#anyway some levity from the storm that's coming next oops

[paybackraid]

Phantasma Gora

Summary: Phantasma was Jazz Fenton's ghostly alter ego. No one knew but her enemies, and maybe she wants that to change. So, who better to tell than her occasional ghost-fighting partner, Danny Phantom?

Rating: G

Words: 3,048

Warnings: None

Inspired by @fuckinart's art and @peachdoxie's post

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Phantasma felt a zip through her core and lifted her head from where she sat in one of the many town parks. Her teeth chattered briefly—electrical—and she released the effects of gravity on her. 

She recognized a familiar green glow on the horizon, glowing against the night sky. She smiled. Phantom was nice company to have around. He was familiar in a way she couldn’t describe. At the least, it was nice to have a ghost around like her—a (relatively) nonaggressive one who was as happy to chat down an opponent as he was to beat it to a pulp. 

Phantom was in no rush to be anywhere. He must have been what her ghost sense detected. She wasn’t sure if the ghost boy would be alright with a ghost girl visitor but, well, Phantasma was feeling it.

Reaching up, Phantasma slipped her red headband off the top of her head and used it to tie her long, neon blue hair back. The ends of her hair flared outwards like it had a life of its own, but it made her fairly unrecognizable from her human half. She didn’t normally mind this late at night, and most ghosts already knew her identity, but Phantom didn’t, somehow. It would be nice to tell him—she had an odd feeling he would understand—on her own terms rather than let him find out on his own. 

Phantom was atop the radio tower, balancing on one of the poles on the head and watching the sky. Phantasma looked up herself. There were a few shooting stars out, she could see, and she smiled at the thought. Phantasma didn’t particularly care about the stars or space—it was cool to look at and relaxing on brain-melting days, but she wasn’t as driven by it as someone else she knew—but it was clear that Phantom was utterly enraptured.

Maybe, once Phantasma told her baby brother of her identity one day, she would take him up here herself. Danny was as in love with the stars as Phantom was, and Phantom was displaying that it was, obviously, the perfect stargazing spot. 

“Hey! Phantom!”

Phantom spun in place and lifted his hands, a green glow sprouting from each. Phantasma paused a safe distance away, appearing as nonthreatening as possible, before his advanced ghost sense picked up who she was and that her intentions were purely friendly.

“…Phantasma?” Phantom asked.

“Hi! How are you? It’s been a few days!” Phantasma drifted closer as Phantom’s hands powered down and dropped to his side. She circled him excitedly. Phantom was the closest thing to a friend that Phantasma had in either form. As a human, she was a little uppity and a little too adult for her classmates. As a ghost, aside from Phantom (and even their first few meetings had been… well, Phantasma was still figuring out her powers and the things her developing core did to her human brain, and Phantom had explained that he had, very recently, found out that ghosts fought as part of their culture—as a way to bond—and the tug on their cores made it practically a necessity), Phantasma fought the other ghosts to protect the people of Amity Park and, especially, her baby brother who somehow always got himself into trouble with ghosts despite being utterly terrified of them.

Phantasma assumed that it was tied to either her, or her parents. The ghosts wanted to put Danny in danger just to piss her off, or to take revenge against her ghost hunting parents. Which made the need for Phantasma to protect him and the town and stop any ghosts that came through the Fenton Portal all the more dire. 

In that way, she was pretty lucky she had a ghost hunting partner in Phantom. She wasn’t sure where and when he’d gotten a Fenton Thermos, but he’d in fact gotten two, and passed one to her when he realized she was on his side. She hadn’t even thought it would work until she’d seen Phantom embed his with his own spectral energy and yank in a ghost. 

Fighting with Phantom meant she had someone else to depend on, at least sometimes, when the ghosts got to be too much. Someone who understood that ghosts were people—ghost psychology and ghost envy were very real entities and phenomena—who could feel emotions and feel pain, so would put them away and then release the ghosts someplace safe, and not on a lab table to be destroyed or dissected. 

“Good!” Phantom chirped back. Once it was clear she was a friendly, his stance shifted—his broad shoulders dropped just slightly, he stood out of a fighting stance more fully. His eyes glittered—he really did have the most incredible luminous green eyes. Phantasma’s eyes were red—still expressive, but she got the impression that she looked slightly evil. Vlad Plasmius, after all, had red eyes, and there was almost no ghost as evil as Plasmius. 

It hurt, that he was the only other halfa she knew. 

“How are the ghosts?” Phantasma continued. 

“Fine. It’s silent. Saw the Box Ghost twice—the man is relentless—but other than that, no one.”

“Hmm,” Phantasma agreed, pleased. She floated over and sat on one of the other poles, leaning back to look at the sky. Another pair of shooting stars went by. “Is it a meteor shower night?”

“Yeah,” Phantom said with a happy lilt in his voice. Honestly, how her parents thought ghosts didn’t have emotions was beyond her. Phantasma got the same way in a library. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Phantasma looked back on him, her eyes crinkling with amusement. Phantom reminded her so much of Danny, sometimes. Their love of space was the same. Now that Phantasma thought of it, she could kind of remember Danny mentioning a meteor shower. She hoped he got out to see it. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, looking back up. “It is.” 

They watched a while longer, although Phantasma watched Phantom more than she did the sky. His face flickered with delight at each new meteor. He had far more control and confidence with his flight than Phantasma did, which was why she clung to solid objects when she wasn’t focusing on it. Phantom floated with his legs crossed, holding the point they met to him. 

It was fascinating, watching a full ghost wrapped fully in its obsession. Phantasma was only half ghost, so she figured her obsessions had a smaller effect on her core than full ghosts. Meaning, her experience with her own obsessions would never be as obvious on her as the ghost boy’s were on him. He glowed… well, technically he always glowed—all ghosts did, a strong aura meant a healthy ghost—but it was different when caught in the whims of his obsession. He wavered like the Northern Lights, lit up in rainbows, and his freckles lit up his cheeks like constellations, widening his big eyes even more. 

It was incredible. She never saw other ghosts as gripped by their obsessions as she saw Phantom, but Phantom’s space obsession was so much more peaceful than so many others’. Made it easier to observe.

The night drifted on lazily. Phantasma crossed one leg over the other and watched, listening for the sound of distress from below, ghostly or not. Even the city life was peaceful—maybe a grateful nod toward their ghostly protector. 

When Phantom seemed to have enough, and the night sky stopped glittering quite so majestically, he turned back to her. He wore a smile—alarmingly human, actually, but Phantasma didn’t know what to make with that. She supposed that he spent so much time in the human world that he picked up on human mannerisms. 

She wondered, distantly, where it was that he went when he wasn’t flying around. She didn’t see Phantom in her house to go through the portal that often. Was his lair somewhere in Amity Park, like hers? Maybe at the old observatory? 

“D’you wanna go for a fly?”

Phantasma’s heart thudded to life just briefly. In this form, it didn’t beat at all unless it was startled or excited, and Phantasma loved a good fly. The wind in her hair, the chill through her hazmat, the connection to her electrified core when a good cloud came through… there was almost no chance that she would deny a fly. 

Especially not an offer from Phantom. 

“Sure! Uh, where do you wanna go?” 

Phantom shrugged and unfolded himself, tipping backwards and eeking out a good stretch before rising beside her. He extended a hand toward her, and Phantasma rolled her eyes and knocked it away. She stretched the muscles of her back, slid off the pole, and bounced back into the air when her feet found purchase. 

“Lead the way.”

He did, taking off toward downtown. Phantasma followed and quickly caught up, circling him in lazy arcs. When he noticed what she was doing, Phantom rose above the rooftops again and gave her space, copying her. They circled one another two, three, four times before petering out. Phantasma flickered her eyes toward him, curious. She knew that he was fast, but she was an electric core. Would that have an effect on her own speed? Was she faster than the infamous Phantom? 

She aligned herself to him and got within ten feet of him. Her eyes glittered with sparks of electricity when she said “race you!” and took off like a shot. 

He squawked, a sound gone from her defunct eardrums too fast, and lanced forward. “Where?!” he demanded with a laugh, arching forward, nose to nose. 

“Figure it out!”

Phantom followed Phantasma close, turning in tight circles when she switched directions, picking up speed on straightaways when he thought he had time but responding with ease when he suddenly didn’t. He really was an experienced flyer, and only Phantasma’s knowledge of where she wanted to go—or at least when she wanted to turn to throw him off—kept her ahead of him. 

“Hey we’re, uh, gettin’ pretty close to FentonWorks,” Phantom suddenly warned behind her, as if Phantasma wouldn’t know exactly where FentonWorks was. It was her home, her lair. Of course, Phantom knew exactly where FentonWorks was for the Portal, and to avoid the ectoseeking weapons on top of the Ops Center, but it wasn’t as if she needed the warning. 

Still, it was good to have. A reminder that… well, home wasn’t safe. Not for Phantom obviously—full ghost and all that—but not for Phantasma either, half ghost as she was. 

“I see,” Phantasma called back, transforming her legs to a tail as she did a wide arc around the eyesore that was her home. 

“I mean I guess if you want to play Dodge Gun we can, but…” Phantom called forwards with a laugh, which just made Phantasma laugh in return. Honestly, Phantom had a horrible sense of humor. It reminded her of her brother. It reminded her of her dad. Still, the ghost boy followed her arc around FentonWorks and its neighborhood, bringing them toward Elmerton. Not a safe place for either of them, either, but arguably the Red Huntress’ patrol was over. Hopefully she was asleep. 

With the fun of the race kind of cut short by the reminder of their afterlives on the line simply for existing, Phantasma felt her energy wane. Phantom at first darted ahead—competitive boy he was—but when he noticed she wasn’t keeping up, he paused in midair and turned back around. 

“...Hey. You okay?”

“Getting tired,” Phantasma reported semi-honestly. It was an unusual thing for a ghost to say, but not impossible. Phantom clearly had the energy for probably seven more miles. “You win.”

“Ha! Oh. D’you, uh, need to rest? Catch your breath?”

Phantasma smiled sheepishly at him. “You can go on ahead if you want. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you… want me to go on ahead?”

Phantasma didn’t answer. She didn’t, really. She liked Phantom, she always had. Even back when she’d been fully human, she’d liked him. 

Smart, Phantom floated back over to her. “Why don’t we go sit over there,” he said, nodding at a collection of brick apartment buildings. Obscure, in case a ghost hunter or two did come out. Secluded. 

…Maybe. Maybe now was good. “Lead the way,” she said again, following his lead toward the roof. She settled to drop on the edge, her legs dangling off. This side of the city was a little noisier, and it didn’t help that they were closer to the streets here too, but that could be good. Listen in for trouble again. Phantom floated in front of her and crossed his legs, eyeing her cautiously. 

“Sorry,” Phantasma said with a laugh, leaning all the way back so her back rested on the roof. “That was a lot of energy to use at once. I’m an electric core; we go through our energy in big spurts, it’s not meant to last.”

“All good,” Phantom said. “You need ecto? I have chewables.”

Why would a full ghost carry ectoplasm chewables? Didn’t he feed off the ambient ectoplasm in the air? Phantasma did, for the most part, but she figured her half-and-half system was less efficient, so she drank ectoplasm. In a pinch she could take it straight from the portal, but most of the time her folks left enough of it lying around that she could snatch. Her dad always said it was the ghost boy, and Phantasma only felt a little guilty letting Phantom take the blame. He did sneak into their house to empty his Thermos, after all. 

She was tempted, but wary. One of Phantasma’s cooler powers was absorption and deescalation. She absorbed ectoplasm quickly enough from other ghosts, and from ambient ectoplasm as well.

“No, thanks. I just need to rest.”

Phantom’s eyes glittered. He dug into a pocket anyway and pulled out a Ziploc bag of glowing green squares and tossed a few into his mouth. Huh. “Alright, if you insist.”

Phantasma closed her eyes and felt the air around her shift, a subtle nod to her core, the way Phantom always seemed a little happier on cold days. It settled her, eased her. 

Made the lingering conversation easier. 

“Hey, Phantom.”

“Hey, Phantasma.”

“Can I tell you something? Something I haven’t told anyone else. At least, not on purpose.” She lifted her head and looked at him. 

He drifted closer, legs still crossed. His mastery of air movements really was impressive. Phantasma couldn’t wait until she had that kind of control. A few years, she figured. Maybe a decade? She had no clue how old Phantom actually was—he’d died as a young teenager, but who knew how long ago that was. The eighties was Phantasma’s honest guess, based on his outfit, although he kept his syntax remarkably modern. 

“Sure,” Phantom said, resting his elbow in his knee. “I’m listening.”

“You need to promise to keep this secret. All the other ghosts have, but if this gets out to the humans, this could be dangerous for me. Swear?”

Phantom dragged his finger across his chest. “Cross my core,” he swore.

Phantasma sat up and buried her face in her hands. After a moment, Phantasma reached back and let loose her hair. It didn’t need to be pulled back all the way, luckily. Not if they weren’t really going anywhere. She tucked her headband back into place and looked at her battle partner, who watched her with blinking wide green eyes.

“Ha,” she said. “You may have heard other ghosts call me this. It’s kind of… it’s not a slur? But they’re never being kind when they say it. It’s specific to me… or, to my kind, anyway. There’s so few of us. I only know of one other ghost like me.” She didn’t look up at Phantom, but she would have seen some sort of dawning realization if she had. “I’m actually a halfa—half ghost. I have a human half, too.” She laughed. “I could never tell my family, though. My parents hunt ghosts, and my little brother is terrified of them.”

Phantasma lifted her head, but did not get a full look at Phantom’s face, too focused on her own feelings. Phantasma was always so in touch with her own feelings, even as a human. It continued to alarm her how her parents thought ghosts didn’t feel emotions when Phantasma felt her emotions so powerfully.

Deep inside her, Phantasma reached for that warmth that radiated next to her core. The warmth of life, of humanity. Her aura shimmered and condensed around her waist, and she breathed it around her. The transformation took her. Blue hair became ginger, red eyes became teal, tanned skin was lightened, her costume faded away into a familiar, comfortable sweater and jeans. 

Jazz Fenton tipped her head up to the sky briefly. “You know, it feels good to actually have someone I can talk to about this side of myself, ha! At least, someone who isn’t a total fruitloop.” She tipped her head back down and gave Phantom her best winning smile.

Much to her surprise, he was utterly flabbergasted. His eyes were massive, and his jaw was practically on the ground. He’d never seen her transformation, obviously. Maybe he’d never even heard of a halfa before. Her kind was a rare breed indeed. 

“Phantom?”

“Jazz?”

He was familiar with the Fentons, at least marginally. Certainly he knew her folks. Was that how he recognized her, even in human form? “Ha, yeah. That’s me! Daughter of ghost hunters, and here I am. Half-a-ghost. Crazy, isn’t it?”

Phantom shoved a hand deep into his hair. His legs fell, and he floated over to the building she sat on. He obeyed gravity, something he rarely did. He gnawed on a lower lip and, for some reason, wasn’t looking at her. 

His aura shimmered, and condensed around his waist. Jazz’s eyes went massive as the ring around his waist separated and changed him. His jumpsuit became a white t-shirt and jeans. Hips widened and shoulders narrowed. Green eyes became blue. White hair turned to black.

Suddenly, in Phantom’s place, Danny Fenton looked at her.

Jazz could only stare.

“Danny?!”