She/They, over 18 🏳️⚧️ Any fic prompts I make are completely free to use as inspiration! (pls dont just repost them though) And if you make something, please tag me; I’d love to see it! Also, feel free to send prompts/random questions/etc to my askbox! I may be slow to respond sometimes, but I’m open to interaction! 🏳️⚧️ Proship. Fiction is just fiction, y’all. We enjoy stories about a child getting vivisected, how are unhealthy fictional relationships suddenly crossing a line. 🏳️⚧️ My main blog is @the-lesser-dog123 if you want to check that out, though I make fewer original posts there
I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I DREW THIS. Does she even look like Nemesis?? 😭😭😭
I really enjoyed the final episode but.... tbh I expected more shocking scenes to happen, idk why I'm complaining, Marinette's life is ruined already, my poor baby :(
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He’s afraid of failing his classes, of losing an important battle and leaving the town vulnerable, of his family and friends dying, of becoming like Dan, and countless other things.
But perhaps most of all, he’s afraid of his original family.
The League of Assassins.
When Danyal Danny first came to Amity Park, it was because of an infiltration mission. The League had questions about the area and a couple crazy scientists living within it.
But Danny also suspects it was a convenient way to get rid of him. They never said it, but he felt it. He was the spare heir, the weaker twin, the failure.
He had been ordered to send back reports periodically, but he has no idea what happens to them. Supposedly, his twin was responsible for them, an early lesson in the duties he’d need to take on as the heir. But considering how Danny never received a single response, he doubts the other boy ever read them. Or maybe he did, but he just didn’t care.
Maybe if he was even more lucky, they had forgotten him entirely.
Danny wants to be forgotten. If the League forgot him, it would mean he could stay with his family. His real family. The ones he had been sent to spy on, yet who had accepted him far more readily than his blood “family” ever had, even as he started to let them see what he really was underneath his infiltrating persona.
Every report sent back was a risk. A chance that someone would remember the heir’s brother and order him to return. Every time, he was on edge for days, weeks, after it was sent out. Nothing ever happened.
But he was too afraid to stop.
If someone was reading them and noticed it, the League might send someone to check on him. Make sure he hadn’t gone rogue or been killed by something that could threaten their organization later.
He couldn’t risk it.
So he lied, pretended he was still loyal. Every single report was sent out on time, all in the same cold tone even as he left out more and more details about his true circumstances. He would not risk his family. Even if it meant he could never let himself move on from what the League had done to him.
And then one day, those fears were realized. His eyes locked with a pair he’d prayed to never see again, and he felt himself reflexively still, wiping all traces of emotion from his expression.
Damian al Ghul. His brother.
“Danyal. Ahki. Your mission is over. I’ve come to bring you home.”
Danyal paused, staring back silently, then asked in a blank voice, “Is anyone else aware of this?”
Damian’s brows furrowed at the question. “No, I–”
Danyal lunged. He is never going back, and if he can take out Damian, he might finally be rid of the last person who would think to drag him there.
Damian hadn’t been quite sure what to expect from seeing his twin again. It had been years since they’d last interacted. Years in which Damian had eventually left the League and found his new family in the Bats. Danyal was away for even longer, but the whole time still working for the League. Could the time have mellowed him out like it had Damian despite that?
He’d thought so, when he first saw Danyal. His twin looked… relaxed. But then their eyes met and all emotions suddenly drained from his body, and Damian felt a sharp pang of regret. Clearly, that relaxation was just a mask. Had Danyal been forced to keep it up this whole time? How deep had his real personality—the child he’d watched ramble about the night sky at Nanda Parbat—been buried?
He attempted to smile reassuringly as he reached out a hand to his twin, told him he could finally come home even if it should have been far sooner. That expression fell gradually as the silence stretched for several moments in the air.
Then, Danyal finally responded. He asked flatly if Damian had come to retrieve him on his own.
Damian frowned. Was his brother worried that he was only reconnecting because of the League’s orders? Considering his failure to communicate before, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Still, it hurt. He opened his mouth to reassure him that he was here of his own accord, that he wanted to help him.
A fist collided with his temple, cutting off the rest of his words.
Damian stumbled back, only barely managing to block the second strike towards his gut, and then was forced to leap back as Danyal’s leg snapped up into a kick.
He backpedaled rapidly, creating a space between them, and raised his open hands up in front of him—showing he had no weapons, yet still positioned such that he could easily throw more blocks if necessary. Danyal’s blows lacked the same machine-like precision that had been drilled into both of them, but he was fast. Far faster than he was when they last fought.
“Akhi— I don’t want to fight! I’m here to help you! Don’t you want to come home? Our family—”
Danyal’s eyes seemed to glow with unrestrained fury, and he leapt at Damian again, launching into a new flurry of strikes that he was forced to block or dodge. It would have been easier if he counterattacked, but he didn’t want to hurt Danyal more than he already had.
“Home?!” Danyal spat. “FAMILY?! What family!? Grandfather, who only saw me as a failed tool? Mother, who sent me out to survive on my own? Or maybe you, the one who never objected to any of it or attempted to contact me?”
The strikes finally broke off as Damian gave in and seized an opening and shove Danyal back, forcing them apart.
“That place was never my home.”
Damian felt his heart break. Why couldn’t he have been a better brother, done something sooner?
“But then… why send the reports? Why stay here?”
“Like the League would ever let me go. If they noticed I’d stopped, they’d send someone to check things out. And I couldn’t risk—” he shook his head, cutting himself off. A manic grin spread across his face. “But hey… if you’re the only one who actually remembers I exist, then your presence here just provided me the perfect solution to things.”
Something itched at the back of Damian’s brain. Was he forgetting something? No, that couldn’t be. He was Damian al Ghul, sole heir to the Demon’s Head. His memory was perfect.
Yet something still felt off as he pushed his body through the steps of a kata.
“Hey Damian,” Dick called out as he entered the training area. “How was your trip?”
He paused his movements momentarily, holding his stance while he spoke. “It was… uneventful.”
“What were you doing, anyway?”
“I…” he paused again. Frowned, kata forgotten. “It doesn’t matter.” The itching at the back of his head grew. “It wasn’t anything important.”
“Okay, but then why did you have to go so suddenly?”
“Because… because… I don’t know.” Irritation prickled at his mind. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes!” Dick yelled, throwing his hands up. “Of course it matters why you ran off suddenly without telling us. Where did you even go?”
“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” he grit out.
“Just tell me something.” Dick was nearly pleading now.
“It wasn’t anything important. I’ve already forgotten the details.”
“Wh- what? Wait—” Dick’s eyes widened in realization. “Name one thing you did. Place you went. Anything.”
“I…” The itching grew even stronger. “I…”
“You can’t remember, can you?” Dick whispered in shock.
“Of course I can! My memory is perfect! It’s just…” he trailed off. Couldn’t say anything.
Dick grabbed his arm. “That’s it, I’m taking you to get your head checked. Clearly something is affecting your memories”
* * *
“Yep, there’s definitely something there,” Zatanna commented, squinting at something Damian couldn’t see. Bruce had called her in after the whole barrage of normal tests failed to yield any results. “Can’t quite tell what, though. It’s…” she waved her hand for a moment, thinking, “…messy, for lack of a better word. Whoever did it, they weren’t experienced in using their magic this way.”
“Can you break it?” Bruce asked.
“Yeah, I think so.” She glanced at Damian, “I’d recommend you sit down for this, though.”
After he did so, she took a deep breath and reached her hands besides his head.
“ESAELER SIH DEKCOL SEIROMEM!”
A wave of exhaustion visibly rushed through her, but Damian barely noticed through the flood of returning memories. Far more than he expected, not just from his recent trip but all the way back through his childhood with the League of Assassins.
* * *
“My sons, the two of you are destined to do great things. It is in your blood.”
Eating together. Studying together. Sparring together. They had been two halves of a whole, always together—
“The match goes to Damian.”
—until they weren’t.
“Danyal, you have fallen behind your brother once again. I am disappointed in you. Remember that the League does not tolerate failure.”
Until they separated entirely.
“Damian, you have a new assignment. Your brother has been sent on a long-term infiltration mission following a potential lead, and it will be your duty to monitor his reports.”
He hadn’t even gotten a chance to say goodbye.
And then they met again, only for the situation to turn out exactly the same way. Two brothers once more at each other’s throats.
Except this time, Danyal was the one to win.
* * *
Damian felt tears staining his cheeks, and a single word fell from his lips. “Ahki…”
Why had his brother spared him? Was it purely practical, since his disappearance would be noticed? Or was it, he hoped, that some part of Danyal was still unwilling to kill him despite it all?
And what, now, does he do with this knowledge? Danyal clearly doesn’t want to see him, but the others weren’t going to just let this go.
Especially not with the way Bruce had reacted to hearing Damian’s words.
Harrowing: someone in your Fandom just made an innocuous and harmless post that nonetheless betrays a deep misunderstanding of the character and the character's narrative purpose and you just have to sit there and let them be wrong lest you be an asshole
Taking a crack at the Demon Twins AU! Based on this and this post, I've been thinking about these concepts for a while and, well. No reason why we can't stick them together rght?
A simple mission. In and out. That was the brief.
Not so.
It was a test. A final one, and he’d failed. It mattered not that he was a single six year old, up against twenty incredibly dangerous and armed men and women. It mattered not that he had killed most of them. Most was never good enough.
To this day Danny thinks about that, remembers that night, that week, that month all too clearly. He analyzes it, the ins and outs, tries to figure out where he went so wrong that the rug-pull caught him with such surprise. His point of view is limited, and his ability to gather information is Mission Impossible levels of high-diff. The LoS is so dark not even the furthest reaches of the dark web has access to their movements, and he can’t exactly pop on a plane as he pleases to fly on down there. By the time he doesn't need a plane to fly, Damian is safe (or as safe as the heir to the Demon Head can ever be) with their father in Gotham, and Danny is locked down to Amity Park with bigger fish to fry than old news.
So Danny’s never figured it out.
But Danny still remembers.
He remembers the wrenching shock, the pain, of being cast out from the only home he’d ever known.
He remembers going back. During the day. They were, after all, the League of Shadows. Night was their purview, night was when they were at their strongest, when they were most alert. But shadows also formed even at the highest noon and so Danny used them with more determination than he’d ever known.
His brother.
He had to get to his brother.
He had to get Damian.
He remembers the shake in Damian’s voice when he asks what Daniel is doing there. The way it’d gone into a rage - Damian would not be turned traitor. He remembers the feeling of the cool blade sinking into the base of his throat and severing his spine. The look of shock, as if Damian couldn’t believe his blade actually connected. Danny remembers falling back. An outstretched hand. Splashing into toxic swirls of green. The pain as he’s corroded from the outside in, and then sucked away.
The Lazarus Pits are just ecto infused with magic until it boiled. Go figure, huh?
He’d woken in America. Coughing up pond and Lazarus water as he scraped his way onto a greasy, muddy bank, he's bloodied and bewildered but healed. Later he would learn that in fact he’d awoken in Amity Park. It's a region where the veil was so thin because of the ley line crossroads that bisected it that even before the portal it had been drenched in ambient death energy. Hence, the presence of the Fentons and their eternally curious daughter, Jazz, who’d taken one look at him, screeched, and dragged him to her “mommy” and “daddy”, confident they could fix him.
Danny isn’t sure he’s fixed.
Chewing his lip, he absently rubs the nearly invisible mark at the hollow of his throat as he scrolls through the article. Damian is doing well. It’s been ten years since they last saw each other. The two of them are sixteen now and Danny has his driving test next week. Damian has started a foundation dedicated to the welfare of animals rescued from factory farms. In the photograph he’s standing in front of and slightly to the side of his father – their father. Bruce Wayne. He looks proud.
It’s all so mundane.
He switches tabs. In glaring, downright accusatory, red is the name of his alter ego on the public database the JL’s put together of known rogues – its very own FBIs most wanted list.
Alter ego. He wants to scoff. It’s been a while, sure, but Danny’s been trained extensively in the art of subterfuge, misdirection, infiltration, lies, keeping secrets, and Danny Phantom is barely a stage name. It’s a pun at most. It’s him. Simply him. And that was the entire point, because a piece of him was always hoping that Damian might see him and find him. Yes sure he’s visibly male, his name is changed a little, and his ghostly nature screws with every picture taken of his ghost half, but that hardly means a thing. Damian is blisteringly intelligent and they’re trained in the art of disguise besides, Danny is confident Damian will recognize him if he sees him. With the upswing of inevitable publicity... Well.
Danny hoped.
He’s never blamed his brother. Not for anything. They’d been in an impossible situation, he sees that now, one that Danny only exacerbated by not accepting the terms of his exile and going back, ever the fool. If anything, Damian had shown a surprising level of mercy not usually granted to traitors by giving Danny what would have been a relatively quick and painless death.
With his heart rotting into the swelter of his churning stomach, Danny bites into his thumbnail, his twin’s scathing bluster of yesteryear echoing loudly in his ears.
He’s used to getting this level of vilification from his parents, but this-
This hurts worse.
“Is this... because of back then?” Danny whispers. His room is empty, Vlad’s newest batch of bugs deactivated. Nobody answers him.
He can’t help but wonder if his hopes have been answered in the worst possible way. Damian called him a betrayer. Being a full blown rogue is barely a hop, skip, and a jump away from the concept.
Be careful what you wish for.
You’d think, with Desiree around, Danny would have learned that lesson by now.
But he’s always been pretty shit at learning.
He looks up and out his bedroom window. Technically he’s grounded. Just as technically he can leave whenever he feels like it and his parents know they can’t stop him. They’ve long since grown into a form of shallow resignation about him, of tired acceptance, where they don’t actually expect anything of Danny anymore. At least, not anything good, or worthwhile. And certainly not success.
He’s used to being a failure, he thinks, tears beginning to burn in his eyes. But shit. He looks back at his phone and tightens his lips until they don’t tremble.
“I didn’t think I’d fucked up this bad...” Danny whispers, and it’s no use anymore. He bows over his lap and presses his face into his hands, the shameful wetness too obvious to be denied. Of course. He can’t even comport himself with dignity in privacy with no need to fit in. He sucks in a shivering breath. Of course.
Failure. Fuck. Danny is such a failure.
It’s all he will ever be.
A year ago, two years ago, he would have railed against the perceived injustice of it all, called it a mistake, and want to know why. He would have called up the JLD in a snit and wax passive aggressive and terse puns at them until he had an answer for the slight. A handful of days after the new rogues list drops, Danny has done no such thing and has merely accepted it. Another reason for people to hate him, another day, another dollar. That’s how the expression goes, right?
Maybe it’s a sign of the times that Danny’s actually surprised when Constantine, his main liaison with JLD, shows up to check in and-
Apologize?
Danny flicks a short glance at the sky. Hm. Nope. No flying pigs. Alrighty then.
“Some sodding bell-end of an idiot decided it’d be a great idea to let an AI scour the web and conjure up a database all by its lonesome like, no oversight.” Constantine hisses at his match that refuses to light with no thought paid to his, you know, magic, all while looking as haggard and ill-slept as always.
Danny gives it a second of thought, then shrugs and presses the tip of his finger to the man’s cigarette until it smoulders. Constantine blinks, then salutes him with a “cheers, mate,” and takes a long drag. Actually, Danny wonders if the man isn’t looking a big more haggard than usual.
“Long story short, well, we know about your publicity problem.” Constantine winces a bit.
Danny nods.
“In any case, she’s been dealt with. There’s gonna be a press release and we’ll be making a retraction. Be a bloody gongshow, no doubt," Constantine sighs. "But there it is.”
It clicks.
“I’m not the only one this happened to, am I?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow, cocking his head. His misty tail sways idly back and forth as he bobs in place. “You’ve been making the rounds.”
Constantine practically withers where he stands, giving a tired groan at the night sky. “When it comes to misunderstood entities of the underworld, overworld, and everywhere in between, getting disrespected? Well. You’ve always been one of the most polite of the lot, kid. You’re about the last on the list, I think, at least for Dark.”
Danny wonders if he should be flattered. That says a lot considering the first time Danny and Constantine had met, Constantine had gotten coated head to toe in ectoplasmic goop. There had been a lot of swearing at everyone involved. Danny, more used to the adults in his vicinity taking the names of fudge, butter biscuits, and Shakespeare, in vain was impressed by him from the get go. Petty and immature, yes, but true.
He’d been fourteen, sue him.
“Regardless.” Constantine shrugs. “I wanted to check in, see how you’re holding up.”
In other words, Constantine’s been sent down by the League to make sure Danny doesn’t nuke the entire midwest with a temper tantrum. His core twinges. Burying the sound of crackling ice with a hum, Danny decides that’s fair enough.
Danny opens his mouth. The dismissal is automatic, a hopefully cute pun right behind it, but something stays his tongue.
He closes his mouth and looks back at his haunt.
The park’s trees sway in a light breeze, leaves chittering a sleepy susseration that smells thick with dewy green. Through them, Amity’s windows and streetlights glitter like stars in the cloudy night, visible in almost its complete entirety from their vantage point. Danny takes it all in, and his core squeezes with familiar affection.
But Danny can’t deny that it’s been a rougher go than usual lately.
Everything’s hitting him harder. Taking him longer to get up from, or longer to wind down from. He’s used to exhaustion and ache and being hated, disrespected, and getting up again anyways because it doesn’t matter. Danny has a job to do and like hell is he going to let his territory, and everyone in it, down.
This is his. His to cherish, his to protect, his to keep, an instinct growls in the back of his core, a possessiveness that snaps like teeth and splintering ice saying mine mine mine mine.
But since that database released...
Something’s changed.
Something’s breaking.
“Well, kid?” Constantine rumbles, breaking into Danny’s thoughts and making him blink at the man.
The Brit is studying him over the length of his cigarette, the astute intelligence that burns under the odour of booze, smokes, and bad decisions watching Danny and no doubt seeing more than Danny should probably want him to. Should. But he doesn’t care, actually. For whatever reason, he almost trusts this guy as far as he can throw him – which is pretty far. Even outside being impressed by the man’s creative and colourful sass, he’s always felt a bit of a kinship with Constantine. Strange, but true, and probably the result of their mutual habit of conning their way out of a situation wherever the opportunity strikes. They’re alike, in some ways. Given Constantine's less than stellar but very well earned reputation, Danny tries not to wonder what that says about him.
Maybe that’s why Danny actually speaks the truth. “I’m tired, Connie.”
Constantine’s nose doesn’t even wrinkle at the nickname Danny’s saddled him with. Danny looks away again, sighing and crossing his arms and pretending it’s not an attempt to brace the strange ache in his chest.
“Something’s... wrong. Can’t put my finger on it, but I’m not feeling, you know.” He shrugs, trying to affect a casual disposition and probably failing miserably. “Quite right.”
Then Danny forces a smile because being honest about how he’s feeling for once just feels straight up gross, it’s gonna give him hives. “It’s probably nothing though. Just a bit of ghost flu.” He swirls around Constantine with a flick of his tail, putting on a terrible accent, “Aye laddy, I’ll be tip top in the mor’nin, yeh ken count onnit!”
Another old equation – be off-putting and a bit rude but not too rude, and people will wilfully dismiss you with a sneer in the time it takes to blink. But Constantine is familiar with that equation. He uses it too and has decades more experience with it than Danny’s even been alive. Or dead.
The man neither dismisses nor believes him.
“...I know how tetchy y’are about your territory, so I won’t get anybody posted here to monitor the situation, and I won’t stick around either. But give us a holler if anything changes, alright?”
Danny chirps, “sure thing, Connie,” with both his voice and his core, and salutes.
Constantine snorts but turns around to leave.
Danny feels a sudden inexplicable lurch, a need to know so strong that he’s talking before he can stop himself.
“Wait.”
Constantine looks back at them. Danny’s mouth is dry. He licks his lips, feeling his smile fad, trying to figure out how to put this. He fails of course, and mentally decides, ‘fuck it’.
“This really was a mistake?” Danny asks. “My being labelled a rogue. It was just a mix-up?”
“Yep.”
Danny feels something in his core shiver. It presses him onward, floats him closer. “So the Bats had nothing to do with it?”
Constantine looks startled. It’s probably even genuine. “The Bats?”
Danny only swallows and stares.
“...No,” Constantine says after a lengthy, thick with tension pause. “No, the Bats had nothing to do with it.” He shrugs a beige shoulder. “Sides from helping to clean up the mess, at least.”
Danny absorbs this and nods slowly, attention diverting as he tries to figure out what this feeling is.
“Why.” Constantine prods.
Danny considers his response as his eyes swing back to the man. At last he simply says, “goodbye, John.”
“...Right.” Constantine pulls another drag on his cigarette, making the embers flare. “Ta, then.”
Then he’s gone in a flicker of reality and a whisper of smoke. Danny hovers, alone, and rotates idly around to take in his city.
Only, he’s not so sure it feels like his, anymore.
Danny frowns. Then he shakes the thought of with a visible ripple, like a dog shaking off wet, and swings up into the sky. It’s inconsequential. He’s got a patrol to finish.
His core aches.
~~~
The Watchtower is as glittery and obnoxious as always, and walking out of black night into its bright lights just makes John’s headache blister. He swears these daft loons have never heard of light dimmers in their lives. Grumbling under his breath, he debates tossing the stub of his fag then sighs and stubs it out on the bottom of his shoe, dropping it into its pack instead. There’ll be no telling the ridiculous spiel he’ll get dropped in if he’s caught littering. Or, debatably worse, the penetrating and disappointed ‘Capital L’ Looks.
Bats is too much a gods damned father by half and even though John is well outside his short pants, and fucking looks it too, it always makes him prickle.
Course, leaving that nasty little American hellmouth on the note he did probably isn’t helping his nerves none.
He pauses, looking into the far reaches of outer space. It’s beautiful up here. Always is. If he gave a rats ass about peace he might be able to find it out there, but all he can think of is the bloody rubbish he’d just left behind.
Something aint right with that kid right now. Which doesn’t bode well for John. He figures he ought to stay as far away as possible.
With a snap of his coat he turns and strides off.
He finds the Bat looming across a terminal on the main deck and takes a moment to arm himself.
Course, Bats doesn’t let him have that much. “Constantine. It’s done?”
Bastard. “...Yep.” John broaches the distance. “Just got finished with the last. Phantom, Amity Park.”
“Hm.”
He isn’t one of Batman’s kids where he can decode every little grunt and tick of Batman’s cowled exterior, but John is pretty sure that’s the grunt of approval. Maybe even relief. And little wonder. There’s a lot of excessively powerful entities in their tiny corner of the universe and of them all, that little spit of ectoplasm is among the strongest – if not the strongest if the rumours about Pariah Dark hold any merit. He's definitely in the top 5 of guardian spirits the world around. Nobody is actually all that sure where on the power scale he is. Nobody wants to find out, either.
If he’d died in the BCEs, he would’ve gotten scooped up by the great winged assholes in the big cloudy blue. But Danny’s depressingly, impossibly recently dead, and those pompous windbags had stopped taking applications forever ago.
For the better no doubt. But it says a lot.
Bats slips around in his chair and looks at him. “What should we be aware of.”
“Well isn’t that a great blooming bollocks of a loaded question.” John snorts, rubbing the back of his head as he looks up at the screen, then at that great blue marble in the sky behind it. Earth. He sucks in a deep breath. Welp. Isn’t nothing for it.
“JLD affiliates, the ones that care at least, probably aren’t gonna blow it up this week, and hopefully not the week after either.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his Silks, and is just about to light up again when Bats cuts him a sharp look, and a just as knifey silence. He’s good at that. See? Total dad. It’s disgusting. John snorts and stuffs the pack back into his pocket.
“I’ve wrangled a few deals, brokered another several, did a metric shitton of fetch quests. Lots of unhappy critters, thanks to that stupid database. I’ll send you the fuckin list.” He narrows his eyes at the man. “Y’owe me, Bats.”
Mr. “I Am The Night” just exhales the smallest of snorts and turns back to the terminal, dismissing him with a short, “good work.”
John rolls his eyes. “Right then. Ta.”
John turns around to leave, then three quarters from the door he snaps his fingers and stops. “Ah. Almost forgot. One more thing.”
He looks over his shoulder. Batman doesn’t acknowledge him, and his fingers never stop typing, but John knows he’s listening.
“Phantom thought you and yours had something to do with that list.” Batman snaps back around but John is already out the door with a wave over his shoulder. “Bloody weird, eh? Wonder where he got that idea from. Well anyways, g'night Batsy.”
There. Daddy Bats wants to papa duck everyone? Then he can have that whole mess of adolescent gobshite to himself and figure out how to deal with it. John’s wiped his hands of it. That kid doesn’t need John and his cursed luck around, not in the fuckin’ least, not if anyone knows what’s good for him. Phantom is already dead. But that don’t mean he can’t get deader. Or worse. And with what he’d spied with his little eye, John?
He’s honestly a little more worried about the ‘worse’.
“Nobody needs a corrupted guardian spirit of that calibre running amok. Especially a guardian spirit that’s one step sideways from being a full fledged trickster. Especially especially one who’s a buggering Realms ghost on top of that! Yeesh.” John shivers at the very thought. Yep. He’s staying right far away from that. It’s a miracle as it is that Phantom has been so obsessed with just the one darling little parcel of Bleeding Fuckin’ Nowhere, Illinois, otherwise the Justice League would’ve been run out of North America ages ago – with benevolence. Pissing Danny off good and proper enough for him to break? The very idea makes John queasy.
“There’s no contingency plan for that,” he mutters sourly. “Except for the one where you enjoy a good pint, stick your head between your legs, and kiss your ass goodbye.”
He takes one last step from the Watchtower and right back onto the eternally damp pavement of merry’ol London. He looks around, snorts and pulls out his fags, taps one out. He lights up and breathes in deep. Rank. Smells like piss. He exhales a cloud of smoke. “Home sweet home.”
~~~
John Constantine is not a subtle man.
Further he is a liar, a con, and a thief through and through who’s happy to do anything to anyone to save himself.
But Bruce can’t deny the little chill of nerves that flutters down his back as he watches him leave.
He turns back to his terminal, clicks and types. In a second, Phantom’s profile is on the screen. It’s sparse, sparser than it would be if Bruce had his way from the get go but he’d been warned off by the very man who’d just left with surprising vehemence. “Don’t go sticking that pointy rubber nose of yours where it don’t belong, Mr. Vengeance,” is what John said back then. “Else you’re liable to get on the bad side of an entity you seriously don’t want to piss off. The kid’s a good one, Bats. Be content with that.”
With a heads up as blatant as the one he’d just got, he’s certain Constantine is acting in the spirit of the lattermost of his most fine qualities, and not the former.
And that worries him.
“I guess be content is off the table,” Bruce mutters and sits back to think.
dp x dc fic with the demon twins trope where danny gets his ass exiled but goes back for his brother and damian quite promptly mercs him and regrets that for foreverrrrr
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Danny is in Gotham for college, and during finals month the Joker goes on a spree. After the Joker breaks out of Arkham for the THIRD time Danny in a fit of sleep deprived pique does a bit of research, breaks into Arkham, and swaps prisoner transfers so that the Joker is taken to a prison out of state.
It’s only after finals are over, and he has slept for two days, that he calls Tucker to check on his half brained plan, to find out it worked? Somehow it worked. The Joker is now at a different prison where he has no corrupted guards etc to help him breakout and is now stuck there.
The bats only find this out when their paranoia of “why hasn’t the Joker broken out yet?” kicks in.
I like to think this is one of those things Bruce had been trying to do, legitimately of course, for years. But somewhere between Gotham's corruption, well timed breakouts, and no other prison really wanting to deal with the Joker anyway; every prior attempt to transfer him fell through.
By swapping paperwork, Danny quite accidentally managed to cut through all those problems. The transfer was already happening before anyone knew anything about it. Therefore, it didn't need some corrupt officials to sign off on it; the receiving prison didn't have to be strong armed into taking him; and probably most crucially, Joker had no time to breakout between learning about his transfer and said transfer happening.
I also think it'd be good if Danny didn't even send him somewhere super high security (ie Belle Reve). Those transfer are probably rarer and come with too much fanfare. Instead, Danny sent him to some random prison in, like, Wisconsin* or something. Which, on top of being narratively funnier, actually works out better because it's so far removed from Joker's normal network of goons and corruption. He either has to wait for his normal helpers to get there, or try to build all that influence back from the ground up while being stifled by being under such close watch and having to fight his way to the top of whatever established hierarchy there already is in the new place (again, alone, without his own established network bolstering him).
Either way it's gonna take time. Months and years even. And, once they know about it, time is very useful to the Bats for cleaning house before Joker inevitably ends up back in Gotham. The more of the Joker's network they can root out and clean up, the harder it'll be for him to breakout again later.
Plus, the longer this random prison can hold him, it helps build very strong evidence for Bruce's legitimate attempts to get Joker transferred. No more other institutions arguing they don't have the means to secure someone like the Joker. Security isn't the issue; Exhibit A, this prison did it for years no issue.
*Danny, leaving a voicemail at 3am during his stressed out sleep deprived brilliance: Hey Frootloop! You've got plenty of influence in Wisconsin. Do something to help keep Joker in his new home and I'll go to 3 Packer's games with you every year he's there. Kay thanks, bye! Whoever invented statistics is evil. Evil, evil, bad box of Raisin Bran evil. Where'd my calculator escape to? *Several more seconds of rustling and muttering before Danny actually remembers to hang up.*
Once winter hits. Ladybug suffers from the cold and yearns to hibernate but she can't. So after Patrol some good catnaps and warm cuddles and she will survive another winter
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"Doomed yaoi" this "doomed yuri" that what about doomed found family. What about finding comfort in these new people after going through so much on your own—a community, a solace, a home to come back to. Caring for them with all you've got, only to realize that it wasn't going to work, ever, no matter what you tried. Only to have it ripped apart, no matter how much you tried to hold them close. Found family that becomes lost family. Found family that takes your heart with it when they go.
OKAY, I REALLY HOPE THAT THIS POST WILL BE READABLE
This is a post about my AU, we'll call it overturned AU (let's thank my friend for coming up with this name) , because usually when I draw stuff for miraculous, I do it for my AU so I thought that it's probably a good idea to provide some basic information 😌
I'll give you more info when it's relevant, cause I have a whole doc about this AU lol
General info in text:
at the beginning of the story they are 17yo, it's their Terminale year (to specify: at the very beginning Marinette is 17 and Adrien is 16, because Marinette's birthday is in July and Adrien's in October)
KWAMI SWAP, so Adrien/Bug is the holder of Ladybug's miraculous and Marinette/Lady Noire is the holder of Black Cat's miraculous
they first met as Bug and Lady Noire and Lady Noire became Bug's first friends since... oops, you'll found out in the future (you can probably guess honestly)
Adrien used to be homeschooled, but for his Terminale year he was enrolled in a public school (i will ellaborate on that in the future!)
Adrien and Marinette quickly became friends, they didn't understand why it's so easy to talk to each other (maybe because you were already friends... but as... superheroes...)
They started dating pretty quickly but they don't know each other's secret identities... yet!
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He’s afraid of failing his classes, of losing an important battle and leaving the town vulnerable, of his family and friends dying, of becoming like Dan, and countless other things.
But perhaps most of all, he’s afraid of his original family.
The League of Assassins.
When Danyal Danny first came to Amity Park, it was because of an infiltration mission. The League had questions about the area and a couple crazy scientists living within it.
But Danny also suspects it was a convenient way to get rid of him. They never said it, but he felt it. He was the spare heir, the weaker twin, the failure.
He had been ordered to send back reports periodically, but he has no idea what happens to them. Supposedly, his twin was responsible for them, an early lesson in the duties he’d need to take on as the heir. But considering how Danny never received a single response, he doubts the other boy ever read them. Or maybe he did, but he just didn’t care.
Maybe if he was even more lucky, they had forgotten him entirely.
Danny wants to be forgotten. If the League forgot him, it would mean he could stay with his family. His real family. The ones he had been sent to spy on, yet who had accepted him far more readily than his blood “family” ever had, even as he started to let them see what he really was underneath his infiltrating persona.
Every report sent back was a risk. A chance that someone would remember the heir’s brother and order him to return. Every time, he was on edge for days, weeks, after it was sent out. Nothing ever happened.
But he was too afraid to stop.
If someone was reading them and noticed it, the League might send someone to check on him. Make sure he hadn’t gone rogue or been killed by something that could threaten their organization later.
He couldn’t risk it.
So he lied, pretended he was still loyal. Every single report was sent out on time, all in the same cold tone even as he left out more and more details about his true circumstances. He would not risk his family. Even if it meant he could never let himself move on from what the League had done to him.
And then one day, those fears were realized. His eyes locked with a pair he’d prayed to never see again, and he felt himself reflexively still, wiping all traces of emotion from his expression.
Damian al Ghul. His brother.
“Danyal. Ahki. Your mission is over. I’ve come to bring you home.”
Danyal paused, staring back silently, then asked in a blank voice, “Is anyone else aware of this?”
Damian’s brows furrowed at the question. “No, I–”
Danyal lunged. He is never going back, and if he can take out Damian, he might finally be rid of the last person who would think to drag him there.
Damian hadn’t been quite sure what to expect from seeing his twin again. It had been years since they’d last interacted. Years in which Damian had eventually left the League and found his new family in the Bats. Danyal was away for even longer, but the whole time still working for the League. Could the time have mellowed him out like it had Damian despite that?
He’d thought so, when he first saw Danyal. His twin looked… relaxed. But then their eyes met and all emotions suddenly drained from his body, and Damian felt a sharp pang of regret. Clearly, that relaxation was just a mask. Had Danyal been forced to keep it up this whole time? How deep had his real personality—the child he’d watched ramble about the night sky at Nanda Parbat—been buried?
He attempted to smile reassuringly as he reached out a hand to his twin, told him he could finally come home even if it should have been far sooner. That expression fell gradually as the silence stretched for several moments in the air.
Then, Danyal finally responded. He asked flatly if Damian had come to retrieve him on his own.
Damian frowned. Was his brother worried that he was only reconnecting because of the League’s orders? Considering his failure to communicate before, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. Still, it hurt. He opened his mouth to reassure him that he was here of his own accord, that he wanted to help him.
A fist collided with his temple, cutting off the rest of his words.
Damian stumbled back, only barely managing to block the second strike towards his gut, and then was forced to leap back as Danyal’s leg snapped up into a kick.
He backpedaled rapidly, creating a space between them, and raised his open hands up in front of him—showing he had no weapons, yet still positioned such that he could easily throw more blocks if necessary. Danyal’s blows lacked the same machine-like precision that had been drilled into both of them, but he was fast. Far faster than he was when they last fought.
“Akhi— I don’t want to fight! I’m here to help you! Don’t you want to come home? Our family—”
Danyal’s eyes seemed to glow with unrestrained fury, and he leapt at Damian again, launching into a new flurry of strikes that he was forced to block or dodge. It would have been easier if he counterattacked, but he didn’t want to hurt Danyal more than he already had.
“Home?!” Danyal spat. “FAMILY?! What family!? Grandfather, who only saw me as a failed tool? Mother, who sent me out to survive on my own? Or maybe you, the one who never objected to any of it or attempted to contact me?”
The strikes finally broke off as Damian gave in and seized an opening and shove Danyal back, forcing them apart.
“That place was never my home.”
Damian felt his heart break. Why couldn’t he have been a better brother, done something sooner?
“But then… why send the reports? Why stay here?”
“Like the League would ever let me go. If they noticed I’d stopped, they’d send someone to check things out. And I couldn’t risk—” he shook his head, cutting himself off. A manic grin spread across his face. “But hey… if you’re the only one who actually remembers I exist, then your presence here just provided me the perfect solution to things.”
turnnoffyourmind
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prguitarman
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