Piccolo is of the night. Of the cold, hard emptiness of the wilderness he was born into. He knows nothing of comfort, or of comforting. But humanity isn’t something that happens suddenly. It creeps in like a sickness, waiting to take you when you least expect it.
(Or, one of my takes on the headpat scene.)
Gen Dragon Ball fics don’t get much traction on AO3 as far as I can tell, so if you like it please leave a review!
I’m sorry these tags are killign me
What’s up folks we’ve for a short fic about the training period for the arrival of the sayiajin with excellent emotional distress from each of them for different reasons and it’s fucking beautiful and you should read it. It is 4am and I need t go to bed and I regret nothing.
