#dc comics#dc#tim drake#batman#dick grayson#bruce wayne#batfam#dc fanart#batfamily
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Silk x Trunks “Smile! :) 🌈🌸”
This was so stupid fun, omg. Back on my self-indulgent fanart bullshit. I haven’t seen the series from the reference I used, but the photos were so stinkin cute.
Smoke curled up from the wreckage, painting the dawn sky in bruised grays and reds. The forest was quiet...too quiet, except for the hiss of burning metal. A lone figure staggered out of the crater, one hand pressed against his side, breathing heavily. His armor was cracked, his scouter shattered, his tail limp. He was Bardock, and he’d lost everything.
He’d seen his mate die. He’d seen his people erased by a tyrant. And somehow, he’d survived it.
When he finally collapsed, it wasn’t from wounds alone; it was from exhaustion that reached into his bones, into his soul. The last thing he saw before darkness took him was a blur of soft movement and the faintest hum of a voice.
He woke to warmth. Not heat from a battle, not from a dying planet, but from a small fire crackling beside him. The scent of herbs, earth, and wood smoke filled the air.
And then... her.
You sat across from him, quiet, watching him with wide, cautious eyes. Your home was a humble cabin deep in the woods, far from cities and noise. You lived among the trees, with a voice so gentle even the wind seemed to hush to hear it.
Bardock had expected interrogation, fear, or pity. Instead, you offered water. He snatched it from your hand, suspicious. You only smiled faintly. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… drink.”
He didn’t understand you. You were weak, human, fragile, yet you faced a bloodstained stranger without flinching. Every time he snarled, you answered softly. Every time he tried to leave, you reminded him that the forest was too wild until he healed.
He hated that he stayed. He hated even more that he didn’t want to leave.
---
Days turned into weeks. Bardock found himself rebuilding your fence, chopping your wood, fixing your roof, all excuses to keep his hands busy. But when you sang, quietly as you worked, his focus faltered.
The melodies reminded him of Gine. Not her voice, but her spirit. Something pure. Something gentle that didn’t belong in the life he’d lived.
One night, as you cooked dinner over the fire, you noticed him staring. “You don’t talk much,” you murmured, stirring the pot. “Nothing worth saying.” “I think you just don’t know how,” you said, smiling softly.
He almost growled, but stopped. You weren’t mocking him. Just… observing him. Seeing him in a way no one ever had. And that unsettled him more than battle ever had.
He began to let his guard down. You showed him the small village nearby, the festivals, the way humans laughed easily, without conquest or rank. He didn’t understand their fragility, but he started admiring it.
You taught him how to bow in greeting, how to say “thank you,” how to smile without showing his teeth. He was awkward, blunt, occasionally terrifying, but the effort made you laugh, and he found himself chasing that sound.
The night he dreamed of Gine, the world felt heavy again. She stood in their old house, her voice soft.
“You always protected others, Bardock. You don’t have to fight alone anymore.”
When he woke, your hand was resting on his arm. You’d come when he tossed in his sleep. You whispered, “You’re safe here.” And for the first time in years, he believed it.
---
When he confessed, it wasn’t a grand speech. It was after a storm, the air thick with rain, your clothes damp from gathering firewood together. You were shivering; he grumbled and threw a blanket over your shoulders.
You looked up at him, startled by the rare gentleness. “Why do you care so much?” you asked quietly.
He hesitated. Then, lowly: “Don't take it the wrong way… You remind me of my mate, she died in the attack on my planet… I didn't want to fight anymore, but you made me want to live.”
Your breath caught. He stepped closer, rough hands trembling as they cupped your face. There was no practiced romance in him, no pretty words, only truth.
“I lost everything once,” he murmured, forehead touching yours. “I don’t want to lose this too.”
The rain softened to mist around you, the forest quiet again. You leaned into him, and he finally let himself hold you, not as a warrior claiming a victory, but as a man finally finding peace.
What followed wasn’t spoken. Just warmth, closeness, the unspoken promise that neither would wake alone again.
---
Time flowed differently after that. You and Bardock built a life in silence and simplicity. His scars healed, though he kept his tail wrapped discreetly, suppressing his power so the world wouldn’t notice him.
And then came the twins, two tiny girls with snowy tails and his sharp eyes, your soft features. He swore the stars had conspired to mock him; no warrior should feel this tender. But when they curled up on his chest, purring softly like kittens, he melted.
He was fierce about keeping you all safe, building a home that could withstand any storm. He trained quietly at dawn, never letting his full energy flare, until one morning, his control slipped.
A single pulse of raw ki rolled out across the world.
Hundreds of miles away, Goku’s eyes flew open mid-breakfast. “That… that energy—” Chi-Chi froze, mid-spoonful. “Goku? What’s wrong?” “It’s familiar.” His voice shook. “I don't really know, kinda reminds me of Raditz.”
Moments later, half the Z Fighters were airborne. Vegeta cursed under his breath but followed, muttering about impossible things.
They found him in the clearing, surrounded by the misty woods, older, scarred, wearing Earth clothes but still emanating the unmistakable power of a Saiyan warrior.
When Goku landed, he could barely speak. “...What? Who are you?”
Bardock turned slowly, eyes narrowing, then softening. “Kakarot?”
The silence that followed carried generations of loss and wonder.
Behind Bardock, you stepped out of the cabin with two small girls clutching your legs, curious. Their tails flicked with white-tipped curiosity. Chi-Chi’s jaw dropped. Goten blinked. Gohan smiled faintly, sensing peace instead of danger.
Vegeta crossed his arms, scoffing. “So the old ghost survives. Typical.” Bardock only grunted, “Prince Vegeta?”
Goku was already kneeling to greet the twins, his eyes wet with disbelief. “So I’ve got… little sisters, huh?”
They giggled shyly, peeking at his tail. One tugged it, earning a laugh that echoed through the forest. You watched them all, Saiyans, humans, hybrids, finally together, finally home.
That evening, after everyone left and the stars returned, Bardock sat outside with you. The twins were asleep, curled beside the fire.
He looked up at the constellations, quiet. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day my bloodline would smile again.” You rested your head on his shoulder. “You brought them that smile.”
He huffed. “You did.” A pause. Then, softer, “You gave me more than a second life, Y/N. You gave me a reason.”
You smiled, threading your fingers through his. The wind carried the faintest tune you used to hum when he first arrived, and Bardock found himself smiling, really smiling, for once.
The night was calm, the forest breathing in rhythm with your hearts. For the first time since the stars burned away his home, Bardock didn’t feel like a soldier or a survivor.
He felt like a man with something worth protecting. And as your daughters’ white tails swayed gently beside the firelight, he realized... this little place, this quiet cabin, these fragile, perfect lives were his new world.
Masterpost
DBS Masterlist
@ultimate-percussionist
This is the second meme I had done involving @safetyofficerb's Fruusha and my Kida.
Also one I had done long ago but never uploaded- I am rectifying that! It's still funny!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Bulma’s cycle cut through the streets of Marijuku like a blur. She swooped by green men in long robes with her eyebrows furled, her sights set dead ahead, away from it all, away from him, down the corridors of brightly lit and animated vending machines framed by long lines of pink and teal neon, palm trees and slow synth music, notes smearing in her ears as she rushed by. She squeezed the handlebars and jerked the bike around corners, gritting her teeth as her anger rose. She brought the bike to a cushiony stop just as she wooshed by Frieza’s storefront. She whipped it around in a sudden U-turn and pulled it to the curb just outside the front door, shutting it down and locking it to the ground. She hopped off, put her hand to the door, and shut her eyes as a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Visions of multiple arms and orange-haired men flashed through her brain. Like Alice through the looking glass Bulma pushed her way through. She was immediately met by the smell of liganoon tea, which seemed stronger, more intoxicating than it had before. Her stomach turned and growled at the same time. She wrapped her arms around herself and walked through clouds of vapor produced by Namekian hookahs to get to the bar, but before she could slide her butt onto a stool, a loud CRASH came from the corner, startling no one but Bulma as they continued to suck, sip and breathe the sickeningly spicy and psychoactive plant. She quickly looked over her left shoulder and found the dishwasher snarling with his finger pointed in the face of a baked out elder Yardrat, who was curling his claws around his teacup defensively, his watery eyes looking down the length of the dishwasher’s extended arm as he bent over to pick up his bussing tray. With a kind of pompous grandeur, the Yardrat slung his teacup around, dribbling the clearish green liquid all over the table and over the head of the dishwasher before letting out an impish giggle. In an instant the dishwasher was up on the table. He grabbed the Yardrat by his puffy collar and yanked him out of the booth with the alien hanging all limbs loose like a ragdoll high over his head. “Temper, Temper.” Frieza said as he slowly strolled out of the kitchen and up to the bar, “Throw him out, monkey. He’s done. Use the DOOR and NOT the window this time, please. I don’t have the money to patch that thing up again.”
The dishwasher’s eyes narrowed. He tightened his grip on the Yardrat until his puffy collar scrunched, yet still the alien hung lifeless and unbothered, a relaxed smile on his face. The dishwasher drew back his empty fist. Every vein and sinew seemed to pop on his hairless forearm as his bicep curled and hardened. He hoisted the Yardrat a little higher and the alien man’s brows parted slightly.
“NOW monkey!”
Read more on AO3
Theta lives a dangerous life
Piccolo and Clora back to back against the odds
Theta will worship him until the end of time, talk about faithful
