Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/8461525. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage Category: M/M, Other Fandom: Dragon_Ball_Z, GohanxPiccolo Relationship: Son_Gohan_Jr./Piccolo_Daimaoh_Jr., Son_Gohan_Jr._&_Chi-chi, Chi-chi_& Piccolo_Daimaoh_Jr. Character: Son_Gohan_Jr., Chi-Chi, Piccolo_Daimaoh_Jr. Additional Tags: Drama, Ideologically_Sensitive, Hints_of_Being_Under_the_Influence, Gothic_Erotic, POV_Switches, Everything_post_canonverse_Cell_Saga_does not_exist!, Canon_Overhaul, Bestiality, Interspecies_Sex, Hermaphroditic &_Alien_Biology, Dubious_Consent, Uke_Piccolo, NSFW, 飯Ｐ, ドラゴンボール, 孫悟飯ＪＲ, ピッコロ受け, ヤオイ, 少年愛, ピッコロ大魔王ＪＲ/ピッコロさん, 大猿人xナメック星人 Series: Part 2 of DragonBall(☆)Retro, Part 1 of Mirare_Obscura Collections: 「xPiccoloholic.♥︎」 Stats: Published: 2016-11-03 Completed: 2016-11-20 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 9717 ****** Don't Smell The Rozealeas ****** by MariekoWest Summary Son Gohan had always known that he loved Piccolo; just what kind of love it was? He did not know yet. But one fateful day, a series of events lead him to arrive at an incontovertible conclusion. An introspective take on young Gohan's precocious mind post Cell. Notes Read the tags carefully. They exist to forewarn you to stay out of material you can't handle. If you have a problem with any of the aforementioned warnings and still proceed to read only to bitch about it later, then thank you, I will be greatly flattered by your attention. This is somewhat raw, and will be beta read again later. See the end of the work for more notes ***** Chapter 1 ***** Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes Slowly he got to his knees and cautiously began to swipe at the overhanging vines, protruding branches, and obstructing leaves, to reveal what appeared to be… a life-size antiquated mirror. The constant rain and brackish water that occasionally flooded the ditch had mucked up its surface, so he rubbed at a section, revealing deep-brown eyes peering back at him with otherworldly clarity... And for some inexplicable reason, he could not tear himself from its stare.    ===============================================================================     My mother once told me a curious story that originated from some forgotten civilization. It was about a man and a woman that were born into a paradise filled with everything they ever needed. They were allowed to partake of anything the said paradise had to offer- all except one: an apple tree.And of all the things that were theirs to enjoy, they were still tempted by those shiny red apples that were forbidden to them. When they took a bite of the fruit from it, they lost everything and were banished from that paradise forever. The moral lesson, according to her, was that one should never be greedy and want more than what one already has. That there was a reason she forbade me to do certain things, and it was always for my own good; because she didn’t want me to be “banished from paradise” so to speak. I know the parable was meant to scare me into obedience then, but what she didn’t know was that it left many unanswered questions in my head, that had quite the opposite of the effect she had intended. Why pointlessly tempt the man and woman by putting a forbidden tree right smack in the middle of everything that was all theirs to begin with? What was so bad about eating an apple that one has to be banished from a place they never asked to be born in? What if they didn’t want all of those things in the first place? Just that one apple? They were all just meaningless wonderings of a child back then, floating in the back of my mind and eventually buried underneath all the algebra, physics, and geography; and other scholarly things Mother considered more important that she always reminded me to worry about. And until recently, they had stayed fairly innocuous dregs of thought that only occasionally resurfaced when I let my mind be free if even for a little bit, to roam where it wanted to. Not oddly, those aimless thoughts would often constantly gravitate towards Piccolo-san. He was the only one being on the planet right now who has never made me feel like I was trapped in a space I didn’t fit into, and didn’t want to be. In so many ways he was stricter and more intense than my mother; but interestingly, he was also so much gentler and indulgent with me in everything else that didn’t involve the fate of the Earth in peril. It wasn’t exactly rocket science for me to figure out that the “forbidden apple tree” my mother so circuitously alluded to, was him. The one thingI shouldn’t want in the midst of everything that she had so generously provided. That to want to be with him, and even love him the way I did –which often overshadowed my love for everyone else, including her and my father- was a mortal sin. Though she never phrased it like that, I knew that was pretty much what she was trying to get across, in a nutshell. She never really warned me against anything else. Only, at that time, I never really understood why she perceived Piccolo-san as such a significant threat;what was it she fearedthat he would do, when in fact no one else looked after my welfare best and made me feel safer. A few months away from turning twelve, I discovered what that apple tree truly represented in the original story. Then I began to realize what she was truly afraid of: That I would become aware of what paradise truly was. My mother always referred to Piccolo-san as a “monster” and “kidnapper”, and a few other choice words too complex for a five year old, even if I was exceptionally smart. I did my best to try and understand the rationale behind her words. Still, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find any- except irrational fear. One day, I finally snapped and explained that Piccolo-san never coerced me into anything, and that he only did what he had to do to save the planet. Whatever I went through thereafter was something I happened to choose out of my own free will, because he graciously allowed me to. This would incense her further, until I mildly reminded her that name-calling, regardless of reason, was a rude, ignorant, and uncivilized habit; and that usually put an end to her tirade. Usually. It was wrong to discriminate; Father never did it (well, not intentionally, at least; and certainly never maliciously). All her intended implications of the word “monster” -which in this case meant ‘someone cruel, wicked and inhuman’- by no means did my best friend justice. Of course, her objections to my using the word ‘friend’ on him were never-ending as well. To call him my ‘mentor’ or ‘guardian’ was atrociously unheard of enough, much more to refer to him as a ‘best friend’. “Little human boys should be friends with little human children who are like them. Not fearsome looking aliens who killed their father and abducted them! That just isn’t normal, Gohan-chan! Surely someone of your intelligence understands that!” It was usually at that point that I could no longer stand my mother’s shallow- minded bigotry and prejudice; not to mention her deliberate misconstruing of the word “intelligence” in her favour. I’ve done my part in explaining the circumstances that revolved around us then (why Piccolo-san did what he did, and how so much more can be said about his integrity then, than what my own father did when he didn’t give me a choice in fighting Cell). But if practical reasoning does not rid a person of their biases, then it is not worth time and effort because it is a lost cause. So I politely excuse myself from the table, saying I had much studying to do in my room. She would be indignant at my obvious escape, but the fact that it was her who had provided me the perfect excuse to be spared from those exhausting arguments was something she couldn’t counter; knowing it would only backfire on her. She would let me leave without a word, but I knew (and felt) that she was seething on the inside. My mother always wanted me to be special; a cut above the rest. The best of the best. Yet she failed to take into consideration that being special came with many complications. Special or exceptional individuals throughout history never fit in or settled for normalcy. They never lived “normal” lives. But it was hardly ever their choice to make. Wanting someone to be ‘special’ and ‘to fit in’ at the same time is the worst misnomer for a goal. Those two things just contradict each other in every possible way. One is either normal, or isn’t. If she wanted a child who excelled at being normal however, choosing to marry someone like my father sort of killed that dream more than twice over. Somehow, my mother was like the creator in that story, who wanted others to have heridea of paradise, when actuallyparadise is different for everyone.And despite not knowing any better then, I have always known that I didn’t want anything else. I just wanted apples, from that one tree. People usually aren’t aware of it, but they like to play god; always wanting the world to conform to their preferences. My mother always wanted to feed others her idea of perfection. She did it to my father and me. Of course, it only got worse for me when my father decided that he didn’t want to come back to the land of the living (I honestly couldn’t blame him). My mother never made any effort to hide her bitterness concerning the matter in the weeks that followed. Her argumentative moods occurred more frequently and grew even more irrational. I was convinced that she was taking it out on me and Piccolo-san that my father left us, for lack of other outlets to bounce her stress off of. That’s how I ended up in the woods most times. I convinced myself that I was doing her a favour, because without anyone to yell at or bicker with, she simply wouldn't.   -x-   “GOHAN-CHA!!!” It was two days ago… I was studying in my room, quietly becoming drawn into a solution forming on the lines and planes of a geometry problem when her voice tore the peaceful afternoon’s silence. Several birds that had been basking in the sunbeams by my windowsill were startled into flight. I both felt for and envied them. My mother’s jarring bellows often made my soul want to break out of my skin and fly away too -if only it were possible. Trying my best not to feel loathe for my mother as much as I did for her voice, I calmly and audibly acknowledged her, pushing myself off my chair, and proceeding to where she was standing in the kitchen, an arm akimbo and a glower already in place. As the frequency and intensity of her tempestuous fits increased day by day, so did my dread of her. I knew she already had a habit of nagging me endlessly about my studies; but since my father died, she seemed to have made it her personal goal in life to always find something to shout at me about. That day, she looked exceptionally livid. I had no idea what I had done, and I did my best to stop my lips from quivering in imaginary guilt. “Yes, Mother?” Though she uttered not a single word, her actions deafened me. She testily straightened a crumpled piece of paper that was badly burnt at the edges, and slammed it down upon the table with an unnerving bang. I cautiously leaned forward to peer at it, trying to comprehend… “That is a page from your sketchpad, I’m sure you recognize it.” Though she wasn’t shouting, every word was dripping with acid. “I managed to procure that as evidence, before I threw the whole wretched thing into the fire.” And right on cue I became aware of a blaze in the hearth, licking away at what indeed resembled something that used to be my sketchbook. I froze as my mind finally took in the sketch on the badly rumpled page. Piccolo-san. And a strangled cry escaped my throat before I could stop it…   A normal child’s reaction would have most probably been to cower in guilt and apologize for sketching his best friend who happened to have the appearance of what many considered a fearsome demon. Especially incriminating because this particular ‘fearsome demon’ had once killed my father, kidnapped me, and kept me in isolation for almost a year. But then, I suppose those were one of the times it became painfully apparent to my mother and myself (in hindsight), how I was anything but normal. Because instead of apologizing or even attempting to deny it altogether, I scoop up the sketch and hold it protectively to my chest. Not even caring of the consequences I was incurring, I dived for what remained of my unfortunate sketchbook, all the while tears had sprung to my eyes and unbidden words of accusation, anger, and despair were pouring from my lips. I was aggrieved, as I tried to save my precious sketches- the only piece I had left of my dear friend whom I had not seen for almost a year and missed terribly; even more so in times like this when my father was absent and my mother was acting in her worst impression of a mother any child could care to do without. Back when I made those sketches, I had considered Piccolo-san my best friend and dearest master. I could not and never did see him as a father, and was a great deal too relieved to know of his true age which was only a few years ahead of mine. I guiltily rejoiced in the fact that my intuitions had served me right when I saw him as a friend more than a father figure. Even if he was constantly protecting me and guiding me as any real father should where my own father always came up short, he always also played out the part of that perfect friend and most comforting companion in my mind. He was wise beyond his time, but also naïve and so unbelievably innocent, that it wasn’t always me who was the student as many probably think. He made me feel and experience things that I did not with my own father, or with any other person for that matter. I feel a powerful yank at the object I had salvaged from the fire and a shove that sent me sprawling backward and away from it again. My mother had not screamed nor yelled, or said a word, but this did not make me feel less terror. Quite the opposite in fact. My mother’s silence and refusal to release her rage verbally was never a good sign. This only meant she was beyond angry. Her actions were proving as much, as she tossed the object back into the flames and turned on my snivelling form, and glared at me with venomous eyes. For an eleven year old, I was considerably tall, filled with muscle and far stronger than any adult could ever be, but the fact that my mother was able to shove me into the far wall with one hand was not boding well. Her former martial arts disciplined body –though no longer in practice- was now thrumming with adrenaline and poised to attack. “You…” I can’t say I blame her for reacting this way. The drawings I had made on that sketchbook were the kind that were meant for my eyes and pleasure alone. I realized that I must have left it in the woods during one of my wanderings when I dozed off, and I cursed my carelessness. But I was not feeling very alert and at my best the past weeks after Cell. Truth be told, I was even mildly suicidal. And it was all because of feelings that had begun to grow in me since then. I have tried to define these “feelings” as accurately and precisely as possible but without progress. However, I can describe it in an abstract manner: It feels as though there is another person growing inside me, a person who seems to know me better and is tired of being pushed down. “You-!!!” my mother seethed again, spittle flying and teeth gnashing. She looked like a deranged wild animal. (In all honesty, she looked far more horrific, or maybe it was the fear.) Grabbing me by the collar, she slammed me into the wall and shrieked several times before I managed to gather enough sense to realize they weren’t just mindless noises but words. Mostly insults aimed at Piccolo-san. Insults that he didn’t deserve. I wanted to defend him but knew by now that it would be a waste of effort on both our parts. My father’s death made my mother deaf to anyone else’s voice, and certainly anything to do with green men who she had made up her mind a long time ago were nothing but evil demons who corrupted children’s minds, and her opinion on the matter was not going to be swayed. And thanks to my stupid slip-up, it wasn’t looking like it was going to get any better. Ever. I no longer cared if she was still screaming at my face. I let her. Instead, I had been focusing my Ki on snuffing out the flames that were eating away at my sketches. I knew it was impertinent of me to persist on disobeying her that way. But I was stubborn too when I wanted to be. My mother had no right to destroy my property just because she didn’t like it. Those sketches were the only selfish thing I allowed myself to have. Piccolo-san was the only person I was left with who didn’t treat me like I needed to be or do something else other than what I was, just to be loved and accepted. And I had always known this, which is perhaps why I loved him most of all. Because he was really the one who truly loved me first. Not for being a fighter, or a scholar, but for simply being me. At this point my mother had noticed my lack of reaction, and realized one of two things I hoped she wouldn’t. In this case, it was my tightly fisted hand struggling to remain behind my back as she held me up against the wall by my neck. She wasted no time in wrenching my arm forward and trying to pry the crumpled page from my hand. I cried out when her nails dug into my fingers, but still I didn’t relent. I pulled my wrist from her grasp and brought both hands to my chest, curling into myself and shielding the balled up page from her. She released me and stepped back; her face pale and shocked. “What did you say?” I coughed and heaved breathless for some moments; my cheeks were soaked and my throat painfully dry. I had been shouting, but only vaguely aware that I had let some words slip out with it. “What. Did. You. Say.” she repeated, hand rising up and poised to slap. “I…” I panted, without loosening my hands against my chest, struggling hard to remember what I had said. “I… I’m sorry, Mother…”   -x-   I love Piccolo-san. I said it to him all the time. And he would always simply grunt or say nothing. But in his face, even though it remained passive in meditation, I would always find a hint of that shy, secret smile; and somehow I knew that meant he loved me too. I was never ashamed of it. Every time my father heard me saying it, he would only laugh and ruffle my hair; while patting a grumbling, blushing Piccolo-san in the back afterwards. Then he would lean in and whisper to me reassuringly that he was sure Piccolo-san loved me back too and was just too shy to say it out loud. Father always believed in Piccolo-san the way I did, and never doubted once that he was good. The first time I told my mother that I loved Piccolo-san, she acted like she didn’t hear it. Back then I guess she thought that I didn’t know what I was saying. That’s what she usually did when she thought that; she pretended not to hear. It was those times that I really missed Father. He was the only one who trusted me as much as Piccolo-san did. They would argue about it often, though they tried very hard to hide it from me. Mother, furious as always, demanding that Father curb my impulses to do with Piccolo-san. That it was bad enough when he tolerated my “kidnapping”, and now he even encouraged my saying such shameful, indecent things. I truly didn’t understand her anger.Since when was it shameful and indecent to love someone with all your heart? I guess that was the first real sign that I wasn’t normal. Piccolo-san was my first and only real friend. What was so wrong about loving him? I liked everything about him from the start. His voice; the most soothing sound I’ve ever heard, even when he was yelling at me. His eyes; they’re always sharp and yet innocent. Other people’s eyes were always wary, and held a certain amount of suspicion. Piccolo-san’s eyes are always open and honest, even when he is guarded. They say the eyes are the window to one’s soul, and it’s true. If one simply looked, one could read him like a book from his eyes. It’s all there. And his smell, it was always sweet and comforting, like the air in a forest after a purging rain. It was the first thing that drew me to him; told me that he was someone I could trust despite our early circumstances. And I wasn’t proven wrong. Every little nuance of his thrilled me: The way his pointy ears or quaint little nose would twitch when he felt mildly irked or piqued; How soft and shy he really was when he wasn’t battling; How attentive he is to me and my needs, even if he tries his utmost not to show it. Piccolo- san always made me feel safe and loved, without a single word escaping his lips. Even without doing a single thing; just by existing. So why…? Why was it so wrong to love him? But… it really wasn’t, wasn’t it? Jealousy is a concept I did not understand at first, but one that Mother unintentionally introduced to me herself. She was jealous of Piccolo-san, and couldn’t accept the fact that I loved someone more than her. And just when she thought that it was nothing but a harmless little fondness that couldn’t get any worse; it did. And I welcomed it; allowed it to consume me. The apple that was forbidden to me tasted the sweetest of all.   -x-   I'm sorry, Mother.   “...F-for not being the perfect… normal son that you wanted.” She stood there, looking half crazed and half stricken; I couldn’t tell if the tears on her face were from hurt or from anger, but I really didn’t care anymore. I ran past her, grabbing what was left of my sketchbook, and I fled out the door, into the woods- my sanctuary for the past horrendous weeks. A place where I could be free. If my mother had any doubts before about the unusual workings of my mind, then it had all been laid to rest by the “evidence” she had found. Evidence that I refused to let her burn at the expense of our rocky relationship. Perfectly clear expressions of what kind of love I meant when I said I loved him. A kind of love that she considered wrong and shameful. I hugged my burnt sketches to my chest as I ran as fast and as far away from her as I could; not even once stopping to look back.   -x-   Gohan. My eyes snapped open, and a smeared canvas of colour and shape slowly come into focus. Dipping tree canopies, overgrown roots and protruding underbrush; causing warm light to filter and scintillate through its ever-shifting patterns from my somewhat sunken, decumbent position. So, I was still in the forest then…?Had I been knocked out? I made it a point to always stay in different spots in the woods whenever I wanted to get away. My mother never quite learned to sense Ki well enough to track down a person, but she always had a way of knowing things –a scary kind of power that mothers possessed, so I played it safe and kept one step ahead. It got to a point where I had roamed every inch of land, and had incidentally familiarized myself with the entirety of Mount Paozu’s forests… So as I found myself in a patch of woodland that I was sure I had never seen or set foot in before even after months of repeated explorations, I was thrilled despite the painful way upon which I had literally stumbled into it. I shakily sat up, dusting myself of dried leaves and dirt. Still quite dazed by the fall, I assess my surroundings and realize that I had fallen into a ditch, or a shallow pit of some sort- lined with thick layers of moss, moist soil, and monstrously huge wildflowers swaying fervently courtesy of a strong updraft of undetectable origin. I tried to get up and winced when I realized that I had twisted my ankle. Pain shot through me –so intense- that I didn’t even feel it when I crashed back down against the ground; my limbs paralyzed instantly from the jolts of pain still coursing through me. I took deep, slow breaths to calm my nerves; forced myself to look up at the clear sky through the untamed leaves and branches. It worked somehow, the pain was finally ebbing away into a dull throbbing in my foot. It wasn’t a mortal injury; nothing a little rest couldn’t fix. It must have got caught in one of the protruding vines at the edge of the embankment as I fell down and pitched forward. After some more steady breaths, I allowed my head to loll to one side. I saw my drawings of Piccolo-san strewn all over and being nudged teasingly by the wind. I reached for the nearest one, wanting to grab the scattering pages, afraid of losing them again, but my body wouldn’t obey my will. I think I must have hit my head pretty bad too by how woozy I felt, but it was hard to tell because a pleasant numbness was washing over me, accompanied by a strange shortness of breath. The edges of my vision began to darken and burn, like the scorched edges of my sketchbook. And once again, my mind raced in panic. Which quickly turned into fear; pure, instinctual fear. I hated it. I hated feeling so helpless. But I knew it was foolish to think I wasn’t predisposed to it. Everyone was bound to experience it at numerous points in their life- in varying intensities. And anyone who has, would know how exasperating and vexing it could be. All the times I’ve ever felt helpless and desperate, someone always came to rescue me. Always. And most times, it was him. The only time he didn’t save me was when he was dead. I closed my eyes realizing that the thought of him not coming now was what really scared me the most. Even more than all the possible imminent dangers. I could have chosen to run to him instead of wandering aimlessly in the woods. I knew he would be waiting. And yet, I did not… Why is that? I knew I had a very good reason… Or at least, it seemed good enough a moment ago when I knew what it was… Why was it suddenly so hard to remember?   -x-   Piccolo-san, can I still come by to see you after this?   Of course.   -x-   Piccolo-san… Will you, will you promise me… That you won’t choose to leave me too? Like Father did…   Gohan.   I hugged him fiercely. Everyone else wasn’t listening; wasn’t looking. I allowed one or two tears to break free as I smothered my face firmly into his obi. No one saw how my fingers clawed and clamped tightly around him; or how fiercely I held on. His heavy cape had lifted with a sudden forceful breeze, enveloping us; and I was grateful for the camouflage that allowed me to indulge in my small selfishness, even if just for a precious few moments more. I was so afraid that I would lose Piccolo-san too. And somehow, the idea of losing him forever was the most terrifying thing I had ever been made to imagine. I love you, Piccolo-san. Please… promise me!   I promise, Gohan.   Only when one is made to imagine a world without something, will one discover just how much one needs it. When one tries to picture how it would feel like to smile, laugh, and cry without it, but suddenly finds oneself lost as to what it feels like and why those things were so important… Because without that one thing in the equation, nothing makes sense anymore. And that is how I realized then, during those priceless few moments… that he was that one thing that gave my existence meaning and colour… I won’t lie. It scared, shocked, and overwhelmed the hell out of me all at the same time. So much so, that I needed to put space between us, and much time, for my entirety to process the new information, and attempt to instil coherence in the midst of the emotional chaos. But the need to be far away from him served only to solidify the knowledge all the more…   Because every time I so much as try to imagine a life without Piccolo-san, I die a little.   End of the first half. Continued in the second half... Chapter End Notes Sorry lovelies, the explicit non-con scene (yes, it is only a small scene, but a quite juicy one if I say so myself) is in the 2nd part. Expect the update either Friday night or Saturday morning Japan Time. (^ ^)v For now, schoolwork beckons... As always, thanks for reading & leaving some love (or hate? Haha)! ===================================================================== ***** Chapter 2 ***** Chapter Notes I give you... the second & concluding part with the explicit, gratuitous smut! :D (But before you proceed...) Warnings for hints of being under the influence, bestiality, alien hermaphrodism, non-con/ dub-con, shota elements, and bedazzling Piccolo-uke sexiness! Cheers to the lovelies who left this story love! See the end of the chapter for more notes She swallowed a cry of exasperation as it rose up in her throat. Again. Her eleven year old son’s room was deserted. It was hard to stay angry at the boy when his books were left in such a neat fashion; all the seatwork she left him piled up and promptly accomplished. It’s been two months after Cell's defeat and Goku’s volitient departure; and the second week in a row of Gohan's new habit of disappearing from mornings till sundown. As long as he left notes that he would be back before dinner and didn’t neglect his studies, she could allow him a little more extra leniency. With a heavy sigh, she turned and exited the room. Chi-chi knew how tough it must be for him after everything that he’s been through. And these were the times she was grateful that Goku wasn’t around, because she would sorely be tempted to bash every frying pan in her arsenal upon his incorrigible head for putting their son through such horrendous ordeals. Gohan was a good child, but he needed this. She forced herself to believe that this was probably how he was coping with his father’s permanent death. She did her best to understand that her baby needed the space to sort himself out, and tried not to fan the flames of frustration over the fact that her son’s only friend and confidante was that still somewhat frightful Namekian. If only he had more "normal" friends then perhaps he wouldn't be this rebellious! She shook her head to dismiss the unwanted trend of thought; doubling her efforts at convincing herself that Gohan was simply “dealing” with everything and that with some more time he would get tired of these "rebellious" acts of defiance. But as she went about her chores that morning, Gohan's absence made not worrying about it virtually impossible. She mentally noted that she would have a word with Piccolo about adhering to her child’s strict household discipline; denying any creeping feelings of jealousy that her son was closer to the giant green man more than her -his own mother! Even going as far as spending more time with the alien, and defying her in the process! It was definitely not normal. The proud woman huffed and wiped her hands on her apron as she finished hanging the last of the laundry to be dried that day. It was going to be a long day, and she already missed Gohan terribly. But she was determined to not worry about him, and so she hurried inside to get busy with the rest of her chores to keep herself distracted from unwanted thoughts about what her firstborn child could be doing with Piccolo at that very moment. On any other day, Chi-chi would have been correct in assuming that her son was off with Piccolo… But these past two weeks weren’t anything at all like those 'any other days'. She didn’t know it yet, but she most certainly would not have taken as much consolation in the fact that Gohan had been all alone every single instance of his excursions in those entire two weeks; doing something that normal eleven year old children didn’t do… Attempting to exorcise demons…   -x-   Gohan.   Gohan!   Endless moments more floated by my suspended consciousness before I finally got a grip on what was happening.   Someone was trying to wake me.   I struggled hard to comply; but the fog refused to lift from my mind. I groaned, suddenly becoming aware of how my body felt like one solid immovable block of lead in the midst of a blazing furnace. My lungs burned; my throat so painfully dry. When I finally managed to fully open my eyes, everything pulsed and shook in numbing monochromatic shades of red. I groaned at the effort of trying to keep the world steady. A low breathy snarling in my ears made me jump. I scrambled to sit, frantically looking around for a rabid animal that I expected to be right beside me from how close the proximity of the noise sounded. The deafening thunder of my own heartbeat in my ears compounded my disorientation and I glanced many times in all directions before I was convinced that there was no animal in sight… no sign of any other living creature except- Then it dawned upon me… The noisy ragged animalistic breathing-was coming from me…! A strangled growl escapes my lips instead of the sob I was expecting. My senses were suddenly perceiving everything around me in heightened overwhelming bursts of awareness; every little sensation amplified in my mind; beating against it repeatedly like a tsunami storm from all directions. Too much to process and too fast, that my hold on reality began slipping and the world seemed to fall inside-out and wrong side up. I felt trapped in my own body. But then, it suddenly didn't feel like my body at all, but the body of a tormented wild beast. And somehow, the more the knowledge of being completely robbed of control dawned upon me, the more it made the beast's body angrier- more incensed; and it lashed out all around wherever it could reach; teeth gnashing in more primal growling. I could feel drool spilling from my mouth to my jaw, and I frantically raised my hands to smother myself, but a pair of fur-covered ape-like arms and fingers with sharp-claws came up to my face instead of human ones. I scream, and the scratchy stentorian howl of a wild beast shatters the night’s dead stillness with terrific monstrosity. I wanted it to stop, but even the sound of my breathing was deafening. I cried out for help, but the beastly howling only got worse.   Please…! Somebody help me.   Gohan.   That voice…   “Gohan, pull yourself together!”   Piccolo-san…?   I try to open my eyes, but the stars in the night sky blind me. I don't see him, but my heart races at the thought of it…   Piccolo-san is here?!   What was happening to me? Had I transformed again? But I wasn’t a giant ape… I was still the same size, if not somewhat taller and bulkier –as far as I could tell. Only I didn’t look, sound, and feel anything at all like myself. My whole body was covered in shaggy brown fur, my arms and legs greatly weighed down by more pure brawn; and every breath my lungs absorbed and expelled overflowed with energy I couldn't control. It was suffocating! “P- P…ngghhrrrgggnnnn!!!” I tried to speak but only more unintelligible beastly gurgling rumbled forth. This… semi-transformation of sorts must have caused my jaw and tongue to increase in size as well, because my mouth and face suddenly felt too heavy for it; and even the size and amount of teeth in my mouth felt too big and too much, that it made the production of complex sounds required for speaking human language too difficult –if not altogether impossible.   “Gohan!”   I stirred as firm hands grabbed and shook my shoulders; my mind responding with astounding efficiency to the sound of his commanding voice, as it had learned to do so from those endless hours of gruelling training with the man, not so long ago.   'P-Piccolo-san…!'   'Gohan. It’s alright, I’m here. Everything will be alright. I promise.’   Tears of relief prickled my eyes as Piccolo-san’s voice settled firmly right in the center of all the chaos. I was so happy I could still talk to him telepathically, even if I couldn’t form the words physically. But I was too afraid to open my eyes; too afraid to find out that I might be just dreaming that he was actually here. Because right now, there was nothing in the world I wanted more. I knew, from what my father and Vegeta-san had explained to me that even if I was a hybrid: only half-Saiyajin-part-human, I had retained my ability to transform to an Oozaru, which was normally the size and appearance of a gigantic ape. This was a Saiyajin’s natural form in battle, which was triggered by the *mere sight of a full moon. But in order for the transformation to take place, normal Saiyajin needed their tails, and I had no idea if I had somehow regrown mine, or developed the ability to do so even without one; but all I knew was that I wasn’t supposed to remain sentient when I had transformed. That needed a lifetime's worth of rigorous mental conditioning, and I have never undergone any for that specific purpose. This transformation was different in so many ways. I lost my human features but I hadn’t grown to full Oozaru size. I also didn’t have a tail, at least I didn’t feel any at the moment; and I was still somehow in control of my thoughts if not my bodily functions. I wasn’t so sure of what was happening, but all I could think of at that moment was that Piccolo-san was here. And his presence made everything so much less frightening. Out of habit, I instinctively reached out to hug him before my muddled mind could even process that I really should not. But it was too late to stop by the time I had fully realized what I was doing. The moment my face came into contact with his clothes, his familiar smell assailed my senses. I have always loved how Piccolo-san smelled. It always made me feel safe and comforted. But in this form, his normally peace-inducing scent made sparks ignite behind my closed eyelids and bolts of electricity short my rational brain. I panicked inwardly as an unfamiliar torrent of emotions gripped me, I couldn’t stop myself!   I needed to mark him, inside-out. Piccolo-san was mine!   In one swift motion, his entire body was pinned beneath my now bigger frame, and I watched in horror as my inhuman beastly hands savagely ripped the fabric covering his body, until only shreds were left clinging to his arms and thighs. His sweet enticing scent assailed my nose once more, and to my further shock, I felt the alien sensation of my animal male part come to life and harden instantly at the sight and smell of him. No! I don’t want this! Please, stop!!!I practically screamed inwardly, but my mind only continued to be engulfed in a haze of impenetrable smog that was pure primal animalistic lust. I was rendered but a spectator, as the beast descended upon Piccolo-san’s now exposed neck and torso, pelting it with frenzied slobbers; its massive meaty tongue effortlessly thoroughly coating the entirety of his robust green, pink and red rimmed skin in no time; making it glisten even more tantalizingly under the full moon’s spectacular illumination. It nudged that trembling body with its huge ape-like nose, sniffing and puffing, and tasting. I could only revel at the rich purple tint fast staining Piccolo-san’s cheeks; he looked so beautiful like this. His expression, one I’ve never seen before; something caught in-between agony and ecstasy… Yet he was making no move to resist, and it threw what remained of my rational mind off even more. Why wasn’t he stopping me? Oh dear Kamisama, how I wanted him to stop me! The beast’s tongue had found his mouth now, and it easily breached those supple lips to desecrate deeply and inexorably. Despite my self-loathing and disgust for what I was both witnessing and perpetrating, I reeled from the taste of that mouth; and how pleasurable it felt to invade and dominate it. I could hear the beast emitting impatient albeit relatively subdued noises, that unmistakably sounded like pleasured animal huffing and grunting. I began to sink into the sensation of taking him, losing more and more of whatever human sanity I still had left; giving in to the delightfully depraved act for what seemed like minutes that dragged to hours.   By now, although Piccolo-san’s eyes were squeezed shut in some level of discomfort at being molested so unreservedly, he still wasn’t even trying to push me away; wasn’t even fighting the beast’s aggressive quasi-kisses. I knew that despite our strength difference, there was no way he was completely powerless. He could easily fend me off if he wanted to, even in my giant ape form; which he has successfully done so at least twice before, without even needing to use a quarter of his full strength. So why wasn’t he doing anything right now to stop this?Whether Piccolo-san did it intentionally or not: his almost patronizing tolerance and docile demeanour seemed to have a calming effect on the beast and my agitated state of mind. Before long, the beast’s irascible utterings had quieted to wooing whimpers and mewls against that pliant –and god-forsakenly heavenly- mouth; almost as though it sincerely wanted to please its smaller yet greatly revered partner, despite its initial brutish advances. The beast had been reduced to what looked like a scared and restless baby cub that had been appeased by its mother. Piccolo-san’s acquiescence had lulled the beast into a weird state of tameness. And despite the huge discrepancy in appearance, it began to actually feel like an acceptable form of mock kissing between a seven-foot tall warrior Namek and an overgrown ape-child. And as it went on for more endless euphoric minutes, all the fear in my heart were completely purged by the sensation of those deliciously soft lips and amazing tongue actually responding to the beast’s attempts at romantic affection. I would have probably thought the situation amazing if not downright horrifying, because true, I have dreamt about kissing him too many times to count; but never in my wildest dreams did I even dare to imagine it would come about this way. All I knew and felt then was intense waves of pleasure unlike anything I have ever known possible. It felt so good; too good in fact, that the beast’s now perfectly erect and ossified member throbbed painfully from too much arousal;aching so badly to release deep inside its newfound mate. And if I still had control over my mind then, I know I should have been mortified, guilty even- and mindful of the consequences of such an unspeakably barbaric act (given my current form then), but whatever scintilla of humanity still left in me resonated with the beast's at that moment:I knew I wanted every bit of what was to come. But was this really me thinking that now? Or was it this beast that had usurped me of all functions? And as the beast clumsily and greedily groped more of that perfect sinewy body pinned beneath it, realization set in with a sinking finality. Maybe there was really no distinction at all.   Perhaps this was really who I am. Who I had always been.   Without even breaking the feverish mashing of mouths and tongues, my paws press down on either of his shaking thighs, pushing each as far apart as it would go. I braced my new bulky unsteady body, and blindly thrust into the soft heat in- between where the alluringly fantastic smell was coming from -missing several times- but finally managing to hit the small puffed up slit; and without further delay, I force it to sheathe my massive fur-covered length to the hilt- in one sure and strong shove. A long guttural cry erupts from Piccolo-san’s throat which joined with my howl of pleasure. Our lip-lock is momentarily broken as we both trembled and panted blindly, trying to gain some sense amidst the maddeningly pleasurable (and painful) sensations. My impatience didn’t let me wait for him, and I had my tongue once again stuffed down most of his passage before he could entirely recover from the violent penetration. He gagged and choked for a few moments, tears springing from his scrunched eyes and trickling down his cheeks, but I was too far gone -thoroughly intoxicated by the tightness and warm wetness of him to notice; his wonderful scent driving me to immediately commence with the mindless humping and grinding. He could only cling to me for dear life as I rammed into him, clipped grunting and gasping spilling from his swollen lips with each brutal intrusion. Soon, the spicy-sweet tang of his blood mixed with the smell of his sex, and it made my arousal throb in even more frenzied want. He was already moaning and shuddering deliriously into the first few minutes of our copulation; a sheen of crystal clear sweat lined every inch of his glorious skin as I rode his pretty body without mercy; fully intent on stabbing deeper into him with every relentless thrust. Losing myself in the sublime feeling of his warm soft wetness all around me; squeezing me with so much force that made stars dance behind my eye sockets; driving me to increase the strength and speed of my incursions as the pleasure climbed to the pinnacle of release. And I did not stop until I had completed the act through and through; filling him to bursting with my essence; driving so hard and so far inside him as I came that I felt as though he was going to crumble beneath me. But he didn’t, and I groaned loudly as I felt the powerful gush of his hot juices rush out to meet and mix with my own. I had never felt more complete in all my life, than in those moments.   It took awhile before my mind came back down to earth and made my drenched fur privy to the cold stillness of the night around me once more. I looked down at him with what I hoped looked like enamourdness off my beastly features. He only panted up at me softly, a ghost of a smile on his lovely bruised lips; eyes half-lidded and sparkling remnants of moisture at the corners of it… before those blazing red orbs faded to an opaque violet and were finally veiled in slumber.   -x-   I knew then... That I had found what my mother never wanted me to.   -x-   The sudden flapping of the curtain was her only cue on his arrival. She took a deep breath before turning to face him. Ever since Chi-chi came to terms with her son’s unconventional affections for this man, she had vowed that she would never show any kind of weakness in his presence. She had wizened all these years from the blustering young teenager who had married a clueless monkey boy she had fallen in love with and dreamed of having a perfect family life with. Despite knowing that there was no such thing, still- she was allowed to strive and fight for it as much as she wanted, right? And by Kamisama, she swore she would with every ounce of life in her that she possessed, until her very last breath! This man, represented a very real and concrete obstacle to that goal. She despised him for poisoning her son’s mind and winning over his heart completely. She was still far from being accepting of the idea; and had convinced herself that he had done some hocus-pocus to achieve what she considered an impossibility. She loved Gohan more than anything, and she was not going to lose him to some fearsome alien who had once murdered her husband and spirited away her child. That was what she vowed. And yet, every time he- this man known as Piccolo Daimaoh Jr. stood before her in his full majestic and imposing stature; unflinching and expressionless… she hated to admit that it fazed her and all her vows against him along with it. It fazed her so much because the more she was forced to interact with him, the more she began to see what her son had most likely seen in him from the very start. This Namek commanded respect. Whether or not you wished to give it was out of the question. He may not be as bloodthirsty and intimidating as those pure-blooded Saiyajins with too much power for their own good, but he was truly powerful in ways that words could not simply define, nonetheless. And at this moment, her motherly instincts were also working against her, forcing her to act the contrary of her usual mind-set to do with him; the current predicament she had found herself in that day was the final blow that caused her to be on the verge of losing this battle to him splendidly. How she despised Goku for forcing her to stoop this low! She swore that when it was her turn to cross over to the other side, she would kill him twice over. Piccolo stayed as silent as a statue, but his eyes remained attentive and patiently waiting. Chi-chi took another deep breath, but all attempts to compose herself were failing. She closed her eyes as she felt them sting with wetness. She honestly couldn’t decide if she was more satisfied or disappointed upon confirming that her son was not with him, like he usually was. And now, things just got even more complicated in her heart, because she was hoping against hope that he was, and that way, her conscience wouldn’t be hollering at her that if Gohan was indeed with Piccolo –if she had made him feel free to do so in times of need- now she would have at least been ensured of his safety –to some degree. “I- I apologize for calling you out here,” she began, hating the way her voice cracked and wavered; quite embarrassed at the memory of how she had repeatedly bellowed that afternoon for him, until he finally indulged her by taking heed. “But, I am… awfully… worried about my son. I… thought he was with you. And now I see that he isn’t.” Piccolo raised a brow ever so slightly. “I have tried searching for him in the woods… I have also called the other Z- Senshi but no one knows of his whereabouts and…” Her hands which had been on her apron, clawed and fisted into the garment hard, in an effort to hide how badly they were was shaking. “I… I don’t know what to do anymore… H-he has been gone for t-three days!” she wailed, her dam of tears finally breaking free, and streaking down her cheeks. “He has been disappearing often… since Goku’s-” she bit her lip to muffle as sob; opting not to mention that she had been shouting and scolding Gohan a lot lately –quite sure that the Namek would have heard all the same, now having proven just how acute his sense of hearing was. “He’s usually always back before nightfall! B-but… it’s been three days! And dear Kamisama-!” She finally sunk to her knees and sobbed wholeheartedly, her entire frame shaking pitifully. “I am just dying of worry!” Piccolo’s ears twitched. He knew of Gohan’s exploits into the woods, but he didn’t constantly keep track. He knew the boy wanted privacy, but… Three days. And now, this woman who wouldn’t over her dead body ask for his help, was crying and coming undone in front of him. It must be very serious if Gohan has been gone for three days. He tried to sense the boy’s Ki, and even tap their mental connection, but somehow, a force he could not yet define was hindering him from reaching Gohan. Piccolo felt his own chest constrict with alarm at this. He turned abruptly, knowing that the woman was probably hating breaking down in front of him as much as having to ask for his help. He didn’t like her, but he had no interest in watching her suffer either. Gohan, however, was another entirely separate matter. One that they shared a common interest in. “I will go look for him,” he offered tersely. “Piccolo-san!” she called before he could take off. Her bleary eyes met his, an uncharacteristic look of weakness there. “Thank you…!” He gave an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement before leaving.   -x-   He didn’t know know how long he had been out, but it was as though his body had gone through a woodchipper- more than once. He sucked in a breath but his throat and lungs felt clogged with thick dry cobwebs. A fit of hoarse coughing and choking followed, before he managed to haul himself to his forearms to painstakingly crawl to a not so near recess in the rocky wall, where fresh water from a brook flowed down and into it. Feeling greatly revitalized after he had drank to his heart’s content, he lay there for some minutes more, trying to gather enough oxygen into his system (properly this time), to clear his mind. That’s when he saw it. Wildflowers that he’s never seen before… (not outside the pages of a book, that is). Long stemmed and spiny, and speckled with peculiar blotches of sickly green pigment against indigo. The flower itself was a sharp tint of yellow, its many huge petals curled in on itself to form one bulbous shaped dome; twice bigger than an adult’s clenched fist. Despite the layers, each was so thin and translucent, that it seemed to absorb and trap the sun’s light within it; giving it a glowing lamp-like appearance. But its alien features did not end there… From the opening in the middle of the bulbous-shaped dome of petals, sprouted countless spindly hair-like filaments that floated with the breeze and scattered fine fuzzy pollen-like grains with each ruffle and sway. Gohan could not help but be mesmerised by its sheer otherworldliness and beauty. The longer he stared at the lot of them being tipped over every now and then by the gentle breeze, the more he was reminded of a school of upturned bright yellow contracted jellyfishes that had swallowed a bunch of microscopic fireflies… And yet-- he didn’t know why they somehow reminded him so much of an artificially mutated breed of False Honeysuckle flowers that were supposedly wiped out centuries ago because of their dangerously high levels of toxins. The mythicalRozealea Rhododendron. Most notorious for causing powerful hallucinations and neurotic illnesses of unpredictable nature for indefinite periods of time. Their effects so potent and deadly that it was even used for torturing prisoners for information and silent weapons of warfare in ancient times. Tragic as it was that such a pretty flower was associated with so many atrocities in history, it was eventually banned, and even just attempting to breed it was a serious crime. The said species was not endemic to Earth, but in fact, a hybrid artificially created by a space travelling automagician of questionable sanity; and due to this, it only throve in other planets with conditions too diverse from the Earth’s. The only times it was ever recorded to have survived on the planet was when it was bred under strictly controlled lab environments; that of course have been shut down almost a century ago, along with the flower’s complete annihilation. The demi-Saiyajin looked around, shocked. The ditch he had fallen into was teeming with the supposedly extinct flowers. But how could it be flourishing here, on Planet Earth’s soil…?And how long had he been lying there exposed to its fatal pollen? At that exact moment, a glint of light hits his eyes from a cluster of underbrush in the distance. And at exactly the same moment, he felt an immensely powerful wave of Ki, not quite human in origin…but like it was coming from some kind of mechanical Ki generator. He soon discovered that the energy emanating from whatever the object was, was inconstant; only bursting forth in pulse waves of fifteen second intervals. Putting two and two together, he deduced that this extremely potent Ki was what served as some kind of super fertilizer to the mutant flowers, aiding in its survival and enhancing its drug’s potency. He had only seen what it looked like from a book, but the one’s recorded there were only supposed to be about the size of an average rose in full bloom. These were monstrous– the buds alone being at least six times bigger than normal. And judging by the state of his mind and body after such a prolonged exposure to its toxins magnified to such a powerful degree, he knew he was only lucky to have survived. This level of poisonous gas would surely have killed a normal human within mere minutes! If it hadn’t rained that morning, he would have probably suffered the same fate as all its hapless victims.   Once dubbed: “Flowers from Hell”... Now he knew why.       Doing his best to hold his breath so as not to inhale any more of the deadly pollen, he crawls over to the object hidden from which the light and strange Ki signature was coming from. Slowly he got to his knees and cautiously began to swipe at the overhanging vines, protruding branches, and obstructing leaves, to reveal what appeared to be… a life-size antiquated mirror. The constant rain and brackish water that occasionally flooded the ditch had mucked up its surface, so he rubbed at a section, revealing deep-brown eyes peering back at him with otherworldly clarity... And for some inexplicable reason, he could not tear himself from its stare.  The End…(?) =============================================================================== This arc continues in a whole new series entitled "Mirare Obscura” which takes place before "A Bed of Tulips" (though they don't have to be read in that order). Please look forward to it! Cheers! Chapter End Notes *mere sight of a full moon - referenced from early episodes of DBZ where they used holographic projections from their space pods to trigger Oozaru transformations. And also in the "Tree of Might" movie where Turles used a Ki ball in the shape of a full moon. Merp. ===================================================================== There! Is Musey happy I finished this one? Yes, I think she is. (Haha.) Finally! I can go back to working on the final chapters of "What Didn't Really Happen" & "Truer Than Love". ===================================================================== A special extra "thank you ever so much!" to all the lovelies who left my stories love & support! (Just an average "thank you" if you read and liked without letting me know. :P Meheh.) End Notes (06/06/2016 - 11/20/2016) ===================================================================== Story #40: “Don’t Smell The Rozealeas” & all related Derivative Fanwork/Characters/Concepts & Ideas ©2015-2017 MariekoWest ===================================================================== X-posted: MewrSaidTheCat {FFnet} ===================================================================== My Hetalia Works: LM_Artless {AO3} / lovemeartless {FFnet} Works Archive: M(☆)W:_The_Asteroid_E2-13 {fc2} Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!