romulusthethird

[romulusthethird]

Overthinking at its finest. #we’veallbeenthere #ioverthinkallofmywriting

Do you ever start writing something that you’re excited about and that seems like it’s turning out well and that you’re getting eager to share, and then you start typing it up or doing an edit pass and it’s just awful it’s awful its premise is fundamentally flawed and it’s out of character and the prose is clunky and the plot is badly paced and ludicrous and the whole thing is embarrassing, how could you have done this, how could you have sunk so much time into this, you can’t even look at it, how is this that shining thing you were so excited about, how could you even have considered finishing it let alone sharing it with anyone, you’re crying, your mother is crying, nuns are spontaneously exploding in the streets,

[romulusthethird]

Alt. Universe AU 2

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. His arms had long gone numb, and he no longer felt the strain from his position. The chains holding his hands in place above his head clinked softly, but in the echoing expanse of the dungeons, it was like a gun shot going off.

He flinched, back alive with pain.

The man had certainly put it to the test—his ability to kill him. Ineffectual, but nevertheless painful methods. He might even scar from the last attempt.

His guard— a faceless man in black who held no reaction to his quips and jokes despite the boy attempting to create a bond, some type of camaraderie between them, the captive and the captor— was slowly coming down the stairs. He could see the shadow of his feet, slowly making their way towards him.

Only, these feet were smaller than Alfonso (his affectionate name for his guard who responded to every in silence and the rare grunt). Same shoes, though. Must have been the universal pair here at casa a la crazy man.

"Oh, hello, Alfie. How are you today? Is that rain I hear outside or is the world ending? You know there was something something about rain being like... an omen? Or is that just for weddings? Whatever. Is it time for more torture? I think these latest lashings might scar! Neato, huh?" His chains jangled, and he couldn't resist humming out that one songs, you know the one, before continuing. "Did you bring food, then?"

The man(?) stood directly outside the cage/prison, staring inside. Definitely not Alfonso. His guard had the darkest eyes Danny had ever seen, and this guy's eyes were like a blue(?)ish green. Also he was shorter, just a few inches below the likely-older guy. Bones were thinner; muscles not as defined. Pointier nose.

"Soooooo," Danny lifted his head, leading it against his numb arms. "Who're you?"

No response.

"My guy, did you know one of my hobbies is talking? I can, quite literally, talk forever. You get me started on the stars? You'll never escape me. Should I start? A pet peeve of mine, is the negative connotation certain names have had on the astronomy community--I won't name them, you might know them, I don't know, but specifically, one Schedthuries, do you know him? Mid-century astromoner who devised the star patterns and ended up being completely wrong and causes the astronomy world to catapult back to the sixties and try again? Yeah, that asshole. James Schedthuries. I even watched his Teddie Talk a few years ago, for the 75th summit, ya kno, and anyways, did you know that man was more interested in reptiles and snakes? Like, I don't know what the fuck he was doing in astronomy if that wasn't the field he wanted to study--"

"Are you making that up?" It was a not-so deep voice that scratched at the ears and cracked on the k.

It's a teen.

Holy hell, Danny should've realized indoctrination started young.

Also, he was making it up, yes.

"I'll tell you if you tell me your name."

The guy scowled. Heh.

"...I am the heir to the Demon, Ibn al Xu'ffasch."

"Okay, but, like, what do people call you?"

"Tch."

"Here, why don't I give you incentive? My name is Danny. Not Daniel, not Dan, not Dante, Danny. It's only nice to reciprocate." He prompted.

"...I am referred to as Damien."

Danny grinned. "Nice ta meet cha, Dami."

The boy gripped his sword. "Do not call me that."

"Uh, yeah, no. I'm gonna call you whatever the fuck I want to if I'm being chained up in your murder dungeon."

A beat of silence.

Then, "so is it true?"

"Dude, of course it's not real--what kind of name is Schedthuries?"

"Why would you make up easily checkable facts? Did you not worry I would punish you for your lies?"

"If that old man can't do much damage, what can you? I don't get to have a lot of fun around here. Also where is Alfonso?"

"Who?"

"My guard?"

"Oh. gibberish," Danny didn't know what the boy had said, only that it literally translated as the word gibberish in his head. "Gibberish gibberish gibberish."

"I can't understand you."

"He is assignment."

"Alfonso is an assassin, right? Like, this is a murder cult?"

Damien--Dami grunted.

"Dude. Why?"

"We help people."

"By murdering them?"

blue-green eyes glared at him. The boy stepped towards the bars, but never near the door. "We rid the world of corrupt people. Cut out the bad to heal the good. Do you know understand that, Daniel? We kill those who seek to harm this beautiful planet. Those with no conscience. We kill so we do not have to mourn."

"That seems like an idealistic way of looking at what you do."

"How do you see it?"

"Murder, plain and simple. unlawful, and unreasonable murder. That is not justice-- it's vengeance. It's not righting a wrong if you commit another in the process. It's just more bad to cover the old bad. A temporary bandaide."

"...You know not what you speak."

"Maybe. Hey, d'you think the cafeteria would give me like, soup? It gets cold down here?"

"Nanda Parbat is always cold."

The boy turned, then, taking his eyes with him, and went back up the stairs, one foot in front of the other. "Does that mean you'll try to get me some? I like broccoli cheese soup! Hey! Dami! Do a guy a solid!"

"...Please?"

"Man, I wish I was at home."

"Jazz would make me soup."

"After the insects have laid their claims... I'd be home with you, I'd be home with you..."

"Shut up," Dami said, slamming the door open.

"You don't like my rendition?"

"You are ruining Hosier with that shot voice of yours."

He grabbed Danny's chained hands, releasing them from their tense place above his head. He resisted the groan that wanted to come free at the pain and reintroduction of feelings to his limbs. His fingers shake.

"Sit down and eat," the boy said, placing a steaming bowl of soup (not broccoli cheese, but Danny would take what he could get) on the table.

Danny wasted no time making his way to the uncomfortable chairs, sitting opposite Dami, and reached for the spoon.

"You are a godsend, Dami~"

There was a grunted hm, before the boy gestured for him to dig in. He did so with fervor.

"Tell me about you," was said suddenly, several minutes into his messy, loud slurping.

"W'at d'ya wanna kno?"

"Anything."

So Danny opened his mouth-- and told the other boy about the stars. Real facts this time, of course. He wasn't that uncivilized.

--

This is short, but yk. A bit more dialogue heavy than I'd like but beggers can't be choosy I suppose. Enjoy, or don't.

[romulusthethird]

Alt. Universe AU

Listen, Danny didn't mean to fall through that portal and end up in a pool of burning ectoplasm. But here he was, after another annoying meeting with Clockwork about time shenanigans and alternate selves, in said pool of goo.

It felt like he was being burned alive. His mouth opened involuntarily to scream, taking the green liquid into his mouth, into his lungs when he ran out of breath. He screams anew, actually hearing his voice in the dense goo. He sounds like nails digging into a chalkboard and dragging across it.

His Lichtenburg scars light up, glowing an eerie green, almost yellow.

He's going to drown. To actually die.

He kicks his feet, but it's as if he is trying to run in a dream. Too slow. His hands wave above him, pushing down. He kicks, and kicks, and kicks.

He can't breathe.

He's in so much pain--more pain than he's ever felt in his half-dead life.

And then, somehow, someway, he breaks through to the surface.

He gulps in the fresh, clean air with loud wheezes. He's still kicking his weakening legs, still moving his arms. He coughs, moving forward.

His feet touch the ground.

He wants to laugh, and to cry when he finally stands, waist still emerged in the hot ectoplasm. He gags, hacking and coughing, maybe even throws up a little, expelling the green goo back into the pool.

When he looks up, he's in a cave. It's tall and expansive, and he could kiss the damp, disgusting stone a few feet away from him.

He's alive.

He pulls himself out of the water, chest heaving, and lies on his back on the cool stone. His clothes are eaten through and barely resemble clothes. His skin steams and... is he glowing?

He is! His arm looks like he lost a battle with a Edward doll from those twilight movies. He's not sparkling, but it's like a faint shimmer out the corner of your eyes. Like something is trying to enchant you.

Is he some type of Fae?

And his nails... They're claws! Freaking claws! He moves his hand around, wiggling his fingers. They look lethal. Like a mon--

"And what do we have here?" A voice, deep and old, rang out.

Danny startles, not having heard anyone come in (and he has super hearing!) He sits up, hair falling around his face (did his hair grow????) and eyes taking in the old man and the people in black surrounding him.

"Who are you?" The man asks.

"...None of ya business."

"Everything is my business in my domain."

Danny stills. He looks closer at the man. He isn't a ghost, maybe a little liminal, but alive and well. "Who are you?" He shot back. "And what's you 'domain'?"

"Since you managed to find my personal Lazarus Pit, you know what I am. But, I suppose I'll humor you. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head. This is Nanda Parbat, my domain."

Nanda Parbat? What the heck? Demon's Head? "I don't know you. My name is Danny." Should he be giving random people who appear in caves with green pools of ectoplasm his government name? He doesn't know, but if it goes south he has the power to leave. And maybe that's also in his human form too, now, if the claws were any indication.

The old man hums. "How did you get here Danny?"

"I don't know. One minute I was--" He can't tell him that. That's not something a human should know. Not something someone living should know. "--Y'know at home and the next I'm waking up in this goo pool that burned me."

"You are a poor liar. Why shouldn't I slay you here and now?"

Danny snorts. "You can try."

The man's lips twitch in amusement. "Fascinating. Take him to the dungeons. We'll see how long you can endure before you spill all your secrets, dakhil."

Two men came forward to grab his arms. Danny wants to fight them, really, but he's so tired. He can escape later. For now, he lets these men pick him up and take him out of the cave and into what looks like a medieval castle.

"Do be careful not to damage him further before I can see to him."

Maybe that should scare Danny, but it doesn't. He's dragged past a courtyard full of training people, including a boy, lightning quick, fighting against a woman.

Their eyes meet--his, and the shocking blue of the stranger--before he is dragged further into his new temporary home.

He is leaving. He just needs to rest first.

Yes.

Rest...

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So, the plan for this AU is essentially, Dami never went to Gotham at the tender age of ten, and is still in the league (We are ignoring the "Ra's needs his body" canon because that does not fit here) and is still the heir. He's still his little murdery assassin self. I wanna say Danny is 15 here, (we are ignoring ALL CANON in this household today because Danny is not the ghost king and I can't remember shit about the tv show rn so my plan is like, he's strong right, but not like op insane, but like on par with superboy right, and he does errands for clocky and maybe goes through time/dimensions for him idk. I might make him come across half alien (like in those fics where hes kryptonian or martian, you get what I'm saying right) in this idk we're gonna find out together) and Dami is 16. The plan is to have Dami and the Danno fall in wuv and abscond to gotham together, for the glorious scene of "the son you never knew you had" showing up w his boyfriend. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. (the second part is already in my brain but I was up all night watching movies so you get this now, and that later.)\\

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(also if you've read my shit before, and even if you haven't, I know that Dakhil isn't technically correct, since its using the wrong alphabet, and is not even remotely written how it sounds, but I purposefully do not use the correct alphabet because that is not what the character will hear. They won't hear دخيل, they're going to hear sounds and they won't be able to see the alphabet, so I figured why not just put the closest equivalent so readers can kinda understand what the character, in this case danny, is hearing? idk maybe it's stupid, but I digress. thanks for coming to ted talk numero 2)

(Also 2.0, the word means intruder.)

(i had something else to tell you, but I am genuinely fighting for my life against this headache rn. You cry a few dozen times watching Interstellar and suddenly you and your brain have beef)

--

(Lmaoo I remembered. it took me a sec, and the light from my computer is hurting my eyes, but I got distracted right, and remembered--

I almost had danny lie and tell them his name was Dante (which is what a lot of fanfic writers use for Dan) and was tempted to have him impersonate the other danny, and then when clockwork catches wind of his act, have dante come rescue him and get simultaneously confused and angry:

Dante coming to rescue his hopeless alt self Danny: wtf man why are you impersonating me? Danny-Dante, gasping dramatically: what do you mean you're Dante? I've always had this name! My great aunt Tilda gave it to me at the 75th annual Fenton christioning. Are you an imposter? Have you come to harvest my eggs? Dante: You don't have eggs Dante: and what the actual fuck is a christioning Danny-Dante: HA! see? Imposter. Doesn't even know about the christionings. Dante: you made that up Danny-Dante: Prove it. And so the other Danny went back to their dimension to see if so-called "Christionings" are real. He has to wait a year, and when he comes back, he is traumatized. A year later, Dante at Danny-Dante's door: I'm moving in. Danny-Dante: Did you bring Ellie?" Dante, shuddering: No... she enjoyed it. Danny-Dante: Oh god. come in come in. Hopefully she comes to her sense before yultol. Dante, dreading the answer: what is yul-- Danny-Dante: You don't want to know. You really, really don't.

That spiraled but yk. thanks for coming to my fifth ted talk. Bye)

[romulusthethird]

Felt because did you know that the Garfield Logan/Jonathan Kent tag has exactly one fic and it’s amazing? But it’s the only one. I am starving.

in small fandoms you need to be grateful to the person who only accidentally hit you twice with a frying pan while trying to make you breakfast. in big fandoms you can block people for wearing a shirt you don’t like

[romulusthethird]

Please take a moment to read this. A Canadian company (Highland Copper Company) wants to build a sulfide copper mine near Lake Superior (Copperwood Project), which holds 10% of the world’s freshwater. The mine would produce 98.5% toxic waste, stored in a dam just two miles from the lake. The dam can only withstand a 1-in-100-year storm, but the area has had two 1-in-1,000-year storms in the past decade. If it breaks, toxic water could contaminates Lake Superior & nearby freshwater sources, which could lead to acid mine drainage, where sulfide minerals react with water and air to produce sulfuric acid. This acid can leach heavy metals such as arsenic, lead, and mercury into the water, severely harming aquatic ecosystems and making the water unsafe for human consumption. Similar contamination events have led to long-term environmental damage and water quality degradation at other sulfide mines in the U.S., where nearly all have failed to prevent pollution. Additionally, this could negatively impact local communities by reducing property values, limiting long-term employment opportunities due to the finite nature of mining operations, and creating economic instability linked to environmental degradation. The company wants $50 million in taxpayer funding to move forward. The Michigan Senate is about to vote, if they don’t get the funding they can’t build it.

Sign the petition if you want to prevent this disaster by clicking the link below or searching “Protect the Porkies, Protect Lake Superior— Stop the Copperwood Mine!” at change.org.

[romulusthethird]

Medium!Danny DCXDP AU

had an idea :)

Uh, ig trigger warnings? Not graphic, but description of dead child with graphic death, plus technical self harm in a ritual. Kept it PG, but yk, read at your own risk?

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On a good day, Danny was as normal (on the outside) as every other person in Gotham. He got up at a stupid hour, to the sounds of thunder and dark grey clouds. He made himself some shitty coffee in the old coffee maker he thrifted, listening to the rain as he sipped on the bitter brew. He showered as quickly as he could, the pipes in his building so old that hot water was not even a concept. He threw on some jeans and a sweater, grabbing an umbrella from the stand by the door.

He worked at a nice little shop that sold uniquely shaped candles, all made in-house. That was his first job, at least. From nine in the morning, to three in the afternoon. He had an hour between that job and his second, where he helped an old butcher cut and sell meat. You didn't need any credentials to be a butcher, and the owner was happy to have a "youngin" to carry about the heavy cuts of meat.

It was during his second shift, as he was throwing out the "not safe for human consumption" parts of meat, that his day turned to shit, and he went from normal to Danny Fenton.

There was a sudden wind in the dark alley, and a portal opened behind him and a man in a tan trenchcoat stepped out. Danny didn't recognize him, but that soul? that stench? He knew this man. Knew him so intimately, it would make a more innocent person blush. He knew every secret, every thought, every whisper.

"John Constantine." He said, voice cutting. The bag in his hand dropped into the trashbin. "This is a surprise."

The man's piercing green eyes glanced over him. He produced a fag from somewhere on his person and with a snap of his fingers, lit it. He took a drag. Held it. blew out.

An imitation tactic, perhaps?

"I'm lookin' fa a medium. You it?"

Did not beat around the bush, did he. Still, with amusement, Danny nodded. "That is an ability I possess. What's it to you?"

Another drag. Seconds went by as he held his breath, longer than last. Smoke blew out in a gray fog.

The light flickered.

The man grunted, handing a slip of paper to Danny. "Be at this address tomorrow and I'll make it worth your while."

Danny took the paper, and saw an address on the outskirts of town, in the swankier neighborhood, out where the rich bitches of Gotham that didn't give two shits about those struggling in the dirty city they ruled over lived. He whistled. "I don't do parties. Nor am I in the business of sexual favors... or summoning."

John Constantine looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there in that Alley with Danny.

"Just-- be there. P'ease and thanks. It'll be worth it."

Before Danny can once again reject the older man, he disappears from view, leaving on cigarette smoke in his wake.

Danny looked down at the meat on his hands and the still lit cig on the ground.

"Fuck."

--

Here's the thing.

Constantine didn't like people like Daniel Nightingale. He didn't like the fake ones or the real deal. They were all touched by a kind of magic he didn't want to be near--had crossed a line he would never (and he's sold his soul so many times he's lost count) to obtain the powers and knowledge they have. But he's out of options. The Justice League is out of options.

And Daniel? He was the real deal. He could practically feel the power wafting off the young man. He spent enough time scoping out the boy to know that he was gifted. Oh, was he gifted.

The situation was becoming too dangerous, their problem too big.

They needed the supernatural type of help that only a medium could provide.

All of the bats were there, even the dead boy with his anger issues managed to show up. They, Constantine, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Superman, and Aquaman were waiting for the man (but was he really a man? He was like nineteen--a fucking kid to Constantine and most of the older leaguers) to show himself.

And he did not disappoint.

They heard him before they saw him, riding on an motorcycle--that was driving itself as he lounged on the back, typing on his phone. He was going too fast, and screeched to a half before the vigilantes and supers, the tires loud and leaving tracks on the road.

"Thanks Johnny," Daniel said, waving to no one. But they watched the bike rev, and then speed off, a cackle in the air. John shivered.

He fucking hated mediums.

Said medium quickly turned to take in all the people surrounding him. "Okay, so what do you want?"

Bats was the first to get over his shock, quickly filling the boy in on their problem. "A few weeks ago, we received a strange package--it was the head of a man who had been dead for two centuries, preserved in such a way that it seems like he had died minutes before."

"A time traveler?" Daniel questioned, but Flash denied it.

"I checked. No trace of any meddling with time."

"I wouldn't be here if that was all that happened," Daniel said after a moment's pause. "What else?"

"The head was not the only one we received. Every day since, there has been a head delivered. We have received 22, and we do not think the killer will stop. They are all from different times, some thousands of years apart. We have not been able to identify any of them, as though they never existed. There are no disturbances and there is no way to identify how they were chosen or killed. There is no pattern. Our leads have dried up."

Nightwing pipes up then, "we need your help. Is it possible for you to summon them or something? Talk to the victims? Find out who they are, or were? How they died? Who killed them?"

Daniel "It is not... impossible. But it's difficult, dangerous, and draining. And... I'd need possessions of the victims, in this case--their heads."

"Is that all you'll need?"

--

Was Danny really going to do this?

{We have received 22}

He sighed. "Fuck my life. Yeah. I need black candles and goat blood."

The youngest one--Robin--snarled. "Why do you need such a disgusting thing?"

"Would you prefer I use human blood?" Clearly, the boy would. "I require a sacrifice. Mediums in the past were dramatic as fuck as would kill people or animals, but all I need is a willing--or unwilling--blood donor," Danny explained.

"Very well. I will--"

"Robin. How much blood do you need?"

"A few pints, at least. More if this takes too long. Bring backup Candles, as well. Have there been any deaths near here?"

"...I am not sure. Is it a pressing matter?" Batman asked.

"Kinda. I suppose we'll find out."

Half an hour later found Danny and several others clearing the floors of an abandoned warehouse, with a few new people bringing the heads in. They were in tube-shaped boxes that likely held some type of preservative liquids. A new speedster appeared, placing several medium-sized vats of blood on the floor next to danny.

"Thanks." The setup took about fifteen minutes, with Danny setting up the candles and lighting them when they were in the right position. He grabbed a brush Robin was kind enough to procure for him and dipped it in the blood. He began drawing symbols and a language only known to the dead on the floor in a wide circular shape, which (as it usually did) would attract wandering ghosts to him.

Once they were close enough, they would appear on the visual plane and talk to him.

Danny sighed again, suppressing the anxiety in his heart and threw the brush carelessly away from him.

"I don't mind an audience for this, but be warned. Once I start, you cannot come near me. You'll be susceptible to possession and Ghosts are hard to get ride of when they don't have a meat suit. It might look strange or as though I am in danger, but the only one that would be harmed if you interfered, is you." He looked at everyone dressed up, meeting masked face after masked face. They'd multiplied since he started drawing. "Lastly, if this goes wrong, you run. You don't try to 'save me'" he used air quotes. "You don't try to stop the summoning, you don't do anything but what I say, got it?"

Batman grunted.

"Great. I'm just gonna..." Danny plopped down on the ground, in his circle of blood, and took a knife from his pocket.

He sat, silent and still, for a moment. Allowing himself to brace and gather his thoughts. Then he cut his hand on his palm. The knife dug in deep, splitting open the scar he's had there since he was fourteen. He let the blood pull for a moment, stared at the red color, smelt the scent of death and copper, before he slammed his hand against the ground.

It reverberated in a way it shouldn't have. Not even with super strength. Green flowed into his eyes, as his hair slowly turned white from the tips of his black hair until it reached the scalp.

He opened his mouth, a death rattle leaving his mouth in a foggy whisper. Then he spoke. "I call upon the shadows of the dead and damned. I seek answers, I seek the truth. You are safe in my circle. Nothing can harm you, and you cannot harm me. Come to me. I command it."

There was silence.

The heroes shifted uncomfortably as minutes passed by.

Less than ten minutes later, as the blood began to dry, and the candles flickered every so often, they flared.

High into the ceiling, illuminating the glow of his circle.

It sounded like a cape moving in the wind as it appeared. A little girl, somewhere between eight and twelve appeared, clothes torn, with so many cuts and injuries that she didn't look like a girl. She looked like minced meat. She was burnt too, with no hair on her scalp, and burn wounds all down her neck and her arms. She had an incredibly large cut on her neck--likely what she died of. He could hear someone gag, but paid it no mind.

"Little one," he crooned. "This summoning was not for you."

"I know," she said, voice layered with others. Too many victims trying to get into the circle at once? She morphed, briefly, into a pretty little girl, before become the unfortunate ghost again. "But they were fighting over who got to go first, so I took my chance."

"...As per the agreement, we can both ask up to five questions, but we must tell the absolute truth in return."

"Can I go first?" At Danny's nod, she continued. "What year is it?"

"It's 20XX. March third."

She shuddered, flickering visibly.

"What's your name?" Danny asked, voice gentle.

"...Hilary Mayson. Where am I?"

"On the outskirts of Gotham. Who killed you?"

Anger flashed onto her face, before it shattered into devastation. "I don't know. I was at a sleepover with my friend, Ana, and I remember her dad driving us... somewhere... but nothing after."

In the corner of his eye, he saw one of the bats typing something into a tablet but ignored it past that.

"How can I help you move on, Hilary?"

She froze. "I don't care about my death, but can you find out what happened to my sister? Margaret Mayson. She... I was all she had left."

Danny looks to the left, at the Bats. "Well?"

"Margaret Mayson was a nurse in the thirties and served as an army medic in World War 2, coming back home to marry Seargent Gordon Bailey, and they had two girls, one named-- Hilary, and one boy. She passed in... 2004." The red one said.

Danny looked back at the girl. "Your sister lived a full life. She's waiting for you."

"Is she really?"

"Yes. Do you really not care about getting justice?"

"I... I don't know. Is there any point?"

"If we find your killer, I'll make sure the soul never knows peace. Only pain and suffering. Would you--"

You are out of questions.

The girl sighed. "Thank you, Phantom. I'd like to see my sister now. Please."

The boy, not really a man, no longer a child, smiled. "So granted."

In front of all of the heroes, the girl changes. No longer is she burnt and cut up-- her hair is there, and her skin is pristine, and before them is a beautiful little girl who smiles at Danny.

Hilary...

She looked to her left and whispered "Margaret?" before she disappeared.

Danny could hear some sniffling, but this was just a normal Tuesday for him. He cut his hand open again (the would having healed) and slammed his hand back onto the ground.

"Next."

--

Constantine fucking hated mediums.

But he guessed this kid was alright.

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That's it! I thought about writing out everything, the whole mystery and shit, but I'm tired, it's six am, and I don't have the mental capacity to think about plot rn.

That being said, the original idea was way more dramatic, with the summoning going wrong, and all the ghosts overloading him and circle that is only made to contain one, and absolute pandemonium as they kept shifting and changing out, pushing and pulling at eachother and Danny in an attempt to move on and catch their killer and have peace. I also thought about having the stray ghosts (like Hilary) get drawn in, because the longer a summoning cirlce is open, the wider its reach and the more it draws to it.

I think this is a really interesting idea, so I'll probably do a few more parts in the future idk.

Thanks for reading.

[romulusthethird]

This is such an interesting idea! I think Tucker would assume it was a body snatcher or the like, because you know, Danny died. If they ran away before or after, they'd never confirm if he was fine after, but they saw him enter a machine and then it basically blows up/electrocutes their friend while glowing green.

While they might not have intentionally run away, a fight or flight response is a very real thing, and people often run away from dangerous situations, like a lab accident.

But so, I wrote this :)

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It's not Danny.

It looks like him--same stupid hair, same face, same clumsy limbs just shy of a growth spurt-- but it's not him. There's something off about the boy who enters homeroom.

He greets them like normal, raising his hand on his way to his seat across the room. He has a window seat. Tucker feels so relieved-- thinks he had imagined the night before. But he can't have. Sam was there too. She ran, crying the whole time, and he watched the machine blow up. He heard his friend's screams as he died. Saw him get electrocuted. Saw a vortex of greengreengreen open behind the boy. Saw him get sucked into it. It wasn't a conscious decision to run, but he did. He ran as far as his legs could take him, out of the Fenton house, past his own, until he was in the middle of Amity Park, gasping for breath.

He wasn't proud of it but come on--it was impossible to come back to life. So how is Danny here? He goes to ask his friend what the hell had happened last night, when he sees his reflection in the window. Pale, white hair. Danny has black hair. Green eyes. Danny has blue. The boy smiles at him, but his reflection has teeth, sharp and pointed, like a shark's.

This has to be a shapeshifter, a changeling, a demon. It can't be him. Danny is human. He's an awkward, lanky guy that he's known since the third grade. Danny died last night.

Tucker staggers away, back to the safety of his seat, across the room. Sam asks him what's wrong, but he can't speak.

The demon wilts, like Tucker hurt it's feelings.

It wasn't Danny, though. It can't be.

It isn't.

Because Danny would never avoid them.

But that's all this new Danny does.

Danny Phantom idea: an Abandoned AU where Tucker and Sam run away from Danny when the portal accident happens, either before or after he comes out of the portal. Could maybe be angst, where Danny has to deal with his best friends betraying their friendship, or maybe horror, where Danny comes to school the next day and Sam and Tucker freak out about why the friend they saw die is clearly still alive, if avoiding them.

[romulusthethird]

Reblog this if you had to learn cursive writing as a child

If you were ever told or were made to learn cursive writing when you were in grade school. I wanna see how many of you suffered like I did.

[romulusthethird]

Demon Twins AU Prompt

Okay, so reading the dozens of DC X DP prompts and stories on Tumblr incites the juices as it wont to do, and I have an idea! Basically, at the barebones of this idea, is that, unlike the usual demon twins fics, where Dami kills Danny and he ends up in Amity, or the ones where he fakes his death, and all that jazz (heh)-- my idea is that they both... came out wrong. Neither of them are capable of dying. They grow up together, in the league, constantly killing each other. The wounds heal, but the scars remain. There are other abilities, like they're faster, stronger, and they have a quirk (in this case, Danny can still fly, and lets say Dami can disappear, become one with the shadows). They would kill for each other, and won't stand any slight against the other, but they also fucking hate each other and they spend half the time killing the other.

--

Immortal Demon Twins AU part 1

It is a glorious day in Nanda Parbat. It is their birthday, the tenth year of their existence. There will be a celebration, as expected of the grandsons of the Demon's Head, and they will be showered with gifts and given the day off from training and their tutors. However, at the end of the day, there will be a test.

The usual ritual, fighting their mother for the chance to learn about, and eventually someday meet, their father. Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Prince of Gotham, billionaire, vigilante, leader of the Justice League.

Danny doesn't care about the man at all, but Damien wanted to meet him, and as much as he hates his brother, he wasn't going to get in his way. He doesn't participate in the fights, but he watches, and if the boy was too injured after, he'd give the finishing blow. Their wounds healed in death, and it was nothing more than torture to make him heal over a course of months what could heal in hours.

Danny woke his brother up at the sun's rise, leaping onto the bed with a dagger in hand. "Rise and shine, ahki al'asghar~"

Dami's eyes snap open, alert despite the fog still clouding them. He kicks out, shoving his brother off him. "Danny. It's too early."

"Nonsense. It's our birthday. The tenth one. You survived ten years, ahki al'asghar."

Dami scowls. "No thanks to you."

Danny taps the jagged scars on his throat. "A for effort." Danny had given it to the other boy when they were five, not yet fully used to his strength nor the sword in his hands. His brother had bled out, but was alive less than nine hours later. That wasn't the first time he'd died, and it wasn't the last.

Dami laughs, "I got an eye in return, didn't I?" He did. Danny was blind in his right eye, an injury that healed on its own. It's why they'd died so many times. Easier to heal when their hearts had stopped. If they don't, it would lead to things like his eye or Dami's missing pinky finger.

"Whatever. The sun is up, let's go to the baths before they get crowded! Yalla!"

Damien clicks his tongue. "khalas."

Danny grins, teeth a touch too sharp, and physically drags his reluctant, "younger by fifteen seconds!" twin to the bathhouse to wash off before their morning absolutions.

It went by quickly, with only one attempted drowning, and they end up eating a hearty breakfast with all of their favorite foods like Dami's falafel with cream cheese (gross) and his own special meal of chocolate cereal and milk. Dami turned his nose up at the count chocolate cereal and said, "Your teeth are going to rot."

"They regenerate."

Dami sniffs in reply, taking a bigger bite of tomato, chickpeas, and cream cheese.

"You're disgusting." Danny grimaces at the boy, shuffling away from him and his gross food.

He catches the knife thrown at him, scoffing at the tiny blade.

He doesn't know who throws the first punch, but he's missing a tooth at the end (Dami throws it at him and taunts, "regenerate that").

It's only the "Habibi" call of his mother that stalls the two preteens. They pause from their position on the floor, chunks of artificial chocolate cereal and tomato in their hair and on their clothes, Dami's hands grabbing Danny's longer hair while Danny's hands are on his throat.

"Boys." She sighs. "Just because it is your birthday does not mean you can act like ruffians in the kitchen. Go clean up. We have to start the festivities."

Danny groans, leaning up and shoving his brother off him. "I hate them, you know I hate them. Grandfather's friends are so stuffy and boring, and the rest just stand there, like statues."

She raises an eyebrow at him, which causes the older boy (by fifteen seconds!) to whine and groan, before walking out the door, back to the bathhouse. He hears her tell Dami to "behave" and grins.

--

"Are you ready, Habibi?" His mother asks his twin, hours later, at the time of dusk, drawing her sword in the courtyard. Damien's response is to grab his own katana and get into a battle stance, lowering his legs, and raising his sword, pointing it at her.

"I am ready, mother."

Danny watches. Like every year since they were old enough to understand the concept of a father. He doesn't want to meet him, doesn't feel the need to have a father when he had Mother and Dami, as much as the boy annoyed him.

"Don't die." He says, just before he banged the gong.

It's fast, seconds turning into minutes as their swords clash loudly, his mother dodging more than she parried or went on the offense. She was defending more than usual, letting Dami wack and whirl and stab and hit. It confuses him, but he continues to watch.

He won't interfere, regardless of the outcome.

That doesn't lessen his surprise when Dami wins.

No, when their mother lets him win.

She smiles the little smile she gets when she is victorious and says, "You have won, Damien. That means you are worthy of meeting your father."

And-- what?

This doesn't make any sense. Danny knows what these meetings are; false hope for something that was never going to happen. A simple way to keep their youngest in line. It had worked with their oldest, Danishara (he goes by Dan). It had worked with Athanasia, who died trying to meet the man years ago. He doesn't know what happened to her, just that mother put her in the Lazarus Pit, and she never came out.

"You and Danny leave tonight."

What? "But Mother, I don't want to meet him. Let me stay. I don't want to go!"

"You'd leave your brother alone, and defenseless? Think of what happened to your sister. I cannot lose another child, Danyal." Danny cringes. His sister had been alone, on a mission, trying to prove herself, and had drawn too much attention in the process. Enemies of Ra's had caught the thirteen-year-old and killed her. It had been two years since then. Dan still hasn't gotten over it, and nor has Ellisha, another sister of theirs. They don't see them often, Ellie is often in some reach of the world, and rarely comes back to NP, while Dan is running his own underground mercenary group out of Russia. They never see any of their family. Not Dusan, their khaal, or Nyssa, their Khala.

"He can't die."

"We never know what will happen until it happens, Habibi."

He knew it was a lost cause, but still, he tried to argue. "Go with him to Gotham, get him settled, and if you really want to come back, you can."

"Really?"

"I swear it."

And so, Danny agrees, pensive and upset, and follows his brother, whose lips would not stop quirking up, to their room to pack. "I am unsure about this," he tells the other boy when they are alone. "We do not know this man, nor his children--"

"We are the blood children," Damien cuts in. "That is all that matters. He will love us, just like Mother does."

Danny hums in discontention. "I don't think blood matters to him, but he already has other blood children. That woman... Helena is also his blood."

"She is a girl, it's different." Damien says, but Danny can see he too is worried.

"What if he doesn't love us? What if all he sees is... well, us?"

"What's wrong with us?" Damien shoots back, angrily shoving robes into his bag. "We are mighty and strong. We do not die. We excel in everything we are taught."

"We also kill. Maim. Torture. We are... we are not like his other children."

"I thought you didn't care about him-- about having a father."

"I don't," Danny said quickly, reluctantly revealing, "I looked into him, though. I wanted to know if we look like him or Mother. While we resemble him, we take too much from Mother. We don't look like his brood--pale, with blue eyes. Kids he took off the street. We were planned, designed, raised with expectations. Our skin, our features, the green in our eyes is all Mother and Grandfather, and I fear he won't look past that. It doesn't help that Mother's advice is 'take out the competition' like that will endear us to the man."

"...I still want to meet him."

"I know, Ahki. I know."

Danny zipped up his bag. "Maybe when we're there, we can see about seeing Dan or Ellie again."

That cheered up his brother, and it sickened Danny--how nice he was being to the annoyance. Just so he wouldn't forget his place, Danny shoved the boy into a suit of armor, ignoring his outraged scream as the spear stabbed the other boy in the stomach.

"I'll see you on the plane, ahki al'asghar."

--

Danny wakes to drool on arm, the weight of his brother leaning against him, warm and reassuring. His Mother sits across from them.

She is looking out the window, as the sun rises, catching her pale green eyes in its rays. She is beautiful. She is a cold, calculated killer that claims to love Danny and his brother. Loved them even as they tore from her recently revived body in the waters of the Lazarus Pool--much to the glee of their Grandfather.

She is strong.

She is his mother.

She is scheming.

"Why now?"

She looks back at him, eyes soft in a way they almost never are in the treacherous walls of their keep.

"Does he even know we exist?"

Her eyes look down at his brother and then back up to him. "Because I love you."

He blinks. Their family was never one for vocal terms of affection or declarations. Why would she--

Ah. "It's him, isn't it?"

She doesn't ask who he is referring to.

"Athanasia died, Danyal." She glances out the window again. "Danishara and Ellisha... You are so young, Habibi. You are all so young. I had my oldest when I was young."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She huffs a small, amused laugh. She smiles at him in a way she's never before. "You are both so much like your father."

Danny scowls. "Am not."

"It is not a bad thing. You inhabit all of our best qualities. You and your siblings."

"Will he really like us? Accept us? I know what outsiders think of the league, Mother. I am not naive. He- He has children."

"He does." She agrees. "three boys and two girls."

"Why would he want more?"

She mulls over that, and then says, "Do you know why Dan and Ellie never met their father?"

Danny shrugs. "I had ideas."

"When I was young," she starts, "I fell in love with a boy. He was too pretty to be real, and I wanted him to be mine. They were the result." She pauses. "He disappeared shortly after that, and I never saw him again. There is no way for them to meet him and even after searching for the entirety of your Ellie's life, he has no appeared on this Earth. You deserve to know your father."

She stands up. "Let me see how long it will take to land."

She leaves, both of her children mulling over her words in her wake. "We will always have each other," Damien whispers. A sign of weakness that Danny does not exploit. He looks out the window, hand shoved against his brother's. He says nothing when the other boy clasps his fingers with his own.

He does nothing when he continues to hold his hand to the car, and even still, tighter, until they are at the manor of one Bruce Wayne.

It is a waiting game, then. Looking perfect and pristine in the foyer of this grand mansion.

No one is there to greet then when they slip inside. Not until Mother checks her watch, rolls her eyes, and walks back over to the door to trip an alarm. They tumble in like baby chicks, misty-eyed and in uniforms they rushed to put on.

"Beloved." Mother greets the one standing in the middle, wearing all black, ready to defend his gaggle of sidekicks. "I see time has done you wonders."

"Talia," he growls. Danny has never heard anyone talk to his mother with such disrespect. He itches to take out his sword and strike down the slag, but it is only the knowledge that he is their father, and Damien's hand in his that stopped him. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to give you a gift," she says, smiling despite the coldness in her eyes.

"We don't want it," Robin, Tim Drake-Wayne says, "So you can just leave."

"It is not up to you, little bird." She reponds. "This is between myself, my beloved, and his children."

The boy flinches, its small, but noticable. A weakness.

""He is my child, Talia. So, I'll ask again: what do you want?"

She looks at him for a time, studying his face, before she chuckles. "Very well, beloved. Come here, Habibis."

The bats look confused, until Damien and Danny step away from the wall, seeming to appear out of thin air. The air is tense, and the bats are readying to fight when they stop at their mother's side.

She grabs their shoulders and pushes them forward.

"Beloved, meet our children. This is Damien," she gestures to his brother, "and this is Danny. Say hello boys."

Damien grunts while Danny looks up at the man-- their father. He doesn't look like much, truly. A tired old man, tense, with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny, Talia?"

"You can run all the tests you want, Beloved, but they are yours."

Danny looks at the three children behind Batman, older than them. Cassandra, Timothy, and Helena. Three unknowns. Black cat, unknown, and Robin. They don't look like much. They looked like Dan and Ellie could squash them like bugs, easily.

He says as much to Dami, whispering in arabic that they weren't impressive and that he doubted this was really their father, because he was too old and ugly. Dami scowls, whispering back that this was an important moment and that Danny was ruining it. Naturally, Danny snaps back that he didn't even want to come meet this geriatric lame guy who dresses in spandex and his circus, and that he was only here because Mother doubted Dami's strength and skill.

Danny watches the boy's face slowly turn red in amusement. Then, before the bats could blink, there is a blade in Dami's hand and he lunges for his brother. He manages to knick his arm before their mother grabs his ear and twists.

"Ow, ow, ow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, stop, that hurts--"

"Boys."

Danny looks up from where he was trying to lick the blood off his arm (it was coming out too fast for this to be effective. It looks like Dami hit an artery) and Dami manages to get out of his mother's hold, and hides behind Danny, like that was going to protect him.

"It's like Jason and Tim all over again..."

"What have I said about fighting?"

"But Mother, he--"

"No."

Danny grins at the sight of Dami's pout.

"You have lost the priviledge to come home, Danyal. Don't think I don't know you started it. You must stay however long Damien stays."

Danny jerks at that. "I don't want to stay! You said just until Dami was settled. He is settled, we met the old bat, we have achieved our goal of meeting the sperm donor. I want to go home now." He left all his stuff at home. Like his favorite blanket, and the doll Dami stole for him on their first mission, and all of his suveniors from Ellie, and the guns that Dan gave him--

"Your stuff will arrive within a week," she says knowingly. "Enjoy your stay with your father," is all she says, kissing their heads, a final goodbye, and left.

Danny stares at her retreating figure.

Damien tries to reach for him, but he is too angry. "I do not want to stay," he states.

"I know."

"I do not care for the bat man."

"I know."

"I want to go home."

"I--"

The batman looks at them, slowly peeling his cowl back from his face. They do look like him. Identical in features, the only difference being the coloring. Danny scowls. "I do not want you," he tells the man. "I want Mother. I do not need you."

"...We should treat your arm."

Danny scowls harder, shoving Damien away. The boy rolls his eyes and threatens to finish the job.

Danny would let him.

He does not want to be here.

And he does not know why his mother had forced him to come.

--

Damien doesn't know that normal siblings don't grow their organs back, or maybe he does, and he isn't thinking. Maybe it is just that his first instinct has always been stab first, taunt later.

Tim Drake-Wayne crumbles into a ball on the floor, clutching his side, where blood was quickly pooling out.

Damien grunted in disgust.

What a waste of a good knife. It was still in the other boy, and he had a feeling he wasn't getting it back.

It is deserved, though. No one got away with talking about his mother. Not even Danny.

"What did you do?!" Bruce Wayne yells, anger rolling off him in waves.

It wasn't his voice, but Danny's that rang out in the suddenly silent bat cave in answer. "Pathetic. If he can't even dodge that he really isn't any match for Dan."

"Are we sure this is our family? Can we get a DNA test? I think Mother brought us to the wrong house."

Which was entirely fair, in Damien's mind. He doesn't know that the rest of the world was different than Nanda Parbat. He doesn't know that they were different, that it isn't normal to try to kill your siblings, and succeed, and then have said sibling come back to life.

It isn't normal to be strong and fast and deadly.

He doesn't know that it was normal to fall to a stab wound.

He doesn't know it is normal to yell when angry.

He doesn't know anything past what he has been taught, and what he's been taught showed him that Timothy Drake is weak.

He is pathetic.

He is not worthy of his position as Robin, nor his place in this house.

He says as such.

The look... his father gives him hurt. It scares. It makes him feel inhuman. Like a monster.

He suddenly understands what Danny had meant.

He does not want them.

He does not want him.

Damien too wants to go back to Mother.

He also wants a DNA test done immediately (because parents aren't supposed to look at you that way: like you are scum; horrible, vile, not worth living. He is scared, and his chest hurts, and there is a lump in his throat, and this place is strange--) His hand finds Danny's again, like it had in the plane, and Danny doesn't swat him away when he grips his hand tight.

He's afraid too.

--

So that's part one!

Honestly this whole prompt idea stems from me wanting damien and danny to just constantly kill one another and have the bats go apeshit lol. Thanks for reading!

--

Translations:

ahki al'asghar - {younger brother, if google is correct?? lmk if it's not tho!}

Yalla - hurry up

khalas - alright

khaal - Uncle

Khala - Aunt

--

Also, the timeline differences with characters in this au is simply because I wanted to :) and DC canon is all over the fucking place lets be real, they reinvent and change shit all the time, I am allowed to tweak Athanasia and Helena and all of the other shit I might tweak.

Ages btw:

Danny and Damien: 10

Dan: 19

Ellie: 17

Athanasia (if she were alive): 15

Tim: 15-16

Jason: 20

Helena: 22

Dick: 25

Cass: 16?

Bruce: 43ish? idk

Talia: 34

Alfred: Immortal but looks like he's 57

Ra's: dying but also like a millenia old mf

--

also [I have no idea how falafel tastes, only that Danny considers falafel and cream cheese to be gross together, and adding tomato to it makes him wonder if he and Damien are related. Google said that its usually like chickpeas, fava beans, herbs, onions, spices, and garlic. I've never had them, and I haven't had them with cream cheese so IDK if they'd be good together, but Danny does not think so lol] :)

[romulusthethird]

Me rubbing my eye because it started itching:

Add that pops up: are your eyes itching? you might have thyroid eye disease (TED). Consult your doctor today.

Sir this is a Wendy's wtf why are you stalking me let me rub my eyes at midnight in peace without making me paranoid about a condition I do not and likely will never have.

[romulusthethird]

That is fucking amazing. God now I want to write TW fanfics

another shaman!Stiles thing

Achtung! bestiality is possible

[romulusthethird]

unfortunately, I did not die in my sleep, and finals are not killing me for once. I would like to pass peacefully before my grades finalize, pls (kidding, but also not because I don't want to see the grade for this one class, and I'm pretty sure I fucking bombed it. Still have the final for it tho)

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Look buddy, i’m just trying to make it to Friday.

[romulusthethird]

Deathly Hallows pt2 alt. ending.

The premise is that, during the (movie) scene where Draco’s mother calls for him and he leaves his fellow students to go to her, and the Dark Lord hugs him, instead of standing there, shuddering and taking it before leaving with his parents, he’s filled with such an earthshattering anger. He kills the man who has plagued his entire life. 

--

--

Draco Malfoy was a coward. It was a universally known fact; he ran in the face of danger, acting superior from his hiding spot, spitting slurs like they were wads of muggle paper in a strange, tiny plastic cylinder, an unrepentant grin on his pointy, pale face. 

He never had a reason to be repentant. Assured with the knowledge that he was superior, that his blood was superior. Used this insipid knowledge to taunt uppity Gryffindor mudbloods, to taunt the bloody “chosen one.” Though he admits that had less to do with his blood status, and more to do with the slight he was dealt at the tender age of eleven. 

It seems so stupid now. So small. So innocent. That hatred and vitriol— he’d likely kill to go back to that. To be clueless, to have the misfortune of his entire self than to be here, in this moment. In this castle, standing across the Dark Lord. 

Standing across from his mother. 

Draco Malfoy was a coward. 

He was a coward, and everyone knew it. 

He was a Slytherin, and above all, he was his mother’s son. So it surprised no one that when she called, he came. 

He didn’t want to, wanted to be as far from there as he could be, and wanted to never have participated in this war at all. But he couldn’t move. He was glued to the broken stone underneath his feet. But she called for him. Her eyes wide and begging, father a shadow of himself next to her. 

“Draco,” she’d said. “Come,” she’d beckoned with her hand, nails chipped so slightly you wouldn’t be able to tell if you hadn’t held that hand for seventeen years, stretching toward him. 

And he… 

He obeyed. 

Stepped down the fragile stairs to his mother. He was almost there, blocking everything out. The looks of his peers, the sadness in his professors’ eyes, the absolute desolation he felt. 

But Harry Potter was dead, wasn’t he? He was dead, and he stole Draco’s hope with him. Didn’t he? He had to. Because here he was, giving up. 

The Dark Lord approached him, a slimy smile on his face. His eyes so dead they resembled the monster he was. The monster Draco felt like, in the middle of the night. Three years of this war. The years of torture, fear, and death. 

He was so tired. 

So fucking tired. 

“Well done, my boy.” The man (could he even be categorized as such, with what he’s done to himself in a mistaken bid for immortality?) crooned. His arms slowly wrapped around Draco. There was strength in them, but also a fragility, like he would break at the slightest blow. 

The Dark Lord was weak. 

Weak. 

A sniveling babe that had grown too big for its britches. An idiot who did nothing to better wizarding society; only ruined it. Killed any and all who opposed Lord Voldemort. 

Lord Voldemort was a shell of the leader he could have been. The change he could have wrought, instead of destruction. 

Draco knew his fate, should he win. 

Draco was a traitor. 

His fate would resemble his mother’s family’s ending. 

“Well done,” Voldemort repeated. 

His arms were still around him, slowly letting go. 

It slipped out before he could stop it, a curiosity that he didn’t feel coming to the forefront: “What was the point?”

The silence could cut glass. 

“…What?”

“What was the point of this stupid and pointless decimation of our kind? What did you gain from this? Why— just… why?” It was asked so point blank that the man was silent for a moment. It was a plea, the Malfoy begging for answers to how his life had gone to such shit. How he had become so fucking pathetic. 

(He was always pathetic. He knew that. He tried not to be, but he was a fucking coward, sniveling and hiding behind the biggest bully.)

The Dark Lord smiled. His rotting teeth were the only thing Draco could see. 

And he said the damning words that change everything. 

“Because I wanted it.” 

It wasn’t a conscious thought when his wand slid into his hand. He didn’t blink, watching the man’s face as he shoved his wand into the pale, pale— so cold and reptilian, like a fucking monster— skin of his neck and said, “You should have wanted something different.”

There was a snake-like hiss among his devoted followers, an itching to tear the little Malfoy heir limb from limb. “Little traitor…” his aunt whispered, gripping his mom’s arm. 

“What are you going to do, boy?” Voldemort asked, grinning. “Are you going to kill me? You? Do you think you have the nerve?”

Draco swallowed. Glanced at his mom, and told her everything he wanted to say. I’m sorry. I love you. I wish things were different. I’ll see you in the next life. Her eyes, the color matching his, stared back. They were grim, and they were set. He gritted his teeth, opened his mouth, and without speaking, blasted the man with his stronger bombarda. 

It was an array of colors, so many spells flying through the air, from his wand, from the Dark Lords, from the death eaters, from the students and teachers of Hogwarts... From his mother, trying to get to him.

“This one is for Harry Potter,” Draco gasped, throwing an expelliarmus at the devil across him. A red curse caught him in the shoulder, and his arm went limp. Panic laced through his veins. He was going to die. In this courtyard where he used to tease the Chosen One and his friends; this courtyard where he and Pansy had their first kiss, and the immediate squabble afterward. This is where he was transformed into a ferret by the pretender; by a death eater like his father. Like him. 

He dropped his wand. It’s a rush for it, scrambling like a rat in a trap. The Dark Lord laughed, a high keening as if he had already won. As if Draco had been defeated. “Give up, little boy, and I’m sure we can come to a… suitable punishment.” He said, his followers laughing and jeering at the blond boy. 

Draco knew that meant torture, more torture, some more torture, and then an inevitable, long-drawn, and entirely preventable death. 

He would not submit. He would win. “I don’t care if I die today; at least, in the end, I fought for what was right, and no matter what you do, you will inevitably lose,” Draco said, grinning with bloody teeth. “For you are a small-minded, weak, simpleton with no good breeding.” 

“How dare—” Bellatrix gasped, lunging for her nephew, stopped by the grey hand of her lord.

His mother was getting closer.

“Now, now, Bella. He is but a welp. This will be a good demonstration to the others here who oppose me. I will make an example out of him.”

A high-pitched laugh was all he heard before the Dark Lord hissed, "crucio," and his world exploded into pain. He screamed, fingers scratched at the cobblestone, at his hair, at his skin, at his wand. He'd been cursed before, but it never elevated the pain. It was always new, a pain unlike anything else. No desensitization possible. It was a new hell each time it was cast.

"Draco!" His mother screamed, her voice mixing with his own.

"Look at the little traitor, Cissy! Blood traitor!" Bella cackled, bracing her sister in her arms.

"Draco, fight! Get up!"

"Draco!"

"Draco," it was whispered in the wind, a breath in his ear. "Cast it. You can do it. You know the spell, Draco. Cast it. CAST IT!"

He gritted his teeth, fingers clamping his mother's wand in his palm. He fought against the spell, screaming as he stood up. The Dark Lord stopped casting in shock, wand arm going lax.

Draco stumbled.

Cast it.

He said the words. The grounds were silent, no spells, no screams, nothing but his voice.  “Avada Kedavra!”

[romulusthethird]

It was a nice morning in Gotham, all things considered. There hadn't been a crisis, no murders yet, no rogues broke out of Arkham the night before, so the night had been quiet for the bats. Tim, in particular, even slept.

And how here he was, awake at the ungodly hour of ten a.m., watching the news while he waited for Alfred to make brunch. At least the butler had provided him with some coffee before he banned him from the kitchen.

He sipped it idly, as channel four moved from the weather to crime.

"A dreary day here in Gotham, indeed. If you've been following the national news, you will know about the destruction of the town Amity Park, and the cause being the teenager, Danny Fenton, alias, 'phantom'. The fourteen-year-old is still at large, with his accomplice: Tucker Fowley, Jazzmine Fenton, Danielle Fenton, Dan Fenton, and Sam Manson." On the screen, there were six faces, all ranging from 14 to 20. Two, identical except for their gender, with dark hair and sharp features; one red-haired girl with a glare to rival Barbara's (their older sister, perhaps?), an older guy, maybe 19, with long black hair and sharp blue eyes. A black teen with round glasses and locs, and a pale girl with a choppy bob with pink strips.

Strange group, but not surprising. Teenagers did stupid shit every day. Look at him.

Tim took a sip of his coffee, black like his soul. "They are extremely dangerous. Danny Fenton, his twin, Danielle, and their older brother Dan are ecto-entities charged with murder, destruction of public property, destruction of private property--" What's an ecto-entity? Is that another saying for meta? Some new alien species? Tim itched for his computer, back in his room. He took out his phone and sent a text to Oracle.

"In accordance with the echo acts, authorities are authorized to shoot on sight," the news anchor looked green here, "shoot on sight? They're kids--" She looked offscreen, and it quickly changed to a video of Danny, green eyes, blasting... ice? from his hands. Then another of him screaming and breaking glass. Then another of him getting shot at. One video of Dan fighting men in white hazmat suits, and one of Danielle destroying property. "Danny Fenton was previously... detained and held at the GIW, before escaping with the help of his four companions. If you see him, please contact your local authorities."

The screen turned back to Danny Fenton once again, showing an angry boy, Damien's age, baring sharp fangs. His dark hair was greasy and slicked back with short bangs falling into his eyes, which were sunken in, and unnaturally green--eerily similar to Jason's eyes.

"Ecto-entity." Tim said aloud, tapping his phone against his chin.

He had research to do.

[romulusthethird]

Thomas matches my freak frfr

Alfred: Who is this?

Seven year old Bruce: His name is Danny. He's my older brother

Alfred: You're an only child. You don't have a brother.

Bruce: Mom? Dad? Do I have a brother?

Thomas: I only ever loved your mother, and I find baby-making repulsive—no offense, Brucie—so biologically, no, you don't have a brother. Emotionally, on the other hand, if you feel like he is your brother, I don't mind calling him my son. It's not like I can't afford it, nor can this lad outrun me.

Alfred: That's... kidnaping, sir.

Martha: Oh don't be so uptight Alfred. You Brits worrry about the sillist of things.

Alfred: Silly thing? You mean the law!?

Martha: Yes, that's a pesky thing. Besides, he has my eyes and Thomas' nose! That's obviously our son.

Bruce considering Danny: He does have your nose, dad.

Thomas proud: A chip off the old block that one. Good job catching your brother Brucie.

Bruce: Thank you! I used my innocent face like you said, Mom!

Martha beaming: A pretty face is a valuable weapon, darling!

Alfred whispering to Danny: Blink four times if you want me to get you out of here. The Waynes are not entirely sane.

Danny:..... The kid just said he needed someone to walk him home cause he was lost.

Alfred: That's how they get you. I once offered Master Thomas my coat during a suprise downpour. That was four years ago, and now I'm a butler. He gave me an embroidered apron with the words, "You're mine now, Brit"

[romulusthethird]

must a fictional relationship be “healthy” or “functional”? is it not enough to simply watch two made up people destroy each other, hand in unlovable hand???

[romulusthethird]