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#this is like a game of telephone i think it’s very funny
laesas · 1 year
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As someone who definitely doesn't count as an A/B/O enjoyer it's still super interesting to me just how much influence it has over wider fandom and fanfiction. Like as soon as you're "in the know" it's just absolutely everywhere.
#full disclosure: my only experience is like a very funny light-hearted 40 minute intro to ABO video essay by ColeyDoesStuff + 1 fic#and like personally I don't think I'll ever *get* the whole nesting and scenting and like massive personality changes because ~biology~#buT like! god! it explains so much!!! of fandom!! and fanfiction!?!?#like everyone is playing a game of fanfiction telephone#there are loads of ABO readers that dont *write* abo picking out phrases and character interactions and putting them into 'normal' fics#which is. i am completely and utterly certain. how we get the scent thing.#this has genuinely baffled me for years and had left me wondering if I genuinely just have an awful sense if smell#not just the the ''he smells like sandalwood and coffee and something uniquely him'' thing. sure. sure. maybe its cologne#but like. where someone smells their friends or siblings and its like citrus and paper and fresh cotton and rain and youre like HUH?!#I literally could not tell you what any of my friends smell like. genuinely I do not know.#my mum wears a perfume? sometimes? but thats it. like. ??? idk its so bizarre to me that in some fics everyone has a unique smell#and like !!!! now it makes sense!!!!!!#ALSO#the dom sub dynamics that are just. so overpowering to the point of erasing the characters personalities#like the whole existence of 'deep subspace'#where a previously headstrong characher now wants nothing more than to follow the commands of their alpha *ehem* i mean dom#like its wiLd like its MAD! like there are sO many little *things* that you suddenly notice and youre like OHHHH IT MAKES SENSE NOW!!!!!!!!#this is absolutely not an 'omg abo is cringe' post btw like its not for me but this is more about the baffled awe i have for its influence#I didn't understand it!!#but now i sortof do!#insanely funny that it all started because of some jensen ackles x whatshisface rpf like thats a madness. thats so funny to me.#anyway. my sense of smell isn't amazing but I'm glad that in the 10 years since I started reading fanfiction I've solved this mystery 😂#oh also the fic i read was actually really stellar in terms of characterisation. I actually really did enjoy it#its called an elegant mechanism and its a KimChay if anyone does actually want to read it! its stellar#it's one if those where the abo elements are so intricately woven into the story that you won't *want* to remove them#even as a boring ass abo hater I'm like damn that shit DOES add to the plot#its fun
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ezrasbirdie · 23 days
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amateur [pre/no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader]
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summary: After a breakup, Joel invites you over to watch a football game and you arrive a little earlier than he expects. Or: Joel gets caught watching porn. ratings/warnings: E [smut, fluff, age gap (reader is 24, Joel is 40), dad's best friend, a sprinkle of daddy kink, dry humping, male masturbation, Joel indulges in Internet pornography, reader wears a skirt, reader calls him Mr. Miller, use of baby girl, Joel is confused about the Internet, a smidgen of insecurity, soft Joel, bossy Joel, some very light teasing degradation, Joel likes bush, I think that's it] wc: ~3.7k a/n: please go to @ezrasbirdie-updates to be notified of updates! Remember to read the warnings, please and thank you. I know I just updated a fic but I'm clearing my WIPs out and I've never been very patient. I've never done an age gap/dbf thing and I always wanted to, and I thought this lent itself pretty well to the trope. It's pretty much just smut lol. I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope y'all enjoy it, too! shout out to @mothandpidgeon for the beta and also to everyone who has listened to me yap about this<3
masterlist | joel masterlist
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To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS
Joel has no idea how these websites get his email address.
Honestly, he doesn’t. 
He suspects Tommy could be to blame—it seems like something he’d do with a smirk on his face, thinking he was just so goddamn funny, knowing good and well Joel doesn’t know how to make the emails stop. 
Joel is still getting used to this whole Internet thing. He only uses it for work, and he really only got it for Sarah to use for school. For the most part he prefers doing business by telephone, but every now and then he gets an email inquiry. 
He always calls them back, though. 
So he doesn’t spend a lot of time—what’s the term he’s heard?—surfing the web. But these damn websites get his email address regardless, and sometimes…well, he’s only a man. 
A single man who doesn’t get a whole lot of time alone; not since Sarah was born, at least. Usually for him, “time alone” means a quick shower and his hand and his imagination. 
And lately that imagination includes a whole lot of you.
Way, way too much of you. So much of you that when he found out from your dad that you’d broken up with that no-good loser boyfriend of yours and had been moping around the house ever since, he jumped at the chance to invite you along to watch the Cowboys game. You’d been much more eager to agree than he’d anticipated, and he’d had to tamp that excitement down in front of your dad. 
You know, his friend. His very close, personal friend. Your father. 
It’s not that he thinks anything could ever happen—you’re sixteen years younger, after all—but he couldn’t help himself. Not when you’d looked so sad the last few times he’d seen you. 
He hasn’t always thought of you like that. Certainly not when he’d first met you in the middle of your second semester of freshman year in college, back when you were much too cool to have any time to spare a second glance at your old man and his friends. 
But then you’d worn that costume for Halloween two years ago—the one with knee-high boots and a dress that skimmed your thighs, so short he’d caught a glimpse of your lacy panties when you bent over to grab your bag before you left the house.
He’d looked away immediately, scarlet-faced and guilty, taking swig of the beer in his hand just to have something to do. He’d told himself, over and over, he hadn’t seen the outline of your pussy, that the light had just played a trick on his eyes. 
It’s been hell seeing you ever since then, but one he gladly endures if it means spending a little time with you. 
Another email pops up as he back out and he rolls his eyes, but accidentally clicks “open” instead of “delete”. 
CLICK HERE TO SEE MORE OF ME
In the body of the email, a picture loads slowly to reveal a scantily clad woman crawling toward the camera. He swallows as he realizes she looks a little bit like you. 
He clicks.
There are many, many categories to choose from, but he zeroes in on a thumbnail of the woman that looks like you underneath. 
Amateur, it says above it. 
What exactly does that mean, he wonders.
With Sarah at a friend’s house for the night, he has the place to himself for another hour or so while he waits for you and your dad to show up. He still checks over his shoulder as though he’s found a dirty magazine and doesn’t want his parents to catch him. As though he doesn’t pay for this house with his hard-earned money; as though he isn’t a grown man. 
But there is still something deeply thrilling to him as he opens the link and finds rows and rows of thumbnails with women who are decidedly not porn stars. 
It isn’t like he’s never seen a naked woman before—he’s seen plenty of them, thank you very much, but all the porn he’s ever seen before this was polished and plastic; waxed pussies with landing strips at the most, dicks so large he’d always wondered how they got enough blood flow to get hard, flat stomachs, perfect asses, fake tits. The people on his screen now, though, look nothing like that. 
These women are soft with little dimples in their thighs, stretch marks dappled across their hips and bellies, asses that jiggle when they’re grabbed and spanked. He imagines you might look like that, too. 
Real. 
Some of them even looked like what he imagined you do under your clothes. And he imagined that a lot, he’s ashamed to say.
He finds the woman who looks like you again. She’s kneeling again with her tongue sticking out, and his hand has migrated to his lap, stroking absently over his growing bulge. 
The clock reads five P.M., and you’ll be here at six. 
Along with your father. 
Joel scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck it,” he mutters as he hits play. 
The camera’s shaky, held by a man hovering over the mystery woman as he rocks into her. She whimpers, but it doesn’t sound fake or overdone. Her glossy, lust-blown eyes roll back as she arches off of the bed.
“Feel good?” The man grunts, pointing the camera to where their bodies join, revealing her finger circling her clit as he thrusts into her deeply.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Mmhmm. Gonna come.”
“Come on, baby girl,” the man murmurs. 
Her eyes flutter and she sighs as her body tenses up, a soft squeal falling from her lips. “Daddy,” she whines. “Daddy, daddy, daddy.”
Joel’s breath hitches.
He is aware of the fact that some people use this word during sex. It’s not something he ever explored, ever thought about at all, mostly because he became a single father at twenty-two, and it seemed a little odd to him.
But the way she says it makes the top of his head tingle, a rush of electricity shooting through his whole body as his eyes roll to the back of his head. 
He gets it. 
She whimpers the word a few more times as she comes back down to Earth, reaching for the man above her with both arms.
It’s…fuck, it’s sweet. Joel misses the feeling of being wanted like that. He clicks play on the next video and closes his eyes, palming the bulge in pants and pretending it's your hand groping him, your little whimpers of “Daddy” in his ears.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, legs spread wide as he watches, transfixed and rubbing, rubbing, rubbing in a slow, torturous circle, precome soaking his boxers and leaking into his jeans, so transfixed he forgets the front door is unlocked; that he’d told you to come on in when you arrive; that he has simply lost track of time. 
He doesn’t notice your reflection in the monitor until it’s far too late. 
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This is probably your fault. 
You get there way too early, even after stopping at the grocery store for snacks for this football game you have no real interest in. It’s a pity invite, obviously. Your dad had definitely told Joel about you moping around the house the last few weeks.
“Why don’t you come watch the game with us Thursday night, sweetheart?” Joel had asked with an encouraging smile. How could you possibly say no to that?
You’ve had a crush on Joel Miller from the second your dad introduced you to him, age difference be damned. But Joel’s never spared so much as a glance in your direction that wasn’t completely innocent, so you nursed your little crush for years in silence and hoped he didn’t think you were too awkward as you tried not to flirt with him. 
And your dad was always there, of course. It’s not like you could do a lot of flirting in front of him. Tonight might be a little different, though, because your dad suddenly felt sick.
“You go on without me, honey, Joel’ll take care of you,” he’d said, trying not to cough on you.
You try to ignore the phrasing.
But God, you wish he would take care of you. You’d texted Joel to let him know it would just be you, but he never answered, and now you’re sitting in his driveway twenty minutes early, wondering if you should go in.
It’s a little weird to show up and barge in, right? But what if he looks out of the window for some reason and you’re just sitting there? That’s weird, too.
You should’ve timed this better.
Eventually you stop arguing with yourself, walking up to the door with your arms full of chips and beer, struggling to reach the knob and stumbling in. Hopefully, he didn’t see that little display of grace. 
But he’s not in the front room, or in the kitchen. 
“Joel?” You call out softly, walking past the living room toward his office. 
Maybe he’s on a work call?
You don’t hear his voice, though, and the closer you get the faster your heart beats. This feels more private, more intimate than just hanging out in the living room.
You hear it before you see it.
A soft, feminine moan followed by a man’s voice—not Joel’s voice, though.
“Yeah, there you go, baby,” the man says, and she moans again, louder this time. “Let me hear it.”
Only the back of Joel’s head and the monitor are visible to you, but the sliding glass door gives him away, the curtains open just enough that his reflection betrays what’s got him so occupied right now. He’s sprawled out in his chair, legs spread open as he palms himself over his jeans. 
And holy fuck, you do not need to see this (you desperately do need to see this).
It’s not hard to deduce what he’s doing. He doesn’t make much noise, just a few grunts every time the woman on the screen whines or arches her back. The scene changes as the man sets the camera on a dresser, now capturing the full length of her body. She turns her head and smiles at him, giggling as he makes his way back to her and crawls back on the bed and gives her a sloppy, needy kiss before he straddles her.
You squint at the monitor. Does she look like you?
Leave leave leave—
“Come on me,” she begs.
Joel lets out a groan, loud enough to make you jump. 
He freezes when he sees your movement in the monitor, ripping his hand away from himself in a flurry of movement as he tries to shut off the video and compose himself.
You should give him a minute.
Instead you bite your lip, wide-eyed as he flounders in front of you. 
“Sweetheart,” he starts weakly, looking especially sweet and guilty as sin. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to see that.”
Joel won’t even look at you—he’s still hard, still waiting for you to scold him, but you have absolutely no intention of doing that. 
“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “I was so early. Didn’t mean to just barge in.”
“Shouldn’t have been doin’ that. Knew you were comin’ over and just lost track of time,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, his big brown eyes pleading for you to believe him.
“It’s okay,” you say, trying to gather your courage to tell him why you’re not upset. Should you tell him? It seems as good a time as any, but it’s entirely possible your pussy has taken over your brain as he stands there in front of you in a thin t-shirt that hugs his biceps, still red all the way down to his chest. “I’m not upset or anything. I…didn’t mind.”
Please, please take the hint. 
Joel swallows and takes a hesitant step toward you. 
“That woman you were watching,” you murmur. “She looked like me.”
“Goddammit,” he says, scrubbing both hands down his face. “It ain’t—it ain’t like I’m a pervert or somethin’. You just…”
“I just what?” You ask, inching into his space.
His eyes are still lust-blown as he wets his plump lips with his soft, pink tongue. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he says.
“You think I’m beautiful?” You breathe. 
“Christ, honey, of course you are,” he groans, eyes dropping to your lips as he cups your chin with one big hand. “So damn pretty.”
“Joel,” you whisper as you lean toward him.
“Can’t do this,” he mutters. “You’re too—”
“Too what?”
“Too young, baby,” he says weakly, but you shake your head. 
“Not that young. And you’re young, too,” you tell him. His cheeks, to your delight, tinge pink.
“Your dad’ll be here any—”
“No,” you interrupt him. “No he won’t. He’s sick. It’s just me. I texted y—”
But you don’t get to finish your sentence, gasping as he pushes you against the wall, pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss. He groans into your mouth, one hand squeezing your waist and the other braced against the wall.  
“Tell me,” he murmurs between kisses, “if this is too fast. But I need you real fuckin’ bad, baby girl, real fuckin’ bad.”
And it might be too fast, but after so long with someone who was rarely interested in fucking you and could barely make you come when he did, you need it. You want it to be too much, too fast; need him to overwhelm all your senses and make you sob his name. 
“It’s not too much,” you assure him, frantic as your tongue runs across the seam of his lips. “I need you.”
He pulls you with him toward the little loveseat at the other end of the room and drags you down onto his lap, groaning as you roll your hips instinctively. 
“What do you need? What can I—” You beg, wanting so desperately to please him. He grunts as you roll your hips again and whine as the friction presses against your clit.  
“Need you to come is what I need,” he grunts, kneading the meat of your ass. “Can you get off like that?”
“Yeah,” you breathe. 
“C’mon then,” he growls. “C’mon. That why you’re wearin’ that little skirt, sweetheart? Easier to rub your little pussy on me?”
Your head spins, cloudy with desire—it’s all happening so fast. Maybe you should care a little more, but all you can think about is fucking yourself against his bulge, his hands clamped over your hips as he guides your pace. 
“That’s right,” he grunts, looking up at you with dark eyes. “Fuck, you’re so sexy. Humpin’ me like a dog, desperate little thing.”
You wouldn’t let anyone else talk to you like that, but something about the way Joel says it humiliates you and drives you wild, arousal dripping out of you as you hide your face in his neck. 
“Don’t be embarrassed, baby, you rub your little pussy on me as much as you need to, hm? Get yourself ready for my cock—”
It hits you out of nowhere, your cunt pulsing, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as you gasp and writhe. “Attagirl,” he murmurs. 
He strokes your back, pulling you flush against him as you ride it out. You barely register the soft kisses to your cheeks until you open your eyes and find him gazing at you with a fond smile that you can’t help but return.
“You good?” He asks, and you’re suddenly shy, as if you hadn’t just made yourself come all over him seconds ago. 
“Good,” you pant. “I’m good. I’m…” 
“What is it, sweetheart?”
His eyebrows are pinched together, lips pursed as he waits for you to answer. He’s still holding you against him, hand skating down your back. “That woman, the one in the video, she—would you do what she wanted? Would you come on me?”
Joel’s eyes darken as he flashes a devilish grin. “Dirty little girl, aren’t you?” He teases, but it doesn’t bother you. 
“Not with everyone,” you say, and he lets out a little growl as he taps your thighs and signals for you to take his place. 
“I’ll tell you what, sweetheart, since you asked so nicely—you show me your messy little pussy and I’ll come wherever you want me.”
“I, uh—yeah, okay,” you say, only faltering for a second, but he catches it. 
“What’s wrong? We ain’t gotta do anything you don’t want, sweetheart,” he says, dropping to his knees between your legs. He is so fucking sweet it might kill you.
“I want to,” you clarify. “I just, uh, I haven’t really prepared lately. Dry spell and all.”
“Don’t give a shit about that,” he says, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “Still a wet pussy, ain’t it?” 
“Yeah,” you giggle. “Sorry, some guys do.”
“Little fuckin’ boys do,” he says, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull, and you suppose he’s right. Your ex never was very interested in growing up. Joel’s thumb slides under the gusset of your panties, groaning as he pets at the soft curls you’d been so worried about. He hooks his fingers under the waistband and looks up at you with big eyes, waiting for your to tell him it’s okay. 
“Please,” you murmur. He slides them down your legs and sighs, pushing your legs open until he has a full view. You tug your shirt over your head, now just wearing a bra and your little skirt. “Come on me, Joel.”
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Joel’s breath catches in his chest as you pull off your shirt and gaze down at him. He doesn’t know where to look—he’s greedy; he wants all of you. He hopes this isn’t the last time. He hopes you’ll let him take you apart again and again. Who gives a fuck about football?
His eyes drop to your open legs and he just can’t help himself—he leans down and licks at you, just a little, relishing the squeal that comes from above.
“Look at all that,” he grunts, kissing your thigh as he retreats. “Came hard for me, huh? Been all pent up, sweetheart?” 
You’re too young for him, he doesn’t care what you say, but he can’t seem to stop himself now. His self control is somewhere on the floor behind him with your panties.
You squirm in front of him, closing your legs on instinct at his gentle teasing, but he throws a stern look at you as he unbuckles his belt and your legs fall back open for him. He gathers some of your slick on his fingers and pulls his cock from his jeans as he stands, towering over you. Your eyes flick back and forth between him and his cock, licking your lips as he moves his hand up and down his shaft. 
He’s so hard it aches. 
He wonders if you’d ever use that word—if you’d ever open your mouth and whimper “Daddy” as he fucks you. He wonders if it’s too much, if you’d hate him for even asking, but God, would you? 
He almost hates himself for thinking about it while you’re underneath, all vulnerable and unsuspecting. Then he imagines it garbled around his cock, and he doesn’t care that much about the ethics of it all anymore.
“Joel,” you sigh, and he bites down, ticking his jaw as he tries to keep from embarrassing himself. Sweat gathers at his temples and he grunts as you pull the soft cups of your bra down, bare tits and stiff nipples begging to be marked by him. With his free hand he cups your breast and squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your nipple and pulling a moan from you. 
“Want me to come on these, baby girl?” He asks through gritted teeth. 
“Yeah,” you breathe. You smirk as you look up through your lashes, eyes full of mischief. “Please come on my tits, Mr. Miller.”
Joel closes his eyes and breathes, squeezing the base of his cock. Fuck, it’s not Daddy but it’ll goddamn well do. He wants you to call him that again, preferably while he splits you in half. 
“Say it again,” he says, leaning over and bracing himself with one hand against the wall. “Say it.”
Your tilt your head all the way back, looking him right in the eyes. “Come on my tits, Mr. Miller.”
There’s no stopping it now. 
“Oh, fuck,” he snarls, painting himself all over you chest. He comes so much it shocks him even as his orgasm tremors through his body—you’re covered in him when it finally ends. He cups your jaw and leans down to kiss you, sucking softly on your bottom lip before stuffing his softening cock back into his jeans. 
You’re a sweet, bashful mess underneath him.  
“Hang on a sec, sweetheart,” he says.
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Joel leaves the room, giving you just enough time to start wondering if he’d want you to leave right after. You gingerly pull your bra back into place, trying not to get any of his spend on it.
He comes back with a wet cloth and a bottle of water, and it’s so…gentlemanly. Not something you’re used to with guys your age. He cleans you off, dropping to his knees again to help you put your panties back on. 
“Really like this skirt,” he murmurs as the thumbs the hem. You reach out and run your fingers through his sweaty hair, tugging slightly on the silver-threaded dark curls. He closes his hand over your wrist and kisses the inside of your palm, and your heart thumps at the intimacy of it. “Can I ask you somethin’?”
Your momentary feeling of safety falls away and you stiffen, waiting for something to ruin all of this. “Sure.”
“Nothin’ bad. I did this backwards,” he explains. “Could I take you out? Or…in? If you’re wantin’ to stay a while, that is.”
The sun has started its slow descent and the early evening golden light glimmers on his cheekbones, his eyes sparkling with hope. “I would really love that, Joel,” you say, scrunching your nose and grinning at him. “Could I maybe shower, though? You can join, if you want.”
He stands and holds out his hand to help you up. “I like the way you think, darlin’.”
“Lead the way, Mr. Miller.”
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legendofmorons · 2 months
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I was walking to class and had an idea, hopefully it makes you smile. But thoughts on how the chain would react to reader letting them borrow soundproof headphones/earbuds? I could see a funny game of telephone happening.
Ooooooooh!!! This!!! I like this!
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I think all of the chain would be interested in soundproof headphones/earbuds. I also think telephone would be kind fun too.
Four is delighted by how effective the soundproofing is! He has a lot on his mind so often it's nice to lose the background noise
Hyrule is curious and a little confused until he tried the soundproof headphones. He isn't interested in using them most of the time but if he were really overwhelmed he'd like it
Legend can now finally drown out the stupidity (joking, of course he's fond of the chain and of reader.) But he appreciates them on nights he stays in an inn
Sky is amazed at how well they work but dosen’t really want to use them often. Only when he can't stand something.
Time is surprised they exist, but he likes them. Sometimes, it's nice to only have your thoughts (sometimes it is not).
Twilight thinks their great if he's overestimulated, especially since I figure being Wolfie has left him with enhanced senses.
Warriors only likes them at night if someone is on watch. They're nice but he hates losing any of his senses
Wild likes the concept but dosen’t like that his ear still rings with them
Wind thinks their great! He's probably the one who suggested telephone with them to be honest
As far as telephone goes, once everyone has the soundproof headphones or earbuds on and gets in line you chose the phrase.
For this one, we'll say it's "Look at all those chickens!" (Yes, it's from what you think)
You tell Wind, who seems a little confused but happily turns to Legend and says "look at all clothes chickpeas!"
This does not get better. Hyrule is bat at reading lips, and Time purposefully reads Warriors lips wrong
You end up with Sky, who, after all the boys are free of their soundproofing, confidently reveals that he thinks the phrase is "cook that cauliflower coffee."
This is very wrong, but it's worth it when everyone laughs
When you tell them the actual starting phrase they are delighted
They will play this again
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chronic-ghost · 9 months
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title: nose as long as a telephone wire
rating: M (just for language)
pairing: javier peña x f!reader
word count: 4412
summary: you get too caught up in a phone call with your favorite DEA agent and accidentally let slip something very personal.
warnings: light angst, language, mentions of the cartel, mentions of drinking, obnoxious intros, comedy? i think i’m funny, part of a series but you can read alone
a/n: song lyrics come from Bad, Bad Leroy Brown by Jim Croce, and the last ones come from Tom Waits’ Yesterday is Here. Hope the anon who requested the series likes this - sequel to Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire
🤍Series Masterlist | Previous | Next🤍AO3 Link 🤍Masterlist
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.
A girl walks into a poker hall in Florida. 
She joins the game.
She wins. Everyone asks, ‘well, how’d that happen?’
Girl says, ‘I got magic powers that tell me when you’re lying.’
Wide-eyed, they all ask, ‘really?’
She says, ‘yep, and now you owe me fifty grand.’
They all laugh and easily hand over the money.
And then they try to kill her. 
Okay, sorry, that one isn’t all that funny. 
What about this one?
A girl walks into a diner in Texas at two in the morning. 
She’s scared, tired, and hungry. She solves most of these problems by ordering the biggest burger on the menu and pouring five shots of Crown Royal in her milkshake. And because she’s a lie detector and a lightweight, it all goes straight to her head. 
She starts to tell the guy next to her about her little situation in the poker hall. Guy’s nice, sympathetic, asks enough follow up questions to make him appear interested. 
And then he goes and lies to her. 
Girl says, ‘please don’t kill me, sir!’
And the guy says, in a gruff and very serious voice, ‘I’m not gonna kill you, I’m DEA.’
Oh, and, like, this guy is smokin’ hot. Like just come off the grill hot. Like you pick him up and you burn your fingers – ay, caliente! Like danger and sex all wrapped up into one. Oof, Mama Mia and the rest of the cast in Greece, y’know what I’m saying?
So, DEA agent wants to help. 
They flirt, they fight, and just as it seems, this one thing is going well, this only bright light in her life may actually hold a candle, she knows what she has to do.
She TASERS his ass. And all six feet of hotness drops, like a sack of potatoes. 
Girl drives off, knowing he’s better off without her.
. . . oh, you were expecting a punchline? 
Sorry, folks, this ain’t that kinda story. That girl just ain’t that kind of girl. 
Truth is . . . 
Funny little word, truth. It’s implicit that truth and trust come in the same bag. When you tell someone you trust them, you expect them to tell you the truth. Is it possible to have one without the other? If the truth is what we believe it to be, then how fragile is our trust? 
If you taser someone and leave them literally by the side of the road, what have you broken? Their trust or their understanding about the truth of who you are?
But what about –
“Okay, that’s enough philosophizing to my ten-year-old. I gotta get her ready for school then I gotta vacuum this rug before the day rush. Scoot.” Maria knocks your boots off the end of the bright red couch in the lobby of the Motel 6 on route 22 and you grin sheepishly up at her.
“Aw, c’mon, Mare, this is good for the kid. She’s learning so much.” You glance over at Maria’s daughter, Rio, ready to have her defend your proselytizing – when you meet her heated and leveled glare. You’ve never seen such a small child radiate such annoyance.
“Your jokes suck.” 
With a scowl, she stomps to her feet and lets her mother lead her off down the hall to one of the other empty hotel rooms, glaring at you over her shoulder. 
You wave a hand to her as you go, smiling flatly. “Thank you, Mare! I owe you one! And thank you so much, little girl, I’ll be here all week.” You dig into your coat pocket and pull out your half-way empty packet of smokes. “Everyone’s a friggin’ critic.” 
“Hey, you there! You can’t be smoking in here!” 
Birdie, another maid whom you promised to stay out of her way if she kept your “hideout” in one of the second floor empty rooms a secret, snaps at you over the counter. The hotel phone at the front desk rings and she answers it with one hand as she shoos you off. “Go on, take it outside!” 
Groaning, your body aching from the toll of driving forty-eight hours straight, you stand up, the unlit smoke between your lips. “Alright, alright, I’m going. Might die before I get there, but I’m going.”
But the other maid barks at you again, asking your name. 
“Monologue McQueen, that’s you, right?” She has the red handle pressed against her shoulder. “You’ve got a phone call.” 
The toll of outrunning the law and the cartel had taken its turn on Baby as well and the call is no doubt the mechanic calling with an update. You could have kissed Maria all over her face when she let you in at midnight and slipped you a key to a room at the end of the complex. She did owe you one after you proved her brother didn’t kill his boss – but that’s a story for another time. 
“Just send it up to my room, alright, Birdie? I’ll take it there. Thank you.”
You trudge out of the hotel lobby in the bright Colorado sunlight and take a deep breath. Colorado is markedly different from Texas. More mountains. More green. Less roads . . . and even less mouth-watering DEA agents. 
You stretch till you hear something crack and you shake out your head. Things had been going pretty well since Texas too. Made some money here and there – legally this time. You still hadn’t decided what to do with the fifty grand in your trunk (which had since been removed while Baby went to the doctor’s) but having it nearby was nice. A parachute if things got bad – or worse-r than they had been. But, counting no more run-ins with any government men or better yet, a complete lack of presence from the cartel – it seemed like everything that had happened since Florida was finally fading into the background. 
You light the cigarette as you bounce up the concrete steps. Using Maria’s master key, you let yourself into the small dark room that looked heaven-sent after days on the road. Dark wood paneled walls, orange carpet, a lime-green tiled bathroom, a rug that could make you dizzy if you stared at it for too long. Perfect. And you can smoke all you want. You breathe out into the low sunlit room and smoke wavered white then gray as it swam through the shadows. 
Sighing and realizing you should probably eat soon if you were going to pick up Baby, you toss off your jacket onto the bed. There’s a blinking red light over the phone as you pick up the receiver and sit down on the mattress. 
“Yellow.” You slip your cigarette into the ashtray and wait.
“Hey there,” the deep masculine voice drawls, “it’s Baby Cow Eyes. How’ve ya been?”
Either your knees buckled or the mattress dropped you but you hit the ground with a thump. 
“What was that?” 
Eyes level with the window, the glass covered by a gauzy white curtain, you inch down to the floor, one vertebrae at a time, the plastic phone shoved tightly against your ear. You think you can hear him breathing on the other line but that might be your own frantic panting. Shitshitshit. 
“Nothing,” you mutter. If you can get underneath the window, he might pass your room by. “Nothing at all.” 
“Why are you whispering? I’m not literally in the room.” 
The phone cradled by your shoulder, you slither, one arm at a time along that nauseating carpet, as far as the cord will allow. This is perfectly normal behavior for an adult woman. 
“And what room would that be?” You breathe, softly. “Huh, Agent Pena?” You think you see a flutter of movement on the other side of the window and you jerk back against the door, toes clenched, eyes shut, and bottom lip bitten to the point of pain. 
“I don’t know.” 
Your eyes pop open. “What?” 
The bastard actually laughs. 
“If you know what hotel I’m at,” you hiss, jerking the curtain to the side from your protected corner to peer out into the open hallway, “why aren’t you kicking down doors and swinging around that big, thick badge?” 
“Why do you think?” You think you can hear the chunk of a gas pump turning off. 
“Psychological warfare. You’re gonna nuke the motel from space. Who knows?
You had to drop off Baby at the mechanics and one of his crew gave you a ride back to the motel. That was this morning and since then, not another car had pulled into the motel’s parking lot. Crouching on your knees, you spare a glance into the parking lot below. Still empty. 
Over the phone, Javi’s sigh is garbled. “That sounds like a lot of work, sweetheart.” 
Your fingers tightened around the plastic. “But you are coming for me, right?”
He inhales and, in the space, you hear the car door slam shut. “That’s right.” 
You put the receiver against your chest and, as silent as a church mouse, you mouth:
F U C K
“You still there?” The vibrations are muffled in your shirt. 
“Where are you?” you ask, shoving the phone back against your ear. You scan the parking lot one more time just in case of a surprise attack. “At least do the sporting thing and give me a head start.” 
Javi huffs over the rumble of the engine as it overturns. “Oh, hell no. You got your one and only head start two days ago. When you tased me.”
“Okay, see, you sound mad about that. My concern about psychological warfare doesn’t seem so crazy now, does it?” 
“I’m not mad.” You could almost picture the frown, dark eyebrows drawn in, glaring at the phone like it had personally offended him.
You grimace. “How’s your face?”
There’s a pause, as if he wasn’t expecting that question. 
“It’s fine. Had worse,” he grumbles. “Barely even feel it any more.”
“When you growl like that, it makes me feel like you’re still mad.” 
“I’m not –,” He cuts himself off and you grin. If you were keeping a tally, which you definitely weren’t, then you just got a little tick next to Javi’s zero. “What are you doing out in Colorado?” 
“This feels like entrapment.” 
“I’ve got about eight hours ahead of me,” he sighs and you can see his broad fingers tighten over the steering wheel. “This isn’t entrapment, it’s conversation.” 
Eight hours. That gave you enough time to get Baby back and . . .
Unless he is . . .
F U U U U CK
See, there’s one little problem with your gift and the government goon is toeing dangerously close to finding it out. Shitdumb, bad fucking luck. 
“A conversation, huh?” You rub your forehead with your fingers. This is going to end so badly. “Alright. You start. How did you find me?” 
“Mhmm, I was hoping we’d play twenty questions.” 
You pull back and stare at the holes in the receiver. Was he flirting with you?
But he continues, “After I came to and found my phone shattered, another thoughtful parting gift from you, I think it was safe to say you were spooked. Route 22 was the closest highway. Giving your headstart, I had a guess where you might be.” 
“So, what, you started calling all the motels along route 22?”
“You mentioned you liked places with pools. Started with those first.” 
Parts of that night were very clear in your mind – the way he looked at you at the counter, the way he chuckled, his hands on you when he hauled you off the back of Baby’s hood. 
When he said you were smart, funny, resourceful. 
However, there were other things that were decidedly not as clear. 
“I never said that.”
“Yes, you did. You talked about pools when you held me hostage for an hour relaying your life’s story.”
You scowl and stand up, uneasily convinced he wasn’t about to burst your door down. You loop the cord through your fingers. “I said I stayed in places with pools because they needed a maid, not because I liked going there.” 
Again, Javi laughs, deep and relaxed, and the world flares brightly for a minute. 
“Sweetheart, you and I both know there isn’t a goddamn thing on this earth that could make you do something you didn’t want to do.” 
For a second you could see it. Clear in your mind. Bright, gold sunlight. Open road, warm desert sand, the roar of Baby’s engine –
– his hand over your knee and he laughs – 
“You know, I don’t think I ever said sorry about your face.” You swallow, sitting back on the bed and taking up your cigarette again. You take three long puffs in the silence, appreciative that there is quiet to steady your nerves. The room smells like clean cotton and ash. “And . . . I’m sorry for tasing you. You were nothing but nice to me and I . . . I shouldn’t have done that.”
Leather squeaks as if he’s adjusting in his seat, the engine humming over the line. 
“I got close to a woman with a history of cutting and running. You wouldn’t be alive right now if you weren’t a little bit . . . shifty.” 
Despite his familiar teasing, you glance at the window, fearing something else scarier than your DEA shadow. From the beginning, he said he wasn’t going to hurt you or kill you and he hadn’t lied about that. 
It had been too long since you felt the barbs of that night in Florida but now you can feel them prickle under your skin. 
“S-s-shifty, huh?” You can’t fight the sting in the back of your throat. You wrap an arm over your waist and clutch the phone tighter. “The way you say it, it sounds like a compliment.”
“It is.” 
“So you’re not mad about your face?”
He sighs and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding.
“I’m not mad about my face, I’m mad you got the drop on me, alright? Shoulda seen that comin’ a mile away.”
You scoff. “Hey, pal, that shit’s original. No one expects the secret taser.”
“How many of those do you have?”
“Why? Planning on making them standard issue?”
“No, sweetheart, we have actual guns for that. I just need to know how many to search for.” 
“And give up my one defense? Now that wouldn’t be very shifty of me.”
He chuckles again, the sound pulling a smile from you. “Smart, babygirl, smart.” 
With the cigarette between your fingers, you kick off your boots and they land with two loud thuds.
“What was that? Sounds like you’re moving.” 
“Darn, you caught me.” You lean back, your spine propped up by the scratchy pillows, your feet stretched out in front of you. With the hum of Javi’s car, as tinny and distant as it might be, you can almost picture yourself in the seat next to him. He’d have the windows down, enjoying the air in the late afternoon. Maybe the radio is on. And he's bad, bad Leroy Brown
The baddest man in the whole damn town. You flex your toes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your arm, your thigh. “I’m sneaking out the back right now. I’m hunkering down and slipping into the night.” 
“Ah, I’ve been thinking of all the ways I can say this to you: bullshit. It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Try again.” 
Your heart squeezes, but in a good way, like you’ve swallowed bubbles and they’re making your lungs all jittery. 
You glance at the empty spot next to you, looking for his jeans, his wide hands. 
“You’ve been thinking about me?” It’s breathless, surprised. You don’t mean to sound so pleased. You realize the cigarette has been burning untouched and is in danger of collapsing. Cursing to yourself, you reach over and tap it out. 
“Just how to be one step ahead of you, sweetheart.” His words slow you down. The half-smoked cigarette, burnt and ashen, tumbles from your fingers as you let it fall into the ashtray. You pull your legs up to your chest. 
“But things are getting serious out in Florida, in Bogota,” he continues, the teasing lilt from his voice gone. “We really need your testimony. Could save a lot of people’s lives.”
You watch his sunglasses slip down over his nose, just enough to catch yours and really stick in the knife. The engine roars as he guns the gas.
“Javi,” you begin slowly. “I’ve made a lot of enemies. Not just in the cartel. I mean, those are probably the baddest, but I can’t show my face in certain places. You can’t protect me every second of every day.”
“What makes you think I can’t?” 
He won’t look at you now and you stare blankly. How many times were you going to hurt this man?
“You couldn’t see me coming, for one.”
“Ouch.”
You grimace, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry, Javi, I–,”
“You’re right.” He visibly swallows, and he switches his grip on the steering wheel. “I broke your trust.”
You try to smile to comfort him, but know he wouldn’t appreciate your pity. You pick at the torn thread on your jeans. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t trust anyone.” 
“Well, I guess for someone who – how did you phrase it? ‘Gives trouble a little wink and blows a kiss as you drive by’ – you’ve got to be a little paranoid.” 
Your mouth falls open and he smirks, his aviators back high on his face. 
“I did not say that.” 
“You definitely did, sweetheart. From your lips to my ears. Gotta make up for the fact that I got accused of not listening last time.” 
His hand is on the gear shift. The light hair on the back of his wrist and forearm glows in the late evening sun. You think about what it would be like to touch it. 
“How’s Steve, by the way?”
Javi snorts and rolls his eyes. “That dumbass? He’s fine. Been duck hunting while on leave. Goddamn Deliverance shit.”
“An activity he shares with Mrs. Steve, I’m assuming?”
“Nah, Connie’s too good for that. Too good for him, as I like to remind him.” 
“What’s he like? What’s Connie like?”
He pauses, thoughtful. “Connie likes cats. Blonde. They both are. He’s a good agent. They’ve got a little girl, actually. Adopted her, in Bogota.”
“That’s nice. They sound like good people.” 
“They are. Steve’s lucky to have her.”
The car slows, the ringing warning of an oncoming train has him stop before a long stretch of railroad tracks. He taps the wheel with his fingers. The wind comes in and ruffles his hair. He’s handsome in a way that is almost overwhelming. Like you wouldn’t know what to do if he actually looks at you with intention. 
The train roars as it passes, the blinking red lights like cosmic stars across his face. You pick at lint on your sock because he can’t be blamed for it, and you should try and make nice. So you open your mouth and ask,
“So is Mrs. Javi still planning on taking me out by the kneecaps? I’ll give her at least two free shots.”
He makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He adjusts on the seat and cracks his neck. 
“Oh, yeah, you really got Mrs. Javi all worked up.” 
“Then send her my regards. How should I fill out the card with her flowers?” 
There is silence on the other end. The train whistles and the lights flash. The car rumbles from the force of the train, the weight of gravity. The heavy sun is hovering just above the horizon, going red against the mountains. Like a cracked chicken egg with a smear of blood.
“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me.” 
You sit up higher on the bed and cross your arms. 
“What do you mean?” 
Javi glances from the train, to you, the red lights hiding any blush on his cheeks. He frowns. 
“I’m– I’m not married. That . . . was a lie. There’s no one waiting for–,” 
Fuck. Fuck fuck shit. Of all the ways for him to find out. Goddamn it. You lean forward onto your knees, groaning, as you wait for it to sink in. He twists in his seat to you, rabid delight on his face.
“Hang on a fuckin’ second, you’re telling me that little trick of yours doesn’t work over the phone?” 
You shake your head. Why, why did you bring up the wife? That’s, like, rule number one. 
“Sorry to disappoint,” you sigh, admitting defeat, and pick at your socks. “Over the phone just isn’t as good as the real thing.” 
He laughs in disbelief. There might be some red in his cheeks after all. “Uh, yeah. I’d have to agree with that.”
He sits back in his seat, mouth agape, as the last of the train cars rumble through. The ticking of the warning signs slows and the barrier raises. Javi distractedly puts the car into drive and it shudders as it goes over the tracks. 
“So what other limitations do you have?”
“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. “I’ve never put it to the test. As far as I can remember, it only ever makes me money or gets me into trouble.” 
“Really? You’ve never been curious.”
“People like me aren’t afford the luxury of being curious.” You glance out the window, at the darkening farmland rushing by. “We just hope to get by. See one day after the next.”
“I know what that’s like,” he murmurs. “Now knowing if you’ll make till sunrise. It’s a bad way to live.” 
“Yeah,” you agree, eyes shut. “It is.” His spine is straight, gaze forward, but his knuckles around the wheel are white. Sunlight is fading fast. “How’d you live with it?”
“Didn’t. Not well, at least. Dealt with the worst of it by drinking. Met with people I shouldn’t have.”
Your stomach clenches as you try and decipher his meaning. People, being other agents, the cartel itself, or even women –
There’s no one waiting for me, he was going to say.
“It’s lonely,” you say. You see him nod in the silence.
You bite the inside of your inner lip. “You don’t have to agree with me, you know? I really can’t tell if you’re lying or not right now, so you –,”
You don’t have to pretend to care.
“I’m not lying,” he soothes. You wonder if he could be this kind in person. “Someone once told me starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.”
You smile out of the corner of your mouth. “That’s good advice. You should keep her around, whoever said that.”
“I’m trying.” 
You can feel the shake of the car over the road. Twilight has come, purple and heavy, drawing shadows where there used to be light. Javi takes off his sunglasses and drops them in the clutch of his front shirt, but in the faint light you can’t quite see his eyes.
“I did watch Dr. Pole,” he offers, “had to see what all the fuss was about.”
“You liar.”
He laughs and his fingers bump your knee. “Just making sure.” 
You want to stay here with him, but you know you can’t. You squeeze your eyes shut and open them to the dark, warm hotel room.
“Javi, I – I have to go.”
“I know,” he says, his voice running thin through the phone line. You twist away from the headboard, your feet touching the orange carpet. The street lights outside your window have come on, leeching the color from your room. It feels sterile now, less welcoming. Another moment of peace, gone. Another location burned. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
You huff a laugh, in spite of yourself. “That’s not the comfort you think it is.” 
The car hums, swallowing up anything he might have said. 
“But there is something I wanted to say, before you go. Before you tased me, which was a one time thing by the way, I, uh, actually had a nice time with you. I wouldn’t call it a barrel full of monkeys, but . . . you, uh, surprised me.” 
You can almost picture the way he curls around the plastic handle, broad shoulders folding in on themselves as if to make his joy as small as possible. Protect it from prying eyes. 
“Of course, you did. Chocolate waterslide and all that.” 
You can feel his smile, even if you can’t see it. You slide your shoes back on, and gather up your jacket. It wouldn’t take you that long to walk to the mechanics and you remember seeing a diner on the drive back this morning. You wondered if they’d let you sleep for a few hours in a booth.
“Oh, uh, just one more thing,” you say, the cord around your fingers. “You still haven’t told me your real name. At the diner, you said it was Javi, but that’s just a nickname, right? What’s your name?”
“You gonna frame me for murder or something?”
“Or something, sure.” 
“My name’s Javier. Javier Peña.”
“Nice to meet you, Javier.”
“Call me Javi.” 
You don’t really know how to end it, can’t really speak with the knot in your throat, so you click the receiver back into its cradle. You hope he won’t think you’re rude for not saying goodbye. 
The mountain air has turned cool without the sun, night curling around the motel like a lazy black cat. You lock the door behind you and leave the key on the doorframe, with a note inside on the bedside table thanking Maria for her kindness and explaining why you’re leaving. 
There are still no cars in the parking lot, but the light to the lobby is on behind the closed curtains. You wonder if the maids are playing poker in there.
You begin to whistle, the canvas bag with fifty thousand dollars in cash slung over your shoulder, as you walk down the road, gravel crunching beneath your feet, wondering where he’s going to eat tonight, what music he might like, and if anything he said today was true. You whistle and listen for the sound of his engine. 
And the road is out before me
And the moon is shining bright
What I want you to remember
As I disappear tonight
Today is gray skies
Tomorrow is tears
You'll have to wait
Till yesterday is here
110 notes · View notes
eastgaysian · 3 months
Text
me: i guess it's just the more i think about it, the humor in/around bg3 starts to feel like larian cares more about pleasing people, even if it breaks immersion or flattens/flanderizes characters, than making a game that's fun and funny because of a consistent internal logic and sense of genre and setting.
the tulpa of tom wambsgans i keep in the attic: people do like funny games.
me: but what does it mean for a game as an interactive medium to be funny? like, people find it funny if a game is broken or janky, but a game can also be funny because the mechanics are working and they're designed in a funny way. like, the disco elysium skills are effectively their own cast of characters as a part of the mechanics, and intentionally made into a huge element of the game's humor. watching harry fumble is a lot funnier when the peanut gallery always has something to say about it. or even, i dunno, the very obsidian bit of dialogue choices going 'yes,' 'no,' '[lie] yes,' '[lie] no.' that's humor that relies on the nature of dialogue trees.
tulpa wambsgans, who i've forced to play disco elysium: right. there's plenty of times when you thought the mechanics of bg3 led to funny situations, though.
me: that's not exactly what i'm trying to get at. or it's not the biggest part of it. like, i feel like i've brought this up one too many times already, but the 'hot githyanki girlfriend' dialogue choice you get when romancing lae'zel - it's 'funny,' right? it's supposed to be funny.
tulpa wambsgans: i mean, it is, funny. isn't it?
me: i mean, not to me. i think it's fucking cringe. but it's like, why is that cringe to me, and not disco elysium's 'i want to have fuck with you?' on the surface, it seems like kind of similar humor, like it's your character saying stupid shit. but in disco elysium, the joke is on you-as-harry, because that became your dialogue option after you failed. and the... i'd argue central conceit of disco elysium, maybe, is that harry as an amnesiac wreck with a bunch of skills talking to him in his head is the only way to in-world make sense of a guy who acts like a video game character. and the joke is that you're a video game character selecting dialogue options, but if you were a real person, like harry's supposed to be, you'd seem like a fucking weirdo, and people in the game treat you like a fucking weirdo.
tulpa wambsgans: so what's the problem with baldur's gate 3?
me: i guess it feels like the joke is on the game for being a game that wants to be taken seriously? on the characters within it, for being characters that can only take the game seriously? i don't know if that makes sense. when you incorporate in memes like the god's favorite princess stuff or whatever it was, that's for the player, like almost as a reward for making that joke about the game outside of the game. but it's also, i mean, it's a huge... oversimplification of everything shadowheart's got going on, right? like, shar is or was explicitly abusing her.
tulpa wambsgans: it's a joke, though.
me: right, but what kind of relationship does that create, between the player and the studio, and the player and the game, if the player is rewarded for these kinds of jokes by having them funneled back into the game as part of its reality? the game of fandom telephone where canon events and characters get simplified and miscommunicated over and over, but this time the studio, the makers of canon, are in on it. i mean, it doesn't need to be about jokes, i think that just bothers me more because people tend to have such a positive reaction to jokes. like, lae'zel's dismiss to camp dialogue being changed as well as minthara's recruitment no longer conflicting with halsin's is i would argue part of the same problem.
tulpa wambsgans: ....does any of this really matter?
me: tulpa tom wambsgans you know i only come up into the attic to talk to you about shit that doesn't matter
37 notes · View notes
selenitesdawn · 2 years
Text
Arcade Rivals (pt.2)
Tumblr media
first part here
pairing : max mayfield x reader
warnings : curse words, and it’s quiet long
summary : two very competitive arcade players get their game on.
notes : this was a request <3
third person pov
Seems like I get another clue. This time I want a real clue. Tell me what class you’re in. Or what you look like. Otherwise I will beat your score on every single machine in this arcade. - MAD max
———————
“A person you always walk past in school?”, El asked her best friend on the phone.
“Apparently so. At least that’s what the note said. It wasn’t very helpful. Like.. at all.”, Max huffed annoyed, tipping her index finger repeatedly against the wall.
“Why don’t you just start looking at everyone you walk past then?”, El replied blatantly.
“That’s not gonna help El. They didn’t tell me what they look like. I have a higher chance of finding the person by recognizing the handwriting.”, Max stated, sitting down against the wall.
She once again grabbed the note that laid next to her, trying to find any other clues. The paper was wrinkled by now, some of the letters already fading. There wasn’t anything on the paper besides the note, no matter how many times Max checked. The letters didn’t form any type of secret message. It was just a plain and simple text. Max got up and pinned the note on her pinboard since she didn’t want it to get any more ruined. After that she sat back down on the floor.
“But you won at Pac Man right? So there will be another clue tomorrow.”, El tried to cheer Max up.
“Yes I know. I’m just really impatient. I want to know who it is soo badly.”, Max whined.
The redhead twirled the telephone cord around her fingers while starring at the ceiling. Talking to El was a great feeling. Max had missed her best friend like crazy since she moved away. Still they didn’t talk much lately. Today was actually the first time in a while that Max had called El back. She was just so lost in her thoughts about the stranger for the past days, that she needed someone to talk with.
The mysterious person went to the same school as her. That was foreseeable. But she still had no idea who it could be. Do they have classes together? Did she ever talk to them? Max’s train of thought was interrupted by her best friend.
“Do you like them?”, El asked curiously.
Max’s eyes widened at the question. How could she ever like someone whom she didn’t even know. ‘That’s impossible, right?’ Her eyes went back to the note on her wall. Now that she thought about it, she did get a funny feeling inside whenever she thought about them.
‘But that’s just because it’s another mystery. It’s an exciting feeling to have a worthy opponent. And they are funny. And their notes are cute. They also have an adorable handwriting. And even that stupid name is kind of cute. And the fact that they sent an employee to me is so stupidly adorable. They are probably beautiful too and attentive and supportive and romantic-‘
“Fuck. Maybe I do like them.”, Max breathed out.
El smiled at the other end of the line. Her best friend actually got soft for someone. She couldn’t help herself but tease Max about it, who quickly shut her off.
“Okay stop El, I shouldn’t like them. That’s so stupid. They probably don’t even spend time thinking about me at all, they just want to beat me.”, Max answered in a sad tone.
“They like you Max. I am sure of it. How could one not like you?”, El said smiling.
Max smiled to herself, happy about El’s words. After all she was still there for Max. Nothing changed about their special bond, which made Max regain a lot of strength and security. They kept talking on the phone until it got late.
“Thanks El. It was nice talking to you. Sorry for not… being here.”, Max quietly admitted.
“It’s okay Max. I’m happy you called. And I’ll always be here if you need me. I promise.”, El answered in a soft tone.
The next day after school, Max made her way to the arcade once again. As she entered, Derek greeted her and waved her over. Max was confused at first but walked towards him anyways.
“There are multiple letters for you Mad Max. One was at Pac Man, one at Dig Dug, one at Donkey Kong and another one at Defender. It was a pain in the ass to keep other people from opening them. So I collected them instead.”, he said as he handed over the letters.
“Thanks Derek.”, was the only thing she said before she left with the letters.
Her tummy was filled with butterflies, a feeling of excitement rising in her chest. The letters were beautifully sealed with wax and a stamp, dried flowers stuck between the wax and the paper. Each one had “MADMAX” written on it with a red pen. It ultimately looked like a lot of work.
‘What an idiot.’, she thought to herself while grinning, opening the letters carefully. Usually Max was the type of person who just ripped letters open. But this time she wanted not a single one to go to waste.
Hey my favorite Max. I hope you are well. Your Pac Man score has been outdone.
Max smiled to herself. She knew this person would be able to beat her. After all they were one of the best players she had ever played against. And the only one who even came close to her abilities.
It was odd, but Max Mayfield was actually happy about someone defeating her. She even felt kind of proud.
Since you threatened to trump all of my scores, I decided to beat your Dig Dug score. I hope that’s cool with you.
As she read the second letter her eyes grew wide. She walked over to the Dig Dug machine and checked for the high score. Sane Max was telling the truth. They somehow beat the score. Worriedly that she didn’t get a clue yet, she opened the third letter.
Here is your clue. I just recently moved to Hawkins. To be precise, I moved here 5 months ago. We go to the same school but don’t share any classes.
Max squeezed her eyes together. The clue wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t good either. She didn’t know anyone who had moved here recently. And there was no way to find out, unless she asked every single student she didn’t know.
Last but not least. I have an offer. Break every single high score I set and I’ll meet you after school at 12:10 at the stone bench in front of the main complex. “Sounds good?” - (first letter of y/n)
That was Max’s chance. Her chance to not only find out who that person was, but to meet and talk to them. It was exciting but for some reason scary at the same time. Max’s mind got flooded with doubts. What if the person she created in her mind was a creep in real life? What if they met and things would be weird? What if they don’t even like Max in person?
As she took one last look at the messages, all her doubts washed away. From the color of the inscription to the dried flowers sealed underneath the wax. It wasn’t just a ripped out paper from a notebook. These were beautiful, mindful letters. Max sighed silently. She doesn’t remember the last time someone has done something as thoughtful and adorable as this for her.
“But I hate Defender.”, the redhead mumbled annoyed.
She put the letters in her backpack and put it next to the Dig Dug machine. After cracking her knuckles and neck for a good minute, she started playing the game. Max was determined to win, but at the same time it felt almost impossible to do so. Still she had the goal of meeting the mysterious person, which was at the back of her mind the entire time.
After literal hours Max stood in front of the Defender machine. Her head hurt by now, her hands were sore from all the gaming. She broke every score. From Dig Dug, to Pac Man to Donkey Kong. But Defender just didn’t seem to work for her. She’s been in front of that machine for two hours now. But no matter how much she tried, she just couldn’t do it.
As she was getting more and more frustrated, she sat down on a chair at the back of the arcade and put her head in her hands. Until now it was all fun and games. But the pressure of beating all the scores and the strong desire to meet the person behind all of this just got tiring.
“Hey Mad Max. You alright?”, a familiar voice asked in front of her.
Max looked up and rolled her eyes.
“Obviously it’s not Derek. I just can’t seem to break that stupid score at Defender. I hate hate hate this stupid game.”, she replied annoyed, sinking into the chair.
Derek sat himself on a chair next to Max.
“Hmm, did the letters say you have to break the Defender score today? Or why are you trying so hard?”, he asked worriedly.
Max stayed quiet. Strictly speaking, the letters gave no time limit. So she could still try to beat the score tomorrow. Her headache made it hard for her to focus at all, she wouldn’t be able to win today anyways.
“Look. My shift is over now. It’s already 8pm. You’ve been here since six hours Max. I think you should just try tomorrow.”, he said as he got up from his chair.
It felt like giving up somehow. It felt like losing. And that feeling of losing was unfamiliar to Max. At least when it came to the arcade. She lost a lot in the past because she didn’t try hard enough. And she would still blame herself for it every single day. Somehow that feeling transferred to this entire competition but now Max had to step back for a moment.
“I’m sure Sane Max wouldn’t want that. You reached your capacity for today, and that’s alright. They would understand.”, Derek tried to cheer her up.
Max looked up to him and tried to give him a small smile. She got up right after and threw her backpack over her shoulder.
“You’re right. I’ll just try tomorrow.”, she decided.
She left the arcade unsatisfied, but she knew that doing anything else right now would be just crazy. Spending six hours in front of a screen wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing to do.
Her way home cleared her mind again, the wind and fresh air easing her headache. When she got home she laid in bed and read through the letters again. Her heart fluttered with every word, her smile never leaving her lips. She called El again that night, telling her about everything that had happened.
The next day Max sat in front of school, on the stone bench, at 12:10. She knew that she didn’t meet the requirements for the meeting, but she still liked to think that her greatest enemy and greatest crush might have sat just where she was sitting right now.
A fresh breeze hit her face again, just in the same way it did the first day she got to know SANEMAX. Smiling to herself, Max understood that whatever happens with that person know, they helped Max overcome weeks of depression, sadness and anxiety. It was a true miracle. Especially after everything that had happened.
After lingering in this moment just a little longer, Max got up to make her way to the arcade again. She had a good feeling about today. Maybe she would even manage to beat the Defender score. But just as she grabbed her skateboard and turned around, she bumped into someone.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry.”, she apologized repeatedly.
The person in front of her dropped all of their things due to the collision, leaving the entire ground scattered with books and notebooks. Max wasted no time crouching down, collecting everything.
“No worries. It’s fine.”, the person above her reassured her while smiling.
As Max piled up all the stuff, she got up again. This time she looked at the person in front of her for the first time. They smiled at her, their face relaxed, showing no sign of anger. ‘Wow. They are…beautiful’, Max thought to herself. She started blushing a little, getting more nervous by the minute.
“Uhm, I’m… Max. I mean, I’m sorry! For bumping into you.”, Max stammered nervously.
“I know. Both things.”, the other person replied softly.
Max furrowed her eyebrows. She didn’t remember meeting that person ever before. So how did they know her name?
Just then she noticed that she still had the person’s things in her hands. As she was about to hand them over, she took a quick glance at the notebook on top of the pile.
“No way.”, she mumbled quietly, just loud enough for the person in front of her to hear.
It was the same handwriting. The handwriting she had memorized for hours and hours. The handwriting which made her smile, her heart flutter, her days better and her nights calmer.
“My name is y/n, by the way.”
Max looked up and started blushing uncontrollably. Whatever she had imagined until then, whatever person she had created inside her mind, y/n just exceeded all of her expectations. Their eyes sparkled like none she had ever seen before. Their face was soft, giving Max a feeling of safety. Although she was nervous, she felt comfortable. It was magical. Y/n’s soft lips formed a contagious smile, making Max smile right back.
“Nice to meet you y/n.”, Max said as she handed y/n their stuff back. “But I-….”
“Didn’t beat my Defender score? I know.”, y/n replied smiling.
Max tilted her head a little, waiting for y/n to give an explanation.
“Honestly, I just really wanted to meet you. I didn’t expect you to beat all the scores.”, y/n said as they put all their stuff inside their backpack. “I didn’t even expect you to beat one of them.”
Max raised her eyebrows, her mouth open in shock.
“Excuse me?”, Max replied fake-offended.
Y/n got up and grinned.
“Yeah, I just thought it would be fun to challenge you.”, they said as they shrugged.
“Seems like you have to be reminded who the real champion of the arcade is.”, Max commented in a challenging tone.
“If you say so. You and I. Tonight at 7pm. Sounds good?”, y/n suggested.
“Sounds good. I’ll be there.”, Max replied smiling.
“It’s a date then. See you at 7.”, y/n finally said as they turned around and walked towards the bus stop.
Max blushed again, shyly chewing on her bottom lip. She managed to give y/n a goodbye wave without falling onto her knees right there and then. But something inside of her still had other plans.
“Y/n?”, Max suddenly shouted.
Y/n turned around and stopped in their tracks as they saw a smiling Max running towards them. She embraced them in a tight and warm hug. Now it was y/n’s turn to blush, surprised by the sudden affection. Max didn’t want to let go any time soon, enjoying the presence of the person in her arms.
“Thank you so much. For everything.”, she whispered softly, still holding onto y/n. She even started sobbing a little, overwhelmed by her emotions.
A smile formed on y/n’s face, knowing that whatever they did for her, she had done just the same for them.
“I think I have to thank you, love.”, y/n replied softly.
As y/n’s bus came, Max reluctantly let go of them. Before saying their final goodbye, Max couldn’t help herself but place a soft kiss on y/n’s cheek. Both of their faces were tainted red, their hearts beating at the same fast pace. From this moment on they had a mutual understanding about what they meant to each other.
Not long after their first meeting, they became a couple. Most of their dates still took place at the arcade, but Max wasted no time introducing y/n to her friend circle. She introduced them as the coolest person ever and the second champion of the arcade. Emphasizing the word second. They would spend as much time together as possible. Max was painting on all of y/n’s shoes and y/n was painting on Max’s skateboard in return. They went to buy comic books together, and Max even trusted y/n with her rarest comic books of all time. They had endless sleepovers and y/n even persuaded Max to play DnD with the others.
But what ultimately made this connection as special as it was, is that y/n saved Max from her depression. She told y/n about everything that had happened in the past, trusting them with her biggest secrets. And they were there for her. They listened and they comforted her. And most importantly, they helped her forgive herself.
Them finding each other was fate. Or what Max would always call it:
“It was a miracle.”
A/N: I know this was loooong but thank you so much for reading. I hope you’re happy with the ending and enjoyed the story. <3
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sappy-detective · 3 months
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HCs i have about DICE (in a phantom theft AU)
they never put anyone is harms way. at least..  legitimately. sure they have crazy ass bank robberies and hold people hostage but.. they’re weirdly kind and respectful to their hostages. i usually think of how the stockholm bank heist was… odd in a scene that the hostages came out standing more with the robbers then the police.
again, think of how the pink panthers robbed jewelry stores in drag (just that part. not any other part).
sure they carry guns when they’re doing crazy shit but i think only like two of them ACTUALLY have real guns (say when you first enter a bank and shoot at the ceiling in movies. realistic? maybe not but they’re not that serious or bank robers are they?) the rest would have fake paint ball guns.
i just love the idea that ouma has a gun and he and shuichi are in some tense situation like
“you wouldn’t..”
“you don’t know me detective..” and he shoots a pink paintball at shuichi’s blazer
now they ARE silly little guys but i also think it would be funny if they’re silly little guys and also very high up criminals. yes they steal in a silly way but they also steal a LOT of money and a LOT of expensive and historical shit. paintings, vases and a lot of expensive jewelry/diamonds.
do silly things with them or sell them to other people and take the money and do nice shit like buy food for the homeless and shit.
this also leads to another kind of AU i have where, sometimes.. they swap information with each other. because DICE is deep and has relations with various gangs, and mafia members. not in a friendly way, but he’s around people who know shit you know what i’m trying to say?
i usually think if it as him being besties with a girl like Celest, and they’re in some kind of underground gambling ring and she knows a guy who knows a guy. so when he has questions he asked her. he gets info from shuichi and it’s just a kind of game of telephone to get what they want.
now idk if shuichi would be that kind of corrupted detective but it’s just a silly idea i had. does any of this make sense? idk.. it’s almost 4 am and i’m sleepy.
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alittledizzy · 7 months
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Hi, I have zero knowledge of dream and george and stuff other than enjoying you talking about them, Can you explain to me whats going on and why people hate dream all of a sudden?I'm am nosy ngl and also he seems like a good guy from when you talk about him?!
he is a good guy, tbh. i will stand by that unless something happens in the future that gives me genuine reason to rethink my opinion.
as far as why people hate him - it's not all of a sudden, it's been a slown burn over the past year. i have a few reasons why i think it.
but the main theories:
he was very, very, very successful. and anyone that is very successful and ends up on a pedestal subsequently ends up with groups of people that want to see that pedestal crumble and the person fall. i think the anti base simply began with thinking if he got that successful he deserved to not be, out their favorite streamer deserved it instead. he also cheated at minecraft, so there's that. (but if you want a full blow by blow of why the cheating wasn't intentional - and that has been verified by third parties - that's gonna need to be a separate post.) also isn't it a funny sentence to even say. "Cheated at Minecraft." i know i have the perspective of not being in the fandom at the time it happened but it's so unserious. but it did impact public perception.
some streamers just hate him because his audience is full of women and queer people and dream himself is not straight. i would say these are more strictly outside of the mc community but it still also impacted public perception. dream is also very vocally appreciative of the fanbase he does have.
he made the careers of many people and those people became resentful for being known for being part of the thing dream made. they turned bitter wanting to be known for their own projects instead. those people express that bitterness toward dream and the dsmp and then their fans take cues from that and ramp them up to eleven, like it's a personal vendetta it is their responsibility to carry out.
he has been accused of things that are not true and do not stand up to the least bit of scrutiny. but the internet is a game of telephone and sometimes all it takes is one person whispering in the ear of another person for something to be considered fact in the realm of common knowledge, when it's just not and never was true. the most recent example of this is when a small content creator - eighteen himself, and drunk when he tweeted it - said dream took an 18 year old girl to his hotel room to get drunk at vidcon. the facts: the hotel room was a master suite so no one was in a bedroom, it had a living room. they had an open room party for their friends where they played board games. a friend of dream's asked if they could bring a friend of theirs along and that friend of a friend happened to be a eighteen year old content creator. she was not invited by dream, she was not given alcohol specifically by dream, she was never alone with dream, and the most important fact: she herself was not uncomfortable because she asked if she could come back the next night. the girl in question asked the cc that made the accusation to take the tweets down and he issued an apology the next morning saying he didn't have the facts right. but what will people that hate dream remember from this? he had an eighteen year old drinking in his hotel room, with none of the context. so this scenario times a dozen times over the past years eroded his reputation.
upset and confusion over dream's public response to technoblade's death. i think that dream hero-worshipped techno and when he died dream did what dream does and reached out to try and help. he clearly became close to techno's family, including visiting with them and working with them on projects and - according to technodad himself - offering invaluable behind the scenes support. i think other content creators were closer to techno himself and probably feel upset and put out that dream's grief is so public and recieves more attention because when dream cares for someone he just wants everyone to appreciate that person. i don't think that's dream's fault, but i can also understand how someone that knew techno better privately might be upset.
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the-eggplantblog · 5 months
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A funny aspect I’m surprised we don’t see as much is the idea of Rayman getting fame and notoriety but everyone has no idea how he actually looks like.
Like how a game of telephone can completely change message, Everyone has a completely different idea of him. Like some think he must be some ruthless warrior who single-handedly wiped out the robo-pirates, others think he’s a bloodthirsty gladiator cause he’s a champion of the Knaarens. Or he’s some legendary dragon slaying hero.
Until they meet him for real and sees he’s just some eggplant dude who loves to snooze.
If this idea seems very funny to me, imagine, many inhabitants only hear the story of Rayman and his exploits and all this leads to them believing that they are extremely terrifying and threatening heroes, even though the reality is that Rayman does not scare away even a fly XD, I guess It's a big shock when you meet him and your head had the idea of a great, super scary warrior.
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sailorsplatoon · 19 days
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what does the rest of the splatoon think of 4 and acht dating
Before I start, here's a quick summary of the pronouns I'll be using for each of the agents:
Agent 8: He/him
Captain 3: She/her
Neo 3: It/It's
Agent 4: They/Them
Eight supports them 100%. He's an absolute sucker for romance and he got to see it blossom first hand since he was in the elevator when Four climbed the spire and whitnessed the two slowly fall in love. (If anyone reading this has no idea what I'm talking about, you can check out my post on it here.) Eight and Marina act as Acht's wingmen, trying to encourage them to confess their feelings for Four. (Pearl does the same for Four.)
Captain 3 is on edge around Acht. She remembers being controlled by Tartar vividly and is worried that Marina's Memverse plan might not have worked as well as she thought it did. When Captain was sanitized she couldn't do anything to fight it, so how could some code made it go away entirely? What if Acht is just trying to take advantage of Four having been greyscaled? What if they're plotting something malicious? Her suspicion never really goes away, but it does fade over time. Her main goal is just to protect those she cares about.
Neo 3 had never met Four before Side Order, so it didn't have any connection to Four. It and Four sort of become playful rivals and will often purposefully be on opposite teams in turf war and ranked matches. It likes Acht, but is a little bit afraid of them. It thinks Acht is really intimidating. Regardless, Neo 3 supports their relationship and likes to joke about how it's friend is dating a zombie.
Callie is just happy that Four found a partner. She'd been trying to set them up with someone for a while and is excited to see that they've finally found someone who makes them happy. She thinks it's cool that Acht is a musician and wants to collab sometime. She organizes a monthly game night amongst her friends and was very excited to invite Acht (against Captain's wishes).
Marie feels similar to Captain in that she's suspicious of Acht. Both her and Captain exchange paranoid theories about Acht's true intentions that gradually become more and more convoluted. As the two get to know Acht better and let their guards down, their theories turn into a running inside joke rather than real suspicion.
Cuttlefish is... trying his best. He can be insensitive at times by saying things like "You know I was almost put in the sludge that telephone used to control your partner." He doesn't realize that he's just bringing back traumatic memories for Acht and making it awkward for everyone else (especially since only Eight was supposed to be in the sludge, he was just sort of there). Four is trying to teach him not to say that kind of stuff.
Deep Cut, while not a part of the New Squidbeak Splatoon, would likely end up meeing Four and Acht since Marie is their boss. They're really competitive, especially Shiver and Frye. Frye will often say things like "You two may be big shots in Inkopolis but in Splatsville we're the kings. Don't forget that." in hopes of indimidating Four and Acht. Shiver will just give them mean looks. Four thinks it's super cool and Acht just finds it funny. Really Shiver and Frye feel thretened by the fact that Acht is a musician and they don't want Big Man working with a different artist again. Big Man is embarrassed by how they act and often aplogizes for them, despite the fact that Acht and Four don't mind.
I probably went into more detail for this than I had to, but it was fun! Thank you for the ask!!!
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cryptocism · 9 months
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I just wanna say I think Frequency would be the funniest possible timeline to adapt that one canceled pitch of Sungirl making Bart raise her and Inertias baby. Like. Can you imagine.
i am genuinely so curious about the source of this pitch, do you have the interview where mckeever said this?
all i found during my brief internet dive was a tumblr post from 2023 talking about the cancelled pitch, a tv tropes page with the same info about a sungirl/inertia baby posted in 2021, a deviantart post from 2017 talking about a "pregnant silhouette" from the end of mckeever's run that was supposed to be sungirl (which i couldn't find but i might've missed), and finally the earliest mention i could track down: a comment on this scans daily page making the same claim from 2010 and saying mckeever explained the pregnant character was meant to be sungirl. a drawing in an issue i cannot find explained in an interview that i cannot track down for the life of me.
see i do want to find the source, but also the alternative of a 10+ year game of internet telephone is very funny to me.
anyway sorry this ask catapulted me into a googling rabbit-hole and i got way off track. uhh tbh the idea of an inertia/sungirl baby that bart is forced to raise is a little uninteresting to me personally. but accidental baby acquisition isn't a trope i seek out in general so yknow, personal taste.
i know in the tumblr post discussing it there was a lot of fun speculation about the potential baby's powers and how absurdly OP they would be with a combination of temperature powers and speed powers, but infants with god-like abilities is also not usually something i find super interesting. hard to write stories with problems or stakes when a character can instantly solve any problem you throw at them. (not impossible, obviously, but Difficult)
with magic systems as a whole i lean pretty sharply into Extremely Specific Abilities that can then be deconstructed and used in creative and interesting ways. (which is why writing speedsters is so frustrating for me because they have a laundry list of abilities and unlockable statuses that can occasionally render them immortal unkillable reality-bending time-traveling gods lmao. most of Frequency is me frantically applying internal/external limits and barriers to pretty much all these clowns so that the story can actually be a story and not an instant victory and/or TPK.)
ah shit i went on a tangent again. okay yes i can imagine it, and i hope someone who loves the idea and wants to is able to make it into something great, unfortunately it's not smthn that i vibe with
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orvulating · 11 days
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secretive plotters design is sso funny like okay i actually cant ever remember what was in the book descriptions and what was collectively decided by people as an art telephone game situation and what was sparked by the official illustrations but theres so many elements and its all hilarious like um glowing eye constantly ,veil made out of the fucking universe .,the white coat (sometimes people give him a suit.) gloves? did he have gloves? Scar on his face of course. ,a throne , tentacles everywhere aroudn him,i think people like to make yoo joonghyuk into a daddy dom or whatever but if anyones that its SP (he isnt. Its only his self image actually because the cringe and patheticness(i say this very lovingly)cancels it all out perfectly and hes so embarrassing and wont log off do you understand what im saying
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modmamono · 7 months
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Give it 2 more years and more Puyo PuyoTubers will show up.
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Specifically, ones that don't focus on gameplay.
I'm not expecting like 50, 40, 30 or even 10 PuyoTubers to pop-up in 2 years. But kids who had PPT1 in 2017 are growing up. Merely two new Puyo PuyoTubers (or Tubers that name Puyo Puyo drop it a lot) you can name popping up already is a significant increase.
I am a significant increase to Puyo Puyo Content in a little over a year on YouTube myself and I'm just one guy. (Though please don't overdo it like me. That's not healthy.)
Just waiting on even more people to fill the niche I fill or completely different niches. It'll happen. Even if it's not exactly the 2 years I said.
This is not me being optimistic, nor am I being pessimistic. I'm just being matter-of-fact from my POV.
Part of my motivation why I still make Puyo Puyo content is to set a good example for those that will come after me.
Any idea how much a YouTuber's opinions and style kids absorb? A lot. It's why the Sonic the Hedgehog fanbase is partially as volatile as it is. You can't like anything without someone being at your throat because it's cool to hate the Sonic game/thing you like now.
Sonic discourse in the "Meta-era" and "Dark age" was horrible. Just like what you like!
And Puyo Puyo's western fanbase is still in its relative infancy. So even if I'm wrongly assuming, it's best to not imprint any bias I have onto others so it can mutate into something hidious via telephone game anyways.
It's why I don't really state my opinions on characters that much, why I treat every game very egalitarian. Because I feel like I'm stuck with the duty to set a good example. Whenever I can I try to promote a healthier way of thinking, even if I'd rather you form your own opinions. Just don't shove them down my throat and I won't in yours'.
Granted if I was more opinionated my content wouldn't be that much different. I'm just that kinda guy.
But there's a reason my Puyo Nutshell videos don't really show my opinions at all (though not flawlessly). That was a very conscious choice. Having a good laugh is more important to me than talking something down.
My suspicions about why I'm still being a self-appointed role model have proven true over and over anecdotally. I see a lot of aggression, defensiveness, and/or infighting regarding Puyo Puyo.
Sometimes I make a funny video and people take it as criticism when it wasn't. Even when I made this video Puyo Puyo!! Quest hasn't been that lazy in many, many years, I cherry-picked those:
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Sometimes I make I make a benign comment on how the Mario RPG remake's cover art is a nice call-back to the Japanese Original cover art and Square RPGs of the 90s. Que a few discord pings adamant letting me know how much better and impressive the American cover art is when it wasn't a Versus video all nor did I insinuate it was better. It was about the remake's box's own merits (you're not getting my opinion on which is now which I like more):
youtube
And things unrelated to me, there's just fighting which Puyo Puyo game's the best. As if that's something worth fighting over.
All of this and more is just not something I want in the PuyoTubers' and the wider fanbases' future.
Have different opinions just be civil about it.
So regardless of how accurate I am with my two-year or how many PuyoTubers pop-up assessments, it will happen. And I'd like to it be decently influenced. Don't be immediately at people's throats, try to see their side of the argument. Things like that.
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dawnleaf37 · 25 days
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@spiderwebd regretevator
Regretevator (Game) is similar to The Normal Elevator from older days of roblox, being that you enter an elevator and it will arrive on a myriad of different floors to explore, minigames to complete, or just . Funny Thing
The Regretevator (the actual Elevator) is an interdimensional form of travel that is used by various entities to get around. It is confirmed to be able to go Anywhere. and seems to be able to transcend time and space which is always fun
The game features 70+ floors currently, and has a certain style of humor to it, but what really makes it are the NPCs, interactable characters, some of which can enter the elevator and some of which cannot. Im going to recap the ones who will enter very quickly, so sorry for the imagespam here:
Mannequin_Mark
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A mannequin(which is a species produced by a factory) named mark. Woodcarver as a job, has a coworker named Jim. Hates concrete. Southern accent. Divorced from Wallter.
Wallter
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Used to be a human, drank cement, is now concrete. Generally nice dude. Thinks concrete is better than wood. Tall as fuck. Divorced from Mark.
PartyNoob
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Often shortened to Poob. Loves parties if you couldn't tell. Can kill you if you slap them like 10 times. You can slap them. theres something so so so so fucking wrong with them holy fucking shit oh my god. oh my god oh my g Keep this asshole in Mind. Keep them in mind ple;as
Pest
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Actual name is PartyGuest. Builds robots. Steals money from you. Speaks Japanese. Yes they are a bug beetle to be specific. Asshole
Lampert
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Found in the 3008 level yes theres a 3008 level yes i love it. Germophobic, clean everything. Zoomies he is zoomies. Despises Infected, but knew him as Kasper
Infected
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Diseased when he bought a freemodel with a virus in it. Perpetually trapped as a scene kid. Had a cat. No longer has a cat. Used to be named Kasper, infection made him forget
Unpleasant
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It;s the fucking unpleasent gradient meme. does jackshit. some people headcanon that it ate infecteds cat and i think thats the funniest shit
Split
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Species called a fruitaur or something, banana-snail-horse-dog-girl. Hosts a wipeout-like show named Splitsville. Lesbian. canonically has feelings for bive
Bive
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Completely made of hair. Conspiracy theorist. this is just touch tone telephone. canonically has feelings for Split. may seem crazy but she Knows things
Reddy
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It;s freddy from fnaf but for Red Ball Diner, go look up gregoriah regretevator and tell me how gender he looks
DrRETRO
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Animal Jam emote. framed for many crimes. Also knows things. Shoots lasers out of her eyes that will either kill you or heal you. meows
Gnarpy
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that fucking cat everyones nuts about. Alien. Abducted Spud! and did shit to them. proud xe/they swag. was redesigned cause the creator was an ass :/
Spud!
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yes the exclamation point is part of the name. was a camp councilor, got abducted by gnarpy and experimented on, is this now. that line is his mouth btw. if you click it 200 times it will explode. please be nice to them :(
Pilby
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Clown fired from job after to bad of stage fright. They are just a sad thing tbh
Prototype
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lovely little robot, if a bit glitchy and unfinished. VERY nicey ! a researcher, learns info on everythings for their database! my friend made this one :3!
FleshCousin
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(invasive)Species of shapeshifters. Repeats words back at you in jumbled wordsalad. they dont seem malicious i dont think . my favorite. ever. the best
Jermbo
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a cat
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There's more NPCs but i just covered the basic ones(new one being added soon made by my friend as well :3333333333)
BASICISH LORE SHIT:
this is MR
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it is an effigy for a spirit and when it enters the elevator it has a chance to cut the lights and burn any NPC in the elevator. EXCEPT FOR FUCKING POOB. the spirit that inhabits MR is also the same one that protects poob. and if you look close at the game youll see POOB SI FUCKING EVERYWHEREi have to stop here before i go fucking insane but the basic premise is these two are tied and i dont know why or what how whatthe fuckkkk theres a whole lot more like theres a damn religion surrounding it and symbolism of the axolotl sun which means something but fuck FUCK!!!!
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pebblysand · 9 months
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Hi pebblysand, I hope your week is going well!
From the Ask Game: #11, and #14 please.
helloo! thank you! i hope you're doing well too!
11. Link your three favorite fics right now
idk if these are favourites, but these are three fics i recently read for the first time and really enjoyed:
the triumph of magic by miniequill (odainath) (harry/hermione ; <5k ; AU) After Ron abandons them, Harry and Hermione take on the challenge of finding and destroying the Horcruxes. HHr.
i often feel like i have this strange parasocial relationship with odainath (although we've never talked) because they have been in literally every fandom i have been in at some point or other (including the most niche ones) and they are an incredible writer. i was super stoked to find out they had HP fics as well, and of course you know that i'm a sucker for a good harry/hermione story. i found this one very intriguing - the writing is gorgeous as always, and i was very much vibing this.
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perpendicular by akissinacrisis (it's tagged hinny but i'd say gen ; <5k ; AU) Tom props himself up on his elbow. ‘So, let me get this straight: you’re falling in love with a posh redhead from boarding school who doesn’t own a telephone.’ AU: Harry Potter, member of Stonewall High’s sixth form, meets a pretty redhead at a party. Harry/Ginny, rated Teen+, oneshot.
this is a very interesting squib!harry take unlike anything i've ever seen before. the writing in this was absolutely stellar - i laughed at times, but was also taken by the overall gorgeous heartbreak of this. it's funny, although i totally respect how the author ended it (and understand why they end it that way), it's one of those where i almost wish it could have gone on longer/explored the alternative ending. it would have been a very different (and probably much longer fic) but i would love to see someone write it.
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orchards by @whinlatter (hinny ; <20k ; CC) The orchard is a wild, thousand-flower, crumpled-gate, fall-down-fence sort of place, where things grow that you’ve never asked for, that you’d never expect. The summer of ’96, the story of something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. Canon-compliant, oneshot, summer between OotP and HBP. Non-linear narrative, flashbacks/flash-forwards to DH. Harry/Ginny.
if you gravitate anywhere close to the hinny fandom, you will know that everyone and their cousin has been recommending this fic since it came out - let me tell you: everyone and their cousin are right. it took me a while to get to it but this is one of the most beautiful hinny one-shots out there. the writing is stellar - i left a comment to whinlatter after i read it that went over the AO3 character-count limit and was completely unhinged, and i am not sorry. if you haven't already, go read this. please and thank you.
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14. how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?
you'd love it, right? if i could give you a formula.
as european as i am (please don't ever give us compliments, we don't know how to deal), i also think it would be highly hypocritical of me to sit here and be like "ohmygod, idk, i'm so shocked you'd ask me that!' i've been writing for seventeen years and if there is one thing that has always been consistent in my comment section from the very beginning is the fact that i seem to be able to make people feel things. there are writers who are incredibly good with words. gorgeous, gorgeous prose that reads like poetry. there are writers who are good with descriptions, scenery so vivid you can almost touch it. there are yet others who are good at giving you a feel for a time period in your life, describing childhood or adolescence or moving out of home for the first time. what i am good at, is this. the rawness and the gripping emotion that makes you forget how to breathe. i know some of it is healing for some people, too.
i don't think there's a formula for this. it's even harder for me to break it down especially because it's not something i've ever had to work on - i've always had it. ask me how i work on descriptions (which are very much not my forte), and i'll much more concrete advice to give you.
Do you draw from personal experiences? no, not really. i mean, i'm sure i do on some subconscious level, but i very rarely am like "oh, i felt this at x moment in my life, let me channel that". i've never studied psychology either, or done much research on how people react to certain things. for me, it's a gut feeling. it's a raw, instinctive understanding of people, and the human experience as a species. i don't pretend to have any formal expertise on this. i follow my gut, that's it. and, if you ask me: Do you ever feel what the characters feel? no, but i do feel something.
when i write something that works (emotionally works) i get this sense of indescribable peace in me. and this is true for moments that carry very dramatic emotions (think chapter 8 of castles) but also happy moments, like the roadtrip in chapter 16. for me, as a writer, these are exactly the same, in terms of how i feel when i'm writing them. and how i feel is like: nothing in the world exists anymore. i have no job, no family, no friends, no boy trouble, no concerns, no nothing. you know how, in chapter 16, the narration says: "he smiles like no one has ever died"? - yeah, that.
hours of just me and the words on the page. it's hard to put into words without sounding cheesy but i feel this sense of calm alignment with the universe. i'm not one for drugs but i think it's probably what a high feels like. have you ever been able to just empty your head? where you're in complete control and the chaos of the world cannot touch you? that, too.
and, generally, if i feel that, i know i'm onto something. i know that whatever i'm writing is working. generally, in that "state", hours can go by and i won't realise it. i'm writing, writing, writing and suddenly it's like - 5AM the next day. if i don't, that's when i'm like "shit, something's not working," and i have to work and work and rewrite and rewrite until i find a solution. until i feel that. so, while there's no formula i follow, i do get that writing "high" that sends me into the right direction.
and, for the record, that "high" is the only reason i write. like, sure, comments and feedback and the community are amazing and idk if would write *as much* as i do without them. i also 100% seek attention and validation, but i think if there wasn't also this sense of peace in me that came with it, i would probably find community in a different way. but, you know, i'm a bit of a drug addict. i'm sure if someone told you there is one thing that will bring you more peace, joy and sense of accomplishment than anything else in your life and sure you have to work for it, a lot, but once you're done, it'll be the highest, high you've ever been on, you'd sign up, too.
to me, writing (and this happens particularly in those emotional scenes you are referring to), is the absence of fear. it's the absence of anxiety. it's the absence of depression. it's the absence of worry. it's just pure calm and happiness. it may not be all those things for you as a reader (especially if i'm writing something tense lol), but it is for me. i don't think what i feel as a writer and what you feel as a reader are related, but they're definitely linked. and, when i feel one, i know you will feel the other.
and that maybe people will understand and benefit from what i am trying to say.
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construingseacats · 5 months
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Umireread: Legend of the Golden Witch - Chapter 10: The Six Chosen by the Key   
Sun, Oct 5 1986 - 6:00AM
The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.
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I’m so excited for this chapter, you have no idea.
Extremely funny mental image of Yasu going to Natsuhi’s room, seeing the charm, then deciding “well if she’s off the table then I’m killing that asshole who gave me night duty while he did his crossword”. Of course, she probably had to kill Gohda to help avoid any incriminating testimony from her changing her assigned position last night, but it’s still funny to think about.
Since the rest are the adults, it’s easy to think about Gohda being an odd one out and the obvious replacement for Natsuhi, but given the above I wonder who the unfortunate backup was. Maybe Rosa? Or potentially one of either Rudolf or Kyrie, originally intending to only kill one of the adults per pair?
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I love how Genji goes “Sorry. The Telephones are down” then “By the way Gohda is missing”, and completely neglects to mention that Natsuhi’s door is coated in bloodstains. Just leave the most obvious detail as something for her to find out for herself, you know.
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“Natsuhi had a pretty good idea” is SUCH a funny line. Not even concerned by the horror movie trope, she already suspects which family member did it. I wonder who her mind immediately jumps to - although let’s be real, it’s probably Eva.
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Eva tries to check on Kinzo and Natsuhi immediately shoots her down. It’s really funny how blatant the cover up is. Like, you’re unlikely to question it, since we keep getting fantasy scenes of Kinzo in his study, but it sure is there if you go looking for it.
Speaking of - the moment we see Kinzo in the office here, we’ve accounted for 17 of our 18 (with 5 known missing). Good game Shannon, we have our six chosen by the key.
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Natsuhi, alone in the study, worries about how much Eva is going to tear into her, and then immediately makes up a pep talk to make herself feel good. I’m telling you, these study scenes are a goldmine.
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Yeah, Eva absolutely would have been the one to leave bloody scratch marks all over Natsuhi’s door.
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Here we go
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HERE WE GO
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…Okay, you can have that one. Saying it’s a sigh of relief right as they uncover the bodies is very cheeky, but the irony balances out how tense the scene is. It’s a breather for the reader as well.
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We actually get a breather with the kids as well. Final moments of innocent Battler caught on tape.
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Chills. Full chills.
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And here it is. 
Allow me to indulge for a moment.
When I was a kid, my first anime was The Haruhi of Melancholy Suzumiya. I watched it through low-resolution fansubs that had been posted on a YouTube that was still in its youth, with each episode awkwardly split into three parts since you couldn’t upload videos longer than ten minutes. I probably watched that at an age that was slightly too young for it, but as a kid who only knew the world of animation through the veneer of kids cartoons and Matt Groening shows (except maybe that one time I watched Spirited Away when I was 5 - which also left a stark impression on me), it really opened my eyes to a world of new media that I hadn’t even conceived of before. I really wanted to see what else there was.
Anyway, my second anime was Higurashi no naku koro ni.
If I was slightly too young for Haruhi, I was definitely too young for Higurashi. But that was part of the appeal, I suppose - the prepubescent desire to cast away the shackles of childhood and prove your maturity. That you’ve grown up. I legitimately remember 10 or 11 year old me showing a friend the scene of Rika stabbing herself in the head while going “look at what I’m watching now! Look how mature I am!” - admittedly, this was to a friend who had allegedly already seen all manner of films rated 15 or 18, so it arguably would have been relatively tame to them, and boasting about your maturity is undoubtedly the most immature thing a person can do.
While the initial appeal there was that Higurashi was “mature”, it was still really interesting. There was good intrigue there, the plot had me hooked, and from start to finish it was a really good piece of media. I’m pretty sure my younger self saw the scene where the sound of gunshots are covered up by fireworks at the local festival and thought it was the smartest plot point in any piece of media ever. Anyway, a short while later, I heard that there was going to be a sequel anime to Higurashi - a new show, called Umineko.
Now, I had a fine time with the Umineko anime. I would have been 12-13 as it was airing - still eager to consume media I was too young for - and, with no bar for quality, I enjoyed it. There was cool gore! The mystery was exciting! The red truth was such a neat concept and the witch fights were badass! Sure, it may not have had as much of a lasting impact on me as Higurashi, but it was still good, right?
Well, it wasn’t good. In fact, pretty much all the anime reviews I saw for it were negative. There were still a few fools like myself who had enjoyed it, but there was one thing I kept seeing - a sentiment that was effectively universal. A simple statement.
“The Visual Novel is so much better.”
I held onto those words for a few years.
I don’t know what the instigator for it was, but somewhere down the line, I decided to act on it. I bought the original japanese version of Episodes 1-4 and 5-8 through what I believe was the old Witch Hunt site - quite possibly one of the dodgiest deals I’ve ever made, as anyone who procured Umineko back in the old days can attest to - and applied the fanmade english patch. The PS3 sprite mod looked so much better than the original sprites, so I installed that as well. And, 10 years ago, I started playing.
It was… fine. I wasn’t a huge fan of how the text covered the whole screen, rather than appearing in text boxes, like it did in the other VNs I’d played. I say that as if I’d actually played any VN other than Katawa Shoujo at that time. But, I remembered liking Umineko, so I pressed on. I pressed on through the boring introductions, through the boring discussions of the inheritance, waiting to get to the cool parts where Beatrice showed up and the magic fights started happening.
But then, we got to this scene.
There I was, sitting with my laptop on holiday, with my cheap earphones plugged in, as the cousins approached the gardening shed. As the adults told them not to get any closer. As they did so anyway.
What followed is some of the most unrelentingly raw reactions to a visceral scene like this that I’d ever seen in any piece of media, ever. This wasn’t the dulled impact that the anime had hit me with - this was a full, unfiltered, uncensored dive into the immutable affliction of being human. They’ve got no faces - you could feel Battler’s unmitigated despair oozing from it all. These weren’t just characters reacting to a scene in a book. This was something more.
This was the moment that I fell in love with Umineko.
Perhaps I gave too much background to that statement - perhaps I’ve fallen afoot of the same criticisms I levied against the earlier parts of the tale for not getting to the point quicker. But that is the play-by-play of how, 10 years ago, this scene went straight for the jugular and bled me dry. This is where I knew I wasn’t just reading another version of that anime I’d seen the years prior, I was reading something special.
I would be remiss to say this is entirely down to the writing - a lot of this is also heavily driven by the blaring tones of goldenslaughterer. If Umineko was simply a series of 8 books, it wouldn’t have had the same effect on me as it has done for the past decade. If this scene wasn’t equipped with one of the most perfect aural accompaniments imaginable, I don’t think it would have stuck with me as much as it did. But the palpable emotion dripping from each word - the killer performances from each of the VAs (Jessica’s screams are INCREDIBLE) - and the musical storytelling doing just as much heavy lifting as the writing is… it’s an inimitable experience. This is what everyone was telling me that I was missing out on back in the halcyon days of 2009. They were right.
Perhaps it was for the best that I did give it those few extra years, so that I could truly appreciate the masterwork being crafted before me. I can’t imagine even beginning to comprehend the themes or the mystery of this tale at age 13, when I scarcely did so at 17. But regardless of the what ifs, this is the path that led me to what I consider, with no exaggeration, a pivotal moment in my life. It’s hard to describe the emotions that were stirred as I approached this scene for the reread - if I had to approximate it, then it would be unbound excitement mixed with trepidation, a great interest in re-experiencing such an important scene tempered by a fear that it may not have been as good as I remembered.
Of course, it wasn’t going to hit me in the exact same way that it did the first time round - you cannot recreate the sensation of a sucker punch when you know that it’s coming. But I can say, with certainty, that this scene was just as good as I remembered. That it still hit all the points that made me fall in love with the story originally.
I cannot wait to keep reading the rest.
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Honestly, after what I’ve just said (and my feelings at large), it feels sacreligious to stop and dissect this scene. It’s something you want to just let play out, to absorb the experience - part of me wants to just skip straight to the end.
But still, I’d feel remiss not to mention Nanjo’s acting here - he goes into doctor mode and then realises “wait, I need to be more emotional” before dropping it immediately. One of those moments that doesn’t arouse suspicion on a first read but feels super blatant afterwards.
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In for a penny, in for a pound. Hideyoshi looks and sounds so pained having to perpetuate the crucial lie over here. You can really feel the thoughts running through his head of “do I expose it? Is it worth it?”
AND THEN WE GET HIT WITH WORLD END. I cannot stress how much music matters to me and accentuates the experience; a sound novel utilised to the full extent of the medium can truly produce a story that no traditional paper novel ever can.
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Phenomenal work from the VA here - they clearly got the memo that this is a panicked “no” of not wanting the lie to be unveiled, rather than one of sincere desire to protect George. Again, you can still interpret it as the latter, so you’re unlikely to pick it up on a first read, but absolutely there on the reread.
There’s an incredible parallel made here of George holding onto Shannon’s smile, while Battler is doomed to remember the gored faces of his parents. Not only is this great by itself, it’s yet another example of fantasy versus reality, with George being able to hold onto happy memories by being ignorant to the truth (even if that truth isn’t a real truth in this case).
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“Proved beyond doubt”, the narrative says, about the one body that we should doubt.
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No commentary - this is just a great line and I wanted to highlight it.
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And so all the associates chime in to cover it up.
I feel like it’s fairly easy to miss how well Eva is taking the whole thing in this scene. Everyone else is traumatised, and she’s holding up remarkably well.
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Interesting how it’s the associates setting up the howdunnit as well! I suppose Yasu wants to make sure that element isn’t missed by the would-be detectives.
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And so Umineko tells you to your face that this is the story about a serial killer who wants to be discovered. I suppose there’s already elements of that in the letter to solve the Epitaph, but it’s really made explicit here.
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I’m still riding the high of the first twilight. I’m not sure if there’s any other scene in Umineko that I’ll gush about to that extent, but I know there’s plenty of moments yet to come that won’t fail to blow me away.
I know it’s integral to the story, and it wouldn’t work otherwise, but I do have to say that the howdunnit hook adds so much to Umineko that wouldn’t be there otherwise. Some of my fondest memories from the first readthrough was trying to figure out how it was all done (without ever considering the scenes that were lying to us, oops). I’m really looking forward to going through that all again, with the lens of love.
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