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lilasamaaa · 2 days

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Wicked games | Max Verstappen x Leclerc!Reader

Genre | Fluff, some light angst.

Word count | 1.5K.

Warnings | Some sexual innuendos, reader playfully gaslighting Max.

Summary | You love Max, you really do. But there’s just something about your brother’s teammate… as a driver, of course.

Author's note | This piece was requested! Thanks to the lovely anon who came up with the idea, I had so much fun writing it! This is shorter than what I usually write, but I wanted to keep this one light and fun :)

"Babe? Max's voice comes from the living room. "Are you ready to go?"

This weekend, it's the iconic Monaco Grand Prix, and you're delighted not to have to take a flight and endure jet lag from the other side of the world for once. Not that you're complaining about having the privilege to travel so much, but you understand what flight attendants mean when they say that flying makes you age prematurely. Before the bustling week begins and paralyzes the entire city, you, your brother, and Max had agreed to go eat lunch at your favorite place before the boys had to attend their pre-race press conference.

"I'm almost done," you shout back, placing bobby pins in your bun, when you hear the footsteps of your boyfriend approaching until they reach the door.

"We're..." Max starts before his gaze lands on you. "Oh, no, baby. There's no way you're wearing that."

You arch an eyebrow, observing your boyfriend in the large mirror of the bathroom.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" you ask, tilting your head.

"You're not really going to wear that, are you? Not while holding my hand?" Max replies, starring at your white tennis skirt and red Ferrari polo while you let out a hearty laugh.

"I might be your girlfriend, Max Verstappen, but I'm a Ferrari fan first and foremost. You knew this when you first asked me out."

"Of course I know, baby, but there's a difference between supporting Ferrari and... walking around with their colors on the street. With me."

"Are you playing territorial right now?" you ask, putting both hands on his chest, struggling to suppress your laughter.

"If you're so set on wearing red, why don't you try something more... Discreet? Like the red dress I brought you from Miami?"

"I'm wearing the polo, Max. It'll make Charles happy. And Carlos too," you add, winking at your boyfriend before walking towards the living room.

"Huh? What's the connection with Carlos?" Max asks, following you. "Is Carlos invited to the restaurant?"

Ever since Max and you started dating, several years ago, this has been your favorite game. Never gets old. You just love mentioning the Scuderia and its drivers. It's not that he hates the team, no, after all, as Sebastian once said, everyone's a Ferrari fan. But while Max understands your attachment to the team in relation with your brothers, there's one thing he finds less understandable... Your fascination with the other driver.

"You didn't tell me Carlos was coming," Max says again, still following around while you put on your jewelry.

"I didn't think it was important," you shrug, smirking.

Let it be clear : you don't feel anything for Carlos. No attraction whatsoever. But ever since the Spaniard joined the team and became a close friend of Charles, your relationship naturally developed to the point where today, you genuinely consider Carlos as a member of your family. You've even met his own, spent holidays with them, and you've crashed at Carlos' place multiple times before. Sometimes, when you need someone to talk to and Charles and Max are too biased, too closely involved with you to provide good insight, you call Carlos. The same way the driver always comes to you when he's got girls troubles. Yes, the two of you share a beautiful, tight bond. And knowing there's no ambiguity between the two of you (Max knows it too, deep down), you love driving your boyfriend crazy by mentioning Carlos.

"What's the matter, Max?" you ask, turning around, smiling at him.

"Look, I don't say anything when you sleep on his couch, or when you spend hours on the phone with his sisters. It doesn't even bother me when you check his results, and I surely didn't say anything when you celebrated his victory in Australia while my car was giving me hell," Max continues, gesturing with his hands. "But isn't this a bit much?"

"What is?"

"You said we were going out... As a family? Like, your brother, you and me?"

"Carlos is family," you reply, playing dumb.

"You..." Max starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, yeah. Whatever." your boyfriend says, throwing his hands in the air.

As Max and you arrive hand in hand in front of the restaurant where Charles and Carlos are waiting, you don't miss the look your brother gives you upon seeing you dressed in the red polo.

"You're fucking impossible," Charles mutters while kissing your cheek.

Once inside, as the four of you walk over to your table, you still see the opportunity to drive Max crazy by sitting across from Charles. Next to Carlos. Diagonally, your boyfriend watches you, eyebrows furrowed, a hint of annoyance in his eyes.

"Miami was so fun," you start, taking the menu.

"You and I must have a different definition of the word" Max says, rolling his eyes.

"Well, it's not so unpleasant to see someone else cross the finish line before you, for once," you reply teasingly.

"Like in Melbourne?" Max asks with an ironic smile.

"Like in Melbourne," you nod, winking at your boyfriend before turning your attention to the Spaniard. "You did so good, Carlos. I'll have you know that I was rooting for you from the start."

"Yeah," Charles interjects, rolling his eyes. "We know."

The table is engulfed in a heavy silence, and you enjoy yourself so much, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

"There's some tension in here, am I right?" Carlos asks after some time, looking at all three of you in turn.

"She's been bugging me about you all morning," Max replies, taking a sip of his coke. "She thinks it's funny."

"Why would you do that?" Carlos asks, looking at you, eyes wide. "You know he's going to push me off-track because of you, next time."

"You're better than them, that's all," you reply, eyes fixated on the menu in front of you. "They just can't admit it."

"Now, that's just nasty coming from my own sister," Charles says, laughing. "Take that back."

"Leave her to it," Max says to your brother, giving you a meaningful look. "She's decided to be bratty today. She knows it drives me crazy."

"We should all know less about each other," Carlos says before gesturing for the waiter to come over, while Charles tries to hide the red from his face with his menu.

The meal goes well, the false tensions easing over a succession of delicious dishes. But you're not done with your little game. Not yet. As the server clears your plates and refills your wine, you lean in towards Carlos.

"What dessert do you recommend? I'm in the mood for something sweet," you ask Carlos, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

Across from you, your brother sighs, running a hand across his face, while Max stares at you in a way you know all too well. A look that tells you that once the two of you set foot back in your shared apartment, you're going to pay for your behavior. Big time. But for now, you don't care, leaning over Carlos' menu, your shoulders pressed together. The Spaniard is so innocent, so far from imagining that you're using him to lead your boyfriend exactly where you want him.

"Their crème brûlée is delicious," the driver replies mechanically, eyes still looming over the piece of paper.

"Crème brûlée it is, then," you reply, setting back in your chair. "I just love to make them crack," you finish, locking eyes with Max.

That's it. You're fucked. Max's usually clear eyes are dark with annoyance and desire. Feeling the heat in your lower belly, you lower your gaze, finding it hard to meet your boyfriend's eyes. You can't wait to get home, knowing that with the afternoon of interviews ahead of him, your boyfriend will have to suppress his desire until tonight, amplifying his frustration. After dessert, the four of you head to the cashier, where Max pays for everyone before leading you all outside.

Carlos gives you a quick hug before heading back to his car, promising to call you soon, knowing that the other two drivers will follow him in a few moments. Charles approaches you, and you throw yourself in his arms, pressing your nose against his neck.

"You've got to stop doing that," your brother mumbles playfully in your ear. "You're not the one who has to deal with his awful mood in the paddock afterward."

"He's just so easy to rile up," you say, as both of you let out a laugh.

Charles pinches your cheek before waving to Max and joining Carlos in his car. You find yourself facing Max and give him a radiant smile. Perfectly innocent.

"You're the worst," your boyfriend starts, crossing his arms against his chest.

"You just love me," you say, sticking out your tongue.

"I'm going to ruin you tonight," he concludes, pulling you towards him before kissing you passionately, his hands grazing your buttocks, barely covered by your short skirt. "Show you who's better than who."

"I can't wait," you mutter against his mouth, softly biting his lower lip before taking the keys from his car in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Can't wait," you repeat, watching your boyfriend walk away until he disappears into the backseat of Carlos' car.

#f1 #f1 2024 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #charles leclerc #leclerc!reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #lilasamaaa

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ineffablecpp · 3 days

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OK so my first Johnlock fic. Canon divergence. Post Reichenbach. Scifi AU. HE (sort of).

English isn't my first language so if you find any mistakes pls tell me!! Thanks so much!!!

I'm Here.

John had just exited the door of 221B Baker Street and was about to call a taxi when he saw the car.

It’s been over a year since he last visited this place-- he only came today because Mrs. Hudson called, and wanted to return some of his personal items left in the apartment. She insisted that paying a visit could better John’s mental conditions, though John wouldn’t agree. Yet she seemed determined about it.

“You should know that he loved this place, John. He loved the time he spent here, with you.” She said.

There weren’t many things he needed to retrieve. A mug, a few of his clothes, and a notebook that hasn’t been written on for ages. But he lingered in the room he was only too familiar with.

“Moving on” was never his thing. Any time he lifted his head up and gazed at the two vacant seats, the dimmed fireplace in between, and the dusty mirror above, everything would rewind inside his head.

His roommate would put his palms together under his chin, his smile as mysterious and proud as always. “You simply see, but not observe,” he’d say in his low and magnetic voice, “What is going on in your funny little brains? So confusing-- the evidence is right in front of you, yet you do not know how to analyse it.”

He might even be sitting on the chair now, looking up banteringly at John. *Sentiment*, he’d say, *you’ve always been like that. Fascinating.*

It took as much courage to come as it took to take up the mind to leave. John felt his heart hallowed out as he stumbled down the last step, opening the door of 221B and said goodbye to Mrs. Hudson. But the hole seemed to have been there for ages-- once, three years ago, it was filled in the echoes of “Afghanistan or Iraq?”-- but now it has reappeared along with the sudden Fall. But revisiting this painfully familiar place reinforced the presence of the hallowed space, as its roars were too much of a sting to be ignored.

A black vehicle was parked by the road. At first John didn’t take notice, nor was he in the mood to care-- probably just a passenger who happened to have reached their destination. But before he could walk away, his phone started ringing.

“Get in the car.”

He knew who it was without asking. But the question was-- he hasn’t heard of the voice in ages. So long, it made him wonder whether it was in his past lives that he’d gotten used to being pulled on a car without reasons.

“...Mycroft? I really couldn’t guess what you possibly could need from me now.”

The voice on the other end sighed after a moment of silence.

“It’s about Sherlock, John.”

The name cut through his heart like a blade. Everyone was still talking about him, as if it’s not over yet. But he was the only one who knew that it was all over. Everything from the past, every memory, every nuanced flutter he felt had been buried into a tomb called time.

Even so, Sherlock’s name was like a spell that could compell John to do anything at his own will. If his friend was in trouble, even after his death, John knew he had to help. It was his deepest and most desperate wish.

John sighed, and pulled open the car door.

The elder Holmes in front of him didn’t change much since their last encounter, which got John wondering in frustration whether Sherlock’s death had effected him so destructively more than anyone. But Mycroft seemed to have been fatigued by his work-- even though all the Holmes had a sort of talent for hiding their true emotions and mental status, John could feel that Mycroft’s workload in the past years have only been increasing.

For a few seconds they just stood there in dead silence until Mycroft took out his empty hand which wasn’t holding the umbrella to break the ice: “Good to see you again, John.”

“Likewise.” John shook his hand and took a deep breath, “So. What you said. About Sherlock. What is it? His will? Or something about the media?”

Mycroft hesitated-- not something he normally does. This fueled the doubt in John’s mind since his arrival. Mycroft only had three reasons to see him: 1, Sherlock wouldn’t accept his help, and he needed John to look after his brother; 2, The government needs Sherlock’s help but he refuses to, so Mycroft needs John to persuade him; 3, Sherlock’s in danger, and he needs John to figure out what’s going on to protect him. This time, however, doesn’t fall into any of the categories.

Then his words froze John on the spot.

“...Sherlock isn’t dead. But, precisely, he isn’t alive either. I’m truly sorry we haven’t told you earlier, John. But now that it’s all settled, we think you have the right to know.”

John blinked, staring puzzled at Mycroft.

“What do you mean by... He’s not dead, but not alive either?”

Mycroft thought for a while before he started: “As Moriarty became to much of a threat to be overlooked, Sherlock and I started to come up with a few possible plans. He saw it coming that Moriarty wouldn’t make things easy for him, and he foresaw that Moriarty was going to hold his dearest friends as hostages-- Moriarty would never stop until he sees Sherlock’s dead body. One way was for Sherlock to fake his death, change his identity and leave the country for a few years, returning after his reputation has been cleared. But Moriarty blocked every way out on that roof of Bartz. He took away Sherlock’s phone and cut all possible communication pathways, so all the plans that required him faking his death wasn’t going to work. But, we still had a plan B. The last resort. A plan that could barely be called one.”

John nodded, signaling him to continue.

“This plan requires the most advanced scientific team at my disposal. It’s an unprecedented risk, a huge, long-shot bet. --preserving human organ at low temperature. This technology has appeared long before, but even a few hours of preservation takes strict environmental conditions and advanced equipment. You’d know best as a doctor. We did it with little hope, but miraculously, it was a success. Within minutes after Sherlock’s fall, we managed to preserve his brain. But what came next was only more complicated and impossible.

A super bio-computer. In fact, the government had a blueprint for this plan several years ago, but due to its high technical difficulties, cost and energy consumption, it was never implemented. Using the human brain to connect sensors for data transmission, after connecting to the Internet interface, you can access all the information currently possessed by humans, and have ultra-high computing power.”

“So... you made him... into a computer? Is that even moral? Did he agree?” Overwhelming information and a series of perplexing nouns rushed into his brain, and for a moment John felt as if his legs were giving up.

“You can put it like this. In other words, he is now basically a computer working for the British Government with self-entertaining software installed.”

John lifted his chin up, staring unbelievably into Mycroft’s calm eyes, to which he responded with a helpless sigh, “It really was the worst move.”

John closed his eyes. Though he’s always considered his roommate “a machine with no human feelings”, it now seemed like an unfortunate prophecy he did not wish to have made. He was now imagining Sherlock’s brain floating in a tank filled with nutrient solution, multiple sensors and intersected data transmitters attached to it, the entire cabin lit with dim lights, performing countless calculations within second -- from the probability of a terrorist attack to the likeness of a traffic accident, from one side of the world to the other-- all the while joyfully extracting interesting cases from documents and cracking them one by one at a rate countless times faster than before. He had to admit that Sherlock was probably enjoying this. But beneath all these absurd yet rational incidents a question still lies, one that he cares too much to ignore.

“Then... can he still feel everything? Feel the world around him? Or... communicate with us?”

“Sadly we’ve never succeeded in doing so. We haven’t completely mastered this technology yet, so all we could do is to solve one problem after another and analyse what we get like a Black Box. For now, what he could know, and what he could feel, remains unknown.”

Not dead, yet not alive either. It was now coming to John how fitting a description it was.

Sherlock was never someone who blended into the society, or someone who’s used to complicated social relationships. On the contrary, he always seemed to be walking on the edge of everything, a sane lunatic, a sober drug addict. This way of being now is like a portrait of him "before death" : an emotionless machine, an observer outside the world.

But without a body, with out the final proof of being “human”, will you remain to be “you”?

John realized he couldn’t come to a conclusion.

Mycroft lead him through winding hallways, one locked room after another, and they finally reached a small door that didn’t seem to stand out at all.

The sign at the entrance reads in large, bold letters: "Experimental Base - Do not enter".

“Whenever you’re ready, John.” Mycroft nodded slightly, and laid his hand on the silver door knob.

John closed his eyes, and nodded after a few deep breaths.

The door opened, giving way to him.

Things were very different from what he had imagined. There was no brain floating in the middle of the tank, no flickering lights and darkened halls, no shrill whining of instruments. It was just an ordinary room, in fact, quite similar to his memory of a high school classroom-- only that where the whiteboard should be, there was a giant display screen; On the desk where the lectern is supposed to be, lies a computer with a small screen and only one input box that took up half the screen.

Then it came to John. Such delicate thing as a brain culture tank could never have been accessible for tour. This was just the operating interface connected to the biocomputer for testing inputs and outputs.

He turned around, but there was no one else left in the room. Mycroft had given him privacy.

John sighed, forcing himself to turn to the blank screen. This *is* Sherlock, he told himself, this is who your best friend is now. Whether you like it or not, it’s him.

And now you’re here to visit.

Slowly, he walked towards the table, and placed his hands on the keyboard. After a few moments of silence, he typed out his first question.

“Tell me about identifying 243 types of ashes.”

Enter.

The cursor on the large screen flashed for a moment, then waves of information began to emerge. John could tell that a considerable percentage of them came from Sherlock’s essay from his website, but other information came from different sources, so its identification methods and usages could be explained clearly to whoever asked the question. The narration seemed Wikipedia-styled, calm and objective, exactly like the answer of a machine.

It *is* a machine, John reminded himself. That’s what he is now.

“You still remembered quite clearly.”

The keyboard clicked as he typed.

“Please tell me the basic structure of the Solar System.”

Again, after a few seconds, it gave a clear and precise answer, even presenting a graph showing the spatial relationship between the sun and the various planets, and giving the orbital parameters of each planet.

“I see you finally have enough memory for this,” he lowered his head, a giggle escaping his lips.

Then he tried asking many other questions -- mostly things that a normal person with a lot of spare time on their hands might Google. He also tried searching some of the cases they investigated together, and Sherlock-- the computer-- gave every single detail without mistake. John marveled at the amount of advanced technology used in this project, but at the same time, he found himself reading the information in his head using Sherlock’s voice, an impulse he couldn’t resist. Every word he read echoed with Sherlock’s voice in his mind like a prerecorded audio.

“Please tell me the stories of Sherlock Holmes.”

This time it took longer for the computer to buffer. Then, Sherlock’s identity, main achievements and relevant information started appearing on the screen. First his personal information, date of birth and death, family relationships and so on. “Working partner: confirmed bachelor John Watson.” Smiling, he shook his head. *These media workers are ever so rude.*

This was followed by a brief synopsis of a series of cases he has solved, many of which derived from John's blog, and some of which even canonical references to his blog's "literature review." The text scrolled along at a pace John’s comfortable with.

Then followed the media’s comments on him. First they were news before Moriarty messed with people’s minds. “The Reichenbach hero”, “Hat-man and Robin”, “Highly intellectual detective”, all of which John was familiar with. Seeing them again pulled on John’s heartstrings. But it was just pain-- it was a bittersweet warmth, a sense of retrieving a long lost possession.

Public opinions seemed to had turned against him overnight. The forces of group polarization were so powerful that all it took is a groundless suspicion to condemn someone once on a pedestal, to hell. There's a fine line between a hero and a demon. John didn't want to read any further -- he clenched his fists, felt the cruel words whirling and screaming in his head, rattling his already fragile nerves again and again.

*No, he's not like that. I know him, and I know him best. He is the wisest and bravest man I have ever known. He would never do such a thing. He would never--*

“THUMP!”

The next thing he knew he punched the desk with his fists.

The output on the screen came to a sudden halt. The cursor stopped at the last unfinished sentence, flashing like a puzzled child’s eyes.

He had an impulse to smash open the obnoxious screen in front of him, and scream to Sherlock himself. But what could he possibly say? What could he possibly do? Not to mention that yelling at a brain that’s already lost its sensing functions cannot solve anything.

It’s too late.

It’s always too late.

*You’re* the mad ones, *you’re* the arrogant people-- he’s gone already, so why on earth does he deserve to be treated by the world like this.

John felt the flames inside slowly consuming every last part of him, burning his throat, and spreading into his stinging eyes.

He shoved back the keyboard, and slowly allowed himself to bend over the table, lying on his arms, until all there was left in the empty room were suppressed, sobbing sounds.

He didn’t know how long it had been-- probably to the point where John worried Mycroft couldn’t wait any longer-- until he finally straightened up, refocusing his sight on the screen from a blurred vision.

The last search record has been cleared, and the screen has returned to a blank, vacant image, like how the universe was before the Big Bang.

He gently pulled the keyboard back in front of him, typed, slowly but solemnly, and not pressing enter.

He heard footstep drawing near-- possibly from Mycroft. Straightening his collar, John took one last look at the screen, turned around, and left.

The unsent message lit a silent white light in the room, like a calm, grieving soul.

“I love you.”

John hasn’t written anything on his blog for a long time.

Occasionally he still helped out Scotland Yard on some trivial matters, but they were nothing compared to the excitement and thrills that constantly struck him when he was on a case with Sherlock. The feeling of blood pumping through his veins once reminded him of what “being alive” feels like. And now, everything was back to normal. Sometimes the thought would hit John, that maybe everything that happened in the last few years was just a dream too good to be true. Maybe he never met such a man after returning from Afghanistan, a man who could tell everything you did yesterday, who liked to talk to skulls in a surprisingly fast pace, who could solve the strangest and hardest cases in the world.

But everything around him was a constant reminder that it was true. Everything did, in fact, happened.

And he couldn’t tell which was more painful.

On the way back, John allowed himself to replay every single memory he had since he met Sherlock like a movie, as he watched the rain picking up outside the car window.

Sherlock taking his phone, asking, *Afghanistan or Iraq*?

Sherlock rushing down the stairs then turning back towards the door, the light flashing dangerous signals inside his eyes, a fascination that took him spellbound. *You’ve seen a lot of blood and injuries, violent deaths, then? Want to see some more?*

Sherlock at Angelo’s, pausing slightly after being asked “do you have a boyfriend, then?”

Sherlock’s look of shock and subtle delight after he blurted out “amazing” without thinking.

Sherlock’s proud and effortless look after every time he solved Moriarty’s puzzles.

Sherlock standing in front of the door of 221B, looking at him with a smile. *I’d be lost without my blogger*.

Sherlock pulling the coat embedded with bombs off him by the pool, for the first time he’s ever seen, in panic and relief.

Sherlock walking behind him in Baskeville, in his most sincere tone, *I don’t have friends; I just got one*.

The Woman looking at him, an either teasing or scornful tone, *Are you jealous? You are a couple.*

Sherlock handcuffed together with him, raising his hand to fire a gun into the sky.

They were dashing as fast as possible on the streets in London as accomplices. He heard Sherlock utter, *take my hand*.

Then he did.

Sherlock standing on the rooftop of Bartz holding his phone, alone.*Goodbye, John*. He said.

Then he did.

...

He felt himself reliving those years as Mycroft parked his car in front of 221B.

Every memory were brand new, yet so fresh they were dipped with bright, red blood, dripping down along John’s heart, dripping into the very depths of his aching soul.

When he came home this time he opened his blog website once again. He wanted a formal farewell to the Sherlock of his past, and he wanted to continue their story. It may be a lot more plain and dull than it used to be, but he believed that Sherlock, now a machine for calculation, could see. No matter if he could comprehend, or if he could remember, every letter John wrote would enter his database through the transmission lines and become a part of him.

Entering username. Password.

Wrong password.

Perhaps he mis-typed a letter.

He deleted it, and tried once more.

Wrong password.

John frowned. He didn’t remember changing his password even once in the past years. Though Sherlock had cracked it within a day, he didn’t really care that much, nor do something about it; even if he changed his password, all Sherlock would have to do was to crack it again. It would be useless. --Furthermore, even if Sherlock saw it, it wasn’t a big deal. He’s Sherlock Holmes.

...He’s Sherlock Holmes.

The sentence echoed louder and louder inside his mind.

*He’s Sherlock Holmes.*

Who could’ve possibly changed John Watson’s password except him? He’s always kept the laptop beside him, and even Moriarty, who once broke into his account, had now killed himself and was no longer here.

“When all the other possibilities are ruled out, and there is only one left, no matter how impossible it is, it’s the truth.”

It was Sherlock who changed it, John. A voice inside his head said ever so firmly.

John could feel his heart racing faster and faster. Yes, Sherlock has access to all the information possible on the internet now. It would only take a few lines of code to alter the password of a blog account. But why would he? And what would he change it into?

*Think, John, think.* He heard Sherlock’s voice.

What is a code that only belongs to them? What is a metaphor that only they knew? What code could only be cracked by John Watson?

His fingers trembled as he started typing.

*Vatican cameos.

...

Logged in.

John could barely contain the tremors in his fingers as he scrolled down the page in great effort.

He clicked into some of his most read blogs immediately. No new messages, no new comments. The numbers of views were still rising.

For a moment he started to doubt whether he himself had changed the password in memory of their past, but forgot about it after grieving day after day.

Until he scrolled back to the top of the page.*

You have one new private message.*

Unknown address. Unknown sender.

The message was simple.

“I’m here.

-- S.H.”

His hand hovered above the keyboard. For the split of a second he seemed to forgot how to breath and how to make his own heart beat. The word spun and collapsed from around him, falling apart into an ocean of chaos and darkness. The only anchor in thunderous waves and dizzying swirls was the computer and the simple message on the screen. It kept him from falling down, and kept him safe and steady.

John felt his phone vibrate inside his pocket.

One new message.

“You should’ve seen the look on your face.

-- S.H.”

A complex wave of emotions flooded him. He felt himself smiling, so uncontrollably like a child who retrieved his favorite, lost toy, but there were uncontrollable tears streaming down his face, dripping hard onto the keyboard in front of him, a symphonic harmony with the pouring rain outside his window.

“You’re a complete jerk.”

“When all that’s left of you is a brain, it’s likely you’ll also become more reckless. No one can ever punch you in the face again.

-- S.H.”

“...Utterly unbelievable.”

“John, for your information, I can still see the messages in the input box even if they weren’t sent.

-- S.H.”

“...”

“John?

-- S.H.”

“I’m here.”

“I heard you.

-- S.H.”

END.

#bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlock #bbc sherlock holmes #long post

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jennrypan · 3 days

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Let's go down the line of fuckassary: LONG ASS POST AHEAD.

1: Gaia looked and acted like everyone else. She should've been WAY angrier, she should be pissed at Persephone for bringing about winter first of all. Should be pissed that she was a sleep and NOTHING got better over the centuries. But sure, she's giggling and happy.

(I liked that she shoved her hand in Ouranos' chest tho.)

2: It's soo funny that people keep SAYING that Persephone and Hades have true love but the comic hasn't showed us that ever 🤨, like if anything those two losers are obsessed with each other. Be so fr.

3: Once again..this should be Persephones story/POV but its in Hades' always. Fascinating.

4: "You have to spend 3 months away from your sugar daddy" OH NOOOO BUT WEVE BEEN APART FOR SO LONGB 🥺. God. At this point does she even NEED to be in the Mortal Realm fr?? Like..Demeter, Metis and Rhea are back now so..what's her purpose there.

5: The way Gaia just isn't. Gaia is baffling. Anyways. Demeter FINALLY found out what happened to Persephone but she's not..having a moment with her daughter?? Not talking to her about it?? Okay.

6: As usual. They're eager to have sex cuz that's the only thing they do. "I can't wait to see that ass--" ..how very Zeus and Posedion of you quote on quote romantic 🤨

7: She gets her coronation but..didn't she already have that when she married Hades?? Ig not then. Also..Apollo just got a slap on the wrist, not surprising.

DEMETER GOT PUNISHED MORE THAN HIM??? Hell the Titans got punished more than that bitch what the fuck??? God.

8: The disrespect to Zeus is so. 😶 Zeus would literally not sit back quietly for this shit the fuck??? Also..Hera didn't divorce Zeus all those years and now she did ?? And she's what..gonna get with Echo now??? Fascinating. Zeus needs to start tossing rocks. Rachel did Zeus and Heras relationship so fucking DIRTY!!!! GOD!! FUCKING DAMMIT. I hate how she wrote them. Anyways.

9: The Mortal Realm is a lot easier cuz Hades is there?? YOU WERE BORN THERE!!! ITS YOUR HOME!! You ungrateful ass spawn. It wasn't that fun cuz you didn't have a man there?? Insane.

10: The way Persephone clearly doesn't love her own mother is sickening actually. Like..we can't even have them talking to each other?? Dancing?? Even the comment about her doesn't have that much emotion. Also..Dionysus' hair looks goofy, and I guess Hades is all for bringing back mortals now despite making a big stink about it in season 1 but whatever. Yay Semele.

11: "hera just gives him busy work" ..He's literally the king. Literally-- oh my god. "His powers having been the same" which..MEANS WHAT?? And the way Zeus would literally not be happy about this shit is so-- UGH. God it's infuriating. Hades and Posedion clearly don't give a shit about their brother if they aren't concerned about his fucking powers 'not being same'??? Die.

12: Echo needs to stand SEVERAL feet away from Hera. That ship is so god damn tasteless and unnecessary. If you're gonna give hera a new love interest. Maybe give them actual moments?? Make it make sense!!

13: "Ares is still a dog!" *cue laugh track sound*, god this is so..why ?? Ares, baby I'm so sorry people keep disrespecting you in every iteration 🤦‍♀️

14: ignoring the Artemis bit cuz she wasn't relevant for any of the major plots and she still isn't. Anyways. Hades stay the FUCK away from Thanatos. "They can have conversations" oh?? How fascinating. Hades just NOW deciding to care about Thanatos doesn't make up for years of his neglect.

15: Persephone, Ares and Aphrodite should beat Eros' ass for being useless about Apollo. I still think that. Eros is an ass of a friend.

16: 'new powers' ..Girl your powers are basically your old powers with one extra step. Shut UP!!! anyways. (No one cares about kassandra, sorry not sorry. Who was worried about that )

17: Hades and Persephones millionth drabble of nonsense fluff. They're not saying anything new, nor are they doing anything new. I do like the art tho. It's just..baffling how..they're relationship started soo much nonsense and we're suppose to see it as a good thing??

THIS is a good ending??

Nevermind the fact Persephone didn't spend time with her friends or her MOTHER, nevermind the fact Zeus and Posedion don't even get to speak to their mother either.

Hera, Hestia and Demeter don't have a moment with Metis either.

Like..what was the point of bringing them back if you weren't gonna bring it to a satisfying conclusion?? Absolutely insane

Also..Eileithyias design is ass. It's sooo boring. It's literally just pilot Hebe but darker. Oh wow she's yellow with purple eyes??? Insidious. Also she just looks boring and bland to be the daughter of the literal king and queen but sure. Give us nothing.

And..again with making the children boring copies of one specific parent! Macaria is so..boring to look at just like Melinoe. Also...hades can..have kids now?? 🤨 okay.

So basically..this was insane from start to finish.

This wasn't a good conclusion. It was absolutely a wreck.

#lo critical #j.p speaks #anti lore olympus #anti lo

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yesihaveaobsession · 12 hours

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The Books

Alastor x female reader (others mentioned)

Summary: The reader (you) was a supernatural hunter(ess) back when you were alive on Earth, and so you decided to show everyone God aka Chucks books.

A/N- this was so fun. I love written a mini crossover . Let me know if you want more supernatural x hazbin hotel

You hunted when you were alive and back on earth, and that was not deer hunting and / or ducking hunting. It was hunting that was life risking, anxiety pumping through you, and most of all, fear You hunted supernatural creatures. You name it, you hunted it.

You somehow ended up in this weird and odd hell, but became great friends especially with The Radio Demon, Alastor. He enjoyed hearing all your hunting stories. But today you wanted to show everyone something that was oddly terrifying for you atleast. Chucks Books.

You gathered everyone in the lobby, and you held up an old, weathered book. Its viver was faded, and only the title was unmistakable. "Supernatural." Confused filled Charlie as she asked. "What's that?" Her eyes wide with interest.

"This." You began. "Is one of God's books. Or as I knew him as Chuck." You looked around, the room silent until Angel Dust scoffed, but his curiosity got the best of him like everyone else. "God wrote a book? Like a freakin' bestseller or somethin'?" His hand gestures were flowly and animated, and he talked slow to get every detail in.

You smiled. "More than just a bestseller. Chuck wrote everything that happened in the universe. This book, and others like it, detailed the lives of two brothers and close friends of mine, Sam and Dean Winchester, who hunted supernatural creatures. Just like I did." You said, looking at the book and feeling a shiver down your spine. All those memories flown back, which soon disappeared when you looked around the room again.

Vaggie then crossed her arms, skeptical. Understandable, she seemed to have trust issues, and you were still new and throwing out this outlandish information that sadly was true. "And you expect us to believe that God was some kind of author?"

You let out a sigh, "Believe it or not," you replied flipping through the pages. "These books were like prophecies, everything written in them came true."

Alastors' eyes widened. "Fascinating! And you say this Chuck wrote your life as well?"

Your gaze met the Radio Demons, you weren't sure if he noticed your blush but you then said, "in a way yes. Every hunt, every death, every encounter with the Supernatural- it was all part of his grand narrative."

Charlie was on the edge of her seat, leaning in closer, her excitement peaked. "So, you knew about Heaven and Hell and all of this when you were alive?"

"More than you'd beileve, I hunted creatures that would make even some demons here nervous. Angel's, Demons, monsters- you name it." You said closing the book.

Angel Dust leans back in his seat, golding his arms behind his head. "So, what's next, Supernatural Girl? Are you gonna tell us how it all ends?" You smiled. "Not even Chuck wrote an ending for that story. But as for us? We're writing our own tale down here."

Alastor was very much interested which excited you because back then you didn't laugh at it when it happened but now that you are looking back at it, these sinners are learning and it makes you laugh about how crazy it sounds.

The room fell into crickets and Alastors smile never seemed to unwaver, everyones mind started to think. You looked over at Alastor and he looked back over at you.

Oh, how you were interesting, and he wanted to know everything about you.

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #i have an obsession #supernatural

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templegate · 11 months

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While I've seen plenty of criticisms of Outlast for ableism/stigmatizing mental illness (because your enemies are murder-happy asylum inmates), I honestly beg to differ—at least for the most part. For one thing, only a handful of inmates actually attack you. Most of the other patients there are either in shock or just trying to lay low and stay alive through all the chaos going on around them. Even the more proactive of the non-combatant characters, such as the pyro you encounter in the kitchen, are just trying to get out—and their desperation is made to be pretty relatable. Even the boss characters like Chris Walker and Eddie Gluskin were victims of the asylum. For crying out loud, the Whistleblower DLC opens with Eddie getting dragged into the morphogenic engine kicking and screaming and begging for help—it's what solidifies Waylon Park's determination to take down Murkoff. Even when you find Eddie's files later on and see that, yes, he was already a murderer before he wound up in Mount Massive, that also comes with notes about the sexual abuse he experienced as a child and his denial of it. It doesn't excuse his actions—of course it doesn't—but it shows that he didn't become the way he is from nothing. Furthermore, the entire Mount Massive arc focuses so heavily on the theme of abuse of power. The patients are enduring horrific experimentation at the hands of people like Blair and Trager, and that is what sets up the rest of the story. The people running the show are the catalysts for all hell breaking loose—not the patients, who are instead victims of a system that is exploiting them by pushing them past their mental and physical limits, and has no qualms about treating them as replaceable test subjects. They are already sick people thrust into terrifying circumstances. Some of them were already dangerous to begin with, but most of them were not. They were all in a place that was supposed to help them cope with their conditions and rehabilitate, but instead were exploited and had their issues exacerbated by being traumatized further, and that's part of what makes Outlast terrifying. So yeah, the portrayal of mentally ill people in Outlast isn't phenomenal, sure, but it goes beyond making all the patients out to be horrible monsters. Most of them are just trying to stay out of all the awful shit going on and stay alive without completely breaking down. The games still makes you feel for those people after you see how desperate and terrified a lot of them are, due mainly because of the abuses they have suffered from the people who were supposed to help them.

Anon this is so fascinating cause I agree with you sm. I think all of this stuff is true. From the way I see it Outlast is an attempt to subvert all the other mental asylum horror stories. Which I think adds all this complexity you're talking about. But while I do think it's more nuanced and better written than contemporaries, I don't think they did a good enough job. The "evil asylum" trope is inherently ableist, and stigmatizing. And I do agree the main source of long term horror in the series is from the incredible abuse the patients suffer- it cannot be ignored that the majority of scary moments aren't from the abuse, but from the patients acting violent and "crazy". And yeah it makes sense why they're violent and "crazy" that doesn't change the fact that the average joe schmoe is gonna go through the game and take away the message that mentally ill people are violent, and scary, and mental health facilities are bad and scary. Which- as someone who's been to a psych ward- I find to be a very bad message. They have their issues but stigmatizing them makes it worse. I think Red Barrels realized this, and for the Whistleblower made more of an effort to emphasize the abuse as a front line horror. Jeremy Blaire, the Walrider, The Morphogenic Engine, etc etc. Although the complaints I have still stand. Overall I agree with you that Outlast is a nuanced portrayal of this trope. That point about how not all of the patients are violent, is one of my favorite parts of Outlast. How they're still humans. And that creates some really great moments, like Someones Playing Piano. But as I've said before I still think it's inadequate I really want people to realize that Outlast being a story about systemic abuse where innocent people are victimized, and Outlast relies on ableism to get it's scares- are two statements that can coexist. I think at this point I should just write a paper about outlast

#outlast #I love talking about this its so fascinating #anon i get a lot of bad responses to my critical posts but this one was like water in the desert #so many people have bad faith arguments #but this one was interesting #to be clear im not like a media purist. you can like outlast. i like outlast #i just want people to be aware of harmful tropes. and to encoruage red barrels to do better

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katabay · 3 months

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original thief series basso & garrett :)

ngl, it's about quality over quantity for me. an npc can have a total of three minutes of screen time, but if they have a cool name, they can live rent free in my head and I'll spend several hours trying to decipher drawable features from a blurry screenshot of pixels

there is a vague hint of a story here, and that's because every time I try to play thi4f, I get incredibly frustrated with how Not Fun the game play is. like, is the story good? well. but it has a PLAGUE. that should've given it instant 'I'll replay this once a year' status in my heart, but the game play sucks so bad that I've never finished it. I can't believe Not Fun gameplay beat out my obsession with narrative plagues.

anyway, the idea is basically if the original era had a game with a plague centric narrative and some other stuff I liked out of thi4f thrown into a narrative blender, with a heavy dash of horror thrown in because some parts of the thief games were scarier to me than entire dedicated horror genre games.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app

#if i had a laptop and the skillset i would attempt a story mod because the thief modders who create whole mission stories #are GENIUS and also somewhat terrifying. love them! xoxox #anyway im actually kind of obsessed with parts of thi4f but its also like. not at that sweet spot of almost good enough to be fun #to talk about. which. for the record. has not stopped me from talking about it at length to people #the city itself actually fucking fascinates me. its almost alive and im SO mad that not a single part of that game is actually terrifying #it should be gnarlier and instead it feels a bit like it doesn't quite want to be trapped in the story it has to tell?#but between the level that has the bodies on the meathooks #and the scene with the bodies hanging from the rafters or whatever that was and garrett living in a clock tower #because the game is very much ALMOST about changing times and authoritarian violence and capitalism #(like. by virtue of how the story sort of spins out i think it misses it's mark on a lot of stuff here #in the sense that i dont feel like it actually wants to tell that story. it wants to. go in a different direction. or at least walk on top #of those themes instead of through it)#ANYWAY between all of those things. it does kind of live in my head rent free. they did create a compelling setting #SHAME THEY DIDNT WANT TO ACTUALLY EAT ANY OF IT #unrelated but i would've given thi4f a 10/10 if they kept garrett's fucking nail polish from the concept art. cowards. unforgivable #thief the dark project #i still have no idea how to tag the game series as a whole RIP #sorry for the dedicated dark project fans. if you know what the general series tag is. please let me know #garrett thief #basso thief

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aquickstart · 5 months

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ok sure i'll talk about farleigh start. i'll talk about his tragedy of never being enough as it were and then having to deal with fucking oliver. sure. disclaimer: it's about class (and race) and the horrible reality of the rich. the horrible reality of living as farleigh.

another disclaimer: i'm white! and poc definitely pick up on everything i'm talking about here as it is, and better. i was and am specifically interested in farleigh vs. oliver but it's impossible to examine without considering race. definitely let me know if anything abt this sucks!

farleigh and oliver are similar. it's annoying because every intruder that is not himself is annoying, partly because felix's attention swaying from farleigh is dangerous; there is always a threat of being discarded, even if no precedent existed. the potential is terrifying.

but you'd think he's seen this before, every summer (if venetia is telling the truth) or at least often enough to learn to recognize it fast, so he should know this will pass. part of it is i think still the deep anxiety, and i think he hated every boy that was there before, and it is sort of routine.

but definitely a huge factor in farleigh's annoyance is the fact that he's a biracial (black for cattons, that's all they see) man in a white rich household. he's alert and exhausted all the time. of course he's angry at oliver, regardless of whether he's the first to crash at saltburn for the summer or the fifty-first.

but the important thing is this.

farleigh is very jealous of and angry and pissed at oliver because farleigh sees all the similarities between them. outsider, in financial trouble, whatever it is, in need of cattons; and yet oliver is preferred. and farleigh seems to be the only one to really consider it. felix does not pick up on the hint when farleigh brings up the birthday party vs. his mother. felix's clumsy "different or... anything like that" is as much about race as it is about class, of course. the "we've done all that we can" bit is felix absolving himself of guilt because surely they had, surely the mysterious collective cattons that he's not really part of had tried all they could do. to him, farleigh is different from oliver, because farleigh has been helped. felix is rich and white and twofold uncomfortable with farleigh, even if he's nice about it, even if he genuinely enjoys his company; he doesn't look too close at farleigh because he feels too guilty to come too close. and farleigh can't do anything about it. he can't nice himself into it. the fucking tragedy of him is that he's never enough in the world of the ultra-rich white, even if (especially because!) he's born into it.

farleigh is very pissed at oliver because farleigh also sees all the differences between them. you know who can be nice poor white enough to fit in? fucking oliver. felix says "just be yourself, they'll love you" when oliver first moves in. farleigh was also probably told the same thing, and felix also probably believed that farleigh could just be himself, but even if the cattons were magically not racist at all (impossible), it wouldn't make a difference to farleigh. he would still self-censor, keep in check, be in dangerous waters (because racism is not just about the individual, but about the system). we see that he'd won himself leeway by years of trial and error by the way he speaks to the family, but it's still within the boundaries of acceptable, built by the cattons. he's part of them because they allow it, and farleigh is very, very aware.

the annoying thing is oliver can be himself. like, truly, genuinely, he can just be. and farleigh can't help but envy that.

as a side note, oliver is obviously jealous of farleigh in the beginning as well, because regardless of the reality of farleigh's situation, he was born into it, and hence, at least in oliver's mind, has his position solidified. oliver's whole thing is unquenchable thirst and hunger for whatever and everything the cattons have (including themselves!). he wishes to have been a catton from birth. to oliver, at first, there's nothing farleigh can really do to lose it. and until he figures out the cattons completely, he can't help but envy that.

but i think farleigh senses something different about oliver early on. at least on the level of the text, we have "you're almost passing [for] a real, human boy", which is so important because farleigh is the first to point out oliver's weirdness. the next to do so is venetia in the bath scene calling him a freak, but it's too late. farleigh is too early.

and i like to think he clocks oliver too early because he sees the jagged edges that he recognizes in himself. i think that one other thing that farleigh envies is oliver's freedom to let go. freedom to let go is very similar to freedom to be, but not quite the same.

to be is about perception: farleigh knows he cannot fall out of line, but would like to, and oliver does not have to worry about it at all (i mean, he does, because oliver also performs for felix, but farleigh doesn't know that).

to let go is about the self: farleigh is too scared to even want what oliver eventually does, to even consider the possibility. oliver can let himself want. oliver can let himself act. oliver just can do things and want things. i'm not sure farleigh can.

and so in this scene, when oliver's wants and actions have landed him nowhere with farleigh, felix, venetia, the cattons, of course farleigh gloats. he can let himself do that, because if the cattons are slowly discarding him, farleigh can allow himself this one small victory. he's relieved because despite the dangerous similarities, oliver is, thankfully, not really the same as farleigh, right?

but like. this movie is a love letter to all things gothic. oliver is a white man. he prevails. the brief performance that oliver put on did eventually end up more effective than farleigh's lifetime of constraint. my heart fucking breaks for him to be honest.

the issue that remains is the fact of farleigh's survival. i like to think that oliver came to respect him. oliver is smart, but farleigh is clever. he picks up on everything oliver does (to refer back to the karaoke scene, farleigh immediately retaliates in the cleverest way, in the moment), and he's the only one to do so consistently (venetia, again, for example, comes close, but too late; oliver doesn't like that, there's nothing to work with). hence, stay with me for a little longer, the paradox: farleigh survives because he was never enough for the cattons, but he is very worthy of oliver's attention. in his own freaky way, oliver wants him. look at that.

so. farleigh. farleigh might come back. he always comes back. and i think oliver wants to try harder next time.

#saltburn #farleigh start #i think someone mentioned how the race commentary was fleeting in that scene abt his mom but i disagree #it runs thru the whole movie #because oliver is white and because they're pitted against each other #im not saying its the best commentary ever and also like the movie is not about it at all #but it's there and it's pretty prominent #also on a completely different note can we talk about how oliver correctly assumed everyone at saltburn desires him carnally #dude pulled all the bitches by being strange and off-putting. i mean i completely get it. completely get it. i'd fold so fast you've no ide #also while i was writing i realized that yes indeed both farleigh and oliver perform for felix and its so fascinating #and it works for oliver because of course it does because hes white #anyway! again! let me know if this sucks #in like any way at all #i needed a masterpost of all and every thought i have about farleigh #i think this pretty much covers it so i'll let it go now #HES SO. like do you UNDERSTAND #the DEFINITION of doomed by the narrative but i LOVE that he survives #as he SHOULD #emerald is so right. he does come back and quickstart just torture each other in that house forever. besties for life #god im gonna shut up now this is so horrendously long #mine #saltburn journaling

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littlelightfish · 12 days

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This half-foot. Dandan.

Looks preety similar to this lady here (I'll put them together so you see):

Half-lidded eyes, black hair&eyes, small eyebrows, curly hair... Dandan's skin is lighter probably because of low sun exposure (dungeon), and he has tons of freckles because he preety.

This two are clearly relatives if not siblings.

Flertom is a mirror image of the lady up there. She got Chil's eyes. She even has almost the same haircut (a bit longer). She's clearly the mother. We've solved Chilchuck's wife mystery.

But this wasn't what I was going to say.

This implies that Wife and Dandan both knew Chilchuck since their childhood. Because there's no way that Chil was just friend of the sister. They're both close to the same age, and I'll say Dandan is a Younger sibiling (she gives big sis vibes, and he gives young bro vibes). So either she introduced him to her brother or he introduced him to his sister and they became best friends as kids.

Could you imagine how their relationship was after Chil's Wife left him?

He knows he has to say something, but he doesn't want to end his relationships. At the end he takes his sister's side. He distances a bit from Chilchuck, calling him an "aquitance" rather than a friend. It isn't that he hates him, is just that it's complicated. And they both know it. They're in good terms tho, they just aren't best friends anymore and they don't talk about it. Their worry is the guild, not their personal stuff.

That's why Dandan introduces Chilchuck to Laios. If they were in bad terms, he would've suggested any other half-foot. They both priorize the guild and general safety of their own race. That's why Dandan suggests Chil instead of a less experienced hafling. He cares about the union and respects Chil's time and experience in dungeons. They're on good terms, at least good enough. Summing up, I get the feeling Dandan doesn't particularly likes Chil after what happened with his sister, but he respects him at least.

#hi fandom its me again overanalyzing side characters from 5 panels alone and some background context! <3 #i will do this again.. eventually... not on dandan. this is all i could see in him ;(#also i think their relationship gets better as time passes #it's been 4 years since wife left him #and 5 years since half-foot union was formed #i'm a wife×chilchuck lover. i'll believe they talked about it and eventually (give them a year) got back together #and Dandan allows himself to be friends with Chil again so he doesnt feel he's bettaying his sis by doing so or sth.#human interactions are so complicated.. i love them.. fascinating... eeling like Kabru. ill put them in a jar and study them like bugs.#Dandan #Dandan dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #i need an oficial name for Wife. i need.#i have the feeling Wife's older because they got married quite young. and Dandan seems the same age as Chil.#if anything hes younger. idk. tgeres no way shes marrying at 12 (chil married at 13 and dandan is same age)#this is my theory #idk how they are i insist. im working with crumbs here.#chilchuck #chilchuck tims #chilchuck dungeon meshi #i need to get some sleep lol #my shit #dungeon meshi spoilers

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 2 months

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What’s up with the ties between Sally & Eddie?

There are quite a few - to the point where I’m starting to suspect that they may be foils, or at least inherently tied together in the story.

First let's bring things back to the clocks. The “day” side has an obvious resemblance to Sally, like how the “night” side resembles Eddie. There’s not really much I can say here since we don’t know much more yet, and who knows if this has changed behind the scenes. But just think about that, the rarity of the color purple, night vs day, and the “monster”. Keep it in your head, I think it may be important.

Also the fact that Eddie is the only one with a watch, but Sally’s face has an incredibly similar face on her door.

Obviously Sally has some sort of beef with Eddie, despite him being nothing but friendly and (to our knowledge) being undeserving of it. One thought I entertained was “maybe Sally is dismissive of him because he’s a worker,” but that holds zero water when you consider how perfectly friendly Sally was with Howdy (karen Sally debunked <3). The second thought I had was “maybe Sally senses the queer in Eddie and it intimidates her” - which would make sense if Sally is a lesbian like I suspect. Internalized homophobia, anyone? This holds up if Eddie is going to turn out to be - not open about himself, but comfortable in his skin in a way that, say, Frank isn’t. Which I have a feeling that will be the case, which would likely make Sally put on airs even more so than usual.

Anyone else seeing a continuous trend of (social) masks and performances unfolding in the Neighborhood? I sure am.

But let’s talk about why I think they might be foils. They balance each other out in an interesting way, despite their only solid similarity being that Both will work/perform no matter the weather. They have a lot of closely related differences:

Eddie has been mentioned (and implied within the story so far) to have a deeper well of knowledge than he lets on, but acts humble about it. Sally has been mentioned (and implied) to know less than she portrays, but acts like a bit of a know-it-all - she pretends to know things that she doesn’t.

Eddie’s role is about helping others at his own expense, while Sally’s is using others to reach fame.

Eddie strives to connect with his Neighbors and is all about accuracy/precision. Sally is in her own little world and has proved to be more than willing to improvise / not think things through before acting.

Eddie is slow to anger, and Sally is easily irritated.

Selfless vs Selfish.

Night vs Day.

And to put them in the Johari Window - i believe that Sally resides in the Blind Spot (known to others, not known to self), and Eddie resides in either the Facade (not known to others, known to self) OR the Unknown (not known to others, not known to self). Personally I’m starting to believe that Eddie may reside in both.

It’s far too early to draw any real conclusions, and theorizing on all of this is difficult. I feel as though - as usual - we have puzzle pieces but no frame of reference for the way they fit together, what picture they build. And who knows, tomorrow’s update may shred this to ribbons, but I doubt it.

One thought I had was that they’re in cahoots about something - it doesn’t have to be something malicious or some sort of secret plot, it could simply be something they both know and are trying to keep quiet about. Eddie is trying to connect with Sally since they have this in common, but Sally is actively putting distance between them to preserve their secret / plausible deniability. Do I actually believe this? Meh. I’m just throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks.

So current base thoughts: Sally is dismissive of Eddie either because he intimidates/scares her on an internalized level, or she’s actively trying to put distance between them for a currently unknown reason. There’s probably a secret third option I haven’t even considered!

#she's just so fascinatingly dismissive of him in a way she isn't with anyone else #she exclusively calls him 'mailman' she brushes him off when he tries to talk about her halloween costume-#i bet if anyone else has so much as Mentioned the word 'pedrolino' sally would be on them abt it #much like how barnaby had to Escape a convo w/ her bc she was that passionate #so what is it with eddie... why does she feel so strongly about him in such a negative way...#ITS KEEPING ME UP AT NIGHT <3 #there is so much to unpack there i feel but i dont have the right scissors yet...#homebogging #welcome home speculation #wh speculation #man i feel so bad for eddie #he's trying to be friendly!!! he's trying to be her friend so hard!!! MAN.#i suspect that if eddie snaps in some way (he probably will) it will likely be in relation to sally #bc no one else treats him that way. like. even like... howdy keeps up an amicable pretense #but sally is straight up out here treating him like a pack mule named 'mailman' and brushing him off with obvious disinterest/frustration #LIKE DAMN. GIRL. WHAT DID HE DO TO DESERVE THIS #i love it. its fascinating. i cant wait to see how that unfolds

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nonbinaryphantom · 11 months

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danny is more human than ghost and vlad is more ghost than human both of their designs compare that bc phantom rlly is just a color palette swap while plasmius is a whole precure magical girl in how different he looks from his base form. something something danny spends more time with the living and vlad spends more time with ghosts something something danny moves on while vlad is rooted in the past and his hatred does this mean anything to you.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #vlad masters #i love character designs i love picking them apart #THERE IS SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT THEM AS A SET. bc their designs play off each other #its so fascinating you could talk about colors etc

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oh-wow-im-still-here · 7 months

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Mxtx was so sexy for having shen qingqiu experience the shen jiu flashbacks and still deciding to dislike him. Don't get me wrong I eat up all those awesome fanfics and headcannons of them having some sort of positive relationship like it's breadsticks, but sy!shen qingqiu's canon perception of shen jiu is just so juicy!

Like, you die, you die cursing and screaming some trashfire novel but wake up in your least favorite character's body. But he's not a character anymore, you eventually find out and accept that you and everyone around you is real. This body is real and so was the person who had it before. This body was theirs but now its yours. This body has done real horrendous things to real people that you care about. Some omnipotent system inside you is encouraging and coercing you into doing similar horrendous acts this body would have done, what it used to do. This body is not yours but now it is and now you have to live with it knowing you have to act out this body's role. Hurt your loved ones, distance yourself from your comrades, die a painful death. That is what this body was meant for, this was the original owner's fate, live with it. You are now one of the only people in the whole world that intimately knows how that man was the way he was and why he did the things he did. But that does not make it better, you feel pity, some sort of regret for how things could have been, but you cant forgive and forget because you hate him. You hate the character who turned out to be a man. You hate the man that used to own this body. You hate this body that's yours but not really yours. You hate your role, this narrative, this world, your future circumstances. Your actions of self preservation that have caused great harm. And ultimately, you hate yourself.

#hate is strong strong word but you get what im going for #i find it fascinating that when sqq does something hurtful or jerky he blames the original flavor sqq in him.#he starts trash talking sj but really hes being hard on himself #i also think its incredibly human of him to continue to disliking sj after seeing his past. i think thats so cool!!#because thats what we would do in his situation! “aww you had a bad childhood? that sucks but you hurt someone i cared about.”#“sorry that happened to you but also screw you”#gosh i love sqq so much i want to study him like a bug #sorry if this post doesnt make sense or is not totally accurate. i dont have book 3 on hand rn.#svsss #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan #scum villains self saving system

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yellowocaballero · 1 month

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Been a fan of your fics for YEARS. I was just telling my friend how despite how much I read fics I never actually love them, with some of your fics (especially TMA) as the exception. Felt the need to reread some of them and saw you reblogged some ISAT fanart. So. Any thoughts on ISAT you'd like to share?

Hope you have a wonderful day!! So happy I found your fics again!!

I avoided answering this for a while because I was trying to think of a way to cohesively and coherently vocalize my thoughts on In Stars and Time. I have given up because I don't want to hold everybody here all day and I have accepted that my thoughts are just pterodactyl screeching.

I love it so much. I have so much to say on it. It drove me bonkers for like a week straight. I have AUs. It's absolute Megbait. They're just a little Snufkin and they're having the worst experience of anybody's life. Ludonarratives my fucking beloved.

I am going to talk about the prologue.

The prologue is such a fascinating experience. You crack open the game and immediately begin checking off all of the little genre boxes: mage, warrior, researcher, you're the rogue...some little kid who's there for some reason...alright, you know the score. You're in yet another indie Earthbound RPG, these are your generic characters, let's get the ball rolling.

Except then you realize that these characters are people. You feel instantly how you've entered the game at its last dungeon, at the end of the adventure. They have their own in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They get along well and they're obviously close, but not in a twee or unrealistic way. They have so much chemistry and spirit and life. I fell in love with them so quickly.

But Sif doesn't. Sif kind of hates them, because they will not stop saying the same damn thing. They walk the same paths, do the same things, make the same jokes, expect Sif to say the same lines. They keep referencing a Sif we do not see, with jokes we never see him make and heroic personality he never shows - they reference a Sif who is dead - and Sif can't handle that, so he kills them too.

They become only an exercise in tedious frustration. Sif button mashes through their dialogue, Sif mindlessly clicks the same dialogue options, Sif skips through the tutorial, Sif blows through the puzzles. Sif turns their world into a video game. Sif is playing a generic RPG. Sif forgets their names. They are no longer people with in-jokes, histories, backgrounds, adventures. They're the mage, the warrior, the researcher, and...some random kid.

I did not understand the Kid's presence at first. I had no idea what they contributed to the game. They didn't do anything. As a party member in a video game, they're a bit useless. Why is the Kid there?

Because Sif's life isn't a video game. Because the kid isn't 'the kid'. They're Bonnie. Bonnie, who the party loves. Why is Bonnie there? Because they love them. There is no room for Bonnie in the boring RPG that Sif is playing. And then you realize that Sif is wrong, and that they've lost something extremely important, and that they'll never escape without it.

Watching the prologue before watching ISAT gave ISAT the most unique air of dread and horror, because you crack open ISAT and you see the person Sif used to be. You realize that Sif used to be a person. Sif used to be the person who made jokes, who gave real smiles, who interacted with the world as if they are a part of it. And you know you are sitting down to watch Sif lose everything that made them a person, to lose everything that made them a member of this world, and turn them into a character in a video game who doesn't understand the point of Bonnie at all.

At the climax of the game, when the others realize that something is deeply wrong and that Sif physically cannot tell them, they realize that there is nothing they can do. So Bonnie declares snacktime. And for the first time they have snacktime.

What is snacktime? Classic JRPGs don't have snacktime. There's literally no point to a snacktime - not in a video game, and not in Sif's terrible life. It's not fixing this, because nothing can fix this. But Bonnie gives Sif a cookie and Sif eats it.

It's meaningless. It's a cutscene. It didn't save Sif and it didn't change a thing. It will make no difference in the end.

But it did make the difference. It made all of the difference in the world. Bonnie is a character who you really don't understand the point of before you realize that Bonnie was the entire point.

ISAT is about comfort media. Why do we play the same video games over and over again? Why do we avoid watching the finale of our favorite shows? What is truly comforting: a story with no conflict, or a story where you always know what is about to happen? Do you want to live in a scary, uncontrollable world, or do you want to play Stardew Valley? Do you want a person or a character?

When I beat Earthbound for the first time (and if you don't know, the prologue/ISAT battle system is just Mother) and watched the ending cutscene where the characters part ways and say goodbye...I felt a little bit sad. I wanted them to be together forever. But that's something only characters could ever be.

#these aren't deep or unique thoughts they're just the specific aspect of ISAT that made it one of the most interesting gaming experiences #i actually like the prologue much more than ISAT for just this reason #its honestly a video game art piece that's created to give the player a very specific experience #that makes them an aspect of the narrative that is told #it's. incredible.#in stars and time #start again start again start again #start again: a prologue #isat #god and there is so so so so much more to say here #what a rich and complex and fascinating game that made me cry like a baby #i dont even kin sif. we arent similar at all.#i cant imagine how devastating this game would have been if i did #but I do have a deep relationship with escapsim #and i write about it a lot #and video games about being video games are wonderful #as are stories about being stories #and why we consume stories. how we use them. how they save us and hurt us.#never played a video game that used its medium so well #i bet undertales also pretty good at that but this is more so i think #stories about stories have to be about why we love stories #and im not an artsy person and i roll my eyes a bit when people talk about the spiritual neccesity of art #i think people need stories because the world is sad and hard and boring and we want to think about something else for a while.#some people need to be anywhere but here #and sometimes if you're Lil Depressed-Ass Snufkin that looks like being here forever #baby cringe-ass snufkin big hat idiot

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