#Idk why am I showing it here

[one-cookie-lover]

Ok... and finally I present to you all my (not very creative and I need to improve and change some details) tfa oc✨️✨️✨️:

Calamity!

She's a bit of a Decepticon spy, she usually invades Autobot bases to steal information and is rarely caught (when she is caught she just jumps out of the window, so she usually forces Starscream to go along, to catch her if something like that happens so she doesn't end up dying)

She loves to irritate others and watch chaos happen, sometimes she is a little mean and rude and ends up not noticing

She has these spikes on her armor and hat because she thinks it's cool, same thing for brands, she thinks she looks tough with them

The cables on her head can be used for various things with whatever is connected to them, they can provide energy (which makes her very tired and makes her have to rest), if placed in computers they can steal information and files and even put a virus there, it can suck energy (it already caused a blackout in a city testing how much it could handle), if placed on a speaker it can speak through it (it almost left several cadets deaf), it can be placed on a TV so she knows what It's on all channels... Various things

Loves watching (especially illegal) races (as said before)! Nobody knows but she's a fan of Blurr for his speed!

It's kind of normal to see her in an autobot base annoying others and even talking to those who gave up on catching her.

She can and will try to copy and remake weapons that she finds useful or cool (she has the design of the Magnus Hammer and Optimus's ax stored in her dorm but she doesn't use it because she thinks blue won't suit her) she even copied the "gloves" of Starscream, but says he copied it and is envious

Almost everyone thinks she will be relaxed and calm when they meet her, only to be hit by something seconds later while hearing an idiotic laugh, or feel judged, or she starts talking and can't stop.

Many hate her but it's not like she considers them enemies, for her they are all "good idiots" or "too boring to talk to her"

Maybe I'll tell more about her someday, who knows, it's not like anyone would be interested lol

(sorry if I wrote something wrong, I used Google translate)

please don't judge me, I'm still a beginner at this

[blackbatcass]

listen I know it’s kind of corny and inaccurate to act like every single person in the dc universe knows each other and is besties but it IS endlessly funny to me to follow the web of connections and see how many degrees removed from each other everyone is.

like look at the arrowfam okay. ollie and dinah are together, ollie is homoerotic best friends with hal, dinah is homoerotic best friends with babs. roy is dating dick, has a kid with jade, and is basically an adoptive father to both grant emerson and rose wilson. connor is dating kyle and is constantly followed around by eddie fyers. mia is friends with a lot of the second gen teen titans kids, had an on-again-off-again thing going on with steph for a while, and is currently dating sienna. emiko is besties with courtney and some of the other recent teen titans. sin has a small army of protective aunts from the birds of prey. the real question is how far does it go before ollie puts a cap on the number of people who are invited to family brunch on sundays

[theslimeologist]

can we take a moment and ask what happened here? like what did they do to her??

oh.

[sprinklethetangerine]

Hey, I just watched Dead Poets Society for the first time ever! Now, if you guys don't mind, I'm gonna go sit in the corner of my room and scream!

[the-casbah-way]

forgive the brief jesus chris superstar rant but. there is a very important difference between the pharisees being villains and the pharisees being antagonists. they're technically antagonists because they're actively working against the interests of our protagonist, but i don't believe they should ever be played as villains. they're not evil or bad or wrong. they're terrified just like literally everyone else in the show is, and their actions are completely justified. to me that's the entire point of the musical. it's not about christianity; it's about the impact the roman empire's brutal and violent imperialism had on everyone on all levels. including jesus and judas, but also including the pharisees, and even herod and pilate. when a powerful coloniser forces their presence on innocent people they are the only winners. everyone else suffers, even the puppet kings and high priests who look like they're reaping some sort of benefit from it all. that's roman propaganda. the romans kept native rulers like herod and caiaphas in power to maintain the illusion of provincial autonomy, and keep populations appeased and therefore under control. everyone in the show is acting out of fear of the romans. the one roman character we do see (pilate) is acting out of fear of his own emperor. it makes no sense to cast the pharisees as two dimensional Bad Guys, especially when the same productions that do that usually offer a sympathetic portrayal of pilate. it would be so easy to stage and direct a production in a way that makes it obvious that the pharisees are doing what they're doing because they truly have no choice, and not because they're pure evil and want to kill jesus for the sake of it. it's not only an antisemitic trope but also undermines a really important theme of the musical. if you can see the humanity in the violent roman governor installed forcefully on conquered land then you can afford some humanity for the pharisees too. they are victims of pilate and victims of rome just like everyone else

[deeism]

ok no honestly i'm thinking about it i am so pumped not even just for sunny 17 itself (i mean obviously) but more so for the experience it's going to be for sunnyblr to get together and watch it and talk together and reconvene after every episode and share our thoughts and stuff. seriously highlight of my summer last year was doing that. we are going to get so so weird about it. there will be such pointless and unsettling discourse. and ultimately it will bring us closer. and it will be a great time

[queenburd]

Cross posted to ao3. Very mild formatting differences. Comments make me happy.

Hey, folks, this one is heavy, long, and full of repetitive text and phrases. While I know that's par for the course with this game, I bring it up because I know writing it made me feel weird at times, and it intentionally leans into its theme of deterioration. Take care of yourselves. We're dealing with the Figurines Ending, the Epilogue, and the Skip button.

If you like my writing, please consider tipping me. I also have commissions and a paypal donation button.

|.|.|.|

The first thing Stanley does, when the reset hits and he finds himself staring at his desk, is pick up the mug that sits on the corner and hurl it out the door of his office. It hits the wall beside the doorframe on the opposite side of the room, and shatters on impact.

“Stanley?! What in God’s name—“

He screams.

It’s a hoarse noise. It’s deep and it’s broken and it hurts to get out, but he screams because there’s something horrible inside him, something he needs to purge. The noise cuts out, and then begins again.

The chair is grabbed next—he hooks his arms around the backrest and lifts the thing to chest height before he flings it with all his strength. A wheel catches on the doorframe to his office and the chair crashes to the floor, hitting the wall with an almighty, horrendous crash and sliding partway across the hideous beige carpet.

“Stanley!”

His chest heaves with fierce, angry panting. His cheeks are wet. Another noise wrenches itself from his throat. Stanley turns to his desk and swipes his arm across everything on it, knocking pencils and papers and pens to the floor. He slams his fists on it. He turns and kicks one of the filing cabinets, turns and paces in the little room like a caged animal.

There is so much built up inside him that he doesn’t know what to do with. All he knows is that he’s going to rip this place apart with his bare hands.

It’s not just anger, you must understand. It’s much more complicated than that. You see, Stanley has just come from the Epilogue.

-

The sand blows around him. The wind is cold and fierce. The sun is unforgiving. The moon is a large lamp in the sky.

And Stanley is alone.

He walks for what feels like eternity. He walks for what seems like mere minutes. He walks towards nothing. He turns in every direction. He puts one foot in front of the other.

And Stanley is alone.

The fire doesn’t warm him. He can’t dislodge the chairs from the ground. There’s sand in his shoes and shirt and mouth. He wraps his arms around his chest and walks and walks.

And he is alone.

-

“Yes, I'm remembering something now. I remember before this whole story got started.

Back then, I was... I was different; I used to make big decisions, I was passionate! I was skeptical! I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness.

And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions.

I became lazy. And I came up with—well—I came up with a character named Stanley, to do my thinking for me. He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go, I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason.

Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely?

Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship. And Stanley really did make for a wonderful companion, even if he was a fiction.

But—ahh, I suppose it's grown old. I-I want to think for myself again. I want to go back to how it used to be.

Yes, I can be on my own again. I can do it! I'll be stronger this time. I'll take care of myself. I don't need Stanley anymore.

Oh, but he truly was so much fun to play with!

You know what? Since we're in the Memory Zone, how about one more good memory?

Let's go back, just once, and give Stanley one more run of the office! And then, I'll retire him for good. I did enjoy telling his story—so very much.

Okay, here we go.

This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

-

The Memory Zone is flooded with sand. The bucket does little to comfort Stanley, even as he holds it to his chest. He follows the power cord deeper into the deserted building, feeling numb.

-

[ Narrator? ]

[ Narrator, what are you talking about? ]

[ Can’t you see me? Hey! Hey! Narrator! ]

[ Why won’t you answer me? Answer me, please! ]

[ Narrator! ]

-

“I’ll take care of myself. I don’t need Stanley anymore.”

-

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

The buttons glow softly. He presses them mindlessly.

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

What once was a source of amusement leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. The bastard never tried, in the end, to make these buttons work. Like everything else, he half-assed it, then abandoned it when something else caught his interest. Left it to collect dust. Left it to be forgotten, with the rest of the oh-so-precious memories.

With Stanley.

Hurt blooms in his chest. It’s been minutes—it’s been years. Time doesn’t mean anything at all in this stupid game. Nothing means anything. The thousand thousand runs they’ve played don’t mean anything. The conversations they had don’t mean anything. Their friendship doesn’t mean anything.

He doesn’t mean anything.

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“Stanley.”

-

“Stop sniggering, Stanley, you’re ruining my take! Oh, it’s no use, we’ll have to start from the top.”

Stanley giggles around the hand he has pressed firmly to his mouth. He wants to be apologetic, and he’s glad the Narrator is involving him in this new promotion for the upcoming update, but the delight in him keeps bubbling over. It’s so rare to see the fellow direct that old familiar vitriol at someone other than Stanley himself. After so long knowing him, hearing him attempt to be menacing and nasty is outright silly.

“Wh—Silly?! You impetuous—Stanley, stop laughing!!”

Sorry, he’s sorry! A little off-balance from his own laughter, Stanley climbs onto the set and adds another tally to the whiteboard there.

“Unbelievable,” the voice mutters while he climbs back off the set and makes sure the camera is still centered on the tripod. “Here I am, trying to make a serious critique of game developer habits, and you demand to be included so I include you, and what do I get? Mockery. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Comments like these do little to dampen Stanley’s spirits, but he does attempt to sober himself. He does, after all, appreciate that the fellow has gone through all the effort to include him in brainstorming this one and setting it up. It was his idea to include the clocks and the tally board, and he really does think the shot is improved for it.

He sits back into the metal folding chair quietly. No more laughing. Promise. He’ll manage it this time.

The Narrator clears his throat. “Right. Let me review the script again.”

Stanley nods. His eyes flick around the small office set, then back to the computer monitor.

Man, has it really been almost nine years? It feels like they’ve been doing this for much longer.

“Well, really it’s only a little more than eight years, if I’m being honest. The original HD game released in October of 2013, so depending on when Ultra Deluxe drops in 2022, it may only be a couple months past the eighth anniversary.”

That’s being a bit generous to the developers, Stanley thinks. Does the Narrator really think it will drop in January?

“Oh, I don’t know, Stanley! I’m guessing, same as you.”

Still. Over eight years. Why does it feel like they’ve been here for much longer?

“Well,” the voice sniffs, “it could be for a number of reasons. Time is relative in the Parable, after all. Then of course there’s the fact you rarely sleep, since you don’t need to, so you get a lot more time than most proper humans would, since the usual human circadian rhythm makes them lose at least eight hours in a day. That’s fifty-six extra hours a week you have over most. Multiply by fifty-two, and then again by eight, and that’s not an insubstantial amount of time, I would say.”

That's fair. That's... shoot, Stanley isn't fantastic with numbers. That's... Fifty by fifty is twenty-five hundred, then six and and two is twelve—

“Twenty-three thousand, two hundred ninety-six hours. Divided by twenty-four, it's an additional 970.6 days, which means over two and a half additional years.”

Did he just pull up a calculator?

“Didn't.”

He totally did. Stanley heard the tapping of old clunky buttons.

There's a derisive sniff. “Yes, I suppose you would be the expert on buttons, and not maths.”

Also, is that two and a half years extra per year, or altogether?

“....I don't know.”

This is gonna give him a headache.

Quite without their meaning to, the both of them begin to chuckle at the same time. It's ridiculous, honestly. They're bickering over math, over time and takes and it's all just so ridiculous.

Eight years, give or take two or possibly twenty. That's how long it's been since Stanley started wandering these halls with little more than a voice for a companion. That's... that's a lot of time together. It's a lot of time for things to change. He kind of likes how things have changed.

And, as the fellow said before, time is relative here. They can and have experienced things on a different scale from how an experience would play out in the real world. Their own individual experiences are different even from each other's, with lost time, pauses between death sequences, loading screens—it's all subjective. Guess Einstein was on to something there. Bet he never imagined it in this kind of context, though.

Still. It's a long time with one other person. The universe spins on, and they have each other.

There's the tapping of keys again, a little soft muttering. He smiles.

He's double-checking the numbers, isn't he?

“No! No, I'm not, thank you!” The defensive tone in the Narrator's words confirm that yes, he is. It's made further obvious by the following deflection. “Now, that's enough of a break, let's get back to work. And no giggling this time, Stanley!”

He clears his throat, and the lights dim on the set. Stanley settles back in the metal chair with a grin, arms crossed.

“What does it mean to be a video game developer?” The voice begins. “It means lying, boldly and brazenly to your audience; promising them release dates that are wildly outside the realm of reality...”

-

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

Why is he still pressing it? Why can't he stop? Why is Stanley shaking, fingers pressing down on the plastic again and again?

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

When did the Narrator make this? When did he—and why is it here, with the rest of the discarded buttons? Why would he go through the effort to make something, just to leave it behind?

The button doesn't answer him. He presses it, and presses it, and it says his name until the word loses all meaning.

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

“Stanley.”

-

Every time you restart the game, we’ll advance the number of the sequel by 1, and then we’ll pick a new subtitle. That way, The Stanley Parable will never end! And nothing in the game itself will change when you do this, either. Adding more content sounds like work, no need to do that. It’ll just be the same content, recycled again and again and again, with a new title screen! What do you say? Should we go forward with this plan? I like it, but I want you to have a say as well. [Let’s do it]     [Don’t do it]

He stares at the dark screen, but he doesn't really see it.

Stanley feels cored out. There's an emptiness in him that he can't truly comprehend. It hurts, he thinks, but he feels it in a detached sort of way.

The Narrator is gone. Stanley is alone. Yet, even now, he faces choices that are designed around traps for one or both of them. How is that fair?

How is it fair to ask him if he wants to go back to the office, to go back to companionship, when the companion in question has apparently abandoned him? How is it fair to ask him if he wants to drag that person back into hell, when they've supposedly freed themselves from it after years?

-

“How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another.

How they both wish to be free.”

-

He doesn't want to be alone, in this wasteland. He knows in the end what he's going to choose, and he hates that he does.

He's selfish. He's so, so selfish. His loneliness is more important than the Narrator's happiness, that's what this decision says. It says that he would rather force them both to live through the Parable, again and again, forever, than have the Narrator leave him.

And then, here's the kicker! Is this even Stanley's own choice? Is he coming to the conclusion himself, or is there another force at play, a Player, influencing his decision? He can't know! He only ever knows the Player's presence in the godforsaken Real-Person ending, they only ever fully yank the control from him there. Can he even trust his own mind?

Does... Does it matter?

[Let’s do it]

-

Stanley is not a good person.

-

So. As I said before, reader. Stanley's emotions are a complicated tangle of hurt, anger, despair, and uncertainty. It's almost impossible to tell where to begin when it comes to unraveling it all.

Still, one must do one's best.

-

For as long as the Parable has existed, it has spun around conflict. Taijitu, or yin-yang, is a circle made up of two teardrops, one black and one white, circling each other endlessly. A wheel that turns forever. Opposing forces that will never overtake the other. Always equal, always opposite.

But you recall this, don't you? This isn't new information. We've been here before.

Stanley and the Narrator are equal and opposing forces, circling each other. Stanley makes a choice, and the Narrator responds. Stanley moves forward, and the Narrator tries to pull him back. A battle for control—one only ever responds to the other. Neither of them can claim to want this, but if they didn't want different things, then there would be no game to play.

Time and again, the Parable tests the bond that has been crafted through time and care. Memories are taken. Time is stretched thin as it can go, like a rubber band. Stanley makes a choice, and it brings the Narrator joy or suffering. If he stops, the Narrator will be at peace, but then there will be silence, and silence cannot be tolerated. Silence is the equivalent of inaction.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a game about control, and the lack of it. If you could find happiness through a single choice, but it would bring another person pain, would you do it?

How they both wish to be free.

-

But these two have turned a battle into a dance. There will always be a drop of yin in the teardrop half of yang, and vice-versa.

So how do they fight back? How do they choose to progress, when the wheel turns ever back? Or are they doomed to repeat the cycle forever?

-

When Stanley has had enough of his pacing, when the silence has become too oppressive for him to take, he turns on his heel and sharply faces the open door.

Well? Nothing to say? Nothing at all?

“Well,” comes the bitter retort, slower than expected, “I would ask what you expect this tantrum of yours to accomplish, but that isn't exactly the most constructive comment, is it?”

A hiss escapes through Stanley's bared teeth. That's it?

“What do you want from me?!”

It's desperate. It's hurt. It's confused.

“What have I done, Stanley? I can't make sense of you right now, your mind isn't making any sense!”

Of course he doesn't remember. Of course it's Stanley's job to be the one who remembers, who chooses, who deals with the consequences of both their actions. That's how it's always been, that's—

“Stanley, I know our situation has never been balanced fairly in your favor, but I—“

Stanley storms out of his office and kicks his chair out of the way. He grabs a cardboard filing box off the floor and lifts it over his head before flinging it hard. It hits the cubicle wall by the copy machine and the lid flies off, papers scattering across the floor and box bouncing off the top of the copy machine to fall harmlessly to the floor.

“What has gotten into you?!”

Stanley snarls again, at the open air, the ceiling, wherever he thinks the Narrator might be perceiving him. Never been balanced fairly?! Understatement of the millennia! Speaking of millennia, did the Narrator enjoy his little vacay away from Stanley? Was it fun, “thinking for himself”? Leaving Stanley in the sand with the rest of his discarded little game, his figurines and buttons?

“I—“

Did he come up with new stories? New protagonists? Was he stronger? Was he happier without him?

Did Stanley drag him back to hell?

The silence this time feels distinctly more shocked and hurt. Stanley lets out another noise, pacing across the carpet and then turning to door 429. He lifts his fist and slams hard on it, face twisted up into an amalgamate of pain and anger. He beats his fist on the door again, desperate and despairing.

Say something! Say anything! Fight him! Argue with him! Be angry! Be angry that Stanley was so selfish, that Stanley decided to get revenge for being abandoned, please just—

“I'm sorry.”

He flinches.

“I don't—I don't know what I did, but I think it must have been something terrible. I just can't stop, can I? Even when I'm trying to, to be careful, I can't stop being cruel to you. You're angry with me, I can see that, and you don't—you don't like to be angry, so I—“

The voice trembles. It sounds on the verge of tears. Stanley hits the door again, because it hurts to hear, and that's not fair.

Damn him. Damn his own empathy.

“I'm sorry,” it says again. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you somehow. Do, do you want more endings? I'll make new endings, I'll find a way. I'll find more for you to do, I'll come up with something, please just let me fix it. I'm sorry I don't remember, but I'll fix it.”

Stanley screams hoarsely again. His legs give out and he drops, leaning against the bottom of the door with his fist pressed to it. His chest heaves, shaking sobs that wrack his frame, though there's barely any tears. It's just so hard to breathe.

Stop, stop. Stop. Stop apologizing. Stanley is the one in the wrong here. Stanley turned the wheel back. Stanley tore him from his happy ending.

Didn't he?

“I didn't go anywhere,” the voice responds, distraught. “I never left.”

Then what was that?

“I don't know,” it pleads. “Even if I could go, I wouldn't. I wouldn't leave you behind, you're my best friend. I thought you knew that, Stanley.”

He thought he did, too. But then the voice had called him a fiction again, something dreamed up for companionship, and had decided it didn't need him anymore.

The Narrator is quiet at this, and then he says, very carefully and in a voice terribly controlled, “I only ever thought that when you were frozen with the Skip button.”

-

The Narrator waited, but he was not stagnant. At some point, while Stanley was in a small concrete room, lit with only the glow of a yellow button on a pedestal, the Narrator decided to pass the time by making something new. Surely, when all this was over, when they were back in the office, they would put this behind them and pass the time as before.

For all that the new content for Ultra Deluxe had been a disappointment, hidden in the download were folders and folders of unused assets. It seemed that the developers had had countless ideas, and yet had done little to expand on those ideas, choosing instead to box them away. Well, the Narrator would show them what new content was supposed to look like! Who cared about Ultra Deluxe? No, he would really knock the reviewers' socks off. He was going to make a sequel! Stanley would love it!

When he came back.

If he came back.

No, of course he would come back!

And so time passed, and that was fine. More time meant a chance to perfect his work, to work out his new features and to even perhaps address some of the complaints people had had about the original game. And more time passed and he thought he might make a button that says the name of the player, wouldn't that be rewarding and engaging? Stanley would love that! A button of his own to say his name, wouldn't that just be delightful?

And Stanley stared unseeing at the Skip button, and the Narrator thought to himself, perhaps not. Perhaps Stanley wouldn't care at all.

But that was fine, because there were plenty of new features for him to explore! He'd love the Bucket, surely. All the silly secret Easter eggs, the little references to lore that went nowhere, he'd get a kick out of it for sure! And the figurines! There wouldn't be anything special about them, of course, but the fact they were Stanley! His silly face! Oh, the Narrator would be so excited to see Stanley get them all, and of course Stanley would, because he would do everything. He would find every single one.

And, and the Narrator was so excited for that! Maybe he didn't know how Stanley would react, maybe Stanley would think it all silly, but the sheer fact he would find each one, it would delight the voice to no end. It would say “you found one of them! One of the figurines!”

It would be so much fun! Wouldn't it, Stanley?

Stanley?

Ah. Still frozen. Of course. Not a problem. The Narrator would be here when he got back. The sequel would be here. The figurines would be here.

He would just get everything ready in the meantime.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, when Stanley was here, and able to play? There would be so much for him to explore! He would love the Bucket and finding its secrets, and oh, the figurines! He'd find them all, surely he must. And the Narrator would say “you found one of them!”

And one of them would be by the red and blue doors, and Stanley would probably get that one last, but there was no guarantee, he did like to keep the fellow on his toes, but when he did collect the last one, the Narrator would say “and now the first number equals the last number!” And it would be so exciting! Even though there was nothing special about them, just the experience itself, doing something for the sake of it, was so special, and he'd think about it always.

-

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “yes, another Stanlurine under your belt!”

-

“But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here, the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “I haven't stopped thinking about them since you nabbed every last one.”

And the Narrator would say, “science tells us that it's impossible to forget your third time doing anything.”

And the Narrator would say, “No, no I'm not ready to move on! Stop the loading screen!”

-

“And I'm trying to tell him this. That in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here, he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop.”

-

And the Narrator would say, “We'll do the Memory Zone again from the opposite direction! See how that feels!”

And the Narrator would say, “I want to keep going! What else is there? What came before this?”

And the Narrator would say, “And before everything else, there was your office.”

And he would pause, and then wonder aloud, to nobody in particular, because nobody would be there, “Was there anything else?”

There must have been. He was sure of it. He was sure there was something, or perhaps someone. But that couldn't have been right, you see, because if there was someone, then he wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be talking to himself, someone would be listening to him. Someone would hear him. That's what—that's what Stanley was for!

But Stanley wasn't doing that. Stanley had not done that for a long time. Had he imagined Stanley? He must have. He imagined many things, after all. Yes, he must have made Stanley up, to listen to him, to have a companion. It's terribly lonely, after all, being a voice without an ear.

Maybe he should move on. Try something else. Maybe that would be for the best. But—oh, but Stanley made him so terribly happy. Just like those wonderful figurines. He loved to think about Stanley's adventures, he loved telling his story so much. Just like the figurines, he'd have to indulge himself.

Just one more time.

-

Just one more time.

-

Just one more time.

-

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

-

And the end was never the end. Was never the end. Was never the end.

-

Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another?

-

“I'm sorry, Stanley,” the Narrator says again, sorrowful. “When the game reset, everything was saved. The sequel content, but also the things I found myself saying during the interim. It's all here, somewhere. It's all my fault.”

So he never left?

“Never.”

And Stanley hadn't dragged him from his happy ending?

“No.”

He slumps further against the door. A hand absently lifts and scrubs at his face. So he's just stupid.

“No, I don't think so,” the fellow says generously. “I think you're hurting, understandably so. I think the Parable seeks out ways for us to try to make the other miserable, so that we will keep trying to control each other. You know the song and dance.”

Where it cannot find conflict, it will manifest it.

“Yes. We've been here before, haven't we?”

They have.

-

I asked you, before, how they overcome it. I told you they'd made a battle into a dance instead. How do they do it? How do they choose to progress when the wheel turns ever back?

But you already know the answer. You've already seen it. Don't you remember?

We've been here before.

-

“Stanley, I'm not going to hurt you.”

-

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

-

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

-

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

-

If Stanley gave him context, he could get to the memory himself?

-

“I—I can’t recall if I’ve said it before, how grateful I am to you, Stanley.”

-

This time, by the time the hold music has kicked on, Stanley is on the floor, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

-

[ Don't ever. Call yourself DADDY. Again. ]

-

Did he just pull up a calculator?

-

He’s listening. He’s listening, and listening, letting his friend know that they exist, together, the space between them closing again, and for as long as he can he won’t let the narrator be alone in the void.

-

The unwavering strength in his voice feels like an untapped well of passion. Like he’s working to fuel them both through this damnable path, letting Stanley know that yes, yes, they are moving towards something, he has not abandoned him.

-

“Please listen. This is important to me, alright? It’s not your fault.”

-

Stanley's fist has loosened and relaxed against the door. Now it rests there, gently curled, as he thinks.

They have been here a long time, in this game, and he is tired.

So now what?

“Well, now I think I'll close the figurines exhibit, so something like this doesn't happen again.”

The Narrator's voice is rather cool and detached. It lacks distress. It's professional. Words stated in the same way as a script, memorized by heart. Stanley doesn't like it.

He presses his hand flat to the door and rests his temple against it. It's cool against his face.

And after that?

“That's up to you, isn't it?”

Quite without meaning to, Stanley flinches again. The Narrator nearly speaks, before he cuts himself off, seeming to think better of it.

It's hard on the spirit, to be the one who has to make choices. Thinking of what they might mean, what the consequences could mean for others. Certainly, there's power in making decisions, but with that power comes the burden of responsibility. Include the added ordeal of being the one who remembers every consequence, every outcome, and one is left with the distinct feeling that they are being punished. There is no winning here. There is no gaining the upper hand.

He is so tired of making choices.

“Then, perhaps I could convince you to listen to me, and follow direction, for a few minutes.”

Something prickles in the back of Stanley's head in old familiar irritability. He doesn't want to do the story. He doesn't think he can get up.

“I didn't say anything about doing the story, now, did I, Stanley? Close your eyes.”

An innocent enough direction. He obeys, adjusting his position against the door to lean his back against it, hands in his lap.

“Good. Very good, Stanley.”

Still all professionalism. Still lacking familiarity, or anything more than casual approval.

“Now. Take a deep breath. Good. Now let it out, slowly. There you are. Again.”

His breathing steadies and his heart slows. Tiredness gives way to calm.

“Excellent. Now. I'm going to speak, and you're going to listen. That's it. No choices, no paths. Just my voice, and your ear.”

That's not a game.

“No, it isn't. It's a story, and you're my audience. Now. Quiet your mind, there's a good lad.

This is a story about my very good friend Stanley.”

-

“Stanley's had a rough go of it in his life. He likes simple things, like pushing buttons, and drinking coffee completely black. This isn't to say Stanley is a simple-minded fellow, oh no, not at all. In fact, Stanley is one of the most intelligent and compassionate people I know.

The problem is that, for all that Stanley prefers simplicity, he's been put into an impossible position. He's a protagonist of a story.

Now, everyone knows that the best stories aren't the ones where things just happen to a protagonist, but instead the ones where the protagonist plays an active role in progressing the plot. Making choices that result in changing the direction of a story, towards its climax and resolution. It's all well and good that Hansel and Gretel have been left in the middle of the forest, but they choose to be clever and leave a trail of pebbles behind them, before being forced to resort to breadcrumbs—and then of course the choice to use breadcrumbs changes the trajectory of their tale.

The truth is that being a protagonist is anything but simple. Quite without his permission, Stanley has become inundated with responsibility. It isn't an easy life, and it can quite honestly be an unfair lot to give to the fellow.

But if you ask me, there's nobody better suited to the job.

Now, perhaps this is unfair of me to say. After all, I'm not the one who has to make the decisions. All I have to do is tell his story, as a passive observer. Look at him, look at how he struggles, doesn't this make for an incredible tale of overcoming odds? I of course will never have to shoulder the burden he does, so I can say what I please without any regard to his own well-being. Oh, don't give me that look, Stanley, you and I both know it's true. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if I were paid to do it.

Yet I've been watching Stanley for quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time, so long one might call me an absolute creep. It's true! And so I feel I am at liberty to say that, for all that it's an unfair position to be put in, and a terrible burden to carry, there's nobody who carries it like Stanley does.

You see, he makes every choice to the best of his ability. He thinks about its ramifications to the best of his knowledge, and does his best to consider what his decision might mean in the long run. Take this recent choice, for example. He's decided to listen to me, for a few minutes, even though it's in his very nature to take action and to disagree, because he knows that I asked him to. He's chosen to compromise, despite the fact I could press an advantage.

He's done so, because he knows in his heart and in his mind that I care about him. I want him to be happy. He knows, based off prior knowledge and based on his own gut feeling, that listening to me will make him feel better, because he matters to me.

And this is a simple choice, deceptively so, but in its simplicity it is a perfect example of what I'm trying to convey—

That Stanley does everything to the best of his ability, with all the care he can muster, and that no one could ever judge him poorly for doing the best he can.”

-

Stanley doesn't know when he started crying again, body wracked with the force of it. It's quiet, at least. When the Narrator stops speaking, he still feels him all around, comfort on every side.

Does he mean it? Does he really—?

“Of course I mean it,” the voice huffs, faux offense warm in his ear. “Don't you know by now that I mean what I say? Don't you—“ it wavers a little, before pushing on, a touch shakier. “Don't you know how much you mean to me?”

He cries. The sigh is fond, and gentle.

“You're alright, darling. It's alright.”

-

Taijitu. Balance between black and white. The symbol didn't always have the two dots, you know. In the original concept, yin and yang symbolized stillness and activeness of all things in the universe, respectively. The substance of the universe moves as an active force, until it reaches its limit and becomes still; and yet even that stillness reaches a limit, and becomes active again. The dots, added during the Ming Dynasty, have since their inception been a portrayal of how one will always be the source of the other, and so both will always exist. There will always be an interconnected, interwoven, powerful bond between these two forces in flux.

Which doesn't mean much, to those of us who don't study Taoist philosophy or history. Most of us just appreciate the duality of opposites, who cannot help but have a grain of commonality. One does not and cannot overtake the other. Round and round they go, an endless chase.

Or, one might note, a dance between partners. Momentum carried through. Weight supported. Stepping in sync.

The wheel turns, as do the dancers. This is how they succeed. When one slips back, the other grabs them by the hand and guides them forward with the grace that's only gained through years of practice and familiarity. The wheel turns without catching, and neither are caught under its grind, because they're standing on its face, using it as the platform on which they perform only for each other.

-

Stanley dries his eyes and wipes his nose. He's sorry for causing such a mess.

“Please, I've seen you do worse and we both know it. Remember the time you threw every chair and box out the window to see if you could make a ladder back up into the office?”

He laughs weakly. Not one of his brightest moments, admittedly. The Narrator had threatened to navlock every last item in the office down if he tried it again, after.

“Which, of course, only motivated you to try again.”

Yeah. Because he's a bastard.

“That you are, Stanley.” The Narrator chuckles. “Now, up you get. Up, up!” he reinforces, while Stanley sluggishly gets to his feet. “I have a surprise for you!”

Oh boy. That can only be good, he's sure.

He's led through the office to the TSP 2 Expo sign, which has returned to take the place of door 416 for good, it seems. When the Narrator guides him through the display environment, he takes care not to rush Stanley, since the thin monitors and patterned carpet delight him more than he ever thought possible, but it's also clear the fellow is eager to get a move on, to show Stanley something he's sure will knock his socks off.

So when Stanley gets to the Jump circle, displaying twenty-one jumps left, he's distinctly unimpressed.

“Just trust me,” the Narrator says, with nothing but earnestness.

And so he does. He steps into the circle.

“Jump!”

With a barely-there smile, and a roll of his eyes, Stanley jumps.

And then the game resets.

THEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVERTHEENDISLOADING

Stanley blinks, looking at his computer monitor, then up. Uh... What?

“Stanley,” the voice says slyly, “when have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

“Now. Jump.”

Stanley's eyes widen. He blinks.

And then he jumps.

He jumps again.

And again.

And then Stanley begins to laugh, utterly befuddled and delighted and surprised and joyful, and the Narrator begins to laugh as well, and the wheel spins on, and so do they.

[what-even-is-sleep]

thinking about Bodkin again bc I mean,,, ALL THE SYMBOLISM OHHHHHGH. i NEED some tumblr film analysis hobbyists to watch this show and tell me all the themes n such

[sillygooseun]

guys help i’m thinking about the finale of spn

[undead-moth]

The idea that Sydney deserves “more” than Carmy when Carmy has not intentionally lied to Syd, betrayed Syd, insulted Syd, took advantage of Syd, purposefully belittled, disrespected, ignored or harmed Syd, just really reads to me as, “Anyone who has ever been anything less than the perfect potential partner one hundred percent of the time, even during times of extreme stress and mental instability they can’t help, does not deserve to be in a relationship,” and like sorry but zero people like that exist.

No two people are going to be perfect to each other one hundred percent of the time. Every single person in a relationship is at some point going to be inconsiderate, oblivious, or hurtful. Every single person in a relationship is at some point going to let something unrelated to their relationship get to them, and affect their relationship. Every single one.

The way Carmy behaved this season was unhealthy, and he owes Syd an apology and a sincere effort to make up for it, but he has not done something unforgiveable. He has not even done anything exceptionally outside the almost inevitable mistakes people in relationships sometimes make.

And by the way, part of the problem they’re facing right now is on Sydney and The Bear has several scenes bringing that to our attention. I know the unhealthy behaviors Carmy is exhibiting are easier to hate, but relationships require honest communication. Sydney is not telling Carmy how she feels. She’s not communicating the problem. Even the time Carmy attempted to bring it up himself this season, Sydney avoided it. And while I think Carmy is on some level aware he’s fucking up, I don’t think it’s fair to say he knows exactly what he’s doing or to what degree it’s affecting Syd, especially because I don’t think Carmy even truly understands what he’s doing or the reason he’s doing it, and if Syd doesn’t tell him how it’s affecting her Carmy’s not going to know until it’s too late to handle smoothly.

I’m not saying Sydney is “bad too” and therefore deserving of Carmy or whatever, I’m saying they are both literally human and neither one of them being imperfect means a romantic relationship by default shouldn’t happen. They are never going to be perfect human beings who never fuck up and neither one is undeserving of the other because of this. Come on.

I know in sitcoms people are always perfect to each other and never have real problems and live happily ever after but The Bear is not like that.

These characters are supposed to be like real people. Real people aren’t perfect, even to their partners, even if their partners deserve perfect.

Carmy and Sydney both deserve each other if they want each other and are willing to work for it even when it’s hard and that’s just like. How all relationships between humans work like sorry to break it to you.

[starsundertheceiling]

I’m probably a little late to the party (heh) but there’s something I’ve noticed concerning color theory and Max, and Max in general

When she is introduced to us as MADMAX, her situation with Billy makes her feel lonely and angry. She’s wearing red clothes (with a white stripe!) and her hair is down (letting her rage roam free).

In here, she’s clearly annoyed. She’s just left Billy’s car, Mr. Clarke made her stand before the class and named her Maxine when she just wanted to melt into the background and get over her first day at an unfamiliar school, still not thrilled about having to move from California.

Still, she’s zipped down, since those people didn’t do anything especially hurtful towards her and maybe she’s a little hopeful about them. 

When she’s mad after an interaction with Billy she’s wearing red:

Darker red! She’s at school where she won’t have to deal with Billy for a while. She’s cooling like lava but there’s still one streak of the anger in the back of her head.

When the boys approach her, her zip-up sweatshirt is unzipped to show some of the color underneath. She’s happy! She will not let her guard down completely but she won’t hiss at them immediately! Still, she’s ready for disappointment and snapping right back to being fully red.

Yellow is not a lighter shade of red, but it’s definitely close on the color wheel. Closer to white, too! She is showing she’s not only mad, there also is softness inside her! It’s still a shade connected to red (anger) but yellow by itself is more of a happiness color. She wants to make friends but is still scared because of the new environment and Billy.

In the car with Billy (the scene where he wants to run over the party), the entire scene is shot in a way that’s barely letting us see her clothes. It’s mostly covered by hair, too, but we can see it’s still at least a little unzipped as there’s a bit of the yellow collar visible.

In the scene, she’s defending Hawkins saying, that it’s not that bad and that she can’t see any cows (yellow). She’s scared of Billy, so she’s trying to cover up her sympathy towards Hawkins and towards the boys (with red and her hair, Billy saw her get out of the car with the sweatshirt zipped up and hair down, now she’s covering her softness with what is familiar to Billy, so that he doesn’t see anything has changed, notice that softness and hurt her. That’s exactly what she does when she says she doesn’t know the boys trying to protect them from getting ran over).

Yellow! Fully yellow :) She’s happy to be shown weird pollywog-like creatures with the rest of the Party!

Right after Will gets possessed, her question as to what “true sight” means gets brushed off by all of the boys. She’s hurt and feels excluded, but her hurt makes her angry again. Next time we see her, she’s all red again.

“Party members only! This is non-negotiable.”

“I thought you guys wanted me in your Party!”

At the arcade! She’s already acclimated to Hawkins, and the arcade is her favorite place. 

Alright, I’m getting tired and my third eye is slowly closing, so I’m going to wrap this up quickly, since I think I presented what the gist of the idea is.

In season 3, yellow, patterns, colors! She is now fully a member of the party! She has friends, she knows the secrets, El is back. This is the happiest she’s been.

Clothes are important in both of the girl’s characters! (El changes from murky colors to vivid patterns when she finds herself and there’s a post about El shedding layers of blue in season 4. I’d link it but can’t find it, I’m sorry!) There being a scene like this, with them fooling around with their clothes is basically the peak of happiness :)

Here Max gets really worried because of Billy. She’s feeling a bit guilty ‘cause that’s her step-brother that’s sowing chaos and hurting her friends. El is straining herself. The situation is looking BAD. Blue!

Beginning of season 4

Blue - she’s grieving and feeling guilty, Black coat - she’s hiding herself in a shell. She’s not particularly hiding her grief but she can close off at any moment.

(Btw Lucas is also wearing a blue shirt with some coats. I’d say he is sad because Max dumped him and doesn’t want to tell him things but the coats have a couple of colors because he’s hiding away his nerdiness in order to be cool :) 

Now, the overcoat is blue with yellow elements - Max is being honest about her grief. She’s targeted by Vecna, the Hawkins gang knows she is SAD. It’s her last day, she can unfurl. The sweatshirt is unzipped and showing red and white underneath, the same colors we’ve seen her wear when we first met her. The girl that slammed the door of Billy’s car. The one that was scared of him. That girl is still inside Max. 

Sometimes, she’s wearing this. Grief covered up with brownish-reddish... Red. She’s going back to her previous self, she is talking to Lucas again and he SEES her... But to get that shade of red you go more towards black on the color wheel. She’s not that vivid, fiery red anymore. There are bits of that girl deep inside her, but she’s too tired to make it her entire self. She’s tired. 

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Here we go! Chapter 8 Volume... Huh?

Voulme 2? I thought this is still Volume 1. Am I tripping?

Anyway! Just a moment of appreciation for this parody page of he cover.

This while thing is so "busy" yet it still make sense. There's so many elements layering on top of each other. It should be a confusing mess. However, I can still easily pick out the four components that tells a story.

Component 1: Vash as a happy salary man being served a drink by a geisha (judging from the hairstyle and accessory) with shadowed eyes on the opposite end of the page.

Component 2: BDN at the dead center. The text makes it a bit difficult to confirm if he has a top knot, but he definitely is rocking a traditional Japanese look. He looks menacingly at Vash as he drinks.

Component 3: Meryl and Milly running in a hurry but for two clearly different purposes. Meryl looks like a traditional restaurant staff frantically trying to serve a lot of guests. Meanwhile, Milly doesn't look she's working anywhere near the food service industry with her get up and the tool that she has on hand.

Component 4: The Bad Lads drinking in celebration while an ambulance seems to be sounding its sirens as it parked near them.

Look. I may seem to be too obsessed with this gag page but it's crazy how its a fucking busy mess that still works at telling a cohesive story!

With just this two page drawing, I can infer easily that someone is in danger and may need to be hospitalized - so the ambulance was called and asked to stand by. Milly is probably the heroine about to save the day with the overworked yet eager to help Meryl. The party the Bad Lads are having is a big distraction at a possible murder attempt starring Vash as the victim, the geisha as the accomplice, and BDN as the mastermind.

I'M SORRY BUT HOW THE FUCK?!!!

And don't get me started on the scaling of each figure and the silhouettes. Just... I'll just repeat, Nightow is amazing for how pretty AND technical his drawing is. It's so clean. Wow...

Sorry for getting derailed. So, back to the chapter.

Ok. I lied. Let me just appreciate Winter Mery and Milly here. I love them so much and they so fucking cute here with their dynamic pose... solid silhouette... Clean fucking lines... Sorry... Give me a minute!!!

Sigh~

Interesting. So, '98 rearranged the sequence of events here. This happened a bit later... which I think is better. It adds more impact on Vash's duel against BDN.

These guys are no stormtrooper shooters. They having really good aim!

They didn't hit Vash. Okay. Maybe the tails of his coat now have fresh bullet holes, but aside from that, Vash is fairly intact. The Bad Lads have great accuracy.

This is an intriguing way of drawing a spinning gun. It's simple but effective in visually communicating that that is what BDN is doing. A good choice. Thinking about it... If three twirling guns in a blur of circles were drawn, it would be too distracting and BDN will be overwhelmed in the panel.

Cool foreshortening. Incredible detail on the filigree. And a bonus Goofy Face Vash!

So so fucking glad '98 was faithful to the manga with these scenes. Meryl and Milly were such badasses here.

Huh... Well that's a huge difference. There's not much:

GASP! It'S VaSH tHe STampeDE!

vASh ThE StAMpEdE?!

VASH THE STAMPEDE!!!

It can get a bit much... sometimes in '98. So, this is refreshing.

WHAT...

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?!!!

So, those lines by Miss Purple Avenger from the filler episode were originally from BRILLIANT DYNAMITES NEON?!

I-

Oooohhh.... Pretty art... Wait no... I can't distracted. I'm mad!

I'M VERY VERY MAD!!!

OML! This is much more intense! IT ADDS SO MUCH WEIGHT TO THE DUEL!

Oh my goodness... This nuance... WHY WAS THIS CHANGED?!

Not to say that Miss Purple Avenger and the episode featuring her was bad. It was actually great! Her version of July was nightmare inducing... and her confrontation with Vash was truly tragic too but.... Uhm...uh... AAHHHH!!!! I CAN'T CHOOSE! THEY'RE BOTH GOOD!

Oh... break my heart into fucking pieces will you huh?!

LOOK AT THESE! Manga Vash getting cheered on by the people! People were supporting him! He is being treated nicely as he deserved.

Even in '98! It was not as overt at this page. However, that scene of the captain from the beginning of this chapter replaced these panels instead and is just as effective. '98 Vash has people believing the good in him.

TRISTAMP VASH WAS ROBBED!!! HE NEVER HAD THESE!!! That poor precious boy! The few precious people who supports him only showed up near the end... and... and...

Now getting even more upset again with the Jeonora Episodes in Tristamp!

It's so not fair!

Oooh. A cinematic page!

HOLY SHIT!!! THESE PAGES ARE AMAZING!

I can't believe this. This fight is better in the manga!

I am not dissing Studio Madhouse for what they've done tho. The '98 Duel was epic too! They did great! But all these crazy angles and perspectives in the manga just elevate the overall awesomeness of the gunfight. It's just more immersive.

Tbf to the '98 anime, this is a nightmare to animate faithfully. With the technology and techniques at the time, this would be so difficult to pull off beautifully - going topsy turvy in one smooth motion for two characters at the same time in a fight scene with a complicated moving background? Yeah... The animation staff would go insane. It's totally understandable that they simplified this duel into extreme close ups and strong facial + gun drawings instead.

I hope Studio Orange re-hashes this fight in some way tho... or does the Episode 1 duel count?

Sigh... With the my discovery that Miss Purple Avenger's lines were actually BDN's, and that the outrage towards Vash for not remembering anything about July belongs to the Bad Lads', these words have become so much more meaningful.

It's also now more effective at convincing me that Brilliant Dynamites Neon have hidden depths.

Oh... Ow... The detailing here is just ow for the hands of an artist. Perhaps I overreacting, but those fine lines in the crooks and crannies make me wince.

Once again tag responses:

@revenantghost

Yeah. The more I see his work, the more I'm awed by his skills. That's a cool detail that his design incorporate realism. I thought the glasses are for the light tho? But maybe it's like those the Olympian gunners wore during the competition?

The dead REALLY haunting the narrative? Looking forward to it!

@takeshidude

Ok. Monthly publication are still grueling but at least its not as nightmarish with weekly mangakas. No wonder the quality is consistent with the art. Nightow was allowed to breathe.

You make a good point. '98 did have a bit of a mystery woven into it. We know Vash the Stampede - we follow his misadventures and people kept saying who he is ad nauseam in every episode. However, we don't really know know him for quite a long time. It's a different, but no less interesting, spin to the story.

Which kinda explains I'm misremembering some scenes and characterizations? The last third of '98 made a long lasting impression that I kinda forgot about Vash's horn dogginess.

[pastelaspirations]

So, u h.

H O W. HOW, I ASK. ALL I DO IS POST ART ONCE IN A BLUE MOON AND MAKE REALLY CURSED REBLOGS. LIKE, I'M SO VERY GLAD YOU'RE HERE, BUT I CAN'T UNDERSTAND HOW OR WHY YOU'RE HERE-

I also like. Make really angsty, ungodly long fanfics that I do absolutely nothing to promote on this dumpster fire of a blog, but that's besides the point- ANYWAY. HAVE SOME REALLY SKETCHY DOODLES THAT I DID TO THANK YA MAD LADS ;_;

Thank ya, thank ya, you absolute mad lads. I will uh... continue to do what I do. Thank you for joining the ride, even though it's less of a ride and more that I found an abandoned theme park ride and decided to ride it as a prolonged death wish and you inexplicably strapped yourself in next to me with the moldy seatbelt-

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[sofastuffing]

i have a headache

[pikslasrce]

google search how to get involved in the local art scene when ur a recluse and dont leave the house