#day 7: weapon

[jackson-imbecille]

Switched up styles for this one. I’m really happy with how it turned out.

Dannymay Day 7: Weapon

[pastelpaperplanes]

soft body practice (and I guess bit of a scar map too) for a handful of the Thorns and Thrones cast

[aracariwren]

Imps of Miitopia

Alternate coloring + trivia:

They're drawn in order by their number in the journal.

There are 2 imp Miis because there are 2 different costume models (like every job's gear) and also because I wanted to draw both the 3DS and Switch promo/default Miis.

I didn't draw a face on the blue imp (Imp "Cheery Granny"/"Traveler's Friend"/"Teammate"/"YOU") because since they're the only imp monsters who have an entire face, they vary so much throughout everyone's playthroughs depending on what Miis you have.

I also made the blue imp's collar similar to the Dark Lord's because this imp resembles the Dark Lord the most, and they only appear as bosses, so the Dark Lord must value them a lot... They're the ones he calls on for help, after all.

For the imp, naughty imp, and clever imp, whatever eyes/glasses they had when they first popped up in the journal, those were the ones I drew.

I've never played the Switch version of Miitopia so seeing the red fiend threw me for a loop.... look at him... waffle fiend....

Spoilers are for the imp Miis' outfits (because one is end-game and one is post-game) and both the terror fiend and the red fiend (mostly/only encountered post-game). Mostly for the red fiend.

Thank you for reading, I leave you with this terror fiend gif. (��＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

[five-rivers]

The Intern

AO3

Inspired by a variety of DPxDC posts, but mostly this one by @gettingcomfyinyourwalls

.

Before Danny's Accident, he and Jazz had competed for the title of "the normal one" with an intensity and ferocity achievable only by siblings in families where there was no normal one.  After the Accident, he had to cede the title, however reluctantly, to his sister, who then, in a turn around only possible for siblings, then dedicated herself to giving Danny the title of "the one everyone thinks is the normal one."  Combined with his chosen friend group - a girl who pursued weird as a lifestyle, and the kid who once tried to use a tamagotchi to hack a vending machine, then gave the tamagotchi an Egyptian burial when the attempt killed it - it was very easy to forget that Danny was not normal at all.  Not even if you ignored the whole "half-ghost superhero" thing, which was very difficult to ignore.  

It was even easier to forget what kind of not normal he originally was, before the accident, and continued to be even afterward.  

However, the world (and particularly Sam and Tucker) was about to be reminded.  

"Guys!" shouted Danny, literally skipping up the hallway to come to a bouncing stop between Sam and Tucker.  "Guess what!"  He was quivering with so much excitement that his edges looked a little blurry.  

Tucker put a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop.  "I guess it's a good thing, and not that your parents invented a ghost wiggler or something?"

Danny stilled.  "The ghost wiggler.  My enemy."

"Wait, I was joking."

"Mom and Dad weren't.  That thing was evil."

"Okay, okay," said Sam, raising her hands, "it didn't have anything to do with one of your parents' inventions.  What did happen?"

"Two of my summer internship applications were accepted," said Danny, almost sparkling with delight.  

Actually, he was sparkling.  If he had an internship outside of town, he would have to get that under control.  

"That's great," said Sam.  "Which ones?"

"Lexcorp and Wayne Industries!"

"Lexcorp?"

"Wayne Industries?"

"You applied to Lexcorp?" demanded Sam, appalled.  

"You're going to Gotham?" asked Tucker in the same tone.  

Danny looked from Sam to Tucker, then back again.  "Yessssss?"

"To work for the guy you call Bald Vlad?  The one who keeps trying to kill Superman?"

"The place with all those crazy villains and mad scientists? That Gotham?"

Then, together, they asked, "Why did you even apply there?"

"Lexcorp is a civilian leader in astronautics, meteoritics, cosmochemistry, nuclear physics, quantum computing, robotics and medical research."

"Because Lex Luthor is trying to kill Superman."

"And even beyond Wayne Industries, there are so many great scientists in Gotham, like Dr. Isley, Dr. Crane and even Dr. Fries!"

"Danny, those are the villains."

"Well," said Danny, "I figure I'm never going to meet Lex Luthor, being an intern and all, but if I see any dangerous weapons, I can trash them!  I have lots of experience."

"Don't you think it might be a little dangerous for you to work for an avowed human supremacist?"

"It’s not any different from staying home."

Sam leaned back to stare at a point over Danny's head, flummoxed.

Tucker, not liking his point being ignored, squeezed Danny's shoulder.  "If you miss fighting that much, I'm sure any ghost you ask will be happy to spar with you.  The villains, Danny.  Why do you want to go somewhere with that many villains?"

"It's not like I'm joining them."  Danny rolled his eyes.  "I just want to talk to them.  If you're so concerned, I can take Dr. Isley and Dr. Crane off the list."

"Why only those two?  Why not get rid of the whole list?" asked Tucker, shaking him slightly.  

"Because Dr. Isley was mostly for Sam and Dr. Crane was mostly for Jazz.  Dr. Fries is for me, and Mom and Dad want me to try to convince cousin Hugo to try therapy again."

"Why," said Sam, as Tucker glared at her, "do you think I'd want you to talk to Poison Ivy?"

"Uh," said Danny, "because you admire her work?"

"Admired, past tense, and that was before she started turning people into trees."

“But the ‘turning people into trees’ part is way more applicable to our lives!”

“Forget about that,” said Tucker.  “Why do you want to talk to Mr. Freeze?”

“Well, Doctor Fries is an expert in cryogenics and incorporating ice into technology.  I want to be able to do that.”  Danny looked back and forth between Sam and Tucker.  “Come on, I’m not interning for him.  I just want to expand my knowledge base!  Just think about all the cool things I could make!”

Sam and Tucker, united in horror and purpose, grabbed Danny by the arms and dragged him bodily into Senior English.  

"Jazz," said Sam, hauling Danny forward by the arm she held, "your brother is turning into a mad scientist!"

Jazz looked from Sam, to Danny, to Tucker, then back to Sam.  "Yessssss?"

"Well," huffed Sam, "aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"No?  Why would I?" 

“Mad scientist,” repeated Sam.  

“That’s generally a bad thing,” said Tucker.  

“It’s fine.  Danny has a very strong sense of ethics.”

“And lab safety!” chimed in Danny.  

“And lab safety,” agreed Jazz, nodding.  “Now, if you want me to help you with your internalized prejudice, I can refer you to some resources I’ve found quite helpful myself.”

“Internalized prejudice is when you’re biased against yourself,” said Tucker.

“Yes.”  Jazz returned to the task of arranging her pens and notebook on her desk.  

“Wait,” said Sam, “you are not calling us mad scientists, are you?”

“Well,” said Jazz, “Mad Science Disorder isn’t in the DSM, but there’s a movement to have it included in the next edition, and I think you would fit the proposed diagnostic criteria.”

“No,” said Sam.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  

“I have seen the inside of your greenhouse, Sam,” said Jazz.  “You’re at least on the road to being a mad botanist, if not a mad ecologist.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” said Tucker.  

“And you’re obviously a mad computer scientist, with a minor in archaeology.”

“Wait, why are you saying this like they’re college majors?” asked Tucker.  

“It’s easier that way,” said Jazz.  She frowned slightly.  “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.  It’s just that you should be aware of it, so you don’t wake up one day and start planning involuntary human drug trials, or something like that.”

“Jazz did that, once.  I was five.”

The warning bell rang.  

“You should go to class,” said Jazz, pleasantly.  “You don’t want to be late.”

.

“Listen,” said Sam, leaning over the desk to whisper at Danny, “couldn’t you, I don’t know, just do the Wayne internship?”

“Hm,” said Danny, rubbing his chin, “maybe.  But I kind of get the feeling I only got the Wayne internship because I got the Lexcorp one.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, like we talked about way back, Bruce Wayne has to be funding the Justice League, at least a little.”  He pushed his math homework - already finished - to one side.  “It’d make sense for him to keep an eye on anyone Lex Luthor personally hires, on account of the Superman thing.  It’s either that or corporate espionage.”

“Wait,” said Tucker, leaning in from the side, “go back to the ‘personally’ part.”

“It’s a special internship?” said Danny, somehow still managing to pull off the clueless innocent look.  “It was, like, competitive?  You know what I mean.”

“Luthor personally hired you?  Reviewed your application and whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“And you think he isn’t going to meet you?”

“Why would he?  I’m basically going to be getting a tour, then doing drudgework for a month.”

“I love you, man, but you are so, so dumb sometimes.  The man is going to meet you.  Jeez, I hadn’t even heard he was doing internships like that for our age group.”

“Age group?” asked Danny.  

“Dude.  No.  Tell me it was at least limited to just high schoolers.  Tell me you didn’t apply for an internship meant for college students.”

“There wasn’t any age on it as far as I remember.”

“Mr. Fenton,” said Mr. Falluca, “will you please come solve this triangle for the class?”

Danny huffed.  “Rule of cosines,” he said as he stood.  “Give me an easy problem…”

“Why is he even in this class?” mumbled Sam.

“Ghost hunting,” Tucker mumbled back.  

.

“How are you even going to get to Metropolis?” asked Sam as they walked away from the school.  “You don’t have your license yet.”  He probably wouldn’t have his license ever.  Three Fentons driving had, evidently, proven too much for the local DMVs.  Jazz, as conscientious as she was, had gotten hers from the one in Elmerton before they, too, realized the horror that was Jack and Maddie.  

“Jazz is going to take me,” said Danny with a little shrug.  “She’s doing a pre-college thing there.  Some kind of volunteer thing.”

“And how are you getting to Gotham?”

“There’s a train that goes there,” said Danny.  “Like, a regular one.”

“And getting back?”

“Mom and Dad will pick me up.”

“Where will you be sleeping?”

“There’s on-site dorms on each site.”

Sam curled her lips.  “The return of company towns in the modern era.”

“I don’t know, I think the Wayne ones are probably fine.”

“But you’re sleeping in the Lexcorp ones?”

“I figure I can disable any subliminal programming devices that might be installed there.”

“Do you not see how crazy that sounds?  Tucker, back me up, here?”

Tucker sighed.  “Honestly, I don’t think we’re going to be able to change his mind.  I’ve been picking out funeral flowers.  You still like lillies?”

“It’ll be fine.  I’ll call you guys if I need help.  Just like you’ll call me if some new ghost shows up and starts causing trouble, right?”

“Yes,” said Sam, exasperated.  “But you understand those two things aren’t the same, right?  That with the way things are here, there probably won’t be a new ghost causing trouble?”  

Danny had made… peace probably wasn’t quite the right word, with the Fentons, the Guys in White, and the lack of an organized overarching social structure, but there was an understanding between him and the ghosts.  Without that understanding, he wouldn’t have been able to take the time to apply for internships, let alone actually go to any.  

“I mean, if it’s an imposition–”

“That’s not what she meant,” interjected Tucker.  “Nope.  Nope.  You aren’t wriggling out of calling us when a supervillain kidnaps you.  She’s trying to talk you out of taking an unnecessary risk.”

“It’s not really a risk for me, though.”

It really wasn’t.  Danny might not be invulnerable, but the sheer variety of his powers along with his accelerated healing made that point academic.  For most enemies.  

“This is the guy who fights Superman, Danny,” said Sam.  “For all we know, he’s got some kind of anti-ghost material in the same cabinet he keeps his Kryptonite.”

“I don’t think that’d work very well, actually,” said Danny.  

“It was a metaphor.  Be serious.”

“I am being serious.  This is something I want to do.  I want to go there and learn and prepare for the future.”

“You sound like Jazz, you know?  You’ve got two more years here.  You don’t have to do this.  If this is some kind of overcorrection because of the ghosts–”

“It’s not.  I told you why I wanted to do this.”  He stopped on the sidewalk, pulling on the hem of his shirt.  “Is it really that bad?  Is it really that terrible that I’m going somewhere and doing something that I’m interested in?”

“No,” said Tucker, awkwardly.  “We’re worried about you.”

“And I’ll be fine,” insisted Danny.  “Really.  I will be.  And, you know, like I said, I want to do this kind of thing in the future, so it’s good practice.”

“For what?” asked Sam, crossing her arms.  “Scamming supervillains?”

“Well, yeah,” said Danny.  “That, too.”

Sam’s arms fell, along with her jaw.  “What?”

“Scamming supervillains,” said Danny, starting to walk again.  “Like, obviously, I want to either do something with spaceflight or something with a big humanitarian dimension, but scamming supervillains is definitely going to be my backup.  Or maybe my hobby.  They always have the coolest stuff, and a lot of money, too, usually.”

“Coolest stuff?”

“Yeah,” said Danny, almost skipping, now.  “Ice rays, supercomputers, gene therapy, rapidly growing vegetation, limb regeneration, cloning techniques… Lex Luthor came up with a cure for, like, over half a dozen different types of cancer.”

“Because he wanted to kill Superman,” said Sam, taking up an earlier refrain.  It had only 

“Yeah, but imagine what he could do if we could convince him that Superman got his strength from, like, world hunger or something.”

“I hate it,” said Sam, after a long moment, “but I think you have a point.”

“You two could go into business with me.  Some villains go through goons so fast, I bet we could hit them about a dozen times.”

“You’re not planning to do this now, though, are you?” asked Tucker.

“Huh?  No.  No, not until after graduation.  Most I’ll do with any supervillains I see this time around is talk.”

“That’s a lie,” said Sam, immediately.  “There’s no way.  The first time Man-Bat or Brainiac jumps out of a sewer, you’re going to start swinging.”

“Man-Bat is a geneticist and a chiropterologist, you know,” said Danny.  “I’d love to take Brainiac apart, though.  Do you have any idea how many planets he’s wiped out?  And the stuff he’s got to have–”

“You’re floating,” said Tucker.  

“And glowing,” said Sam.  “You’re really going to have to work on that.”

“Oops,” said Danny.  “Sorry.  It’s just, like, everything I’m Obsessed with.”  He landed, but still fidgeted, as if shaping something invisible with his hands.  Which he might have been.  “It’s– I still want to help people.”  The plaintive note in his voice made it clear that ‘want’ was, in this case, closer to ‘need.’    “I don’t mind doing the hero thing, and I can’t ignore a cry for help.  But I’m not going to just waltz into someone else’s territory and start messing with stuff.”

“I think the territory thing is more of a ghost thing than a hero thing.”

“Eh,” said Danny, “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

.

Danny waved goodbye to Jazz as she pulled away from the curb, then grinned up at the Lexcorp building.  Wow, it was tall.  And probably had a lot of really sketchy stuff in the basement.  

But!  He wouldn’t start poking around with that stuff until he’d been there for at least a week.  

(Okay, he’d probably last twenty-four hours at most, but who could blame him?  How often did anyone get to poke around the lair of a supervillain who wasn’t their archenemy?)

He walked into the lobby, craning his neck this way and that to take it all in.  It was… honestly pretty boring.  Not unlike Vlad’s buildings.  But he supposed that all corporate buildings were like that to some degree.  

“Hello!” he said, walking up to the front desk.  “I’m–”

“You’ll have to wait for your parents to come out, I’m afraid, sweetie,” said the secretary.  “Company rules.”

Danny blushed.  “No, um, I’m here for the internship?  The Innovators of Tomorrow Today internship?  I’m Danny Fenton.  Daniel.  Daniel Fenton.”

The secretary blinked at him, then looked down at her computer for a moment.  “I’ll need to see some ID.”

“Will my passport be okay?” Danny asked, tugging on his bracelet to get it to lie more comfortably on his wrist.  On account of the whole ‘no driver’s license’ problem, he didn’t have anything else, other than his student ID.  

“That will be fine,” said the secretary, reaching for it.  She looked it over carefully, becoming more and more confused.  Danny wondered if she was expecting it to be fake or something.  “You’re fifteen.”

“I know I’m short,” said Danny.  “But I’m almost sixteen.”

“I see,” she said.  “Well.  Here’s your visitor badge.  We’ll have someone come escort you to the meeting room shortly, and your internship badge will be ready when you start tomorrow.  You can leave your luggage here, and it will be scanned and brought up to the dorms.”

Danny bobbed his head happily and took back his passport and the badge.  He couldn’t wait to meet the other people he’d be working with.  He bet that there’d be a lot of people his age, no matter what Tucker said after he looked it up and saw the website.  

A tall man wearing an earpiece and some kind of weapon - a taser, probably - walked up to Danny a few minutes later and scanned his badge.  With a few words, he directed Danny to an elevator - one with a keypad code - and brought him up to the tenth story.  The elevator opened directly into a… Danny wasn’t entirely sure what to call it.  It was square and very large and open, with soft, rounded furniture, a kitchenette, and a catered lunch spread out on several long tables.  One wall was all windows, looking down into Metropolis, and another wall was covered in cool, art-deco Lexcorp posters.  

There were a lot of people.

A lot of tall people.  

A lot of tall, college-aged people.  Older college-aged people, even.  No teenagers.

Tucker had been right.  Great.  

A middle-aged woman extracted herself from the loose crowd and came over to Danny, smiling.  

“Hello!” she said.  “You must be Daniel Fenton.  My name is Liberty Rue, I’m the coordinator for the Innovators of Tomorrow Today program.”

“Hi,” said Danny, “it’s nice to meet you.”

Ms. Rue nodded.  “Thank you, thank you.  We’re just giving everyone a chance to get to know each other before we start the orientation.  Please feel free to take any of the refreshments and mingle.  All of you are going to be working together closely.  Your specialties were electrical engineering and space science?”

“Yes,” said Danny.  Although, to be honest, he didn’t really have a specialty.  He was more of a generalist.  

(Unless you counted ghost science, but there was absolutely no way he was going to bring that up.)

“Excellent.  Let me introduce you to the group you’ll be working most closely with–”

What followed was something of a whirlwind.  It wasn’t that there was a lot of people, but it was one after the other, and Ms. Rue seemed to be… showing him off, almost?  Or showing the other people off?  In any case, there was a weird tension to it all.  

Was it because he was younger?  

He tried not to dwell on it too much, though, because everyone here had so much cool stuff to talk about.  Almost all of them had been involved in serious graduate or undergraduate research projects.  Strange matter, transient dimensions, reality fields, meta gene analysis, non-quantum teleportation, reproduction of extraterrestrial technologies…  Danny was starting to feel a little inadequate.  The project he’d sent in was a ‘theoretical’ blueprint for a spy-bot disabler.  One that he was proud of, sure; getting a localized EMP effect without a nuke wasn’t easy, but it was doable.  And the EMP part was definitely the ‘last resort’ stage of things.  It was, after all, much better to hack into Vlad’s bugs and have them send him a hundred hours worth of rickrolls.

In the middle of a conversation about exactly how much room you needed for a decent particle accelerator, Ms. Rue stepped aside and put her hand to her ear.  Danny hadn’t noticed the earpiece before, but now he looked at it with curiosity.  It was well made, and he could barely hear it, even with his slightly augmented hearing.  He wondered if they were designed to counter Superman.  

“Mr. Fenton,” said Ms. Rue, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to steal you away for a moment.

“Okay,” said Danny.  He followed her back to the elevator, stealing a cookie as he went.  They weren’t as good as his Mom’s, but he was pretty sure they tasted the way they did because of their ectoplasm content, so…

Ms. Rue punched a code into the elevator and scanned her badge.  “Alright, Mr. Fenton.  Go ahead.  You’ll be taken where you need to go.”

Well.  That was maybe a little sketchy, but Danny was nothing if not curious.  He got in.  “I’ll be back in time for the orientation, right?”

“If you aren’t, I’ll make sure you’re shown around personally,” promised Ms. Rue.

The doors closed and the elevator went up.  And up.  Then stopped for a moment, during which Danny felt the tingle of a very thorough full-body scan.  And up some more.  All the way to the top.  The doors opened to a sparkling office.  Everything in it was white, chrome, or glass, with smooth straight lines and geometrically perfect curves.  It blended perfectly with the skyline of Metropolis framed by the full-wall windows.  

Between Danny and the windows was an enormous white desk.  Behind the desk was Lex Luthor.  

“Daniel Fenton,” said Lex Luthor, inclining his head ever so slightly towards Danny.  “It is good to meet you.”

“Thank you,” said Danny, trying not to squeak.  “I’m happy to be here.  I’m looking forward to working here for the next couple of weeks.”

“It is heartening to see that you are more open to cooperation than Vlad.”  Luthor turned away, slightly, surveying the city below him.  

Danny took that as an invitation to come closer and peer out the huge windows himself.  What did Vlad have to do with this?

“I confess, I found myself frustrated by his lack of vision,” continued Luthor, “but youth often holds wisdom that age lacks.”  He turned back to favor Danny with a smile.  “On seeing your application, I was charmed by your initiative in circumventing your mentor.”

Danny’s train of thought, such as it was, derailed.  

“Mentor?” he asked.  

“You don’t have to hide it,” said Luthor.  “Not when we are both quite aware of the others’ knowledge.  Considering my wealth, I am privy to a number of things that ordinary people are not.  Including the beneficiaries of my fellow billionaires’ wills.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  Lex thought– But why–  Was he–  He couldn’t be right, but–  But did this make Danny a… a… nepotism baby?

The sprout of confidence that had been flourishing ever since he got the letter announcing his acceptance to the internship program withered.  This was even worse than finding out he and Jazz were test tube babies.  (And that was only so bad because his parents had felt the need to go on a long tangent about how they had selected their donor-parents, as large portions of Jack and Maddie's genomes were unstable due to a combination of the family proclivities and a variety of curses.)

Lex Luthor stood.  “Doubtless, you’re interested in the projects I outlined to Vlad when I proposed our cooperation.  The device blueprint you submitted for the internship referenced them quite cleverly.  I would like to show you how far they’ve progressed since I spoke to Vlad, and then we can discuss your contribution to their success.”

“I don’t have access to any of Vlad’s resources, Mr. Luthor,” said Danny, cautiously.  “I couldn’t provide any, er, funding to these projects.”

“I am aware of that.  But I think your value goes above and beyond the financial, Daniel.”  He put a hand on Danny’s shoulder.  “After all, the reason I approached Vlad was his science background.  And in a few years… Well.  Vlad Masters is not a young man.”

Was that a murder threat?  Danny thought it was a murder threat.  Oh, boy, did he have something else coming for him if he thought he could just kill Vlad like that.  

Luthor directed Danny back towards the elevator, and this time they went down.  Far down.  Into those basements Danny had been thinking about before.  

They stepped out into a vestibule, and a pair of much more openly armed security guards saluted Lex before running through a series of security measures.  Danny took note specifically of the ones intended to detect mind control and shapeshifting.  

From there, they passed through a series of locked doors and into a maze of gleaming white hallways.  The color made Danny’s skin itch.  Too much like the GIW for his taste.

Luthor opened a side door, and showed Danny into an empty lab.  Empty in terms of people, that is.  In terms of stuff… blueprints, prototypes, models, drawings, coffee cups… not so much.

“I had the team take the day off,” said Luthor.  “I thought you’d appreciate the chance to look at things without any distractions.”

Danny surveyed the plans with interest.  There were similarities between what was being built and the mini-EMP portion of his bug-zapper.  There were also echoes of shield technology…  some kind of energy projector or amplifier?  

“What is it supposed to emit?” asked Danny, unable to hold back his curiosity.  He touched, ever so gently, a hollow place he was sure the energy source was supposed to sit. 

Lex smiled.  “I’m glad you asked,” he said.  “Follow me.”

They went back out into the hallway, but only briefly.  The next room had even more security, but Luthor bypassed it all with businesslike efficiency and they entered a plain, all-white and bare room.

One wall of this room was taken up by a backlit display cabinet made of square cubbies.  Within each cubby was a tiny chip of crystal, like a sample display of particularly expensive rock candy.  Green, of many shades, was the best-represented color, but there was also red and blue.  That made sense, because each crystal was made of delicious ectoplasm-infused quartz.  Danny swallowed.  They were making his mouth water, but the amount of death energy they would have had to be around…

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Luthor.  “Kryptonite.  The key to repelling our would-be alien overlord.”

Yeah.  Remnants of a planet that imploded while still inhabited by billions.  That would do it.  

“I intend to create a Kryptonite field over the whole of Metropolis, one that should, at the least, disable Superman to the point where we can drive him out.  I will sell them to the great cities of America, and then, the world.  One day, the whole Earth will be protected, and Superman must either leave, or die.  But for now, it is still a dream.  That is why I need you, Daniel.”

Danny didn’t think Luthor’s weapon would work.  Not now.  There was too much missing.  Too much being missed by scientists and engineers expecting the Kryptonite to behave in a normal, logical way.  He was certain, however, that he could make something that functioned exactly as described.  He could even do it quickly, building off ghost and human shield technologies.  He could see the pieces of it fit together, like a puzzle.  

Making it, just to prove that he, Danny Fenton, could, was tempting.  

So tempting.  

But he had this little thing called morals, and driving Superman off Earth was definitely in the category of bad.  

“Well, I don’t know if I can fix problems all your scientists can’t, but I can sure try to help.”  He winced a little at the phrasing.  Why did he have to use the word help?  

“That’s all I ask,” said Luthor.  “But that’s far from our only project.  Shall we?”

“Sure,” said Danny, not at all faking his smile.  Even though he’d have to sabotage this stuff, it was really cool to see it!

.

Later that night in his dorm room - which was, incidentally, a lot more spacious than he’d expected - Danny rotated the bracelet on his wrist and pressed a button on its side.  Inside the thick band was a miniaturized and completely functional version of the spy-bot zapper he’d submitted as part of his internship application.  He listened to it click as it went through the different modes available to it.  It tweedled at him when it finished.  

Only then did he pull out his phone and power it on.  He clicked into his contacts and hit the button for his first favorite.  

“Hey,” he said, when the call connected, “Jazz, so…  Sam and Tucker might have been just a little bit right about my internship…”

.

May do more at a later time, but for now, this is it. I am incredibly forgetful, so I don't do taglists. Please consider subscribing to the AO3 version of this instead.

[shsunderland]

Literally losing it today but here was a doodle i made for Weapon By Name by @cnwolf-brainrot

More misc doodles unrelated under the cut

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 7 - unconventional weapon

Warnings: red room violence, child death, minors fighting,

Word Count: 2.1k (gif not mine - from @notahammer form this gifset- I hope it’s okay that it’s borrowed)

Summary: Natasha tells a story of her past.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

A/N: this one delves into Natasha’s past, it’s not a happy chapter and sits heavier. Also, thank you for all the comments on the last chapter - I will reply to them - also dw in this house we love Maria Hill (she just has some distrust to work through) <3

.

Dostoevsky sits on the table and Natasha wonders at Maria’s choice of Crime and Punishment.

A Russian author and a title that mirrors herself seems a little too on the nose.

She appreciates the gesture though.

She didn’t know what had happened in the day between Maria seemingly wanting to torture her for information, to not asking her questions at all.

Debrief hadn’t touched on Odessa, but instead moved to code words and languages.

This she could easily talk on.

This was something she gave up readily.

She appreciated the reprieve.

Clint had returned to find her and Maria eating breakfast in her cell, as they had done for the three days prior. The mood more comfortable than the first time and, seeing Clint, she had smiled a genuine smile. She’d missed him.

With Clint back, he would resume the role of handler, changing the routine once again.

Whilst Natasha would miss the fresh air of the morning shooting range with Maria, she prefers Clint and the safety that his presence entails.

Will the debrief continue to avoid Odessa?

She’s sure Maria told him what had happened.

For now her voice had been heard, when she said that she couldn’t talk about it. But she’s not ready to trust they’ll avoid it forever, especially when she feels it could be used against her.

Today’s debrief looms.

Clint glances down at her in the elevator, catching her eye and smiles.

As usual, they enter the small office and sit with the two way mirror on the left.

He hands her two pictures.

Natasha’s blood runs cold.

“Who is that?”

The woman in the picture on the left has her black hair pinned back.

Memories flash.

“Stand straight.”

“Again.”

“Widows are marble.”

“You will not break.”

There’s a taste of poison in Natasha’s mouth and she wants to spit.

“Um,” she says swallowing, “she runs the widows. Trains them. Keeps the girls in line.”

She moves her hands under the table, clenching hard to keep herself present.

“What do you know of her?”

Clint asks the question slowly, like he knows what it will cost.

“The trial of the silent knife.”

Natasha doesn’t want to talk about this.

She looks at the second picture.

The branding mark embossed on skin.

“What is the trial of the silent knife?”

Natasha forces herself to calm. Forces air in her lungs and her mind to clear, even as images assault her, the cut of the knife and scar on her calf glisten.

“How did you learn to fight?” she asks, voice low.

Clint smiles easily.

“Back yard fights with my brother. My father, school, the military. You could say my learning was… eclectic.”

Natasha hears him in what he doesn’t say.

“How do you think I learned?”

Clint doesn’t answer straight away.

A question he’s likely never considered.

She sighs.

“We are trained in very specific ways. Ways to make prepubescent bodies strong. Running in mountains, strength training, exercises in multiple martial arts by different teachers. Each with their own style of reward and punishment.”

Natasha considers the questions about the woman and wonders where to start.

“Once we reached a certain age, the skills we learnt were tested.”

She knows he wants to ask more.

“I was 8.”

“The trial of the silent knife is the test.”

.

Natasha stands with the other girls.

She feels excited, adrenaline running through her body, as she wants to show her skills.

She feels ready.

The other girls look cocky. No one looks scared except Sasha, who always looks like she’s going to wet herself.

Natasha’s not sure how she hasn’t been kicked out yet.

There had been other girls who’d left. Bed empty after being injured, or crying, or talking back in ways that, even to Natasha, had felt rude.

The wind is cold. Though the ice has melted the world still holds a chill.

They’d been to this clearing before, fought here before, and Natasha was accustomed to fighting bare footed and without weapons.

“Line up,” the command comes.

The girls do as ordered.

Natasha exchanges looks with Freya, her friend looking determined and fierce.

She notes her friend’s bravery and uses it to calm her own fluttering heart.

It’s different today and they all know.

The twenty four girls are made to spar, lightly until they’re warmed up, going through the motions of hitting and being hit.

Four adults stand to her left, and she sees Madam and Dreykov standing behind them.

Her body feels cold, fear of both of them allowing one of the girls to sweep her legs.

She falls heavily.

Helped up, she whispers to her what she saw, and the message gets passed down the line.

Natasha often feels targeted by the two adults. They stare at her and she feels frustrated at the higher standard she’s seemingly held to.

She stands straighter as the round ends and they’re lined up again.

Now separated, they stand on either side of two lines marked in the dirt.

The adults move closer and Madam claps twice.

The girls stand straighter, eyes forward just as they’ve been trained.

“This is a test,” she announces. “You will fight until one of you wins.”

She walks between the lines to look at all of the girls.

“How you do that is up to you. You will be marked on how you do this. This will be done in silence. You must not scream, or cry or ask for help. Once in the arena, you are on your own. No one will help you except yourself.”

Natasha’s nerves rise.

She’s glad she’s not at the front of the line.

Briselle, one of the older girls, steps forward; her opponent is Sasha.

Natasha knows the outcome before they even fight.

A single knife is thrown in the middle of the arena.

Madam steps forward and Dreykov and the other four sit on chairs set up for them.

The girls sit along the outside, still in their lines, legs tucked under, fists on top of knees.

Briselle smiles as Sasha lunges for the knife.

She lets her pick it up and then kicks out at her.

Sasha moves back, using her momentum to feint left and swipe right.

The knife passes close to Brisselle’s neck.

The shock on her face pronounced, as Sasha presses her advantage.

Natasha had fought Sasha before. When Sasha was scared, she became desperate.

Briselle shouldn’t underestimate her, just because she looks like a scared little girl.

Briselle kicks out and makes contact with Sasha’s chest.

The kick is clearly winding, as Sasha gasps, her fist tightening harder around the knife. Brisselle presses the advantage, throwing another kick at her prone body on the floor. Sasha scrambles up, blocking it with her forearms, grabbing at a leg and attempting a throw without conviction.

Briselle’s weight seems an advantage as she holds her ground, her held foot flips up, catching Sasha under the chin.

The girl’s body sprawls, knife flying from her hand.

Briselle picks it up, kicks her and points it at her neck.

“Until one of you wins,” Madam reminds.

Briselle’s smile falters.

She doesn’t know what that means; but Sasha seems to. The crack of Briselle’s leg is loud, she shouts in pain. Sasha’s movements are quick. The first cut along her thighs and the second along her neck. Bloor pours from the wounds.

Natasha looks on in shock.

Sasha’s desperation to win had come at the cost of Briselle’s life.

The girl was dying in front of them.

Natasha feels sick.

An adult that Natasha doesn’t know pulls Briselle’s broken, gasping body away. Sasha looks at her bloody hands and is ordered by Madam to line up.

The girls hear a gunshot and all know what it means.

Sasha’s eyes go wide as she watches, her mouth opening with an outward breath. Tears leak from her eyes.

Two girls look wildly around and cry out.

Natasha’s head doesn’t move, but her eyes scan the other girls, some of whom were also crying, their predicament clear now. The years of training culminating in this.

The next two opponents stand, legs shaking, fear on their faces.

“Fight.”

Madam’s voice breaks the silence.

An endless minute seems to pass before one of the girls lunges for the knife.

The fight is short.

Clearly overpowered, the younger girl sobs as the other girl cries that she’s sorry.

The arena is bloody by the time it is Natasha’s turn. She rises on heels but doesn’t look at the girl in front of her. She knows her, but in those moments, she knows that she cannot acknowledge her.

“Fight.”

The knife is the obvious play, but the other girl is taller and reaches it quicker.

Natasha runs through the knife defenses, anticipating the lunge forward. She sidesteps, bending the girl’s wrist, and using her momentum against her. The angle of the wrist weakens her hold onto the knife and it drops to the bloody floor.

She kicks it out of the way, and slaps her heavily, knowing if she punches she’d hurt herself.

Her palm stings.

Avoiding the next punch, then kick, Natasha fights back, returning with a kick to the girl’s head.

It hits with a resounding thud.

The girl stumbles back, tripping on the knife.

Natasha lunges for it and the girl wrestles her for it.

Then arms back, the girl reaches for something that Natasha can’t see.

Natasha grabs the knife, but a rock smacks her in the head.

Natasha collapses.

Dazed, Natasha's vision blurs. She feels the girl climb on top of her, raising the rock again, readying to hit Natasha a second time.

But Natasha’s holding the knife upward between them, and as the girl leans forward it sticks between her ribs, killing her with a quiet “oh”.

The rock drops.

The unconventional weapon falling next to Natasha’s head as she huffs breaths.

Panic.

She has no thoughts in her head as she’s told to stand, her opponent dragged back.

Blood drips from her forehead and she touches it blankly.

The rest of the battles finish without Natasha registering who is still alive.

All she can think of is the knife pushing into the girl’s body.

Her chest feels so tight. Only the slightest amount of air seems to break through.

Her hands shake and she sits on them to hide it.

Natasha wants nothing more than to be left alone.

The knife.

She focuses herself by biting the inside of her mouth.

Her head hurts.

Still bleeding, she blinks it away from her eyes.

Madam stands in front of them.

“Do you know why it’s the silent knife?” Madam asks, picking the weapon up.

Twelve girls, bloody and bruised and traumatised, stare into space.

The four adults stand, Dreykov in front of them.

“You are part of the Red Room. Silent killers. You must know how to kill; friends, family, foe.”

She paces.

Placing a knife in front of each of them, Madam motions to it.

“You have passed this test. From now on, this knife is yours. Your right to own. From now on, the training will only get harder.”

Natasha eyes the bloody knife in front of her.

Sniffing, and wiping her face, she decides it was a friend and not a foe.

She picks it up cleans it with her clothing.

.

Clint sits back, his heart hurting at her story.

“Once we passed, we had to mark ourselves. The first kill. The mark, the one you see there, that’s the brand. That woman was a widow.”

She bites her lip.

She hates the story.

Telling it felt like it was someone’s else’s story.

“Can, uh, can we stop?”

Clint nods, not asking any more questions.

She’s sure it’s been recorded, but in that moment she doesn’t care. She wants to return to her cell. In that moment feeling, more than ever, like she belongs in one.

She’s made peace with most of her other kills.

But that first one…

Natasha clenches her fists and lets them go in time with her breathing.

She just feels old and tired.

.

[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[thehealing-brutus]

Protecting her teammates.

[underforeversgrace]

Instinct

DannyMay2023 Day 7: Weapon

Words: 3035

Complete

AO3

Excerpt: He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old. When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did.

~~~~~~~

Don’t get Danny wrong, he was more than thrilled that his parents current weapon had entirely failed, as he usually was. This time, even more so, once his parents had explained to him what the weapon did, deep in the woods on what he had thought was supposed to be a normal (er, Fenton normal?) camping trip.

He really hated it when his parents surprised him with the ghost version of weapons of mass destruction, honestly. It was getting old.

When they’d unveiled the weapon and showed it to him and Jazz with more enthusiasm than a toddler sticking something new in its mouth, Danny had wanted to blow the damn thing up the instant they finished explaining what it did. Frankly, he probably would’ve if they hadn’t immediately turned it on while his brain was still processing exactly how bad a weapon that vaporized all ectoplasm within twenty miles was - in general and for him specifically.

He decided it was a small miracle when he felt nothing more than an irritating tug on his core. There had been no hiding the relief on either kids’ faces when Danny didn’t explode/implode/horrifically die (again).

An hour later, though, Danny realized his parents’ invention had somehow managed to be almost worse (he was slightly biased, he still preferred this to perma-death) than it’s initial function had been.

“Danny!” Jazz shrieked as he jumped to the side, tucking and rolling back under the barrier of the ghost shield, firing one last shot from the ecto gun in his hands before he was in the protective green dome. The shot - of course - landed true, the ghost bear roaring in pain as it slammed its paws onto the shield, getting thrown away the second it did so as the shield shocked it.

He didn’t even bother pretending to be out of breath as he ran back to the GAV, he had too much else to focus on.

“This one’s out, too,” he said, tossing the now drained gun into the growing pile of other weapons that had met the same fate.

“Shit,” Mom swore, not even bothering to hide her language from her kids as she joined them in the back of the GAV. “Mine’s out, too.” She said, all but throwing the weapon in frustration.

Jack - who had been quickly relieved from and forbidden to touch any of the weapons when they realized they couldn’t risk missing shots - looked up in panic. “We’re out of weapons.” He said.

“How can you be out of weapons?!” Jazz shouted.

“They run off ectoplasm!” Dad said, wiping sweat from his brow, the summer heat suffocating in the metal van. “We didn’t want to risk bringing too many and frying them!”

Jazz looked to Danny in a panic. Oh, right. She expected him to have a plan by now, he was sure.

Danny, however, had been entirely too busy to think of anything beyond aiming, ducking, and trying not to be too ghostly. He ran a hand across his face, desperately trying to think of something, anything.

They’d been under an onslaught of animal ghosts for over an hour at this point. The invention, instead of vaporizing ghosts (which still made Danny’s skin crawl at the sheer idea), apparently summoned them instead, the tug Danny had felt on his core. And while he’d known there were a lot of animal ghosts in and around Amity Park, he had not realized it was this many. It had been Jazz’s idea to turn off the GAV’s weapons so it could focus on the ghost shield, a suggestion Danny was immensely grateful for. The weapons and the shield were a huge power drain, the shield wouldn’t have lasted five minutes if the guns had been blasting too.

“How’s your hand to hand?” Mom asked, thrusting a staff at him.

“Uh, acceptable?” Danny answered.

Mom and dad had both tried to question his abilities when they’d given him a gun and discovered he knew what he was doing when he’d instinctively triggered the two buttons to charge it up, even though they’d never explained to him how this particular model worked. His dead on aim that rivaled his mother’s hadn’t done anything to assuage the questions, even when Jazz’s proved almost as good.

The longer he’d fought - jumping through and from the shield with practiced ease, since the weapons’ ectoblasts couldn’t clear the shield any more than the ghosts could - the less they’d questioned,  focusing on the fight. He knew he’d have an avalanche of questions waiting for him when he got home, when they weren’t fighting for their lives.

Jack and Jazz grabbed close combat weapons as well and the four filed out, the sounds of roars and growls and barks filling the air.

Danny, throughout this whole ordeal, had been confident he could keep his secret intact by the end of this, even as the humans beside him began to flag from exhaustion.

Exhaustion he could see in the way his father’s chest heaved for air, the way his mother had begun to slow, the way Jazz held her shoulder, no doubt aching from the repeated recoil of the weapons. Only Danny had the ghostly endurance to continue fighting without starting to fall behind.

When the shield flickered out of existence for a moment before returning, though, Danny’s slow heart skipped a beat.

“Danny!” Jazz yelled again as a ghost panther leapt onto her, knocking her to the ground as she struggled to keep the bar of the staff in the creature’s jaws.

“Jazz!” Danny shouted back, too far away to strike the beast with the weapon in his hand, his parents dealing with another animal who had managed to enter their safe zone when the shield had failed.

Some part of Danny knew he should think his next actions through, but instinct and his protective drive triggered and he no longer had the energy to care about his secret as green saliva dripped from the ghost’s jowls onto his sister’s face.

The staff clattered to the ground as he dropped it, throwing an ectoblast directly into the beast pinning Jazz down, sending it crashing a fair distance away, where it whined and struggled to get up before going still.

“Danny?” He heard his mother ask softly, a witness to the display he had just put on as they felled their target too.

It was then he heard the soft sound of the GAV entirely powering down, entirely out of energy after powering the shield for so long. Then the horde was running towards them.

“No!” He cried, giving into the cold in his chest as he thrust his hands to either side, his own green shield bursting into existence around them.

“Danny?” It was his dad this time who asked, with the same quiet horror as Mom prior, both frozen in place.

He knew his eyes were glowing green when he looked up at them, as they always did when he used his powers as Fenton.

“Danny.” Jazz said softly, the only one with concern in her voice, as she put herself firmly between him and their parents.

He had never been so sick of hearing his own name.

He didn’t answer, glancing at the GAV, just barely still within his much smaller shield. He couldn’t keep the shield up forever and he couldn’t fight while maintaining it, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, closing his eyes and tugging again on his core. His mother’s scream when he formed a duplicate hurt his soul more than his ears. The (human) duplicate took over the shield, grimacing as he did so, nodding to Danny. They didn’t have to speak, the duplicate was intrinsically a part of him, knew his every thought and desire as soon as he had it. “I’m gonna get the shield back up.”

Danny hurried to the GAV, throwing open the power source and resisting the urge to flinch as he felt the way it sucked in the air around it even as he reached for it.

“Danny, no!” Jazz said, catching up to him and grabbing his wrist, jerking it away before he could touch the Ecto-Converter.

Danny was really, really sick of hearing his name. “Do you have another idea?” Danny snapped. “I need the shield up. I can’t keep it up and fight at the same time, not yet!”

“And how are you supposed to fight if you feed yourself to the Ecto-Converter?” Jazz shouted back, clutching his wrist harder in her hand, though worry was all he saw in her eyes.

Danny glanced behind him, where his parents kept rotating their heads between him and his duplicate, though mercifully they hadn’t attacked.

“I have energy and ectoplasm to spare, Jazz.” Danny said, trying to soften his voice. “It’s concentration I don’t have, not yet, you know that.”

“But, Danny…” she trailed off, knowing he was making sense, though she was probably thinking the same thing he was.

I know it’s working when I hear the screams. Was how Jack had described the Converter. Danny had touched it once, for just a second and had been shocked with pain.

“Be careful.” She yielded, releasing his arm.

“Aren’t I always?” He quipped, almost relieved at the glare Jazz sent back at him, because no he absolutely was not.

He hesitated a moment. His secret was only half shattered right now. He could still pass this off as ecto-contamination but as he felt his duplicate shudder when several ghosts launched into the shield at once, he knew his entire secret was going to be exposed. His powers as Fenton weren’t as strong as Phantom. And he would need to be as strong as possible to fend off all of these ghosts. “I love you.” He added, slamming his hand against the Converter.

He screamed as electric agony flooded his senses, quickly brought to his knees though he stubbornly managed to keep his hand against the Converter as flashbacks of his death tried to edge their way into his memory.

“Danny!” Mom called, apparently broken from her trance, running to him and dropping to her knees beside him, reaching for him.

“Don’t!” Jazz snapped, grabbing her hands as she had Danny’s, keeping their mother from electrocuting herself.

Danny heard them and saw them through his duplicate’s eyes, his true body's senses too overwhelmed.

Almost immediately, the GAV powered back up, the shield erupting back to life. As soon as it had, he faded the duplicate, reabsorbing it back into himself. He couldn’t say how long he stayed like that, charging the GAV like a battery. He didn’t stop until he felt the power source at max capacity, unable to take anymore from him.

He jerked his hand away from the vehicle, blasted back a few feet as he did so. His head felt like static as he heard various voices calling his name again, hands touching his shoulders and slightly shaking him. He groaned, forcing himself into a sitting position. Ow. 

“Danny? Son? Are you okay?” His father asked, putting a hand behind his back to help him sit.

“‘m fine…” he muttered even as his muscles spasmed from the electrical shock. By the Ancients, he hated getting hit by electricity.

“Can you sit up on your own?” Mom asked and he nodded, only to grab his head as nausea and lightheadedness shot through him.

“That’s a no.” Jazz said dryly.

He forced his eyes open, shielding them when the bright light burned them. Okay. Maybe he had underestimated how bad this would hurt.

Maddie sucked in a deep breath and stilled as he opened his eyes and the past several minutes crashed back into him through the static, as he felt ectoplasm burn in his eyes.

“Uh. Ta-da?” He said, giving weak jazz hands as he did so.

If his parents had been about to say something, they were distracted when a large animal slammed against the shield, the sound nearly deafening as it reverberated in the space. Danny’s eyes snapped back to the problem and he forced himself to his feet. He could deal with his parents when they weren’t all under assault and he didn’t want to have to charge the GAV again if they tried to wait the ghosts out and it died again. Dad grabbed at his shoulder and Danny instinctively winced. He pushed through his father’s hands, intangibly escaping his grasp. Jack stared at his hands in amazement and horror.

He did his best to ignore his parents as he marched forward, slipping pass the shield with ease as Jack and Maddie screamed for him to come back, it was too dangerous.

Danny crouched as the animals turned to him and growled.

He couldn’t help it, he grinned as pre-fight adrenaline surged through him, as he let human worry fade into nothing. He triggered the transformation, feeling the familiar sensation of cold spreading through his entire body as blood turned to ectoplasm, the sudden lack of gravity’s demand freeing him.

“I’ve got this,” he called, his voice echoing in the trees, his parents’ protests silencing.

~~~~~~

Jack hadn’t known how to react when his very much human son had shot an ectoblast from his hands. When he erected a shield, when his eyes glowed green, when there were suddenly two of him. He’d simply… frozen.

It had been his son’s very human screams that had spurred him and his wife into action, running for him as he seemed to be electrocuted by the Ecto-Converter. He’d been about to touch him when Jazz had stopped Maddie, shooting a look at Jack to stop, too.

He didn’t understand why his son was hurting, the Converter was designed to hurt ghosts, not humans! He’d still been adamantly refusing to acknowledge the implication of what he’d just seen until the GAV roared back to life so quickly, the large shield returning and the second Danny disappearing.

“No.” Maddie had whispered, her mind refusing to think about it, too. Refusing to realize their son was dead.

Still, Jack couldn’t stand to see his son so low when he got thrown back several feet from the vehicle, twitching and slightly smoking. Jack was still a father and that was still his child in pain.

Now, though, everything Jack had ever known was spinning around him, suddenly nothing a fact anymore.

Danny phasing through his hand, so very much a ghost.

Danny passing through a ghost shield, so very much a human.

Phantom suddenly appearing, so very much not his son.

Or so he’d thought until today, as he watched Phantom easily lay waste to ghosts that had been ruthlessly trying to get to his family the past hour, dodging attacks just to follow up with a blast of his own before catching them with a Thermos.

“He’s still Danny.” Jazz said gently after several minutes of silence, the two adults transfixed by the ghost child - their ghost child - in front of them. “He always has been.”

“He…” Maddie started, gulping. “How is he Phantom? Phantom’s been around for two years.”

How has our son been dead for two years and we didn’t know? Was the unspoken implication of her words.

Jazz just shook her head. “It’s his story to tell. If he chooses to. But… he isn’t fully dead, at least.”

Jack wanted to ask why he hadn’t told them before, why he hadn’t trusted them enough to tell them they were shooting their own son.

“He’s afraid of us, isn’t he?” Maddie asked, though it wasn’t really a question, the same conclusion Jack reached. 

Jazz just nodded sadly, though the confirmation was unnecessary.

Jack was remembering every time he’d essentially ranted about how much he wanted to torture his own son to death. Maddie turned to him and cried, burying her face into his chest and he wrapped her arms around her.

“He still loves you.” Jazz added, placing a comforting hand on her father’s shoulder.

“How can he?” Jack asked, the first thing he’d really said.

“How can he because he’s a ghost and they aren't capable of that?” Jazz said, a sudden edge to her voice.

Jack vehemently shook his head. “No. Because of what we’ve done to him. God, how many times have we hurt him, made him bleed?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” She answered cryptically. Maddie just sobbed harder.

Several minutes passed in silence, the only sounds their breathing, the trees rustling, and their son beating ghosts down like a professional. Because he was, wasn’t he? A professional.

Finally, Danny caught the last ghost, closing the cap on the smoking Thermos, but he didn’t approach, just looked at them cautiously, as though scared to come closer to them, scared of what they’d do.

Jack stood, releasing his hold on his wife and pressed the button to disable the shield.

Danny took it for the olive branch it was - a sign they were not afraid of him - and approached cautiously, clutching the Thermos to his chest like a lifeline. He stopped a few paces back and Jack’s heart twinged as he realized the only reason Danny was willing to get this close was the same reason he’d finally showed them what - who - he was. It was because he knew they were weaponless.

“Danno.” Jack said, opening his arms but choosing not to step closer, afraid of scaring his son.

“Dad?” Danny asked, his voice shaking even through the echo.

“Yeah, son?”

Relief flooded his son’s face at the term and he launched himself forward into his dad’s arms, blubbering out apologies and mumbled explanations.

“It’s okay, Danny. It’s okay,” Jack mumbled, running his hand through Danny’s white hair despite the chill that pierced his suit.

“Everything’s okay, Danny. We’re sorry,” Maddie added, giving Danny’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before tucking herself into the hug as well.

“Told him so,” Jack heard Jazz mutter before she inserted herself too.

Jack had no idea what was going on, what had happened, how this was possible, how this was about to change his entire life. But what he did know, a truth that had not left him, was that he loved his son - human or not.

[cql-screenshots]

[vulpinesaint]

everybody talking about wanting new asexual memes i think we need to go muppets sex and violence on this. not in the sense that sex should be the new asexual meme but in the sense that we counteract the cutesy stuff with incredible awful imagery. so. lose the sex keep the violence. i think the new asexual meme should be ripping someone's throat out with your teeth. i think the next asexual meme should be tearing flesh apart with your fingers. and the new aro meme is Knives. are we all on board with this

[mariocki]

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974)

"Things happen here about... they don't tell about. I see things. You see, they say it's just an old man talking. You laugh at an old man. There's them that laughs and knows better."

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Day 7, Weapon

Decided to give Jazz her own thermos. She deserves it💖🌼

[sunnibits]

guess who finally finished botw after literally 7 years lmaoooooo

[wormy-worm]

ok u know what maybe if the world isn't ready for sunrazer post that means that the world IS ready for Amoveous siblings post. This is Milo and Enho and theyre my DARLINGS and i love them SO MUCH. i have. SOOOOOOOO many thoughts abt them but after the previous post massacre i do not really feel like typing all of that xoxo love <3

[teine-mallaichte]

Day 7 @augusnippets : prompt - waterboard.

In a brutal test of endurance and obedience, 84 endures waterboarding under Sergeant Monroe, while Colonel Carter watches.

CW: Waterboarding, conditioning, torture, living weapon.

Asset 84 masterlist

Complex 27 master list

84's fingers twitched, their hand clenching involuntarily as the Colonel led them through the sterile corridors of the South Wing. The destination was one of the dreaded soundproof rooms at the back. They hated these rooms. Their breath hitched slightly; they weren't meant to have opinions—especially not about something as vital as their training.

Inside awaited the Sergeant. 84 loathed him. Their breath hitched again, nails digging into the flesh of their palm. They weren't meant to question their training.

The Colonel led 84 to the chair, gesturing for them to sit.

As 84 complied, the Colonel methodically secured them to the chair with leather straps, each movement deliberate and clinical. Her green eyes bore into 84’s, her gaze unwavering as she crouched to deliver her final instructions.

“Remember, 84,” she said calmly, “All you need to do is stay silent.”

The Colonel straightened and stepped back, allowing Sergeant Monroe to enter. His presence was imposing, exuding authority and brutality. His gaze met 84’s with a cold, calculating intensity. The sight made 84’s heart race, their hand twitching against the leather strap as they fought to suppress the rising anxiety.

With a grim expression, Monroe approached 84. “You know why you’re here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We need to see how well you hold up under pressure.”

Without further ceremony, Monroe draped the cloth over 84’s face, the fabric instantly feeling damp. Their muscles tensed instinctively.

Cold water assaulted 84’s face, their chest tightening as they struggled for breath. The cloth clung to their skin, each drop amplifying their panic. The sound of the water cascading over the cloth drowned out all other noise, magnifying 84's terror. Their body reacted instinctively, muscles straining against the leather straps.

“What is your designation?” Monroe's voice cut through their panic.

The question reverberated in their mind, battling against the rising terror. 84’s thoughts were fragmented, the need to respond conflicting with their instinctive desire to escape the suffocating pressure.

"All you need to do is stay silent," the Colonel's voice echoed in their mind.

Their fingers twitched uncontrollably, knuckles white from the force of their grip. The cold sweat on their brow mixed with the dampness of the cloth. Their throat tightened as they tried to suppress the rising panic. The world narrowed to the suffocating darkness behind the cloth and the relentless demand for a response.

“What is your purpose?” Monroe's voice, demanding answers, seemed distant yet unrelenting, cutting through the fog of their fear.

Desperation clawed at 84 as they fought to suppress their rising panic. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, each one more labored than the last. A flash of green entered their mind—the Colonel's eyes. "Stay silent," her command echoed once more.

The sound of their own heartbeat pounding in their ears drowned out all other noise. Desperation clawed at their throat, and their mind raced through a haze of fear and fragmented thoughts. The harsh lights above, visible only through the thin veil of the cloth, felt cruel and distant.

“What is your purpose?” Monroe's voice sounded close, as if whispering directly into 84's ear.

Colonel Carter’s green eyes flashed in 84’s mind, her command to 'stay silent' echoing like a lifeline in the overwhelming darkness. The water-soaked cloth clung to their face, every breath they tried to draw through it feeling like an enormous effort.

As the water finally stopped, the cloth was lifted away from their face, allowing 84 to gasp for air. Their vision blurred and darkened, their entire body trembling as they desperately tried to gulp as much air as their aching chest would allow.

Monroe watched with a cold, unfeeling gaze. "What is your designation?" he asked again, holding the cloth threateningly.

“Answer the question!” Monroe’s voice was cold, with a hint of impatience as if the delay were a personal affront.

84's hands twitched against the restraints, nails digging deeper into their palms. The pain was a distant throb compared to the overwhelming pressure of their situation. Their vision remained a hazy blur, but they focused on Monroe’s menacing presence, the cloth still dripping with water in his hand.

“Designation,” Monroe repeated, his voice unyielding. The word seemed to echo around 84’s disoriented mind, clashing once again with the Colonel's directive: "stay silent."

The cloth was once again draped over their face. The cold wetness and the water’s pressure began to suffocate them once more, intensifying the primal fear that clawed at their insides. The sound of the water pouring over the cloth was a relentless assault on their senses, magnifying their sense of panic.

The sergeant’s voice cut through the water’s roar, sharp and demanding. "What is your designation?" His tone left no room for doubt or hesitation.

Desperation surged through 84 as their breaths became more strained. Their lungs burned, their body thrashing futilely against the restraints. The Colonel’s earlier directive to stay silent now felt like a cruel joke as the water’s pressure against the cloth pressed the boundaries of their endurance.

The sergeant's voice cut through the fog of their desperation, each question becoming a relentless assault on their fraying resolve. The cold, wet cloth wrapped around their face felt like a vice, squeezing the last remnants of composure from their already strained mind. The water’s relentless cascade was deafening, amplifying their growing sense of helplessness.

As 84’s vision narrowed to a pinhole of clarity amidst the encroaching darkness, their thoughts raced. The suffocating pressure from the cloth and the searing pain in their chest became their world.

Finally, the cloth was lifted away again, and 84 gasped desperately for air. Their chest heaved with each breath, their entire body trembling uncontrollably. The harsh fluorescent lights above seemed to sear their retinas, and the faces around them blurred into grotesque masks of authority and indifference.

"You may speak now," the Colonel’s voice came from somewhere, sounding distorted and indistinct.

84 gasped for air, their vision slowly clearing as the suffocating pressure lifted. They blinked rapidly, trying to focus on the faces surrounding them. The sergeant's cold, unfeeling gaze and the Colonel's sharp, commanding presence were the clearest amidst the blur.

"84," they choked out, their voice hoarse and barely audible. The words were an effort against the throbbing pain that seemed to engulf their senses.

Sergeant Monroe’s face remained an impassive mask as he listened to 84’s hoarse reply. He gave a slight nod, but his eyes remained cold, devoid of any sign of approval or empathy. The harsh fluorescent lights above seemed even more brutal in the wake of the ordeal.

"Good," Monroe said, his voice devoid of feeling.

84 fought to focus on their surroundings. Their chest burned, vision swam, and their entire body shook, feeling cold and painfully numb. They felt the Colonel's hand on their shoulder and struggled to turn to look at her.

Her green eyes, though cold, were a familiar anchor in the storm of their disorientation. Her presence was a reminder of their purpose and the authority they were conditioned to obey.

"Well done, 84," Carter said, her voice smooth and measured, as if she were commenting on a routine task, "You endured well."

As she removed the leather straps, 84’s limbs felt weak and unresponsive. The sensation of being untethered was both a relief and a disorienting shift. The room seemed to continue to spin, and 84 focused on the Colonel, her presence and touch the only constant in the maelstrom of conflicting sensations.

“You’ve proven your worth today,” she said, "you may return to your quarters."

84 was helped to their feet by the attending staff, their movements sluggish and unsteady. Their body felt drained, each step an effort as they were guided out of the soundproof room. The harsh fluorescent lights of the facility now seemed blinding, the sterile, white walls disorienting. The journey back to their quarters felt interminable, with every corridor appearing as a surreal, shifting landscape.

Their fingers twitched involuntarily, the residual tension from the restraint still palpable. The tattoo of "84" on their neck felt like a branding, a permanent reminder of their identity as a tool, an asset. They traced the number with trembling fingers, a feeble attempt to ground themselves amidst the lingering disorientation.

A metal door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing their sparse quarters. 84 could hear the muffled voices of medical staff and their footsteps echoing faintly down the hallway. They felt hands gripping their arms, guiding them with mechanical efficiency, but the sensation was distant and dreamlike, as if they were observing everything from a detached vantage point.

As the staff withdrew, the door slid shut with a final, echoing thud, leaving 84 alone in the stark, sterile quarters. Each breath was a conscious effort, the remnants of their ordeal leaving their chest heavy and their body feeling unnervingly numb. The once-familiar environment now seemed foreign and disorienting.

84 slumped onto their cot, their body still trembling from the ordeal. They clung to their purpose, the mantra they had been conditioned to repeat: "I am 84. I am a weapon. I endure." Their last conscious thought before exhaustion claimed them was of green eyes and hollow praise.