Baking Snake

All of these will eventually be cross-posted on my Ao3 ThisSnakeCanBake. I share an account with my friends, but all my work will be under ThisSnakeCanBake only. My friends use the other ones.

Eddie's Love

Edward Nigma x Danny Fenton

Part 1 Edward Nigma's Jealousy

Part 2 Edward Nigma's Date

Part 3 Edward Nigma's Pain

Part 4 Edward Nigma's Annoyance

Part 5 Danny’s Dilemma

Part 6 Edward Nigma's Surprise

Eyes of Fear, Hands of Mercy

Jonathan Crane x Danny Fenton

Part 1 Safe

Part 2 Rest and Recover

Part 3 An Open Door

Part 4 Tick

Part 5 Fever

In Life or Death

Bruce Wayne x Danny Fenton x Edward Nashton

Coming Soon

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Trans people are not "just mentally ill"

Trans people are not "just immature"

Trans people are not Trans for "shock value"

Some people just need to shut the fuck up.

Trans people are valid.

You might not treat me like shit physically but those words are still the words of a bigot

I trusted you and loved you

I think I will sleep in the kitchen for the foreseeable future.

Waiting in the ER in Gotham City, not because you got shot or anything.

But Killer Croc was teasing you with his tongue when he got startled and accidentally bit you.

Gotham ||| Jonathan Crane/Danny Fenton ||| long fic |||

POV Jonathan Crane

Words: 413

I can’t get up.

My body aches, my head pounds, and no matter how much I try to will myself to move, I can’t. My limbs feel heavy, my skin burns and chills at the same time, and exhaustion presses down on me like a weight I can’t shake.

I don’t know how long I’ve been like this. A day? More? It’s been building for a while, but I ignored it. Danny has already done so much—I didn’t want to be a burden.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The light filtering through the curtains is too much. My breath comes shallow, my throat raw and dry.

Then, a knock at the door.

I barely react.

Danny’s voice follows, gentle but firm. “Jonathan? Can I come in?”

I swallow, forcing my lips to part. “...Yes.”

The door opens quietly. I don’t have the strength to turn my head, but I hear Danny’s steps, slow and measured as he crosses the room. There’s a pause, then a shift in the air as he gets closer.

“Jonathan,” Danny says, voice suddenly filled with worry.

A second later, the bed dips slightly near my side. I force my eyes open just enough to see him sitting on the edge, his usual unreadable calm cracking at the edges.

His gaze sweeps over me before settling on my face. “Can I feel your forehead?”

I hesitate, but nod weakly.

Danny’s hand is cool against my burning skin. I shudder at the contrast, my body betraying how miserable I feel. His brows furrow, concern settling deeper into his features.

“You have a fever,” he says, and I can hear the certainty in his voice.

I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say.

Danny exhales quietly, then straightens. “I’ll make you some elderberry tea with honey,” he says, his voice taking on a tone of quiet determination. “And chicken and tortellini soup. It’ll help.”

I blink up at him, confused.

I expected… I don’t know. Annoyance? Frustration? Something that would tell me I’d made a mistake by letting him see me like this. But there’s none of that. Just concern, steady and unshaken.

Danny meets my gaze, something soft in his expression. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

I don’t have the energy to respond, but I don’t need to. Danny gives me one last look before standing, his movements smooth and assured. Then he turns, heading for the door.

Gotham ||| Jonathan Crane/Danny Fenton ||| long fic |||

POV Jonathan Crane

Words: 458

The house is quiet, cloaked in darkness.

I move carefully, each step measured, barely making a sound. Not because I’m sneaking—there’s no one here to stop me—but because old habits don’t die easily. I keep expecting something to happen, some unseen force to punish me for daring to leave my room after two weeks of isolation. But nothing does.

The kitchen is empty. The silence is suffocating, but I push through, retrieving a glass and filling it with water. My fingers tremble slightly against the cool surface. I force them to still.

Then, a noise.

It’s faint, coming from down the hall. The sunroom.

I tense immediately. Danny told me the only rule was not to hurt myself or his pets, but I haven’t seen them yet. I don’t even know what kind of pets he has. If something’s wrong—if one of them is hurt—what if he thinks it’s my fault?

The thought is enough to push me forward.

I move toward the sunroom, pressing a hand against the doorframe before stepping inside.

And freeze.

The room is full of birds.

Crows and ravens occupy one side, perched on wooden beams and ledges, watching me with dark, intelligent eyes. On the other side, a cave-like structure houses bats, hanging upside down, shifting slightly as they sleep.

I didn’t expect this.

I barely have time to process before a small crow suddenly lands on my shoulder. My breath catches, body going rigid as its tiny talons grip the fabric of my shirt. It doesn’t hurt, but the weight of it—light yet present—is startling.

Then, to my utter confusion, it nuzzles the underside of my chin.

I don’t know how to react.

A quiet chuckle comes from behind me.

“Looks like Tick likes you,” Danny says, voice amused but soft.

I don’t turn around. My mind is still stuck on the bird pressing itself against me like it’s known me forever.

Danny steps closer. “That’s surprising. Tick doesn’t usually like people.” A pause. “Then again, I think it’d be hard not to like you.”

I stiffen, fingers twitching against the glass in my hand. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I don’t.

Danny doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he asks, “Do you want to keep him in your room, or would you rather he stay here?”

I finally turn my head to look at him, brow furrowing. “...What?”

Danny shrugs. “He probably won’t listen to me anymore now that he’s found someone he likes more.” His lips twitch slightly. “That’s you, by the way.”

I glance back at the small crow, still nestled comfortably against me, like this is where it belongs. Like I’m where it belongs.

I don’t understand it.

Gotham ||| Jonathan Crane/Danny Fenton ||| long fic |||

POV Jonathan Crane

Words: 545

The knock on the door makes me tense.

I stare at it, fingers curling against the fabric of my sleeves. Danny’s voice follows a moment later—calm, patient, like he isn’t expecting anything from me.

“Hey, Jonathan. Is it okay if I come in?”

He asks. He asks.

I don’t know how long I sit there, hesitating. My mind runs through possibilities, through every reason why letting him in might be a mistake. But this is his house. He doesn’t need my permission. He could walk in any time he wanted. And yet… he waits.

I swallow, my throat dry. “...Okay.”

The door opens smoothly, and Danny steps inside, balancing a tray in one hand and a couple of shopping bags in the other. His expression is neutral, unreadable, but there’s something about his presence that keeps my pulse from spiking too fast. He isn’t tense. He isn’t expecting anything.

He’s just here.

“I brought food,” Danny says, stepping forward just enough to set the tray down on the nightstand. The scent of fried chicken and waffles drifts up, warm and oddly… homey. A cup of tea sits next to the plate, steam curling from the surface. “Tea’s a homemade brew—lavender and chamomile. Grows in my garden.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

I’ve barely eaten in the past few days—fear does that to a person. But now, with the food right in front of me, my stomach clenches in a way that isn’t entirely uncomfortable. I ignore it for now, instead glancing at the shopping bags still dangling from Danny’s hand.

Hesitant, I force myself to ask, “What’s in the bags?”

Danny tilts his head slightly, like he’s pleased I asked. “Clothes,” he says simply. “You don’t have anything else, and I figured mine wouldn’t fit you. I tried to get things you’d like, but if you don’t, I don’t mind getting something else.”

I stare at him. He says it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like it isn’t strange at all to buy things for someone you barely know. Like he expects me to have an opinion on what I wear.

No one has ever cared about that before.

I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

Danny doesn’t seem to mind. He walks over to the dresser and sets the bags down gently, like he’s leaving an offering. Then, with the same unreadable calm, he steps back toward the door.

“If you need anything, I’ll be in the sunroom,” he says. “Straight down the hallway.” A pause, then, “That’s where my pets are, too.”

His pets.

I haven’t seen them yet, but I know the only rule in this house—don’t hurt myself, and don’t hurt his pets. It’s an easy enough rule to follow.

Danny doesn’t linger. He gives me a small nod before stepping out, leaving the tray, the clothes, and an open door.

I stare at the food. Then the clothes. Then the door.

It’s still unlocked.

I don’t move.

Danny Fenton is a mystery—one I don’t know how to solve. He kills without hesitation, yet he’s been nothing but careful with me. He doesn’t demand anything, doesn’t push, doesn’t force me into anything I don’t want.