Do you ever think you'll stop drawing fanart? No offense it just seems like the kind of thing you're supposed to grow out of. I'm just curious what your plans/goals are since it isn't exactly an art form that people take seriously.
Ah, fanart. Also known as the art that girls make.
Sad, immature girls no one takes seriously. Girls who are taught that it’s shameful to be excited or passionate about anything, that it’s pathetic to gush about what attracts them, that it’s wrong to be a geek, that they should feel embarrassed about having a crush, that they’re not allowed to gaze or stare or wish or desire. Girls who need to grow out of it.
That’s the art you mean, right?
Because in my experience, when grown men make it, nobody calls it fanart. They just call it art. And everyone takes it very seriously.
It’s interesting though — the culture of shame surrounding adult women and fandom. Even within fandom it’s heavily internalized: unsurprisingly, mind, given that fandom is largely comprised by young girls and, unfortunately, our culture runs on ensuring young girls internalize *all* messages no matter how toxic. But here’s another way of thinking about it.
Sports is a fandom. It requires zealous attention to “seasons,” knowledge of details considered obscure to those not involved in that fandom, unbelievable amounts of merchandise, and even “fanfic” in the form of fantasy teams. But this is a masculine-coded fandom. And as such, it’s encouraged - built into our economy! Have you *seen* Dish network’s “ultimate fan” advertisements, which literally base selling of a product around the normalization of all consuming (male) obsession? Or the very existence of sports bars, built around the link between fans and community enjoyment and analysis. Sport fandom is so ingrained in our culture that major events are treated like holidays (my gym closes for the Super Bowl) — and can you imagine being laughed at for admitting you didn’t know the difference between Supernatural and The X Files the way you might if you admit you don’t know the rules of football vs baseball, or basketball?
“Fandom” is not childish but we live in a culture that commodified women’s time in such away that their hobbies have to be “frivolous,” because “mature” women’s interests are supposed to be marriage, family, and overall care taking: things that allow others to continue their own special interests, while leaving women without a space of their own.
So think about what you’re actually saying when you call someone “too old” for fandom. Because you’re suggesting they are “too old” for a consuming hobby, and I challenge you to answer — what do you think they should be doing instead?
This whole modern approach is also seriously undermining just how important fanfiction is - from a historical standpoint.
The concept of fanfiction formed and forged the earliest stages of literature in Europe. Because the majority of authors in France, Germany and Great Britain looked at that funky little Celtic dude Arthur and thought “hey, he’s neat. I wanna write about him”.
The entire concept of a book outside of religious purposes was born out of fanfiction in my country.
There is no “first canon” for Arthur where he came as the prince of Camelot, with his sidekicks Lancelot and Merlin and his endgame love interest Gwen.
Arthur was some random hunter when he started out.
Someone’s fanfiction made him a prince.
Someone else’s fanfiction gave him a round table.
Someone else’s fanfiction gave him Merlin at his side.
Someone else’s fanfiction gave him Morgana, gave him Gwen, gave him his swords.
And, to this day, we still write Arthurian fanfiction. Literally last year there was a movie adaptation that is, by all intends and purposes, fanfiction, because it wasn’t even close to a literal adaptation of the source material (The Kid Who Would Be King). Heck, BBC’s Merlin, itself an Arthurian fanfiction, remains one of the biggest fandoms that people today write for on AO3.
You were a joke in the middle ages if you tried to write your own stuff. Who’s interested in your stuff? You were only a respected author if you wrote fanfiction. The most famous medieval German authors are famous because they wrote fanfiction about some knightly OCs they created who served on Arthur’s court. That is the literary legacy of the middle ages. Arthurian fanfiction.
Yet somewhere along the way, this concept of “I find x story/element cool and want to elaborate on it more, shift the focus onto an aspect of this original source material” has gotten this “eh, it’s fanfiction” connotation and lost respect.
Even though this very concept is still being used - even outside of the actual medium of fanfiction - and it is still being used for the very same purpose it was used for in medieval times. Original movies often don’t get as much recognition as adaptations of existing source material that the audience is familiar with. People see a movie about a character they’re familiar with and seem more inclined to buy a ticket to see the 10th new interpretation of Batman or Superman or Snow White. How are these new interpretations of familiar source material that usually add to the lore, reinterpret characterizations and dynamics, any different from fanfiction?
But heaven forbid we call The Dark Knight Nolan’s Batman fanfiction. No, fanfiction is that silly thing that we can’t take seriously, but that new Joker movie, that however is high-end art.
This. Fanfiction is variations on an existing theme, simultaneously making use of and satisfying people’s existing love for a story that they’re happy to consume more of, and cultivating the synergy between an existing story/mythos and a new author who, in interacting with characters they’d never have created themselves, creates something that neither they nor any of the story’s previous tellers could have made all by themselves.
Fanfiction is the new whole being greater than the sum of its parts, and fanfiction is the story being made limitless, retelling by retelling, and it is wonderful.
“Fandom” is not childish but we live in a culture that commodified women’s time in such away that their hobbies have to be “frivolous,” because “mature” women’s interests are supposed to be marriage, family, and overall care taking: things that allow others to continue their own special interests, while leaving women without a space of their own.
Many mainstream artist use other peoples characters in media, comics etc. Could you consider that fan art? Or a person taking a new spin on an old character with a script or book? Is that glorified fanfiction? Fan made things are everywhere if you think about it. Telling someone to grow out of something is a reason why people feel ashamed to share things. Just my two cents. ❤️
Train Me Damn It! (Chiccolo Week Day 5 Training Prompt)
“Chichi… I really don’t think this is a good idea.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“It’s just…”
“Are you scared?”
“No, I just-”
“I used to do this all the time!”
“I understand that, but-”
“I competed for crying out loud!”
“Yes, that’s true but-”
“All of these ‘buts!’ I think you’re a chicken!”
“What does being poultry have to do with punching you?”
“For crying out loud,” Chichi smacked her forehead, “Piccolo, that’s just a figure of speech!”
“If you’re insinuating I scratch the ground and eat bugs that’s just rude.”
Chichi groaned, staring up into the sky, “Look, you know what your doing. You’ve trained Gohan, and Goten. But you won’t train me? You’ll train children, but not their mother?!”
“They’re Saiyans. It’s what they do.”
“They’re only half Saiyan!”
Piccolo crossed his arms, “Exactly. That’s more Saiyan than you are. They can take a punch, or a kick, or be thrown into the side of a mountain,”
“Wait, what?”
“And they can just bounce back up.” Piccolo continued, ignoring Chichi’s suspicious stare, “YOU on the other hand would turn into a broken pile of bones, and I’m not going to be responsible for you.”
Chichi growled, stamping a small foot into the earth, “At least give me a chance! I’ll bet I can change your mind!”
“Piccolo rubbed the space between his antenna, there was definitely a migraine forming there, “I doubt it. This conversation is-”
His left hand easily caught the roundhouse kick that Chichi was aiming at his chin. He frowned at her, her face a mixture of rage and surprise, “Woman, really?”
Instead of pulling her foot away, she used his hold as leverage, propelling herself up and elbowing him right on the top of the head. Piccolo didn’t even budge. Her face was flushed an angry red now. “Chichi,” he said softly, “this is getting ridiculous.” He held her out away from him, flipping her upside down as she flailed, spitting and cursing.
Despite his best intentions, Piccolo laughed. This whole scene was ridiculous. She looked like a cat who had its tail caught by an toddler. It was so distracting in fact, that he pretty much missed her wrapping her free arms and leg around his arm in a vice grip.
She bit him.
Right on the bicep.
There was a long moment of silence, before Piccolo yelped and began flailing the appendage Chichi was holding tight too. He finally managed to shake her free, where she immediately squared off into a defensive position.
“Are you insane?” Piccolo yelled, staring incredulously at the clear teeth marks in his arm.
She laughed, blowing a free strand of hair away from her face, “I told you I could hold my own.”
“T-that’s-” Piccolo sputtered, “that may have worked on me, but in a real fight you wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“Says you!” Chichi yelled, “train me damn it!”
She advanced on him again, a surprisingly well coordinated hurricane of kicks and punches. Piccolo had to admit that for not fighting for well over a decade she remembered her previous training. It was obvious that the technique she was using was far more stylized and coordinated than one would use for actual fighting. It was mainly for show, even if it was effective.
He easily blocked her punches and kicks, and he could tell she was growing tired.
Finally, she stopped her assault, her two fists, helplessly hitting against his hard chest. She was sobbing. Piccolo let her. Whatever she was going through, it was always best to let it out. Chichi’s fists stilled after a bit, and she rested her forehead against his chest where she had been beating him only moments before.
“Better?” He asked gruffly.
She sniffled, wiping her wet nose on her shoulder, “I’m pathetic.”
“No, you’re not.”
“What I just did was a joke.”
“It may not be the best fighting I’ve ever seen, but it was impressive.”
She looked up at him, still wiping her eyes, “Really?”
Piccolo nodded, “You could hold your own against another human and win. Easily. The type of fighting we do is to the death. It’s not about technical abilities most of the time. It’s about who is stronger and willing to play dirty.”
Chichi sighed, hanging her head, “I just want to be useful.”
The Namekians large hand engulfed her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “But you are. You’re keeping two of our best fighters safe. I know you don’t like hearing about the kids fighting, but it’s true. They’re the future generation who could save this world. They need their mother, who mentally and stubbornly is the strongest person I know.”
Chichi blushed, and it made Piccolo’s stomach flip in a way that was alarming. She wrapped her own hand around his pointer finger and squeezed back, “Thanks.” She said softly.
Piccolo nodded, suddenly very unsure and in unfamiliar territory. She was looking at him in a way he couldn’t figure out.
She kissed the top of his hand.
He froze.
Chichi suddenly grabbed his wrist with her free hand, spun around and threw Piccolo with surprising ease over her shoulder and against the nearest tree.
Though the initial impact wasn’t painful in the slightest, his mind was a sudden jumble of thought, feelings, and incredulousness. He was laid out, sprawled under the tree where he was partially covered in leaves. Chichi brushed her hands off on her pants, stepped over his body and smirked down at him, “Dinner is in an hour. Don’t be late.” And walked with a renewed pep in her step down the trail leading to her home.
He watched her with large eyes, affection for the small woman swelling in his chest and wondered if love could hurt worse than anything else.
fan fic authors be like yes i know this will flop however i simply have too much love for this character and my very niche headcanons for them. and i think that is so fuckin sexy of us
As you all know I have been on a dragon ball kick and have found this amazing artist stupidoomdoodles. Sadly they deactivated their account a while ago but their art is still amazing! This was not drawn by me!
Bulma has several serious problems with her new neighbor in the apartment next door. First, he is the rudest, most condescending jerk she’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. Second, living next to him has now become psychological warfare. Third and most annoying of all, he’s smoking hot, which is awfully distracting when you’re trying to hate somebody.
/////
In hindsight, this was really all Goku’s fault.
Bulma had been living her best life up until a few weeks ago. Her relationship with Yamcha was the best it had been in months – in fact, she was sure he would be proposing soon. Her job was firing on all cylinders as she worked hard to make a name for herself outside of her father’s company, crushing every project sent her way like the amazing genius that she was. At the rate she was going, she’d be running the damn place in no time. Her social life was great, especially with her best friend Goku living in the apartment next door, which naturally had his girlfriend Chi-Chi visiting often. All was right with the world, the stars were aligned, and she was happy.
Then Goku – the jerk – had decided to move out so he could go live with his girlfriend. That had been the first wrench thrown into her perfect life, losing him as a neighbor and also unconsciously reminding her that Yamcha was opposed to them living together right now.
But this was not Goku’s ultimate sin. No, the real catastrophe had been when Goku, in all of his wisdom, had decided to sublet his apartment for the remainder of his lease to “one of his best friends”, a fellow security guard named Vegeta. Bulma questioned the friendship because she had never heard of the man until Goku sprang this bullshit on her one awful day. She thought she had known all his friends, but apparently Goku had coworkers that mingled in their own social circles. That was well and good, as she assumed she would like this new friend.
And then Vegeta had moved in next door, taking over Goku’s apartment, and everything had gone to shit.
Firstly, because Goku (and by extension Chi-Chi) were no longer around all the time to easily come over and spend time with her while Yamcha was away with his baseball team, which he often was.
But secondly, her new neighbor was a complete asshole. Grade A, certified, 100%, bonafide asshole.
Oh, Bulma had tried to be civil at first. She was a model citizen, and prided herself on being amazing in all areas of her life, to include being a fantastic friend and an even better neighbor. She was thoughtful, she was considerate, she was just the fucking best and everyone was privileged to know her. So when Vegeta had settled into the apartment next door with all his belongings, she had given him a few days to unpack and get situated, and then had come over to introduce herself. She had even baked him a small chocolate cake, with sprinkles and a “hello neighbor!” in wonderful icing penmanship.
And he had ignored her completely. At first she thought he wasn’t home, so she had left the chocolate cake right outside his door, covered up and protected in tupperware, along with a welcome note. Bulma then happily went back to her apartment and closed the door behind her – only to hear Vegeta quickly open and close the door to his own apartment. Bulma had poked her head back out, saw that the chocolate cake was gone, and scowled. She rationalized it away, giving him the benefit of the doubt due to his friendship with Goku – maybe he was just tired and wasn’t up for company. But when she had crossed paths with him the next day on the stairs, he hadn’t even looked at her, much less bothered to thank her for the cake.
The bastard had been on her shit list ever since.
But then things had gone from bad to worse when the laundry war had started.
You know what I think is very beautiful and unique about Zuko and Katara’s relationship (okay, there are a lot of things, but you know what I mean)? No other character will ever be as connected to Zuko’s scars as Katara is.
Not Mai, the second person he allowed to touch his scar, so that she could kiss him, but not comfort him.
Not Sokka, Toph, or Suki, with whom he never even talked about his scars to in-show.
Not Aang, whose back scar caused by Azula and healed by Katara was more of a narrative parallel to Zuko’s chest scar than a personal connection between the two characters that brought them together, and with whom he never even talked about his scars to in-show.
None of them will ever be as connected to the scar on Zuko’s face as Katara is.
Katara, the first person he ever allowed to touch the scar from the most traumatic moment of his life.
Katara, the girl who was his enemy just a few minutes ago, who offered to try to use her precious spirit water to heal his scar that didn’t even physically hurt anymore, because it was that important to her if it meant he could maybe be free of his mark.
Katara, to whose touch he closed his eyes and leaned in to as she gently placed her fingers on his lips and his scar and took a moment to just watch him like that.
None of them will ever be as connected to the scar on Zuko’s chest as Katara is.
Katara, whom he intercepted lightning for, in a show of what type of love he has for her: Agape, the most selfless, boundless, and purest form of love.
Katara, whom he intercepted lightning for, despite knowing that she had no more spirit healing water, and that there was a realistically high chance he could die from this Sozin’s-comet-powered-lightning-bolt that he was trying to redirect without even being grounded in a proper stance.
Katara, whom he intercepted lightning for, in the quickest impulse he must have ever made in his entire life, because of how strong his subconscious need to protect her is. After all, he bolted faster than the speed of Azula’s Sozin’s-comet-powered-lightning to take the blast. That has to be the fastest impulse he ever made.
Katara, whose eyes widened in horror as he fell, writhing, to the ground, with a terrible lightning wound on his chest from protecting her.
Katara, who screamed his name, ran, and reached her hand out to him— desperate to heal him— and who he reached his hand back out to, while painfully suffering on the ground, all in the midst of an inferno.
Katara, the waterbender who fought a crazed firebending prodigy during Sozin’s comet, so she could reach Zuko as quickly as possible.
Katara, who healed Zuko’s wound without even having spirit water, from her sheer strong determination to keep him alive.
Katara, who immediately cried in relief when she realized that death had not pulled Zuko away from her healing hands, and that she had healed the wound on his chest.
Katara, whose name Zuko whispered in such a quiet and reverent manner to thank her for all that she had done for him, which now includes saving him from the brink of death.
Katara, who emotionally thanked Zuko back for all that he had done for her, which also now includes saving her from the hands of death.
Katara, who carefully held on to his chest scar, and supported him in rising up again— both literally and figuratively.
Katara, who Zuko’s heart literally burned for.
Katara, who Zuko’s love for is now permanently carried around as a mark on him forever.
Vegeta stared with disdain at the flight of stairs in front of him. Hip throbbing, head aching, temper boiling, he attempted to rise from the front passengers seat of Bulma’s black SUV only to be engulfed in a blinding fire of pain.
“What’re you doing?!” Bulma’s hand gripped Vegetas shoulder, “You goon! You can’t be walking right now! Your hip is broken!”
“Watch. Me.” He growled, brushing her fingers off.
Bulma massaged her temples, “For the love of God. Let me get the crutches out of the back at least!”
“I will NOT be caught dead with crutches! I will snap them in half! I can do it my-“
“Hi ya buddy!”
Oh. Oh no. Vegeta knew that obnoxious, chipper voice.
Beaming down at him with a huge smile from the open car door, arm up and casually leaning on the roof was Goku, “Ya missed our match this morning! Just wanted to see...hey, what happened to you?!”
“It...” Vegeta mumbled, “it was nothing. Just a little run in with a car.”
Goku’s dark eyes grew large, “A car?”
“Nothing?!” Bulma’s head popped into view from beside Vegeta, “You got HIT by a car!”
Goku blinked, “Who’re you?”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Vegeta could feel his cheeks starting to burn hot.
“Not that bad?!” Bulma shrieked, “you were unconscious for hours! You have a concussion! And a fractured hip!”
“A minor inconvenience.”
“You almost died!”
“Says who?”
The man outside the SUV watched with great confusion. Vegeta got hit by a car? There had been a blurb on the news the other night about it, but they hadn’t released a name. Only the vehicle description. Goku felt terrible he hadn’t known sooner. Vegeta was his buddy. He also could have sworn he recognized the blue haired woman in the drivers seat from somewhere...
“Aha!” Goku proclaimed, snapping his fingers loudly.
Both Vegeta and Bulma’s mouth snapped shut, their eyes both now focused on Goku.
“You’re the girl from Vegeta’s phone!” Goku grinned, “The girl on the wallpaper! It’s nice to meet ya! I’m Goku. Vegetas ju jitsu partner!” His large hand shoved itself past Vegetas nose to shake Bulma’s hand which she offered, “man, he sure talks about ya a whole lot! And with how much he doesn’t talk that’s sure saying something!”
“Well, I think you and I are going to get a long just fine!” Bulma laughed, giving Gokus hand a last squeeze before Vegeta batted it away from in front of his face.
“Man, I’m sorry to hear about the accident!” Goku scratched his chin, “I tried callin’ ya yesterday to make sure of the plans, but ya never answered. Makes sense now.”
Vegeta inhaled sharply, “Ah shit.” His phone. He never even realized it was gone.
“Oh no,” Bulma sighed, “Vegeta, you lost your phone? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s just a phone,” he mumbled, “I’ll buy another.”
“Already done.” Bulma finished typing something on her phone screen and shoved it back in her purse, “I ordered you another, I’ll have someone drop it off this afternoon.”
Suddenly, as if a wave came over him, Vegeta felt to tired to argue. The world shifted on its axis, causing a rippling wave of nausea. He winced, adjusting his hip as the pain radiated, “Thanks.” He muttered.
“Hey, you okay buddy?” Goku crouched down, eyes full of worry, “What can I do?”
From inside Bulma’s heart, a warmth began to tug. This Goku guy was very kind, “We need to get him inside,” she said gently, blue eyes meeting Goku’s black, “But he’s not supposed to walk very much. He has crutches, but is refusing to use them.”
Goku’s brows furrowed, “Aw man. I just came from ‘Geets apartment. The elevators broken.”
Heaving a sigh, Vegeta cracked one eye open, willing the world to stop spinning as he met the worried gaze of his best friend. Hades be damned if he ever admitted it, but in his own heart he knew it to be true. He was well aware Goku felt that way about him as he expressed his feelings openly and without abandon, and never once forced Vegeta to say it in return. It was unwritten, but wholly understood between them, “Kakarot, I’m going to ask you the most embarrassing question of my life.” He winced.
That look of determination Goku got before every match suddenly spread across his face “What’s that?”
~~~
“Okay bud, only about ten steps left.” Goku carefully readjusted his arm beneath Vegetas left armpit, gripping the right hand a little tighter that was slung over his shoulder. Every step the took, Goku would lift Vegetas entire body off the ground, gently placing him right foot down on the next step. It had taken over a half hour and a lot of swear words from Vegeta, but they finally reached the apartment. Bulma unlocked the door, opening it wide enough for both men to fit through. As they finally crested the threshold Vegeta grunted, and quickly tightened his grip meaningfully on Gokus hand, being careful to not meet the larger mans eyes. He could feel the gentle stare though, see the sincere smile out of the corner of his eye. Goku squeezed back and said warmly, “Anytime.”
“Mph.” Vegeta looked away. Goku chuckled.
Bulma’s head popped out from Vegetas bedroom, “Let’s get him laying down in here.”
“Got it!” Goku grinned, then turned his head “Hey,” he whispered in Vegetas ear, “at least ya got a cute nurse outta the deal.”
“Shut. Up.” Vegeta hissed.
“Hey,” Goku shrugged, “it’s better than a picture, ain’t it?”
Vegeta clenched his jaw. A picture; his picture. It was gone. In all honesty, he was more upset about that than the phone. Hopefully it had been saved somehow.
After another round of swear words, Vegetas leg was propped up with pillows, at least relieving some of the pain. Bulma flitted around, gathering water and snacks as well as sorting out Vegetas pain pills in the kitchen as Goku sat on the edge of Vegetas bed and asked questions about the accident.
“I’m telling you, it was intentional.” Vegeta muttered, sipping at the glass of ice water Bulma had already placed on the side of the bed, “just a gut feeling.”
Face propped in his hand, dark brows pulled together, Goku drummed his fingers on his cheek, “Who though? And why her? She seems awful nice.”
Vegetas eyes darted to the door to make sure Bulma wasn’t eavesdropping, “Not sure. It could be anyone. She has a position of power in her company, and the smarts and money to go with it. There are a few nasty lawsuits floating around. I’ll have to take a look when I get the chance.”
“Hm.” Goku stood, stretching his back, “Well, I still have a few contacts out there. Old friends,” he shot an uncharacteristically dark smirk at Vegeta, “I’ll see what I can find.”
Vegetas eyes narrowed, “Don’t go digging to much Kakarot. You don’t need to get involved. We’ve both been out a long time. You’ve got a clean record. You’ve got the wife and kid to worry about.”
“Eh, Chichi won’t mind.” Goku shrugged, “She can’t mind if she doesn’t know anyways. I was never really a part of them in the first place. No one, and I mean no one, hurts my friends.” There was a sharp edge on the end of that sentence that made Vegetas fist clench into the blanket, a small and familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through him.
Goku’s normally chipper facade seemed to falter for a minute, a glint in his eyes, “Just like the old days. I got you. And you got me.” Just as quickly as the tense air in the room was there, it was immediately sucked out again, and Goku’s grin returned, “Anyways, fell better buddy! Call me when you get your new phone!” With a roll of his neck, and with his signature wave, Goku was out the door.
Vegeta let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He knew that look. He knew that Goku. That was the Goku most people had never met. He hadn’t see that look in a long, long time.
I got you. And you got me. The words repeated in Vegetas head, memories of them as young teens racing through back alleys, those same words being laughed as Goku and he managed to get away from whatever trouble they were involved in. “What have I done.” Vegeta muttered, eyes pinching closed as another wave of nausea ran through him.
“You alright?”
“Just...a headache still,” He grumbled, Bulma’s cool fingers dancing across his forehead.
“I’ll get you your medicine.” She whispered, “I’ll shut the blind too. The light may be hurting your eyes.”
Vegeta grunted, “I don’t need the pills. I just need some sleep.”
Bulma sighed, the sounds of the blind hitting the window sill echoing like a bomb in his ears, “Stop trying to be tough, it’s alright. You got hit by a car. You’re allowed some pain relief.” He could hear her shuffling around the room. Everything was so overwhelming. He wished this would stop.
Another wave of head pain, “I just need you.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, his eyes still sensitive from the concussion pain snapped open to see if she’d heard.
But she wasn’t there.
“Did you say something?” Bulma’s called from the kitchen, “sorry, I was grabbing you some more water and the pain pills. I really think you should take them.”
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