#dbz head canons

[nebuladreamz]

The voices are loud and I am WEAK

[the-real-jojo]

holding hands ...

trynna develop a more ....... looser style ig (they're the guinea pigs)

[mlemonnnn]

ive hired this 🥕 to look at you

[hi-there-buddies]

So who here is apart of the “Goku lied to Frieza about resurrecting him after the Tournament of Power” gang? Because whenever I bring it up people yell at me for not understanding Goku’s character. As if I haven’t been in this fandom for nearly 2 decades 😭

[treepan0]

some random hcs for the characters I like writing for because why not? not all of them are here, this is just four characters I had some thoughts on.

note: I'm using a fully romanized version of the spelling of Baby's name (tone indicator removed to clarify) so it's less weird, also there's a lot of rare pairs and I am unapologetic about that.

Cooler:

let's be real here there is a reason why he and Bebi hardly show romantic affection in Chaos Magic, and it's not a discomfort actually. In reality it's because this man gives me the vibes it would be slow work for him to get to that point, he grew up with a family that was actively trying to kill each other, and is written as a stoic character, he's going to take longer than Vegeta to get comfortable with that.

I don't know why, but this man gives me demisexual energy and I cannot unsee it. (don't ask where this came from, I have no clue.)

please for the love of kami someone take this man away from his desk, he desperately needs a break thank you.

completely unaware people find him attractive most of the time, too distracted by work.

learned to control the movements of his tail, so Frieza and Cold couldn't read him like an open book.

Bebi:

I have mentioned this twice, but I like combining his sub & dub portrayals, errors and all.

speaking of errors from the sub he says "Big Bang Attack" while using final flash, on purpose because he knows it annoys and confuses people.

is he bi? is he pan? is he Omni? I don't see him caring much actually. I feel like he doesn't care as much due to his ability to reproduce asexually, while he still feels the needs and urges of the body he possesses (thus the way he is, pretty much I hc it's from vegeta who I see as bi, unless it's an au, I just leave that fact intentionally vague), he's more reliant on romantic attraction if he wants anything outside of that. I see him as panromantic to clarify

if I have an excuse to give him a tail I will, GT robbed me of it so I will do it myself. it's also fun to make him emote with it in a more subtle manner, like I do for some other characters. (Cooler, Janemba and Broly to name a few, I would say Bebi & Janemba are the most open of the four though, since Broly's is hidden)

I think he should have Janemba, android 13 and Hatchiyack as a friend group, as a treat, I think they could all get along with their own individual dynamics and everything.

Bebi & 13 can roast the ever loving crap out of people, Janemba & Bebi can be relaxation buddies who talk about general stuff, and Bebi & Hatchiyack I see as almost like a sibling relationship.

Janemba:

I usually go with the buu's fury background; where he was an organised crime kingpin, before he got caught up in the soul scrubber, outside of that I take from various places. I like to hc he ended up in there, because Beerus sealed him inside, just like elder kai and the z sword.

out of boredom one day I did give him an adoptive mother, since he had no pre-existing canon family. Her name is Koall, she's a succubus who's tired out of her mind and still grieving her loss, despite the passage of time being massive for humans.

just like Bebi I also hc this man gets around at times, and most of it is because of his design. (dear goodness super Janemba's design.....)

it's a common hc that he likes jelly beans, since the spirit shields resemble jelly beans. I actually enjoy this common non serious head canon, I think it's actually cute for him to do that.

kind of claustrophobic, especially with dark environments. however he can subdue it with some sort of activity, so it's not terribly intensive. he keeps a portable console where ever he stays, mostly so he can build blanket forts for Broly.

I straight up said "I don't see why he and kid Buu can't learn sign language, especially since dragon ball has a universal language." so they either use their native tongue, or use sign language. most of the time however they're guilty of saying stuff behind peoples backs in said native language, Cell & Koall are the only ones able to catch them.

has definitely tried to teach some poor unsuspecting soul, to swear in his native language because he thinks it's funny. think of someone teaching a baby swears, it's pretty much the same effect for him considering his age.

complete opposite of how I see Cooler with affection, he's just a tease. this man will smooch Broly in public an the only one who can stop him, is Broly himself and no one else.

DBZ Broly:

doesn't like his neck being touched in general, Janemba completely respects this and has adjusted to such.

when he's in base for an extended period of time by choice for the first time since he was a kid, he ended up being gifted a green rabbit plush from a friend, her name is Mint and she gives him comfort.

I chose a rabbit because I felt like he could empathise with them in general, he grew up in an environment where he had to ensure his own survival, just like rabbits have to since they're at the bottom of the food chain. (nothing to do with the symbolism connected with them)

he won't openly admit it, but he likes head scratches and pats. like almost anyone could touch his head for whatever reason, and he will expect either scratches or pats.

that red fabric around his waist is the only thing keeping people from seeing everything he feels, since he never learned to clasp it like most, nor did he learn to control the movements like I hc Cooler did.

finds small spaces comforting, since the pod trips would be what little time he had away from his father, outside of being dismissed or after Paragus' death.

I feel like after a long extended period of remaining in base, he develops likes and dislikes after time here's just a few I thought of: he likes rock and metal music, he dislikes the taste of coffee, he likes relaxing scents (i.e lavender and chamomile), he dislikes white chocolate. I have my reasonings for both of those likes.

most of the time he'll ask Janemba if he wants certain affections, he's too shy and ashamed to ask anything nsfw though. not that it hasn't stopped Janemba from coaxing him into the baby steps past that, so poor man doesn't make himself suffer in silence.

it's actually been a team effort to help him get to this point, with all sorts of people teaching him proper life skills, not that he's learned to calm.

[kultofkorii]

— Otherworldly Differences

mark grayson x saiyan! reader

• fic type: oneshot & fluff

• summary: crash landing on such a feeble planet wasn't on your to-do list. although this being whose nearly as strong a you confronts you, so you decide to humor him.

• word count: 5.8k

• warnings: mild canon typical violence, threat of violence, blood

• a/n: As you can see I got really carried away. 🧍‍♀️I like DBZ and I like Invincible, so why not combine the two!! Also I've just started watching invincible so sorry if he's ooc.

A shrill, wailing sound yanks you from unconsciousness, vibrating through your skull like an alarm gone haywire. You groan, forcing your heavy eyelids open, and are immediately greeted by the acrid stench of burning metal and scorched earth.

Smoke billows around you, thick and suffocating, curling from the shattered remains of your ship—a twisted hunk of alien steel embedded deep in the cracked pavement.

Your head pounds in protest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing behind your temples. You press a hand to your forehead, then glance down at yourself.

Dust clings to your skin, mingling with smudges of soot and dried blood. Your armor, now riddled with scorch marks and gashes, groans as you shift.

Damn. That landing must’ve been rough.

Muffled shouts rise above the ringing in your ears. Blinking away the haze, you finally take in your surroundings.

Small, weak-looking creatures encircle the crash site, clad in identical dark uniforms. They hold strange little metal sticks, aiming them at you like they actually expect them to do something.

“Put your hands where we can see them!”

“Step away from the wreckage!”

“You’re under arrest!”

You arch a brow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips. They think they can arrest me? That’s adorable.

With a groan, you push yourself upright, rolling your shoulders. A shower of debris crumbles from your armor, scattering across the crater floor. Your hair, wild and voluminous as ever, whips around your face as you stretch.

"Where in the name of Vegeta am I?" you mutter, voice thick with irritation.

The humans stiffen. Their fingers tighten around their weapons, eyes flickering between you and the destruction left in your wake.

The boldest of the bunch—a man with gritted teeth and an unfortunate mustache—steps forward, barrel trained directly at your chest.

“I said put your hands up!” he barks.

You tilt your head, gaze flicking over him with mild amusement. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?”

Apparently, he doesn’t. None of them do. Because instead of answering, they just keep shouting, their voices a frantic mess of demands and threats.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. This is exhausting. If they refuse to answer your questions, perhaps a demonstration is in order.

Your eyes scan the wreckage, landing on the nearest object of interest—a large, boxy vehicle with shattered windows and blaring alarms.

Without hesitation, you grab it by the undercarriage, lift it effortlessly over your head, and hurl it toward a nearby building.

Glass explodes outward as the car crashes through the structure, embedding itself halfway into the second floor. The ground trembles from the impact, sending fresh cracks spiderwebbing across the pavement.

That gets their attention.

“Holy Shit!”

“She’s a freaking alien!”

“No shit,” you scoff, crossing your arms. “Now, which one of you is in charge?”

Before anyone can respond, a gust of wind nearly knocks you back. A shadow streaks across the sky, descending at high speed.

You turn just in time to see a figure land in front of you, kicking up dust upon impact.

An array of yellow, blue and back filled your vision, toned muscles flexing between the tight material of a suit.

You recognize the stance immediately. A fighter. Interesting.

“You must be the problem everyone’s freaking out about,” he says, arms crossed. His tone isn’t immediately hostile—more wary than anything.

You grin, rolling your shoulders. “Depends. You here to challenge me?”

The guy blinks, visibly thrown off. “Uh, not exactly.”

You frown. “Shame. I was hoping someone here would be worth my time.”

Despite yourself, you’re intrigued. He’s strong—you can sense it. Not nearly Saiyan strong, of course, but there’s something different about him. Something… familiar.

He studies you just as intently, gaze flicking between your tattered armor, your battle-worn knuckles, and—most notably—the towering mass of thick hair atop your head.

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something, but he hesitates.

“I’m Invincible,” he offers instead.

You snort. “Bit cocky, don’t you think?”

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A beat of silence. Neither of you moves.

Then, cautiously, he gestures toward the chaos surrounding you. “Look, I don’t want to fight you.”

“That makes one of us,” you say, cracking your knuckles.

Mark exhales through his nose, clearly trying to be patient. “Seriously, can we just… talk?” He gestures at the wreckage, the police, the frightened civilians peeking from behind cover.

“You’re obviously not from around here, and you seem kinda… lost?”

You bristle at the implication. You are not lost. Saiyans do not get lost.

But.

Well.

You don’t exactly know where you are, and it’s slightly concerning that your ship is currently a pile of molten scrap metal.

“…Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your hands into the tattered remains of your belt. “But if this is a trap, I’m breaking every bone in your body.”

Mark exhales in relief, though the corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Noted,” he mutters. Then, more amused than he probably should be: “You always this dramatic?”

You smirk. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

His lips twitch, as if suppressing a laugh. Instead, he just shakes his head and gestures for you to follow.

You crack your neck, glance at the still-stunned humans, and grin.

Let’s see where this goes.

••••

You hate this place.

It smells like sterilization and fear, the kind of artificially clean air that makes your skin itch.

The walls are a cold, metallic gray, pulsing with dim overhead lights. The whole facility hums with electricity, the kind that suggests they have restraints for things stronger than humans.

And the way they’re looking at you? Like you’re a specimen in a cage? You really, really don’t like that.

You sit in a metal chair bolted to the floor, arms crossed, one leg bouncing slightly as you stare at the wrinkled man in front of you.

His name is Cecil. You’ve already decided you don’t like him.

For the past ten minutes, he’s been droning on, asking questions about your species, your ship, your intentions—like you owe him answers.

You’ve made a game of not responding, watching his patience wear thin.

“You’re really not gonna talk?” he asks, finally, voice dry as dust.

You smirk. “Why would I answer to someone who can’t even fly?”

Cecil’s face twitches. Across the room, Mark—Invincible, as he insists on being called—snorts.

He tries to smother his laugh, pressing his lips together, but you see the amusement flickering in his eyes.

Cecil doesn’t react beyond a slow exhale through his nose. He’s good at this, you’ll give him that. A lesser man would’ve cracked by now.

“I’ll be honest,” he continues. “You’re not our first alien visitor, and you probably won’t be our last. But if you’re planning to cause problems—”

You lean forward, resting your elbows on the table, flashing him a slow, sharp grin. “I am the problem,” you say, voice dripping with amusement.

“And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

Mark shifts slightly. You don’t need to look at him to feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body tenses like he’s preparing for you to lash out again.

You’re not going to—yet—but the fact that he thinks you might is amusing.

Cecil just sighs and rubs his temple. “Get her out of my sight.”

You stand, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“Finally. This room smells like weakness.”

One of the armed guards by the door stiffens at that, knuckles whitening on his weapon. You give him a slow, pointed grin before turning away.

Mark steps beside you, shaking his head. “You’re so charming,” he mutters, voice laced with dry amusement.

You flash him a smirk. “I try.”

He gestures toward the exit. “Come on, oh mighty warrior. Let’s get you some fresh air before you pick a fight with the janitor.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn about Earth.

Assimilate, he says. Blend in.

You think it’s ridiculous. Why should you have to adapt to them? You are superior in every way—stronger, faster, smarter. If anything, they should be learning from you.

But… well. You suppose humoring Mark is preferable to rotting away in that dreadful government facility.

So when he insists on introducing you to “the best thing Earth has to offer,” you allow yourself to be dragged along, arms crossed and skepticism at full capacity.

Which is how you find yourself sitting in a place called Mama Luigi’s Pizza.

The walls are plastered with photographs of grinning humans holding enormous, greasy slices of something that looks like food but definitely doesn’t smell like anything worth eating.

The air is thick with the scent of melted cheese and sizzling dough, mingling with the faint tang of tomato sauce.

Mark places a box in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Alright, first lesson in being an Earthling, food.”

You narrow your eyes at the offering. The circular dish is sliced into uneven triangles, topped with bubbling golden cheese and a thin layer of something red.

You poke it with a finger. It squishes slightly. “What is this?”

Mark sighs like he was expecting this reaction. “It’s pizza. Just try it.”

You glance at him, then back at the pizza. It doesn’t smell awful, but it looks so… soft.

Your diet consists of meat cooked over an open flame, raw energy rations, and the occasional alien delicacy that most species wouldn’t dare touch.

This? This just looks like melted goo on soggy bread.

“Do humans consume nothing of nutritional value?” you ask, lifting one of the slices and examining it like it might try to escape. “How does this pathetic excuse for sustenance fuel you?”

Mark groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not always about nutrition. Sometimes it's about taste.”

You snort. “Taste is secondary to power.”

“Okay, Y/n,” Mark deadpans. “Just take a bite.”

You sniff it warily, then, with great reluctance, sink your teeth into the gooey mess.

The moment the flavors hit your tongue, your brain short-circuits.

Salty, savory cheese. Rich, tangy sauce. The warm, crispy-yet-doughy crust. Your taste buds—so accustomed to the harsh, metallic tang of survival rations—practically explode.

You don’t mean to make a noise, but something between a hum and a low growl of approval rumbles in your throat.

Your grip on the slice tightens, fingers flexing instinctively.

Mark watches with interest as your pupils dilate. “...Well?” he prompts, smirking.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Instead, you devour the rest of the slice in two bites, grab another, and tear into it like a starving beast.

Mark blinks. “Oh. Oh wow.”

The next few minutes are a blur. The pizza—this godly, divine creation—is disappearing at an alarming rate.

You don’t pace yourself.

You don’t breathe.

You just consume.

Mark leans back in his chair, watching in a mixture of horror and awe. “Uh, you do know you’re supposed to chew, right?”

You ignore him, grabbing another slice, cheese stretching between your fingers.

Mark’s brows shoot up. “Are you—oh my god, are you actually growling?”

You pause mid-bite, realizing that yes, you are growling—a low, territorial rumble vibrating from your chest. Your muscles are coiled, posture slightly hunched as if guarding your prize.

You force yourself to relax, clearing your throat. “Instinct,” you say, voice muffled around your mouthful. “Saiyan biology.”

Mark stares at you.

Then at the emptying box.

Then back at you.

“That’s terrifying.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, completely unbothered. “It is efficient.”

Mark gestures to the now nearly empty pizza box. “That was supposed to be for both of us.”

You glance at the single, lonely slice remaining in the box, then at Mark. Then back at the slice.

You grab it.

“HEY!”

You take an exaggerated bite, chewing slowly, making direct eye contact with him as you do.

Mark groans, slumping back in his seat. “I cannot believe I just witnessed a Saiyan discovering pizza.”

You swallow and grin. “Alright.” You gesture to the crumbs and grease-stained box. “This planet might have some value after all.”

••••

Mark insists you need to learn human customs if you're going to stay on Earth.

You think human customs are stupid.

“Just try to blend in,” Mark says as he leads you down a crowded city street, his voice already laced with exhaustion. “No throwing cars, no threatening people, and for the love of God, no fighting the barista.”

You scoff, ruffling your hair in annoyance. “If this barista dares disrespect me, they’ll have earned the beating.”

Mark sighs. “I’m begging you to be normal for five minutes.”

You don’t dignify that with a response.

The place Mark drags you to is small and cramped, filled with the scent of something bitter and the low hum of human chatter. Coffee shop, he calls it. You call it a waste of time.

The line moves painfully slow. You tap your foot impatiently, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ridiculous menu full of nonsense words like macchiato and venti.

“These names are stupid.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to understand them. Just order something.”

Finally, you reach the front. A young man stands behind the counter, looking more exhausted than Mark. His uniform is wrinkled, his expression blank.

He sighs. “What can I get you?”

You lift your chin. “Your strongest drink.”

The barista barely reacts. “Do you want that hot or iced?”

You narrow your eyes. “Is there a difference?”

Mark nudges your side. “Just say hot.”

You roll your eyes. “Hot, then.”

The barista punches something into his register. “Name for the order?”

You blink. “Why do you need my name?”

“It’s so we can call it when your drink is ready.”

You frown. “You mean I have to wait?”

The barista, clearly dead inside, just blinks at you. “Yes?”

You lean forward slightly. “Do you know who I am?”

Mark audibly groans.

The barista, now vaguely alarmed, glances at Mark for guidance. Mark shoots him an apologetic look before turning to you, voice dangerously close to pleading. “Just give him your name and be cool.”

You stare at the barista. The barista stares back. Then, slowly, you smirk. “Fine. My name is Y/N the Warmonger.”

Mark visibly deflates.

The barista, now beyond caring, just types something into the register. “That’ll be $4.75.”

You blink. “That will be what?”

“Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Mark pulls out a small green rectangle and hands it over before you can start breaking things. “I got it.”

You watch as the barista takes the rectangle, swipes it through a strange machine, and hands it back.

You lean over, voice low. “Did he just steal from you?”

Mark drags a hand down his face. “That’s how money works.”

“Money is a scam.”

Mark gestures for you to step aside as the next customer moves forward. “Welcome to capitalism.”

You huff, tapping your fingers against the counter as you wait. “How long does this process take?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

Mark shrugs. “How busy they are.”

You look around. There are only three other people waiting. “This is pathetic.”

“Do you have to say everything you think out loud?”

“Yes, I do.”

Mark stares at you for a long moment, then sighs. “Just… stand here and don’t start a fight.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “I won’t start a fight.”

Mark looks at you like he doesn’t believe you at all.

Minutes pass. The baristas move at a snail’s pace, making drinks with far more effort than seems necessary.

Your patience—what little exists—wears thin.

Finally, someone calls, “Y/N the Warmonger?”

You smirk, stepping forward. “Ah, finally.”

The barista places a small cup on the counter.

You eye it. “That’s it?”

Mark claps a hand over his face. “Please don’t—”

You grab the cup and inspect it. It’s small—far smaller than you expected. And it’s hot, heat seeping through the flimsy material. You narrow your eyes at the tiny opening in the lid. “This is ridiculous.”

Mark nudges your arm. “Just take a sip.”

You do.

And immediately gag.

Mark snorts. “Not a fan?”

You shove the cup back at him, wiping your tongue on your sleeve. “It tastes like burnt dirt.”

“That’s coffee.”

“Why do humans drink this?”

Mark shrugs, taking a sip of his own drink. “Some of us like suffering.”

You glare at the cup. “This explains so much.”

Mark is laughing now, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe coffee isn’t your thing.”

You sneer at the cup as if it personally offended you. “I will destroy this establishment.”

Mark grabs your arm. “We are leaving.”

••••

Mark should’ve known better than to mention Halloween in passing.

The moment the words leave his mouth, you stop walking, whip around, and grab his shoulders so fast he barely has time to react.

"Wait, wait, wait—" Your grip tightens, eyes burning with intensity. "So you’re telling me there’s a day—a whole day—where I can wear anything I want, and people just… give me things?"

Mark blinks, looking mildly concerned for his well-being. "Uh… yeah? That’s… basically Halloween."

Your expression is deadly serious. "This is the best planet in the universe."

Mark sighs, prying your fingers off his shoulders. "You really don’t need to be this dramatic."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I absolutely do. This is groundbreaking information, Mark. Do you understand how insane this sounds? Where I’m from, if you want something, you take it—or you beat someone into the ground until they hand it over."

"Yeah, we call that robbery," Mark mutters.

You ignore him. "But this? This is a sanctioned event?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much. Kids dress up, go door to door, and get candy."

Your head tilts. "Candy?"

Mark pauses, realizing something horrifying. "Wait. You’ve never had candy before?"

You raise a brow. "Should I have?"

Mark grabs you hand, a new found conviction stirring his heart. "Okay, new plan. We are absolutely fixing this."

The next thing you know, you’re standing in the middle of a store filled with costumes.

Mark drags you through the aisles, dodging plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and a disturbing number of severed limbs. You pick up a dismembered hand, inspecting it with mild curiosity.

"Humans celebrate death?" you ask, turning it over in your palm.

Mark huffs a laugh. "Kinda. Halloween’s all about spooky stuff. Ghosts, monsters, horror movies—"

"Horror movies?" you echo, dropping the fake hand.

"Yeah, it's filled with things that's supposed to be scary—like, creepy stories, jump scares, murder-y villains—"

Your eyes light up. "You have a murder holiday?"

Mark sighs, rubbing his temple. "That’s not—never mind. Just pick out a costume."

You survey the wall of options, eyes scanning the bizarre selection.

"What’s a ‘sexy nurse’?"

Mark chokes, face growing warmer. "Not that one!"

You grin, baring sharp canines. "Ohhh, so it's not just a murder holiday."

Mark groans, dragging you toward another aisle. "We’re not doing this."

After an obnoxiously long debate (and Mark vetoing several of your more violent ideas), you finally settle on something appropriately intimidating.

A black cape, sleek armor, and a terrifying mask with glowing red eyes.

Mark squints at the tag. "Darth Vader?"

You tilt your head. "This man—he was a warrior, yes?"

"Uh… kinda?" Mark hesitates. "More like an evil space dictator."

You grin. "So, a king."

Mark sighs. "I feel like I should stop you, but… honestly? You’re weirdly perfect for this."

You flick the cape over your shoulder, nodding in approval. "Yes. Lord Vader is ready to conquer this...Halloween."

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please don’t start referring to yourself in the third person."

You smirk, already deep in character. "Lord Vader does as he pleases."

Mark groans.

Hours later, you’re stalking the streets with a plastic skull bucket (Mark refused to let you carry an actual skull), and your energy is through the roof.

"Look at them, Mark!" You gesture wildly at the groups of costumed children. "They fear me!"

"They don’t," Mark corrects. "They think you’re cosplaying."

You scoff. "They should fear me."

"That's called fear mongering."

You ignore him, marching up to a door and pounding on it like you’re issuing a challenge.

A kindly old woman answers, beaming. "Oh, what a lovely costume! And who are you supposed to be, dear?"

You puff out your chest. "I am Lord Vader! Kneel before me, mortal!"

Mark, standing behind you, mutters, "I can't do this."

The woman chuckles, unbothered, and drops a handful of candy into your bucket. "Well, Lord Vader, enjoy your treats!"

You stare down at the loot. Then at Mark. Then back at the candy.

Your voice drops to a whisper. "It worked."

Mark claps a hand on your shoulder, smiling lightly at the child like wonder in your expression. "Welcome to Halloween."

••••

Mark fascinates you.

You don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere between the endless sparring matches, the insufferable Earth lessons, and the way he constantly calls you out on your arrogance, you started… caring.

It’s infuriating.

He’s not a Saiyan. He’s soft. Idealistic.

Sentimental in a way that would get him killed on any real battlefield. Yet, he doesn’t break. No matter how many times he's knocked down, he always gets back up.

He’s stubborn. Stupidly determined. And worse—so much worse—he’s kind.

And every time he smiles at you, your stomach does this weird thing that you refuse to acknowledge.

You blame it on Earth’s atmosphere.

You’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, the city sprawled out beneath you, golden from the streetlights. It’s late—too late—but neither of you seems particularly eager to leave.

Mark leans back on his hands, staring up at the stars. “Y’know, I used to think I was strong.”

You snort, swinging your legs over the ledge. “Used to?”

He gives you a sideways glance. “Yeah, and then I met you.”

You smirk. “Ah. A humbling experience, I’m sure.”

Mark groans. “I hate that you’re so smug about it.”

“But I earned the right to be smug,” you counter, grinning. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. You should thank me for showing you how weak you are.”

Mark scoffs. “Oh yeah, thanks so much, Your Highness. I love getting my ass kicked on a regular basis.”

You shrug. “You should. It builds character.”

Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You love messing with me, don’t you?”

You tilt your head. “Of course.”

“Why?”

You blink. The question catches you off guard.

Mark watches you expectantly, but there’s something different about the way he’s looking at you—less irritated, more curious.

You feel a strange warmth creeping up your neck.

You click your tongue. “Because you react.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You wave a hand at him. “Most beings—weaklings—would just fear me, but you? You get angry. You argue. You fight back.” You smirk. “It’s entertaining.”

Mark shakes his head, exasperated but smiling. “You are so weird.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He leans back again, gaze shifting to the sky. “It’s not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

You don’t like the feeling.

The next time you spar, it’s different.

You’ve fought Mark dozens of times now, and it’s usually predictable. You win. He loses. He gets slightly better each time, but the outcome never really changes.

Except… today, he lasts longer.

His movements are sharper, more controlled. His dodges are precise. His counters actually make you work.

You grin, blood pumping, excitement thrumming under your skin.

“Finally,” you breathe, dodging a punch by a hair. “I was starting to think you’d never improve.”

Mark exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a very aggressive training partner.”

You smirk, throwing a kick that he barely manages to block. “And look at you now! Almost respectable.”

“Almost?”

You grin. “Let’s see if you can prove me wrong.”

He lunges again, and for the first time, you let yourself enjoy it—not just the fight, but him. The way he moves. The way he refuses to back down. The way he looks at you, like he’s actually enjoying himself too.

And then he smiles.

Not a smirk, not a cocky grin, but a real smile. Bright. Genuine.

And something in your stomach flips.

You stumble.

Not much—barely a misstep—but enough. Mark seizes the opportunity, slamming into you with enough force to send you skidding backward.

You catch yourself before you hit the ground, flipping midair and landing in a crouch. Your heart is pounding—not from the fight, but from the fact that you hesitated.

You never hesitate.

Mark grins, slightly out of breath. “Hey, did I actually get you just now?”

Your fingers twitch. You force your expression back to neutral. “No.”

Mark raises a brow. “Are you sure?”

You glare. “Absolutely.”

He smirks. “You totally hesitated.”

You stand up, rolling your shoulders. “You wish.”

Mark chuckles. “Oh, I know I did.”

You hate that he’s right.

You hate that you let him be right.

And most of all…

You hate that your stomach does that thing again.

••••

You don’t care about Earth.

That’s what you’ve told yourself, over and over again, ever since you crash-landed on this ridiculous planet full of weaklings. You don’t care about its people, its customs, or its foolish attachment to peace.

But then someone hurts Mark.

And suddenly, none of that matters.

It happens fast.

One moment, you’re watching him trade blows with some costumed idiot—some third-rate, no-name waste of oxygen who dares to think they can beat him.

And then—

Mark hesitates. Just for a second.

And in that second, the bastard slams a fist straight into his ribs with enough force to send him crashing through a building.

Your vision goes red.

Your usual smugness—your sharp, teasing quips—vanish. There's no room for anything but pure, feral rage.

You don’t think.

You react.

The air around you crackles as you launch yourself forward, faster than the fool can process. One second, they’re standing there, smug over landing a hit on Mark—

The next, you have them by the throat.

Their eyes widen, hands clawing at yours, feet kicking uselessly in the air. You squeeze, just enough to make them panic.

“You think you’re strong?” Your voice is low, almost a growl, vibrating with barely restrained fury. “You think you can just touch him?”

They make a choked noise, eyes bulging. You hate looking at them. This weak, insignificant thing that had the audacity to harm what’s yours.

Your grip tightens. The building behind you trembles from the sheer force of your energy surging outward. Hair flickering between its normal color and golden for a split second.

Mark coughs somewhere in the rubble. "Y/N—"

Your head snaps toward the sound. He’s trying to push himself up, one arm wrapped around his ribs, blood smeared across his cheek.

He’s looking at you now, eyes wide, expression torn between disbelief and something else—something softer.

You don’t like it.

You scowl, then turn back to your prey. You could end this fight right now. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be nothing but a crumpled mess of bone and flesh.

But Mark—damn him—is still watching.

And for some stupid reason, you care about what he sees.

With a growl, you throw the bastard across the street. Their body smashes through a lamppost before skidding to a limp halt. You don’t bother checking if they get up. If they know what’s good for them, they won’t.

The moment they’re gone, you stalk over to Mark, who is still gawking at you.

“Did you just—”

"Shut up," you snap, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet.

He stumbles slightly, and you automatically shift to steady him, one hand gripping his forearm.

He’s warm under your fingers, his breath still uneven from the fight. His eyes lock onto yours, searching.

Your jaw tightens. "If you die, I’ll be very pissed off."

Mark blinks, then—despite the blood on his lip, despite the bruises already blooming across his skin—he grins.

“You care about me,” he says, tone dripping with amusement.

Your eye twitches.

"You care about me," he repeats, sing-song, like he’s delighted about it.

You shove him, hard enough to make him stumble back. "I will end you."

Mark just laughs, wiping blood from his mouth. "Yeah, sure. Right after you finish avenging my honor."

You hate him. You hate that he’s right. You hate that you let yourself care.

And most of all—

You hate the way your stomach flips when he looks at you like that.

••••

It’s late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you don’t sleep much. Not like humans do.

So you sit alone on the edge of his rooftop, arms resting on your knees, staring up at the sky. The stars above are bright tonight, scattered across the inky black like shattered glass.

They stretch endlessly, far beyond Earth, far beyond this tiny planet with its weak gravity and fragile people.

Somewhere out there, a long time ago, there was a place you should have called home.

But Planet Vegeta is gone.

You don’t remember it. You were too young when it was destroyed, sent away before the blast could reach you. By the time you were old enough to ask questions, there was nothing left to return to—just empty space where your people once stood.

You should be used to it by now.

But some nights—like this one—your chest feels hollow.

The soft thud of footsteps behind you barely registers. You already know who it is.

Mark drops down beside you, not saying anything at first, just watching the sky with you.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected months ago.

Then, quietly, he asks, “You ever think about going back?”

You exhale slowly, gaze never leaving the stars. “Not really an option.”

Mark tilts his head. “Why not?”

Your fingers clench slightly. “Because there’s nothing to go back to.”

His expression shifts. "Oh."

You don’t like the pity in his voice. You shoot him a sharp glance. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lose my planet—I never had it to begin with.”

Mark studies you, his expression unreadable. "Still. That’s… a lot."

You scoff. "I manage."

Silence.

Then, softly—“Then maybe Earth is your home now.”

Your head snaps toward him, expecting mockery, but there’s none. No teasing, no sarcasm—just sincerity. Just Mark.

He looks at you like it’s an obvious answer, like it doesn’t matter that you’re not human, that you don’t belong here.

For the first time, you don’t scoff.

“…Maybe.”

••••

Mark is fidgeting.

You’ve been watching him shift awkwardly in place for the past two minutes, and you can’t decide whether you’re more entertained or secondhand embarrassed.

His hands keep clenching at his sides, like he can’t decide if he wants to put them in his pockets, cross his arms, or just gesture wildly. He rubs the back of his neck so much that you’re convinced he might actually rub his skin raw. And the way he’s shifting his weight from foot to foot?

Pathetic. Yet...cute.

Your brow arches. “Are you gonna say something, or are you just gonna stand there looking constipated?”

Mark flinches like you just punched him in the gut. “I—I have something I need to tell you.”

You cross your arms, tilting your head, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

He takes a deep breath, like that might somehow help him, then lets it out in a rush of air that makes him seem even more stressed.

His shoulders are too tense, his expression too strained, and his heartbeat—oh, his heartbeat is practically hammering through his chest. Is he nervous?

He’s never like this during fights. Even when he’s getting thrown through buildings, he usually keeps his cool, and pushing through with sheer stubbornness. But right now?

Mark looks like he might actually pass out.

“So, uh…” He drags a hand down his face, sighing. “I think I—no, I know I—uh—”

Your smirk widens. You can’t help it. “Spit it out, Invincible.”

That seems to make it worse. He groans, eyes squeezing shut, head tilting back like he’s begging the universe for patience.

Then, he just blurts it out.

“I like you, okay? A lot. A lot more than normal, And I know you probably think I’m beneath you, but—”

You don’t think.

You act.

Before he can finish whatever self-deprecating nonsense he was about to say, you grab the front of his suit and yank him forward, crashing your lips against his.

It’s instinct. It’s reaction. It’s the only thing you can do when faced with something that makes your chest feel tight.

For a second, he freezes.

Then, he melts into it.

His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and he’s so still. You realize he’s holding his breath, and maybe you are too. The world around you fades into nothing, like the only thing anchoring you to reality is the heat of his mouth against yours.

And then it’s over.

You pull back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, letting go of his shirt like it just burned you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, your face—damn it, why does your face feel hot?

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to cover your mouth, your brain screaming at you for what you just did.

Mark just… stares.

His mouth is slightly open, his eyebrows raised, his lips still parted like he’s still processing what just happened. There’s a deep flush creeping up his neck, painting his ears red, but—he’s not speaking.

Oh, universe.

Why isn’t he speaking?

Panic creeps up your spine like a slow-burning fire. You shouldn’t have done that. What if you���what if he—

“…You kissed me.” His voice is dazed, barely more than a whisper, and that’s when you snap.

You stiffen, looking anywhere but at him. “You were—talking too much.”

Slowly—too slowly—something shifts in his expression. The stunned silence fades, melting into something smug. His lips curl at the edges, the flush on his cheeks still present but no longer uncertain. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered victory.

His voice is annoyingly triumphant. “You like me.”

Your entire body locks up.

“No,” you say immediately.

Mark steps closer. “You so do.”

“I don’t,” you insist, but the way you’re backing up is not helping your case.

Mark follows, his confidence growing with every second. “You totally do. Oh my god.” He drags a hand down his face, but it’s not exasperation—it’s exhilaration. “I knew it.”

“You don’t know anything,” you mutter, face burning.

He grins. “You are so cute right now.”

Your hands clench into fists. “I will end you.”

“Oh, sure,” he teases. “But not before I kiss you again.”

You whip around so fast your hair nearly smacks him in the face. “I hate you.”

He has the audacity to laugh. A full, bright, obnoxiously victorious laugh.

“No, you don’t.”

Your mouth opens—probably to snap something back—but Mark just leans in, smirking.

“If it makes you feel better,” he muses, “I really enjoyed it.”

You go completely still, face burning impossibly warmer.

Mark grins wider, “And I know you enjoyed it too.”

Your eye twitches.

He laughs again, and you hate how much you don’t hate the sound of it.

[harukamitsuki]

I need Bakugou stans to realise that it's not that I hate him as a person. It's that I hate him as a character.

A lot of my favourite characters are unrepentant assholes, or assholes who are set to or have already been redeemed. Vegeta from DBZ, Ouma Kokichi from DGR: V3, Dio from JoJo, Laxus from Fairy Tail, Greed from FMA: B, Bill from Gravity Falls, and the list that goes on.

If a character is a terrible person, that's fine by me. But if the author tries and fails to redeem them, yet still acts as though they are suddenly this amazing person, that's when I have an issue with it.

Bakugou was originally written to be a minor antagonist, and that would have been fine, if Horikoshi didn't suddenly go "I drew him crying so imma fix him".

Redemption is such a complex yet simple thing to do. So when you try to do it and fail spectacularly, um, yeah, I do not enjoy that character or your writing.

That is my main issue with Bakugou. I do not think he deserved any redemption, not because he's a bad person, but because there is nothing to convince me that he could change.

He gets one scene where he goes, "boohoo I lost and everyone is stronger than me" then cries, and that's supposed to be enough for him to become a better person? That is nowhere near enough.

There was no moment that made me believe he genuinely regretted and took accountability for the abuse he put Izuku through in middle school.

"He changed!" That's not my issue. I don't care that he's changed. I care that I don't believe in it. If there was a plausible reason as to why he changed, then I would be fine with it. Maybe I'd even enjoy him!

The fact that he's changed doesn't mean shit if it's not believable.

"That was in middle school!" Okay. This one pisses me off the most. That was a year pre-canon? Oh, wow, I guess that's completely fine! It's not as if characters are the way they are based on their past. Oh, Itachi killed the Uchiha clan before canon! Okay, maybe comparing a massacre to bullying is a bit unfair. Still, just because it happened a year ago, it doesn't mean it never happened. It doesn't mean that he's changed considerably.

"Izuku doesn't have any lasting damage and forgave him!" And? Just because your friend forgives their bully, it doesn't mean you have to forgive them. And, again, I do not believe Bakugou's apology was good in anyway. He was trash-talking Izuku, blaming All Might for Izuku's behaviour, and didn't accept any culpability for what he did to him. He didn't tell anyone else what he did to Izuku. Also, if Izuku really didn't have any lasting damage from the bullying, then why did Bakugou's apology make him calm down? If he didn't care about the bullying, then why is he so relieved by the apology? BECAUSE HE WAS AFFECTED.

"Bakugou was being abused!" ... NO HE WASN'T!! Mitsuki is not abusive. Yes, she hit him round the back of his head. After he threatened her. Anyone with Asian parents can tell you that her hit does not hurt. Not only is it somewhat normal in Asian families, but it also doesn't hurt. We have no evidence that she is abusive. Horikoshi knows how to set up abusive families, as seen with the Todorokis. This not that. Either way, even if she was, being abused doesn't mean it's okay to abuse others. You can hurt without hurting others.

"It's the school and teacher's fault!" No, it's not. Part of the fault lies with them enabling him, but Bakugou is already fifteen when the series starts. His mother clearly doesn't agree with his attitude. The school is only partially to blame. Bakugou should have learned by himself what is right and what is not. In fact, he clearly does know considering he doesn't want any of that stuff on his records in case U.A. rejects him.

Again. I don't care if he's a terrible person. I care that he's a terrible character.

So the next time someone says that I'm stuck in Season One, take a moment and think about what you're saying. Bad people in fiction are entertaining. Bad characters are not.

[ms-scarletwings]

Irken Zim’s 8 biggest fans

For funsies! As we are well aware, this guy has a lot of gut-haters and censurers across the galaxy. Over his long years of life, he’s gained a proud infamy from every corner of the Irken empire, all the way to the fringes beyond, and the number of critics snapping at his heels only grows with every adventure. Whole civilizations sit at their seat’s edge waiting for this invader’s downfall, but what of those who defy all odds, expectations, maybe even logic? Even devils somehow find worshippers, even criminals get fan mail, and even Invader Zim has someone rooting for him within the 4th wall. Weirdly quite a handful of them, actually, let’s recount.

8. Table Headed Service Drone Bob

It’s humorous, how odd circumstance can make for strange advocacy. The show’s universe operates on the rule of funny, and Bob just so happened to be in the right place and time to comedically become the only Irken alive with something to gain from Zim’s success, and so much to lose for his failure. The sheer unfairness of what the Tallest put him through along with Zim serving some hope for a miracle ticket out of his low standing seemed to snap something in him, even if just for an episode. It would make sense for anyone in his position to have a much more dampened love for their society and leaders, to the point where cheering on its greatest enemy would be preferable than another moment of being a doormat. An underdog rooting for an underdog, even if for purely selfish and coincidental reasons.

7. The Judgementia Control brains

Even more deliciously ironic, isn’t it- That Zim’s praise was be sung once from the very bottom rung of Irken society and then again from the highest spike? What better to follow up poor Bobby than another victim of astronomical circumstance, or rather, three victims together? The nutshell recap of “The Trial’s” plot climax spells out the tragedy of, what is basically Irk’s highest court officials, to become he first ever victims of Zim’s malignant code becoming a contagion. They’ve joined the Fanclub, even if against their will, and all the better for Zim this time to have support from such a high place, seeing that it literally saved his hide in this instance.

6. Dib Membrane

Yeah, that’s freaking right. He’s on the list. You think being a hype man and a mortal rival are mutually exclusive? You either haven’t been watching enough DBZ or you haven’t been watching enough Hellsing and should fix that. Anyway, and I’m speaking within the actual canon dynamic of these two… it is very important to Zim that Dib is perceived as a formidable opponent to bluster his own ego, and vise versa. Dib is not in any self-serving position to accept what an actual mess Zim’s operation is, even though he has more evidence of the alien’s horrible tactics, nonsense plans, failures, etc. than anyone else on the planet. Gaz can see Zim for exactly what he is and why fighting him doesn’t have to be this 24/7 urgent priority. Dib refuses to get that because stopping Zim’s pop-up schemes only keeps the score tied for them. They’ve both been at this long enough to get incredibly frustrated with the lack of progression regarding the big picture goals, taking over the world, and exposing a live alien to the world, respectively. I don’t think he has to keep describing this space goblin as some ultra-cunning master of villainy, or GIR as this nefarious minion because that’s what he actually thinks of them, but because if he admits otherwise, that’s not a great reflection of his own merit for the obvious reasons. Just the presentation of another dimension’s version of himself succeeding against Zim before him causes a spiral of self doubt, just as it can bring Zim to a minor panic watching other invaders leaving him in the dust. Dib wants this guy to be a challenge worth the victory lap when he finally gets what he’s been fighting so hard for.

When Zim is getting on some truly idiotic antics, Dib doesn’t actually revel in his disorganized stupidity, but meets it with a baffled or annoyed disappointment. Like me watching a character I thought was super badass suddenly do something that reveals them to just be utterly lame. Too often he almost comes off like he is critiquing Zim’s performance as a villain rather than,, you know, the fact that Zim is a villain in the first place. It more than once has led to accidentally giving the guy new ideas or pointers on how to do his own job better once in a while. If I were in Dib’s place I would under NO circumstances be giving Zim advice or corrections on what he’s doing “badly” when it comes to the invader thing, but, whatever makes you feel cool & smart, you little dork. There’s also the whole “Dib’s hatred for Zim belies his geeky fixation with aliens broadly” angle I’ve mentioned here or there before, and don’t mind to again. Studying/stalking Zim is only partially about defeating him. His curiosity over Irken tech, biology, etc. is still coming from a place of genuine scientific passion, as literally all of us know. And of course, on occasion the two make for unlikely allies against much bigger shared enemies.

5. Minimoose

Oh come on, how much could I even have to say about this moose-weapon? He has two fathers and is fully aware that Zim is one of them. Assuming we all here know about the cute Florpus quote; no need to recap the whole existence of the lil guy.

4. Invader Skoodge

Now this guy… this guy ain’t right. Exactly here, at this (I say with love) loser of an invader, we reach two tipping points when it comes to Zim-affinity. One, the tipping point where Zim ceases to ask for and ceases to appreciate the toadying. Two, the point where I actually kind of struggle to find any rational explanation for the toady’s behavior. Like I’ve tried and I genuinely don’t know how to put together how Skoodge keeps jumping into this position other than ‘it’s that funny’ or some weird familiarity from smeethood factor. All of the invaders know what Zim has done and what he’s capable of. He’s a consistent terrorist of his own kin and defamed as the greatest disgrace to the Empire. The two options for how to feel about Zim as any random Irken soldier are fear, and/or loathing. If Skoodge were just neutral or indifferent of Zim, that’d be pretty freaking odd. But Skoodge interacts with Zim on the level of at least a lukewarm acquaintance, readily even deferring to his command, despite the fact that he nearly dies every single time he does so. He survives miles of being chased by a monster on Hobo-13, he makes it to the finish line, and his first reaction is to let Zim know he’s made it in one piece. He decides to lay low and slack off after getting fired (into the blighted surface of Blorch) and out of the entire universe to choose from, he decides to go hole up at Zim’s place and stay conveniently out of the way for some time. Dude finally shows himself in the unfinished scripts, and it’s to motherfucking help Zim troll around with Dib. I’m up at night wondering what is going on in Skoodge’s head because he’s n o t an idiot. He’s a real invader in all other respects, just as competent and nationalistic as the rest of them. Easily suggestible, yes, but not stupid. There’s basically no way for him to be ignorant of the big lie the Tallest sold Zim, yet he chooses not to utter a peep on the matter. Pity? A bizarre sense of solidarity?? A delusional one sided friendship??? Don’t look at me like I know other than the fact that he’s on our protag’s team, in spirit. The wannabe Irwin to Zim’s Billy, essentially.

3. Keef

So yeah of all things to blow Skoodge’s unhealthy attachment clean out of the water, we stumbled into this freak of a human child. Keef is a loyal compadre to a fault. A huge, creepy fault. Kid was originally supposed to make a return as well, wherein he was no less of a stubborn stalker than already proven once. And extra points for the irrational selflessness. Even while demonstrating an understanding of what Zim did in Dark Harvest, possibly even with the memory of that whole squirrel incident, he still wishes nothing but for the ability to put a smile on his green friend’s face.

2. The Amoeboid Cult

And when none thought that the scary conviction Zim garnered on Earth could be his biggest fans, you find this little ditty in the comics, and it starts turning into an irresponsible god analogy fairly quick. The short recap is that following a crash on a strange planet, the Voot Runner starts leaking fluids that inadvertently spark abiogenesis, which results in the creation of a rapidly evolving race of blob-things. Seizing an opportunity, Zim at first demands their followership, and then shortly after gets fed up with it as he did the previous fanatic on the list. Nonetheless, the cell people continue to reproduce and age thousands of years their time in the span of a couple minutes, never losing that zeal for their unintentional creator, even going so far as to repair the cruiser despite Zim’s rejection of them. Out of what little they gathered about him during his short visit, they correctly learned he’s a destructive god who planned to abandon them as soon as he could. Their last wish as a civilization? For this god to also obliterate them, as final treat. Such was their devotion that it even left Zim himself completely baffled for a moment when its full depth was revealed.

1. GIR

You watch this show, right? Yeah? Henchman and sidekick number one? Chaotic thing this whole fandom can’t decide to perceive as an adoptive child or a talking pet? He may not be as competent in pleasing Zim’s wishes as minimoose, or as focused, but his heart and loyalty are ultimately with their intended master, unconditionally and for as long as this setting has continued.

[bleachbleachbleach]

Hiiiii, re ur post abt goals and the whole being more active in the community thing -- I'll try to remember to interact with u more than just liking/reblogging things! I've been super quiet on my own blog since I had burnout two years ago but I'm trying to get back into doing more than just occasionally posting fic, and honestly I love a lot of ur head canon posts and metas etc. I probably won't read any of ur fic because I'm a Bit Weird in that for some reason I hate reading fic in the fandoms I write for (but still love metas and headcanons? Brains sure are weird) but everything else I'll try to actually Write Words instead of letting my thoughts stay in my head!

This is such a sweet message! <3333333

I would totally welcome conversation, and it’s great to know that you are open to it, too. Because I feel like Tumblr as a platform runs on a parallel play model on purpose, and most people probably just want to do that, and my hesitation in going full throttle about using Tumblr the way I would want is my fear that it is going to be obnoxious/overbearing/overwhelming (e.g. driving people to madness via “Why is this person talking to me… I didn’t want to talk to them...”).

It’s so funny you should say that, re: enjoying hcs/meta but not fanfic in your writing fandoms, because I think about that divide a lot! Half the time I spend writing most* headcanon posts is actually time spent workshopping “sooooo…. how do I say this without saying ‘well, in my fanfic…’” because it’s probably something I already wrote in fanfic or notes for fanfic, but 1) I want to talk to people about it, and the chances that I will get to if it’s written in a fanfic are fairly slim, and 2) I want to hear other people’s versions of it, too. In their fanfic, if they write fanfic, but also their posts or tags!

But that can be complicated because in my mind, [insert headcanon post topic] tends to be fairly situated in context—the context of fic things having happened, or things that are going to happen, or thematic undercurrents/relationships—so it becomes a project in trying to make the proposition NOT sound completely bananas without that context/something being written in a particular way. Which can sometimes be its own kind of fun and is sometimes like “good grief, I could have simply been writing more fanfic!” (I feel like I should emphasize here that no one should feel obligated to read my fanfic. I mean, I want people to want to read it! But I very much do not want anyone to feel like they Have To or like they need to explain why they’re not!)

Our approaches are opposite, in that my brain is fanfic forward, both for myself and for others’ fanfic. But I do feel like a lot of RP blogs share your orientation re: not wanting to read other versions of the character they write for! I don’t know if this is where you, specifically, are coming from, but I’ve read on some of the RP blogs that it has a lot to do with having a strong investment in their own particular color on things, and wanting that centered and front of mind. (Which isn’t to say that sentiment isn’t true of most people, I think, because otherwise they wouldn’t write them that way—it’s true of me—but ymmv on how much someone wants to see the other iterations.)

For me, I know that I’m a lot less adventurous about Interpretations That Excite Me for my blorbos than other characters I might read for. Like, to use a silly example, in my mind Soi Fon is 100% Lesbian (which stands out in my headcanon space because I generally assume most everyone in Bleach would be on some level willing to get down with most anyone else), but did I click on Soi Fon/Vegeta when I came across it anyway? Absolutely I did. I barely know who Vegeta is. But my down-to-clown boundaries with Soi Fon are very low, nearly tabula rasa, so go get Vegeta, girl!!!! Whereas for like, Hitsugaya, I’m probably not going to read Hitsugaya/Vegeta because I am not actually a crossover person, my knowledge of DBZ is limited to The Osmotic Experience of Having Grown Up in the 90s, and my favorite version of Hitsugaya’s sex life is the absence of one.

*Of course, there are other headcanons posts in the omake/filler vein that are simply too dumb (affectionate) for me to want to write full fanfic of, like the Gotei regatta or the Gotei bowling league, or that “I think the average shikai user would probably be pretty good at driving a car but they would NOT be considerate or lawful users of said car” post.

[flightyalrighty]

came from the other side….saw a ongoing thread about your comic (b u l l e t s & s h o e s) ….as much I like canon as the next guy, I get lowkey angry when they try to hard apply that logic in…a comic that has Sonic covered in guts and blood of his baby brother…like buddy we are WAYYY past canon at that point! Literally just have fun with your story, not everything has to be 100% explained and we all have our own headcanons and takes on said things. 👍 Also get some rest, looks like you need that.

LOL OH YOU SAW ALL THAT HUH

Yeah so like the thing about me is that I care way more about Sonic and Shadow as characters than, say, well. Weapons? I know there's that DBZ influence and all but I do NOT care about power levels. I Do Not Care about whether or not Sonic can slam himself fist-first into a guy at the speed of blammo whammo and explode his head, like I don't care! I don't! I don't!!

So anyone over Yonder in the bird space arguing with me about how Sonic is sooo so strong and could beat up all the G.U.N. soldiers and rescue Shadow all on his own and explode all the bugs with his mind, stakes me damned, just... Immediately lose my interest. Like. That's just so boring to me.

Who cares about power levels. This is a horror comic about grief, not a shonen manga where Sonic's guaranteed to save the day in the end. It's exhausting to do a bunch of research to see what is and isn't possible only for a buncha nerds to come sauntering up trying to argue why the story shouldn't happen because Sonic's the strongest actually and Shadow's immune to being sliced in half with a table saw.

I understand this is inspired by an All Ages series, but boy does it sure seem like. Idk. Juvenile? My dad can beat up your dad kinda shit? Can Superman Kill Goku If He Punches Him In The Throat At Max Strength? I don't care. I really don't. I just wanna tell a story that stirred some personal feelings in me, and that came from a lot of internal shit already that came spilling out.

Is it a little silly to say I want my bug zombie sonic the hedgehog story a little more grounded than what we're used to? Maybe. But that's okay. I'm making what I wanna make and what I wanna see, and THAT is what matters.

Also I'd LOVE to rest but if I rest I'm gonna have to crunch next Wednesday again. I'm trying so hard to break free from the cycle. God. God, the cycle. Someone's gotta kill that witch.

[nemhaine42]

28.03.25 | just a page of OC drawings inspired (or as background to) the scouters as ancient artifacts post

i've never found creating OCs particularly easy, so my girly there who nicks a dead man's scouter doesn't really have a lot of details to her. she doesn't even really have name. i mean, she has a placeholder name (which i dare not speak or type for fear of it becoming prematurely set in stone), but since groups of people in DBZ have naming themes i still need to decide what theme to use.

creating a saiyan OC is made a little easier by that stuff coming from canon: vegetable themed names, a general appearance of medium-light skin with dark hair, and a PTO uniform. i like the father of goku movie quite a lot (despite it essentially being retconned but whatever. haunt me, toriyama-sensei), in which the saiyans seem to have a lot more variation and personality in their uniforms. i very much enjoy the idea that they were 'allowed' that level of non-standardised uniforms because they generally brought home the bacon for the PTO and trying to get all of them to agree and wear the same shit as each other and everyone else was simply deemed not worth the effort. It's also an aspect of saiyan culture that is lost when they're all killed. Vegeta, Nappa and Raditz have significantly less customised uniforms that those who came before them.

anyway, this is my guy - Atzuki (after adzuki beans, with a small spelling alteration to match the 'tz' which is already present in Raditz' name), he was a spy for the royal family in a base that is essentially a scouter factory since that planet has a shit-tonne of glass manufacturing. Instead of returning to vegeta-sei on Frieza's orders he hides in the walls, tío bruno style. he can't reach out via scouter to Vegeta, Nappa, or Raditz because everyone else is listening too so he'll be caught immediately so he just waits. he survives long enough to find out that planet namek gets blown up and the last prince of saiyans along with it. the PTO collapses and the bases on whatever-that-planet-is-going-to-be-called are abandoned. there is no-one left to rescue him. Atzuki has spent decades hiding and not training or fighting so most of his strength has atrophied. he can't even risk the locals finding him because they will surely want to put his head on a pike for what his people and the PTO have done to them, and by that stage he's starting to realise he might deserve it. so he seals all the doors to the base, squirrels himself away in the deepest recesses of his hideout, confesses his sins on his scouter but doesn't send it to anyone, and the blows his own brains out.

and after some time, his shiny scouter is prised from his cold, dead, dessicated fingers by our girly there who has broken in to his base to look for resources to reuse. which is why i've given her PTO style boots. in her mind there's no sense trying to scrape together the money and materials to have a new pair of shoes made when her planet is littered with caches of military gear designed to fit a huge variety of people and it's all just sitting there for the taking. her community is not of a like mind, they just about tolerate her boots but she's fairly sure they'd draw the line at a scouter.

... and then i don't really know what. like i said, making OCs and stories to go along with them is hard. the end.

[chaos0pikachu]

hi! it's the one piece anon, this time off anon, lmao, thanks for the answer!

watching one piece for the first time as a adult with no prior attachment to it is wild, btw—and makes you want to take sanji and throw him into an active volcano about 100 times per episode, akbsjdjdj

i actually have no idea what my favourite arc would be so far, tbh, i enjoyed alabasta solely because of crocodile—i love me a horrible man who has a plan and executes it :)—and thriller bark was a good time, and now impel down is fun because stakes! i love stakes! i keep complaining to my friend that no 'death' ever really sticks, lmao, and now having accidentally spoiled myself i know that at least one will, akhsjdjdj

also, i have So Many opinions, it's insane, so glad that my friend knows i'm a yapper and analyser at heart and wanted to watch (in her case rewatch) the show with me because of that, lmao, and i am looking forward to when we are in a place where it's safe to engage with fandom stuff because man, i wanna yap so bad about this show

(and we are watching Everything which means no skipping the bad parts—we have seen sanji be on the second maiden isle react like the biggest douche and yeah.....that was fun :) truly)

(also, zoro is just. great, i love that man <3 especially because my sense of direction is just slightly better than his)

(this got very long, oops)

please don't apologize I fucking love talking about one piece lmao I literally bard the series to a friend b/c they don't wanna watch 1000+ episodes and they don't read manga but they really like the series (and loved OPLA)

Sanji is....sigh. Like the Whole Cake arc with him is great, like it's really strong and Sanji at his peak. There's times when I really like Sanji - one of my favorite small moments is when he gives Ussop his goggles back in Alabasta sanji/ussop gets no love b/c ussop is ugly even tho they're a great ship rip. Another great moment is when he gives Nami his jacket in Little Garden, and when he helps Violet in Dressrosa, like, when Sanji's compassion is front and center he's GREAT.

The problem is Sanji is a product of a very old shounen trope - the perverted man gag - quoting myself here but it's an age old gag - DBZ has Oolong, and Master Roshi, Inu-yasha has Miroku, Naruto has Jiraiya, Ranma 1/2 has Master Happosai - just to list some off the top of my head. Sanji's gag isn't new and it's not even unique. If there's any difference its that Sanji is just better developed than most - not all, but most - of these types of chars. Which creates a big dissonance with how western fans deal with and discuss Sanji.

I hate the gag but like, it's canon, Oda isn't writing for me he's writing for teenage (Japanese) boys first and foremost. It is what it is and I just take Sanji as is and am glad OPLA toned him the fuck down.

Crocodile is a fandom fave for a reason, he's such a deliciously fun antagonist and I'm glad he came back in Impel Down and is still around even after that.

Ngl I almost dropped the series b/c of Alabasta LOL sorry guys! It's one of my least favorite arcs of the series I felt like it dragged so damn hard. It introduced so many important characters - Vivi, Ace, Crocodile, Robin - and plots - the weapons - but omggggg I was bored at times.

Water 7 is probably my favorite arc, maybe followed by Wano? Idk I'm apparently one of the weird fans who likes a lot of the post-timeskip arcs. I think Dressrosa is a great arc and also up there for me. I liked Skypiea well enough - and it becomes stronger with time - but I'm meh on Little Garden, East Blue Saga doesn't get good until Sanji imo when we get into the Nami stuff which IS one of my fave arcs of the series, I like Thriller Bark than most the halloween stuff is great, but my favorite arcs are all post-timeskip except Water 7 Saga.

The death stuff is something a lot of fans talk about and I've learned that Oda has addressed this. Basically he said he doesn't like drawing characters who die - ironic considering other things that happen in the story lmao - he wants to keep the story a kid friendly adventure and doesn't wanna draw char deaths. So you get Pell and that dude in Skypiea lol Oda

Zoro is great, I hope he never gets a "new" backstory b/c I like his normal ass backstory not all the straw hats need to have secret tragic backstories! Let my man be moderately normal, have bad direction and wanna dedicate his entire self to his Captain :3

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Seeing Pleasantspark’s posts along with other fandom stuff made me wanna say these:

Not everyone is obligated to put every existing thing in their works. That’ll be too overwhelming and people-pleasing, leading to severe burnouts...

Some series at least make distinctive designs between angels and demons.

Kirby (Nintendo) diversity: Awww, look at those cutie pies! There’s the puffballs, waddling heads, short legged humanoids, sentient smart animals, and so much more!

Dragon Ball’s character diversity: We got the buff guys, skinny folks and chubby dudes from humanity to aliens to gods and demons… Some alien races are still thriving while others are sadly extinct or just barely hanging on with the pure bloods and hybrids…

Umm, while I respect the internet going against Sweet Baby Inc. for disrespecting the deceased Akira Toriyama in 2024… (the rabid woke idiots get what they deserve for their immature behavior) I hear that the DBZ community are suddenly dissing the dead creator over the newer series for being a bit different!? How rude!

Even the furry fandoms and series featuring animals did diversity more respectfully and realisticall!

HH/HB character diversity: How many ppl are skinny? Like 90% of Heaven, Hell and the mortal world? Hypocrisy and protagonist centered morality get along so much don’t they? So if this girl/guy does it he’s the most awful creature out there?

*I’ve seen several folks in anime communities standing their ground against poorly done diversity like blackwashing on already well designed characters. I was like “What TF did they do to *insert character*!? Can’t these lazy dumbasses make their own OCs or cosplaying as canon characters!? Don’t we already have well written black characters to praise like Static Shock/Virgil Hawkins written in the 2000s? So if it’s whitewashing a dark skinned character it’s automatically a crime for you twats huh? Some mixed races have different skin tones and features, not just the dominant traits. Unless you’re doing a mixed race having a high % of that race’s DNA!”

Stritzo anon

Awesome you got a good perspective.

[insufficientdata]

You know, my favorite DBZ movie has to be The Return of Cooler

Goku one-offs this guy in the first movie, then he comes back with a new, cybernetic body thats slimmer, more efficient, more deadly, and chrome. Goku and Vegeta (who was won over by Goku's acceptance of his Saiyan heritage, learning to fight for something other than fun or survival) are forced to team up in ways neither of them have experienced since Goku was a child with Krillin and Vegeta was still holding Rank.

The fight is riveting, it tears both of them apart, finally ending with a gorgeous finish (Vegeta walloping the arm off Cooler). He collapses and so do our two heroes heaving great gasps of relief, enjoying the release. Just then, over a nearby cliff, a chrome wall stands. Dozens of Coolers begin sliding down the edge. Heartbreaking. Single-digit-aged me knew my favorite people were about to die. They fight hard, harder than they fought the first, but are overwhelmed. Everything goes black.

Turns out, the real Cooler -so damaged by Goku's spirit bomb- could not actually repair his body as cleanly as his robot army made it seem. He is barely a head, with electrical cables as ubiquitous, tentacle-like nerve endings. Our heroes wake up suspended in air over a vast chasm with enough light to see the round walls above, and Cooler's broken face. Its terrifying. They're in his wires, still beaten and dying. What Cooler wants is no longer revenge for Frieza's death, its gone beyond vengeance. He wants his body back, and to do that he needs saiyan power. Slowly, the wires drain the electrical energy from Vegeta and Goku's bodies.

I was afraid. I didn't know what would come next. Its a short movie, mind you, but youth is long.

The two of them scream. Not the war cries of brothers in bond, but the tired anguish of souls overstretched. Together they die, life force sucked away, giving Cooler enough power to take home to his labs. Just then, a spark ignites from their bodies. Energy pours into Cooler's wires as he panics. My heart soars. They're overloading his batteries. He wonders aloud how they could possibly have anything left, and I will offer this, as the movie gives no explanation: The same pride that made Vegeta cry, begging Goku to find attachment to his bloodline, which became the first step in Goku's transformation to super saiyan, was raising them from the dead.

A final surge destroys Cooler. The movie ends with them needing to be picked up by their friends, but before that happens, they lie together once again triumphant after surmounting the insurmountable. Its a beautiful moment and foundational movie for me- always struggling with teamwork, friendship and strength. I have many feelings for stories like it (sci fi, horror, fantasy powers, and dipping into the horrid swamp of despair to come out clean on the other side). Its the best parts of DBZ in one, and essential to forming the relationship Goku and Vegeta have (though i dont think its canon).

It feels good to love something so much. Ive denied myself the ability to desire what those two had for years. As I relearn to face myself, I can't help but return to that movie. I need a friend and I miss being fearlessly loyal, life's empty without those things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will endeavor to keep my heart full. I will paint only black. Live only in darkness. And in its grace, its love- return to the egg.

[degenerate-otaku]

These are both so interesting!

I wonder if Saiyans and Tuffles even had children with each other... but it was likely something deemed wrong by both cultures.

I reckon the Tuffles were rather snobby towards the Saiyans and had a slight saviour complex, but the Saiyans were being treated like idiots and lived very separate lives.

What do you think about the Tuffles/Tsufurujins? Do you have any headcanons about them?

Finally getting around to answering asks! (Work has been something else.)

I don't actually have any specific headcanons about them!

I do generally subscribe to the basic lore that the saiyans did not originate from Vegeta-sei/Planet Vegeta, though. That they conquered it after coming from somewhere else.

I made up...a ton of lore concerning this, but to go in-depth about it would involve a lot of spoilers for my pre-DBZ fic, so...

But! There's a lot to wonder about: If saiyans didn't come from Vegeta-sei and had to conquer another planet, why did they do so? Did something happen to their original home? Were they abused or enslaved by someone else like they were by Freeza? Were they just greedy and bloodthirsty and liked another planet more? Lots of interesting things to play with here!

In my own head, I like to think that, wherever they originally came from, the first Super Saiyan helped them defeat their enemies and establish a home of their own. Maybe this has happened a few times throughout history, even! Perhaps saiyans evolved from a small population that was taken from one planet and wandered space, adapting to become strong, until one of them transformed and helped them find a planet of their own.

I'd love to hear other people's headcanons!

[gokubrain]

watching fusion reborn again and i need to talk about it before my head erupts tw for insane delusional rambling about a non canon anime movie that came out in 1995

the whole scene where theyre discussing fusion is like such a vital kakavege moment in history LMAO like it starts off with goku diving into a pile of NEEDLES (which he has a phobia of, if u dont recall) without hesitation to catch vegeta and safely escort him to the ground. wild detail to add guys but what do i know lmao

the conversation uses crazy language like goku saying “youre going to fuse with me” and “there’s no other way, you must know that” among other lines implying he knows vegeta well enough to predict his reactions in this situation which you KNOW is my shit i love when goku and vegeta show that they know each so well

goku’s stupid “vegetaaa youre already dead” followed by the weirdly long animation of vegeta’s annoyed face isnt relevant but it is super funny

also not that important but the way goku and vegeta say each other’s names over and over again its like every other word out of their mouth is each other’s names it’s so gay dude

then the scene after where goku runs to vegeta’s aid only to stop before touching him cuz he knows vegeta doesnt want his help, this kills me this kills me so bad

FOLLOWED BY VEGETA BREAKING DOWN AND CRYING, LIIIIIKE OKAY ALRIGHT THATS A LEVEL OF VULNERABILITY I WOULDNT EXPECT VEGETA TO SO CASUALLY DISPLAY IN FRONT OF GOKU LIKE ..! DAMN LMAO.. also goku trying to console him after is so good omg

then of course the line “i guess fusion is out of the question huh. you have your pride as a saiyan prince and everything” this is the kind of line that whenever i hear it i need to be sedated in order to calm down like oh my GOD. goku is just unreal. he knows and cares about vegeta SO much he’s so understanding of vegeta’s feelings he’s so fucking crazy in love with him it makes me nauseous not to even mention that this like definitely makes vegeta reconsider fusion after hearing because almost immediately after he says “kakarot, perform fusion with me” AND AGAIN WITH THIS CHOICE OF LANGUAGE.. perform fusion with me.. no suggesting no asking just straight up “okay kakarot we’re doing it.” it wasnt we’re going to perform fusion, or i will perform fusion with you, but simply perform fusion with me. wild dude. insane.

AND DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THEIR FINAL INTERACTION. vegeta saying “kakarot i never want to perform fusion with you again” with the biggest smile ive ever seen him have and goku laughing in response and just saying “see u later vegeta” GODDDUUGGHHH WHAT THEFUCK !!

fusion reborn is a banger of a dbz movie dude esp for kakavege fans like its the best argument we have in kakavege’s name lmao. its just goku and vegeta being vulnerable with each other and fighting a bad guy together and having fun with literally no one else involved its just a fun little adventure they go on together that no one ever really knows about <3

TL;DR im pretty normal overall about fusion reborn…!!