Bad Fanfiction

Danny wishes that life were just a little bit more like FanFiction. Big mistake. Desiree grants his wish, and now, he is at the mercy of an evil authoress whom is forcing the poor teen through the nightmares of the DP fictional world. Insanity assured.

~*o*~

Hello, my dears! I realize that I have a thousand projects that need doing, but I will try my very best keep this short. Essentially, this is me poking a bit of lighthearted fun at Danny Phantom Fanfiction, because while I do love it dearly, there are several recurring themes that occasionally make me quip a brow every now and again. Now, it's finally time to speak aloud what I normally mutter under my breath like the cowardly dork that I am. Please don't kill me if you feel I have insulted your favorite pairing/plot/indignant ghost boy who most certainly wants to destroy me for putting him on this venture.

Danny: Between you and the majority of the DP Yaoi writers, I'm going to have to say that you're a heartless sadist. What kind of pleasure do you get out of this?

Authoress: Why in the world do you point out yaoi FIRST?

Danny: Because that's the truth of it: If you kitten-kicking ladies have taught me anything, (And I think it's painstakingly honest that most of you are girls, by the way) it's that pain and treating people inhumanely is perfectly acceptable provided that you do it to someone who's at your mercy. If you guys aren't sticking me with someone I hate, you're dropping a piano on my head, or-

Authoress: Yes, yes, Danny, you're a wonderful sport. I'll be appearing in this fiction as well, folks. Just as the Authoress.

*Evil smiles all around* Let the fun begin!

Danny: I'm going to wish every type of cancer, several for body parts that don't even exist, on you.

Authoress: Aw, Danny, you know I love you. Don't I always work things out for you?

Danny: 3

NOTE: All similarities to any persons or fictions is entirely coincidental. Or just simply very, very unfortunate.

~*o*~

Level I: Confused Intercourse

WE ARRIVE WHERE MANY DP STORIES START: THE BEDROOM. Danny stirs awake, smiling faintly in the darkness over a ridiculous dream he might have had. He'd been sitting outside the Nasty Burger with Sam and Tucker wishing that his life were more like a fanfiction. Danny Phantom had become a pop culture icon seemingly overnight after the incident with Pariah Dark, and now books were being adapted about his supposed origins. He'd browsed a few, cracked up with Sam and Tucker over the more ridiculous lines, (From the way that they'd drawn him on the cover, you'd think he was injecting horse tranquilizers into his biceps) but couldn't deny that he always appreciated the clichéd happy endings that didn't involve Phantom charging out his white stallion (Even though the boy could fly) out of a fiery, exploding building, cradling a dismayed bunny in one hand, and a buxom girl that looked suspiciously like him in the other.

Phantom was marked as a misunderstood, unsung hero in the stories. But hey, he always got the chick, and the two usually wound up making out in his fancy cave/mansion/walkup thirty miles in the sky.

While Sam and Tucker enjoyed a good roar of laughter at their friend's expense, Danny had sarcastically wished that his life could be more of the such aloud.

Unfortunately, just seconds after he'd made the stupid wish, his ghost sense had gone off, and he'd had to capture a smirking Desiree in his Fenton Thermos (Good for soup and vengeful, betrayed harem specters) before he could call it a day. He'd been troubled by the satisfied smirk on the ghost's face, but he'd pushed it to the back of his mind before long, said his goodbyes to his friends, and gone home for a well-deserved early night.

And now, he was stirring, though it was still dark in his room. Although his wrists were feeling really, really sort of uncomfortable right now, as though cold manacles with sharp edges were somehow digging into soft flesh that SHOULD have been heavily calloused after years of ghost fighting, but we're going to ignore that detail for now.

Danny tried to sit up, but could not. Sitting up properly was made somewhat difficult by the fact that his hands were stretched widely apart from one another, and, in the moonlight gleaming from the window, could see silvery chains bound to manacles around his wrists, which were tied to the bedposts. His feet were bound with rope, and each was tied to the end of the bedframe.

As this is somewhat of an awkward/erotic/terrifying way to wake up, and considering Danny was stretched out like a starfish, the boy let out a scream, but immediately a blue hand flew down over his mouth to silence him.

A pair of bloodthirsty eyes glittered at him from the darkness, and a familiar, malevolent smirk greeted him from above.

Haunted form dissolving out of the jet-darkness of the night (Ignore the fact that I just told you moonlight was coming in) Vlad Plasmius appeared beside Danny's bed, manic smile so…maniacal…..and filled with a pretensive lust that immediately tells readers what's about to happen in the next ten pages you review over and over again despite the fact the author has made it clear that it will not be updated in the distant future.

Stunned into muteness, Danny gawked at him, and the silence between the two was deafening. Vlad continued his evil smirk, but satisfaction faded away slightly as Danny only continued to gaze at him, dumbfounded, slightly akin to the way Tucker stared with unbelievable worship in his eyes at the recent/smallest/lightest version of a handheld computer.

"Well?" asked Vlad Masters impatiently. "Aren't you going to demand to know what I've done to you? For me to let you go? Aren't you at the very least going to try and go ghost, only for you to learn that it's somehow futile, so that I can elegantly and yet darkly seductively approach you in a way that sends shivers down your spine, and makes you quite uncomfortable?"

Bemused, Danny pulled lightly at his chains-they did not give-and a deep frown slowly settled over his eyes.

"Okay, I tried Dad's undead chicken lasagna, and I'm seriously regretting it now."

Vlad raised an eyebrow in bewilderment, but Danny only let out a soft sigh, his brow unfurrowing as he turned his face back to the pillow, albeit somewhat awkwardly.

"But call me back when you can conjure up a nightmare that involves me in a dress," he murmured sleepily. "That kind of stuff normally brings up fan art, and a good few sessions in therapy."

Vlad stared at him, anger slowly beginning to trickle in as Danny began to settle back into sleep. Irritated, the man seized Danny by the shoulders, and wrenched the unhappy boy awake.

"WAKE UP, DAMN YOU!" he shouted, which should have woken the Fenton household members, but we're going to assume that they're somewhere in Eastern Peru for convenience's sake. "I'm here to assault you with mental scars and claim you as my own, assuming one round of sexual intercourse can bond one person to another forever!"

Danny woke up pretty quickly, but Vlad's satisfaction was short-lived.

"You cussed!" Danny snapped, attempting to whip up forwards in bed, but instead just proceeding to tumble on his face. "The censors will be on you like sharks to an open-"

Suddenly, Danny seemed to grow much more aware of the situation. Staring at his chains in confoundment, he immediately attempted to go ghost.

However, as he half expected, the chains only sent a painful jolt through his body, and, stars flashing before his eyes, Danny landed back against his pillow with a painful groan.

Vlad whipped around, consulted his manual carefully, turned around again, and started laughing maniacally.

"Seems you're not very good with the whole 'listening' concept, are you, little badger?"

Danny simply stared at him through the dark bangs that had fallen over his eyes, entranced. After a moment, Vlad began to grow a little bit uncomfortable.

"What?" he barked.

Danny only smiled sheepishly.

"Could you repeat that again? Your British accent is kind of adorable."

Vlad immediately saw red, and he seized a chair, which he then abruptly tossed out the nearby window in his wrath. He whipped around with gritted teeth, every contour of his face outlined with displeasure, and the dangerous aura that pulsated around him, akin to that of a vengeful predator, made the terrible looking haunt look like an enraged angel of hell burning with awful, fiery beauty.

Essentially, Vlad looked pissed.

"I, contrary to what YOU or what ANYONE else thinks, DO NOT HAVE A BRITISH ACCENT!" he shouted, abruptly setting Danny's dresser on fire. "I just happen to be more articulate, is all! Haven't you ever learned that a more intelligent enemy is clearly the more dangerous type?"

Danny cocked his head slightly, not seeming to care that half of his dresser was being eaten up by ectoplasmic flames.

"Could you say that again? It's the accent. It makes it hard to pay attention to much else."

While Vlad started foaming at the mouth, Danny looked uncertainly at the villain, tugging uselessly at his chains as he did so.

"Say, what sort of villain are you supposed to be?" he asked curiously. "Lex Luther, or that James Bond villain who's missing an eye and has a cat? You have a cat, and you're insanely rich, but you're not nearly as stupid as….uh, that guy whose name I don't know. Except for the fact that you get tricked all the time. And you always lose. But other than that, you're pretty darn smart."

Vlad pinched the bridge of his nose, and settled into the one chair that had neither been sit on fire, nor neatly deposited three floors to the pavement, face buried in his gloved hands.

"I'm not a villain at all, Daniel. Like I said, all I ever wanted was love. I'm a bitterly misunderstood character, which is precisely why I'm as appealing as I am."

Danny scoffed.

"All you ever wanted-GET REAL! Danielle loved you, and you nearly floor-palmed her into the ground just because you're a selfish, arrogant creep who can't get over forgive the man who helped you earn your fortune and gave you seriously wicked powers for falling in love with a girl you met in your heydays. Besides, how loving can you be if you come to a defenseless teen's room in the dead of night and tie them up? Sounds kind of like you're more the deranged nutjob type."

Vlad checked his manual.

"I'm supposed to respond to that with cold rage, frighten you, and assert my dominance," he said carefully, after checking the manual's chapter So Your Victim Is Attacking You With Broad Anger and Flawless Reasoning. "But I think I'll skip that part and start coming onto you slowly, so we can allow a keen sense of dread and dawning apprehension to develop, hmm?"

With that being said, Vlad approached the bed, carefully applying Vaseline on his ivory fangs. Danny stared at him, eye twitching in outright horror as the man straddled him.

"W-Why?"

Vlad smirked.

"Because."

"But why?"

"Because I said so!"

"But why?"

"Because I'm evil!"

"But why? And I thought you said you weren't evil!"

Vlad considered the matter, thoughtfully looking out into space, hands still wrapped around Danny's forearms.

"W-ell…..I suppose it's probably because my parents didn't love me enough," he confessed, looking back at Danny with a shrug. "Which totally makes it acceptable, despite the fact that if someone in real life were to use that reasoning in a courtroom session, the majority of the decent population in this country would demand my stoning. As for mine being evil, that's very debatable, really. Certainly one can say that I've been wicked, but my character has already proved it is worthy of redemption, provided I were not to, for some bizarre reason, die a horrible and gruesome death alone in the vacuum of space. But certainly THAT will never come to pass."

Danny bit his lip, thinking for a moment.

"Your parents? I don't think they've ever been mentioned."

Vlad shrugged again, before his lips descended to Danny's neck, making the very nervous boy shiver.

"The majority of stories that these people write usually portray my father as a penguin-eating, puppy-kicking, no-good, fairly nasty, alcoholic/abusive father/cold, rich, distant father/ alcoholic, abusive, cold, rich, AND distant father," he mumbled, while his lips buried themselves in Danny's neck, making his words come out like mush. "As well as not being a very pleasant person. Mother's usually fine, although I think I hear accounts of her being a bank robber now and again, when people want to explain the source of why I'm such a horrible person, and portray me in a more sympathetic venue."

Danny cringed away from the man, looking disgusted.

"Dude, did someone forget to give you your happy medication tonight? I think my Dad has some downstairs, although he normally just calls it fudge."

But Vlad was too busy kissing Danny and assaulting the young adolescent's mind with painfully explicit images and ripping it apart as his body responded so eagerly to the man's soft touches, mocking his turbulent, tormented mind, with-

Danny abruptly struck Vlad across the face, successfully removing a molar. While Vlad was reeling in agony, Danny immediately sat up again, now angrier than ever.

"HELP!" he shouted out desperately. "HEEELLLLLLPPPPP! Ghostbusters! Police! ANYONE!"

And then, from above, a voice abruptly answered, sounding cranky.

"Dude. I'm trying the best I can here, but I don't like rape fictions very much. I don't think this is working out so well."

Danny blinked, wondering if at last the people who claimed that a day of judgment was soon coming forth were correct.

"Um, excuse me?" he asked the heavens above (I.e, his bedroom ceiling), his voice coming off as a meek squeak. "Beg pardon?"

"Just hang on, Danny. Tell me anytime you want this to stop, and we can try something else. Can't make any promises that it'll be any better, though."

Aghast, Danny pulled once again at his chains, dismayed. The voice sounded worried, distinctively feminine, and troubled.

"What the heck are you talking about? Those mushrooms I tried were the magically delicious ones, not the ones that people distribute at school."

"Danny, you blockhead, this is your wish! I can only help you out so much, but only IF you trust me and IF you can outlast the next-"

But Vlad's hands had found Danny's clothes, and it wasn't long before the man had torn them off intangibly, leaving the poor boy in his boxers. Danny squawked in alarm and tried to cover himself, but the man pressed the two of them together, his smile vicious.

"Soon enough," he hissed, his eyes smoldering with lust, and his smile now minus one fang, "We'll be navel to navel, and you'll be screaming my name as I plunge into you, both of us craving more, and-"

Danny's expression went blank.

"Um, dude. That's….um…."

The boy went scarlet.

"….not….anatomically….correct."

"What?" Vlad snapped. "Of course it is. Same as it is with a girl."

"Dude. Number one, it's not going to happen." Somehow, Danny was 112% sure that it would not, and could not, happen. At least, not now.

And not ever, if he had anything to say about it.

"Number two, well, uh, g-gay…..er….sex would be different with….t-two guys, regardless of whether or not it was consensual. At least if it were…."

The tips of Danny's ears turned red.

"Anal sex. But I don't have….female parts. I don't understand why you'd think I did. I'm not a girl, or a hermaphrodite."

"Yes, well, that's a recurring misconception in these stories, dear. Most gay sex stories on FF aren't exactly written realistically, but considering that it's fanfiction, I wouldn't take it very seriously. If you'll pardon my vulgarity, Vlad would have to come in the….ah….back door."

The two startled halfas (Where the hell did that term come from, anyway?) glanced upwards at the voice, but no woman was in the room. Vlad's brow furrowed, and he immediately checked his manual.

"I object," Vlad snapped. "I demand evidence."

A giant medical textbook immediately materialized in the air, and fell on Vlad's head. While the billionaire lay stunned in stupefied agony, Danny cautiously grabbed a corner of the heavy book, awkwardly dragged it over near the moonlight so that he could read, and started scanning the lines. After a moment, he let out a crow of protest.

"HA! She-whoever the heck SHE is-is right! You physically can't do that with a male!"

Vlad sneered.

"Doesn't mean that I'm still not going to assault you, child. By the end, you'll be begging for it, because although no reference has been made to my sexual history, and reason dictates that I could easily have been celibate these past twenty years in name of the woman I loved, I'm an absolute stud."

Danny inched away from the crawling man, paling considerably.

"And then what?" he asked weakly.

Vlad blinked.

"And then you fall hopelessly in love with me, of course."

"That doesn't make any sense. If I'd been raped, I'd report it immediately. Besides, regardless of whether or not I enjoyed it at the end, legality says that if someone says no and doesn't verbally take it back-if sex still happens, regardless of what that person says or does, it's still rape. And seriously, that's a seriously sick way to form a relationship. What kind of respect can you have with someone who'd take advantage of you like that, or hurt you like that? That's just inhumane."

"Not so!"

"Actually Vlad, I think he's right again," commented the voice. "I can send down the lawbook to show you again, if you'd like. And I have a psychological series of dictionaries that would support Danny's theory."

Now, it was Vlad's turn to pale, imagining a hailstorm of heavy books to come thundering down on his head.

"No, no," he said hastily, uneasily backing away from Danny. "I'm quite certain we can do very nicely without. But who are you?" he asked, voice carrying an edge of a mocking jeer in it. "And just whom do you think you are to decide this?"

An electric bolt of lightning appeared in the sky outside the window, and the wind picked up into a savage, hollow howl while thunder deafening followed the savage jet of light that had flashed in the dark skyline.

The girl spoke again, although this time, she sounded threatening, albeit slightly muffled, as if she were trying to sound threatening whilst speaking into an oatmeal tin.

"I'm the authoress."

And, with that, everything but a gasping Danny Fenton abruptly disappeared into nothingness.

~*o*~

Level II: Angst

Blank.

It was all white….all empty.

Now thankfully clothed again, Danny uneasily turned around, staring at the endless white void before him. The light hurt his eyes. He was walking in a sea of non-existence, and, when he tried to take a step forward, the soft movement made a noise like deafening drums. He'd frozen in terror, listening to that noise faintly echo beyond time and eternity.

That was it. No more eating fowl motivated by the unholy powers of ectoplasm and the undead to do evil bidding before bedtime. Danny squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering underneath his ribs, a frantic spell of terror pulsating at his neck.

He tried to run. But he kept running….

….and running….

….and running….

But although his forehead beaded with sweat, and he'd at last had the good sense to transform into Danny Phantom, and fly upwards, he only continued heading up…..

…and up…

…..and only a complete imbecile could not guess by this point that Daniel Fenton met no limits in this empty place. Gasping with exertion, he opened his mouth again to scream, but a voice immediately spoke up in this lifeless zone:

"Cheer up, Danny-I'm creating the next scene. Nothing too bad will happen to you, I promise."

Convinced that the stress of ghost-fighting, school, and maintaining a secret identity all throughout his long and painful adolescence had at last cracked his sanity, Danny closed his eyes, panic still circulating through his veins.

"….who the heck are you?" he asked feebly. Suddenly, suspicion crossed his mind.

"Wait a sec-I had a ghost try and 'narrate' my life before!" he exclaimed, his brow drawing into an outraged look of recognition. "Is this what this is? Another trap? Another lesson?"

"Bingo," said the voice again, sounding pleased. "You wished for your life to become more like Fanfiction, Danny-boy. I'm here to show you why it might not be so pleasant to try."

Uggghhh. Danny's shoulders slumped with weariness, and the unhappy ghost boy kicked out into empty space with a silver boot, hands tucked behind his back.

Desiree, he thought, and groaned.

"Can't I just say that I learned my lesson and cut to the closing credits?" he asked hopefully. "Considering this isn't happening for the most part, and isn't plot essential, we can pretend it never happened, right?"

"Sorry, hon. I really wish I could do that for you, but I can't let you return home until you've run the gauntlet."

The gauntlet?

"Seven reasons why you wouldn't want to live in the fiction that we make for you. I'm sorry, Danny, but no one should decide your destiny but you, and we're often horrible to your many, many counterparts. You're going to take a few of those counterparts' places, today. I'll be there to bail you out whenever it gets too rough, though."

Danny meeped.

"Um….a-heh…heh…." He laughed weakly, although it sounded like quite an effort. The silver haired boy looked desperate. "Can't we reschedule this? Or settle? I'll pay. Or at the very least, TRY to pay. I won't play video games for three weeks."

"Sorry, Danny," said the voice. "Can't let you do plea bargaining."

And the world promptly exploded.

~*o*~

When the brilliant light had stopped burning before Danny's eyelids, the teen at last felt safe enough to lower the fingertips that had been thrown over his eyes with a small sigh of relief.

But then, he glanced at his now human palms, and did a violent double-take.

"What the-?"

Danny's nails has been painted a dark black, and his jeans were much darker and baggier than normal on him. A dark chain hung out of his pocket, and his shirt was no longer red, blue, and white, but black, and there was a solid yellow, unhappy face on it.

Danny immediately looked around his surroundings, finding himself in the depths of a trash-sprewn, stinking alley. Stars did not twinkle above him in the dark sky, but it certainly beat the endless nothingness of his previous destination.

Powdery broken glass tinkled and crunched underneath his black converse shoes (What had happened to those?), and he passed underneath a weak bulb flickering somewhat pathetically in the ruin, and he glanced at himself in a puddle, only to startle back. He was pale, almost inhumanely so, and there were black bands around his wrists, and dark shadows under his eyes that spoke of eye-lining origins.

Much to his horror, one of his ears had been pierced. His mother was going to slaughter him when he got home.

His hair was a great deal spikier than it had used to be, and Danny raised his shaking hands to it in horror. Why the devil did he look like a rock star-a rock star in mourning? Was he stuck in hell or something?

"Something like that," he heard the authoress say darkly. "Welcome to angst fiction, Danny."

And, with that, the light flickered out, and it started to pour.