#rather than just being random lines and squares

[plushchimera]

I just want you to know that Tarja did nothing wrong in her life, ever

[presidentcircles-assistant]

looking at the old drafts i wrote down for vincent and equilateris’ story is so funny bc MAN was it different. like the only part of the story that stayed the same was the part about vincent getting stuck in the rural village

[m3r1m4r5u333]

Btw I NEED TO ramble about the scene in which Buck comes out to Maddie and why it just makes me love her even more than I did before. Maddie is my freaking GOAT ❤️❤️❤️

Why? Well, because she already KNEW. She TOTALLY KNEW. And still pretended to be surprised!!

Why do I say she knew? Well. Because it's 100% canon that Buck rambles about his boy crushes, a lot. A LOT. To everyone!!!

I can't remember how much I've talked about this, but Buck totally had a crush on Albert at one point. There's an whole storyline about it, episodes 4x07 and 4x08.

Here's a recap of how it goes:

Buck goes on a date with Veronica. The date goes BADLY. It lasts for about 90 minutes and Buck leaves humiliated, never wanting to see her again.

Albert is Buck's room mate. Buck comes home, rants about the embarrassing date, announces that he never wants to see Veronica again... Goes to take out the trash, and runs across Veronica, realising that she's their neighbour, lives in the same building. Buck runs home and urgently tells Albert that they have to move!!

Then... Buck knocks on Veronica's door, trying to reconciliate. He does not want awkwardness between neighbours. They agree that the date was terrible, and then... Albert walks out of the shower in a towel.

Next... We see Buck and Taylor (she's a reporter) at work. They're watching a guy who's having a meltdown on a low roof. The emergency is taking forever, Taylor and Buck talk... Or rather.. Buck does!!

Not only does he rant about Albert and Veronica to Taylor, he also talks about them to a random first responder. Albert in a towel!!! has certainly left Buck reeling. It's super obvious that the one Buck actually fancies is Albert. The one date with Veronica was terrible, they definitely weren't ever in a relationship -- but Buck is sputtering about "breaking of bro code!!" and Albert in a towel?? Yeah.

They're not the only ones hearing about Albert. There's also a scene (can't recall which episode) where Chimney and Maddie enter a karaoke bar. Chimney says something about this being nice reprise because he's heard enough about Albert lately...

Anyway, back to Veronica/Buck/Albert/Taylor. Buck invites Taylor on a double date - without telling her it's a double date. Taylor arrives, takes in the queer love square she's been pulled into, very pointedly says that she's heard A LOT about Albert because Buck keeps talking about him... And then she's like "Actually I'm off, this is ridiculous.", and storms off (go queen 👑!)... (Then she and Buck reconciliate. Her capacity to forgive is unparalled, just saying.)

Anyway, back to WHY I LOVE MADDIE. (And Chimney!!!)

The crush on Albert isn't the only obvious boy crush Buck has, is it?

Eddie... The way they meet and Buck goes nuts trying to impress Eddie. The peacocking (mutual peacocking!!!!) is absolutely ridiculous. Chimney watches this mating display dance, shakes his head, rolls his eyes, chuckles to himself... Chimney can tell what's going on, for sure.

Then there's that famous scene in which Buck rambles about Eddie and Chris, is apparently elbows deep online researching for ways to help Eddie with Christopher... Maddie finally asks if the boy crush on Eddie means that Buck is over Abby.

... And there is of course also that scene where Buck assumes that when Maddie meets Chimney and says "he's so cute!", Maddie is talking about Eddie... Even though Maddie and Chimney are before line that seen talking and flirting like they're totally in their own bubble.

Anyway - then let's jump to season 7. Buck is rambling on and on about Eddie and Tommy, and how they've hit off. Apparently has for a good while. Buck is super bothered by their friendship, it's clear he's pressing Chris for intel, snooping around the Diaz home trying to find more information... Maddie listens to this absolutely ridiculous, clueless prattling. And she knows. She totally knows.

Buck is GLASS. He's absolutely transparent. This man isn't straight.

And she's not the only one who knows.

Chimney enters the room. Maddie looks at him "NO! Don't you dare say anything!!!" But Chimney can't resist indulging himself with some subtle teasing.

He jumps in, praising Tommy. "That Tommy's SO COOL 😍!!" Basically just adding fuel to the fire, getting under Buck's skin.

Maddie, in the background is making a face like:

"jdjdkkeke CHIMNEY 🤦 ...Ugh, thank you, darling. 🙄👌You've done it. I'll be here all day, listening to this absolutely brainless jealous meltdown. Fucking great!"

So...

Why won't they say anything, talk to Buck about how ridiculous he's being? Sit him down and spell:

YOU AREN'T STRAIGHT. YOUR BOY CRUSHES CAN BE SEEN FROM OUTER SPACE. Wake up!!

Well... Because they are being patient. Because they are being considerate, because they do not want to press him, because they're letting him take his time, figure it out at his own pace.

Because they know that confronting someone who isn't ready to face their queerness can go badly.

Forcing someone to confront their queerness can backlash, it can make that person retreat further inside the closet.

It can be embarrassing and traumatizing for the closeted person to be pressed about this inner conflict. The closet is a maze, it is scary, and confusing, and the denial can be powerful enough that the closeted person doesn't even have any idea that hey, I'm queer, I'm closeted.

So Maddie and Chimney are being sensitive. They see that Buck isn't ready to talk about his sexuality - he's obviously not even aware of it.

So Maddie and Chimney are giving him the time he needs to come to term with it. They may indulge in some gentle teasing, maybe try to give him the occasional hint to help him along, but mostly they're just waiting, listening, letting him be.

So!!!!

What about Maddie's (my GOAT, I love her ❤️) reaction to Buck coming out? Why did she pretend to be surprised by Buck's attraction to men?

Because she was being KIND. Considerate. Because she loves her brother and realises that this moment... It's not about her. It's about him. It's about the reaction Buck needs, to feel supported.

It's not the time to embarrass him. It's not the time to GLOAT about how smart she is, to have realised, ages ago, that Buck is clearly into into men, too.

She did see it coming, and because she is the BEST sister ever... She prepared. She researched this shit, how to react to someone's coming out in a positive way.

And if this is new to you - pay attention now...

Many queer people say this about their coming out;

It sucks if the person you're coming out goes "I KNEW IT! I CALLED IT! I SAW THIS COMING! YOU WERE SO OBVIOUS!!"

Because it totally belittles their struggle. It can be humiliating to learn that when you were scared, and stressed, and confused, and trying to hide your vulnerable underside... Someone was watching you, and thinking "Pffft. You're so freaking obvious. You're fooling nobody. Just come out already."

This gloating "I knew it" reaction isn't just bad because it makes you feel stupid, embarrassed, to learn that you were being transparent. It's like you have no privacy anymore. They saw your performance and gave it one star.

This "Oh I knew"... It makes you anxious because then you wonder... Who else already knows? Who else am I obvious to? What else am I obvious about?

Learning that they knew... It can be traumatizing. Embarrassing. Scary. Because nobody wants to learn that they're easy to read.

Maybe... you aren't ready to come out to everyone, and this reaction makes you terrified that you won't have the option to get ready, that they will realise what you're hiding, and force you to talk about it.

Because maybe... you're still freaked out abour people knowing you're queer. Maybe you fear people spotting it and lashing out.

Or maybe... You aren't afraid of a hateful reaction, but panic at the idea of even a supportive talk about your sexuality with someone. Sexuality is an universal taboo, talking about is awkward and stressful to almost everyone.

And also, when you come out and the person you told tells you they already knew, that your queerness was obvious, and they were expecting you to come out..?

It can be a shock in another way. Maybe your queerness was something you, at some point, were desperate to hide from others... And clearly, you failed that mission. What else are you failing to hide? Because everyone has something they're insecure about!!! Secrets, traumas, embarrassing moments, vulnerable parts. We all try to guard something.

So being told that your poker face sucks? It can make you feel totally paranoid. You think... Omg. I thought I was hiding this. I tried so hard to hide this.

But clearly I wasn't hiding. They saw right through me. Am I always so easy to read?

Do people know all my secrets, everything that makes me nervous and embarrassed, and scared? Do they just look at me and think "They're so dumb to put up that front, we can totally tell how you really think and feel."

Do people look at me and laugh? Do they joke about me behind my back?

And so on.

Basically, when someone comes out to you and you go "Thank god! ABOUT TIME!!"... You're being a prick.

They're opening up to you. They are being vulnerable. They are trusting you with something.

This moment... Your reaction is important. If you want to be a good ally, and support this person coming out to you.

Your job is to provide reassurance. Support. A listening ear. Your love.

Your job isn't to gloat, or dismiss their fears. Your job is not to induce panic, paranoia, or humiliate them by making them feel dumb.

They may be scared of your reaction. Respect that fear, however irrational it is. It doesn't matter if you're queer too, or think you're the best ally in the world, this moment can still be something they've been nervous about. Don't shit on it by smugly gloating about your excellent queerdar.

Yes, you can be honest, if they desperately want to know if you suspected anything. You can gently tell them that you saw some signs. But really, this moment isn't the time to humiliate them or freak them out. Be sensitive.

....

.... Oops sorry, got lost in the ramble 😅😅!!

Uh... Where was I? Yes.

Basically what I wanted to say with this post is that...

Maddie. Freaking. Buckley!!!! You are the love of my life, does not matter that you are fictional. You're my freaking GOAT anyway. I'm... weak.

Because her reaction to Buck's coming out?!!!

Jdjdjjdjdbndnd.

It actually makes me emotional. It was so perfect. It was so full of love!!!

Because yes, she totally knew, had known for years...

AND she kept that knowledge to herself!!!!

Because she'd seen Buck, the closet he was so lost inside in, and she loves Buck... So she wanted to be there for him.

And she knew that it's not easy to come to terms with one's queerness. That it can be tough and scary.

So she thought "What can I do to help? How can I do my best to support my queer brother?"...

And rolled up her sleeves. She researched this. She found out it's not helpful to press someone, that it's important to be patient. She looked up the experiences of queer people coming out. What is helpful! What isn't! She came up with a plan.

Yes, she totally did. I'm telling you, she fucking studied for this test. To make sure her reaction would be freaking perfect, and help Buck on this journey.

Because she did everything right. She realised that letting Buck know how obvious his bisexuality was to her... Might be detrimental to his well-being, and their relationship.

She understood that it wasn't important that she'd known.

That it wasn't her time to brag about how clever she was, to have seen this coming, but to be sensitive of this struggle, to respect this struggle.

So when the day finally came... She was surprised, yes, to realise Buck had been on a date with a man.

I mean, it came out of the blue, right? Buck had been so oblivious to his closet. She'd missed the moment Buck became aware of the closet, and immediately ran on a date.

She thought Buck was still in the dark, so him suddenly going on a date with a man never even entered her mind as an option.

Then she realised... OH. He IS there? He has figured this out. He's coming out to me, now?

Okay!!! Let's follow the game plan then.

Be sensitive. Don't act like you were totally expecting this day to come.

The identity of the date? That was the real surprise. I mean, just watch the previous scene in which Buck talks about Tommy and Eddie with her.

He does rant about Tommy, but c'mon... It's really Eddie's attention Buck craves.

It's basically a re-telling of Buck's love tangle with Veronica, Taylor and Albert. Buck told himself he wanted Veronica, and that's why it bothered him that Albert "broke the bro code".... In a towel! Except, the one who Buck wouldn't shut up about... Was Albert.

And Maddie sees that it's happening AGAIN. Wow... Her brother really has no idea WHO he is actually crushing on.

Okay, she thinks. Does not matter now! The coming out is the important part, so let's roll with it. Focus, Maddie! Get it right.

And she did. She was patient. She was supportive. She sae that Buck was trying to run from the topic of sexuality like it was a total nonevent that he'd been on a date with a man...

So she was like "Hey, let's just slow down a bit. Let's acknowledge this moment. I now know that you were on a date with a man. You don't need to continue this pronoun game.

Okay. Let's talk about it being a first date with a man, and what this step means to you. You can tell me."

Really, she was so lovely. She didn't gloat about already knowing, she didn't stress him out by being overly emotional - by acting like this was the biggest event to happen on Earth.

She calmed him down.

She made sure to let him know that this didn't scare her, or make her feel awkward.

That she wanted him to talk about this with her. That she was excited for him, and supportive, and wanted to know more, and that it was okay to date a man.

That she would want to know about Buck's relationships with men just like she'd wanted to know abour her relationships with women.

She let him know that she was there for him, ready to listen, and glad to hear he'd been on a date with a man.

That this didn't change a thing, that she would accept and welcome Buck's male partners just as she had always accepted the women he'd dated. The gender made no difference, she was fine with whoever Buck chose to date.

And she also made sure the mood didn't turn too heavy. She let him know that this was great news, something worth celebrating. That she was excited to see him enter this new chapter in his life, and experience new things.

And that she wanted to learn of it, she wanted him to share this new stuff, let her in his life. So tell me more about this hot pilot!

Jdjbdbdnndnd!!!

Really, she was fucking fantastic. This was such a lovely scene. I love Maddie, she's my favorite. I need a tissue, I'm crying.

Oh and also. It wasn't just great writing. The acting here just blew me away. I love them. So skilled, so lovely, so funny, so human. Brilliant, beautiful, both of them. Fucking impeccable.

[ms-demeanor]

hello! i vaguely recall you doing a new year's resolution bingo thing - first, was that actually you lol? and if so, how'd it go, any adjustments you'd make from the original idea? (i did a resolution bingo this past year, which mostly ended up being a 24 item quest buffet, which did work for me! but i'm curious for more data). happy new year to you and your various sizes of bastard!

Hello! Yes, that was me. It didn't go great!

I did a resolution bingo in 2022 but it ended up feeling like homework and at a certain point in the year I looked at the spaces that I hadn't filled and it just made me feel bad.

In 2023 I did kind of a chore chart; I used a sheet of college-ruled notebook paper and divided it up into columns with things like "guitar" and "draw" and and "quilt square" and "go for a walk by myself" and numbered out 52 lines and I went through and highlighted each thing as I did it each week. That went very well for some things and not very well for others. I had at least a few columns where I did something every other week, and I totally finished the quilt square column, and I drew something for like 40 weeks, but I also had several categories that I did absolutely nothing for and several categories that had very few highlights.

That chart *also* was kind of a problem and there was a week in, like, august where my brain was being weird and was like "you can't do more of X until you've caught up on Y and Z" because I had to flip the paper over and wanted to finish three columns before I flipped it - that was clearly a very silly hangup but I don't make the rules for what my brain will freak out about and it caused a disproportionate amount of stress.

This year I kind of combined the two and I've made three sheets of paper with different tasks on different lines, and in different amounts. (And none of the papers need to be flipped over so I won't get a weird hangup week)

So instead of having 52 blanks each for "pushups" "squats" and "go for a walk by myself" I've got 156 blanks for "workout: lifting, calisthenics, stretching, walking, cardio." I didn't do a single walk by myself last year, and it turns out I'm pretty unlikely do do random squats or pushups, so rather than try to do one exercise fifty two times I'm just going to try to do *some* kind of exercise three times a week and I'm not going to feel bad about it if that's more bench press instead of more cardio.

I did pretty well with quilt squares so i've set a goal to do twice as many this year. I set a goal for 52 drawings and writing seriously 52 times. My yard is a disaster so my goal is to fill my yardwaste bin 52 times this year.

But what I *haven't* done is divide that up by week. Maybe some weeks I'll get four workouts in and other weeks I'll do two. Maybe I won't draw for a month but I'll get into it a lot over the summer.

One of my two other sheets is things that I'd like to do daily. My four daily tasks that I'm aiming for are: clean something at the house, floss, moisturize, and journal. (Journaling was successful in the bingo year but not at all last year)

The other sheet is the one that's more like the bingo, or what I think the spirit of the bingo is supposed to be. I've got it labeled "Bonus" and each thing on it has about twenty circles that I can check off if I do something but that I don't see as a goal. That includes stuff like "friend hangs" and "go someplace" - stuff that I want to do more of but that I can either plan or do spontaneously and that doesn't have a big project end goal (so it's "do something with music like program a music box or play guitar for a while" rather than "write a song" like it was the bingo year, when no song got written).

I may have also just kneecapped myself by making the bingo squares too hard. Maybe I should do a monthly bingo with smaller goals.

The bingo also got harder when I failed at bullet journaling; turns out that's not a great way for me to manage my time and attention and the bingo was in the bullet journal. Having stuff on a wall next to the light switch in my office helped a lot last year, I think, so that's where my sheets are this year too.

IDK, this is all fun to experiment with and I enjoy it but also I'm never sure if any of it "works" in terms of getting me to do more of the things that I'd like myself to do. It did work for quilt squares last year, though, and that's the best progress I've made on my quilt since I started it in 2021. And the daily chart is helping a lot so far.

But maybe I just like making charts (I do).

[adobe-outdesign]

could you review some of the neopets as animals outfits, like the fennec kacheek, red panda vandagyre, and cockatiel pteri? (those are examples, choose whichever you like!) thank you <3

(Note: I included a random selection of outfits in this post, but feel free to send in asks if anyone wants to see a specific outfit I didn't cover.)

I'll be honest, I'm personally not super big on the "outfit that resembles a real-world animal" trend. First, I play Neopets for the cool fantasy creatures; even the most true-to-life Neopets species have some pretty fantastical colors. I feel like making pets just look exactly like actual animals kind of defeats the purpose of them being Neopets. I get why people would like it and I'm not saying it's bad; it's just not my thing.

Also, the other reason I'm not always big on these outfits is that a lot of Neopets have colours that already resemble real animal patterns. Not only do the outfits blur the colour/customization line quite a bit, but usually I like the colour ones much more, as they keep the actual design of the Neopets in place and just change the patterns and colors, rather than covering up the fun fantasy elements. This also helps them avoid the uncanny valley effect, which I talk about more below.

Also I might be over thinking this but who is making these outfits. None of these animals seem to exist in-universe as far as we're aware. what are the shopkeepers basing these off of. the colours at least have a magic as an excuse

Examples that I think are okay:

Feathery Pteri Outfit: This one's nice! I like the layered patterning on the wings and the high-contrast colors. Most, though, I like that this sticks fairly close to the actual pet, mostly just changing up the tail shape. This almost could've been a paintbrush colour, but then again what colour is up in the air.

(Side note: the eye clipping over the beak is a rendering issue? I think?)

Bouncing Zafara: This one definitely strays farther from the actual pet than the Pteri, but it's a fitting animal choice and it doesn't fall into the uncanny valley, which is all I care about. The body is still somewhat recognizable as a Zafara in terms of shape, and the Miamouse as the joey is super cute.

Freshwater Lenny: Kind of the same case as the Zafara; not super one-to-one with the actual pet, but it's still recognizable as a Lenny and isn't too uncanny. The legs are a particularly nice touch, actually changing the pose to look more heron-like (though they are also the part that strays dangerously into being too detailed).

Please don't:

Adorable Kacheek: Sorry to the fans of this one, but this outfit just resides deep within the uncanny valley to me—like it's a mascot suit instead of just a normal pet. The artstyle is way off from Neopets, looking much more Subeta-ish (except Subeta's art usually isn't so off putting). It's not a bad artstyle, mind you, it's just not very Neopets-ish. I also feel like a fennec fox was also a bad pick for this one, as it's basically unrecognizable as a Kacheek at all.

Feathered Eyrie: Speaking of the uncanny valley, this is another pet that lands squarely there due to having entirely too much detail in the shading and weirdly realistic fur textures. It also just doesn't look very good aesthetically—the beak doesn't fit the face, and the wings are an absolute trainwreck (not only is the perspective wrong, but the left wing is coming from the middle of its back!). On the plus side, you'd be hard pressed to not recognize this as an Eyrie, and it's a fantasy creature instead of a regular animal, so I guess that's something?

Furry Meerca: Hmm... no. This one also suffers from an overly-detailed artstyle and way too much realism, which is especially jarring when placed on top of the Meerca's heavily stylized body shape, resulting in a perfectly round animal with hyper-realistic animal eyes. It's also particularly bothersome because we already had a chipmunk Meerca design in the form of the striped Meerca colour, which is just this but less soul-haunting:

Which is what I meant at the beginning when I was talking about colours vs outfits. The colour is a Meerca that looks like a chipmunk; the outfit is a chipmunk that looks like a Meerca. Big difference.

[maks-punchout-hyperfixtion]

*cracks knuckles* ay folks you get a tumbler exclusive for awhile because I'm to lazy to actually go onto ao3

Reminder time!! This is my a.u and is not a direct depiction of spo/wii aran Ryan's personality

Tw's: slightly detailed injuries, reference to Macbeth, and self harm by hot water

Thanks to: @atypical-artisan for helping with errors and formatting

“Aran! C’mon we're going to be late!”

Absolutely no response came from the guy. Having Andrew sigh as if it was a daily occurrence now.

“Give the kid a break this is the longest he’s been separated from Ardin since..” Roree took her brush and tapped it seven times before snapping. “Since that time the school separated them by accident!”

“Roree, that's not something to be excited about.” Andrew pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't got time for this! I have a match in an hour!”

“Andy it's not until 3.”

“If you're not early you're-”

“late blah blah blah you know i think Deedee knows a german fella you would love.”

“If I wasn't pissed already I would smack you.”

“Oh I would love to see you try!”

Andrew growled and Started to head upstairs, muttering about the upcoming fight. And complaining about Lucky being a whole sea away for another disaster, as he turned and opened the door.

“Aran!- I said- down Cu- I said come on!” Andrew pushed the dog down before giving it a small pat. He looked directly at the bed that had Aran in it. “I know you ain't sick lad, otherwise we would have been to the doctors already… again…”

“i rather be there then see another one of ye go against the bi-”

“Watch your tone.”

Andrew attempted to step over the random clothing and items on the floor, the kid loved to do big projects but god forbid he cleans his room, as he then took Aran’s blanket and pulled them off.

“Hey!”

“You’re goin’. I'm not leaving you: a teenager who witnessed his twin get sent to the hospital because of a damn cheater, alone in a house with more than enough to make us wo-OW!”

Aran slid a pair of horseshoes onto Andrew's foot, and despite seeing it coming it still hurt. Andrew shook his foot before glaring at Aran and picking up the horseshoes.

“You're going, rather you're being willing or not. And I can hold up me own with you so I suggest-”

“Yeah I'm feckin’ going lieutenant bollox.”

That got a smack from Andrew as Aran got up. Who just rolled his eyes and grabbed a sleeveless hoodie from the ground. Andrew rolled his eyes before sighing.

“Ye know we care about ya right?”

“Mhm.”

“..look Aran I promise that im goin’ to remind her not to fuck around with us.”

“And how will you do that?”

Aran took a glance at the horseshoes before stuffing them in his own hoodie’s pocket.

“Going with a different style.”

There were multiple reasons why Andrew never cheated. First, it reminded him of how unfair the world could truly be, the second stemmed from Ardin who once saw Aran break his hand from the horseshoe in glove tactic and now gets on top of people who do that. The 3rd reason was self explanatory, it was just wrong. He got here fair and square and he always wanted to stay like that.

Plus hitting a girl with horseshoes that were your own brother’s seemed wrong. But after a week of hearing the girl shit talk his own family the final straw was definitely close to breaking now.

Yet at the same time, it was still cheating. Even Narcis got onto him about it. Yes he wanted revenge for putting his sister in the hospital but she was 19 and able to stand her own ground normally.

“This is a mistake,” He muttered, adjusting his gloves.

There was a faint line that showed where the horseshoes were. He had time to call for a glove check. That would make a fair fight. He turned around to his coach but before he could say anything his opponent started yapping.

“Ey! Rran! You ready to prove to your own country that your family is full of weak and pathetic people? Thought your sister would relay the message!”

Rran- I mean Andrew snapped his head back, giving his opponent a death glare as his coach tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ay, you need something lad?”

Andrew thought for a moment before the bell signaling the start sounded.

“Just have medics on stand by.”

He got up from his corner, hearing the announcer shout the name Aran Ryan, god he's going to need to change that soon, with a lot more accuracy then the bitch Infornt of him ever actually did.

God will it be a blessing for her to shut up and have a ruined face.

The referee stepped onto the mat in-between the two, not uncommon when you put two enemies together in a match, and pulled out a piece of paper.

“Ight let's get this over with. This is a time trial so you only have 3 minutes. Once those three minutes are up you both go back to your corners and I'll decide the winner. You both should know the tko and ko rules by now right?”

“Yeah yeah can we get punching now?”

“Andrew, I will personally give you 20 euros if you break her mouth.”

Punch blade looked quite offended at that as Andrew just rolled his eyes.

“Oh relax about him.”

He glared at punch blade.

“I'm going to do much much worse.”

As the bell rung again Andrew’s coach went over to the doors, specifically where Roree and Aran were.

“Shouldn't yo-”

“I'm getting the medics like he asked. Wanna come?”

“No thanks. I got the short straw with this one.”

Aran slightly nudged Roree for that statement, solely because it wasn't a wise discussion even for him to smack someone who has a metal weight on her wrist. That alone was probably 5 pounds. Let alone the fact she was kinda an official arms wrestler. He proceeded to watch the fight, only slightly noticing something was off.

“Hey Roree?”

“Hm?”

“I think he broke her back.”

“Oh very fu- wait what.”

As if on cue as Roree turned around she saw Andrew push the screaming girl off of him, and landed a kick right in the stomach. Not a signature move in the ring. But definitely a signature move outside of it. And it always landed someone in the hospital and him in the station.

“Oh shit- uh Aran im going to run somewhere you just um stay.”

Aran just gave a thumbs up as Roree ran into the hall.

Meanwhile the referee started the count as soon as punch blade hit the floor, but stopped when he saw Andrew pull another punch directly in her face.

“Hey. Andrew, that's enough! Back to your corner!”

But Andrew didn't care, he continued the punches, landing them in spots that would definitely leave more than a bruise.

The only time he stopped was when a blade sliced over his glove, cutting it open, Resulting in the horseshoe falling out and a gasp from the crowd, even Aran looked shocked at the scene.

The shock eventually wore off as punch blade took her knife out of her glove and attempted to stab Andrew with it, only for him to grab her arm and smash the horseshoe right onto it.

The look in his eyes was almost chilling as he lifted the thing up, like he was contemplating something, before he smashed the horseshoe right into her mouth. Breaking past the mouth guard and cracking a few teeth, the second time did a few in.

He then grabbed her hair and smashed the side of her head, right where her ear was. He was about to go for her neck next when something grabbed the horseshoe and yanked it out of his hand.

“Jesus fuck Andrew enough! She's down! You won!”

Roree tossed the horseshoe aside and grabbed Andrew's arm and pulled him away while a medic looked at punch blade. The ring was now stained with blood.

“Dude the hell did you do to her?”

The referee got onto the ring while looking at punch blade, causing Andrew to look too.

Frankly what was listed wasn't the only thing he apparently did, there was a gash on her head and she was spitting pieces of teeth and mouth guard out, but she was clenching the side of her torso, specifically where the ribs were. And it was clear her arm was broken, or at least fractured. Her leg was sprained. Frankly Andrew didn't actually recall what he did or didn't do, but the horrified look on the peoples faces he could see spelled it all.

He almost killed her.

“Andrew?”

No response, what was there to say anyways? ‘oh i'm sorry for nearly killing you’?

Like he could have gotten the words out, his entire body was shaking, almost near hyperventilating.

Without another word he pulled his arm away from Roree, got up and rushed off the ring. Not even stopping as his sister yelled for him, then he was just gone.

It was only an hour after statements were given and the fun of it. In full frank nobody in any of the WVBA's would say anything bad about Andrew, hell shark bite from Australia even said he should have killed Lucy, yet it was completely useless as the officials found a letter of resignation and Andrew’s locker cleaned out shortly after they went to find him. Causing quite the worry in some of the Ireland officials and his own siblings.

“I'm sure he's fine. This was just. Something out of the ordinary he’ll come back!”

“No. No Aran he isn't.”

Roree sighed as she stopped herself from putting her head on the steering wheel of the car. Aran was holding his horseshoes Andrew stole, a case wasn't opened so it wasn't used as evidence, Aran wished it was though. It was probably more blood then horseshoe now, he had it wrapped in a couple of paper towels but they didn't do a good job of absorbing the blood. And frankly he was still scared of the whole thing, funny considering the fact he wasn't scared of anything else.

“Aran. If he's home I don't want you talking to him. Not yet anyways.”

Aran was about to protest as Roree held up her hand.

“You. You don't know this side of him. Frankly I rather you don't even come inside ‘til I tell you. Just, leave us alone to talk. Alright?”

There was more worry in her voice now. As if she was contemplating what she would find when she got home.

“Actually. If he is home -call Narcis, he had a fight with an Irish rookie today he should still be here, unless he actually likes making 2 to 6 hour trips.”

They stopped at their house, seeing Andrew’s bike just tossed onto the ground.

“Well at least he made it home in one piec- wait when did bring his bike?!”

“I think he just kept it there just in case.”

“Aran do me a favor and don't do that when you and Ardin move to new york. They're worse than here.”

Roree got out of the car and tossed her phone over to Aran.

“Narcis’s name is under ‘golden bastard’- don't tell Andrew- I'm going to go talk to him.”

Aran gave a thumbs up again as Roree went inside, her first notice was the mirror being foggy, the second was hot water being run.

“Andrew, you better not have been trying to wash your hands clean of blood like Lady Macbeth with hot water again!”

The water was shut off as the sound of a towel being quickly wrapped around hands was heard. How? Because he kept hitting the sink with his hand as Roree noticed him cleaning the sink from water drops.

“Andrew.”

“what?”

“The hell are you doing?”

“...dishes.”

“What dishes? I did them this morning before we left!”

Andrew stayed silent as Roree walked over, steam was still leaving the stink as she grabbed the towel and pulled it off, seeing his typically slightly tan but still pale skin being sunburnt red. She just sighed as if this wasn't the first time.

“I'm not going to bug you on that. Why did you quit?”

“Why? Ain’t it obvious?”

Roree just shook her head at that.

“Andy, nobody in that association is going to turn you in. Hell they'll even drop the to-”

“I don't care. I still broke my own morals and almost killed someone in the ring!”

“That's.. well that's a bit of an over statement aint it?”

“Oh when the hell is it?!”

Andrew slammed his hand on the sink, before pulling it back.

“It doesn't matter, Roree. I'm not going back to a place that allows filthy cheaters to compete.”

“Aran’s a filthy cheater. I’m a filthy cheater. Are you saying-”

“You two are different. And again it doesn't and will not matter! Frankly I was already planning on quitting. This was just a send off.”

Roree was taken aback a bit from that.

“But you love boxing! It was your dream! What changed?”

“There's a difference between a dream and a reality, Roree. My dream was boxing. The reality is that no matter what somebody is going to cheat someone out of something.”

Andrew put a hand on his head. “I'm getting a headache. I'm going to bed.”

Before Roree could say anything he tossed the towel onto her head and walked off to his room. The door slammed shut as he entered it. Roree just looked onwards. Pondering if he was being serious or not. Then the front door slammed open.

“DUDE YOU BROKE THE FECKIN' HANDLE!”

well on the high note. At Least they could now replace that ugly door handle Narcis just ripped off. Roree didn't say anything, just pointed to Andrew’s room as Narcis Sprinted to his room. She proceeded to glare at Aran.

“What?”

“I told you to just call him.”

“I did!”

“You said something, what was it?”

“Just a recap of everything.”

“I'm never trusting you with calling someone ever again.”

[bunabi]

srry if this is intrusive or weird, but i saw in a reblog recently that ur from chicago: can i ask, whats it generally like living there? like, cost of living/ housing, public transport, disability access, healthcare. its one of the main places i was thinking abt moving to after college, but i dont know anyone frm there yet & always like to talk to locals for info rather than random articles online. thank u for ur consideration, whether u answer or not, hope u & sabine have a great day! 💖

(chicago anon again) OH & also srry if it seems like a lot to ask!!! after sending the mssg i relize it might come across like im asking for some whole ass essay abt the area or smthn. to clarify i jst meant i was curious if u have a few short general thoughts or insider "things ppl who move here should know" or i guess mostly just if you personally enjoy it there & whatever. but i def dont wanna be a burden. i know its kind of vague open ended question. ahh!! OmO;

Uh sure let me think:

The trains and buses are pretty consistent. It's $2.50 per swipe but transfers are free. When I was in college they gave us student discount passes. There are applications for free/reduced-fare passes.

Not every station has elevator access, so you might want to look into that ahead of time if you need any accommodations. Between the three stations near me only one is wheelchair friendly.

It's expensive everywhere now. Try to find a place with the best deal per square footage. I have a way more affordable large studio that's the same size as my prev small 1BR apartment. Speaking from experience: a lot of 'remodeled' places just have new appliances and the same ancient walls with insane bug colonies, so be careful. 😭

Neighborhoods with a nearby campus (DePaul in Lincoln Park, Loyola in Edgewater, U of I in West Loop) are typically really safe & have guides available. If you can afford it and don't mind being around students nonstop, I recommend those areas for first apartment hunting.

Our main subway lines are the Red Line & Blue Line. They have completely different energies. Idk how else to describe it. If you visit, please ride both to get an idea of which you prefer to deal with on a regular basis.

Good luck!

[ckret2]

Sooo... did Bill always know that there was more beyond the second dimension? Or did he discover that at some point later in life?

The short answer is yes, he knew about it from childhood. And also (this is relevant) he was raised in a cult.

The long answer is a lot more interesting—but bear with me, because the answer is a combination of New Age spirituality and non-Euclidean geometry. That isn't a joke, non-Euclidean geometry is literally involved.

New Age spirituality

Now, a solid 95% of modern New Age concepts are the five-generations-removed brainchildren of con artists, cultists, perennialists, and white people who like to steal ideas from India and claim they came from aliens; but New Age concepts and conspiracy theories are all part of the body of ideas that Gravity Falls likes to treat as real for the purpose of parody, so let's take a look at 'em anyway.

Amongst the many concepts that have been drawn into the New Age movement, there's the idea that multiple (spiritual) planes exist beyond the physical plane, and it's possible to reach them psychically—via astral projection or out-of-body experiences or the like. Often you'll hear about inhuman or formerly-human teachers that come from higher planes to educate particularly spiritually gifted & enlightened humans.

(For those of y'all that have read Flatland: it's easy to imagine this as something similar to the sphere descending to the second dimension in order to raise up and teach the square about higher dimensions.)

The terms "indigo children" (kids with an aura the color of the third-eye chakra) or "starseed" (alien souls reincarnated in human bodies) get tossed around to describe strange, sensitive, strong-willed, intelligent/intuitive children. These kids are claimed to be "special" psychics and sensitives, destined for great spiritual purposes, and typically thought to have an easier time learning New Age concepts or accessing higher planes. (In reality, these terms are usually claimed by parents who would rather believe their kids are special aliens than admit their kids have ADHD/autism/trauma.)

Now, so much for New Age beliefs! Let's move on to non-Euclidean geometry. Time to learn about biangles.

Non-Euclidean geometry

If a tri-angle is a shape made of three angles (and three straight lines), then a bi-angle is a shape made of two angles (and two straight lines). Draw three random points and connect them and it's easy to make a triangle:

But it's a lot harder to make a biangle. If you draw two straight lines, it just looks like a line instead of a shape. The only way to draw it so that you see a shape is to curve the lines like a football, but then it's not a correct biangle because it's not two STRAIGHT lines:

So, it's impossible to draw a biangle on a flat piece of paper.

But it's easy to draw one on a ball.

Just take a sphere, pick two opposite points—like the north and south pole—and draw two different straight lines from north to south.

In the field of Euclidean geometry—the kind of geometry we all learned in school, with perfectly straight lengths & widths & heights—this biangle is clearly made of two curved lines wrapping around a sphere. But in the field of spherical geometry—a form of math that treats the surface of a sphere like it's a flat surface—those are two straight lines, relative to the sphere's point of view.

You can also draw triangles in spherical geometry.

Now let's talk about Bill's folks.

Flatlanders

If an alien read or watched Lord of the Rings, they'd learn what a human being looks like, they'd observe how sunlight and gravity work in our universe, they'd see mountains and plants and rivers, they'd learn about some concepts humans value like loyalty and perseverance and territory and war—but they wouldn't learn anything about real human history and they'd get a very inaccurate idea about what humans use rings for.

I headcanon that the book Flatland is the same when it comes to Bill's backstory: it gives you an idea about the physics of Bill's dimension and the biology of his species, but it's a bad source to learn about the history or politics.

Nobody was getting thrown in prison for suggesting a third dimension exists. In fact, at the time Bill lived, the third dimension was widely accepted by mathematicians and physicists, and many experiments had scientifically proven the existence of a third dimension by measuring the behavior of light.

(Think Einstein's theory of relativity: even if you don't personally understand what Einstein was talking about, you probably know he was famous for being real smart at physics and other smart physicists think he was right. "There's a third dimension" was not a controversial idea in Bill's time, even if most folks didn't understand the scientific implications.)

And Flatlanders had their own New Age-like ideas about strange, "sensitive" kids born psychically attuned to higher dimensions. And recently, modern medicine identified a condition that let parents medically diagnosed these special kids.

New Age Non-Euclidean Flatlanders

Take a triangle, for instance: if the doctor measured him to have three perfectly straight lines, but also measured the sum of his angles to add up to a sliver of a degree more than 180º... well, something weird was going on here. In less advanced ages one could have said that maybe one of the triangle's sides was curved too slightly for the doctor's tools to measure, or maybe the doctor's measurements of the angles were imprecise by less than a degree.

But modern medical tools were precise enough to eliminate that possibility. Some children, despite having perfectly straight lines, were triangles with angles that sum over 180º, or quadrilaterals that sum over 360º, etc. They're flat shapes, all right—but they're flat relative to spheres, in a dimension where spheres can't exist. Something about these kids... bends into another dimension.

Doctors said being born with spherical geometry was a newly-discovered birth abnormality that was strange, and worth studying, but by all appearances harmless. It had probably existed for centuries, perhaps millennia, undetected due to the lack of tools precise enough to confirm its reality.

Parents deep into woo-woo parapsychology and grifters with self-help books to sell said it was a sign that the child would be a prophet, a prodigy, a guru, a world leader. All of history's shamans and psychics and oracles and spiritual leaders had probably been in touch with spherical geometry, receiving messages from higher tridimensional beings.

In reality, just like humanity's "indigo children" or "starseeds," spherical children weren't special superior emissaries chosen for a spiritual mission to help enlighten the planet: they were just normal awkward kids.

Normal awkward kids who happened to be able to see the dimension that light comes from, but were surrounded by people without the mental framework to understand the sights they described.

It was a cool weird trick, but in terms of how cosmological important this weirdness was, it was about on par with any other random genetic oddity, like having six fingers.

But if you're a kid who can occasionally see a sun that nobody else can see, and adults have told you your entire life that this means you're unique, important, meant for greatness, destined to enlighten the ignorant masses and liberate them from their shallow two-dimensional perspective...

Eventually, all that talk might just go to your little triangular yellow head.

[aikoiya]

I hate it how some games these days, even after choosing your sex, they still use "they."

Like, if you're not gonna use the damn pronouns, then why ask to begin with???

At that point, there might as well be no option to begin with! We're all just androgynous blobs now. I mean, what even is the point???

I mean, I get that Sandrock has a lot of voiceacting, but Portia actually allowed the main character to speak rather than have information transmitted telepathically & despite allowing you to choose your voice! (Which, is actually something I wish they'd brought back.)

If they can do that, then why can't they have the voice actors repeat a few lines with the 2 original pronouns?

And seriously! Why no change to certain dialogue based on this? Or the way people behave in small or subtle, almost unnoticeable ways?

Like, for instance, if a game has a confirmed straight guy who's a lady's man & my character is female, he should react to that!

Or if there's a down home country boy, he calls me "ma'am" or "miss" or "mrs" & is an utter gentleman to me & very respectful.

Or if some dude is a misogynist, he should initially underestimate me & become not just impressed, but shocked when my character proves him wrong!

Or, if there's a lesbian chick in town, have her subtly flirt until I'm given the option to choose from "interested in girls" or "not interested in girls."

Or when an elder talks to me, why don't they refer to me as a young lady?

Or, when danger comes, something subtle like guys instinctively moving between me & that danger. And if a threat shows themself, dude squares up & stares them down. (Cause, that's just sort of hardwired into a lot of guys. Especially very masculine men with good hearts. ♡) Like, obviously, it's a game where the player is likely to actually be fully capable of protecting herself despite, biologically, being at a disadvantage. However, those sorts of little details are amazing & bring life to characters.

In fact, whenever danger comes around, I love that subtle instinctive movement to protect women & children.

Just little ways to make these games feel more alive. More organic.

The reason being that there are obviously instinctive reactions that we have to the sexes. I know a lot of people are galled by such a thing these days, but honestly, when games don't have those little bits in there, for the sake of "inclusivity" or "equality," it feels sterile. Because these things give it a very human element, that by not having them, it sort of takes me out of the game just a bit.

Because, without those interactions, it tends to feel more like the player character isn't actually part of the world that you're exploring.

Either way, at this point, it feels like being able to choose between male & female is little more than cosmetics.

In the end, men, women, & even many trans individuals are included only superficially.

The only ones who are really, genuinely acknowledged vocally, are nb individuals.

Which feels... excluding...

Random Stuff Masterlist

[thenotificationmachine]

Theory response: why Stolitz might actually be Stockholm syndrome

In regards to Helluva Boss, I believe that Stolitz is in fact an unsettling example of Stockholm syndrome (a hostage or prisoner falling in love with their captor) ever since I saw the hallucination in “Truth Seekers” which has Blitz blushing while Stolas holds him on a chain, as can be seen in the image below (keep in mind that this is Blitz's honest mindset under the influence of truth gas).

@stolitzy, a (now ex-) friend of mine, has made a rebuttal of this view which, while an interesting read, does not in my opinion actually invalidate or disprove it. I’ll go through some of the main points of their post and address them one by one. “There is NO kidnapping and no falling in love with the captor” – while this is true in the literal sense, by effectively holding Blitz’s company (and his life’s dream) hostage through the sexual arrangement, Stolas can be seen as trapping him in the arrangement, which could be seen as a figurative form of captivity and thus Blitz falling in love with him could still count as a form of Stockholm syndrome. It's also a MAJOR misinterpretation of my argument – as Stolas is the one who came up with the arrangement and forced Blitz into this arrangement, he would be the one holding Blitz captive, not the other way around. “[H]e’s had a lot of hardships in the course of his life and the whole show is about dysfunctional relationships and what real life is all about” – again, Blitz is the victim of the Stockholm syndrome, not the captor. “Stolas saw it as “oh wow the love of my life came back after decades of disappearing and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him” and you can even see it in his compassionate face; we can see he’s not the hurtful type as Blitz portrays him as” – Just because Stolas isn’t intentionally nurturing Stockholm syndrome within Blitz’s mind doesn’t mean he isn’t doing it at all. “But what we do know is that Stolitz is her favourite ship; so of COURSE she wouldn’t do anything to harm with it since it will be canon and claimed as a healthy relationship” – While Viv is a great artist, she’s (IMO) an AWFUL writer; examples of this are: . Her giving Verosika only 1 set of lines in “Ozzie’s” (the episode she should have WAY more prominence in had since it’s set in the Lust Ring and she’s a lust demon) in order to make episode 8 (as far as I understand from Viv’s statements and the footage that she released of it) about random hellhounds we’ll in all likelihood never see again rather than making the Lust Ring stuff a 2-parter in which Verosika is more important. . Going straight from the tragic lament of “Stolas Sings” in “the Circus” to business as usual (flirting and all) in “Seeing Stars” at the expense of all narrative consistency in order to support said ship.

As such, it’s VERY possible that Viv accidentally wrote a Stockholm syndrome ship without realising it and is now frantically backpedalling (if she’s even noticed it at all and isn’t just carrying on like nothing is wrong). “What IS unhealthy is shipping Blitz with Verosika; which was a been there done that type of relationship; if they had gone back they’d only be a recipe for disaster and go back to square one again” – while I agree that getting them back together right NOW is a terrible idea, I genuinely think that once Blitz has grown as a person and he and Verosika fully articulate the hurt they are harbouring inside to each other, they would be a FAR better couple than Stolitz since they (as far as I am aware) genuinely loved each other as the result of an organically developing romance rather than the transactional mess that is Stolitz. For more information why I think Blitzika is a better ship than Stolitz, check out my video below. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-q2GV6hvjVU “I mean if you really think about it if Blitz had Stockholm syndrome and if it was really THAT bad then why the FUCK would there unlimited fan art of Stolitz being TOGETHER?! Having a child together!” Do not underestimate the fucked-up elements of fandoms… Why are there people idolising the clearly abusive relationship between Harley Quinn and the Joker? Why is there art of people shipping Hazbin and Helluva characters with Valentino? Combine that with how much it’s being pushed by Viv and the team in as positive a light as possible and a large amount of the fandom’s lack of critical thinking (as evidenced by protagonist bias making people automatically side against Verosika simply because Blitz is the protagonist despite her clearly being the INNOCENT party in their relationship) and well… that’s why. Stolitzy also cites the following source: https://doodle-empress66.tumblr.com/post/660206487268982784/i-need-to-direct-everyones-attention-to-the-fact?_branch_match_id=link-1152086027557405904 As far as my understanding of Stockholm syndrome goes (and I know I’m not a professional psychologist, so this will probably not be as in-depth as if I was), a key part of Stockholm syndrome is the captive coming to believe (whether of their own accord or through the captor’s manipulation) that the captor is protecting them from a hostile outside world that they could not survive without them (a bit like how Judge Frollo in Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame convinces Quasimodo to stay in the cathedral by telling him that the people of Paris will hate him, though this example may not strictly qualify as Stockholm syndrome due to the former being the latter’s parental figure). As such, this source doesn’t do anything to disprove my theory. Stolitzy also cites numerous other sources showing Blitz’s romantic/sexual affection towards Stolas that, again, does NOTHING to disprove my theory; remember that Stockholm syndrome is all about the victim falling in love with their captor and so all the examples of “heart eyes” and Blitz’s human form kink could be equally argued to represent his Stockholm syndrome towards Stolas taking hold as the show goes on. Viv’s writing makes it even worse, since the way the show goes from “Ozzie’s” and “the Circus” straight to “Seeing Stars” makes it look like Blitz went to get some space only for his burgeoning Stockholm syndrome to make him come crawling back like a beaten wife and hide that anything was wrong. So remember, just because all the creepy elements are glossed over and Blitz gets lovey-eyed doesn’t mean there isn’t any Stockholm syndrome; if anything, that’s the version of reality the victim’s (in this case Blitz’s) mind is conjuring to convince themselves that their situation isn’t abusive when it clearly is.

[luna7822]

splatoon f^^base/splatoon society if beta!off the hook/pearlina was a thing instead of the off the hook/pearlina we know where there would be no such thing as the whole """"random overrated inkling idol besides pearl is just boring as all hell and yet somehow gets clout despite being pearl 2.0 in every boring and dumb way imaginable"""" thing and that there would be less degeneracy among the splatoon f^^base and more tolerable as well and that f^^^ would actually be more original if she was an octoling rather than boring lame af inkling and hell of a lot more tolerable than what her shitty canon counterpart will ever be since part of me wishes that stupid ass trend never existed at all even if i obv have no bias towards what we got with oth but still:

sometimes i feel like maybe the world wouldve been a better place if that stupid ass trend with certain idols besides pearl was never a thing in the first place and that beta!off the hook was a thing to which degeneracy in the awful splatoon f^^base will ceased to exist and that f^^^ would actually be a lot more tolerable if she was original/octoling too but unfortunately we live in s world where that boring ass trend is still a thing and that idiots want some random pearl knockoff dumbass to win finalfest with only 2 fucking wins on record as if its the most unfair shit ive ever seen when both marie and pearl won fair and square and that shiver and/or big man will forever have more of a chance in terms of wins than that stupid ass degenerate overrated ugly ass bitch will ever have in her sad pathetic life of nothing but being the most boring ass character imagineable and nothing more

and no im not saying i """hate""" inklings or anything its just that theyre kinda too overrated sometimes and that i wish that stupid ass trend with certain boring idols besides pearl was never a thing at all in the first place and that marina, shiver, and big man deserve better anyways with how much those idiots still continue to tteat them like shit unfortunately even when they did nothing wrong as well which really fucking sucks tbh ;-;

but even then i would love to draw beta!off the hook anyways since its very interesting to think like some au where octolings/octarians won great turf war and that ss but octoling in the form of beta!off the hook was a thing or smth along the lines of beta!pearl and marina being good friends when they used to be under octarian rule before calamari inkantation touched their souls and caused them to grow closer than ever before to the point where they decided to start their own cephalopod yuri idol group and end up becoming more popular than ss with all of their wonderful songs/splatfeste despite the public viewing them both as """weird inklings""" until octo expansion where they try to not spill anything abt their true identities by trying to play it cool during the octoling fashion segment iirc before u play fhe dlc and once u were done beating it as 8 then they would no longer have to treat it as a secret now that inklings and octolings are starting to get along again and after finalfest happens then i think pretty much everything after that would stay the same as it is in splatoon 3 with chaos winning and all that (and deep cut having a better looking f^^^ at least) or rather because of beta!off the hook having a different reception compared to what ours was order pretty much wins instead since nobody would treat marina like shit and that interesting things happen as a result which would require me doing some thinking abt order winning finalfest in a sort of beta!oth au thing but thats basically my whole thought process abt beta!oth in general since in all honesty its just really interesting seeing beta!oth/pearlina and whatnot even if i obv still love our pearlina anyways no matter what as an oth fan but still

oh and i would also imagine maybe tweaking beta!pearks outfit a little just to make it look more unique without looking too much like her canon counterpart and maybe tweaking marinas a lil too since its an au and all that without any major changes since shes fine as she is anyways but still

[ne0nwithazero]

OH ALSO how good do you think each of your ocs would be at drawing

This somewhat ties to that one ask about writing :3

Mike's dexterity is dubious, and writing is enough of a struggle for him, so drawing would be even worse. I think he'd have really shaky lines and struggle to draw anything so he wouldn't bother much

Host has very smooth and clean lines, but they never really got into drawing. At most, I can see them just idly doodling random geometric shapes and squares :B

Tenna, Button and Match all strike me as trying to draw together but their styles end up being a weird mix of How to Draw anime tutorial book mixed with just tracing movie posters and game covers.

Mittens only knows how to draw one thing and it's cartoony cats, like she'll just leave the things around like some sort of signature hehe

Klieg actually does know how to draw, but he doesn't really like sharing it 😔 He'd make loose sketchy portraits of others. As a being whose entire face is an eye, he's fascinated by faces being so much more complex than that

Rayne would try, but their rainy state would make things rather difficult :') I can see them getting into it if they find a workaround for the water problem. I CAN see them being into fractal wood-burning!

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Pre-Goo Current-ish PARTIES: @mortemoppetere & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Alex wanders into an alley and finds herself stuck in a square... Emilio happens upon her and of course does not fuck off. The worst game of Get Along Or Else Candyland ensues. CONTENT: Domestic abuse, emotional abuse, parental death, child death, sibling death.

While Worm Row was considered the “bad” part of town, Alex always thought that was being way too generous to the rest of the town. You were just as likely to get eaten by a random monster on a block in Worm Row as you were over in Harborside. The only real difference was the tax bracket which meant the latter was decidedly not where one went to check out pawn shops for a potential new guitar. 

Mike's hadn't been the score she thought it would be based on their instagram posts from earlier, but she had gotten a pretty sweet hand mixer from the vending machine instead of the Hot Cheetos she'd wanted, so Alex would still call it a win even if she was still craving hot chips. 

It was that line of thinking that had her absentmindedly walking toward the smell of something sweet. Given how cooped up Alex had been in the cabin following her injury and the fact she could actually walk a little bit on it now without a lot of a pain, she was enjoying just wondering the streets even if the buildings were all run down. It was kind of more her style anyway. Lived in. 

Her nose led her straight to the edge of an alley that she almost wouldn't have noticed as she hummed to herself if it was for the fact the ground under her feet turned a bright shade of green. 

“What the,” Alex muttered as she stopped in her tracks and actually looked up. It was the same shitty buildings to the left and right of her with rusted signs hanging from the windows, but the alley looked like that one board game she always saw the normal kids in their neighborhood playing. 

Ahead was a curving path of colored squares lined with candy... which while it smelled delicious, seemed a little bit ominous. ”Not today, Satan, not today,” Alex said to hereself. She moved to leave the spot she stood in only to find she couldn't. She lifted her boot off the ground but when she tried to move it out of the barrier of the green square, it was like it hit an invisible wall.

”Greaaaaaaaat,” Alex grumbled to herself. She looked around for some kind of clue for how to get out of this weird game only to see a certain slayer approaching her. This really wasn't her day. “Don't you dare take another step closer,” she spat at Emilio. 

—

It was a detective night instead of a slayer night, and Emilio always liked those less. Detective nights tended to contain a lot less violence and a lot more sitting still, and he was so bad at that. His hands trembled, his leg bounced, his head spun. He could never manage to maintain the stakeout for as long as he could keep up a patrol, always came home feeling more restless and less at ease, somehow. Like the paranoia of being watched fit just as well into the head of the person doing the watching as it did the target of it. He was wired; he still wanted something to fight.

Usually, walking home in Worm Row would provide him with that. If you took the right route and moved slow enough, someone or something would show up sooner rather than later to give you something to hit. Emilio ached for it, longed for something to bruise his knuckles against the same way he longed for a swig of whiskey from the flask in his pocket. The latter was easy enough to obtain, but he’d had no luck with the former just yet. It only made the paranoia worse.

But maybe his luck was about to turn around. There was a noise from an alley as he passed it, something… strange. Like a bell dinging, but warped and unnatural. Not his usual fare, but Emilio was desperate enough for something that he was drawn to it with just as much eagerness as a man alone in the desert might have moved towards a cold glass of water.

As he entered the alley, he caught sight of a flash of red hair. For a moment, he thought it might have been Andy. She’d been in and out at his apartment for a while now, fixing things and crashing on his couch or using his shower occasionally, but not as much in recent days. His brow furrowed as he moved closer, only to see that it wasn’t Andy at all.

To Emilio, the alley still looked normal. Alex stood in place, seemingly unable to move in a way that looked almost comical from the outside looking in. Like some invisible force held her still. He might have thought she was messing with him, but he didn’t think Alex liked him enough to do that, especially not after their last conversation. 

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t listen to her order not to come closer. He took a lazy step towards her, then another, bad leg dragging behind him a little more than usual. “What exactly are you —” He cut off as he stepped down just next to the spot where she stood, and the alley transformed for him, too. The concrete beneath his feet became a board game, stretching further than should have been possible in the small alley. He stood on the same green square as Alex, and a step back found him hitting against the invisible barrier. 

Immediately, a surge of panic cut in. Emilio shoved his shoulder forward like he was trying to barge through a locked door, but whatever force was there didn’t budge. He kicked it hard, first with his bad leg in a way that elicited a long string of Spanish curses, then with his good leg in a way that delivered the same result, but with less pain. A fist slammed into the barrier, stopped by that same invisible force. Emilio was bad with tight spaces, and Emilio was bad with things he couldn’t see. This felt an awful lot like both.

“What — What the fuck is this?” He turned to Alex, trying to smooth his expression into something neutral. He wasn’t sure how successful he was.

Above their heads, that bell dinged again. Inside the game, it sounded less warped, but not pleasant. It was unsettling, to say the least.

A disembodied female voice rose up around them, robotic in its inflections: “Welcome, Player One. Welcome, Player Two. Prepare for the game to commence.” 

“I don’t want to play a game,” Emilio yelled back, looking up. 

“Prepare for the game to commence,” the voice repeated. Fucking great.

—

If it had been anyone else, they might have actually listened when Alex said to stay away. Of course, this wasn't anyone else, it was Emilio who she was pretty sure was actually physically incapable of fucking off. Hell, she didn't even give him the usual 'fuck off' in a different language greeting to really drive the point home. She was pretty sure that he actually just enjoyed being a pain in the ass. Not that she could fault anyone for enjoying that but she really wished she wasn't on the receiving end of it. The last person she wanted to be stuck in a small square of space with was Mr. Irish Spring himself. 

“No, stop,” she demanded desperately before he was beside her in the green square and equally as perplexed as she was. Alex crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance and watched him with a scowl on her face as he cursed in Spanish and kicked at the invisible barrier that was keeping them trapped in the square. If she wasn't stuck with him, she probably would have found the display hilarious. Seeing as she was stuck with him and already felt like the space was entirely too small, she was pissed. “I swear I could fucking stab you for not listening for once in your god damn life right now,” she spat. 

Almost immediately, the strange dinging in the air  put Alex on edge. The sound of bells was a little too high pitched for her when she wasn't agitated which meant at that moment it was practically grating against her ears. It was like nails against a chalkboard right on her ear drums and it made her want to punch Emilio or the barrier... or both. Definitely a little bit of both. 

Then there was some eerie sounding autonomous voice calling them Player 1 and Player 2 like this was one of those video games that Cass and Van talked about. Except, this looked like that one kid's game Alex had all but begged her mother to buy for her to no avail. It seemed almost cruel that this was the version of the game that she finally got and it wasn't even her choice... because god forbid anything in her life ever be some choice of her own. “Game,” she spat out, “This isn't funny.” 

Emilio expressed not wanting to play the game and the voice told them prepare to commence. Well, Alex did not like this one bit. In fact, she was pretty sure she hated it and she hated Emilio a tiny bit for not listening and getting sucked into this with her. Hell, she thought she might actually prefer to have Thea along for this ride than Emilio because at least Thea knew how to game. 

“Doesn't look like it's giving us a choice,” she grumbled, “You know, if you listened to me I could be stuck playing this with someone who's less of a pain in the ass.” 

Almost immediately, she felt an electric shock jolt her and she jumped in place, hitting the edge of the barrier as she moved. “Ow,” Alex shouted, “What the fuck was that? Who gave Private Asshat over here a taser?”

Another shock hit her and she was getting even angrier. What kind of game was this? It definitely wasn't the cool version of Candyland that Alex had begged her maman for, that much was clear. She turned to Emilio, arms still crossed over her chest and brows still knit together in annoyance. “Are you any good at games? Doesn't look like we have much of a choice.” 

—

Blood was rushing in his ears, half rage and half panic. Emilio had never been particularly good at accepting situations he couldn’t control, but he’d become so much worse at it since the massacre. Things slipped from his carefully curated command, and it felt like the world was on fire, like he was back in the midst of a massacre watching everyone he loved bleed out. Alex was speaking, but he barely heard her. He was six years old, locked in a shed with something that was both dead and alive. He was thirty-two, and his family’s blood was staining the soles of his shoes. 

Then, Alex jumped beside him, and Emilio flinched violently despite the fact that he wasn’t the one who’d been shocked. He turned to look at her with wild eyes, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. She was insulting him. That wasn’t entirely surprising. There was a strange comfort in the familiarity of it, and he let himself cling to that. He could ground himself through the familiar back and forth he’d accidentally built up with a kid who reminded him a little too much of himself and hated him just as much as he hated himself, too. 

“You think I want to be here? I would like to be trapped with someone who smells less like my dog when it rains,” he snapped. Immediately, a jolt went through him, sending him scrambling so quickly that his bad leg screamed in protest. He let out another long string of curses, kicking at the invisible barrier again. “¿Qué chingados está pasando? Did you do this? Is this — Is this your idea of a fucking joke?” 

He didn’t recognize the ‘game board’ stretched out in front of them, barely understood what a board game was at all. The Cortezes had done everything in their power to ensure that their children knew nothing of the world outside of hunting, had made a very active effort to raise weapons rather than children. They’d done a good job at it — Emilio had very little capability to function as a person in society, and this was proof of it. But while the specifics of a board game were unknown to him, he did know at least the basics of what games in general were. He knew that there were goals, that there were winners and losers.

He knew that there were rules.

He looked over at Alex with a scowl. “No,” he replied flatly. Then, feeling ridiculous, he looked up at the empty sky. “What are the fucking rules? What are we supposed to do? How do we win?” The questions were in quick succession, one after another. 

Another ding sounded. “Players 1 and 2 may only win the game together,” the voice said. “You will be presented with a number of riddles. Answer each riddle with an associated memory to move across the board. If both players offer a memory, you may move multiple spaces. If only one complies, you may only move one space forward. If neither complies, you must move back. The game is cooperation. You cannot win without giving something.” 

Emilio stared blankly at the sky, heart still pounding in his chest. He turned to Alex, expression deadpan. “We are going to die,” he said simply.

—

Okay, the whole electric shock thing was way more amusing when it was happening to Emilio and not to her. Alex only barely stifled a laugh as the slayer let out yet another string of Spanish curses. She was pretty sure they had to be breaking some kind of record for the most swear words said in the most languages in a 5 minutes timespan. It was really a trilingual trifecta of curse words going on in the green 5 by 5 square they found themselves trapped in. 

“I just need you to know that I have a really good comeback for that one,” Alex declared with an air of smugness, ”But clearly this shitty game is trying to Pavlov us into being nice to each other.” There was some satisfaction in knowing that Emilio would not know who the hell Pavlov was, which was maybe a little bit mean, but she doubted the game knew enough about science and their dynamic to know that. 

“No, I didn't do this,” she chided with an eyeroll, “If I was gonna trap myself in a small space with someone it'd be a pretty girl and not a stinky man.” Zap. She flinched as the shock hit her, but decided it was worth it. Emilio needed to know he was stinky and it probably pained her more physically to hold that in anyway. At least she'd say as much for dramatic effect anyway. 

At least Emilio had the smarts to ask for the rules of the game. Alex just assumed it was gonna be like Candyland... which she'd never gotten to play, but she imagined how it was supposed to go in her head. Actually, Ariadne probably would have been the perfect partner for IRL Candyland, but then the game announcer spoke and this wasn't that. 

They had to cooperate. That was already a tall order for Alex and Emilio. From the moment she'd met him, she'd been trying to irritate him into leaving her the fuck alone and he seemed to take joy in irritating her right back. Then sharing memories? Ok, yeah, he was right. They were doomed, but she wasn't going to tell him that. 

“Buck up, grandpa,” Alex said, giving him a sportly smack on the back, “I'm not dying in a 5 by 5 game square with a man. That goes against my entire brand as the gayest cousin.” 

The bravado was decidedly false. Alex was nervous as hell about going through some sort of bonding experience with the slayer. He already had an annoying habit of saving her life and she didn't know if the memories shared would exuberate or squash that feeling. A girl could hope for the latter, but that seemed like... the opposite of what the stupid game wanted. 

“Come on,” she gestured as she reached for the card that was now floating in front of them. Alex turned it over in her hands and looked over the words. Bubblegum goes in hard and comes out... Before she read them aloud, she knew the answer and felt her stomach lurch. No. Not that word and those memories. This game was a bitch, she decided, but read aloud all the same. “Bubblegum goes in hard and comes out....” 

She couldn't bring herself to say the last word. It always tasted like acid on her tongue much like the tone her father took when he spat the word in her face. Alex really didn't want to go there and not with another hunter at that. He'd already seen firsthand that she was too soft and couldn't fight for shit, why'd she have to tell him about it to get out of this hell loop. “You're the grownup, you go first,” she murmured with her shoulders already hunching in on themselves to protect her from the rejection that seemed inevitable. 

—

“What the fuck is a Pavlov,” Emilio raised his voice an octave at the word, mimicking Alex’s accent poorly. Apparently, it was enough of an insult to earn him another zap, which seemed incredibly unfair. She wasn’t zapped for the implications she’d been making in announcing that she had a ‘great comeback,’ even though that great comeback doubtlessly would have involved calling him stinky or something equally childish. Why did he get zapped just for changing the tone of his voice? He shot a glare back up at the empty sky to voice his displeasure, but he wasn’t sure how effective it was. If there was someone or something watching them, he couldn’t see it anywhere.

In any case, Alex got a zap of her own shortly after, and there was some childish satisfaction in that. Emilio didn’t dislike the kid. He didn’t want her hurt, didn’t want to see anything happen to her. If anything, the opposite was true. He wanted Alex to be safe because of what she represented to Andy, because of the way Andy had given her all for her the way Emilio would have given his to Flora if anyone had ever given him half a chance. But he wasn’t the type to take bickering sitting down, either. If someone picked at him, he tended to pick back. Even if it meant an electric shock.

Alex wasn’t responsible for this; he’d known that even as he’d asked it. Since they met, Alex had made it clear that she wanted to spend as little time with Emilio as possible, even if doing so meant risking death. There was no way she would have intentionally trapped herself in a tight spot with him, game or no game. Normally, he might have found some dull satisfaction in the fact that, at the very least, she wasn’t having any fun, either. As it was, though, he was far too on edge to find enjoyment in any of this. He wanted out. 

And it seemed there was only one way to do that.

The idea of sharing memories with anyone made bile rise up in the back of his throat. There were so few memories that Emilio was okay with other people knowing about, and he doubted that this ‘game’ intended to aim only for the easy ones. If it had, it probably wouldn’t have trapped them here, after all. Sharing with Alex seemed especially daunting. He knew she disliked him, and she knew that plenty of the memories in his head would prove her right for that.

But what other options did he have? He could stay here forever, until whoever was holding them in place either grew tired and freed them or until he doomed them both to starvation with his stubbornness, or he could play the stupid game. Alex would hate him by the end of it, but how was that different than how she felt about him now? 

Still, he felt sick. It was as if there were bugs crawling over his skin — or maybe beneath it. Emilio wasn’t much of a talker. There were so many things he’d never said aloud, and he had such little desire to change that. He scowled as Alex picked up the card, heart in his throat as she read it aloud. The answer was obvious, but he thought it was probably supposed to be. The riddles weren’t really what the game was about. It was the memories.

And it had started with a hardball. 

There were so many to choose from. The word had defined so much of his life growing up, had become a knife sharpened on the belt of everyone responsible for shaping him. He could have plucked a thousand different memories from the arsenal, but none were ones he wanted to share. Closing his eyes, Emilio inhaled a trembling breath, exhaled just as shakily. 

“I was twelve,” he said hoarsely, the words sticking to the back of his throat. “And there was — We didn’t do funerals. When someone died. Funerals are for people, and we weren’t meant to do that. But my… We lost someone. And I was fucking twelve, and stupid, so I buried his fucking knife in the yard. His favorite one, you know, the one he always kept with him. Stuck a stick in the ground. That’s how my mom found it. And when she was done… with the real — paliza, she said…” He trailed off, pushing his tongue against his teeth until he tasted blood in his mouth. “I was always too soft. That’s what she used to tell me. And the family would have been stronger if it were me instead of him, because he was better. I knew that, she knew that. Everybody knew that. I was soft. Guess I still am.” 

There was a ding from the sky above them, and the spot in front of them turned the same shade of green as the one they were standing on. Emilio scrambled forward, but the barrier wasn’t gone — it had only moved a few feet. He slammed into the new boundary, cursing again before turning back to Alex. “You — It said it’d go faster if we both say something. I want to get the fuck out of here. You want to get the fuck out of here. So it’s your fucking turn, kid. Answer the pinche riddle so I can go home.”

—

How painfully easy the riddle was almost seemed mocking. Alex was good at actual riddles, but it was evident the point of this game had little to do with the actual riddles. It was all about cooperation with a person she decidedly didn't like to cooperate with. What a weird and miserable turn of events. She wasn't sure if the word soft held the same acidity for Emilio as it did for her. It'd been spat in her direction more times she could count in the short time she had with her parents while they were alive. It was the word that repeated like a broken record in her mind every time she felt even a shred of inadqueacy. 

She'd seen Emilio fight. Even with his shitty knee, he still knew how to move and deliver the hard blows in a way that Alex never could. She couldn't imagine the word being spewed at him with the same vitrol. But then he spoke and her eyes widened in surprise. Even though he fought like the weapon he was born to be, the word had been hurled at him all the same. 

The memory made her frown. It was hard to imagine Emilio as a little kid, not that she had ever tried. Not surprisingly, it was easier to keep someone at a distance when you didn't know them too well because really, Alex knew she didn't actually dislike Emilio. He'd saved her friends on more than one occasion, he was there for Andy, he saved her— it wasn't as if she had some real grudge or sleight to cling to besides the fact he could bicker with the worst of them. Something in him seemed smaller as he spoke and she could imagine a sad kid just missing someone they loved and lost. Then there was something so familiar in the way he called it stupid. Fucking game. She didn't want to give the game the satisfaction of it actually working, but she did want out of the square. 

“It's not stupid,” she murmured quietly as she followed him into the square ahead. Alex knew what came next. It was either another riddle or she shared a memory too to get them the extra spot. Emilio was already prompting her to share her memory to make this whole game from hell experience move faster. 

Alex's eyes found the pink square below her feet. She really wished she was with someone who would get a Barbie reference so she could cut through the tension a little bit. She was pretty sure saying 'Hi Barbie!' would only warrant a very blank stare from Emilio which would be a lot funnier if they weren't essentially trapped. At least the space felt a little bigger now that they moved forward though that didn't stop the way sweat was pooling in the palm of her hands. It still felt like she had no space and he was rushing her to share her memory. 

“I didn't rush you,” Alex huffed as she snapped her eyelids closed. It was hard to think of a memory with her father that didn't have the word being thrown at her like it was an insult because it was. Knives and bullets weren't meant to be soft. They lived in a world of monsters and she was meant to be the blade. Turns out she was a pretty shitty knife. She chewed at her bottom lip and settled on the one she remembered best. 

“Elle est trop douce,” Alex finally said in barely a whisper. The words burned in her throat and made it feel impossibly tight, but the game was waiting. “I was 4 the first time I heard papa say that to maman. She's too soft. I guess Andy had been better at throwing knives by four years old than I had... Probably because she wasn't just human.” Now Alex found it hard not to wish that she was just human. “I kept cutting myself on the knives I was trying to throw... I was 4. It hurt, I cried.” 

She shrugged it off like it didn't matter, but Alex hated how the same still held true. The sight of blood was still enough to make her sick and pain did make tears well up in her eyes despite how hard she tried to fight it. She wasn't even human, she was a monster and she was still too soft. This game was really fucking rude for pointing it out like that. 

The square rudely did not light up again yet. “Really,” she pestered the sky, “That was the memory.” It didn't light up still. “Ugh, fine,” she spat, still refusing to look at Emilio, “He punished me after. Smacked me to get back up and I wasn't allowed to sit back down until I got a knife in the fucking bullseye. You happy?” 

The square lit up. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Zap. She cursed again. “Hey, I meant you the game, not you Emilio.“ 

The next card hovered in front of Emilio and she wasn't particularly keen on having him read it. If the rest of the riddles were this hard hitting, Alex really didn't want them, but like most things, what choice did she actually have? 

—

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. Not when he told his story, and not when she told hers. He didn’t want to see the way her expression shifted at the revelation that he was more of a failure than he let on, didn’t want to see her eyes soften with… pity for a kid who was never meant to be a kid at all. This, this tightness in his stomach and this sharp pain in his chest, this was exactly the kind of thing that had earned him the punishments his mother doled out to begin with. This feeling of being too small, it was why the word soft cut through him like the blade he was never much good at being.

So he was surprised, a little, when Alex said it wasn’t stupid. He’d known she wouldn’t judge him for it — he might not know her, but he knew the woman who’d raised her, and Andy wasn’t capable of bringing up someone who would judge a child for mourning the dead even when that child became a man who was still so much softer than he should have been. But he hadn’t expected… comfort, either. It felt wrong. She’d said it, hadn’t she? He was the grown up. He ought to be the one doing the comforting.

“You called me grandpa,” he mumbled, but there was no heat to it. She was right — she hadn’t rushed him, and it wasn’t fair for him to rush her even if his heart was pounding, even if he wanted so badly for this to be over. When she started speaking, he found he wished he hadn’t asked her to share at all.

Her story was as familiar to him as he suspected his might have been to her. He’d been four years old once, too, holding a knife too big for his hand and trying not to cry when it cut him. He tasted ashes on his tongue, thoughts moving inevitably to Flora, who’d died at four with hands that never held a knife at all, and he wondered if one option was better than the other. Had it been kinder for her to die just four short years into her life with no scars from nicks and cuts littering her fingers? Or should he have wrapped her small hands around the hilt of a blade, showing her how to thrust it forward just so?

In any case, he couldn’t imagine doing to his daughter what Alex was describing her father doing to her. He’d never been able to wrap his mind around the concept. And hadn’t that always been another mark against him? Another piece of evidence his mother could point to when saying how soft he was, how disappointing? Maybe he could have done it without cruelty. Maybe he could have shown those small hands a way to hold a knife that might have protected her without hurting her. He’d never know now.

He swallowed, unsure what to say. What was there to say? I’m sorry your father hit you. My mother hit me, too. I probably deserved it more than you did. Or I’m sorry it hurt. I tried to find a way to make it not hurt, and it ended bad anyway, so maybe there’s no answer that doesn’t end in blood. Or maybe there was a question he wanted to ask, an answer he was afraid to hear. Would you have loved your father more if he’d never put the knife in your hand? If you’d died for it, would you have forgiven him in the end? Have you forgiven him now? 

Alex wasn’t Flora, because no one was. Alex wasn’t Flora, because someone had loved her and had gotten her out, and Emilio hadn’t done that for his daughter. Alex wasn’t Flora, but for a moment, she was, and he wanted to ask her everything his daughter would never be able to tell him and pretend her answers meant something.

Another space lit up with a ding, and Emilio felt like a coward for finding relief in the fact that he didn’t have to say anything at all. He didn’t want another riddle, but he didn’t want to talk about the last one, either. He moved forward, picking up the new card and staring at it for a moment.

“It can not be seen whenever it's there. It fills up a room, it's much like the air. It can not be touched, there's nothing to hear. It is quite harmless, there's nothing to fear.” He read it carefully, slowly. His accent wrapped around each word, his brow furrowed. A little less straightforward than the last one, but still not particularly difficult. Looking up at Alex, he held out the card. “I went first,” he said quietly, “last time. You can go first this time. And then me.” There couldn’t be too many of these, could there? If they both answered each one, they’d be done in no time. He told himself this, repeated it like a mantra. He needed it to be true.

—

Nerves twisted in her stomach as she waited for Emilio to read what was on the card. He never said anything about her own story, but he didn't have to. Alex had the feeling these riddles weren't going to get any lighter as far as the memories they were linked to went. Almost as if to mock the very thought, the words that Emilio read aloud all pointed to 'darkness' being the answer. It felt as if the square they were standing on was somehow shrinking as he read the words and her throat felt impossibly dry. It felt too tight as the obvious memory tried to scratch its way to the surface. 

Alex didn't even feel her nails digging into her own palms until she drew blood that she did not dare look down at. Emilio was saying something again, but she couldn't hear it. The rush of pressure in her head made his voice sound distorted. 

The game dinged impatiently and she was back in that room with the yellow door that had grayed over from years of wear. The last rays of sunlight from the day flickered on the door from the small window above. It was the only source of light in the room and it was quickly fading. Her tiny hands desperately threw the knife towards the target only for it to clatter against the floor again. Clumsy fingers picked the blade back up and blood spilled from them in the process. She could still feel that desperation as the night fell and the room turned to black. 

Another ding. Alex was pretty sure she was going to be sick. ”There was a room,“ she finally said, her voice as hoarse and small as it was when she'd cry for her father to let her out. She didn't dare look up at Emilio. A harsh glare from an older man when she was thinking about her father was the last thing she needed, but even looking down at her own shaking hands didn't help her find the words. 

“It was where,” her voice trembled and she hated the sound of it— wished she could rip it from her own throat. The space felt even smaller and her breath couldn't seem to find her lungs. “I don't think— I'm sorry,“ she gasped. She slowly backed away only to hit the barrier which only made it more difficult to breathe. There were no walls, not in the physical sense, but she was trapped and the animal in her wanted to rip her way out. Not do... whatever this was. 

Alex had to fight the feeling of claws trying to break from her skin and push the memory back down. “I'm sorry, I don't think I can... We're gonna die in a fucking alley,“ she heaved. 

—

He could see it. The way she shifted, the way she squirmed. The discomfort there, the way it was similar to the one building in his own gut. Did this game know them, somehow? Was it designed, specifically, with the two of them in mind? Or was it all an impossible coincidence, the way each riddle seemed so pointed. Emilio looked down at the card so that he wouldn’t have to look at Alex, traced the curve of the letters with his eyes over and over again like maybe he could change the answer if only he tried hard enough. But it was what it was. There was no getting around it, and he doubted another card would appear until this one had been satisfied.

A room, Alex said. He didn’t know what kind, but he did. He could feel it tugging at the edge of his own memory, pulling him back in time. Time travel, he thought, was a useless thing when it operated like this. His mind had a way of pulling him back, sending him sprawling into events that had ended years ago without the ability to change them. He relived them a thousand times over. Awake, asleep, everything in between. Alex, he thought, must have been a time traveler, too. It was the only way to account for the quivering of her voice.

“It was a shed,” he said, so quiet that his voice could barely be heard at all. The dinging — which had grown insistent and impatient in Alex’s refusal to answer — stopped abruptly, as if the alley wanted to let him speak. “For me. I was… She’d stick us in there sometimes by ourselves, but I was six the first time she put something in there with me. A ghoul.” He didn’t say who she was. He didn’t think he had to. Based on the last memory he’d shared, Alex would probably be able to guess. “Locked it from the outside. Chain, padlock. Gave me the basics. Knife, stake, holy water. Left me in there overnight.”

The memory was more than a memory. He could see that ghoul, dead for almost thirty years now, lurking at the edge of his vision. He still thought about what his mother said to him, sometimes, just before she shut the door. When I open this in the morning, either the ghoul will be dead or you will. Either way, this family is stronger for it. Killing the ghoul proved he was allowed to keep living, just as dying to it would have proven he wasn’t. It was the same for Victor, for Rosa, for Edgar. It had been the same for Jaime, just a week before that massacre. Had the massacre never happened and had Emilio not made good on his plan to take her away, Flora would have been placed in the same shed this year. 

“Slayers see in the dark,” he said, glancing up to the sky as the riddle was ‘answered.’ “So that didn’t bother me much. But it was… small. The shed. Couldn’t take more than a few steps, even then. Ghoul was close, but it was clumsy. Still… took me hours to kill it. Nearly killed me before I did. Next day, she comes and she lets me out. And I’m — I’m bleeding, yeah. Barely on my feet. Pretty much fall into her when the door opens. Was leaning against it, you know, trying to put space there between me and the body. So she opens the door, and I fall. And it’s — She’s pissed.” 

It was funny — he didn’t notice the way he slipped when he spoke about it. The event was nearly thirty years past now, but his words fell into present tense as if he was six years old still, as if he was still leaning against that shed door. Maybe part of him was still in that shed the same way part of him died in that living room floor, the same way part of Alex was still in that room. Maybe they’d both left pieces of themselves behind every time they time traveled. Maybe that was a part of it.

Clearing his throat, Emilio continued, leaning against the invisible barrier now. “She’s pissed,” he said again. “Because I let it get as bad as it did or — or because I’m still there, and she doesn’t think I should be. So she tosses me back in the shed, and she shuts the door again. Sun goes down, comes up. It’s dark, it’s light, but it’s all the same, you know? Slayers see in the dark, so it’s all the same. I’m thirsty, I’m fucking dying for a drink of water, but I know I’m not allowed to say anything, so I’m quiet. By the time my uncle opens the door again, it’s been a day. Yeah. Maybe two. Nobody ever tells me. He opens the door, and I’m not leaning against it anymore. And he lets me out, and I think — I figure it’s because of that. Because I’m not leaning on the door, not falling out into the grass. So he lets me out. And it’s still dark, you know? Dark when I went in, dark when I come out. But I don’t know, I don’t know how long it was.” He paused for a moment, chewing at the inside of his cheek, biting down on it even though it hurt. “Next week,” he said quietly, “she puts me in there again. Guess I didn’t learn the lesson.”

—

It was hard to find relief in the fact that Emilio had taken over with sharing his memory, not when Alex still couldn't bring herself to look up at him. Something akin to guilt twisted in her gut as it became obvious that he was stepping in to save her yet again—- that she still couldn't save herself and relied on a hunter she was trying to keep at a distance. It wasn't murder this time. She had to remind herself of as much. Emilio was just sharing a memory, one he probably didn't want to share, but neither of them were given a choice in the matter. 

The same theme seemed to be present in his story. They'd both been kids without a choice once. While Alex couldn't look at him, couldn't bring herself to see the strain in the slayer's face as he tried to hide his own pain, but she felt his words as if they were her own. In a way, they practically were. Replace shed with small basement training room and ghoul with random small beast and it was her story. Lock a kid with a room with a monster or in a room until they get their movements right... his mom and her dad must have read the same parenting book. She wasn't so sure anymore that it was a good one. 

Because Emilio's voice was just as strained as hers had felt. 

Because it was so easy for his words to slip from past to present tense, as if Emilio was transported back to that moment like she always was. 

Because Emilio had what it took to fight but there was still something so broken in the way he recounted the memory. 

How could breaking your kid be good? There'd never been much hope for Alex to be the weapon her parents had wanted her to be, but Emilio had that. She'd watched him fight, watched him save her because she fell short in a fight... but he sounded just as broken as she was. He was still too soft by those standards... and Alex wasn't sure she thought being the opposite of that was better, not if it meant he'd hurt Ariadne or Mack without a second thought. 

Emilio shared the memory and it was like looking through a clouded mirror. She could see him, smaller almost—- small as she had been— and some part of her wanted to comfort the kid who never had a chance to just be a kid. Because even all these years later, the memory still had a hold on him and he still didn't know what the lesson was. 

And that was the root of it, wasn't it? How Alex found herself endlessly frustrated with the slayer despite the fact he saved her ass on more than one occasion— saved her friends' asses on more than one occasion even. Being around Emilio was like holding up a mirror and she didn't like herself... but she didn't hate Emilio and that was too big a contradiction for her to wrap her head around. 

She wasn't sure at what point during Emilio's story that her hands uncurled from the fists they'd been clenched in. Alex looked down at her fingernails and grimaced at the blood caked underneath them. She couldn't find anything to say as the next square, a sunny shade of yellow that was almost mocking, lit up so they could advance. 

”Thank you,“ she murmured, unable to find the usual vitriol she threw in the slayer's direction. 

He shared his memory. It was only fair she shared hers so they got to move forward two squares. Cooperation. Alex laughed bitterly at the thought. ”This game fucking sucks,“ she finally said, finding her voice again. It still sounded small, frustratingly so, but she wasn't going to fail this time. 

”It was a basement for me,“ she said after a moment, staring ahead at what looked like a face in a puddle of melted chocolate. Somehow the ridiculous aspect was something to hold onto and keep her grounded. She sure as hell wasn't about to cling to 5-in-1 soap guy for comfort. Even in her thoughts, the insult was starting to lose its zing. “It was small too,” she breathed out finally, ”Felt smaller the longer I was locked in there. Sometimes with small beasts like agropelters, sometimes just with my knifes and targets I wasn't very good at hitting.“  She looked down at her left index finger and the small chunk that was missing. It had scarred over a long time ago, but she still traced over it sometimes. 

“The only light was from a small window... and we lived in the sticks,” she explained, “Uh... English American talk for out in the middle of nowhere.” She wasn't sure why she felt the need to clarify. Confusing Emilio was usually more fun, but this wasn't random science terminology. It was something they shared that some part of her wished they didn't. 

“When the sun would go down, it'd get really dark in there,” she almost whispered, “I don't mind the dark, but in there it felt suffocating. Made the room feel smaller.“

She looked blankly at the purple square ahead, willing it to light up, but it simply wouldn't. ”I don't think I learned the lesson either... He'd come in and wouldn't even look at me. Like I—-“ 

Her voice cracked and caught in her throat. 

”It'd be like I wasn't even there. He'd walk into the room and look at the knives on the ground like they were a couch cushion out of place and I didn't even exist. I used to think he wished I didn't.“ 

Now Alex knew as much, especially considering she existed as a werewolf of all things. The square ahead of her glowed purple, but it didn't feel like a victory. She took the step ahead, still eager to feel like she had more space. She didn't and neither did Emilio, but she grabbed the card anyway. 

“If your uncle's sister is not your aunt, what relation is she to you,” Alex read aloud and then answered, “Your mother.” 

What was with this fucking game? Had it been curated specifically for those with family trauma or was this personal to them. Alex didn't like the answer either way. 

“Not sure if it wants us to talk about our mom or uncle... or dad and aunt,” she shrugged, “Pretty sure my aunt tried to kill me. Don't remember much on account of being 7 and my first full moon.” 

—

He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go. He’d said his piece, and they were another step closer to freedom, whatever that looked like. They didn’t have to take two steps every time, didn’t have to cover the most possible ground with each riddle. They could take one step, and it would be fine. He could fall on the sword, and it would be better. He wanted to tell Alex that she could be quiet, that she could just listen, but his throat was dry and his limbs felt heavy and the air in the alley felt like it was going to suffocate him with the way his words still clung to it, the way his story still seemed to echo long after he’d stopped telling it.

The truth was, Emilio wanted her to say something. He wanted her to add her words in with his, wanted something to cleanse his honesty from the air. And it was a selfish fucking desire, wasn’t it? He’d been raised as both sword and shield, designed to deliver blows just as well as he was meant to take them. His uncle told him once, not long after that first incident in the shed, that his job was to bleed. We bleed for others, he’d said, gripping the back of Emilio’s small neck in his hands. He still couldn’t decide, sometimes, if that grip was a threat or a comfort. Even now, he had trouble telling the difference between the two. We bleed so that they don’t have to. We fight, we die so that they live. 

But here, in this alley, Emilio wanted desperately not to be the only person bleeding. 

So it was a selfish, unforgivable relief when she spoke. She talked about her basement the same way he talked about his shed. And he understood what she meant by it, understood how it was to feel the space grow smaller the longer you spent trapped within it. The shed seemed to shrink with each hour he spent there. By the time Lucio freed him that first time, it had seemed as though the walls were so close that his chest couldn’t expand to take a full breath. Like it was crushing him, somehow, crumpling himself up like paper in its hand and tossing him into the mouth of a wastebasket. 

He hadn’t been good at it. At the shed, at whatever it was he was supposed to learn in between those walls that seemed so intent on swallowing him whole. Between Emilio and his siblings, he was doubtlessly the one who spent the most time there, was the one who was pushed inside most often. Victor grew out of the shed by the time he was ten, Edgar stopped being locked inside at twelve. Rosa was eight the last time their mother wrapped that chain around the door with her on the wrong side of it. There was never any fanfare to it — one day, Elena just stopped putting them inside.

But not Emilio. For Emilio, the shed was a constant. At six, at ten, at seventeen. At thirty-two, he’d still been afraid of it, still spent every day wondering when the next time he’d be locked away might be. He was as slow as he was soft, apparently.

He wondered if it would have been the same for Alex, had her life gone differently. If not for that night, with the werewolf’s bite and her parents’ deaths, would her father be putting her in that basement even now? He had to imagine that Andy would have stepped in regardless, would have saved her even without the wolf forcing her hand. And he didn’t have to wonder why no one had stepped in for him, because he knew. Some people were worth saving, but some people weren’t. Alex’s basement had been cruel, but Elena’s shed had been a lesson. Emilio just hadn’t been smart enough to learn it.

“I was always like that, too,” he offered, unsure why he was saying it without a riddle to force his hand. “The… decepción de la familia. I wasn’t what they wanted me to be. I think…” He trailed off, thinking back to the first memory he’d shared. “They all wished it was me. When I was twelve, when my… I think they thought it would have been better if it were me.” Saying I think felt like a lie, because in reality? He knew it. Rosa had said as much, just a week before the massacre. But saying that felt too heavy, and the alley felt cramped enough as it was. They didn’t need to go filling it with any more ghosts than necessary.

Especially not when the game seemed intent on opening up a seance full of them.

The words Alex read from the card seemed to echo, ringing in his ear. She didn’t know what the game wanted them to talk about here, but Emilio had a pretty good idea. “Everything it’s given us so far has been to make us talk about things we don’t — Things that we didn’t want to say. Maybe your aunt. Maybe…” He trailed off, swallowing. His heart was in his throat, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he had to, didn’t he? This game wouldn’t let them move forward until they’d ripped their fucking hearts out and laid them on the brightly colored sidewalk. 

“My uncle didn’t try to kill me,” he said quietly, “but I killed him. Stuck a knife in his gut and left him to bleed out in the streets. And I thought — I thought I would feel better. Or worse. You know? One or the other, I figured. It would either help, or it would hurt. But it just — It did nothing. I killed him, and it did nothing. I didn’t feel better, and I didn’t feel worse. I put a knife in the man who raised me and I left it there, and I felt nothing.” He thought of the cursed necklace that had nearly driven him mad, of the murderers’ choir in his head, the chorus of terrible voices all coming together. He thought of his voice among them, of the thought that echoed and the way he could have pinpointed the exact second he’d first thought it. I should have killed him sooner. 

“I never knew my dad. Died when I was a baby, you know, on a hunt nobody ever talked about. But I knew my uncle. He stepped up. Never had his own kids. Said he was too busy with us. Loved us like we were his, and we loved him back. And when I killed him, when I did that, all I could think was… I should have done it earlier. When it might have mattered more. That’s all I could think.” He looked at Alex for the first time in a while, though it was a fleeting thing. His eyes landed on her for a moment before darting away. “That’s why I helped Andy when she did what she did. Because when I did it, when I put that knife in my uncle’s gut, I was too late. But she wasn’t.”

The ding filled the alley again. To Emilio’s surprise, two spaces lit up. He eyed them suspiciously. “Maybe your story was good enough,” he offered. “Or… I don’t know. I don’t know the rules.”

—

Something about the way he spoke made the words feel all wrong. When it was Alex locked in that room or being the child her parents wished they never had, the pieces seemed to fit into place. After all, even if she had never been bitten, part of her had always known she never had what it took. It was why she hid the cuts and bruises that took too long to heal— she was a broken thing. Not a single part of her was what it was supposed to be and even now it felt so evident, but she couldn't imagine Emilio not fitting. The fact he'd survived to see his 30s was a testament enough to that, especially when she knew the slayer wasn't one to run from a fight. Maybe that wasn't always true when he was a literal child, but he had what it took in him without the shed, without anyone wishing he had been the one who died. 

It highlighted a certain cruelty that she couldn't see so clearly when it was only applied to her. Alex hated how clear it seemed now. Emilio's mother wasn't a good person. Emilio had been a kid who was born with what it took to fight and raised him into a shell of a person. She knew because wasn't that what she felt like? Couldn't she slip into the past just as easily and feel that same tightness in her throat that she could hear in his words? And if Emilio had never deserved to be treated that way somehow that made her father worse. Alex had never had heightened senses or strength to rely, she didn't heal quickly from the blows that seemed to be delivered day after day. She had been just human. No bells, no whistles— simply a kid. And weren't simple kids and humans who didn't know better the ones who were supposed to be protected? Isn't that what her family's code had stressed? At what point had legacy become more important than that? 

Alex decided in that moment that she hated both of them. His mother and her father weren't good people. It made her stomach turn to think ill of the dead, but she'd spent her whole life hating herself for everything she was and wasn't. The dead could deal with a little bit of hatred lobbied at them. 

“I don't think it would have been better if it was you,” Alex finally spoke, only barely managing to direct an understanding glance in his direction. It felt strange to admit when she'd spent so much time fighting the man at every turn, but it was true. 

He was there for Andy and something about that ate Alex because she hadn't been there for her sister. Maybe she didn't understand what either of them were supposed to be, but she knew Andy deserved better. She deserved friends who would look out for her and have her back like Emilio had. 

“Something tells me whoever it was that isn't here anymore.... wouldn't have been so quick to save a werewolf,” she murmured, “Or be a good friend to Andy. Or look out for Nora because god knows nothing is scaring her enough to not walk right towards it.” Nothing scared Nora... which was a little bit scary when you were someone that gave a shit about Nora's wellbeing. 

Her next memory had been easy to share, so Alex wasn't too sure it counted. Hell, she barely remembered it. She just remembered being far away from Lyon when she woke up, with Andy looking over her shoulder constantly. Even then, she'd been able to put the pieces together. Maybe even before when the bite never really healed like it was supposed to. 

Emilio's was decidedly not. It wasn't that his uncle tried to kill him, but that he had killed his uncle? Alex found her eyes trained on the candy cane ahead because the words made her feel sick. Not because she wasn't sure that Emilio had a good reason, but because there had been a reason in the first place. It was one thing to be a trained blade and know you were a weapon against evil--- but to have those lines blurred so intimately.

And he spoke of being too late. Andy hadn't been because they were both still alive. While Emilio didn't say as much, she couldn't help but wonder who wasn't there anymore because of his uncle. It had to have been someone Emilio really loved to have killed the man who raised him and the thought didn't sit well. 

Because Emilio had been soft once and maybe that wasn't a bad thing, but whatever led to him sticking a knife in his own uncle took that away from him. The candy cane was starting to look sickeningly sweet in contrast. The whole colorful and happy atmosphere seemed like some twisted joke as they were both forced to bear their souls to each other. It was mocking and Alex didn't like it one bit. 

But two squares lit up in front of them and it seemed generous to count her memory, so Alex took it for what it was. She wouldn't say anything about his story because she didn't know what to say. She wasn't going to press for more details, not when they had both been forced to share more than they ever would have. And maybe helping Andy hadn't been a bad thing even if some small part of Alex wished she'd been brave enough to fight for herself so that her sister never had to. 

“I don't either,” she shrugged, “But I'll take the two squares forward as win.” 

She stepped forward and took the next card in her hand. Alex found herself looking ahead--- they were so close to the end. Four more squares, two more memories if they both kept sharing like they had been. Pink, green, yellow, blue. They could do this. 

She turned the card over and read. “Some try to hide, some try to cheat; but time will show, we always will meet. What am I?“

She wanted to answer 'weirdly cryptic' but directing sarcasm at the game was starting to feel weaker as it went on anyway. 

”So it obviously wants us to talk about death,“ she huffed with a bitter snort, ”Really think this game needs to come with like a bottle of antidepressants or something.“ 

She wasn't sure if that was actually how antidepressants worked. It wasn't like she'd ever been to therapy and she avoided even the entry-level psychology courses. That would call for far more reflection on her past than Alex really wanted to give it... but that was kind of the name of this game. 

Real Candyland had to be better. 

”Gonna guess that the fact I killed a moose on the full moon doesn't count,“ she seemingly asked the sky. She didn't bother to look to see if Emilio found her joke amusing. He probably didn't... or maybe he did appreciate the deflection from how serious this whole exchange was. It was hard to tell.

“I guess it probably wants me to talk about my parents,” she finally breathed, looking down at her feet, ”We were on a camping trip. I think it was around my 7th birthday. It was supposed to be a survival excursion sort of thing.“ 

The one aspect of training she didn't fucking suck at. 

”Guess there was a local pack of werewolves my parents pissed off,“ she explained, finding it odd that she didn't feel the same anger towards the pack that she used to, ”I remember being in the tent. I'd gotten sent in there for time out for something I don't remember. I was crying... I wasn't supposed to cry.“ Then her father would yell like that did anything to get a child to stop crying. ”Andy snuck in there with me at one point... she'd do that sometimes when I was upset. I don't think he liked it.“ The he of course did not need to be specified at this point. Emilio knew. ”The next thing I remember is hearing snarls and growls... I think my own scream? I couldn't move. I just... watched as they got ripped apart, as they ran towards me.” 

Not being able to look up to meet Emilio's eyes seemed to be the theme of this stupid fucking game. “I don't remember at what point Andy grabbed me and got us the hell out of there... The next thing I remember is being on a plane and squeezing her hand tighter than I've ever held anything.” 

Alex found she wanted her sister's hand to squeeze right now more than anything else. If she was honest, she'd been wanting as much from the moment she pushed her sister away and this whole fucked up game of Overshare Candyland only seemed to highlight that absence. Listening to how closely Emilio's past mirrored her own despite the fact he wasn't defective... made it harder for her to grasp the frayed threads of memory that said she was the problem. 

She didn't bother telling Emilio it was his turn and instead simply whispered, ”That's all I got on death... unless the game really does want to hear about the moose. It was pretty tasty.“

—

Alex said it like it was easy. I don’t think it would have been better if it was you. The words seemed heavy and light at the same time, like their mere existence was some impossible contradiction, and Emilio found himself startling just a little as they settled. It wasn’t just because Alex had fought him tooth and nail at every opportunity since the first moment he found her facing off against that lapir on her own, though that did add to it. No, there was more to it than that — Alex was the first person who’d ever expressed this particular sentiment.

It had been an unspoken thing when he was a child that Emilio was wrong. Not in the same way he’d learned Alex had been considered wrong, of course; he had all the makings of a slayer, and that made it seem worse, somehow. He’d been born to do something, been made for it, and he still managed to fuck it up more often than he didn’t. He had eyes designed to help him see in the dark, but he still shivered when the sun went down sometimes. He had strength that made it easy to drive a stake through a chest and into an unbeating heart, but there were days where his hands shook where they gripped the wood. He was a weapon, but he’d never been a very good one.

He’d spent years of his life trying to figure out what it was that made him different, made him wrong. Was it the father who’d died before Emilio had ever known him? Edgar had had at least vague memories of Hendrik Visser, and Rosa and Victor had had entire stories of a man Emilio had never even seen a photograph of. From what Emilio knew of his father, he’d been of the same thinking as his mother, of the same school of hunter. Perhaps without two pairs of hands shaping him in those formative years, some development had been lost. Or maybe it was something else. Some broken thing within him, shattered when he was young in a way that forced him to grow around the pieces. Biological instead of situational, some defect that had been present in Santiago Cortez a century before Emilio was born, when he’d let Monty go and sealed his own fate. That thought scared him a little, made his palms sweat and his throat itch. 

He wondered if Alex felt the same. 

She’d been born broken, too, hadn’t she? In a family of hunters, but without the gene that made her one of them. Maybe there was another part to that gene, too — some inherited behavior that made it easier to abandon your humanity and allow yourself to be nothing more than a blade with a beating heart. Was that what Emilio was missing, he wondered? Was that the part of him that was wrong?

He shrugged, either in response to his own silent question or as an answer to Alex’s foreign statement. Even he wasn’t sure which. Both, maybe, because both seemed equally unknowable. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He didn’t know if it was better for him to have survived instead of Victor. He didn’t know why he didn’t know. And, as Alex went on, he realized he didn’t even know if she was right about Victor not being the type to save a werewolf.

It was funny — Victor had been dead longer than he’d been alive now. Alive for eighteen years, gone for twenty-two. He was more a ghost than he’d ever been a person. Emilio had idolized him as a kid, the way twelve year old boys always idolized their oldest brothers. He’d been larger than life, a superstar. And then he’d been dead, and no one wanted to talk about him much at all. He’d gone from a superhero to a monument in an instant, from a tangible person with thoughts and opinions to a story that was half cautionary tale and half a vision to aspire towards. 

Victor had never been much of a person the same way Emilio wasn’t much of a person, but he’d become less of one over time. When a person was dead for as long as he had been, so much of them was lost. They became clay, their memory shaped into whatever it needed to be in the moment. Victor did what he was supposed to do, his mother had said once when Emilio was trying not to show her his grief. Victor was foolish, and he got himself killed, she said on another occasion, when he tried to use his brother as an excuse to do things she didn’t want him doing. 

Victor had been a good blade in life, capable of slicing through whatever was put in front of him without thought or emotion, but he was a far more effective weapon in death. Nothing was sharper than memory. Nothing cut deeper than grief.

So would Victor have done what Emilio did? Would he have saved Alex, even after she’d confessed to being a werewolf? Would he have helped Andy bury that corpse? Would he have stepped up for Nora and had her back? Maybe he would have done a better job at saving Flora, or been smart enough to help Teddy in the mines, or been fast enough to keep the blood from spilling down Wynne’s throat. But Emilio realized with something of a jolt that he didn’t know. He’d mourned his brother longer than he’d known him and, for the first time, it had him wondering how well he’d ever truly known Victor at all. How much of who he was had been replaced by the memory of him? 

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, even though it hurt. That was what this was about, wasn’t it? That was what this game wanted from them — to hurt. Emilio found himself wishing, with a hint of vitriol, that whoever had done this had chosen a more straightforward method of torture. Give him blades dragging across his skin, give him broken bones, give him his own guts resting in the palms of his dirty hands. He understood that so much better than he understood this. He would have been able to carry it so much easier. 

Something told him Alex would have agreed with the sentiment, too. If nothing else, the game was doing a good job at showing him how painfully similar they were. If Andy was what Emilio wanted to be — the hunter who had gotten out before it was too late, the person who’d saved the child in their care and spared her from the wrong end of someone else’s blade — then maybe Alex was a lot closer to what he actually was. A scared kid who couldn’t figure out how to carry the parts of herself that no one had ever liked. A child locked in a small space with the darkness closing in, someone’s angry voice ringing in her ears. She was soft the way he was soft. She was still in that basement the way he was still in that shed. Her aunt tried to kill her the way he’d killed his uncle. Two sides, one very pissed off coin.

So he found himself agreeing with her more than he normally would have. Two squares was a win, and he wouldn’t be looking any gift horses in the mouth when wins seemed hard to come by in this game. He thought it might be nearly over now — the end was in sight, even if he didn’t like the things they’d have to do and say in order to get there. Already, his chest felt tight. He’d said too much, revealed too much. But there was some selfish comfort in knowing that Alex had revealed just as many terrible secrets. Maybe she’d still judge him, but at least she’d have less room to do so. And she was like him — she didn’t like hanging out in places where she didn’t have a lot of room.

He followed her forward, letting her take the card again. He listened to the words as she said them, let them spin around for a moment before the answer popped out like a revelation he didn’t particularly want to have. Death. 

What a fucking doozy. 

There were so many he could have talked about, so few he wanted to say. Alex spoke about her parents, and Emilio listened. It was a story he’d heard before, but not from this point of view. It was funny — it was the same course of events, but Alex and Andy told it differently. They remembered different parts of it, different pieces. Age was probably a factor there — seven was still pretty young, and Alex’s memories were bound to be far hazier than Andy’s had been at fourteen — but Emilio suspected point of view had something to do with it, too. He thought Andy would be relieved that what Alex seemed to remember the most was being protected. Not just when the wolves came, but before, too. How much of a difference had it made, having someone in that tent with her? How much was it worth, having another hand in hers? Emilio thought the answer was something far larger than what anyone might have guessed.

He’d been alone, for most of his shit. Victor had been a dutiful soldier, playing his part as the eldest no matter what it meant. Rosa had taken over the role with just as much vigor when he’d died, adding in the desperation that must have come with being a daughter in a family full of sons. Edgar had been afraid, even if he never would have said so. None of them had ever stepped up for Emilio, but Emilio had never stepped up for any of them, either. He had just as many scars from his siblings as he had from his mother or the undead things he fought.

Even Rhett, when he’d come into the picture, had been a separate entity. Never cruel, not to Emilio, but not a savior, either. And why would he have been? The Cortezes did what every hunter family did, what hunters were supposed to do. Rhett would have seen no more reason to argue against it than Emilio had. 

But Andy had fought back. Andy had held Alex’s hand in that tent, had carried her away from danger. Andy had looked into the face of a monster that she’d been taught to hate her entire life, had looked into eyes and teeth that must have looked so much like the ones that had torn her parents to pieces, and she’d seen only her baby sister staring back at her. She’d seen someone to protect, and she’d done that. She’d kept holding that small hand. None of his siblings would have done it for him. He wasn’t even sure Rhett would have. But Andy did.

And Emilio thought that Alex deserved that, but with that thought came a question he’d never asked before. This cruel game had pointed out similarities between him and her, had unwoven threads he never would have picked at on his own. If Alex had deserved that… what was there to be said about him? If Alex had earned that protection just by being, was there a chance that, maybe, Emilio might have deserved something a little more as well? It seemed blasphemous to even think it, like the concept alone would be enough to pull his mother from her grave and send her dragging him back to that shed or carving his mistakes into his skin.

He huffed a quiet half-laugh at mention of the moose, though it was a hollow thing. Alex was done, and he knew the rules well enough to know that that meant it was his turn. Death was a thing Emilio had so much experience with — but what could he say? He’d made it this far without mentioning the massacre, and he didn’t particularly want to bring it up now. If he could finish the game without saying his daughter’s name, he wanted to do that. And it was cowardly and it was stupid and Flora deserved so much more, but he clung to the desire all the same. So he swallowed, fiddled absently with his ring, and went in another direction.

“It was my brother,” he said quietly. “Who died when I was twelve. He, uh… His name was Victor. There were four of us, but he was the oldest. He was… It was a hunt.” As if that needed saying. It was always a hunt, wasn’t it? When you lived the way they’d lived, there was only one event that would ever kill you. 

“He and my uncle went out together, some town near ours. Normally, we all would have gone, but… My sister had taken a bad hit on a hunt the night before, and I’d let her, so I was…” He shook his head, swallowing again. He was suffering the effects of his punishment, Edgar was tending to Rosa, his mother was doing the punishing. He’d always figured that made it his fault, just a little. “It was a small job. My tío was sure they could handle it alone. But they were gone too long. I think… We all knew, yeah. Before he came back, we all knew something was wrong. Should have been gone a few hours, didn’t come back for days. But I was…” He sighed. “I hoped.” He muttered it like a confession, like he was begging someone to tell him how many Hail Marys he needed to do to wash away the sin. “I hoped it was nothing. But when my uncle came back, he came back alone. There was no body, you know? Never found out what happened to it. Nobody wanted to talk about it at all. Victor died, and it was like he stopped existing. Like dead was the only thing left for him to be. Not even a thing to be buried, or a person to be remembered. Just… gone.” 

Another ding. Two squares lit up, and Emilio ducked his head as he crossed them robotically. He didn’t look at Alex, but he didn’t look away, either. They were here, they were miserable, but they were more a team than they had been when the barrier first closed around them. 

There was one card, and two spaces. If they both answered this one, and the rules didn’t change, they’d be free. There was a sense of relief as Emilio wrapped his hand around the paper, a sense of that same treacherous hope he’d just confessed to holding too tightly at twelve rising in his chest as he unfolded it. 

And, just like it had at twelve when his hope was crushed by news of Victor’s death, that foolish optimism strangled him now.

“I sleep all the time,” he whispered, “but keep everyone else awake.”

A baby. 

—

They were both able to take the crutch of humor for what it was. The hollow lilt in Emilio's laugh felt so similar to her own. It was harder to cling to the threads of hate for herself when she was looking at a man who held all the parts of herself that she hated, but Alex couldn't hate him. She could put on a good show, to be certain, but the vitriol she spewed never really had much behind it. It just felt safer to keep him at a distance. Emilio couldn't ever become someone he hated because of her if she never put him in that position. It was the same small fear she always held onto with Andy, too— one that had only been forced to the surface when Andy had killed someone, a human someone, to keep her safe. 

The hatred that Emilio clearly already possessed for himself contradicted that fear in a way Alex wasn't quite sure how to swallow. With or without doing anything to help her, Emilio was already someone he hated. It wasn't a comfort so much as a jolt, a reminder that she wasn't that big. She didn't have the power to make him hate himself... and something in that was freeing. 

She held onto the hollow crutch of a bitter chortle and the dose of clarity as Emilio readied himself to speak. Alex knew it'd be heavy. Did anyone really have a memory with death at the forefront that wasn't heavy? No matter how many years had passed, the memory of death could still wield a raw power that could bring someone to their knees. Both of them still stood, but she could see the slump in Emilio's shoulders become a little heavier as he spoke. 

The lit up rainbow path in the alley really was taunting, but somehow almost thematic. Something about crossing a rainbow bridge and all of that. It was a kind way to refer to death, one that had been unfamiliar to Alex until she'd begun volunteering at the community center and saw the way normal people spoke to children. As Emilio spoke of his brother, she knew no one used such kind words to describe Victor's death. She doubted anyone showed that kid back in Mexico any kindness at all and she felt a deep sadness for him. 

Because maybe their parents wanted them both to be unfeeling weapons, but they had just been kids. Emilio didn't need to say that he felt he was the one to blame because his voice was thick with that same guilt, that same disgust he seemed to carry for himself. Alex knew how it felt to hate everything you were, every shortcoming in training, but she had something he didn't. No matter how much she hated herself, Andy always found a way to hold her hand and soften that anger that threatened to consume. 

Nowhere in any of his stories was there anyone looking out for the kid that Emilio used to be. Alex wasn't sure if it made her more angry or sad. For all those moments she seemed to be sucked back into the past against her will, she almost wished she could go back. Not to her own past, but to that twelve year old kid who had the weight of the world thrusted onto him too young, to that kid who'd been blamed for things that were never his fault and carried burdens that should have never been his in the first place. She could tell him it wasn't his fault and that he'd grow up to be braver and kinder than any of them, but she wasn't a time traveler, not really. She couldn't go back in the past and be the Andy to someone else who had so desperately needed it. 

Emilio was still a broken man. Alex was still a broken monster in the sense that she wasn't one at all. If this fucked up game had highlighted anything, it was that. She was just as soft as she had always been in that room, but that felt less like some fatal flaw. 

If there was one thing Alex knew, it was that nothing she could say would necessarily change that guilt Emilio carried. This wasn't even something he wanted to share with her... and it wasn't as if she had been so keen on sharing her worst memories with him either, but there was a certain clarity that came with speaking them out loud. 

“It wasn't your fault,” Alex said simply. Because that part was simple. The rest... well, it wasn't like her parents had a grave either. She wasn't even sure she'd want to visit if they did, not anymore. But maybe his brother was different. She didn't know. “If you ever wanted to remember... I think planting something is nice. Wynne and I are planting something for their brother. My garden's got plenty of room.” 

It was an invitation that he would or wouldn't acknowledge, but it was there. Alex felt inclined to show him something of a kindness because maybe it hadn't been a bad thing he saved her life. Maybe she'd known that the whole time, but hadn't been able to let go of the idea she wasn't worth saving. 

They moved ahead their two squares and Alex felt something close to relief. They weren't quite out of this quite frankly homophobic rainbow alley... torturing the gays with rainbows was homophobic and no one was telling her otherwise. Emilio was reading the riddle and she could practically leap out of the square. Metaphorically anyway. She wasn't trying to bonk herself with a barrier again because that was decidedly really not fucking fun. Not that any part of this game had been. They weren't even being given actual candy to comfort them through this de facto heart-to-heart. Just vaguely mocking lollipops and candy canes staring at them from the sidelines. 

But this riddle was easy. Given this memory didn't exactly paint Alex in a positive light, none of the previous ones had either and this was like in the same vein as everything else. Her dad didn't love her so she stole a stuffed animal from a baby. Boohoo. 

She could probably even spin it as a joke and still have it count. Alex answered, “A baby... Weird, but I've got this one.” 

She staged her best dramatic deep breath and announced, “I stole a stuffed otter from a baby once because my dad didn't love me.” The deadpan delivery was practiced and nowhere near Nora's, but the lack of immediate ding sent Alex right back to her regularly scheduled rambling. “I mean, that's kind of the gist of it. I was like.... 5 I think and at the mall with my mom,” she explained nervously, “I needed new shoes, I think and we were waiting in line behind a dad with a baby in a stroller. And... he was just looking at his daughter with so much adoration and love and... I hated that baby a little bit because of it so when her dad was paying for their stuff, I stole the baby's stuffed otter.“ 

She shrugged, ”It was petty and like... only steal from rich connards or corporations now. Not babies. I guess in my kid brain that baby felt rich.“ There was probably some Hallmark card about love making you rich, but she usually got handmade cards. The markup on Hallmark cards was a little much for two broke kids on the road though she did steal Andy that ”over the hill“ card when she turned 21. 

”If you also stole from a baby I'm going to Walmart and burning every copy of Candyland. I can't be twinning with an old man, it's illegal.” The joke was just as hollow, but Emilio looked like he was about to have a complete mental break and Alex wasn't really sure what she was supposed to do here. She needed him to tell this story so they could get out of here, so that the barrier could stop feeling like it was somehow closing in on both of them. 

—

It wasn’t your fault. He hadn’t said it aloud but, somehow, Alex had known exactly who Emilio figured was to blame for what had happened. And he was less surprised by that than he would have been at the beginning of this little game. Through their shared stories, the similarities between the two of them had crept up to the surface. It didn’t matter if the things they’d shared had been exposed unwillingly, didn’t matter that they never would have said any of it if not for the strange happenings of Wicked’s Rest forcing their hands. Once their memories were out there, they were out there. The understanding came for free. Alex knew Emilio blamed himself for what happened to Victor the same way he knew she blamed herself for what happened to her parents. It didn’t matter if neither experience of guilt made any logical sense. It didn’t matter if no one in their right mind would blame a twelve year old for his brother dying a town away with a guardian who was responsible for protecting him or a seven year old for her parents dying at the hands of people they’d doubtlessly wronged. Grief rarely adhered to rules of logic, and those who were grieving were never in their right minds.

“Wasn’t yours, either,” he offered quietly, though in Alex’s case, he knew she’d likely heard it before. Andy wouldn’t sit by and let Alex blame herself for that attack without telling her, probably more than once, that none of the fault belonged on her shoulders. Alex probably didn’t believe it, because Emilio wouldn’t have, either. Even now, hearing it from her, he had a hard time accepting that what happened to Victor didn’t happen because of him. But it needed to be said, sometimes. And it was one of those things he suspected carried more weight when it came from someone who didn’t know you quite as well. Although… Emilio certainly knew her better now than he had a few hours ago.

He sucked in a trembling breath at her offer, glancing to the side like he half-expected someone to chastise him for considering it. Victor would never have a grave, but there was something nice about the idea of planting a flower for him. There was something nice about the idea of it growing next to a flower planted for Iwan, even though the two had died decades apart in different countries. There was no connection between them besides the fact that their siblings met one another after their deaths. But Emilio found he liked the idea all the same. Like Iwan and Victor could rest side by side, free from a world that had failed them both so completely.

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, offering her a small smile. “Thanks, Alex.” It wasn’t a word he said very often. Rhett had pretty much plucked it from his vocabulary not long after they’d met, removing it with great care and telling Emilio in no uncertain terms that he ought to forget the syllable altogether. But the letters fit easily in his mouth now, sounded less foreign than everything else in English, somehow. 

But any relief he might have felt, be it from the newfound understanding with Alex or the end that was now in sight, melted away quickly with the riddle on the page. He should have known it was coming. He should have known. This game, whatever it was, seemed to know enough about them to know exactly what existed within their pasts, seemed to understand precisely what they didn’t want to say. He’d been stupid to think there was any shot of him getting out of this without having to reveal the corpses in his past. It wasn’t enough to talk about Victor, whose ghost had haunted him for more than half his life now. The game wanted more. Everything always wanted more.

Alex was talking, but it was like Emilio was listening from somewhere underwater. Like he was sitting on the bottom of a lake, drowning or about to drown or already having drowned, while she spoke at the surface, unaware of the corpse floating beneath her. He felt guilty for not listening, somehow, but maybe the guilt was misplaced. Maybe he felt guilty for a thousand things at once and the shame was looking for a home, looking for something tangible and current. There was a weight on his chest, and he didn’t know how to get it off. It was going to suffocate him. There was no way around it.

Her story finished, and it was simple. Sad, still, because she’d been a kid who was unloved and angry about it, but not quite as heavy as the basement or the tent she’d shared about before. This riddle wasn’t for her, he realized. It was for him, but he couldn’t wrap his tongue around the words, couldn’t force them from his throat. They were stuck behind his teeth, heavy and acidic. 

A buzzer sounded, insistent. Emilio remained silent. The buzzer went again, and again, and again. The game wasn’t patient. His breathing picked up a notch, each inhale a quick gasp and each exhale a shudder. He scrambled towards the last square, shoving himself against the barrier like he’d done in the beginning, like an animal stuck in a trap preparing to chew through its own arm to find its freedom. The barrier was just as solid now as it had been before, and he sat down ungracefully with his back against it, pulling his knees to his chest. And the buzzer, in its unforgiving cruelty, continued to sound. There was no other riddle offered, no other escape. 

Emilio let his forehead drop against his knees, trying to calm himself down. Was it rage or grief that was swirling in his chest now? He couldn’t tell the difference anymore. It always felt the same. The buzzer sounded again, and he let out an animalistic sound, half groan, half growl. “Okay,” he shouted, hoarse and broken. “I’m — Fine. Fucking fine, okay, I’ll go.”

The buzzer silenced immediately, and the world seemed to still as if the sky above him was holding its breath. Another trembling breath, a shudder shaking his frame. He didn’t lift his head; when he spoke, it was muffled by his position. He pretended it made it easier.

“She was born on a Friday. I still remember it, you know? She was — Fuck, she was tiny. They handed her to me, and I could’ve held her in one hand if I’d wanted to. But I was scared. Yeah. Never been so scared in my fucking life. Faced off against ghouls and spawns when I was a kid, already gone against a fucking elder vampire at that point, and none of them scared me half as much as holding her. She was… It felt like I’d already failed her, you know? First time I held her, I already felt like I was fucking up. Wasn’t ready for it, didn’t know what it meant. Almost missed the birth, I was so scared. My sister had to kick my ass to get me back in the room. She didn’t sleep much, first few months. Her mom said that was my fault. Slayers, you know, we don’t need much sleep. And that’s what she was, because that’s what I was. So she was up all the time. Cried a lot. That scared me, too. Worried I was doing something wrong. Holding her wrong, or something. Her mom, she was less of a mess than I was. Babies cry sometimes, that’s what she said. Doesn’t mean there’s a problem, just means she’s a baby. She was right. Yeah. She usually was. But I was so fucking scared.”

There was no pleasant ding, still. And Emilio knew. He knew what it wanted. It wouldn’t let either of them out of here with parts still hidden, wouldn’t let them keep anything for themselves. They didn’t get that. Not here, not anymore. They weren’t allowed. So he swallowed against that lump in his throat, thought about the whiskey waiting for him when he was finished here. They hadn’t made it this far to fail. It wouldn’t be fair to Alex for him to refuse now. And besides… she probably knew. It wasn’t hard to guess. He told a story about a baby, and it was clear that he didn’t have one in his life now. She probably already knew. All that was left was to say it.

“It was a Sunday, when she died. She wasn’t a baby anymore, but she still felt like one. Four years old, already acting like she was her own person. Whole personality, you know? Whole life, all wrapped up in those four years. But there — There’s days when it doesn’t feel like it. When everything gets… mixed up, yeah, in my head. On those days, it’s like… Like it was all at the same time. You know? Like the only thing between her being born and her dying was the weekend. I failed her in the beginning and I failed her in the end, so what’s it matter how many days were between them? She still felt like a baby. She just wasn’t crying anymore.”

He went quiet and, for a moment, a suffocating silence filled the alley. He wasn’t sure he was breathing, wasn’t sure Alex was. And then…

Ding ding ding! 

The colorful ground beneath them flashed. Confetti fell from nowhere. The barrier he was leaning against dropped, and he didn’t bother stopping himself from falling backwards into the alley. The same robotic voice from the beginning sounded again. “Congratulations, PLAYER 1 and PLAYER 2! You have completed the game!” 

It sounded far too celebratory to match the mood in the alley, too excited and cheery to go with the weight of what he’d just dropped on the concrete between them. His throat ached, his eyes burned. He didn’t move from where he’d fallen on the sidewalk. Everything felt so goddamn heavy, like just sitting up would take all the strength he had in him. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t think his legs would hold him even if he gave it all he had.

—

If you had told Alex only a few short hours ago that she would be inviting Emilio Cortez to her garden and that he'd be accepting the invitation, she would have scoffed and made some joke about how the fumes from his 5-in-1 Irish Spring would kill all her plants. Even before, there wouldn't have been any real hatred behind it except for herself, but the idea itself didn't seem so laughable now. All her broken parts were so clearly reflected in the slayer and it was sobering in a way. It made her want to hold onto Andy and Kaden just a little tighter despite the fact she had been trying so hard to push them away. 

“We'll pick something good out,” she said softly. It wasn't the first time she made the offer. Kaden and Wynne readily came to mind, but Alex thought maybe this would heal something in her too. Maybe that was a little bit selfish, but part of her knew Emilio would rather help her than himself. Her words of reassurance didn't magically take away the hatred she knew he held for himself just as his hadn't magically turned guilt and self-hatred into anything but anger. Because anger was easy. They both knew that. 

Her story fell mostly on deaf ears. Alex could pick up some hint of acknowledgement in his features, but no words followed. The cheerful music played like something out of one of those soda shoppes but somehow the silence felt so much louder. 

It was funny the way so much could be said by not saying anything at all. Even before Emilio spoke and the buzzer sounded insistently, Alex knew that whatever he had to say next was going to somehow be heavier than everything they'd covered before. The word 'baby' now left an acidic aftertaste on her tongue that seemed to coat her whole throat as realization hit her. There was only one reason the word would elicit such a physical reaction from the slayer and somehow it crushed her too. 

Alex found she didn't want him to say the words. She could already piece it together and she felt a part of herself break for Emilio. Because he had been a kid who never wanted this. Because he'd been too soft and if there was a baby, she knew he loved them. She knew he was the kind of man who would look at his baby the way that father at the mall did, the kind of man she'd always wished her own father knew how to be. 

Suddenly, the way all his broken pieces fit together made sense. His insistence at making sure Alex was safe despite her best efforts to sabotage his efforts at every turn, the way he softened when he saw the way she recoiled from his harsh words.

Emilio had a delicate heart and no amount of beating from his mother had ever beaten that out of him. Alex found she didn't think it should have been when she could so clearly see just how much he loved his own child in the way he was breaking down on the glowing yellow square they stood on. It seemed to illuminate every labored breath and she had to look away. 

When he spoke, Alex wanted so badly for his words to not confirm what she'd already pieced together. They didn't do that. Everything was as she thought and she wanted to tell him he didn't have to continue. She didn't know if it'd be selfish or kind. She didn't want to hear the memory that came out as more of a confession because it tore her apart, too, but she also didn't stop him because his grief made the barrier feel like it was closing in on both of them somehow, as if it could swallow them whole. 

So she let him continue to speak and for once didn't bother to hide the tears that pricked at the corner of her eyes. It wasn't fair. Alex knew life wasn't fair, but this was especially unfair. The love Emilio felt for his daughter was still so present even if she wasn't here to feel it. He loved his baby like he was supposed to. She could have grown up to be better than either of them. She could have loved herself but she never even got that chance. 

He'd held that little girl like she was the most precious thing in the world, worried over her, and he lost her. The word Sunday felt heavy and the confetti that rained on them didn't feel like a celebration. They'd both just ripped their hearts out in some warped, rainbow alley and the sounding of horns felt grating. She wished there was an actual trumpet player for her to kick or argue with... that'd feel more satisfying than unceremoniously stepping forward into the blue square and then out of the game altogether. 

Alex was still for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. She remembered the night in the kitchen with Kaden, when he spoke of Damien. How she'd reached out and hugged him... and despite how it seemed foreign to him initially, it seemed to help in a way, too. It was a small show of acceptance, a wordless way of saying I see you and what you're carrying and it changes nothing. Or maybe it changed everything. Did she not trust Kaden more after he told her about Damien? 

So before her own doubts could come back and steal her courage, Alex reached out to Emilio and wrapped her arms around him. She didn't both with the apologies, she knew they rang hollow because nothing really changed grief. Apologies rang hollow after a while. He flinched at first, which she had almost expected. The action didn't make her doubt her own standing, for once, because well... she knew more about the slayer than she ever wanted to. 

She stayed like that for a moment. It was easier to show support than speak it sometimes. Alex wasn't even sure what words could help heal a wound that was gaping. She wasn't sure the words existed. The gesture itself said more than she ever could. 

When she pulled away, everything still felt too raw. Everything Alex had spent so long trying to shove down was forced to the surface and right now, Emilio was probably the only person who really understood the confusing mess of emotions she found herself lost in. It all still felt too heavy though, she wanted to feel as light as the candy-coated trail had suggested. 

”I have an idea,“ she said with a smirk that didn't quite hold the same mischievous glint it normally did, ”I think you'll like it.“

Something told her Emilio was the kind of man who appreciated a little bit of arson... Or maybe it was more destruction of property. Alex was no lawyer even if Elle Woods had been her first childhood crush. Maybe part of her also wanted to buy the stupid game too. A nice little gesture of 'fuck you' to her parents for not letting her have any amount of joy as a kid. 

”I hope you like breaking the law and lighting things on fire,“ she gestured ahead, ”We're going to steal some board games and light them on fire... And buy one of them. I'm sure you can figure out who that one's a fuck you to.“ 

There was still a heaviness in the slayer's shoulders and in her own words, but Alex knew he'd take her up on the offer. They both had all of this shit dredged up that needed an outlet and Alex could think of no better form of catharsis than lighting some games of Candyland on fire and watching them turn to dust. 

—

The barrier was gone now, but the alley felt smaller than it had before. Like his story had filled it to the brim, like the force of those words was going to force the both of them out like a pot boiling over. He heard the trumpets and the confetti and the triumphant sounds that came with ‘winning’ the game, and he was so angry that it was hard to breathe. He was so furious that he thought it might smother him like a pillow shoved over his nose and mouth, like a wet cloth designed to drown him on dry land. He was angry. He was so fucking angry. 

But he wasn’t. Not really. And hadn’t that always been the problem?

Emilio looked for rage to warm him, clung to anger because it was a fire in the hearth in the middle of a blizzard, but it was never real. He called his grief by an alias and pretended that was its name, and sometimes, he was a good enough actor to fool himself. Sometimes, that anger felt like anger, and he let it hold him when nothing else did. He let it wrap itself around him, curl up beside him like a dog. But there were days when the disguise slipped, days when it was embarrassingly bad like a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a costume shop wig that wouldn’t fool anyone who looked at it for more than a moment. 

Today was one of those days. The rage burned, but it didn’t. The fury festered, but it didn’t. Emilio was angry, but he wasn’t. 

And he thought Alex probably knew. Because they were alike, weren’t they? Right up until the end, their stories lined up with one another. They were soft, they were shoved into too-small spaces, they carried death with them everywhere they went. And maybe, in a way, even those final memories stood side-by-side in a way that still made sense. Alex was unloved by a father she was better off without. Emilio carried too much love for a daughter he could no longer hold. They were both angry, but they weren’t. They both wished, more than anything, for the rage to be real. 

He heard her shuffling in the alley beside him, heard her coming in close. Nonsensically, he half-expected a blow. As if, after everything, she might make good on that promise to kick his good knee, as if she was the type of person who might literally kick him while he was down. She wasn’t. He knew she wasn’t, but she came close and he tensed anyway. When you spent all your life as a punching bag, even a supportive hand on your shoulder could look a little like a swinging fist at first. 

Her arms wrapped around him and, instinctively, Emilio flinched. His body was still trembling, still shaking, still so painfully his. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace, and it took him a moment. A heartbeat, maybe two, to recognize that it wasn’t an attack. When his mind caught up to his body, there seemed to be a second of hesitation before he allowed himself to relax.

How many times had someone hugged him? It had happened in Wicked’s Rest so much more than it had ever happened in Mexico, he knew. Before moving to this strange little town, he was sure he could have counted the number on a single hand and still had fingers left unused. Unsurprisingly, the Cortezes weren’t big on physical displays of affection. Even Emilio, who’d loved his daughter so much more than he’d ever loved anything else, had hugged her so rarely that he hated himself for it now. 

He took a deep breath, and then another. He tried to calm himself. Every stuttered beat of his heart sounded like an apology, like a plea for penance. He was sorry to Alex, who had deserved a love she’d never been shown by parents who should have been better. He was sorry to Andy, who’d given up her childhood in an attempt to make up for that. He was sorry to Flora, who died young and terrified just four years and a weekend after she was born. He was sorry to Victor, who was a memory instead of a person. 

And maybe, between all of them, he was finding another apology to carry, too. Maybe he could learn, somehow, to be sorry to that kid in the shed with a knife clutched in his trembling hand, leaning against a door he wanted so badly to open.

Alex spoke, and it took Emilio a moment to come back to himself. She was smirking, and it was less genuine than it normally would have been but he had neither the space nor the desire to call her out on it. There was no path forward that allowed them to recognize what had been said here and still breathe around it, he knew. There was no way to talk about what had been said without getting lost in it. It was still too raw. It would always be too raw, even if a century separated them from this alley and the things that had been said within it. Talk was cheap. Action was better.

And he really liked the sound of the action she had in mind.

Leaning back, the detective nodded. He brought a trembling hand up, shoved some of the wild curls away from his face. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice hoarse and foreign, even to him. “Yeah. Yeah, I like that. Let’s burn that shit to ashes. And… I’ve got a couple of bucks in my wallet. I’ll buy you one, too.” 

Neither of them could repair the damage done to them. There were things that couldn’t be fixed, no matter how much duct tape and chewing gum you used to stick the pieces back together. Glass, when shattered, would never slide back into place just the same. The cracks would always be there. The cold air would always creep in around them. But that didn’t mean you didn’t try, did it? That didn’t mean you didn’t do everything you could.

They were broken. And they probably always would be, despite anyone’s best efforts to change it. But there was something to be said, maybe, in being broken together instead of alone. 

And arson. There was something to be said for that, too.

“Come on,” he said, pushing himself to his feet in a way that creaked and ached. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” And on to whatever came next.

[yvtro]

also, in light of your writing on bruce and his secret identity vs jason not having a civilian identity, what do you think would change? i think it's an exellent point but i'm not sure there's more in it beyond he'll understand that split better? i mean personally i'm not sure how to interpret the way bruce uses this v much at all. like, beyond logistics. idk how bruce wayne processes this and how jay would, if you catch my meaning.

this is a really good question, and tbh i'm not sure of the answer myself? (and yet i went on to write a literal essay)

the thing is, i sympathise with jason on this a lot. there's no actual objective line between bruce wayne and batman. the way bruce compartmentalizes his identity is rather hazy, and esp in relation to people who know both of his identities it seems to be internal (and a coping mechanism) rather than anything else. there's certainly an element of wanting to remain true to civilian life in order to stay close to people (btw this is something that got severely distorted with the rise of popularity of an over exaggerated brucie persona) and avoid becoming an authoritarian figure (something that jason actually does... interesting). but as i said, with people he trusts (including his kids) he doesn't make this separation clear.

so there's no clear conceptualising of bruce's thinking that could make jason go: oh, that makes sense actually. valid. don't kill the joker then. but to twist your question a bit, i think what jason would need in order to actually reconcile with bruce is not even understanding how bruce divides all of this (because once again, it's arbitrary and of use only for himself), but rather:

- be clear with bruce on the fact that bruce is his dad no matter in cowl or not and that jason is his son both in mask and without it,

- (hey it's fascinating how it's possible for bruce to stay in denial and detach himself from jason's demands and desperation in utrh because jason is in mask too. do you think it would go like that if jay went through with his whole plan without a red hood? using his actual name? a dead son of bruce wayne coming back to gotham, going on a murder spree and establishing a crime empire. now that would be something that would actually disrupt bruce's flow. if jason recognised what the whole problem was about, and if he thought that he wanted bruce as his dad and not batman, i think he would do it this way.) (sorry for the random tangent.)

- but also appreciate that parenthood is not bruce's only role in life. this has to do with what was pointed out in the tags of my post; children tend to perceive their parents through their responsibility towards them. growing up, you realise that your parents are also normal people, and that while they are responsible for you, their failure to meet your needs does not always come from some place of neglect or malice. they're just flawed human beings. jay didn't have an opportunity to go through normal healthy emotional development, so he idealises bruce's role in his life (as kids tend to do) and all bruce's decisions extremely personally. so, tldr: you have to agree that batman is jay's dad, sure, but batman has other stuff going on for him than being a dad. only children can be as naive as to believe that their dad can (and should) abandon everything for their sake. and well, i'm not saying that jason's demand is completely confused: you would imagine that any father in power to protect their children would do so; and if batman can't do it, then maybe he shouldn't be a father. (fair and square. vigilantes don't make for the best parents because the world will usually come first) but most adults learn to compromise and sympathise with their parents more, and accept that they're not perfect. even if they love you unconditionally, they will not do everything and anything for you.

this will sound incredibly boring (and frankly speaking, is; there's no big resolution or anything) but i think if jason were in a better place and had time to mature more emotionally, he would eventually come to this conclusion. i know that lots of people say they hate scenarios in which he just gives up on his grievances to "play a happy family," but, isn't that how life goes? does it have to be "playing" a happy family if you simply learn to let go of something? personally i definitely wouldn't like it to happen abruptly, and as quickly as it usually does in fanfics, but i'd say realistically jason would either come to this realisation as years go by (and he's not 18 and scared out of his mind anymore) or he would decide that vigilantes with moral codes simply make for shitty fathers as a rule and give up. alternatively he remains resentful but in bruce's vicinity forever.

i don't know, does it make sense? this is all pretty much thinking out loud, let me know what you think.

[oceanblueeyesoul]

hello can i get a pjo cabin + s/o and a wensday match up ? ( a male match is fine for the s/o’s )

my name is Ziah, i use she/her pronouns and im like 5’3-5’5, 5w6 enneagram, an aries sun + libra moon + a scorpio rising. my hogwarts house is a ravenclaw and my mbti is an intj. i have dark brown skin and eyes with jet balck curly hair above my shoulders with bangs covered with a headband. I have a couple moles and a scar like a line down my forehead tho its kinda fading ngl. im mostly calm/humble & nonchalant but make jokes 24/7 in secret. My personality is described as “elderly ”by others because im serious at times but im more goofy once i get to know people also that im mad lazy when i want to be. pretty much the quiet friend whos an accidental instigator but everyones chiil with plus im the kinda strong friend who carries in arm-wrestling while holding on to the title as the “nerd” despite giving no enthusiasm in schoolm. i get laughs out of pestering friends/family with harmless debates and small things like people ik falling/tripping . i play basketball and work out every now n’ then doing miles on the treadmill. i actually do enjoy running when i actually am not procrastinating. the only thing i dislike is people who talk unnecessarily to much at times and being forced to do things that i don’t enjoy if i think about it. id say im decently smart for 99% of the time get good grades & A’s. tbh i just mostly observe others than be then main man talking. tho i have to admit i do get competitive when it comes to awards being involved & like taking on bets!! especially ones involving money or sweets as prizes. i guess my hobbies could be considered drawing, some piano,reading and listening to rap/rnb whenever im not knocked out asleep from sports practice. other random stuff i like is animals, science, history, psychology, marvel, drake, the weeknd, greek mythology, rain, j.cole , art museums or museums in general, harry potter on some days of the week and all that other stuff that falls under those categories. idk if this is useful but my style is tomboy-ish but you’ll catch me in a skirt or dress just not as often . though you mostly catch me neutral tones and nikes, converse or doc martens on average. i apologize if this long but i thank you it in advance !!!

Hi there, Ziah! I really hope you like this a lot!

PJO Cabin Matchup

You give me Cabin 1 (Zeus) vibes! You and your siblings would have fun competing against each other for having fun with each other when it comes to running competitions.

PJO Matchup

Your PJO soulmate is...

LEO VALDEZ!!

He would definitely going to be releasing your goofy side a lot more on the outside because he is very good at making you laugh a lot.

The two of you would be definitely playing the piano together all the time because it makes you guys feel safe with each other a lot.

He would be the man talking to all kinds of people because he knows that you prefer to watch and observe people rather than talking to them.

Cancer x Aries lovebirds!

Hufflepuff x Ravenclaw soulmates!

ENTP x INTJ sweethearts!

Wednesday (Netflix) Matchup

Your Wednesday (Netflix) soulmate is...

XAVIER THORPE!!!

The two of you would definitely be drawing together as a couple and an individual art project because the two of you are each other's muses when it comes to drawing something.

He would definitely like the fact you are competitive a lot because it means that you are not afraid of anything at all when it comes to beating your enemies fair and square.

The two of you would definitely be watching Marvel movies together because the two of you likes the characters growth development, the sense of humour and the art design of each Marvel characters' costumes.

Aquarius x Aries lovebirds!

Slytherin x Ravenclaw soulmates!

ISFP x INTJ sweethearts!

[fictional-love-is-my-life]

Do you think transformers are all made/born differently? When you look at the designs for some of the Autobot and decepticon eyes or optics for example. You look at Optimus's eyes in the first 3 movies, it looks more robotic. And when you see him in the 4th movie he upgrades of coarse, but his eyes and overall figure looks more alien-ish and advanced. With Bumblebee his eyes have pretty much always had a human like or at least a detailed white outline of his blue eyes that makes it look more detailed and full of emotion. Now obviously this is probably just because the budget for the movies got bigger and bigger because they made more money over the years so they could add more detail to the characters. But for the sake of the movie verse lore theory, do you think a transformer's appearance is decided by their personality or how big or small or how important they are in their world? Or is it completely random, or do they get to choose it themselves?

So every transformers media I have come across has different ways of explaining how bots come into existence. Some born, some made. Between shows, comics, movies it's all different.

But this ask is based on the movies, so I am going to answer with what I headcanon for the films.

In the beginning there was the cube (yes that's basically the first opening line of the movie). Anyway, the cube had a lot of power and that power created the first sparks. You could say they were 'made' from the power or that the cube 'bore' the sparks, and gave 'birth' to the sparks by creating them and setting them free on Cybertron. However the square did it, they did it and planted a bunch of bots all over Cybertron.

I do think that the first sparks were created with purposes in mind. The first were to be the leaders to guide the new sparks as they grew. The next generation of sparks were to follow the leaders, but were also made to be smart so they could learn, become wise, grow their planet and ultimately outgrow their old leaders and make a new world. Other sparks were made to help expand the planet, more sparks were made to help treat and look after other bots, some sparks were made to leave and explore the universe, etc. All sparks were made with a job in mind.

I think that their bodies, their frames were formed around their spark with their personality in mind. Their body became an outside extension of their personality and who they were meant to become. I do think the cube probably created them with their jobs already planned out. However the cube gave them free will, and they were able to choose whether they wanted to follow the plan or change and be something else. The cube made giant bots to do giant things, and small bots to do small things. However if a giant bot wanted to do a small bot thing, they could choose to do so. And that is why their transformation ability is so important and brilliant. It gave them a chance to change their body and be whoever they want.

I think each and every spark was made to be different, someone unique. When Cybertronians were first made they were all made to be individual so they could all add something to the world. Everyone would be different so they could all learn together and they could figure out a harmony of living together.

Then the war began. In the movies you see a lot of cons that look so extremely similar where as all bots are different. I think those cons were built. I think they have a built spark rather than a naturally made (from the cube) spark. I think Shockwave, Megatron, mechs like that decided they just wanted soldiers so they built cons from scratch and built a spark, programming the spark for war. And that is why they all look the same, because they are just built as machines more than living beings.

I think bots have the ability to change and grow. As we saw throughout the movies bots changed their colours, their frame types, their cars. I think as they grow wiser, or more experienced their bodies change too. Optimus' eyes could have changed because of all he had seen and gone through. Or maybe they change with age, sure they live longer but they are still technically getting older.

I like to think Bee and the bots change their aesthetic to match how they feel and how their personality changes as they go through the war.

Perhaps when they all go back to Cybertron they will look completely different because they will have different roles. I do think they chose their looks based on what they needed to do for the war as well. For example Crosshairs having his cloak and goggles because he's a paratrooper. Maybe he would want to look different if he was not one.

Anyway I think this pretty much sums up some ideas I had for this. Hopefully it's readable and understandable and not just a babbled mess of words.

Thanks for the ask.