#to untangle the string from one another. you'll never know where one ends and the other begins

[starry-bi-sky]

ive been hesitating to ask this bc youve been on a roll with the clone^2au (which i am frothing over) but could i poke you for some childhood friend au? bc GOD i wanna see how danny reacts to reuniting w jason or how the rest of the batfam react to learning jason never told danny of his resurrection or wondering if dannys gonna put jokers dead body on a display/offering to jasons grave. i havent been normal about this since i first read it and was wondering. thank you for your writing.

RAAAAHHHH DON'T BE HESITANT I AM JUST AS FERAL OVER MY CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AU AS I AM WITH CLONE^2 I AM DELIGHTED BY THIS. Like.,,,, i literally love them,,, so much. I can't listen to The Crane Wives without thinking of them.

(which is my fault - the ao3 fic of them has literally only crane wives lyrics for each chapter title and summary (posted AND the ones not written) so of course im gonna associate with them.)

(if you wanna listen to some of their songs while thinking of cfau here are my recommendations: "Once & for All", "Here I Am", "Hollow Moon" is a Danny AND Jason song to me, this would be my go-to song for an animatic of CFAU if i had the skills for it. "Tongues and Teeth", "Curses" and "take me to war" is a heavy cfau danny song to me, and of course, "the moon will sing")

Like they're BEST friends dude, they're two sides of the same coin and when they were kids they would do this thing where their 'fingers crossed'/'double-crossed' was them hooking their index fingers in the fingers crossed gesture.

and i'm actually currently rewriting my original post into a more fic-like format, and when I'm done I'll post it on here under the cfau tag - with the original post still in tact. But its,,, gonna be so long dude,,,, the original behemoth was just over 9000 words,,, and I've written 3k words already of the new one and we haven't even reached Jason and Danny reuniting at the gala yet,,, i need to get back to that,,,

and then to answer your questions!! god im almost hesitant to answer because i dont wanna spoil the little fic i had planned for it but also like,, its not like im gonna spoil everything, right? and answering the questions isnt the same as writing the scene down so!!

i love danny and jason's reuniting, like i've thought about it SO much and I've thought about it happening after Danny kills the Joker. I know the reveal could have been before that, and it could have been equally just as dramatic but like??? Thematically, doing it after danny kills the joker is SO good. To me at least.

Because like?? Jason's been in somewhat denial about danny's plan to kill the joker for months. ever since danny told him that he wanted to at the gala. And from Jason's pov its not even technically a plan. He sees his best friend for the first time after five years and his best friend still isn't over his death. He hasn't stepped foot in Gotham since his funeral and now suddenly he's here.

And he's still so full of grief over his death that he tells a masked vigilante that he's going to kill the guy that did it, who lives in said masked vigilante's city. And danny's got that look in his eyes that Jason knows so well that means he's being serious. And yet he still doesn't know if he should believe him or not.

And then he does. Danny kills him. And Jason can't fucking believe it. And when he goes and sees Danny, Danny's hands are still covered in blood. And that reunion? God like a fucking firework show. Danny's so fucking angry, and pissed, and hurt, and so goddamn overjoyed that he's alive and here that he sends them both to the ground, and if he doesn't calm down he's gonna take out the power in a five block radius.

there's just so, so much yelling on Danny's end. And then so much crying, first from Danny and then them both. because god, you're alive. you're here. i've missed you so much. i'm never letting you out of my sights again.

and Joker's death! God I don't want to actually say too much about that, but the way I have it set up thematically makes me actually not want danny to take any part of the joker with him as an offering. and he may actually forego that particular ghost etiquette and offer something else as an offering to Jason in substitute to not bringing him the Joker's heart/head/ritualistic body part.

Because you know what the last thing a man whose been spending the last two decades of his life building himself up to be larger than life would want? A death that's unremarkable. :) and that's all i'll put on the matter for now.

and the batfam!! they technically already know that jason hasn't told danny he was resurrected, and plenty of them have mixed feelings on them. largely bruce and dick i think, considering they saw firsthand how close jason and danny were when they were kids.

Dick was honestly surprised at first when he found out that Jason hadn't told Danny he was alive - and on one hand he understands the reasoning for it, and on the other hand he isn't sure if it was such a good idea. Especially after he sees Danny again after he arrives back in Gotham and sees just how badly Jason's death was still affecting him. But it's not like he's going to try and convince Jason to tell him - he can make his own choices, even if Dick has questions about them.

Bruce has much the same thoughts as Dick, so there's not really much to add here other than he might bring it up once or twice to Jason like, vaguely. And then immediately drops it when Jason shuts him down. He might actually somewhat...?? prefer that Jason hasn't told Danny because that raises a lot of questions and could jeopardize their identities. However, again, Jason can make his own choices and there's not much Bruce can do about it other than disapprove from afar.

Tim who knew of Danny from stalking the Wayne family shares similars sentiments of being surprised that Jason didn't tell Danny, but again, yeah, understands the thought process to some extent. Doesn't bring it up ever.

Everyone else who hadn't seen firsthand how close Danny and Jason are don't really have much opinion on it -- Jason didn't tell his best friend he was alive, great, he also didn't tell them either so it's not like its that much of a surprise. It would've been more of a surprise to them if Jason had told Danny before he told Bruce and co. Damian may make a comment or two about Jason not telling Danny, but its not about how he can't believe he didn't tell him or anything like it.

[cha-melodius]

Hi :)

I'm so haply you're taking prompts. Can't wait for the fics!!

So, my humble request is number 2 for Napollya (obviously, lol). And just in case, for back-up: number 8 for Napollya in an AU where they are both professional chefs (maybe Gaby can be the judge of which dish is better - she deserves all the free food for putting up with their pining).

In case you like the back-up prompt more, feel free to write that one and ignore the first one.

Thank you and I hope you'll have a great day!!

(I went for your first one, 2. “Are you even tall enough to put the star on top of the tree?”, although your backup was definitely awesome as well. Gonna have to get around to them as rival chefs eventually some day... Thank you!)

A Home for the Holidays

Read it on AO3 (G, 1.3k)

“How long is this going to take?”

Napoleon pauses where he’s in the midst of untangling a mess of Christmas lights and stares at his partner, who’s slumped gracelessly in one of his armchairs, a glass of eggnog in one hand and a chess knight in the other. The annoyance as he flicks it around his fingers is palpable, as if Napoleon is the one responsible for his boredom.

“You know, I don’t recall inviting you over tonight,” Napoleon says with a hum, resuming his untangling. Illya grunts a non-answer. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you just showed up. As you usually do.”

“Because we usually have dinner and play chess. But now you insist on…” he trails off and waves at the tree. “This. Useless.”

Napoleon lets silence stretch for a few minutes as he works on the lights. He knows the decorating is uselessly sentimental. He also isn’t going to apologize for it. “Do you know the last time I actually put up a Christmas tree, Peril?”

“No.”

“Neither do I,” Napoleon says flatly. “Always wanted one when I was a kid, but my father never had the money to buy one at the lots in the city. I told myself when I was old enough I’d have a tree of my own. That way Santa wouldn’t be able to skip over my house, like he always did.” He pauses, glancing up from his work find Illya listening to him intently, the knight frozen in his grip. “This is me finally giving in to that childish oath, I suppose.”

“Why not before?” Illya asks.

“Huh?”

“You had money before now. Could get a tree any time you wanted.”

Napoleon huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “I guess it never really felt like the right time.”

He doesn’t say that Christmas trees are for homes, not hotel rooms or temporary apartments. That a life constantly on the move wasn’t really conducive to celebration. That, despite the fact that he constantly surrounded himself with the who’s who of high society, he never had anyone to celebrate with.

As if he can tell what he’s holding back, Illya asks anyway. “What is different?”

“Dunno,” Napoleon lies. “Just is. You could help, you know.”

Napoleon doesn’t expect the jibe to prompt Illya to move from his perch, and he certainly doesn’t expect a large hand to pull the tangle of lights out of his grip. He looks up to see Illya staring down at him with an expression on his face that Napoleon would almost call soft if he didn’t know better.

“Thought you would be better with knots, Cowboy.”

There’s no way Illya meant it to be as suggestive as it comes across, but that doesn’t stop a smirk from quirking Napoleon’s lips. It’s simply too much of a softball to resist. “I’m better at tying them, actually.”

To his surprise, Illya’s eyes go slightly wide at that, and little spots of color appear high on his cheeks. “Noted,” he mumbles, clearing his throat and focusing a little more intently on the lights.

Illya, as it turns out, is actually a lot better at untangling the strands than Napoleon is. No doubt this will be another thing lorded over him from now until the end of time, although that would mean Illya would have to admit he actually helped Napoleon with his Christmas decorating, so maybe he’s safe. They get into a groove of Napoleon stringing the lights on the tree as Illya unravels them bit by bit, until soon enough the tree is quite thoroughly lit.

“Pretty sure this is a fire hazard,” Illya huffs in a blatant attempt at maintaining his rapidly failing grumpiness.

“Shut up and hang some ornaments,” Napoleon retorts with a grin, and he doesn’t bother to try to fight the warmth that fills his chest when a tiny smile slips onto Illya’s lips.

Eventually all that’s left is the star for the top of the tree, which Napoleon is contemplating when it’s unceremoniously plucked from his grip.

“You are too short for that, Cowboy,” Illya teases, grinning now. “Good thing I am here after all.”

“Excuse you, I’m plenty tall enough to reach,” Napoleon scoffs.

He makes a grab for the star, but Illya dodges him and holds it over his head, which is just not sporting. Too bad for him they’ve been sparring in the months since UNCLE set up its headquarters, and by now Napoleon is well aware of all the weak spots Illya claims not to have. He knows, for instance, that if he goes for a particular spot on Illya’s waist he can make the Russian fold up like a clam, which brings the star well within his reach. Snatching it away again, he tries to flee, but Illya is too quick. He catches Napoleon’s wrist and twists it behind his back, almost shoving him face first into the Christmas tree. His thumb digs into the soft spots between Napoleon’s tendons, forcing his hand to open. Illya doesn’t let go once he’s recovered the star, though; instead, he takes a step closer, so he’s basically pressed up against Napoleon’s back with his arm trapped between their bodies. Frankly Napoleon has no clue what he’s doing, until Illya reaches over his shoulder and deftly places the star on the top of the tree.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Napoleon huffs, but then he twists enough to look back at Illya’s smug, triumphant expression, and fuck.

They’re, well. Quite close together. He knew that, logically, given that he can feel the heat of Illya’s chest against his back (to say nothing of his paradoxically cold hand still wrapped around his wrist), but the reality of it didn’t really sink in until this moment. He can tell it didn’t occur to Illya, either, by the way the smirk slowly slips off his face. His grip on Napoleon loosens, but he doesn’t step back, and Napoleon doesn’t pull away.

“I lied before,” Napoleon murmurs, the words spilling from his lips before he even knows he’s going to say them. Illya blinks at him, understandably confused by the abruptness of this statement. “I do know why it’s different this year.”

“Oh?”

He really shouldn’t. He needs to just shut up before he does something monumentally stupid. There’s such a thing as too much honesty, which is not something he’s ever had a problem with before. Apparently he’s had too much eggnog tonight, though, because he says, “It finally feels like home. This place. UNCLE.” He pauses and swallows. “You.”

Illya’s hand falls away from his wrist then, and Napoleon is sure he’s just fucked it all up. Only an absolute idiot would admit to his partner—a man he has to see every day, who he’s known less than a year, who probably thinks of Napoleon as a kind of annoying friend at best—that he feels like home, Christ, what was he thinking, well he wasn’t, that’s the problem, and—

Then Illya’s hand comes up to his jaw, drawing him into a soft kiss, and the cacophony of his spiraling thoughts goes blessedly silent. There are no more doubts, no self-recriminations, no catastrophizing—just the feeling of Illya’s lips moving gently against his, the scrape of his stubble, the press of his fingertips into Napoleon’s scalp, the heat of his body as his other arm curls around Napoleon’s waist and holds him close—and if Napoleon thought he’d found his home before it was nothing compared to this. It’s as if he was made to fit in Illya’s arms, their bodies slotting perfectly together, and quite frankly he never wants to leave.

Eventually, though, Illya pulls away slightly, just enough to stare down into his eyes, his thumb sweeping almost idly over the crest of Napoleon’s cheekbone.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” Napoleon asks, not bothering to try to suppress the no doubt utterly besotted grin that tugs on his lips. 

“Because it is the same for me, Cowboy,” Illya answers with his tiny smile. “This… feels like home.”