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starry-bi-sky · 11 months ago

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I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dpxdc prompt #this is just me torturing danny for a little bit because im stressed and i cried for an hour while i was driving so im taking it out on B #thanks for being my little stress ball danny #aha my old middle school habit of frankensteining two characters together is resurfacing again :) yall should've seen my wattpad drafts #in middle school. i had 50 of them and most of them were me combining two characters together to make one person and putting them in one au #my most memorable being skydoesminecraft and harry potter. THAT was a fun worldbuilding experience #do i think that growing up with the fentons would fix bruce/danny completely?? hurm. no. dont kid yallselves jazz is not a licensed #therapist not even at like. nine when she meets danny. she's not helping him through his trauma in the slightest. she's nagging.#she's his sister or sister-like figure before she's his therapist. would he be #*entirely* like canon bruce tho?? no. dannybruce is a mix of the both of them. but this is still the first post of the au and is more so #just me doing the equivalent of popping a stress ball so nothing is smoothed over. mostly im just trying to keep bruce's trauma prominent i #danny's character because he IS Bruce. i dont want him to just be 'danny with bruce's backstory but without any of the ugly bits'.#danny and bruce is used interchangeably because they're the same person but sorry if his personality feels imbalanced i came up with this o #the spot. was going to type more but the stress has left me. for now. watch ur back danny 👀

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writinganon1 · 6 days ago

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@cokoweee

Ya’ll ever have a dream so lifelike it feels aggressively real until one thing goes a little too wrong and then you start to realize that maybe you’re in a dream but it’s also too real to convince yourself it’s not real that you can’t wake yourself up?

TW: panic attack, I say gun, uhhh blood ig? Bishop says a kinda weird thing but that's just him bein him

can I say blood? last time I did it marked me as mature...

Her heart thumped against her chest, lactic acid building in her legs as she ran. She tapped furiously at her phone, fingers slipping over the screen as she tried to deploy Sheldon.

Donnie says “no no no” chimed a pixilated picture of Othello, his finger waving back and forth.

“What the-” She slammed against a wall, her shoulder crunching against the brick.

His stupid programming on the poor thing to keep Sheldon at his house. Maybe she could override it?

No, not enough time. She was just going to have to run and hope for the best.

Her shoulder screamed in protest as she climbed the ladder in the alley. Scrambling over the side of the building to catch her breath, she tapped at the screen again.

There had to be something she could do to foil his programming. She wiped at her nose, the cold still not quite gone even after days of bed rest. Bullets flew over the edge of the building, seemingly locking on to her body heat. Throwing herself at the ledge at the last second to force the bullets to crash into the wall she coughed violently, phlegm coating her throat.

Stupid sickness.

Stupid Othello leaving her with the stupid rabbit farmer.

She pushed herself off the ground, arms struggling under the weight of herself. It was as if every muscle in her body was on fire, each fiber screaming at her to stop. She gulped raising her head over the ledge. Agent Bishop was standing on the adjacent rooftop, his face curled into a sneer, eyes unblinking despite the sun in his eyes.

He waved at her, fingers waggling in the air as he pulled a small gun from his pocket. Aiming it directly at her chest he grinned, his eyes flickering with something distinctly unhuman.

She stumbled backward, her feet skidding over the concrete as he seemed to lock onto her. Loose rock dug into her knees as she clambered over the rooftop.

Away.

All she needed to do was get away.

She placed a hand over her stomach, feeling the raised bump of the scar, as she moved.

This was…

This was wrong?

It didn’t happen this way.

No. She didn’t need to get away, she needed to get out.

The bullet ripped into her skin, tearing away at muscle, and shattering the bone in her rib.

She screamed, blood pouring from the gaping hole in her chest, as Bishop moved closer. He walked to her side, footsteps clanking against the concrete.

Clawing at the ground she dragged her body along the roof, rocks digging under her nails. Bishop laughed, his foot trampling her hand, digging it into the ground. She gasped, breathing shallowly as she fought to get loose.

He grabbed her hair, wrapping it between his fingers and tightening his grip as he pulled her from the floor.

“Oh, this is wonderful.” He smiled, voice dripping with venom. “Such a pretty little thing I caught this evening. I’ve been dying to chat with you.” He pulled her hair up, forcing her to rise. “I wonder if she’ll do any tricks?”

She spat in his face, her ears filled with an all-consuming ringing.

Away.

She needed to get away.

It didn’t matter how. She needed to get away.

He said something else, flaunting some sort of mechanism he had hidden in his shirt. She tried to focus on his words, but her breathing was too shallow, her limbs too shaky, the ringing too loud for her to hear a word.

She clamped a hand over her chest, a sorry attempt to staunch the flow of blood from the gaping hole in her body. Cursing softly she watched as the red seeped into a slithering pink fleshy mass.

She stifled a scream as the pink turned an orange maroon, her own blood fueling some sort of monster.

“Shhhhhhh.” Bishop whispered against her ear, “It’ll be done soon. Just one quick slash and you’ll be out of my hair for good.”

The mass jumped forward, faster than she could comprehend, her body spasming in pain as she scrambled back.

Was this the Krang she’d heard so much about after she’d left the jail? Weren’t they supposed to be mindless or something?

It lunged forward again, tentacles lashing toward her face. Bishop shook her in front of him, like a toy for a dog.

“Kendra?”

She screamed as he tightened his grip on her, shaking her around like a bag of flour. The world around her turned hazy, her vision blurring in and out.

She wasn’t going to go out without a fight.

Throwing her head back she jammed her skull into his chin, breaking the grip he had on her hair.

She clawed at the ground, a strange silky feeling coating her fingers. Pushing away the softness of what was sure to be Krang, she kicked at the mass as it wiggled unnaturally.

“KENDRA!” A familiar voice shouted at her, a gentle three-fingered nubby touch against her arm.

Her eyes flew open, arms flailing to the sides to swat at what was left of the Krang matter, as hands held her back. She gasped, her chest heaving as a sinking feeling hit her gut. Dread splashed over her head like a wave, drowning her, leaving nothing but fear.

Eyes widening she looked next to her for Tello, horrified as darkness encroached on her vision, leaving her staring through a pin hole. Nausea rolled through her stomach as she gasped for air, her chest shuddering to keep up with her breathing.

It hurt. It hurt so bad.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He whispered, hand placed against her back. “It’s ok you’re home. You’re with me.”

She jerked backward. He was loud. So so loud. Even with the ringing in her ears, he was too loud.

Breaths were punched from her lungs faster than she could finish taking them in. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes blew wide. Her chest tightened, lungs twisting as she shook.

She’s dying. She has to be dying. There’s no other explanation.

Dead in her room from a nightmare-induced heart attack,

Her eyes flickered back and forth over the room, not focusing on anything, just wildly scanning for danger she knew wasn’t there. Willing her arm to move, she let out a chocked warble.

The room seemed to melt around her. Things blurred together, a fuzzy abstract painting of almost-real-life. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she tightened her muscles.

Her whole body shook as she tried to take steadying breaths.

“Did you know softshell turtles only have half a plastron?”

She was in the middle of dying.

She most definitely did not need turtle facts right now.

“Technically a full one, but it’s covered by skin, rendering it effectively useless for plastron purposes.” He shrugs. “Same deal as the shell.”

She looked at him, confusion breaking through the panic.

“Makes us really flexible though. Wanna see?”

He got off the bed, walked to the middle of the room, and bent backward. He smiled upside down at her from the floor and smoothly brought himself back up.

“Pretty neat huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Bet no other turtle you meet could do that.”

Amusement rippled through her as she watched him demonstrate his stretches and various yoga poses.

“I’ve never met another turtle like you.” She breathed, some of the panic melting away.

“Precisely! No one can do it like me!” He said, pointing his finger at her triumphantly before his face softened. “ We starting to feel a bit better?”

She brought her thumb and pointer finger close together. A little

He nodded. “Am I good to come back up or do you need some space?”

She patted the bed next to her, inviting him closer. She waited until he was seated comfortably before slumping against his shoulder, exhausted.

He shifted slightly, reaching for his phone with one hand, the other wrapped around her. He let them sit for a moment, reminding her to breathe every few seconds before Sheldon zipped into the room.

He whispered something to Othello before zooming out of the room. She watched passively as it happened, her body still not quite connected to her soul.

Sheldon returned moments later, a bag of ice, a bottle of water, a cookie, and tub of lavender lotion in his little propeller arms.

Othello took them from him, patted his head, and shooed him away. Taking one of the ice cubes he flattened out her hand and placed it in her palm.

She jerked slightly at the sensation of cold in her hand, surprised when he placed another in her palm.

“Focus on the melting.” He said, voice low and gentle.

The ice filled the lines of her hand and dripped over the sides and down her arm. She shivered as the water pooled in her hand. Othello grabbed the cookie from the pile he had created and broke off half to give to her.

“Thanks?”

He watched her carefully. “What does it taste like?”

“A cookie?” She said through a mouthful, her hands still full of TV static.

“I need details.” He pressed.

She paused, taking a moment to consider the flavors in her mouth. “Vanilla, chocolate chips.” She took another bite. “ Like I left it in the oven a minute or two too long and overcooked them just slightly.”

She’d have to make another batch, this time keeping an eye on the time.

He pressed an uncapped water bottle into her hand. “Drink.”

She pressed the bottle to her lips, feeling the way the cold blossomed against her skin as she held it there. Quietly observing the way she could feel it go down her throat and into her stomach.

“Are we feeling more alive?”

She nodded, running her hand along her thigh to feel the fabric of her pajama pants as she pressed her head against his side.

“Good.” He murmured, sleep creeping into his voice. “You had a panic attack I’m pretty sure.”

“...Sorry it was for something stupid.”

“I get worked up over stupid stuff too.” He mumbled, eyes half closed.

“Your stuff isn’t stupid.” She countered.

“Then neither is yours.”

She stopped, lifting her head to look up at him.

He grabbed her hand, flexing the fingers for her. “You feel ok?”

“I don’t know.” She answered honestly.

He nodded and guided her to a lying position. “Tell me five of your favorite things.”

She paused, looking around the room. “Hmmmmm. You.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. Uhhh, lavender. The color purple. Satin jackets. Baking. Messing around in the lab. Oh, I guess that’s more than five.”

He tapped her shoulders rhythmically, “You can keep going if you need to.”

She took in a deep breath. “I think I’m ok now.”

“Positive?”

Nodding she pulled the blankets over herself. What she really needed was rest. She was so exhausted from the whole ordeal that the idea of doing anything else felt impossible.

He got off the bed again, searching beneath the bedframe for something before he pulled a large purple blanket from under the bed. She blinked in surprise as he placed it over her, a weight holding her down to the bed.

“I should’ve mentioned it was weighted.”

She pulled her hand out to give a quick thumbs up as he climbed back into bed. She shifted to hold out her arm for a hug. He smiled and pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“You smell like you’ve been using my soap.” She grumbled against his plastron.

He shrugged. “ I like the way you smell.”

Rolling her eyes she tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders smiling as soft chirping filled the room, the sound he always made right as he fell asleep.

“Good night Tello.” She whispered.

His plastron vibrated as he churred back, gently running circles through her hair.

She was home. And she was safe.

squad don't write stuff at four AM I'm pretty sure this only makes sense to me at this point. Anyway I was listening to my pretty princess playlist while writing this 💁‍♀️

the reason why this was written is in the tags btw

#Me and my friend were hanging out and she got all excited when I told her I was minoring in creative writing #she asked for me to read me some of my stuff and I agreed LIKE AN IDOIT #well i open my docs and low and behold it's what I posted yesterday #mind you that doc is titled ugly sewer man and his pretty wife #i scroll before she can see the title but at this point I have to read this one #its too late for me to exit the doc without me being suspicious #I read it and she's all like “Well butter my backside and call me a biscuit I forgot you wrote but you do a pretty dang good job!”#I'm just sweating bullets coz I just read her my fanfic of Donatello the ninja turtle and Kendra the dragon chick #she'll never know and I'll never tell her that she was read kendratello fanfic with the names and some of the words replaced #its worth it to say that this isn't the first time that this has happened with her #last time it was the freaking really long one with Leo dying dead and Don also trying to die dead #i went home and cooked myself some pasta to recover because wtf was that #and I was so upset by the situation that instead of sleeping I wrote more kendratello fanfic?#pee pee poo poo #caca dodo even #FOUR AM BABY AND IM STILL HEREEEEEE #Ya'll also got some free stuff to use to help a hommie out if they ever start having a panic attack #tapping method will work on yourself as well if you start feeling freaked out or not in your body.#just cross your arms over your torso and put your left hand on your right shoulder and vice versa tapping your shoulders one at a time #im sleepin now #gn yall

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