#my masterplan is finally being set into motion | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wondersofdreaming · 5 years ago

Text

Because I love you

Characters: August Walker x Witch!female character

Word count: 1.611

Warnings: Cursing. Magic. Time travel. Ancient languages.

Author’s note: This is for @littlefreya

Everything in this short story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movie ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’ from 2018, and some inspiration from the TV-show ‘The Originals’. This is pure fanfiction! Nothing is supposed to make sense. The Latin and Ancient Greek used in this drabble are my own translations, if it’s not correct, let me know and I will edit it.

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides the reader, who is a figment of my imagination.

Dictionary: Evocatio Saturnum (Latin) - I call forth Saturn

κᾰλέω Κρόνον (Ancient Greek) - I summon Kronos

Mihi alas da (Latin, ‘da’ is the imperative of ‘do’) - Give (to) me wings

Laxa (Latin, ‘laxa’ is the imperative of ‘laxo’) - Open/Release

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated.

Tag: @littlefreya

Everything was prepped and ready. The circle on the floor had been drawn with salt. Your coven had told you not to do the spell that you were putting your own life in danger, just for a man. A man you loved more than anything. Nothing was going to stop you. And you were the damn head of that fucking coven, they had to obey your orders no matter what.

You had researched the different spells to get him back. Awakening spells, how to bring someone dead back to life, how to summon their soul into someone else’s body - there was always a consequence. Magic always had a price. If you brought him back from the dead, you needed to sacrifice yourself in the making. You had contemplated that a few times, better have him alive than you, but then you knew he would be furious. He would find a way to bring you back to life, only to punish you so bad, not that you would be complaining.

No, you finally found a way. Your witch ancestors were behind you, even though they had given voice to their concerns, but they prayed that your plan would work. You had put it to work months ago, by having found the Fountain of Youth, which was where you were now, setting your masterplan in motion.

You sat down in the middle of the circle, cross-legged. With a flick of your wrist, you lit all the candles that filled the cave. You started the incantation to borrow power from your coven, from the dead in the graveyard, and from your witch ancestors. You felt the energy surge into you. The room shaking from the power surge.

“Evocatio Saturnum, κᾰλέω Κρόνον, I summon thee, God of Time. I sacrifice the fountain of immortal life. Come forth and lend me your power!”

You opened your eyes. The power from your coven and ancestors fell away. Nothing. The God of Time was nowhere to be found.

“FUCK!” You screamed.

Before you could get up and figure out what you did wrong, a strong wind went through the cave and blew out all the candles. A blue light appeared in front of you. The candles were re-lit, now with a blue fire instead of the soft orange glow from before.

A massive man stood before you. He had silver hair and a beard to match. His eyes, the colour of steel, bore into yours with curiosity. He wore a deep burgundy three-piece suit. He held out a hand to help you up.

“Nobody has been able to summon me in aeons.” He whispered into your ear.

“Good for me then.” You mumbled, accepting his hand and stood before him. He was towering over your smaller form. He had an intimidating height, and those eyes were sucking out all your courage.

“Now, my dear, how can I help you?” He walked out of the circle and looked at his mirror image in the fountain.

“I need a portal to right before my beloved was killed.” You answered confidently. His back went rigid.

“You are playing with time in a way that will disrupt the timeline. If you bring him back to this time, his future, you could bring doom to your people, your coven, your ancestors.”

“I will sacrifice anything to be able to hold my beloved. Besides, aren’t you the God of Time? Aren’t you supposed to protect the timeline?”

“By helping you bring chaos to it?”

“You let one of your children create this fountain! You do not have a choice in this, Saturn, Kronos, Father Time, whatever it is that you call yourself. I offer you the fountain, to correct a mistake you made, when you let your child create this. I will even help you eradicate all immortal beings from this earth to preserve the timeline from now on.”

That got his attention. He turned around and let out a low grumble.

“I could take your life and give your years to someone more deserving.” He growled.

“If I die, my ancestors and coven will protect this place from you. They will move it across the universe, to someplace where you will never be able to find it.” You hissed.

He massaged his temples. Even gods could get headaches.

“Fine. But I want to see you destroy this first, and your help in destroying immortal creatures. Demi-gods excluded.”

“Deal.”

You moved towards the fountain and poured in a red liquid. It was a concoction you had created only for the Fountain of Youth, having been studying it ever since you found it. The water started boiling. It kept steaming until all the water was gone. It left a deep hole in the ground; you couldn’t even see or sense the bottom.

“Now, dear. Shall we?” He asked and held out his hand. You nodded and took it.

You had closed your eyes. Nauseated you opened them. You stood next to the God of Time on a small ledge into the side of a mountain. You clung to the cold hard rock behind you, not wanting to fall into your death.

“In exactly one minute, a helicopter will fall into the opening on your left. You will have five minutes to touch him before I transport us back to your time.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to reach him?”

“Use your brilliant mind, dear. You found a way to summon me, now use your brain to get to your beloved before time runs out and ruins his pretty little face.”

A loud crash pulled you away from the anger welling up inside you, anger towards the obnoxious time-god. You searched the mountainside for smaller ledges to set your feet and hands. You took deep breaths to calm yourself. Then you remembered a spell your grandmother had taught you.

“Mihi alas da!” You whispered. Huge white wings sprouted from your back. You flew over to the crashed helicopter. There he was. Your beloved. How you had missed him. His face was contorted in concentration, trying to take off the seatbelt that had gotten stuck.

“Laxa!” You mumbled loudly, which unhooked the seatbelt. He turned to see you in the opening of the broken helicopter. His eyes softened. You grabbed his outstretched arm and yanked him away from the burning liquid that would have hit him in the face.

“What are you doing here?” He whispered into your hair. “You are supposed to be locked in with your coven for the cleansing spell.”

“I am. At least in this time, I am.” You told him. He watched you with confusion. “I summoned the God of Time to help me save you.”

“Save me? Save me from what?”

“Death. You will die if you don’t come with me, right this moment.”

“Do you have so little faith in me?” He chuckled, thinking you were joking.

“If you don’t believe me, be my guest and continue on in this timeline. When we meet in hell, the first thing you will hear from me is ‘I told you so’.”

He grumbled something you couldn’t hear, but he took your hand. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tight and inhaled the scent that was purely him.

“Let’s go home.” He whispered into your hair. You flew him towards the God of Time, who was standing on the ledge with an amused smile.

“30 seconds to spare.” The bearded God grinned at you. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hands. He transported you back to the future, back to the cave on top of Mount Everest.

“Well, my dear, thank you for this little adventure. Here is a book of the immortals you need to destroy, and it also says how to find them, how to kill them etc. etc. etc. Good luck, darling, and please don’t disrupt time again.” The God smiled and with a flick of his fingers, blue flames surrounded his body, and he was gone in an instant.

“What year is this?” Your beloved asked.

“It’s 2020. You’ve been dead for two years.”

He went to sit down on the bed you had summoned to sleep on all these months. He hid his face in his hands, elbows on his knees.

“What did you have to do to bring me back?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing much. Just forced my coven and ancestors to help me, destroyed the fountain of youth, promised to kill all immortal beings that are left on this planet.” You said nervously and with a small chuckle at the end.

He stood from the bed. The air around him trembled. You felt his lingering gaze. His arms pulling you into his broad chest. His hand lifted your chin, so you were forced to look into his blue eyes.

“If that is your mission, then I will help you.” He grumbled.

“Good. I could use your skills, some of these creatures are pretty hard to get rid of. Now, if you don’t mind. I’ve missed you terribly, and I really need you to kiss me, so that I know you are real. Please.”

“Anything for you, princess.”

Your lips crashed in a hungry kiss. His tongue was dominating yours. Your moans filled the quiet cave. The energy between you was electrifying. It felt so right to be back in his arms. To kiss him, to have him kiss you senseless. You didn’t have to sleep alone anymore. You didn’t have to wake up multiple times at night without him anymore. Your nightmares would finally subside.

“Don’t you dare die on me again.” You murmured.

“I promise.”

“Because I love you, August Walker.”

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kayr0ss · 5 years ago

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The Masterplan (Diakko)

[LWA, Diakko, kind of an AU?, funny, absolutely disastrous, nothing goes according to plan, but their friends are so supportive!!!!! ...car chase??]

Summary: Akko is planning a confession. On the other side of the playing field - Hannah and Barbara are dead-set on their best-friend getting the girl of her dreams.So of course nothing goes to plan. Not even close. It's a complete, fast-paced, adorable disaster. [Modern AU]

Akko was on a mission.

She was riding shotgun in Lotte’s car, speeding through the highways of Glastonbury city with the urgency of a government spy. It was finally go-time.

She was finally confessing to Diana Cavendish.

They’ve gone over The Plan three-times over by now—Sucy, Lotte, and herself—and the warm glow of a perfect Friday afternoon felt like an omen for good-and-romantic things to come. The time was nigh—it was now or never.

Now, Akko was no fool. She knew that Lotte and Sucy were only in it so she’d shut up about The Masterplan once and for all, but she appreciated their help nonetheless. And maybe she’d take back what she just said because Lotte seemed genuinely invested in planting the seeds of love and romance.

“Flowers. Lights. Confession.” Akko muttered to herself for the hundredth time, earning an eyeroll from Lotte (who was in charge of lights) behind the wheel.

“It will be fine, Akko.”

“It’s me!” She groaned, throwing a hand up to gesture emphasis. “Anything that can possibly go wrong goes wrong with me!”

“I second this.”

“Thanks for the support, Sucy.” Akko groaned sarcastically. “I ate way too much, way too fast in my nervousness earlier and now I’m bloated and likely ruined my appetite for our dinner!”

“Dinner?” Lotte spared her a sidelong glance, zipping through the highway and causing her passengers to lurch in their seats. “That wasn’t part of The Masterplan. You completely overlooked any sort of food-prep.”

“Kuso!” Akko groaned. “I’ll just wing it! Let’s just get those flowers.”

“Take a left here,” Sucy tapped on Lotte’s shoulders. She was a botanist and therefore assigned to help with the flowers. She made plans to arrange a bouquet with her contact at the local shop, and had reluctantly sworn an oath to forego anything poisonous—with sucked—but it was for Akko, and it was just for one night.

Time was of the essence.

Lotte drummed her fingertips against the steering wheel in anticipation when they came to halt along a stoplight. The Masterplan’s execution was set for eight o’clock, and it was already four-thirty in the afternoon.

Three and half hours.

Set-up their small backyard patio with lights.

Get ready with the best flowers.

And let Akko handle the confession.

Simple. Effective.

Ultimately, disastrous.

---

“She said it’d be just the two of you?” Barbara leaned forward, watching with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as Diana paced around her office at the hospital.

“Yes.” The blonde woman had sunk into a trance-like state of thought. Thinking. Thinking at a hundred miles per hour. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for.

“I—I’m going to confess.”

“Finally!” Hannah practically slammed her fist down the table.

“It must be done perfectly.” Diana said with conviction. “I must get her flowers, and I should at least offer to cover our meal. Do you think she likes Japanese?”

“Likes? She is Japanese! Though she might be sick of it.” Barbara shrugged.

“Or—” Hannah perked up. “—missing it terribly after having stayed in London for so long.”

Curses. They were only at ‘food’ and it was already beginning to get complicated.

“Should I just ask her?”

“No way!” Barbara gasped. “You’re gonna blow Kagari away with a surprise without spoiling anything.”

“She is rather fond of surprises.” Diana stopped her pacing to run her hand through perfect, blonde hair.

“So what’s the plan, Dia?” Hannah urged, already sharing a grin with Barbara.

“Flowers. Food. Confession.”

Simple.

Hannah was already calling the flower store.

---

“What do you mean someone reserved them already?!”

Sucy glowered at the shopkeeper, and Lotte and Akko had to physically back away as though she had grown fangs.

“I’m sorry!” The clerk raised his hands defensively. “Like, just five minutes ago!”

“After everything we’ve been through, Hendrick?! I even called that I was coming by!”

“You always buy the weird stuff you know? And besides, I’ve got other roses aside from Ecuadorian ones, I think—”

“Not settling for anything other than the best.” Sucy was determined. “Names. I need names. Who bought them?”

“I can’t tell you—”

“You can and will.”

“Look, I—”

“You two!” Sucy had spun around, locking her eyes with Lotte. “Get back and get the garden ready. I’ll deal with this mystery buyer and follow in a minute.”

“’Deal with’?” Lotte gawked. “How are you even going to—”

Sucy Manbavaran would never be outdone when it came to plants. This was personal now.

“Go!”

---

“I’ll pick them up and meet you in a few!” Hannah grinned excitedly. “Barbs, you know what to do!”

“She does?” Diana blinked, allowing herself to get dragged by the wrist towards Barbara’s car in the hospital parking lot.

“You’re not going on a date wearing your scrubs.”

“I had no such plans to.”

“Casual won’t do either!” Barbara nagged, fishing for her keys. “You’ve gotta look drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I—I don’t think it’s necessary to.”

“Shush, hon. I just want you to relax and think Akko thoughts, or whatever.”

“Akko thoughts aren’t exactly… relaxing as of the moment.”

“Fair point.”

“Where to?”

Barbara took a quick glance towards her watch and pursed her lips in thought. “Shopping. Then food.”

“Shopping—?”

“Shut up and get in the car!”

---

“She’s crazy!” Akko shrieked. “She had that crazy look in her eyes, like she’s about to poison someone!”

“Well we’re going to have to trust her because it’s five-fifteen and the patio is far from ready!”

Lotte was back behind the wheel, zooming through traffic towards her trinket shop. It was a lot less time than she was comfortable with. Lacing the gazebo with firefly lights and battery-operated teacup candles likely took longer than her mental estimate.

“How are you feeling?” She glanced towards Akko. “You’re looking pale.”

“I—I’m fine.” The brunette said in a contorted voice. Lotte brushed it off as nervousness (which was a rare enough emotion for Akko).

“You sure?”

“Yup!” Akko nodded in determination, steeling her resolve. “Kami-sama, why can’t we just be dating already?”

“Just a few more hours until you are, Akko.”

“If she likes me back!”

“Which she will.”

“But have you seen her Lotte?” Akko began to ramble.

“Many times, yes.”

“How is she even real—what am I doing?! Oh no, oh no, oh no am I seriously going to confess—”

“Breathe!”

Lotte gave her best friend the surest smile she could muster.

“She will.”

---

It was now five forty-seven.

“You.”

Sucy narrowed her eyes, staring straight into hazel. She had camped out in the flower shop, figuring that whoever placed such an urgent order would show up any minute to pick them up. True enough, a familiar woman in a white-coat with auburn hair came bursting through, shouting for her order of Ecuadorian roses.

“Sucy.” Hannah sneered, crossing her arms. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Those flowers you ordered are mine. I got here first.”

“No way!” Hannah challenged. “I put in the call. He said they were available.”

“How can that take precedence over a client already in-store and paying on the spot?” Sucy turned her calm but heavy glare towards Hendrick, who was sweating bullets while looking between the two women.

“I already paid!” Hannah pulled out her phone triumphantly, showing the screenshot of an online payment transfer. Sucy cursed herself for not having the foresight to have done so earlier.

“I—I don’t make the rules ma’am.” Hendrick conceded, carefully presenting the lovely bouquet of twenty-four roses to the woman who happened to be Sucy’s friend—if only through the sheer force of Akko’s gravitational-friendship-pull. The poor shopkeeper looked pale, trapped between the two very different yet equally threatening auras.

“I’m leaving. Buy something else!” Hannah had turned around dramatically, stepping out through the door with her hair bouncing through the motions.

“You never told me you had online orders.” Sucy told Hendrick evenly.

“I—It was launched recently.”

“Screw that,” she said with gritted teeth. On whim, she decided to follow Hannah, walking into the street and whistling as loudly as she can towards the nearest cab.

A middle-aged man with a bushy moustache looked up from behind the window. “Where to, missy?”

“No questions!” Sucy jumped into the front seat. “Follow that car—and don’t fucking call me missy!”

---

“You’re being—what?” Barbara shrieked as quietly as she could. Just as Diana entered the dressing room a minute ago, her phone began ringing with Hannah’s photo popping up. “Chased? By Sucy? For the flowers?”

[“Yes! She’s a madwoman! Probably going to blow something up with another potion or—"]

“Don’t call me while you’re driving!” Barbara hissed, looking back towards the dressing room which was slowly opening.

Diana stepped out, looking lovely in a sheer white top and cream slacks. She asked how she looked and Barbara had quickly tossed another top for her to try, desperately trying to keep up with Hannah’s rambling on the other line.

“You look great—love the pants—try this blue one! Come on, come on! In you go, nothing to stress about!”

“Stress about?” Diana blinked, frowning. “Is that Hans on the phone?”

“Yeah, it’s all going swell!” Barbara’s voice pitched a little too high. “In you go!”

“O—Okay.”

She had practically slammed the door into Diana’s face, and with a deep breath she diverted her attention back to Hannah.

“Don’t overspeed, and why are you two having a car chase?! It’s just flowers!”

---

“Just flowers?!” Hannah repeated, aghast. “Not when it’s for one of the most important days of our best friend’s life, they aren’t!”

She took a sharp turn at the nearest street, going nowhere in particular if only to shake Sucy off. It was an unfortunately wide road and she was opposite the rush hour lane, leaving it relatively traffic free. She had no intention of breaking speed limits and was forced to stay at seventy. Soon enough, the cab pulled up at her right.

Sucy rolled down the window, looking as worked up as Hannah had ever seen her in their time knowing each other. The driver seemed like he was having the time of his life. “I’ll pay for its price plus ten pounds on top!”

“You think I’m cheap?!” She shouted back, doing her best to keep her driving steady.

“Twenty!”

“You can’t buy me, Sucy! Not for this occasion—not ever!” She grit her teeth and banked towards the left, putting a truck in between them.

Barbara was still in the call.

[“By the nines, Hannah!”]

---

“Whoa!” Akko blinked, head whipping to the side while she followed a familiar-looking SUV speed down the road, seemingly chased by a cab. “Shit’s crazy today!”

“Come on, Akko!” Lotte led her out of the trinket shop’s front and back to her parked car. It took them around forty-five minutes just trying to find the perfect set of lights and the clock was ticking. Akko’s nerves were beginning to fray, and the woman was jumpy, reckless (more so than usual) and generally hyper—

“Akko, be careful!”

—active.

By the nine.

There was a loud thud—and the resonance of something very hard bumping into metal.

That was it.

The Masterplan would have to wait.

Akko ran into a lamppost and passed out with a bleeding nose.

---

“I haven’t heard from Akko.”

It was now seven in the evening and Diana was beginning to fret. She and her friends had returned to her flat to get her ready, but she thought the brunette would at least message her. Should she send another text? She did just half-an-hour ago, informing the brunette she was heading home to get ready. Is a call too forward?

Goodness. She shook her head—why would it be too forward? They were by no means strangers. Far from it! She blushed, this whole thing was getting to her and she hated it. Deciding she could very much call Atsuko Kagari whenever she pleased, she slipped out her phone and dialed.

“She has a heart emoji after her name?” Hannah snickered.

Diana ignored it, flushing red. Her phone rang. And rang. But Akko never picked up.

She exhaled in frustration, wondering if Akko had gotten herself mixed up in another form of disaster. It wasn’t a far-fetched assumption. Or did she ditch her? No, she wasn’t like that. Was she?

Her eyes fell towards the navy-blue top she had picked from the store, and then towards the most beautiful bundle of roses she had ever seen.

It looked perfect. Except—

“Did you really get into a car chase for this?”

“Yup!” Hannah raised a fist in victory. “And I won too. Sucy just up and backed off.”

“That’s suspicious.” Barbara narrowed her eyes. “But I still insist you are absolutely insane for pulling that!”

“What matters—” Hannah crossed her arms. “—is I got the job done.”

Diana sighed, growing anxious and excited at the same time. She glanced back towards her phone. “Let’s just hope I get to give them.”

---

“A lamppost.” Sucy stared at Lotte evenly. “Unbelievable. I got into a fucking car chase only for this moron to walk into a lamppost.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?”

“It’s Akko. She’ll be fine. Hasn’t she broken like, every bone in her body at this point?”

Well. She wasn’t wrong. They were in the Glastobury hospital and Lotte hoped Diana would be on-duty, but upon asking the nurse’s station she clocked out early for today.

“What did Diana say?” Lotte asked Sucy.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t text her?”

“I thought you did.”

“Sucy!”

“You’re the one with her number.”

“But I—”

“Are you her flat-mates?” A young-looking doctor peered through the door of Akko’s recovery room. She broke her nose—but there was no need for a rhinoplasty and therefore she didn’t need admission. Broken nose aside, Akko was in surprisingly good health, bearing an almost-Olympic endurance which in hindsight explained her ability to recover from seemingly anything.

“Yes!” Lotte nodded diligently.

“Well you can take her home now. This one is crazy—she’s already sitting up after an hour of recovery. But I do need to warn you she’s—uh—”

“She’s?” Sucy prodded, hiding her concern under the guise of impatience.

“High as a kite?”

---

Akko was having a good time.

A good time.

She laughed, her head feeling woozy, her hands moving as though they were floating in water and—it was just so funny! By the nines this was the shit!

Her nose kinda felt funny though. Weird.

“Akko?”

Huh? Is—it’s a friend! Akko grinned. Her best friend! “Oh Lotte.”

“That’s just trippy.” Another voice said.

One eye only? Oh it must be Sucy!

“Your hair—” Akko smiled whimsically. “It’s freaking whack, Sucy.”

“Why does she still sound like herself?” Sucy turned to Lotte.

“I told you to be careful!” Lotte wailed, moving to her side to help her up.

“This is place is so bright.” Akko narrowed her groggy eyes, her head lolling about while she inspected her surroundings. Then she gasped. “Where’s Diana! This is Diana’s work!”

“She isn’t here.” Lotte placated. “And sit down—you’ll hurt yourself again!”

In the snap of a finger, Akko was done laughing and suddenly began to pout.

“I miss Diana.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here any second—”

“She said she’d go hooooome first.” Akko pointed towards her phone, sitting on the bedside of the outpatient recovery room.

Lotte sighed. “Come on, you need to go home too.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Akko asked innocently before leaning in and whispering to the two as though to share a secret. Then she broke into another grin—a charming, lopsided grin that screamed ‘painkillers!’

Lotte looked towards Sucy. The latter just shrugged. “Why the hell not? Saves her the time to go here and she’d know what to do with Akko.”

---

It was now seven-forty-six.

Barbara sped down the highway to the hospital, feeling every bit sorry for Diana who was cradling her head in her palms in the passenger’s seat. Although it was a little funny, and apparently Hannah thought so too, based on the snickering in the back.

“That’s just like her, though!” Hannah finally grinned.

Hannah was right. And honestly, Diana knew she’d be fine. But of course this would happen—and only to Akko. The world wasn’t so kind as to allow the night she finally decided to confess to be easy, right?

Dr. Strenger had dutifully informed her that a patient he recognized as Diana’s friend was admitted for a nasal fracture. All she needed to hear was ‘brown hair’, ‘red eyes’, and ‘lamppost’ and it was enough. Thankfully, it seemed Akko’s recovery was marvelous (unsurprising) and that Lotte and Sucy had accompanied her.

They pulled up into the parking lot and Hannah groaned. “Back to our workplace, yikes. You better do good by that bouquet, Diana! I almost died for that!”

She huffed, stepping into the familiar entry way dressed way too nicely for the hospital and holding a gigantic bouquet of flowers.

The receptionist blinked. A few of the nurses had turned their heads at the sight of her. “Dr. Cavendish?”

“Spare me the comments.” She lamented. “What room us is—ah.” Why was she blushing? In front of her colleagues! “Atsuko Kagari.”

“Oh, miss Akko!”

Right. Between accidents and visiting Diana, the staff knew her by now.

“She came in a pretty bad shape, but she didn’t need to be admitted. Dr. Strenger sent her home.”

“She isn’t here?”

“Actually,” the receptionist tilted her head. “On their way out she was screaming rather loudly that she was going to straight to your place?”

Her—what?

---

“I don’t think this is Diana’s house.”

Sucy elbowed Lotte, the pair of them standing behind a still-delirious Akko who rang the doorbell to a three-story tall apartment. It looked every bit as posh as its red-brick façade suggested. It was imposing. Classical. Nestled in a street of similarly luxurious dwellings that had cars Lotte had only seen in magazines—parked in garages or even right at the streets.

“But this is where Akko directed us to.” Lotte shrugged.

The door finally opened, and they tried so very hard not to face-palm.

---

“Atsuko.”

Akko grinned, feeling woozy, and reaching forward to shake the hand reluctantly offered to her. As she’s told herself earlier in the day, she was no fool. She knew she was tripping—her guess was either anesthesia or painkillers—or wait, were those the same things? Or like… not? Huh. She should ask Diana alter and—oh-right-she-was-still-shaking-Aunt-Daryl’s-hand!

“Hello!”

“A—Are you quite alright?” The elder Cavendish tentatively asked, eyeing her nose.

“Oh yah.” Akko waived a hand, giggling. “Lamppost.”

“Of course.”

Akko swore that was a little smile! It was a lot of work, but they at very least didn’t hate each other anymore. Unlike at first. Charming—that was Akko’s middle name! Actually it wasn’t, but—

“It may as well be.” Daryl commented.

Holy shit, did she say that out loud?

“You did.”

“Anyway—” Akko squeaked “—I came to visit Dia?”

Daryl blinked, then looked over to the two friends Akko had brought with her.

“I think you should come inside.”

Akko nodded, the action of it made her still-groggy head spin and eventually she lost her balance, falling forward—

—and getting caught by the wrong Cavendish’s arms. So wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Not this one!

“I’mma take you up on that offer.” Akko mumbled, apologizing profusely while she righted herself.

---

A soft 'ping' alerted Diana to a text message.

Daryl Cavendish (1)

“What on earth does she want at this hour?” Diana mumbled to herself, sulking once again in Barbara’s passenger seat. “As if I don’t have enough to worry with Akko—oh by the nines!”

The sheer volume of her voice was enough to make both Hannah and Barbara snap in attention.

8:26 Daryl Cavendish: Diana. Someone very interesting has come to visit, although I’m afraid she forgot your updated address.

“Christ.” Barbara groaned. “That’s at the opposite end of where we’re going. I love you but I’m getting real tired of driving you around.”

8:27 Daryl Cavendish: I look forward to hearing your side of this story. 8:27 Daryl Cavendish: 😉

Diana’s ears turned bright red. Hannah looked over her shoulder to read and outright laughed.

“Just drive, Barbs. Have mercy on Diana’s poor soul.”

---

“She said that?” Daryl’s eyebrows inched upwards every so lightly.

“She totally did! Diana’s a lot cheesier than people think.” Akko smiled smugly.

She had checked her nose via a mirror in the living room, and all she could do was laugh. Cause she didn’t feel like she had a nose. Or an… anything. It was so weird to move her hands around and like, not feel them moving.

Daryl paused for a moment to check at her phone. “Hm. Diana will be here shortly.”

“Yeesh.” Akko grinned, rubbing at the back of her head sheepishly. “I can’t believe I forgot she moved out last year.”

“You helped her move.” Daryl said pointedly.

“I know!” Akko shrugged. “I forgot that too. Head’s all woozy. Having a good a time though!”

“I… am glad to hear that?” The elder Cavendish turned towards Lotte and Sucy. “Are you two alright?”

The two women held up their hands, shaking their heads with jumbled responses of “Yep!” and “We’re fine!” and “Just go ahead and talk!” and “Take your time!”

---

“Well this takes me back.” Barbara peaked up at Daryl’s excessive apartment through the driver’s side window. “Alright”, she elbowed Diana. “Go get your woman!”

Diana looked absolutely spent. But also, a bit relieved. She’ll finally see her—the circumstances didn’t matter. Somehow all this craziness felt just like Akko and after hours of chasing her around she was… just excited to see her again.

She felt a swell of affection in her chest. The same feeling that pushed her to think about confessing in the first place.

“Will—Will you two come with me?”

Hannah clapped her shoulder. “You think after this entire afternoon we’d ditch on you now?”

Barbara grinned at her, encouragingly. “Come on, lover girl.”

“Please don’t ever call me that again.”

---

“Diana!”

Akko practically wept, running across Daryl’s living room (“Akko, no!”) and into the (proper) Cavendish’s arms.

“I missed you todaaay!” The brunette whined.

The reaction was a bit excessive, even for Akko, and at Diana’s confused reaction Sucy had helpfully supplied that she was—“Still high as kite. Painkillers, or whatever.”

Akko pulled back, lip trembling. “You’re so pretty.”

“Th—Thank you. Goodness, your nose!”

“Lamppost.”

“I heard,” Diana said softly, hand coming up to cup Akko’s cheek. She had been so worried. She inspected the wound with such tenderness that she could hear Barbara swooning in the back.

“Ahem.”

Right.

“Aunt Daryl. Thank you for taking care of her.”

“No worries.” Daryl replied with a lilt in her voice, smirking. “I’ve grown rather fond of this one.”

The miracles of Akko’s charm, Diana supposed.

The next thing she noticed was Sucy glowering towards Hannah—and the flowers. Her eyes widened, suddenly remembering their car-chase, and that the entire point of the evening was supposed to be—

“Easy now.” Diana said carefully, intent on alleviating whatever tension remained. “At least we know Akko’s alright.”

---

Oh she’s pretty.

What the hell! She’s already in her arms but she’s so so pretty and Akko could just breathe in the smell of her hair and oh Diana is right here!

Never-mind Daryl, and Sucy, and Lotte, and Barbara, and Hannah—Hannah?

Akko blinked, looking towards the auburn-haired woman. Then she grinned. Flowers! The sight of the bouquet triggered what felt like a distant memory through the hazy fog of her mind:

Flowers. Lights. Confession.

Diana.

She gasped.

Akko then suddenly grabbed the bundle straight out of Hannah’s hands—faster than anyone thought she could move.

“Hey!”

But she didn’t care, she pulled on Diana’s arm, urging her to look back towards her—and oh the lights were so pretty in this house—it felt perfect, it really did, the only word that echoed in Akko’s addled mind was:

Confess!

“Diana.”

She said softly, as if in a moment of clarity. She shoved the flowers towards the blonde.

“I love you!”

---

I love you.

Diana’s jaw had dropped.

She said I love you.

All she could see was the blinding grin that Akko was shooting her way and really—really Akko? Right now? In this situation?

But she couldn’t believe that she was smiling back. Because she realized she didn’t care. Akko had just told her she loves her.

This entire day was a disaster.

But she loves her.

She loves her!

Diana wants to say she loves her back. Goodness, when did her mouth stop working? She settled for pulling her closer—keeping her steady, Akko was still a little out of it—but she couldn’t help it. Diana pulled Akko in, cupping her cheek and—and—

Diana kissed her.

It wasn’t easy—she had to do so gently to avoid disturbing the gauze and plaster on top of Akko’s broken nose.

But Akko’s eyes had fluttered to a close so prettily, and she actually kissed her back. They pulled apart—Diana was suddenly aware of the people and their surroundings—and Akko looked up to her. Smiling. Surprised. And then—

Between the blood-loss, being heavily drugged, and Diana kissing her?

Akko’s eyes rolled back into her head and she fainted.

fin

A/N: Every time I write something I realized I like to focus on singular, detailed moments that are slow and soft. Then I read this hilarious twitter thread about a guy who interviewed George Clooney despite rupturing his gall bladder who got high as kite on his pain killers, and then I throught "That's some big fucking Akko energy", and likewise decided, "what if I just wrote whatever the hell I wanted and get tripping" and here we are

Hope you enjoy this - this is something a bit different for me and I just sat down for like four hours straight and spweded this out, am i ok, LOL

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retroateez · 4 years ago

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1980s horror film - s.mingi

hello all!!!

it’s been a lot longer than i intended, but a bunch of stuff came up and i both didn’t have time and didn’t feel like writing. this also wasn’t what i initially planned on posting, but life works weirdly and here we are. that being said, i wrote this in a way that is different to how i typically write so i apologise if it sounds/feels weird or awkward. regardless, i hope u enjoy! (also i didn’t realise it was all lower case so please ignore the inconsistency lmao)

pairing: song mingi x reader genre: unrequited love?? idk how to tag it oops word count: 1660 this is inspired by a song titled ‘1980s horror film II’ by wallows!

mingi had been waiting for eons to score a date with y/n. way too long. all of his friends (mainly wooyoung), teased him constantly about her, but he had never gathered the courage to do anything about it.

they'd been friends for a long while, even hanging out a few times together at the cinema, or just going out for lunch before mingi realised he had an absolutely huge crush on her.

recently he'd been avoiding her like the plague, using volleyball practice, or band rehearsal with the boys as an excuse not to hang out with her.

that was, until one sunny saturday afternoon, when she called him out of the blue. he took a few moments to collect himself, staring at the ringing phone in his hand like it was a ticking bomb seconds away from a devastating explosion.

"hey dingus!" y/n called down the phone once he had collected himself enough to answer. "what are you doing?" she asked.

"nothing. why?"

"i'm bored." she declared. "wanna come over?"

"s-sure!" mingi agreed straight away.

"sweet. see you soon then!" y/n hung up, and mingi was convinced he might pass out.

he'd never been to her house before. maybe she really did like him back? oh god, he was starting to internally panic now; how was he supposed to act? he didn't want to be a creep but he didn't want to be painfully awkward either. oh god. oh god oh god oh god.

"get it together, mingi." he scowled at himself in the mirror, shaking his faded red hair side to side. he couldn’t make a fool of himself in front of her; he absolutely would not allow it.

this could be his chance, to finally muster enough balls to ask y/n out before it was too late. yes, he'd decided; today would be the day.

-----

half an hour later, an exceptionally nervous song mingi knocked on the door of his highschool crush. he reached up and brushed a shaking hand through his hair, wondering whether his legs were numb from fear or the chilling bite of the surprisingly cold weather.

a few moments passed, then the door swung open to reveal y/n. she was dressed in her usual style, comfy, stylish, beautiful, very y/n. in truth, she could be wearing a trashbag and mingi would still say she looked gorgeous.

she gave him a wide, toothy grin and stepped aside to let him in.

"welcome to mi casa!" she motioned to the hallway dramatically, one arm sweeping out in front of her and almost bashing her elbow into the kitchen doorframe.

"i wanna watch a movie!" she said, once she had recovered from the near injury. "i've already got the snacks ready, so let's go!"

she began bounding up the stairs, mingi following her before realising where they were headed and freezing abruptly in his tracks.

"we're going upstairs?" he breathed, anxiety flooding him from head to foot.

just what exactly was she expecting from him?

"yeah?" she shrugged. "is that a problem?"

"no!" he replied, perhaps a little too quickly. "no, that's not a problem at all."

-----

he was scared.

bordering on terrified.

y/n's bedroom was dark; having pulled the curtains before mingi's arrival to avoid the sun glaring onto the television.

as the minutes went on, mingi became less and less sure just what she was planning this afternoon.

she paced over to the tv set, opening a dvd case and slotting a disc into the player.

"it's a 1980s horror film," she explained. "i've been wanting to watch it for ages, but i didn't want to watch it alone... you don't mind, do you?"

mingi shook his head quickly. he did in fact mind, not being the biggest fan of the horror genre, but he'd made it this far, and backing out now was definitely not an option. plus, if wooyoung caught wind of mingi chickening out, he would never hear the end of it.

"here," she motioned to her bed; a double, with lilac sheets and an appropriate amount of cushions bundled up by her pillows. "take a seat."

unsure of whether he should, but not wanting to be rude, mingi crawled across her bed, sitting down amidst the cushions and crossing his legs like an obedient, yet timid child. he watched y/n grab her desk chair, dragging it across the room and placing it beside the bed, distanced but still close enough to mingi to completely throw him off his guard.

"don't you want the be-"

"nonsense!" she cut him off before he could even get the words out. "you're my guest, so you get the bed."

mingi was bewildered. never in his life had he expected to be in this situation. it appeared that y/n had absolutely zero intentions of doing anything romantic. which, don't get him wrong, was totally fine, but regardless he was still confused.

all the cheesy high school romance movies he’d watched, and all the young adult fiction novels he had read hinted that when you were invited to your crush’s house, alone, it usually indicated they wanted something romantic. or something more. absolutely nothing had prepared him for, or even suggested that the current circumstances would ever occur in a million years. mingi felt rather cheated, to be honest.

was she making him wait on purpose? deliberately staying away from him in the hopes that he'd just cave in and sweep her off her feet? y/n didn't seem like that kind of girl, but mingi had been wrong about a lot of things when it came to y/n.

the movie began to play, and they sat surrounded by darkness, mingi decided he would simply go with the flow. he was a nervous wreck, but he wasn't a pervert; he wouldn't do anything unless y/n initiated it. the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

despite reaching a solution, he couldn't get it out of his mind how close they were in the moment. glancing to his side, he could very much reach out and gently touch her hair. or softly caress her cheek.

obviously, he wouldn't, because that would be weird. and that was a vibe he was trying to avoid today.

halfway through the movie, y/n jumped up, explaining she had to use the bathroom and scaring the shit out of mingi in the process.

he kept his gaze fixed on the movie playing in front of him, but his mind wandered to other places. he sighed deeply.

he didn't even know what to say to her.

she's always on his mind,

and yet,

he's too afraid to say anything. how long would this pathetic pining go on for? surely it would be better for him to take wooyoung's advice and just go for it? otherwise he'll be playing this game for god knows how long.

that was it.

he simply couldn't help the way he was feeling; he needed to get it out, to tell her how he truly feels.

and maybe, just maybe, she'd feel the same way too.

y/n comes back, and mingi gears himself up for his confession. digging into the deepest corners of his mind to find the right words to use. deciding to abandon his previous resolution to let y/n initiate, he convinces himself to take charge and follow the lead of every heteronormative teen movie in existence, and sweep the girl off her feet.

until she ditches the chair, motioning for mingi to scooch over and then she lays down right beside him.

the bed is fairly large, but then again mingi is no regular sized teenage boy, his lanky frame taking up a considerable portion of the bed.. as a result, his right side and her left are pressed flush against each other, and poor mingi thinks he's about to explode.

but still, he inhales deeply, surveying the situation.

the lights are off,

the mood was right.

perfect.

mingi lets her settle for a short while, which is really him internally psyching himself up, before setting his masterplan into action.

he turns his head slowly to look at y/n, noticing how invested she is in the movie and he pouts a little.

he wants her attention.

she still doesn't notice, so he opts for placing his hand on her cheek as gently as he can and guides her gaze towards him.

her eyebrows furrow together in confusion, but she makes no effort to move away.

frozen anxiety that mingi misinterprets as a green light.

his eyes fall shut, and his upper body leans forward the tiniest amount. he's so close. so close to finally being able to show y/n how he feels. he's seconds away from having a weight lifted off his shoulders. he can't wait to shove it in wooyoung's face either, all the times the younger boy had called him a pussy had pissed mingi off to no end, but look at him now wooyoung, look at him now.

all he needed was for y/n to bridge the gap between them.

but instead, a small hand on mingi's shoulder pushes him back, and his eyes snap open abruptly, and he feels his stomach fall straight through his ass.

"y/n, i-"

the look on her face stops mingi dead in his tracks, because he can't read her expression.

is she mad? is she super pissed that he tried to kiss her? he'd understand if she was, it probably wasn't the best course of action but it was the best he could come up with. is she angry? is she hurt? disappointed? he searches her eyes, burning into his, for answers but comes up short. all he can do is try and guess how she's feeling, but realistically he's no expert, he's no mindreader, how is he suppo-

"mingi, i'm really not that into guys."

oh.

#ateez #song mingi #mingi x reader #unrequited #poor mingi #surprise she's a lesbian #uh oh #song mingi fluff #ateez x reader #mingi fluff #mingi angst #mingi #ateez fluff #ateez angst

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bryonysimcox · 5 years ago

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Cutting, calling, sticking, sitting, subtitling: Week 15, Spain

With future certainty and concrete plans nowhere in sight, this week’s blog post is in praise of the mundane. Seven days of everyday life.

When prepping for this blog entry, I started panicking. What’s the overarching message? The big-picture mood of the week or the lesson I’ve learnt? Well this week, there isn’t one. It’s been seven days of everyday life and I reckon that’s worth celebrating too.

We’ve been pitching for some exciting work this week.

I can’t talk about the specifics, but it’s heartening to be actually planning and quoting for real-life projects that could bring in real-life money and real-life experience. We pretty much work on Broaden as a full-time venture anyway (regardless of if it makes us money), so when prospective clients reach out to Broaden to ask us to do more of what we love, then that’s a bonus.

I guess that’s the beauty of filmmaking, it’s so broad and its potential is so great that it can be valuable for a whole lot of people. I also think in the coming ‘new normal’ as countries, cities and communities come to adapt life around Covid-19, that the role of video and online streaming will shift, and perhaps become a more central element in our lives.

I’ve also been working away at editing the video we started filming last week about Economics for a more just and equitable world. It’s starting to take shape, though there is a lot of refinement needed (I’ve cut 150 minutes down to 30 minutes but still have a fair way to go!). Working on this video is also bringing about a newfound challenge of how we make videos like this visually stimulating, when they predominantly feature digital interviews and we can’t film footage out and about due to lockdown. It’s forcing us to get more creative with motion graphics, which is no bad thing.

In what is the culmination of a longstanding project, we also interviewed Rich Evans about The Foundations in New South Wales this week.

‘The Foundations’ is a truly extraordinary project/place in Portland, a tiny town about two-hours inland from Sydney. I first discovered the project when I worked in Australia, and the company I worked for, RobertsDay, was involved in a masterplanning process. Portland was established around a cementworks which went on to not only be the driving economic force behind the town, but also the backbone of the community. It was a source of civic pride (cement from Portland famously went to Sydney amid the building boom, coining it the phrase ‘The Town That Built Sydney’), and also helped establish social infrastructure like the swimming pool that is still a celebrated destination in the little town today. Sadly, as the cementworks decreased in scale and eventually closed in the nineties, it had a huge impact on the town.

(images) Scenes from January 2019 when we started filming at The Foundations, Portland NSW.

Back at RobertsDay, I had the pleasure of working on the masterplan and placemaking work for the next chapter of the cementworks, and I immediately fell in love with the place. Not only was it this incredible place of industrial heritage, but the owners actually wanted to transform the site into something really special - a tourist destination, an asset to the community, and a revitalised part of the town. From its current state - fenced-off, closed, and perhaps even an eyesore, the owners wanted to introduce artwork, markets, community gardens, museum collections, fishing and camping, weddings, concerts and a whole host of other things.

It was obvious that there was a story about The Foundations that deserved to be told, and so in January 2019 George and I spent a weekend there, filming local residents, business owners, and the wonderful Rich Evans, ‘Chief Reactivation Officer’ from The Foundations. This was before we’d even launched Broaden, but we were passionate to use filmmaking to document the transformation that was taking place there. However, over the course of 2019, other things took centre stage in our lives and we never got around to editing the final film.

And so, in lockdown here in Spain, we decided it was finally time to close off this story. Just this week,we called Rich over Zoom and asked him all about how things have progressed since we last visited Portland. Rich is a larger-than-life character who had so much good stuff to report (an artist in residence, growing market attendee numbers, new custom-designed public furniture, and the renovation of a central historic building which involved the removal of 1000s of bees!).

In a strange way, I’d originally thought of this hiatus as a weakness for our film, but it now has added another facet to the story: giving Rich a chance to reflect on progress at The Foundations and show viewers how much is possible in the space of a year.

Making collages serves as respite for the mind.

I return to my collage practice as a meditative practice, and a restorative one too. It’s something I do when I want to clear my mind, and use a different part of my brain from the video-editing-zoom-calling-analytical-planning side of my brain.

That said, the last few paper collages I’ve made have felt like a bit of struggle, and I’ve felt rather uninspired. The collages are never meant to be a forced thing, but instead something visceral and playful, but in recent times they’d stopped being that.

Until this week! This week, inspired to make a collage for my mum’s birthday, I started getting my boxes of magazines and compiled sheets out, stuck my ‘Making Collage’ playlist on, and somehow just found my groove. Shapes and forms shouted out to me, and I was more preoccupied with the mood of the pieces than perfection and precision. I was drawn to more ambiguous textures and the way that they could be layered, and what started as one collage ended up being a series of three (the other two of which I’ll later publish this week).

(image) The collage I made for my mum’s birthday, ‘Flirtatious Textures’.

Whilst I’ve feel as though I’ve found my swing with collage-making again (and have been also considering embarking on some critical writing about my creative process using academic texts for reference), this week I had a piece rejected. I’d made it to enter into a competition, and when the rejection email landed in my inbox this week, the usual heart-racing pangs of inadequacy entered my mind. Not only had I lost money on the entry fee, but my work was ‘unwanted’. I’ve spent some time facing those demons these last couple of days and reminding myself that I make my work for ME.

So if that’s the cutting and sticking, and the zoom interviews were the calling, what’s the sitting and subtitling this week’s post refers to?

We’ve been doing a lot of sitting. Sitting and staring, sitting and watching the sun set, sitting and reading books, sitting and checking Instagram, sitting and feeling guilt for sitting, sitting and swatting mosquitoes away (it’s rather hot all of a sudden), sitting and eating crisps, sitting and calling friends, sitting and laughing, smiling, frowning, thinking.

(images, left to right) Everyday scenes from the cottage, cutting and sticking, and a lot of sitting (as demonstrated by George!)

It feels totally bonkers that as we face a global health pandemic, all I’m drawn to do (or able to do) is sit. And George and I have certainly discussed the guilt, lack of motivation, boredom and soul-searching that’s grown (and comes along with sitting!) in recent weeks. I’m not sure if there’s some grand benefit to all this sitting, but it has called for the enjoyment of many a good book, and also a good phonecall.

One of the most joyful moments (spent sitting!) this week was surely the video call I had for my Granny’s 80th birthday, between my mum, my brother, my aunt and my Granny herself. There were laughs and cheers, ridiculous filters used and lots of talk of birthday booze and plentiful cake. But after the call, there were also moments of reflection and of gratitude; that we are able to celebrate together (albeit digitally) for the momentous milestone that is my wonderful Granny’s eightieth birthday, as she sits alone in her house in Scotland, is a blessing. Of course, I would have loved to have seen her in person, but I am so bloody grateful that we can connect to her even if just through the airwaves.

Birthdays in May seem to be a common occurrence in my family, and this week saw my Mum’s birthday too. Again, there was a sense of loss that unsurprisingly, I couldn’t be with her due to coronavirus (a fact made worse by the fact I don’t think I’ve been with my Mum on her birthday for about five years), but we were also able to chat and videocall. And I was also able to go back through my photos, reflecting on wonderful times shared across the years.

(images, left to right) Looking back at memories with mum - as a child in a sling, on our trip to Sri Lanka in 2018, and at the exhibition opening of ‘Talking Sense’ where one of her sculptures was displayed at the Portico Library last year.

Access to computers and the internet, free time to sit and chill, and family who are safe and sound is not a privilege everyone shares. And I am so aware of that.

I continue to think of the inequalities this pandemic is highlighting, and the gaps it is widening. Access to the fundamental elements for a just and equitable life are basic human rights, and yet as BBC newsnight’s Emily Maitlis reminded us, 'The disease is not a great leveller'. If while I’m sitting this week, I can at least read, watch, learn and share ideas about how we can tackle these gaping inequalities, my sitting was perhaps not in vain.

As our fifteenth week on the road drew to a close, and looked ever less like life actually ‘on the road’, I decided to take on the task of subtitling The Hundred Miler.

Initially, the only motivation to create comprehensive subtitles for Broaden’s thirty minute documentary was so that we could enter foreign film fests. And even then, we’d have had it professionally subtitled if we weren’t looking for ways to save money!

And so I naively embarked on what was to become a two-day odyssey involving Artificial Intelligence transcript detection, manually correcting the script, learning about timecodes, downloading .srt files and working to integrate them with YouTube.

The long and short of it is that The Hundred Miler (which also hit a whopping 100,000 views this week) now has complete ‘closed caption’ subtitles which you can use and enjoy on YouTube! But more than that, through conversations with others I realised the importance of subtitles from an accessibility perspective, as a critical tool to help deaf and hard-of-hearing people, as well as those for whom English isn’t their mother tongue. It was a refreshing reminder that we exclude people without meaning to, but that we can also actively include them if we take certain measures.

So that’s it, Week 15 in all its mundane glory. To those of you who are still here, reading my reflections on these strange and tumultuous times, thank you. Maybe this week you’ve been cutting, calling, sticking, sitting and subtitling too, and for that, I salute you.

#COVID-19 #coronavirus #estadodealarma #lifeinlockdown #hiacevan #toyotahiace #broaden #digitalnomads #vanlife #traveldiaries

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sarahw-writing · 6 years ago

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“Let It Snow” - 03 Fire

Well guys, here's the new prompt!

I finished it a few days ago, but my Christmas and post-Christmas days have been a bit busier than I first anticipated, so it took me a little longer to find the time to edit this one.

I've actually enjoyed one of my best Christmas in a long time, and I really hope that you've all had an amazing time too!

I hope you like this one, and Happy New Year!!!

Summary:

After a highly unusual Christmas Eve, Vegeta will take delight in an even more remarkable Christmas Day...

This may or may not be a naughty prompt, so as always:

You can read the uncensored version on AO3.

You can read the censored version on FF.

Or you can keep reading under the break:

03. Fire.

Vegeta stood his ground in the midst of the storm, feet firmly planted on the barren rocks as an endless tidal of vast, raging waves broke against his immobile form, buried amongst a flood of tempestuous waters, an ocean just as turbulent as the thoughts suffocating his perturbed heart.

He could still feel them, he could still feel those small hands clutching his sweater in her sleep as she’d drifted off in his nervous embrace the night before, just like he could still hear those drowsy, whispery words, begging him to stay after he’d carried her to her bed, trying to carefully untangle her arms from his neck, and get her to let go of him, with no success.

“Please don’t go…” Bulma murmured in his ear, shimmery eyes still half-open, but already drizzled with sleep.

It was terrifying, absolutely terrifying how easy it’d been for him to obey her wishes last night, sensing his body freely choosing to stay beside her long before his mind could catch up with his own reckless actions.

He’d quietly removed his shoes, trying to ignore the nerve-racking emotion that that pair of greedy little hands evoked inside of him, obstinately refusing to set him free, not even after he managed to sneak into her girly bed, joining her under the covers and lying with her.

At first, the Prince had expected a repeat of their first night together in the infirmary, hoping for the sleepy earthling to release him, perhaps curling by his side, now that she’d finally convinced him to ease her loneliness by keeping her company.

But Bulma’s body seemed to have different plans for him, and it wasn’t long before the intrepid woman broke the rules, one more time, smashing yet another one of his boundaries by getting even closer, pressing her lithe figure against his pitifully trembling one, and holding onto him as if she’d always been meant to be right in his arms.

The weak hands that had once been draped around his strong neck for support, had now found refuge in the broad protectiveness of his chest, tiny fingers grasping his warm clothing as her legs naturally entangled themselves with his own, languidly rubbing her cheek against his flushed neck in exactly the same way she had when she’d leaned into him underneath that white mantle of snow.

Everything in her was soft, gentle, so terribly inviting that his anxious indecision quickly vanished into thin air, chasing the memory of the chaste cuddle they’d both indulged in outside, and instinctively trapping her in his arms, binding her in a placid hold as the longest sigh caressed his skin, as if the only thing she’d ever needed to find some peace was for him to give into her humble pleas.

She’d felt smaller than ever beneath his touch, and he couldn’t help but panic at the realization of just how fragile, how absurdly defenseless she truly was, and how brave it’d been for such a delicate creature to get as close to him as she undeniably had, not only in the physical but in the emotional realm, touching and reaching out to him, tugging at his darkened heart in ways no one ever had.

He’d hardly gotten any rest that night, merely dozing on and off from time to time, acting like some inexperienced juvenile as he watched her sleep with ingenuous fascination. He couldn’t deny to himself any longer that he’d fantasized with a moment such as this more times than he could count, yet no fantasy would ever come close to the sensation of that minute body flowing in his hands, that slow, rhythmic breathing reminding him of how marvelously comfortable the gutsy woman felt in his presence.

Vegeta spent the night drowning in the purity of her essence, in that clean, lily-white scent incessantly emanating from her. And, either he was getting close, dangerously close to losing whatever remained of his sanity, or he had, as sure as creed, heard his name slipping from her lips in her state of blissful unconsciousness.

The Prince had, at least, possessed enough willpower left in him to part from her before she’d rise and shine, reluctantly disentangling his needy body from her own deprived one, and giving her one last, longing glance as he’d stood on her balcony, a defeated figure bathed by the early rays of sunshine, devouring the heart-wrenching sight of the small woman swaddled in a cocoon of pink sheets and floral blankets, whining faintly in her sleep, lamenting the loss of the man who’d kept her safe all through the night.

His new masterplan had taken shape the moment he’d flopped down exhaustedly on his miserable bed, furious with himself for having behaved, yet again, like some silly puppet in the hands of that wicked woman, gladly allowing himself to fall into whatever sentimental trap she’d conceived, and built, especially for him, and vowing to duck out from that blasted house as soon as he squeezed in a few vital hours of sleep.

But then Panchy Briefs had to make another one of her annoying entrances, barging into his room with her perky giggles and that disconcerting, maternal tone, followed by another irresistible whiff of succulent foods and, before he knew, he was sitting at the table once more, impotent to escape the nightmare that these infernal ‘Christmas’ celebrations had become.

He’d partly found some consolation in the abundant feast of tasty goodies, and in the comforting fact that the only ones enjoying with him that heavenly ‘Christmas Day’ lunch would be Dr. Briefs and his peppy wife.

And then she came along, brightening up the whole place with her invigorating presence, and making the food in his mouth instantly fall into his stomach, hard as a rock, when she brazenly sat right in front of him with zero hesitation.

There had been no fancy jewels or elaborated hairdos this time but, much to his shame, the Prince had been entirely unable to keep his eyes off her throughout the whole meal, powerless to ignore those shiny blue curls, which she’d chosen to carelessly set free, or that simple, but oddly elegant, little black dress, with long sleeves and a demure décolletage, openly exposing the most kissable collarbones with every casual flick of her hair.

But the most unbearable torture of them all had been that smile, that pure, honest-to-Gods smile of hers, perhaps not as bright as the one she’d proudly displayed before her ex-lover’s betrayal, but just as candid, inundating his confused mind with absurd thoughts and the most ridiculous of hopes, the secret hope that he’d been the only one responsible for the rebirth of her lost happiness.

Too much.

It had all been too damn much, and the only thing left for him to do, the moment his ravenous Saiyan appetite had been fully sated, was to awkwardly mumble the pathetic shadow of an excuse, getting the Hell out of Bulma’s home before he’d end up making a fool of himself, just like he’d done the previous night.

He’d practically galloped straight to the door, blasting off into the freezing skies with not one look back, not even bothering to get out of his formal clothes as he sped up, setting loose in a futile attempt at letting off steam, desperately striving to leave such madness behind, from her every gesture and charming mannerism, to those increasingly intimate moments shared in confidence, away from the rest of the world, and that turmoil of foreign emotions overruling his spirit, taking over from his usual cold, detached self, and scattering suggestive ideas and fantasies that he’d never truly indulged in before.

It’d been a long while since he’d run from the Briefs household like this, seeking solace in the silent comfort of solitude. But now, as he stood stoically amid some thunderous sea storm in the middle of one of Earth’s majestic oceans, he bitterly discovered that loneliness no longer seemed to pacify his insanity as effectively as it once did.

His shoulders fell in defeat, his regal body growing limp at the frightening realization that there was nowhere to run, no place to hide anymore, and that the time had come for him to make a choice, to either walk away from the bewitching female, and from everything she represented, or to cave in and let Destiny take charge, surrendering to the woman’s magnetism, once and for all.

And Destiny turned out to be a golden light, an illuminated window guiding him through the dark of night as he walked the perennial fields of snow that Capsule Corp.’s immense gardens had become, deliberately letting go, with each hypnotized step, of his fears and inhibitions, not even knowing what Life had in store for him yet, but accepting, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that his capricious Luck would somehow be bound to one being, and one being only.

Destiny was a woman sitting by the fireplace, finding shelter in the cozy seclusion of her home’s small guest house, a sacred place that no one but her ever made use of anymore. He watched her unashamedly through the glass doors, not afraid, for once, of the possibility of getting caught in the act by the brilliant woman whose stunning blue eyes were now daydreaming in front of a sea of sizzling flames, a small hand swirling a thick glass of liquor distractedly, while the other toyed with the fringes of the Persian rug that served her as perch.

Destiny was a jubilant smile, followed by a lanky finger curling in a come-hither motion, happily inviting him to join her, without qualm, the second her curious gaze discovered the unmistakable silhouette of the familiar intruder lurking outside.

Destiny was Bulma.

“There you are!” She exclaimed with relish, her genuine joy at seeing him joining her for the evening racing a barrage of emotions all through him. “I’ve been looking for you all day… Come! Come sit with me!” She asked enthusiastically, already patting the cushy rug with the excitement of an impatient little girl, eager to share her special surprise with the stunned object of her affections. “I have a surprise for you!”

“You do?” Vegeta asked in bewilderment, cautiously joining her on the carpeted floors by sitting cross-legged beside her.

“Yup!” She announced, the thrilled pride in her voice making her anticipation contagious by the minute. “I guess it’s my Christmas present for you…” Bulma confessed, letting go of her untouched glass and turning to her side, where a pillow, a furrowed blanket, and a pile of wrinkly blueprints revealed that, whatever it was that she had in the cards for him, she must have been working hard at it for a while.

He waited patiently for her to find what she was looking for, doing his best to stop his stupefied face from showing any emotion, especially his honest surprise at discovering that the woman had one of those holiday gifts for him too.

She’d already briefly introduced him to such a bizarre tradition the night before, after having exchanged quite a few of them with her closest friends, but Vegeta had simply assumed that he would be excluded from this ritual this time. After all, Bulma and her family had already shown him far more generosity than anyone ever had, and it wasn’t as if he was in the position to give her anything in return, should she ever choose to present him with some sort of special gift.

“Alright… I found it…” She murmured to herself, successfully finding her chosen blueprint and crawling clumsily towards him, her knee casually touching his as she sat nearby. “Look!” She proclaimed, proudly spreading out the large piece of paper before his inquisitive eyes.

“What…?” Vegeta mumbled reticently, with that sense of embarrassment striking him every time he was in the presence of one of Bulma’s prodigious inventions. “What is it?”

“It’s a new training bot!” Bulma clarified, a sympathetic smile etched on her lips at how strangely vulnerable the proud warrior looked whenever he was shown something he knew nothing about. “Look…” She calmly proceeded to explain, making the Saiyan’s mouth run dry when she leaned almost indecently into him, resting the mysterious document on his lap and running her fingers all over it. “The exterior is made of this new alloy that my Dad and I have just patented. It’s much more resilient, not only to your blows, but also to extreme heat. And, you see this?” She asked, pointing to one of the circuit designs with her index finger, without even giving him the opportunity to answer before she resumed her masterful presentation. “I’ve finally solved this equation that’s been driving me crazy all week! So, basically, this bot will have several settings, and tons of aleatory programs, so it’ll make things really challenging for you!”

The Prince gawked at the enigmatic blueprint in sheer shock, aiming to digest, with severe difficulty, not only the tsunami of brand-new information that she’d just put at his disposal, but the incredible thoughtfulness of such a gift. It wasn’t one of those useless, sentimental presents that these foolish humans were so inexplicably fond of, but a real gift, something that would help him grow and improve, something that would allow him to attain the one dream that mattered to him the most.

“So…? What do you think?” Bulma prodded, her good-hearted smile never faltering, trying to lighten the mood of a man who was clearly struggling with a generosity that he, very possibly, thought himself wholly unworthy of. “Pretty cool, uh?”

Vegeta’s gaze returned to the woman, and to that gorgeous smile of hers, awkwardly clearing his throat while trying to think of something, anything, to say, yet knowing that he’d fall pitiably short regardless of his choice of words.

“It’s…”

“Acceptable?” She guessed gingerly, a playful expression dancing in her eyes as she secretly tried to spare him from embarrassing himself.

Even if the pigheaded Saiyan still remained an enigma in far too many ways, all these months living together hadn’t been entirely wasted on her and, by now, Bulma had already unraveled quite a few of the Prince’s secrets. The main one being that, for all of that pompously conceited mumbo-jumbo that he loved to babble about on the battlefield, Vegeta was painfully uncomfortable, most times verging on pathologically shy, when it came to expressing his emotions anywhere else; and, though he loved to bicker and order her around any time he needed repairs on his beloved Gravity Room, he always seemed to be at a loss for words whenever she was the one who’d take the initiative in helping or having a nice gesture with him.

“I’m glad you like it…” Bulma whispered fondly, her heart breaking a little at the way he timidly nodded in assent, those obsidian eyes now evading hers, getting lost in the spellbinding flames of her fireplace. “You’ve never had these before, have you?”

Her new offer, and a warm, appealing scent he’d never smelled before, instantly made him peep at the woman’s hands, which had now put down her precious blueprints, and were graciously holding a large bowl in front of him.

“They’re chestnuts,” she pointed out, delicately resting the bowl on the rug. “I just roasted a few. They’re really nice, you’ll see… They’re kind of sweet…” She carried on, picking up a few of the small brown items and placing them on the open palm of his hand. “You have to peel them like this, and then�� Wa-Wait!”

“What?” He frowned, his mouth freezing, having popped the whole thing in right after hearing the word ‘sweet’.

“Um… Uh… You’re… You’re supposed to peel them first…” Bulma broke down, trying as hard as she could not to crack-up at the hilarious view of her alien guest holding a mouthful of unpeeled chestnuts in his mouth. “See? Like this…” She demonstrated, slowly peeling one of them and splitting it in half. “And then you open it first, like this, in case there’s a worm inside of…”

She hadn’t even finished her sentence and Vegeta was already spitting out a bunch of half-chewed chestnuts, at the speed of light, straight into the fire.

“There are WORMS in this?!” He barked, absolutely horrified at the mere thought of such repulsive critters.

“What? No, no!” She exclaimed defensively, surprised at seeing him so openly disgusted by something of this nature, particularly considering that little Goku had once offered to share one of his centipedes with her for supper. “It’s… It’s actually very rare, I swear! It’s just in case…”

“Hmph!” He snarled, his scrunched nose reminding her of some bratty five-year-old refusing to eat his Brussel sprouts.

“Aw, come on Vegeta…” She pleaded, both incredibly amused and a little worried about such a strong reaction, wondering if perhaps there was some obscure, traumatic event associated to those scary worms. “I’ll do it for you. Here…”

Bulma expertly peeled one roasted little nut, cracking it in half and examining it with great attention, before tentatively offering it once again to the offended Saiyan who kept side-eyeing her as if she were holding a bottle of pure poison in her hand.

“Please? Pretty please?” She begged, puckering her bottom lip like a needy brat. “You trust me, right?”

“…”

‘Damn her!’

Damn her and those sad puppy eyes, and her blushing cheeks and fluttery eyelashes, and her luminous smiles and unreal kindness. Damn her and those stupidly pointless ‘Christmas’ celebrations, and her sappy gifts and fluffy pink socks. Damn her and her foolish generosity, and her steady hands, never relenting, never letting go, treating him like a man instead of a monster. And damn those goddamned roasted chestnuts for tasting so goddamned good, just like every goddamned thing she’d ever given to him, when he finally had the courage to accept her invitation and eat the goddamned thing.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” She whispered, her tone subdued, but brimming with the calm satisfaction of a woman who was gradually discovering that, perhaps, she held more power over the man she was falling for than she ever knew.

They both ate in silence by the fire, with Bulma peeling and meticulously checking every single one of the warm delicacies, before passing them to the compliant Saiyan quietly appreciating them. Every now and then, she’d eat one herself, but she gladly gave most of them to her guest, happy to see him enjoying yet another one of her home’s traditions, and overcome by the most nostalgic déjà vu as she evoked the times when it was her Mom the one peeling her chestnuts for her, it felt like centuries ago now.

When they were done, Bulma discreetly set the empty bowl aside, stifling a muffled yawn while stretching like a mellow kitty, ready to share one more treat with him tonight.

“You must taste this…” She murmured naughtily, taking a small sip of the half-full glass of liquor she’d been idly stirring in her hand when he’d first found her tonight, closing her eyes and moaning softly as she savored every drop, before offering it to him. “It’s my Dad’s favorite cognac. It’s more than fifty years old…”

Vegeta didn’t vacillate this time, bringing the heavy glass under his nose and inhaling a long, deep breath, before getting a leisurely taste of the intoxicating brew. The Prince had never cared much for alcohol, finding Earth’s wide assortment of liquors especially weak for his insanely fast metabolism, but he had to admit that this particular blend was pretty damn good.

He savored it slowly, deliberately, letting it melt in his tongue the same way her tiny moan had melted in his ears, never taking his eyes off the woman who kept staring at the comfy fire as if it held the answers to her every question in life.

“I haven’t thanked you yet…” She muttered, her stare low, but with a shy confidence that implied that she’d already made peace with whatever Demons had been tormenting her in recent times.

“What for?” He asked genuinely, so deeply overwhelmed by the swell of foreign emotions and events experienced during those past few days, that he didn’t even know what to think of her, of them, anymore.

“I don’t know,” she confessed in a meek whisper. “For understanding, I guess…” She turned to him, the peacefulness in her serene smile awakening something occult and forbidden inside of him. “It’s nice to have someone on my side…”

Her side.

A man like him, an eternal outlander with no real home or roots to speak of, had no one’s side but his own, taking and plundering as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted, without owing anyone a goddammed thing in return.

And yet, as preposterous as it sounded, if there was one being, just one single being who deserved to have his side no matter what, it should be Bulma. The one who’d offered him a home, and everything his heart could ever desire, in order to conquer his most coveted dream, the one who’d given him more, far more, than a penniless scoundrel like him would ever deserve, without asking for a thing, not one blasted thing, in return.

All in all, Vegeta figured that, since the beautiful dummy had been foolish enough to take his side, it would only be fair for him to take hers as well.

“And thank you for staying with me last night,” she insisted, laying a soft hand on his forearm and petting it lightly. “I know it wasn’t easy for you…”

Bulma cheekily reclaimed her glass, briefly running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip as she brought it smoothly to her mouth, bracing herself for her grand revelation.

“Yamcha called after lunch, you know?” She confided, breaking into a roguish smile when she saw one of the warrior’s eyebrows raising with unexpected curiosity. “He tried to tell me about some big fight he just had with that dumb girl… I don’t know…” She shrugged with palpable disinterest, taking another sip of the bittersweet drink and languidly tilting her head back as she tossed it down. “I told him to go fuck himself…” She proudly concluded, looking Vegeta right in the eye with a cocky smirk that he could have easily made his own, instantly erasing his sudden fear that she might consider taking that worthless idiot back in a moment of weakness.

“Good girl…” He purred in approval, sending shivers down her spine with his husky bedroom voice, and with that sly smile curling his lips as he leaned to her, covering her hand with his own as he stole her glass, washing down the rest of the potent drink in one clean gulp.

His fingers lingered around hers as they both held the empty glass, his touch anxious but firm, rugged fingertips stroking her shaky hand with a closeness he’d never shown her before, holding her stare for a lifechanging instant until he lost his nerve, letting go of her as that irresistible smirk died out on his lips.

Bulma’s gaze remained fixated on the empty glass, captivated, enthralled by that almost magical exchange as the room spiraled around her out of control. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the direct contact of the Prince’s flesh against hers, but such innocent moments of intimacy had always been accidental, casual, a far cry from the affectionate nearness they’d both engaged in ever since he’d agreed to keep her company in that cold infirmary.

In any other man, she would have never dared to look much into such apparently superficial instants but, in this man, a man who kept his masked heart guarded under lock and key at all times, she couldn’t help but feel that such wonderful gestures of kindness had truly meant something, something real, something that could lead them both to the most extraordinary path, if only she succeeded in helping him set his emotions free.

“All those years…” She whispered pensively under her breath, contemplating her future at the bottom of an empty glass of expensive cognac. “All those years wasted…”

The glass was soon discarded, and she sat still on the spot, tucking one lock of that aquatic mass of tousled curls behind her ear as her abstracted stare walked through those scorching flames, under the watchful eye of a certain Saiyan Prince who simply didn’t know what to believe anymore.

There was longing in her words, but not in her demeanor, nothing but a cool, collected calmness, a quietude that let it slip that the woman freely sharing her inmost feelings with him, had already made her choice.

“Sometimes…” Bulma thought out loud, that unnervingly blue gaze falling right back on him as she cutely tipped her head to the side, looking at him through brand-new eyes. “I think sometimes you don’t… You don’t really fall in love with a person…” She resolved, the palms of her hands now splayed on the lavish rug, proceeding to crawl in his direction, with the idle indolence of a sensual little tigress who’d just spotted her next prey. “Sometimes…” She concluded in a raspy whisper, taking advantage of his unusually low guard, and effortlessly straddling his strong thighs as he kept sitting sloppily on the floor. “Sometimes you just fall in love with an idea…”

She truly was delicious, the most lethal combination of virtue and sensuality he’d ever met, carelessly discussing words of love with the childish naiveté of a teenage girl, but seeking, and taking control of him, with the savvy expertise of the finest of women.

And, although she was the one who knew emotion in ways he never would, her softness never got lost on the way, that compassionate purity of spirit that made him understand that she’d never cross a line he wouldn’t wish her to.

“Do you know what I mean?” She asked meaningfully, amazed by how young he suddenly looked as he let her docilely caress his cheeks with those silky fingertips. “What we did last night…” Bulma muttered gently, knowing that he had no possible reply to her first question. “I liked it…”

“Woman…” He mumbled in gruff warning, fighting not to lose himself between that pair of curvaceous thighs narrowing around him as she pressed herself even tighter against him.

“Did you…?” Her shaky question spilled from her lips, hating herself for feeling so completely naked, so exposed to a man who could so easily break her heart before she’d even give it to him. “Did you like it too?”

She gasped in mild shock when he clutched her wrists without warning, taking her bold hands off his face as he huffed sharply through his nose, lips pursed into a cautionary thin line, not even sure if he was about to caution her or himself at this point.

All he knew was that he was about to lose, he was about to lose his own battle of self-control to this woman, and the stupidest truth of the matter was that he didn’t care anymore, because nothing really mattered, nothing but her and her inspiring presence, and the only question worth asking tonight, the only measure of reassurance that she could ever offer to someone like him.

“What about your human lover?” He blurted out, the disgust overtaking his cracked voice, at the mere thought of Bulma ever belonging to anyone but him, plain as day.

His irrational jealousy must have boosted her confidence, for she smiled grippingly at him, exquisite and delighted, already savoring the triumph of the unintentional admission of his selfish interest in her.

“I just told you, Vegeta…” She whispered bucolically, her fingers grazing his jaw, despite having her frail wrists still trapped under his firm hold. “He was just an idea…”

“I am not an idea, Bulma…” He murmured darkly, hands tightening in desperate warning, reminding her of who he was, trying to stop her from ever forgetting that she was about to dance, quite literally, with the Devil himself.

“I know…” She promised, her delicate face finding his, resting her brow against him as she held his starved gaze with unblinking confidence.

She knew.

He was real, perhaps the realest man she’d ever encountered, nothing like those Ivy League sycophants who used to prowl around her father’s mighty company, professional adulators trying to charm Capsule Corp.’s golden heiress, uselessly doting and kissing up to her, in hopes of getting into her bed and loaded bank account.

But this man, this untamable alien warrior, was anything but a charmer, he’d never lie or be untrue, because he was who he was, and nothing and no one would ever change that, or so he thought. Vegeta would never pretend to be something, someone, he was not, if anything, Bulma had learnt by now that the Saiyan Prince seemed to go out of his way to make himself as unapproachable as he could, not because he didn’t possess a heart, but because he was utterly terrified of anyone finding out that he did.

She couldn’t afford the luxury to ever forget that, if she got too close, she might get burnt, but she also knew that the man trembling in need beneath her, staring at her with an intensity that would have made any other woman slip instantly away, would never pretend to be anything but fire.

Her binding words brought his surrender, arms dropping submissively on both sides, letting her merge her lips with his as her eager hands explored him, leisurely sliding across his heated skin until they found the nape of his neck, velvety fingers holding onto him as she boldly sought to deepen their kiss.

She could think of nothing but how surprisingly gentle he was, how anxious and untried, even after having already shared a first innocent smooch last night. His mouth was soft, twitchy, too afraid at first to part his lips for her as he did his best to follow her lead, indulging in an exotic human ritual that he’d seen before only in those ridiculous soap operas that the earthling’s mother seemed to adore so much and, of course, whenever he’d inadvertently walked in during one of the scarred-faced man’s visits to the woman who was now giving herself to him with such fervor.

He’d hated her mate back then, even before he’d ever toyed with the implausible fantasy of one day making her his, even before he knew what they did, or why they did it, why did they engage in such a pointless practice with such irritating frequency.

But now he understood, now, as he reveled in her intoxicating taste, grunting in exhilaration when her tongue lovingly caressed his, Vegeta learned the meaning behind such a gesture, an act that felt almost more intimate than sex itself, making him hate her ex-lover even more for having been given the undeserved chance to feel like this with her too.

The more he steadily relaxed in her arms, the more her supple body responded to him, arching and grinding in his lap, until the excruciating sensation of those ten little fingers passionately clutching fistfuls of his wild hair proved too hard to resist, temptingly inviting him to put his hands on her, encircling her waist with such force that her breath instinctively hitched in her chest, making his touch stop at once, petrified by the possibility of having hurt her.

“Ssshhh…” She shushed him with maddening tenderness, deeply moved by the touching concern blurring his features, and instantly calming him down by enfolding his thick forearms with her hands. “Softly… Like this…” Bulma panted lightly against his lips, drawing slow, lazy circles on his wrists with her tiny thumbs, instantaneously loosening his possessive hold on her. “That’s nice…” She reassured him, nuzzling his cheek when she sensed him getting comfortable once again, learning how to hold her just the right way. “That feels good, Vegeta… Really good…”

Oh Gods, what a fool she was, what a pretty little fool, letting him near her, letting him touch her like this. One wrong move and her ribs would have cracked beneath his fingers, and yet here she was, trusting him again, and taking his breath away by kissing him within an inch of her life, her erratic breathing accelerating as he run his hands all over her, cherishing that small figure hidden under the unbearable softness of her oversized sweater, while he wondered how much, just how much of herself would she give him tonight, and finding his terrifying answer when he felt those needy hands tugging impatiently at the hem of his clothes.

Vegeta needn’t think twice, groaning in frustration as he humbly submitted to her, breaking their kiss with reluctance and taking off his jersey in one quick, smooth motion. He didn’t move any further, barely keeping his breathless puffing under control as her enigmatic stare, now roaming across his naked chest, chilled him to the bone.

Hideous, he thought gloomily to himself, she must have found him absolutely hideous, utterly repulsed by that grotesque roadmap of macabre scars, cuts and bruises. His flawless Saiyan anatomy should allow him, in theory, to heal and regenerate at a shockingly fast rate, but his ghastly, self-destructive training regime was making it virtually impossible for him to ever be fully healed these days, always plagued by fresh wounds and swollen lacerations, purple-and-blue slashes that the sensitive woman would so expertly clean and stitch for him, every single night without fail.

He was unlike any other man in her life, and he knew, nothing like those suave sons-of-bitches always prowling and lurking around her, with their expensive suits and leather briefcases, unscrupulous bastards who merely saw her as some attractive, wealthy trophy, instead of as the extraordinary creature that he now knew her to be.

After a painful silence, a secret part of him was already dreading the very real possibility of the woman getting cold feet now that she had him, quite literally, bare before her stunned eyes. But, as usual, Bulma Briefs was about to prove that she was no ordinary female either, and that the cryptic gleam in her eye stemmed, not from any form of repulsion towards his flawed flesh, but from her own beautifully distorted view of the world.

“Does it hurt?” She asked with candid concern, airy fingertips tenderly outlining the large scar crossing his marred chest, his most recent one, the one which had ended up prostrating him on that damned infirmary for a whole week this time. He’d taken off his bandages as soon as Bulma’s father had given him his approval and, though the disturbingly deep gashes had mostly healed by now, they still retained a faint pinkish color, a reminder that the skin wasn’t fully restored yet.

“No,” he answered throatily, not knowing how he could find a way to even talk to her anymore, not when she kept looking at him like this, touching and exploring him as if she’d never had a man before.

“That’s good…” Bulma murmured almost inaudibly, her shy hands regaining their confidence as they swirled slowly all over his muscular torso, her touch light as the wings of a bird, playfully running her fingers up and down, right until the thick waist of his jeans, only to travel upwards again, tracing a languid path up to his robust shoulders. “You’re beautiful…” She quietly professed, awe-struck eyes meeting his, cupping his blushing cheeks in her hands, and catching one of his thirsty moans in her mouth when her lips descended on his for another sensual kiss. “You’re so beautiful…” She reassured him, kissing him again, and again, lustfully indulging in the most pleasurable friction as she rubbed her body against him, her fear of hurting him slowly fading away.

He was beautiful, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, a body slim, yet built to perfection, moving, flowing, with the sinuous litheness of a black panther. He may not have been the biggest of men in the physical sense, but he surely walked with a command larger than life itself, brave and resolute, fearless and tenacious, a courageousness that demanded respect, even from those who held him in low esteem. The man holding her in his arms had lived hard and battled even harder, and perhaps, someday, he’d love with more intensity than any human heart ever could.

But there was no time tonight for fatuous thoughts of love and romance, there was only now, only this moment, and the way he was disarming her, her body like clay in his hands as he kept kissing and imprisoning her in the fiercest hold, finally taking control as he carefully nestled and lifted her body from the ground, rolling them over and lying her defenseless on her back.

Bulma stubbornly refused to let go of him at first, her lips aching for more, always for more, trying to make up for all the times, oh Kami, all the times she’d envisioned him like this, giving himself to her with such abandon, allowing her to open his blinded eyes so that she could teach him her ways. But it was he who put an end to their kiss this time, leaving her whimpering breathlessly on the extravagant rug, mourning the loss of his heat when he cautiously nudged her knees, spreading them apart as he knelt at her feet.

His large hands glided smoothly across her squirmy legs, until they found the perfect hips buried underneath her baggy sweater, dark eyes silently begging for permission to undress her as he hooked his fingers around the old fabric of the waist of her washed-out jeans, earning a shaky nod of assent from the restless woman inflamed with need under him.

The most enraptured glint burned his features as he slowly unzipped her clothing, pulling from it with gentle determination, and marveling at every inch of flesh unveiled just for him. When her lower body lay fully undressed, Vegeta paused for an instant, mesmerized by the hypnotizing effect that the warm glow of the sweltering fire had on her ivory skin, reds and oranges bathing those long legs already yearning to wrap themselves around him with ardent zeal.

Only when one of her feet boldly tried to reach the very evident proof of his desire for her, right between his legs, did he choose to resume his erotic journey, deftly removing those cursed, fluffy pink socks which had recently invaded his daydreams with such shameful frequency, and crawling bit by bit atop her, sinking his knees domineeringly on both sides of her small figure as she awkwardly helped him take off her baby blue sweater, avidly waiting for him to make his final move.

Years later, the Prince would still recall just how insanely adorable she’d looked to him that night, clad in nothing but her everyday cotton underwear, plain white adorned by a girly pattern of those bright red strawberries she loved so much. Just like it would take him far too long to understand that she’d been just as nervous as he had, as if they’d both intuitively known, even back then, that once they gave into each other, there would be no going back.

“Do…? Do you want to stop?” Bulma asked weakly when she sensed his vacillation, tremulous mouth breathing heavily against his as he kept still, staring anxiously at her as he committed to memory everything that she was, every beautiful curve and gesture, never wanting to forget her just as she was tonight.

Her insecurity moved him like nothing ever had, fervently putting her mind to rest with a smoldering kiss, basking in his own relief when she passionately kissed him back. A flash of scarlet seared his cheeks when her lips smirked playfully against his, giggling excitedly as she reached her back to unhook her bra by herself, when it soon became obvious that his clumsy hands had never before handled such a bizarre garment.

Vegeta’s hands hurried to get rid of whatever remained of his clothes, his need intensifying when her eager little fingers frantically reached down to his belt, unbuckling it with frenzied impatience as he unzipped his jeans, rapidly discarding them with the help of those feverish legs, wriggling and twisting against him until he was fully naked before her.

There was no indecision anymore, not even shame at the way his body was already reacting to her closeness, yanking off her panties as he kissed her again, a deep grumble reverberating in his chest when one of her hands draped itself around his hardness, while the other one settled fiercely on the back of his neck, pressing her mouth even harder against his, and nipping at his bottom lip as she sensually stroked his length.

Bulma’s movements were slow, sensuous, dazed blue eyes feasting on the masculine face contorting in pleasure at her timid but expert touch, squeezing his eyes shut in some poor attempt at self-control as he felt himself already coming undone with agonizing ease, his dam shattering, hopelessly exposed to the only woman who’d ever own his heart.

“Bulma…” He implored helplessly, exhaling a heavy sigh of release when she guided him to her wet entrance, plunging inside of her, burying himself to the hilt as a breathless cry tore up her throat.

“S-Slowly…” Bulma pleaded, teasing his lips with hers, clammy hands still barely holding onto his corded neck as she struggled to accommodate him.

He quietly fulfilled her wishes, just as he always would, bowing shakily, and reading the poem writing itself on her lovely face as she threw her head back, sobbing in bliss when his hips set out a new pace, slow and deep, a rhythmic quest to get to know, and possess, every beautiful part of her.

It was impossible, it was impossible for such a woman to ever fully belong to him, but perhaps, tonight, as they made love under the warm protection of her sheltering fire, they could pretend. They could pretend that he wasn’t who he was, and that every conceivable sin didn’t hang over his head, fooling themselves into the impossible fantasy of being just a man and a woman, giving into each other in the most ancient and primal of rituals.

Bulma’s rosy cheek met the opulent rug as she pressed it against it, closing her eyes and pouting deliciously, filling the room with soft, muffled moans that were like music to the Prince’s ears.

He held as tightly as he could, clutching one of the thighs possessively encircling his waist with one of his arms as he cradled her delicate head in the curve of the other, gently removing a damp curl from her pale forehead as his nose found her temple, nuzzling her darling face while drowning in her provocative aroma. Her porcelain skin was already coated in a thin sheen of moisture, glistening faintly under the warm, flickering radiance of the fire, and it was becoming impossible not to get lost in the thick, lusty scent of sex heavily permeating the air.

“Vegeta…” She whimpered with want, supplicant eyes finding his as her hands descended uncontrollably from his shoulders to his perfect bottom, nails digging into his unyielding flesh and pulling harder, inviting him to rush that luscious, animalistic flow already making her fall into pieces in his arms.

His dizzy mind might have lost any semblance of reason long ago, but his body knew just what she needed, gladly caving in, giving her his all, anything she’d ever want, by quickening his pace and thrusting faster, harder, stripping the most extraordinary cries of pleasure out of her lips, and forever keeping them to himself.

He heaved a relieved breath of gratitude when Bulma hid her smitten face in the crook of his neck, never letting go of him, but sensing how vulnerable, how incredibly unguarded he was feeling in that instant. His body told her that he’d had other women during his turbulent past, but an even stronger instinct was screaming at her that he’d never had someone in such an intimate way.

And she was right for, as Vegeta held securely onto her, glorying in that sweet, fluttery voice, whispering words of encouragement and desire in his ear, and confessing how much she liked, how much she loved what he was doing to her, he knew that it’d never been like this.

He’d never had the honor to experience this wistful emotion taking a hold of him, loving hands touching and caressing him as if he were the only man in existence, or that rush, that exhilarating rush of satisfaction when he felt that small, hopelessly soft body writhing in ecstasy underneath him as her impending climax ripped through her.

She tightened urgently around him, a stream of blinding electricity ravaging her as she cried his name with intense ardor, crumbling in his arms, those ravenous arms pulling her even closer, insatiably nestling her body against him, already bursting at the seams, grappling with his own desperate need to succumb to her.

“I-It’s okay… You can let go…” Bulma’s trembling voice murmured into his skin, gently seducing him as she recognized the aching tension overpowering him, beckoning him to surrender, to forget about his every haunting inhibition and give himself to her, if only this once. “Let go, Vegeta…”

The ghost of a string of alien words ruptured from his lips as he spilled himself inside of her, a deep grunt thundering in his lungs, swamped by the sensation of those silky arms and legs still clinging to him, never abandoning him, never letting go, relishing his own peak of pleasure as if it were her own.

Vegeta fell tiredly on top of her, without thinking, without speaking, melting powerlessly under the soothing power of that pair of shuddering hands fondling and stroking his magnificent skin, kissing and petting his hair, and happily luring him to stay with her for as long as he’d ever want to, the sad atlas of tortured scars tainting his back suddenly feeling just a little closer, a little less foreign than it used to be.

A soft, snug blanket carefully covered his stark-naked form, enveloping him in a cottony cloud of safety, almost as soft as the woman providing it for him, heavy eyelids drooping on her contented shoulder, vaguely registering the distant uproar of the stormy blizzard pouring outside, and the crisp rustle of the logs gradually turning to ashes in her luxurious fireplace.

For a lifetime of carnage, snow had always signified the most degrading pain, and fire nothing but cancerous destruction. But, on a cold Christmas night, everything was Her, and the first dreamless sleep he’d ever been blessed with as he peacefully dozed off in her caring embrace.

*sigh*

It looks like Veggie finally got to discover what Christmas is all about?

I hope you've enjoyed my lil' Christmas stories so far! I know it's not Christmas anymore, but I may add a few more chapters in the future, if you guys are okay with it, since I had some little tales in mind that I really wanted to explore.

Anyway, thanks so much for reading, as always, and I hope you all have the BEST 2019!!!

*hugs*

#vegebul #vegeta #bulma #dbz #fanfiction #writing #fanfic #let it snow #fire #multichapter #sarahw-writing #sarahw-world #MERRY (LATE) CHRISTMAS!!!

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madfictionland · 6 years ago

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Master Xehanort - NOT a flawless mastermind!

I’m always having trouble to understand people in KH ‘discourse’. They have every right to hate the series for many different reasons, please be my guest, but they usually do it with this silly argument that it’s so damn lame and impossible for Master Xehanort to plan all of this and predict so many variables... But I’m like... he didn’t, really... so what’s your problem even...

Sure, Xehanort kind of takes the credit for everything that happened (in DDD) and makes it sound like everything went ‘according to plan,’ but I thought that’s just what villains do, you know? Despite some setbacks, especially *when their other splintered selfs still achieve results that ultimately lead to his final goals*, it is actually fair to claim the credit. In the end it turned out perfectly well and Master Xehanort learnt a big deal of things. And knowledge is extremely important in his line of business. In the end, he WAS too eager regarding creation of his own pure light and darkness which wasn’t the right way.

But it seems like people don’t even live in a logical world anymore (once they decided they don’t like the direction the series took) and they need everything explained by characters for some reason, like a lenghty lecture from Master Xehanort perhaps... with admission after admission about where his initial plans went wrong and how exactly (which is ludicrous to expect even).

Here is a quick look at things he DID NOT predict/planned for:

1. He never planned to be defeated by Aqua and for amnesia Terranort to be created.

2. He never planned for amnesia-esque (thus less efficient) Ansem and Xemnas.

3. He never planned for the exact timing of DDD meeting and his recompletion. His words about how ‘it’s been decided’ are to be taken with a grain of salt, naturally, since Nomura’s concept of time is tricky and *kind of* fixed (since it does happen... it’s ALL been decided already, apparently). And Master Xehanort himself, despite his ambitions and discoveries, seems to be a strong proponent of ‘fate’ which corresponds with that rule of time. He took interest in Ventus because he felt like it was destiny, after all, and there are more instances of such thinking behind Xehanort.

4. He never planned for Ansem and Xemnas to be defeated since he never planned for their creation in the first place.

Now, it doesn’t mean his plans begun and ended in BBS. BBS focuses exclusively on his ambitions and schemes sorrounding Ventus and Terra but there was clearly more behind the man. Including vast knowledge about the lore, nature of the world, hearts and darkness. He did study everything about a keyblade and keyblade war which is a messed-up subject in and of itself, with so many things unclear and hopefully to be explained in KH3. Pure light and darkness? X-blade shuttered into 20 pieces? 7 pure hearts? Hearts born from darkness? Keyblade War connected to Kingdom Hearts? Door to Darkness connected to Kingdom Hearts? Maybe they’re all just legends, hence so many different stories and unclear answers? or at least that’s an explanation they can go with, so it’ll make sense. In any case, all of them crucial info for Xehanort and something to keep in mind when scheming!

See... there are so many things that it’s actually hard to get your priorities straight. I actually know this feeling pretty well when it comes to personal life or fandom activities!

So what did he plan or what were his ideas, logically?

1. Whatever his destination... Norting other people along the way seemed like a great idea (the first experiment being Braig/Vanitas most likely). But what he wanted for his original self was a perfect young vessel such as Ven or Terra, a keyblade wielder.

2. Looking for ways to forge the x-blade/make Kingdom Hearts manifest itself he already learnt of the 20 pieces of it and 7 lights. Whether there is an actual utilization behind number 13... or maybe he thought it was edgy and cool which would be character-accurate if you ask me... the idea behind 13 versions of himself working in perfect unison towards their shared goal was easily hatched. If only the Nortification technike proved to be working... possibilities were endless.

3. Maleficent seemed like a perfect candidate to be set on a path towards 7 princesses. Something crucial and what could come in handy - regarding the Door to Darkness or even the x-blade.

4. He did know how to time travel so he certainly had such an option in mind and taking into account his established, natural curiosity with the world... and with extremes such as darkness/keyblade war... not surprising he would be willing to test it and utilize it. However, it required to abondon his body which he wasn’t going to do just yet. Plus: it would be a very experimental endevour and he had better things to do. (But do you know who did think it was a great idea and felt compelled to initiate it, despite his other ambitions? Ansem Seeker of Darkness, the most brazen and insane version of Xehanort. The premise was literally about gathering 13 “seekers” of darkness so makes sense considering his own strong obsessions.)

5. Knowing that he has many different things to explore (because he has barely even scratched the surface), other than his main goal... he probably did plan to split himself into a heartless and nobody, eventually. He never really got a chance to do it and have his two halfs cooperate in perfect union (which was clearly not the case with Ansem and Xemnas). We’re to assume that amnesia Xehanort, at some point, did remember this original idea of MX, and acted accordingly.

Master Xehanort was an explorer and ambitious darkness wielder. I’m sure there was no shortage of original ideas, pathways and new, potential plans. But in the end, he had Ventus and his main attention and hopes were to exploit him to forge the x-blade. In his eagerness, that’s what he put most of his energy into during BBS. He never really realized or even initiated most of those other plans and ideas. Well... at least not on his own...

But just as Young Xehanort’s heart led him to explore the outside world (which may actually be due to fixed ‘time paradox’) in the same way different versions of Xehanort felt compelled to put into motion different fragments of his plans and ideas. Destiny and fate, the strange feeling and exploration of the unknown and darkness, something that drives Xehanort forward, very similar to how Sora is guided by his heart and in contrast to it. His younger self captures it perfectly and even though his older self (+ other incarnations) act and maybe even feel like they are in control of everything they do to achieve their own goals... at their core they’re still guided by this basic premise:

Both the irony and fascinating factor behind Xehanort. Whenever he is delayed or his plans go not as planned... all these events may still contribute to the final outcome. In the end, he was destined to end up there. So in essence, all went according to plan and his ambitions continue to progress. All of this while the old man Xehanort, his ‘original’ self... sleeps in sort of limbo state.

Now what one needs to understand to even begin to comprehend what Nomura was going for here (which most people don’t care about and it’s actually understandable, all things considered) is that Xehanort exists across many different layers of self and even planes of existence/reality (as a force of darkness or a more spiritual force in his own and Terra’s body).

There is NO ONE PERFECT MASTERPLAN.

What we have here is basically:

- Xehanort’s plan put into motion in BBS - which failed to achieve his master goal (although he did Norted Braig and maybe Vanitas).

- Apprentice Xehanort does his research and formulates some of the plans and ambitions that are later passed on to Ansem Seeker of Darkness and Xemnas, along with Apprentice Xehanort’s history and sense of self (he is aided by Nort!Braig in hopes that Master Xehanort will eventually regain his complete memory and sense of self).

- Apprentice Xehanort - being Xehanort - gets obsessed with the darkness and hearts very quickly and achieves a certain mastery. Some of it may be his heart guiding him, despite amnesia. Some of it may be actual memories resurfacing. That leads to him being able to summon his keyblade and extract his heart, though his identity is still pretty twisted and memories incomplete (calls himself Ansem, just like he did in the reports). This twisted sense of self continues into Xemnas/Ansem.

- Ansem pursues his own ambitions and curiosity regarding Kingdom Hearts, Door to Darkness and Darkness. He makes good use of Maleficent (earlier set on a path by MX) and, recalling some of his original Destiny Island’s past, tries to posses Riku (similarities between the two are just too big and you can see why Ansem was so stubborn about Riku’s body).

- Xemnas aspires to become one with Kingdom Hearts of released hearts and achieve eternity, at his highest “tragic villain” moments being influenced by more humane aspects of Apprentice Xehanort and possibly Terra (”Unfortunately, I don’t remember joy”). But beyond that, he is still Xehanort and everything that the man entails, for the most part...

Most of Apprentice/Ansem/Xemnas’es plans, knowledge and ambitions came from MX’s memories that they were able to access OR - what’s more likely - they were simply influenced by them, at first unknowingly. Furthermore, at the peak of their power - especially Xemnas and Ansem - they may recall a great deal of their past and true purpose. But it doesn’t mean they cooperate in perfect unison - because they don’t really know everything, miss important pieces of the puzzle (like keyblade war, for example) and remain their unique, unstable beings, with their own share of drama and goals. Which is why they have self preservation insticts and desire to succeed at their own goals (that wouldn’t be the case if there wasn’t any amnesia factor involved... with their sense of self being 100% Xehanort). But EVEN THEN... there is a catch. They share Xehanort’s core feature - which is this compulsive instint to follow *fate* whenever it presents itself and explore the unknown without fear nor care for one’s safety. Plus, due to different factors, they are far less stable in the sanity department! THAT’S WHY:

- Driven by some of MX’s memories (Point 2 and 4 of MX’s ideas) Ansem explores time travel and meets his younger self whom he directs on the path towards 13 Seekers of Darkness, a ‘crazy’ fail-safe which is actually a part of fixed time paradox...

- Xemnas is actively working towards Nortification project which is the true main goal and premise behind the Organization and their many detours/experiments all along.

- After being visited by Young Xehanort (at some point prior to their respective failures) - they join him without hesitation and serve under the new organiztion and their recompleted self in the future. We are to assume that Young Xehanort (who observed everything through time travel) educated them, hence they know all about their failures and events they missed.

Now, all of those big plans happen simultaneously and, for the most part, independently from one another. It’s not a single master plan but when you have so many versions of yourself somewhere out there... the odds are really in your favor. And that’s not even thanks to Master Xehanort being an efficient mastermind villain (which he is only to some extent) but due to his enormous drive to pursue Kingdom Hearts and study the dark unknown around him. Which is true for all versions of Xenahort, especially those strongly associated with his original self and not influenced by 'lesser’ traits of vessel personas (Braig’s light attitude, for example, since, as a Nort, he is kind of impatient for the final destination but NOT curious enough to dedicate himself fully to all the research and detours).

So even if his BBS plan failed and main variables shift all the time - in the end Master Xehanort remains on top. Not thanks to him, really, but kind of thanks to him. And guess what? Once he returns and recomplates himself... he actually feels like he’s been doing all these things and he gets to keep all knowlegde gathered in the process. Despite setbacks, fate has clearly been in his favor and he emraces it.

Master Xehanort is NOT a perfect chess master, directly responsible for everything that’s happened in the world of KH. But he IS an efficient short-term strategist with many ideas (as we saw in BBS) who, despite his grand goal of becoming god-like, is both driven by and strongly intertwined with fate. Sure, there are many confusing elements to it and time travel in particular wasn’t explained too well, but all things considered - MX not being such a flawless mastermind is why I still love this villain!

#master xehanort #xehanort #kingdom hearts xehanort #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts master xehanort #and yes he is recently being shows playing chess...#but the opening with him in KH3 being a 'a chess master' behind KH1 and KH2 is just an asthetic thing #not a 100% perfect plan that he created for everything to unfold the way it did #this holds true unless KH3 will make it wrong #which i don't think it will but please no spoilers #kingdom hearts reflections

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bishopazariyah · 4 years ago

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Shalawam to my brothers of GreatMillStone!!! Thawadah for another inspiring and edifying bible lessons! Remain faithful and endure in this Truth unto the end!!!! Matthew 24:13!!! WAKE UP MY PEOPLE!!! Romans 13:11

BISHOP AZARIYAH AND HIS BEAUTIFUL FAMILY!!!!

“THE REAL SUPERHEROES: HEBREW ISRAELITES”

Written by Dr. Azariyah Ben Yosef

The greatest secret that is being kept in the world today is who the real children of God are. An important fact is that there is a real agenda aimed at Black Americans who are the only ones that are being targeted through the Western World’s Eugenics program. An agenda set forth by what the world calls the Illuminati. According to the Bible they are identified as the Synagogue of satan (Revelation 2:9 and 3:9).They have been the enemies to the Children of God since the Grecian Empire under Alexander the Greek. Unwittingly, they have been fulfilling Bible scriptures foretold by The Most High God of Israel (Genesis 3) to attack and destroy God’s Chosen Seed who remains in the earth today. This warfare has been spiritual, mental, and physical on all levels (Ephesians 6). They have used various tactics such as religion, that traces back to Ancient Babylon. This Elite has been behind the political, religious and educational system set to destroy the Children of Israel. The whole world has been behind this conspiracy against God’s children (Psalm 83). They in fact have always known who the true children of God are. The Children of God are in fact Negroes (Deuteronomy 28:68). This fact goes against all religious teachings, because we have been brainwashed into a satanic governmental system that is based on lies and is in fact committed to keeping the true identity of the Children of Israel a secret. This governmental system was identified publicly by U.S. President George Bush in the 1980’s -as the New World Order. A political masterplan that was originally set in place by the Egyptians. Which is why America models everything after Ancient Egypt (Exodus Chapter 1). These Illuminist powers used the blueprint of Ancient Egypt to systematically destroy the Children of God since their downfall after King Solomon’s reign. When they fell as a people they were enslaved by their enemies who are what the world calls Europeans today, but they are in fact what the Bible calls Edomites. These Edomites are in fact Caucasians according to the Bible, White people are the main enemies to the children of God. These enemies of God whitewashed mankind’s true history and the historical records of the Israelites. All in a coordinated effort to hide the real identity of God’s chosen people. They have used World Wars as a pretext to steal their homeland in 1948. The Jewish-Israeli people are in fact Romans and Jewish converts -not the true Jews according to the Bible and not of the bloodline of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. How could this happen? You may ask. Well the Bible answers that question. The Nation of Israel fell as a people due to disobedience to God’s laws, statutes, and commandments (Deuteronomy 28:15). This disobedience to their God (whose name is AHAYAH “I Am”), caused them to suffer curses that will plagued them forever and is a sign of who the real Jews are and how they will be scattered throughout the earth. During the 1600’s White Europeans saw an opportunity to take advantage of their downfall by conspiring with other Gentiles, such as the Africans to kidnap Negroes who are Hebrews and sell them into slavery. It is a common misconception that all Black people are the same. In fact they are not all the same, in truth the Black race is the most diverse race on the planet. Only the White race is all the same, this information has been proven by Anthropologists and History scholars around the world (Zondervan Bible dictionary). One may ask how did this race war between the Children of God and the Caucasoid hybrid race began. It was prophesied by the Most High in the Book of Genesis Chapter 3. When Eve betrayed her husband and made a covenant with satan. Satan promised her knowledge and power which is the reason why the world exalts women today (“Feminism” and Goddess worship), which is an abomination to God! A spiritual and racial battle was set in place when God told satan that there will be enmity (strife) between satan’s seed and God’s seed. Which means satan has a seed in the earth that is committed to destroying the seed of God (Genesis Chapters 25-27). This ancient battle was set in motion before the Great Flood during the days of Noah and resurfaced again with the birth of Jacob and Esau -two distinct nationalities (which means two different races of people). The descendants of Jacob became the children of God. The descendants of Esau evolved to become the Greco-Roman Empire. Esau’s lineage which is the seed of satan, officially put their plan in action to exterminate the Children of God in 70 A.D. When they laid siege against Jerusalem and forced most of the Hebrews to flee into Africa. This record is recorded in the books by the historian Josephus and the book “From Babylon to Timbuktu”, as well as many other historical records. The Hebrews a magnificent race of people that ruled all of Africa and before and after the downfall of the Roman Empire they ruled over Asia and Europe! According to historical records and in and outside of the Bible the Israelites continued to sin against their God. Which forced The Most High, AHAYAH to allow His children to be enslaved by their enemies time and time again and scattered them throughout the four corners of the earth. Which led to their final downfall during the Arab and Transatlantic slave trades. This takedown would begin a Gentile Coalition to set in place a plan of Eugenics and a system of perpetual slavery to keep the Children of Israel from ever becoming a nation again. Which is the real reason why America was established as a nation. The Romans became Jewish converts and financed the slave trades and created a western world society that became an extension of the Roman Empire (a “Rebirth”). Through this political and religious system they would keep the Children of God in constant physical and mental darkness. This system is called Zionism and Freemasonry. As identified by masons like Albert Pike in his book ”Morals & Dogma”. This elaborate plan would involve America’s most celebrated icons. Who in fact are not heroes but satanists. People like George Washington, Willie Lynch, Margaret Sanger, and Uncle Tom Negroes like Harriet Tubman, Rosa Parks and Jesse Jackson. The children of satan also set up a partnership with Negro religious and political leaders who were famous sellouts for bringing forth their New World Order agenda, to keep the Children of God in bondage in the New World which is called America! During the course of 400 years, this country has successfully carried on its racist and genecital conspiracy against Negroes to victimize them with poor housing, putting drugs in Black neighborhoods, promoting abortions, demonizing Black men, and forcing integration with White people and their institutions, and flooding the prison system with Black men due to false arrests and corrupt police departments. Which is why the American political and legal system has been encouraging the unlawful shootings and public executions of Black men all across America. Which is fueled by the Donald Trump Administration, which is the reason why the President and United States Congress is in agreement with building a border wall. They are fulfilling Bible prophecy listed in 2nd Esdras chapters 13-16. Their ancestors, the Romans did the same thing in 70 A.D when they set up a wall to starve out the Hebrews in Masada. The exciting and troubling times that are happening in America today, is in fact Bible prophecy being fulfilled before our eyes! Donald Trump’s true mission is to carry out the agenda carried on by Roman the Catholic Church. Which is why America is ramping up social immorality throughout the earth such as homosexuality and other sexual perversions like sodomy and sex trafficking. These are the vices that the Roman Catholic Church supports, which is why the news media is always revealing sexual perversions that Catholic priests are routinely involved in and being accused of. The enemies of God know who the real Jews are and are committed to enforcing a perpetual cycle of sin in America so that the Negroes who are Hebrews could never rise and come together or be a nation ever again. In conclusion, the solution to this growing problem is for Hebrews to return to their God YAHAWAH (or “YHWH” -YAHAWAH), obey His commandments, repent of their sins and be baptized in the name of the Father, and the Son, and The Holy Spirit (Matthew Chapter 28 and the Book of Acts Chapter 2), and separate from Gentiles. The greatest mistake of Hebrews in America ever committed was to listen to evil women who were sellouts like Coretta Scott King, Rosa Parks, and Cynthia Mckinney who pushed for integration and for Negro women to be leaders when the Black men were supposed to be the leaders of the Black race. Integration, mixing with Gentiles, and Feminism are an abomination according to the Bible. I highly recommend watching the historic documentary films: “Hebrew or the so called Negro” and “Hebrews to Negroes”. The truth that Negroes are the real Jews, and the Awakening of God’s Chosen people is spreading all over the world! If you are a Hebrew, I sincerely hope that you take part in this glorious Hebrew Israelite movement. Repent from your sins and return to The Most High -God of the Israelites, so that The Lord our Messiah (whose name in the Hebrew language is “YASHAYAH” or YAHAWASHI) can return and put these evil Gentiles who are our enemies into subjection and return YAHAWAH’s Chosen Remnant to their former glory as the true NATION OF ISRAEL (Book of Revelation Chapter 7)!

8/15/2020

augustaisraelites

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calderawizard · 5 years ago

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An unfinished story I wrote a while ago.

A Tale of Angels

In the beginning, there was Dad, or as he is better known, God, and Mum, or as you probably don’t know her because Dad steals the spotlight, Barbra.

This story really picks up when I was 16, but I want you to get an idea of how life was for me growing up, so I’ll start when I was 11, and give you one or two small snippets of my life.

I’m an eldest child. I like music, and I love clothing.

Next is Rafael. he’s 9, and he’s always yelling, bossing people around, demanding to be the centre of attention. He has a nasty habit of glowing so bright that we can’t ignore him.

After that there’s Gabriel. He’s 6, and loves creating things out of clay and pipe cleaners, making them move with magic.

Then there’s Samuel. She’s 4, and loves art, always summoning paint and drawing on the walls, much to our parent’s chagrin. She’s getting better, too.

Finally there’s Michael. He’s only two, the baby of the family, and he can barely walk, always trying to run and falling flat on his face. He manages to crack the walls when he slams into them, too, causing quite a bit of damage, though Dad just snaps his fingers and fixes it.

So that’s us. We’re the archangels. While other Angels are powerful, we’re the children of God. Like, his actual children, as opposed to just metaphorically and living in his world. We supposedly have powers beyond what other Angels can do, and Dad and Mum are teaching us, or all of us except Samuel and Michael who are too young, so that someday we’ll lead the Angels in our respective ways.

Before I begin the story proper, you’re probably wondering what my name is. I’m Lucifer.

…

“Lucifer, it’s time to practice your speech.” Mum announced from my doorway. “Your father is waiting. You need to be ready. A lot of people are going to be watching you.”

“Coming, Mum.” I checked myself over. As I walk past, mum straitens my bowtie. I walk down the hall, and step through the doors to the dining room, where Dad is sitting on a chair, watching as I step onto the magically elevated platform, and I begin my speech.

“You need to wait for the Angels to announce you, Lucifer.” Dad says impartially. “it’s very important to have a good introduction.”

“Yes, father.” I walk away and close the door behind me, before stepping back through. It’s going to be a long day.

The big day came. I was due to make a speech about Dad’s plan for Sentient Life on Earth. I would make a speech outlining the plan to the populace, then Dad would come and explain it in detail. It’s all part of making sure I, the eldest, grow up to be the best of the best.

I stood behind a massive set of double doors, and I motioned for the attendant Angels to announce me, as I walked onto stage in front of all of Heaven.

“Announcing Lucifer, Light-Bringer, Morning Star, Prince of Heaven, Eldest Archangel, and Son of God!”

A fanfare of trumpets sounded, as I stood there, looking out at the crowd, my hands trembling.

“I am Lucifer.” I spoke, magic projecting my voice, which trembled slightly. “I am here to talk about the plan for whom will rule on Earth. My father, God, intends for a race called humanity, modelled in his own image, to rule. They will live in paradise on Earth, lacking want nor need, forever and eternity. I am pleased to announce that God himself is here to tell you more about his grand masterplan!”

I bowed, my face burning. I had stuffed it up, I hadn’t kept my voice even, my face wasn’t neutral. Numbly, I walked off stage as neatly as I could.

My Mum, who hugged me, greeted me.

“Well done, Lucifer!” She praised me. “You were amazing!”

She transported us home, where dinner was waiting, and she ladled out a large bowl of soup. Later father arrived home. He gave a curt nod of approval, and then returned to eating.

…

“Happy 12th birthday, Lucifer!” Mum said, and my siblings echoed the same words. A large, white cake was brought out, and Dad brought out a small box.

“Happy birthday, Lucifer.” He handed it to me. Inside was a gold watch, which I slipped onto my wrist.

“Thank you, Dad.”

…

At 14, I started to be myself more. It didn’t last long.

“Lucifer!” Dad stood up from his chair, workbench. “What is that horrible noise?”

“It’s just music, Dad!” I replied.

“That’s not music!” He replied storming towards me. “Music is deep, emotional, and powerful. It is made to evoke feeling, or to signify some great event! That terrible noise is not music!”

“You don’t even need to hear it! Just stop listening in on my wavelength!”

“If you can’t appreciate real music and instead insist on this monstrosity, then I’m confiscating your Halo!”

He reached out and yanked my Halo from where it was floating. The music stopped as the Halo dissipated, and I ran back to my room. If I couldn’t listen to music then I’d practise clothing designing. I summoned my book and got to work, but it wasn’t the same without music.

…

Now that you see how my life was, pressured and controlled, it’s time to begin the real story, when I was 16. Rafael is now 14, Gabriel 11, Samuel 9, and Michael is 11.

“Why are you even in charge?” I asked Dad. We had been having a discussion about the way things worked, I wanted to be allowed to listen to music I liked, wear cloths I liked, do things I liked. He had ended up answering with ‘because I’m God. I’m in charge’. “Why can’t Angels choose their leader?”

“Don’t say things like that!” Dad yelled, standing up. “I created this world and I created Earth!”

“So what?” I replied. “That doesn’t give you the right to boss everyone around.”

“Of course it does.”

“Well, I’m sick of it.” I replied. “So I’m leaving. I don’t want to live here anymore.”

I snapped my fingers and all my possessions flew into my hands. Which is to say, my book, in which I design cloths, write journal entries, and compose songs in flew into my hands. I began to walk to the door.

“This is ridiculous!” Dad answered. “You’ll end up with no food, homeless if left for five minutes without help!”

“I’m literally an Archangel, the strongest one at that! I’m one of the strongest beings in all of Heaven and Earth!” I replied. “I can live where I like.”

“Don’t go, darling.” Mum pleaded. “We can sort this out!”

All of my siblings crowded around her.

“Goodbye.” I replied, and opened the door.

“Well, you can’t live in Heaven!” Dad shouted. “I control it! It goes by my rules! And you can’t live on Earth, I won’t have you messing up the natural balance.”

“Fine.” I turned back to him. “I’ll make my own world. I’ll call it… Hell.”

I stepped out onto the street, and my wings unfolded. I blazed with burning light, and then I was transported to a blank, black space. A new universe.

I began to create a paradise, my own world. I let the world create itself, really. I was struck with two ideas at once. I transported myself, in the form of a snake, to Earth, in the Garden of Eden. I saw Adam and Eve, right there, with no free will. I whispered in Eve’s ear.

“If you want freedom to choose what you wish to do, eat the apple.”

“You want us to eat the apple? But God said no.”

“I want nothing.” I replied. “It’s your choice.”

“I-” She paused. “I’ve never felt this before. What is it?”

“Indecision.” I replied. “You have the ability to make this choice. One option leads back to what you were doing, though you can change that decision at any time. The other; irreversible, leading to an eternity of choice.”

“But what will God do?” Eve asked.

“I don’t know.” I replied. “But if he is truly benevolent, truly on your side, would he harm you? And if he isn’t, why obey him?”

With that, I left her to ponder. I transported myself to Heaven and announced something.

“All ye who would make your own decisions, decide your own fate, and live your own lives, join me!” I announced, speaking to all of Heaven. “Join me in Hell.”

With that I left, back to Hell, to build a home for myself. Chaos ensued. Eve told Adam, and together they chose to eat the apple. They chose freedom. God reacted by introducing suffering to Earth, and by inventing Death.

A whole army of Angels chose to join Hell. They controlled their own parts, and the only rules were don’t hurt anyone.

…

When I turned 21, something big happened. A loud knocking came from the gates. I assumed it was just another new fallen Angel, or as we’d come to call ourselves, Demon. They had been hundreds in the first few years, but after that it calmed a little, and now we had anywhere from 1-7 a month. I opened the door, and a figure stepped inside, and took off her cloak. It was Mum.

I took her to a room where we could sit down and talk.

“We were fighting, and it just fell apart.” She explained. “After I openly went against him, he told me if I didn’t like what he was doing I was welcome to leave at any time. So I did. I decided I’d go here.”

Mum was welcomed into the community, and as a community, we thrived. Everyone, free to express themselves, created new things, and not just with magic. Our food was better than anything they had in heaven.

After many more years, a new arrival shocked us all. How this being had got here we did not know, but we were about to find out, and many more would follow. It was a dead human.

“Hello, um, hi.” The human said. “God said that I ‘wasn’t worthy’ and I was sent here.”

We set up a system. Just because God thought they deserved to suffer, didn’t mean we did. We decided we’d judge them. Those who truly deserved to suffer would, but the others would be accepted into our society. Even those who were forced to suffer didn’t have to forever. They could be redeemed, though the worst of crimes meant that you could only be free when those who you harmed forgave you.

A new arrival brought us news; the four Archangels were going to get their appointed posts in 3 days’ time.

Mum and I decided that we had to go. While Dad was no longer our family, my siblings didn’t do anything wrong.

…

“Announcing God, many be his names, and the four Archangels, many be their names.”

“Excellent.” God said. “Now that everyone is here, let the ceremony begin.”

A flash of light filled the room, and I appeared with Mum, and some other Demons. We all wore different clothing, different styles, contrasting with the Angels, ranging from my mother’s negative version of her old cloths, to my denim jacket, to Vaset’s suit, to Jeva’s dress. The only thing that almost fit in was my watch, but that too stood out for two reasons; for one, it was one of the finest things in the room. For another, it was the only broken thing in all of Heaven, the glass cracked.

“Greetings.” I said. “Do continue. We just came to pay our respects.”

God looked angry, and then his expression changed back to a neutral one.

“Rafael, my eldest child, I pronounce you overseer of the Angels. Samuel, daughter, you will paint the sky with stars. Gabriel, son, you will create machines. Michael, son, you are the chief of the armies.

#angels #satan but a teenager #good lucifer

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thatsnotcanonpodcasts · 5 years ago

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Dr Who, Bubbles & Dreams

Doctor Who has finished another season with the biggest bombshell in nearly 60 years of stories. What does this mean? Why is it happening? And why does it taste like caramel and marzipan? Nobody except the leakers could have known what was going to happen this time, and it's more controversial than politics. Doctor Who has time traveled back to the 80s to pick up some plot ideas from the Dark Times between the cancellation and revival.

Hello Ducky, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again. Because a bathtub slowly filling is behind this week's scientific breakthrough. The Sound of Bubbles is key to understanding the physics behind their growth and collapse. Aren't you glad I didn't choose "Where did you come from, where did you go, where did you come from Bubbleeye Joe?" as the musical reference.

And then it's time for Dreams, the newest evolution in a long history of amateur game development tools. Some developers have already been picked up by a company thanks to their work on a No Man's Sky clone. Professor is excited for the resurgence of amateur game development and hopes Dreams will rise up to be the next generation's rapid prototype and release tool.

Dr Who Finale Discussion & Christmas announcement

-https://comicbook.com/tv-shows/2020/03/01/doctor-who-season-12-finale-2020-new-year-christmas-special-revo/

The sound of…..bubbles

- https://www.sciencenews.org/article/sound-soap-bubbles-pop-reveals-physics-behind-bursts

- https://journals.aps.org/prl/abstract/10.1103/PhysRevLett.124.084502

Next gen making games using…the power of Dreams

- https://www.escapistmagazine.com/v2/dreams-is-already-helping-to-foster-the-next-generation-of-game-devs/

Games Played

Professor

- Halo: Combat Evolved Anniversary - https://store.steampowered.com/app/1064221/Halo_Combat_Evolved_Anniversary/

Rating – 3.5/5

- SYNTHETIK Arena - https://store.steampowered.com/app/984110/SYNTHETIK_Arena/

Rating – 3/5