Golden Trio as Kents
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The Justice League was on edge. Well, they were suspicious.
Superman had been strange the past few weeks. He and the other Supers had been taking increased trips to Smallville. People had begun to worry something had happened to the Kent elders but after Flash had tearfully asked after their health they'd been reassured that they were as fit as ever.
Which begs the question as to why they were constantly in Smallville. Batman, as usual, asked his sons due to their close relationship to the Superboys. Damian and Tim were not helpful.
Though that did confirm that this was a non threatening civilian issue considering his sons had essentially laughed in his face (or rather they'd brushed him off which was the same in the Batclan, unless you were Jason or Stephanie who literally laugh in his face).
Eventually Bruce decided to bite the bullet and ask Clark. He'd held off this long because everytime he approached Clark buzzed with excited energy like a hyperactive golden retriever and Bruce did not have the energy to deal with that.
He'd come to regret his decision after Clark simply led him to the Kent farm and introduced him to his new siblings.
As a father Bruce loved his kids. He did not, however, like them. It sounds horrible but while Bruce would easily lay down his life for his children without a second thought he would never be friends with them had they met on the streets, matter of fact, he'd cross the road to avoid them.
His children were mean and teenagers. He'd heard enough of their casual 'roasts' at galas to know that they'd reduce people to tears (and they had, on multiple occasions).
All of this to say, Bruce was horrified to learn that Clark had cursed his life with three more terrors who had made friends with his hellspawn. Now his manor was ground zero for even more shenanigans.
Turns out when many highly trained teenagers with a myriad of powers gathered together they caused mass destruction. He'd already bailed the Young Justice + the Kent kids out of jail six times and they were banned for life from every Olive Garden nationwide even AFTER a heavy 'tip' ( made at the begest Tim, Danny, and Bart. All three of whom were devastated when that didn't work.)
Bruce had started making a game out of pushing them onto whatever unsuspecting Justice League member was in the wrong place at the wrong time when they were in his care. Plastic Man had started diving through any avaliable opening when Batman walked by after getting caught six times.
But honestly as he sat with the Justice League watching them beat the ever-loving shit out of Ra's Al Ghul he felt a swell of pride for the group of kids who were coming into their own.
"Aren't they the cutest?" Clark asked as Sam curb stomped the man. The amount of side eyes he received from the rest of the League made Batman laugh out loud (read; quirk his lip).
"Hn"
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i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot
There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.
So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)
He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.
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Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.
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Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.
I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.
He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.
Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.
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Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.
This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.
He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.
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Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.
Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"
It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.
This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.
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sitting with vox and the truth
(spoilers obvs)
happy the demon hungers everyone :D i did two watchalongs with my friends i hope we all show our appreciation to vox. he’s worked very hard and he’s very considerate of us his fans
this is all just to say that after a long, long, long two weeks i would like to rest so nicely on his chest. naturally i walked into this planning to write that but it turned into another vox breakdown fic which, really, couldn’t be a better description of unit 4402 if you tried
tags: gender neutral reader, angst, themes of self-hate, vox has a breakdown, spoilers for the demon hungers and the truth, ambiguous relationship (romantic intended but can be read as platonic; reader says “i love you”)
⚠️ spoilers for the demon hungers / the truth, vox akuma.
⚠️ contains self-deprecating dialogue
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽ .* :☆゚. ───
wings of melded leather and flesh writhe in the home of vox akuma. a dethroned lord, a wretched infernal. such a a wide reach. the talons of the wing threaten to scrape the ceiling with his greater height, while the membranous tatters hang loosely. if he represented Hell it would be a king’s robe. under wall and lamplight the sheet of skin is his chain.
gravity weighs down his voice all the same. it sinks his shoulders, drips off his hair and down his back. seven feet tall, with a shadow to cast over your body so small in comparison, and yet wind could knock him over as he stands his ground. the familiarity of gold within his eyes is gone but the guilt behind it is all the same, tainted in burning-coal. the smoke around his mouth and the embers along his tongue match the char. there is no fire. he’s put that out long ago. but what was scorched refuses to dwindle down to ash, remaining orange and red and that pink you swore you could see when there was nothing good on his mind.
nothing good, you thought, jokingly and enticingly. lightly. you see now that you were right, but without the fortune of intimacy.
he is scared, if he would be willing to admit it, and he is protective which he does. it’s why his hands are buried close to his chest, the swirling black-red, clasped together as if they were weapons. they are.
“do you understand?” vox asks. “i don’t deserve your pity.”
his frame is full with rage and power held dormant.
“i don’t deserve your attention, or your patience. or your love.”
a bead of ember rises from between his teeth. it fades to room dust as he grits them together.
when they snap apart an arc of flame accompanies it.
“It’s never been deserved. It’s never been okay. I have never been okay!”
the flames curl out of the air, following where the ember once went, room dust and hot air. without his hair in his face he can’t hide from the firing squad.
he can’t hide when you step forward, either.
“Don’t.” that’s what gets him to quit yelling. it’s replaced by inhaled cinder under his breath. “No, no, don’t. Don’t. Don’t.”
and quiet, you say, “you’ve held me before.”
“Don’t. Don’t. You can’t. No. Don’t.”
“and i’m nowhere near death.”
he backs away. “You don’t know that, you don’t know that, you don’t know, you don’t.”
“we don’t choose the bodies we’re born in. or the biology we function by.”
another step back. he doesn’t trip on anything. it’s the pure magma under his blood that sends him to his knees. “Get back.” a hiccup. “Get back!” his hands form tighter to his body. “Get away from me!”
“i trust you.”
“Don’t! Don’t! No! Away!”
“you aren’t hungry anymore. and i’m not in danger. i love you.”
vox’s back thumps against the corner of the wall. his hands tear apart. a prominent vein glides down the oil-slick arm. they tangle themselves into his hair. pale fingertips along bloodied streaks. white knuckles pulling at black locks.
he screams.
he screams again when you place yourself next to him, up against the wall, and bump your leg to him.
“if you could hurt me…” your eyes lower to where your legs are placed upon his. “then this would count. but i’m still alive.”
you look up to the ceiling. his talons didn’t scratch it but his horns certainly did. “and i’m still alive, and my soul is where it should be, with me.”
you cannot recognize the sound the voice demon emits.
“so i’ll stay with you. and we’ll figure things out.” with river under your hands you rub his arm. “do you remember this? it’s what i always do when you want me to help calm you down.
“that’s what i’ll do. just let it out. and i’ll be right here, and i’ll always be here no matter what.”
it’s a guttural, throaty cry across his register. a frog scratch.
“come on.” his blood twists under your touch. veins alight as live wires. “i have all the time in the world.”
“But I have been nothing but a blight.”
“i love you as you are.”
you place your head over his chest.
the first thing that happens is the draft from his wing wrapping around your face. your vision colors red. branches of uneven membrane along the wing’s flesh. so tight around his chest you don’t see a glimpse of the outside.
the next is how vox wracks himself over the lava within his throat.
your free hand takes over attending to him as much as you can, swaddled close to his chest.
through the wing, you can see how he forces his head away when he spits a flamethrower.
when the unpredictable flames raise to you and the wing-shield, it suffocates against the flesh. you don’t feel a shred of heat.
each fire is a bellow of pain gone unacknowledged for years. you don’t think he realizes his instinct to cover you. it would be a welcome validation if he weren’t lost in his own grief.
you spend the night beside the voice demon, listening to the shred of his screams. when he finds the courage to open his eyes, he shrieks for every moment that passes with your hand upon him, and soul within your confines.
. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi
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