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starry-bi-sky · 6 months ago

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Childhood Friends Danny and Jason: Ch2 Remastered

-------------------------------------------------------------- late at night when the stars don't look quite right -------------------------------------------------------------- there's something burning in the empty room inside of my head fill it up with doubt let it in, let it spread

Jason nearly falls flat on his face when he sees the photo of Danny. He’s in a warehouse, finishing up with a gang selling drugs on his turf. The guys he’s got tied up are cursing up a storm at him, throwing every insult under the sun his way that he’s all heard before. His eyes drag over to them, and silently Jason adjusts his jacket to reveal the guns strapped to his thighs, his hand hovering over the handle of one.

They all fall silent, and Jason moves his hand away. His phone in his other hand, texting Oracle to alert the police. Jason hates that he has to; these guys will be out of their cells in a matter of months, and nothing will change.

But he’ll play nice.

And then his phone buzzes, and when Jason looks down he sees a banner from Tim. A message he planned on ignoring, but his eyes skim over the text on instinct, and suddenly the air is stolen right from his lungs, and his thumb is hitting the screen before he can really think it through.

[Hey Jason, your best friend just appeared in Gotham for the first time since your funeral.]

Impossible. He thinks, yanking his phone close to his nose, as if that will make it any less real or fake. Danny hasn’t been in Gotham in years, Jason checked. But then the image loads, and then he’s staring Danny Fenton in the face. And then he’s greedily tracing every minute, new detail he can find. The gang left half-forgotten in his mind.

Danny’s got an undercut, it looks self-done. It looks good. He looks taller. He’s got piercings in his ears, gold and jewels lining up the sides like a magpie’s find. He’s got an eyebrow piercing.

Something old, something new; Danny is smiling and it still looks just as Jason remembers it. Crooked, lopsided, warm like the sun and belying the mischief underneath it. He remembers to breathe in that moment, and the sound comes in sharp. Danny’s eyes are as blue as they’ve ever been.

(“I don’ get why books talk so much about peoples’ eyes.” Danny complains to him one day when he’s visiting the manor, his legs thrown over Jason’s back like an anchor tied to its ship. They’re sunk into the mattress of Jason’s bed, sunlight peering through the windows. “They’re just eyes! I don’t need t’know that they’re ‘as blue as the sky,’ or- or the ocean, or whatever blue thing in the world there is.”)

(Jason’s smile comes to him like breathing, and he twists around to lay on his back. His arms trap Danny’s legs to his stomach. “Pretty sure it’s jus’ for emphasis on how much they’re noticing the person’s face.”)

(Danny’s face scrunches up, and Jason’s smile splits into a grin, heart swelling three sizes on instinct. “I think it’s stupid, s’just some fuckin’ eyes.”)

(“Eyes are windows to the soul, Dan.” Jason retorts, barking out a laugh when Danny gives him a deadpan look. His hands creep for a pillow, one of the soft downy ones wrapped in silk, and he throws it at Danny’s face. “And besides, speak for yourself! Your eyes are the bluest thing I’ve ever seen.”)

But most importantly, Danny looks tired.

Hiding is something that comes free with the purchase of living in Gotham, and Danny’s good at hiding things, he always has, but Jason knows him like the palm of his hands. He looks tired, and Jason wants to reach through the screen and ask him why. There’s an age-worn look there, catching in the flint of his iris, where his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Jason gets the ETA from Oracle, then leaves as fast as his legs can carry him and his grappling hook can zip through the air. He needs to see Danny with his own eyes, to confirm himself that Danny was here, and that it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him. Or that it was Tim playing a cruel joke on him — and if it was, he’ll have to rethink his whole killing thing.

Gotham’s air is warm and suffocating, but her winds bite at him as he soars through it.

It’s second nature for him to find the west end balcony, and Jason finds himself with his feet locked in place on the building beside it. Grappling hook in hand, and a balloon in his lungs, all swelled up and squishing the air out of him.

It’s just his luck —with whatever he has left— that Danny is there as well. In the same spot he’s always been, with a cigarette caught between his teeth. He’s stuck halfway, head tilting, eyes closed, with the shadows of Gotham on his back and the light of the gala at his front.

For a moment, for a fleeting, terrifying moment, Jason thinks Danny’s going to tilt himself back off the side.The thought has him blindly tilting himself forward with his heart in his throat. Hands reaching for his grappling hook, swinging down to drop down beside him.

Danny is staring at him before his feet even hit the ground, face nigh unreadable beyond the small, wary furrow of his brows. Danny’s never looked at him like that before, it feels like stumbling on the last step of the stairs.

Then, like fire to black powder something flashes and ignites in Danny’s eyes. Mouth curling, eyes burning, for a moment, just a moment, they’re kids again, getting into fights and turning soft hands punch-rough. Danny looks at Jason like he’s going to tear him to shreds.

Jason’s mouth runs dry like a desert in the summer, but his blood chills in fear cold in his veins. Why are you looking at me like that? His mouth opens, but his tongue is leaden in his throat, and no sound comes out. It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?

Danny yanks the cigarette from his mouth like it burns him, his free hand gripping onto the railing like it’s the tether to a leash, nails threatening to turn into talons. “Red Hood.” He says, voice low and timbre, smoke dripping from his lips like dragon’s breath.

Oh.

That’s right. Jason suffocates on his heart as it sinks and soars with relief. Danny doesn’t know it’s him. In his tunnel vision, he forgot that simple, easy fact. It’s not because it’s Jason that he’s angry. It still doesn’t explain, though, why Danny looks at him like he ought to sink his teeth into his throat and rip him open.

He’s half-distracted by that, and then distracted by the need to drink in the sight of Danny again. A photo is one thing; the real person is another, and with his fear subsiding, Jason rakes his eyes over his best friend and swallows him whole. His eyes are bluer in person, his memory and Tim’s photo doesn’t do them justice, and Danny inherited his dad’s height. He’s gotten so tall. They both have. They both used to be such scrawny kids.

So distracted is he, that he forgets to respond to Danny, to say anything. Not until Danny tries to dismiss himself, and Jason kickstarts into gear. White hot panic fills in his lungs, burning him up like magma. No, no, no, he’s moving without thinking, always when he’s with him, and he nearly latches onto Danny. Nearly wraps his hands around his arm to hold him in place. Don’t leave. You’re finally here; don’t go.

Danny stays, but he stares at Jason’s reaching hands like he’ll bite them off, stares at Jason with his eyes burning, watchful. Jason’s excuse is lousy and he knows it, but he wants, wants, wants to stay and figure out every new thing about Danny.

And he feels like he’s losing something. Time bleeds together beside him and Jason feels trapped behind a glass wall of his own making. Something old, something new. The distance of which Danny keeps him at is foreign to him. He hates it.

Tell me everything, he thinks, because he can’t find the words to say it. He hands Danny a cigarette instead, and hopes that it’s enough. Tell me everything and more, tell me what I’ve missed.

In the end, he still feels like he’s losing something, but he also feels like he’s missing something. Answers that are water, and that water is slipping through his fingers. Danny leaves him with more questions than answers; something that’s never happened before, and Jason watches him walk back inside with a spinning mind.

What do you mean you spoke to my ghost?

I told you that the Joker killed me?

Have I told you anything else? Have I already told you everything I’ve wanted to?

What happened while I was gone?

Is that why you’re scarred?

Because Jason isn’t blind, he’s never been. Not in Crime Alley, not as Robin, not now. And not when it comes to his best friend. He sees the silver lightning scars ripped jagged up Danny’s arm, sees that they disappear under his sleeves. He saw, faded as they were, invisible until the light hit right, as they spread like tree roots up his throat and across the side of his face.

Scars that Danny’s never had before. Scars he didn’t have when Jason was alive the first time. Scars he didn’t have the last time Jason saw him. Or — what he remembers to be the last time he saw him, because apparently he saw him as a ghost. He sees the curve of his ears and how they point more than a human’s should, he saw the glint of his canines, sharper than they should be; sharper than he remembers. Metaphorical fangs turned real.

Jason should’ve asked where he got them from, should’ve taken Danny by the front of his collar and stopped him from leaving. Who did this to you? He should have said, a fire burning in his chest and wrapping around his throat, pulling his voice into a snarl. He should have said, his guns weighing heavy on his sides; Who did it. I’ll take care of it. Just tell me who. Tell me everything.

Instead, something crawled into his mouth and died, and his tongue is glued to the roof of it. And he doesn’t say anything, because saying something means telling his best friend who he is. It means having to take off his helmet and mask. It means telling his best friend that he’s alive, that he has been. That despite being two halves of a whole, Jason spent five years letting him think he was dead.

He can’t tell him, not when he’s in too deep already. Not when Jason is so unrecognizable to who he used to be that if he told him, Danny would hate him.

And Danny is still grieving him. So plain as day mourning, still angry over his death. Angry enough that he wants the Joker dead, angry enough that he wants to hang the noose and kick the chair out himself.

Jason wishes he told him that he looks tired.

Instead he’s standing alone on the balcony, trying to get his thoughts in order as music blares muffled through the gold-light door. He’s left staring at the crushed cigarette laying on the ground, Gotham’s ambience at his back and a poem hanging in the air that he has no words for. It’s already there. Like stars on a painted ceiling.

And there are so many questions he needs answers for.

Like his ghost. His ghost.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Does he really want to kill the Joker himself? Was it just the grief talking? Jason knows — or thinks he knows — Danny like the palm of his hands. He’s been through everything with him, he’s seen him say something and then immediately follow through with it. He knows when he’s being serious, he knows when he’s not.

Danny wants to kill the Joker. Stealing is one thing; murder is another. And Danny wore a look on his face that looked like he meant it when he told Red Hood that he wanted to kill Joker. But saying and doing are two different things. Jason doesn’t know what to think.

Something old, something new. Danny is still the same, and yet he’s changed so much.

What did Danny mean by his ghost?

Jason doesn’t ever remember being a ghost. But Danny knows the Joker killed him. He knows how he killed him. Danny’s parents are ghost scientists, and Jason remembers the letter he got one day telling him about the portal they were building in the basement.

He remembers thinking about telling Bruce — this was something beyond the glowing green samples stored in the fridge, giving life to the food inside. This was beyond the weapons, the inventions they made that only saw the light of day when the Drs. Fenton brought them up to showcase them.

And he didn’t, because if he hadn’t told Bruce about everything before, he wasn’t going to start. He admits, it was part fear that Bruce might intervene and prevent him from seeing Danny that he didn’t.

Neither of them had expected it to work — but it sounds like it did.

(Jason has avoided Amity Park for a reason. He knows he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going there if he didn’t. But now, he just might have to look into it. He’s missed too much.)

And Danny wants to kill the Joker, and Jason isn’t sure if he means it or not. Because the look on his face when he said it is oh-so familiar. It’s the one he wore when he needed Jason to distract the clerk while he snuck behind the counter to steal cigarettes from the shelves. It was the one he wore when an older kid cornered them near one of Gotham’s many alleys, threatening them over something Jason can no longer remember clearly.

(He remembers puffing himself up, rearing for a fight. Danny, with glass in his teeth and blood between his fingers, lands a square kick to the spot between the kid’s legs. His knees hit the ground, and Danny’s hand found Jason’s to drag them both out of there.)

It’s the look of a boy, Gotham-touched grime in his soul, soft fingers turned calloused and scarred, about to do something he’s not going to regret. It’s the look of a boy that has set his mind to something and is going to do it. Some might call it the eyes of a cornered animal, but Danny’s never been cornered, not when Jason’s been with him.

(But Jason hasn’t been with him. Not for the last five years. So can he really say it wasn’t the eyes of a cornered animal?...Yes.)

Jason gets off the balcony before he can be seen, and he shouldn’t, but he loiters. He should get back to patrol, the night is never over. Not in Gotham. But he stays, hidden atop the roof nearby.

—---------------

An hour later, Danny walks out the doors with a man Jason recognizes as Vlad Masters — another new mystery for him to uncover. The paparazzi have long since left. Gotham’s nights are dangerous and everyone knows that, not even the vultures would stick around for a scoop, not unless there was something worth seeing.

A black limousine pulls up beside them, and Masters walks around the back to reach the other side. He’s bristled like an angry cat. “I thought I told you not to embarrass me.” He hisses, eyes snake-narrowed.

Danny, for the most part, just looks unbothered, his hands shoved into his pockets without a care. But he narrows his eyes right back, an expression made of stone. “You have a pretty low bar for what you think is embarrassing.”

Masters just scowls, “I don’t understand you, I would have thought you’d spend the whole time mingling with the Waynes, badger.” He says. Danny ruffles at the nickname, lips curling into a snarl. Jason finds himself unconsciously mimicking him. “And yet, I find you sequestered away in the corner like a little fly on the wall. Were they not up to your standards?”

‘Sequestered’ Danny mouths mockingly, eyes burning like he was going to claw his hand down Masters’ face. Instead, his hands dig into his arms. “I did talk to them, that’s more than I can say for you. You couldn’t even keep Mister Wayne’s attention for more than a minute.”

Jason frowns, and Masters scoffs, puffing up like an owl with its ego bruised. “Regardless, I am not the one losing here. Or did you forget what you promised me?”

Jason’s frown deepens. Danny doesn’t promise anything. At least, he doesn’t promise with just anyone. He deals; he repays; he indebts. But he does not promise. Promises were power, with only one side benefiting. It was trust to promise someone something. Danny doesn’t trust easily, neither of them do.

Something that hasn’t changed. Danny rears up angrily, mouth twisting, teeth baring, snarling out a fury sound. A wire cut live and sparking. He grabs the door handle and yanks it open harshly. “I didn’t promise you anything, Vlad.” He hisses, Jason strains to hear him. “I offered and you agreed. Do not fucking twist my words.”

There it is. Jason should’ve known better, guilt string-plucking in his chest for his doubt. Danny doesn’t promise things; not to people like this Masters guy, at least.

Danny grabs something from the car and throws himself back. “Don’t wait up.” He snarls, a wild thing just as Jason is, and yanks on a red hoodie over his arms. It zips up, and hangs off him, smothering the vest and button-up beneath. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Then he slams the door shut, shoulders hunched and with a scowl carved into his face. They’re both made of broken glass; independence — disobedience — and rebellion cut into them from every broken beer bottle shattered on the streets.

(Jason makes a mental note to look into Vlad Masters — Danny’s never told him about him, so they must have met after he died. The man leaves a rot in Jason’s mouth, and there is a greed festering inside him that Jason knows has left him in decay.)

(He doesn’t like how close Masters acts with him, doesn’t like the affiliations between them both. Masters reminds him of Luthor and every other rich socialite with their hands in something dirty. He hates even more that Danny is making deals with him. What has he missed?)

Jason follows after Danny, partially concerned that Danny is wandering Gotham alone. Regardless of what he can do, Gotham is still dangerous. It is bone-rotting, lung-choking and unforgiving. Danny knows this, Jason knows he does. He’s partially curious to know just where he’s going, and whether or not it was important enough to visit in the dead of Gotham’s bloody nights.

Danny surprises him — slipping between alleyways, sticking close to the shadows. Someone taught him how to be stealthy — or, at least, refined what stealth Danny already had. More new things that Jason needs to learn. More things he will never get to know.

Who taught you that?

Just what, exactly, have I missed?

I want to know everything.

Five years is a long, long time to be away from someone. If a caterpillar can become a butterfly in two weeks, then what can five years do to a human? It’s a long time to change, to become something else entirely. Jason’s become someone new, and he thinks, so has Danny.

Dread pools in his ribs, into his lungs, and weighs heavy on his heartstrings. The urge to drop down in front of Danny, to grab him by the arms and ask him to tell him everything, returns with a vengeance. This is why he avoided Amity Park.

Will I still know you like I used to? Jason trails behind Danny from the rooftops, like a ghost. Do you still love the stars? Do you still take tea over coffee? Will you tell me, if I ask?

And if he doesn’t? If he doesn’t ask, like he isn’t right now?

If he doesn’t ask about his ghost — something that still boggles his mind, because it means the Fentons were right and that portal might have worked, and Danny found Jason’s ghost? If he doesn’t ask what his ghost told him, if he told him anything else? Did his ghost tell you that he was Robin, like he always wanted to?

He will just have to keep his questions to himself. He will just have to tuck them into a folder in his mind, and file it under all of his other regrets.

He feels like he’s Robin again; keeping secrets and hiding things from his best friend because it simply wasn’t safe enough for him to know. It’s maddening.

Why has nothing changed since he died? Why has nothing changed, now that he was alive?

—---------------

Danny leads him to the Gotham Cemetery. Jason freezes outside the gates. Oh, he thinks.

Oh.

He thinks back to what he thought earlier.

What could possibly be so important that he’d go to it in the dead of Gotham’s night? The cemetery. Of course. Something old, something new, something bittersweet sets over his tongue that he swallows down.

Jason forces himself to follow.

“Hey.” Danny says as Jason settles behind a tree, voice gentle in foreign familiarity. He’s standing at Jason’s grave, his hands shoved into his pockets. The light is low but it doesn’t stop Jason from seeing the starlight-soft look in Danny’s eyes and his half-tilted smile, the smile that Jason is more familiar with than the wary scowls. “Sorry I’m late.”

Guiltish misery wraps its hands around Jason’s lungs. Pin-prickingly, stabbing at his heartstrings, Jason’s mouth moves on its own; “It’s okay.” but no sound comes out. Danny doesn’t hear him, and neither does Jason himself.

Danny sits down before Jason’s tombstone, groaning low and tiredly as his legs fold beneath him. He’s older than Jason, and immediately his mind switches over to all the jokes he used to lob him with.

(“Need help crossing the street, old man?” Jason, eight years old, asks with a grin so wide and painful across his face; giggles in his chest. He hooks his elbow with Danny, and keeps him tight against his ribs. “You’ll need all the help you can get in your ancient age.”)

(“I’m not that old.” Danny says, glaring at him before they scurry across the street with the light still green. Traffic laws are a joke in Crime Alley, it’s like a game of frogger as the sound of honking horns and screeching tires follows their heels. “We’re six months apart!”)

(“Six months and four days, actually.” Jason corrects when they reach the other side, snickering as they race down the sidewalk. Drivers lean out their windows and curse them out as they get away, Danny dodges an empty soda can thrown at his head. “Can’t forget the four days.”)

“I would’ve come sooner.” Danny tells him, pulling him from child-fuzzy memories and back into reality. Jason peers around the tree to see him running a hand through his hair, head ducked down. His palm splaying against his neck. “Sorry I didn’t. I got scared.”

Scared? Jason blinks, he leans against the bark and bumps his helmet against the wood. The thunk is loud in his ears, but Danny makes no indication that he heard. Of what?

But Danny doesn’t say what, he drops his hand and glances off to the side. He sits like a man who isn’t quite sure what to do, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his eyes scrunched. Grief carves into the lines of his face like a sculptor carving into marble.

“I was gonna get you flowers on my way here.” Danny continues. His voice cracks, begins to wobble, and Jason sees Danny’s jaw tighten and his eyes close for a moment. When they open, there’s a wobbling sheen on his bottom lashes; tears threatening to bleed.

Danny flicks at the tears with the nail of his thumb, it does nothing. It just makes his breath hitch. “Um, but they- uh, didn’t have any open on the way here.” He says, giving Jason’s grave a tremulous smile. “Sorry, I’ll make sure to pick some up on my next visit.”

Next visit. Jason’s heart squeezes uncomfortably, before he reels at the words. Danny’s going to be visiting again, after five years of being out of Gotham? Next visit, why are you visiting again? Was this the reason he came to Bruce’s little charity ball with Vlad Masters? So that he could come visit Jason’s grave?

It couldn’t have been. There are other ways to get to Gotham that don’t require making deals with shady rich men. Danny’s smart, smarter than Danny himself gives him credit for. He’s brilliant. Why did he need Masters’ help to get him to Gotham?

There had to be another reason why.

God, there were so many questions that Jason wants the answers to. He’ll find them, one way or another.

But, he focuses in again. Danny is only here for the night. One night, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back again. Jason wants to commit every detail of his best friend to memory before he leaves.

“You like zinnias, right?” Danny pets the grass at his side absently, and yes. Yes, Jason does, and Danny remembers. Even five years from his death, he remembers. Of course he does.

“Yeah, you do. You used to pick the petals up off the sidewalk from those uh, fuck — the vendors. The Victorian flower language too, I think. Got a book on that somewhere. I’ll get you red an�� yellow ones.”

Grief traps in Jason’s chest, and he barely tamps down the bitter laugh forcing itself out of the chokehold of his throat. You fucking sap, you big fuckin’ sap.

Red zinnias. Steadfast beating of the heart. The irony. It’s got double the meaning now, now that he’s alive. But Danny doesn’t know that, so the heart that’s beating could only belong to him. But even with Jason alive, he’s hiding. Between the both of them, the only one here with a beating heart is Danny.

(Between the two of them, the only heart here is one that's made between the two of them.)

Yellow zinnias. Daily remembrance. Of course. That doesn’t need any explanation, the writing is right there on the wall. Raised, so that even the blind may read it. It doesn’t need to be said what that means, Jason can hear it on the wind, in the grass, in the trees. His heart crumpling like a rag being twisted out to drain the dirty water soaking in it.

I miss you.

I’m right here. Is what Jason wants to say. It’s what he should say. He should step out from behind the tree; should speak up and say something. To announce his presence. To do something to let Danny know that he’s speaking to someone who is more than a ghost (who feels like one anyways) and a corpse in the ground.

Here I am. Here I am. HERE I AM.

His feet are gravebound to the dirt, his tongue cut out of his mouth and shoved into a jar. He feels, in some way, like he’s clawing out of his own grave again, but the dirt keeps falling and his arms are burning. His lungs are filled with more soil than air. He’s not getting out.

Shame burns cigarette smoke in the back of his throat, shriveling up what little remains of his tar-filled heart. It should be his lungs, and it’s got that too. His feet are grave-bound to the floor.

Danny’s begun to cry, much to Jason’s horror. It should be more incentive for Jason to step out. He doesn’t. His best friend sniffles and scrubs at his face, soaking tears into his hoodie’s sleeve. “I’m sorry for not visitin’ sooner,” he says, voice spiraling with grief, “I don’t have an excuse. I should’ve come sooner. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Don’t be, Jason thinks. Finds himself surprised by the truth of it. He should be upset. Five years and not a single visit. He abandoned him like everyone else. Except he didn’t.

He’s not upset, he can’t be. Not when Danny’s finally here. Not when he’s still crying over him five years after the fact. Not when he’s going to put flowers on his grave that means he thinks of him daily. Not when Danny knows who killed him and wants him dead.

Jason isn’t sure of what to think of that still. He wants Bruce to kill the Joker. More importantly he wants change in Gotham. He wants something to be done. He doesn’t know if Danny is being honest or not — and honesty doesn’t mean anything if someone doesn’t act on it.

Danny continues talking to his grave, his voice full with sorrow. He talks about the gala, about running into Bruce and talking to him again.

Jason listens in dutiful silence, soaking in Danny’s voice like a sponge. This is what he was expecting on the balcony; this easy conversation. Except it’s not a conversation, Danny is talking and not expecting a response. Jason feels like a stranger imposing on his own grave.He should slink away, let Danny have his peace on his own.

He refuses to move. He can’t bring himself to.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he's sitting in front of him. He can pretend he’s thirteen again, with him and Danny crawled under the bed at the manor and trading all the stories they couldn’t fit in their letters. Danny tells him about another fight he had with Dash Baxter, eyes rolling but smug teeth flashing in a stifled smile. Then he tells him about something Sam and Tucker did; about one of Sam’s protests she led against the biology lab, and Tucker coding his PDA to play Doom. Easy, stupid middle schooler shit.

They’d sneak out to the balcony for their vices, Danny clutching a carton of cheap cigarettes in hand. Alfred always finds the ones Jason hides, so they usually share whenever Danny comes to visit. Jason tells him about Gotham Academy, about the people there and the classes. Prep school is another beast entirely, he likes seeing Danny’s reactions to the politics that goes on inside.

Or, further back, they’re eight again, climbing a rickety fire escape to the rooftop and hanging their feet over the edge to find Batman and Robin. Danny was in the lead before he left for Amity Park. Jason remembers it clearly; they’d spent all night outside on that rooftop.

Jason doesn’t close his eyes.

Jazz decided to change career goals; psychology’s become more of a hobby for her, and she’s going to go to med school instead. She’s thinking of doing an internship in Metropolis. Danny says he’s glad that it’s not Gotham, and when he told Jazz this, she laughed at him and told him that she was going to save that for later.

She’s Gotham-touched too, she knows it’s blood just as much as Danny does. She wants to help the people there, but knows what Gotham’s like. She knows what she can and cannot do. Determination doesn’t equate skill, it just means the willingness to learn.

Sam is staying in Amity Park and doing online classes for college, but Tucker got a full ride scholarship in software engineering. Danny’s thick with pride as he tells Jason’s headstone. Jason’s happy for him — they weren’t close, not like he and Danny were, but they were still friends.

Jason soaks it all in; tell him more. He wants to know everything.

"I don't know what I want to do." Danny says when he’s finally done talking about everyone else, his chin laying on his knees. “S’not like I can be an astronaut anymore, but there’s not anything I can see myself doing.”

The corner of his mouth coils, sardonic. “I’ve had five years to come up with somethin’ new, and I’ve come up with nothin’ at all.” He huffs. It’s a rough, bitter sound. Gotham has been steadily seeping back into his voice since he arrived in the graveyard, and now it comes out thick, like it never left.

Danny’s face falls slack, like a puppet losing its strings, and he sinks into himself. “I guess I…” He exhales slow. “I’ve just been distracted.” A faraway glaze eclipses his eyes, and before they close, tears begin to bleed onto his eyelids. Again, grief mars the lines of his skin, settling into the curve of his mouth and threading between his brows like second nature.

Fuck, it’d be so easy for Jason to just step out. Move. His best friend is grieving. He could save him the pain of it and tell him now. Move, move, move.

He doesn’t move.

For a while, there’s nothing but silence, just Jason hiding in his shame; a rat on the street would be bolder than him. Danny’s eyes don’t open. Eventually, his head tilts and slumps into his knees, Jason almost thinks, somehow, that he’s fallen asleep — but Danny’s hand threads into the hair on the back of his head, his finger beginning to tap an invisible beat into his skull.

It’s the perfect opportunity for him to slip away. Danny’s distracted; lost in his thoughts. He won’t notice if Jason slinks off now. He could go and hide away on a roof nearby, ensuring that Danny gets his rightful privacy without leaving him to the teeth of the streets.

Jason still doesn’t move.

Danny begins to hum. It’s a low, breathy sound, and it shakes unevenly. There’s no discernible melody, but a breeze picks it up and travels it through the air anyway, rooting Jason to his spot. His throat swells, and his back sinks into the bark behind him.

For a full minute, maybe two, Danny just hums. It’s a simple tune, but it fills the graveyard with the sound. When it goes up, he sharpens, when he goes down again, it flats, and sometimes it wobbles.

When he lifts his head, when he finally opens his eyes, he’s still humming. Soon it dies down, and the next time Danny exhales, it comes out tumultuous and slow. His hand slips heavy from his head and drops into the grass.

“Where’d you go, Jay?” Danny mutters, and despite his voice coming flat, he still sounds so tired. Danny’s eyes flick up, lifting off the grass to burn into the headstone. He’s not even looking at him, and yet Jason still freezes up, he still feels pinned under the weight of his stare. “I know you’re still out there, somewhere. I know it.”

Jason breathes in shakily, a sting deep in the back of his throat. He gives no answer; guilt is an animal with claws, and it burrows deep into Jason’s heart to make itself a home between the tendons. He’s right here.

Silence falls over them again, and this time it’s only the sound of the city around them that bleeds into the air. Danny stares at Jason’s grave, staring like he’s expecting an answer. He doesn’t get one.

Danny sighs out low, and stands. His knees tremble slightly, and he rubs his sleeve into his eyes, catching the stray tears falling from his lashes. Like breaking a spell, Jason jolts from the fog of sorrow hanging in the air.

“I’ll see you later, an’ I’ll make sure to bring you those flowers you like.” He tells him, and miraculously, a shadow of a smile flits over Danny’s mouth. “Y’better be here when I get back, alright? I’ll kick y’fucking ass if you’re not.”

Jason bites back a huff, his mouth upturning in a wobble. I will, he thinks, and watches Danny trail out of the graveyard with his hands in his pockets. He waits until he’s disappeared behind the gate before following.

Guilt is a thing with claws, and Jason leaves the cemetery with it eating his tongue. But he makes sure Danny gets back to his hotel safe before he slinks back to Crime Alley; he might not be a ghost anymore, but he can still trail behind Danny like he is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ayy i finally got chapter 2 of CFAU/TMWS edited/redone! It had to get rewritten because a lot of stuff became obsolete in the wake of the new chapter 1. and also it just kinda. fucking sucked imo lmao

(you can also read it here on my ao3!)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #cw swearing #dpxdc crossover #childhood friends au #cfau #dead on main #dp x dc fanfic #dpxdc fanfic #dpdc #banshee danny fenton #got to let jason be Slightly More Unhinged about Danny in this version which i had fun with. i love writing unhealthy attachments it just #adds a little spice ✨ im like an evil scientist marveling over their unethical creation. someone call me olivia octavia #fun fact that i learned recently: jazz also wanted to be also be an accountant or a brain surgeon! so she's getting a little break from #being the Therapist Friend. :]#jason @ danny: whose hurt you. tell me i'll kill them. talk to me tell me everything. don't leave my side please.#danny would be pr similar if he knew red hood was jason :P. uhh. after the initial shock wore off.

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tennessoui · 10 months ago

Note

For the prompt list, nanny/single parent obikin would be amazing!!

(from this prompt list)

(the first time I answered this prompt two years ago, the nanny anakin au was born)

so to do something different, here's some gffa widowed anakin, nanny (sort of) obi-wan!

(2.5k)

It is hard to find time to grieve. There are too many things to do. Too many appointments to make, too many decisions Anakin isn’t sure he’s qualified for. Some decisions are easier than others. For example, the funeral will be on Naboo. There will be two services: a public one to honor Padmé’s public service, and a private one to honor who she was as a person. The casket will be closed, because his wife died when her cruiser exploded. There isn’t much left to bury anyway.

But some decisions are harder. Which flowers should go on her casket. What songs would she want sung and who should sing them? Would she prefer her grave closer to her ancestral home or the home she created in her adulthood?

If she told anyone the answers to these questions, it wasn’t Anakin. But then, the people who knew her best, who loved her most, died with her. Sabé, Rabé, Saché, Yané, all of her handmaidens—an assassination such broad strokes that it was impossible for it to fail.

So Anakin chooses Yali lilies, because Leia’s eyes linger on them the longest. He chooses a small Nabooian folk band to play after her service because their music is the first thing to make Luke lift his head from his coloring books in days. He formally requests that her body be buried among her ancestors, and the Nabierres agree immediately.

And he keeps telling himself that he will grieve, but there is so much to do.

And then—then there’s after the funeral. Then there’s the rest of his life, sprawling out before him in a long, hazy road.

There are more decisions to be made.

There are people who have opinions on them now, people who sat back and let Anakin muddle through flower arrangements and kriffing seating charts, who now step in to peer over his shoulder, monitor his every breath.

Should he really move the children back to Coruscant? Does he truly plan to continue to work as a mechanic in the Mid-Levels? Should he not think of the children, their needs? How can he support them on the thin amount of credits he makes? Would it not be better for the children to live on Naboo in the care of their grandparents and their extended family?

It would be what Padmé would have wanted.

Anakin cannot care about what Padmé would have wanted, because she isn’t here. Not to argue with him, not to make her wants known. She is dead. She doesn’t get to haunt him in the waking world too.

“What do you want?” he asks plainly, sitting down across the table from his two children. The twins blink back at him. Leia has finished her cereal. Luke has barely touched his.

“Bacon,” Luke says.

Anakin hadn’t meant for breakfast, but he figures it’s as good of a start as any. “Alright,” he agrees.

He stands once more and goes to the kitchen. It’s not exactly his domain. It was never Padmé’s either. The way Padmé grew up, food was made once you requested it—by droid, by cooking staff. Not by the hand of a Nabierre.

The way Anakin grew up, food was cobbled together carefully, sparingly no matter how much you requested it. And no matter how you cooked it, it always tasted a little like dust, which took the joy out of experimentation.

But the serving staff have been dismissed for the past two weeks to give the family time and space to grieve in private.

(Padmé’s parents have been given a schedule for visiting hours for that exact reason.)

Anakin locates the pan; then, he locates the package of bacon strips.

When he glances up, both twins are watching him over the edge of their barstools, tiny faces showing both skepticism and incredulity.

“I want to know what you want to do,” Anakin says, raising his voice as he places the pot over the heating plate, the meat in a moment later. “Do you want to stay here with your grandmother and grandfather? Do you want to go back to Coruscant?”

The twins are quiet. Anakin twists his neck to look at them again, and they’re looking at each other, silently communicating the way only twins can.

“Where will you be?” Leia finally asks, looking at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes, bottom lip already jutting out.

Anakin blinks. “Wherever you are,” he answers.

“You won’t leave too?” Luke asks rather tremulously.

Anakin takes the pan off the heated plate and turns it off with a decisive flick of his wrist. “Of course not,” he says. “Come here.” He crouches down and barely has enough time to open his arms before the twins are there, pressing in as close as they can get to him. He holds them back just as tightly in return.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises into Leia’s hair. “Not without you two.”

—-----------------

It becomes apparent fairly quickly that this is, by necessity, a lie.

The twins don’t want to stay on Naboo, which Anakin is secretly incredibly grateful for. He doesn’t want to either, but he knows he’d just be called selfish should he express the opinion.

But the twins don’t want to go back to Coruscant either. This makes sense as well. It would be incredibly jarring for them to go back to living in the quarters they shared with their mother, her Upper Coruscanti apartments in the nicest district of the planet, without her there.

Anakin wishes it were as simple as sticking a pin on a planet and deciding to uproot the entirety of his family to live there.

But it’s not.

Perhaps if he were still young, nineteen, newly free and in love with the taste of that freedom, it would be.

But he’s a widower now. He has his children to think about, their futures. Any planet he chooses must have what they need as well.

And they are four year olds who have just lost their mother. Their needs are numerous.

What makes the decision for him in the end is that his boss knows a man from Stewjon, who is willing to hire him. Who is willing to pay a premium for his expertise with mechanics.

Anakin doesn’t know the first thing about Stewjon, other than that it’s an ocean planet in the Inner Core and his dead wife always said the Senators from Stewjon were so frigid and tight-lipped because they spent the first few days of each visit trying not to be seasick on the Senate floor.

Anakin isn’t sure why this is the very first thing he tells the man—his potential boss—he meets behind the counter in the mech-shop on Stewjon.

He’s left the children with their grandparents for the week—long enough to fly from Naboo to Stewjon, meet with his potential employer, interview, apply his work practically, and fly back out.

He’d explained to both twins why they had to stay on Naboo. He’d explained many times. That hadn’t changed the betrayed look Leia had worn as she saw him off. It hadn’t wiped the tears from Luke’s eyes.

“Ah, well, I can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” the mechanic says. He sounds amused, and Anakin is incredibly shocked to hear a Coruscanti accent. Everyone he’s spoken to since arriving planetside has had such a heavy brogue that he’d honestly struggled to understand their directions to the shop—Kenobi & Sons.

Anakin lets himself look again at the man behind the counter. He’s rather clean for a mechanic, he decides. His beard is red, a common factor around these parts apparently, but his beard is short and neat, trimmed to accentuate the strong lines of his jaw. His eyes are a stormy blue, the kind of blue that matches the Stewjoni ocean.

“Between you and me though,” the man smirks and leans onto the counter with his elbow. His tunic is dark gray, white starchy fabric peeking out beneath the v-necked collar. “I’ve never been a fan of Stewjoni politicians anyway.”

“Oh?” Anakin asks, sidling a step closer to the counter. The man has the beginnings of gray at his temples, and his eyes are lined with wrinkles. They don’t make him look old though, Anakin decides. They make him look…well-lived.

“I’ve not a head for politics much at all,” his future employer shakes his head slightly with a small smile. His eyes flick up and down Anakin’s face, lingering on his lips and then lingering longer on the scar over his brow. Anakin feels rather flushed under the inspection, and he shifts his weight forward until he’s leaning up against the counter too.

There’s something about this man that’s rather…magnetic. It pulls him in. It makes him want to linger.

Good characteristic for a shopkeeper to have, though Anakin privately decides that the man before him has a face that’s wasted on mechanics, buried under some ship’s underbelly in a backroom.

“Me neither,” he admits, a moment too late to sound anything but highly distracted. It makes the man smile again though, a flash of straight white teeth.

“Is there anything you do have a head for then?” he asks. His tone is light, airy, rather teasing.

This is the strangest interview Anakin has ever had.

“Um,” he says. “Well. There’s mechanics.”

“Oh?” The man’s eyebrow lifts at an elegant angle. He props his chin on the palm of his hand and looks up at Anakin through his eyelashes. “Then why come here to us then?”

“Um,” Anakin says, and not because the man looks rather unfairly flattering like this, amber eyelashes in sharp relief against the blue of his eyes.

They’re interrupted by the sounds of clattering in the backroom, stomping and cursing. The man before him straightens with a slight sigh and picks up the closest flimsipad. “And what brings you in here today, sir?” he asks rather loudly, pitching his voice back to the other room of the shop pointedly. “Problem with your speeder? Serving droid? Cruiser? If it’s your astromech droid, I regret to inform you that I’ll have to refuse you service on account of the fact that I don’t particularly care for them.”

Anakin thinks he splutters, but whatever noise he makes is definitely drowned out by the rather irritated shout of Obi-Wan! that comes from the back.

A moment later, a man storms through the door, looking annoyed. "We will service an astomech if that's what's broken, Obi-Wan."

Now this is a man that Anakin can believe is a mechanic. His nails are blackened with oil, and his bare, burly arms carry smudges of the stuff. He’s much broader than the man—Obi-Wan—that Anakin had been talking to. He’s bald with a reddened scalp and a rather large red beard that’s the antithesis of the other man’s in every way. His clothes are dirty, loose, and the color of ash. He looks older too—whereas Obi-Wan could easily be in his thirties, this man must be pushing fifty.

He snaps at Obi-Wan in a language that Anakin doesn’t understand. Obi-Wan shrugs and hands over the flimsi pad without argument.

“Um, actually,” Anakin says, feeling incredibly wrong-footed. “Which one of you is Kenobi?”

“I am,” both of them say. Obi-Wan’s smirking slightly. The other man’s voice is louder, carrying that Stewjoni accent so obviously lacking in Obi-Wan’s speech.

The older man closes his eyes as if he’s praying for patience. “We both are,” he says. “Though if your ship’s malfunctioned, sir, I’m the Kenobi you want to see. This one’s good for naught but magic tricks.”

“I have been told I’m rather good at other things,” Obi-Wan turns his smirk full-force at Anakin, dropping his eyes to Anakin’s lips once more.

“My name is Anakin Skywalker,” he says very quickly in a very normal tone of voice that is most definitely not a squeak. “I’m here to interview for a position. As another mechanic.”

“Oh,” the older Kenobi says.

“Oh,” the younger Kenobi says in a much different tone.

The older Kenobi pinches at his nose for a moment before turning around the counter and offering his hand. “Ben,” he says. “Ben Kenobi.”

Anakin takes his hand and shakes it, eyes traveling back to Obi-Wan. Is he supposed to shake his hand too?

“I’m the Son in the sign,” Ben says gruffly as if that answers his question.

“I’m the reason it’s plural,” Obi-Wan adds, busying himself with the contents of the counter. From what Anakin can tell, the man is just messing up the carefully organized piles of receipts.

He decides that he would rather not get the job than point this out to Ben.

Ben huffs out something in Stewjoni that sounds downright insulting, but that doesn’t stop Obi-Wan from smiling sunnily up at Anakin. “My brother enjoys bitching and moaning that I came back home when I was seventeen, but he’s awfully quick to foist his children off on me when he’s called to shift at the rig offshore and Marci’s off-planet too.”

Anakin blinks. He feels like that’s the safest answer.

“Only thing good that blasted Jedi Order ever taught you was how to handle younglings,” Ben says, and then spits on the ground as if the words themselves have left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anakin blinks and wonders if he should say something to remind the brothers that he’s here. For an interview. “And my magic tricks,” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes slightly before catching Anakin’s eye and winking. With a wave of his hand, a flimsi-sheet flies over the counter and into Anakin’s chest. He catches it unthinkingly. “Would you like to sign in, sir?” “Get out of here,” Ben barks, snatching the flimsi from Anakin’s hand and pushing it back to the counter. “Like I said, the only one’s impressed with that is the younglings.”

“I don’t know, your man looks impressed,” Obi-Wan says slyly, even as he pushes himself away from the counter and around the edge of it.

Anakin isn’t sure what he looks like. He doesn’t think impressed is the word he’d use though.

When Obi-Wan brushes past him, the static electricity in the air jumps between their shoulders. Anakin feels as if he’s been shocked.

Obi-Wan must feel it too because he stops only a few inches away and looks at Anakin. For the first time, his expression is open. Curious. Considering.

“Get!” His brother insists, and Obi-Wan obeys, throwing one last look over his shoulder at Anakin before he slips out the door.

The shop feels somehow much bigger now that the other man has left. Ben sighs and rubs a hand down his face. He looks older now. More worn. “So that was my brother,” he tells Anakin wearily. “Who you would most likely see frequently if you were to take this job. I would understand completely if you would like to start by talking compensation.”

#asks #prompt fills #obikin #so he's not a nanny YET #i absolutely got too into the exposition lol #but in my mind he looks after luke and leia while anakin is at work #and then after a few months anakin is asked to do a few week stint at a rig off shore #(thnk of it either like oil rig or like the underwater station in the kenobi show)#and he goes and obi-wan looks after his kids #ok mostly i just wanted to write obnoxious little brother obi-wan #he leaves the order at 15 to go to melida/daan #and isn't allowed back in so he fights and rebuilds #but eventually leaves and goes to stewjon where he finds his family #and his brother both hates him and loves him more than anything else in the world #and hates the jedi order for rejecting him and letting him fight and risking his baby brother's life #and obi-wan finds this amusing and also secretly touching #you can tell i thought way too much about this brother dynamic lol #but just imagine the you hurt my brother speech this guy will give to anakin #and obi-wan's in the back like im thirty nine

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rubberduckyrye · 3 days ago

Text

Rye's Ramble Analysis/Theory On: Kirumi Toujou

Okay so this is gonna be VERY haphazard and nothing like what I do over at @unweavinglies so bear with me, but after I was reminded that Salmon Mode and Kirumi's LSE excisted, I looked into those and like. Holy shit why were none of these character details in canon--or even in her FTEs?

These details change Kirumi's characterization so DRASTICALLY.

Analysis Exhibit #1: Self hatred/Self Deprecation--AKA there's TRAUMA in this Bish

Kirumi is really hard on herself when she makes the most. Nothing burger mistakes. She even suggests that Shuichi could berate her in any way he saw fit because of how "bad" she thought the mistake was--and even implies that she deserves it.

This is not something someone who has a stable self image thinks.

People who have a stable, positive self image are more likely to go "Oh! Whoops, anyway--" over berating themselves for not knowing someone prefers green tea over black tea.

Her whole LSE is about how Kirumi feels like her romantic love for her master would be a bad influence on him--that she needs to leave because her feelings are bad and wrong and--

She doesn't feel like she deserves her feelings to be validated.

People don't just come to the conclusion that their feelings are invalid all on their own--often more than not, this is a huge red flag for trauma--neglect and abuse coming to mind. Kirumi was definitely put in a situation where she believed that her feelings weren't just hindrances--but bad influences, that her feelings weren't valid at all. Combined with the above point, it's pretty clear that Kirumi may have even been yelled at for making mistakes as a child. There was definitely verbal abuse from how willing she was to let Shuichi have at her for her mistake, and her feelings being things she associates with negativity or being invalid suggests that she was often scolded for having feelings at all.

I think her maturity is a mask for her insecurities and potential trauma, and her hard-working nature is the result of thinking she needs to make herself useful to others by any means necessary in order to feel worthy of praise--maybe even worthy of living.

Kirumi even protests to the idea of Shuichi (her master) seeing her as an equal--a sign of dehumanizing herself.

With all that being said--

Her protest is never completed, but considering how Kirumi views herself, it's VERY likely that she would feel like if she doesn't clean the place up, then she isn't worthy. I think that this line can be interpreted in a variety of ways, but I see it as her trying to say "When you clean, I become useless."

And like.

Her whole LSE is her beating herself up about how she doesn't know how to prepare konjac.

All of these signs point to some kind of verbal abuse or severe neglect--more likely the former over the latter. I'm not exactly sure who abused/neglected her, but the signs are very much There.

It's possible her adamant dislike of being called mom or being referred to as "motherly" stems from this very-likely abuse, but that's more speculation and it's as equally as likely that she just simply finds it degrading. Either way.

Analysis Exhibit #2: People Pleasing (Struggling to Say No)

Kirumi has a very distinct inability to say no to most "reasonable" requests. I specify "requests" because it ties into the points above and how Kirumi sees herself.

Here, she is blatantly stating that if Shuichi is requesting her to watch this documentary then she will. Despite her very clear dislike of bugs, if she is told that it is a request, then she will complete that request, much to her distaste or discomfort.

The fact that Kirumi declines the offer if it isn't a request shows that despite her nature to please, she really dislikes bugs. She wouldn't be polite and watch the film with Shuichi due to how much she hates them.

This is also shown here as well:

She does, of course, have boundaries she will not cross, as shown here:

But she outright states that "Maids have the right to refuse requests."

Except she only goes by this motto when the request is extreme in nature, like if she feels that she is being objectified or sexualized... or told to take a hecking break.

She even says this:

Suggesting that, rather than just flatly telling Shuichi "No, I'm NOT burning this place tot he ground, are you out of your mind?" She asks him to "retract his statement." She asks him to hold the power over her, telling him that she would be willing to burn an entire building for him simply if he had a good enough reason for his "request" but also telling him that he has to be in control here. He has to retract his statement, she cannot simply refuse.

Analysis Exhibit #3: A "Go Don't Stop" Kind of Girl

Kirumi does take breaks, but she struggles with resting quite a lot.

Firstly:

Kirumi's likes and dislikes line up with her chosen profession--being a maid. She likes cleaning, but hates resting. With everything else above, I'm personally convinced that Kirumi more so likes to feel "useful" and dislikes to feel "useless." So if she works, she is considered "useful" to those around her.

Even when in a kidnapping situation, she is thinking of the others care and comfort:

While I'm sure Kirumi has escape on her mind, she is also trying to make accommodations for everyone else at the same time. Serving everyone else is just as important to her as escaping with her own life--something I'll further address in a moment, but for now:

This girl literally comprehend when someone just wants to hang out with her and talk to her as a person. Everything is about her being a maid, and she makes it pretty clear that her status as a maid comes before all else.

Now, about her life...

Analysis Exhibit #4: A Maid's Selfless Devotion (Verses the Trolley Problem)

Kirumi chose to die with everyone else whent he time limit was running out.

Despite there being no strings attached, despite there being a young man offering up his life for the others to take, everyone--herself included--refuses the offer. Why? Because in that moment, she is serving everyone in that group, to her detriment.

While the "We'd rather all die here than kill someone" sentiment is unspoken, there is proof that Kirumi is going with whatever the group as a whole wants:

Implying that, had everyone chosen to die at the time limit, she would have done so as well. It's more likely that she and everyone else would die fighting rather than sit back and let their deaths happen, but her life coming to an end was a very real possibility that she, as a very intelligent and logical person, weighed against everything and decided that saving herself via murder was not worth her own life.

This, of course, changes in chapter 2:

Because Kirumi is led to believe that her life, her service, is the only thing keeping a whole country safe.

Whereas before Kirumi's loyalty to the group was so solid that she didn't even fall to the temptation of murdering someone to escape, when she is presented with what is essentially the penultimate Trolley Problem, she goes and chooses the path that has the fewest casualties. Her choice between the V3 cast VS the entire nation of Japan is a very logical choice, almost a no-brainer. She even convinced herself that Ryoma was offering up his life to her after she confessed to him that she had too many reasons to escape from that hell of a school. He turned his back on her--and logically, he would never have done that if he had any self preservation left in him. That is her logic, her reasoning, her excuse to make her crime less egregious to herself and the others--but she had too much on her shoulders. She did what she thought needed to be done, and that was that.

Final Notes:

I'm not gonna lie, I came into this not expecting a whole lot.

From what I remember when I did my initial research on Kirumi, I thought that she had very little character to her. She was a Maid and that Was It. And it's sort of true--in canon and even in her FTEs, she's portrayed as nothing but a maid.

But her LSE and her Salmon Mode paint a slightly different picture of her--one of a lonely, neglected, abused girl who thinks extremely little of herself if she's not being useful. Someone who was taught that her feelings were rotten things and invalid, things that would only hinder other people and their potential. She works and works and works just to prove to herself that she's worth it. That she's as useful to as many people as she physically can be. She struggles with casual conversation, probably because she can't imagine anyone would want to talk to Kirumi Toujou, the person, and instead needs Kirumi Toujou, the Ultimate Maid for her services.

I think that this information being in extra game modes and buried under canon (plus a more accessible bonus mode) that did absolutely nothing for her character, I think Kirumi gets a bad reputation as a character who's got nothing else to her. Like I don't blame people who missed this information and/or thought nothing of it--in isolation, it's hard to pick up on/easily overlooked in favor of the characterization she got in the main canon story and even her FTEs.

I used to think that Kirumi wasn't much of a character--but now, I realized that's very, very wrong. She's more than just a maid! But you have to dig around and put the pieces together to actually see what's behind that perfect mask of hers.

#Kirumi Toujou #Kirumi Tojo #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #drv3 #new danganronpa v3 killing harmony #Analysis #Theory #Ramble #My brain is fried after this one #Got distracted a lot dnsajdnask #but now I feel much more inspired to write her!#Time to invent a juicy backstory for her hueueueue #(I'm gonna hurt her bad I'm gonna hurt her SO bad)

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motleyfam · 5 months ago

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PLEASE COULD WE MAYBE GET LIKE A VIBE OF WHAT THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF SETTLE OUR BONES IS GOING TO BE ABOUT NO PRESSURE JUST CURIOUS

The vibe is it’s kicking my ass 😂

#it’s a collab with batmoniker!#it’s set in Sept/Oct ish #after school starts up again #and it involves some Proper Comic Book stuff #no one throws up in it so I should get points for that!!#a few days ago I got so frustrated trying to work out the logistics in one scene that I cried a little #then felt very dumb bc I’m a grown woman and this is fanfic #then called batmoniker in a panic like listen what if we just scrap the whole fic #and she was like orrrrr #we could NOT do that and just delete the part that isn’t working #and I was like ‘but it would be so satisfying to just delete everything‘#and she’s like ‘I support you but……maybe just try this first’#ANYWAY it started sort of coming together today #and I THINK it’s somewhat steering in the right direction #it’s got a TON of pov shifting #including one bit that’s outsider POV #and that makes it quite a challenge #I’m currently on an Alfred section #it has more action than I generally write #but there will still be a good bit of hurt/comfort bc I’m still me #batmoniker and I came up with this idea like 3 years ago while slightly drunk the first time we ever met up irl #so that’s the vibe #and if this fic ever sees the light of day it will be 100% thanks to batmoniker #settle our bones

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spotaus · 4 months ago

Text

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

#spotatalk #i'm just gonna drop this in the queue I guess?#but I'm writing this on the last day of june so....#whenever this rolls around will be a jumpscare abd a half I guess?#I think honestly I coukd do a full breakdown of the Crew and why they're all expressions of me but like #quick summary is #Reset: Wants approval from people but mostly clings to the past. is afraid of losing his brother and acts on it to bring him back. i #<- I lack that conviction to do whatever you have to to get your way. i worry my brother and I have a weird gap between us we wont repair #Orchid: Uhhh woman. lots of pressure that she had at one time that's now no being pressed but she still tries to live up to it also.#<- I don't like the pressure of being a woman. also gifted-kid who cannot move past the pressures imposed to be 'perfect' and it's screwed #Stereo: Pulled into a situation he doesn't want to be in initially. it's bad for him but he likes the people so he decides to stay #<- I see the good in people. even when they hurt others around me. I was a bystander often and should've left the situations. paralelling.#Monochrome: Afraid. No purpose or preperation in life. soneone offers to guide him and he takes that offer because it's better than home.#<- Kinda self-explanitory but I've got little direction and feel lost a lot of the time. If I'm given a path I usually walk it no hesitation #and... for fun let's do some others!#Haphazard: Cleaning up after others since childhood. he's never really gotten a break and sees any sort of mess as an enemy #-> He's fixing rifts in universes I gotta patch relationships. there's so much conflict and I'm always so overwhelmed by it #Lost: He's got amnesia. no clue where he is. where he's from. who you are. who he is. he'll know when he gets there. he's sure.#-> I've been hsving minor issues with my memory for years. i coukd be forgetful but sometimes it just escapes me and that's spooky #Teddy: Isolated in her universe for years. she self-mutilated until she liked herself. when she finally met people she compulsively lied #-> Much more extreme version of how isolated I sonetines feel. hobbies can't replace human interaction but it's hard #oh and Ichor: God who loves mortals but cannot seem to find ones who will prove hin right for his trust and care #<- I've got a big heart. i express it often but the sentinent is scoffed off a lot. I get beat down about it and just keep moving forward #Pretender: Knows who he is. however the world doesn't like it much so he acts how they expect him to or isolates away #<- I still present femme when I'm nb/agender. i bend and break to people's perception of me. if I can't solve something I run.#okay I feel more insane than when ai started but these stupid skeletons have helped me through so many mental health problems it's only a #little bit funny 🙏

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zukkaoru · 2 years ago

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family line, conan gray || jujutsu kaisen chapter 219 || antigone, tr. anne carson || flu game, fall out boy

my thoughts on the latest chapter [id in alt text]

#megumi fushiguro #jjk #tsumiki fushiguro #<- in spirit #i have no coherent words of my own so take a small collection of words from others #gave myself an actual stomachache this weekend bc i thought abt megumi for more than five minutes so uh. i'm doing fine #anyway this came to me in a vision while driving home friday morning like an hour and a half after reading the chapter so. enjoy or whateve #jjk spoilers #jjk 219 #hello grace here #also flu game is so megumicoded it hurts #i've got all this love i've got to keep to myself. all this effort to make it look effortless..#i will refrain from writing a full analysis on why it's a megumi song disguised as a fic rn #but know that it is in my mind. slowly marinating.

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not-poignant · 9 months ago

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Hi Pia!

I just have to know- it's day six going into seven for Palmarosa. Contract part-two is in four days...

Do you see these next few chapters being explicit? Is Raphael truly intending to let Astarion see how life under contract is going to be, or is Raphael purposely holding back to lure Astarion into that next contract?

And, in your opinion, do you think that if Astarion truly sees Raphael at his cruelest towards him, he would be more comfortable signing a second? Able to know what the worst is instead of some nightmare he dreams up?

I love your story, and how you write Astarion. Thanks for your time!

It's still day 5!

I can't believe it's still day 5 in the contract, but it is, I'm writing a timeline and everything this time. So much has happened on this day, lmao.

(Chapters 13-18 all happen on the same day T.T)

I do think there's explicit content coming, but Raphael very much wants Astarion in that second contract, that being said, he's already cocked it up a few times already lmao. There's no guarantee he won't do that in other ways. I do plan writing-wise to get Astarion into that second contract though. Raphael oscillates between playing a very good long-game and then snapping and ruining his hard work, lol.

Raphael is not going to be his cruelest, and actually still isn't even though he does kind of lash out at Astarion in a very intense manner in the upcoming chapter. We've not seen Raphael at his worst. This is a guy who sees nothing wrong with keeping people in 'bones shattered in 100 places' levels of agony for hundreds of years. Even Raphael snapping is still Raphael not...giving himself to torture Astarion like he would an Eternal Debtor.

Astarion actually threatens to break the contract at the end of chapter 18 and through chapter 19. But...he hasn't yet.

Astarion has a lot of learned helplessness because of his experiences with Cazador. I imagine he had plenty of times to convince himself he was going to escape / find a way to beat the system etc. only to have all of that brainwashed and mind-read out of him. I am sure Cazador is the kind of person to know that someone will try and escape him and watch them try and then torture them for trying as a reminder that they are enslaved to him not just in body but in mind as well.

I don't think Astarion at this point is fully in contact with the part of him that knows he can walk away.

But also, Astarion accepted this first contract fully expecting to be raped and tortured regularly. He literally considered that and negotiated to make sure none of the torture caused permanent harm. This was a guy who negotiated a contract with stipulations based solely on expecting to be tortured/rape. From Astarion's perspective, Raphael hasn't actually done 99% of what Astarion expected him to do.

In some ways, that makes things harder for Astarion. Not knowing what to expect, and getting whole days where everything's uncertain but 'generally fine' followed by explosions of Raphael's temper etc. is like...still very hard for him to endure. But in a different kind of way.

I think Raphael's going to lay out the terms of the second contract very clearly soon, and Astarion will baulk simply because the terms of the contract will involve him doing two things he very much doesn't want to do. One goes against his personal ethics (and he's already refused to do it around Raphael once), and the second goes against his trauma history. And Raphael knows that. He isn't planning on tricking Astarion into that contract, he's banking on the idea that Astarion will still think the prize is worthwhile.

What I think Raphael is finding frustrating is that he had plans to introduce the concept of the second contract soon and Verillius came along and kind of ruined everything lmao. Raphael is pissed off for a lot of reasons right now. Can't a devil just manipulate a victim into a more high stakes contract in peace?

Unfortunately the Magic 8 Ball says no :D

#asks and answers #palmarosa #thespectaclesofthor #astarion will definitely not see the worst before the second contract #and there will be times in the second contract where he's genuinely upset by what terms he's expected to fulfill #and raphael will enjoy that #the evolution of their relationship through the second contract i'm looking forward to writing tbh #because this fic will also explore astarion's learned helplessness #and the fact that in some ways #raphael antagonises that and kind of can't help himself #it's almost like he wants astarion to learn how to be more genuinely independent and self-respecting #so he's got more to tear down #and i find that really interesting #raphael is after all half human #somewhere in there he is capable of the full scope of human emotion #and i think he has some affinity to and solidarity with astarion #while still being someone who genuinely hungers to hurt someone when he wants to soothe himself #and who literally needs to torture people to feel alive dsaklfjas #administrator gwyn wants this in the queue

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comfortlesshurt · 4 months ago

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Smiling 'cause you're used to it (a house that's always haunted)

TWs: Mentions of alcohol use/abuse by a background character, not directly shown. Injury. Referenced child abuse not directly shown. Referenced self-harm and eating disorder that do not actually occur. Emeto/vomiting.

Some of these tags are for future chapters, so you won't see them come up in chapter 1. There's a spoiler dropdown with more explanation of TWs in the start note if you follow the link.

Summary:

The unexpected pain catches Keith off-guard, and rather than landing safely on the other side, he tumbles down the hill, instinctively bringing his arms up to guard his head. On the plus side, he’s made it down the hill in record time with no head injury, and he can no longer hear the footfalls trailing after him. …but he’s paid for that win with the gouges he can now confirm are thoroughly marring his right hand and the sting along most of his left forearm. After he pauses for a shaky breath and brings himself to look at it, he sees how fast it’s leaking blood, staining the dirt beneath him. It’s most definitely not a “slap a band-aid on it and move on” kind of wound.

Pseuds: occasionalvoltronfiction & sickficlurker

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Main character: Keith

Side character: Shiro (Chapters 2 through 4)

Relationship: Keith & Shiro (Chapters 2 through 4)

Timeline: Pre-series, shortly after Keith starts at the garrison

Challenges: (@whumperless-whump-event) Whumperless Whump 2024 Day 1: self-done stitches and alcohol as sanitizer (chapter 1), Day 10: forced to work while ill (chapter 2, slightly modified because this is school not work, but it's in the SPIRIT), and Day 16: half-conscious (chapter 3) & bingo board shared by @builder051: self-surgery (chapter 1).

#my writing #vld #keith #hurt/comfort #whumperless whump #emeto #cheating by posting this a full day early but i have a busy day today and ao3's got a lot of downtime tomorrow #i am actually so obsessed with this fic right now #can't wait to hopefully work on chapter 4 a little more tomorrow after work

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meimi-haneoka · 10 months ago

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{drabble} Somewhere I belong - Kaito/Akiho

This is the second Kaito x Akiho / YunaAki drabble that is paired with the first one I wrote from Akiho's POV. Please read that one first so you can have a better understanding of the situation!

The setting is the same as the first drabble, but Kaito's thoughts drift all over the place because....well, he's Kaito. He's been officially named as the "overthinker" by CLAMP so now I'm going to call him that for quite some time 😂

As you will be able to see, while Akiho thought to herself without problems that she loved him, you won't see Kaito thinking that, here. This is a very early stage of their new life and he's still far from acknowledging any of that, but he's starting to come to terms with things, at least.

This one might be a bit more angstier than the other one, again because this is Kaito we're talking about. His self-loathing won't disappear overnight. But I hope that the finale will comfort you, at least. ❤️

Once again, I'm not a native English speaker so forgive me if any line sounds weird!

P.s. Dandelion, thank you again! P.s.2 Yes, I also like Linkin Park 😁

Excerpt:

“I’m sorry...”, I blurted out, in a whisper. Every time we ended up in this situation, I would apologize. And she would never reply to it. Maybe an apology wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but I had yet to find out what were the right words to say.

Kaito's POV

I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it.

The way she looked at me when they told her everything, that night. The way she had slowly turned her head and kept her gaze fixed on me, while the British magician rattled off all that my plan had entailed, down to the way it had affected my body. He recovered all the previous memories, and he knew Akiho-san needed an explanation more than anyone else, but also knew I was in no condition (neither mental, nor physical) to give it to her. I could feel her gaze piercing through me, while someone was helping me sitting down, as I couldn't even stand up.

Her hands gripped tightly the tablet, shaking. Her blue eyes, usually crystalline and bright like the Caribbean Sea, darkened several shades and became like a raging storm. They once again glazed over with emerging tears, but she probably held them back, because not even one dropped.

And I felt so weak. My guilt, growing again by the second. I would've given anything to remove that hardened gaze from her and bring back the soft features I've always known. But you see, that was my problem. Giving everything the way I did before wasn’t the correct answer. And I had finally surrendered to the truth, that night. But I didn't know any other way. I simply didn't know how to express how important she is to me without pushing it to an extreme, and that was exactly how we came to that point.

I don’t know when exactly I started to hear that voice inside of me, telling me that I wanted to connect with her.

I could hear it every day, before I carried out my plan. Louder and louder and louder. Kicking and screaming inside of me. I tried to fight it for so long, forcing myself not to hear it. But when she asked Sakura-san to bring me back, and she stated that she refused to keep living a fabricated life, wanting to go back to what she had before with me, I suddenly grew so tired. So, so tired. I was exhausted. I didn't want to fight it anymore.

I've fought countless magicians ever since I was a little boy, and defeated every single one of them. People kept me at a distance for that. And yet, completely oblivious to all of that, she was the one who defeated me every single time. Even this time around, she won. She won over that brutal, devastating desire to disappear forever that had consumed my life to such degree. She won over my guilt and self-loathing that I, quite frankly, haven’t got rid of yet.

So here I was, now, clinging to her like a lifeline in the kitchen, while I waited to regain control of my breathing. I had tried to hide it from her, the first couple of times after I got back on my feet, following that fateful night. But she found out every single time and made very clear that if we wanted to live together from now on, this had to stop. I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. Why was I fighting it again? So I did as she requested, and by now, this was already the third episode of seizure she had witnessed.

I didn't know.... how any of this worked. But I wanted to learn. I wanted to try.

I was slowly starting to get it. Why I caved in and agreed to go back to her, that night, despite how confused I was and how much I still despised myself for making her cry like that. She made me feel wanted. Made me feel accepted. Made me feel like I finally belonged somewhere. I hadn’t realized how much I actually had yearned for that, all this time.

I thought I was nothing to her. I thought that she could've lived perfectly fine without me, without remembering anything of what we experienced together. Because, in the end, who was I? Just her butler. I embarked on that mission with the full understanding that I would've always been just her butler, and I played that part till the end at the best of my ability. An expendable tool to let her reach the happiness she deserved.

But I wasn't. I wasn't, and I couldn't see that. I could only finally realize it that night in the most harrowing way possible, causing that face I wished to see eternally smile to be tainted with burning tears, as she poured out all her pain. Pain that I had caused. This wasn't the kind of support she wanted from me, and I failed her terribly.

I was willing to do anything to make things right. So when she asked me, no, rather demanded to not be kept in the dark whenever I had one of my seizures, I had no choice but to comply. That was what she wanted, and there was no way I could refuse it to her.

But now that the medicine was finally starting to kick in, and my breathing stabilized to a more normal rate, I raised my head to look at her worried face and I couldn’t help but think how unfair all of this was on her. She was so young, and she didn’t deserve to withstand all of this because of my choices.

She helped me stand up and supported me all the way to the couch, where I finally laid down and released the tension from my stiffened muscles. Seizures usually left me completely exhausted and sore.

She sat down on the floor next to the couch, and we exchanged a long, wordless stare. Her eyes were again clear and bright. Before I drifted in a dreamless heavy sleep, I remember I felt so grateful to have her by my side. I didn’t deserve it. But the warmth I felt in my chest, contrarily to before, felt so nice. And I was pretty sure she was the cause of it.

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