#The Tales of Poindexter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theplanetprince · 11 months ago

Text

Schrodinger's Adolescent || CH. 25

Fic: AO3 || FNN

Fandom: Danny Phantom

Rating: Teens and Up

Word Count as of update: 175k~

Relationships: Dash Baxter/Danny Fenton, Sam Manson/Tucker Foley, Ember Mcclain/Ghostwriter

Characters: Danny Fenton, Dash Baxter, Sam Manson, Tucked Foley, Cujo, Johnny 13, Ghostwriter, Sidney Poindexter, Mr Lancer

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow to Update, Canon Rewrite, Post-Reality Trip, High School Setting, Fake Dating (Kinda), Unrequited Love, It's requited but they're dumbasses, one-sided attraction, fluff, I know the content warning is extensive, but I promise there's fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, Danny Fenton has PTSD

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Assault, Breaking + Entering

Author's note: We're at half-time now. -Voorhees

Credits: I have to extend the biggest thank you to @cicadahaze for providing the fantastic artwork used in the Ao3 version of the fic! We had kicked around the idea of a collaboration since the first invisobang, and I'm happy to show it off!! And another standing ovation for @/galaxy-beast and @/the-storming-sea. Without them, my work may never actually be pushed to the finish line.

Reblogs > Likes... thx

"Dash what're you—?" Paulina was speaking so hurriedly, "Quien está contigo? ¿Lo que está sucediendo? Should I call the po—"

Abruptly, the device greeted him with a flash of its dead battery screen. The service provider logo followed the tell-tale dying whoosh sound—

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

Goddamn, Orion mobile.

Unsure if it was fear or anger, Dash chucked his phone away, landing somewhere in the garden beds.

Even if he could understand what she was saying— Paulina's voice couldn't compete with the pulse hammering through his head, reverberating through his body like pangs off of steel rods.

Everything felt so loud.

It didn't matter that he had his phone plugged in and resting on his desk before she called. He should have had a full battery, but that fact didn't help him now. His phone was dead, and thereby extension, so was he.

Baxter only stood there, shaking, trembling. A part of him still wanted to blame this one on whatever psychosis was emerging from the depth of his mind—but no.

Because when he looked at his house. Every single light was flickering. The high brights rivaled the moon and stars, and the lows mirrored an abyss.

Several dull pops of lightbulbs bursting and releasing gas—wiring crackling as their circuits broke.

Then, all at once, the house was draped in pitch-black darkness like a grand crescendo in an orchestral piece. And, suddenly, it no longer felt like his home. Not like any home he would ever want to return to.

He thought if… when he squinted. Dash thought he saw someone in his kitchen still standing there. Standing there… waiting for him to come back.

Paralyzed in its absolute form. His shoulders hunched, and he began to crumple in on himself. Waves of nausea came with the shutdown, and bile bit at the back of his throat. He clutched his stomach and swallowed on nothing.

Thoughts came at him in surging insurmountable waves, threatening to pour out from his eyes, giving away how truly powerless he was. A single word projected against the backs of his eyelids—

Run.

Yet all he could do was keep himself right there. Attempting to keep his eyes open, as open as they could allow.

The imposing townhouse only loomed over him, offering no answers, glowering down at its occupant with some disdain.

Pookie began to bark in opposition, excited for a challenge, as if there was no danger at all—the dog leapt and climbed the stairs with no trepidation to speak of.

Stumbling—Dash fell to his knees in an endeavor to catch his dog. He had slipped on the damp grass, landing on his chest. The quarterback punched the mud, "Seriously?!"

Using his head, the chihuahua nudged open the gap in the sliding glass door and continued to bark at the darkness.

The sky split open with a bolt of lightning that splintered across the clouds.

One.

Two.

Three.

A rolling crack of thunder followed three seconds at least behind the flash. Dash fumbled to stand before he felt water hitting his neck—

Rain. A heavy downpour hit the ground. What was once a comforting presence was now only further noise and chaos.

"SERIOUSLY?!" Dash shrieked, face streaked with mud. He wrenched his head around to see the fading blooms of lightning in the clouds.

As if in reply, the night lit up once more with a fracture of electricity that radiated the air… the boom echoing across the sleepy residence.

It's official. I'm cursed.

Wiping his sweat and mud-covered hands against his jeans, he produced his lighter from his front pocket.

He would have to crawl under the deck to start the backup generator. Nothing suggested he would be safer in the light, but he had to try.

Convincing himself to move was another feat entirely.

Dash had to live; maybe one day he'd want to. Maybe he could live one day without this fear and loathing constantly wrapped around his neck like a noose—

The barking stopped.

Snapping his head forward, Baxter realized he was wasting time. Armed with his lighter, he hurried— sliding through the mud bubbling up from the rapidly flooding yard. He nearly took another spill when he approached the opening under the deck but grabbed ahold of a broken piece of lattice. Making sure his feet were under him, he dove his hands in first, striking his cheap neon green gas station lighter frustratedly. Dash nearly tore the skin off his thumbs by continuing to strike the spark wheel. The flame was reluctant, but it allowed the quarterback to get a better look at what he was doing. Lowering himself, Dash moved forward, his arm brushing against the poorly maintained fretwork.

He remembered trying to talk his father out of installing the backup sometime last year before ghost attacks became the new norm that Amity Parkers had to set their watch by. Dash believed he called it a worst-case scenario with a million and one odds, like being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.

He insisted that all the box would do was sit there idly and rot, awaiting a disaster that would never come.

It was several months in the making, but Dash finally defied all odds.

Letting go of the lighter fork, he was thrust back into darkness backlit by the storm, but the crystal clear image of the red block of metal and engine parts seemed to sear itself into his brain. Brief images of the salesman demoing it and schematics from the instruction manual plagued his mind with thunder, overdubbing the critical parts. For some reason, the word carburetor stuck out, but Dash couldn't identify it within the mass of gears and buttons.

Dash was sixteen and gay. How was he supposed to know what the hell a carburetor was?!

"I'm supposed to… flip this twisty thing for the fuel… valve, then—" He didn't notice it, but he began to mutter to himself.

With trembling, sweat-soaked hands, Dash blindly pawed at the machine— following a piece of tubing back until it made contact with the main engine block. Upon feeling a knob, he turned it, and the fuel line began to hiss—

The young man flinched, but upon realizing he didn't explode, he figured he must have been doing something right.

"Th-then there's…" Dash swallowed; the smell of diesel was thick in the air already. He was getting gulps of it— that's when he remembered, "The choke."

He coughed and forced the lever over.

Nothing.

The air under the deck was only getting more saturated with the stench of gasoline—

Taking the small choke lever on top of the block, he flipped it from side to side more aggressively. He prayed he was loosening whatever rust or gravel jammed up the machine and not damaging it further.

BOOM!

Another stroke of lightning nearly right behind him— it must have landed in a neighbor's yard or the telephone pole by the road downhill from the backyard— Illuminated the situation very clearly.

The generator had a ripcord.

Bracing his foot against the engine's base, the quarterback mustered his strength and grabbed a hold of the plastic handle. He pulled. Pulled until his shoulder threatened to pop from the socket.

By God, that deep hum and roll of the mechanism turning over—The relief was immeasurable; it was priceless with the porch light returning to life and flooding through the gaps in the deck.

If Dash was going to do this, he would do this terrified the whole way.

He slid out from under the crawl space, flicking cobwebs from his hair and shaking the mud from his bare soles. He traced his hand around the deck like a tether to him and the light until he stopped at the arm rail for the stairs. Rounding the corner, he snuck up the steps, sticking to the shadows of covered furniture.

As he assessed the situation inside… Dash realized it would be a good time for a weapon.

The jock didn't have to look too far. Sports equipment was loose over the back deck, one of the tables holding it having been blown over in the wind.

An aluminum bat with black tape around the handle caught the light and his attention. Dash picked it up. He didn't feel more confident about his chances. It weighed lighter than he expected but still felt heavy.

It was familiar to him, like an extension of himself. The only thing weighing it down was his intentions.

If there were something like a knife or a gun… it would have been too foreign and ultimately cumbersome.

He didn't want to use it. He hoped he didn't have to.

Dash just… he just wanted to scare them away. That's what he did; that's what he was good at. He scared people away. If they couldn't be close to them, then he'd make sure they never want to. Dash never wanted to hurt anyone— he didn't have it in him to kill someone…

Closing the sliding glass door behind him until it clicked in place near silently… Dash, in his left hand, used the bat to pin it against his arm. He did not want to be heard until he was absolutely prepared for it.

The backup generator managed to get the kitchen lights working and some of the ones upstairs. The connections must have been weak somewhere. Something told him he wouldn't get the opportunity to check them out.

"Pookie!" Dash hissed out a whisper.

Yet he still needs an answer as to where his dog was.

When he stole his glance up from his feet, after plotting out his next few steps, he saw a shape sitting on the kitchen island stool. It slumped forward as if getting ready to attack—

Without hesitation, Dash gripped the bat with a second hand, winding it up over his head, but before he could swing, he got a good look at the intruder.

It was a gigantic stuffed white teddy bear. It was large enough to be mistaken for a person in a costume. One of those oversized ones you could win at the arcade at the mall. Its face had just fallen onto the counter. It was so big it was spilling out of the stool it was sitting on and kicking it out slightly—pushing the chair legs against the tile, creating this insufferable squeaking.

Pookie had latched onto one of its legs and attempted to take down the bear.

…

Dash wasn't just confused. Bewildered, perplexed, flummoxed, disoriented— whatever word there was to describe the utter disbelief and sickness he felt— there was no equivalent in this language or any of the others he had a passing knowledge of.

Approaching the bear slowly, a card was attached to the bow tied around its neck.

With one hand still white-knuckled on a weapon, Dash unfolded the card. Within the single page was a scrawled message that read—I'm bear-y sorry.

Was this a joke?

The bat fell slack and bounced against his calf.

"Uh, hey…" That almost whisper, almost voice, had returned, "You got a little something… on your… face."

Dash didn't imagine it at all.

Lethally, he scanned his surroundings before finding the darkened entryway. There was a closet that hid the water heater. The blackness blocked the front door and the living's only means of escape.

The closet door from the shadows moved, and a figure in the darkness had stepped out.

"I-I didn't mean to… uh, interrupt your call." It seemed apologetic, "Ghosts… ghosts cause fluctuations in the electromagnetic field. Dropped calls, cold spots, flickering lights—" with a pop of the tongue, it emphasized, "The works."

Baxter was stunned. He was certain this wasn't a nightmare. It wasn't one he remembered having. It wasn't any of the usual suspects. It was all too logical, too coherent. Yet… he couldn't be too sure. He was still deciding.

To fill in the lull in the conversation, the figure struggled, "The girl… the girl, the one you were talking with. She—She seems nice."

At the mention of Paulina, Dash's blood ran cold, and a rage began to stir and pull at his chest.

The figure in the dark then shut the cleaning closet, "You two been friends for a long time?"

"Show me your hands, and step toward the light." With a level voice, the quarterback brought the bat up and gently rested it at an angle on the counter.

The ghost startled in place but laughed it off, "Th-that's not really necessary, is it?"

"Hands. Up."

Taking a few creaky, hesitant steps forward, it was him— the Amity Park Phantom with his gloved hands raised and palms open.

"You caught me… your friendly neighborhood ghost… guy." The Phantom's trademark smile faltered for a moment under the weight of the quarterback's scrutiny, "Tadaa…"

Dash was speechless.

With his chin, the Phantom gestured to the teddy bear at the kitchen counter, "Um… th-that's for you."

The ghost boy cleared his throat, "It's—uh… it's… I noticed you didn't have any white ones… so—heh…"

He explained with his eyes darting to his shoes, "That, uh, Fenton kid said I-I should come back and apologize."

The Phantom wanted to fidget, to scratch his cheek, but hesitated— "It's too much, right?"

The silence was chilling.

Taking a step forward, the Phantom continued to speak as if compelled to, "You're not really—"

Jumping and startling in place, Dash fumbled a step back, wanting to maintain the distance between them.

"...saying anything." The Phantom's expression fell, disappointedly.

Was Dash supposed to say something? He gathered this was the part where he was killed. He's supposed to scream, and no one comes to save him. He wanted to scream but couldn't. There were plenty of things he wanted to say but had the presence of mind not to. Even when he was blindingly angry, he knew it was a fight he couldn't win.

It's a ghost town; it's best to let them have their way.

The Phantom stared ahead, eyes darting between places, around corners, attempting to start a dialog. Searching for something to say, looking everywhere except at Dash, "I think you're right… y'know? About you… you being haunted?"

Incredulously, the living teen looked the ghost boy up and down before mumbling, "That so?"

"I didn't notice it before, but there is definitely something…" As the ghost boy fumbled his wording, he took another step closer, as if he didn't want to let other parties hear him, "—attached—to this place."

The thought finally dawned on Dash, "You… were watching me?"

"Oh—No, no, wait, I… I know how that sounds." The Phantom's eyes widened before pointing to the bear, "But I-I swear, I only wanted to drop that off."

"Was that what you were doing the last time?" Using his shoulder, Dash wiped off some of the mud rapidly drying to his cheek, "Just—just… how many times have you done this?"

"It's not like that!" The Phantom laughed at the accusation. It was a troubled laugh, like the kind a coyote makes when caught. He asserted, "If you just let me explain—"

"Explain?" Dash cocked his head, smacking the aluminum bat on the counter. He erupted, "What's there to explain?!"

A flash of lightning burst into the kitchen.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five…

The thunder finally replied. It was growing further away.

Shrinking at the jock's raised voice, the Phantom tried to argue, "I…"

But nothing further came of it. Just his throat straining to make smooth, frictionless logic out of the noise.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" with his face still dirty, patience thoroughly burnt, and eyes stinging with pinpricks of tears that refused to spill, Dash's tone reverted to a soft severity.

"Just tell me what it is— what you want from me… and just…" Dash was bracing himself like a little kid at the doctor's, Yet there was no illusion that this was for his benefit at all. He winced, "Get it over with."

Dash had very little left to give, so why not give the last pieces of himself to the Phantom? Perhaps he would put it to better use.

The ghost only stared at him with a complete lack of understanding. It was as if Dash was suddenly speaking in tongues.

It pissed him off.

There was the Phantom— this… thing just staring at him with those heinous hell-like eyes, with nothing connecting behind them. Utterly alien, the way he studied the living's face like it was the first time the Phantom had been in proximity to this emotion.

How can something look so human yet be so unrecognizable?

His skin was flawless, yes, but unnaturally pale, almost greying. A slight blue glow lingered as an analog for capillaries. It was not dissimilar to the glow of a TV left on in the middle of the night.

Thin, but not in any delicate or frail definition— Thin like starving. Thin, like his body didn't make any sense.

The way the air around him seemed to bend and crackle, just like now, just like during a turbulent storm.

Dust particles seemed to ignite and then burn around him.

His teeth didn't seem to resemble the other ghosts. They weren't pointed and sharpened like a predator. No. They were… off.

These slight differences didn't make him seem very ghost-like either.

The Phantom of Amity Park was something else entirely…

His boots squelched against the boundary of the kitchen. Hands reaching out—

One.

Two—

"Keep your hands where I can see them…!" Dash ordered, praying that he sounded more authoritative than he looked.

Gingerly, The Phantom raised his hands back to their position but still took another step forward, "I feel like you're the one giving this situation a kind of 'home invasion' vibe, with the stick an' everything."

Unable to really come up with a response, Dash only narrowed his eyes.

"That's a joke—" the ghost boy chuckled anxiously and clarified, "You're supposed to laugh."

Dash remained stoic.

The Phantom's expression didn't change from its rigid pleasantness—It flickered briefly, the ceiling light in tandem. He winced at the harshness in the young man's face. The apparition closed his eyes and breathed, his chest flush before exhaling through his nose. His tight-lipped cocky smile gradually wilted.

The light above them shuddered at the subtlest gesture. The buzzing unstable bulb only highlighted the glow of the Phantom's being.

Finally, the ghost said, "... I don't think I've made the best impression."

Clearly—Dash wanted to say but thankfully had enough presence of mind to restrain himself.

"See, I wanted to apologize for that thing a few days ago." The ghost boy couldn't bring himself to be more specific about what he was sorry about, "That wasn't… th-that wasn't me. That wasn't like me at all…"

Shaking in fear and rage, Dash couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Before the living teen could even respond, the Phantom began to ramble.

Words kept falling from his mouth, pooling to the floor and sinking further. His speech was heavy, yet frantic, "I—I wish I could say that… it wasn't like me, but it is. I did that, and I—I just… I get really… really angry sometimes, and I…"

The Phantom's hands balled together and rested against his head, lowering his gaze once again, unable to meet Dash's stare, "I-I can't always control it."

The quarterback's mind was somewhere else entirely. He was focusing on the door just behind the ghost's shoulder. It was so close. Dash hesitantly inched his foot to his right, thinking if he could somehow circle around the island, he would have a clean break for the front door. He had to escape—

Then the apparition said something that completely caught Dash off guard, "You understand that, right?"

Snapping his head up, the Phantom never looked more like a lost child than in this moment. His hair, moving like a mist, rippling like a field of grain under a gust of wind, fell just above his eyes and obscured them slightly, "You believe me, right?"

Before Dash could even have the opportunity to register the plea—

"You know what it's like. You, more than anyone, know what this is like."

It was an accusation, an assumption. The ghost was trying to read him, attempting to toy with him. To worm its way into his head— Dash resisted and held firm. His aluminum bat was still creating the fragile distance between them.

"You just take it out on those Fenton kids—"

"Screw you." In all his defiance, Dash managed to find the words soaked in gasoline but needed the spark, he hissed. He wanted to close his eyes, and when he opened them, he would be dozing off in the library or at the Fentons' kitchen table. He wanted to close his eyes but couldn't.

Sweat broke out across his skin and palms in waves— heart thundering—

Stifling a chuckle, the ghost murmured, "Why are you always…?"

The Phantom's hands unfurled against his wild and untamed white hair. He rustled and ran his fingers through it before pushing his bangs back, his hands then falling to his sides.

The contract was now compromised.

"You're always like this." He repeated cryptically like he was scolding Dash.

Something of an idea returned the grin to his pearly face, "Here's something… I'll take a step toward you for every word you say."

One.

"Screw."

Two.

"You."

Upon losing ground, Dash shuffled back—

"That's okay." The Phantom said, "You can move. Only when I move— So…" He sighed, "I guess you'll have to talk to me."

"Wh-what?"

"Now, see, I'm not sure how to quantify that." The ghost boy shrugged, "Is that technically one word or two? Or Half…?"

The ghost inched forward—

Dash scrambled to find the balance against the counter, knocking down the stool, and it took the bear to the floor.

The dog seemed indifferent to the confrontation overhead and chased after the toy.

"You don't have to be afraid of me—"

"Stay back," The jock warned, jostling the bat between his hands. His arms aching from holding it aloft.

One.

Two.

"I just… what you saw—I get it. It's weird. And your wall—I didn't think I threw it that hard—!'

Then Baxter took two steps back. It didn't take a genius to understand he was going to corner himself against the glass door. He was running out of room—

"Will you just look at me? Please?"

Flitting his eyes back up to his approaching death, Dash exhaled, "Please… go."

He lowered his weapon.

One…

Two…

The ghost boy's legs evaporated through the downed chair as he moved. It was like he shimmered through it as if the chair didn't even exist. Not even hesitant or bothered by the obstacle. Like the tide, The Phantom glittered in the light and encompassed everything.

Dash backed up and felt the cold glass seep through his shirt, chilling him to the bone. The back of his skull connected, and he went flat. Despite sweat rivering down his face, the living steeled his nerves, "Leave me alone!"

He cried out before swinging. He took the metal bat and swung—cleaving a line clean through the Phantom.

Dash didn't miss. No.

The hit definitely connected. He felt the bat impact the cloud of vapor where the Phantom's jaw should have been.

The bat carved up the ghost's neck and head, creating a distinct line of severance in his face.

Yet the Phantom remained… undeterred.

It rippled through him like a drop in a puddle.

Another bolt of light crashed from the heavens, illuminating the backyard in a glowing web— The thunderclap, the tree branches splitting from the trunk, and the harsh wind whipping past the windows caught within it was deafening.

The sight of the Amity Park Phantom's eyes being blown out with white brilliance, mirroring that light— as if his body was rejecting it—This was the last face Dash was going to see.

The aluminum bat clattered to the tile, rolling under the kitchen island. That was the last thing Dash registered as he sprinted to his front door. His body landed and bounced off the frame in his desperation to escape. Manically, the living scratched at his door, hands grasping the knob but unable to turn it.

The deadbolt. The realization hit him cold.

The deadbolt.

The door was still locked. Dash kept repeating this futile thought in his head. The words blurred together in one uninterrupted mass but didn't lose their meaning. He knew the door was locked— but he couldn't breathe— he couldn't think. His hands uselessly twisting at a knob for a door he had locked himself earlier that day.

This house had a state-of-the-art security system of locks on top of locks and alarms that sat dormant and indifferent to his struggle.

Slamming the door with his palms, Dash swore under his breath before retreating to the stairs.

Though just as quickly, he felt his mistake claw at the back of his mind.

It's like he was screaming—Hey, come kill me, Mr. Ghostface!

Darwinism at work— that's what people would say when they read about his death in the papers. Not killed by a ghost, Dash was bested by a standard-issue lock.

Breathlessly, he berated himself as he scrambled to the upper floor, "Why'd I do that? Upstairs? Seriously!?"

"Dammit, Dash! Come back!"

The quarterback yelped before darting into his room, his foot almost catching on the running throw rug that stretched along the hall. He shut his door behind him, using his body as a barricade instead of anything else within reach.

Wait—The reasonable part of Dash's brain had a chance to speak between hyperventilating and movement— What am I doing? Ghosts don't need fucking doors!

Hitting the back of his head on his door, Dash seethed, "Dumbass."

There was a knock behind him. Soft.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Dash attempted to stifle his breathing. His lungs burned. He worried that wouldn't be enough. He worried his heart would give him away. When pushed to its absolute limits, the body tells you. It's the innate tug, the skipped beat. It's the tiniest fluctuation and deviation from that norm. Your heart keeps you alive.

Now, it was going to get him killed.

"I know you're in there." The Phantom said through the door, "You're making this a lot harder than it needs to be, y'know?"

"...Dash, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have. I didn't." there was the sound of his fist brushing against the door as if wanting to knock again but unable to, "That has to mean something."

How is that supposed to make it better?!— Dash wanted to yell back, but he couldn't. There was this lump in his throat. It made even breathing impossible.

"I wouldn't really be a good hero if my weaknesses were doors and blunt objects, would I?" By his voice, you could tell he was smirking.

"Not. My. Hero." Dash managed to spit out.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Dash strained his ears, waiting for any sign that the Phantom had left. But instead, he heard a soft chuckle, the sound cutting through the silence like a razor.

"That… that actually hurts my feelings. Wow." The Phantom sighed, "Wow."

The intruder was solemn now, "I-I thought if anyone would be my number one, it would be you. I could've sworn—"

"Drop. Dead."

Clicking his tongue, the ghost boy rested his head on the door, "...I'll get right on that."

…

"Y'know you could have just gone out the front way?"

Hitting his head on the door again, Dash groaned, "Go away!"

"I-I can't. Trust me, I wish I could, but I can't. I don't want to leave it like this."

There was silence. There was no further reasoning.

"...Are you okay?" The apparition muttered, "I thought I saw you trip up the stairs."

How could he be okay in a situation like this? But at the same time, there was a sliver of relief that the Phantom seemed to care, even if it was just a fleeting concern.

"…Yes?" Dash's voice wavered, uncertain of his answer. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "No—I-I dunno—"

He stammered, struggling to articulate his feelings—a horrid unease, frustration, in some twisted moment of vulnerability.

Was I really feeling embarrassed?

Dash clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, as he fought to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He knew he had to stay calm; he had to stay smart to find a way out. But fear, raw and overpowering, threatened to consume him whole.

This wasn't the first time he felt fear like this, but he never got used to it. Dozens of times, he looked down at a ghost, and he ran. That's what he did. That's all he ever did. That's what he did at the drive-in. That's what he did when he could have helped. That's what he did when Danny needed him.

Dash was sick of being afraid.

He wanted nothing more than to rip the door open and accept whatever punishment fit him, whether it be holding up the earth for the rest of time or at the mercy of vultures.

He's had too many close calls, and his luck had to run out eventually—

"I just want to keep you..." It almost seemed unintentional how it slipped out, blending with the house settling and the storm howling outside in a voice pained with longing. He was sure it was the Phantom.

...

Dash wondered what the end of the statement was. If it even had a conclusion.

Maybe it was something else he didn't fully understand. Maybe it was an excuse, or a confession, or… a promise.

He didn't want to overthink it. He didn't want to allow room for empathy.

"Can I keep you?"

Swallowing on the growing lump in his throat, Baxter felt his gaze stick to the window in front of him at the end of his room. Then it fell to his ajar nightstand drawer.

If Dash died tonight—Danny would say his best quality was his persistence.

'Like a cockroach.' I believe his were exact words—Dash felt a smile crack into his cheek while his pained breath hitched. It was a smile entirely at the blame of Danny Fenton, equal parts defeated and wistful. If that was the last thing Danny ever thought about him, then he could probably exit on that note— but one thing he decided: he wasn't going to run anymore. He's a bit too tired for it.

He took a deep; shuddery inhale like he was about to step off a bridge with nothing but choppy water to cushion his fall. Pushing himself from the door, Dash spun on his heel and kept his eyes pinned to that spot.

As Dash shuffled back, he barely cleared his closet doors; right as he brushed his hand against his desk chair— for a split second— the jock looked over his shoulder to see how far he had left to go. Then, as soon as he turned back, the Phantom was there.

The apparition emerged from the shadow of the doorway, extending no effort to open it.

He definitely could hear how loud Dash's heart was beating. The Phantom's feet left the ground as he peered around his hostage from his new height advantage, "You're running out of room."

"So you, either talk to me, or I have to catch you from a thirty-foot drop."

Dash only glared up at him, blowing a strand of hair that had fallen between his eyes.

As the living teen took steps backward to his nightstand, his ankle rolled. It was such a simple mistake. It was two seconds, and the room whipped around him. He had forgotten about the cleaning supplies he had laid out earlier and accidentally stepped into a bucket.

Landing on his bed hard on his elbows, Dash struggled for a moment with gravity and the sheets— He struggled to keep his eyes on the Phantom.

In a moment, the Phantom closed the distance between them. The ghost stood over him, gazing at him in ambivalence like he did back then. Not caring at all for the living's comfort.

Only it was closer. It was all so much closer than Dash ever wanted it to be. Intimate, almost within a breath's distance. He smelled cold, like how the asphalt smells during the rain. A strange, sterile smell, a clean kind of scent, a medicinal antiseptic undertone.

On his back, and as helpless as he was the day he was born, the living demanded, "G—get off—! Off of me!"

It was gentle and… cold. Gradual, like sweet nothings offered by hypothermia.

The ghost boy had placed his knee on the mattress. What stuck out was that the springs didn't creak or shift; the Phantom was utterly weightless. His knee was right in the center of Dash's legs, with every intention of going further. Whatever that meant.

"This isn't going to hurt, I promise, okay? I'm not going to hurt you."

If Dash could fight back, he would have. He would thrash, kick, and claw— if he knew it would work. He reached for his nightstand drawer, and his arm flailed uselessly—just a fingertip away—

How could you fight what was inevitable?

The Phantom moved faster than Dash could even parse. And that's when Dash could see him to begin with!

He was hushed, "I just want to show you something."

The living teen could only perceive the paper-thin voice before him and the rain. The rain hitting the window… that's all he could focus on. Even if he could scream, who would hear him?

As Dash braced his hand against the Phantom's shoulder—one last meager protest— the Phantom took hold of it.

He held onto Dash's hand, tangling their fingers together. The spaces between fit perfectly, as if all humans were made in halves as if we were all put onto this planet to chase that elusive feeling of closure.

Finality.

Completion.

And even death would not stop such a search.

"When I was a kid, my Mom tried to explain to me that because we are all made up of atoms… we… we don't really touch anything. I… I always found that kind of… depressing."

"It's something about how the particles break down because all matter is made up of some electrons that just naturally…" Each word that left the apparition's pale blue lips felt so soft yet heavy. Deceptively heavy… somewhere between a dream and a dying star.

"–Repel," He murmured.

Those green eyes flitted to their hands— Dash blinked, and the Phantom's hand disappeared. But it wasn't… Dash could feel that he was still holding it. It wasn't gone. Dash felt the texture of the Phantom's leather glove glide down his hand, palm, then his wrist…it was reminiscent of how wax beaded off of a candle.

And then something extraordinary happened.

That chill that clung to the Phantom… it changed somehow. Dash didn't just feel it on his skin anymore. It was in his muscle, through his sinew… it felt like his veins were freezing in place. Dash's right hand had this—this… pins and needles sensation like it had gone numb.

The Phantom had sunk into Dash's flesh.

Faintly, the living teen could see the shimmer of the apparition's fingers sticking through his palm, effectively penetrating it through layers of skin and bone.

It almost didn't seem real. Like an elaborate magic trick. Something in the light, an illusion in the angle.

It defied explanation, yet with the Phantom's great ease, it seemed as natural as breathing.

It was somewhere between the intersection of being horrified and mesmerized. Dash realized he could no longer flex his fingers or move his hand. The extra bones piercing through his hands were the likely culprits.

Taking control, ensnaring his fist around the living's arm, The apparition steered Dash's hand, swaying it. The creature was playing with him at this point. Snickering quietly, the ghost was too satisfied by their position.

Dash leaned his head back, not even wanting to grant the Phantom the encouragement of a darting glance.

Then, abruptly— that chill grew. It progressed up his arm and deepened.

Dash thought if he were to regain his strength and jerk away suddenly, he would shatter his hand in the resulting conflict.

That's when he felt it.

Bump.

…

Bump.

…

Bump.

Something was throbbing in his hand.

The texture made the living squirm. His stomach flipped; it nearly drove him to gag.

Dash thrashed his head forward.

His hand was submerged in the Phantom's chest. Clear as day, the young man could see it. Like the Phantom suddenly made his ribcage from glass, Dash could see his hand between the ribs.

If you had asked Dash Baxter what color he thought a ghost's heart was— He would have never in a million years said white.

The Phantom's heart looked like the moon, with minor flecks and imperfections on the surface tissue.

Those blue veins that lined the muscle like cracks in a ceramic piece. Like rivers, they flowed, tracing the curves, but it didn't make sense.

Ghosts don't bleed.

There wasn't a need for an organ to funnel and filter something that didn't need blood.

The organ still had an iridescent sheen, as if it were still wet. And it had heft within his hand. Its existence required no justification.

Dash held the Phantom's heart.

"Right now, we're closer than atoms."

"Isn't that amazing?"

It felt like every nerve and cell in his body was crying out for help.

The Phantom's heart pulsed through him, the rhythm sending shivers down Dash's spine. It burned his hands, yet it didn't hurt. It was like plunging his hands deep in a fresh snowfall. There was something horrifically serene about it all.

The world around him faded into a haze, leaving only that pulse, and the faint whispers of the apparition above him echoed in his head.

It was as if he had become a conduit, a vessel for the Phantom. Nothing more than a husk. He ceased to be a person anymore like he lost that right somehow.

The sensation was overwhelming...

Dash's eyes burned as he blinked away tears, his breath quickening. It left every hair on his body standing on end. He felt it everywhere.

He fully believed he would pass out—

In this moment, Dash felt a connection to something greater than himself, something beyond the realm of understanding. Each pulse filled him with a sense of both awe and terror.

And then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the surge of energy subsided. The heart's pulsations waned, fading into a faint echo. The apparition's hand withdrew its grip on Dash's arm. Leaving Dash strangely hollow, aching for something he couldn't grasp.

As the world around him snapped back into focus, Dash found himself gasping for breath, his hand trembling. He glanced down at his palm, half-expecting to see remnants of the ghostly heart, but there was nothing. Only the faint imprint of a cold memory etched into his skin.

He was shaking uncontrollably…

He was unclean in a way that would only be solved by burning.

The room was dyed in cherry and blue lights.

There was a siren outside.

Blood spurted out of Dash's nose—he coughed.

"...Are you okay?"

Before the answer could manifest itself, the Phantom barred an arm across his chest in a bid of sudden insecurity, still standing over his victim, "Are we… okay?"

It was the sound of indistinct voices shouting in the street that made the quarterback realize…

Paulina called the cops.

#danny phantom #dp #fic #phic #teddy ghost #teddyghost #swaggerbishie #swagger bishie #schrodinger's adolescent #schrodinger's adolescent 2.0 #danny fenton #dash baxter #txt #link

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rightyofelix · 9 months ago

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Twisted Tales of Pick-Up Lines

(I came up with these in the shower don't mind me-)

Sheba: Hey, I roll with you, so let's rock together!🎸 Rosco: If life was a sandwich, would you share it with me? 🥪 Poindexter: Are you Copper (I) telluride? Because you are [Cu][Te]! 🧪

#happy valentine's day #twisted tales of felix the cat #felix the wonderful cat #felix the cat #rightyo! txt post #Really proud of the sandwhich pick up line #I KNOW I'M A DAY LATE SHHH #pick up lines

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ckret2 · 2 years ago

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Here, have another post about my headcanoned human Bill Cipher!

I promised to answer the second half of @dykefnctl's question—

also, like, wtf does stan and ford think? i'm invested.

—but I just got a separate ask about Ford, so I'll talk about Ford in that one and focus on Stan here.

So: Stanley versus human Bill!

Of all the Pines, Stan had the least to do with Bill throughout the entire show; at best, he would have seen this triangle guy come up a few times in Ford's journals and once Ford came back maybe he would have personally warned Stan to watch out for a fast-talking magic triangle. (Although considering how long it took Ford to open up to Dipper, whom he was on much better terms with, the odds that he'd have said anything to Stan are still pretty low.) So to Stan, Bill's just some weird triangle freak who came outta nowhere to mess up Gravity Falls, personally threatened his whole family, and forced Stan to sacrifice his brain to get rid of him.

So when the freak comes back, Stan's ready to shoot first and figure out how to hide the body later.

"Maybe Bill's possessing a normal human and you'd be murdering an innocent" doesn't dissuade him; he'll kill a single stranger if he has to, he's not taking any chances when his family's safety is on the line. (Also the world's safety, but he's more concerned about his family.) What DOES dissuade him is "maybe being trapped in a human body is the only thing keeping Bill's reality-altering powers in check." Stan doesn't know much about how this stuff works, but he's already seen Bill shed one body to hop into someone else's head, and he doesn't wanna restart Weirdmageddon.

He's still somewhat skeptical—"if killing this body would make him a god again, how come he hasn't jumped off a cliff?"—but even if Bill wouldn't regain all his powers if he was "freed," there's still a chance he could just go possess someone new and come back, right? And Stan might be willing to kill ONE innocent to protect his family, but he doesn't relish the idea of killing a whole string of innocents being puppeted by Bill. Or risking that the next innocent is somebody he knows.

So he'd rather keep Bill right where he is: inside his current body, and somewhere close by where Stan can keep an eye on him. For now. Until they can find a way to kill him for good. If the memory gun couldn't do it, maybe Poindexter and Old Man McGucket can whip up something that can.

Bill, meanwhile, is perfectly willing to let Stan and everyone else keep believing that killing his body will unleash him again—when the truth is, he himself doesn't know what would happen, but he suspects that might just kill him for good. Or else shuffle his humanized ghost into humanity's afterlife system, which he doesn't much relish either. It's not too long before Stan starts to suspect that Bill's willingness to put up with makeshift imprisonment in the Mystery Shack, rather than smash his own head in and escape, means that he can't just hop over to a new body... or, at least, he doesn't know whether he can. So they're at a stalemate: neither Bill nor Stan knows whether killing his body would liberate him or destroy him, and as long as they don't know, neither is willing to risk the consequences if it doesn't go their way. But both of them really want to find out—while not wanting the other to find out.

So for now, they mostly just glare at each other, and sometimes Bill grumbles about Stan's cooking.

Once they've been around each other long enough that the white-hot rage Stan feels at the sound of his stupid whiny voice starts to cool down, Stan starts to suss out that Bill is, in fact, a lot like himself. That is, a fast-talking stone-hearted con artist who's probably served time in multiple jurisdictions and whose "friends" are more likely fairweather partners in crime. Stan can grudgingly respect that. Being in the Shack means Bill inevitably comes in contact with a few customers, and the guy can make up a whopper of a tall tale at the drop of a hat and sell anything you put in front of him—Stan respects that, too. All these little similarities also make Stan start to suspect that Bill's like him in other ways: that maybe his stone heart has a mushy center that gets very, very lonely without his family, whatever and wherever they are.

But Bill's still the creep who tried to murder Stan's whole family and planet. Who cares if under his weird alien trappings he has relatable problems! It's not gonna make Stan go soft on him or whatever.

(Stan's slowly going soft on him. It's hard to keep feeling threatened by a depressed clumsy loser who thinks depth perception is a curse and lets Mabel paint glitter on his face.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle stan #stanley pines #gravity falls #headcanons #dykefnctl #bill goldilocks cipher

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madisonandmore · 1 year ago

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Hey sugar, put on your shades! It's about to get bright in here thanks to the works we have for the third day from our fantastic creators!

Creators, if your work was revealed today make sure to update the published date to today so that your work will show up in the most recent Check Please works on AO3!

☀️☀️☀️☀️

[Podfic] shall i compare thee to a summer's day? (22 minutes)

Featuring: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter

Summary: Contrary to popular opinion, Dex was usually not a fan of summers. There was no hockey (either to play or watch), it’s hot as balls out, and every Sunday morning he’s stuck out in that heat selling pies to the pretentious customers at the farmers market because Bitty asked and it’s impossible to say no to Bitty.

☀️☀️☀️☀️

amphibious creatures (7,583 words)

Featuring: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter

Summary: It's the summer before they start college. Nursey's cursed by a sea witch. Dex is shipwrecked on an island. Chowder is just happy to be here.

☀️☀️☀️☀️

Stargazing, Skinny Dipping, and Slideshows (5,569 words)

Featuring: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Summary: Immediately following the events of "Kitchen Work and Line Dances," Jack and Bitty get to know each other better while working at a French-immersion summer camp. Eventually, things get romantic. (This will not make much sense unless you read "Kitchen Work and Line Dances" first.)

☀️☀️☀️☀️

tales of the off-season (3,963 words)

Featuring: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Summary: Five off-seasons during Jack's career and the first after his retirement.

☀️☀️☀️��️

like an ice cream cone (1,522 words)

Featuring: Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight, Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann

Summary: “Life is like an ice cream cone; you have to lick it one day at a time.” - Charles M. Schulz

Byron loves the afternoons when he can have ice cream, in Boston Common, with his au pair. When an adult Shitty has the opportunity to buy a truck, he jumps at the chance.

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chuckecheesekid9000 · 10 months ago

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Shermie and Vivi Pines (Mikey, Dipper, and Mabel's paternal grandparents)

Since the Quagmire Triplets (Duncan, Isadora, and Quigley), and other wise never appeared in live-action movie from 2004 titled "Lemony Snicket's a Series of Unfortunate Events", I'll ship Sherman "Shermie" Pines (@notllorstel's version) with Violet "Vivi" Baudelaire (2004 movie version), because in Omniverse Falls (a my version of minijen's universe falls), she will be Mikey, Dipper, and Mabel's paternal grandmother, where as in Universe Falls' 50th chapter titled "A Tale of Two Stans" where the baby is revealed to be Filbirck and Karen's grandson, That means Shermie is actually Stan and Ford's older brother, and the baby is his first kid, Bernhard Pines (The Pines Siblings' dad), But I felt like Stan was suppose to mention a sister-in-law to ford.

Vivi was suppose to be on Shmebulock's Pines conspiracy board with Shermie for Gravity Falls lost legends.

Here is every quote I came up for characters about Sherman and Violet for Omniverse Falls, and as you can see there isn’t much here….

"They're you're family, poindexter, Shermie and Vivi's three grandkids, The tall one in the white biker jacket with black streaks on the arm sleeves is the oldest of them, named Michael, or Mikey as he rather be called, besides him, the second and short one is his colorful little sister, named Mabel and with both of them is their sweaty brother, named Mason, or Dipper as he liked to be called as well. You can figure the rest." - Stan

“Apparently, Violet and Sherman Pines’ grandkids have been staying with Stanley for the summer (It's hard to believe that the parents, Felicity and Bernhard Pines would trust all three of these kids with Stanly; they clearly thought he was me).” - Ford

“Anyway, about your Grandpa Shermie. that guy was a total square, let me tell you! I mean, who wears a bow tie to a hospital? Did I ever tell you that I was there the day you two were born? I visited your mom, pop, and other relatives in the hospital. Still remember like it was yesterday. Mabel came first, socked the doctor in the jaw! My little fighter. Dipper’s face was blue. Umbilical cord must have wrapped around his neck or something. When I got a hold of you two, I didn’t want to let you go. Had to fight Grandpa Shermie just to keep you for another minute! now onto your Grandma Vivi. that chick was really something, Who else wears a pair of halfmoon glasses at home to look after your brother, Mikey here, when he was only 5 years old, while your mom, pop, Grandpa Shermie, and I were all at the hospital? Let me tell you this, Grandma Vivi told me that she use to teach him how to invent a machine called "A Rock-Retrieval Device", while looking after him, the reason why is because she wanted him to be an inventor like her, and inventing machines will be in his genes, someday." - Stan

#crossover #gravity falls #lemony snicket's a series of unfortunate events 2004 #sherman pines #shermie pines #violet baudelaire #shipping #info

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takenbypeter · 2 years ago

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MARVEL/MCU MASTERLIST PART 2

(Part One Here)

ADAM WARLOCK

Different In Every Way

Safe And Sound

For Blurp Of Course

A New Form Of Intimacy

Nothing Like Ross And Rachel

First Comes Love Then Comes Marriage

Jealousy Explained

Taking Risks

Clumsy

Food Not For The Fainthearted

BEN POINDEXTER

“You’re Good.”

Cheering The North Star

Scaredy Cat

Matching Puzzle Pieces

Good Memory

First Kiss

No More Lonely Nights

Minor Injury

Trouble Sleeping

Worry Is A Two Way Street

What’s Past Is Past

Contagious

Too Sick For Work

Red Cheeks

Love Me Or Leave Me

Game Night Things

Same Mistakes

True Love’s Kiss

Touch Deprived

Thriving On A Single Phrase

Somewhat Tipsy

Uncovered Feelings

Does That Make Me Crazy?

First Lesson

Take You Away

A Letter From The Heart

DRUIG

Being Bold

New House Guest

Staying In

Bad Day

Take Care Of You

Not So Pretty Pictures

EDDIE BROCK

Notes From The Heart

“Come here often?”

Lovely Neighbors

“Are you jealous?”

When Symbiote Meets Symbiote

Life’s Curveballs

MATT MURDOCK

New Suit

I Know You’re Beautiful

What’s Your Secret Is Mine

Kissing His Wounds

Blind Date

Fragments of Promises

Tale As Old As Time

PETER PARKER (TASM)

Carry You To Bed

A Promise That I’ll Keep

“Just this once.”

“Are you really so oblivious?”

CatCalling

From Past To Present

STEVEN GRANT

First Impressions

Stay The Night

Love You, Gators

Heat Under The Sheets

Special Date

Costume Party

Round The Roller Rink

Lousy Day Turned Better

London Boy

Vulnerable Drunk

Maroon

Weird Nicknames

Anniversary Morning

Happy Anniversary

Coworkers to Lovers

The Perfect Boyfriend

Like a Puppy

Sunlight

Late Anniversary

Not A Date, Date

Harry Osborn(TASM)

Show You Off

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #mcu imagine #mcu x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #marvel masterlist #mcu masterlist #adam warlock x reader #poindexter x reader #druig x reader #eddie brock x reader #matt murdock x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #steven grant x reader

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spectacled-renegade-writes · 1 year ago

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An Early Start - Chapter 23 - Danny Phantom

Ao3: Here | Masterpost: Here

Ao3 Description: The accident that turns Danny half-ghost happens when he is four years old and leaves him trapped in the Ghost Zone. Clockwork finds him and takes him in to raise. But what happens when Clockwork sends Danny back to the human-world ten years later when a permanent portal appears?

Chapter 23:

Yet unbeknownst to Danny, but well known by Clockwork as he watched his dear ward’s life from the screen in his tower, Danny’s reputation echoed loudly across the Ghost Zone. Story after whispered story of his feats, his triumphs, his failures, his kindness. Every and all, and more, passed like a game of telephone from one ghost to another, both from those that loathed him and those that liked him, but also of those that feared him.

Once known as simply a young and weak ghost under the protection of Clockwork, Danny has since proven, more than once and again in the future, his own capabilities and independence. To most, save for a few particularly powerful or arrogant ghosts, they saw him no longer as Clockwork’s ward but instead as Danny Phantom, the strong and capable protector of Amity Park.

But, to an even lesser few, the protector of both humans and ghosts, a tightrope not even the only other halfa in existence could balance. To that even lesser few, they saw a kindhearted child who fought only out of necessity, one who would much prefer to use words and compromise rather than fists and attacks. Ghosts like Ember McLain, Johnny 13, Kitty, Sidney Poindexter and Wulf to name a few. They saw a child, wise beyond his years, striving for peace and balance, trying desperately to do the right thing at every turn, and make the world, both worlds, happy for everyone.

Clockwork knew this of Danny from the very beginning, long before ancestors of ancestors of Danny were conceived. He knew this from the moment time began. There were many, infinite in fact, timelines of things that happened to Danny and the choices he made. But, one thing has always been clear; he’s always been kindhearted from the start. Yes, there are potential timelines, potential even now, of worlds where Danny stops being so kindhearted for one reason or another, but to start? To strive in good intentions at every single potential beginning? There have been and will be very few with such a set in stone, solidified path of good natured will in every conceivable timeline.

Sometimes such whispers of the ghost boy will die down, and ghosts will move on to other topics, other news and gossip to spread from one ear to the next, but then Danny will do something, another spectacular thing, that leaves him the subject of thought amongst the many once more. Like now, as Clockwork watches from his tower, deep in the Ghost Zone, found only by a few, of three ghosts, all of which have been missing from the Infinite Realms for quite some time. They regale their tale and whisper the story of the ghost child, half human if one could believe such a thing, that saved them from years of mind control, and an eternity serving under a corrupt ringmaster. They talked of the human friends he had, how his love for those humans helped him break free of the crystal ball, how he made sure each of the ghosts were okay before they parted ways, and apologized for hurting them while he too was under the ringmaster’s spell.

The whispers of the young phantom started up once again. Two cents and speculations of why he helped the ghosts for a change. Some, the ones that loathed, and some that feared, saw it as no more than self-preservation. Others, the ones that liked, and some that fell in the middle, saw it as perfectly in character. They saw it as a boy who craved peace, striving to do just that, from both sides of the tightrope.

Every whisper, every word, spoken or thought, or even existing only in a parallel timeline, every one of them Clockwork knew.

He smiled and watched his ward with pride.

Danny lay on the roof of the school staring at the clouds during lunchtime. Sam was absent from school today and Tucker was currently making up a test, so Danny had a rare moment alone during such a time during the day. He closed his eyes and inhaled, breathing in the damp air that begged for rain.

The first time Danny experienced rain in the human world, despite it falling from the sky, he did not know it came from the clouds. Instead, he thought that the air was slowly turning into a state of liquid that was starting from above, working its way down. So, Danny wondered why the other humans weren’t panicking. Danny would be okay, he did not need to breathe in his ghost form, but the other humans did not have such a luxury. Instead, they pulled out contraptions that Danny has never seen before, or perhaps did not remember from his life as a child, and watched as they expanded it into a small tent of sorts, to keep the water off of them. Danny would soon learn that these contraptions were called umbrellas, and that the air was not slowly turning into liquid. He did not feel foolish when he learned this truth, but instead felt relief.

The first raindrop of the day splashed onto his forehead and he turned intangible.

The next downpour, after learning the true nature of rain, Danny laid on the roof of his human home, much the same way he is right now, and turned intangible, much the same way he is right now.

Watching the rain fall on and around him was a fascinating thing. It felt like a billion tiny meteors showering from the sky, promising a clear sky afterwards. Danny always liked stargazing after heavy rain, the stars were always brightest then.

Danny’s ghost sense went off and a presence lay beside him. “Hi, Sidney.” Danny said.

“Hi, Danny.” Sidney Poindexter replied.

The two friends lay side by side in silence as they watched the rain. Danny couldn’t help but think that it’s been a long time since just the two of them hung out. It was a nice change of pace.

“Where are your friends?” Sidney asked quietly, so as to not disturb the quiet atmosphere between them.

Danny took a moment to reply. “Sam is at home today and Tucker is making up a test.”

“Is she sick?”

Danny shook his head. “She had an appointment today and her parents let her stay home because it's at an odd time.”

Sidney hummed.

“How is the Ghost Zone?” Danny asked.

Sidney finally turned his head to look at Danny but Danny remained staring at the sky, so Sidney turned back to the sky too. “It doesn’t change much. Physically it’s the same since you left.”

“Physically?”

“There are whispers,” Sidney elaborated. “Of you.” When Danny didn’t react to this Sidney continued. “Everyone’s talking about what you did for those three ghosts from that circus. There’s a lot of debate.”

Danny momentarily pulled his eyes away from the rain to glance at Sidney. “Debate?”

Sidney nodded. “Yeah. Some ghosts are calling you a hero, but others think saving them was just fortunate collateral. Either way, you managed to break free of mind control, no easy feat, and you’ve gained a lot of respect.”

Danny snorted. “Respect?”

But Sidney only nodded. “Yes. Respect. Even from ghosts who don’t particularly like you. Like Skulker.”

“Does that mean he’ll stop hunting me for my pelt?” Danny joked.

Sidney caught on to the joke and smiled. “On the contrary, his newfound respect for you just makes you even more valuable to him. I think he wants your pelt even more.”

The two friends laughed before lapsing back into a stint of silence. It looked like the rain wouldn’t be letting up for the rest of the day. Danny knew Sam would be glad she wouldn’t have to be walking home from school today. She liked the gloomy vibe it gave off but she compared her hate of being out in the rain to that of a cat’s.

But, Danny’s little liminal space couldn’t last forever. It wasn’t much later that the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Danny stood up but Sidney stayed put. “I’ll see you later.” Danny said.

Sidney smiled at him. “See you later, pal.”

Some days Danny was quieter than others. Well, he was always quiet. Rather, some days he was more introspective than others. Today was one of those days.

Danny sat in the Nasty Burger with Tucker, mindlessly sipping on a milkshake while Tucker talked about the cute girl he got paired up with today in science. Tucker often talked about a cute girl from school so Danny didn’t feel too bad about tuning him out. Instead, Danny reflected on his time here in the human world. It’s been a while now and despite being an outcast by societal standards, he thought he’d done a good enough job blending in. He glanced at Tucker. Well… mostly. He’d failed in keeping his secret. At least those who knew were adjusted enough to take it in stride, and remain by his side. For that he’d be forever grateful.

Danny didn’t realize he was smiling until Tucker brought it up. He cut himself off mid-sentence and asked, “Why are you smiling? Is there something on my face?”

Danny blinked a few times, taking in what his friend said, since he hadn’t really been listening. But, he understood, and removed his hands from his cup to reply. “You’re fine. I didn’t realize I was smiling.”

Tucker narrowed his eyes though the upturn of his mouth conveyed amusement. “You weren’t listening to anything I was saying, were you?”

Danny sheepishly shook his head.

But Tucker only grabbed one of Danny’s fries and casually sat back in his seat. “So, what’s going on in the ever racing mind of Danny Fenton today?”

Danny slid the rest of his fries to Tucker and shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just grateful you’re my friend.”

Tucker paused, a handful of fries halfway to his mouth. His confusion took form of a lighthearted laugh. “Well of course I’d be your friend, dude. What made you think of that?”

Danny took a slow sip of his milkshake as he contemplated his next words. “I guess… I just didn’t have a lot of friends in the Ghost Zone, and it took a long time to make those friends. I guess I just thought it would be impossible to make friends in this world.”

“Well I guess you didn’t,” Tucker said. “I mean, it was the other way around, wasn’t it? Sam and I made friends with you.”

Danny smiled when he thought about that. “You’re right.”

“I guess humans are just better at the whole making friends thing.” Tucker shrugged, finally stuffing the handful of fries in his mouth.

Yeah, Danny thought, he supposed they were.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ao3 Notes: Just so y'all know, the next chapter is going to be the finale. The chapter after that, the final chapter, will be the epilogue. I have so much to say but I'll save it all for the notes in the final chapter. :D

Thank you so, so much for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day/night! <3

#an early start au #danny phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fanfic #mute!danny fenton #disabled danny fenton #danny fenton #clockwork #sidney poindexter #tucker foley #lost time #renegade writes

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jacobwren · 3 months ago

Video

youtube

Jimmy Poindexter - Tales of Intrigue & Deception

#jimmy poindexter

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werewolfbansheelove · 9 months ago

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Mash Up (Glee + Puckleberry Sets)

The episode begins with several Glee Club members being threatened with a slushie. First to Tina who flinched away, Mercedes who screamed it.

Mercedes: My weave!

Then to Rachel at her locker who flinched with closing her eyes. But the person walked away from her and got Finn right in the face. Finn snapped and stopped Dave Karofsky.

Finn: What the hell, Karofsky!

Dave: Oh, I’ve wanted to do that ever since fifth grade when you made fun of me for getting pubes. Now that you’ve joined Lullaby Lee's and insperminated the queen of the Chastity Ball and dropped below us hockey dudes on the food chain? It’s open season.

Quinn (angrily): Screw you, Karofsky! You and your Neanderthal puck-heads are nothing!

Finn shove Dave back but Dave did the same.

Finn: You’re gonna pay for this, dude!

Dave: No, I’m not. You two don’t have the juice anymore. Welcome to the new world order.

Dave then leaves them alone.

——–

In the choir room, Quinn was cleaning Finn’s face.

Quinn: This is a disaster. Our reputation as McKinley High's "it" couple is in serious jeopardy if we don’t find some way to be cool again, Finn.

Some glee kids were watching the two interact.

Kurt: The Slushee war has commenced.

Mercedes: And if Finn and Quinn got nailed, none of us are safe.

Will enters the room.

Will: Okay, guys. We’re a little behind for sectionals thanks to our Sue Sylvester detour. But you guys seem to really enjoy doing mash-ups, right? And I’m gonna keep you guys fired up. Plus, there’s an important lesson to be learned with mash-ups. Sometimes things are so different, they don’t feel like they go together.

Finn: Or Glee Club and football.

Will: Exactly. But you’ve proven that it is a great combination. (Hands out music sheets) So here is my personal favorite song. And your homework for the week is to find an unexpected mash-up to go with it.

Kurt: “Bust a Move”?

Mercedes: Yeah, this song is old school.

Will: All right. Um, Artie.

Artie (quietly): Yeah?

Try to follow along on the bass. Finn, take us through it.

Finn: Uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Schuester. I got corn syrup in my eye.

Will: Okay. Uh, Puck. How about it? Looking at the mohawk boy.

Puck: I don’t really groove on Young MC.

Rachel: I am shocked at the lack of leading-man ambition in this room right now.

Will (takes off his dress shirt): It’s okay, Rachel. I guess I’m gonna have to show these guys how it’s one.

The members got excited.

Will: Bust it!

Will: This here's a tale for all the fellas, tryin' to do what those ladies tell us. Get shot down 'cause you’re over zealous, play hard to get, females get jealous. Okay smartie, go to a party girls are scantily clad and showin' body. A chick walks by, you wish you could sex her but you’re standin' on the wall like you was Poindexter. Your movie's showin', so you’re going, ould care less about the five you’re blowin' (Uh). Theater gets dark just to start the show and then you spot a fine woman sittin' in your row (Uh). She’s dressed in yellow, she says Hello come sit next to me, you fine fellow (Uh) You run over there without a second to lose and what comes next, hey bust a move.

Quinn, Tina and Mercedes with New Directions Girls: If you want it, you got it, Uh If you want it, baby, you got it

Will with Artie and New Directions Boys: Just bust a move!

Quinn, Tina and Mercedes with New Directions Girls: If you want it, you got it, Uh, if you want it, baby, you got it, Uh.

Will (New Direction Boys): Your best friend Harry has a brother Larry in five days from now he’s gonna marry. He’s hopin' you can make it there if you can cause in the ceremony you’ll be the best man. You say "neato," check your libido and roll to the church in your new tuxedo, the bride walks down just to start the wedding. And there’s one more girl you won’t be getting So you start thinkin', then you start blinkin', a bride maid looks and thinks that you’re winkin'. She thinks you’re kinda cute so she winks back and then you’re feeling really fine cause the girl is stacked Reception's jumpin, bass is pumping look at the girl, and your heart starts thumping. Says she wants to dance to a different groove, now you know what to do, G, (Bust a move).

Quinn, Tina and Mercedes with New Directions Girls: You want it, you got it (Uh) If you want it, baby, you got it.

Will with Artie and New Directions Boys: Just bust a move!

Quinn, Tina and Mercedes with New Directions Girls: If you want it, you got it (Uh) If you want it, baby, you got it. Uh, uh, uh, hey, huh, huh, ya, huh. Huh, hey, huh, hey, uh, uh, hey, ya, ya.

—––—

Rachel is practicing What a Girl Wants in her bedroom with Puck playing guitar.

Puck (voiceover): I know this looks weird. But wait until you see what happens next.

Puck: My ears are starting to hurt. Can we take a break?

Rachel (puts her brush down): Okay.

Puck: You wanna make out?

Rachel (stunned): Sure.

Puck (voiceover): I know. It’s whack. But I also remember what my history teacher told us last semester: Only Nixon can go to China. I have no idea what she meant, but it reminded me of when my family ordered Chinese food and sat down together for our traditional Simchas Torah screening of Schindler's List. That’s really when all of this started. It wasn’t the most normal tradition but we did it for my mom. (Puck's sister screamed and ran out the room when the guns go off.) As she was giving me my sweet-and-sour pork she said something that really hit home.

Puck's mom: You’re no better than them, Noah. Why can’t you date a Jewish girl?

Puck (voiceover): That night, I had the strangest dream. I knew it was a dream, because there’s no way Rachel could’ve climbed up the wall outside my window with no shoes on.

(Rachel entered Puck's room wearing a necklace that represents Jewish. IDK!)

Puck (voiceover): When I woke up, I knew it was more than a dream. It was a message from God. Rachel was a hot Jew, and the good Lord wanted me to get into her pants.

(Puck approached Rachel at school with a slushie and she closed her eyes waiting for the impact.

Puck: I picked it up for you when I was buying dip. It’s grape. I know that’s your favorite, because the last time I tossed a grape one in your face you licked your lips before you cleaned yourself off. 《Rachel took it》 Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to work together on some mash-up ideas.)

Puck (voiceover): Things happened pretty fast from that point. Getting her to make out with me was easier than I thought. Guess she’s kind of desperate.

Rachel pulled away imagined Finn she was kissing.

Puck (but with Finn’s face): You okay, baby?

Rachel (gets off him.): I can’t do this.

Puck: Why? We’re a couple of good-lookin' Jews. It’s natural.

Rachel: I-I can’t give myself to someone who isn’t brave enough to sing a solo. If you don’t have the guts to do that, then how are you gonna be bold enough to deal with the ups and downs of loving an admittedly high-maintenance girl like me?

Puck: Are you questioning my badassness? Have you seen my guns? (Goes to show her but Rachel stops him.)

Rachel: Noah, I’m sorry, but your arms are lovely, but I just don’t see us working out.

–——

Will (enters the choir room): So any ideas for the mash-up? (No one answered.) Anybody? No. Oh, come on, guys! It’s like you’re daring me to start dancing.

Mercedes: Oh no!

Puck (with a guitar on him.): I’ve been working on something.

Will: Oh, yeah?

Puck: It’s my personal tribute to a musical Jewish icon. (That got Rachel’s attention.)

Will: Uh, fantastic. Let’s hear it. (Sits in the back of the seats.)

Puck plays the tune to Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline.

Puck: Where it began, I can’t begin to know when, but then I know it’s growing strong. Was in the spring and spring became summer who’d believe you’d come along Hands, touching hands, reaching out touching me, touching you

Puck with New Directions: Oh, sweet Caroline good times never seem so good. I’ve been inclined to believe it never would. Oh, sweet Caroline good times never seem so good Oh, I’ve been inclined to believe it never would oh no no..

Puck was serenading to Rachel and earning disapproving looks from Finn and Santana. The performance is well-received.

—–——

Puck and Rachel are walking, arm-in-arm, together down the hallway.

Rachel: ...making Tommy Tune the first to win Tony gold in four categories.

Puck (not interested): Totally interesting. You know, you never told me what you thought of my mash-up solo.

Rachel: You’re still missing the elusive high "B." That’s a brass ring for a baritenor. I had to work on it for weeks with Finn before he got it. You’re a great performer, Noah. I just wanna say how proud I am to have you on my arm in front of the whole high school.

Unexpectedly, Puck gets hit in the face with a slushie by Karofsky. Rachel took Puck to the girl's washroom to help him clean up.

Puck: You’re pretty good at this.

Rachel: I’ve had a lot of practice. You’re actually a lot luckier than me and Quinn. Your head is shaved.

Puck: I’m really sorry I ever did this to you.

Rachel: It’s okay.

Puck: No, it isn’t. No one deserves this feeling. You know what the worst part is? It’s not the burning in your eyes or the way the Slushee drips all the way into your underpants. It’s the humiliation. I feel like I could burst into tears at any moment. Rachel...I’m sorry, but today when the clock chimes 3:30.

Rachel: You’re choosing football over Glee, which means we probably can’t be together anymore.

Puck: Yes. Damn, I feel like such a bad Jew. (Rachel kisses his forehead.)

—–—

The Glee Club is waiting anxiously in the choir room for the guys.

Will: Hey, guys.

The clock turns to 3:30 and they all looked to the door.

Will: I guess they’re not coming. I’m really sorry, guys.

Mercedes: I can’t believe this. I thought they were our friends. How can they just abandon us?

Then in walk, Mike and Matt who Santana and Brittany approach giving hugs.

Santana: Hi. I’m glad you made it.

Brittany: You scared me.

Mike: Good to see you, huh?

Then Puck walks in, shocking everyone, Rachel approached him.

Rachel: Are you... sure about this, Noah? I mean, choosing us over the team means you might get a Slushee in your face every day.

Puck: Bring it.

The two approached the other but...

Artie: Where’s Finn?

—–—–

With a slushie in hand, the Glee members were wearing raincoats, gasping to hide their faces. But the person went Kurt and Rachel who gasped at the slushie in hand. Kurt turned around looking at the slushie.

Kurt: Do it.

The person was Finn.

Finn: I really don’t want to, honestly. I know how picky you are about what products you use on your face.

Kurt: But you’ve been getting so much pressure from the gorillas on the football team. I guess they didn’t appreciate me resigning from the team and choosing Glee.

Finn: Probably would have went over better if you didn’t announce it in the showers.

Mercedes, Tina and Artie approached the other three at Kurt’s locker.

Mercedes: You are not gonna Slushee on my man Kurt.

Rachel (glaring at the boy) : Why wouldn’t he? He’s made his choice. He doesn’t care about us losers anymore.

Finn: No, that’s not true. It’s just that if I don’t do it the guys on the team are gonna kick the crap out of me.

Kurt: Well, we can’t have that, can we? Kurt took the slushie from Finn.

Finn: What are you doing?

Kurt: It’s called taking one for the team. (throws the slushie in his own face) Now get out of here, and take some time to think whether or not any of your friends on the football team would have done that for you. (Finn leaves) Someone get me to a day-spa stat! Kurt is dragged off to the girls' bathroom by Rachel, Mercedes, and Tina.

—–—–

Rachel visits Puck, who is watching football practice from the bleachers.

Rachel: You miss it?

Puck: Hell, no.

Rachel: I hope you didn’t choose Glee over football because of me.

Puck: Why?

Rachel: Because I don’t think this relationship is gonna work out.

Puck: It’s cool. I was gonna break up with you anyway.

Rachel: No, you weren’t.

Puck: Yes, I was. You won’t even let me touch your boobs. It’s Finn, right? (Rachel was quiet.) He’s never gonna leave Quinn. Not with that baby in her belly.

Rachel: You like her, don’t you? I can see you staring at her when I’m staring at Finn. Is that why you joined Glee? To be closer to her?

Puck: Like I said, they’re never breaking up. God, what’s the matter with me? I’m a stud, and I can’t even hold on to a chick like you? No offense. Why don’t girls like me?

Rachel: Because you’re kind of a jerk. No offense. I just think you want it too much which is something I can relate to. I want everything too much. Our relationship was built on a fantasy. Like every other one in my life. I think I just agreed to us being together because I thought it would make Finn jealous. (puts a hand on his shoulder) I just hope we can still be friends.

Puck: We weren’t friends before. He leaves her for her to stay on the bleachers.

–——–—

Finn has returned to Glee Club, and gives everyone slushies as a way to say sorry.

Finn: So, what do you think about my welcome back gift to the club, huh, guys? Everyone grabbed one for themselves.

Rachel: Thanks for the Slushees, Finn. They’re delicious.

Kurt: And loaded with empty calories. You know why they call them Slushees? Because your butt looks like one if you have too many of them.

Finn: I’d like to propose a toast. To Mr. Schue. You were right about Glee Club and football being a killer combination.

Everyone cheered and clicked their cups.

Artie: Mr. Schue, I am sorry to report that we’ve all been remiss about completing our assignment this week.

Mercedes: Yeah, none of us could find a good groove for "Bust a Move."

Artie: And I personally feel like a failure.

Will: Well, that’s okay, guys. Because I feel like the lesson landed.

And that’s what’s important and we are glad to have you back, Finn.

Quinn was in blue dress and cardigan, quite upset. Will: You okay, Quinn?

Quinn: Do I look okay? I’m devastated. Now that I’m off the Cheerios, I’ll start every day with a Slushee facial.

Everyone: Yeah. Whoo!

Will: That’s okay if that happens, Quinn, because there are 11 of your friends right here who are gonna be more than happy to help clean you off.

Mercedes: That's right, girl.

Will rubs his head. Will: Mmm, brain freeze. I can’t imagine getting hit in the kisser with one of these.

That gave the glee members an idea.

Artie: You’ve never been hit by a Slushee before, Mr. Schue?

Will: Um... All right, guys. We’re a team. Bring it on. Gimme your best shot. He opened his arms out.

Rachel (taking the straw out.): One, two, three.

Everyone took their straws out and Will yelled as the members threw the slushies in Will's direction and it got on his clothes, face and hair.

Will: Oh. All right. From the top. Taking a sip of his slushie, everybody laughed.

#transcript #glee

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