Hello. I am goodfish. I traded my pronouns for a cowboy hat. I mostly do art and writing, but pick up new creative hobbies like rocks on the ground. Mostly Danny Phantom, with a thing for niche crossovers, but I branch out on occasion. Pinned Post contains links.
Welcome... I guess? How’d you end up here anyways?
I both write and draw, along with a couple other things to stick my fork into my newest creative outlet.
Mostly active in the Danny Phantom areas, but I've watched/read a lot of different things. The main suspect is anime.
You can find most of my fics here on my AO3, under the same username if the link is broken.
You can usually find my writing (since not all of it goes onto AO3, especially the really small ones or post add-ons) under the tag #goodfish writes and my art under #goodfish draws, there's a few things under #goodfish animates as well. #goodfish was here is used with no set pattern, but usually, if I’m adding/commenting on a post.
Prompts, asks, and requests are also open. AMA or even just interact. I do not do commissions at this time.
When you're a kid you just take trees for granted. Then when you get to be an adult you realize that a fully mature tree cannot be created in an amount of time that fits in a convenient landscaping timeframe for love nor money nor all the powers of science. Then you realize that people are very very very cavalier about chopping them down
used to think it terribly silly (and kinda funny) when fantasy or sci-fi stories would have people refer to major recent historical events as The Flood or The Incident or The Revolution, and im sure historians fucking hate that because it's not helpful or descriptive, but we sure do be calling it The Pandemic
ok so if i do a 128x128 crosstitch on 14ct Aida fabric (which is 14 stitches per inch, you divide the stitch count by the density to get the length) it'll be roughly 9 inches squared and it'll take about 16.4k stitches to fill it in fully. That's fucking insane tbh. Maybe I don't do that
and if i replace the paintings on my wall, two of them are 14 by 11 inches and one is 10 by 8 inches so that'll be 30,154 and 15,680 stitches respectively. okay yeah that's worse. however, i don't have to fill all of them in!
Who needs an ambulance and a license when you’ve got a heavily armored race car instead?
As usual @keferon is the creator of the au.
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“Get me to the Shatterdome as fast as you can.”
Deadlock was ripping up the road before the doctor had even finished climbing in.
For his entire conscious existence, he’s hated Functionalism. Hated the system. Hated that others got to decide who and what he would be before his spark was even fully formed.
But there was something so sickeningly satisfying about executing what he was built for to the highest degree.
The scant few slow, stupid vehicles still on the freeway were not warned to move aside by flashing lights, nor wailing sirens, but the growing, roaring guttural growl of a cybertronian engine tearing towards the redline.
Deadlock was heavier than he used to be. The thick armor surrounding him kept his alt mode planted firmly on the ground, choking his ability to drift around corners. He was fighting friction at every bend and any speed he lost had to be clawed back again like escaping prey.
To his credit, Ratchet never screamed.
Instead, blunt human nails dug into upholstery as the doctor fought between the bouts of acceleration to dig his phone out of his pocket.
Another breakneck turn pinned Ratchet to the side as centripetal force did its thing.
“Kid! KID!” Ratchet shouted. “I need FIVE steady seconds to make a call, can you do that?”
“Holding steady. .” Deadlock drew out the word, reading the road ahead of him and working out a path for what Ratchet wanted. There. A clear strip. “Now!”
Wasting no time, Ratchet called a number, and even had enough time to grapple a seatbelt into function, which Deadlock was very quickly coming to understand and respect as an essential human invention.
The five seconds were up and Ratchet renewed his death grip with one hand.
“Hello? Listen, are you ok-“ The doctor paused. “No it’s the fucking president calling, YES IT’S ME HOT ROD.”
The closer they got to the Shatterdome, the worse the roads became. Foot print shaped holes and downed telephone poles blocked the way.
For the latter issue, Deadlock simply called out a warning of “Hold on!” Before eating the impact and leaving a breach of broken wood behind.
Grunting through grit teeth, Ratchet continued, “ARE. YOU. OKAY? Yes? Okay Hot Rod listen- .”
The middle bit of whatever Ratchet said was lost in the Doppler effect of several police sirens becoming very loud and then very irrelevant as Deadlock shot past.
“-be as aggravating as possible, and to keep it up until-“ Ratchet abruptly stopped and stared at his phone like it had sneezed on him.
“What did he say?”
“He said “Woohoo!” and then hung up on me.”
Deadlock hid a laugh inside a throttle of his engine and sped towards the Shatterdome.
The moment they crossed the line between civilian roads and militarized infrastructure was like bursting out of a fog bank.
Trees had been clear cut for miles around the massive brutalist complex. Anything larger than a scraggly bush rarely survived the countless tramplings of mecha coming and going.
Today, there was a new layer of destruction.
Behemoth quintesson grounders were split and smoking across the blasted heath. A few distant hills of twisted metal in the shapes of shoulders and knees implied the fates of those who fell fighting last night.
Deadlock felt it when Ratchet sucked in a breath at the sight of the main building. The outer steel and concrete shell of the Shatterdomes hangar had gouges in it. Everywhere there were lights and sirens. Smoke drifted from the impacts of incendiary rounds and it reeked like some of the worst battlefields Deadlock has ever lived through.
He slowed carefully.
Humans were tiny but they could swarm the scene of a disaster like scrapplets on a fresh corpse. Guess for them, quint attacks worked on a scale more like a natural disaster anyways.
Thankfully clear of first responders, the steep slope of the hill the Shatterdome was built into still had usable roads.
Cresting the last incline, Deadlock felt it again when Ratchet released his breath in a slow measured press of air. He felt it when the doctor pressed his emotions down into a cold tool of iron.
Solid, useful and damned heavy.
“Don’t bother with the gate.” The doctors voiced, sounding like gravel as he reached for his coat.
The main gate was impressive for its size. Two gatehouses flanked either side of the solid steal lattice, which had its foundations set into sunken pillars of concrete, and to top it all off was a windswept tangle of barbed wire crowning the whole parameter.
Short of a truck or a train, hitting that setup head on would stop most cybertronian altmodes in their tracks.
So, Deadlock whipped around hard to the chainlink fencing off to the left, and slid beneath it like a curtain.
Showered in sparks, the former street racer let his sideways motion carry him through into a full rotation, until he could floor it towards the nearest entrance.
Somehow, he wasn’t being shot yet. However that looked like it could change soon as he pulled up in front of a pair of double doors, surrounded by guards with weapons drawn.
Before Deadlock could offer his specialized “services” once more, Ratchet had already opened his side door and stepped out into the light.
The doctor ascended like a storm. The wind at the top of the hill whipped his white coat around him as he threw his arms through the sleeves, advancing on the half dozen heavily armed guards before him.
Engine still thundering, Deadlock watched in awe as something passed over the humans gathered, as one, then another, then all, recognized who was before them.
One guards eyes brightened, his gun lowering as his jaw fell closely behind. Another had the same reaction, shoulders unhunching and back straightening as the elder human approached.
“Ratchet?”
Deadlock heard them whisper to each other.
“That’s Doctor Ratchet!”
“He’s back?”
“He’s back!”
“Ratchet’s back!”
One by one, the awestruck soldiers stowed their weapons and moved to the sides.
Oh.
Oh fraggin’ Pit.
Deadlock watched on as the doctor dominated all attention at those doors.
Ratchet hadn’t just been a random medic to these people, he was their fragging CMO.
As awe rippled through the ranks, Ratchet marched right up to the first guard in line and asked “What clearance level are you?”
“Wha-“ The young human stammered. “Uh, level two Sir!”
Huffing out a displeased grunt, the Chief Medical Officer walked purposely up to the next in line.
“You! Clearance level?” He pointed a finger at the soldiers ID card pinned to his uniform.
“Sir, level four Sir!” He saluted.
“Hmn.” Ratchet grunted, pleased, as he snatched the ID from the soldier’s shirt, went right up to the electronic lock on the door, and opened it.
Just as the CMO was about to duck inside, half a dozen dazed guards vaguely caught up in his gravity well trailing along, Ratchet leaned back out the door.
He pointed a firm finger first at the remaining humans outside and then to Deadlock himself, “Do not bother him- and do not kill anyone!”
He held them all pinned under his gaze until Deadlock lightly honked twice in confirmation, and the remaining humans followed his lead in a staggered chorus of Yes Sir!’s.
Satisfied, Ratchet disappeared to storm the building.
There was a fleeting moment were one of the guards, stumbling out from their stupor, attempted to grasp at some kind of official procedure for dealing with unknown vehicles (and assumed drivers) within the confines of a highly restricted zone.
They hardly got beyond a “H-hey!” before Deadlock was leisurely rolling away from the conversation. He’d give them grace this time.
Ignoring any attempts at communication, the cybertronian casually drove through the parking lot to find a quiet place to sit. Wandering around to the side of the building, Deadlock found a pretty much empty lot with trees casting shade from the other side of the fence. He got comfortable.
Built into the side of what probably started as a hill and had long since been paved into a plateau, the Shatterdome did have one Pit of a view.
Through the chain link fence, Deadlock looked out onto optic blue skies streaked with fluffy white clouds. A brilliant and bright backdrop for the gorey massacre beneath it.
From Deadlocks own experience, this had to have been a purposeful strike. Too much canon fodder littered the battlefield. A few too many shock troops in one area. And then there was the damage to the building itself. The humans won, but even from here Deadlock could see the trails of green slime leading out from the hangar doors.
The quints had gotten inside.
Briefly.
It was hard to make out at this distance, especially in altmode, but Deadlock could just barely peek between the open hangar doors into the mysterious holding bay for the humans various mechas.
Barely visible, with its maw still open to the sky, a hulking quint was pinned through the throat against the interior wall by a sword longer than Deadlock was tall.
He pulled out of the space he’d parked in and moved a few rows down to where he was harder to spot from that particular door.
Wisely, the humans had heeded the doctors warning, so Deadlock didn’t need to disobey either. He was watched but left unbothered for the time being, and the assassin finally let his engine start to cool.
Ratchet had already chewed him out for (unintentionally) leaving the medic without a ride home from the refugee camp yesterday, and Deadlock was determined not to abandon him again.
No matter how boring earth parking lots were.
And creepy.
Far to his right, he could still make out dozens of motionless vehicles. They reminded him a little too much of the hollow manikin’s used in some of the fancier paint and mod shops back home.
Gasket used to tap him from behind and go “Boo!” whenever they passed those by. Drift hated it then. Now, he couldn’t break the tension in his frame like the prank used to do.
It was stupid.
But Gasket could still help even now.
It was an old trick they’d taught him. He manually reset his ventilations over and over again. The first few cycles were rough and quick, his engine too hot to not have his fans on full blast. But as his internals cooled, he began to intentionally restrict and then loosen his airflow, giving him small bursts of more intense relief and prolonging the cooldown process.
It was easy to frag up, but Deadlock eventually felt his engine cool down to normal temperatures without any sound of metal pinging from cooling too quickly.
He continued to reset his ventilations as slowly as his systems allowed. So that while his peripheral senses still quietly alert, Deadlock let his focus sink into his own body, until the hours passed conveniently by.
It almost felt like peace.
While watching spots of sunlight dawdle across the pavement, Deadlock felt his plating prickle with sudden Excitement.
“Duuuude!” Strolling over with arms raised and radiating joy, Hot Rod had appeared.
“Roddy!” Pulling out, Deadlock met him in the middle and causally circled him a couple times.
Already grinning, Hot Rod made multiple attempts at grabbing for Deadlocks mirrors and door handles, which the cybertronian deftly evaded with short bursts of speed. They kept up the game for a few more circles until Hot Rod finally admitted defeat, “Okay! Okay you win.”
Chuckling, Deadlock reversed back into the dappled shadows he’d claimed for his stakeout.
Following him, Hot Rod walked without a skip to his step. Once the initial burst of excitement had passed, Hot Rod’s EM field felt, dimmer, then usual.
That, and the middle of his face was purple.
“Why’s your nose a different color?” He asked.
Hot Rod grinned with white teeth stained red around the edges, “Got punched in the face!”
“Alright.” Deadlock responded calmly and normally. “Do you want their body hidden or put on display?”
Flopping his back onto Deadlocks hood, Hot Rod blew some hair out of his face, “Nah, I literally asked him to punch me in the face. Besides, I’m toughing it out.” He added smugly, shrugging.
“That’s not “toughing it out” if you can’t feel it Rod.”
At that, Hot Rod actually startled. Turning around with a genuine flare of Hurt, he asked, “Ratchet told you?!”
“Sorry Roddy” Deadlock apologized and found he meant it. “He wanted to make sure I wouldn’t accidentally hurt you.”
Rolling back onto his back, Hot Rod buried his face with his hands and made a noise that perfectly reflected his fields wave of Frustration and Anguish.
“Are you freaking kidding me? Come ON! I just wanted to spend one hour with someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m a fuck up.”
Starting to feel a bit ill from such concentrated and close proximity to that much bottled up negativity, Deadock pushed back with his own field. Not to correct, but to harmonize.
“Same.”
Dropping his hands from his face, Hot Rod turned his head back towards Deadlocks windshield. “What? Dude, you’re like, literally the coolest person I’ve ever met. What are you talking about?”
Hot Rod was juuust barely in the right position for Deadlock to lightly smack him with a windshield wiper. “You watched me get completely slagged last night off of what was basically roadkill, and then this morning I purged all over Ratchets yard, after completely annihilating his front door. I’m a goddamn mess.”
“Okay well, all of that happened because you did a bunch of awesome stuff first.”
“That you also did with me.”
“Yeah well I-“ Hot Rod crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the leaves above. “I wanna be mad! It’s stupid and shitty and I wanna be mad about it!”
Deadlock wasn’t totally sure this saying would translate correctly, but he wanted to give it a shot, “Do you want to vent it out?”
Hot Rods EM field was still popping with Frustration, but it settled into something a little more stable.
The red haired human rolled onto his front and stared into the black windscreen.
“I have had, The Worst. Fucking. Day.”
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Would you believe me if I told you getting a broken nose was the nicest thing that happened to Hot Rod today?
Additionally, Deadlock watching Ratchet hit power move after power move: “Holy shit I’ve been living with a missing Monarch.”
Takes about an hour to reach the Shatterdome normally. Deadlock did it in twenty minutes.
Next time, we see the mecha program from Hot Rods perspective.
Had this idea for a while and finally managed to get it done. Danny’s outfits throughout the beginning and the first arc. There’s technically a few more, like the hoodie, but I’ve drawn that before. Eldritch Horror Danny isn’t included for the same reasons.
Did some art based off the start of Arc 2 for Black Sheep. This technically starts at ch 20, but really kicks off at ch 21.
I've still got some Arc 1 art I want to do, so we'll see when I get to it.
Art below the cut since spoilers
Arc 2, aka 'Oh hi Dan'.
fun facts about Dan in my fic here:
He does not go by any particular name, and doesn't consider himself having one. Vlad still calls him 'Daniel', Dan himself, Danny, Dani, and Jazz all call him 'Phantom. I call him Dan for clarity reasons.
His hair turned silver after about a year on the run with Dani, since he was no longer constantly exposed to ecto.
He's got the hardware (aka demonic body and blood), but not the software (soul composition) for demon stuff. So he's stuck at basically a pre-dmc4 Nero level.
