#it’s about the ✨spice✨

[adastreia-12]

they’re just dead beat parents to YOU. to ME they are unapproachable divinities inherently so far removed from humanity and yet still depending on and participating in it despite it all which is precisely what makes them so messily human. we are not the same.

[clownsuu]

THESE BITCHES LOOK FRUITY AS HELL🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧

Ha melon bug

Been having a craving to draw them as a lil beverage 😔💔🥄🥄

[starry-bi-sky]

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 miss you. 

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!)

[misc-obeyme]

I'm always brain rotting about really silly things like food, fashion, and transportation in the devildom compared to the human world. world building i suppose?

but how do you think the spice levels compare? like there's different types of spicy, and the devildom for sure has spicier stuff. But i wonder how spicy it is. Like Mammon's hell sauce noodles...

I'm thinking about this because my mom cooked dinner, and she always makes separate food for me and my little brothers if she's using chiles (in this case it was just meat cooked without the spicy sauce). and i tried some because I'm trying to finally build my tolerance and I was dying at the first bite 😭 tastes so good though. she gave me a surprised look when i added more spicy food to my plate

i already know mammon would make me try spicy things for shits and giggles, or new foods because I'm a picky eater. Also there's a saying/joke in Spanish where people will ask if you were angry while making something if it's too spicy lmao.

I haven't been too active because I've been busy working early shifts and training in framing at my old store (forgot to set my alarms the last two days), but tomorrow I'm off, and going to ihop and bookstores with my friend !! she's trying to finish her current read so we can buddy read King of Wrath together (king of sloth comes out soon). I'M SO EXICTED

Anyway i hope you're having a good day/night, and I'm very excited for the anniversary banner. May everyone's boys come home 🙏

- ✨ anon

Ohhh yessss I love worldbuilding! And there's so much they leave out, there's plenty of stuff we can fill in, which is always fun.

Okay so spice levels, apparently it really depends on the individual as to how spicy something truly is. This is because humans at least have the ability to make themselves less sensitive to capsaicinoids, which is what they call plants with capsaicin in them. That's the spicy, I think they evolved with it to prevent predators from eating them, but humans were like nope we'll just get used to it!

Anyway, I think this is relevant because it's going to depend on whether or not demons also have that ability or if it's different for them biologically. Like okay, if humans eat enough capsaicin, over time they become partly immune to it, which is why some people can eat really spicy food and other people can't. I think some of that might also just be genetics... like some people might be born more resilient to it to begin with. But don't quote me on that lol.

So demons either have a natural immunity (not completely though because they clearly can still taste the spice, it's just much less) or they also have the ability to desensitize themselves to it.

I like to think it's a bit of both just like it is in humans, but demons have a higher tolerance level to start with. And they all have it. Because they're demons and that just feels right, you know?

But I also think it'd be interesting to consider that the tongues of demons are made of different stuff than the tongues of humans. Or that there are some demons who have tongues that are more scaly or something. Just because that'd be fun lol.

Anyway, I think the spice levels in the Devildom are probably pretty high. I like to think that Mammon has an especially high tolerance due to the fact that those spicy hell sauce noodles are his favorite. You know he eats them all the time and if they can also build tolerance, he must be super used to it by now.

I definitely think he'd make you eat spicy food lol. That's just how spicy food lover are, too. I'm also extremely sensitive to spicy foods. I've been trying to build up my tolerance, too, so I've been adding some hot sauce to things, but it's nothing compared to my brother in law. His spice tolerance is insane. And he's always like, here try this it's not spicy. I have learned not to believe it.

I love the idea that being angry while cooking makes food spicy.... I feel like there could legit be a spell for that in the Devildom, too.

There you go working all kinds of crazy shifts again... truly Mammon coded lol. I hope you had an amazing day off and enjoyed your time with your friend!! I looove bookstores and pancakes, so that sounds like an excellent time!

I hope you're having a lovely day/night as well! And YES I too am quite excited about the HDD~ spreading all the love & luck to all to get their faves~

[qkmlh]

JUST GOT BACK FROM TRANSFORMERS ONE AND Y’ALL IT IS SO DUCKING GOOD!!!!

[canine-teethed-sheets]

i don't think we ever addressed about the fossils in the ground of the cave in the lost chapter

is. is no one gonna question about thagt

[lilflowerpot]

Hi! I was wondering what other vld ships you like/ship? If you don’t mind me asking

Though it's been a hot minute since I've really indulged in vld outside of working on LB, I'm one of those multishippers who can be persuaded on mostly anything so long as the narrative is compelling enough (particularly so far as Keith is involved)! My staples tend to be keitor (obviously) & sheith, but I have a fondness for fics that explore keith/kuron, keith/james, keith/regris, keith/allura, keith/matt in an interesting manner, and I've even read a few solid pieces featuring keith/lance, keith/kolivan, and (most surprisingly of all) keith/zarkon.

So far as non-keith-centric ships are concerned, I'm far choosier, but lotura is always a heartbreaker, ezor/zethird is cute but seldom written (bonus points if axca is their fwb third), shiro/ulaz lends itself to a tender sort of angst, and zarkon/honerva is just outright sad.

I can also go for all the above in a non-romantic sense, of course, but my major platonic dynamics are Pidge & mostly everyone, Keith & the entire BoM, and Lotor & the galra girl squad.

Less so than the ships themselves, it's actually the manner in which any given dynamic is written that sees me become particular: the portrayal of the characters, their mannerisms, their interactions with one another, the circumstances in which they've come together, etc etc... but if you have any fics that you would absolutely swear by—whether they feature a ship listed here or not—then by all means send them my way!

[an-albino-pinetree]

Lemme know if i missed any important tags on that comic! 👍🏻

[kedsandtubesocks]

ERIKAAAA GOJO AND LOW SPICE TOLERANCE IS SO REAL OMG 😭 i think i might have talked abt this w niku before but 😭 just !!! him trying to stomach it !!! to impress u !!! 🥹 or match up to u !!! 🤧 but poor baby he’s rlly sweating 😭 nose red ears red everything !!! eyes watering !!! 🥹

the thing to bring the great gojo satoru to tears is nothing but a packet of spicy noodles 🍜

Sel YOU SWEET ANGEL YOU GET IT!! This is us 🤝 because YES!! 🥹💖💕✨

The humor of finding out that the strongest sorcerer can’t even handle one hot cheeto without coughing up a lung is PEAK!

And oh my goodness I am living for that idea AHH?!? Like him trying to impress you by eating some spicy ramen at the shop you and him are at because you ordered it, so yeah of course he does too, and is absolutely ✨d y i n g ✨ is too real LOL (but it’s worth it because of course you baby him and get ice cream afterwards)

I see him also as a NOTORIOUS food stealer who takes HUGE bites out of your food and he learns the hard way how this can backfire because maybe you just added the smallest bits of hot oil or even salsa and he goes to be sneaky and steal a bite and then he is just…going through it™️

GOD I HATE HIM!!! 😇😭🤡

[mossmx]

ho deciso di fare un'esplorazione col colore e non ero pronta per quanto stia venendo incredibilmente bene ??!!????

[chaotic-illusion]

One of the really great things about having loved ones--friends, family, spiritual leaders, etc.-- is that when you're going through a crisis and get tunnel vision from all the fear and anger life's challenges throw at you, they can be a source of strength and comfort. They can talk you off the ledge. They can guide you towards a better, healthier path. A path where growth and healing are possible. And it isn't manipulation, it isn't denying you free will. It's help, a clearer perspective, an act of love, and a belief that you are better than the terrible decisions we are all susceptible to making when the shit hits the fan.

[sunnibits]

no bc how have I literally NEVER considered a low pony Reggie before

[arachnidskiss]

I’m very simple. When I’m shipping Hobie with Miles/Pavitr/Gwen, he’s 19/20 y/o. When I ship him with Miguel, he’s 16/17 y/o. Hope that clears things up ✨

[theradicalace]

don't like the trend of when someone is describing why i should get into a book/movie/show/game/whatever and they're just like. listing a bunch of tropes that are in it. and the fact that it has queer people. they just go "oh it has 3 trans people! it has found family and enemies to lovers! it has a lesbian main character!" okay that's great you've still told me nothing of what the book is actually about. also exponentially worse when it's the author doing it. tell me what happens in your fucking story.

[thetangibleghost]

Soup.... I guess.

[clemencetaught]

AND THIS IS!! FOR VERSE THREE:

🔥 What kind of pieces has he done through wood carving? Does he keep these pieces as personal items or gives them away to other people? 🔥 What are his favorite books to read? Has he retrieved any kind of information from books as to use them for his skills or any situation he's faced? 🔥 What are his favorite scents when it comes to bath salts? 🔥 Does he have a pocket knife he always uses or that's always with him? If so, is it personalized in some kind of way; maybe added marks or something to it? 🔥Is there a situation you'd like to write out in this verse but haven't? 👀

Also feel free to skip any questions here IUWHEDWHD; HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL, TAKE MUCH CARE, MY DEAR FRIEND!!

now the victor is on the hot seat ( nosy questions for the birthday enby w/ @jeoseungsaja )

HI ALEX!!! here i am again with more of your WONDERFUL QUESTIONS :DDD thank you again for these; i will try to answer them all to the best of my ability <3

🔥 What kind of pieces has he done through wood carving? Does he keep these pieces as personal items or gives them away to other people?

okie so i was actually going to recon this headcanon ( there are a few things i want to revise for this verse especially with what i know about hyuk now here 👀) into more like, yes he does do wood carving, but it’s not really the artistic kind ^^’ i’d say it’s more like, you know how some people will pick up a random stick and just start shaving away at it until there’s nothing left? Yeah that’s the kind of carving patrick does….i wouldn’t be surprised if when he and hyuk are at the beach, that’s typically how patrick passes the time– he finds a random piece of driftwood and just idly shaves away at it while listening to the waves and enjoying hyuk’s company <3

🔥 What are his favorite books to read? Has he retrieved any kind of information from books as to use them for his skills or any situation he's faced? 

In this verse, he hardly reads fiction, mostly because i’m assuming that the books published in panem are probably pro-capitol. Books from before that (think of say, pride and prejudice, etc.) are probably found in the capitol, but you won’t be seeing anyone in the districts getting their hands on these legally at least–). So i could see patrick being more interested in reading say, history books? Anything related to history even though he knows that most accounts are, again, pro-capitol…this probably also ties into his capitol public persona as an academic, where he’s considered a ‘historian’ regarding panemian history….of course this’ll come back to bite the capitol in the ass 🙂

( on a note of after the second revolution, i could see patrick like, writing just one book on a comprehensive history of panem, one that cover both the districts and the capitol and it’s complete with interviews and primary and secondary sources….he had that published and then fucked off into obscurity aka he wanted no cameras on him ever again. he probably also played a role also in setting up a national university for both the district and the capitol students…although he would stick to teaching history in solely district three for the rest of his life <3 )

He will also read about science books and about the other districts/the capitol. The latter, he uses to kinda?? Get a better sense of the places he’s either stuck in or could be visiting, while the former, you could say it’s a paranoia thing just in case he’s ever thrown back into the games for a second time– this being said, i do think before he reaped, since he and hyuk did sneak out to the one beach at the edge of district three, he did do some reading about marine life and forest survival…whether that information actually did help him out though, who can say 🥲

🔥 What are his favorite scents when it comes to bath salts? 

Probably nothing too fancy, but he definitely would hate anything that was too…sweet-smelling, like roses or vanilla. I could see him liking more of the refreshing scents kinda like, eucalyptus, peppermint or tea tree. Considering that often he take a bath after meeting with snow’s ‘clients’, i think he prefers sharp smells as the scent would ground him to the present moment. Keep his thoughts from spiraling too far. 

🔥 Does he have a pocket knife he always uses or that's always with him? If so, is it personalized in some kind of way; maybe added marks or something to it?

i could definitely see him having one although it wouldn’t be anything fancy. I could see his favorite being say, something you’d find in the black market, something secondhand from district three. Mind you, he probably did get a fancy pocket knife here and there from snow’s ‘clients’, but i don’t see him keeping them…most likely he would’ve given them away or simply just thrown them out.

as for his usual one, the personalization is probably something very simple, like a carving of his initials into the handle. Just in case it gets lost ( although i don’t see that happening ever since well…never assume a dog no matter how sweet doesn’t know how to bite 🙃)

🔥Is there a situation you'd like to write out in this verse but haven't? 👀

Ahhhhh my favorite question on this list, alex i’m afraid you’ve opened pandora’s box here JFKLSDJFLK :3 

But honestly? I think the connections that he has for this verse already do a wonderful job with fulfilling all the hypothetical situations i’d write him into ( and if there is more…well i do know who to ask ;D ) that being said…

i would be interested in writing patrick in the initial aftermath of felicity’s passing OR in a case where hyuk is say, kidnapped by the capitol (aka there’s no guarantee that he’s alive or dead) ? of course that would be super depressing so it’s not like we would have to go all in depth, but at least i would like to see a patrick that is perhaps temporarily unhinged as that’s not a side that comes out often and i have yet to see what that would look like in action. in the case of hyuk being ‘missing’ since hyuk here is patrick’s rock, take hyuk away and any stability that patrick is known for showing would probably just…crumble. like yeah, he’ll act he’s perfectly fine and composed but he’d also be consistently two steps away from a breakdown…probably would need to be sedated at some points in time to calm down :’(

if we’re talking about hyurick tho, this is going to be so vague, but i wanna write it all with you :D firstly bc hyurick has my whole heart and brain space BUT also i am genuinely curious to see how they interact in this depresso verse!! whereas in the black knight verse, they are on the same side and do agree on what the right thing is to do even if they throw barbs at each other :’DDD; here, however, just based on what you’ve told me about hyuk so far, patrick and hyuk each have very different ideologies/ways of being in this society. So i am curious to see how they navigate their friendship/relationship despite disagreeing on this very fundamental level…and also seeing how they might accidentally screw each other over in the process too ( aka hyuk tries to start rebellion things and patrick tries to sabotage said plan bc that’s gonna get hyuk killed 😣).

that and the reunion kiss we talked about 👀i need a play-by-play walkthrough of that PLS 🥺🥺🥺