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| foot soldier's fan fiction failures; alliteration. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 14 2013, 08:06 AM (473 Views) | |
| foot soldier | Sep 14 2013, 08:06 AM Post #1 |
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I found a bunch of my old fan fiction on a thumb drive. A lot of it is 100% junk, but some of it's decent. None of it is inspired me to continue it. But I thought it would be a nice laugh for us all if I posted some of it up, anyway. Aliens - a dbz world/real world mash up. What what. Spoiler: click to toggle It all began with a man named Yuri Gagarin. I never knew him because he was dead before I was even thought of, and even if we had lived in the same time we would have been separated by an iron curtain. This was because Yuri Gagarin was born in a little place called Klushino in Russia on March 9, 1934. I was born a lifetime and a half later in a little red blooded American town in the boonies of Kentucky, a place so far and remote from peaceful little Klushino that there shouldn't have been any reason at all for me to know the name Yuri Gagarin for anything at all. Except there was the overwhelming fact that Yuri Gagarin had changed the face of the entire planet as the human race had known it since the beginning of time. You see, Yuri Gagarin, and you should remember his name as well as I do because everything that has happened in all of recent history is entirely his fault, was the first man in space. There's even a little museum outside of Moscow built for him, as if we're supposed to honor his memory despite the complete turmoil he brought his planet. Inside the museum there's a pedestal where the Vostok I capsule that he used to break through the Earth's atmosphere for the first time is displayed. It's an ugly, primitive thing that just looking at makes you wonder why we couldn't have been lucky enough for it to malfunction and allow its passenger to burn in the stratosphere. But there was no such luck and Yuri Gagarin flew straight into the history books whistling a tune as carefree as a bird while unknowingly sealing the future of the known world to be shot to hell. They say he sang the Motherland hears, the Motherland knows, but I don't think they really did. If they had they wouldn't have ever played in the dangerous game of the space race and won, and we wouldn't have ever found what was out there. I suppose its unfair to blame only Yuri Gagarin for all the misfortunes he caused, but since there is no more USSR to condemn, all the criticism falls to him. One single man who much of the world hailed as a hero upon his return to Earth, now in utter disgrace. It was a big Communist win in the democratic world and it smarted our arrogant pride, but that confrontation was nothing if not petty. In hindsight, we would have been much better off at that point coming together as a whole planet then continuing in childish competition. Knowing what we know now, it was naïve to think that no one would notice us leaving our home planet for the first time. Only powerful, advanced races left their planets. In 1961, when Gagarin made his flight, humanity was absolutely none of those things, yet we had opened ourselves up to a slew of new enemies by simply venturing out our planet's front door. In an orbital period of only one hour twenty nine minutes and thirty four seconds the stage for the much-feared World War Three had been set, though it didn't break out between Russia and the United States as expected. We as humans were much to absorbed in our own planetary affairs to consider the horrible things that could have followed Yuri Gagarin back from the reaches of space. But he had definitely brought back the attention of some new players on the field, because you simply can't leave your home planet without someone noticing. That feared World War Three would begin as Earth versus the Colds because the ship F11G-87L, class D, saw Vostok I. I imagine the crew had a nice laugh amongst themselves at our expense. It was probably hilarious, after all, to see something so ridiculous as the Vostok pod floating about in space while they cruised in their fancy, advanced ship. They had merely been out scouting for new business ventures for the Planet Trade Organization, not looking for a great comedy. But out of sheer bad luck they had glimpsed that bastard Yuri Gagarin and their interest in the unsuspecting little blue planet they had passed piqued. They marked the coordinates of Earth in their computer, along with the other nearby planets they thought looked particularly interesting along their trip. When their mission ended and they returned home to the Cold Empire, their logs were downloaded into the main database and Earth emerged under a new name, Planet 894-C. A month later soldiers were dispatched from headquarters out to the newly scouted coordinates and a year after that, the first visitors arrived on Earth. Only they weren't there to visit, you know. They were there to conquer, a goal which they accomplished by the spilling of blood. Our blood, since we couldn't put up half of a fight in the face of their extraterrestrial threat. They destroyed everything, thousands of years of culture gone in days. That's the history of what happened to get us where we are now. But I guess the bad luck that got us discovered in the first place ran out because Planet 894-C has been a surprisingly good place to be in recent years, despite the whole alien occupation thing. We were taught in school there was really no such thing as aliens. I for one believed it was a load of s***. The curriculum introduced by the Colds tried to make us all believe there was no fundamental distinction between us and any of those who came periodically to inspect our progress. I didn't buy it for a second because while I was the last person on Earth to be a bigot, a believer in equality all the way, I wasn't so stupid as to see the disparity between us and them. They were heartless and without morals and came in all shapes and colors, most of them not even resembling something close to humanoid. They were different and they couldn't have assimilated into our society if they wanted to, which they most certainly didn't, because they were aliens. My high school could preach the mantra 'not aliens, just another species' at me until they turned as blue as an Arlian prince in puberty, but my ears would always be deaf. They couldn't convince me that all these 'visitors' were a good thing in the slightest, even if the mind altering teachings had seeped into the collective conscious of my planet generations before me and settled unnervingly as if it they had always been there. Even my grandparents had accepted the appearance of creatures as strange as the bird-like Litts in our world, but I remained stubbornly anti-alien in all my ways, scorning the off worlders without discrimination. I could spot an off worlder from a mile way simply by the way they walked. Then I met my first Saiyan, and I hadn't noticed a thing amiss until I was being slapped hard in the face by a furry brown tail. I didn't even remember what I had done wrong to offend her as she snarled over me in fury, her upper lip curling to reveal teeth too sharp to be human. I simply stared up at her completely dumbfounded. She spat something I decided must be some sort of rude oath at me in a language I had never heard and couldn't identify, kicked up quite a bit of dust, and departed. When the encounter was done with I was left with a shattered sense of security and a permanently crooked nose which had been smashed by her tail and healed back at an awkward angle. I nursed my wounds both privately and publicly, whining to and warning anyone who would listen about the horrible alien b*** who had broken my face with a sweep of her freakish tail. I was careful, however, not to let anyone know how the same woman had bypassed my off worlder radar with alarming efficiency. It was embarrassing that I hadn't noticed her presence until the last possible moment when I prided myself so much on being able to spot her kind of folk, the non-humans. But everything about her was indiscernible from a human being, except for that God awful murder-weapon tail. It scared me s***less. "I bet I can hit it from here." - a drabble lengthed piece of non sense starring Goku and Goten. Spoiler: click to toggle “I bet I can hit it from here.” “I bet you can't.” “I did it last week.” “No way you did, I don't believe you.” “Watch this!” Those were famous last words as Goten already knew, but he felt fairly secure what he was doing couldn't result in immediate death. He fumbled quickly with his belt, the buckle clanking and making that awkward noise he had always considered a bit suggestive while his father watched him intently at his side. Beneath them a particularly noticeable formation of rocks, which had been deliberately arranged years previously into a target, had no idea what was coming for it as Goten adjusted his stance at the top of the cliff where the identical Sons had been training. With a fluid flick of his wrists his drawers dropped and he took careful aim from the top of the precipice, a stream of piss suddenly plummeting at terminal velocity. As promised, he nailed the center of the stone target below with unyielding accuracy. Beside him, Goku nodded with approval, “Impressive, Goten. But can you do it from up there?” Goten shook himself dry and glanced upwards toward the next highest overhang at which his dad was pointing. He buttoned and zipped his pants slowly. He wasn't completely sure he could manage such a feat, at least without practice. There was a lot to take into account when taking a planned piss off a cliff with the intention of hitting a specific mark. Wind, angles, some other stuff that didn't make much sense to him. He just had good aim and a lot of determination. But he still wasn't sure he could hit the target from so far off. “Why don't you try it first, dad?” Goten asked finally, buckling his belt. Goku nodded enthusiastically, jumping erratically with the aid of his ki to the upper level. Goten followed close behind. The pissing matches got real once the Son men had enough beers in them. My Brother, Kakarott - was supposed to be a 4 part look on what-if Goku was raised by the Briefs. Only wrote two parts. So it goes. Goku's Part Spoiler: click to toggle He wasn't very good at numbers, not like his sister and papa. They were both real smart, smarter'n he would ever be. He supposed he was more like mama, who was gentle and kind and did nice, sweet things for people. Sweet as the yummy cookies she baked him to eat after school for snack. He always felt better after a long day of being asked questions he didn't know the answers to once mama had given a hug and a kiss. Mama was wonderful and everyone liked her, so he was happy that he took after her. His sister was more like papa than mama, but everyone liked her ok, too, he guessed. They just didn't know how mean Bulma really was. She liked to bully him most times, and she especially liked to hit him when no one was looking because he wasn't allowed to hit back. He wasn't supposed to hit people in general because he might hurt 'em because he was too strong to play roughhousing games. Papa said so. But mama said he wasn't supposed to ever hit a girl anyway, even if he woke up one day and couldn't lift a feather if he tried. That was bad manners, and he always tried to be a good boy so mama wouldn't have to be disappointed in him. He liked it when people were happy with him; he was always eager to please. That was how he found himself inside on such a pretty, made for being outside day. Papa wanted him to be smarter, like Bulma, so he had made himself busy with the math homework he usually ignored because it was hard. He tapped his pencil to his chin thoughtfully and contemplated his work. He couldn't recall what the funny little x's between the numbers meant, and until he could the equations in his workbook were going to be impossible. He swung his short legs in the empty space beneath his desk, his toes failing to even scrape the floor. Like many times before, he wished he had even the slightest talent for smart things like math. But the fact of the matter was he just didn't have that ability and guiltily, he pushed his workbook away. He had been sitting there for almost a whole hour trying to work the problems his teacher had assigned; it was time for him to have some fun after such a boring afternoon. With a vast amount of bottled up energy begging to be released, the little boy sprang from his desk away from his homework and bounded across his large, spacious room. Mama and papa only bought the best things for him and Bulma. His room was a pretty color green like the tops of giant, ancient trees, just the shade of his favorite color, and his bed was the biggest and softest and best for sleeping as any bed in the world could be. The floors were kept clean by a maid, mostly, though he wasn't a very messy child to begin with; he was actually surprisingly orderly and well-kept. The vast masses of his toys and trinkets rarely spilled out of their giant chests and shelves because he so seldom played with them. Barring a natural disaster, he was found outside as often as he thought he could get away with it. It was for this reason he had matured into a hardy little creature with tanned skin and tough feet, since he often lost his shoes over the course of a long day's play. Reaching up, he twisted the handle of his bedroom door and threw it open, losing no speed as he hurtled down the hall. He was intercepted at the stairs by his big sister. Bulma's hair was in a long pretty braid today with a big red ribbon tied in it. He always liked it when Bulma wore ribbons in her hair because he could untie them and make her upset. Mama thought it was cute when he did that but he thought it was a nice way to get back at her for trying to beat him up all the time. With a swift juke he tried to evade her presence at the risk of taking a tumble, but Bulma caught him swiftly around the middle and saved him from plummeting down the stairs. “Be careful, Kakarrot,” she chided like she was a big grown up, his name sounding mean on her lips. Kakarrot thought Bulma was just angry his name sounded a lot better than hers. Honestly, he didn't know what mama and papa had been thinking when they decided to call her Bulma. It was a funny sounding name and reminded him of underwear, just like all the other names of his family members. In fact, he was the only one with a nice name. Once he had asked mama how he had gotten so lucky to have been called Kakarrot. She had just laughed and told him that he named himself a long, long time ago, when he had been just a baby. Both mama and papa said he did lots of astounding things as a baby, but then he got hurt and scared them real bad. After that he didn't do those things anymore. Kakarrot often wondered if he had not gotten hurt if he would have been smart enough to do the math in his workbook. But it wasn't his nature to dwell on things for very long, so he never thought about it very hard. Kakarrot really didn't think about anything, really. “I was being careful,” the little boy said in his most grumbly voice, crossing his too strong arms over his chest with a frown. His sister looked down the long flight of steps that led from their rooms down into the main house, unamused. She mirrored his posture and scowl, a look which made her look much more scary than him. “You know not to play by the stairs, tough boy.” “I wasn't playing,” he reasoned, shrugging his small shoulders. “You stopped me a'fore I could play.” “Yeah, stopped you from breaking your neck!” Bulma admonished. Kakarrot was already bored with his sister's speech and looking down the steps longingly. Once down the staircase, he would go left down the big hallway towards the door to the backyard. He wanted to climb the oak tree. It was the hardest to climb at Capsule Corporation, though it wasn't nearly as hard as the trees at the park. Some mean man kept sawing off the good climbing branches at the park, making him have to jump real high if he wanted to play in the treetop. His dark eyes trailed back from the tempting stairwell to his sister, who was still talking about how he should be more careful. Years of being her baby brother had trained him not to interrupt when she got like this. “Do you understand, Kakarrot?” she asked finally, genuine concern briefly flooding her pretty face. Bulma was pretty like mama. He knew exactly what to say because he said it so often. “Yes, Bulma. I understand. I won't run down the stairs because I don't wanna fall down and die. Can I go play now? I promise to walk down the stairs real slow and to hold on to the rail.” Bulma looked pleased, “Go ahead, kid. Just please, be careful.” Kakarrot waved her off and headed down the stairs as slowly as he could manage. True to his word, he gripped the rail tightly in his hand, though he really didn't think he needed it. He knew how to walk down steps. But he had promised Bulma so he did exactly what he said he would do. Mama was proud of him when he did that; she always bragged to her friends about how good he was and how honest. He couldn't let her down when she would be proud of him, even if she wasn't there to watch him. When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs he took off down the big hallway to the door, running twice as fast as normal to make up for lost time. There was no time to bother with shoes as he darted out the door and before any of the gardeners could stop him, Kakarrot was tackling the oak tree with fierce determination. He heaved his body up and dug his fingernails into the bark, a goofy smile plastered to his face. For nearly an hour he enjoyed the gentle sway of the tree in the breeze from its topmost branches, peacefully listening as the little birdies came and went with their songs. There were always animals in the garden and Kakarrot liked them all, but the birds were his favorite. Bulma said it was because he was bird brained, but Kakarrot knew better. He liked them because they were pretty and never did anything bad to anyone. They just flew around and sang their songs, sometimes catching an icky-looking worm to go feed their babies in their nests. Kakarrot liked finding a bird's nest. He always wanted to take them down when the bird was done with them and put them on one of the shelves in his room, but mama usually took them away because she said they weren't clean. So he kept them under his bed and hoped she didn't find them because he didn't want her to be sad he disobeyed. “Kakarrot? Are you out here, sweetie?” Kakarrot jumped at the sound of mama's voice. “I'm in the big tree, mama!” The sound of her laugh filled the garden. “Oh goodness, how ever did you get way up there?” “I climbed!” he announced proudly, peeking his head out from the foliage. Mama laughed again. “Well come on down from there, little man, and get cleaned up. It's almost time for supper.” Kakarrot was out of the tree at the mere mention of food, his feet pounding against the earth in his effort to get cleaned up as quickly as possible. Mama made the best most yummy food in the whole entire world and he would never be late to a meal. Mama shook her head as he thundered past, absently hollering after his form, reminding him to be careful on the stairs. Much more amicably then if Bulma had asked, Kakarrot took the stairs two at a time in what he thought to be a safety-conscious manner. His mad dash ended in his bathroom, his feet planted firmly atop of his little stool so he could reach the sink properly to wash his hands. Mama wouldn't let him at the table if his hands weren't clean. The speed at which he wanted to arrive at the dinner table was hindered by his sister, who exited her room at the same time as him. Bulma walked down the stairs just ahead of him, slow as she could. Kakarrot felt annoyed with her for all of a minute and a half, which was when the pair finally arrived at dinner. Mama had cooked all the best foods, though Kakarrot was fairly sure they were all the best. With what little patience his tummy allowed him he waited on papa to arrive from his lab, his nose twitching as he tried to detect the smell of cigarettes at the earliest possible moment. After what seemed like forever to the boy, the yucky smell finally reached his nose and the moment papa entered the room and sat down at the head of the table, Kakarrot dug into his meal. While he ate he was aware that mama, papa, and Bulma were talking like they always did during mealtimes, but they never talked to him. He was always so busy shoveling food into his mouth there was no time for him to talk with them and his family understood that and for the most part ignored him until he head eaten his fill, unless it was mama reminding him to say please when he wanted more. She let him get away with a lot of bad manners at the dinner table, but he never got away with not saying please. All too soon, dinner was over and Kakarrot sighed contentedly. Mama had let him have an extra slice of cake after he asked nice, and the second slice was always tastier. He yawned and stretched before scratching the back of his head thoughtfully. It was time for bed now that his belly was full and it was dark outside. He liked to go to bed early so he could be up as soon as the sun was up, too. Daytime was much more fun than nighttime and Kakarrot was fairly sure he wasn't missing much by having an early bedtime. In fact, he thought Bulma would be much happier if she didn't stay awake so long. She definitely wouldn't take so long to get dressed in the mornings and maybe then he wouldn't have to wait on her to take him to school. He stretched one last time and headed to his room and his big, soft bed, barely taking enough time in his bedtime routine for brushing his teeth or changing into pajamas. As if on perfect cue, mama tip toed into the room just as Kakarrot pulled back his thick, green covers and climbed into bed. She kissed the top of his head and tucked him in, just as she had done every night of his life. “I love you, Kakarrot,” she said after she had crossed the room to turn off the light at the door. The boy snuggled into his blankets before drifting off to sleep, “Mommy, love you more.” Mama smiled and closed the door softly and Kakarrot had dreams about looking at stars floating by through red windows. Bulma's Part Spoiler: click to toggle It was just a Tuesday afternoon exactly like any other, a carbon copy of the week before and a premonition of the week future. Her school day ended with a bell at which point she had packed up her school things from her desk, said goodbye to her friends, and went to collect Kakarrot from the second grade building. She had to say goodbye to anyone of any importance before getting her brother because the kid was just such a social liability. He didn't have any sense of personal space and didn't seem to possess a brain cell with which to think about what he was saying. Fact of the matter was Kakarrot was embarrassment waiting to happen and the more she avoided any opportunity for him to humiliate her, the better.
Of course, she always felt a bit guilty for thinking of him as such a burden when she arrived at his classroom. Everyday, regardless of if it was Tuesday or not, he lit up when he saw her. Not because he loved her extra special or because she was some sort of spectacular big sister or anything. Heavens, no; she barely tolerated him. But he was always so excited to be going home that he would run across the brightly decorated school room, shove his hand in hers, and insist on being taken home immediately. Bulma always had to remind him to go retrieve his book bag and other school supplies from his desk and reluctantly he would, though he would do it with such lightning speed that he was right back at her side in what seemed like the blink of an eye. “Let's go home,” he would say firmly, but Bulma's trained ears could hear the underlying plea that said clearly, get me out of here. She knew this because she knew Kakarrot inside and out. He was her baby brother, her only sibling and she loved him, though she may not have always shown it in the nicest ways. Even so, she could still detect the subtle nuances in his speech and in those three little words she heard more than enough. In one sentence and a tug of his small hand Bulma instinctively knew that the sooner she was a responsible sister and got Kakarrot home, the happier the boy would be. And she did like to see him happy, contrary to what some people might think. But it was Tuesday and that meant that Kakarrot's teacher sent home notes that day. She was a wiry old woman with thick rimmed glasses that as far as Bulma knew from Kakarrot, was evil. Though Bulma personally doubted the woman's malevolent nature, Kakarrot believed it and for the sake of everyone involved, Bulma made quick work of retrieving Kakarrot's note. That day had been no different and she had hurried to get it, the only one of the entire class that required an envelope due to its length, while Kakarrot was busy collecting his books and crayons from his desk. Like clockwork she finished her task just as her brother finished his and the two siblings were out the door in record time and on their way back home to Capsule Corporation. Their trek home from their private school in West City was nothing if not usual. Bulma prevented Kakarrot from springing free and either playing in traffic or harassing the city's pigeon population and he in turn tried to rip her arm out of socket in his complete fascination and desire to examine closer everything he saw. But both siblings knew better than to let go of the other because their mother would have a fit. Or at least, Bulma knew better. Kakarrot probably didn't care too much; Bulma didn't think he cared about anything or put an ounce of thought into anything he did. It was up to her to be sure they followed all the rules and so she steadfastly held on tight to the rambunctious little boy, finally letting him go when they reached their home inside Capsule Corporation's grounds. She released him and he bounded off into the house in the direction of the kitchen where he knew their mother would be waiting with a snack and she went in the opposite direction, towards their father's lab after dropping off her school things in her room. The afternoon was when Bulma's daily regime picked up speed and its dull regularity shattered. Free of the burden of Kakarrot, she went as she pleased to begin her real education. For Bulma school was a mere formality imposed upon her by government mandate; she learned more in the few hours she spent with her father than she learned in the course of her entire school week. Perhaps it was an unfair advantage over her peers to be privately tutored by the brightest mind the world had ever known, but Bulma didn't see it that way. Her classmates learned things from their parents, too. Bulma just learned things that were a bit more useful, that was all. As was her custom the girl joined her father at his work table, problem solving at her young age of eleven as though she were on his senior team of elite scientists. This was her element as much as it wasn't Kakarrot's. As much as academia scared him, she thrived on it. Then again, he did have a little license to be a weirdo. He was adopted after all. Sort of. Actually, she supposed they had more found him than adopted him. Adoption was something that happened when a family consciously decided to add another member to their ranks by legally claiming parental rights of an additional child through the court system, which was most definitely not how they came about welcoming Kakarrot into their family. Bulma herself didn't remember much about finding Kakarrot, only that he was the reason she still bore an aversion to camping, but she knew the basic story. They celebrated the day they found him every year because they didn't know his birthday and each year, their mother would tell the story of how they had been out in East District 439 on a family trip to the wilderness when they came upon him abandoned and alone in the woods. There was always a lot of sentimentality followed by an even greater amount of food, but no one ever told Kakarrot much else about his early childhood. You know, things like how he destroyed everything he touched or how he had once bitten their mother so hard she bled. No one ever told him Bulma had nearly killed him, either, though she was more thankful for that. It wasn't like she had meant to drop Kakarrot down the stairs or anything. In fact, Bulma couldn't even remember exactly what she had been doing. She shouldn't have even had Kakarrot by herself. In those early days, when he was still vicious, she was forbidden from playing with him alone. Even as a baby he had been much stronger than her, stronger than he ought to be, and her father worried about him hurting her. Of course, their mother hadn't shared those feelings, insisting he was just a baby boy, but even her gentle natured mother changed her tune after receiving a bite which tore through her skin with his razor sharp milk teeth. It was then that the rule that Bulma and Kakarrot couldn't be alone together was enforced and so it was a great mystery to her as to how or why she had been holding him at the top of the stairs all those years ago. She had only been five years old; Kakarrot hadn't even celebrated his first anniversary of being a member of the family yet. But there she had been, holding her little brother. And then there she had been, Kakarrot lying in a heap down the stairs and on the floor. Bulma's lungs had been a credit to her then, her screams bringing swiftly the aid which had probably saved her brother's young life. Her mother had been first on the scene, promptly reacting as any mother should to the sight of a child she considered her own so devastatingly hurt. Bulma could still hear her mother's heart wrenching sobs as if their reverberations still hung in the air. His head, oh kami, his head. By that time the commotion had brought her father round to investigate and it still bothered Bulma that he had seemingly ignored Kakarrot's limp form to thunder up the stairs to see if she was alright instead. Sure, she had been tearful and wailing, but nothing was really wrong with her except she believed she had killed her brother. He should have been at the bottom of the steps with her mother, examining Kakarrot, making sure that his son was alright before ever bothering with her. But the thing was, and Bulma was understanding this better with time, their father didn't really consider Kakarrot his son. Not like Bulma was his daughter. And while their mother made no distinction between the two of them and found room in her heart to love them both without discrimination as to who grew in her womb and who did not, it wasn't so with her father, Dr. Brief. She was sure the man loved Kakarrot. They all loved him; he was a part of their family. But the fact remained that their father loved them differently, and it was with great guilt Bulma had been realizing for many years that he loved her better. All these things were still fresh on her mind several hours later when her father had to leave the lab for a short meeting and Bulma had to vacate the room in his absence. She wasn't supposed to be in the lab without his supervision, a rule which she wholeheartedly understood. So she left without a fuss and headed back to the domestic quarters of Capsule Corporation with the intention of completing her homework, a necessary evil. It was hard to find a challenge at her school at her age level, but she wasn't allowed to skip any grades by her mother. It wouldn't be good for her socially, her mother said. Whatever. She had just reached the top of the stairs and was fully remembering the day she had dropped Kakarrot to his impending death when said little brother came bolting down the hall. Instantly, she threw out her arm and all but clotheslined him, the little creature clearly perturbed by her presence. “Be careful, Kakarrot,” she spat, a little bit meaner than she intended. He frowned and did his best angry pout, “I was being careful.” Pfft. As if. “You know not to play on the stairs, tough boy.” “I wasn't playing. You stopped me a'fore I could play.” “Yeah, stopped you from breaking your neck!” She launched into one of her more generic speeches on his safety and well-being then. He had heard it all before a million times over and even though Bulma knew she was beating a dead horse when it came to convincing Kakarrot to listen to the apparently nonexistent voice of reason in his head calling out for self preservation, she felt she had to try. It took all their family and half the company's employees to keep an eye on Kakarrot and keep him safe. He was just so reckless! Sure, he was made of some pretty tough stuff, but he wasn't invincible, not by a long shot. And stairs had nearly done him in before, hadn't they? “Do you understand, Kakarrot?” she asked finally, hands on her hips in exasperation. He nodded slowly, “Yes, Bulma. I understand. I won't run down the stairs because I don't wanna fall down and die. Can I go play now? I promise to walk down the stairs real slow and to hold on to the rail.” Having heard exactly what she expected and wanted to hear, Bulma smiled and looked pleased. “Go ahead, kid. Just please, be careful.” He waved her off and true to his word took the stairs carefully before running away at breakneck speed. Bulma sighed and rolled her eyes, reaching up to straighten the red bow in her hair before heading towards her room. Her bedroom was directly across the hall from Kakarrot's and its opposite in every way. She was messy where he was tidy and nothing about her room ever stayed the same for more than a month. Always there was either new paint on the wall or a new bedspread. Kakarrot, on the other hand, hadn't changed a thing about his since he outgrew his toddler bed. Bulma looked into his room through the door he had left open in his haste, smiling to herself when she spotted a wad of the outdoors peaking out from beneath his bed. She knew it to be a bird's nest as Kakarrot loved bird's nests and outright hoarded them under their mother's nose. It was cute, she thought, and so she slipped inside to shove her brother's trinket back under his bed amongst his other trappings so he could get away with it a little longer. It probably would have appalled anyone who saw her do it, to see her doing something nice for the little brother she swore up and down was the biggest pain in the butt the world had ever known. But she knew he loved those nests; they made him smile bigger and goofier than anything. And hey, she did like to see him happy, contrary to what some people might think. |
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Sep 14 2013, 10:42 PM Post #2 |
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A tad too much needless description for my tastes, but overall they're pretty solid. I liked the Goku/Goten one.
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| foot soldier | Sep 14 2013, 10:46 PM Post #3 |
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I can't honestly tell you what I was doing when I wrote that one, ha. And yeah... there's a reason these are failures. They're pretty old. |
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Sep 14 2013, 10:47 PM Post #4 |
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I like randomness. And yeah, some of my own fanfiction is pretty embarrassing looking back on it. |
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| foot soldier | Sep 14 2013, 10:49 PM Post #5 |
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I can't reach back much farther than 2011, 2010 due to loss of systems and files. It's kind of sad, actually. I wish I had access to some of my earliest fan fictions, but they're just gone now. |
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