Dbz - Blog Posts

I did something for @itsmemaroi and @pastel-kaleesh helped me out on it cuz I forgot what frost's skin color was

This is what @itsmemaroi wanted cuz he wanted the expression from this weird animal pic on his blog

Does NOBODY notice that Gemini man from megaman 3 and cooler from dbz look almost EXACTLY ALIKE???!!!

I keep having weird dreams about king cold wanting me to help him through his pregnancy even though I keep telling him that I never had any children 😂

Tagging: @lord-bleed @bliss-wily @icejinlov3r @anonymous-harpy @pastel-kaleesh @furipasart

cute king cold mpreg headcanons:

He likes curling up in his blankets while he's touching his belly like this

He likes to be acknowledged for becoming pregnant at his age

He makes it a pact that every night he devotes his his free time to himself and his unborn child

During the pregnancy he gets a glowup but before the glowup he has to shed

But he loves taking baths

He wants to give birth where his father gave birth to him at which is at a pond not to far from the castle

He gets very sleepy

That's all for now!

Tagging: @zamisriza-the-resurrection @icejinlov3r @lovely-eve @monsterartt @iggyredacted @anonymous-harpy @bliss-wily @friku8706 @cold-doodles

Here, I'll give you each a piece of what frieza, cooler and king cold would say to their unborn children when they feel the first kick. OK here goes!

Frieza:

"Mmm... Mmm? What's this? ......... I felt it again! Is this... what... carrying and making new life is like? Its an odd feeling... it feels good. Child, keep it up. You're making me proud."

Cooler:

"Mmm! W-what a sensation! It feels so good to have Something-or someone- of my own... my little one, I truly love you."

King cold:

"My, it is truly marvelous to feel this feeling once more. Simply miraculous. My dear little one, I truly adore you."

Tagging: @lord-bleed @lovely-eve @friku8706 @anonymousharpy @pastel-kaleesh @monsterartt @iggyredacted

@lovely-eve !!!??? U like ma weird shit!? I thought no one would like it...

I'll just put one thing frieza, cooler and king cold would do while pregnant cuz that's my headcanon of their reproduction.

Frieza:

He'd nap alot cuz it's kinda tiring giving his power to a little being inside of him sucking up his nutrients.

Cooler:

He'd actually admire himself and his growing belly cuz he waited and waited for a baby to show up and now he has one.

King cold:

He'd cry alot of the time but he wouldn't get mad or anything. He'd also love his baby belly too.

Tagging: @friku8706 @icejinlov3r @frostyduo @pastel-kaleesh @lovely-eve @lord-bleed @bliss-wily

Remember what I said about that cereal box at the store? Well, here it is!

Songs that make me think of

Tagging: @amiz06-certified-b1mb0 @cold-doodles @lilfriezatyrant @lord-bleed @zaphiregz

This my dbz oc Luna. She's android 18's sister. 18 found her and made her like the rest. But her memories and personality are still intact.

Dragon Ball Fic Idea

I’m sure someone has likely written something along these lines before but this is just a thought I’ve had. So the Saiyans are all but extinct, but they’re a tough warrior race so there’s believable odds that more than just Vegeta, Raditz and Napa survived the destruction of their planets. I’d find it interesting to have Vegeta and Goku have to handle some group of Saiyans that managed to stay hidden, with like political intrigue and culture clash or whatever. Especially considering Goku is supposedly a third class Saiyan or whatever who managed to go Super Saiyan, not to mention everyone else on Earth. I read an interesting fic where the author suggested that the adrenaline Gohan, Goten and Trunks inherited from their mothers makes the jump to Super Saiyan easier than it is for full blooded Saiyans. That would be a really interesting idea in the context of a larger group of Saiyans, especially if, like, most of them are men and they haven’t really been able to find a compatible species or anything. Actually, that last idea coming into play during the Vegeta Saga would be super interesting. Like, Raditz comes to find Goku only once he learns about Gohan and his priorities completely shift because, holy shit, his baby brother found a compatible mate. That could be a potentially huge idea for them. Maybe have it be a full on AU where Vegeta is secretly working to undermine Frieza and has a group of hidden Saiyans working as a rebellion or something. I don’t know, there’s a lot of ideas you could play with. Just food for thought.

DBZ is notorious for handwaving away injuries for plot convenience, be it by senzu bean or by sheer saiyan machismo. I enjoy that for the sake of fluidity of  action, but here I wanted to ignore that and actually spend some time with Future!Gohan and the aftermath of the loss of his arm.

Plus, I love Future!Bulma’s design and I wanted to flesh out her dynamic with Gohan and Trunks.

Seguir leyendo

Drawing like there's no tomorrow...

The latin Spanish dubbing cast.

Carlos Segundo, Eduardo Garza, René García, Mario Castañeda and the new Gohan voice: Luis Manuel Ávila <3

Chapter 59 of the Dragon Ball Super manga demonstrated something I really really like about Dragon Ball Super, specifically the anime (but now seemingly the manga, starting with the end of the ToP) - it brought back technique into the fights.

Not so much BoG or RoF, but the U6 tournament was a great start for that.

Most of the Z portion of the story became about just punching really hard with maybe lone exceptions here and there, but however simple, the U6 fights introduced strategy back into the fights.

In the anime version Goku ringing out Botamo, Vegeta dealing with inconvinient conditions in the Mageta fight, Piccolo using his techniques against Frost and Frost using trickery himself and Hit having to be figured out before he can be beaten showed that.

The Future Trunks arc stepped back from that a little, but we still at the very least had the Mafuba brought up and the ToP went in there full force with ultimately teamwork (the team-up between Freeza, 17 and Goku) and technique (Ultra Instinct) being the main players that won it all.

Krillin's couple of victories came from smarts and teamwork. Roshi's contributions were almost entirely technique-based. Gohan and Piccolo were excellent team strategists. Caulifla and Kale/Kefla literally lost because Goku was so much more experienced and skilled and Jiren almost lost to Krillin's Destructo Disc. This goes for several other fights.

This not only fixes much of the monotony of the fights, it also brings the story back on track thematically.

It already does this by making the weaker members' progress worth something more than it was for a long time (making it so hard work pays off for everyone, not just the saiyans) - even Tenshinhan eliminated someone when he was ringed out (in the anime at least).

I think it still could be better in terms of side character contribution, but that's much much better to me than most of the Z portion of the story to me.

In addition to that, though, this says power isn't everything, which is a massively important part of what the story is actually about: self-improvement and also martial arts. You can grow in many ways: to be a better person (Vegeta and Piccolo), to be a more confident or braver person (Gohan) or to gain direction, patience and skill (Goku).

The Broly movie follows that principle in fun show-don't-tell ways: Goku's fighting being much more technical than Vegeta's and Gogeta's delibrate and skillful fighting being a strong contrast to Broly's mindless power.

The story has slowly been moving back into where it started and this fight with Moro is a further return to that: after several fights that were power vs. skill, this is now a fight of skill vs. skill.

Moro's magical technique that blocked Goku's hands, his illusion technique and his telekinesis with which he pulled Goku towards him offered some great ideas in this fight to counter UI.

UI's weaknesses and effectiveness are also appropriate and smart to me.

I have wondered how UI could counter Moro's energy absorption for a while now, but it being speedy enough so that Moro can't lock on Goku's energy is logical and smart.

It needing a lot of energy is a typical handicap, but not necessarily a bad one.

What I do like is that it sets up Goku for a natural loss, not a forced one to possibly just set Vegeta on a pedestal.

Him possibly winning still reeks of Toyotaro's favoritism of Vegeta and I personally don't see anything that would add to Vegeta's character - a character's value is always in what substance their moments have rather than the scale of their moments or whether they win or lose in my eyes, so I don't particularly care for that, but as said, I 100% appreciate to return to more technique-based fighting and this whole chapter is exactly that.

I wish the art backed the ideas much better, but I think it's still just a really good fight.

To people who saw the beerus vs galaxia death battle, was it accurate?

I haven’t seen jack about either show so…

— 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.

Kakavege Week: Day 6 — Regaining Oozaru

@kakavegeweek

plus here’s a lil bonus drawing :3

Kakavege Week: Day 5 — Embarrassed

@kakavegeweek

Kakavege Week: Day 5 — Another Planet

@kakavegeweek

Kakavege Week: Day 4 — Underwear

@kakavegeweek

Kakavege Week: Day 4 — Off-World Shenanigans

@kakavegeweek

Kakavege Week: Day 3 — Hot Tub

@kakavegeweek

Kakavege Week: Day 3 — Exhibitionism

@kakavegeweek

⚠️TW for blood⚠️

Kakavege Week: Day 2 - Bad Luck

@kakavegeweek

⚠️TW for blood⚠️

Kakavege Week: Day 2 - Alternate Timeline

@kakavegeweek

Just some guys being dudes,,,, and developing trauma in the process

Anyways, here’s part one the U13 au master doc! But just a disclaimer here though for any one wanting to read this. I know from what I’ve posted so far of this au has been pretty tame, but this has a very mature storyline with blood/intense gore, themes of depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc. I’ve made a full list of potential triggers at the end of my statement on the first page of the Google Doc but I’m just putting this here as an extra precaution.

If you are in anyway uncomfortable with the themes present in this au then this is not a good story for you. These sections can get pretty heavy so if you do want to read this, I encourage you to take breaks. This is 131 pages long so far and I’m only just getting started with it.

Hopefully by the time part two eventually gets finished, the story will wind down a bit because, c’mon this is DBZ we’re talking about. It’s not always filled with gritty and serious writing, it also has comedy. The only reason as to why it gets as dark as it does in here is because the past behind the Saiyans, Frieza's tyranny, the whole ✨blowing up a planet and killing off it’s entire population thang✨ is some of the darkest shit in the show. And because that shit is being elongated over 10 year period in this au, shit’s bound to get darker as a result.

So aside from that, happy reading! :)

I’ve worked on this doc for a solid several months at this point and I think you guys are gonna really love what I have so far. Thank you so much for the support on the au, enjoy my little ref sheet up top for Kakarot and Vegeta, and I hope you like it! Let me know if there’s anything I can improve on in my writing for this.

Google Docs

U13 AU Master Doc

Universe 13 AU Master Doc Warning: This is not meant to be associated with DragonBall, DragonBall Z, or DragonBall Super canon. This is pur

More sketches of my u13 au but this time, a full view of their wedding attire! (featuring Turles, Bulma, and Gine helping em get ready ^^)

I can’t wait for when I get done writing the first few arcs of the au in my master doc! Just need to get done with some assignments first but I promise it’ll be done! (Eventually 😅)

TLDR: This is my headcanon for how I believe Saiyans wedding traditions work! (At least in U13)

Hopefully my writing isn’t too small but in case it is, I’ll just quote it all below. Enjoy! (Also here’s another rupphire inspired drawing,,,, hope y’all don’t mind lol)

“The earring is also important. Similar to a wedding ring, it symbolizes marriage. The cuff earrings are typically made of brass and can be easily customized, usually with engravings on the inside. Unlike in human culture, there isn’t another set. There is only one set, it’s only the positioning that changes. Each partner gets one cuff for the opposite ear. When engaged, each will position it on the lower part of the ear. Once married, they will place it higher up.”

“The earring is also important. Similar to a wedding ring, it symbolizes marriage. The cuff earrings are typically made of brass and can be easily customized, usually with engravings on the inside. Unlike in human culture, there isn’t another set. There is only one set, it’s only the positioning that changes. Each partner gets one cuff for the opposite ear. When engaged, each will position it on the lower part of the ear. Once married, they will place it higher up.”

“The earring is also important. Similar to a wedding ring, it symbolizes marriage. The cuff earrings are typically made of brass and can be easily customized, usually with engravings on the inside. Unlike in human culture, there isn’t another set. There is only one set, it’s only the positioning that changes. Each partner gets one cuff for the opposite ear. When engaged, each will position it on the lower part of the ear. Once married, they will place it higher up.”

“The earring is also important. Similar to a wedding ring, it symbolizes marriage. The cuff earrings are typically made of brass and can be easily customized, usually with engravings on the inside. Unlike in human culture, there isn’t another set. There is only one set, it’s only the positioning that changes. Each partner gets one cuff for the opposite ear. When engaged, each will position it on the lower part of the ear. Once married, they will place it higher up.”

“When proposing, the earring will be tied to the flower’s stem.”

“When proposing, one person will present the flower with the earring tied to it to their significant other and ask if they accept the proposal.”

“If the answer is a definitive ‘yes,’ then the recipient will take the earring and put the flower in the presenter’s hair.”

“If the answer is ‘yes, but not right now,’ then the recipient will put the flower in their own hair but give the earring to the presenter. They will keep it until the both of them are ready.”

“If the recipient is unsure or needs to still think about it, then they’ll take the earring but not the flower and will take it only if they accept it.”

“If the answer is ‘no,’ then the recipient won’t take anything at all.”

“Saiyan wedding ceremonies are a lot less extravagant than human ones. Each partner will wear something significant to their family line and that’s as far as it goes dress-wise. However for Kakarot and Vegeta, that wasn’t the case as they went all out and had a Human-Saiyan mixed wedding since they got married on Earth, partly as an act of unity between Planet Vegeta and humanity (officially).”

“That’s a story for another time. Sorry!”

*pointing at Vegeta* “Wearing his father’s old coronation attire as a wedding suit”

*pointing at Kakarot’s shoes* “Part of father’s old headband”

“The flower is used in the ceremony by cultivating its seeds and blending them into a strong and potent drink. This drink is said to give anyone who drinks it a longer lasting life along with a small power boost. Consuming it symbolizes an unbreakable bond, ever lasting even after death. This part is usually presented by both of the couple’s families, however it’s more acceptable nowadays to have it be presented by an elder of either of their respected communities. The only people allowed to drink this beverage is the couple.”

*pointing at both Kakarot and Vegeta* “kneeling”

*pointing at Bardock* “Yes, Bardock is alive in this AU!

“But be careful, it’s quite an eclectic taste.”

Vegeta: *thinking* Bitter…

“After that part of the ceremony has ended, each partner will move their earrings up. They are married and the reception will begin!”

“With lots of food obviously.”

Guess what?? Another U13 au sketch dump lmao

Also for those wondering about the earrings they have on, no they’re not destroyer earrings. They’re wedding earrings! This concept was inspired by @nessguts but I decided to add some more world-building because who doesn’t like more Saiyan lore? :D I might make a separate post about it later so I don’t make this one too long lol but in the meantime, enjoy this fluff of U7 meeting their U13 counterparts.

💕💘 Happy belated Valentines Day everyone! 💕💘 :))

I’ve been listening to some vocaloid/utau/vsynth songs lately and thought it’d be funny to see U13 Vegeta singing “Romeo and Cinderella” to a flustered U13 Kakarot lol.