Every BV I ever read goes through the same motions; Veggie comes to earth, Bulma hates his guts. They grow together, Bulma breaks up with Yaumcha. Or the other way around. Blabla,… love,… mushy stuff all done.
Let's turn things around a bit for once, ok? First of all: no mushy stuff. I can't stand it. That's probably why I like Vegie so much.
And, sorry Bulma isn't much of a princess herself. I mean, let's face it, there is a reason she can't ride the little yellow cloud you know!
But, most important, I'm gonna start after the act, and then let our poor, confused –and slightly upset- main characters ask themselves the ultimate question:
How the hell did I just let
this happen?!
Disclaimer: where you about
to pay me for this fac so you could publish it? too bad. I don't own the DBZ
chars, so I'm not allowed to make any money off a this! ARCH! There goes my
perfect ploy.
PS: Red this?
Liked it? Hated it? Want to tell me anything, drop me a line: agnesswart@hotmail.com
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It was a beautiful spring morning: fresh and light with the hint of rain; the promise of new life. A morning as only spring mornings can be. The sound of chirping birds was carried in through the open window, along with a slight breeze that rocked the curtains gently.
Daily life drifted in uninvited; a soft whisper here, the trickled of a spring-fountain there.
But what finally pulled the young beauty from her sleep was the steady stream of sunlight on Bulma's closed eyelids.
Not yet.
She pleaded, turning around and pulling the silken sheets over her eyes. Laying here, doing nothing. It just felt so good. She lay still a moment, listening to the pounding in her head. It did not hurt much yet, but she knew that as soon as she would move or even open her eyes, her hangover would surface to it's full potential.
Kami, that was some party last night!
Or must have been. She didn't remember all that much, really.
Bulma smiled into her pillow, before becoming aware that her legs were now bare. Probably due to her pulling the sheet over her eyes. It was cold; though it must have been well past noon, it was still early in the year. And with the window ajar a fresh breeze ran past her bare legs until she shivered, cold all over. Bulma whimpered, pulling her legs up, trying to warm herself, eyes shut tightly. Her shivering only made her pounding headache worse.
As she pulled her arms across her knees, however, her fingers brushed over a solid, warm surface. Bulma smiled again, realising the reason she was in such a good mood despite her killer hangover. So, he came home to me after all. Indeed, even with the fresh air of the outside streaming in, Bulma could still smell that sweet sting of lovemaking on her sheets.
The young woman pulled over to her lover, draping one arm across his chest and pillowing her cheek on his shoulder. She snuggled in again, trying to accumulate to his form; it somehow felt different. She finally found the crook between his arm and chest, and sighed contently. "Yaumcha…."
To her delight, her lover stirred a little, mumbling something under his breath with a content sigh.
But then, he stiffened. Bulma blinked, her eyes shooting open to the sound of his rough, low voice.
"Oh, shit!"
Filled with apprehension, the blue-haired woman lifted her head, turning to look up. Past the half drawn sheets, over his chiselled, scarred chest: too small, the marks in all the wrong places.
Onto his muscle-corded neck to his face: a sharp, pointed chin with high cheekbones. Shocked, black eyes; blacker then Yaumcha's could ever be.
And, lastly, a flame of black straight-standing hair with a sharp widow's peak.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.
Until Bulma broke the spell:
She screamed.