#and even if they WERE in this pretend argument

[plunderbunny]

This is always such a weird take on fiction and fictional characters to me... Not the idea of "liking fictional characters that would be terrible people if they were real", but the idea of "pretending we could fix them", or imagining them as our friends, or justifying/somehow valorizing their flaws, or even thinking they NEED to be justified or valorized to be good characters.

They're NOT real people, that's one interesting aspect of fiction! That fictive world is one that can definitely, without argument, be said to have a creator and a purpose... unlike our own, where much debate can be had over whether or not there is a creator or a purpose or meaning to existence. With fiction, we know it to be true, so we can analyze it from the perspective of meaning and purpose, rather than just dissect the mechanical workings of it. We can meaningfully ask questions like "what is the purpose of this character being such a terrible person in this particular way", rather than just saying "wow they're awful" or "what made them like this?"

Even stranger to me is the impulse of "I like this character, so I have to find a way that I could imagine them as my friend. If I like someone (real or fictional) I can only imagine that in the context of them being my friend." I generally dislike this phrase, largely because I think it's over-applied, but it strikes me as having a parasocial relationship with fiction. The book or movie or game or whatever isn't a friend, the characters in it aren't people you interact with, and I think approaching fiction in that way is a pretty limiting approach. I love plenty of characters that would be AWFUL people if they were real, because they're interesting and compelling characters. And I think it's a limiting approach to think of them in terms of "I want to be friends with this Bad Dude cuz I like them as a character, how can I fix them?"

Of course, this could all very well just be me being weird again... I don't remember a time where I ever did that with fiction, as a child I don't remember ever thinking "I wish I lived in this world" or fantasized about knowing the characters from fiction that I liked. I played plenty of make-believe, but I don't think I ever enjoyed it in the sense of "I love this character and want to interact with them or be in their world" as much as "it's fun to make up new stories with these characters", more role-playing/world-building than wish fulfillment.

fiction and fantasy are so fun because it's like. if i met this man in real life i would drop kick him off a cliff within three seconds of him opening his mouth. luckily for him he doesn't exist so we can all happily ignore those red flags and pretend we could fix him

[clownzaf]

I love pushing the “Batfam don’t know something crucial about Tim’s life until something happens and the found out”

I did it with the Al Ghuls, I did it with JJ, heck I’ve even done it with Pjo in my Ao3!

Today! Batfam doesn’t know about Stray.

Tim knew Selina even before even being Robin. Something about being basically a ghost in an abandoned mansion filled with priceless relics.

Catwoman once broke into Drake manor and found a lonely kid haunting the halls with the saddest eyes she’s ever seen in a kid. She said nuh huh and started to drop frequently to the Drake house to give the kid company.

One day Tim asked if he could do a heist with her and that was the day Stray was born.

She obviously gave him the best training she could (they were literally commenting crimes and that was a kid! She wasn’t gonna let him get caught!) and when she decided he was ready they started with a small heist to a jewelry In the Diamond District.

They did this for years, but after Robin’s death and when Bruce became more reckless Tim decided to ask Selina to help him, only for her to be pushed away. So he decided to go to Dick, who denied.

At that point Tim knew what he had to do. He told Selina and she said she would miss having him by her side but she supported him in doing what he thought was good.

Batman never even suspected that his Blackhaired blue eyed kid with suspicious amount of stealth could be the blackhaired blue eyed kid that has been running in rooftops from Robin while he apprehended Catwoman since he was 9.

Years later, after a heated argument with Bruce that ended up with Tim benched indefinitely, something happened.

Stray made his comeback after 5 years in the dark.

It took the family an embarrassing amount of time to connect the dots.

It was Jason who realised first, actually. Dick had met the kid for a brief amount of time, but Jason was the one who chased the kid through rooftops during his whole tenure as Robin. It was Jason who ate chillidogs with the kid when it was obvious their mentors were gonna took too long for them to keep up the cat and mouse game.

It was Jason who saw the scar in his old friend’s neck and had to sit down for a bit, because Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit HOLY SHIT

It was his friend who he thought about some night wondering what happened to him, it was the pretender who he tried to kill multiple times, it was his BROTHER.

Stray escaped that museum with a huge prize and a shocked family.

And if he spent 2 months living with Selina, stealing every night and refusing to knowledge the bat’s existence, well, it was only his business.

[giuseppe-yuki]

👻 anais' halloween blurbos 👻

summary: it's well known that formula 1 was a cutthroat and and merciless sport. that's why, when murder and other shenanigans are legalized by the fia during race weekends to add a little drama in the paddock, all hell breaks loose. fans going missing, reporters being found dead, team employees writhing in pain for no apparent reason. it seemed like everyone would do most anything to win the sparkling championship trophy. luckily for a few select drivers, they have a little advantage with supernatural powers on their side.

or: supernatural!reader x driver mini oneshots (kind of purge!au (?))

warnings: mentions of death, gore, murder, hurting people, and curse words

total w.c.: 5k

picture credits from pinterest :)

I - fallen angel - yt22

II - vampire - op81

III - ghost - zg24

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

V - witch - gr63

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

a/n: a quick little project i meant to put out before halloween but i got a little sidetracked with my other fics... i'm going to pretend that it's still spooky season and totally NOT november :P

ALSO i feel obligated to say i don't condone doing anything in these blurbs irl- hurting people for any reason is NOT okay.

I - fallen angel - yt22

yuki always called you an angel. with your entrancing looks and ability to light up any room that you were in, it was hard not to compare you to an ethereal being. when you walk outside holding yuki's hand, you don't miss the stares of envious women and salicious men when the way the sun seemed to create a halo around your head, and air seemed to shimmer around you. little did he know, you were an angel. well, you used to be, until some petty arguments and pointed fingers resulted in you losing your wings and falling into the mortal world. now, you spent your life dedicated to tempt others to sin.

this worked perfectly, because while yuki focused on dominating on track and getting maximum points, you could use your full power and focus on other aspects- like making sure your boyfriend didn't get fucked over by unfair officials of the sport.

"do good out there, okay?" you say to your boyfriend, giving him a hug and a kiss on his recognizable japanese maple leaf helmet.

he smiles back at you, only visible through his flipped-up visor.

soon enough, it was lights out, and the drivers were sent on their way, throttling around the night track.

you settle in a padded chair that a starstruck engineer pulled up for you while monitoring the multiple tvs that lined the garage. most of them showed the live feeds of the drivers aggressively battling on track, using dirty racing to cut their way to the lead. you took pleasure in seeing yuki gain several positions as he overtook the battling fernando and liam. his engineers burst in rambunctious applause, but it quiets down rather quickly, notifying you that something was amiss.

you turn around to see the engineers crowded around a singular data computer. storming out of your chair, you snatch a nearby engineer's arm, roughly turning him around.

"can you tell me what just happened?" you ask with mock-sweetness, pointing your chin the whispering group of engineers that hid the computer screen from your eyes.

he gulps, knowing that you had the power to hurt him, especially with the fia's rules, and stammers out an answer, even if he knew you wouldn't like it.

"w-w-well," he stutters, "apparently, the stewards gave yuki a penalty for false start and forcing a driver off track. he'll have to- um- serve it when he comes in for a pitstop."

there's no way, you think, angrily. a false start and forcing a driver off track? what a load of bullshit. were they actually even watching the race? someone had to pay for this.

your heels clacked as you strutted through the linoleum floors of the fia building. the walls shook from the sheer forces of the cars on track barreling by, probably halfway through the race. stalking through the stale white hallways and up a flight of stairs, you finally find the room you were looking for- a dark wooden one that proudly held a silver sign that had the words 'stewards' carved into it neatly. you take a deep breath and turn on your full dazzling skills before knocking gently on the door.

an older gentleman, shirt marked with the telltale fia symbol and orange lanyard, opens the door. the perfect victim. he falters a bit when sees you, practically glowing, even in the hallway's dim lighting.

"c-c-can i help you miss?" he asks, face turning a bit red and hand instinctively reaching up to to loosen his collar. you tended to have that affect on people when you wanted to.

"yes," you drawl, purposely batting your long lashes at him. "i have a something to show you."

he shakes his head nervously, eyes glued to something that was definitely not your face. "no, no, no, i have a job to do-"

"oh, come on," you say, pouting, "it's just down the hall!"

you turn and strut down the hall, purposefully showing off your long legs, knowing that there was no doubt he would follow you out of the room. when you turn back around at the end of the hall, the steward, like you predicted, had naively followed you like a dog to a bone.

you don't even make sure that no one was close by before plunging a dagger straight into his heart. he slumps down on the ground, blood flowing out of the fatal wound. you blow him a kiss, before flouncing away back towards yuki's garage. that will teach the stewards a lesson before giving your boyfriend unfair penalties.

II - vampire - op81

when oscar met you, you seemed like a shy little thing with your timid personality and reserved smiles. he swore that you could do nothing wrong. i mean, how could you, when you were scared of such small things like sunburns or funnily enough, garlic bread? the first time he introduced you to the paddock as his girlfriend, he kept a good watch on you. if he didn't, he was so sure that they were going to eat you alive just to gain an advantage on him.

and that's also why, when he heard the news of yet another important paddock member going missing, he was so sure that it was you.

"fuck!" oscar shouts, raking a hand through his sweaty hair. "i leave to do one five minute interview and she disappears!"

ignoring the stares of the reporters and cameramen who turn in surprise to his outburst, he yanks the clip-on mic off of his fireproofs and chucks it at his interviewer's head. if he found his girlfriend dead on the floor, bleeding out, it would be this stupid interviewer's fault.

he stalks off without a word, listing potential places that his girlfriend could possibly be taken in his head.

behind him, lando skips in the shadow of oscar's steps, grinning around the rubber straw of his water bottle that was clenched between his teeth.

"you better hurry, osc!" he trills, "you know what happened to ocon's little girlfriend when she went missing- she was found-"

oscar snaps back, interrupting lando. "yes i know, she was found at the bottom of a goddamn dumpster. you don't have to remind me."

it was a fresh memory in his head. ever since the fia allowed murder, during race weekends, all hell had broke loose. vip guests dropping dead, officials found with broken necks. whoever had murdered poor ocon's girlfriend had did a great deal of damage mentally on esteban, resulting in multiple poor finishes for him during race weekends. oscar never thought it would happen to himself.

frustrated, he roughly shoves lando away from him, pointing in the direction of the red bull garage.

"why don't you go blow up max's tyre like you did in australia or something!" he shouts, clearly annoyed by lando's constant pestering.

oscar doesn't wait for a response from lando before sprinting down to the mclaren motorhome. he checks each individual door to the bathroom, kitchen, and computer rooms when he finally stumbles upon a door with a blood red liquid seeping out the bottom. a muffled thud sounds from within, and he winces automatically.

he closes his eyes, praying that you died a peaceful death, before slowly turning the silver knob of the storage closet.

to his surprise, the the grey, pale, body of otmar szafnauer thumps out into the hallway, head rolling. the side of his neck is a bloody mess, probably the source of the pool of blood now seeping into the carpet and staining the edge of his racing shoes. there, stood primly behind otmar's repulsive body, is you, without a drop of blood on your pretty pink dress. you send oscar a bashful smile, revealing your fangs covered in the cherry-red liquid.

picking up your skirts, you step over the ex-alpine team manager and carefully close the door to the rather stuffy closet you were just in. he'll probably be found by the janitor in the next 24 hours or so.

you peck a quick kiss on oscar's cheek, unknowingly getting a bit of blood on his skin.

"i got rid of otmar for you, baby," you say quietly, fiddling with your fingers. "i hope you don't mind- i heard he gave you a hard time last year."

III - ghost - zg24

you were dead. no, literally. you passed away 5 years ago- beheaded after you fell off of a high building you suppose, going off of how you could pull your head off your neck if you wanted to, and the fact that you always had phantom back pains. it worked out quite beautifully that you were dead already when the fia announced its new rule.

as opposed to the girlfriends of several other select drivers that tended to play a rather active part in gaining the best advantage for their boyfriends on track, you tended to be a little more laid back. however, one thing you could never excuse was when people talked shit about your boyfriend, zhou.

zhou grips your hand tightly in his as you both walked down through the paddock. you loved how his fashionable clothes glittered brightly under the lit lamp posts that lined the walkway. the sun had set, which meant the night race was starting soon. the crowds of fans in the paddock had somehow gotten thicker, and the hired security that zhou had gotten struggled just the tiniest bit holding the horde back.

like you always do when you get nervous, you flicker in-between your solid and ghost form. your boyfriend clocks this right away, especially since that this meant his hand, which was holding firmly holding yours, passed right through you. he stops, looking at you concerningly.

"hey, you alright?" he asks, brows furrowed. "i can-" before he can finish his sentence, an apple flies out of the crowd of fans and bounces off his shoulder, landing at the place where your translucent foot is supposed to be.

the fan that threw it begins to shout obscene remarks directed at both you and zhou, before being dragged away by security.

an anger flares through you. who did she think she was? throwing an apple at your boyfriend's head? that had to count as a murder attempt.

you flicker more rapidly between your states, to which zhou takes your hand.

"hey, it's fine," your boyfriend says, squeezing your hand comfortingly. "forget it- my security will deal with them. let's go to the garage, okay?"

you nod slowly, letting your boyfriend lead the way, but oh, you don't forget.

you wait, in your ghost form, in the metal supports of the grandstand. drifting aimlessly, you pop up here and there to scare the crap out of some random fan, when you finally spot your target. the fan from earlier tirelessly climbs the lengthy walk to the grandstands. she's decked out in alpine merch, which makes you scoff. why criticize zhou's team when the very team she was rooting for wasn't doing so well either?

you watch as she settles herself at the very top seat of the grandstand, waving her little alpine flag. what a pity. if only she wasn't so rude. when the cars roar around the corner and she stands up to cheer, it isn't hard for you to reach out your hands and push. a look of recognition registers in her face before she falls backwards off of the high-up stands. she screams, but who hears her over the loud engines as they make their way around the turn? except you, of course. she lands on the ground with a sick splat, likely breaking her back and neck the way you did when you died. you float for a moment over the carnage before floating away to your rightful spot in zhou's garage. serves her right, you suppose.

IV - bat!shapeshifter - pg10

the second pierre found out about your special "ability," he didn't hesitate to take advantage of it. sending you to spy on the other team's cars? check. going to pester the invasive reporters who only cared about spreading yet another rumor? check. monitoring around him to make sure there wasn't any people trying to attack him in the paddock? check.

you didn't mind of course- anything to help your boyfriend one step closer to his end goal. you hated seeing him coming home, again and again, dejected over the progress he's made, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he raced.

today, a night race, gave you an opportunity to give your boyfriend another chance at points. with the sky being pitch black, it made it easier to navigate around without being seen.

in the garage, under the harsh incandescent lights, engineers and alpine employees mill around, checking data and making any final adjustments to the car. before long, pierre gets the green lights to drive up to the starting spots on the track. just prior to pulling on his helmet and climbing into his shitbox of a car, he pulls you close.

"remember what we talked about, okay?" he whispers into your ear, playing it off as a tight hug.

you nod, pressing a kiss to his freshly-shaven jaw.

"of course, baby," you respond earnestly.

when the car rumbles awake and your boyfriend steers the car towards the starting grid postions, you take off running as well. taking a flying leap behind the car, you shift into your bat form and fly up, up, up, into the rapidly darkening sky.

you sit patiently on a tree branch near the track, watching carefully with your sensitive night vision. like you planned, when you spot the telltale black carbon-fiber and vibrant red bull car pull in towards the pitlanes, you dive bomb down back towards the garages. it takes a second, maybe even quicker, to find the engineers poised with the fresh tyres ready for max verstappen's pretty little rb20. you don't hesitate to sink your pointy teeth into their unprotected necks, one by one. the venom in your saliva works quick, and by the time max pulls into his pitstop spot, his pit crew all lay on the ground, incapacitated.

huh, that worked suprisingly well, you think, soaring away from the crime scene. maybe you should try that again in the next prix.

V - witch - gr63

with the fia implementing the barbarous rules at every prix at every calendar, you would think people would be more scared to come. however, it seemed like the audience doubled, if not tripled ever since the rule was announced. something about 'the thrill of it,' lewis had said when you asked him. so, like the crowds of fans lingering in the fanzones, the vips and sponsors visiting the paddock club increased significantly, eager to get a look at the track action and drama between drivers like it was some drama movie.

so, the only thing that made sense to do was to profit off of it, of course. with your magic and brewing pot at hand, you could do most anything to the pompous rich pricks who wanted nothing more than an in to the thrilling secrets of the bloodthirsty sport of formula 1.

"what are you wearing tonight, darling?" the vip asks, flaunting her massive diamond ring in your peripheral vision, obviously fishing for complements. it shined tauntingly in the colored overhead lights at the exclusive paddock club event. jazzy music and the clinking of glasses drown out the pretentious conversations of yet another pair of billionaires talking about their newest private jet acquisition or supercar purchase.

you fake a half-hearted smile at her, smoothing down your own outfit.

"i'm not really sure. i just pulled it out of my closet, i suppose."

failing to get a proper response from you, she smooths down her own glittering dress haughtily and brushes her carefully styled hair behind her ears.

"well, i'm wearing all ysl. the heels themselves cost at least 1.3k!" she exclaims, pointing to the rather painful-looking heels holding up her feet.

just then, your boyfriend appears next to you, lips wide in a smile.

"hello, darling," he says, handing you a drink from the bar. it's a small glass of margarita, coincidentally matching the one in the pompous vip's hand.

"it's not poisoned, i promise," he says to you, making you roll your eyes. the vip, hearing this, laughs.

"so exciting, isn't it? with all the fia's rules, i can't wait to finally see some more drama on track tomorrow," she says giddily, as if george wasn't in grave danger every day, on track and in the paddock because of people like her. dropping her voice down to a scandalous whisper, she continues, "i heard, some fan fell- or was pushed off the grandstands last night!" she giggles, waving her hand. "honestly though, i would probably jump too, if i had to sit in those grimy seats."

you and george both exchange looks of disgust, but she doesn't catch it as a well-dressed gentleman walks up with a grin, giving her a polite hug.

"ah! ricca, how nice to see you again! i haven't seen you since- what, our little outing to bali a month ago? wanted a little bit of racing action now huh?" he asks, swishing his whiskey on the rocks. he turns after finishing his sentence, as if just realizing you and your boyfriend's presence. his gives the both of you a demeaning look, as if you were the ones butting into the conversation instead of him. however, after a beat, his eyes grow wide, and it is obvious when it clicks in his brain where he has seen george.

"oh my!" he proclaims, clutching his chest. "you're that- that racing driver! what's your name again? lando norrin? ferdinand alonso?"

that really said a lot about the reason these socialites were here. who the fuck was ferdinand?

your boyfriend, like the kind-hearted person he was, pastes on a smile and gently corrects the man.

"er- no, sir. i'm george russell- driver for mercedes."

"as i thought," he states with no shame. he then loudly clinks his drink with the young lady, ricca's, glass, and they both down their respective liquids.

you literally could not take it anymore.

"let me take those onto the bar for you," you offer helpfully to the affluent pair. "another whiskey and margarita?"

they have the decency to thank you tipsily before shoving the empty glasses in your hand. you turn back to george, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"i'll be right back," you whisper.

squeezing through the crush of the crowd, you station yourself in an mostly empty table in the corner of the room placed next to a floor-to-ceiling window. the empty glasses in your hand clink when you set it on the table, the last dregs of the drinks swirling at the bottom of the glasses. a quick wave of your hand summons fresh ice cubes in each glass, and a practiced flick of your middle finger and thumb sends a stream of margarita and whiskey out of thin air into its respective glasses. from your pocket, you retrieve a vial of silver liquid that you brewed just about every grand prix. with a hint of nightshade, wings of a spanish fly, and ground up pearls, it made the drinker do whatever you wanted, really. after carefully pouring half into each drink, you throw the empty vial into the air, where it is promptly teleported to your vial cabinet back in george's driver room.

perfect.

before heading back, you take one last look through the glass that presented the night sky and darkened track below. the track still had streaks of black from the burnt rubber from the race only a few hours ago.

it was a wonderful sport really. it was a shame that implemented these barbaric rules that forced your hand. but if that's what you had to do for george, then you would do it.

it didn't take very long for the potion to take effect. you could tell from their slurred speech and slow movements that one could pass off as being drunk.

deciding to waste no time, you pull out your quill pen and paper out of a hidden pocket in your dress. it levitates in the air, visible to only you.

with a nod to george, you both go through the usual spiel- bank account numbers? passwords? credit card numbers?

the vips list off the information as if it is public knowledge, unknowingly allowing your quill to copy the numbers and sensitive information into your notebook.

when you are satisfied, you slip the notebook back into your pocket.

"alright, i think we're done here, georgie," you say to your boyfriend, ignoring the two figures that sway, silent, next to the two of you.

george pouts.

"aww, i was really having fun with that!" he whines.

"well," you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. "do you want to stay at this god-forsaken place where you might be stabbed by "ferdinand" alonso for no reason or do you want to go home to our comfy flat?"

he shrugs.

"i guess you have a point," he says unhappily.

taking his hand, you lead him out of the still-packed event, but not before slipping another vial of blood-red liquid into their drinks- mind-wiping serum that worked perfectly every single time, except the fact that it also had a tiny side effect of excruciating pain that lasted a few hours.

eh, they deserved it for not even knowing your boyfriend's name.

tomorrow- if they even survived- they would wake up to see their bank accounts drained. you suppose you should send them a thank-you letter next time for single-handedly sponsoring the next merc upgrades, even if they didn't know it.

VI - hellhound!shapeshifter - cs55

at this point in time, you didn't care anymore. you dared one person- a fan, an official, or opposing team member to try again to break into carlos' driver room. they never seemed to learn their lesson of how loyal and protective you were of your boyfriend. one bite with your teeth are sure to dismember an arm and one swipe of your paw could brake even the most sturdy tire drills, as demonstrated with the last haas mechanic that tried in vain to murder carlos.

it might not seem like it, the way you were curled in carlos' arms on his couch. you practically had your face buried in his red branded hoodie, half-asleep, while he scrolled mindlessly on his phone. it's so soft and comfy, you can't help let out a soft snore as you drift off.

carlos laughs, chest rumbling, patting your head with his free hand. "i thought you were supposed to be on guard, protecting me, mi amor!"

opening your eyes a tiny bit, you pull yourself even closer to carlos, reveling in the warmth of his body.

"i am on alert," you defend, but it doesn't help your case the way your voice comes out muffled from being pressed against his hoodie. "i am always list-"

footsteps.

you hear a pair of scuffled footsteps from the hallway outside of carlos' door, thanks to your exceptional hearing. it slowly drags closer and closer to the only door out of the room, a slow patter of sneaker on pavement that is only audible to you.

without wasting a second, you leap up off the couch and shift into your hellhound form, baring your sharp teeth towards the door, poised, ready to attack whatever poor soul that had decided had your boyfriend was an easy target.

behind you, carlos slides off the couch slowly, recognizing something was wrong.

a knock sounds on the door, making him flinch and eliciting a warning growl from you. however, when both you and carlos don't move an inch toward the entryway, the door slowly slides open.

you muster up all the power you have to leap straight at the attacker, making sure to aim for the neck. but before you can pounce and go for the kill, carlos roughly yanks you back by the scruff of your neck.

"woahwoahwoah," he says to you, pushing your foaming mouth away from the cowering man in the doorway. "it's fine- it's okay!"

you snap at the man once, making sure to purposely show off your canines, but back off a little into the room. if carlos said the man was safe, you wouldn't go against his words.

carlos scratches his head, briefly apologizing to what you realize was his head race engineer, riccardo adami, explaining the precautions he had to take in light of the fia's new rules.

riccardo laughs nervously, but proceeds to let carlos know that he is wanted in the media pen.

carlos holds your hand in his when you stroll down the lighted walkways of the paddock. you flounce your way past the plush couches next to the walkway and the little cafe/bar that served absolutely bomb coffee and cocktails. honestly, you missed the times before the fia's stupid fucking rule where you could drink cocktails with alex's girlfriend or gossip with yuki's girlfriend without fearing that they would poison your drinks or strangle you behind the mclaren hospitality just to help their boyfriends. you guess you still could if you really wanted to, though. maybe you'll do the poisoning and strangling if really needed.

lost in thought, you miss the fake smile the interviewer gives you before dragging your boyfriend off into the media pen.

throwing yourself onto the said couches from before, you convince yourself that he'd probably be fine, but you make sure to keep an eye out and train yourself to listen to any concerning sounds within all the chatter and crowds.

to your surprise, the interview ends quite early, and you have hardly taken a sip of your iced coffee (even though it was, like, 8pm a the track) before carlos storms out of the media pen.

"you okay?" you ask your boyfriend concerningly as you take another swig of the still-full iced coffee in your hand.

carlos huffs angrily, running a hand through his hair, before grasping your free hand to lead you back to his driver's room.

"it's fine, let's just go," he says dismissively, straight-up dragging you behind him.

you pull him to stop with your strength, and glare at him with your arms crossed.

"no! carlos sainz, you tell me what happened in there," you demand.

he rolls his eyes. "well, that stupid interviewer just kept on asking me questions about my thoughts on the missing otmar, dead steward, the fan "falling" from the stands, and all that bullshit that i said didn't want to talk about. i told her i wanted to talk about the race, but then she just responded with a question about my reaction to max's pit crew being injected with some type of venom. i was so done at that point, i just walked out."

you frown. that woman sure sounded like a bitch. honing in your hearing to find the woman through the noise in the media pen, you hear what you assume to be the interviewer mention carlos' name.

"...no, and like i felt like he was so hard to work with," she laughs.

perhaps she was talking to a friend in the media pen?

"...yeah, and he wouldn't answer any of my questions- like what am i going to put in my article? nothing?" she says incredulously. "honestly," she continues, "i hope he dies next on the grid, so it'll make it easier for the next poor reporter who has do an article on him, because then, she won't have to go through the misery of interviewing him!"

a symphony of giggles from a group follow her sentence, a few muttering their agreement.

you turn back to carlos, purposely blocking off the noise of the media pen in your ear, and give him a genuine smile. pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, you comfort him, "i'm sorry that happened to you, baby. i'm sure it won't happen again- ever."

true to your word, you wait until carlos is proccupied with arguing with charles in the hospitality about one of the controversial on-track battles that took place earlier in the day when you make your move.

the sky is dark, throughly littered with sparkling diamonds, when you pad through the mostly-empty paddock towards the media pen. several fans and officials, seeing your demonic form, scamper out of the way in an effort to avoid your wrath.

you spot your target with your sharp eyesight immediately, walking wobbly in her high heels with a clipboard in one hand. several of her reporter friends huddle next to her, their laughs echoing through the darkened paddock.

time to enact your plan.

stopping a meter behind them, you use your sharp claws to draw a circle on the ground. with three taps of your paw and a breath of fire into the middle, the pavement slides away to reveal a portal into a fiery pit. you're not too sure where it leads, but you don't really plan on finding out either.

silently scampering over to the group, you clamp your jaws down the legs of one of the people that you heard agreeing with the interviewer. you ignore the group's screams before roughly dragging the woman towards the pit. she falls, and it's not long before her yells are covered up in the rumble of the flames.

even when the group scatters in different ways, it doesn't take long with your supernatural speed to catch up to them and drag each person into the pit. you purposely save the main interviewer for last.

when she lies at the edge of the pit, arm bleeding profusely from the wounds from your teeth, you shift back into your human form.

"don't fucking talk shit about my boyfriend ever again," you snarl.

with a shove from your arm, she falls backwards into the deep fire pit with the rest of her "friends."

if carlos was hard to work with, you bet whatever demons down there were so much more harder to work with. oh well, that was her problem.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

I think that says more about you than the people you're complaining about.

I sure don't want to be seen as nothing but "the black straight Caribbean immigrant with mental health issues and a useless art degree".

I don't want to reduce anyone to labels and categories.

Also, since before either of us were born, progressives have shouted from the rooftops that the lack of women and minorities in media and government - and life in general - is inherently political, regardless of the author's intent.

In fact, the current Dem Presidential candidate is marketed heavily on being a Black™ Woman™.

Yet when people critique supposed "forced" diversity, the retort is "my existence is not political!"

Which seems a bit, ah, inconsistent, whether or not the critiques are right. Heck, I've disagreed with some of those claims myself.

At length.

Political context - or lack thereof - exists, whether it's intended by the author or not. This is also a common progressive argument. And it's essentially correct.

There's a difference between author intent and the wider context, and I think the whole "my existence is not political!" phrase is meant to blur the lines. Or just to ignore the latter.

And pretend the former never happens, and female/minority presence should solely be taken at face value.

It's not even limited to actual minorities. Look at the ongoing notroversies that claim traditional fantasy depictions of orcs and goblins are Black-"coded" and Jewish caricatures, based on nothing more than cherry-picked "similarities".

Anyone implying that the right are the only people who are politicizing the existence of women and minorities is just plain wrong.

[kkayyerr]

OBX characters reactions to your age regression (+ them as your caregivers). SFW!!

John B

He’s going to be very careful with you, not pushing you to tell him anything. He knew that you’ll tell him about it on your own terms, when you feel like it, and when you finally did…

Well, he’ll tried his best at being your caregiver. He’s not the one to set some rules or something like that, but he will be looking out for you, so you won’t do stupid things. John B also wouldn’t let you be a part of the dangerous Pogue’s adventures when you are in the littlespace, because he thinks that you are way too fragile for that in those moments.

„No, sweetheart, you can’t go with us today, it’s way too dangerous for you, you’re not ready yet.” John B said, looking at you while you were giving him a pouty face. He knew that you wanted to come with them, but his protective nature just wouldn’t let that happened.

„So stay home and be good for me, okay?” he asked, his tone soft but firm.

You had no other options but to gave up, and nod your head as the sign of the agreement.

„Atta girl.”

JJ

JJ is actually still child himself (not regressed though). He would be more than happy to find out that now he would have some company. I believe that telling him about that would be the quickest decision you had ever made. He might get confused at first, but then he’ll try his best to make you feel comfortable with him.

If you asked him to be your caregiver, well…

He would be honored.

No boring rules though, discipline is not about him at all.

But if you messed up…

„Baby, I told you to eat, why haven’t you eaten today?“ JJ’s voice wasn’t rough, but he still had some stern expression on his face that you had rarely see. He wasn’t angry with you, more like concerned or disappointed, overall he did care about you health.

You sighed, putting your head down. You didn’t wanted to concern him, you just weren’t feeling like eating, not at all.

„I’m sowwy, JJ.” You said with a lisp and a childish mannerism. „My tummy didn’t wanted too…”

JJ’s face expression quickly switched from concerned to amused one. He found it funny how you were trying to blame your tummy. But it wasn’t something new for him, though. You always were way too stubborn to except your own faults.

„So are you telling me that your tummy is the naughty one here, right?” JJ hummed, pretending to think about that for a moment, before quickly jumping on top of you and starting tickling your tummy, laughing along with you.

„Guess I would have to punish it then…”

Pope

Let’s be honest, Pope is the smartest and the most responsible one of them all. I think he would’ve find out just by your sudden mood changes and a small changes in your voice when it started to sound more childish than usual. At first he would just reflect on your behavior, trying to keep all your triggers and different reactions to different things in his head. If you ever let him near you when you’re regressing he will be very responsible and gentle. He will make sure that you had your water, that you slept well and that your feelings doesn’t bother you. He won’t lose his temper even if you throw a temper tantrum or will just show him your worst attitude.

„Hey” he said quietly, walking over to you as he saw you sitting alone after storming off from him because of the little argument that usually wouldn’t bother you, not when you regressed, though. Now you were bothered, but you didn’t know how to communicate.

„Listen, if you don’t want to talk that’s fine, I know you’re having a big feelings right now, kid"

Pope put his hand on your knee, lightly touching you just to see your reaction. You didn’t move and he saw that as a green light. He crouched down in front of you, looking you in the eyes. Even though you clearly didn’t wanted to talk, he still wanted to be there for you.

„Nobody’s mad at you, that’s okay. Even grown ups sometimes loses their temper.”

You looked up at him, your lips tugging in a fade, yet happy smile.

“Thank you…”

Rafe

Note: Things will get pretty dark from here, so I want you to be prepared.

Trigger warnings: Abuse, manipulation, weapon, Stockholm syndrome, just Rafe being himself.

If you think that Rafe Cameron would be a good, typical caregiver you have to think again because you might be a little delusional.

He probably found out about it from Sarah, because she couldn’t kept her mouth shut. She didn’t had any thoughts about the fact that this information might seem very useful for her brother. At first he would just brushed it off, thinking that the whole „age regression” thing is some kind of weird kink, but then he would think about it again.

And then again…

Rafe knew that you were on of the Pogues, which obviously made him disgusted and he wouldn’t even pay attention to you in other situations, but the Pogue who is stuck in her innocent, childish mind? The Pogue who can be manipulated and used for his own advantage?

Yes, that definitely made you interesting for him.

It was another one of those evenings in Outer Banks and yet another fight between Pogues and Kooks started, you couldn’t help yourself and got overwhelmed too quickly. You wanted to help your friends, got whole intention to do so, but suddenly everything became too much. The only place that you find where you could’ve hide was a big bike. You didn’t know who’s it was, and at that moment you didn’t care. You set there, hiding your trembling body behind it, your ears covered with your shaky hands. You were dissociating so badly, that you didn’t even catch on where the whole thing ended. Tears were just kept flushing down your face until you heard footsteps and raised your head.

Rafe Cameron was standing there with a gun in his hand, looking you up and down with a little smirk on his face. You raised your hands.

„Pwease don’t shoot”

You closed your eyes, expecting him to actually hurt you, but instead you felt two strong arms picked you up from the ground. You weren’t protesting, because you knew that he had a gun…and maybe there were other reasons. He took you to the Tannyhill, and to your surprise he was super gentle with you, or maybe that was just your perspective of the situation.

Just like that you unknowingly and unwillingly got yourself a caregiver…a crazy one, though.

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

"We're gonna get out of here, I promise"

pairing : mike munroe x (fem) reader

cw : mike has a gun, talk of death, and blood, and maybe like one swear I don't know. reader is referred to as mike’s girlfriend, but other than that i don’t believe any female pronouns are used.

a/n : i know this is kind of late since the until dawn remake has been out for a while but i kept procrastinating this after I started it. anyways #needthat.

The wind pulls at you from every angle, hair clinging to your sweaty, frostbitten cheeks. Adrenaline kept your body moving through the never-ending maze of trees and snow; you didn’t think it would last much longer. You were sure if you continued in this direction, eventually, you would reach the sanatorium. 

It was marked on the map in the cable car station, the same map you had seen before you made your way up to the lodge with Sam and Chris. That was hours ago, and you wish you could go back and warn yourself to go back down the mountain. Or even better, ignore Josh’s email altogether and stay home. Play sick. You’d say anything not to be where you are, right now. 

But that’s not possible, is it? 

Your clothes are sticky with blood. Not your own, you think. You hope. This night was not turning out the way you had expected it to. And the choices you had made leading up to this point were beginning to make your stomach turn the longer you thought about them. 

Why did you leave the lodge? You could’ve stayed on the kitchen floor after that psycho knocked you out; you could’ve pretended not to hear Chris’s attempts to wake you up. You could’ve looked for a phone instead of rushing into the snow to find Ashley. Speaking of them, why had you left Chris and Ashley? You could’ve returned to the lodge with them to find Sam after witnessing your friend be sawed in half, but no. You needed to know that Mike was okay considering you hadn’t seen him since you both arrived. 

Why did you start that argument with Mike before the two of you had left for the lodge? 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“You're getting jealous over nothing. We’ve talked about this, there is nothing between me and Em. I’m with you. I’m in love with you. Why does this keep being brought up?”

“Maybe because she texts your phone like you're still close? ‘Text when you and the new gf get here, can’t wait to see you, winky face’,” you push his phone towards him. “She knows who I am, why does she feel the need to refer to me as the ‘new girlfriend’ as if we’ve never met? And why is she sending you winky faces? Why exactly is Em so excited to see you, Mike?” You make a point of emphasizing her nickname which seems to flow off his tongue so easily. 

“You’re looking into this way too much. This is crazy, I mean come on, that’s how she texts everyone, baby.” He gently takes his phone from you, throwing it onto the bed and reaching back for your hand which hovers in the air. You let him, but you make no effort to hold his hand back, fingers only resting in his hold. A soft sigh leaves your lips. 

“Yeah well, I���m not loving that she texts you that way and I’m also not loving the fact that you’ve said nothing to her about how weird it is. You have no problem defending her when you talk to me, so why can’t you say something to her about how I feel?”

“If I said something it would just cause a fight between me and her, or you and her, and the last thing that anyone needs up there, especially Josh, is for all of us to be fighting. Can you pretend to like her, only for the weekend, and then you never have to again.”

“You say that every time she’s involved, ‘just pretend to like her for tonight, and then you never have to ever again.’ But I will, because for some reason she is always around. I figured when Matt and she started dating we would see her less but I guess I was wrong.”

“Please, let’s just go and get it over with. We’re doing this for Josh, remember?”

“I don’t know, Michael, something about spending an entire weekend with your ex-girlfriend isn’t really appealing to me anymore. Call me crazy.” His eyebrows soften as you use his full name, especially in that tone. He is enjoying this conversation less than you are. 

“Don’t be this way, we’re already packed and ready to go. Just come downstairs and get in the truck. She won’t bother us, baby, I promise. Come on..” He attempts to pull you, gently bringing your hand closer to him. But your fingers slip from his hand, dropping to your side. From the bed, his phone buzzes, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who’s messaging him. 

“Sam told me she's taking the bus up there, I think,” you look back to him, “I’ll just head up with her so she doesn't have to go alone.”

“But then I have to go alone. And the bus leaves in like an hour, that's barely enough time to get ready and get to the stop. You're being ridiculous, just come with me. And if you want to, we can talk about this on the way up.” 

 You look away from him, missing the way his face falls as you turn your back to him. “I’ll see you up there, Mike.”

If you had just let it go, believed him, and gone with him instead of taking the bus with Sam, you would’ve never been angry with each other at the lodge. Or rather, you wouldn’t have been so furious with him because you would’ve talked things out in the truck, kissed, and made up instead of stewing in your thoughts on the bus. You wouldn’t be worrying about whether or not he was alive right now. But you were stubborn and foolish, and now you are trudging through the snow, improperly dressed, and praying the person you love is still breathing on this stupid mountain. 

You cross your arms over your chest, preserving what little warmth you have left, and with every step you lose another piece of hope. All you can think of is him. And how, if he is dead, he would’ve died thinking that you were mad at him. You weren’t even angry, annoyed for sure but not angry, you were just being stubborn and taking your frustration out on him. Now you might never get to apologize. The thought makes your stomach churn and your steps falter as a wave of nausea overtakes you. 

But, finally, in the distance you see the outline of a large building surrounded by a brick fence that appears to be falling apart. You allow yourself to be comforted, just for a moment, by the sanatorium's existence. The nausea in your stomach ceases as your steps quicken, arms uncrossing to move through the air. You reach the gate, blocked by the large pile of snow blocking both sides, not that you think you could’ve pushed it open in your current state; blocked from snow or not. 

You let your hand trace across the gate's bars as you walk towards the side of the fence. The pads of your fingers sting from the cold metal but you keep them where they are. As you move, they follow, moving from metal to brick. The only way into the sanatorium courtyard, you realize, is to climb over the stone fencing. 

A tired sigh leaves your body. You place your hands on the wall, palms stinging from the snow-covered surface. You lift your body, throwing your leg over simultaneously, climbing on top to straddle the snowy stone. The action uses more energy than you realistically have left so instead of gracefully landing on the other side of the wall you fall, directly onto your back. At least the pile of snow beneath you cushions your fall a tiny bit, but it still takes you a few minutes to recover your breath. 

Using the wall, you find your footing again. The snow falls from your clothes as you stumble towards the sanatorium. You don’t even know what you were expecting to discover here. You figured there might be people here. Maybe a construction crew, getting ready to tear the old building down. A custodian, forced to stay and take care of an abandoned building. Or on the slimmer side of chance, a large group of stable nurses and doctors that would offer you and your friends shelter and much-needed medical attention. However, the closer you get, the more you realize how fucked you are. Nobody is out here. And it was stupid to believe there would be. 

But you’ve come this far, and the chill that runs through your body borders on hypothermic potential. You reach the front doors, using your body to push the door open, shoulder first. It opens far easier than expected, and you fall to your hands and knees as it flies inwards. “Fuck.. me.” 

You don’t move from the floor, the opposite actually, you get closer to it, falling onto your back. You don’t even want to get up. No one is here. All your friends are probably dead back down by the lodge. What’s the point? At least this way you’ll have time to think over every choice that led you here, it’ll take a while for the cold to kill you since your feet are the only part of you still lying outside the building. From farther within the entry hall you hear a door open, the sound of steps echoing through the empty building. And though your heart rate picks up speed, you don’t move. Instead, you pray that whatever it is, will kill you quickly so you can be with your friends again. So you can be with Mike. 

“Who’s there? Whoever it is, just know I am armed and I am not afraid to shoot you. I have had one hell of a night and I am so not in the mood for.. whatever it is that you want.” Even with your heartbeat drumming against your ear canals, you still pick up the voice. A man's voice. Almost recognizable. You let your eyes close, murmuring the only thing you can think of like a mantra. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. 

“Holy shit. Y/n?” Mike? You turn your neck enough to see the man approaching. A sudden second surge of energy fills you, and you lift yourself into a sitting position to fully face the figure walking towards you. 

“M..mike?” 

“Holy- Oh my god, how are you- Are you okay?” He falls to his knees in front of you, dropping the gun and the lantern in his hands on the floor. His hands hover around you, scared to touch you. You notice that two of the fingers on his left hand are missing, replaced by a bandage soaked in blood.  Your hands are the first to make contact, landing on both sides of his dirty face.

“Are you real?” He nods, pulling you into a too-tight embrace. A stark contrast to his previous concern and reluctance to touch you. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m real. I’m so glad to see you. You’re alive.. holy shit I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“You look terrible” You wipe away some dirt from his face. Eyes wide as you try to convince yourself that he is actually in front of you. You had convinced yourself that he was dead, and now to see him in front of you alive and well - okay maybe not well but he’s not dead - it has your brain moving a mile a minute. There is so much you have to say. So much you have to explain to him. How do you explain to someone that his friend was sawed in half on the anniversary of his sister's death? Or how do you explain that the rest of his friends might ALSO be dead? And without sounding insane, how do you explain that you truly believe something is up on the mountain with you and that it might’ve followed you the entire way to the sanatorium? You can’t.  

“Well, I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He laughs breathily, unsteady. A laugh of disbelief. His way of coping has always been humor, even at the most inappropriate of times. Your features are probably the exact opposite of his uncertain smile. You pull him close again, practically pushing him to the ground, but his arms wrap around you and he straightens his back to keep the two of you upright. “Woah, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You push your face into his shoulder, saturating the filthy, green jacket that he wears with tears. It stinks like cigar smoke, years of sweat buildup, and dirt. 

“Mike- Oh Mike,” your voice is muffled in his skin, pausing in between sobs to catch your breath. His arm wraps tighter around your waist, the other arm reaching up so his hand can rest in your tangled hair. “I’m so- I am so so sorry Micheal. I thought you were dead, I thought- I thought you died thinking I was angry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. I’m just- I’m so glad you’re alive.” He kisses your temple, and as you raise your red face to look him in the eyes, he moves your hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Can you walk? God, you must be freezing. Did you come all the way from the lodge like this? Fuck, y/n, how are you even alive.” You shake your head, a silent confirmation that you don’t know how you’re alive either. 

He helps you to your feet, taking off the unfamiliar jacket and helping you into it. He then retrieves the lantern and the gun from the floor, “Here, can you hold this up?” You nod, and take the lantern from his hand. In the hand opposite of you, he holds the gun, and with the other, he intertwines his fingers with yours. “We're gonna get out of here. I am going to get you out of here, I promise.” He’s so certain, and your fear almost dissipates completely as he leads you farther into the sanatorium with a tight grip on your hand.

[hacash]

The argument demonstrated here against voting for Kamala has a couple of major, and I do mean major, logical falldowns.

Number one: saying 'I'm not advocating for Trump, I'm advocating that the people running a genocide lose an election' overlooks the crucial fact that only one of two people will be running the USA in January: Trump, or Kamala. That is just a fact. The fact that I routinely see multiple people from outside the US posting about this topic because they see US citizens either ignoring or being unaware of this fact is, frankly, a lot.

So I feel like at this point if you claim anything else could happen, you are being wilfully ignorant of the facts about how your country is run. Either Kamala or Trump is going to be running one of the most powerful countries in the world, and as a US citizen it is your job to decide which one that it. If you advocate for the Democrats to lose the election, you are advocating for the Republicans and Trump to win. It's that simple.

Number Two: 'You made it through four years of Trump and you can do it again'. Interesting point there! I feel like the woman who was killed at the Charlottesville far-right rally, the thousands who died during Trump's mishandling of COVID, any and all vulnerable immigrants in the US, the women put at risk by having abortions and certain pregnancy complications due to Roe vs Wade being dismantled, the queer kids in places like Florida vulnerable to homophobia and transphobia, any number of people put at risk by Trump slashing food safety regulations left right and centre, the Ukrainians who will be even more exposed to Russian imperialist attacks once Trump withdraws support, everyone whose lives were in danger when a fucking right-wing mob stormed the Capitol, not to mention everyone around the fucking world who may just, just be a little unsettled by Trump's deep desire to start dropping nuclear bombs on anyone who pisses him off might want a word with you there.

And that's certainly not to mention the Palestinians you claim to be supporting, who will most certainly suffer when Trump ramps up his support of Netanyahu to eleven (more on that later).

Look, I'm not saying that if the Democrats win peace will reign and everything will be perfect, but come the fuck on. I don't know if the people making this argument are literally so young that you weren't really politically conscious during Trump's presidency, but please don't insult those of us who did have to sit through the whole shitshow by saying crap like this. I don't care how sick you are of hearing it, elections mean choosing the least shitty option. If you still need it explained to you that Harris is less shitty than Trump, that is a you problem.

Number Three: 'some words and hype around what people think Trump will do' - No. I'm sorry, just no. We went through this the last time Trump became president. Trump has already shown us who he is. This is not a matter of our imaginations working overtime, this is an understanding of what will happen: based both on Trump's previous words and what he has already done in the past. Showing even more support to Netanyahu, encouraging and aiding him in his work, is not something 'people think Trump will do', it's something Trump will do. For all that you may dislike the Democrats (and I think @qqueenofhades had some good posts about Harris/Biden at least making attempts to push for peace in the room) it is bizarre at this point to pretend like Trump won't be significantly worse when it comes to supporting Netanyahu's actions.

This is a man who recognised Jerusalem as the undivided capital of Israel (leading to widespread condemnation around the world, including the UN, Arab League, and EU), said that Israel should keep on building settlements in the West Bank without stopping, and, once again, has been pals with Netanyahu since the very beginning. This is a man who thinks the answer to any problem is to send in the nukes and the gunboats, and who has made his disdain for Muslim lives painfully fucking clear. (I doubt very much that his respect for Jewish lives is that much better, but that's another post). If you don't realise that having Trump in charge of US foreign policy is only going to dramatically worsen the situation for Palestine, that is, once again, just wilful ignorance at this point.

-

“Trump would be the worst,” Asmaa Nimilaat, 50, said from a hospital where thousands of people are sheltering in Deir el-Balah, an area in central Gaza. “But any candidate that becomes president will not support Palestinians.” - from the Al Jazeera article further up the post.

I feel like people wilfully focus on the second half of the quote when they should be paying attention to the first. Yes: as things stand, neither political party is doing wonders for Palestine, and that sucks. But Trump would be the worse. For America and for Palestine, and for the rest of the world. There is literally only two futures open to us now: one where Trump wins, and one where Harris wins. And Trump would be the worst. At this point, trying to keep some sort of moral superiority in excusing not doing everything you can to keep Trump out by claiming 'we don't know he'll be bad/the Democrats still suck/I don't want complicity in American imperialism' is, quite frankly, ignorant and inward-looking at this point. You have an actual chance not only to benefit yourselves (by voting in a leader who is at least halfway decent) but to make life even a little bit better for people in numerous countries around the world (who will now get to deal with the less awful version of America dominating the world stage), and the notion that some people might actively choose not to is, frankly, staggering to me.

[alexandraisyes]

The cutest reminder ever that the way family works in TSAMS canon is that two parties have to be in mutual agreement that they are family. If one party doesn't agree then they aren't family. Parties can revoke familial ties whenever they want and that means they are no longer family.

"Code Relation" theory is stupid because you're then implying that Eclipse is Sun and Moon's child. Which he isn't. Or that Killcode is somehow Moon's child and his brother at the same time that he's Eclipse, Lunar and Bloodmoon's "father" at the same time that they're Sun and Moon's grand children. Like, we're seeing the issue here, right?

Don't make things more complicated than it has to be. Just accept the fact that family is literally determined by a verbal agreement between two animatronics and nothing else because none of them were born from wombs. That means respecting canon when characters in canon decide that they aren't comfortable being family (like Eclipse) or just straight-up disown everyone (like Bloodmoon). It's okay to have headcanons, but don't try to push them onto canon.

[blue-eli]

Ink October day 3: Sophistry

An argument that seems plausible, but is fallacious or misleading, especially one devised deliberately to be so.

[beevean]

I'm sorry, but this argument hinges on some incorrect assumptions

the symbolism of him literally throwing away a picture of his family just seems… Like the opposite of what made this character appealing in the first place?

Why? The symbolism seems clear to me. Shadow spent the entirety of his game trying to remember who he was: because of this, multiple parties were able to pull him on their sides, taking advantage more or less intentionally of his vulnerability. Come the Last Story, and Gerald's message to him, and he decides that he will move forward.

Throwing away that picture symbolized that. Not that he would forget them. Just that from then on, he would Never Turn Back.

Because without context, this can be read as "Shadow is made appealing by his attachment to Maria and nothing else".

Sega begins to pretend that Team Dark aren't even friends in their mandates for a while (despite the fact they clearly care for each others' wellbeing before anybody else's). Shadow becomes practically a popsicle stick puppet for "angry, serious, violent rival", and they never feel a need to explain his motivations or reactions beyond waving at that four word character description again.

No, no, no no no. If you're using Sonic Boom as your example, it's not canon and everyone is a parody of themselves - I'm not going to pretend Boom Shadow is particularly charming, but he is literally a different character than mainline Shadow. If you're using IDW as your example, Ian Flynn straight up doesn't understand the character.

What about Forces? A game that is very much canon, whose DLC is entirely focused on Shadow, where he has good banter with Rouge and Omega and he's shown to care about them (ex: the way he says "Tell me what you did to Omega" when Infinite boasts about defeating him), which is why Infinite uses them to torment him in his illusion - a more interesting idea than the fandom's first assumption that he used Maria's memory to break him?

You (general) may not like the game, or even its main story, but its portrayal of Shadow has nothing wrong with it if not that he's marginal.

(Someone who nearly lets the world be destroyed as revenge for losing his family is the exact opposite of someone who doesn't care!)

Gerald brainwashed him to do so.

He tampered with Shadow's memories so that he wouldn't remember Maria's final words, and therefore assume she wanted revenge for being killed.

It's not a coincidence that in ShTH, you player need to push Shadow to his utmost evil, and make him commit at least one war crime, for him to return to his "destroy the damn planet" mentality - and before G.U.N. Fortress, he remembers Gerald for the first time in the game. Just like he remembers Maria if you go for the Pure Hero ending! The parallel is intentional! Gerald is the reason Shadow went on a rampage in SA2! Violent destruction is not part of Shadow's character unless manipulated to do so!

He has finally, WITHOUT GETTING AMNESIA, IN THE CANON TIMELINE, gotten to become the hero Maria wanted him to be.

I'm sorry, I really don't get why amnesia would diminish his accomplishments? Does him killing Devil Doom and saving the Earth from the Black Comet suddenly not count because he got amnesia beforehand? In fact, one could argue that it makes him even more honorable!

This is the one big difference between Shadow in the Pure Hero-Hero ending and the Last Story. In the former, his only motivation is implied to be honoring Maria's wish ("I made a promise that I intend to keep!"), and you can tell by how many paths reference her and Shadow's promise to her in their name: For Love's Sake, Maria's Testament, The One Who Maria Entrusted, etc.. But in the Last Story, while he still intends to keep that promise, Maria is no longer his only morality compass: he can do the right thing because, well, it's the right thing to do. Just because he didn't mention Maria in '06, the assumption to make wasn't that he had forgot about her: he just became more of his own person.

That doesn't mean his story's over: I'm sure they can still find adventures to send him on.

It would have been nice to do so for this game meant to hype up Shadow, instead of this weird Shadow the Hedgehog 2: Time Travel edition.

Iizuka bluntly admitted that SXSG was nothing more than an advertisement for the movie. And I get it. Movie 3 is about to come out, and kids will want to learn who this cool black hedgehog is: there you go, just buy the abridged version of his arc, instead of experiencing these older games (as if playthroughs didn't exist)! But as a long-time fan, who has been here since 2004, this game just feels redundant to me. Shadow has to defeat Black Doom who wants to use him as a soldier... again. Shadow has to experience Maria and her death... again (he did so in The Doom and Lost Impact too, and those levels also fleshed her out as a character and gave insight on how they lived before the raid. Oh, speaking of which, The Doom as a concept showed more of Black Doom's powers and manipulative cunning than anything in SXSG). Shadow has to confront his past and his genetic ties with Black Doom... again ("Your alien biology doesn't matter!" repeats everyone in the game where the main gimmick is using Shadow's new cool alien biology and can only defeat his father with the biology that allegedly doesn't matter). Shadow sheds a tear for Maria before going and honoring her wish... again.

I've seen this. I've played Adventure 2, I've played Heroes, I've played ShTH, I've played Battle <- another canon game that deals with Shadow post-character development and does it masterfully, but I guess it's too obscure to be appreciated. If Shadow can be his own character and not just the guy who is sad because his friend died, can we please move on? Forces did it, and while again Shadow's role was admittedly minor, he was perfectly fine in that game! More of that, of Shadow doing his own thing and intersecting with Sonic while bantering with Rouge and Omega!

The only new thing in SXSG was that Shadow briefly contemplates freezing Maria and Gerald in time so that he wouldn't have to leave them again, and has to be told by Maria herself to not do that. At this point in his development, he really should be able to make the decision to let them go unprompted.

So yeah, SXSG did give Shadow a conclusion. For the fourth time. He's spinning his wheels by this point. This game is just an ad for newcomers, but it adds nothing new of substance, and it only further cements the idea that Shadow is not interesting if he doesn't angst about Maria. Hell, Team Dark doesn't even get much relevance in the game - you need to go out of your way to talk to Omega. The focus is very obviously not their present friendship, but Shadow's past and biology, again.

(Spoilers for Shadow Generations)

I think what I appreciate most about Shadow Generations is just that it gives Shadow ACTUAL, CANON closure for his struggle between good and evil.

By the end of Adventure 2, he remembered his promise to Maria and made his choice to save the world, but then he "dies".

When Heroes revives him, he doesn't remember any of that.

His namesake game (and I say this as gently as possible), as cool as the multiple endings were, feels so unsatisfying. We get to see Shadow's potential for good and evil, sure, but then the true canon ending comes, and it doesn't specify what he did (or even what exactly he remembered about his past) to get there, and then he just decides not to let his past control him. Which isn't a terrible direction on paper, but the symbolism of him literally throwing away a picture of his family just seems... Like the opposite of what made this character appealing in the first place?

And from there, the games kept giving mixed signals. Sonic '06 shows how deeply he and Team Dark come to care for each other, but then its events get literally removed from the timeline. Sega begins to pretend that Team Dark aren't even friends in their mandates for a while (despite the fact they clearly care for each others' wellbeing before anybody else's). Shadow becomes practically a popsicle stick puppet for "angry, serious, violent rival", and they never feel a need to explain his motivations or reactions beyond waving at that four word character description again.

Shadow's appeal (at least to me) was never that he was a character who didn't care about anything - it was that he cared very deeply, actually. (Someone who nearly lets the world be destroyed as revenge for losing his family is the exact opposite of someone who doesn't care!) He may not be cheerful, he may be quiet and stern, he may have a temper and be capable of terrible things if he isn't careful, but he isn't heartless.

And Shadow Generations FINALLY got it right, I feel.

There's now no doubt that he remembers his past, and that it did matter to him. It still does, in fact, and we're dropping the idea that he'll move on from it like it never happened. That's not how tragedy works.

But he will be able to move forward.

He has finally, WITHOUT GETTING AMNESIA, IN THE CANON TIMELINE, gotten to become the hero Maria wanted him to be.

That doesn't mean his story's over: I'm sure they can still find adventures to send him on. And that doesn't mean he needs any kind of complete personality overhaul, either. He can still be more aggressive than Team Sonic, and more stern, and maybe even more willing to resort to questionable methods to fight next week's bad guy.

But all of Team Dark has gotten to acknowledge that they do, in fact, care for each other, even if their attitudes aren't as chummy as Team Sonic.

Shadow has gotten to hear from his family that they are proud of him, weird alien DNA and all, and that even though he will have to go the rest of his long life without them, their love will always go with him, and give him the strength he needs to overcome any of his darker parts.

Shadow having a darker edge than Sonic and Shadow being a hero are things that can and SHOULD coexist, and I'm so glad we finally got to see it for him without it getting wiped from canon or his own memories again.

[brittlebutch]

actually it's kind of funny how people will say Alex's fatal flaw is that he 'doesn't ask for help' and that it's his determination to handle things on his own that leads to his deterioration and eventual death when his whole introduction to the present-day timeline was a very literal cry for help that simply went ignored

[gibbearish]

every time i see discourse about fundraisers go by on here im just fully struck with the realization that not a single one of you people have either taken a cybersecurity fraud prevention course or bothered to take one singular second to consider the website youre on. this is the broke bitches website. none of us can afford to fund our mutuals' grocery bills, much less entire evacuation funds, and CERTAINLY not FAKE evacuation funds taking advantage of genocide victims. all this shit abt how people are deliberately choosing not to fund every post that passes their dash because they hate palestinians literally just does the work of actual scammers for them by laying the high-pressure sales tactics groundwork, and the "do you guys have any idea how hard it is to keep coming up with new attention-grabbing fundraiser posts?" ones just ring EXTREMELY hollow because YEAH! YEAH I DO! and so does everyone i follow! and everyone they follow! because all of us are FUCKING BROKE and surviving on crumbs! i just saw one that said "i make sure to keep $40 in my wallet at all times so i can give $20 to any panhandlers i see, this is the same" and its like!! good for you, thats very nice, but like!!! you need need NEED to take a step back and realize that /being able to do that/ is a position of privilege, not the default setting to be a good person. i wont discount that some people do ignore fundraisers specifically because of racism because Of Course, but like. a) yelling at them isnt gonna make them stop, or more accurately yelling at /everyone else/ isnt gonna make those people stop, and b) trying to apply that as a blanket motivation for everyone just. realistically doesnt work. not donating is a nonaction, it is the literal default status, and while in specific situations you can use CONSISTENT absence of SPECIFIC actions to track a person's motivations SOMETIMES, broadly speaking that just. doesnt work.

there are 8 billion people on this planet. most of them will never know you exist. of the ones that do, most will not be able to help you. of the ones that can, most will not be on the broke bitches website passing the same communal $20 around. consider your audience and stop shitting on fellow poor people for having the gall to need to be careful with their money. and if you are genuinely only posting your fundraiser to tumblr, like. im sorry, but you need to anticipate not reaching your goal and prepare accordingly. theres a reason the last big scam scandal people talk about actually getting the money is like. all-or-nothing era, as a website none of us have the funds to make that kind of thing happen anymore or the security to risk it. a fundraiser not meeting its goal on here is not a personal sleight against whoever made it, its just how life goes sometimes. and it's unfair and it sucks and we should help however we can, but. sometimes you just arent able to help someone else, and continuing to feel responsible serves only to torture yourself. and blaming OTHERS serves only to move that guilt from yourself off onto another person. i imagine that has to be where a lot of the vitriol comes from, is people who cant afford to donate more getting pissed at people they see as having the funds but choosing not to share them, but again, sometimes you just are not able to achieve the goals you set out towards, through no fault of the specific parties involved.

people on tumblr choosing to buy groceries rather than potentially donate to a scam are not your enemy and are not the ones facilitating a genocide. we're all victims of the same horrific system, the question is just how that system manifests its influence on each of us. poverty kills just as thoroughly as a bomb. everyone is just doing their best to survive, and as much as we like to pretend that everyone should be a perfect selfless angel that puts others before themselves no matter what, humans are by default a selfish species, and it is a lot easier to say what youd do in theory than actually do it. and there's a reason you have to put on your own oxygen mask before helping the person beside you, youre of no help to anyone if youre too dead to do anything.

[that-satireguy]

Okay, I'll start with what you said at the end because this is a dumpster fire of gotchas, ad hominems, assumptions and fallacies.

Bad faith VS Good Faith:

A good faith argument is an honest attempt to persuade the other person to your way of thinking, without the use of fallacies. You lay out the points and explain why you're right.

A bad faith argument is at its core an attempt to antagonize the other person, aka: arguing for the sake of arguing. This usually involves personal attacks, putting words in other peoples mouths, not addressing what was actually said, engaging in personal insults, or otherwise wasting their time and energy on someone who doesn't actually want to understand.

If you're struggling with making a good faith argument, a simple list of things to go through:

No logical fallacies

You cannot start with the assumption that the other person is not able to understand your points. (because in this case you would have no reason to argue)

Do not assume that the other person is being disingenuous with what they say. You are a person on a screen, you don't know whats going on in their head. Address what your opponent says.

Don't put words in their mouth. Eg:'You might even say...#I'm being a bit hysterical!' 'She's a brainless sucker, through and through. She fell for my trap'

Take for example, what you said.

You made up a hypothetical person, and we established that this is a bad person. That is fair, made up people can be assigned to represent badness, for the sake of argument.

The problem then is that you converged this made up person with an actual human being. This made up person, who you can unequivocally state to be bad (all of their thoughts, opinions and actions are entirely made up by you) is equated with someone who's thoughts opinions and motivations you do not know.

This is a fallacy. You made up a figure, wrote them to have a bias, and then purposefully mirrored their actions to a real person to imply they are one and the same. They are not. One is made up.

'I'm not a trans woman, but I consider myself qualified to speak on their oppression, even when most trans women disagree with me.'-

In the screenshotted post, they did not speak on trans women's experiences with oppression, or assume how those are. All they did was state that transfeminism should not assume the experience of non-transfems. Literally, the thing you're saying is bad? They did not do so in this screenshot, however several aspects of the thing they are criticising do.

'Even if it leads me to consider every single critique'

The original poster listed out the types of critiques they were considering as bad faith. And they were (assuming they are honest) correct. Taking the things they said they stated as 'complaining about trans women' is bad faith. I just listed how it was.

'it does not readily occur to me that my personal standards of what constitutes 'good faith' are not the same for trans women as they are for everyone else!'

This is something you can state about your hypothetical figure, but when you apply it to the screenshotted person, that is a fallacy, because within what they said, they were correct that those things were bad faith, and they are, universally so. Within what they said, you cannot assume they would apply lighter standards to TME people. If they were lying, you can provide evidence of such.

'Instead, I attack the things that are associated with trans women'

Something being associated with a minority does not make it bigoted to critique. See earlier example of terfs, or what israel is doing atm. If you are stating that this is your hypothetical person's motivation, you cannot apply it to OP- because it is a fantasy of yours, not theirs.

'instead of 'trans women' I say 'perisex trans people', or 'the trans community'.

See above mention of assigning traits and motivations to a hypothetical figure in order to be able to pretend they reflect on the person you are arguing with.

'Someone else is likely to take my place and insist that, rather than a critique of rhetoric, she is playing into identity politics.'

This is quite interesting, because its the first decent point you've made. Hive mind mentality is bad. This is why callout posts are probably a decent solultion. However in order to do so, you must take a screenshot of something actually bad, rather than theorising and fantasising about their motivations over a logically solid statement.

, she's forced to defend herself the same way TERFs do

If you have a valid point, you are not forced to state that your opponent is wrong on the basis that the ideology they are critiquing is majoritively followed by a minority. Its a weak and stupid argument, and if its your only option, frankly thats on you.

'She's a brainless sucker, through and through. She fell for my trap

Its kind of insane that you (in your own hypothetical) create a character who uses harmful rhetoric, and positions this as the fault of the person who is being criticised by that rhetoric.

I don't want to defend this person, as obviously, I am operating from a lot less context than you are, but they are right in this specific case, you are objectively making a bad faith argument.

You could make your point in a better way, by addressing things that are wrong with what they said, pointing out why its wrong, or outlining the benefits to the tme/tma binary, rather than stating criticism of it is transmisogynistic.

I don't complain about trans women! i just call them bioessentialist, intersexist, bad faith, zero nuance, indistinguishable from cisfeminists, who deny that transmasculine people are oppressed. if they had a brain they'd know i don't complain about them! DUH!

[rjalker]

"this thing is inherently transmisogynistic because a lot of afab trans people like it"

so does that mean that something is inherently transandromisic if a lot of amab trans people like it?

no?

that's an objectively absurd claim to make? so you agree the first claim is also patently absurd?

glad we settled that then.

[llycaons]

this isn't really an atypical argument and I could regurgitate the regular rebuttals of how that doesn't excuse him, he was still literally a sect leader while the wens were literally political refugees so it's a little rich to talk about political capital and also the person who DID save them was a widely reviled heretic who made himself sectless and alone but overall sure I see the point and wwx ultimately failed (but like...maybe with a sect leader's support he MIGHT NOT HAVE) but then op reblogged with these tags

CITATION FUCKING NEEDED. All the wens who were at BM were cultivators who had PARTICIPATED in the sunshot campaign???? HELLO??? like I don't claim to have a perfect knowledge of the book but um. if this was true I feel like it would have come up before....also you're going to defend NOVEL jc who literally led the seiege and personally murdered unarmed peasants in their last remaining safe place? like? what the fuck

[post-futurism]

It is very disappointing to be connected to Australians on this website only to quickly discover they are terfs.