#danny splinters into two parts

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 5

I hope ya'll enjoy :D please comment and reblog, it really helps out (i just want that juicy feedback babyyy)

Two pristine white suits stood in the doorway. The laboratory's glaring white light bared down from behind the two men, framing them in an uneasy, uncertain shadow. Despite being indoors, the agents wore cold sunglasses, and one would be forgiven for assuming they were permanent fixtures on their heads.

"Our deepest condolences, Mr Wayne." The so-called Agent K said. Bruce Wayne noted not the slightest hint of condolence or sympathy.

He considered himself an effortlessly logical person. Someone who got what needed to be done, done. Someone who push away fear and stress in order to chip through the walls and find a path to victory in any situation.

But now, as he stared at the pile of bloody and torn clothes laid on the examination table, a DNA test on the side showing MATCH in bold letters, Bruce found himself blanking for the first time in years.

The first time since Jason...

Damian's tracker had blinked its last only hours before, and Bruce hopped on the first boat he could procure and organised a search part, recruiting the help of the local and governmental siren hunters, not that he was not still suspicious, but man power was man power, and his son was on borrowed time.

Time that had to be paid back.

"We could not find a body, sir. Your son has likely been consumed by the sirens."

No body. None. And that was not for a lack of trying. Divers had scoured the ocean floor underneath vigilant patrols. Sonars echoed across the bay and surrounding reefs. Nothing, not hide or hair or even a bone.

Bruce needed to stay calm, to stay effortlessly logical. There was no way to confirm a death just by some bloody clothes and a lack of a body. He needed to find a way, the only way.

"Thank, gentlemen. I'm gonna need a moment alone. I'll be returning to my room." The crack in "Brucie's" voice was not fake.

When Bruce got back to his hotel room, its emptiness like poison to his eyes, he beelined to his laptop. There he opened the staticky and blurry video showing the moment of disaster.

Damian was on the boardwalk, taking a moment for himself to get away from the hustle and bustle of yet another vapid party. All he wanted out of this trip was to see the fish...

An explosion rocked the boardwalk, sending splinters flying. The camera blurred into static. All that could be made out was a hand grabbing onto Damian's foot and pulling him under. The feed cut out.

Bruce played the recording again, and again, and again. Just like he had been doing all day. It was so blurry he couldn't even identify the colour of the hand.

Each time, his heart broke a little more. A tear came closer and closer to tearing its way out behind the barrier he'd put around his heart. The barrier these damn kids have wormed through over time.

Bruce dialed the phone. It answered on the first ring. "Dick, gather the family. I have some bad news..."

Danny buckled the last belt in his collection around his tail. Funny thing about belts, is that they're still useful even if you aren't wearing pants. The Fenton waterproof torch, the Fenton Stinger, Fenton Lipstick Laser among several other greatest hits slotted neatly into the loops of his belts along his tail. All he needed was a jacket and he might have a biker aesthetic to rival Johnny's.

Damian had spent the past hour or so pacing back and forth, trying to get a hang of his fins and occasionally bumping into a wall. Kid was itching to go out, and had taken to waving the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick around at imaginary enemies, despite having complained about the "inelegance of such a crude weapon."

"You will know suffering." He muttered. "I will make you beg for deliverance." He scowled.

Maybe Danny should introduce him to Sam. He feels like they'd get on like a house on fire.

Damian clung to his shoulder again, little arms wrapped around his neck for purchase as he swam out the cave. The Anti-Creep stick sat comfortably in a holster wrapped round the kid's waist with a knot Danny had to retie six times because he was so small. It was mid afternoon and the sun bathed the reef in bright colours like a warm blanket.

"We should keep an eye out for any other weapons. Our current stock is not enough."

Danny snorted. "You sound like a serial killer talking like that, you know?"

"I am more dangerous than a serial killer." Damian huffed. Danny could feel the offence radiating off him. To think that a himbo like Bruce Wayne could spawn someone with this many sticks up his ass. "And more intimidating."

"Please threaten me more. I'm shaking in my non-existent boots."

Damian growled. A deep guttural sound that rumbled his chest and tickled Danny's scales. Well, it would've been deep if Damian weren't half Danny's size.

"Where is your map and compass? How are we to get to Panama without navigation equipment?"

"Relaaax! We don't need a map because I've got a little something called celestial navigation." See Sam and Tuck? His space obsession was useful in his siren life!

The smaller siren head sank and banged on Danny's. "It is broad daylight."

Danny grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah that was a joke."

Damian screeched.

Danny laughed as he surfaced and got himself some fresh air. Calm waters for miles around them. Slowly he kicked off the swim, building up speed. "Relaaaax. It doesn't take a genius to figure out we need to go south."

"The only reason I have allowed you to live is because you are my only way home."

"As if I couldn't literally sit on you and you'd be helpless."

"I should invite you to try!"

Thousands of miles of blue ocean stretched on in every direction Damian looked. Below the two of them, the ocean floor lay deep enough that all Damian could see was a blur. Just above, the surface of the water rippling from slow winds blazes past. Phantom's strength lets them cut through the water at breakneck pace. The water rushing past his ears and fins reminds him of flying with Jon, if only much thicker than air in the upper-atmosphere.

Light from above, and unending darkness below. It was the darkness that Damian focused on. Occasionally, a tingle spread down his back and through his tail, like a warning, only for nothing to be visible underneath. The first few times, he shivered from surprise. Then it just unnerved him.

He'd read about lateral lines on sharks and other fish before, as a curiosity. Never had he imagined he would come to possess one himself, and never that it would feel so natural that it was difficult to parse it out from all his other sensations. The idea of not feeling this new sensation felt foreign, and unnerving, even though this form was the foreign one.

He would never admit this to anyone, but he didn't know much longer he could deny the creeping feeling on his neck. For all Phantom appeared friendly, Damian knew nothing of his motivations, or even his true character. If Phantom decided he didn't want anything to do with Damian, then what? With no weapons save a measly baseball bat, no contact with the outside world, no armour, no legs, no support and no knowledge of how to survive, he would be good as shark meat.

Damian tightened his grip on Phantom's neck. He was supposed to be above fear, and yet why was his heart pounding so hard?

A series of fast clicking echoed from the distance. Damian jerked his head to the left. Through squinted eyes hie made out long slender forms swimming parallel, their tails undulating up and down.

"Are those dolphins?" Damian muttered.

Phantom turned to the same sight, and raised his eyebrows. "Huh, I guess they are-" Damian jerked Phantom to their direction.

"We must approach them immediately!"

Phantom's body almost tumbled out of his normal swimming rhythm from the shock. "What? What for?"

"We must! The only reason I agreed to come to Amity Island was to see the sea creatures."

"Dude, you know dolphins can be total assho-" But Damian was having none of it. To solidify his point, he clamped his teeth into Phantom's shoulder, focusing them on the part where bone jutted out. Even if they couldn't penetrate, the blunt force against bone would be very painful.

"YOUCH Alright alright alright alright can you please stop biting me!"

Phantom rerouted their course, and Damian chittered in satisfaction. "Excellent."

The dolphins were as beautiful and majestic as he could have ever imagined. It was a small pod, comprising of about five adults, all swimming together in stunning synchrony. Phantom swam at a cautious distance, close enough to admire but too far to touch. How he longed to pet a dolphin... Even Damian slapping him with his tail could only move him an inch closer.

"Dude, I've dealt with dolphins before, and they're literally the most evil beings on the planet, right next to toast and Vlad."

Damian huffed. If only he had a camera on him. To swim alongside dolphins at top speed, out in the wild... He was pretty sure he was drooling, or would have been.

He'd just have to commit the scene to memory, and paint it when he got home.

The thought of home made his fins droop a little.

He felt a finger poking at his cheek. "Hey Damian, you ok? Fine, I'll give like two inches, but that's it."

Damian snappes teeth at him. "I am perfectly fine. Just thinking."

Before Phantom could get closer, Damian saw one member of the pod swerve right for them. Instinctively, he ducked, only for the dolphin to somersault overhead, twirling three times before 'landing' right of them. Two more of its podmates followed suit as they danced in circles around them. One of them came so close he could even catch its scent. It smelled tangy, like freedom and excitement.

Seeing dolphins performing manoeuvres at aquariums was one thing, sitting in dries seats what felt like half a world away from the water, but here? Damian felt the water stolen from right out of his gills.

And the best part was rubbing it in to Phantom. "What was that you said while disparaging these beautiful creatures?"

"Dude, don't these guys smell weird to you?" Even now he was suspicious? The dolphins smelled perfectly fine.

"Not in the slightest. I believe you are just trying to save face."

"Dude, I've seen dolphins before. Plenty of them, but none of them smelled this.. familiar."

Then again, now that Phantom mentions it, those moves seemed just a bit too disciplined for a wild animal. Just a bit too measured...

Damian's hackles spiked up. They were surrounded.

"Phantom, get us out of-"

Deafening squeals blasted from every direction. The noise was so horrible Damian could barely see. His ear fins felt like cracked glass. His field of view was getting darker. They were sinking.

Phantom moved Damian so he was flat against his chest and curled up. The boys crash landed into the barren sea floor. Pain erupted from every surface as debris and particles tore scales and broke fins. Phantom's screaming mixed into the water with teal blood. He held onto Damian like a vice the entire time.

They finally came to a stop. Damian's head spun and spun and his ears rang. He dimly noted the criss-crossing ropes of a fishing net entrapping them. Above him, the blasted dolphins loomed over them in circles like they were sharks, and in the centre floated a man in a large metal suit, a metal suit sporting a malicious, leopardlike grin, a grin that for a moment he could not place, until his mind cleared.

That was the last thing he ever had ever seen as a human.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #damian wayne #merman #dcxdp #merboy #mermaid au #angst #bruce wayne #giw #misunderstandings #de aged damian #mer damian #mer danny #skulker #canon-typical violence #nobody is having a good time #like and comment #please the comments sustain me

[dawnofdiscovery]

Heya People! How are you? I'm here to recommend some Tmnt fanfics! (Mainly crossover because that's what I'm looking for the most, I don't know if I'll do this correctly)

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ Crossover 🐢

the question is violence and the answer is pizza by @shoppingcartshells

Summary :

Another one of those crossover stories, wherein the 2012 turtles are all grown up and the 2018 turtles are troubled teens determined to give them gray scales

Chapters: 32 ( not yet finished )

Tots and Interdimensional Space Portals

I don't know if the author has Tumblr but if so please tell me

Summary :

In a last-ditch effort to save his brother when faced with a possibly life-ending weapon, Leonardo threw himself in front of Michelangelo to protect him from the oncoming blast of an advanced Kraang device, not expecting to walk away from the shot unharmed. What Leo hadn’t anticipated happening was being thrown into an opening portal and sent halfway across the multiverse only to be found by four familiar but much younger turtles.

Chapters: 24 ( not yet finished )

The Last Ronin Becomes a Discord Admin by @melonpalooza

Summary :

The Last Ronin survives the fight with Oroku Hiroto. He didn't expect that. He no longer can hear his brothers, and it makes him just a little bit lonely. One day, he finds an old laptop left behind by his late brother. On it is a single messaging platform, filled to the brim with other turtles from other dimensions. They were just like his brothers, yet so different…

Why did his brother make such an invention? For what purpose did he intend for it? And why do these kids keep trying to get him to open up?

Chapters: 44 ( not yet finished )

( The Last Ronin Becomes a Discord Admin also crossovers with other fanfics )

Ghost in the Shell by @bluepeachstudios

Summary :

In one universe, 2003 Donatello disappears from his brother's lives, which leads to the Shredder's takeover and the death of the remaining turtles.

In another, 2003 Donatello appears, and spends 10 years trying to find a way home. Then he sees something he can't imagine; an alternate version of him, Splinter, and his brothers, seeking shelter in the sewers.

Chapters: 31 ( concluded )

( Ghost in the Shell also crossovers with other fanfics )

Double Rainbow (Beyond Space and Time) by @alicat54c @bluepeachstudios

Summary :

When Ultimate Draco sends the turtles across time and space, Splinter meets four little turtles and decides to take them home with him. The boys are delighted by their new little sisters.

Tmnt 2003 xover with Empathy is Learned

Chapters: 20 ( concluded )

Purple Squared by @alicat54c @bluepeachstudios

Summary :

Ghost finds Dannie and his little brothers wandering alone in the sewers after the death of their Splinter, and takes them home with him.

Crossover of Ghost in the Shell by AmevelloBlue and A Different Eldest Brother by alicat54c

Chapters: 20 ( not yet finished )

Connect Four

I don't know if the author has Tumblr but if so please tell me

Summary :

In which a fight goes wrong, but doesn't go catastrophically wrong, and the 2003!turtles find themselves in the Rise Universe. A lot of fluff and family bonding follows.

Two Souls by @virgilisspidey

Summary :

Leo was never lonely.

Sure he has his pops and his brothers and his best friend sister April, but he also has someone else he's known almost all his life.

He's a mutant turtle too, and for some reason, only he can see him.

It's alright, it's not like he wanted to share him anyways.

A rewrite of some of the episodes where 2012 Leo is connected to Rise Leo's soul and acts like a weird imaginary friend

[Part of the Mama Leo Series.]

Cross Dimension Kidnapping (with pics)

by @aealzx

Summary :

After spending some time harassing John Bishop's successor, keeping her from progressing with interdimensional experiments, a message is sent to Raphael (03) claiming that Agent Augustine has custody of his three brothers. Except Don is there watching the video message with him, and only one of the three mutant turtles shown on screen are related to them.

Originally posted on tumblr, short chapter format

Chapters: 27 ( not yet finished )

shaking the latch

I don't know if the author has Tumblr but if so please tell me

Summary :

Yoshi was getting quite tired of running, honestly.

Only a few months out of Draxum's lab, Rise!Splinter finds himself once again among strangers who nevertheless look suspiciously familiar

Chapters: 10 ( not yet finished )

Too Many Turtles by @dysfunctional-doodle

Summary :

In universe 2003, Donnie tries to experiment with the inter dimensional gun the 1987 turtles had given him. Instead, he accidentally creates a multiversal chat room for many different versions of his brothers, and counting.

It certainly makes life…interesting.

TLDR: multiverse group chat between most iterations of the turtles. Starts with 2003, 2012 and 2018 but more are added as I go. 50% plot and 50% chaos.

*now includes the 87 and mutant mayhem boys!*

Chapters: 24 ( not yet finished )

Wedding Bells and Magic Portals by @melonpalooza

Summary :

It had been ten years since they had lost Splinter, the patriarch of their family. But now the Hamato Clan was celebrating new beginnings, including a marriage and the upcoming birth of the next generation. Things never go to plan, though, and the Hamato brothers find themselves in an alternate dimension. Again. Oh, sewer apples.

Chapters: 7 ( concluded )

interdimensional minecraft

( I hope that one day it will return )

Summary :

Another crossover chatfic between the tmnt universes where they teach other how to be a healthy family, except its only some of them, and none of them know its their siblings from another universe, let alone know their acting as a family therapist for each other.

Chapters: 12 ( not yet finished )

Well, I think that's it for now 🤔 I have a few more but as I haven't read them yet I don't know if I should post them or not, I know that some of the ones above are already very well known, but there's no reason not to give them more love, right? Then that's it! Maybe I'll update more when I read the ones I saved (or maybe if some of you want to see it anyway)

( please let me know if you have any errors )

Bye Bye Manos ☄️🐢

#tmnt #tmnt 2003 #tmnt fanfiction #rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #ao3 fanfic #tmnt bayverse #rottmnt

[bluepeachstudios]

Sorry if I'm missing something obvious, but do you have a tag for the purple squared au?? I am so curious what it is but all I can find is those two asks referencing it 😂

I haven't posted about it on this account except through asks, because my friend and co-writer Li (@alicat54cwriting) does the uploads for it!

Purple Squared is a GitS-adjacent story about if Ghost was dropped into Dannie's world from Different Eldest Brothers written by Li . DEB is also an au of The Eldest Brother by @debb987.

You could read just the first DEB and get enough information imo, but the important part is that Draxum is a load more evil, and creates Donnie a few years before he makes the rest of the turtles. Splinter tries to escape with them but ends up dying while killing Draxum, leaving Donnie on his own to look after three baby brothers.

Then Parry(Ghost) is just Ghost's usual story, the first ten years of it, then found Donnie on the cameras instead of Splinter escaping with the kids as he did in GitS.

It is an au tho so we had some fun. Me and Li enjoy writing together to the point that we not only have backlog chapters, we have several stories on backlog. Some of which can't be read yet because they contain GitS and also The Great Skittles Heist spoilers.... :)

#asks #gits adjacent #purple squared ask

[misteria247]

12 turtle tot Leo's weird lil family cuz I'm bored and wanna ramble-

12 Raph, 12 Donnie, 12 Mikey, Rise Raph, Rise Donnie and Rise Mikey. The brothers of 12 Leo, both in the biological and adopted sense. Will kill a man for even looking at 12 Leo wrong and are super protective of him.

12 April, 12 Casey, Rise April and Rise Cassandra. Also siblings to 12 Leo, in the adopted sense. Will kick anyone's ass if they so much as breathe wrong at 12 Leo.

Rise Splinter and Draxum. Basically the dads/grandparents to 12 Leo. (It's usually the first part whenever he's his actual age, though it's a point where it's not overstepping into 12 Splinter's place.) They both spoil him rotten.

Warren and Hypno. Also dads however they're the crime dads. Kidnapped 12 Leo one time and adopted him on the spot.

Senor Hueso. Tired uncle and babysitter whenever the boys need it. Didn't want to be stuck with 12 Leo, however he ended up growing attached to him. Kinda like with Rise Leo.

Big Mama. Mom to 12 Leo. Much like the two other criminals she kidnapped him one time and fell in love with him. Literally had a custody battle over this kid. No one knows how she managed to do it and she has visitation rights. Her henchmen aka as Dastardly Danny and his friends also adore this kid and are also given visitation rights.

#oli talks #ooc #muns ramblings #mindless ramblings of a madman #shitpost #kinda #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #rottmnt #tmnt/rottmnt crossover #tmnt 2012 rottmnt crossover #rottmnt tmnt 2012 crossover #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2018 #tmnt leo #rottmnt leo #tmnt raph #rottmnt raph #tmnt donnie #rottmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #rottmnt mikey #12 Turtle Tot Leo #he ends up getting a little found family harem completely unintentionally sgsgsgsgsgsgdg #giving y'all something cute cuz it's something we all could have

[theplanetprince]

Schrodinger's Adolescent || CH. 25

Fic: AO3 || FNN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 175k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer  

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It's requited but they're dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there's fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD  

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Assault, Breaking + Entering

Author's note: We're at half-time now. -Voorhees

Credits: I have to extend the biggest thank you to @cicadahaze for providing the fantastic artwork used in the Ao3 version of the fic! We had kicked around the idea of a collaboration since the first invisobang, and I'm happy to show it off!! And another standing ovation for @/galaxy-beast and @/the-storming-sea. Without them, my work may never actually be pushed to the finish line.

Reblogs > Likes... thx

"Dash what're you—?" Paulina was speaking so hurriedly, "Quien está contigo? ¿Lo que está sucediendo? Should I call the po—"

Abruptly, the device greeted him with a flash of its dead battery screen. The service provider logo followed the tell-tale dying whoosh sound—

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Goddamn, Orion mobile.

Unsure if it was fear or anger, Dash chucked his phone away, landing somewhere in the garden beds.

Even if he could understand what she was saying— Paulina's voice couldn't compete with the pulse hammering through his head, reverberating through his body like pangs off of steel rods.

Everything felt so loud.

It didn't matter that he had his phone plugged in and resting on his desk before she called. He should have had a full battery, but that fact didn't help him now. His phone was dead, and thereby extension, so was he.

Baxter only stood there, shaking, trembling. A part of him still wanted to blame this one on whatever psychosis was emerging from the depth of his mind—but no.

Because when he looked at his house. Every single light was flickering. The high brights rivaled the moon and stars, and the lows mirrored an abyss.

Several dull pops of lightbulbs bursting and releasing gas—wiring crackling as their circuits broke.

Then, all at once, the house was draped in pitch-black darkness like a grand crescendo in an orchestral piece. And, suddenly, it no longer felt like his home. Not like any home he would ever want to return to.

He thought if… when he squinted. Dash thought he saw someone in his kitchen still standing there. Standing there… waiting for him to come back.

Paralyzed in its absolute form. His shoulders hunched, and he began to crumple in on himself. Waves of nausea came with the shutdown, and bile bit at the back of his throat. He clutched his stomach and swallowed on nothing.

Thoughts came at him in surging insurmountable waves, threatening to pour out from his eyes, giving away how truly powerless he was. A single word projected against the backs of his eyelids—

Run.

Run.

Run.

Yet all he could do was keep himself right there. Attempting to keep his eyes open, as open as they could allow.

The imposing townhouse only loomed over him, offering no answers, glowering down at its occupant with some disdain.

Pookie began to bark in opposition, excited for a challenge, as if there was no danger at all—the dog leapt and climbed the stairs with no trepidation to speak of.

Stumbling—Dash fell to his knees in an endeavor to catch his dog. He had slipped on the damp grass, landing on his chest. The quarterback punched the mud, "Seriously?!"

Using his head, the chihuahua nudged open the gap in the sliding glass door and continued to bark at the darkness.

The sky split open with a bolt of lightning that splintered across the clouds.

One.

Two.

Three.

A rolling crack of thunder followed three seconds at least behind the flash. Dash fumbled to stand before he felt water hitting his neck—

Rain. A heavy downpour hit the ground. What was once a comforting presence was now only further noise and chaos.

"SERIOUSLY?!" Dash shrieked, face streaked with mud. He wrenched his head around to see the fading blooms of lightning in the clouds.

As if in reply, the night lit up once more with a fracture of electricity that radiated the air… the boom echoing across the sleepy residence.

It's official. I'm cursed.

Wiping his sweat and mud-covered hands against his jeans, he produced his lighter from his front pocket.

He would have to crawl under the deck to start the backup generator. Nothing suggested he would be safer in the light, but he had to try.

Convincing himself to move was another feat entirely.

Dash had to live; maybe one day he'd want to. Maybe he could live one day without this fear and loathing constantly wrapped around his neck like a noose—

The barking stopped.

Snapping his head forward, Baxter realized he was wasting time. Armed with his lighter, he hurried— sliding through the mud bubbling up from the rapidly flooding yard. He nearly took another spill when he approached the opening under the deck but grabbed ahold of a broken piece of lattice. Making sure his feet were under him, he dove his hands in first, striking his cheap neon green gas station lighter frustratedly. Dash nearly tore the skin off his thumbs by continuing to strike the spark wheel. The flame was reluctant, but it allowed the quarterback to get a better look at what he was doing. Lowering himself, Dash moved forward, his arm brushing against the poorly maintained fretwork.

He remembered trying to talk his father out of installing the backup sometime last year before ghost attacks became the new norm that Amity Parkers had to set their watch by. Dash believed he called it a worst-case scenario with a million and one odds, like being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.

He insisted that all the box would do was sit there idly and rot, awaiting a disaster that would never come.

It was several months in the making, but Dash finally defied all odds.

Letting go of the lighter fork, he was thrust back into darkness backlit by the storm, but the crystal clear image of the red block of metal and engine parts seemed to sear itself into his brain. Brief images of the salesman demoing it and schematics from the instruction manual plagued his mind with thunder, overdubbing the critical parts. For some reason, the word carburetor stuck out, but Dash couldn't identify it within the mass of gears and buttons.

Dash was sixteen and gay. How was he supposed to know what the hell a carburetor was?!

"I'm supposed to… flip this twisty thing for the fuel… valve, then—" He didn't notice it, but he began to mutter to himself.

With trembling, sweat-soaked hands, Dash blindly pawed at the machine— following a piece of tubing back until it made contact with the main engine block. Upon feeling a knob, he turned it, and the fuel line began to hiss—

The young man flinched, but upon realizing he didn't explode, he figured he must have been doing something right.

"Th-then there's…" Dash swallowed; the smell of diesel was thick in the air already. He was getting gulps of it— that's when he remembered, "The choke."

He coughed and forced the lever over.

Nothing.

The air under the deck was only getting more saturated with the stench of gasoline—

Taking the small choke lever on top of the block, he flipped it from side to side more aggressively. He prayed he was loosening whatever rust or gravel jammed up the machine and not damaging it further.

BOOM!

Another stroke of lightning nearly right behind him— it must have landed in a neighbor's yard or the telephone pole by the road downhill from the backyard— Illuminated the situation very clearly.

The generator had a ripcord.

Bracing his foot against the engine's base, the quarterback mustered his strength and grabbed a hold of the plastic handle. He pulled. Pulled until his shoulder threatened to pop from the socket.

By God, that deep hum and roll of the mechanism turning over—The relief was immeasurable; it was priceless with the porch light returning to life and flooding through the gaps in the deck.

If Dash was going to do this, he would do this terrified the whole way.

He slid out from under the crawl space, flicking cobwebs from his hair and shaking the mud from his bare soles. He traced his hand around the deck like a tether to him and the light until he stopped at the arm rail for the stairs. Rounding the corner, he snuck up the steps, sticking to the shadows of covered furniture.

As he assessed the situation inside… Dash realized it would be a good time for a weapon.

The jock didn't have to look too far. Sports equipment was loose over the back deck, one of the tables holding it having been blown over in the wind.

An aluminum bat with black tape around the handle caught the light and his attention. Dash picked it up. He didn't feel more confident about his chances. It weighed lighter than he expected but still felt heavy.

It was familiar to him, like an extension of himself. The only thing weighing it down was his intentions.

If there were something like a knife or a gun… it would have been too foreign and ultimately cumbersome.

He didn't want to use it. He hoped he didn't have to.

Dash just… he just wanted to scare them away. That's what he did; that's what he was good at. He scared people away. If they couldn't be close to them, then he'd make sure they never want to. Dash never wanted to hurt anyone— he didn't have it in him to kill someone…

Closing the sliding glass door behind him until it clicked in place near silently… Dash, in his left hand, used the bat to pin it against his arm. He did not want to be heard until he was absolutely prepared for it.

The backup generator managed to get the kitchen lights working and some of the ones upstairs. The connections must have been weak somewhere. Something told him he wouldn't get the opportunity to check them out.

"Pookie!" Dash hissed out a whisper.

Yet he still needs an answer as to where his dog was.

When he stole his glance up from his feet, after plotting out his next few steps, he saw a shape sitting on the kitchen island stool. It slumped forward as if getting ready to attack—

Without hesitation, Dash gripped the bat with a second hand, winding it up over his head, but before he could swing, he got a good look at the intruder.

It was a gigantic stuffed white teddy bear. It was large enough to be mistaken for a person in a costume. One of those oversized ones you could win at the arcade at the mall. Its face had just fallen onto the counter. It was so big it was spilling out of the stool it was sitting on and kicking it out slightly—pushing the chair legs against the tile, creating this insufferable squeaking.

Pookie had latched onto one of its legs and attempted to take down the bear.

…

Dash wasn't just confused. Bewildered, perplexed, flummoxed, disoriented— whatever word there was to describe the utter disbelief and sickness he felt— there was no equivalent in this language or any of the others he had a passing knowledge of.

Approaching the bear slowly, a card was attached to the bow tied around its neck.

With one hand still white-knuckled on a weapon, Dash unfolded the card. Within the single page was a scrawled message that read—I'm bear-y sorry.

Was this a joke?

The bat fell slack and bounced against his calf.

"Uh, hey…" That almost whisper, almost voice, had returned, "You got a little something… on your… face."

Dash didn't imagine it at all.

Lethally, he scanned his surroundings before finding the darkened entryway. There was a closet that hid the water heater. The blackness blocked the front door and the living's only means of escape.

The closet door from the shadows moved, and a figure in the darkness had stepped out.

"I-I didn't mean to… uh, interrupt your call." It seemed apologetic, "Ghosts… ghosts cause fluctuations in the electromagnetic field. Dropped calls, cold spots, flickering lights—" with a pop of the tongue, it emphasized, "The works."

Baxter was stunned. He was certain this wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't one he remembered having. It wasn't any of the usual suspects. It was all too logical, too coherent. Yet… he couldn't be too sure. He was still deciding.

To fill in the lull in the conversation, the figure struggled, "The girl… the girl, the one you were talking with. She—She seems nice."

At the mention of Paulina, Dash's blood ran cold, and a rage began to stir and pull at his chest.

The figure in the dark then shut the cleaning closet, "You two been friends for a long time?"

"Show me your hands, and step toward the light." With a level voice, the quarterback brought the bat up and gently rested it at an angle on the counter.

The ghost startled in place but laughed it off, "Th-that's not really necessary, is it?"

"Hands. Up."

Taking a few creaky, hesitant steps forward, it was him— the Amity Park Phantom with his gloved hands raised and palms open.

"You caught me… your friendly neighborhood ghost… guy." The Phantom's trademark smile faltered for a moment under the weight of the quarterback's scrutiny, "Tadaa…"

Dash was speechless.

With his chin, the Phantom gestured to the teddy bear at the kitchen counter, "Um… th-that's for you."

The ghost boy cleared his throat, "It's—uh… it's… I noticed you didn't have any white ones… so—heh…"

He explained with his eyes darting to his shoes, "That, uh, Fenton kid said I-I should come back and apologize."

The Phantom wanted to fidget, to scratch his cheek, but hesitated— "It's too much, right?"

The silence was chilling.

Taking a step forward, the Phantom continued to speak as if compelled to, "You're not really—"

Jumping and startling in place, Dash fumbled a step back, wanting to maintain the distance between them.

"...saying anything." The Phantom's expression fell, disappointedly.

Was Dash supposed to say something? He gathered this was the part where he was killed. He's supposed to scream, and no one comes to save him. He wanted to scream but couldn't. There were plenty of things he wanted to say but had the presence of mind not to. Even when he was blindingly angry, he knew it was a fight he couldn't win.

It's a ghost town; it's best to let them have their way.

The Phantom stared ahead, eyes darting between places, around corners, attempting to start a dialog. Searching for something to say, looking everywhere except at Dash, "I think you're right… y'know? About you… you being haunted?"

Incredulously, the living teen looked the ghost boy up and down before mumbling, "That so?"

"I didn't notice it before, but there is definitely something…" As the ghost boy fumbled his wording, he took another step closer, as if he didn't want to let other parties hear him, "—attached—to this place."

The thought finally dawned on Dash, "You… were watching me?"

"Oh—No, no, wait, I… I know how that sounds." The Phantom's eyes widened before pointing to the bear, "But I-I swear, I only wanted to drop that off."

"Was that what you were doing the last time?" Using his shoulder, Dash wiped off some of the mud rapidly drying to his cheek, "Just—just… how many times have you done this?"

"It's not like that!" The Phantom laughed at the accusation. It was a troubled laugh, like the kind a coyote makes when caught. He asserted, "If you just let me explain—"

"Explain?" Dash cocked his head, smacking the aluminum bat on the counter. He erupted, "What's there to explain?!"

A flash of lightning burst into the kitchen.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five…

The thunder finally replied. It was growing further away.

Shrinking at the jock's raised voice, the Phantom tried to argue, "I…"

But nothing further came of it. Just his throat straining to make smooth, frictionless logic out of the noise.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" with his face still dirty, patience thoroughly burnt, and eyes stinging with pinpricks of tears that refused to spill, Dash's tone reverted to a soft severity.

"Just tell me what it is— what you want from me… and just…" Dash was bracing himself like a little kid at the doctor's, Yet there was no illusion that this was for his benefit at all. He winced, "Get it over with."

Dash had very little left to give, so why not give the last pieces of himself to the Phantom? Perhaps he would put it to better use.

The ghost only stared at him with a complete lack of understanding. It was as if Dash was suddenly speaking in tongues.

It pissed him off.

There was the Phantom— this… thing just staring at him with those heinous hell-like eyes, with nothing connecting behind them. Utterly alien, the way he studied the living's face like it was the first time the Phantom had been in proximity to this emotion.

How can something look so human yet be so unrecognizable?

His skin was flawless, yes, but unnaturally pale, almost greying. A slight blue glow lingered as an analog for capillaries. It was not dissimilar to the glow of a TV left on in the middle of the night.

Thin, but not in any delicate or frail definition— Thin like starving. Thin, like his body didn't make any sense.

The way the air around him seemed to bend and crackle, just like now, just like during a turbulent storm.

Dust particles seemed to ignite and then burn around him.

His teeth didn't seem to resemble the other ghosts. They weren't pointed and sharpened like a predator. No. They were… off.

These slight differences didn't make him seem very ghost-like either.

The Phantom of Amity Park was something else entirely…

His boots squelched against the boundary of the kitchen. Hands reaching out—

One.

Two—

"Keep your hands where I can see them…!" Dash ordered, praying that he sounded more authoritative than he looked.

Gingerly, The Phantom raised his hands back to their position but still took another step forward, "I feel like you're the one giving this situation a kind of 'home invasion' vibe, with the stick an' everything."

Unable to really come up with a response, Dash only narrowed his eyes.

"That's a joke—" the ghost boy chuckled anxiously and clarified, "You're supposed to laugh."

Dash remained stoic.

The Phantom's expression didn't change from its rigid pleasantness—It flickered briefly, the ceiling light in tandem. He winced at the harshness in the young man's face. The apparition closed his eyes and breathed, his chest flush before exhaling through his nose. His tight-lipped cocky smile gradually wilted.

The light above them shuddered at the subtlest gesture. The buzzing unstable bulb only highlighted the glow of the Phantom's being.

Finally, the ghost said, "... I don't think I've made the best impression."

Clearly—Dash wanted to say but thankfully had enough presence of mind to restrain himself.

"See, I wanted to apologize for that thing a few days ago." The ghost boy couldn't bring himself to be more specific about what he was sorry about, "That wasn't… th-that wasn't me. That wasn't like me at all…"

Shaking in fear and rage, Dash couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Before the living teen could even respond, the Phantom began to ramble.

Words kept falling from his mouth, pooling to the floor and sinking further. His speech was heavy, yet frantic, "I—I wish I could say that… it wasn't like me, but it is. I did that, and I—I just… I get really… really angry sometimes, and I…"

The Phantom's hands balled together and rested against his head, lowering his gaze once again, unable to meet Dash's stare, "I-I can't always control it."

The quarterback's mind was somewhere else entirely. He was focusing on the door just behind the ghost's shoulder. It was so close. Dash hesitantly inched his foot to his right, thinking if he could somehow circle around the island, he would have a clean break for the front door. He had to escape—

Then the apparition said something that completely caught Dash off guard, "You understand that, right?"

Snapping his head up, the Phantom never looked more like a lost child than in this moment. His hair, moving like a mist, rippling like a field of grain under a gust of wind, fell just above his eyes and obscured them slightly, "You believe me, right?"

Before Dash could even have the opportunity to register the plea—

"You know what it's like. You, more than anyone, know what this is like."

It was an accusation, an assumption. The ghost was trying to read him, attempting to toy with him. To worm its way into his head— Dash resisted and held firm. His aluminum bat was still creating the fragile distance between them.

"You just take it out on those Fenton kids—"

"Screw you." In all his defiance, Dash managed to find the words soaked in gasoline but needed the spark, he hissed. He wanted to close his eyes, and when he opened them, he would be dozing off in the library or at the Fentons' kitchen table. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn't.

Sweat broke out across his skin and palms in waves— heart thundering—

Stifling a chuckle, the ghost murmured, "Why are you always…?"

The Phantom's hands unfurled against his wild and untamed white hair. He rustled and ran his fingers through it before pushing his bangs back, his hands then falling to his sides.

The contract was now compromised.

"You're always like this." He repeated cryptically like he was scolding Dash.

Something of an idea returned the grin to his pearly face, "Here's something… I'll take a step toward you for every word you say."

One.

"Screw."

Two.

"You."

Upon losing ground, Dash shuffled back—

"That's okay." The Phantom said, "You can move. Only when I move— So…" He sighed, "I guess you'll have to talk to me."

"Wh-what?"

"Now, see, I'm not sure how to quantify that." The ghost boy shrugged, "Is that technically one word or two? Or Half…?"

The ghost inched forward—

Dash scrambled to find the balance against the counter, knocking down the stool, and it took the bear to the floor.

The dog seemed indifferent to the confrontation overhead and chased after the toy.

"You don't have to be afraid of me—"

"Stay back," The jock warned, jostling the bat between his hands. His arms aching from holding it aloft.

One.

Two.

"I just… what you saw—I get it. It's weird. And your wall—I didn't think I threw it that hard—!'

Then Baxter took two steps back. It didn't take a genius to understand he was going to corner himself against the glass door. He was running out of room—

"Will you just look at me? Please?"

Flitting his eyes back up to his approaching death, Dash exhaled, "Please… go."

He lowered his weapon.

One…

Two…

The ghost boy's legs evaporated through the downed chair as he moved. It was like he shimmered through it as if the chair didn't even exist. Not even hesitant or bothered by the obstacle. Like the tide, The Phantom glittered in the light and encompassed everything.

Dash backed up and felt the cold glass seep through his shirt, chilling him to the bone. The back of his skull connected, and he went flat. Despite sweat rivering down his face, the living steeled his nerves, "Leave me alone!"

He cried out before swinging. He took the metal bat and swung—cleaving a line clean through the Phantom.

Dash didn't miss. No.

The hit definitely connected. He felt the bat impact the cloud of vapor where the Phantom's jaw should have been.

The bat carved up the ghost's neck and head, creating a distinct line of severance in his face.

Yet the Phantom remained… undeterred.

It rippled through him like a drop in a puddle.

Another bolt of light crashed from the heavens, illuminating the backyard in a glowing web— The thunderclap, the tree branches splitting from the trunk, and the harsh wind whipping past the windows caught within it was deafening.

The sight of the Amity Park Phantom's eyes being blown out with white brilliance, mirroring that light— as if his body was rejecting it—This was the last face Dash was going to see.

The aluminum bat clattered to the tile, rolling under the kitchen island. That was the last thing Dash registered as he sprinted to his front door. His body landed and bounced off the frame in his desperation to escape. Manically, the living scratched at his door, hands grasping the knob but unable to turn it.

The deadbolt. The realization hit him cold.

The deadbolt.

The door was still locked. Dash kept repeating this futile thought in his head. The words blurred together in one uninterrupted mass but didn't lose their meaning. He knew the door was locked— but he couldn't breathe— he couldn't think. His hands uselessly twisting at a knob for a door he had locked himself earlier that day.

This house had a state-of-the-art security system of locks on top of locks and alarms that sat dormant and indifferent to his struggle.

Slamming the door with his palms, Dash swore under his breath before retreating to the stairs.

Though just as quickly, he felt his mistake claw at the back of his mind.

It's like he was screaming—Hey, come kill me, Mr. Ghostface!

Darwinism at work— that's what people would say when they read about his death in the papers. Not killed by a ghost, Dash was bested by a standard-issue lock.

Breathlessly, he berated himself as he scrambled to the upper floor, "Why'd I do that? Upstairs? Seriously!?"

"Dammit, Dash! Come back!"

The quarterback yelped before darting into his room, his foot almost catching on the running throw rug that stretched along the hall. He shut his door behind him, using his body as a barricade instead of anything else within reach.

Wait—The reasonable part of Dash's brain had a chance to speak between hyperventilating and movement— What am I doing? Ghosts don't need fucking doors!

Hitting the back of his head on his door, Dash seethed, "Dumbass."

There was a knock behind him. Soft.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Dash attempted to stifle his breathing. His lungs burned. He worried that wouldn't be enough. He worried his heart would give him away. When pushed to its absolute limits, the body tells you. It's the innate tug, the skipped beat. It's the tiniest fluctuation and deviation from that norm. Your heart keeps you alive.

Now, it was going to get him killed.

"I know you're in there." The Phantom said through the door, "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be, y'know?"

"...Dash, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. I didn't." there was the sound of his fist brushing against the door as if wanting to knock again but unable to, "That has to mean something."

How is that supposed to make it better?!— Dash wanted to yell back, but he couldn't. There was this lump in his throat. It made even breathing impossible.

"I wouldn't really be a good hero if my weaknesses were doors and blunt objects, would I?" By his voice, you could tell he was smirking.

"Not. My. Hero." Dash managed to spit out.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Dash strained his ears, waiting for any sign that the Phantom had left. But instead, he heard a soft chuckle, the sound cutting through the silence like a razor.

"That… that actually hurts my feelings. Wow." The Phantom sighed, "Wow."

The intruder was solemn now, "I-I thought if anyone would be my number one, it would be you. I could've sworn—"

"Drop. Dead."

Clicking his tongue, the ghost boy rested his head on the door, "...I'll get right on that."

…

"Y'know you could have just gone out the front way?"

Hitting his head on the door again, Dash groaned, "Go away!"

"I-I can't. Trust me, I wish I could, but I can't. I don't want to leave it like this."

There was silence. There was no further reasoning.

"...Are you okay?" The apparition muttered, "I thought I saw you trip up the stairs."

How could he be okay in a situation like this? But at the same time, there was a sliver of relief that the Phantom seemed to care, even if it was just a fleeting concern.

"…Yes?" Dash's voice wavered, uncertain of his answer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No—I-I dunno—"

He stammered, struggling to articulate his feelings—a horrid unease, frustration, in some twisted moment of vulnerability.

Was I really feeling embarrassed?

Dash clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as he fought to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He knew he had to stay calm; he had to stay smart to find a way out. But fear, raw and overpowering, threatened to consume him whole.

This wasn't the first time he felt fear like this, but he never got used to it. Dozens of times, he looked down at a ghost, and he ran. That's what he did. That's all he ever did. That's what he did at the drive-in. That's what he did when he could have helped. That's what he did when Danny needed him.

Dash was sick of being afraid.

He wanted nothing more than to rip the door open and accept whatever punishment fit him, whether it be holding up the earth for the rest of time or at the mercy of vultures.

He's had too many close calls, and his luck had to run out eventually—

"I just want to keep you..." It almost seemed unintentional how it slipped out, blending with the house settling and the storm howling outside in a voice pained with longing. He was sure it was the Phantom.

...

Dash wondered what the end of the statement was. If it even had a conclusion.

Maybe it was something else he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was an excuse, or a confession, or… a promise.

He didn't want to overthink it. He didn't want to allow room for empathy.

"Can I keep you?"

Swallowing on the growing lump in his throat, Baxter felt his gaze stick to the window in front of him at the end of his room. Then it fell to his ajar nightstand drawer.

If Dash died tonight—Danny would say his best quality was his persistence.

'Like a cockroach.' I believe his were exact words—Dash felt a smile crack into his cheek while his pained breath hitched. It was a smile entirely at the blame of Danny Fenton, equal parts defeated and wistful. If that was the last thing Danny ever thought about him, then he could probably exit on that note— but one thing he decided: he wasn't going to run anymore. He's a bit too tired for it.

He took a deep; shuddery inhale like he was about to step off a bridge with nothing but choppy water to cushion his fall. Pushing himself from the door, Dash spun on his heel and kept his eyes pinned to that spot.

As Dash shuffled back, he barely cleared his closet doors; right as he brushed his hand against his desk chair— for a split second— the jock looked over his shoulder to see how far he had left to go. Then, as soon as he turned back, the Phantom was there.

The apparition emerged from the shadow of the doorway, extending no effort to open it.

He definitely could hear how loud Dash's heart was beating. The Phantom's feet left the ground as he peered around his hostage from his new height advantage, "You're running out of room."

"So you, either talk to me, or I have to catch you from a thirty-foot drop."

Dash only glared up at him, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen between his eyes.

As the living teen took steps backward to his nightstand, his ankle rolled. It was such a simple mistake. It was two seconds, and the room whipped around him. He had forgotten about the cleaning supplies he had laid out earlier and accidentally stepped into a bucket.

Landing on his bed hard on his elbows, Dash struggled for a moment with gravity and the sheets— He struggled to keep his eyes on the Phantom.

In a moment, the Phantom closed the distance between them. The ghost stood over him, gazing at him in ambivalence like he did back then. Not caring at all for the living's comfort.

Only it was closer. It was all so much closer than Dash ever wanted it to be. Intimate, almost within a breath's distance. He smelled cold, like how the asphalt smells during the rain. A strange, sterile smell, a clean kind of scent, a medicinal antiseptic undertone.

On his back, and as helpless as he was the day he was born, the living demanded, "G—get off—! Off of me!"

It was gentle and… cold. Gradual, like sweet nothings offered by hypothermia.

The ghost boy had placed his knee on the mattress. What stuck out was that the springs didn't creak or shift; the Phantom was utterly weightless. His knee was right in the center of Dash's legs, with every intention of going further. Whatever that meant.

"This isn't going to hurt, I promise, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

If Dash could fight back, he would have. He would thrash, kick, and claw— if he knew it would work. He reached for his nightstand drawer, and his arm flailed uselessly—just a fingertip away—

How could you fight what was inevitable?

The Phantom moved faster than Dash could even parse. And that's when Dash could see him to begin with!

He was hushed, "I just want to show you something."

The living teen could only perceive the paper-thin voice before him and the rain. The rain hitting the window… that's all he could focus on. Even if he could scream, who would hear him?

As Dash braced his hand against the Phantom's shoulder—one last meager protest— the Phantom took hold of it.

He held onto Dash's hand, tangling their fingers together. The spaces between fit perfectly, as if all humans were made in halves as if we were all put onto this planet to chase that elusive feeling of closure.

Finality.

Completion.

And even death would not stop such a search.

"When I was a kid, my Mom tried to explain to me that because we are all made up of atoms… we… we don't really touch anything. I… I always found that kind of… depressing."

"It's something about how the particles break down because all matter is made up of some electrons that just naturally…" Each word that left the apparition's pale blue lips felt so soft yet heavy. Deceptively heavy… somewhere between a dream and a dying star.

"–Repel," He murmured.

Those green eyes flitted to their hands— Dash blinked, and the Phantom's hand disappeared. But it wasn't… Dash could feel that he was still holding it. It wasn't gone. Dash felt the texture of the Phantom's leather glove glide down his hand, palm, then his wrist…it was reminiscent of how wax beaded off of a candle.

And then something extraordinary happened.

That chill that clung to the Phantom… it changed somehow. Dash didn't just feel it on his skin anymore. It was in his muscle, through his sinew… it felt like his veins were freezing in place. Dash's right hand had this—this… pins and needles sensation like it had gone numb.

The Phantom had sunk into Dash's flesh.

Faintly, the living teen could see the shimmer of the apparition's fingers sticking through his palm, effectively penetrating it through layers of skin and bone.

It almost didn't seem real. Like an elaborate magic trick. Something in the light, an illusion in the angle.

It defied explanation, yet with the Phantom's great ease, it seemed as natural as breathing.

It was somewhere between the intersection of being horrified and mesmerized. Dash realized he could no longer flex his fingers or move his hand. The extra bones piercing through his hands were the likely culprits.

Taking control, ensnaring his fist around the living's arm, The apparition steered Dash's hand, swaying it. The creature was playing with him at this point. Snickering quietly, the ghost was too satisfied by their position.

Dash leaned his head back, not even wanting to grant the Phantom the encouragement of a darting glance.

Then, abruptly— that chill grew. It progressed up his arm and deepened.

Dash thought if he were to regain his strength and jerk away suddenly, he would shatter his hand in the resulting conflict.

That's when he felt it.

Bump.

…

Bump.

…

Bump.

Something was throbbing in his hand.

The texture made the living squirm. His stomach flipped; it nearly drove him to gag.

Dash thrashed his head forward.

His hand was submerged in the Phantom's chest. Clear as day, the young man could see it. Like the Phantom suddenly made his ribcage from glass, Dash could see his hand between the ribs.

If you had asked Dash Baxter what color he thought a ghost's heart was— He would have never in a million years said white.

The Phantom's heart looked like the moon, with minor flecks and imperfections on the surface tissue.

Those blue veins that lined the muscle like cracks in a ceramic piece. Like rivers, they flowed, tracing the curves, but it didn't make sense.

Ghosts don't bleed.

There wasn't a need for an organ to funnel and filter something that didn't need blood.

The organ still had an iridescent sheen, as if it were still wet. And it had heft within his hand. Its existence required no justification.

Dash held the Phantom's heart.

"Right now, we're closer than atoms."

"Isn't that amazing?"

It felt like every nerve and cell in his body was crying out for help.

The Phantom's heart pulsed through him, the rhythm sending shivers down Dash's spine. It burned his hands, yet it didn't hurt. It was like plunging his hands deep in a fresh snowfall. There was something horrifically serene about it all.

The world around him faded into a haze, leaving only that pulse, and the faint whispers of the apparition above him echoed in his head.

It was as if he had become a conduit, a vessel for the Phantom. Nothing more than a husk. He ceased to be a person anymore like he lost that right somehow.

The sensation was overwhelming...

Dash's eyes burned as he blinked away tears, his breath quickening. It left every hair on his body standing on end. He felt it everywhere.

He fully believed he would pass out—

In this moment, Dash felt a connection to something greater than himself, something beyond the realm of understanding. Each pulse filled him with a sense of both awe and terror.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the surge of energy subsided. The heart's pulsations waned, fading into a faint echo. The apparition's hand withdrew its grip on Dash's arm. Leaving Dash strangely hollow, aching for something he couldn't grasp.

As the world around him snapped back into focus, Dash found himself gasping for breath, his hand trembling. He glanced down at his palm, half-expecting to see remnants of the ghostly heart, but there was nothing. Only the faint imprint of a cold memory etched into his skin.

He was shaking uncontrollably…

He was unclean in a way that would only be solved by burning.

The room was dyed in cherry and blue lights.

There was a siren outside.

Blood spurted out of Dash's nose—he coughed.

"...Are you okay?"

Before the answer could manifest itself, the Phantom barred an arm across his chest in a bid of sudden insecurity, still standing over his victim, "Are we… okay?"

It was the sound of indistinct voices shouting in the street that made the quarterback realize…

Paulina called the cops.

#danny phantom #dp #fic #phic #teddy ghost #teddyghost #swaggerbishie #swagger bishie #schrodinger's adolescent #schrodinger's adolescent 2.0 #danny fenton #dash baxter #txt #link

[idioticsky]

So this new ROTTMNT OC... Tell me more about her!!!!

What do each of the boys + April and Splints think of the lil addition? Who does she seem to favor or lean toward more? Does she have or get any Ninpo? I'm assuming she's welcomed as a Hamato to do so? HER IN THE FUTURE?????

... And what would her and Tams interacting be like you think? 👀

*cue evil laughter* which one? I have like 2 now, both of them you know but I just have never introduced to this blog-

But I assume you're talking about Danny, so let me give a little picrew and backstory (I'll find the picrew link to the first one at some point but I wanna share this first, also link to the second one)

This little bitch right here is Danny, a trans fem witch, let me explain her-

I made Danny like a year ago then forgot about her until I started up a rp with Cherry and I've been using her for more things ever since.

Danielle (used to be called David) Gray was born 300 years ago in Italy. You might be questioning how she can live so long, we will get to it. She was then known as one of her parents two children, their sons. She was told and forced to be practically perfect because they had an image to uphold and would not let a child ruin it. Sooner or later, her older brother, Lucas Gray, ran away when she was 100, leaving her alone until she also found her escape around 50-100 years later. She had somehow found her way to the hidden cities and found a way to the one in New York.

There she changes her name, her face, everything about her that she wanted. Danny then made her way to the surface after staying in the hidden city for a long while, making friends with her roommates, Aqua, Nora and Selene. She then meets Tamsin, who she met before when she was first adjusting to New York, a friend. They reconnect and Tamsin would probably introduce her to April.

The way she meets the turtles is a bit different tho. You see, her and her roommates like to have tea days like every Friday and she wanted to get yet another tea set for the house. Need less to say, Leo ends up crashing throw the window of the little tea shop and landing in front of Danny. Instead of being horrified like any normal human, Danny is just really curious about them, she wants to know more about these turtle mutants. I think the boys would be confused by this, but after a while accept her as a new friend. She'd get along well with Splinter and April, with her being calm one on one, but still chaos with others. Danny would soon get closer with the boys and ends up hanging around Leo and Donnie the most, Donnie cuz chaos and Leo cuz she loves to annoy him. She ends up getting closer with Leo and even ends up dating him tho.

As for if she has Ninpo: yes, she has her magic so she never really uses it. She doesn't even really realize she has it until it just kinda shows up during a fight. Her Ninpo is kinda a transportation tool, it's really just like inhuman speed (because of this I think Leo gives her the nickname Zips lmao).

And for her in the future, this part goes two ways.

● Bad timeline: Danny would end up fighting on the front lines, but only for a little while. She has this thing where if she experiences too much stress or overwhelming emotions, she just has this ringing in her ears that can last years, because of the high amounts of stress in the resistance and everything, she becomes mostly deaf. She can still technically hear, but not well enough to understand people without them having to sign out what they mean to her. Her and Leo do get unofficially married during this time tho, even having two kids: Naomi and Michael (if people want I'll make a follow-up post about them and everything). She doesn't make it to the end of the apocalypse tho, she dies during a Krang attack on one of the resistance bases. The entire place blew up basically.

● Good timeline: Danny and Leo would get closer after stopping the Krang invasion. They would get married later on with a over-the-top wedding and everything. They still do have Naomi and Michael, but also another daughter named Suzu (once again, I'll make a follow-up about their kids if y'all wanna see). That timeline I haven't really though too much about tho.

Also her and Tams interactions are so funny in my head it's just like-

Danny: ya think I could fit 20 marshmallows in my mouth?

Tams: ... you're an idiot- and a coward, do 30

And about how she lives so long. Her magic keeps her alive. You see, magic in my head is basically like a life force for some, it can extend someone's life to an extent, but either how much magic Danny has in her body from connecting with her ancestors and members of her family, she's basically immortality from natural causes. Magic is kinda like blood tho, if you lose enough if it, you're gonna die, so too much spell casting or bleeding out since it it literally connected to your blood in a way, you're dead. Explaining how she can die in the bad timeline.

They're so silly I love them-

#rottmnt #rottmnt oc #bit of a rant but hehehe

[bucketofbugz]

🧑‍🍼🫵🩹💛🧪🧫 💉 🦹 😡 🐱 👹

HOLY-

Okay

mischievous giggling

(I hint at transphobia at the end of the first answer so skip that if it's a topic of discomfort)

🧑‍🍼"How does Splinter raise the boys" Not GOOD He's only raising them out of feeling guilty when he tried abandoning them in the sewers after he got mutated. He can't go anywhere anyway, what's the point? Dannie came into the family with OPINIONS and Leo has a lot of problems (limited mobility, no hands, inability to talk for two years, etc) so he pretty much gave up on them pretty early. After a certain point he let Leo and Dannie raise themselves and focused only on Raphael and Michael, telling them to prioritize themselves over the rest of the team if that tells you anything. He does not respect Raphael changing his name and pronouns and gets really mad every time he remembers Raphael doesn't braid his mask tails anymore.

🫵 "Who do you project onto the most" Whatt?? Why would you assume that I project onto any of them? I would NEVER- Raphael. It's Raphael. If I gotta have problems then so does he >:( Gender/sexuality-wise this does not apply the closest it is is us both being transmasc in some way.

🩹 "Who is the medic" THAT happens to be Dannie! It's part of the reason why her chemical scars are so bad, nobody else really knew how to deal with them. This becomes a problem after Dannie leaves and everyone else gets freaked out at injuries within the team.

💛 "Is there a Jennika in your au" Rahhhh unfortunately no :[ I might make someone in the Foot Clan be Jenn, but given how many turtles I've already made I feel like making her a turtle/main part of the story would kinda crowd things dsfghj

🧪 "Where does the mutagen come from" In short, the Kraang. In long, the Kraang opened a portal to earth and tried to step through it. Unfortunately with how Earth is made up, they kinda just started to disintegrate upon entering (Kraang can age and die, but in Dimension X dying is physically impossible. You stay animated no matter what, you really don't have a choice in the matter). They rapidly aged and started decaying. The base of mutagen comes from a reaction in their skeletons when they start rotting! The O'Neil company and the Foot Clan decided to utilize this.

🧫 "Were your turtles mutated intentionally or on accident" Intentionally, though not because people wanted turtle mutants. They just wanted to test how the mutagen worked at mimicking human muscle, organs, and brain activity! Seeing how well a turtle shell could form into a human spine was one of the main reasons they were used. Mutagen was meant to be able to mimic life in the possibility of reanimating corpses.

💉 "Do any characters get mutated during the main story" Yup! Mona Lisa, Mondo Gecko, Alopex, TigerClaw, a bunch of background mutants, April, and Shredder all get mutated!! Pretty much the entire local area around the Turtles ends up getting mutated because Stockman does a Thing. That's not including Dannie using her hand as a mutagen test and giving herself three fingers and when Leo gets re-mutated!

🦹 "Who is the main villain" Karai is the main villain of GPR, followed closely behind by the Kraang which are the most dangerous villains.

😡 "What is your villain's motivation" To bring her war criminal dad (Shredder) back from the dead via mutagen! They didn't have any left and were originally stealing supplies to head back to Dimension X, BUT Dannie just happened to come at the perfect time! She could do the dirty work for them in her quest for validation <3

🐱 "Do any of your characters have pets" Dannie HAD a pet tarantula and currently has an ant colony and the feeder bugs she raises Michael has a cat (Klunk my beloved) Casey has a pet snake!! April had a pet turtle as a kid but he disappeared under mysterious circumstances *stares Dannie directly in the eye*

👹 "Are there Yokai/supernaturals in this universe" Usagi. He's the only one. He's not from this universe anyway he's here on accident everything is weird with that guy. (He's not a Yokai, but he's not a mutant either. I'll have to explain him further in depth later but sdkfjsf)

#tmnt #tmnt au #tmnt iteration #green painted ruins au #asks #HEIUEHWI #Thank you for letting me ramble I owe you my life #/j #ask game

[deathoftheauthors]

Big detractors are

1. The cats. Squid is a little old but he & Francis don't deserve to have their lives upended. What if they had to be separated? Put in some shitty animal shelter?

2. My parents would feel bad.

Honorable mentions:

Muzzy is old.

I don't know what Danny would do. He's resilient. Even when he's raving insane (or maybe especially?), he's defending & protecting a part of himself. He's moving forward & feeling more stable. He's done shit & made it work. He has friends that love him very much. I think he could go on to do pretty cool things if he wasn't dragging me around like a dead horse. Obviously he would find someone or two to love deeply. He would be relieved of so many constantly recurring splinters of shittiness & suffering. How is it fair to have someone around who remembers you as a 14-year-old? Truly the least graceful age to be.

My sibling would feel bad. I love them. They piss me off so much. Perhaps this is the nature of siblings. We were very close for a little while. I was always so hard on them because I saw the hard times they fell on & blamed them for their situation. Now I feel like a fuckup. Now I regret being so critical. That's not to say they aren't responsible for parts of their situation. Just that everyone deserves a little kindness. Even when people suffer in direct response to their choices & outcomes. Especially then.*

*Obviously any ounce of grace I extend to others does not apply to myself.

I think Gavy would be understanding. Is it weird I'm so attached to my friendships with him & Pogo?

I feel like others have love for me, but we don't really talk & never have with much regularity. I inflated my importance in their lives. It happens. I've never been good at keeping good habits, like staying in touch with friends. I've never been good at finishing things. I usually give up pretty quickly.

#the author

[turtlethon]

Turtlethon Extra Slices: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990) (Part 3 of 3)

This is the third and final part of a special Turtlethon retrospective exploring the 1990 live-action Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie. Parts one and two covered the development of the movie and the first two acts: in this segment we look at the final act, the film’s impact and its legacy.

Arriving in the pick-up truck, the Turtles return to their sewer home alongside April and a reluctant Casey. Once there, they quickly pick up on a spy being in their midst. Danny is hiding nearby, and reveals that he has run away from home. He winds up staying overnight with the team, while a claustrophobic Casey returns to the truck to monitor things above ground. Impressed by the art of the Turtles that April created while on the farm, Danny is gifted an illustration of Leonardo that he folds away in his pocket.

I maintain that what happens next is the corniest thing in the entire movie: Danny is seen fidgeting as he sleeps, apparently having a nightmare where he hears the duelling voices of both Shredder and Splinter. It’s too on-the-nose, and perhaps would have worked better without allowing us to hear the voices too, not everything has to be spelled out. He slips by the now-sleeping Turtles and April to escape to the surface, returning to the Foot’s hideout. Casey spots this from the truck and decides to track him.

Danny again meets up with Splinter, who via another flashback recounts an earlier portion of his backstory. Here it’s explained how he learned his moves from his owner Hamato Yoshi, “one of Japan’s finest shadow warriors”, who was caught in a heated rivalry with Oroku Saki over their mutual love of a woman named Thang Shin. It was Thang who, out of concern for Yoshi, encouraged him to flee to America with Splinter as a means of putting the rivalry with Saki behind them. Saki would go on to murder Thang; upon returning from work Yoshi discovered this and was also attacked by his old rival. Splinter escaped from his now-broken cage and ravaged Saki’s face; in retaliation, Yoshi’s rival used his katana blade to slice the rat’s ear. Splinter’s actions weren’t enough to save his master, whose feud with Saki had reached its gruesome conclusion. When Danny asks what happened to Saki, Splinter can’t say, but points out that his symbol appears on the headband now worn by the teen.

As Casey adopts a Foot ninja uniform to further infiltrate the criminal operation, Danny is confronted by Shredder. He discovers the illustration of Leo provided to the boy earlier by April and takes this as confirmation that the Turtles have returned. Insistent on handling things himself this time, he orders his men into action, commanding also that Splinter be killed. Casey attempts to confront Danny, but learns of Shredder’s plans, and the two head off to intervene.

A battalion of Foot Soldiers charge into the sewers but this time the Turtles are ready for them, easily seeing off a first wave and prepared to take on the one that emerges soon after. Meanwhile Casey and Danny work to free Splinter, only to be confronted by Tatsu and a group of the youths still present in the compound.

In the sewers the Turtles continue to see off the Foot Soldiers, with April assisting from the sidelines. Back in the gang's hideout Casey receives a severe beatdown from Tatsu, but has the good fortune to be hurled into a shipment of golf clubs. Now in his element, he uses one of the clubs to fling Shredder’s underling across the room. The assembled hoodlums intervene on behalf of their master, but Splinter and Casey point out to them that neither Tatsu nor Shredder care for any of them, the masked villain’s claims that the Foot are one big family simply a ruse created to have them do his dirty work. Ultimately Casey and Danny carry Splinter out of the building, the stunned teens offering no resistance.

The Turtles fight off the waves of Foot ninjas and move up to the surface, climbing further still as they defeat more of the flunkies while working their way towards a nearby rooftop. With the ninja army now exhausted, the green teens stand triumphant but soon find themselves face-to-face with the final boss: The Shredder. Our heroes are incredulous upon learning his name and quip about his moniker sounding like “a kitchen utensil”, but their attempts to take him on individually go nowhere: Raphael goes first and is quickly grounded; Leo follows and finds himself in a similar position. Mikey and Donnie each confront the villain in battles that occur off-screen but fare no better. As the team regroup, Casey, Splinter and Danny arrive on the ground below, accompanied by members of the Foot who have now been convinced to switch sides.

Leonardo leads the Turtles into a further attack on Shredder, convinced that by defeating the villain they can make him reveal the whereabouts of Splinter; meanwhile Casey spots a group of Foot Soldiers who have remained loyal to their master climbing up the side of the building to offer Shredder assistance. He uses a nearby garbage truck to knock them back down and sees off the remaining ninjas on the ground.

Shredder and the Turtles battle further, briefly reaching an impasse until the villain goads Leonardo by insisting that Splinter is already dead. A furious Leo charges at him but winds up beneath Shredder’s foot, a spear pointed directly at his face; the other Turtles are warned that if they don’t relinquish their weapons, their leader will be the next to go. Reluctantly, the Turtles toss their gear over the side of the building, Michaelangelo’s nunchucks ending up wrapped around a nearby ladder that provides access to the roof.  Shredder laughs at the naivete of his foes, informing them that as a group of three with their weapons they could have still beat him, but now all of them will follow Leonardo in perishing at his hand.

Just as all seems lost, Splinter emerges, declaring that he knows Shredder is actually Oroku Saki and explaining he was the rat that leapt out of the cage to defend the honour of Hamato Yoshi years earlier. Shredder removes his mask to reveal the scarring caused by Splinter during the incident; this is another way in which the cartoon and movie continuities differ, as on TV Shredder’s entire getup seems to be at worst only to serve his own ego, or at best (as shown in the season seven episode “The Legend of Koji”) an adoption of the same ninja attire worn by his ancestor, Oroku Sancho. In either event, cartoon Shreds has no scar, but here there’s some justification for why he dons the mask.

Furious at the sudden return of this ghost from his past, Shredder hurls himself at Splinter, but his spear is tangled in the nunchucks, now held by his rodent enemy and the only thing preventing him from plummeting off the side of the building; as with the “fellow chucker” sequence from earlier in the film, this portion of the movie was drastically edited for the UK version, ruining this most pivotal moment. Splinter tells Shredder that “death comes for us all”, and continues to give a speech that seems to be intended to suggest he’s not going to take the easy way out and allow his master’s old foe to fall to his demise; Shredder is having none of this, and attempts to hurl a dagger remaining in his belt at the rat. In reaching to catch the dagger with one hand, Splinter is forced to relinquish his grip on the tangled weapons, and so Shredder drops into the garbage truck parked below.

If there was any possibility that Shredder survived the fall, then Casey’s actions next suggest he has no qualms about doing to the villain what he did to both Yoshi and Thang Shin (and presumably would have done to Splinter and the Turtles, given the chance); he activates the crushing mechanism of the garbage truck. Shredder’s helmet is seen getting mangled in the process, just to rub it in. If anyone watching has an issue with one of the movie’s protagonists going out of their way to kill its main bad guy then take solace, I suppose, in the fact that within a year a second Turtles movie will arrive and somehow... he gets better.

Then again, remember that the very first Mirage Turtles story – from which this film, and everything else TMNT-related draws upon – had the Turtles straight up kill Shredder then and there. Viewed from that perspective, this is, in its own way, an apt ending.

The Turtles are reunited with Splinter. Danny gives April back the money he stole from her wallet days earlier and begins the act of rebuilding his relationship with his own father, now insisting that he wants to go by “Dan” instead. Charles doesn’t seem to buy him as a Dan, and frankly neither do I. Having patched things up with his son, the station boss goes on to try and do the same with April, begging her to come back. April insists on getting a deal at least as good as May Williams has at Channel 5, and I love the implication that every odd-numbered station in town has their own rival reporter named after a month of the year. The “I See What You Did There” gags continue as Chief Sterns arrives and begins grilling one of the hoods for information: he’s informed that the criminal hideout Shredder operated out of is “on the east warehouse over at Lairdman Islands”. 

April and Casey get their end of the movie kiss in as Spunkadelic’s “9.95” plays us out; on the roof, the Turtles celebrate this as well as their own victory, considering the right word to describe how good they were. Splinter finally intervenes with his own suggestion: “I have always liked... cowabunga.”

Okay, but... that doesn’t even work in the context of what they were going for. Ehh, perhaps it doesn’t matter that much: the Turtles share a triumphant “cowabunga” of their own and everyone goes home happy.

AFTERMATH

In terms of its performance, TMNT exceeded all expectations, putting to bed any concerns that its darker approach would alienate younger filmgoers. A lot of this could be attributed to timing: much like 1986’s Transformers: The Movie and 1999’s Pokemon: The First Movie, the 1990 Turtles film debuted within the first few years into the life cycle of the property (from the perspective of the kids who made up the larger chunk of those buying tickets, anyway); all three films rolled out around the time that their respective franchises peaked in popularity, resulting in a perceived decline in interest afterwards as kids simply became burned out.

What differentiates the 1990 Turtles movie from the other two feature films mentioned is that, inarguably, TMNT did everything right. Any squabbles that occurred in post-production didn’t lead to the finished product being diminished in a way that would be obvious to the audience: it achieved exactly what Mark Freedman intended it to in raising the profile and legitimacy of the Turtles beyond what the cartoon was capable of. Remarkably, the film managed to find the sweet spot between the MWS and Mirage Turtles, presenting a project that pleased fans of both. Elements from the cartoon that were beneficial to the story, such as April’s role as a reporter and the colour-coded bandanas worn by the Turtles were retained, and throughout the Turtles are still allowed to goof around, while also displaying emotional maturity largely absent from their Fred Wolf counterparts.

And yet we still must acknowledge that for those of us introduced to Turtles through the cartoon, key elements of it that were omitted raised questions at the time. The absences of Krang, Rocksteady, Bebop and the Technodrome were glaring; it was easy to reason, however, that there just wasn’t time or space to work them into the first movie, and that they were being held over for the inevitable sequel. The fact that the Channel 6 regulars, who could easily have been incorporated even if only in cameos, are absent here speaks to Eastman and Laird’s desire to explicitly not use elements created by Fred Wolf’s camp if they could help it. None of this would prevent a growing schism between MWS and Mirage in the years that followed over who really deserved credit for Turtles becoming as successful as it was; the resulting bad blood would directly affect the creative direction of the second TMNT movie the following year. The divide between the television and movie aspects of the franchise was touched upon by Rob Paulsen in his autobiography, Voice Lessons, where he revealed that the actors who voiced the cartoon Turtles had taken it as a given that they would do so for their respective characters in the movie too; the revelation that a different group of actors would fill the roles was both a shock and disappointment to them.

As critical a part of the TMNT mythos as the first live-action movie was to American kids, in the UK its significance was greater still, serving as the effective grand finale of our localised version of Turtlemania. The fact that the Turtles already had a movie on the way when the franchise was introduced to British children in the early months of 1990 spoke to the fact that they were a big deal: the hype continued to build throughout the year as the release was held off, resulting in an agonising wait. (From personal experience, I can attest that this resulted in the inevitable “My dad’s uncle works at Nintendo” style tall tales from kids who insisted that they had seen the movie while on holiday in the US.) Partners in Kryme’s “Turtle Power” becoming a number one single in the summer only raised the profile of the movie further, but this brought with it an odd branding quandary: here was a song that explicitly referred to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and the BBC – who had gone out of their way to commit to the butchered Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles branding they had insisted upon for the cartoon – were now unable to avoid airing the song and its music video on their radio stations and TV shows. This heralded the creation of what was effectively a second Ninja Turtles brand, running in parallel to the Hero Turtles one and intended to market movie-related products to older consumers.

There is some evidence to suggest that releasing the movie in the UK under the Ninja Turtles banner wasn’t always the plan. A version of the film retitled “Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles” would make it to selected Asian markets with altered dialogue, removing references to ninjas and downplaying the connections of the characters to Japan. This was never going to stand up to scrutiny, as such themes are far more integral to the movie than they were to the cartoon. Ultimately, the UK received the ninja version, but with a curious vestigial tail remaining: the original theatrical run and VHS release had an alternate version of “Turtle Power” running over the closing credits, the lyrics instead referring to the Hero Turtles. (As previously stated, this first run UK print was also edited to remove sequences where Michaelangelo’s nunchucks were used prominently; the German version somehow fared even worse, adding wacky sound effects throughout to soften its dramatic impact and bring the tone in line with that of the cartoon.)

Finally, with December looming, the movie landed in UK cinemas: the cover of the 24 November 1990 edition of the all-purpose youth culture magazine Look-In featured the headline “THE TURTLES MOVIE ARRIVES AT LAST!”, a nod to the by now infuriating wait we had been through. Big summer movies thought to have broad kid appeal were commonly delayed until the festive period during this era, with the thinking being that children would have more free time to see movies at Christmas, when school wasn’t in session, while also distancing the films from competing with summer blockbusters that had broader appeal; both Ghostbusters films and Transformers: The Movie also received this treatment. Arguably this approach worked against Turtles in that the brand had suffered from the BBC placing the cartoon in rerun purgatory since the summer, and the scarcity of TMHT action figures on store shelves was beginning to generate resentment. In that context, the long-delayed arrival of the movie could be viewed as a final, hurried dash across the finish line, the end point of a single calendar year in which the Turtles were overexposed to such a degree that by January, the public was ready to move on.

In the clip above from the BBC’s own Film 90, professional grouch Barry Norman can barely contain his contempt for the film and seems to begrudge the nation’s children getting the opportunity to see a movie they had waited all year for. Also included is a behind the scenes look at the Creature Shop’s work on the then-forthcoming second Turtles film, and a glimpse at the storyboards used in the first outing.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles marks the end of an era: in the years that followed its release the idea of such a high concept comic book movie being handled entirely with practical effects would become increasingly quaint, computer-generated imagery soon emerging as the established way of doing things. Two further TMNT movies arrived in 1991 and 1993, which will get their own Turtlethon retrospectives later this summer. A further CGI Turtles movie would follow in 2007, followed by a pair of uh... contentious films in the 2010s from Michael Bay’s production company Platinum Dunes. Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Movie debuted on Netflix in 2022, with the Turtles returning to the cinema in animated form later this summer with the new movie Mutant Mayhem.

NEXT TIME: The animated Turtles undergo an extreme makeover in an attempt to survive the mid-90s, as season eight gets off to an explosive start in “Get Shredder!”

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #TMNT 1990 #Steve Barron #1990 #1990s films #Ninja Turtles #Turtlethon #Film #90s films #1990s movies

[phantomrose96]

Old Wounds

Danny’s secret is not a secret anymore.

The lines between Fenton and Phantom have long since blurred. And it’s a common occurrence for news reporters to trip over their tongue when flagging him down, mid-transformation, for a post-fight interview. “Phanton.” “Fentom.” So often that, to most now, he is just Danny.

When Danny wants upgrades to his gear, he comes to his mother. When Danny learns a quirky new element of Ghost Zone lore, he brings it to his father. When the Amity Park Ghost Alarm is raised, he’s first on the scene with the Fenton RV right on his non-corporeal heels.

When he’s injured, Danny comes only to his friends and sister.

Jazz notices the pattern. How it is only her, or only Sam, or only Tucker who receives the late-night knock at the window glass, with her brother on the other side, corny sheepish smile on display and arm or leg or shoulder held up in explanation.

Jazz notices how hushed Danny remains, day or night, when he comes to her for first aid. How he speaks in that same hesitant muted tone as he did when all of this was still a secret. How he quiets himself in the way injured prey animals do.

Jazz doesn’t feel it’s her place to ask. Not yet, at least. Eventually. But not yet.

The window is open. Honeysuckle-sweet gusts of late-spring air swirl through Jazz’s room and tease away the sheen of sweat that has collected on her brow. She cannot wipe it away herself, not with both hands meticulously occupied in tweezering out the singed fabric from her brother’s arm.

Danny winces, and hisses, and Jazz frees another thread from its embedded hold in Danny’s burn wound.

“It’s kind of like… summer vacation when we were kids and we’d get splinters visiting Aunt Alicia’s lake house,” Jazz remarks with another careful tug. “…If we can call it a lake house.”

“Lake shed,” Danny replies, grinning through the sweat shining on his pale face. “And I think every part of that dock was an OSHA violation.” He laughs through another wince.

“Dad was the king of tweezers. I think he got out every splinter that dock ever gave me.” Jazz pauses. “I wonder why that was. Think it’s the needlepoint?”

“It’s definitely the needlepoint,” Danny agrees.

Jazz hesitates on the question lingering behind her tongue. Just a little too long. Just a little too obviously.

“What?” Danny asks.

Jazz’s hand falters. She puts the tweezers down. “Danny, I will always always be happy to help you like this. Same goes for Sam, same goes for Tucker, I know. I’m positive. But I wonder why… not Mom or Dad?” Jazz eyes the tweezers, glinting in the moonlight. “I’m just… I’m thinking how much cleaner this might be if you got Dad to do it. And Mom’s got like, wilderness survival level first aid expertise. I can’t help thinking I’m hurting you more by it being… me, you know?”

Danny looks at her, and looks past her a moment. His grin slips a fraction into discomfort as his eyes leave hers. “Maybe I just like the excuse to invade your room.”

“Danny…” Jazz waits until he looks at her again. “Are you afraid they’ll make you stop if they realize you’re getting injured?”

Danny lets out a puff of air from behind his lips. “No, never. I mean, maybe if I got really really injured they’d say something. But just getting a little roughed up? I think it’s about on par with a kid coming home from football practice with a few scrapes, at least, in their eyes. They get more banged up than me these days. I’m not worried.”

Jazz reaches for the bottle of disinfectant. She unscrews the cap to a biting alcohol smell. “…So will you tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t ever go to them with injuries? Ever?”

Cotton swab, pure silver under the moonlight. Jazz douses it gently, a muted glug-glug from the bottle.

“…I’m that obvious about it, huh?”

“You’re obvious about most things. This’ll be cold.” Jazz applies the swab to the open wound, and Danny hisses in turn.

“Yeah. Cold. And stingy. Cold and stingy.” After a few seconds, the tension eases out of Danny’s body. He droops a little, shoulders slumped, and Jazz pulls the cotton swab away.

“Are you ashamed of your injuries?”

“No.”

“Are you worried Mom and Dad’ll make them worse?”

“Nah. You said it yourself, those two are weird, unconventional medical experts.”

“Then why not?”

A beat of silence follows. A moment of trepidation. Awash in moonlight, Danny looks up at her, and the glow in his green eyes has a life of its own. “I don’t want them to see the injuries that have already healed.”

“Why would that be a problem?” Jazz looks again. Danny’s suit covers most everything, save now for the one sleeve that’s been rolled back. She sees what she already knew was there – what isn’t obvious to the eye not searching – threads of white ridges, puckers of skin, a faded rashy texture of what had once been an ectoblast burn. Old injuries. Long healed. Faded and fading further. “Those are all healed now. Just some scars, right…?”

Danny hesitates.

“I don’t want them to figure out how many of those scars they caused.”

A gust of wind steals the antiseptic smell from the room. Jazz sits with the silence. She thinks, and she processes.

“Oh…”

Danny straightens. “They kind of… live in this world where hunting ghosts is all fun and games, you know? Like it’s a sport, like they can just get into go-mode and jump into the fun. I don’t think they’ve figured out yet that they can—could—did …cause damage.”

Danny adjusts himself on Jazz’s bed, one leg pulled up, body angled to face her directly. He doesn’t let his eye contact wander now. “They both apologized. Definitely. Like that definitely happened, back at the start of this. But it was kind of like ‘We must’ve given you so much trouble Danny! How’d you come home every day and not bite our heads off over that?’ Like. Again. Like it’s a game. Like they’d been knocking my chess pieces over for a year and not—”

Danny falters. He raises his uninjured arm and tucks the hair away from his face. “And I don’t… want it to click for them. What I have right now with Mom and Dad is so nice… It’s so much better than I even imagined. I want it to stay like this. Forever, if possible.”

“Danny…”

“And even that actually—maybe I’m actually wrong about that. Completely wrong. About their reaction, I mean. It’s possible maybe they’d see everything and just go,” Danny deepens his voice, “‘Wow! We did a number on you, huh? Man Danny I don’t know how you didn’t just smack us over the breakfast table every morning.’ you know? Like that. Like this was all just always a game. And they—and I-- …I like how relaxed ghost hunting is with them. I actually like that it feels like a game. I don’t ever want to go back to feeling how scared and afraid and unsafe and hurt I was that first year. ...But I’m afraid of how it would feel to know that maybe they’d see that, look at it all, everything they did and the scars like the actual proof and it—if it wouldn't ever be real to them. If they'd never get that it was like that. If they still wouldn’t realize—you know? That they—if they—I don’t uh…” Danny drops his eyes, and he shrinks in on himself. “I don’t know how to explain it…”

“No I—Danny I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Danny, I—”

“Either answer. Any answer. I don’t want to know… I don’t actually want to know.” Danny angles himself away again, feet dropped over the side of Jazz’s bed, staring down at the hands in his lap. “If it would horrify them, then I’d be ruining all the good things I have with them right now. And if it wouldn’t horrify them—” Danny falls quiet. The breeze has stilled. The room is colder now. “…then I think I just don’t ever want to know.”

Jazz nods, and nods harder.

“I get it. I get it. That’s a good enough answer for me, Danny, I promise. I’m your first aid person, okay? I won’t ask again. Thanks for… thanks for telling me, Danny.”

"Can always trust you to bring up the difficult conversations huh? Of course that's always been your thing. Talking to you is--well I'd say it's like pulling teeth, but maybe it's more like pulling ecto-demolished hazmat suit fabric out of a burn wound."

Danny offers a sheepish grin - it's an olive branch, a request to lighten the mood. Jazz meets it with her own small grin that does not touch her eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I'm your older sister. It's my job to be a pain. Now sit still, I need to be more of a pain if we're gonna de-hazmat suit your injury."

She picks the tweezers back up. The silence rings with an echo in her head now. Jazz focuses her attention back on her task, and she finds something she was wrong about before:

There is nothing faded about the scars that web up and down her little brother’s arm. They are stark streaks of lightning, glowing silver under the moonlight. And Jazz wonders how many others—how many that flaked away and melded back with healthy skin—how many of those might still be living, lingering, a permanent part of her little brother, buried well beneath the surface…

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #long post #wanted to write A Thing so here is A Thing!

[catmiint]

Voices That They Left Ch 1 of ???

to celebrate DC day for Danuary, I decided to post the first chapter of my batfam xover! @amorpho

as per usual, reblogs are appreciated since i never show up in the tags and all further chapters will be only posted on ao3 unless requested here!

Summary: When a new ghostly enemy cost Danny Fenton the lives of his friends and family, he wasn't expecting to get adopted by billionaire Bruce Wayne and move to Gotham. All he needs to do is survive two years until he can go back to live in Amity Park. Something dark is growing in him though, and it's stoking the bitterness and anger that burns inside.

Gen, 4.3k, [read on ao3]

Part I. Fenton

Danny was tired of white.

White sheets. White walls. White bandages.

There wasn’t a speck of color in his hospital room to draw his eye. Nothing of note to spark an interest. It was quiet, too, except for the faintest dripdripdrip he could hear with his enhanced hearing coming from the IV and the gentle, slow (slower than normal) beeping of the heart monitor. The lack of stimulation was maddening in how it allowed for his mind to wander. He didn’t like the places his mind went. Places of blood and ash, regret and guilt.

He had to get away.

Slowly, he pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan of pain. His ribs were still bruised. Better than their previous state of being pulverized into pieces, and he may have a high pain tolerance, but that didn’t mean he liked pain. Blowing out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, he swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed and found his footing. The IV pole, wobbling, was used to steady him as he stood.

Ah, right, the IV. His gaze flicked to where it was attached to the crook of his elbow. He knew it was a bad movie trope to just rip it out, but he couldn’t very well leave with it still inserted. Mindful to keep pressure on the skin around it, he pulled out the IV with a hiss. Red flecked with green welled up from the wound, and he let the IV fall to the floor.

There didn’t seem to be any cameras in the room, so, with a slow, wobbling gait, he made his way to the window. He transformed into Phantom, but stumbled forward as the rings washed over him and caught himself on the windowsill. It felt like his head was spinning in dizzying circles. Inside him, he could feel a hollowness in his core. He felt… empty. That was disconcerting. Being Phantom usually caused his core to stretch with glee, like a cat unfurling after a long nap in the sun.

Danny closed his eyes for a moment against the sensation. He knew what was likely causing the emptiness–a grief not yet settled in. His grip on the windowsill tightened, knuckles turning white.

He shoved the memories of the faces of his family and friends down. Deep down where they wouldn’t come up like bile in his throat every time he exhaled.

Gritting his teeth, he tapped into that determination to get out of this damned hospital. It didn’t even matter if the nurses noticed he was missing.

(There wasn’t anyone left to care).

A growl of frustration bubbled in his throat. The windowsill was cracking in his grip, wood splintering under the pressure. The noise gave him pause, and he glanced briefly at the damage he had done. He sighed. This sort of fixation was why he needed to get out of the hospital.

He pushed off the ground and flew through the window, not bothering to turn invisible or watch the streets of Amity Park pass by below him. Danny didn’t even know where he was going, he just had to go somewhere. The route he took was subconscious, and one he had taken many times before. Surprise didn’t even register when he looked up and found himself floating in front of Fenton Works. He landed on the front step and tested the door handle, expecting to find it locked.

The door handle turned. He raised a brow at that.

Now it was curiosity that settled in his chest, rather than the ugly tangle of feelings he wanted nothing to do with. He pushed the door open to find his living room empty and untouched except for one thing of note–the door to the lab was open. Cautious, he floated inside, feet barely an inch above the ground, in case there was any to hear his footsteps.

Danny froze at the sound of voices coming from the lab.

“Are you sure this was Enchantress’ doing?”

“Mm, sure as I can be.”

“And where is June Moore in all of this?”

“Eh.”

He moved closer and glanced down the stairs, seeing nothing. They must be further in the lab. Closer to the portal, he noted. Danny continued to listen.

“Forthcoming as always.”

“Can’t tell you something I don’t know.”

He turned invisible and flew halfway down the stairs. In the lab, in front of the closed ghost portal, were two men.The first was a blond man with the look of a stereotypical detective. He was even smoking. Danny’s parents would have hated someone smoking in the lab. But, what caught his eye was the other–Batman. Wide-eyed, he watched Batman turn from the portal to face the detective. Most of his face was obscured, but it was easy to see he was scowling.

“What can you tell me?” Batman asked, voice a low growl in his chest.

The detective shrugged, “This place reeks of death.”

“This is where the girl made her last stand against Enchantress.” Batman paused before adding, “To protect her brother, we heard.”

Enchantress. There was that name again. Danny’s heart beat faster. Was that the name of the ghost–the thing–that took his family and so many others from him?

“How two kids ended up here when the rest of their peers were in that collapsed school building is beyond me.”

He bit his lip hearing that. If either of the men thought too deeply about that, would they investigate him? What excuse could he give for how he and Jazz got out of the collapse the ghost–Enchantress–caused?

“Jasmine Fenton must have been exceptional to be able to take down Enchantress.” There was an edge in Batman’s voice that suggested that he meant beyond the standard definition of exceptional. That gave Danny pause. If they thought Jazz was the ‘exceptional’ one, maybe he could get out of a Batman encounter without his secret being found and tossed to the Guys in White.

“Shame it was to protect a dead kid, though.”

Batman made a noise of disagreement. “Daniel Fenton isn’t dead.” The detective raised an eyebrow at that and took a long drag of his cigarette. Batman continued, “He’s recovering in Amity General as we speak. Miraculous survival, they say.”

“Miraculous indeed. Fenton girl really must have been something special to keep him from Enchantress’ claws.” The detective sounded almost impressed.

“That’s what I’m looking into, yes.”

“What of the other one?” He asked, to which Batman tipped his head to the side briefly to question his meaning. The detective sighed. “What’ll happen to the Fenton boy? Is your ‘friend’ going to take an interest?”

Before the hero could answer, there was a faint beep and grainy sounds of muffled talking, presumably over some sort of communicator. Danny’s hearing was good, but not good enough to hear what was being said. Batman moved away from the detective as he said, “Very well, I’ll be there as soon as I’m able.”

The detective huffed and dropped his cigarette, grinding it under the heel of his boot. Batman gave a pointed look, to which the other man gave an annoyed shrug. “Ditching me, then?”

Danny, realizing the two men would be leaving the lab, retreated back up the stairs and out the front door. He didn’t want to be caught–leave it to Batman to have something that could detect him even while invisible. His heart was beating far too quickly for his ghost form, anxiety heavy in his gut. Overhearing the conversation had certainly shifted the churning of his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if it was better than before he left the hospital room.

Had he been in a better frame of mind, perhaps Danny would have given pause to the black curling in the corners of his vision as he flew back to the hospital.

- - - -

The next day following Danny’s escapade, he was deemed healthy enough to be discharged. That would have been great had it not meant that the vultures better known as social services would be picking at the remains of his life. He was only half listening to the harpy talking to him now. She was prattling on about wills and laws.

“You do understand, right, Daniel?” She asked after a long pause.

He made a noncommittal noise.

The social worker he had forgotten the name of did not seem pleased.

“We’re discussing serious matters of your future, Daniel,” she scolded in what Danny bet she thought was a gentle, maternal tone but sounded more like thinly veiled condescension.

He spared her a side glance and shrugged, sardonically saying, “Something, something, my parent’s will.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes, your parents’ will. Did you listen to a word I said?”

“You certainly said words in an order.”

“Daniel,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “I was saying that your parents’ will designated your maternal Aunt Alicia as your guardian, but that she was deemed unfit.”

“I didn’t want to live in Spittoon anyways,” he grumbled under his breath. Danny didn’t have anything against his aunt, but he didn’t know her well enough to be too heartbroken at the news.

“Usually that means you’d become a ward of the state.”

He rolled his eyes. “You can just say foster care, ya know.”

“However,” the social worker with a sharp look, “Vladimir Masters has offered to take you in. From what I understand–”

“Pass,” Danny cut in.

“From what I understand,” she repeated, “Mister Masters was a close friend of your parents. He has resigned as mayor of Amity Park in wake of the Casper High Tragedy and will be moving back to his residence outside of Green Bay, Wisconsin.”

“I said pass. As in ‘nope, no way, not gonna happen’.” The last thing he wanted was to be stuck with Vlad for two years.

“Daniel, your only other option is to remain in foster care until you turn 18.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said, shrugging. “C’mon, throw me in the system already.”

The social worker was looking at him like he had grown another head for turning down Vlad’s offer. He supposed that it was pretty nuts from the outside to so vehemently deny life as a billionaire’s charge. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the shrill ringing of her phone. Looking at the caller ID, she muttered, “Let me get this.” The social worker stepped out of his hospital room, and Danny zoned back out, not bothering to listen in on her conversation.

He had already resigned himself to two years of being bounced around the foster care system. The moment he turned 18, he was going to find his way back to Amity Park. Hopefully things wouldn’t go to hell too much without him around to deal with ghosts popping through the natural portals that plagued the city. Phantom belonged in Amity Park, that much Danny was certain of. Anywhere he ended up, he’d have to be careful to keep Phantom hidden. If anyone made the connection between Fenton and Phantom, there wouldn’t be anyone to go looking for him when the Guys in White caught wind of it.

The door of the hospital room slid open, and his social worker stepped back in. Her lips were pulled into a tight line as if trying but failing to school her expression into something neutral. “There is,” she paused to take a deep breath, “another option apparently.”

Danny said nothing and frowned. She waited a few moments to see if he’d respond. He didn’t.

Continuing, the social worker said, “Another party has expressed interest in adopting you.”

That was suspicious. Wracking his brain, he wondered who it could be. No way would the Mansons do that–they hated him. The Foleys? Maybe for Tucker’s memory, but he wasn’t particularly close to his parents. He didn’t think he made that big of an impact on their lives. Valerie and her dad only lived in a two bedroom apartment, so it couldn’t be them. No one else in Amity Park had ever taken an interest in his life. He furrowed his brow and asked, “Who?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

Danny blinked.

What?

He glanced at his social worker’s face to check for any hint of a lie, but there was nothing except that almost neutral expression.

Then, it clicked.

The conversation he had overheard–the detective had asked Batman about his ‘friend’. It made sense that Batman would be associates with Bruce Wayne, when he thought about it. Afterall, the superhero had to get funding for all his tech and toys somewhere. If Batman was looking into this Enchantress ghost that Jazz defeated, maybe he pitied Danny enough to ask Bruce Wayne to take him on as another charity case. It added up, but he felt like he was missing something.

Still… he’d be lying if Danny said he wasn’t fond of Batman. The hero wasn’t his idol or anything dramatic like that–of course not! But, when he got his powers, he had sort of asked himself ‘what would Batman do?’ as a guiding principle. And, if Batman trusted Bruce Wayne, maybe Danny could trust the man enough to agree to the adoption. It’d keep him out of Vlad’s hands and out of the foster system.

Danny looked down at where his hands were curled in his lap. He relaxed his hands and stretched out his fingers. There were crescent moon shapes on his palms from clenching them too hard over the past few days. The emptiness that had taken up residence in his core stretched in anticipation.

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Tell Wayne I said sure.”

- - - -

The next two weeks passed in a blur of paperwork and phone calls. He was placed with a temporary family in Amity Park that he vaguely recognized from one time he saved their 6-year-old daughter from a building that collapsed during a fight with Skulker. They were nice enough and allowed Danny to spend his time there mostly in the small room they had set up for him. He learned, eventually, that his social worker’s name was Sarah (although he still was unsure of last name).

He passed the days lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and letting his mind drift, or locking the door and going for a fly around town as Phantom. To his surprise, there really weren’t any ghost attacks besides a few blobs bothering customers at the mall. Danny wondered if word about what had happened to Casper High and his family had spread around the Ghost Zone. A sort of respect had been forged between him and most of his ghostly enemies over time, and it wouldn’t be completely out of left field for them to direct their attention somewhere besides Amity Park out of that sense of respect. It certainly made him feel better about leaving for Gotham if that was the case.

The adoption process was being sped up from its usual timeline from what Danny understood. A combination of Bruce Wayne’s money and past record of successful adoptions, he figured. It only took a bit over two weeks for his departure to Gotham to roll around. His social worker Sarah had insisted on coming with him to see him off, so the flight there was full of uncomfortable small talk when Danny really just wanted to stare out of the window and wish he could fly alongside the plane.

Although he was trying to keep his mind off of it, he couldn’t help but think about the date. August 15th–the second anniversary of his portal accident.

It was strange to consider how his life would be changing on this day a second time with his official arrival at the Wayne household. It wasn’t as dramatic as dying and having your DNA recoded with ectoplasm, but it was still significant enough that he was struggling to think of much else. Stepping into that portal was simultaneously the best and worst choice he had ever made. Danny wouldn’t trade his life as Phantom for anything. Or, at least, that’s what he thought before the events of the previous weeks.

Now, he wasn’t too sure that he hadn’t caused this chain of events with the portal accident. Were the ghosts his fault? Was this ‘Enchantress’ his fault? Was Casper High’s collapse and all of those deaths his fault? The possibility of that wouldn’t leave him. So many people died, and was it all because Danny Fenton, age 14, tripped over a wire? His family and friends died–was that because he had taken up the mantle of Phantom? Maybe if he didn’t let Jazz get involved in ghost hunting in the first place, she wouldn’t have taken the Fenton Peeler and jumped into that last fight.

Danny tapped his fingers on the armrest restlessly. Sarah glanced at him questionly, noticing the agitation, but said nothing. She had come to understand that Danny didn’t appreciate her incessant questions if he was okay. The rest of the flight passed silently, Sarah’s idle chatter tapering off as Danny switched to ignoring her or only grunting a response.

When they landed and wandered the airport towards the pickup zone, it was a rather nice black car that came to pick them up. For all that Danny knew about car engines from years of watching his parents work on the GAV, he knew nothing about car brands besides that the car behind the man holding a sign with his name on it was very expensive. The man with the sign was an older gentleman wearing a three piece suit, although it seemed classier than when Vlad would wear something similar.

Sarah walked towards the man, gesturing Danny onward with her, and called out to him. He had a pleasant smile and demeanor, politely inclining his head in greeting and folding the sign under one of his arms.

“It’s good to see you both got in safe,” he said, voice smooth and warm, “I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the butler at Wayne Manor. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Fenton.” Danny shrugged in response and dragged his luggage over to the back of the car, moving to open the trunk and throw it in the back himself. Alfred stepped up next to him and took the luggage from him with an easy smile. “Let me get that for you.”

Sarah made eye contact with Danny and gestured towards Alfred, saying under her breath, “Thank him and introduce yourself, Daniel.”

“Fine,” he muttered back to her, then cleared his throat and spoke louder, “Uh, thanks for picking us up. I’m Danny Fenton, but you already know that, I guess. It is Fenton, though. Not Wayne.”

Alfred took the abrasiveness in stride, not seeming too bothered, as he replied, “Yes, Master Danny, I assisted Master Wayne with the adoption process, so I am aware you have kept your original last name. You do not have to worry about being referred to wrong by me or any of the family.”

“Oh, um, cool. Thanks, I guess,” Danny said.

The butler opened the car door for him, and he slid into the seat. It was far more comfortable than any car had a right to be, he noted. Sarah and Alfred chatted for a few minutes, probably going over some sort of official adoption business nonsense, before his social worker redirected her attention to him. “I’ll be leaving you in Mister Pennyworth’s capable hands, but we’ll be in touch.”

He just gave her a half-hearted thumbs up and buckled up. Sarah hesitated a few moments before shaking her head, and heading off in another direction. Getting into the car, Alfred lightly commented that the drive to Wayne Manor would be about an hour. At that, Danny popped earbuds in and turned on his favorite Dumpty Humpty album to listen to. A text from Sarah popped up on his phone.

Social Worker Lady: And remember, don’t be rude! Talk to him!

He typed back a quick ‘no’ and turned his phone on do not disturb so he wouldn’t be bothered by her response.

The ride to Wayne Manor passed by in silence after Alfred, glancing through the rearview mirror, noticed that Danny had closed himself off to conversation. The only sound between them was the faint hum of the engine (probably some sort of hybrid engine judging by the sound, he noted) and the music playing through his headphones. The Wayne Manor was in a nice, sprawling neighborhood full of old houses that looked more like small castles. It put a scowl on his face, as it brought up imagery of Vlad garish green and yellow mansion in his mind. The car pulled up to park near the front entrance–a grand wooden double doorway. The place reeked of old money. After the car rolled to a stop, Danny unbuckled and wordlessly hopped out of the car. He pulled out his earbuds and shoved them back in his pocket.

“Are you ready to meet Master Wayne and some of his sons?” Alfred asked gently.

Danny gave another half-hearted shrug. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As they approached the doorway, Alfred pulled it open for him and gestured him into the entrance hall. If he hadn’t been used to popping into Vlad’s various mansions so often, he might have been impressed by the house as he stepped in. It was meticulously well kept and tastefully decorated. He analyzed the room, carefully cataloging every detail of the entrances, exits, and potential threats before he let his gaze land on the people gathered around a loveseat.

There were three individuals–a man around his parent’s age and two teenagers. The man was obviously Bruce Wayne, but he couldn’t put names to the faces of the teenagers besides a guess that they were Wayne’s other adopted wards. The younger of the two looked like he’d swallowed a lemon as he eyed Danny up and down. Danny was curious to note that he looked quite similar to Bruce besides skin tone. The older one was much more relaxed, almost excited judging bow how he was grinning and jittering his leg as he sat. Bruce and the older of the two teenagers stood up to greet him and Alfred.

“Daniel, I’m so glad to finally meet you,” Bruce Wayne said with a dazzling smile, reaching out his hand. It was the kind of smile that would easily win over anyone else, but Danny couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a mask. He certainly didn’t think Bruce was a bad guy judging by his working relationship with Batman, but he couldn’t be all sunshine and rainbows.

Danny cautiously took Bruce’s hand to shake. “It’s Danny. No one calls me Daniel.” Except Vlad, he added to himself.

Bruce nodded, taking that information in and then gestured towards the two teenage boys. “These are two of my sons–the older one is Duke and the younger is Damian. There’s also Tim, Cassandra, and Dick, but they no longer live at the manor.”

The older teenager, Duke, waved from where he stood next to Bruce, and Damian merely inclined his head as a greeting. Duke said, “We also have a handful of family friends that are practically family you’ll see around the manor! Stephanie, Jason, and Barbara.”

Danny nodded, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He glanced back at Alfred behind him who had grabbed his luggage from the car. “Um, can you show me to my room?” He asked.

“We were just about to have dinner together,” Bruce interjected, “we try to have meals together as often as possible, since all of our lives are busy otherwise. You will not be required to attend, but there will be a spot saved for you.”

Duke flashed Danny a hopeful smile, but he glanced back to where Damian still sat, scowling, on the couch. He got the feeling that he wasn’t actually welcomed by the entire Wayne family. It set him on edge.

“Uh, usually I just eat in my room,” he said, “my family stopped eating together before my freshman year.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Bruce’s face, but the man quickly hid it. “That’s quite alright. Alfred can bring you something to eat after showing you to your new room.”

Danny mumbled a thanks under his breath and followed after Alfred up the stairs. He committed the hallways of the manor to memory as the butler explained what room each door led to. His room would be in between Duke’s and Damian’s rooms and have a bathroom of its own attached to the room. That aspect he was pretty excited about, since at Fenton Works he had to share a bathroom with Jazz.

“Feel free to decorate your room however you please. If you want to paint the walls or get new furniture, you need only ask,” Alfred said. “I’ll leave you to unpack and be back with a meal for you in an hour or two.”

He watched Alfred’s retreating form before entering his new room. Cautiously, he circled the bedroom and examined it. It was large–easily twice the size of his old bedroom–but bland. That was to be expected, he supposed. Looking at his luggage, he sighed. He really didn’t want to unpack, so he shoved the suitcase into the closet to deal with later. The bed looked like it might be a king size and was covered in plush pillows and a nice quilt. Flopping down on it, he sighed and relaxed into the blankets. The blank ceiling was white.

Danny frowned.

He’d have to change that.

#danny phantom #crossover danuary week 2022 #xover danuary 2022 #danny phantom fanfic

[snackleggg]

City of splintering hopes: Chapter 1 "Frosty conversations"

~~~

Ao3

~~~

Frostbite quickly seemed to realise what he had said and stopped talking, immediately dropping his usually happy attitude. Danny was still processing what he had said.

"Hey Frosty?" Danny asked during one of his semi-regular visits to the Far Frozen.

"Yes Great One?" Frostbite replied as he finished up checking that Danny had fully recovered from a terrible case of the ghost flu he had caught a few days ago.

"You and the other Yetis seem to know alot about my hybrid physiology when I don't even know that. How come?" Danny asked. It was an innocent enough question. Jazz had pointed it out just before he left for his visit and he hadn't been able to shake it from his mind since.

"Well, of course!" Frostbite said with a boisterous laugh "You think you are the only Halfa to have ever allied with our tribe? We have always been friends to your kind Great One!" Frostbite said back with a carefree kind of happiness before he realized what he had just accidentally spilled.

Now they stood there in heavy silence as Danny processed the meaning behind Frostbite's words.

"Other Halfas!?" Danny all but screeched as he nearly fell from where he was sitting with the realisation of what Frostbite said.

Frostbite looked uncomfortable to say the least. He seemed to look around at anything but Danny as he replied "Y-Yes of course! You didn't think you and those two others were the only ones of your kind." Suddenly Frostbite looked Danny in the eye with concern "Did you Great One?"

Danny couldn't reply.

By the heavy look Frostbite was giving him it seemed like there was something deeper to this subject than he was realising. Danny just shook his head.

"Mmm no, the only other Halfas I've ever met were Dani and Vlad" Danny said matter-of-factly. By the look Frostbite was giving him it was obvious he was missing something, some unspoken fact that hung in the air just out of his reach.

Frostbite suddenly broke from his gaze as he huffed while looking to the side "That Plasmius should be ashamed of himself to even dare call himself a Halfa. He may be there biologically but none of his actions reflect on your people" Frostbite said with a tone of bitterness, a tone that was slightly sharper than the bitterness he usually talked with when talking about Vlad.

"Yeah, totally agree, 100% but back to the topic at hand I have a people!?" Danny's brain was trying to understand this new revelation. In a way it answered alot of questions that he had never really thought about. How were the ghosts able to tell he wasn't a full ghost. Why had Pointdexter known to call him a Halfa as if it was a common term. Why ghosts just didn't seem all that surprised about the existence of some weird hybrid. Of course Vlad could've had a part in that but Vlad was always too busy in his cheese castle plotting revenge to really interact with many ghosts outside of hiring them to do his dirty work.

But it also brought up a while slew of new questions. Where had these other Halfas come from? Definitely couldn't be another lab accident caused by his parents. Why wasn't there any information about the existence of ghost human hybrids on earth if there were enough Halfas around to be considered a people, a kind, not just an anomaly that repeated a few times but by the sounds of it some sort of society? And most importantly, where were they!? Danny had never ran into anyone like himself apart from Vlad and Dani.

He looked at Frostbite, trying to pick which question was the most important to ask first. It seemed Frostbite was blissfully unaware of his internal struggle as he just went on.

"Well yes Great One. The Halfas were a strong and prosperous people.... I suppose there isn't really a way for you to know that but I am surprised this is the first you are hearing about this" Frostbite said awkwardly.

Danny probably looked like a fish with how much he was opening and closing his mouth without a word coming out. Finally he managed to say something past his shock.

" 'were'?" Danny asked, his hopes at meeting someone like him suddenly beginning to die.

Frostbite just nodded, avoiding looking at him again as a sorrowful look came upon his face "Yes, Pariah Dark" Frostbite said the name like it was something foul and Danny was inclined to agree "wiped them all out when he sensed they would be a threat to his throne"

Danny almost snorted at that.

Pariah Dark sounded like a character in a tragedy or a myth in that context. In trying to stop Halfas from dethroning him he was indirectly responsible for a Halfa dethroning him. Okay maybe not responsible, Danny would've done it whether the race of people had still been around or not but still the irony was there. So was the karma.

Then he focused on the more depressing part of what Frostbite had said.

"Oh" so there really wasn't anyone else. He shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.

"But!" Frostbite said, a little bit of a cheer coming back to him "the ruins of their old city still stands! Maybe, if you are interested in knowing more, you could visit them? Of course everyone here in the Far Frozen would be more than happy to recount stories of other Halfas to you Great One but our knowledge is limited. Even with our friendship with them, they were always a secretive bunch" Frostbite explained.

Danny didn't really know what to think of the offer. It wouldn't be the same as actually talking to another Halfa but it would still be something, right?

"I'll... think about it" Danny said.

He had gone through too many revelations in too short a time span and he really just wanted to crawl into bed and take a nice long nap, which he could do since it was the weekend.

"Of course Great One. It is entirely up to you what you do" Frostbite said with a smile.

The rest of the visit seemed to fly by but the conversation he had with Frostbite was stuck at the back of his head. He kept on wondering about the other Halfas.

Were they nice? What kind of society did they have? Had they ever been to Earth or did they live exclusively in the Ghost Zone? Why were they as secretive as Frostbite said? Even to their own allies? Why had Pariah felt so threatened by them? Were they really that powerful? What will I find if I go to these ruins?

Even after he left to go back home the thoughts of a people just like him, a people long gone, lingered in his mind.

He was distracted.

He knew Frostbite and the other Yetis had noticed it even if they didn't comment on it but Jazz was alot more proactive about these sort of things. She noticed the far away look Danny had as they were eating dinner and afterwards pulled him off to the side as their parents went back down to work in the lab.

"What's up?" She asked.

"Nothing" Danny mumbled. He didn't know if Jazz would understand his dilemma. Sure he was born human but thinking about the possibility of other Halfas, even if he hadn't been born one, it made his core clench with a need to learn more, to find them

"It's obviously not nothing, you've been distracted ever since you came back from visiting the Far Frozen. What happened?" Jazz asked.

Danny couldn't meet her gaze. He didn't know how to fraze it, to tell her about all the spiraling thoughts in his head, the confusing feelings in his core.

"Danny" Jazz said seriously.

Finally Danny caved and told her about the conversation he had with Frostbite about other Halfas. He told her about his feelings and thoughts on the matter. It was like the dam that had been filling for the last few hours had broken and suddenly Danny was exasperated as he finished recounting everything.

"Other Halfas...." Jazz said thoughtfully.

Danny nodded. For some reason he felt guilty, he felt like he was betraying his family by trying to explore this part of himself.

Jazz, thank the ancients for the observation skills she definitely didn't get from their parents, noticed Danny's dip in mood and quickly went to comfort him.

"Hey, you shouldn't feel bad about this. It makes sense you'd want to find and learn about people who might've gone through similar struggles" Jazz said as she put her hand on Danny's shoulder, a grounding gesture which he was silently thankful for.

"But I feel bad about how if I do learn about this then I'll be keeping more secrets from mom and dad. I already feel terrible lying to them about The accident" Danny shrunk into himself. It's not that he wanted to keep lying to his parents but the perpetual fear of them not accepting him hung over his head heavily and he feared now that if he tried to explore and learn about these people who were like him it would only give his parents more reason to distance him from the family if they found out.

"Danny, look at me" Jazz urged and Danny barely managed to meet her gaze. It was determined and honest, an immovable rock he needed in the swirling river that was his thoughts.

"You don't have to go there if you don't want to but you shouldn't jump to the conclusion that it will only make everything worse. Think about it but don't forget that just as many good things could come from this as bad things" Jazz said and Danny nodded along. That made sense.

"Yeah. I guess the concept just kinda overwhelmed me" Danny said and suddenly he felt emotionally drained all over again.

"Go on, get some rest. Sleep on it but there really isn't a time limit" Jazz encouraged and she was right but Danny felt like if he did want to go then it might be better to do it sooner rather than later.

He crashed onto his bed not really knowing what to think. A few hours ago he was excited by the prospect but now he dreaded what he might find at those ruins, what secrets the Halfas kept hidden away even from those closest to them.

Danny almost laughed at the parallels as he thought about his own secretive situation with his parents. He was in no place to preemptively judge.

Finally he went to sleep.

Dreaming of a lullaby he never heard and a city of people he would never meet.

~~~

First | Previous | Next

~~~

I'll be tagging all content do to with this story with the tag City of splintering hopes so if guys want to you can follow the story easier. You can also use that tag for any questions or content you guys make of the story!

Hope you all like this first chapter!

#danny phantom #City of splintering hopes #chapter 1 #my writing #danny phantom fic #danny fenton #dp frostbite #jazz fenton #dp fanfic #danny phantom au

[five-rivers]

Is there any way we could possibly convince you to write more of the Eldritch!Danny au? As it's own phanfic? This, of course, would only be done once you are under considerably less stress, and can comfortably put the effort into that, if there ever could be such a time whilst writing Mortified and Stars Aligned. It could even wait until one or both of those has reached a point that you deem them Completed™. I'm just immediately part of Sam's Cult XD

It’s been a bit, and this is kind of random, but...

.

Clockwork’s avatar pressed the food to Danny’s lips, and he bit down, hard.  Juices dribbled down his chin as the food squirmed.  He moaned in something like relief as the pressure in the venom sacs in the roof of his mouth lessened.  He ate.

He kept Dreaming of himself with fangs and venom. Did that mean something?

A cold pressure under his chin forced him to look up.  Clockwork’s avatar inserted another piece of food into Danny’s mouth.  

Of course, it means something, it said. You are such a generous soul that you must give of yourself before you can even do something as basic and vital as eat.

Something about that didn’t sound right, but Danny wasn’t in a position to argue, not when he found himself so hungry.

Clockwork’s avatar fussed over him, feeding him more and more, past the point of mere satiation to the point where he felt bloated and slug-like.  He wanted to curl up and sleep real sleep.  The image of a caterpillar who, having gorged itself, began to form a cocoon, flittered across his mind.  

You are a long way from metamorphosis yet, dear one, said Clockwork’s avatar.  Come.  I have something for you.  

Danny followed the tug of the chained collar around his neck, blinking blearily, his footsteps just a little unsteady.  

The careful direction of the chain led him to a small table cluttered with trinkets.  Clockwork’s avatar leaned down to press its cheek against the crown of Danny’s head.  Its cloak fell to either side of Danny, cutting off his field of view to the left and right, leaving him with only the table and the wall behind it.  

A gift, said Clockwork’s avatar.

“Why?” asked Danny.  It felt odd to speak here, and much more so in English, but he was still learning how to use his True Voice.  

I wanted to give you something myself, before we celebrate your birthday.  

“My birthday is ages away,” said Danny.  

From some perspectives, perhaps.  But we missed so many of yours.  We must make them up before the next one.  

There was something ominous there, but Danny just leaned into the avatar’s touch, unwilling to devote himself to interpreting omens.  

Pick one, said Clockwork’s avatar, pick wisely.  Gifts received in the Dream become part of you.

Danny nodded and opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) to look at the trinkets—no, the gifts—again.  Gifts that, like all good gifts, came with strings attached.  

There was something off about that thought.

But it didn’t matter.  It wasn’t as if he could refuse a gift.  

He reached out.  

.

He picked the beaded pectoral necklace.  Mostly because he was curious to see how it went on, what with the collar around his neck and all.  Yes, this was the Dream, and multiple things could exist in the same place at the same time, but usually there was an… internal consistency, of sorts.

It turned out the answer was that the necklace merged with the bottom edge of the collar, which felt weird, but it was fine, because both were manifestations of Clockwork’s Love.  

The unfamiliar weight of it hung strangely off his shoulders, especially given the counterweight that hung down his back, and forced him to alter his posture.  He stood straight and… Well.  Not tall. But to his full height.  

Clockwork’s ticking sounded pleased.  An echo of something where Danny’s heart once was agreed with that assessment.  

When he left the Dream and went on with his life, it seemed as if not much had changed, except—

He felt more confident.  More coordinated.  He didn’t stutter as much.  People listened to him more.  

Even Sam and Tucker remarked on it.  

Only a few days later, Clockwork called him back, reeling him into the deep Dream by the chain attached to his collar.  He had another gift for Danny.  A bracelet.  Its weight joined that of the necklace.

Since you seemed to enjoy this so much, said the avatar, running its fingers over the faience beads.  

And so it went.  

Every few days, Clockwork would call him back and give him some new little adornment.  A ring.  A jeweled comb.  An anklet. A brooch.  A belt.  Each gift seemed to smooth away some almost imperceptible flaw in his waking self, seemed to draw more eyes to him, more attention, more praise.  People who would never give him the time of day before actually sought out his company.

He wondered.  Each thing he was given was a display of wealth.  Did that come across, somehow?  Or was it simply gravity, the mass of his presence pulling in their regard?

The improvements weren’t just in his human life. The others were easier to fight, to distract and ward away.  Their blows did not hurt nearly as much, nor did their ‘appearances’ distress him as much as they once had.  

He noticed, too, the weight of what he wore in the Dream.  Each ring, each bauble, made it easier for him to sink into the depths, made it harder for him to reach the surface.  

Sometimes, after a return, he would like on the floor in his room, panting.

But he was growing stronger, too, and he hoped—

It didn’t matter what he’d hoped.  

He could no longer reach the waking world. He tried seven times before the chain, vibrating with amusement, pulled him back to Clockwork.  

We must celebrate, said Clockwork’s avatar, pulling a sort of woven metal sleeve over Danny’s right hand.  It hooked neatly onto the rings on each of his fingers.  

“Why?” asked Danny, barely holding himself back from falling to pieces.  He had a responsibility to Amity Park.  Not to mention, he wanted to live there with his friends and family.  

Because it is a wonderful milestone, that you are too powerful to reach that place on your own.  The avatar placed a crown of knotted metal on Danny’s head.  This is what a cult is for, my little gem.  To pull you up.  

“What if…” said Danny, “I get too… heavy to be pulled up?”  

Another milestone.  

.

Except, no, Danny’s hand still hovered over the table, undecided.  He let it fall back to his side and blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the vision that had just overtaken him.  

Did it show what would be, what might have been? Or merely a possibility?  

Reality splintered.

.

He put his hand down on a stack of folded white cloth, jostling the bells sewn to the hems.  He didn’t actually know what it was, but it seemed harmless, and the fabric was soft.  

It turned out that the cloth was a set of folded veils.  The bells were weights, to make them hang properly.  

Clockwork’s avatar helped him put them on in front of a mirror, since Danny had never worn anything like them before.  The cloth was thin, diaphanous gauze.  Where the veils touched the clothing he was already wearing, it whispered away, like it never was.  In some places, mostly on his shoulders and back, for some reason, the veils merged smoothly, seamlessly, with his skin.  It was an odd sensation, made more so by the fact that his nerve endings seemed to extend partway into the cloth.  

Although, that might not be by design, but because Danny expected it.  This was the Dream, after all.  

Once all the veils were in place, the only pieces of his body exposed were his hands and bare feet.  It was strange, looking at himself in the mirror through the sheer veils over his face and head.  He almost looked like a ghost.  

It was… it was kind of embarrassing, being dressed like this.  The veils were the only things he was wearing, and even with all their frothy layers, he could make out the silhouette of his body beneath them.  

He spun in place, just enough to hear the bells ring with high, clear tones.  Like this, the subtle embroidery on the veils looked like feathers.  

When he woke again, normal clothes felt rough and coarse against his skin in comparison.  He gritted his teeth and bore it.  He couldn’t very well walk to school in the nude.

“Did something happen last night?” asked Sam, surveying Danny up and down.  

“Um,” said Danny, “yes, but why?”

“You look…”

“Mysterious,” said Tucker.  

“Ethereal,” decided Sam.  “But also…”  She hummed. “Untouchable, maybe?  I don’t know.”

Danny explained what had happened.  

It was in the course of just messing around that they found another effect.  

“Dude,” said Tucker, as Danny sat on his shoulders, “did you lose weight or something?”

“No?” said Danny, turning away from his sticky-note masterpiece on the classroom ceiling.  “At least, I don’t think so.”

“You just seem a lot lighter than the last time we did this.”

They weighed him later, at Sam’s house.  He was.  

The next time he visited the dream, there were changes.  One, the sensation in the cloth had extended.  He could feel almost all the way to the ends of some of the shorter veils. Two, his form beneath the veils was less distinct.  Softer. When he put his hand underneath them to check, his body felt softer, too.  Three, he was glowing.  

Of course, said Clockwork’s avatar, stroking its cold hand down his back in a way that made all of his new nerve endings overload.  As the illusion fades, the truth may shine.  

It did not elaborate, no matter how Danny pressed him.  It did, however, pet him until he was left as little more than a pleasantly chirping puddle of veils and feathers on Clockwork’s floor.  

He did not note the significance of the feathers until his next visit to the Dream, whereupon some of his veils had become wings, bells still attached and ringing with every motion.  He spread them out and flew.  

Flying was even better than he had imagined. Never before had he known such joy.

The changes continued, the form he wore in the waking world becoming progressively more and more alien to him, more grating and uncomfortable.  

“That only makes sense,” said Sam.  “You’re more than us.  Being constrained like this can’t be good for you.”

Tucker nodded in agreement.  “I mean, look at all of this.”

Danny looked around the cafeteria, catching several worshipful gazes.  

“You don’t belong in a cage like this.”

“I want to be able to help,” said Danny.  It had become easier, in some ways.  It was as hard as ever to fight the others, but human aggression stopped dead in Danny’s presence.  

“You’ll still be able to,” said Sam.  “But Tucker’s right, you should be trapped here. You should in a high place… on a pedestal.  Somewhere to give us hope.  Somewhere we can look up to.”

He stood in front of Clockwork’s mirror again. There was a suggestion of a human body beneath the wings, but nothing more than that.  Soon, even that would be gone.  

Even as he thought it, he let his wings shift, forming a more spherical shape.  The light at his center became blindingly bright, but Danny could still see the chains of Love attached to it that kept him grounded.  

One of those chains pulled taught as Clockwork summoned him, not even bothering with the avatar this time.  This time, Danny would be able to talk to Clockwork directly, and it would be fine, because Danny had shed that illusion of humanity and become more like Clockwork.

He entered Clockwork’s direct presence and—

.

Danny reeled as the vision simply stopped being something his mind could interpret.  He felt a part of what he called his sanity crumble.  

Perhaps…  Perhaps not that one.  Instead…

.

He chose the featureless white mask, lifting it with both hands.  It was surprisingly heavy.

Clockwork’s avatar reached out, the sleeves of its robes whispering past Danny’s ears.  Let me help you put that on, it said.  It took the mask and flipped it over, brushing the broad, white satin ribbon out of the way with its thumbs.  

Before Danny could think to protest, before he could decide if he wanted to protest, the mask was pressed against his face.

The soft inner lining fit perfectly snug against his features.   Perfectly enough that it forced his eyelids and lips closed.  The bottom edge of the mask cupped his jaw, preventing him from opening his mouth.  

He could not see, with the mask on. Somehow, this surprised him.  Part of him had expected to supernaturally be able to see through the mask.  

This was inconvenient.  On the other hand, not being forced to see the Dream and its denizens could be a boon in and of itself.  

Clockwork’s avatar finished tying the ribbon.  When you wear this, only those who know you will know you.  And only those who you keep in place of your may have their knowledge progress.  

Danny tested his ability to speak, first with human words and then with his True Voice.  The best he could manage was a sort of hum.  

I know you best of all.  One cannot progress past completion.  Remember, those who Love you will understand you, even without words.  You will be allowed to remove the mask if it pleases you.  

Danny nodded to show he understood, the weight of the mask making the motion more energetic than usual.  

It took Danny time to learn how to navigate the Dream blind.  The Dream was, well, Dream.  It did not follow the usual rules of object permanence.  Things Danny could not directly perceive existed only at the whims of others.  While he was with Clockwork, he could have faith that things would stay mostly stable, but once he left, his world shrunk to echoes and what lay against his skin.

But when he did finally make it home and opened his eyes, he was able to fully understand what the mask gave him.  

He could not see the nightmares and madness lurking just under reality.  His sight was human.  He turned to his mirror and saw not a monster, but simply his physical body.  

He found himself weeping in relief.  It had been so hard.  Even if it was an illusion bought by ignorance, for the first time in far too long, he felt safe, no longer exposed.  

Whether or not it pleased him, he might never take the mask off.  

He walked to Jazz’s room to tell her the good news, only to discover he could not speak.  

After some experimentation, Danny and Jazz determined that, when he wore the mask, his speech was as constrained in the real world as it was in the Dream.  If he wanted to talk, he had to slip into the Dream to take it off.  

It was inconvenient, but still.  A perfectly hidden identity and relief from seeing were more than worth inconvenience.  

With the mask on, he almost felt human again.

Before the school day began, he paused in the bathroom and braced himself.  He had gotten away with being quiet at home, but at school, teachers would require him to answer questions.  

He stepped into the Dream and reached up to untie the knot at the back of his head.  It would not come loose.  Danny pulled harder.  

If it pleased him.  

Well, it didn’t please him to be exposed in school.  Beyond that… Danny suspected that Clockwork also had a hand in when he was allowed to remove the mask.  

A few weeks later, the school psychiatrist diagnosed him with selective mutism.  

“It almost makes sense,” claimed Tucker, gesturing at Danny’s ceiling, “if you think of it like a parent keeping their kid safe on the internet.  Like, you don’t want their identity exposed, so you keep them from giving away personal information or talking to strangers.”

“That,” said Sam, poking Danny’s cheek, “or he wants your cute little face all to himself.  What do you even look like in the Dream?”

“Like me,” said Danny.  He raised a hand to touch his face.  “I don’t know what I look like with the mask on.”  The words came surprisingly easily.  Before the mask, he’d worried that he’d eventually be unable to speak English, what with how difficult it was becoming to translate his thoughts to sounds.

Later that day, there was an incident.  Danny couldn’t help.  He couldn’t see.  

(It was, however, very clear that the others could see him.)

(He couldn’t help but feel guilty.)

That night, Clockwork pulled him into the Dream.

There is someone I want you to meet, said Clockwork’s avatar as its fingers untied the mask.  

“Who?” asked Danny as the mask came away.  He nearly forgot his question as he once again took in Clockwork’s appearance.  He had forgotten how beautiful it was here.  Tears rolled down his face.  

Your brother, said the avatar, gently leading Danny forward.  I think you will get along.  You both like masks.  

It took a few minutes for Danny to distinguish this new presence from Clockwork’s, but once he did, the name came easily to his mind.  This was Nocturne, the Dream Eater.

“Why is your mask different from mine?” asked Danny, because he couldn’t make a good first impression to save his life.  

The mouth and eyes on Nocturne’s mask turned upward in humor.  It plucked Danny’s mask from the hands of Clockwork’s avatar, and, to Danny’s simultaneous horror and delight, Danny discovered that he could feel Nocturne’s claws on the mask as if they were on his face instead.  

That is because it is your face, said Nocturne, the one you show the world.  Why wouldn’t you feel it when it is touched?  When it is damaged?  Nocturne ran his fingers down across the space where eye holes would have been in an ordinary mask, and Danny found himself forced to blink.  For the other, it is because you are a child.  I see and speak for myself.  A child sees the world through their parent’s eyes.  A child has no voice, but their parent speaks for them.  

“Will it change when I get older?” asked Danny.

Nocturne laughed.  You will not grow older.  He moved forward suddenly, pressing the mask to Danny’s face, and putting one of his other hands against the back of Danny’s head.  You will always be the youngest of us.  The most… Human.

.

Is something wrong? asked Clockwork’s avatar.

“No,” said Danny, quickly.  “It’s just hard to decide.”

You could have them all, it said, if it is so difficult.  

Danny shook his head.  “No, I just need more time.”

Maybe if Danny were human, this would be about getting the best deal, choosing the gift with the lowest price, but he wasn’t, and it wasn’t.  This was about choosing the price he wanted to pay.  

It surprised him, how much he wanted to pay some of them.  

.

The set of bracelets clinked merrily when Danny touched them.  They were four bands, each about two inches wide and a couple millimeters thick.  The metal they were made of was smooth on the outside, but on the insides, they had the same fractal patterns as the collar.

The manacles are a good choice, said Clockwork’s avatar, approvingly.  

Manacles.

Not bracelets.  

Unfortunately, he didn’t think he was allowed to change his mind.  

The manacles went around his wrists and ankles, each one closing with a snap.  When they shut, the metal they were made of swirled, the hinges and seams disappearing to present a flawless surface and the overall shape shifting so the inside laid flush against his skin.  

As soon as he closed the last one, and it finished altering itself, Danny felt a sharp pain through the center of his wrists and ankles, followed by a radiating numbness, as if a rod had been driven through each manacle, through each wrist and ankle, stopping only when it hit the other side.  But the numbness soon faded, and as he flexed his hands and feet, he didn’t feel anything like that.  

Still.  The message was clear.  The metal bands were not coming off.  

Clockwork’s avatar took one of Danny’s hands, and examined the band.  The metal, which had warmed against Danny’s skin, turned frigid under the avatar’s touch. For a moment, Danny’s vision blurred, and he saw a multitude of delicate chains leading from the manacle in every direction, connecting it to Clockwork, the other manacles, the collar around his neck and who knew what else.  His vision cleared.  A few long, silent minutes later, the avatar released him.  

They were made with much skill.  I hope you find them useful.  

Danny nodded.  

The manacles weren’t visible in the waking world, but Danny imagined he still felt them.  Especially when he was doing things with his hands or feet.  

‘Made with skill,’ indeed.  

Lots of skills.  Skills like drawing, writing, dancing, sign language.  He didn’t trip or stumble any more but moved smoothly.  It was interesting.  It didn’t feel like the skills belonged to someone else.  They were his, now, wherever they had originally come from.  He knew how to do each thing he was doing, and he did them intentionally.  

Still, his art (which he had always considered at least decent) was now scary good.  He’d also outplayed Ember on the piano a few days back, breaking her hold on the people who had been listening.  She’d been… rather upset about that.  

It was worth it.  

The string attached to the gift didn’t make itself known for a while.  One day, while he was drawing, his wrists burned cold, and he found himself drawing something more than what he’d originally intended.  The general subject was the same, but the skill put into it, the effort, was far, far greater.  He’d meant to doodle a little, maybe for ten or so minutes before he went to bed.  

Instead, it was hours later and if it wasn’t on the back of his French homework the drawing could have been hung in a museum.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to imagine that he was being puppetted, controlled, that the manacles made him into a marionette, but that wasn’t what it felt like.  Instead, it felt as if something had flipped a switch inside him.  

He understood, then.  The manacles granted him skills, but he couldn’t always decide when to use them.  Or how much.

It wasn’t the last time it happened.  He’d suddenly be seized with the urge to do something.  Make use of some skill.  And whatever he did when those urges settled over him was inhumanly good.  Dangerously good.  As in, attracting the wrong kind of attention good.  

Those men in suits had been there for him, and he was quite certain that, if he had been perceptible to people foreign to Amity Park, they would have tried to take him.  Tried, being the operative word.  

More importantly, the mural he’d been compelled to paint on the side of the supermarket last night seemed to be attracting a following.  He’d attempted to keep elements of the others out of it, but he knew they somehow slipped through, slipped past his attention, and into his art.  

Sam and Tucker thought it was fine, though. He was inclined to trust them.  

He was glad that the manacles did not seem to infer any violent or deadly skills.  He wasn’t what he would do if they did and the urge to act turned into an urge to harm.  

The manacles turned cold.  

Perhaps he’d bake a cake.  Something for Sam and Tucker, as a thanks for putting up with him.

.

Danny slumped against Clockwork’s avatar, who held him without complaint.  These visions were mentally draining.  They would be, what with containing weeks compressed into seconds.  

Were they seconds?

.

The picture frame caught Danny’s eye.  It was a picture of him, as an infant, being held by Clockwork’s avatar, the great expanse of Clockwork himself in the background. Danny wasn’t quite sure he knew the picture was of himself.  Really, he’d been a generic-looking baby.  But he did know.  

He took the picture.  

Nothing happened.  He went home, woke up, and went about his normal life.  On occasion, he would look at the picture when he dropped into the Dream.  It warmed something in him.

It took him a month to realize he was aging backwards.  

To be fair, no one else seemed to notice, either, even though the change was much more rapid than normal forward aging.  Danny suspected they were being blocked from noticing.  

No, that wasn’t quite right.  They treated the age he appeared as the normal state of things, but they also treated him as if he were his apparent.  Something which had bothered him all last week, even if he didn’t realize why it was happening.  

It made it slightly more embarrassing that he himself had only noticed when he’d gone to retrieve a cup from the top shelf in the cabinet and couldn’t because he was too short.  

Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were confused when he brought it up to them.  They seemed to be under the impression that he’d always been a few years younger than Sam and Tucker.  That he’d been skipped forward a few years to be in the same class as them.  Danny had let the subject drop.  He had no idea how to even begin fixing this.  If it even could be fixed.  

Every day, as he got younger and younger, he also seemed to attract more and more attention.  Positive attention.  People would smile at him, tell him he was cute, give him presents out of nowhere. Danny couldn’t say he hated it.  

Until he got small enough for people to carry around. Which they did.  Frequently.  Without asking for permission.  Even this wasn’t so much of a problem.  

Until the cult.  

Until the knife.

Until the sacrifice.  

(And Clockwork was so thrilled to be able to raise him from infancy.)

.

He hadn’t decided yet.  

How could he decide?  They were amazing gifts.  Terrifying gifts.  Gifts he could not refuse.  Gifts he didn’t want to refuse, at least on some level.  

But this wasn’t about what he wanted.  It was about what he could live with.  

The pectoral gave him power and the respect of his peers but took away his ability to use those things in the defense of Amity. Although being powerful in the Dream was an idea that tickled at the shadows in Danny’s mind.

The veils gave him something he always wanted – flight – but at the cost of his humanity and individuality.  

The mask would protect him, let him hide and return to a mostly ordinary life, but he would lose the chance to face his new existence on his own terms as well as some of his autonomy.  Not to mention, his ability to actually help his people.

The manacles gave him skills he’d enjoy, but also made him a hazard for others.  

The picture frame…  Something twinged inside Danny’s chest… The picture frame gave him a new life with Clockwork, from the very beginning.  But he’d lose everything else and kickstart an unmanageable cult.

He couldn’t give up his friends, his family, his human life.  He couldn’t give up his ability to protect Amity.  Perhaps all those things would fade from importance in his mind as he became more and more other, but for now they were razor sharp.  That made his choice clear.  

“The manacles,” he mumbled to Clockwork’s avatar. He could work around the drawbacks (even if part of him resisted the notion that the drawbacks were drawbacks).

The avatar stroked Danny’s hair.  An excellent choice.

“How,” said Danny, trying to recollect his thoughts, “how do they work?”

Danny’s eyes fluttered as he saw the chains on the manacles again.  The way they felt on his skin was just like what he remembered.  

Skills that go unused are lost in the Dream. These find them and bring them to you, bind them to you, so they are never lost again.  Clockwork’s avatar plucked one of the chains.  It felt as if someone had traced their fingers possessively up one of his arms.  Although some of the chains have other functions.  It nuzzled Danny as something deep below in Clockwork’s depths began to chime.  One can never be too connected to those they Love.  

Danny woke in his bed and moaned.  His pillow was wet with drool.  Evidently, he had left his body behind this time.  That happened, on occasion, when he went to the Dream. He was never sure how he felt about it.

He raised his hands up above his head.  As expected, the manacles were not visible, but he did feel more… connected to the world around him.  Being connected was good.  It meant that what happened before wouldn’t happen again.  It meant that he wouldn’t be lost.  

He lowered his hands, clasping them over where his heart would have, should have been.  

The connections, though, were mostly to Clockwork, who was as inhuman as any of the others Danny protected Amity Park from. Should that bother him?  He thought of what Nocturne had said in the other timeline, the one where he had chosen the mask.  He’d known, already, that as much as Clockwork protected him, he also kept him in a state where he needed that protection.  Wasn’t it natural?  Wasn’t it the desire to keep Loved ones close?

His breath hitched as he briefly felt the soothing mental weight of Clockwork’s Love increase.  

It was fine, wasn’t it?

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #ask #answer #loved

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

For dayton can you write being childhood best friends with him and you've always been there at his races and one day your running late so you don't get to see him before for his pep talk. And his race goes horribly and eventually when he sees you he gets angry and you get in to a argument. But eventually he makes it up to you.

A/N: Alright, here’s my first go at writing for Dayton White! I watched Logan Lucky and absolutely adored it. Dayton does not get the love he deserves! I decided Im going to make this at least a two parter, potentially spanning into one or two more. I really want to dive into the past with these two! This will focus more on their relationship growing up, while the second (and potentially third) part will contain more of the angst. Once again if I don’t write for a Seb character you like, just ask and I’ll try and gain access to it! I hope you guys enjoy. I also really hate to do this, but I recently quit my job due to a toxic work environment. Here is my ko-fi, if you can donate that would be cool, but if you can’t no pressure!!! Love you all ❤️

https://ko-fi.com/kyleey01

Pairings: Dayton White x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, no proofreading (I’ll get to it)

Word Count: 2.5k

You’re Always There Part 1

Your earliest memory of Dayton was meeting him at Memorial Park in your hometown. You were both 5 years old, new to the world outside of your home. It was the day before Kindergarten, and both of your parents wanted you to make new friends before the first day of school. Hopefully meeting someone in your class, they felt you wouldn’t be as scared being truly away from them for the first time. You only had a single mom, and she did everything for you that she could, even taking you to the park after her long day at work. Dayton had both parents, making it easier for him to let go and meet new people. His home was “complete” by societal standards.

“Mommy I don’t wanna go play on the slide. I wanna go home and play dinosaurs with you” you said looking up at your mother.

She kneeled down to look you in the eye, holding her shining gaze with yours looking both serious and concerned, “Honey, you know you go to school tomorrow. This is your chance to go meet someone new, maybe even have a friend when you go into school tomorrow.”

You were extremely hesitant. You loved your momma, and she loved you more than anything. You had friends on your street that you liked to play with, but your mom was never far away, only a quick yell and she would be there. This was different. She had told you she wasn’t going to be there if you needed her, and that you would have to wait until school was over to see her again. You cried for two days straight after you had the “school” talk. What were you going to do without your mom? She was your superhero, your friend, and the best mother in the whole wide world. You didn’t need anyone else. That’s what you thought, at least. Until you met Dayton.

“Go on chickadee, go make some friends. You’re a big girl now who can build pyramids with blocks and cut out dinosaurs with scissors, you can do anything” your mother said with a smile.

This was all you needed to muster up the courage to conquer the slide. You nodded at your mom and ran off towards the wooden playground. They really should’ve made these things plastic, with splinters and bee stings being common afflictions of being on the playground, but it didn’t matter to you. It was fun all the same.

You began to climb the steps of the huge castle, making your way through drawbridges and holes through the wood to get to the slide. There were two other little girls there, a little older than you, maybe seven. You mustered up a quiet “hi” but they didn’t hear you, already screaming and running off in a different direction. Just when your hopes of making a friend had been dashed, you heard another voice from behind you.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

A boy of brunette hair and ocean blue eyes was staring at you expectantly. You weren’t expecting anyone to respond except those girls, so you were timid at first. You opened your mouth to speak several times but nothing came out. You started to become overwhelmed, tears welling up in your eyes.

The boy noticed, looking at you confused. He had only asked you your name. However, his momma always said if someone was crying, you fix it.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me your name. Do you need a hug?”

All you could do was nod, strangely opening up to this welcoming boy. He smiled and brought you in for a tiny hug. He wants gentle, kind of rough actually as he swayed you back and forth with energy. He pulled away, hoping you had felt better. You did.

“I’m Dayton” he said, smiling at you.

You smiled back, with tear stains still on your cheek.

“I’m Y/N”

“Y/N, it looks like you need another hug” Dayton gave you another hug, holding you until he stopped hearing the faint sniffle that escaped your body every so often.

You pulled away, nodding to indicate you were alright now.

“You wanna go down the slide? My mommy is probably wondering where I am” Dayton asked innocently.

You nodded, relief washing over you that someone wanted to be your friend

“That sounds awesome.”

_______________________________________________

From that day forward, you and Dayton were attached at the hip. Elementary school had been a breeze. Thankfully, Dayton was in your class your first year. Although it didn’t stay that way, you would always find time to meet and play during recess. Recess time turned into meeting after school, and meeting after school extended into high school.

Dayton began racing during freshman year. Your school offered a racing club which allowed students to meet after school and go to various tracks in the state to see what it was like to race. You and Dayton had always gone Go-Kart driving on the weekends, but you never thought it would turn into anything serious. Dayton, however, has found his passion. He started building his own race car after school sophomore year, and even asked if you would come over to help. You knew absolutely nothing about building a race car, but Dayton wanted you to be there and that’s all that mattered.

“Y’know I know nothing about building a damn car right? Do YOU even know anything about building a car?” you posed to Dayton in an almost accusatory tone.

“As a matter of fact, Y/N, I have been studying how to build this ‘damn car’ for over a year now, so why don’t you put a little respect on Francine’s name?”

“Well, Dayton, I suggest you begin studying geometry before you fail the quarter. And you named the thing already? Is it your lover or you car?”

“It’s both” he gave you a weird wink, one on the left, and then another on the right in secession.

“You are absolutely gross, White. I can’t believe I ever agreed to go down that slide with you when we were five. It was probably all apart of your evil plan to keep me from being someone else’s best friend just so I could build this car with you” you rolled your eyes as you sat on the hood of his family car.

“God you’re so right. You caught me. Our entire friendship has been a sham, and it all led up to this moment. And now that I finally have you where I want you...” he said with a low growl, planting both of his hands on either side of you as you sat on the hood of his car.

“I’m gonna get ya!” He said tickling your sides

You shrieked, absolutely taken aback that his hands were all over you.

God, his hands were all over you.

Alright, maybe he is cute, but there was no way you two would ever date. You came to that conclusion a long time ago. Your crush developed in the 6th grade, which is absolutely astounding considering middle schoolers are anything but normal. Even in the most awkward stage of life Dayton still managed to be charming and cute as ever. You were determined to tell him, but he would never shut up about Stacey Waterson. You hated her with every fiber of your being. What was wrong with you after all? You had it all, at least that’s what your mom said. You were decently pretty, immensely funny, and his best friend. You shared everything together. What more could he want? Well, the answer to that question would be Stacey Waterson. He wanted her, and not you.

You came back to from the tickling after laughing for what seemed like minutes. Your sides were hurting from contracting your ab muscles for too long. You pushed Dayton off of you playfully, but he pounced back on you, pinning your arms above your head.

“Say the password and I’ll let you go” he stared you down, being absolutely serious.

However, you wanted to double check.

“You can’t be serious” you retorted back, completely flustered due to the situation you were currently in on top of the incessant tickling that occurred just moments before.

“Oh, I’m serious. Say the password and I’ll let you go!” He said with a huge smile on his face.

“Jesus Christ, let me go you dick” you said while struggling to get up.

Dayton made a loud buzzing sound in your face.

“Try again!”

“Dayton come on let me up!”

Dayton made another loud buzzing sound in your face.

“Come on Y/N, just one little word and this can all go away. All you gotta do is say..”

“Goddamnit Dayton, chicken! Chicken for fuck’s sake” you said waiting for his response.

Dayton made another loud buzzing sound in your face.

“I’m sorry, that’s the old password. There’s a new password” he smiled at you, knowing this was ridiculous.

You finally mustered up the strength to push him off of you.

“What do you mean the password has changed!”

The password “chicken” has been used in every single scenario since you first let. For whatever reason, You and Dayton found that word hilarious when you were at a birthday party in the third grade. It was Danny Henry’s 8th birthday, and of course it was chicken themed. Every child gets infatuated with a new thing every year. Danny happened to live on a farm, and all year he wouldn’t stop talking about getting a pet chicken. You all wore chicken hats, there were chicken plates, a chicken cake. There was even a “Pin the Beak on the Chicken” game which, if you do say so yourself, was way more entertaining than “Pin the Tail on the Donkey.” You and Dayton lost it by the time your mom picked you up from the party, absolutely hysterical in the backseat. Ever since then, it was your secret password for everything.

“I was thinking we should change stuff up. Make up a new password, it has been seven years since we thought of one.”

“Oh yeah? And what is this new life changing password that is soooo good that our childhood memory is being brushed under the rug?” you question.

Dayton had an almost hurt look on his face, but he proposed the new password to you anyways. 

“I thought the new password could be Francine. Y’know, I just think this is another great milestone in our friendship, working on this car and all. This day is really important to me and I’m glad you’re here” he said with sincerity.

You didn’t know what to say. This day did mean a lot to him, and your friendship overall. 

You nodded in agreement. 

“Alright, the new password is Francine. However, I will still be accepting chicken as a password in the future.”

Dayton smiled one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen.

“Deal. Now, let’s get this car on the road. We have a lot of work to do if I’m gonna be ready for my first ever official race next Saturday.”

______________________________________________

Race day was here. You woke up early next Saturday morning and drove over to Dayton’s house to pick him up to go to the race track. Dayton’s dad was taking his race car down in their trailer, but you and Dayton wanted to head to your special place before the race. It was eight o’clock in the morning and Dayton had until noon to get to the race track. 

Ever since the 6th grade, you and Dayton would walk to this rock in the woods after school to talk about your day. Your mom got home at seven every night, so you only had four hours to do something before she got home and realized you were “missing.” You talked about everything on that rock, and that rock was also where you realized you had the biggest crush on someone since your infatuation with Paul Rudd in “Clueless.”

You pulled up in your beat up Dodge Intrepid, newly sporting your license. You grabbed some granola bars and bottles of orange juice to enjoy while sitting on the rock.

You both sat down on ground, leaning up against the thing. You both sighed and enjoyed the crisp cool morning air. Finally, you broke the silence.

“You nervous for today?”

Dayton looked down between his legs while chewing on his granola bar.

“I am absolutely terrified. I mean, what if I mess up?”

You laughed a little.

He looked at you with confusion.

“What’s so funny?” 

You shook your head.

“it’s your first are Dayton. It’s okay to be nervous and even mess up. At the end of the day, everyone is going to be proud of you. We’ll all tell you how great you did because we know how much you care about this. You’ll do amazing.”

He smiled, almost not expecting such kind words to come from your mouth.

“You’re something else Y/N, ya know that?”

“Oh yeah? Stacey Waterson is something else too I bet” you said half jokingly, half serious.

He rolled his eyes. 

“Who gives a fuck about Stacey Waterson when I have a girl like you to cheer me on and surprisingly gives the best pep talks.”

“Well the way I see it she was the one who got the invitation to prom, not little old me who will be spending that Saturday night in my basement playing my PlayStation.” 

He shook his head again.

“I never asked Stacey to prom.”

You suddenly shifted to look at him square in the face.

“What?”

“I said, I didn't ask Stacey to prom.”

You were dumbfounded. He told you he was absolutely determined to take her. What had changed?

“W-Why? Why didn’t you ask her?”

He kept smiling and shaking his head.

“God Y/N, for being one of the smartest girls I have ever met you really can be dumb sometimes.”

“Excuse you, Dayton White, I happen to be taking AP U.S History, Honors Biology, and-”

That’s when you thought heaven had fell down from the skies and landed right on that rock.

Dayton had leaned in and kissed you. God, why did he have to be so charming?

He slowly took your lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it. You reciprocated by taking his top lip into your mouth and began moving your mouth with his. Time had stopped. It felt like you had molded into one person, enjoying the sensation of each other’s lips. 

He finally pulled away, looking you dead in the eyes.

“Do you understand now?”

You nodded, still stunned by his actions.

“I think we better go. I wanna see this handsome boy I kissed win his first race.”

#dayton white #dayton white x reader #Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan characters #logan lucky

[slashedthroughtheheart]

Patched up with the doc

'For a request, would it be okay if I asked for Herman taking care of a reader who got injured outside of a trial? I do kind of want it to be an angsty moment at first, but it just turns into fluff and comfort. I don't want smut or anything. Just Herman being a gentleman and showing the reader his affectionate, caring side. They both might not admit it at first, but they really like each other and always wanna be extremely close; Hugs and cuddles.'

This was the prompt, and here's what I went with! Enjoy a bit shorter of a fic featuring our good doctor, Herman Carter, taking care of a slightly belligerent reader!

It was just like any other day. You’d gone to the saloon in Glenvale with a few other survivors to just hang out. You couldn’t remember what you went out onto the upper deck wrapping around the saloon for, but you were cursing yourself for it now.

It was humiliating to be dangling with one leg partway through the broken floorboard. Whatever reason you had for coming out here was not worth it as you tried to pull yourself back up without further hurting yourself.

You weren’t having much luck, low curses leaving you as you prayed no one would come out to check on you. The last thing you needed was any of the other survivors, or entity forbid, any of the killers, to see you in such a pathetic position.

Being clumsy and mucking up a gen or two was bound to happen. Not making it to a pallet in time, no big deal. But something this pitiful was not something you wanted anyone to know about or see. You would never live it down.

You could picture the laughing stock you’d become if people caught wind that you literally fell through the floor and hurt yourself. You fell from greater heights during trials and had no problem rolling through it on the balls of your feet. Hell, there was that place in the Gideon meat plant that was way higher than the saloon and you’d never had trouble with that.

One last growl of frustration left you before a sharp intake of pain left you holding still after you definitely stabbed yourself on part of the broken board.

A barely audible whimper followed not soon after, the splintering wood jabbing at your torn skin. You could feel the blood dripping down your shin from where you had scraped yourself up, and from the fresh stabbing from trying to free yourself.

And just as you were going to try to move a different way, you heard the footsteps make creaks from somewhere behind you.

This was the worst case scenario, you could hear it was someone heavier than any of the survivors that had come with you. There’s no way Feng’s or Meg’s footsteps would be that loud.

Dread filled your heart as you whipped your head around, grimacing as your shift made the wood dig into you again.

And the eyes that landed on you lit up green when they saw the position you were in, awkwardly hunched onto the deck, obvious pain on your face and one leg dangling at just above the knee into the broken hole.

“Here, let me help you, my dear.”

Herman took purposeful steps towards you, intent on helping you free yourself and seeing to your wounds he caught the slightest glimpse of when you shifted in place.

“NO!”

He stopped, shocked at your sudden outburst.

You held an almost trembling hand up, as if that would keep him at bay. And it did, for a moment.

“I-I’m fine. I can do it myself. I don’t need any help, I’ll be fine.”

And as if the universe was amused in your suffering, when you tried to lift yourself once more from the jagged hole, a piece of wood lodged deeper into the beginning of your thigh, causing you to gasp out and almost choke on your pain.

“You don’t seem fine, y/n. Please let me at least assist you in getting out, I insist.” He’d moved forward a few steps, approaching slower, and eyeing the floorboards cautiously now.

You struggled again, throwing the same hand back up as you grit your teeth.

“I said no! I don’t want your help!” The tears were pricking at the corners of your eyes, stinging like you’d just cut up onions. Your nose burned as you held them in. The pain and humiliation leaving you a mortified and stubborn mess.

He hadn’t stopped in his approach, moving to the side and gently touching your arm with his hand, rubbing a small soothing circle on your shoulder.

“While any other time you saying no I would listen, I really must insist. You have injured yourself quite seriously, and are having a difficult time freeing yourself. I’ll get you up and out of that, and then we can head to Lérys and get you cleaned up. You’re sure to have splinters, and those are nearly impossible to remove on ones own, especially at the angle you’ve got them at.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact that you couldn’t even argue further, just holding in the tears and trying desperately not to sniffle and sound even more pitiful than you were sure you looked.

You tried to reason with yourself that at least it was Herman to find you and not someone like Danny or Frank. They would have probably laughed at you and gotten everyone else to come out and point and laugh with them.

You tried not to break down into tears of frustration as Herman moved around to your front, being careful of where he stepped and testing out the weight first before fully committing to the step.

He bent over, taking a moment to observer where the most damage was that he could see, the front of you leg just above the knee.

He simply hummed out in acknowledgment as he saw a rather large sliver of wood having made its home in your thigh, looking rather painful.

“Alright, I’m going to move you back just a bit and then lift you straight up. You might bump into the boards, but I’ll be able to get you up and standing just fine.” His hands moved to under your arms, taking care with his grip so as not to cause you any further discomfort.

At this point, you mutely accepted defeat, simply letting him take the lead as he adjusted you minutely before finally lifting you up, your leg not even brushing against the boards.

You felt even more miserable as you realized just how easily he’d gotten you out versus your own painful struggling that ended up with you hurting yourself more than doing any helping.

Once he had you out of the hole, you’d expected him to set you down on your own feet, but you were not expecting him to only rest you on them for a moment only to lean down to scoop you into his arms, injured leg on the outside.

At your bewildered look, he smiled gently. “Can’t have you walking with your leg like that, and Lérys is a bit of a walk.”

You wanted to protest, but at the same time you were getting your first good look at your leg, and maybe you really should just let him help you patch it up.

You weren’t even sure if Claudette could truly help fixing it up at this point.

So instead of fighting him on it, you nodded numbly, withdrawing into yourself so you wouldn’t give into the urge to start bawling like you’d been struggling with the whole time.

He went down the back steps, avoiding alerting any of the others to your condition, having noted that you were not in the mood to have anyone see you like this. You hadn’t even wanted him to help you, going so far as to try to pull yourself up and hurting yourself further.

No words passed between the two of you as he made his way towards Lérys, avoiding anyone else that you might have gone by with ease.

The relief you felt when he finally crossed the threshold into his realm was visible, pulling a very soft chuckle from him. It was nothing like his usual laughter. This laugh held a gentle mirth in it, a light but non-judgemental amusement.

“Rest assured, y/n. Your dignity is safe with me.” His thumb rubbed a small but soothing circle on the arm it was pressed against as he finally made his way into the building of the hospital, making a beeline for the closest room with the right equipment in it he’d need.

After carefully placing you on the hospital bed inside the room, he immediately went about gather the supplies he would need onto a rolling tray.

It did not take him much time at all to ready everything. There was a bottle of antiseptic, two pairs of tweezers, one big and one small, some gauze, a needle and some suture thread. It seemed you’d be getting stitches today.

At least these would be in a sterile environment with steady hands, unlike the ones you received during trials.

A meek “Thank you.” barely made it past your lips, your gaze staring at the gashes in your shin and the bit of wood protruding from your thigh.

Herman looked up from his readying of items, a soft smile gracing his features.

“It is not a problem, y/n. You were in distress, and I am more than happy to help.” He reached out, patting your uninjured leg for a moment before returning to the task at hand.

At his touch, you felt a warmth blossom in your chest, but you didn’t want to think about that right now. So you instead locked your gaze on your leg as he started meticulously cleaning your wounds and removing all the splinters you’d managed to get.

After the first touch sent near white hot pain through your body, you’d decided it was probably best not to watch so you laid yourself back, staring instead the ceiling as you balled your fists in an attempt to stay as still as possible.

Thankfully, the good doctor was precise in his movements and had you sufficiently patched up in seemingly no time at all. Considering the amount of damage, having to sit still for 20 minutes really hadn’t been that bad.

You let out a shaky breath in response to his question of how you were doing, still trying to hold your tears that had never left you in.

The weight of his palm against your upper arm startled you into opening your eyes and looking up at the now blue eyes of the doctor.

“It is okay, y/n. It’s understandable that this kind of injury is quite painful, especially considering the entity will likely not heal it until your next trial.” There was understanding in his face, a tenderness you’d never seen on him before.

It was foreign, but not unwelcome. You still felt plenty embarrassed by your situation, but the voice inside your head happily reminded you that it could have been worse.

Although, at the gentle press of his hand, the dam that had been holding back your emotions finally burst.

Hot tears trickled out the sides of your eyes to disappear into your hair behind your ears, the sensation feeling strange and only adding to your already frazzled nerves.

You sniffed once, twice, then let out a small but frustrated sounding whimper as your hands came up to rub almost viciously against your eyes.

Why of all times to loose your cool was it in front of a killer? Granted, he’d helped you and had never treated you poorly outside of trials, but this was beyond mortifying.

Your outburst didn’t phase him, knowing that the survivors already had a stressful enough existence with the trials and not having their own places unlike the killers. Living in a makeshift tent with just the campfire to keep the place lit up wasn’t easy for any of them.

He moved his hand to the top of your head, gently running his hand down it a few times, effectively petting your hair while he let you cry it out.

You instinctively turned into the touch, your body curling in on it’s side while you reached out blinding to grab the hem of his shirt while you tried your hardest to cry quietly.

Content with just letting you take your time, he continued the gentle petting of your hair, taking a small step closer so your arm wasn’t so outstretched.

A low hum left him, intent on soothing you in any way he could.

He’d been a bit off put by your almost venomous refusal of his help at first, but looking down at you as you slowly stopped crying, the hiccups starting and seeing you scrub your sleeve at your face to try and wipe away the tears there.

His other hand moved to stop you from rubbing your face anymore, offering you the pocket square he always had one him.

“No need to dirty your clothes when this is here. It is what it was meant for, after all.”

His encouraging smile was enough to have you taking it with no resistance.

And after you’d dried your face and blown your nose, he helped you sit up, hand lingering at your arms for a moment before he tilted his head.

“I know this is rather unorthodox, but would you like a hug? I believe it would benefit you, and to be completely honest, I wished to comfort you so this whole time.” His eyes were a gentle white now, as he waited patiently for your response.

A light blush took over your face, trying not to feel any smaller than you already felt.

Turning your face away before giving a small nod had him smiling at your own bashfulness.

And that’s how the first hug you’d received after coming to the entity’s realm happened. And there was many more to be had with the doctor, as you had been quick to find out.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad accepting help sometimes.

#Herman Carter x reader #Herman Carter #Dead by Daylight fluff #Dead by Daylight #sft #fluff #request #my writing

[aenxiome]

Chapter 3: Suck it up Fenton

The rest of the day ended up being lackluster.

In the beginning, things were going well, seating assignments had been changed, and more teachers roamed the halls during and between classes. Unfortunately, the changes aren't going to last. While teachers were punishing students for bad behavior, it wasn't always the ones who did the deed that got punished. It is almost like the trouble makers started rapidly evolving. Many of the A-List target students got detention, with their reflective bully doing a whole 180 when a teacher showed up. Thankfully I managed not to get detention for a second day and a row, but that may be from Dash getting in trouble earlier today.

I may be giving my classmates more credit than they are worth, though. Before today, none of the teachers ever monitored the events in the hallways—giving everyone free rein to do what they wished without any consequences. This isn't anyone evolving. This is their way of getting around the new, hopefully, standards that they are trying to implement. If things continue to go this way, the A-Lists and others are just going to become less subtle in their actions. Not that I expect them to be able to pull it off in the end, but the new arrangement might cause even more issues.

'Great going Fenton, you just screwed everyone, I tell myself. Not everyone can handle themselves as well as you can. This is going to mean so much trouble. But, I try to look on the bright side, thinking about Astronomy. I got some papers back today, full credit on my star chart, though that's pretty much expected of me at this point. So not too surprising. Hopefully, other classes will improve with the seating arrangements being changed, but there is no way of telling if they truly will.

Once classes were over and done with, I met up Sam and Tucker at the Nasty Burger. The restaurant is just starting to get busy with the constant incoming groups of students coming through the door. Thankfully we can claim our regular booth and put in an order for food. " So, how did your guys' day go?" Tucker asks, fiddling with one of his newer PDAs. He goes through PDAs as Dad goes through fudge, a lot of them and all the time. Sam and I just shrug in response and continue the conversation going through some random small talk.

In the middle of our conversation, Tucker suddenly goes still and stares at the PDA. He shoves the device in front of Sam's face making her read whatever has grabbed his attention. Once she is done looking at whatever it is, she and Tucker make eye contact conveying something to each other that I am unable to make out. Sam starts to say something but is interrupted by our food arriving.

"Danny," Tucker says as I shove fries into my mouth, " what happened last night?" I give him a questioning look. Sam slides over the PDA it is showing a local news article. The headline, "MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY," is plastered at the top. Below it shows a picture of a destroyed abandoned lot, the same lot from the fight with Skulker earlier this morning.

MORE DESTRUCTION IN AMITY

by Charisma Lynn

This morning residents of this local neighborhood woke up to the remains of another ghost fight. All around the grounds, traces of the battle can be found. Burn marks cover the ground in many areas showing the intensity of the fight. When officials first got on the scene, they found a couple of abnormalities not commonly seen. In a couple of different places, shattered pieces of ghostly green energy can be found. At first appearance, the pieces look like stained glass, but after the first contact turns into a gooey substance. Residents are being told not to worry as the substance is completely harmless but to still take caution. Along with the glass-like substance is a frozen piece of the ground. Even in the sunlight, the spot has shown no difference and is as hard as a rock. Out of the earth is a broken piece of ice. So far, we are unable to tell where the ice has come from, but our best guess is from some kind of ghostly interference. Many residents of the neighborhood have to ask where Phantom was? Was he part of the destruction, or is there a new ghost in town? Find out more tonight at 6 on APC.

I look up from the article to see Sam and Tucker staring at me. I shove more unsalted fries into my mouth. Did you know salt is a natural ghost repellent I, unfortunately, learned that the hard way. Never again. I finish chewing before reassuring them, " Guys, it's fine it was just a typical ghost fight." Tucker starts on his food apparently satisfied with my answer while Sam looks like she is getting ready to argue, but I interject before she gets the chance.

" It was just Skulker, it wasn't anything too bad" the mixture of "too bad" and Skulker grabs Tucker's attention once again. With him too now giving me a critiquing look over. " Are you sure dude? You aren't hurt anywhere are you?" His voice started to become a little bit frantic as he says, "Because Im not going to the hospital. Sorry but that's where I draw the line."

" Okay, but that doesn't explain what's up with the ice spot and glassy thingy," Sam says, bringing us back to the point of the conversation. " Not now," I tell them. I glance around the crowded room before looking back to them, "not here."

They look as if they are preparing to argue as I whisper, " in private." I get a couple of questioning looks as I continue, " Theres' too many people that could overhear" With the promise to talk about it later, our meal went back to everyday small talk and griping about whatever else is bothering us.

Thankfully they let it go. For now, at least.

We finish up our meal and leave the restaurant, then start on down the road. "So," Sam asks, looking in my direction, " where exactly are we going? Your place?" I start to agree but get cut off by Tucker, " We should go to the lot." I give him a questioning glance. He continues his thought, saying, " The picture in the article doesn't show much, and you never know the media could be over-exaggerating again."

"Why not," Sam says with the tone of excitement in her voice, " sounds like fun." I stop walking as I think it over. Before I can say anything, the two of them rush off ahead in the direction of the lot while a feeling of dread overtakes me. "Guys," I call out to them, trying to catch back up, " I don't think this is a good idea." I tell them in a rush, "I will tell you about it when we get to my place. We don't need to go there." Sam narrows her eyes at me before saying, "you're hiding something."

" No, that's not it," I wring my hands in my shirt, unsure of how to proceed. She doesn't let up with her glare at my words. Sam sighs and comes towards me, grabs my arm, and pulls me along with her. I try to pull myself away without hurting her, but I just can't seem to do it. Finally, I become resigned and hesitantly follow without protest.

Didn't they read the same article that I did? It says authorities looked at the lot. They would have had to call ghost experts. Who is to say that they still aren't there? What are we going to say if the Guys In White stuck around? Or even worse, my parents.

When we arrive, the lot is empty, only showing past signs of anyone having been here. The three of us cautiously walk towards the destruction. Next to me, I hear Tucker gasp before saying, "Oh my…" he stops himself before saying anything else. Sam isn't much better putting her hand around my arm in a vice grip.

Before them stands the evidence of one of my fights. In the daylight, the damage looks worse than it did under the moon, making me feel even worse about our actions than I already do. The ground doesn't look so much burned but scorched. As if a fire had burned away its beauty and left a hot steaming pile of muck in its place.

The few trees that line the property have missing limbs that have either splintered or lie on the ground. Shards of ectoplasm are scattered around in the grass, waiting for an unsuspecting human to fall victim to its goo or a ghost to impale its self on its sharp edges. In the middle of it, all is the spikey ice collum surrounded by the frozen frosty ground.

" So they under exaggerated this time," Tucker said, trying to bring humor to the situation, " who would have guessed." I look away from them, ashamed. " It didn't look this bad at night," I say softly, " It didn't" Unable to meet their eyes, I walk forward towards the Ice. Sam and Tucker tell me not to touch anything that I don't know where it comes from As I get near it. I ignore them and put my hand on the side of the spike. Even in human form, I am still unable to feel any of its coldness. It feels just as warm as the air around us, a little moist but not cold.

Sam and Tucker, at some point, walk towards the spike and join me at my side while I inspect the spike. " What does it feel like to you?" I ask. " Dude, it's Ice, it's cold. What else is it supposed to feel like?" I continue to glide my hand over the ice while telling them to humor me. I watch as they put their hands onto the ice, and as soon as they touch it, their hands go flying away from it. They both hold their hand as if something is attacking them. "Danny, how can you touch that!" Sam exclaims, " that stuff is freezing!"

" It feels warm to me," I tell them nonchalantly as if this is an everyday occurrence. " Danny, this isn't normal," Sam says in a worried tone. I don't say anything in response, knowing that this isn't normal for human beings, not at all. Instead, I stare at the ice, trying to figure out how to fix it, when suddenly, an idea comes to my head. I look towards them and hum to catch their attention, "Hey, do you think you can back up for a second? I have something I want to try."

As soon as they are far away enough, I check and double-check that no one is around. Before going forward on my idea, I yell to Tucker, " Tuck, can you check for cameras and stuff first?" He pulls out his PDA and tells me, " No problem with 'Simone' I'll know if anything is there in a jiffy." I wait a second until I hear him give the okay and start my attempt.

My eyes start to glow an icy ethereal blue as I stand before the spike and tap into my ice core. I can feel the cold rushing through me and out to my surroundings. In my presence, the spike starts to repair itself as I let my core come to the surface. In the middle of the spike, I can feel a connection to myself, its ectoplasmic connection to myself. Instead of pushing the ice out, I pull it in, and before my eyes, the ice starts to melt. Instead of shattering like before, it slowly becomes raw energy becoming a blue-white blob.

I gather as much energy as I can from the earth, defrosting it and adding it to the rest of the blob. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding when all of the ice finished melting. I look around the lot for the scorched places, instinctively knowing what to do. I melt the icy ectoplasmic blob even more into water and send it around to saturate the ruined earth. When the ecto-water hits the ground, the earth lets out a satisfying hiss. The ground looks as if it has partially recovered, making it look like months have gone by instead of only a few hours since the initial conflict. Slowly I let go of my core, letting my eyes go back to their normal human hue. A smile comes to my face at my accomplishment, and I look over at Sam and Tucker. They are both staring at me with huge eyes with different emotions flashing through them: amazement, surprise, and wonder.

I go to take a step towards them when the world starts to spin. I feel myself stumble forward. " Danny!" I hear my name called out in fear and a rushing of feet coming to me. A wave of nausea hits me hard, and I lose my balance falling forward. Luckily Sam is just close enough for me to fall onto. "Danny," I hear my name called out again, " oh my gosh, are you okay?" Feeling too weak to answer, all I can do is groan.

" What are we going to do?" I hear Tucker ask Sam frantically, " we can make it to his place from here, and both of our houses are on the other side of town." The two of them keep coming up with ideas that won't work to get us out of the lot. I try to interject but just moving my mouth causes me pain.

Finally, I manage to groan out a name, "Jazz," but they don't seem to hear me. I try again, a bit louder this time, "Jazz," Sam stops talking, and when Tucker doesn't, I listen to her hit him in the back of the head. "Hey, what was that for" he complains, "Shush, Danny said something." With the raging quiet for the last time, I groan, "Jazz."

A quick vague phone call later and give or take a few minutes, Jazzs' car pulls up, and they give a sigh of relief. I hear a door slam and a worried Jazz making her way over. When she gets to us, I try to look up at her and grab her attention, but I am unable to reach her eyes. " What happened" She interrogated as she crouches down to take hold of me. I feel fatigued and start to lose track of the conversation. The next thing I know, someone has picked me up, and I'm in the car. I feel at ease with the motion of the car as we race home. It doesn't take long for me to close my eyes and fall asleep.

When I come to, I'm staring at the old stick-on stars that are attached to my bedroom ceiling. I cautiously sit up, feeling the strain of an invisible muscle, my core, in my chest. My sister and friends are spread out in the room, passed out exhausted. I glance at the clock next to my bed and read the time 3:18 AM. I try to get up from the bed, but I tumble down onto the floor. The sound wakes up Jazz, making her spring into action, helping me back up. "Hey," she whispers, "don't move too fast. You are still recovering."

I wince a little at the movement. Once she gets me steady, I whisper, "Can you help me get to the bathroom." She nods and carefully helps me to the bathroom. Once everything is situated, Jazz brings me back to my room and helps me onto the bed. I scoot over, making enough room for her to join me, which she quickly accepts.

"They told me what happened at the lot," she says, motioning towards my friends, " What were you thinking trying something like that?" She admonishes. I snuggle into her, getting comfortable before starting my defense, " I was just trying to clean up the mess we make," With a look, I explain further, " Skulker and I fought there last night. It went a little longer than expected. I didn't realize that we made such a mess."

"What about the ice," she inquires. I give half a shrug, " It was unexpected; I don't know how it happened." I tell her truthfully, " I plan to go visit Frostbite this weekend and see if he knows anything." She starts raking her hand through my hair then continues the conversation, " They said you got rid of the ice and fixed part of the ground? They didn't explain it too well. Care to elaborate?"

"It's weird. I just kind of knew how to do it. It was like…." I trail off, not liking the word I need to use. Jazz, unfortunately, knew where to pick up at, "Instinct?" She questions, with my silence being the only acknowledgment she needs. She sighs before saying, "It's okay, you know, to admit it." We lay there for a while before I decide to respond, " I can't." I react in denial, " If I acknowledge it, then it makes it true." Jazz lets out a breathy laugh at that, " So, what if you don't talk about it? It's going to go away?"

" I wish," I mumble, "It's just if I talk about it, then it becomes more real. I can pretend to be normal." She scoffs at my response, " Normal is overrated anyway." I let out a yawn and looked over at the time 4:03 AM. " Can we talk about this later? It's late." She lets out a yawn of her own, having caught mine before saying accusingly, " You just don't want to talk about it." I don't deny her accusation but put some more distance between the two of us and painfully turn over.

What does she want me to tell her? That I feel drawn to go to Ghost Zone? That I like laying around in my ghost form? I can get away with feeling like me under the stars and use insomnia as an excuse, but there is no way to explain anything else. If I told her some of these things, it would just be more of a confirmation of what I already know: I'm a freak.

" Good night, Jazz."

"Good night, little brother."

#dash baxter #danny phantom #danny fenton #phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #jazz fenton #mentions of skulker #skulker