some ideas i have for the Teen Villain Alliance
Dr. Danny "I stole my PhD from Harvard at gunpoint" Fenton is Damian's best friend despite being at least six years older than him, while Crown Prince Phantom Dark is more of a father figure to Damian despite them being the same flipping person.
Sam is still Damian's favorite though, she's the one who he approached to join.
someone suggested that each "squad" of teens has a different pest as their squad name. So the inner circle (Danny, Jazz, Sam, Tuck, Dani, maybe Klarion since he was there first) are Wolves, with each having a squad under them. Phantom doesn't have a squad, but Fenton's mad science squad are called rats, Jazz has mice, Sam reclaimed bats from the batfam, tuck has his flies, etc
Phantom and Pharaoh tuck pretending that they have no idea what Tennessee is because Wally mistakes them for the Tennessee Valley Authority.
Damian is convinced that the inner circle are Prince Phantom's harem and convinces Dick of that too when he joins.
I really want to add Dick to the Everlasting Trio guys, I really do, but this is about the Teen Villain Alliance, not young adult villain alliance, so the oldest I feel like I can make the trio are 20, with Dick being 24, so if anyone has any problems with that... i guess you can leave, I've already decided on this plan of action.
The first time Red Hood encounters the TVA, they threaten him into buying them alcohol, he buys the nastiest shit he can think of to mess with the brats. Klarion throws up, Sam drinks straight faced
Red Huntress originally liked being an official justice league recognized super hero, but the stress of work and being constantly relied on to save people wears her down. She confronts Phantom for setting these ghosts on her, but he hasn’t done anything, this is the regular amount of ghosts. In fact, he asked that most of his rogues limit their visits to once every two weeks, so its actually less. Valerie has a mental breakdown and joins the TVA
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Prompt 273
You know what? We need more Good parents Fentons.
And you know what else? Technically, Jack helped Danny defeat Pariah via the use of the Ecto-Skeleton. And like, that’s his son, his baby boy. Sure Danny is and has always been a mommy’s boy, but it doesn’t change that fact. They’re both already feeling horrible about the fact they could have hurt him, they could have hurt their son- they have hurt their son, killed him with their inaction and never again.
So when these oversized jello-eyeballs try to insist that their baby, their precious baby boy, take a crown? Become a king when he’s not even out of highschool, when he doesn’t want it? No. Hell no! That is his Danny-o, his baby boy who was terrified of his own parents!
Which is how Jack, despite technically still being alive even if so-very ecto-contaminated, became the Ghost King.
And for some reason there’s several ghosts rather happy about this- oh, these are his Danny-O’s ghost-parents? Not-ghost parents seeing as some of them have never been anything but a realm denizen? That’s really fascinating- y’know what, want some fudge and we can exchange childcare- Maddie dear come over and meet our co-parents apparently!
Now it’s not all easy, but they’re trying their best, and that’s all that can be asked.
…
Which is perhaps why it’s so exasperating- or as Maddie would put it, downright infuriating- that it is now, almost an entire year and a half later that the Heroes finally arrive to investigate. Well, at least he has plenty of fudge since it’s almost time for the council meeting.
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☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, violence
{☆} word count 0.8k
You are dying.
Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.
It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.
You will die.
"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."
A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.
"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."
They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.
"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."
Silence.
You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.
It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.
In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.
They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.
And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.
And alone, the cold remains.
Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.
But the cold remains, bathed in gold.
It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.
It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.
Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.
But you are yourself.
And you are where you belong.
They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.
All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.
One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.
Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.
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