I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.
Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.
And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.
Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.
They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.
When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.
Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.
When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.
"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.
"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.
Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.
Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.
Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.
When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.
Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.
because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far
when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)
danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.
and god help him, he's going to help people.
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Errors, “Errors,” and Sci Fi
@strawberry-crocodile
tvtropes calls stuff like the wolf example "science matches on" which I think is a pretty fair shake
This. This is what’s got me thinking so much about errors. There’s a certain danger, here. A certain way that this particular effect — delicious dramatic irony — tempts the mind when reading old stories, even true ones.
What do you know about R.M.S. Titanic? I ask my class every year, and the first hand rises. “It was unsinkable,” the student inevitably says, and everyone is nodding, “or so they thought.” I write the word UNSINKABLE on the board, underneath my crude drawing of a ship with four smokestacks. It will be crossed out before the end of the hour, but not for the reason they expect.
“I find no evidence,” Walter Lord, preeminent biographer of the ship’s survivors, wrote, “that Titanic was ever advertised as unsinkable. This detail seems to have entered the collective mind so as to create a more perfect irony.” Indeed, historians’ examinations of White Star Line documents show the shipbuilders themselves worried it would be so large as to risk collision; they stocked several more lifeboats than 1910s regulations required.
The War to End All Wars (deep breath, satisfied exhale), also known as World War ONE. Chuckle. Shake of the head. What if I told you that this phrase, used primarily in American newspapers after the fact, wasn’t meant to be literal? Nowadays we’d say The Mother of All Wars, or One Hell of a Fucking War, but we wouldn’t mean literal motherhood, literal intercourse. What if I said the armistice and the Lost Generation and the Roaring 20s were all braced for another outbreak of European conflict, and yet we still failed to prevent it?
Did you know they were so confident in the safety of the S.S. Challenger that they put a civilian schoolteacher onboard? I do, because I’ve heard that one repeated many times. Only, see, it’s got the cause and effect reversed. Challenger launched on a day the shuttle’s engineers knew to be dangerously cold, because the first civilian in space was on board. And NASA knew its shuttle project would be cancelled entirely, if they couldn’t get that civilian’s much-delayed entry into space in the next two weeks. So they launched on a cold day, and killed her instead.
These are all what cognitive science calls Hindsight Bias on the personal level, what sociology calls Presentism on the cultural level. Social psychology’s a little of both, is primarily interested in why you’re sitting on your couch in a Colonize Mars shirt watching PBS and chuckling at the fools who believed in El Dorado. It wants to know why the mind flees straight from “marijuana will kill you” to “marijuana will cure cancer” without so much as a pause on the middle ground of its real benefits and drawbacks, its real (mild) risks and rewards.
And they can paralyze the sci-fi writer, if you think too much about them. Jetsons is futurist one decade, retro the next. “There are no bathrooms on the Enterprise,” the creators of Serenity say smugly, as if Gene Roddenberry should’ve simply known that decades later it’d be acceptable to show a man peeing in full view of the camera, nothing but the curve of the actor’s hand to protect his modesty. “No sound in space,” the Fandom Menace says, “No explosions in space,” and “A space station can’t collapse in zero-G.” Only then NASA burns a paper napkin outside of atmosphere, transmits music using only the ghost of nearby planets’ gravities, and logs onto Reddit long enough to point out the Death Star would implode in its own gravity field. And now we’re the ones pointing, the ones laughing, at those earlier point-and-laughers. Self-satisfied, smug in superiority. As if we did the work to find out ourselves, instead of just happening to be born a little later than George Lucas.
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People liked my poorly drawn mspaint yttd, so I figured I should use my powers for good. (and if you haven't seen my previous posts: yes the image is drawn badly on purpose)
Hi! As you may or may not know, this week (21-28 January) is the global strike week for a ceasefire in Gaza. This was called for by Bisan Odwa, a journalist from Gaza (@wizard_bisan1 on Instagram). Here is a link to her post calling for this strike (click).
I'm posting this in the YTTD tags to spread awareness in the circle I'm most active in. I want to encourage you to participate however you can! Literally anything helps, no matter how small it may seem to you! The YTTD community on Tumblr has proven to be very active and cooperative, so I believe that we can make a real difference if we work together.
Here is a post with helpful graphics on how you can participate (click)
And here is a post on how you can help Palestine not just during the strike, but any day (it updates regularly!) (click)
Thank you for your attention. Free Palestine!
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Black Hat lunged at his counterpart, body contorting into a vicious conglomeration of teeth, smoke, tendrils, and distorted bone. An echoing symphony of shrill, unholy roars filled the room as the enraged demon carried out his onslaught, ripping into White Hat’s body with a fury unparalleled to anything Flug’s seen from him before.
And considering how much Flug's seen already...
I wanted to make BH way bigger but then WH would look too smol to see well enough haha
@ Nosy anon, I promise I'll come up with a proper actual snippet to respond to this one of these days, but in the meantime, have this random impulse drawing and a very very short paragraph of fic to go along with it lol?
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