Things In A Name

Sure, Mom had taught her how to shoot (admittedly not very well), some martial arts moves and how to use a grappling hook, but Jazz knew she needed to know more than that to win a battle.

It dawned on her, one night, patching up Danny from another midnight brawl her parents started with Phantom. Having to fight them was turning into less of an 'if' and more of a 'when.'

YouTube tutorials were useless. There weren't any karate studios in Amity Park. Although she's trying her best to train her precision with various Fenton weapons, it feels like she's always doing something wrong.

She needs at least a little help, and that's just terrifying.

Jazz gives up and asks Danny if he knows a person. Surprisingly, he does. Unsurprisingly, it's a ghost.

Except it's a ten-foot-tall (not even including her helmet, sweet Jesus) Greek warrior with a fire coming from her headgear and four arms.

The ghost has a booming voice and an impassive face, and doesn't so much bring respect as commands it. Jazz isn't intimidated, no, she's terrified.

Somehow, some way, she summons up the courage to evenly explain why she came after Danny introduces her.

Instead of calling her a weakling or, she didn't know, spearing her or something, the warrior only nodded.

There wasn't really a timezone or dates to set up, since it's the Zone, but Jazz promised to come in every afternoon that she logically could.

Ultimately, the beginning was rough. Jazz was pretty sure she failed every test they threw at her minus the logic ones. Her aim with a bow and arrow was abysmal, and so help her fighting stance. Even with her Liminality, her strength was subpar and the flexibility in a hazmat suit was... not great.

And yet, even if she couldn't even get a second in a fight without being corrected, she kept coming back for more.

The more she returned, the more she learned about the Acropolis. There were plenty of ghosts, almost all of them girls in a lot of variety. A few looked to be her age, but most were armored woman.

And then there was Pandora. Jazz knew that her name was truly Antiope, but the warrior denied the usage of it, citing the name died with her body.

The first time that her mentor referred to one of the many Greek spirits as 'Amazons', Jazz thinks she might've been stupid on how she didn't notice before.

She thinks of the Amazonians less as daunting and more awe-inspiring after that. And now, she logically can guess that Pandora was one, too.

And oh Ancients can she tell once she's truly launched into her afternoon training.

Pandora's anger (although Jazz had rarely seen flashes of it) burned bright as her hair, and so did her passion. Jazz had to do laps that left her almost collapsing in a heap. Spars were brutal, even when Pandora would momentarily pity her and let her train with the two-armed warriors.

But when she looked at herself in the mirror when she got home from "tutoring", saw the defined arms and gleam of confidence entering her eyes, it was worth every bead of sweat.

At some point, Jazz had gotten too many accidental slices to her hazmat suit. The first time she came in plainclothes, Pandora only clapped her on the back and didn't comment on it.

It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. It left more white streaks to her hair, and her emotions had to be under lock and key often so her eyes didn't flash green around her parents.

The other ghostly Amazons seemed to warm up to her, too. Jazz was being instructed on how to weave hair into combat braids, where to hide daggers in skirts and slacks. She'd even started to pick up Ancient Greek. A few of the more friendly ones were helping her learn the language.

She almost cries when Pandora gifts her a full set of armor after randomly taking her measurements weeks ago. Jazz has found that she's good with a longbow, as well as liking a longsword and shield if she had to do close-ranged combat. She was also given those weapons, taught how to sharpen it, and create sturdy arrows.

All in all, even if she misses her sleep and knows her parent's harmful chemicals are affecting her more strongly the more Liminal she becomes, it was... good.

Jazz was doing alright.

-

Pandora doesn't consider her student to be alright.

Do not mistake her words— Jasmine was a talented protégé and would undoubtedly become a fearless, intelligent and fiery woman.

But there were certain aspects that left concern on the tip of her tongue.

Her era was much different than the present, and yet, Pandora did not believe that the child should come in as exhausted as she did. Rather than drinking actual water from waterskins, Jasmine consumed stimulant drinks almost every time she visited the Acropolis.

Even after all of the training, which would push the girl past what she thought was her potential, there should be more mass to her. More definition to her legs and arms after hours of exertion.

Painful burns that she tried to hide, pulled muscles that she failed miserably to keep secret. Even after every gentle to firm reprimand, she came back with more. They were slowly getting more severe.

Pandora wasn't suspicious, no, she was certain that her apprentice was not getting enough rest nor sleep nor food. Someone was harming her quasi-charge.

Her sisters saw it as well; and she knew some ached to offer their own provisions and more to the girl. But she was still three-quarters human, and ectoplasm could do more harm than good.

Jasmine was cunning and empathetic and inexplicably kind-hearted for all of the things she evidently faced. Curious, listening to every myth and story she told of sisterhood and battle and monsters. Calm, deescalating various spats between ghosts and soothing frayed nerves. Clever, constantly studying and winning at Petteia.

Yes, Pandora thinks Hippolyta will like the teknon very much. She believes that they would also accept even younger Daniel without any argument.

So, when she gets her chance, she quite literally pushes Jasmine and her brother into the oppurtunity. (Pandora had never "nudged" the girl in tutelage thus far, and she never would.)

One conveniently manipulated opening to Themyscira later, Antiope governs Athens like she always had.

She does believe that her sister will recognize her own sigil on Jasmine's pauldron. She knows the girl well enough that she will return to the ghostly Acropolis, no matter if even the Gods will against it.

Pandora looks forward to see which woman had negotiated the stubborn duo into guardianship.

-

Danny's used to the ocean. It's in his blood.

Quite literally, now.

He and his sister grew up with stories of their parent's fanatical tales of rotted, ghastly vessels being raised from the ocean with riches inside, and only the skeletons of the old, drowned crew manning it.

(Jazzi, during the long days left at their tiny harbor house while their parents sailed to Neptune knows where, told different myths. Ones of heroes and cleverness and the tales of sorcerer sailors called the Justice Legion.)

It got a bit out of hand once he'd passed his thirteenth winter. Danny was tired of either being left alone at the port, doing odd jobs to keep himself busy and humid days in a school building. The times his parents did drag them onto their boat, they were either going on wild seagull chases or getting caught in violent storms.

When the Fenton seniors finally found what they called 'Davy Jone's Locker', he was hesitant. With a dare from his friends and a concerned chaperone of his sister, he used an air bubble spell bracelet to venture down to the shallow depths of the ocean floor.

The decrepit doorway wasn't as harmless as his parents boasted, he quickly learned. They'd been trying to push the door open when all they had to do was pull lightly on a rusted handle.

His magicked bubble popped.

His sister and friends cried out in horror while breathing with their own talismans. (As if someone could hear their screams in the sea.)

And Danny? Danny was sucked into a glowing green entrance before he could even gurgle out for help. He was spat out only a half-minute later like Poseidon's chewing gum, but he was not just the short wharf boy anymore.

Even once on land, his white hair floated as if it was still underwater, protective clothing having its colors inverted onto themselves. His eyes shone an unnatural, haunting green. Imprints like barnacles had been pried off his skin glowed the same hue, trailing up the arm that had touched the handle to the doorway.

(Such markings did not disappear completely, even when he returned to looking human. He simply covered it up with an eyepatch and extra layers. His parent's didn't notice.)

Danny sought answers. He went to the oldest, alchemist crone in their small islands. The hobbled woman only peered at him and declared, "You have the dead for bones and salt water for blood, boy," and nothing more.

Danny and his friends quickly found out that the doorway swirled periodically like an underwater, gleaming vortex and grew in size.

It spat out a ghostly ship, the cracked hull shooting out of the waves and destroyed sails waving in the wind. It seemed to be held together as the same toxic substance that Danny lived from, somehow moving like any other vessel would on the sea.

His parents learned of this quickly as well, as the undead crews were not so much sailors as they were zombie-looking pirates.

All of Amity Islands became aware quite fast. The sea thieve's mischief and attempts at pillaging ranged from terrifyingly successful to downright embarrassing.

And so the lone barge, known only as The Phantom came into existence.

It seemed to be controlled by a singular dead child at first. The Captains Jack and Maddie Fenton, now the other protectors of Amity Islands, seemed to have a hatred for that spirit ship as much as they tried to murder the other wraith-led ones.

But even the spooky Phantom gained a band of mismatched crew after many weeks of skirmishes with ghouls.

It's not confirmed, not really, but a few of the more observant Amity community members notice there's always a few helpers nearby.

The actual 'crew' was Danny, Sam, Jazzi and Tucker. Sam was an elementalist mage, although she always had the flair for plants rather than water. Waves lifted to daunting heights, winds pressed the sails faster than anything natural, lamps lit with a breath. She kept the canteens and the crackers for long nights or missions and harped on them for their vitamins and vegetables.

Tucker can fix about anything. He has to be some strain of genius, or at least able to manipulate metal or internal mechanisms. Compass not working? A few taps or a minute under his deft fingers and it's working. Can't see through the constant, ominous fog? Tucker had the tool for it.

Jazzi had to be the brains of the operation, though. When she wasn't buried in a scroll or casting an obscure enchantment, she was creating maps and diaries and journal of pirates and their weaknesses. She knew the healing salves and the skin regeneration spells.

But Danny? He was... different. The Phantom responded to him, at least much easier than the rest of them. He could summon the ship and have it sink back into the sea as if it never existed. The cannons— with their ghostly green, destructive metal balls— fired when he screamed. His punches were concussive; a boom and a spray of salt water like someone had dropped something heavy into the ocean when his knuckles met the ghostly pirates. He was terrifying.

But not to his crew, his friends. Because Sam and Tucker joined him in the crows nest at nights, when he'd float in the air right next to the main mast, astrolabe in hand and eyes towards the sky. Because Jazzi made the perfect excuses for their parents and held him the nights that he woke up, still drowning or twisted in kelp or clawing his way from the deep, deadly Locker.

-

It's a foggy day out in the Amity Islands.

Danny is leaning against the railings of the helms, watching the weirdly calm water. Either there was a storm coming or it was their lucky day.

Sam was lower down on the deck, looking faintly ill like she always did. For an elementalist, she was notoriously sea sick when they weren't trying to blow a hole in an evil spirit ship.

Tucker hung from the ratlines, testing out a spyglass that Jazzi had magicked earlier that week. Danny had given up on trying to tell his friend that it was dangerous to do it at that height. Aforementioned sister was napping somewhere deeper in the ship, due to a long night of studying for her exams.

He was about to comment on going back to shore to his friends when blue smoke curled up from his lips and the taste of saltwater filled his mouth.

"Ghost!" He called, starling Tucker and causing the boy to immediately shimmy and climb down the netting to the sails. Sam seemed to shake off her nausea enough to get a stumbling start towards where they kept the ghost compass.

Danny did a diagnostic check mentally, and he knew all of their artillery was in good shape enough to win against most of the pirates. Unless they were shooting fire out of Ancient's knows where, like Ember's.

Sam returned, Jazzi not too far in tow, and tossed the little oval tool. He caught it automatically, and begin to shift the wheel in the direction.

Unsurprisingly, it was Box Ghost and his crew harassing some poor tea and provision merchant. They weren't even close to Boston, and no one in the little slice of sea was particularly patriotic, so he thinks they just did it to be a nuisance.

The moment Boxy's attention shifted away from the sellers barge to his, cannon fire erupted with resounding booms. Danny returned it quickly, feeling the quake of the floorboards and smell of gunpowder.

He really hoped this pest of a pirate wouldn't force him to go fly and sword fight them. He dealt with enough of that dramatic stuff when battling Plasmius, enough that he kept a faintly glowing cutlass at his side now.

Thankfully, it was only a battle of loud, deafening explosiions and flashes of searing green. Tucker throws a few long-ranged weapons, and Box Ghost gave up after a while and accepted defeat.

Danny only sighed once the pillaging spirits cascaded back underneath the waves and into the churning Locker. The damages weren't severe, and it only took a bit of his internal energy to patch up whatever holes were blown into the wood.

"Only a perfectly nice Friday afternoon..." He trailed off with an irritated sigh, finally sliding down the railing next to where Tucker stood.

"Arrg, ye cap'n'!" His friend saluted teasingly. He palmed Tucker in the face in retaliation, watching as Sam seemed to return back to looking sick and Jazzi yawned.

He almost turned his back to go grab a snack from their storage area when the back of his neck prickled. He shifted, instinctually jogging up to the bow to peer out across the horizon and the thinning, misty cover.

There were a lot of ships approaching. Fast. In the front, he could could around a couple small ones and another three large, black boats in the distance with many behind it.

"Ships approaching! Tucker!"

There had to be some or multiple elementalists or sorceresses on those boats for them to be cutting through the waves as quickly and smoothly as they did.

Amity Island didn't get a lot of visitors. Sure, they sent out messages and familiars to try to beg for help against the constant barrage of thievery and violence from the spooks, but... Nothing had ever really returned of value for their pleas.

Tucker rushed up beside him, extending the spyglass and concentrating on it before the boy lowered it and his eyes widened almost comically.

Sam and Jazz came to his side as well, skidding up and cupping their hands around their eyes to try to see.

"Tucker." Danny repeated, trying not to freak out. They were too far from shore to get their safely; its not like he could destransform and let them what, drop into the ocean?

"It's the Dark Knight's Battalion with— holy Fiddler's Green— a lot more."

Danny swallowed and gripped the hilt of his sword, lifted his eyepatch, and stared straight ahead towards the veritable fleet of ships coming straight their way.

Headcanon?

Whose headcanon?

Your headcanon?

Or theory?

It does tho? Rocky says that he got there 6 years slower than expected. It glosses over the not knowing relativity bit but it's definitely there.

going to have to explain

this culture someday.

Our next visitor arrives 🔶July 16🔶

Shadow should appear to be the traditional stoic character on the surface, only to actually be a very emotionally expressive character who very frequently lets them dominate his decision making, within reason of course. He’s just mostly stone faced because he’s a former military project from the 50s whose creators thought ideas like “feeling your emotions” was communist propaganda and hasn’t completely shaken it off yet.

My rapist was nonbinary and bi. My deeply Lutheran grandma was the first person to fully accept me as trans in my primarily liberal athiestic/agnostic family. Years ago my social life was ruined by another trans masculine person who intentionally destroyed all of my close friendships. One of my current closest friends is a cishet guy who has a friend group that is almost entirely populated of queer people because a bunch of his friends have come out around him since high school.

like I know people are tired of the trope of "they're all powerful, but they're depressed, so that is their limitation" except that really is a huge nerf

consider this. I understand the basics of logic gates and how they apply to computers. I understand how to build the gates, but I don't have the materials beyond minecraft redstone (a perfectly acceptable tool to model logic gates). If I was not so depressed and had just a bit more whimsy and motivation in my life, I would be teaching myself how to build computers from just logic gates by doing so in minecraft.