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expresso-bean · 6 months ago

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The Man Out of Time [A ShadAmy and Silver Story]: Chapter 1

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Amy Rose

Description: It has been seven years of peace following the grueling war with Eggman and his army. Though it took time to rebuild what they have lost, life for the Freedom Fighters could not be better. Whether it's finding love or trying to run from their past, celebrating post-war times has been different for each of them.

All is well until a silver hedgehog comes knocking on Amy Rose's door to deliver the tragic news about an incredible force that seems to be the cause of the future's destruction.

Will anyone believe the mysterious hedgehog's cry for help? Or will he be left to fight for his future alone? Read to find out!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.1k

POV: Amy Rose

!! I do not own any of the art/gifs/borders used in my chapters. All credits to the rightful owners !!

Masterlist

I squinted my eyes as the unbarring, golden light of the sun shone in my face. I groaned and let out a small yawn and turned my back to the light before I blinded myself.

"Ugh, there goes my eight hours of sleep," I affirmed to myself as I relentlessly arose from my bed and rubbed my eyes. "What else could go wrong today?"

Today was yet another failed, semi-sleepless night for me. Recently, I have been having a lot of those because of restless nights filled with flashbacks and nightmares about my past.

About...him.

He has been the one plaguing the back of my mind for the last 10 years since the day he left me without a single goodbye. As much I tried to push the memory of his sudden disappearance, I couldn't help but wonder about the reason behind his sudden abandonment of me. Why did he leave me when he knew he was the only one I had left? The only thing I had left of the mess I call a family.

I looked to my right, my phone was still ringing.

'If you hadn't interrupted me, how would I have laid awake here? What else what I have dreamed about?'

I shook my head, and when the phone stopped vibrating, I saw that Sonic had called me 9 times.

'Oh no! The get-together! I completely forgot!' I reached for my phone and nearly melted into my bed when I saw I still had an hour to get ready. 'I still have time!'

I jerked up when my phone started to ring again. Sonic's name and photo shined in my face and I quickly answered it.

"Morning Ames," Sonic's usual friendly voice flooded the phone. "You're still pulling through, right?"

"Yeah, sorry, I was busy with something! Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything is more than okay. Cream and Tails just showed, it was weird not seeing you with them. I thought it was a good idea to check up in with you."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, sorry I was busy this morning, but I'll be there soon!"

"Okay, take your time, see you then!"

"Bye!" I exclaimed and hung up before he could say anything in return. Sonic's house is 10 minutes walk from mine, so I need all the time I can get. "I need to get ready, fast!"

I rushed to my closet and began to change out of my nightwear and into a fresh, cherry red dress along with a cool-toned peach blazer. I took a brief second to check myself in the mirror, and I realized the pure tiredness on my face. I was much paler than usual, and I had deep, dark bags under my eyes that not even concealer could fix. I knew my friends were bound to bring it up, and I had no excuse for it, and there was no way I was going to tell them the truth. I sighed, mentally preparing myself for what to come and dashed out the door, almost tripping as I tried to close it, making sure it was locked and secure.

The view of the clear blue sky and the feel of the fresh, cold Autumn air were the first things to greet me as I walked down from my doorstep to the sidewalk. As I walked, I was sure to take in the rest of the lovely nature that surrounded me. I watched with a smile as the birds chirped in peach and cherry trees, and colorful butterflies fluttered around bushes and flowers. It was certainly an unusual step up from the wasteland the world used to be. Just remembering the grey skies and dead plants that once filled this, beautiful world made me shudder and cringe at the very thought of having to re-live it. I speed up my pace when I saw Sonic's house in the distance.

"He sounded really excited on the phone, I wonder what this party is about!" I giggled to myself, letting my mind race at the number of things Sonic could be so ecstatic about. Then again, I give the man to much credit. One time he called me, full-on crying, because his girlfriend Sally never tried a chilly dog. "I swear if this is about a hot dog or something stupid like that..." I felt my eye twitch in annoyance as my voice trailed off. "I will leave if it is something stupid as that again."

I approached his doorstep and walked close to the light slate door to give it a soft knock. I heard loud footsteps approach, and the sudden opening of the door made me take a step back and squeak in surprise.

"Amy!" Sonic's loud voice greeted me as he engulfed me in a bear hug. I hugged him back and quietly said hello to him. He pulled back and smiled at me. "Come in, the rest of the gang already here!"

Sonic rushed inside his house, and I slowly followed in suit, closing the door behind me. A quick rush of anxiety filled my body when I saw all my friends in Sonic's living room, talking amongst themselves. It's been about a month since I have seen or spoken to any of my friends, mostly due to my own anxiety of telling anyone of them about him.

I felt as everyone's eyes fell on me, and I awkwardly gave a small wave as I approached them.

"Good morning, everybody!" I heard a union of 'morning' greetings and warm smiles from my friends. Cream, Cheese, and Rouge got up from where they were sitting to come and greet me. 'So far, so good!'

"Amy! It's so great to see you again!" Cream squealed as she and Cheese embraced me. "Chao Chao!"

I smiled and hugged her tightly, a wave of sadness hit me slightly, I really did miss her warm, honey-sweet voice.

"Hey hun, don't forget about me!" I gently unwrap my arms from Cream to greet Rouge, who I also missed in the past month. She hugged me tightly and swung me from side to side a little. "Ah, I missed you girl, where have you been?" I felt my body stiffen as she asked me that. My mind seemed to go blank as I let out an unsure 'uh' from my mouth. Rouge let go of me and clasped her hands on my cheeks to examen my face. "Hun, are you okay? You look tired."

I averted my eyes from her concerned gaze and took a step back. The room grew quiet, and the anxiety in me rose once more. The feeling of everyone's eyes burning holes into me drove me mad.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" I flashed a fake, reassuring smile and gave out an exhausted laugh. "Don't worry about me. I just didn't get enough sleep last night, that's all."

"Are you sure nothing is wrong, Amy? You can always talk to us, we are your friends," I looked at Cream nervously and lightly sighed. "We care about you."

"I know Cream. I just couldn't sleep, I swear." I shut my eyes, pleading for this interrogation to stop. "You know I'm a terrible liar."

'Smooth way to out yourself as a good liar.'

"Well, if you say so, hun. We just worry, okay?" Rouge reassured me in a calming tone. "Can you blame us for asking? It's been a while since any of us have seen you in person."

"I'm going to head to the restroom, I'll be back in a second."

"Sally and Sonic made breakfast, I'll fix you a plate, okay hun?"

"Thanks Rouge, I'll only be a bit!"

I gave the two girls a smile before excusing myself and headed in the direction of Sonic's bathroom. I felt as if my heart was going to erupt from the pent up frustration of not being able to express myself openly in front of my own friends.

"Rose."

The sound of that name startled me. I knew only one person who called me that.

"Shadow! Good morning, sorry, I didn't see you, I assumed you had passed off on this offer."

Shadow was reclining against a blue slate wall. He was only inches away from the doorway that lead to the bathroom and other rooms in the house. His eyes were shut, and he looked relaxed from what I could see.

"It seemed important to him," I smiled a bit, wanting to laugh. Shadow has a mind of his own, only showing up when he wants to, or if he needs too. "He also wouldn't shut up about it."

'So that's the real reason.'

"Y-yeah, I wonder what it could be. I imagine something important if he was pestering you so much about it."

"I suppose."

I stood there for a second, just staring over him. Last time I saw Shadow, I was having lunch with him. It was the anniversary of Maria's death. He doesn't usually like to be alone on those days.

I felt something pang in my lower abdomen. I remember why I was near this doorway now.

"S-sorry, give me one second."

I rushed into the bathroom and quickly when to relieve myself. When I was done, I went to wash my hands. Suddenly, I felt sweaty while I thought of my conversation with Shadow.

'Did he seem mad? He wasn't talking to much when I saw him.' I shut off the water, and when to dry my hands with the towel hanging beside the sink. 'No, why would he be mad. I haven't even seen him all this month. What is there to be mad about?'

I sighed , gripping onto the edges of the sink.

'Why am I so bad at this?'

I shook my head. I needed to calm down. Rouge and Cream where waiting for me outside.

'I'll worry about it later. Shadow's probably talking with everyone else by now. He won't be there when I get out anyway. There is nothing to worry about!'

I shut the light off and, with a shaky hand, unlocked the door. When I opened it, I was relieved to see no one was there.

'Nothing to worry about!'

"I know you're lying."

The words surged through my body like piercing electricity. Shadow was in the exact same place as he was before. His eyes were still shut, his stance hadn't changed a bit. Which wasn't surprising. I hadn't been away for too long. Still, it was out of character for him to say something like that to me.

'He seems to care about what I'm feeling. We've had out small moments in the past. I wouldn't expect for him to confront me about this like this.'

I smiled at him nervously. I would hope he'd assume I'm awkward rather than anxiously trying to hid what was really going wrong in my life.

"Don't avoid the obvious, Rose. I know you're not telling us something. You've been gone for well over a month without any explanation or contact with anyone, and when you do suddenly appear, you look frail, drained, and exhausted. Something isn't right."

I stood there in troubled awe.

'How was he able to read me so well?'

A cold shiver of fear erupted in my body as a tear slide down my cheek. I attempted to laugh it off to get him off my tail but obviously failed miserably as more tears escaped my eyes. I quickly looked away from him when I felt his piercing stares. The stares of people always made me anxious, no matter how many times I try to ignore it, it always makes me feel nervous. I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself to walk away from him to not further embarrass myself when I felt something warm wrap around me tightly.

'Was Shadow...hugging me?'

I gained the courage to open my eyes and was met with my face near a tuft of white fur and arms place softly on my waist. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks and the pounding of my heart in my chest, but not out of anxiety, but out of giddy nervousness.

"No more tears, Rose, talk to me after. Please."

With wide eyes, I nodded and slowly released myself out of his grip. Rouge and Cream looked at me and tilted there heads a bit.

"Are you okay?" Rouge handed a plate of pancakes topped with whipped cream and colorful berries to Amy, who set it down on her lap. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Or worse."

"No, I'm okay," Cream handed her a fork. "Thanks girls, I'm just hungry."

'He's right,' Amy shoveled a pieces of berries and whipped cream into her mouth. 'I'm a liar.'

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theplanetprince · 1 year ago

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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

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childofaura · 2 years ago

Text

Ok, so I'm back at my computer now, I've gotten through all my messages.

Time to break down this whole Scooby Doo AI fiasco and why the people defending it have all the integrity of a moldy piece of wood. Because I thought I should just put it behind me after the first day, until I saw more bullshit from people coming out of the woodworks, including people trying to come at me with false equivalencies they were so smug about. Putting this under a read-more so people don't get exasperated with this post stretching their dash/blog.

Before we get to the main argument, we have to address what happened. And even before we address what happened, let's make something clear for anyone who's just here to argue and detract from my main point:

The animator at the center of this doesn't deserve to be harassed. A discussion deserves to happen and people are allowed to express their displeasure. But the animator doesn't deserve to be dogpiled.

So the main gist of it is that an animator created a pseudo-stop motion Scooby Doo short crossed over with FNAF, in the style of Rankin' Bass stop motion. The thing that's got everyone in an uproar is the fact that he used AI voices for most of the other cast (to my understanding, he only did the voices for Shaggy and Scooby). This caused the whole shitshow that's going on at Twitter right now.

Now there's a lot for me to break down on this one; I've already explained most of what was wrong with the excuses people were trying to come up with for this guy (Whom for some reason, people are trying to paint him as this "poor widdle kid who's just following his passion-" GUYS he's FUCKING 23 YEARS OLD. HE'S AN ADULT). But I'm gonna recap most of them, and then some based on the new discourse that's been coming out.

>"He can't afford voice actors! He's a single indie animator just working on a passion project!"

You can put out a casting call and let people know that this is a portfolio project, and you would like to see if anyone is willing to do it for free. Lots of people online are pretty enthusiastic about joining fan-dubs or dubbing projects even if it doesn't pay, and if you advertise the premise, you will have PLENTY of takers.

Or, regardless of whether you sound like a character or not, you do it yourself, with family/friends helping for roles of the opposite gender. Your credits should look like this:

(Credits are from Matthew Gafford's "A Fox in Space Episode 2")

Or, additionally, you can collab with dubbing productions like Alex Henderson did for "Return to Krocodile Isle" with Bootleg Dub Productions:

youtube

The bottom line is that there's no excuse for resorting to AI, especially if you claim to hate AI. You're just a hypocrite.

>"So you hate fanart then!"

NOT REMOTELY COMPARABLE. If you wanna compare this to fanart, this is the equivalent of tracing over someone else's work without their permission and adding a side note that it doesn't belong to you. The fanart/voice comparison only works when you're doing an IMPRESSION of a character. AI is plagiarizing someone's voice with existing content. Someone doing Sonic voice impressions based on a specific actor is the equivalent of fanart, while using a Sonic AI voice of the existing actor is the tracing.

>"You must hate YTPs where they splice together or isolate certain audio!"

THAT'S NOT COMPARABLE EITHER, DIPSHIT. YTPs are done using PRE-EXISTING recorded lines that the actors were compensated for! AI is generating entirely brand new "recordings" that the actors have no compensation for! Actors like Long John Baldry with the famous "PINGAS" line or Gary Schwartz with "Pootis" were asked to record those lines, and paid for it. You're generating brand new content with an AI voice that they were not asked to record, nor compensated for.

>"This was for his portfolio! It's a harmless indie project!"

See, this one is harmful to the animator specifically. A big thing I've learned about the animation industry, having learned from my friend who went to art school, having learned under famous animators, and having collaborated/cooperated with a LOT of her peers, is that the animation industry is a buddy-system team effort. Want to make an animation with voices? Hey, these guys over here want to be VAs and are looking for any kind of little work they can to see if they can get the hang of it. Cool, let's work on this together! Now, when you're an animator with a portfolio using AI, you've essentially told your peers to go fuck themselves. In addition to that, you're telling your potential employers these details about yourself that you may not want them thinking:

You have no moral integrity and you're willing to cut corners when put into an unfavorable situation.

You're dishonest, and you'll cheat out other people who could stand to benefit from having a role in your portfolio.

You're unintuitive, and can't think outside the box when it comes to resources being scarce.

You're lazy and unwilling to look for an ethical solution if you're lacking important aspects of your projects like the voice actors.

And even worse, these people defending this situation are bouncing between "It's a passion project, who cares!" and "It's a portfolio, who cares!" PICK ONE, BECAUSE THERE'S A VAST DIFFERENCE IN NUANCE BETWEEN "FUN PASSION PROJECT" AND "SERIOUS PORTFOLIO WORK".

>"AI isn't hurting the integrity of art or harming anyone!"

Hi, remember when Erica Lindbeck asked a Youtuber to remove their video of her voice being used in AI to sing a song? And did so professionally and even stated the person she contacted was very sweet and understanding about it? AND PEOPLE FUCKING CHASED HER OFF OF TWITTER BECAUSE SHE HAD AN ISSUE WITH HER VOICE, HER FUCKING VOICE, BEING USED IN WAYS SHE DIDN'T CONSENT FOR? It wasn't just about the silly AI parodies, she even said, and I quote, "It's not about *this* video in particular or *this* creator specifically. I've had a content creator make an AI video of my character [referring to her character of Loona on TV show Helluva Boss] saying disparaging remarks regarding the show I was on. Literally putting words in my mouth that could easily be taken as mine. As an artist, that is so terrifying. I absolutely believe these people are making this stuff for fun, and are not fully aware of the negative effects AI content could have on the people whose voices they're using. I never meant for this creator to be dogpiled." And people still decided to attack her and just further disrespect her wishes. People refused to treat her like a fucking human being because the shiny keys they drool over and play with are violating and intrusive, after all the horrible shit she's gone through the year before with losing her boyfriend Billy Kametz. What it's doing is solidifying the perception that "AI is no big deal and who cares what people do with it, just let us have fun you fucking stuck-up asshole".

>"It's fine when small-time indie creators are using it, it just shouldn't be done by big corporations".

And now you've just admitted you have no fucking integrity. If corporations are looking at all these AI covers and AI projects being done on small scale, why should they give a shit if they do it too? I mean, everybody's doing it right? Who cares?

You're just affirming their notion that actors deserve to be cheated out of their work.

I'm sure there's a billion other excuses that some of these chucklefucks are going to come up with, but in the meantime, these are the biggest arguments I've seen (some people trying to argue with me DIRECTLY) coming from people. And I GUARANTEE these hypocrites are going to be coming out of the woodwork screaming when the next story breaks that a corporation is doing the exact same thing, or when it happens to someone they actually like. I know this isn't going to change anyone's mind if they're already set on treating VAs as non-humans, but if you're concerned about AI and actually have a moral backbone, these arguments are here for you if you need some good solid reasoning to fight back with.

Edit: Since making this post, I’ve calmed my shit down significantly more. I realize I’ve tended to come off as way too unapproachable whenever I tackle any sort of discourse, usually because I’m coming right off of a personal argument with someone else. And that blinds me to the fact that there are people out there who are nothing like the asshats I’ve just been arguing with.

So honestly and truly, if you have a good counterpoint, come and engage in the conversation. We’ll approach this civilly and see if we can’t at least gain a perspective, even if we still disagree with each other in the end.

#discourse #AI discourse #anti ai #Youtube

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ultrvmonogamy · 2 years ago

Note

is this originally your photo or do i just think i see you everywhere? https://www.tumblr.com/kill-the-head-2023/727611088704880640

thank u for noticing n looking out for me.

yes, that is originally my photo featuring my hand n my knife, which i took specifically for my tumblr n only uploaded to tumblr. unfortunately plenty of ppl here (including popular bloggers) r content to steal n repost pics, words, n memes from less popular blogs or blogs they think r no longer active.

actually, i'd forgotten something recently relevant which is that back when i had v little following, i'd created n posted the following edit of a familiar meme:

i'd uploaded it to exactly one place, n a few days later i saw a mutual reblog it onto my dash n was like "whoa that has a lot more notes than i'd realized" (upwards of 500 which was one of the first few times i'd ever experienced that). and then i saw that it wasn't mine.

it's just a meme right? anybody can do that. effectively anyone who can access the meme can easily edit out some words like i did. okay, so then fucking do it, bc taking the work of someone that u obviously must think is worth sharing n then euploading it to take the credit/notes instead of sharing from the blog that brought it to the community is disgusting imo.

so i left a p tame comment n offered them the gimp files too and included a link to the original. given how established that blogger was, i expected at least some response, whether it be an apology or deflection or smth else, but i never got one.

however, i'm remembering now that the blogger i'm talking abt happens to be close w at least one of the ppl who's been distorting as well as talking straight bullshit abt me :)

i'm not likely to call anyone out publicly for this kind of thing (at least not for my own content) again any time soon. it's not worth it. it seems there r plenty of ppl r quite happy to slander someone's reputation in the most hideous, potentially life-ruining ways without regard for reality over a few hundred notes, n the risk to reward ratio is simply not worth it to me.

thank u for the ask bestie. i hope ur well 🫶

#ty bestie <3 #mail #anon #i hate it here #abt #legacy #oc

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shelby-love · 4 years ago

Text

STEFAN SALVATORE

Fatherly Joy of Letting Go

Requested: no

Prompts: “Aren’t you going to give me the ‘if you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you’ talk?”; “Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise.”

Credits to @oopsprompts for the perfect prompts! You can find their post on my side-blog ( @fairy-archive ), I reblogged it!

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I LOVE THIS (915 words wow!)

Tags(general): @fofisstilinski @short-potato @miranda0102 @httphiddlestan @caromichaela @xx-missunicorn-xx @jemmakates @lorenakaspersen @scarletsoldierrr @theravenclawmarauder @httphiddlestan @tclaerh @chefdoeuvre

NOTE: Because I closed requests for One Chicago, I will be opening new tag lists for other fandoms so people on my general tag lists don’t have to be tagged on my all posts. Makes sense? :) <3

Let me know if you want to be added to my TVD (The Vampire Diaries) and TO (The Originals) tag list!

Rebekah maneuvered the golden hairpins into your hair with what looked like actual struggle. "Could you stop moving for a second?"

"I'm trying." You mumbled through gritted teeth. Not only were the hairpins the sole reason your scalp was hurting, but they were also incredibly over the top.

What kind of teenager wears gold encrusted hairpins from the 16th century to a first date in the 21st one. You, apparently.

They seemed extensive even with the fact that you were going out with a century old vampire.

Your lips twisted in distaste when you saw them glimmer under the light.

"These very pins were worn by Anne Knollys in the 16th century. A baroness. Gorgeous if you ask me." Your aunt spoke up, pinning another golden pin into your curls. "Here. All done."

You wanted to asked what the fuss was all about but then again... She probably knew the woman that had once owned the very hairpins that are stuck in your hair.

Rebekah had a way of making things extraordinary. Dressed in casual clothing - a t-shirt and a pair of jeans – it was your hairstyle that spoke volumes and told a story of who you were. Someone confident and naturally beautiful. "Wow."

"I know right?" She beamed, pulling you up with little to no effort. "Now the dress."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Pinch me."

She laughed, "I won't. Because you know it's real."

Getting into the dress was easier said than done. Rebekah was particularly keen on helping you in without moving a single hairpin. The flowy dress had a special shine to it. You looked great.

"You look gorgeous, my love." She mused with a small smile as she fixes the back of your dress.

"You really think so?"

"I bet he won't be able to take his eyes and hands off you tonight," Rebekah remarks, her eyes alight with excitement.

You grasp your dress in your hands and make your way down. Sure enough, light chatter makes its way into your ear as you descend the stairs.

Stefan Salvatore is standing in the grand foyer, talking quietly with your father and uncles. They all look tall and imposing, though Elijah, Kol and your father had a certain air around them. Older vampires, let alone the oldest ones, tended to have weight in their stares, as if the passing centuries had left a tangible heaviness behind their tale.

Stefan is standing in the middle of them with his back facing the staircase.

They cease talking as soon as the clicking of your heels enter their ears, and the smell of your perfume wafts through the air. Stefan turns around, and you feel as if all breath from your lungs was knocked out. You swallow shyly, still not quite unable to meet his stare.

His handsome looks don't deceive. The hero like hair is combed back and styled nicely in a way that made you sure he had help. Underneath the dark expensive suit, he's wearing a milky white dress shirt and a striped gray and deep red silk tie.

Stefan's eyes widen when he catches the sight of you. They rake you from top to bottom, from the golden pins to the tips of your black pointy heels, then back up again before settling to your eyes. Something flared in his eyes, exciting you for what's to come this evening.

He steps forward gracefully as you finish walking down the stairs. "You look beautiful, Y/N," he says before he brushes his warm lips on your knuckles.

"Have fun you two," says Elijah with a smile. Your eyes dart to the expensive bottle of wine he cradles in his arms. Very expensive.

No wonder he's letting you go just like that.

"Don't stay out late," reminds Kol, raising his index finger to Stefan.

"Do we have a curfew?" You ask him jokingly.

"Yes." He informs proudly. "Be back before midnight. I'll be here waiting with my shotgun."

Snickers and light laughs erupt within the groups.

Stefan Salvatore smirks, pulling you close to him. "Aren't you going to give me the 'if you hurt my daughter, I'll kill you' talk?"

He had directed his question at your real father. The one who really had the right to wait for you with his shotgun. Or fangs, in his case.

If it were any other man, he would have him dead before sunrise.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you – Stefan Salvatore wasn't just anyone.

Not even your dad could kill him thanks to the history the two shared long before you were in the picture.

"Brave as always, Stefan." Klaus mused with a smirk dancing on his lips.

"I try my best." Your date returned in the same matter with a gallant tilt of his head.

Your darling father walked toward you, only you, and took your hands in his like he had done countless of times when you were a child. Something felt different because he didn't want to let go. "You look dashing."

"Thank you, dad."

The kiss he pressed to your cheek was the seal of his approval.

"Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise."

"Nik!"

"Relax Rebekah," He brushed her off. "This is me being approving of their relationship."

The air changed and you breathed in relief.

"Now," Your dad clapped. "Off you go. And like Kol said, we will be waiting."

His eyes glowed in yellow for effect.

Stefan only smiled tightly, gripped your waist, and maneuvered you to his flashy car.

"That went well." He muttered, once both of you settled inside and the leather scent of the car's interior seemed to overtake your senses.

"Stefan," you breathed, eyes glimmering under the moonlight. "It couldn't have gone better. Trust me."

MASTERLIST

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries stefan #the vampire diaries klaus #tvd imagine #tvd #tvd fanfiction #tvd x reader #Stefan Salvatore #stefan salvatore imagine #stefan salvatore x reader #stefan salvatore fanfiction #klaus mikaelson daughter #klaus mikaelson daughter imagine #klaus mikaelson daughter one shot #klaus mikaelson daughter fanfic

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mysticalmayhem1930 · 4 years ago

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Loki’s Dragon

>>Part Twelve<<

A/N I don’t own any of the Marvel characters. Just my own creations. This is my first multi part fan fiction. It was originally posted in Wattpad. But I rewrote the parts as I transferred them, so there are some differences.

Summary: Loki plans a special evening with Eva.

Pairing: I originally wrote this as Loki x Eva but it can be read as Loki x Reader if you desire.

Links to previous parts: Part One/ Part Two / Part Three/ Part Four/ Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eightt / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven

Credit to artist

Overall Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Adult Language

>>>18+ ONLY<<

They spent the rest of the week in Asgard. Loki enjoyed showing her around. They spent most of their time in the gardens and of course in his rooms.

Sitting on the base of what became their favorite fountain she looked at him "Loki I think we should be getting back to Ear... I mean Midguard soon."

"I know, I feel you long to be 'home' and we should get back and make sure no one took over Midguard without my approval." He laughed.

"I think I'm going to keep my new Asgardian battle armor.. It's very comfy, and now I know why you and Thor swear by it. That and you designed it."

“Glad that you like it, it does look amazing on you, but you could wear a sack and still look amazing.” Lazily dragging his fingers on her face lightly and running his fingers through her hair he looked down at her smiling. He enjoyed times like this alone with her, especially when she laid down with her head on his lap. Sighing " I don't want our time together to end so soon. Just let me show you one more night in Asgard then tomorrow we will head back to Midguard."

" Wow, my love, I didn't mean leave right now, you can be so infuriatingly literal some times" she laughed " I would love to spend one more night here"

"Wonderful, please let me make the entire night a surprise for you"

" I would love that" she said as he lifted her head to kiss her.

"Well, I've got some planning to do, but I'll catch up with you later in my…our rooms." He almost seemed giddy like a teenage girl, Eva smiled back at him enjoying his enthusiasm.

"Ok, I'll probably go for a swim and maybe read for a while."

"That's fine just stay out of our bed chamber until I come and get you. You may relax in the library if you desire. Love you."

“Love you more” she called after him.

He was up in a flash and dashing off to do his planning, leaving Eva sitting on the fountain shaking her head and smiling at him.

She got up and headed for the pools, thinking a nice swim would be relaxing.

Eva spent a few hours at the pool then made her way back to Loki's library. She found an interesting looking book and made herself comfortable on the couch with it and a blanket and started devouring the book. At some point she had fallen asleep. She dreamt of Loki and their future. It seemed so real, especially when he began kissing her lightly to wake her up.

"Wake up my sleeping beauty." He whispered in a sing song voice .

"Wha... oh shit I fell asleep, I didn't ruin the evening you had planned by sleeping through it did I?...Crap rambling aga..."

He leaned down and kissed her to stop her talking.

"You know I think it so very cute when you get like this and start talking fast, and the only way I can silence you is to kiss you. And no you didn't sleep through it, I wouldn't allow that" he smiled at her "now come with me" he put out his hand to her and led her into the bed chamber. She saw some clothes folded on the bed along with a pair of boots.

"Please do me the honor of putting them on in the other room?" He asked. "I want what I'm wearing to be a surprise for you too"

She nodded gathered the clothes and pair of boots and went into the bathroom to change.

At first she frowned at the skirt in her hands, but knew that if he picked this out for her it would look amazing. She slipped on the black gathered floor length skirt, and the black silk chemise. Eva laced herself into the emerald green leather bodice. Noticing how it cut just below her breasts leaving no need for a bra, figuring that it would be fun to go without underclothes and see how long it would take him to notice. She sat and put on the thigh high leather boots. She made adjustments in the mirror, put some light makeup on, and brushed her hair. With one last look in the mirror she called and asked him if he was ready, he replied in the affirmative. She was dying to see what he was wearing.

She opened the door to see him seated on the bed as he took in her look, he slowly stood up.

"Oh my you look ravishingly beautiful, especially in my colors."

She took in his look. A pair of nice tight black leather pants, a long doubled wrap belt circled his waist. He had a Victorian style green silk shirt. His black leather vest buttoned up and topped off with a black brocade print tail coat. On his feet were a pair of black knee length boots covered in buckles. His hair pulled back in an elaborate ponytail using multiple emerald ribbons, laying along his neck and down his back to his shoulders.

Loki crossed the room in a few strides and took her in his arms. Kissing her and holding her he said "How did I get so fortunate to get you to myself?"

"I keep asking myself the same thing my Prince."

“Are you hungry? I had the kitchen create a traditional Asgardian meal for you.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you, and yes I’m getting hungry.”

“Then if I may escort you to dinner, my Lady?” He asked as he offered her his arm.

He led her to the dining room, pulled her seat out for her, and took his seat across the table from her. He reached for her hands and held them while they were served wine. When dinner arrived they reluctantly broke their hold to eat. As they finished eating Loki leaned across the table to take her hand in his. Looking deep into her eyes noticing the gold flecks in her hazel irises for the first time, he thought about how many times she looked up at him her eyes full of expression. The times he wanted to tell her how much he loved her, and how those other jerks didn’t deserve her. His heart was torn each time she cried in his arms over some looser that wasn’t worth her time. This time he only saw the love she radiated towards him. How much she cared for him. He had never felt love like this before, he was so overjoyed at how they were connecting.

“I have a few things planned for you. If I may escort you to the next one.”

He took her hand and led her to a private balcony overlooking the sea. Creating a firework show just for them. Eva couldn't remember ever being this happy. She leaned back into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Noticing the chill to her skin he took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders. He also took the liberty to unbutton his vest. When the last firework exploded he turned her to face him and just held her to his chest. She was listening to his heart beat, and it began to beat faster. The next thing she knew it was lightly snowing. She looked up at him and saw his true skin tone and a mischievous smile, as he created their own personal snow storm. He held her closer to keep her warm. Music started playing from somewhere in the palace.

"My lady, May I have this dance?"

"Sure, but I'm not really that good."

"It nothing to worry about, it's all about following the lead, and lucky for you I happen to be a pretty good lead."

He took her hand in his and motioned for her to put her other hand on his shoulder. Sliding his other hand to the small of her back, he led her into the first few steps of a waltz. She followed his lead and they glided around the balcony for a few songs. She felt free and lighter than air.

"My lady shall we reitre for the evening?"

"Certainly my Lord."

They walked laughing all the way back to his rooms. When he opened the door she was astonished to see the room covered in rose petals. He closed the door behind him did a smidge of magic and placed his hands on the door around her head.

"Loki I don't know how to thank you for this evening, it was, well it was magical. I hope to have many more like it." He responded by kissing her.

"I hope to have one magical evening after another with you for many years to come." He replied.

#Loki #MCU Loki #Loki of Asgard #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki of Jotunheim #Loki LaufeyOdinson #Loki x Eva #Dragana #Avengers #Tom Hiddleston

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lesbiancarat · 4 years ago

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Book anon here to say today is a happy day because it is dk and vernon day ^0^ the fact they share bdays makes my heart so big like djakdnaks that's the best thing really! (I say this as I don't like celebrating my own birthday lol but that shiz makes me soft) like how can it not get better than sharing a birthday with your fellow bandmate who is also your buddy :'))

Back on topic, I am happy that in the fandoms I'm in, update blogs or accounts are well loved so no drama there but I agree on cc peeps, my gosh the decline of them is obvious for the past 2 years =/ I remember 2018 the carat fandom here was HUGE with creators and lots of notes but now...its hard to see more than 200 for some and while numbers don't matter because you should ALWAYS be doing this for fun, its so shocking to see the interaction go so low and its more likes. I do have a theory as to why this is the case and it might be due to nowadays, people on Tumblr find reblogging alot to be "too much" akaspamming. I would know because some told me I do this and I'm like ??? I am simply reblogging content I like and if it means hitting the rbelog limit so be it djajdjw. Legit idk why its seen as bad nowadays when everyone used to reblog alot and no one complained so maybe this could be why? Again a theory but it would make sense and its a shame if this is the case :c I admit I like stuff because I sometimes do reblog it for a color theme but mostly I hit the reblog limit so I want to reblog it later xD

But let's not get into people that take others work as their own -.- now I get giving credit for say icons (I do this for icons and headers I use because its the least I can do. I would link it but idk how to do it on Tumblr lol) but taking someone's say gif and just posting it on twitter to share is like ??? You do know there is a share button that SHARES THE ORIGINAL LINK BACK RIGHT? Smh i can't with people. That's why I try to make sure for icons at least I know its not a repost and try to stay away from pintrest as best as I can (also svt on pintrest? Are they making moodboards or smth? I leave Tumblr for a bit and this is what I come back to lol)

Oof I wrote too much again sjamdna I'm living up to my emoji huh? XD but yes my tooth is better! It hurt again last night but today we are good!

I'm late answering this but yeah the fact that dk and vernon share a Birthday is super sweet! it's fun that they get to do their birthday live together as well ^^

but yeah i joined carat tumblr around late 2017/early 2018 (i made this side blog during oh my era but I'd been reblogging svt stuff on main before then) and I'm p sure most if not all the cc's i originally followed are inactive now :( obviously like you said content creators should make content for fun and bc they want to and not for the notes, but it's understandably disheartening when less people are interacting with it and even the people who do still see your content are (at least seemingly) less enthusiastic about it (ie liking but not reblogging it, less ppl writing things in the tags or replies, etc.)

but that's so wild to me? I've never heard anyone say someone is reblogging too many things like... how do you expect to see posts if people don't reblog stuff?? id welcome that extra content on my dash dhfjfh. i guess you can go in specific tags but like. idk reblogging is the main function of tumblr i don't know why there are people sort of against it/not as willing to use it (i mean... i suspect at least one factor is other social media platforms relying more on algorithms and likes to show people new content and ppl are just more used to that maybe?)

i feel like to some extent people feel entitled to have every or any gif or fanart or fan content on their platform of choice, but like if an artist posts something on tumblr but not on twt or instagram it doesn't HAVE to be on twt or insta. people can make a tumblr (or whatever platform) account if that's the only place a creator is active and they really want to see their content. and if people want to share something cool to another platform it is not hard to just post a link to the original post and tell people to check it out. like i do that every once in a while if there's a translation that doesn't allow reposts, but i still want ppl to know that trans exists if they wouldn't normally. and yeah!! you're gonna get less engagement that way!! but that's when you need to question whether your intention is really to share something cool w people who wouldn't normally see it or if you just want clout from this cool thing for yourself

and obviously not everyone who reposts things wo credit or permission has such innocent intentions as "i want to share this cool thing" but i think in a lot of cases it is something similar to that where ppl see something and they want to use it or share it for whatever reason and they just forget that it's something an actual person took the time to create and chose to share it. fan creations, unless otherwise specified, are not like memes in that they're intended to be shared and edited and copied to hell and back

but yeah pinterest is the worst in terms of reposts. like very little if any of the content on there (at least that's fandom related) is original content. the vast majority is reposts from other platforms without credit. a few weeks ago i saw someone on twt post like an old SVT photo or something and someone asked where it was from and they were like 'idk i saw it on pinterest' and when i tell u my blood boiled dhfkfj like!! ok!! so you're reposting a repost and u have no idea what the original source is... great

but yeah i have no idea what SVT is gonna do with pinterest... guessing it's just gonna be pledis posting official/behind photos that they also post on twt anyway. it really looks like it's something bh made them create given other bhl artists also have pinterests they're all following each other. also pledis didn't even officially announce the new account opening anywhere as far as I've seen so like. i think they really don't care dhfkfj

i really don't know what bh thinks they're gonna gain though like. ik there are active fandom pinterest users but i think most of them also have other social media like twt or insta. like they're not cracking open a huge new market, and LITERALLY NO ONE expects any musician or celeb to have an official Pinterest so. it's just so unnecessary dhfkgj

I'm glad your tooth is feeling better!!!

#melia.ask #ask #📖 anon #oof prime example of me getting carried away and writing too much #this was meant to be a quick break from studying #theres another ask in my inbox which is short anyway but i really have to get back to hw and studying ;-;#long post

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semirahrose · 7 years ago

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I have seen Civil War only once because I hated it so much, haha. So I can't hang with your take, I honestly don't have the memory for it. But I'm interested in what you think as an unbiased party seeing the fued between Cap and Tony, what are your thoughts on the accords and the fallout from Civil War?

I’m sorry it’s taken a while to reply to this! My inbox is a disaster.

[ Re: this response I wrote to a piece of MCU meta that crossed my dash ]

Makes sense! I saw it twice, I think, because I ended up watching it again with my dad, but I wasn’t too broken up about having to see it again. My favorite character is Bucky, and since he is—at best—a ghost of a shadow of an implication in most other Marvel movies, it was a treat for him to share some major screentime in that one. I can understand why you wouldn’t want to go back and rewatch it, though! It’s been years for me, so my memory is not the freshest, either! I owe any freshness of memory to my discussions with @monkeysatemylastrolo, who loves Tony and is super amazing, and deserves the credit for any coherence in this trash-fire of a response.

(As for the start of your ask… To me, it’s pretty clear to me that Tony, in his grief, did a few things that were unquestionably lethal. A repulsor beam to the skull seems kinda like a no-brainer re: lethality. However, it was also clear he calmed down as the fight went on. But that’s not what this post is about, so…)

In short: I am the farthest thing from knowledgeable about the franchise or its characters. I have never read the comics. I will try my best to answer, but please bear with me.

Okay, so.

What do I think about the feud between Captain America and Iron Man?

Honestly? I think it was inevitable. For both of them. And I don’t really think it was as much about the politics as it was about their own personalities and experiences. I’m not trying to excuse anyone, but I also can’t really criticize either of them, because it’s hard for me to imagine them making any other choices. Of course the politics played a role, but if that alone were the case, I think they had enough of a friendship under their belts to reconcile their differences without violence. So, deep-seated fears and insecurities it is.

Cut for length. Some of this I’m making sense of as I type it. Sorry in advance.

To me, it seemed like at least part of the reason that Tony felt so strongly about the Accords was his past experiences. He had been made to doubt himself and his own decisions. He has been betrayed. His good intentions have—through no fault of his own—turned against him. It makes sense that he’d agree with the Accords, because there is security in having many voices. Guilt and shame and trauma led him to associate his (and the team’s) individual choices with death and destruction.

To Steve, I think his history pushed him inexorably in the opposite direction. Way back when he was actually young, before he went in the ice, he was already a contrary fellow, but the war only pushed home his mistrust in government authority and oversight. I mean, Hitler. I don’t really think I need to say much more about how living in that time could instill a mistrust of authority in people. But that’s not nearly enough, of course, to justify his position. Enough to explain…. maybe. But then he comes out of the ice and helps to hold off a massive alien invasion as part of a government sanctioned group of enhanced individuals. Then the next Cap movie was all about how the organization he trusted and allied himself with was pretty much 90% Hydra, an organization that was still very much alive and well and which had kidnapped his closest friend, brainwashed him, repeatedly destroyed his memory, and forced him to kill. And ooohhhhhhh boy, the individualist streak is back. Anyone could be Hydra, and probably everyone is working for their own gain, anyway, with secret agendas from here to Mars. He withdraws. He only trusts himself. And you know, maybe that’s still not enough to justify his resistance, because the Accords were signed by so many countries and were supposed to really help things (though… I’ll get to that). Honestly, I can’t say that I see Steve as a terribly chilly, rational person. He’s hot-headed, and he does what he believes to be right, damn the consequences.

But honestly, forget everything I said above, because while those probably had something to do with it in the beginning (and reasonably so, since I think our experiences do shape our perceptions and are difficult to change or unlearn). It probably wasn’t about any of that, and I doubt he could have expressed it if someone had asked. I think it was largely about Bucky. As soon as Bucky became a target, Steve was out. The Greater Good or whatever the flip might have been a footnote at the back of his mind, but

a) his only link to his past and his closest friend was being falsely accused and targeted

b) he didn’t know that it was unrelated to all the other stuff going down

c) since when has he been a cool-headed decision-maker?

So, honestly? Both of their positions make sense, just based on their personalities and experiences. Based on the fallout from some of their very major battles (though with battles of that magnitude, the damage doesn’t necessarily fall on them, because it’s most often driven by malicious forces), Tony’s position makes sense. They need permission. They need oversight. They do not have the right to just invade and destroy. It’s disgusting and disrespectful, and Tony has enough to have nightmares about.

But for Steve, the Accords likely seem like red tape. Bureaucracy and hemming and hawing about things have, in his experience, not often led to good things. It’s what meant the division his friend worked with—captured, tortured, and imprisoned—didn’t mean enough to save. To the absolute detriment of the big picture, he focuses on people. (See: Infinity War. Killing one man could have stopped or delayed everything, but he couldn’t justify it to himself. To him, the people he cares for are the universe. It warps his sense of scale.) So, as he is wont to do, he said, screw all of you, and he went off to free Bucky’s unit. Once again, in Civil War, the “greater good” came (quite indirectly) at the cost of Bucky. …I can’t say his actions surprised me, considering his history with the perversion of authority and government.

What did I think about the Accords?

Honestly? They sounded like they could have been very good. I really can’t speak to them, though. I genuinely can’t, because the movie told us nothing of their particulars. Their detractors are citing weaknesses that are not explicitly there, and the supporters of the accords are touting benefits that are also not explicitly present. We know many countries signed them. We know they’re pretty hefty. We know Wakanda signed them, which is a big point in their favor, though—crap. Actually… pre-Black Panther, Wakanda was a very insular country, denying outside influence. That could have affected their position. Anyway! The sheer amount of support they got means that the Accords likely seemed pretty solid to the majority of countries (if not necessarily the majority of the world, because there are a couple countries that hold a bit more sway, population-wise. I dunno if there’s a list out there of countries that signed, so let’s just assume the majority of the world).

Honestly? It sounds like, as long as there were provisions in place for emergency action (like in the case of another alien invasion) and some Mutant voices on whatever committee made decisions (crap, enhanced human? Are mutants a thing in Marvel? I know some characters weren’t allowed to be Mutant because of some weird dispute with Fox or something, so they just ended up enhanced in Marvel movie canon, but I don’t know if Mutants are a thing in this universe)—anyway. It sounds like they could have been good.

But honestly, I don’t know. And since that one really moustachey guy—was his name Ross??—was a) a jerk and b) the unofficial chain-yanker in the movie and the emblem of the limitations that would be placed on the Avengers, the accords didn’t get as good representation to viewers as they should have, and it became clear that, regardless of how amazing they were, there were already people set to take advantage of them. (Inevitable and irrelevant, I know. Just because there are people who will take advantage of a good thing doesn’t make it bad, but it wasn’t a beacon of reason to change Cap’s mind, either. It only drove home his presuppositions about authority.)

The actual content of the Accords didn’t get much representation at all. So honestly? I can’t say anything about them. They could have been awesome. They could have sucked. They could have streamlined the process wonderfully and made taking action easier and safer for everyone… or tied the Avengers up in red tape and prevented them from apprehending Really Bad Dudes.

I don’t know, and I don’t think I can confidently say one way or another.

Also, it has become apparent to me that I really need to watch all of the Avengers movies, but I just don’t have the motivation.

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miyakuli · 7 years ago

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Hi Lola! Thank you for what you do, I find beautiful arts everyday on my dash, I love it! I also have an ask. I've seen your reblog about reposts on IG (what a shame😧) but what do you think about twitter? It seems safer than IG when dealing with reposts and there are a lot of jp artists too, wow! but I'm still not expert🤔 Do you have a twitter account like this one? when you reblog something I'm sure you're doing it from an artist, not a thief! and maybe I just wanted to follow you there too😁

Hellooo <33 I’m very happy to know you can enjoy safely arts from my blog (^//v//^) <3

In matter of reposting IG is awful….the only positive thing is that if you send a report for copyright infringement, the post gets deleted very quickly…but sadly for one posts deleted, you have 100 new fanarts reposted without permission/credits OTL……

Twitter is safer imo, I already saw sometimes accounts that were reposting fanarts too but it’s less common. Twitter isn’t focused on pictures like IG or tumblr so I think that could explain why people repost less on it.

I do have a twitter ^^ I was very active few years ago while Free! was released lol but now I am just retweeting fanarts really >//< and of course, only from artists ;)) you’re free to follow me on there if you want, my account is @miyakuli on there too :p

#thank you for your support <33 !!!#I hope you'll enjoy the fanarts on twitter as well ^v^#ask #anon

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xtruss · 4 years ago

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Goodbye Ted Dexter, Free Spirit, Cricket Thinker, Renaissance Man

The England and Sussex captain had aura, flair, majestic batting, and impossible glamour - and that was just on the field

— Mark Nicholas | 27 August, 2021

Ted Dexter batting in a ring of close-in fielders in Sydney, January 1963 Getty Images

I don't know when the Ted Dexter affectation started but I can guess. The last thing my father did with me before he died so young was to take me to see the 1968 Gillette Cup final at Lord's. This was during Ted's short comeback and when the great man strode to the wicket, I leapt about in excitement, cheering his name for all I was worth. He didn't get many but no matter, I had seen him live. That evening Dad bowled to me in the garden as I imitated every Dexter mannerism and stroke I had seen just a few hours before.

"There is about Dexter, when he chooses to face fast bowling with determination, a sort of air of command that lifts him above ordinary players. He seems to find time to play the fastest bowling and still retain dignity, something near majesty, as he does it." — John Arlott

I fell for the aura, and for the flair in those back-foot assaults on fast bowlers. Not for a minute do I think I saw the 70 in 75 balls against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's in 1963 but I feel as if I did - the power, the poise, the sheer gall of it. Nothing, not even the Beatles, could drag me from the television screen when he walked to the wicket, seemingly changing the picture from black-and-white to glorious technicolor as he took guard. Frankly, much of the Test cricket of the time was pretty dull but there was a frisson, an expectation, with Ted, just as there is when Ben Stokes is on his way today. It was all too brief, he had retired for good before I started proper school.

The West Indians of the day - Conrad Hunte, Garry Sobers, Wes Hall - thought that innings the best played against them by anybody, though Dexter himself would modestly say it was just one of those days where everything came together and the bat swung freely in just about the right arc. He was well miffed to be given out lbw, however, insisting later that the DRS would have saved him. Who knows how many careers might have been changed by the sliding doors of the DRS.

The word majesty sits well with Dexter's batting, primarily because of the way in which he attacked through the off side off his back foot. This is a stroke so difficult to master that more prosaic batters choose to ignore it. It is no great surprise that Dexter thought Gordon Greenidge and Martin Crowe the two most technically correct right-hand players that he saw, citing their ability to stay sideways-on and to play the ball alongside their body as the prime reason for the accolade.

He was a huge fan of Joe Root and became near apoplectic during the England captain's relatively lean spell a while ago, when he became square-on to the bowler and was playing in front of his body. This niggled so much that he wrote to Root without mincing his words. Though at first put out, Root soon saw the kindness in a man of Dexter's age and knowledge who bothered to write, and therefore returned an email of thanks with the observation that he took the point. Who knows to what degree? It is enough to say that this year Root has batted about as well as any man could have done, and no one has enjoyed each of these innings in Sri Lanka, India, and now at home as much as Dexter.

One final appeal: Dexter (fourth from left) watches as umpire Charlie Elliot gives John Inverarity out off Derek Underwood, The Oval, 1968 Getty Images

For the best part of a year now, Ted has been banging on about Dawid Malan: simply couldn't understand why England didn't pick him to bat at three. He cited the hundred in Perth in 2017 and this year's big scores for Yorkshire before predicting near-certain success with the method that brought those runs. It is sad, indeed, that he didn't live to see the fulfillment of his prophecy in Malan's fine innings yesterday. He liked the look of James Vince and Zak Crawley too, cricketers who stand tall and play with freedom. He got a lot right, this man of Radley, Cambridge, Sussex and England.

Tall himself, strong, handsome and impossibly glamorous, Edward Ralph Dexter caught everyone's eye. With the golden Susan Longfield on his arm, they cut quite a dash and cared little for the sniping that came from those less blessed. The enigma in him - and how! - was often confused with indifference, and though cricket has remained his other great love, it was never the be-all and end-all for him - a fact that made his appearances all the more cherished and his company all the more engaging. It is remarkable to think that he first retired as far back as 1965, before returning briefly in 1968 to make a double-hundred at Hastings against Kent and be immediately recalled to the England team for the Ashes. In the brilliant photograph (above) of the moment when Derek Underwood claims the final wicket at The Oval, Ted is caught spinning to appeal for lbw with a face that smacks of a lifelong instinct for competition and achievement.

"Ted was a man of moods, often caught up in theories, keen when the action was hot, seemingly uninterested when the game was dull... a big-time player, one who responded to atmosphere, liked action and enjoyed the chase and gamble. Maybe this was the reason he was drawn to horse racing so that a dull day stalking the covers might be enlivened for him by thoughts of how his money was faring on the 3:15 at Ascot or Goodwood." — John Snow

Richie Benaud and Dexter in Sydney during the 1963-64 Ashes Frank Albert Charles Burke / Fairfax Media/Getty Images

And Snow would know for he was not the type to rise above those grey days of county cricket when the stakes were so low. Snow and Dexter, my first heroes, along with Jimmy Greaves and George Best, Muhammad Ali, the Beatles and the Stones - all of them important figures at 29 Queensdale Road, where the young Nicholas grew up with vinyl records and cared-for willow, narrow-grained and well-oiled for the garden Test matches that England forever won.

Much of the 1960s were about rebellion, revolution even, in response to the age of austerity. After the long and mainly drab post-war years, the young simply broke free and changed pretty much anything they could get their hands on. Music and fashion led the way, leaving sport's establishment to stutter in their wake. Only a few precious players could transcend the inertia, using both their talent and expression to delight the crowds and influence the young. Cricket was my thing, Dexter and Snow were the wind beneath my wings.

In Snow there truly was rebellion, against authority and the system it supported. This was not so in Dexter's case, though his free spirit and somewhat cavalier approach to responsibility gave the impression of one determined to ruffle feathers. From the outset he adored sport, worked harder than some might think at his books, and embraced diversions with the enthusiasm of a man who had more to do than could ever be done.

In many ways Ted was a contradiction: at once a conformist, as shaped by the early years of his life at home and school, and a modernist, whose lateral thinking did much to reform the structure of English cricket during his time as chairman of selectors. Richie Benaud observed that Ted's imagination and drive "will be of great benefit to English cricket in years to come. Equally, I'm in no doubt that others will take the credit for it." The rebellion in Ted was hardly radicalised but he loved to challenge conservative thinking, to take risks and to invest in his life as an adventure. Both on and off the field, this made for a terrific watch.

The best of Ted: Dexter on his way to 70 against Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith at Lord's, June 1963 PA Photos

He thought the Hundred a good wheeze and admitted he would rather like to have played it himself. He was, of course, the original thinker about one-day cricket, supporting its conception as early as the late 1950s and then leading Sussex to the first two 60-over titles at Lord's in the Gillette Cup. He paid close attention to the tactics and convinced his men that following them to the letter would do the trick. Which it did. He pushed for four-day county matches 27 years before they were incorporated and he founded the idea of central contracts for England players long before other teams caught the bug.

He was proud of his part in the development of the spirit of cricket, applying golf's moral high ground to the game that made his name. Through his own PR agency, he became a pioneer in cricket's digital-technology revolution by inventing the system of Test match rankings that first announced itself under the banner of Deloitte and is now the ICC international rankings.

On a Zoom call a couple of months back, with tongue firmly in cheek, he said, "Having a rather high opinion of myself, I can safely say that had the rankings been in place sometime around the mid part of the 1963 summer, I would have been the No. 1-rated batsman in the world." We had special guests on these calls - Mike Atherton, Michael Vaughan, Ed Smith, Robin Marlar, Sir Tim Rice and more - all keen to share a drink, chew the cud and have a laugh with the game's most original and forward-thinking mind.

Champagne days: (from left) Fred Trueman, Dexter, David Sheppard and Colin Cowdrey celebrate after winning the Melbourne Test, January 1963 PA Photos/Getty Images

We cannot jump past golf without mentioning the game at the Australian Golf Club in Sydney when Ted partnered Norman Von Nida against Jack Nicklaus and Gary Player. So enamoured of Ted's golf were they that Nicklaus suggested Ted follow him back to the USA for a crack at the tour. Player has long said that Ted was the best amateur ball-striker he ever saw and Von Nida just thanked him for securing the one-up triumph that day. Eighteen months ago Player told me that in their one head to head with each other, Ted beat him up the last at Sunningdale, receiving only four shots. "Little so-and-so," said Ted, "we played level!" They were due for a game last summer but Covid stood firmly between them. The last time I played with Ted, two summers ago now, he beat his age, shooting 83 round the Old Course at Sunningdale without breaking a sweat.

This was a man of Jaguar cars, Norton motorbikes, greyhounds, race horses and an Aztec light airplane that, in 1970, he piloted to Australia with his young family beside him, to cover the Ashes as a journalist. They flew 12,000 miles and made about two dozen stops at British military bases along the way.

Ted married the very beautiful Susan soon after returning from Australia and New Zealand in the spring of 1959. How she is hurting today. So too Genevieve, Tom and the grandchildren.

There was an eccentricity in him that was occasionally misunderstood but otherwise immensely appealing and it is with that in mind, that I turn to the man himself for the final word. It comes from his blog, which is a splendid read and will remain a platform for the family to share their thoughts about this husband, father and grandfather who brought us so much joy.

Dexter and Frank Worrell at a BBC interview with Peter West, August 1963 Harry Todd / Fox Photos/Getty Images

It was in my last term at Radley College when I had a hard game of rackets in the morning, scored 3 tries with two conversions for the 1st XV in the afternoon, was heard listening to operatic voices in the early evening, before repairing to the Grand Piano in the Mansion and knocking off a couple of Chopin preludes. "Quite the Renaissance man it seems" said my Social Tutor and I admit I liked the sound of it, if not quite knowing what it meant.

The Encyclopaedia Brittanica description of Renaissance man (or polymath) is as follows: one who seeks to develop skills in all areas of knowledge, in physical development and social accomplishment and in the arts. A point is made that you do not need to excel at any one activity. It is enough to tackle it seriously and see how far you get. I like the physical development bit obviously and I feel the social accomplishment bit is covered by my willingness to take on responsibilities all my life. Perhaps the arts bit is a bit shaky but a love for music, and particularly opera, and love of language - being fairly fluent in French, Italian, rudimentary German and Spanish - may be some modest qualifications."

Some different cat, huh. What a man. What a cricketer. Goodbye Ted, and thank you.

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