Can I... talk about the theory that winners help craft the next game?
Because, and I really can not say this enough, it puts So Much into perspective.
Everything starts out Normal. Three lives, simple, cut and dry, there hasn't been a winner yet. No one to help craft the game. (And there's something to be said about how simple it really was. Not even a real expectation of the world becoming pvp or combative. No idea of the war to come)
Then Grian wins. The green killer, the man who vowed his first life to the one whose life he took. The next game the boogie man is born. A mechanic that allows and, in fact, demands, a green kill. People can trade lives back and forth, currency and debt wrapped up in one. (can we still be friends? Said the red partner. A life time later and reds are hostile, alone. Maybe it's an answer: No. Not anymore)
Scott wins this time. He refuses to play the game. He will not kill his team, he will love and he will do so fiercely and with all of himself. The next game people are attached through to their very souls. Every bit of damage to one soul is done to its twin. There is no boogeyman. (There is no way for a widow to be left without their love)
Pearl wins and she wins a blood bath. Spent the game draped in red, only wolves for company. Sitting in her tower, shivering in ice, maybe she wanted it to end. To see where it would. Limited life rewards you for killing, limited life has a clock tick tick ticking down, you always no how long you have. A curse yes, but a blessing too.
Now It's Martyn's turn.
And what a turn it is.
Keep your secrets, says the disloyal man, keep them well. Everything hurts, everything Matters, says the man fracturing with every loss. (What if we could love each other without hurting? Says The Hand, who never wanted to be coated in blood)
More importantly, Martyn has always seen the watchers below the surface. Now, they're right here in front of him. Something that could almost... be rebelled against, no? Something that someone else could finally point to and say: hey, hey isn't that familiar?
The "won by playing fair and friendly and not betraying their friends and/or going insane" squad, and it's just Scott and Joel glaring daggers at each other
do yall remember those two little white boys in super smash bros brawl who would scream pecan ice and pecan butter or whatever it was they were yelling?? i hated them so much they used to get me in so much trouble when i would stay up late and play nintendo because no matter how low the volume on the damn tv was my mom would hear their shill ass voices going PECAN ICE PECAN BUTTER from all the way down the hall in her room and tell me to go to bed i will never forgive them
I've seen a few people now say that people won't be able to make dramatic winner art/animations out of Joel, and that couldn't be further from the truth
Yes, Joel doesn't take anything seriously. That what makes him terrifying.
Think about it. He's stuck in a death game and he is having fun. When everyone is chasing him down in the finale, he easily uses the teleport power to evade them while barely trying. He can taunt and laugh at them, confident he can't be caught, and he's RIGHT.
Joel feels no fear. He plays the game. He revels in the chaos with a smile on his face. If that is not an epic setup for a villain I don't know what is. It also creates a fun dynamic between him and the other winners. He doesn't care, he can taunt them with memories he's now regained ("Weren't you and Scar friends Grian? How's your soulmate Pearl?") and it throws them off because never has a winner been untouchable like this before. He has no guilt to grapple with, but everyone else does. That gives him innate power over the others
Joel himself is a wildcard. He enjoys the game as much as the watchers. He can adapt to anything, as proven by the series he won in. He has loyalties, sure, but in the end he didn't really care about killing Grian. He thrives when others struggle to survive, and he LOVES chaos.
In conclusion, Joel is the life series equivalent of Bill Cypher. In this essay I will-
Grian three-ish years ago: hey Ren meet my friend Martyn. he plays fortnite
Ren a couple days ago: Martyn, I cannot bear to think of a universe where our souls are not tied. We're the earth and the moon, pulled into continual and unceasing orbit to one another. In your absence I become a lesser man. I will destroy the fabric of the world to bring you along with me, ignore the rules of the game. You will carry my banner, I will carry your soul.
One by one they appeared in the space. The space of endless darkness so many of them had called home for so long. The distant lives they had once lived twinkled off in the distance, one, two, three, four, five, six.
*long writing under cut*
edits: grammar and spelling
He appeared first, his clothes returning to their previous state no longer stained by the blood that had been shed. The coral returned to his body, growing up his sides. This was not his first return but the feeling was still new. He floated through the space to a large clam with soft blankets piled inside and sat. In the side the words “Mean gills” were etched. He wasn’t sure who would appear next but he leaned back into the blankets to wait.
“WHAT?!” As the second person appeared he stumbled forward holding a sword and wearing a poncho embroidered with flowers. “NO-HO-HOOOOOO! What just happened?!” He walked over to a bed beside the first person’s. It was simple with a comforter covered in sunflowers with the words “Trader scar’s” on it.
“Ooh, how’d you get out?” The first person asked.
“It was horrible Martyn!” He complained, pulling the comforter back to reveal a small plushie of a snail. “NO! THE SNAILS!” He grabbed it and threw it away into the space they lived in.
“Ah…” Martyn nodded.
“Do you have yours here too???” He gasped.
Martyn looked around in his blankets but shook his head. “Only you I guess.”
He appeared next, teal hair floating in soft curls as he gasped. The pain inflicted on him was gone. He smiled, he knew he couldn’t have won but a part of him was still disappointed.
“Hey Scott!” The second one called.
“Hi Scar,” He responded.
“How are you?” Martyn said, glancing up at him.
“Fine,” The teal haired one responded, floating to a four poster bed lined with spruce. The words “gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss” scrawled into it with cursive writing. “I wanted to stay a little longer.”
“Yeah, the time between these does not last fast.”
“Right you are,” Scott said, sitting up on his bed.
“What happened with the bamboozlers?!” Scar asked, leaning forward with excitement.
“Grian just killed them,” Scott said.
“WHAT?!” Scar fell back on his bed. “Oh when he gets here we’re gonna- I’m gonna yell at him!”
“Who do you think’ll be next?” Martyn asked.
“Who will win next or who’s coming back?” Scott looked over at his previous ally.
“Either,” Martyn said as a dog hopped off a nearby bed and floated over to be given attention.
“Hm-“ Scott was cut off as another person launched into the world.
A girl wearing a long red cloak holding an axe stumbled forward. “NO!” She yelled upwards. The dog leapt from Martyn’s clam bed and ran over to the girl. “TILLY!” She cried, slinging the axe into a holder on her back and pulling the fluffy wolf into a big hug.
“Hi Pearl,” Scott called from his bed, waving.
“Hiya,” She walked over to the bed in between theirs. A large rectangular mattress that resembled a dog bed covered in red blankets. She flopped backwards onto it, putting her axe into a slot behind the bed so its blood-stained blade hung over her head. Written in the same delicate cursive were the words “divorce quartet” that had been crossed out and in chunky uneven letters replaced with “Tilly and me”.
“How was it?” Scott asked leaning towards her.
Tilly hopped up on the bed and settled on top of Pearl. “Fine, Gem died.“ She said sourly.
“Wishing she could join us?” Martyn teased.
Before Pearl could respond a redheaded girl fell into the world, her eyes narrowed in daggers. Her skin was green and had chunks torn out in areas that made it seem like it could fall off at any moment. “I tried avenging you!” She cried, standing up and pointing at Pearl. “I did!”
The dog on Pearls lap bared her teeth. “Relax baby,” Pearl crooned, petting her, “we’re over it.” She looked back at the girl, “Thanks Cleo.”
“How much longer will Grian be there?!” Scar scoffed, “He didn’t live nearly this long before!”
“There’s only a few left now,” Cleo said, “It’s almost over.” She walked over to a bed beside Scar’s that was covered in green sheets and a jester hat leaning off the side. On her bed the word “JOKER” was written.
“Come on! I have to yell at him for killing my team!” Scar rolled his eyes.
“WOOO!” As if he were summoned the last owner of the six beds ran into the space, holding a sword high above him. The threads of his fluffy red sweater snapped as two rainbow wings stretched out from his back. He ran over to his bed beside Scott’s which had some red blankets, a couple flowers near the bottom and the words “desert duo” written on it. He reached to the back of his bed and pulled out a gold crown, happily placing it on his head. “There’s a new champion!” He announced, his eyes flashing purple.
“Grian I can’t believe you killed my teammates!” Scar shouted, “I thought we were friends!”
“It’s a death match!” Grian argued from across the semi circle of beds.
“Everyone get your crowns!” Scott called, grabbing a flower crown of poppies and placing it on his head.
Pearl pulled her red hood up over head and Tilly sat up next to her. Martyn placed a crown of interlocking colorful coral pieces on his head while Cleo donned the jester hat that sat on her bed. Scar put on a diamond helmet grumpily. “Do you think we could change mine?”
“Bargain with the watchers man, there’s one rule,” Martyn said, leaning back against the clam shell.
“THE WINNER OF WILD LIFE IS, DRUMROLL PLEASE,” Grian shouted. The champions slammed their hands repetitively against their beds.
Then he appeared, grinning with fluffy dark brown hair with a green streak through it. “WOAH!”
“JOEL?!” Scott gasped.
“Heyyy!” Pearl called, “Congratulations!”
He whirled around, looking at all of them. “Where are we? And what-“ He broke off as his eyes flashed purple and went wide.
The champions all exchanged knowing smiles. After a moment he blinked, stumbling backwards. “Done?” Grian asked.
“We’ve done this SEVEN TIMES?!” Joel gasped.
“Welcome to the winners’ circle!” Grian announced.
“The bad boys!” Joel looked at Grian and grinned, “and the relationSHIP! The mounders! The-woah!” He stared at them all. “Do you all know?”
“Pretty much yeah,” Martyn nodded.
Joel looked at all of their beds and his eyes landed on one next to Cleo’s. A black car with red racing stripes piled high with blankets. On the side was written “THE FAMILY!” He ran over and bounced onto it. “No way! But what about Gem?”
“She doesn’t get to come with you unfortunately,” Grian said.
Joel went silent. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Pearl sighed. Tilly hopped off of her bed and walked over to Joel, pushing her head under his hand.
“Can we go back?” Joel asked.
“Not exactly,” Grian explained, “If we do, and that’s not really up to us, she won’t remember.”
Joel’s mouth fell open. “WHAT?! This is what winning is?! Your team forgetting you?!”
“We remember,” Scar offered.
“And if she wins, she will too,” Cleo said.
Joel’s face hardened with determination. “So she’s gotta win the next one.”
“It might not be for a long time,” Martyn warned.
“If at all,” Grian added.
Joel sighed and looked around the rest of his bed. On the headboard (which was the spoiler of the car) were a line of snails of all different colors and designs. “Do you have a crown?” Pearl asked, leaning forward to see.
“Uh I don’t know,” he stood up and started looking around the car bed. “Where would it be?”
“Check the trunk?” Martyn suggested.
Joel walked around the back of the car and opened the trunk, pulling out a large hollow foam dice block. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” He shouted, tossing it across the space.
Tilly dove after it, grabbing it and happily carrying it back to him. An uproar of laughter circled the area. “You got a dice?!” Cleo gasped, rolling backwards in her bed. Tilly, rather forcefully, shoved the dice block into his hand. Each of the sides had a different number of dots on it each a different shade of red green and yellow.
Reluctantly Joel put the dice block on. “Joel you look fabulous!” Scott teased from across the room.
“Well you died before me so!” Joel yelled at him.
“Oh god his egos going to be even worse now!” Martyn exclaimed.
“At least I don’t have a diamond helmet,” Joel said sitting back down in his bed.
“Hey!” Scar gasped.
Tilly bounded away, climbing onto Pearl’s lap. “So what do we do now?” Joel asked.
“We wait,” Grian said.
“For what?” Joel looked around the circle.
“For a new game,” Scott explained.
Joel nodded. “What if there isn’t one?”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that,” Grian said, his eyes flashing purple.
As they talked, the lights far behind them illuminated. Shining out from the doors that had been closed. The one miles behind Grian marked with three hearts, the one behind Scott marked with a heart sliced down the middle, the one behind Pearl two hearts connected with a string, the one behind Martyn a heart shaped clock, the one behind Scar a scroll with a heart drawn on it, and the one behind Cleo an anatomical heart. Far behind Joel the seventh door closed, showing the carving of a dice block with a heart on it.
something I think we all know about fanfic, but don’t talk about because it would hurt writers feelings is that some fics are like fast food. I mean this as a compliment. I don’t always want to sit down for a six course meal that will be a flavor experience. Sometimes I just wanna dip some fries in a frosty. Sometimes I want something homecooked and delicious and super niche, but super comforting. Sometimes I want to eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake in one sitting even though I know Its gonna make me sick. Just. holy crap, y’all. Sometimes I don’t even want fast food, I just want to eat an entire bag of chips. and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself afterwards, but at the time it was exactly what I wanted. So, no, we’re never going to say to our fanfic writers that we consider their writing to be the equivalent of a midnight run to taco bell - and we shouldn’t, feelings would be hurt by that. But writers, please, please, please, remember this. You don’t need to create a six course meal if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make something complex and homemade if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to finish cooking it - because someone will be thrilled that you brought a bowl of cookie dough and a spoon, because they cannot even consider sitting down and having a proper meal right now. It’s okay writers, whatever you decided to make. Someone was happy to have it. You gave them what they needed. You made them happy. You did good.
I don’t know why being fast food would be considered insulting!
A few years ago, I read an essay by a romance writer who openly admitted that her books were trashy, formulaic, and not Great Art. But what she said is that she gets fan letters all the time. From women with six kids whose only time for themselves is reading her books. From women in abusive relationships who read her books to give them hope that loving relationships exist. From women with depression who manage to eke out some pleasure reading her books. From women whose lives are awful and who read her books to give them the strength to live another day.
And– she points out– the writers of Great Art have many virtues, but they do not generally get fan letters from people whose lives are miserable and who seek out comfort and joy from the books. Because most of the time when our lives are awful, we don’t seek out Great Art. We seek out, well, literary fast food. We seek out emotionally manipulative hurt/comfort or fluffy coffeeshop AUs or Mutual Pining where there is Only One Bed.
Be proud of your work! Be proud of making literary fast food. Try to make the best damn literary fast food you can. Because somewhere out there– you might not know who, you might not know when– there might be someone who has just finished their last final, or who got fired from their job, or who is up all night with a newborn, and your fast food fanfic made their lives better. And that is no small thing.
Can I... talk about the theory that winners help craft the next game?
Because, and I really can not say this enough, it puts So Much into perspective.
Everything starts out Normal. Three lives, simple, cut and dry, there hasn't been a winner yet. No one to help craft the game. (And there's something to be said about how simple it really was. Not even a real expectation of the world becoming pvp or combative. No idea of the war to come)
Then Grian wins. The green killer, the man who vowed his first life to the one whose life he took. The next game the boogie man is born. A mechanic that allows and, in fact, demands, a green kill. People can trade lives back and forth, currency and debt wrapped up in one. (can we still be friends? Said the red partner. A life time later and reds are hostile, alone. Maybe it's an answer: No. Not anymore)
Scott wins this time. He refuses to play the game. He will not kill his team, he will love and he will do so fiercely and with all of himself. The next game people are attached through to their very souls. Every bit of damage to one soul is done to its twin. There is no boogeyman. (There is no way for a widow to be left without their love)
Pearl wins and she wins a blood bath. Spent the game draped in red, only wolves for company. Sitting in her tower, shivering in ice, maybe she wanted it to end. To see where it would. Limited life rewards you for killing, limited life has a clock tick tick ticking down, you always no how long you have. A curse yes, but a blessing too.
Now It's Martyn's turn.
And what a turn it is.
Keep your secrets, says the disloyal man, keep them well. Everything hurts, everything Matters, says the man fracturing with every loss. (What if we could love each other without hurting? Says The Hand, who never wanted to be coated in blood)
More importantly, Martyn has always seen the watchers below the surface. Now, they're right here in front of him. Something that could almost... be rebelled against, no? Something that someone else could finally point to and say: hey, hey isn't that familiar?
Doodle the drawer @doodlethedrawer - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
