#shaking like a chihuahua/pos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theplanetprince · 1 year 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 #fic #phic #teddy ghost #teddyghost #swaggerbishie #swagger bishie #danny fenton #dash baxter #txt #link #schrodinger's adolescent

39 notes · View notes

kroosluvr · 1 year ago

Note

CELESTE CELEXITY POSTING P2 ART (as seen on twt) !??!!??! IM LITERALLYT SHAKING IN MY BOOTS LIKE A CHIHUAHUA ON CRACK /pos

HELPEMEGKLSDJKSDFJKHWEJKG HHIIHHIHIIHI YESYEYSYESEE p2 has got me by the THRAOTTTT OMFGGGG its competing so hard for p5r in my head as fav persona game bc p2 literally has all the themes and characters and relationships that i ADORE but royaltrio got me in a vicegrip its horrible. ANWAYY IM SO GLAD U LIKE MY p2 STUFF WAYY MORE TO COME YAYAYYA YAYAYYAAAAY

#YAYY AYYAYAYA #cele answers

4 notes · View notes

vampsoc · 1 year ago

Note

meows into the void... your vibe is firstly impeccable - ingsoc transplanted into the modern day. you're like a nefarious (/pos) little bloodsucking creature i want to study in a lab. (also your fits are jawdropping and your art is even better :3) also mildly intimidating - when u first texted me, i yelped like a shaking chihuahua

You already know I loooove being noted as intimidating, I’m sooo glad I created an impression that frightened you. “Bloodsucking creature I want to study in a lab” you say… reminds me of those videos of the leeches on tiktok being put through the most heinous experiments.

You are a little beast of feline nature that I too want to study, putting drugs in your water supply right now >:) your trademark … is being absurd quite frankly. 👍 giving you a thumbs up.

#asks

3 notes · View notes

director-yomi-hellsmile · 4 months ago

Note

Yeah it's true whenever u reply to me or give me attention in some other way I start shaking like a fucked up chihuahua/pos

Hehehe that's so cool anon <33333333

#:3

1 note · View note

lovesick-toymaker · 9 months ago

Text

shaking like a damn chihuahua /pos

#I am simply that excited #about this #/pos

1 note · View note

cordycepsbian · 2 years ago

Note

have some questions:

favorite character in evprim

favorite swap in evprim

favorite plot line/quest/side quest in evprim

on a scale of 1-swag how swag is jaune in evprim /j /pos

so .... wait why is the auto suggested word here "peanuts" like "so .... peanuts"

anyway the thing is we don't really have one favorite bug fables character already but. "writing" muse in leif's place is very fun (even though we're not actually writing this story)

and we don't talk much about elizant the secondfirst but she's fun too she's like. the anti-girlboss. big tall women in positions of power that shake like wet chihuahuas when faced with anything that requires problem solving or conflict resolution skills

lately we've been thinking about how jay's request will work with the termite/bee swap and that's how we got the "termites invented phones and everyone else only has like, one singular call center in the whole city". you have to telephone violet to make this work

but that's not our favorite quest, our favorite is the spy cards quest! in this world you're playing Bug Chess though. it starts with playing against scarlet in carmina's place, then you play against the bugs who are chefs in the original game, and the last chess master is a chess ai/microwave computer that belongs to a termite scientist. this world's metal island is a ski lodge-type place in mountains made of gravel! so you go to the gravel lodge to finish this and play in the chess tournament

jay is somewhat swagful In Her Own Way. but also has no swag in many other areas. it's about balance

#evprim tag #(muse voice) get a girlfriend jay #(bit voice) or a boyfriend she's bi #(muse voice)wow nobody want you fr #(bit voice) that's what i'm saying like

7 notes · View notes

peninkwrites · 3 years ago

Note

SHAKES AROUND LIKE A CHIHUAHUA ON CRACK OMFG OKA OKAY SO MY IDEA FOR THE "If everybody's sick then nobody can catch it" LYRIC IS LIKE OKA HOLDON ITS LIKE.

ITS REMINDING ME OF DREAM AND TOMMY FOR THE REASON OF I COULD DEFINITELY HEAR DREAM TELLING TOMMY LIKE "Everyone's HORRIBLE Tommy! Im nice to you, I'm nicer to you then anyone else who knows you. I'm your friend." ITS LIKE EVERYONE'S SICK IN THE HEAD IF THAT MAKES SENSE!!!! IF DREAM CAN PUSH THE NARRATIVE THAT EVERYONE IS HORRIBLE AND MEAN INCLUDING TOMMY HE CAN MAKE TOMMY FEEL LIKE DREAM /IS/ RIGHT, DREAM IS LESS TERRIBLE THEN ANYONE ELSE

Oof. Y e a h. That’s accurate.

My brain is going to MELT /pos

#if I ever write a protege au…#agony #asks #netheritecouncil #gaslighting

7 notes · View notes

geekyglamour413 · 3 years ago

Text

“shaking and shitting /pos” this and “BARK BARK BARK HDHDJFNFN” that. just say you kin chihuahuas like normal person

#/j #I was explaining tumblr culture to my sister and realized #quick someone make me a conncected the dots meme stat

12 notes · View notes

sloughin · 6 years ago

Text

Reworked

It’s nice that Jenny has the Civic, even if the car is a POS. I haven’t had a license in five years, not since I moved to Chicago. Get around by bike most of the time. Sometimes I wish Jenny biked more too. It’d toughen her up some and she might lose some of that extra poundage around the midriff. But yea, I can’t complain about the car. Beats the hell out of biking four miles with thirty pounds of groceries on my back. Plus Jenny always lets me play my music and she says she doesn’t mind me cracking roadies.

If you’ve never been to the Lincoln Park Whole Foods, then you’ve never really been grocery shopping. At least not in style. The place is the size of an airplane hangar, and with vaulted ceilings at least as high. They’ve got a food court in there with a taqueria, a pizza station, a ramen station, a smokehouse, a diner, whatever... The food is reasonably priced, it’s decent, and the employees aren’t allowed to accept tips. Win-win-win.

That’s where we were going. Shopping there is one of the few things Jenny and I still do together. Sure, we spend a fair amount of our nights at home, but something has changed. We used to play a lot of games: cribbage, gin rummy, boggle. Now we mostly just watch TV. It’s easier than having a conversation.

We’ve been together since I was twenty-two and Jenny was twenty-six. She turned thirty-one last month. I got her a card. It said, “Relax, your thirties are going to be just like your twenties, except you look ten years older and everything is a little less fun.” Inside I wrote, “Hey Cowpie, Happy Thirty.”

When she opened the card, Jenny said, “I turned thirty last year, Nick. We had a party.” I guess I remembered after she said that. I tried to play it off like I’d planned it, you know, “Baby, you haven’t aged a day…” She went along with it, but she had some kind of distance the rest of the night.

So, yea, maybe sometimes things aren’t great, but we’ve built this life together and it’s hard to leave.

***************************************************

Nick sat in the car while I went up and knocked on our neighbor Pat’s door. Nick knows that I don’t much care for Pat, but when the ’98 Civic wouldn’t start and I asked him to go see if Pat would help with a jump he said, “Hey Cowpie, who left the overhead on last night?” He said it like it was all in good fun, but I sensed some underlying bitterness there.

We were on our way to the grocery store. Sometimes I wish Nick would make at least some small effort to look presentable. But there he was, in a faded and fraying army green t-shirt turned inside out, and baggy black jeans blown out in the crotch so that you could see his boxers underneath. Every other month he asks me to sew them back up. “Come on, Nick,” I say, “if you had one or two other pairs of pants than I wouldn’t have to do this all the time.” He makes enough money. It’s just plain obstinance, there’s no other word for it.

Pat lives in one of the rear units of the same four-family building as we do. He has a private entrance around the side. I knocked and then stood there staring at his door, waiting for him to open up. Pat used to work overnight stocking in a department store, but he got some big workers’ comp settlement when a ladder failed and he fell. Now he walks with a limp and spends his days inside playing video games. He’s probably put on sixty pounds in the last year. It’s the real loose kind of weight so that it looks like he packed Jell-O under his shirt.

I knocked again, this time harder, so that my knuckles hurt. Pat’s door is funny. The base is all painted with black eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s lace and the upper registers are of a stylized mountain range and river. I would have never expected Big Pat to be housed behind that door.

When the door opened I said, “Hey Pat.”

“Hey Jenny,” Pat said. He had marinara stained on his shirt above his abdomen. Or maybe it was ketchup. His shirt was an off-white color, so it looked pretty bad. It looked like he’d squashed a bug there and that that bug had been full of blood. His protruding belly pulled it taut and my eyes kept drawing to it.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said, “but the Civic’s battery is dead. Could you help us out with a jump?”

Pat’s mouth fell a little. Then he said, “Yeah, no problem. Lemme grab my keys.”

Five minutes later Pat pulled his huge Dodge Ram Hemi nose-to-nose with my little Civic. His truck looked funny next to my car, like it was ready to swallow it whole. The Civic may not look like much, what with rust creeping up the side panels, and the hood and bumpers all scored with dents and years of abuse, but for a car with 280,000 miles on it, it runs pretty well. That’s all I need. Really, that’s all any of us need. If the big companies stopped putting out new cars this year the world wouldn’t suddenly be short on cars. People’d just have to keep them longer, do more maintenance, take better care of them.

I had the jumper cables in hand. I’m pretty familiar with the procedure now. Red on dead first, red on the good battery’s terminal and then the negative on the same battery and ground the black cable on the dead side. My daddy used to hook them red on red and black on black, and he never had a problem, but he also used to have me dig a hole in the yard to dump dirty oil into whenever I changed the oil in one of the cars. So, now l ground the connection.

Pat stood by watching me. He looked like he wanted to take charge but I think it’s possible he’d never jumped a car.

“Alright, Pat, start it up,” I said.

Pat got in his car and started it. He let the car run for about thirty seconds and then shut it off. He got out and stood above the Civic. I humored him some and tried to start my car. He just stood there expectantly while the engine struggled to turn over. “Sorry, Pat,” I said. “Could you try it again? Maybe let it run for a few minutes this time and leave it on when I try to start mine.”

The Jewel Osco is about ten minutes closer, but Nick always insists we go to the big Whole Foods on North Avenue because they have a bar in the store and it’s somehow acceptable to walk around in there with a beer while grocery shopping. It’s more expensive than the Jewel, but Nick works at the Whole Foods up on Halsted and gets a 30% discount. Alcohol hits me pretty fast so I never really drink much when we are out, but Nick always buys two beers, one for him and one for me. After he finishes his he drinks mine. He buys those kinds of beers that are 8-9% alcohol by volume. I don’t mind. He’s better when he’s buzzed, at least he has a sense of humor then.

We were heading for the checkout lines when I heard Nick say, “Hey Jake.” When I turned around Nick was clasping Jake Moran’s arm and grinning at him from the side of his mouth. A couple years ago, when he and Nick were still working together, Jake used to come around pretty often. He always kind of reminded me of a big blonde baby. They talked for a couple minutes and I stood a little apart from them, trying to smile at the right times. I was only half listening; I was ready to go.

Jake was telling Nick about living out in Hermosa and I heard him say, “It’s so nice not to live around white people.” Jake is very white. Then he started talking about this big pit mix, Cain, that he had fostered a few months earlier. Apparently his neighbor never kept a gate closed and the two chihuahuas that were supposed to be confined in that yard would often get out and run the neighborhood.

“So, I was out walking Cain and then the two little shits ran up and started yipping in his face,” said Jake. “Then one of the little bastards got up in his kill zone and tried to nip his neck.

“Well, Cain just dipped his head down, took the little dog up in his mouth and started shaking it. I mean really shaking it. It looked like a hornet had flown into his ear and started stinging. I thought he killed the thing right there. I thought, ‘Here I am with this dead dog and now I’m going to have to do something with its dead body, and I’m going to have to have a row with its idiot owner.’

“I was hollering at Cain to drop the damn thing, and of course he wasn’t listening to me at all, focused as he was. I didn’t know what to do, so I balled up my fist and popped him one on the top of his head. Well, then he dropped it, and I’ll tell you, I was surprised as hell when it ran off still yipping.”

I smiled weakly at Jake; it was a horrible story. Nick guffawed and then went right into to telling Jake about some friend of his, Roger, who used to have a pit. I never met Roger and I’d never heard Nick talk about him before. He was saying how he and Roger had been out walking this big pit and how there was a chihuahua running off leash… and then he told Jake the same story Jake had just told us.

Jake raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He looked like he was trying to smile through some internal pain. Our eyes met and I felt awkward, embarrassed.

“Come on, Nick,” I said. “It’s time to go.” I knew better than to add, “You’ve had too much to drink.”

Nick got into the passenger’s seat and slammed the car door shut. I’ve asked him before not to slam the doors. The poor old Civic can only take so much more abuse. But that’s part of being with Nick… Don’t get me wrong, sometimes he’s great, but when he gets upset he can be a real challenge to be around.

He didn’t say anything for the first five minutes of the drive home. Then he started to, shook his head no and swore. It’s a twenty-minute drive and by the time we passed Western he had cracked his second beer. He took a long gulp and sat there brooding. Then he started in on it.

“You don’t talk to people like that,” he said. He was talking about the person who rang us up.

“He didn’t mean it as anything personal,” I said. “He was probably just having a bad day.”

“I don’t care how bad his day was, you don’t treat customers like that.” He paused and then muttered, “I should have hit him.”

“You work back-of-house. You don’t know what was going on with him, you don’t know what it’s like to have customers treat you like dirt all day.” I remembered back to when I was a cashier, by the end of an eight-hour shift it gets pretty tiresome to smile through it. In a way, though, Nick was right. He had been pleasant and nonchalant with the guy, and you don’t treat the good customers with that kind of rudeness. I started to say that to him, but instead I said, “Just let it go, Nick.”

“Just let it go…” he said back to me. “She wants me to just let it go.” He shook his head a little as he said it and I could tell that the he wasn’t going to let it go.

He helped unload the groceries and then he took the fifth of Evan Williams down, went into the den, and shut the door. I checked in on him when I was heading to bed. He was slumped on the couch with the TV on and his eyes were bloodshot, like he’d been crying. The bottle was resting against his leg at a forty-five-degree angle. He didn’t even look at me when I said goodnight to him. He muttered something but I couldn’t hear what. I closed the door and something heavy moved up in my throat. Something was broken between us and there wasn’t any fixing it.

0 notes

dailyaudiobiblechronological · 6 years ago

Text

07/13/2019 DAB Chronological Transcription

2 Chronicles 27 and Isaiah 9-12 Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible Chronological. I'm China. Today is the 13th day of July. Welcome. It is a pleasure to be here with you guys today. Today I feel very much so jittery just because, um, I went into one of my favorite coffee shops here in town and one of the owners was like here, like I want to, I want to make you something and you try it while I was already ordering coffee and drinking it. And so a cold brew mixed with another drink with espresso. Wow. My body, I feel like I can see sound. That's how jittery I am right now. So I've been drinking lots of water and I was like, Ooh, I got to read. But um, it's, it is a good day to be here and uh, just praying blessings on your weekend and rest on your weekend and maybe as much caffeine in your body as mine or maybe not. My little body is shaking like a Chihuahua, but it is good to be here another day in the word. And today we are in the book of Second Chronicles Chapter 27 and Isaiah 9 through 12 and we finish off today and this week with the New International version. Prayer: Lord, would that truly be our prayer. Lord that we would understand and know your redemption. That we would know repentance daily. And I thank you Lord that you are worthy of praise. And Lord, I pray that you would teach our hearts how to praise you in every circumstance. And Lord, our hearts echo the song of praise. We proclaim your name. You indeed have done glorious things and for that we praise you. And we praise you for who you are, not just what you've done. And father, I thank you that we have you to cling onto. That we know your name and your presence. That you are not foreign. That you are not a stranger to us. Lord, I just pray that we would truly desire your word. We would have a hunger Lord, for your presence. That we wouldn't be satisfied with anything else. And Jesus, we are so grateful for how you come for our hearts. And Lord, we acknowledged that. I thank you, that you are in constant pursuit of our hearts even when we are running in every which direction. Lord I pray that you would silence the voices in our head, every other voice that isn't yours, that we would know that that is our father's voice and that we would come running back to you. And it's in your son's name we pray. Amen. Announcements: DailyAudioBible.com is our website. That is our home base. It's where you can check out what's happening in the community. So be sure to check that out so you can stay in the loop with the events. If you would like to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do so through our webpage. There's a give tab up in the right hand corner. And if you listen through our app, which if you didn't know, we have an app you can download through the app store and there is a tab in the right hand corner as well to give. Or if you prefer our mailing address, you can do so by mailing in at, PO Box 1996 Spring Hill, Tennessee 37174. And we thank you for your partnership. We thank you for being in agreement with what the Lord is doing here in this community and for supporting us. And we are so grateful. And if there is things that you need prayer for, I know that there's always constantly things in my life that I would wouldn't ever turn down prayer for it. So if that is you and you are needing community, you're needing prayer, you're needing encouragement and just someone to, or just a way for you to know someone is praying for me somewhere in this world. This is community. This is our safe place. And so whether or not someone calls back in and says, hey, I'm praying for you, know that brothers and sisters in the community and in the faith are praying for you all over the world daily. So you can call it at 800-583-2164 and those get played at the end of every day's podcast. That is all for today. I'm China. I love you. And I'll be waiting for you here, tomorrow. Community Prayer and Praise: Hello, this is David from Roseville, California. I just want to thank you guys for what you do. I'm calling in for prayer this morning for my brother Joseph. He lost his wife two days ago unexpectedly, and he has children, so he's now looking for a home for them. Um, if you could please pray for brother Joseph, they'd been going through some rough times, and they did not live together. And now, um, the Lord has something in mind, so please pray for brother Joseph. Um, also if you could keep in prayer, just some multiple prayer chains with many different prayer requests through Thunder Road Biker Church and Auburn Church of Christ and The Way Ministries, uh, so many people in need a prayer. So if he could just lift up the prayer lists from those three, as they are ever changing, that would be absolutely amazing. So the DABC family, I love you guys. I really appreciate all you guys' work and time and everybody's input, so God bless and God speed.

0 notes

twilightpony4 · 8 years ago

Text

HomeFront: 35. Goodnight?

The rise of the chinese sun bore from the mountaintops, spilling its light through the swinging bamboo and into her room window. Such vibrancy seeped through the cracks of her lime colored eyes, urging her to awaken. Last night was a hard one as she could feel how uncomfortable it was to sit up. It hit her. Leonardo probably hates her right now. Venus propped her knees up so she may rest her elbows onto them. Her large hands rubbed her face rather than wipe anything off of it. The sky was still purple; she observed as she looked out. About now was the time they would wake up every morning. The female terrapin flipped back around a lay on top of her crossed hands. There she lay, wishing to doze all the while trying to listen to her roommate get ready for the day. Minutes passed until a minute turned to five, and then to ten. Peculiar; she forced herself up and stopped her sulking to check on him. If he didn’t get up now, Miwa would have a herd of cows. Tip toeing, she crept around her own home. Her hands gripped the door frame first so she could pull herself to see. There lay no giant mass, let alone stand. Mona’s old room was completely deserted. The blanket was not folded up neatly underneath the pillow, but tossed and stretched to the side. He didn’t even take the time; he didn’t want to take the time. Leonardo wanted to get out of there before Venus could wake up. The female turtle felt even worse as she turned away from the room. By now, the sun sat directly on top of the majestic mountains. Venus took the back entry to the Wu Kwan. If Miwa wasn’t in that specific room, she didn’t want to face Leonardo by herself again. The back door creaked as she pulled it open and entered the kitchen. T her surprise, someone was in there. Putting down the daily newspaper was Miwa. Only her eyes were seen until she identified the visitor. “Zǎoshang hǎo.” she greeted, bringing it lower to her lap. Venus smile genuinely and relieved. “Zǎoshang hǎo.” she breathed. Miwa nodded and resumed reading. It did not dawn her what Venus’ intentions were or her own mental predicament, so she carried on as usual. The female turtle looked off, bringing her hands up to grasp her shoulders. They moved up and down, nervously. “Leonardo’s in the other room?” She inquired even though she couldn't hear a sound from it. The disappointed shake of Miwa’s head had her already guess to what he actually may be doing at the moment. “He was acting up, so I sent him up the Tùzǐ de yùnxíng trail.” She explained. A little observation and you could tell that she wanted to keep her mind off of her newly irritated student. The shuffling of the newspapers irked her more as she wanted to search for something to distract her. “I can't believe how ornery he has become since he's been with us. He seemed like such a nice student in the beginning.” There was disappointment in that last bit of her voice. The female turtle groaned gently and took a seat beside her at the table. “I assure you he's always been. It's just been complicated lately.” “You know” her tone dropped in a low melody. “the half of that “complicated” frustration could be diminished if you talked to him.” Venus looked up from her lap. Barely, Miwa lowered the newspaper once more. This time, her welcoming eyes now had a brow raised knowingly. She just shook it off with her head. “I have talked to him.” She forced out. She sounded much like an annoyed child. With a slouch and folded arms, the turtle completed the look. Her teacher didn't make much of it. She knew the situation well and knew Venus was trying to be vague about it. “Not the way you should be.” Miwa turned the page. “Learn to grow up, Mei Chan.” “Still learning.” Venus grumbled. “What was that?” That caught Venus by surprise. It wasn't an angry type of delivery, but a ‘I know what you said, let me hear you say it again’ type of voice. The turtle sighed. “Nothing. You're right, but, I'm not at all comfortable about it.” She brought a leg up, letting the heel of her foot sit on the edge of the main platform. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me. I didn't even imagine it since there could be no way.” It was true. Never in a million years did the terrapin believe she could be in a such a predicament. She was caught off guard yet alone shy about the subject because she never wanted to think about it. One who didn't want to remember that she was probably not going to be exposed to numerous people and living the sheltered life; it was better not to imagine it. Now, she was in the middle of it and didn't know what to do. Eyes were shut up tight, trying to block any dark thoughts and wishing that the situation could disappear altogether. If you thought Leo was stressed, Venus had been stressed for the same “half frustration” he was facing, but hers was at a different angle. She wondered why she had to grow up and face these things in the first place. Everyday she gets closer to adulthood and is constantly reminded of it. Heck, Miwa just told her, but these weren't the type of things she wanted to face. Venus didn't wish for anything like this at all. How come she just couldn't live in her own world; the world Mona once let her live? Venus rolled over and hit her head on the table. Only her forehead propped her face up to allow her to breathe. “Mutant or not, I always had faith in you.” A sweet hand pressed on the sweaty, three fingered one. Through her fingertips, she could feel her shaking. Poor chihuahua, she was. The blue fabric wrapped around her head glided off of her head. Venus clenched it in her hand, letting her frustration go directly to it. “Don't let your special attributes get in the way of letting you be happy.” The motherly teacher leaned over as an attempt to look at her. Feeling the pressure, Venus turned her head some towards her, dragging it along the tabletop. Eyes once bright and lime now began to change into a pink hue. The most understanding smile was granted upon her older lips in a way that soothed the terrapin girl. She returned a sad smile as she picked her face off of the table. Soon, it went away. “Shì.” The side of her palm pulled back the corner off her eye, wiping away any incoming tears. She began to nod, accepting the facts. “I'll try to fix this.” “How I want it?” “Not really.” Miwa raised a brow. Did she really have to retell her about how they got here in the first place? Venus knew and thought up quick to explain herself. “I know, I know, but I'm not ready for that yet. I have another trick up my sleeve that might take care of the ‘other’ half of that complication.” Miwa could see that her student was so wrong up and thinking straight again, or so she hoped. “I just need to call up a friend.” “Who could that be?” The newspaper no longer interested her. Miwa awaited her answer when she got up out of her chair. On the counter was a teapot. Without whistling and watching her pour it in her cup, it was already made. Must be her second cup. “My best friend is Leonardo’s younger brother, Donatello.” Miwa nodded while swallowing. “Ah, yes. I remember Leonardo speaking of his family. Which one is this one?” “The engineer.” Her response was spritely. “He is really good and well practiced in the technological, engineering, and bōjutsu arts.” “Good boy, I assume?” She took another sip. The rim stopped just under her widened eyes. Probably the dopiest grin on a female turtle plastered Venus’ face just that second. “The sweetest.” She nearly sang. It's her bestie after all; got to talk him up to make a good impression on mom. So far, so good. Miwa was grinning in her cup. “Good. I don't want you to spend too much time with nasty folk, like that one brother he described. It might rub away at your kindness.” Her joke was half-hearted, especially when she giggled for a few seconds and leaned gingerly on the counter. “Raphael isn't bad,” Venus spoke in his defense. “he's just grouchy at times. Believe me, he really is a teddy bear. A very moody teddy bear.” Just about every word she hears about Raphael is negative, but never do they tell about the sweet things he does. Okay, he was totally ‘rude boy’ when he met Mona, but now their great friends themselves. He always looked out for everyone in a way even Leo couldn't see. Who to go to when you need some muscle building advice or non-ninjutsu training; the one to go to when someone's chasing you or beating you down knowing full well that he'll return the favor to the oppressor. He's own own special brand of sweet. “Watashi sore o hanbai shiyou to shite kudasai. Tsuneni daremoga yūjin o tsukuru shiyō to shite imasu. (Keep trying to sell me that. Always trying to make everyone a friend).” The crooked smile on the turtle’s face gave in to a playful chuckle. “You know I can't understand you when you speak in Japanese.” “Which is why I mutter in it. You can't understand a word I say.” Both shared a light moment until their stomachs settled. Miwa took another sip and looked out to the window. The sun was in the same position as it was when Venus arrived with the exception of the songbirds choosing to belt their melody at that moment. Venus sat there, much obliged to how much better she felt since arriving. “I'll dial him up.” The turtle girl reached to her side, raising her hip up. Her phone was now in her hands as she turned it on and checked the time. “You may want to leave when you take that call.” Venus looked up from the device and towards her content teacher. She kept her eyes out in the distance. Some features of her face lit up while the crevices of her eyes and under her chin were shadowed. “I see Leonardo’s shadow a distance away.” “Donnie. Donnie.” “Hm?” He woke with a start. In the crack of his eye, he saw Vern with eyes peeled as he flew the night air. A shaking arm underneath him pressed his plastron for he shook him awake. Secondly, his vision could see a bright light bending off of himself. The turtle slowly regained a sitting up position in the co-pilots chair as he reached for his side. The bright light dilated his eyes. A finger or two readjusted his crooked glasses as he squinted to read the caller ID better.“It's Venus.” That woke him up some. “Take that in the back, it might mess up the instruments.” Vern advised, less snarky as usual. Must be because he was tired himself but he was too busy making sure they don't crash into the ocean. The groggy terrapin unbuckled his seatbelt and rolled up and out of the chair. The small space posed a little challenge as he crawled over the seat. Not that getting over it was the challenge, but making sure that he didn't crush the phone still sitting in the palm of his hand. As his body rolled over it, he used only the side of his phone carrying hand to catch himself and pull his legs up and over the seat. “Graceful.” He heard Vern comment as he opened the door out. The passenger cargo was just as dim as the cockpit. The stars whizzed by as the plane flew through the night sky. Only the blue light of the moon let themselves into the plane. Without anyone making a comment when he came in quite casually, he assumed they were asleep. He had to be quick as the phone continued ringing. As he fast walked down, he saw his family. First there was Michelangelo. A pair of headphones squeezed his head as he lay across all three seats in his row. The top of his head pressed into the side of the plane as his arms straddled the seat. Donnie made sure to step highly as he came over. Also to his right, just before he could open the door to the back compartment of the plane, there was a funny sight. Raphael and Mona Lisa were sleeping side by side, hands still intertwined from earlier. Don thought nothing of it, especially the funny but as to where both had their heads lolled back. Raphael’s rested on the side of the plane while Mona’s pressed against his arm. Both sleep soundly enough, but their gaping mouths were wide enough to catch flies. Man, if Venus wasn't calling he'd take a picture on the spot. He answered the phone the moment he shut the door behind him. “Good night?” He yawned while trying to figure out what it was like in her time zone. He passed out so quickly that he couldn't recall how long they've been hiding. “I am so sorry, Donnie.” She was very sincere. Venus knew she often called him at an inconvenient time for him, but he couldn't care less. “No, I’ve been awake... all night.” He lied, trying to wake up. “What’s up?” “It’s Leonardo.” “Are you guys okay? What happened?” His voice cracked at the last sentence. “He’s been acting up lately.” “Leo? No. It’s not like him to act up when it came to his teachings, especially when sensei was around.” “Well, he’s still listening and carrying out her instructions.” “Ok, so the bad part is…?” He really didn't, but he wished there was something bad going on. She didn't wake him up for nothing. “He’s trying way too hard.” What? Does she remember who she was talking about? “Of course, Leo’s a try hard.” Try hard at winning, try hard at kissing up, try hard at being perfect, the list could keep going. “No, I mean, really trying hard. Every task she gives him, he becomes angrier, furious even,if he doesn’t get it right. It doesn’t take my gift of senses to see that Leo is carrying a dangerous amount of stress in his system.” “How dangerous could it be? On your guess, how serious could this get?” Taking extra care not to scrape his shell on the door and wake up the mutants just on the other side of it, he crouched down and sprawled out his legs, sitting down. Currently, the phone calls from Venus were strictly between the two of them. “Honestly?” She sounded unsure, unsure that he would agree with her personal diagnosis. “Honestly.” He assured her. There was a breath on the other side of the world. “Leo might fall into depression.” “I don’t think he’ll…” Before he could finish, Venus cut him off. It wasn't her nature but this was an exception. “You asked for my honest opinion, and for someone who almost watched one of my own fall almost slip into a depression, I believe he may too.” There was a pause. Venus took the time to breathe and regathering her thoughts. Donnie waited patiently on the other line. A quiet yawn escaped from his throat.“Leonardo may have a strong mind and discipline, but his heart is getting weaker.” Her elaboration perked his brother’s interest.“He’s trying to contemplate two things at once.” “Well, what kind of things?” “I can’t tell you.” “Why not?” The turtle thought they could talk to each other about everything. What kind of best friend is she? “As much as intruding my senses are, I prefer not to tell you. But, I will say that he has a fear of some type. Would you know one perhaps? Maybe we could have an intervention with him?” “Fears?” The word didn't even seem to match up with his bold brother. “Why do you think we call him “Fearless Leader”?” It wasn't for joking reasons. “There must be something he’s afraid of. Everyone is afraid of something.” “I… I don’t know.” All three of his fingers grasped the side of his glasses as he pulled them off of his head. “From what you're describing, it sounds like maybe one of his fears is failing.” “When was the last time Leonardo failed at something? Anything! Big or small in our eyes.” “Not much. Mikey and I keep a journal of his failures.” There was silence. “You guys keep a journal of Leonardo’s failures.” It wasn't a question. The female turtle enunciated each word in monotone to make sure she heard him right. “Yep, but it's more like getting slightly electrocuted by outlets or falling off his scooter.” He pushed the phone closer to his cheek as he leaned his head towards the closer shoulder. In doing so, he trapped the phone underneath his cranium. “I wouldn’t think any of those would suffice.” Pretty sure he's not afraid of falling off scooters or breaking toasters. It's a little (a lot) far fetched for someone dubbed as the true ‘Fearless Leader’. “Think of something really big that happened to you guys.” Brainstorming time; why was this so hard? The turtle girl remained quiet as she thought of her own suggestions as she waited for him. Surely after 16 years of living together, there has to be something Leo would jump or scream at every time he sees something. Something big, something big, something… It hit him. Brown eyes grew wide without the need of his spectacles. “When Shredder stabbed Splinter and took us away.” His whispers carried a haunting tone. Venus held her breath. This was probably the biggest thing that's ever happened to them, how come she couldn't realize this sooner, I mean… Now’s not the time. This just dove into some intense territory. Donnie continued. “He threatened to kill him, and before that, I remember Leo shouting out for him. He was trying to protect him. Then, we had to surrender and he stabbed him anyways. We all failed, but I remember Leonardo taking it especially hard. Mike and I were drained in those pods they kept us in, but he was arguing with Sacks.” He remembered it all too well. Vivid images of the horror rolled like a camera. “That's got to be it! Thanks so much, Donnie.” “No prob.” He had to give himself a little pat on the back, but a cocky blow on the fingertips should suffice. “You sounded a little upset when you first started talking. Were you crying?” From the air and slight sounds, it sounded like she was fixing herself up. “No. No, I'm fine. I just wish you were here with me. This whole trip would have been a lot easier with your head around.” “Me too.” He smiled.“Goodnight, babe.” “Babe?” Her confused reply snapped him awake. “Bestie!” he belted out, correcting himself on the spot. Venus giggled, which loosened him up to explain without his voice cracking. The nerdy turtle tended to do that when he was nervous. “I was with Vern and he keeps pointing his fingers and such while saying ‘babe’.” It was really hard saying he was in a cockpit with the man, a cockpit to a plane that happened to be secretly heading to her location. So far, he was doing pretty good of keeping that little bit of a secret. She doesn’t tell him about Leonardo, he doesn’t tell her that the whole family’s coming to her aid. I guess you can keep one truth away from a friend (don’t take that to heart, kids!). “Ha. Fame’s really going to his head, huh?” “You said it.” He chuckled along with her. “Goodnight… Bestie.” “Goodnight… Babe.” She answered playfully. For sure there was a pink hue on his cheeks, which was quite satisfying. Her giggles prolonged until they became distant and then completely shut off when she ended the call.

#tmnt #tmntfanfiction #tmnt2014 #tmnt2016 #homefront #tmntmiwa #tmntvenus #tmnt Donatello

0 notes