent the entire afternoon reading up on various sci-fi novels and conspiracy theories, and the only thing she could come up with were a few readings about soul bonding and psychic connections, but most stories concerned subjects who were both still alive.

As the day gave way to night, Bulma was nowhere closer to finding the answer to her questions, and she went home, feeling rather dejected that her research had basically gone nowhere.

She contemplated calling Goku to ask how his trip to Uranai had gone, if his asking the old crone for her theories had been more successful than her own efforts, but she decided against it, thinking that she could just call him in the morning. It was a bit late, after all, and she didn’t want to bother his sleep twice in a row.

She went to bed then, hoping that she would dream once again of Vegeta, or that the answers to her questions would come to her in her sleep.

8-8-8-8-8

It was scorching.

Flames licked up every single inch of her skin, and she wanted to recoil from the agonizing heat of the perpetual fires that surrounded her.

However, her feet remained pinned down, and she realized that she was being held against an iron-like beam, her arms and feet bound by spiked chains around the searing barrier.

Around her were screams of agony, and she could sense the anger boiling up inside her, deep hatred for her situation blistering inside her soul as the fires torched her limbs.

The flames never left a mark, but the endless pain remained.

It was hell.

She wanted to scream, but her pride warred with her need to let her suffering be heard, and she remained silent, teeth gnashing in fury as she tried valiantly to ignore the ongoing torture.

A large blast of fire appeared beside her, clearing up to reveal the form of a large man with red skin, with horns protruding from the top of his head. He had terrifying yellow eyes with slitted black irises, a dark goatee, and he wore a large blue cloak with a long white cape.

She felt herself spit in disdain, a growl rising from her chest.

“Dabura,” she felt herself say, and Bulma was once again surprised to realize that the voice belonged to Vegeta.

She was in Vegeta’s body, once again, probably dreaming of another memory.

Vegeta’s voice had been dripping in contempt, so Bulma thought that perhaps, this was a part of his servitude under Frieza.

“Hello, your majesty,” the large, demonic man greeted sarcastically. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay.”

“Fuck you,” Vegeta hissed.

“Unfortunately for you, I do not find you attractive,” Dabura laughed. “I believe the only ones who would ever fuck you are your Saiyan courtesans, because they didn’t really have a choice, did they?”

“Tch,” Vegeta said. “I’ll have you know that I was the favorite lay of all the Saiyan courtesans.”

“And who was your favorite lay, Prince Vegeta?”

Vegeta shut his mouth, pinching his lips hard against the urge to say something caustic back.

Dabura laughed. “Oh, I had nearly forgotten. You did fall hard for that little Earthling woman, did you not?”

“You fucking leave her out of this, Dabura,” Vegeta growled.

Bulma felt his anger rising once again, and she realized that Dabura had hit a sore spot with Vegeta.

Wait… an Earthling? Vegeta had never been to Earth before he was sealed. Could this mean…

“Would you like to see her again, Prince?”

Vegeta turned his head away from Dabura, but the large devil simply floated towards him, holding out a small mirror that began to glow in his hands.

“Watch, you wretch. Watch!” Dabura leered, and Bulma saw the mirror begin to turn into a viewing screen of sorts.

She could see her bedroom, and she saw a small lump of blankets gathered into the center of her bed.

It took her less than a moment to realize that the lump was none other than her.

It was as she had been while she was still deep in her depression, a frail bundle of skin and bones that refused to get up from her bed, the worst version of herself that had been wishing for nothing but death.

It was difficult, even for her, to see.

She felt Vegeta gasp as his eyes fell on her miserable form, and she felt him clench his hands into tight fists. She felt his conflict, his wanting to look away, but being unable to tear his gaze from the sight of her in her darkest moments.

“Do you see, Vegeta? See how you have made this woman suffer?” Dabura asked, and Vegeta gulped, as she felt an onslaught of guilt and pain fill his chest, a pain that made the agony of the flames licking at his body seem dull in comparison.

“You were so selfish, Prince. If you had never tried to come back to life, this woman would still be living her wonderful life, full of energy and happiness,” Dabura whispered maliciously. “She would never have been targeted by Frieza, would never have had to suffer from her father’s trial. She would never have had to be in such pain…”

“Shut up!” Vegeta choked out. “Stop this, stop this right now!”

“Listen to her cry, Prince!” Dabura said, and all at once, Bulma heard her own voice surround them, her heart-wrenching cries of her own suffering leaving Vegeta breathless in despair and guilt.

“Vegeta… Why… Why?” she heard her voice say weakly, and Vegeta closed his eyes, willing the vision and sound of her sadness away.

“Please…” Vegeta began, and Bulma was shocked at the rawness of his voice. “Please stop. Let her just live. She… she does not deserve to be in this sort of pain. This was all because of me.”

“Well, I am glad that you at least know that, Prince,” Dabura said gleefully, removing the mirror as he began to back away from Vegeta. “Until the next time, your highness.”

With that, Dabura disappeared, leaving a despondent Vegeta to breathe heavily, fighting the despair in his heart.

Bulma could do nothing but listen to his harsh breaths, feel the heaving of his chest and the single tear that trickled down his cheek.

“Bulma,” he whispered, his voice soft, loving, reverent. “Be safe, my beloved...”

8-8-8-8-8

As she woke from the dream, Bulma bolted up, her chest heavy with Vegeta’s pained thoughts, her limbs still stinging from the fires that burned her body from the inside and out.

She had been in literal hell.

Vegeta was in hell.

And he was in extreme agony.

She stood up, pacing her room as she gathered the scattered bits of her mind to piece together all that she had learned.

Vegeta was dead, but somehow, whether he knew it or not, he was still communicating with her. Perhaps, it was the fact that their spirits had been linked for so long, that he was able to reach out to her from the afterlife.

Perhaps… if he was still linked with her…

Then maybe, she could still have him back.

She looked out the window, smiling at the rising sun, as she went to her cabinets and pulled out a pair of denim jeans and a comfortable white shirt.

She ran to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then she dressed hurriedly, before she picked up her phone, and dialed.

“Hello,” the man’s voice was more alert than the last time she had called, so perhaps, he had already been awake this time.

“Goku, hi.”

“Bulma, great that you called! I found something when I went to Uranai yesterday-”

“You can tell me later. I need you to come and pick me up, now,” she said.

Goku paused. “Where are we going?”

She grinned.

“We are going to Uranai, you and I,” she said. “We are going to bring Vegeta back.”

8-8-8-8-8

To be continued…

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