#hali inspiration

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali Aloke Inspiration Chart

[ Blank Version Here ]

So I did this for Yume a really long time ago, so I thought it was past time to also do it for Hali! I picked the top 6 characters that either directly inspired Hali in some way, or they were unconsciously in my brain while I was creating her and I recognized the similarities later on. Granted there are more than just these 6, but these are just the main ones.

I’ll go into more detail about each selection below!

Tidus (Final Fantasy X/X-2) - So this selection was due to me being a dumb dumb and I didn’t realize at first that Tidus was an unconscious inspiration for Hali. I always had Rikku in mind for a lot of Hali’s look, mannerisms, and a lot of her personality, but Tidus and his journey is very similar to Hali’s in a lot of ways, and their reactions to what is going on around them are very much alike. They speak their mind, even if it’s in the so called “uncouth” way, and they both wear their emotions on their sleeve, quick to either be cheerful, joyful, and carefree, or to be sad or angry. They are passionate about who and what they care for, and aren’t afraid to show it, for the most part anyway. There’s also their shared water symbolism. If Rikku is much like Hali on the surface, Tidus is who Hali resembles deep down.

Rikku (Final Fantasy X/X-2) - So I talked a bit about Rikku already, but Rikku was the first FF character I thought of when I wanted to develop Hali’s personality. Rikku is a cheerful, bubbly, intelligent and funny person, who is quite likeable to most people, and all of that is Hali as well. Rikku’s mannerisms are also direct inspiration, as Hali waves her hands and arms around while she talks, just like Rikku does, especially when they get excited about something. They also both have green eyes and Hali’s newest hairstyle, the Gyr Abanian Plaits, are reminiscent of Rikku’s hairstyle in FFX-2.

Rinoa Heartilly (Final Fantasy VIII) - Rinoa resembles Hali in a few ways, but what comes to mind the most are her quirkiness, her bubbly personality and her trying to get a more silent, brooding person to open up to her (I think Hali does this with Estinien though they are completely platonic), and her willingness to always help others in need, even when she is in way over her head. Hali also shares her love of animals, sense of style, and favorite color! Hali would steal Rinoa’s clothes in an instant.

Moana (Disney’s Moana) - This one is probably an obvious choice, as I’ve probably mentioned before that Hali has Disney Princess vibes, and the Princess that she resembles the most is Moana for sure. One of Hali’s songs that I always envisioned for her is “How Far I’ll Go”, and even possibly “I Am Moana” to a lesser extent. The obvious connection to water and the ocean is there (Hali’s name means ocean by the way), and there’s the fact that Hali’s very distant relatives live in the Southern Isles. Moana’s desire to not only go out and see the world beyond her island home along with wanting to help save her people is top Hali vibes all the way.

Ariel (The Little Mermaid) - I think this one might also be a bit obvious, since the water connection and all, but Ariel and Hali also have a ton in common personality wise and with their hopes and dreams. Hali longs to see the outside world, just as Ariel wants to be in the human world. They both also so happen to fall in love with men who have black hair and blue eyes, and they want to be a part of their world. The song “Part of Your World (Reprise)” is such a Hali song that she would sing to Aymeric. Ariel and Eric are actually the Disney couple that fits Hali and Aymeric’s dynamic the most as well. Oh and though I haven’t seen the live action version yet, I used that picture in honor of another coincidence: Ariel’s actress is Halle Bailey, which is the same name as Hali, just different spelling, but it is the same pronunciation!

Tsukino Usagi (Sailor Moon) - Last but not least, is Usagi! Usagi was a direct inspiration for Hali, with their obvious similarities in personality, their love for a man who has black hair and blue eyes in two lifetimes, and their symbolism with the moon and stars. Hali has such magical girl vibes, and Usagi is the inspiration for it for sure! Though Hali’s pink hair and her original hairstyle with the big pigtails is more like Chibiusa, Hali is still much more like Usagi than Chibiusa in personality. Usagi’s complete selflessness with wanting to save the world, her friends, and the man she loves above her own life is absolutely Hali too.

That’s all of them! If you’ve come this far, thank you so much for reading! 🥰💖

[brocktonbay]

MISS TUMBLR SEXYMAN 2023: WORM EDITION

featuring art by @rainfrazier

[sailoryooons]

Hello I wrote 2300 words tonight for a fic I hinted at a while ago but still haven't told you guys about and not anything that I've been meaning to write because that's what I do now, I write what I want when I want heehee haahaa

[battymommastuff]

The Fire-Eater

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

*cough*

"Jesus Christ, you'd think they would dust up here once in a while." Jason rasps as he waves his hand in the air to clear the cloud of dust. Dick just rolled his eyes and lifted another box out of the way, causing another cloud of dust to poof into the air, "Where is this damn blanket anyway?" He asked, ripping open an old box to look for the blanket in question. Why? You, their adopted mother, is currently carrying their youngest sibling. The first, and only pregnancy of yours. Seeing that you aren't as young as you used to be, the pregnancy is a high risk. As per doctor's orders, you were to remain on bed rest now that you were close to your due date.

Before that, you'd been working on the nursery. Everything was perfect, but you were missing one thing. Bruce's baby blanket. A blanket you'd only ever seen in pictures, but knew that you wanted it for your future child. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be possible. All of your children were far too old for the blanket when they were adopted. Now you had your baby on the way, and you wanted that blanket. To prevent you from climbing up there yourself, your two oldest sons decided to.

"Some of the boxes are older than me." Dick joked as he held up a box of old photo albums. The date on the box was ten years before he was born. He set the box down, and kept shifting through the boxes. They were looking for a box with Bruce's birth year on it. All of his baby items were stored there. He moved another box then frowned when he saw one tucked in a far corner. It was opened, and he saw a black outfit lined with red sequins, an outfit he swore he's seen before...a circus outfit. What caught his eye next was a rolled up poster, "Hey, Jason." He called out while picking up the poster. Dick unrolled it slowly, then felt his heart sink to his stomach.

A poster for Haly's Circus. The Circus he was apart of before his biological parents died. He still remembered that day as if it just happened. On the poster was a woman eating fire. Her outfit, a black leotard with red sequins lining it. (H/C) hair, and (S/C) skin. Unless Bruce had a certain type, there was no way it couldn't be you. How? How was this possible? He remembered meeting you that night. You were dressed as if you just walked out of business meeting, and you were with Bruce. The date on the poster dated years before you ever met Bruce.

Dick set the poster down right as Jason approached him, still grumbling about all of the dust. He picked up a small book next. Opening it, he found pictures. Old pictures of you, and other members of the circus. You and Haly...you and his parents. You knew his parents? One picture was of you, his dad, his mom, and him as a newborn. You knew who he was before you ever met him? How come he never knew this? Why did you leave the circus? How did you end up marrying Bruce Wayne of all people?

"Holy shit, Mom never told us this." Jason said while holding up the torches and an old bottle of alcohol. What they saw in the bottom of the box made both of their spines tingle. A mask...a Court of the Owls mask. Dick knew the story, and he knew his lineage. He knew his potential fate, had he never been adopted. Why did you have a mask? All of these questions in his head, and he knew the one person who could answer them.

He shoved all the items back into the box, and stormed out of the attic with it. Dick wanted answers, and he wanted them now. He carried the box through the manor with Jason on his heels, while holding back his tears. He felt lied to? Betrayed? He didn't know, but he needed to know. He felt like you were an entirely new person now. Dick opened the door to your bedroom. You were watching as Stephanie painted your toenails, and Damian was lecturing you on your health.

"Oh! Did you-..." You cut off when you saw the box he was carrying. It'd been years, and you forgot about that box. Honestly, you thought you threw it out, "Dick..." Your oldest son walked over and slammed the box on the bed, causing your two other sons and Stephanie to glare at him.

"Start talking, Mom...right now."

[gimmethatagustd]

gang shit | knj

Your daughter's classmate has a really hot dad. Apparently, you're his arch-nemesis.

○ Pairing: Dilf!Namjoon x Single Parent!Reader

○ Rating: Sfw

○ Genre: Kidfic, strangers/romantic interest, an attempt at humor

○ 1 / 100 Drabble Challenge (Single Parent)

○ Word Count: 1204

○ Warnings: Shockingly none!! aside from my terrible sense of humor, jokes about Crime!!, and also Namjoon's dimples

○ Notes: Inspired by this tweet. I hope you enjoy the first drabble of my 100 Drabble Challenge I'm doing with @sailoryooons - Please check out Hali's drabbles throughout 2024, too! Happy New Year, besties! ✨

○ Post Date: January 1, 2024

○ Masterlist | Send me ur thots

○ What was Jai listening to? GOAT - Number_i

“I don’t make the rules to this gang shit. I just play my role.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cock your head to the side in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Namjoon adjusts his black baseball cap. His bicep bulges out of his short sleeve when he lifts his arm. 

You’re too old to be thirsting for a man like this. In all honesty, you’ve been acting childish all day – literally. It’s the last day of school before summer break, and your daughter’s preschool teacher invited parents to an end-of-the-year celebration. Having the privilege of working a hybrid schedule means it’s relatively easy for you to swing by the school with primary-colored cupcakes in hand. They’re the disgusting ones kids love that’ll stain their fingers and mouths bright blue. Oh, to be a four-year-old. So easy to please. 

Unlike little Yuna’s father, who has a stick shoved up his ass, and for what?

“What are you even talking about?” you ask with your arms crossed against your chest. 

You’d said literally five words to the guy, intending to start a pleasant conversation while the kids ran around the playground and the other parents mingled at the picnic tables outside. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, Brooklyn’s parent.”

Apparently, that was offensive.

Namjoon’s sharp eyes drag up and down your body, and you try not to let his heavy gaze affect you – and fail when you feel your stomach dip. 

“Brooklyn said Yuna dresses weird,” Namjoon finally says with a pout that shouldn’t look so cute on a grown-ass man. 

“Did she?” 

“Are you calling Yuna a liar?”

“No!” This man is so volatile. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We’ve been practicing using kind words, but, well, you know how kids are…” 

Namjoon doesn’t look convinced. 

You feel antsy under his gaze, unsure what to say or do. Are you supposed to apologize? Maybe that’s the mature thing to do. You’re still new to this whole “I’m suddenly responsible for an entire human being even though I barely even know how to take care of myself” thing. It’s a little bit unbelievable, actually! 

“I’m sorry for Brooklyn’s judgmental behavior. What kind of weird-, what kind of clothes-” you stumble through what you already know is a shit apology, “Which one is Yuna?” 

“That’s her.” Namjoon nods in Yuna’s direction.

You look across the playground to the swing set, where a little girl is lying on the swing on her stomach and spinning around with her arms and legs hanging limp. She’s wearing her hair in asymmetrical pigtails, one higher on her head than the other. Her sneakers are mismatched, as are her colorful knee-high socks. Her pants are polka-dotted, her shirt striped, and she’s got a bright purple cape tied around her neck. 

“She’s adorable,” you say softly. 

“She’s weird as shit.” 

Your mouth hangs open when Namjoon shrugs. 

“What? She’s my kid; I’m allowed to say that.” 

“Fair enough,” you concede with a smile, “So, we got beef now?”

“Yup.” 

Namjoon crosses his arms against his chest to match your stance. You tell yourself it’s very inappropriate to be eyeing your new enemy’s boobs when you’re in the middle of a showdown. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I don’t think I’m down for going to war for Brooklyn. Usually, I just like to blame her bad behavior on her dad,” you say with a barking laugh. You cover your mouth with your hand when you snort. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.” 

“You’re good,” Namjoon finally cracks a smile, and, wow, it’s breathtaking. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his teeth are big and bright, and he has dimples… “Yuna’s mother doesn’t let her dress how she likes, so when I have her, I let her do what she wants. Self-expression is important, y’know?” 

You nod because he’s right. Kids should be kids. 

“Plus, I like being the fun parent.” 

“Right! Who wants the parent with all the stupid rules?” You perk up, taking a step closer because now you’re partners in crime rather than enemies. Maybe. You’ll work on it. He’s too cute not to get up to some parental crime with—gang members, not rivals. 

“Not cool parents like us,” Namjoon lightly elbows you. 

“Yeah, they can’t ride with our gang.” 

Namjoon makes a face the moment the words come out of your mouth. He bites both lips, rolling them in and hollowing his cheeks, eyebrows raised. 

“What? What!” you gasp, knowing when you’re being made fun of, even if it’s in silence. 

“Don’t ever say anything like that ever again.” 

With a huff, you give him a tiny punch to the arm and tell yourself that it isn’t because you want to feel how tight his muscles are. 

“You’re the one who–” 

“HEY! NO HITTING!” 

Groaning, you throw your head back as a tiny blur of pink collides with your body. Brooklyn tugs on the hem of your shirt, repeatedly chanting, “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” until you crouch to meet her at her level. Taking her little hands in yours, you hold them to your lips to give her knuckles a quick peck. 

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have done that to Mr. Kim,” you admit, “I should apologize, shouldn’t I?”

Brooklyn nods, and the bulbous beaded hair ties at the end of her pigtail braids swing like a deadly game of tetherball. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you say as you look up at Namjoon. He taps his finger against his chin in mock thought, and you can’t help but think that you’ll actually punch him if he fucks up this teaching moment by pretending not to accept your apology. 

“I forgive you,” he says with another grin that makes you feel like a silly teenager. 

“Y’know, Brooklyn, Mr. Kim told me something about you and Yuna…” Brooklyn immediately ducks her chin to her chest. No one has ever looked guiltier. “It’s not very nice to talk about how people look, love. I think you should apologize to Yuna, don’t you agree?”

It takes very little convincing for Brooklyn to run off toward the swings. She flops on her stomach in the swing beside Yuna, and then, after a bit of talking, both girls spin around. 

“If Brooklyn throws up from doing that, it’s your fault,” you mutter to Namjoon. 

“Real aggressive coming from someone who just physically attacked me.” 

“Okay, Mr. Gang Shit,” you quip back, catching Namjoon’s widening grin out of the corner of your eye. 

“Listen,” Namjoon touches your elbow, his fingers lingering just long enough for you to give him your attention. Heat spreads along your forearm and makes your fingers tingle. “I don’t really accept either of your apologies. You might need to try a little harder to get me to forgive you.”

“Oh.” You feel your stomach twist. 

“Might want to start with getting dinner with me, and then we can see where it goes?” 

Oh.

“I mean, if you think it wouldn’t hurt my street cred being seen with the likes of you, then, yeah.” 

Namjoon grabs his baseball cap bill and pulls it down until his hat covers his face. “Don’t make me rescind this offer because I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how it goes.”

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories. 

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd​ - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie). Request an AO3 account here.

[pinkcowzz]

something about tim & dick’s relationship makes me feel so. !!!

they are both such complex characters and it really makes my heart feel so heavy to think about them for too long.

like. dick created robin out of his parents blood. the costume was inspired by his family's colors. the name was one he was given by his mother and the only reason he took up the role was because he wanted to get justice (revenge really) for his parents death. he was taken in by bruce who was SO YOUNG at the time and who was still learning how to cope with his own loss still. their relationship was built off of that shared grief and understanding. but then one day, dick learned to let go of that grief. he was able to not let it consume and control him. and he grew tired of living in the dark nest that bruce built for them. and bruce doesn't know how to deal with someone else he loves leaving him so he kicks dick out. like yes bruce is dick's father figure of course he is. but he was also his brother in a weird way. dick didn't want or need for his parents to be replaced so bruce offered him something different. he offered him a partnership. and partners are supposed to be equal but somehow bruce ended up placing himself higher than dick and it was suffocating so he had to leave.

and in dicks absence, bruce finds another kid. this time, it's a kid who does need a parent. jason's relationship with bruce is so different than the one that dick had and i have to imagine that it hurt. it hurts to see your father be better for someone else. it makes you think why? why not me? why wasn't i good enough? and to make matters worse bruce gave away dick's blood without a second thought. jason is given the mantle of robin and my god i cannot imagine the pain it caused dick to see someone else flying around in his colors. that was his name. and dick is still just a kid. yeah he's like legally an adult but his prefrontal cortex was nowhere near developed. so he's bitter and short and rude to jason. he has to take time to get used to having another kid at the manor and another kid in his colors but its fine! its fine! he does come around eventually and his guard starts to come down and he commits to being there for jason. but it was too late. dick leaves the planet to be a hero and when he comes back? jason is dead. the kid he was just starting to get used to is dead.

not only is he dead, but he's already in the ground and bruce? bruce goddamn wayne didn't even bother to tell him. how in the world could bruce ever consider them partners. as far as dick was concerned bruce was just as good as dead to him as jason was. and it hurts. it hurts to not be able to go home without seeing the ghost of a kid you chose not to protect, the ghost of a kid who died too soon wearing the same colors that your parents died in.

so dick doesn't go home. he doesn't speak to bruce. he builds himself a new life, the teen titans become dicks home. and he's okay with this. his origin is so similar to bruce's but he refuses to be the same as batman. so he faces his ghosts. he doesn't let them haunt him. he hears about haly's circus potentially getting shut down and he goes to deal with it.

and here is where dick meets tim drake for the first time. tim who tried to help him save haly's circus (albeit he accused the wrong guy but he was trying). tim tells dick that he needs to save batman.

and so dick brings him back to the manor. where tim tells dick just how important he was to his childhood. tim explains how that night at the circus shaped him just as deeply as it shaped dick. tim shares this complete and utter faith in robin, as if robin is enough to save batman from his own grief. but dick knows this isn't true. dick was barely enough to save himself from his own grief much less bruces. but nonetheless bruce saved dick when he was at his absolute lowest. gave him something to believe in. so maybe, just maybe, he can try again for bruce. but not as robin. it can't be robin. his partnership with batman died when he was kicked out and it was buried when he was kept out of the loop about jason. but tim knows that batman needs more than nightwing by his side. so he takes up the robin mantle. he takes it upon himself to 'save' batman. and in a way, he does. he helps bring bruce back from the edge.

and dick. the last time someone took up his families colors, someone died. and he refuses to allow that again. he refuses to be the reason that tim suffers. so he becomes the older brother he couldn't quite bring himself to be for jason. and to tim? he's wearing the mantle of two robins on his back.

his own standards are set so high and he tries his damndest to meet them every time that he puts on the mask because he knows where the colors of the suit came from. he knows why dick created this identity. he was there. he saw the grayson's fall.

and for a while, things are good between them. things are great even.

then the attack at titan's tower happens. and tim is told that he is just a placeholder (not a replacement like fannon likes to claim, but the words jason todd used were placeholder). and seeds of doubt start to be planted. was he ever wanted? was he ever truly appreciated? he did steal the suit the first time he put it on. was it fair for him to wear the colors that were born of dicks blood and that jason died in?

then tim loses his whole support system. stephanie. bart and kon. his dad. and finally, bruce.

dick has been so committed to never being like bruce. he has been so dedicated to relying on those who offer him help. nightwing is pillar in the hero community, but batman. batman was the foundation. he is considered a founding member of the justice league. he doesn't want to take up the mantle. it had never been in his plans. but jason proved too unstable to take up the role and of course he can't ask tim to. so he dawns the cowl he has grown to hate.

this just leaves one little problem. damian.

damian who has just been dropped off on bruce's porch by talia. damian who grew up in the league of assassins and is so out of place in gotham that dick doesn't know what to do. he never asked to be batman and he definitely never asked to be a father. yet here he is. having to do both. so he does what bruce did all those years ago and provides damian with the mantle that he created in order to give this kid some sort of outlet. he knows damian needs it.

by some unfortunate twist of fate, dick has unknowingly created such a painful parallel between his own firing and tim's.

and then tim discovers that bruce isn't really dead.

and this kills dick just a little bit more. of course he wants to believe tim. of course he wants his dad back. he wants someone else to be the one to make these hard calls and he wants someone else to parent damian. he doesn't want to be the one who has to fire his little brother in order to save the other.

but he can't take that chance. he can't risk the hope. because losing it would actually ruin dick. so he tells tim it isn't possible. because to dick? it can't be possible.

and this just furthers the wedge between the two of them. tim feels abandoned and lost and he feels as if he has nothing left.

and dick doesn't understand why tim can't see that he's right here. he's right here tim i'm still here why aren't i enough for you to stay?

anyway this got away from me a little bit but god their relationship could make angels weep it truly makes my heart stop if i think about it too much.

[ferrouswheel11]

The moment that made Bruce the man he is today was the moment his parents were murdered in the alley. He thinks that that moment for Tim had or will have to do with the deaths of his parents as well, like it was for him, for Dick, for Jason, all children whose lives were changed forever by tragedy. He doesn't realize that that moment for Tim was a decade ago at Haly's Circus.

Bruce thinks that he and his mission are the poison, that prolonged exposure will eventually drag Tim down into the darkness he resides in (or worse, like it did to Jason). He thinks of the child he once was, remembers that he became the Bat so that no other child might be suffer that same loss, that same transformation that he has. He doesn't realize that Tim's path was set from the very first day he can remember.

Tim doesn't know how to be any different. How to be anything other than a boy who deduced Batman's secret identity by accident. A boy whose heroes inspired him to become a detective, to pick up computer skills, to learn to fight. A boy who cared enough about two strangers at the circus to risk his life for them a decade later.

Becoming Robin was just the culmination. Becoming Robin is when everything that made Tim Tim started to make sense. The night in the alley was the night Bruce’s life changed, but that night at the circus was the night Tim’s life began.

[byronvera]

on a bit of an art kick this weekend (composition definitely inspired by hali and ridtom's beautiful animatic if by some miracle you haven't seen it)

[iwanthermidnightz]

yesterday halie also said the colors on the left of her painting came from tshoeh book cover and the glove could have been inspired by carol 😭

[corazondebeskar-reads]

live to rise - chapter eight

live to rise series

eight: ashes of another life (final chapter)

series masterlist | prev chapter

gladiator!Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.5k

summary: your journey at the arena comes to an end.

chapter warnings: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE WARNINGS. This chapter contains many very dark themes. I have omitted them as they are all spoilers. Please feel free to DM me.

Thank you all so much for joining me on this journey.

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When morning comes, it brings no mercy. 

Instead, it brings the trumpet of an all hands assembly as the suns rise. 

You and Eli have both survived the night and are awakened by the sounds as the full force of the arena staff and prisoners are gathered for the second consecutive day in the arena. It’s practically unheard of. 

It turns your stomach, and a tiny, resolute part of you wonders if it will bring you death. 

But once again, you’re reminded that Gideon will not show you that kindness. 

He has something else to show you, instead. 

Eli figures it out first. “Oh, maker. Don’t look,” he hisses urgently. “Don’t watch, don’t watch.”

But you do. 

You watch as the troopers line them up. Eighteen servants. Eighteen very familiar faces. 

Stellus. Hali. Sessa. The entire barracks staff—each caretaker and attendant on their knees with their hands behind their head. 

“Don’t,” Eli whispers. 

But you have to. 

There’s no showmanship. Gideon doesn’t ignite the saber. There are no cameras and no theatrics. 

Just a standard execution. The quick, sharp chirp of blasters and the thump of bodies on the sands. 

Eighteen lost souls whose only crimes were association. For sleeping in the same room, for sharing the same meals. 

It was no loss to the facility; they’d ship in new prisoners to fill the spaces left behind. And Gideon would sleep easy knowing the threat of anyone who might have dared to conspire or be inspired by either of you had been eliminated. 

Silence fills the arena when the firing ceases. It echoes in your ears. No one dares move or speak. 

“There will be no fights today. All staff are to return to their barracks under lockdown,” a Commander announces after Gideon has swept off. “Regular schedules resume tomorrow.”

An execution and a lockdown. Your mind races. Eighteen lost souls, and no meals or medical or anything for those who survived. 

You turn to Eli to share your distress and are startled to see a dangerous smile on his face. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You hiss. 

“He’s scared,” Eli says, his voice low and rough, nothing you’ve seen before. “Much more scared than he’d be if it were just the Mandalorian’s escape. That means something is happening out there.”

The hope from his revelation is undercut when you realize everyone has left the arena. 

The weight of the full lockdown sets in. They aren’t sending a cleanup crew. 

They’re going to leave you there with the bodies. 

Eli makes you turn around after a while but it doesn’t make a difference. The vacant eyes of your friends and comrades burn worse than the darksaber’s scars. 

He slumps more and more as the day creeps forward. The pain from his leg is wearing down his resolve but he still spares energy to try and bring you comfort. 

“This wasn’t because of you,” he says. “This is on me.”

You know he means well. But you find it doesn’t matter in the end. They’re dead, and your actions, direct or indirect, led them there. 

The next morning, the arena returns to life. The corpses are removed and burned, the sands are swept, and the fights return. It’s easier to look away down here than it was from the box. Easier to just turn enough that you can’t see. 

Eli stays awake less and less as the day drags on. You wait and wait for the same to come over you, for your body to pull you gently to the depths and let the current take you. You don’t want to watch him die, too, so you pray again for mercy.

It doesn’t come, but something else does.

In the silence of the third night, you think it’s a hallucination. After the oppressive heat of the long days, the high summer sun holding neither kindness nor cruelty but just by her nature scalding your skin, bodies withering without water, she comes. 

You blink slowly, the light of the twin moons making her armor spark and glare. It’s the strangest Mandalorian armor you’ve ever seen—which doesn’t mean much, since you’ve only seen the two kits. But it’s undeniably Mandalorian. 

It doesn’t matter. You lurch back away as they cut the bars with a laser and ease the metal quietly to the ground. 

They offer a hand, and you stare at it. 

“Look, I’m here for the saber, but I promised I’d try to free you. You can go wherever you’d like. If you don’t impede my mission, I’ll give you a ride—” She stops and assesses Eli for a moment, who hasn’t woken at the commotion—“But I’ll leave without you if I have to.”

“Where’s your ship?” you say. 

“Just follow me.”

“What about the rest of his armor?” 

“We’re not risking getting captured for that,” she says, starting to walk away.

“He’d rather have the armor than the saber.”

She sighs and turns back to give you the location of her ship. “If you’re not there when I leave—“

“I know,” you say. 

It hurts like hell to get up and even more to rouse Eli and loop his arm around your neck. The chances of getting him safely there are slim, but you’re fairly sure the guards will shoot to kill if they catch you, so there’s not really a bad option. 

Either path is better than shriveling up and wasting away in the cage. 

You leave him against a wall near the exit closest to her ship, and he tries to stop you before the pain overtakes him again. Dread fills you at the thought of finding him already gone when you return, but you have to do this.

It turns out, though, that you didn’t. The New Mandalorian is already there when you reach the lounge.

“You were right,” she sighs. “It’s one or the other.”

She ends up hauling most of the armor, which is good because you hadn’t thought about how you’d manage with one hand. She also dispatches the guards you encounter without breaking a sweat. 

On the ship, you try not to act surprised when she takes her helmet off. 

“Bo-Katan Kryze,” she says with an extended hand. 

The way she says it makes you think you’re supposed to know who she is. 

“I’m going straight back, and we’ll get him healed up enough for a new assignment. But we can try to arrange transport elsewhere for you once we’ve landed,” she tells you. 

“I’m retiring,” Eli groans from where she’s secured him to a row of dropseats.

“Unlikely,” she says. 

You sit with your hands folded in your lap. It’s not really set in that you’ve made it out. You have nothing to your name but the torn rags that hang loose and limp with singed edges that scrape against your skin. 

You can’t go home. You’ll be lucky if they haven’t killed or captured your family as it is, for the sin of knowing you. 

All you ever wanted was to protect them. That’s why you had paid their tariffs instead of your own. That’s why you consigned yourself to five years of slavery, of suffering the loss of life and loved ones daily for four kriffing years. 

And you risked it all for one man. 

And yet, it feels like more. It always had. You risked it for Din, yes, but also for his son and the green Mandalorian and the woman in front of you now, who risked her life to restore his reign, and you think of the hundreds of beings that gave everything in the name of this one man . 

And you’d do it again. He had confessed one night that he didn’t find himself deserving of the loyalty sworn to him, but you see it, she sees it, everyone sees it. 

The karking Rebel Alliance sees it. 

The galaxy needs the Mandalorians. Without them, the Empire will never fall.  And the Mandalorians need their king, their leader who would have sacrificed himself a thousand times over for them to survive. 

So you clench your jaw and square your shoulders and think of how to live. 

You feel the heat of her gaze before you see it, but when you look up, the woman is unabashedly watching you with a raised eyebrow. 

She looks you over, now that she has your attention. “Shand will be glad to know you survived,” she says, almost lazily. 

“Oh?” you say, forcing down the trace of disappointment. Yes, you had assumed Din was the one who wanted you freed. But any kindness is enough. 

“Yes, she said she grew quite fond of you.”

“Hmm,” is all you can reply. Fondness was not really how you had grown to feel, though the last two days had thrown you off track. 

Before that, though, you don’t think you could feel fond of someone who would own a being like that. 

But you don’t play her game. You don’t dance around the subject. “How is he?”

“He didn’t come back for you, and you’re concerned?”

“It would have been the stupidest move in the karking galaxy, and if you all are such skilled and legendary warriors, you should understand that.”

Silence falls in the cockpit. And then she laughs. “I didn’t expect you to have any bite.”

You don’t say a thing, but you do scowl.

“Well, I didn’t. He calls you kar’talyc. ”

“So?” 

“Do you even know what it means?”

“Of course I don’t, I’m not Mandalorian.”

“That didn’t stop your little message.”

Your head snaps back to her. “You saw that? Did…”

“Did he show an uncharacteristic lack of composure when you used a secret Mandalorian code to apologize to him for being tortured on live holo? Yes.” 

She succeeds in shocking you into silence. You sit and turn it over in your head.

“It wasn’t for that. It was for breaking.”

She rolls her eyes—like, actually rolls her eyes at you while you relive the absolute worst moments of your life in your head. “Everyone breaks,” she says. You didn’t know enough for it to matter.”

You can read between the lines. You didn’t know enough to matter. To her, anyway. Your feelings aren’t hurt, though. 

“It means you’re a bleeding heart. A sap,” she says, pulling you back into the previous conversation.

You sit for a moment with the new knowledge. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you say. 

She shakes her head with a hint of a smirk. “He certainly means it as one,” she says in the way of having known someone too well for too long. 

It’s near chaos when you land but you manage to go unnoticed. Bo-Katan is talking to three different people as soon as the ramp lowers, and you direct the medic team to Eli with your good hand, hanging back in the shadows. 

The feeling of hyperspace hasn’t left your bones. You’re adrift in the great cold darkness. Your skin feels cool to the touch, even in the blistering expanse of sand and suns. 

The docking bay is makeshift. Cobbled together from sandstone that’s already cracking under the weight of the ships and scrapyard rejects. 

The ebb and flow of bodies is endless. Humanoids, aliens, and Beskar blend together and no one pays attention to the lost little girl that you feel like, now. It’s like you’re stuck on the other side of a laser gate—all the cacophony blending into an overbearing hum and the movements all blurring and crackling beyond your reach. 

In the end, you sit at the top of the ramp and just watch. Maybe Bo-Katan will come back. Maybe not. But here, you’re out of the way. 

She finds you, in the end. Shand. You suppose you’re glad for a familiar face, especially now that the twin suns are drifting toward the horizon and a strange chill has taken over the desert. Not that you noticed. You’ve been shivering all day anyway.

She doesn’t say anything at first; just leans against the post at the end of the ramp and raises an eyebrow. 

“Hi,” you say cautiously.

“C’mon,” is all she says, jerking her head behind her and turning to walk away. 

You follow her without another word between you. The throngs of bodies part for her despite her small stature, which makes it easy for you to stick close. 

You’re surprised to end up in the medbay. You open your mouth to protest, and she gives you the most reproachful look you’ve ever withered under.

“The entire galaxy watched you get fileted, and you’ve clearly got an infection,” she says.

“I don’t want to waste—”

“Fett has a bacta tank. Don’t be foolish,” she says before turning you over to an equally strict looking Aqualish who doesn’t care to hear what you have to say, either.

Din’s there, somewhere, but you don’t see him. Well. You think he’s there. They mention him in a way that sounds like he’s just down the hall or around the corner, but you don’t actually ask. 

It seems better that way. Safer. Truthfully, you have little time to think of him anyway. 

But there are signs. 

The palace, which you learn belongs to the man called Fett, is massive. And it seems to contain half of the Rebellion, including the Mandalorian survivors who have been absorbed into the movement whether they like it or not. But still, you can go through countless halls without seeing a soul. 

You get put in a room by yourself on one of the upper floors. You know they’ve been converting the lower suites into bunk rooms. That those rooms are even considered more desireable, since being underground protects them better from the heat. 

But when you question it, the tall bald man who escorted you to your room just laughs and says, “I was told you were to never be stuck underground again.” 

“I don’t even know if I’m staying,” you protest to no one when he leaves. Or you think it’s to no one, but you jump out of your skin a moment later when Shand says, “You’re staying,” from behind you.

“I don’t know…” 

“I volunteered you for the medbay but they’d be happy to have you anywhere. The kitchens, the creche, the cleaning crew. You’ve got enough skills to have your choice.” 

“You have a lot of faith in me for being the person who just poured your drinks,” you say wryly.

She snorts. “And managed a barrack and took care of an ornery Mandalorian.” 

“I don’t know,” you say again.

“Just think about it. You’ve more than earned a place here,” she says as she leaves.

You sit on the edge of the bed for a long time. It’s too soft, too endless. You think if you lay in it, you’ll sink in and drown. 

So you sit and force yourself to accept the way the sheets feel beneath your palms and the mattress dips beneath your weight and how the ground grinds beneath your shoes that you wear, now, for the first time in four years. 

You thought they’d feel safer, but they’re more like a cage. 

Everything is wrong. Your hand is healed, the bones settled back like nothing happened. The cuts and bruises and raw, flayed flesh are the same as the day you were born. The bacta erased almost everything.

Your mind doesn’t seem to have been blessed by the bath. It still ticks and clicks all wrong, stuttering over things that used to be effortless. You jump and twitch and stop your breath for any reason, for no reason. 

And you can’t stand droids. 

The first time a protocol droid speaks to you, you find yourself in a storage room two floors up. You don’t know how you got there and you don’t know how long you were gone. Its voice isn’t even the same, but something in you is irrevocably broken. The astromechs are worse. The whirring of their motors doesn’t send you fleeing. 

No. You just fall apart.

It’ll get better, you tell yourself. It has to. You can’t avoid droids, but you can certainly try.

One time, when you’re pulling yourself together after an unfortunately literal run-in with a probe droid, you find yourself in the lower levels of the sprawling complex. But you’re not alone. 

There’s someone running past the door as you exit whatever empty meeting room you have found yourself in. They trip and fall just as they pass.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?” you say, crouching down to the small child.

The little green toddler pushes back up to their feet, though, looks up at you with wide brown eyes, and squeals something unintelligible. 

“Oh, I see. You’re a tough one, huh? Good. Great job.” You hold your hand out for a high five, but they just gently press their tiny palm against yours. 

“That works too,” you assure them.

“C’mon, buddy,” an exasperated, foreignly familiar voice says from behind you. “I know you don’t—”

The little one, who, as your stomach sinks, you realize must be Grogu, babbles excitedly and grabs your hand to show you his father. 

You stand and let him, though you need no introductions. 

The Mandalorian stands before you in all his silver glory. You know that Din is the armor and the armor is Din, but it’s startling to see him this way. He’s not soft or dimpled or warm, now. 

But he’s still Din. You can feel it. 

Inexplicably, you’re being dragged back by an invisible hand, your worries manifesting into something with more control over your body than your hopes. 

You take a step back, leaning your weight on your heel for another. 

“Wait,” he says through the unfamiliar crackle of the modulator.

And then he does the last thing you expect in this moment.

He takes the helmet off. 

You stand, caught in his orbit, your mouth parted just so as you take in the face of the man you thought you’d never see again, one way or another. 

You blink a few times, uncertain.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he says in a rush. “Every time I try to find you, I’m too late.”

“You’ve been trying to find me?” Your breath catches noisily in your chest, interrupting yourself. 

“I… of course,” he says, brows furrowed. 

The way he says it is so blunt, so assured, so Din that you can’t believe you ever doubted. Of course. Even if it wasn’t for the things you shared, that’s just who he was. Of course he’d want to find you, to see with his own eyes that you were alive. 

Of course. 

You’re not sure who moves first. It doesn’t matter. The embrace knocks the wind out of you after you fail to account for the solid wall of beskar between your bodies, but you barely notice. His hands, while gloved, are clutching you to him, and he’s kissing you and everything is clicking back into place and tiny hands are… tiny hands are grabbing at your tunic? 

Grogu uses the leverage of your clothes to launch himself up. Din catches him easily, unsurprised by the tiny child’s dexterity. 

It should be strange, you think. This larger-than-life man and this tiny green baby. But seeing his son in his arms completes the portrait of Din that lives in your head. It can’t be strange, could never be. 

Din looks at you with those big, sad baby bantha eyes, and his softness seeps away. “Let me get the womp rat back to the creche. Then we should talk.” 

You don’t know what to expect, but he takes you to his chambers. The door slides shut behind you, and you blink against the heavy dark of the room.

“I’m sorry,” he says sharply, suddenly, but softens. “I’m sorry. Your parents. They’re gone.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You knew, really. You hadn’t wanted to, but you knew. 

“We sent someone,” he adds quietly. “It was too late.”

“Thank you,” you say, staring out the window for a moment, taking in the way the hazy orange sunset blends with the sands. Nothing like the divide of the wind and sea. “Do you know what happened? Or… when?”

He hesitates. 

You turn to him. “I can handle it.”

He grimaces and sighs. “You don’t have to.”

“Don’t,” you say sharply, and his shoulders slump.

“Troopers shot them,” he starts, hesitating to let you back out. When you say nothing, he gives in. “After the broadcast.”

It hurts more than you thought. “What are the chances—”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t quite swallow it. “You were right. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Somehow, as always, he knows. “You would have wondered. And I didn’t want to lie to you, anyway.” He stands up and approaches you, drawing you in by your shoulders even though you don’t want to be held. 

But he knows. He always knows. And you fold, because you don’t want to, but you need to. 

And it’s easier. Easier to let him envelope you, to fill yourself with the soft slopes of his muscles and lose yourself in his musk. To forget, just for now, not for always, but for a moment. To steady yourself with having one person back from the list of the lost. 

You don’t have him, really, you know this. Can’t have him properly. Not the way you’d like. But you let him have you. 

Oh, and he does.

He has you sprawled on the chaise lounge before you register the movement, lowering you down as he kisses you, and you just following the press of his body. He doesn’t stay above you long, his mind far more focused on lifting up your skirt and helping himself to your cunt. 

He feasts and you fall. His lips and tongue taste every part of you. The difference this time is that he talks. In the stilted silence of the cell, neither of you had sweet or sultry sentiments but now, oh, now he never stops. Murmurs that fill your cunt, endearments kissed onto your clit, and growls sucked into your thighs, blossoming bruises that seep into your bones. 

You can’t hear much of it, but your breath hitches with each word you can snatch from the air. Sweet, he calls you as he speaks of his need and ache. You fall apart on his tongue when he calls you my brave girl. 

His. 

You hold onto that, rewind and replay on the lonely nights to come. Neither of you speak of it, of course, but he said it, he meant it, you heard it, you kept it. 

That night, though he doesn’t say it again, you believe it. He makes you believe it. With each kiss and caress and bite and bruise. He takes and you give and give and give. 

He doesn’t stop worshipping your cunt on his knees after you come. It’s not enough; he can’t be satiated. He drinks from you twice more before he can wait no longer, climbing above you and knocking your legs apart with his knee. He can’t be bothered to strip you of your clothes or him of his. Can’t be bothered to waste another second before he’s plunging the full length of him into your soft folds and gasping as if he’s nearly drowned. 

Maybe he has. Maybe he’s submersed himself so deeply within you that he can’t breathe. You can’t, so you’d believe it. 

He fucks into you somehow sweetly, though the pace he sets is unforgiving. His hands cradle you, though, and his lips find purchase along your neck. 

Din doesn’t say it again, doesn’t call you his , but he leaves his mark on every inch of flesh he can reach. 

He makes sure you lose yourself in two more orgasms before he pulls out to spill against your slit, rubbing the head of his cock against your puffy outer lips and clit. 

“Stay,” he pleads. 

So you do.

An hour later, you realize he hadn’t taken your clothes off not because he couldn’t be bothered, but because he was waiting for you. He was perceptive and kind as always, waiting for you to expose your scars. 

Not even the bacta could erase Gideon’s “art.” 

Din wouldn’t take that from you, wouldn’t make you, but you do it anyway. You bare yourself to him and he takes the offering with as much aplomb as you would have guessed. 

Nothing is said, but he pulls you down after, once you’ve fucked yourself full of him, to lay against his own bare body, and his fingers trace the lines with reverence.

He doesn’t say it again, but you hear it. My brave girl, his fingertips whisper. 

And you finally cry. 

When you’ve run out of tears, he holds you still, doesn’t let go just because the need is gone. 

Neither of you sleep that night. You can’t stop your hands and mouths and hearts from following the beat of each other. Like the quiet taps in the darkness of the cell, your bodies speak to one another and you can’t help but to listen, to answer the call. 

It’s nearly morning when you ask. He hadn’t wanted you to, if only because he didn’t like the answer. 

But he gives it to you anyway. 

Two days. He’ll be leaving in just two days. 

You knew he couldn’t be bound here, couldn’t be nestled in the safety of the palace while there was a war to wage. Knew he would never keep to the background, would never shy away from standing beside his people and doing what needed to be done.

He has a question of his own for you and this time, you have an answer. You couldn’t promise Shand that you’d stay, but it falls from your lips for Din like nothing. 

Where would you go anyway?

But stay, he pleads, so stay you will. Here, where he can find you. Here, where his son will be, for this is not the time for foundlings to flourish. No, there is far too much that will be lost in this final hour. And you know now that there’s not much you wouldn’t do when Din is the one to ask.

So you stay.

In the darkness of the early morning, the three of you stand in the hangar. It’s unsettlingly empty in a way that can only be intentional. Din removes his helmet and tucks it under his arm, tugging one glove off to cup your cheek in his broad palm. 

His soft lips find first your forehead and then your lips. It’s saccharine and short; a proper farewell. He hugs his son and kisses his little wrinkled head before placing him into your arms. 

The helmet goes back on, and the Mand’alor only hesitates once at the bottom of the ramp, nodding his head once. You hold his heart in your hands in every way that matters, and the two of you watch until the tiny dot of his ship disappears.

You think I remember you, so you are eternal, and hope it’s not all you’ll have left of him to hold onto. 

so long, and thanks for all the fish!

*title from "45" by Shinedown.

[thealtoduck]

Being raised in the same circus as Dick and being reunited with him…

Dick Grayson x Male Reader

Warnings: Superhero violence, fluff, death of parents, reader and Dick are dumb…

Summary: You were a firedancer as a child at the same circus as the Flying Graysons and years later you reunite with your childhood best friend in odd circumstances…

(A/n: The Batfam lineup in this is only Bruce, Alfred, Dick, Barbara, Jason and you. The others are not there yet. + Not based on the Titans show, this version of Dick is just hot.)

——

You were the child of a fire breather and a acrobat at Haly’s Circus so you were raised to know pretty much both of those skills and became the circus firedancer and the occaisional helper of the Flying Graysons, that would be how you met Dick.

The two of you were inseperable as kids, you always showed each other new skills your parents taught you as part of their acts. Which would lead the circus director to make you helpers to each others performances, because what’s better to make the audience say ”Awww” than two wholesome kids being best friends.

The two of you even planned to make an act together but it never came to be…

After the death of his parents Dick was taken away and the two of you didn’t even get to say goodbye.

After that the director trained you and some others to become the new trapeze artists but none of you could ever match the skills of the Flying Graysons, though you came somewhat close having trained and performed with them before.

Tragedy would strike the circus again during one of your parents performances leading to you becoming orphaned.

So you left the circus at 16 years old to get away from the pain and moved to a small apartment in Gotham using the money your parents left you. You got a job as barista and a side job as a gymnastics teacher for kids.

Though the barista job didn’t last long, one of the parents of the kids you taught wanted to hire you as a model for their clothing magazine which just so happened to pay a lot more than a barista, so you took it.

A year later it would be revealed to you that one of the children’s family you taught had their house broken in to and burguled, their dad had been stabbed and the mother and child had been tied up.

So you loving these children as much as you did started to learn boxing so you could defend them if ever necessary.

After a year of training in boxing you took a page out of Batman’s book and became the vigilate known as ”Flamebird”. Taking name inspiration from you’re training as a firedancer/breather and trapeze artist.

You would end up teaming up with Batman, Robin and Batgirl, though at first Batman was rather suspicious of you but he came to trust you. There was only one member of the batfam who you hadn’t met, which was Nightwing, who had started around the same time as you (or at least so you thought).

You wouldn’t meet Nightwing until Joker had set up three time bombs spread out in Gotham. Batman teamed you up with Nightwing to find one, Batgirl and Robin to find another one and he’d find one himself.

You met up with Nightwing and introduced yourself ”I’m Flamebird, it’s nice to finally meet you”. ”Likewise, Batman has told me a lot of good stuff about you” he said sweetly. ”Really? I’d assume he dosen’t like me” you stated honestly. ”Well, most people assume he hates them so i guess your doing better than them” he explained.

After the quick introduction you two got to work to track down the bomb, you managed to find Joker’s thugs trying to unload it and sneak it in to a hospital. So the two of you started taking the thugs down.

Suprisingly you and Nightwings skills seemed to compliment each other very well as if you’ve been training together for years. When he went right, you went left. When you went over, he went under.

When there was only two goons left Nightwing got to work on disarming the bomb, while you had his back and focused on taking out the henchmen. You finished them off and checked if you could help Nightwing disarm the bomb.

The two of you managed to disarm it and grappled away from the crime scene as the GCPD arrived on the scene. Batman, Robin and Batgirl had also managed to disarm their bombs and Batman had also managed to capture the Joker himself. So you and Nightwing didn’t have to stress to get anywhere else that night.

”How are your flips so effortless and easy? That took me years to perfect” Nightwing commented.

”Oh, i just copy the technique a friend taught me a long time ago, once he perfected his he taught me everything he could so i could perfect mine” you said as your memory drifted back to Dick, Nightwing nodded with an interested face.

”How did you learn to be so efficient with the batons? It’s like your dancing” you commented. ”Honestly same goes for me with the friend thing, he taught me to do it through firedancing” Dick explained.

”Wow, firedancing, that’s really cool” you said as if you weren’t a firedancer yourself. ”Yeah, it’s awesome, me and my friend used to want to put together an act, where we firedanced, while swinging trapeze and we also wanted the trapeze to be on fire” Dick told you which suprised you.

”Really? Me and my friend wanted to do literally that exact same thing” you said suprised. ”Really, God, what a coincidence…” Dick said amazed. The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds until it clicked and you stared eachother deeply in the eyes.

”Dick? Is that you” you asked and Dick eyes widened and he asked ”Y/n?”. You reached up and pulled your mask off and Nightwing did the same and he revealed the face of an older Dick Grayson. ”Dick, it’s you” you said happily and jumped in to his arms.

After hugging for a full minute Dick said ”God, do we have a lot to talk about?”.

He took you to Wayne Manor at the approval of Bruce who after the night full of terrors, had decided you could be trusted with their identities. + Dick had already revealed himself so the rest wouldn’t be so hard to figure out, so he may as well save face and act as if he wanted you to know.

Dick borrowed you some clothes so you could change out of the suit, while you changed he got Alfred to make you both some tea and cookies for the long night of explaining that was ahead.

Once you both had finished the teapot had been emptied and refilled about 3 times and there wasn’t even any cookie crumbs left. It was also very late so Dick offered you to stay the night, which you gratefully accepted.

The two of you decided to have a sleepover like the ones you used to have when you were kids, which meant that the two of you were sharing the bed.

As you lay down next to each other Dick said quietly ”I’m so glad to have you back”. ”Couldn’t have said it better” you said with a smile, then the two of you fell asleep close together as if you hadn’t been seperated for 10 years.

[starrysnowdrop]

Hali reminds me of seafoam, mint, the sound of waves, and abalone shells!

This was such a cool list that I got inspired to make a moodboard with all of these things, which I don’t think it came out too badly.

So the seafoam and mint, which when referring to the colors, are nearly identical and it’s basically Hali’s eye color, which I really need to dress her in more of, but it makes for a beautiful moodboard. I added actual seafoam and mints as well. But what took me by surprise was the abalone shells! I was so used to seeing them from the outside that I didn’t know how beautiful they are on the inside! Especially the bottom right one, look how iridescent and vibrant those colors are!

This was really fun to do, so I thank you so much @crowdsourcedloner for the ask!! Sorry it took me so long to answer! 💖

[dairy-farmer]

Tim is Bruce’s biological son (so Tim would be around 4 when Dick came to live with them). Dick, Jason and Dami get increasingly jealous over the years because Bruce won’t share Tim with them

👀👀👀 tim being bruce's biological son and bruce not allowing the others around him because he's incredibly possessive. i imagine when dick comes to live with bruce, he already knows that bruce has a son. bruce, alfred, and tim had posed for a picture with dick and his parents shortly before they died and dick had seen the sweet and rosy-cheeked little boy who had peeked at dick from where he was seated in his father's arms.

when he arrives in the manor he's informed that little timmy resides on a different property on the residence and that only bruce has the keys to the second property where he goes to spend time with his son. dick's unsure about why tim doesn't live at the manor and why he doesn't see him (apparently when he was younger tim had been enamored with a story book where a princess lived in a little cottage and could see the prince's castle from her window). the manor is lonely. it's quiet with just alfred and bruce as company. the only kids he sees are the ones at school and...its lonely. even though tim is apparently only four years old, dick is desperate for company and connection from anyone other than the awkward wall that is bruce.

so dick sets out one day and manages to find where tim resides. it's like something out of a fairytale book. a small cottage situated in one of the many acres wayne manor resides on and its fenced in by big, white concrete walls with a heavy iron gate in and out. there's fields of wildflowers so thick and lush as far as dick can see, and big hedges that block the view of the house but dick can still see the edge of a roof. and dick hears giggling. sweet childish little giggles that fills dick's chest with excitement.

he gets caught by bruce trying to scale the wall and is grounded. bruce tells him that dick has free reign of the rest of manor and all its facilities but this? this is off limits. timmy is a sensitive child. he's easily frightened and has a lot of health issues- he has ever since he was born.

dick tries arguing about tim and the circus but bruce shuts him down and says that was a special occasion and that tim had begged to go to the circus because he'd seen the commercial for haly's circus on tv.

so dick is told to forget about tim and alfred comforts him by telling him bruce is just protective. he'd nearly lost tim as a baby and it had inspired a fierce protectiveness in him and that it wasn't personal.

but it still hurts and dick's childhood is an empty one made even emptier by the knowledge there was a brother so close but so far away.

leaving bruce behind to find himself and come into his own is also done with not a small bit of resentment at being denied the opportunity to be a big brother.

for jason he finds out about tim through a combination of the newspapers that occasionally complain about bruce not allowing photos of his child and through climbing to the roof one time. he spots the other property a distance away, sees how its hidden with trails of ivy climbing up the concrete walls encasing it. a hidden garden? jason's small spirit for adventure is curious and the next day sets out to explore only to be stopped a hundred feet away from the walls by bruce's security system. jason is confused and also offended when he finds out that's the residence where bruce's biological son lives. why he doesn't live in the manor with all of them is beyond him but bruce says its for for "tim's protection". and jason can't help but feel a little hurt at that. protection from what? protection from him? why isn't jason allowed to interect with this other child of bruce's? he already knows that dick is estranged and the bitter feeling of rejection from dick stings something fierce so the fact that he has a brother he's not allowed to interact with is hurtful. its a pain jason does not forget.

damian grew up with knowledge of tim and some blurry photos. when he was younger he was confused about why his "half brother" got to live with their father and he didn't. he learns that his elder brother has health problems and will likely never be any real competition for him as the heir as his mother assures him. so damian is not worried or threatened by him...but he is curious. all the photos he is shown features his elder brother as an infant or toddler, a few as a young teenager. but the photos are never clear or crisp. his mother mumbles something about his father being overly cautious. damian grows up with some vague figure beside him, one that never has a face. a brother. he has a brother. when he arrives in gotham and makes acquaintance to his father he demands access to his brother.

his father is the angriest he's ever been at the demand and damian is told in no uncertain terms that the answer to that is 'no'.

damian, jason, and dick are all similarly denied access to tim. denied the oppertunity to know, to befriend, even to see. they know bruce goes to see him. every day after dinner he'll get up and set down the path to their sibling's cottage and they won't see him again until it's time to patrol. he never says it but they all know he's going to see tim.

each day the urge to follow regardless of what bruce says and wants grows stronger and stronger.

for bruce. he hadn't planned tim. he hadn't wanted tim.

bruce only learned about tim when jack drake had sent him broken pieces of a nursery and a crisp note about how 'they' were his problem now. turns out the woman he'd spent a night with following a charity gala was married. and she'd gotten pregnant from their encounter. it seemed she'd been planning to pass the child off as her husband's until they got into an argument in her third trimester and she admitted that the baby likely wasn't even his.

as a result, her husband tore down the nursery he'd proudly built and bought and crafted and had the pieces sent to bruce's home because he was filing for divorce.

bruce had needed to take a seat when he heard that a woman he didn't know was carrying his child. attempts to get into contact with her were easy. apparently after being "kicked out" by her husband janet drake was residing in one of her apartments and was intently focused on one thing- making sure she got everything she could in the divorce. she didn't seem to notice or care that she was pregnant, drinking wine and openly smoking much to bruce's great concern. janet is more fixated on herself even while bruce tries talking about the child and testing paternity which she refuses because her lawyer advised her that cheating spouses don't get looked on favorably in conservative courts like gotham- especially the women.

janet basically hands bruce tim when he's born and tells him to do whatever he wants with it.

bruce isn't...happy. to learn he's a father. he wasn't aiming to be one, he didn't want to be responsible for a child, and alfred was trying to teach him a lesson in responsibility by not helping because 'how reckless could you be sir? consider yourself lucky this is the only time you know of that this has happened-'

being a father to tim is miserable and bruce just feels resentment for this tiny crying child who limits his patrols, who starts forcing him to make alternative decisions, and who is making PR work overtime to explain a sudden baby. janet has threatened to sue him if he tells the media she's the mother and that's just another thing bruce doesn't want to deal with so he keeps his mouth shut.

bruce loses sleep because of tim's constant crying and coughing. nothing bruce does calms him down and the sleepless nights make it harder for bruce to form any kind of affection or bond with tim. all bruce feels is resentment and hopelessness because this wasn't what he'd planned. tim was an inconvenience. an unwanted bump in the road.

that's what bruce thought.

and then one day tim stopped breathing.

bruce had been trying to work while tim whimpered in a nearby bassinet, making thick sniffling sounds and raspy cries that grated on bruce's ears. he wasn't as loud as usual which was a relief but he'd refused to eat which frustrated bruce because he'd needed to throw out perfectly good formula that sat out too long because tim didn't want to eat. dozens of children in gotham went to bed hungry and here was tim, too stubborn to take his warmed and carefully prepared bottle.

at first bruce doesn't notice the quieting sounds from the corner of the room. but then its quiet. dead quiet. ever since tim arrived it's never been quiet because tim fussed even while asleep.

something in bruce just feels...off. there's a heaviness in his gut as his eyes drift towards the bassinet. he's not sure what pushes him to check but bruce slowly approaches tim, the heavy thing in his chest growing with dread as he looked inside, expecting to see a sleeping baby.

instead he's met with a blue faced infant that wasn't moving and had white vomit creeping out of the corner of his mouth.

the dread in his chest falls all the way to his feet and bruce swears that his heart stops.

"clark!"

sound barriers break and bruce is certain that if he'd tried getting to a car, even the batmobile, that it would've been too late. he lived 15 minutes from the nearest hospital. he wouldn't have made it. even at top speed

bruce tries not to think about. he tries so hard not to think about what would have happened to tim if clark had been off planet, if he couldn't get to them, if he just hadn't been there to take bruce and tim to the hospital.

bruce is a skilled medic. so is alfred. but neither of them have the training to help babies- not like the emergency doctors at the pediatric hospital bruce stumbles into, breathing hard and panicking as he tries to force out the gut wrenching words of "he's not breathing".

his baby is ripped from his hands, nurses try to push him back while one and then two doctors swarm around a little body. there's a blue baby blanket clutched in a white knuckle grip and it takes clark, who follows him inside, to bring bruce over to some chairs. he says nothing about bruce's trembling as he anxiously squeezes the blanket in his hands that's still warm from his little son's body.

bruce is not a religious man. despite all he has gone through and experienced. but as he sat in that chair in the waiting room of a little run down emergency room of the local pediatric hospital- he begged whatever higher powers were out there to let tim pull through.

he wasn't a good father. he knew that. he resented tim, blamed him, made him pay for being alive even when it wasn't his fault. but bruce would never do it again if they let tim live. he would care for him, love him, do right by him- he'd never breathe a bad word or do anything to hurt tim ever again. so please let his baby live.

they lead clark and bruce over to a private room after what feels like hours. clark has a steadying hand on bruce's arm the entire time because bruce can't stop the tremors racing through his body.

they're greeted by a stern-faced pediatrician who asks if bruce was aware his son had isolated congenital asplenia.

bruce says no. he didn't. and bruce can see the flicker of judgement on the doctor's face before it's wiped away just as quickly.

the expression hardens as the doctor cooly says that it's a very rare condition. about one case per 2 million babies born and that it comes with a host of risks such as increased susceptibility to illness. did bruce know that? did he know that his child had been sick? that he'd been pushing a fever of 101? did he know that mucus thick like slime had built up in his child's respiratory system? did he know that they'd needed to use a hose to suction it out because it had been making breathing difficult? did he know his child had painful gas buildup likely the result of not getting burped after being fed? did he know the red marks along where his diaper was were the early signs of diaper rash?

it's clear from the doctor's expression and tone that they think bruce is the worst father in this emergency room. hearing about his son's pain that he'd been neglecting makes bruce want to dig his own grave because he hadn't known- he'd...he'd....

clark grips him tighter, propping him up as bruce grows distressed and in a soft and quiet voice asks the doctor if he can see tim.

the doctor looks like they're biting their tongue but they lead bruce to another room where tim is has various tubes and monitors attached to him. he looks small. so much smaller than bruce thought possible.

he's not making a single noise and bruce's heart nearly stops again but its the monitors and their steady beeping that grounds him.

clark sits with him. he doesn't say anything and just keeps bruce company for hours. bruce will always be grateful for that.

a few days later bruce is allowed to take tim home. the hospital case worker does a home visit once tim is discharged and thankfully nothing happens as a result but that doesn't stop bruce's heartbeat from speeding up as an older, skinny man questions bruce and documents the state of his home. it's the record of this and the visit to the emergency room that one day stalls his case in adopting dick and jason.

the days after tim returns from the hospital are the most nerve wracking. every noise he makes has bruce jumping to his side. bruce spends every waking moment reading up on babies. how to hold them, dress them, how best to burp them, bathe them, feed them- everything he'd neglected to do before, he does now. he tries. he learns. he keeps his promise.

even years later if it means keeping tim at a distance from the rest of the family, even if it means his other children are unhappy with him- bruce never budges.

he knows parents aren't supposed to have favorites but...he can't help it. tim was his baby.

[sailoryooons]

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand. 

❀ Word Count: 4188 

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED. 

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried. 

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family. 

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up. 

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games. 

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask. 

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr. 

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you. 

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches. 

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it. 

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling. 

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text. 

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous. 

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire. 

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix. 

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable. 

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy. 

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there. 

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler. 

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm. 

It’s you. You’re the storm. 

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you. 

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target. 

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air. 

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him. 

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel. 

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach. 

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known. 

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing. 

“I’ll miss that. Take this.” 

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open. 

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. 

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier. 

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic. 

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris. 

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down. 

All he can do is scream.

-

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core. 

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions. 

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise. 

Penance and praise are not the same, though. 

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest. 

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically. 

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner. 

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon. 

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench. 

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child. 

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands. 

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar. 

It smells like… Yoongi. 

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?” 

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy. 

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.” 

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands. 

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat. 

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.” 

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?” 

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight. 

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.” 

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile. 

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time. 

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers. 

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.” 

[battymommastuff]

The Greatest Show

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Masterlist

(P/N): Performer Name

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

The rumbling from the red and white tent could be felt from outside. The cheers of the crowd as Haly's circus put on what they felt would be their best show yet. Everything from the elephants standing on their back legs to the clowns hitting each other with bowling pins. You were peeking from the little opening that led backstage. Many of your fellow performers were either stretching in preparation for their performance, or were relaxing after theirs. You were currently waiting alongside your two closest friends, John and Mary Grayson. The acrobatic duo who recently combined their act with yours. The stakes were higher, but it left the crowd in complete awe. You were one of the fire eaters. You were a younger member of the circus, but had quickly become a fan favorite. 

You were beautiful, and highly skilled at your art. Swallowing fire like water, and twirling torches around without burning you or anyone else. The skill you possessed was outstanding, and Haly never let you forget that. He took you in when you needed help the most, and he made you a star. You would forever be in debt to him. 

"Are you ready, (Y/N)?" Mary asked, resting a hand on your shoulder. You jumped then turned towards her. She and John had just finished their stretches and decided to check on you. From the moment you arrived, they took you under their wing. Teaching you the do's and don'ts of the circus as well as giving you a place to sleep so you didn't have to bunk with the others in their crowded space. Though you quickly earned a little tent of your own after your spike in popularity. 

"Yes, I'm alright..." You said, with a small smile, "But what about you? Should you be performing in your condition?" You asked while looking down at Mary's stomach. She was currently one month pregnant, and the entire circus doted over her. Everyone was so excited to have a new member of their family. Whoever this kid was going to be, you just knew you would love them unconditionally. Mary reassured you for the millionth time that she would be alright before she and John were ushered up a small ladder that led to the top of the tent. You, on the other hand, were standing by the curtain, waiting for Haly to announce you. 

"And now...our next performance needs no introduction...you know them...you love them! The Flying Graysons! Featuring our star Fire eater (P/N)!" 

As soon as you heard your name, you ran out. Instantly lighting your torch and twirling it around while taking a sip of alcohol. You spat the liquid at the flame causing it to poof into the air as soon as Mary did a flip in the air and caught John's arms. 

Nothing could ever satisfy that rush in your heart. The thrill of the crowd's reaction to your tricks. The high it gave you was better than any drug. Here you were, twirling two flaming torches in your hand as you watched above you. John and Mary Grayson were flying through the air. No one knew who to watch first. The couple who seemed to defy gravity, or the woman who could eat fire. Even with them in the air and you on the ground, everyone could see the chemistry you had. It's why your combined act never failed. With a big smile, you leaned back while lowering one of the torches towards your mouth. The crowd watched in awe as the fire went into your mouth. You popped your head back up with the extinguished torch in your hand. Tossing it to one of the helpers, you lifted your now free arm in the air while twirling the other torch in your hand. 

John, swooping down picked you up and you were now in the air. An act practiced hundred of times. His legs holding onto the trapeze as you both circled around the tent, the torch never falling from your hand. 

Your act was truly amazing, and it seemed to catch the eye of a certain crowd member. Bruce Wayne. Growing up, he loved to visit the circus with his parents. After their death, he avoided anything to do with it. Now he was back, but under different circumstances. For a while he'd been investigating the circus. He recently found old notes left by his father. The Court of Owls. A secret society of the Gotham elite. Their goal is to rid the city of crime, by any means. He wasn't surprised to know that his father had come in contact with them, but was surprised to see the theory that Haly's circus was a front. The members were training to be potential Talon members. The Court's lethal assassins. The circus always seemed to favor Gotham. Their stop here would last weeks while other stops would last days. Most of their members were young, and always seemed to vanish from the show after a while. He was here to find out the truth, and put a stop to it. At least he hoped he could. It was difficult to fight a conspiracy that his father barely had proof on. 

Despite his goal, he couldn't bring himself to move from his spot. You were gorgeous. He had a genuine smile on his face while watching your act. He's seen fire eaters before, but something about felt different. You didn't seem corrupt or up to no good. You looked as if you truly loved what you were doing. Maybe he could recruit you? Having inside knowledge would be beneficial. 

Your act went on, and you left the circle with loud cheers. Your heart was racing so fast, it felt like you were going to have a heart attack. John and Mary arrived shortly after with large smiles of their own, "You did amazing!" You squealed while hugging them both. You were new to the acrobatic world, but had the best teachers in the world. 

After the show ended and everyone turned in for the night, you were sitting outside of your tent. Your throat is slightly irritated from the alcohol, but nothing too bad. Luckily tomorrow was an off day for the circus. You could rest a little before practice. It was a peaceful night, and you were happy to relax in it. At least until a deep and intimidating voice nearly scared the skin off of you. 

"(Y/N) (L/N)? We need to talk."

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TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa

[wanderingghostz]

Batfam Monster AU Info

This post contains what I have so for in terms of each character, and is open to change.

I believe my questions are open, so if anyone has any, ask away, and I'll try to figure it out!

Bruce Wayne

In this AU, Bruce's backstory is pretty much the same as canon. I tried to think of what to make him, and had no idea. I didn't want him to be a vampire, because there are already so many Vampire!Batman Au's, which I love, but I wanted to do something different.

So Bruce Wayne is a human. His parents were still shot in crime alley, and he became batman same as canon. And as happens often, gets mistaken for a monster/crypid. This then Ieads to multiple children with various afflictions and curses tracking him down, and then him adopting and/or becoming their cool uncle.

he's tired, and wonders what choices lead him to this moment.

Barbara Gordon

Babs ended up getting bit as a teen -I haven't decided the hows and whys yet- and is transformed into a vampire.

she struggles with the changes and the new urges that come with the transformation, and upon remembering the rumors about the infamous batman, she decides to borrow her fathers batsignal and get some much needed advice.

Dick Grayson

Everyone in Gotham knows the tale of the fall of the flying graysons.

After Tony Zuccos sabotage of the trapeze, all three of the flying graysons fell to their deaths. Of course, as far as the public knows, two parents left their son behind.

A psychic of halys circus takes pity on the fallen boy, and uses all she has to give Richard a second chance at life. But she couldn't heal everything. All of his bones were crushed in the fall, and he was left with some less then ideal side affects.

she just hopes that playboy bruce wayne has the available facilities to give the boy the care he needs.

Jason Todd

Jason's Todd used to be a normal boy, or as normal as you can be when you are adopted by a billionare who moonlights as batman, who makes you his sidekick.

With big shoes to fill, he can be quite impulsive, and has made a couple on mistakes, the biggest of which gets him killed. You's all know what happens next, he comes back, in a body which sometimes falls apart of him, and a major grudge with a bat, and a score to settle with a clown.

Tim Drake

Timothy Drake, heir to the drake fortune, and werewolf.

After his parents tick off the wrong person, who happens to be a werecreature. They end up being monster chow and there only son is transformed. With no parents and am uncontrollable curse, he lingers on Gotham rooftops watching his heros, Batman and the boy wonder.

After Robins death, realising the batman has no intensions of finding another robin, decides he knows how to fix both of their problems.

Cassandra Cain

when David Cain wanted to create the ultimate human weapon, inspired by mythology, he experimented with gene modification. He created a girl who shared the abilities of the nalusa falaya, a being known to melt into the shadows attacking hunters, giving them power to do evil to others.

After her first kill, she was found by Barbara Gordon after he reported being saved from a gunshot by a shadow.

Stephanie Brown

After discovering her fathers wizard heritage, and his plans for Gotham, begins experimenting in witchcraft, attempting to master the craft, so she can spoil -

"Get it, spoiler? Cuz I'm spoiling his plans?"

- eventually, word reached batman and his crew, everyone knows nothing escapes them, and she is busted by the boy wonder himself.

Damian al ghul-Wayne

After Bruce Waynes relationship with Talia al ghuIs crashed and burned upon discovering her father is that Al Ghul, the demonhead and carnivorous werewolf, he left unknowing his ex was expecting.

Only discovering this ten years later, after Talia delivers said baby to Wayne manor.

At least he has experience with werecreature children?

Duke Thomas

After the Thomas family was the victim of a joker attack, ending in both parents being in a permanently jokerised state, and their only son is killed, his spirit staying in Gotham.

He is trying to learn to live in this new state, with the assistance of the Wayne Clan, he just might make it.