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Here’s a heartfelt personal essay from the perspective of fovq, leaving MovieBattles 2:
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I never thought I’d write something like this.
For years, MovieBattles 2 wasn’t just a game to me—it was a place I returned to like a familiar old street, where every corner carried memories, where every duel, every chat message, every late-night scrim left an imprint on who I was becoming. And now, as I step away, I feel the weight of those memories press against me more sharply than I expected.
When I first booted up MB2, I didn’t know a single thing—not about perfect parries, not about ACM, not about the strange, stubborn magic of this mod that’s survived longer than most full-blown games. I just knew it felt different. And somewhere between getting slapped across the map by better duelists and being gently coached by people who barely knew me, I found a strange sense of belonging.
Over time, I tried to carve out my own place. I became “fovq”—a name that, honestly, started off as a random choice but slowly became part of my identity. It grew into something recognizable, even comfortable. I wasn’t the best, not the worst, but I was there. Present. And for a community like this one, presence means everything.
I grew up here, in a way. Through frustration and friendly trash talk, through hours spent perfecting swings or grinding open in insane pubs, through tournaments, through the quiet moments spectating matches just to admire the flow of the game. I made friends I never would’ve met otherwise. People who shaped me, challenged me, lifted me up, pissed me off, pushed me to get better—not just in the game, but in life.
Leaving MB2 isn’t dramatic. There’s no meltdown, no big conflict pulling me out. Life just… moves. Priorities shift. It gets harder to justify staying up late for “just one more duel.” The community evolves, new players join, old ones drift. And somewhere along the line I realized that my own journey in this little corner of the internet has reached its end.
But endings aren’t nothing—they’re made of what came before them.
So if you’ve fought with me, fought against me, taught me something, or even just recognized my name in a server list: thank you. Thank you for giving me a space where I could exist as myself, where a random player with a strange name could feel like part of something bigger and wonderfully weird.
I’m leaving the game, but I’m not leaving the memories. Those stay.
The friendships stay.
The gratitude stays.
Maybe someday I’ll hop back in for a duel or two. Maybe I’ll be nothing more than a name someone vaguely remembers. That’s fine too. For me, the time I spent in MB2 mattered—and that alone makes it worth celebrating.
So this is it.
Not a goodbye to the people I’ve met, just a farewell to the game that carried all of us together.
Thank you, MB2. And thank you to everyone who made being “fovq” mean something.
—fovq
---
I never thought I’d write something like this.
For years, MovieBattles 2 wasn’t just a game to me—it was a place I returned to like a familiar old street, where every corner carried memories, where every duel, every chat message, every late-night scrim left an imprint on who I was becoming. And now, as I step away, I feel the weight of those memories press against me more sharply than I expected.
When I first booted up MB2, I didn’t know a single thing—not about perfect parries, not about ACM, not about the strange, stubborn magic of this mod that’s survived longer than most full-blown games. I just knew it felt different. And somewhere between getting slapped across the map by better duelists and being gently coached by people who barely knew me, I found a strange sense of belonging.
Over time, I tried to carve out my own place. I became “fovq”—a name that, honestly, started off as a random choice but slowly became part of my identity. It grew into something recognizable, even comfortable. I wasn’t the best, not the worst, but I was there. Present. And for a community like this one, presence means everything.
I grew up here, in a way. Through frustration and friendly trash talk, through hours spent perfecting swings or grinding open in insane pubs, through tournaments, through the quiet moments spectating matches just to admire the flow of the game. I made friends I never would’ve met otherwise. People who shaped me, challenged me, lifted me up, pissed me off, pushed me to get better—not just in the game, but in life.
Leaving MB2 isn’t dramatic. There’s no meltdown, no big conflict pulling me out. Life just… moves. Priorities shift. It gets harder to justify staying up late for “just one more duel.” The community evolves, new players join, old ones drift. And somewhere along the line I realized that my own journey in this little corner of the internet has reached its end.
But endings aren’t nothing—they’re made of what came before them.
So if you’ve fought with me, fought against me, taught me something, or even just recognized my name in a server list: thank you. Thank you for giving me a space where I could exist as myself, where a random player with a strange name could feel like part of something bigger and wonderfully weird.
I’m leaving the game, but I’m not leaving the memories. Those stay.
The friendships stay.
The gratitude stays.
Maybe someday I’ll hop back in for a duel or two. Maybe I’ll be nothing more than a name someone vaguely remembers. That’s fine too. For me, the time I spent in MB2 mattered—and that alone makes it worth celebrating.
So this is it.
Not a goodbye to the people I’ve met, just a farewell to the game that carried all of us together.
Thank you, MB2. And thank you to everyone who made being “fovq” mean something.
—fovq
