Title: How I Faced Off With Vegeta (And Lived To Tell About It)
Plot, or Lack Thereof: Vegeta discovers the works of a certain Authoress and decides that she has gone too far.
Reason for Banishment: Weak characterization, blatant self-insertion, shameless self-plugging.

I shivered, not knowing whether it was caused by the wind or the rude letter I received approximately a week ago.  It was from Vegeta, and contained many things I dare not repeat, but the general message was that he was not happy.  (Which was, of course, a severe understatement.)

Fearing that Vegeta’s wrath would extend to those around me, I made the (temporary) move out here, a valley in the middle of nowhere.

And waited.

And dreaded.

From the tone of that letter, I didn’t expect to live very long, so I thought I would at least die in some brave gesture.  But as I stood at the top of this cliff with nothing but he mournful wind rushing around me, I found it rather hard to be brave.

It was even harder when Vegeta landed behind me.

Stay calm, I told myself.  Don’t let him see how terrified you are. I hoped he didn’t notice my tremble.

I turned.

If Webster’s Dictionary were illustrated, Vegeta’s picture would have accompanied ‘anger’ and all of its synonyms.  Even though I couldn’t detect energy, I could almost see the fury streaming out of his body.  His piercing glare burned my face.  His fists were clenched.

“Excuse me.” I interrupted just as he opened his mouth.  “If you’re going to do half of the things you said you would do to me in your letter, the least you could do right now is give me a little respect.” Vegeta blinked, surprised that I had spoken, then bristled.

Respect?” He hissed.  “You don’t deserve any respect.  Not after what you did to me in that stupid skit of yours, not to mention your other stories.”

“You don’t have a very good sense of humor.” I observed, trying to stay as calm as I could.

“No, I do.” Vegeta smiled; it was not a nice smile.  “I would find it hilarious to hear you scream in agony.”

“Vegeta, you could probably kill me with a sneeze.” I pointed out.  Vegeta frowned again but didn’t answer, so I felt bolder.  “If you want me to defend myself, apologize, or beg for mercy, I won’t.  Furthermore, the stories will stay as they are unless I decide to change them─and I won’t.”

“Oh, really?” Vegeta’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.  My instincts told me to run, to hide─anything except stand there─but I stood my ground.

“Yes.” I felt myself growing more and more brave.  (Or stupid.) “You had no right to write a letter like this.” I held it up.  “I said ‘suggestions’, not a lesson in Japanese curse words.” I hesitated slightly, then bit my lip and tore that letter up.

“Why, you…” Vegeta became Super Saiyan.

I couldn’t believe that I was still alive─but I was sure I wouldn’t be soon: the look in Vegeta’s eyes was murderous.

“How dare you? You had no right to do that!” The aura around him glowed even brighter.  “You made me spend AN ENTIRE DAY in Kakarot’s body! What kind of crappy idea was that?!?”

Something inside of me snapped; I don’t take criticism very well, especially not with my stories.  They were like my children, products of my hard work.  Vegeta could do whatever he wanted to me, but I was not going to allow him to insult my ‘babies’.

I took a deep breath.

“It could have been worse.” I reminded him.


“It could have been worse.” I repeated.  “A lot worse: I could have made you stay in Goku’s body forever.”

Maybe it was just my imagination, but Vegeta seemed to be taken aback somewhat by that statement.

“In my other stories, too,” I continued.  “I could have made you be a jerk and ruin your twentieth anniversary, I could have made you waste away after Bulma died, I could have prevented Mikazuki or Nasu from coming to Earth—” I counted on my fingers.  “Should I go on?”

“That’s enough.”

“Besides,” I added.  “If you kill me, you’ll never know how those stories end.” The moment I said that, I regretted it, because Vegeta’s eyes lighted up again.

“You’re right: if you die, those stories won’t be finished.” He agreed.  “And you won’t be able to right any more of them, either.” He began to form an energy ball in his hands.  “So even if I can’t make you change those stories, at least I can make you stop.” The energy ball grew bigger and bigger.

I didn’t move: half of me was too frightened, and the other half was too stubborn; I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to let Vegeta bully me around.

I’m an author, I rationalized.  I can write whatever I want.

“You’re not trying to run away?” Vegeta asked.  “Good; you would never be able to escape this, anyway.” He prepared to launch it at me.

I still didn’t move.


Vegeta was about to put that unfortunate author out of her misery when he hesitated.  He found himself unable to fling that energy towards her and disintegrate every molecule in her pitiful body.

What in hell is wrong with me? He wondered.  Am I getting soft?

He looked at the girl, who was just a little taller than he was (not counting his hair), and was astounded by the courage and determination he saw in her.  Most authors he had ‘visited’ reacted in predictable manners: they cringed when he appeared, tried to explain why they did what they did, tried to convince him to spare them, tried to run away.  He found satisfaction in doing nothing more than scaring the shit out of them.  But some─like this author who stood before him now─although they were just as frightened as the rest, met him face-to-face, offered no apologies for writing those offending stories, and held their ground, even when threatened with unspeakable pain or death.  It was frustrating─but he also admired them somewhat.  Among the humans in ‘his’ world, his wife and Kakarot’s women were this brave but no one else─and even they had to give in to his iron will.  But this author didn’t budge.  She didn’t even blink.

And, in secret, (although he would never admit it to anyone, not even himself,) he sort of liked her stories.  Except for the body-changing part, he thought the skit was rather funny, especially the line she had given him near the end, when he gave that fat loser Kai a piece of his mind.  What had he said? Oh, yes: “No, I’m not going to kill you.  I’ll just hurt you so bad you’ll wish you were dead!” In that one sentence the author had captured and entire day’s worth of anger and frustration.  And Vegeta didn’t dislike the idea of being in Kakarot’s body, either─especially not after he, then Kakarot, proved beyond a doubt that he could become Super Saiyan level three in his own body.  Vegeta almost smiled, but caught himself.

And the girl was right: she, could have made things a lot worse.  After all, she, and not he, was the author.  He should be the one to be afraid of her, not the other way around.

In addition, Vegeta was curious about how her stories would end.  The enemies which Mikazuki warned about were not strong, but Dende had every reason to be worried; Nasu would get a beating for calling him what she did, no doubt, but what about the ‘T’ and ‘A’ who were speaking of ‘revenge’? And the author, in her correspondence with Bulma (who was a big fan of her stories), hinted about ‘more stories’ in which Vegeta would be the hero at long last.

Vegeta extinguished the energy in his hand.

“You’ll live.” He announced gruffly.  “For now.”


“I’m not going to kill you.” Vegeta rephrased.

“T—thank you!” The girl stuttered, her relief immense.  This time, Vegeta smiled.

“Thank Bulma.” He told her before he took off.


I collapsed to the ground, completely drained of my energy.  I couldn’t believe what I had just heard: Vegeta wasn’t going to kill me! I was so shocked and surprised I just sat there with an idiotic grin on my face.

After a while, I finally returned to my senses and hurriedly jumped up.  I began running down the cliff.

The guys will never believe this! I thought gleefully.

“Hold it!” It was Vegeta again.  I skidded to a stop and turned around, hoping that he hadn’t changed his mind.

“Yes?” I gulped.

“When’s your next story coming out?”