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Don’t imagine Danny who just realized why he feels unfulfilled by saving Amity.

Don’t imagine him trying to psych himself up into telling Jazz, Sam, and Tucker.

Don’t imagine him getting the news that he’s the ghost king

Don’t imagine him realizing that he can’t explore the stars because the weight of that crown falls heavily on his shoulders.

Don’t imagine how heartbroken he would be every night that he was too exhausted to watch the stars.

But imagine the usual circumstances of the Justice League summoning the Ghost King, something about Darkseid.

Imagine how they would’ve been prepared to give souls to Pariah Dark only to see a sickly child ghost, in both senses of the word, in the summoning circle.

(Obsession neglect is the same as starvation for a ghost, after all.)

Imagine him being terrified that the Justice League found out about Dan only to realize that he’s needed to save the day. Again.

Imagine him realizing he’s in space and demanding that he gets to spend time there in exchange.

(Jazz had to drill self advocacy into him at some point.)

Imagine this tiny child, one that Dark swears is the King and millennias old, easily defeating Darkseid on his own because Darkseid is alive, and could never compare to Pariah or Dan.

Imagine the Justice League occasionally seeing this dead child floating outside the watchtower, occasionally doing outside repairs without being asked to.

Imagine the Justice League watching this child slowly get healthier everytime that he shows up to exist in the stars.

Maybe one day, they’ll even get to give him flowers, since Zatanna said that it’s a Ghost Culture Thing, and they want to be hospitable to this world endingly powerful royal.

Imagine how surprised Danny would be. He might even let it slip that he was never mourned, that no one noticed he died except the ones there to see it.

Imagine how heartbroken the leaguers would be, especially Bruce because his own kids have died and he couldn’t imagine them being unmourned.

Maybe, just maybe, imagine Danny getting a grave right beside Jason’s, with stars engraved on the tombstone.

Imagine how relieved Danny would be.

reading the sunshine court truly made me realize just how unbelievably fucking insane the foxes were as a team/family unit.

like wdym your coach is your star players father and didn’t know? wdym multiple people on your team have killed people??? how do multiple people on your team have mafia connections??

usc could hardly believe the ravens intentionally injured jean while the foxes were used to the ravens regularly using vandalism, kidnapping, torture, psychological warfare, and murder against their team

usc talks out their interpersonal team problems while the foxes blackmail eachother into joint therapy until they break a bros before hoes pact

the trojans have no-touch jerseys for practice while the foxes were getting punched, stabbed, choked, and suffering major bodily harm at the hands of another teammate at any given moment in the series

jeremy makes sure jean doesn’t meet the team all at once to not overwhelm him while andrew has a habit of quite literally breaking in the new members in columbia

the trojans tiptoed around and almost didn’t believe kevin’s hand injury while one of neil’s first conversations w the man is yelling “fuck you cripple, you’re a dead weight has been” in french in front of half the team

jeremy avoids cops while neil forces fbi agents to wait for him to finish eating, proceeds to blatantly lie to their faces, and then fucks off

usc would’ve thrown the semi finals match if jean hadn’t survived but seth fucking DIED and kevin and neil were only worried about how it’d affect the line up

jeremy gets furious when he finds out about grayson while neil fucking orders a hit out on him right in front of jean on a napkin over lunch

i was surprised by how hard the trojans were taking things until i remembered the foxes were just grade a crazy

I make fun of coffee drinkers for being physically addicted to and dependent on badbreath bitterdrink but when i dont have my morning tea i feel like a mentally ill caveman about to do something bad.

Lemme tell u guys a story

In my freshman year, my great grandma passed away. She never threw out or sold anything worth keeping if she could help it, having grown up in the Depression, so when she passed, my grandma suddenly inherited a lifetime’s worth of treasured items. She distributed most of them to her kids and grandkids, saved some sentimental items, and donated most of the clothing and trinkets to charity. I got back the stuffed leopard I’d given great-grandma in the hospital; the fur was still as soft as it’d been when I bought it. One of the biggest things she had to sort through was jewelry. For a year after my great-grandma died, my grandma was setting out organized rows of costume jewelry on basement tables and chivvying her granddaughters to take what they wanted.

And then, after all the choosing, she snuck me into her room while my cousins picked through wristwatches. On her bed were two small jewelry boxes: an old wooden one, and a cushioned one in white pleather.

“I brought you in here because if I gave these to your cousins, they’d sell it. I don’t want these sold. Do you understand?”

I understood.

This is the story of the biggest lie my grandma ever told her mom.

Great-grandma’s birthstone was garnet, and she loved the look of the stones, but could never justify paying for some. Her husband worked constantly, and so did she, and new clothes for the kids was more important than jewelry at the time. When my grandma was 16, she saved her first paychecks to buy her mom a garnet ring for Mother’s Day; that’s what was in the wooden box. The original receipt, handwritten, was crammed into the lid. Great-grandpa saw that ring and teared up; he’d always wanted to get his wife something nice like that, but hadn’t ever had enough money for it. Determined, he vowed to change that. He set aside money for years, slowly, hiding it away in a box in the attic, vowing to buy his wife something she could always wear with her ring.

Time passed, and inflation happened, and he slowly squirreled money away in the hopes that jewelry might get cheaper again sometime. Time passed again, and age had little mercy on him. He got older, typed up a note, and placed in in the box, describing what the money was for; he knew his time was near. Under no circumstances was the money to be spent on anything other than giving his wife a nice gift. The letter read, “One day, my dear Ruth, you’ll have garnet earrings to match that ring.” It’s what great-grandma had always mourned missing; she had such a nice ring, and no good earrings to go with it.

Well, men don’t live forever, and when great-grandpa passed away, my grandma cleaned out her mom’s attic as she prepared to move somewhere smaller. Going through boxes of polaroids and paper clips, she stumbled on the box of earrings money, note and all. She stashed it with her coat, and after that day of cleaning, went to the jeweler before her mom could try and spend the money on something too sensible. She came back with the white pleather box; sure enough, still nestled inside that box were two clip-on garnet earrings.

”Mom never got her ears pierced, you know. That’s why it took so long to find a good pair.”

Once she’d gotten the earrings, grandma presented them to her mom, along with the note. The paper was obviously old and warped by moisture, but it was legible. My great grandma cried happy tears and treasured those earrings more than any other jewelry; the last gift her husband could give her. Decades after the fact, I’d seen her wear them to Christmas parties and worry over them, checking that they stayed on her earlobes.

There was never any note from great-grandpa. Never any box. Never any earring money. My great-grandpa had spent his saved money keeping himself and his wife confortable throughout retirement. To set aside hundreds of dollars, even a bit at a time, for garnet earrings, was never a thought that crossed his mind. My grandma had seen her mom, exhausted, wracked with grief, and lied through her teeth about where she’d gotten the money for those earrings. She faked the note and everything, making sure her mom wouldn’t wonder where the money came from, and never winced at the pinch in her own pockets. And she never told a soul, not even my mom, until great-grandma was safely and thoroughly buried herself.