If you follow me on Reddit or Deviantart, you might have seen the fanart that inspired this fic. I've wanted to write it for a while.
Thankfully, I met and made friends with Nymfinity, who is co-writing this with me. You can follow her on Reddit (u/psykomimi) and here (Psykomimi).
I will get to my other stories eventually. I just couldn't pass up a chance for a co-write. Always wanted to do one.
Enjoy!
"What's so special about the new ride opening tonight, Larry?"
"Glad you asked! For starters, it's a launched rollercoaster!"
Danny spooned a bite of 'Boo-Berry' cereal into his mouth, ears perked for the endorsement on the radio.
"That's the one you're riding tonight, right?" Jazz asked, simultaneously poring over her essay for any errors. "Be careful, alright?"
"What do you mean by 'launched?' Larry's co-host asked, "Like it's going to eject you into the air?"
She winced at the description, recalling her last ride in a rollercoaster that had been afflicted with a certain unlucky shadow.
"C'mon, Jazz." Danny repressed an eye-roll. "You know that whole incident was a one-off, and even if it wasn't, I could easily save everyone."
She sighed, erasing a line on her essay and writing a new one in her loopy, elegant handwriting. "Still though. You know I can't help but worry."
"Not quite!" Larry replied to his co-host. "It actually means that Abominatrix will jumpstart you from the beginning, straight up a ninety-degree angle hill!"
"Hmm, but don't you enjoy the build-up when you're inching slowly up that first hill?"
"Oh, but that's where the 'tricks' in Abominatrix comes into play!" Larry's cackle cracked through the radio. "You'll be launched abruptly at the beginning, but then you'll creep along the track at unexpected moments, like while you're hanging upside-down in a corkscrew!"
"Yikes! My ghost might leave my body if that happened!"
"Did someone mention ghosts?!" Summoned by the dreaded 'G' word, Jack barged in through the open doorway.
"It's just the radio," Jazz replied in exasperation, her eyes flicking to the ceiling. "Can we please enjoy our breakfast in peace?"
"Speaking of radios!" He sidled up to Jazz, towering over her and beaming. "I've invented a new state-of-the-art Fenton Tuner!"
"Can it tune Fentons out?" Jazz asked, beaming sarcastically back at him, but it went unnoticed by the hyper-focused Jack.
"Not quite!" Jack presented the Fenton Finder look-alike, a boxy device with a dish antenna protruding from it.
Danny eyed it warily, noting it had three separate analog screens, each one displaying frequency waves that undulated in lime green squiggles. "What's this one do?" he asked, only because it might be relevant to his abnormal biology.
"This is like the Fenton Finder and Ghost Gabber had a baby!"
Danny smiled, waving a spoon in Jazz's direction. "Thought they had two babies? Danny and Jazz?"
She blinked uncomprehendingly for a second before snorting. "I might be adoptedâ"
Danny nodded gravely. "Explains a lot."
"No one's adopted." Jack patted her shoulder reassuringly before tilting the device towards Danny to offer him a better view. "Anyway! You see this first screen? That's the tracker, which scans the premises for nearby ghosts. Only when it's within range, of course. I'll need to spruce it up later on, try to extend the range."
Danny crunched on another bite of Boo-Berries while he listened. Jazz took a swig of her orange juice and multi-tasked with her essay, resignation written all over her features.
"And this here's the analyzer," Jack pressed on, tapping the second analog screen. "Once you locate a ghost within your vicinity, you lock onto a target and analyze its unique sonar with this screen. I call it the 'analyzer' respectively, and it takes a little while to load, especially if the ghost keeps moving out of range." He frowned slightly at the mention of another flaw. Moving on to the bottom screen, he tapped it indicatively. "And finally there's the sequencer, where you'll adjust the dials to match the frequency of your target, and then- boom! You're able to hypnotize the ghost to do your bidding!" He grinned broadly. "Allow me to demonstrate!"
Jazz immediately began protesting, pencil-tip stopping mid-sentence. "Can we please do this later, Dad?"
Undeterred, Jack shook his head. "Hold on! There's a presence nearby!" he exclaimed, mashing a series of buttons until a steady tempo of obnoxious beeps emanated from the Fenton Tuner. "One moment," Jack mumbled. "It's loading!"
Jazz peered over her father's shoulder, seeing a progress bar popping up on the second screen. "Dad, we're listening to the radio. Do you mind?"
Jack thumbed the dial, tongue protruding from his mouth while he concentrated. "Not at all! Just gotta line this up aaaandddâ there!"
Danny spooned a mouthful of cereal before he activated the sequencer. A 'pew' sound emitted from it, followed by a low buzz that made him feel immediately queasy. Suddenly he spat the Boo-Berries out into the bowl, milk pouring down his chin in dribbles. In the background, the radio cut out to static.
"Turn that off," Jazz said, noticing Danny's pallor.
"It might sound annoying to you-"
She exchanged a look with Danny.
"-but to the right ghost, this is like the tale of Narcissus and Echo!"
"Echo who?" Danny echoed, dabbing himself with a napkin while he withheld the urge to vomit.
"Greek mythology?" Jazz recognized it immediately, quirking an eyebrow.
"Every ghost has a unique sonar," Jack prattled on, mistaking Danny's spit-take for amazement. "If you tune into the right frequency, you can echo it to the ghost, thus hypnotizing them to do your bidding! Unless it's the wrong frequency."
Looking over at Danny, she asked, "What happens if it's the wrong frequency?"
"Vertigo and nausea," Jack said, still fiddling with the knob. "Think it's misalignedâ"
"Dad, turn that off!" Jazz pleaded, reaching for it, but Jack dodged her swipe.
"Wait! I've got it!" he exclaimed, adjusting a knob until the low buzz rose to a high-strung pitch. Danny's nausea dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming serenity.
"Show yourself, ghost!" Jack demanded through a built-in microphone.
Danny's eyes flashed ecto-green before fading back to blue. "Hi."
"Hmm?" He blinked at the greeting before looking around frantically. "Danny! Did you see it?!"
Jazz stood up from her chair, the legs squeaking on the floor while she raced to Danny's side.
"I think Danny's sick." She steered him away, guiding the listless boy to the hallway by his shoulders. "Maybe the expired milk? Don't worry, I'll take care of it!"
Jack, meanwhile, continued to fiddle with the knob, oblivious to the chaos he'd caused. "Why can't I find the ghost?"
Sam disembarked from the bus with a rare spring in her step, combat boots scraping on the pavement. While Danny kept in stride, Tucker lagged behind, scribing details onto his PDA calendar.
"What more could you be adding to that, Tuck?" Danny peered over his shoulder at him.
"Just the upgrades I'm going to buy when I win our bet," Tucker said, enclosing the PDA in one of the countless pockets on his cargo pants. "Terminatra's going to win, of course."
"Oh, the techno geek supports the android, who would've guessed?" Sam teased, halting in front of a poster board that advertised the movie in question. Terminatra had been engaged in a stare-down with Psychotica, her bionic eye trained on the disheveled prom queen, who stood against a backdrop of an ecto-green inferno. She wore a crown that dazzled with rhinestones, only for their glow to be outshone by the ectoplasma coating her hair and dress. Through blocky letters at the bottom, the poster announced the movie's premiere date for this Sunday.
"But really, Tuck, Psychotica's going to win," Sam said matter-of-factly, falling in stride with him again.
"Please, she's just an over-dramatic prom queen." Tucker scoffed good-naturedly.
"Yeah, an over-dramatic prom queen with crazy mental powers," Danny corrected. "I gotta go with Sam on this one, Tuck."
"Come on, she's a glass cannon," Tuck argued. "Terminatra's the perfect blend of titanium alloy and violent beauty. Also lasers!"
"Yeah, until Pyschotica sets her on fire," Danny countered easily.
"Okay, worse case scenario, that'll just melt her skin off her endoskeleton." His eyes drooped a bit at the thought of his heroine losing her attractive appearance. "Then, Pyschotica will be up against a ticked-off, naked, curvy endoskeleton. Also with lasers!"
"Well, let's see her try and aim while she's getting tossed around like a ragdoll," Danny threw back. "Pyschotica's got telekinesis too, you know."
"She can take it."
"What if Pyschotica just decides to crush her into a ball?"
"Then there'd be no movie!" Tuck practically exclaimed. "Besides, Terminatra's got a built-in, anti-space generator. Pyscy tries to crush her, she can just go intangible."
"But it only lasts for ten seconds."
"That's longer than Little Miss Angsty will with no weapons or backup!"
"Man, even when it comes to fictional girls, you two can't help but fight." Sam laughed, spectating the debate with a glimmer in her eye. "Personally, I just want Psychotica to survive the movie. She deserves to make it into the Trinity of Doom. Her first movie was SO good, especially the ending."
"You mean, when she and her mother killed each other and then they both died in a fire that destroyed her entire town?" Danny asked.
"Yes." She emphasized the monosyllabic reply with a little hiss. "It was SUCH a heart-wrenching, but also terrifying conclusion that showcased the dangers of psychological and parental abuse!"
"I think you almost cried at that part," Tuck remarked.
"Please." She brushed him off. "I never cry." Planting her hands on her hips, she went on, "But I know you will later tonight when the Abominatrix goes over that first hill."
"As if, I'm 100% man," Tucker declared with a dramatic pose, causing his PDA to tumble out of his pocket. "Ahhh! Baby, are you okay?! Talk to me, talk to Daddy!" he cried, scrambling to retrieve it and dusting the screen with his sleeve.
"Yeah, real manly, Tuck," Danny observed. "And let's not forget the Dumpty Humpty concert on Saturday."
"With front-row seats, courtesy of moi." Sam proudly gestured to herself.
"I think I speak for everyone when I say that this weekend is going to rock," Tucker said. "I can feel it in my gut."
"I'd say the same, but I think that's just the effects of Dad's new invention." As if to punctuate the statement, his stomach rumbled. Danny placed a soothing hand over it.
"Well, look on the bright side, you're pretty much guaranteed to throw up on the ride."
Upon arriving at Sam's home, she bounded up the doorstep. "I'll get our tickets and fast passes," she said, her hand closing around the knob. "And probably a poncho, just in case."
"Please, I'm not going to be sick," Danny insisted, as she opened the door.
"Aw Sam, you're home," her mother, Pamela, greeted her from the kitchen. "Come meet our guest."
Seated at the table was none other than Vlad Masters, holding a saucer plate with a dainty teacup. On cue, all three teens' faces dropped.
"Okay," Danny amended, "Now I am going to be sick."
(Theme song starts)
He's a Phantom
Danny Phantom, Danny Phantom, Danny Phantom
Young Danny Fenton, he was just 14/When his parents built a very strange machine
It was designed to view a world unseen
(He's gonna catch 'em all 'cause he's Danny Phantom)
When it didn't quite work, his folks, they just quit/But then Danny took a look inside of it
There was a great big flash, everything just changed/His molecules got all rearranged
(Phantom, phantom)
When he first woke up, he realized he had snow-white hair/And glowing green eyes
He could walk through walls, disappear, and fly./He was much more unique than the other guys
It was then that he knew what he had to do/He had to stop all the ghosts who were coming through
He's here to fight for me and you!
He's gonna catch 'em all
'cause he's Danny Phantom
Gonna catch 'em all 'cause he's Danny Phantom
Gonna catch 'em all 'cause he's Danny Phantom
(Theme song ends)
"Uh," Sam articulated, eyes darting between her parents in slight panic. "What?"
Vlad grinned maliciously. "Well, if it isn't the little heiress! And Daniel, my godson, and-" His gaze flickered to Tucker. "Something that rhymes with 'sucker.'"
"Tucker," he replied, unamused.
"Ah, yes, Tucker!"
Sam narrowed her eyes. "I'm sorry, what's he doing here?"
"Inquiring minds would like to know," Danny added, stepping ahead of Sam.
"If you had listened more carefully, dear," her mother said, laying the sweetness on thick, "you'd have remembered that VladCo. is what we're merging with to launch our new deli stick products."
Oh. She automatically tuned her parents out when they harped on about business, mostly because she couldn't hold her tongue in regards to shady tactics.
"No." She shook her head emphatically. "You should not merge with VladCo. Please no."
Sitting at the head of the tableâ"as if to affirm her matriarchal position with seating arrangementsâ"her mother raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "And why not?"
"Because..." She didn't know anything about his company, she realized. Had never once looked into it. "I don't like his vibe. Or his brand. Can we please not endorse corporate farming?"
Her lips pursed. "First of all, Samantha, business and activism don't mix, and second of all, I will not be selecting my business associates based on 'vibe.'"
"That's a bit hurtful," Vlad said, frowning like he hadn't expected it. "Do you have a reason for this prejudice?"
"Just a gut feeling."
He sipped his tea, a smirk curling at the corner of his lip. "Are you sure that's not your Ultra-Recyclo diet messing with you?"
She offered him a razor-sharp smile. "I'm sure."
Jeremy, who'd been sitting across from Vlad and idly stirring his cup with a silver teaspoon, cleared his throat. "Samantha, this is no way to treat a house-guest. Least of all a business partner."
"Uh, for what it's worth, Mr. and Mrs. Manson," Tucker piped up, drawing baleful looks from every adult there. He proceeded anyway, swallowing nervously. "I agree with Sam."
Sam placed a cautionary hand on Danny's shoulder, knowing he'd likely echo the assent. Don't. You'll make it worse.
"We aren't taking votes." She could sense the menace behind her mother's smile. "You two are dismissed. We've an important family matter to discuss."
Sam barely withheld a growl. She exchanged glances with Danny and Tucker, lingering on Danny. An undercurrent passed between them.
"You can go, guys," she dismissed with considerably more warmth than Pamela. "I'll consider you my ghost runner."
"Baseball jokes?" Jeremy blinked, slightly bemused. "That's different."
She shrugged lightheartedly.
"Okay then. See ya, Sam." Tucker waved, eager to exit the scene and its mounting tension. Rushing out the door with Danny in tow, she waited until their footsteps retreated from the doorstep to speak.
"What's this all about?"
"There's been a change of schedule," Pam explained, sipping her tea daintily. Sam almost hurled at the exaggerated performance. "Tonight we'll be touring an art gallery. On Saturday, we're holding a ball at Vlad's mansion to celebrate the merge with our constituents. On Sunday, we officiate the merger."
"No stomping on anyone's toes." Vlad wagged his finger playfully. "I trust you remember your ballroom dancing lessons, Samantha?"
Said girl crossed her arms defensively, but also self-soothingly. "It's Sam."
Pam sniffed in affront. "'Sam' is a masculine name. We'll refer to you with the name I christened you with."
"'Samantha' is kind of a mouthful." She relented anyway, her shoulders falling with a long-suffering sigh. "Sorry, but I can't go. We already made plans to ride the new rollercoaster tonight, followed by the concert on Saturday and the movie premiere on Sunday."
Pamela turned her nose up, snooty and dignified. "Sophisticated young women do not consume grisly, violent content. Nor do they seek out adrenaline rushes on thrill rides or listen to depraved, screamo ruckus." She punctuated the statement with a sip of her tea. "They go to museums and art galleries, listen to classical music, and watch art films."
"Or maybe they're able to discern the underlying sophistries in contemporary art?" Sam's lips wound in a sneer. "Regardless of your opinion, I'm not going."
Vlad coughed awkwardly, rising from his seat. "Perhaps I should go."
Pamela nodded, her green eyes sparkling with unspoken threat. "Yes. We'll make sure our daughter attends."
"Thank you for the tea." Vlad straightened, puffing out his chest and clutching his lapels. "I'll see you this weekend."
"I'm so sorry for her cold shoulder," Jeremy said, reaching across the table to shake hands with Vlad. "She'll warm up to you eventually."
Yeah, enough to burn.
She watched him go with a murderous stare, waiting for the door to click shut before turning back to her parents. "Why didn't you tell me a couple weeks beforehand? Springing this on me at the last minute is inconsiderate."
"We knew you'd say no," Pam replied. "That's why we're letting you know on the night of."
"Request denied. Flaking on my friends at the last minute would be disrespectful."
"It's not a request! It's an order!" Pamela slammed her teacup on the saucer, forgoing her upper-class manners. "Don't forget you're under my roof!"
"Don't forget I'm a human being." Her shoulders tensed, like she doubted that statement somehowâ"like she felt less than human in her mother's presence. "Not going. Sorry. You'll have to drag me on a leash with a shock collar, and I doubt you'd appreciate the attention it would draw."
"Or how about a restraining order?" Pamela suggested, her tone oozing with sugary, smug sweetness. "Against a certain boy you like?"
She nearly flinched at the emphasis on 'like.' "We've already settled that matter, haven't we? I wore your dress for a week."
"If you don't comply with our schedule, Sam," Pamela said, "we are going to reinstate our RO against the Fentons."
"You can't do that! That's not what restraining orders are for!" she protested, eyes widening in outrage. "Danny didn't do anything wrong and you're going to muddy his record!"
"It's a miracle his record is even clean," Pamela retorted, lifting her nose into the air again. "Given his truancy."
"That's not-!" She swallowed, realizing she couldn't feasibly defend him on that front without spilling the beans. "I-!" Out of sheer desperation, she glanced at her father, but he only raised a challenging eyebrow. "I don't want to go."
"Then what do you want, Sam?!" her mother shouted, patience all but exhausted. "For us to just stand by and let you turn yourself into some darkness-dwelling, death-loving, macabre freak?!"
"What I want is for you to accept me! To give my music, my tastes, my hobbies a chance! Let me show you it's not what you think it is!" She met her mother's acrimonious gaze head-on. "Like if you'd watch Psychotica with me, you'd understand it's a beautiful tragedy about a young girl blossoming into womanhood-"
"The one where she kills her mother in cold blood?!" Pamela laughed, shrill and bewildered.
"She dies with her! What, Shakespeare can write about death but modern writers can't?"
Her mother sneered, openly and shamelessly.
Sam's voice lowered, her tone beseeching. "Imma, please. I love my counterculture. Why can't you give it a chance?"
"Hmmmph. I think not. No good can ever come out of gothic folk."
"How can you say that?" She gestured loosely at herself. "Am I bad?"
"Because I am your mother and I know better. Look at what I've managed to accomplish." She stabbed her index finger in Sam's direction, its nail painted neon pink and sharpened to a dangerous tip. "You're going. That's final. Or else your friend won't be seeing you again for the duration of the RO. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal," she replied blandly, turning to leave. Quickly, before her eyeliner smudged from the prickling tears.
'Am I bad?' she had asked, and Pamela hadn't answered.
"You'll benefit from some more normalcy, Samantha," her father remarked as she stormed out of the kitchen. "Instead of, you know, para-normalcy."
"Great one, Dad," she muttered, slamming the door behind her to meet outside with Tucker, who lingered by the doorstep. An invisible Danny whisked by, disturbing her hair in a slight breeze, before solidifying on the sidewalk in his human form.
"Did you catch all of that, ghost runner?"
"Yup." He jammed his hands in his pockets, averting his eyes shyly. "We could just sneak out to the concert, you know."
"They'll still reinstate the RO, even if they can't explain how I disappeared." She sighed, strolling down the sidewalk, bidding her friends to follow behind.
"Why is Vlad trying to merge with your parents' company?" Tucker asked.
"Probably just another way to one-up Danny," she grumbled. "Who knows? Maybe he tried to buy Fenton Works too, but your mom wouldn't accept any offer."
"I guess he got tired of the petty pranks," Danny muttered, recalling the one where he demolished the Nasty Burger under the guise of 'ecto-bestos' contamination. "Although he's usually flaunting his riches in the process."
"Maybe he's compensating for something," Tucker quipped.
Danny side-eyed him. "Like his inability to feel a full range of human emotions?"
"Yeah, that."
"Whatever his plans are, I can't let him dupe my parents," she said, wracking her brain for any possible solution but coming up blank. "Who knows what he plans to do with our company? Conquer the world with a corporate conglomerate? Or maybe drive them into bankruptcy? Or simply blackmail us with the possibility?"
"Calm down, Sam," Tucker assured her, taking note of her harried speech. "We've outsmarted him before and we'll do it again."
"This isn't just some petty prank." She kept her eyes ahead, pacing down the block in a slight panic. "It's a power grab that affects my family's livelihood."
"Not to mention, it ruins our whole weekend," Danny griped.
"I've had this planned for weeks!" She screeched to a halt when she passed the poster board, eyeing it mournfully. "Why can't she understand the genius of horror icons?"
Looking to the poster, Danny focused on the image of Psychotica confronting Terminatra. More specifically, the ectoplasm that caked the prom queen's body.
"Hang on." Turning to Sam, his eyes flashed green with pride and mischief. "Maybe we can help her."
Be sure to fav/follow and leave a comment in the comment section and I'll see you next time!
- Psychotica is a parody of Carrie, from Stephen King's Carrie.