#Idk why am I showing it here
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one-cookie-lover · 6 months ago
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Ok... and finally I present to you all my (not very creative and I need to improve and change some details) tfa oc✨️✨️✨️:
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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
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blackbatcass · 5 months ago
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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
#arrowfam#LIKE. PLSSSS#can you imagine them all in one room.#roy: hey ollie can garth come to brunch this week.. he’s in town and i never get to see him and he really wants to try your pancakes#ollie: idk roy we’re already at max capacity..#roy: please dad🥺🥺🥺🥺#ollie: …..fine. someone will have to be uninvited then#mia: why? what’s one more person?#ollie: bc I have Very Strict Rules!!! If I don’t follow the invite limit then the whole town’ll show up every week!#connor what about axing kyle#connor: …dad. I am not disinviting my boyfriend and Only Guest to brunch bc of your arbritrary rules.#ollie: fine that’s fair. um…#mia: what about grant#ollie: for the last time mia we are not banning your nephew from family brunch because he allegedly#ate some of your bacon one time. it was not a big deal and you need to get over it#mia: UMM‼️‼️ it was a big deal TO ME🗣️🗣️and I don’t appreciate you INVALIDATING my emotions like this‼️‼️#ollie: uhhh emiko what about courtney. she comes over like every week will she be fine sitting this one out#emiko: I can’t believe this. how dare you deny my ONLY FRIEND IN THE WORLD an invitation to brunch. it’s like you hate me#ollie: EMI I KNOW YOU PATENTLY HAVE MORE FRIENDS. who have BEEN TO BRUNCH BEFORE.#emiko: YOU CAN’T TAKE COURTNEY FROM MEEEEEE#ollie: FINE ok.#roy: why don’t you just tell hal not to come all the way down here for brunch I mean he’s here every week anyway#ollie: bc it’s hal okay. mind your own business.#roy: fine. but we’re running out of people#connor: I mean………. what about eddie#ollie: ………….. yeah ok I’m sold. that works. meeting adjourned good job team#mia: why are you so worked up about keeping attendance low anyway#ollie: MY KITCHEN TABLE CAN ONLY FIT SO MANY SUPERHEROES MIA
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theslimeologist · 8 months ago
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can we take a moment and ask what happened here? like what did they do to her??
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oh.
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ldpdluvr · 28 days ago
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louis loves lestat, a part of the tragedy was/is that he loved/loves lestat so much and can't STOP loving him, that's why he couldn't fully kill him, why he lets him come back home after the drop, why dreamstat is even a thing during paris and stayed with him for 77 years, even when he tried to let him go he couldn't move on or forget about him because he LOVES him
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readthephible · 13 days ago
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can we talk about this. please
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sprinklethetangerine · 6 months ago
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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!
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the-casbah-way · 1 year ago
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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
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deeism · 6 months ago
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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
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existentialeggdogg · 24 days ago
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@bisexualfish12345 (who has never listened to tma) has created a tma oc called Pierre the Scare, who's whole deal is that he wants to kill Jon.
This will apparently be a Pierre spin-off series which will feature 100 whole episodes of Pierre trying to kill Jon and failing miserably every time.
Pierre is also a desolation avatar and a disgraced member of the Cult of the Lightless Flame.
Go to her inbox to ask more questions about this oc if you wish to know more.
He is not French.
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pleasedontcareaboutme · 1 month ago
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It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry
( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)
(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)
#I just realized I can call him dad easier than my real dad and now I understand why am I so damn attached to him#I always knew he was a parental figure for me#but now I connected the dots#How when u have an absent dad and a d34d mom a guy shows up in ur life#that tells u life advice that both of ur parents failed to do so#and makes u feel safe the first time in ur life#ofc ud become attached#i know for sure its unhealthy how much i love and miss him#he occupies most of my thoughts honestly#But how could i not cling to him so much when he was the only one who gave me hope in life#i try to keep going and even tho he is not here i keep telling myself whatever he taught me. i keep reminding myself he wants us to live an#bloom and be free#and that's what ill try to do#but you know somedays i wish i could just disappear and be wrapped in eternal happiness#its so fucking hard to pull yourself out of the slump man im so fucking tired im so so tired#somedays i wish id have the courage to off myself but i know that deep down i want to live and ive always wanted to live but i have no idea#how to live. i feel like i finally found a purpose and someone i love. but at the same time im always doubting myself and im scared of losi#g this little hope again and i know i should cherish and use it instead but each day i have this anxiety because rn i have nothing else if#lose this i seriously will lose everything atp. but ill still try bc rn its this or death so i should try im just damn tired yes anyways#sorry for being depressing some days just dont work out but thats okay#yes at the same time i want to get out of my head and try to find some friends but i cant deny that im highkey fucked up and i just cant le#go of my past and i still feel like that helpless unloved kid and idk how to form relationships this way. i dont trust myself at all so idk#how to trust others. and i feel like in order to find ppl that would love me i have to overshare abt my whole lifestory bc it still dictate#my life heavily. and since i met this band its better cuz im learning to deal w it and i want to heal from everything but yes at the same t#me who would wqnt to be friends w. someone that has like a year of life experience and 18 years of depression lol#so yes its complicated. bc i have friends but im like the funny friend. the one that is as shallow as puddle and has no problems but honest#y im genuinely sufferint qnd have been sufferinz all my life so i want to come out of my funny friend role. but that wojld mean i have to t#ll the shit i went through to all my friends but tbh it would be so random so ye. i do have a plan though. how it could work. But yes im ti#ed have been tired for 7 years now. But this time around i hope i can successfully get out of this torture cycle lol.#ok sorry this is what happens after puberty guys i could beva research case for a damn mental institute atp xdd
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thebirdandhersong · 1 month ago
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Lol
#theres nothing quite like your mother saying Well maybe you shouldve been more careful because now your boss might think youve been flirting#with this male coworker (whom i like splendidly as a friend) and now maybe she thinks youre not trustworthy#and maybe she regrets hiring you because you said you feel like youre making a lot of mistakes this week and she might assume thats because#your head is filled with this boy.#so dont make her regret hiring you.#MA'AM I TOLD YOU I WAS ALREADY ANXIOUS BECAUSE I MADE SO MANY MISTAKES TODAY WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME ASHAMED#OF SOMETHING THAT I HONESTLY HAD NO CLUE I OUGHT TO BE ANXIOUS ABOUT AT MY FIRST NEW JOB AFTER IVE GRADUATED????#anyway going to bed i cant take this anymore LOL she said it so lightly and im like. well i never even considered#being afraid of making my boss regret hiring me somehow because of some kind of behaviour that i had no idea was sending some kind of signal#anywaysssss 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#and then she was like why are you crying?? 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀#not to be like this is partly why i didnt want to move home but confound it all why are things like this#can i not simply confide in my mother my anxieties and worriws#worries#and not also have to worry about her potentially being like Well have you considered you ARE right and it IS your fault?#idk man something something firstborn child eldest daughter can i have some room to breathe. please#also not to whine but Not my father walking in on me eating dinner at 10pm because i was holed up#in my room in a semi depressive state after so many gong shows in a work day and straight up having no appetite#but deciding my body needs the food anyway its better late than never.....walking in and then saying#you know if you eat this late you'll gain weight. SIR??????????????????#sorry to complain and rant again i simply cannot in this house and whats more am doing my best to honour my parents#but why is it so hard out here and how can they say stuff like that with a smile!!!!!!!#also i DO have an inner critic who is always like Its your fault you are the worst you should be ashamed always........why do my parents#not understand after knowing me for so long and watching me grow up#that i can make myself so ashamed of the smallest thing so easily and that what they say drives me to shame almost as easily?#ANYWAY LOL WHAT A DAY#you guys!!! i am working so hard i promise i PROMISE I am!!! it is my first full time job ever and i am working so so hard#i am doing my absolute best and no one sees it and that is FINE i just wish my parents would see that i AM trying!!#i come back home so dead every single day because i put in 120%! this is literally my first job after graduation#and my parents KNOW this has been the most exhausting taxing and soul crushing year ive had in my very short life so far
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neil-neil-orange-peel · 2 months ago
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I was thinking to myself recently how wild it would be if this fandom was big enough to do a kinktober. Alas...
#me rambling#or like at least one of those week things for a ship or a specific show#maybe that's more attainable#also i say any of this as if i am a known smut writer when i definitely am not 😂#i would like to be i'm just not confident#but there could be gen options too#it's just funny to me because the source material here is so out there it kinda lends itself to kinks right?#i mean there is canonical mpreg in tyo#eddie is sticking a whole sofa up richie's arse in one of the bottom lives#alan b'stard is a canonical sadist in bed#and out of it too#there's other examples i can't think of now#i also just constantly think about fandom events i'm afraid#idk why my brain is like this i just constantly wanna set up creative events but unfortunately for the nichest things 😂#the rik and ade fest is great but only runs once a year#sometimes we do scumbag secret sanata#but those things both depend on collaboration to a certain extent in that one person is creating for another#which is great!#but what i'm proposing here is free reign to just take a vague prompt and make something for it#fic art edits literally whatever#to be posted here or ao3 or instagram or wherever else#because it could be fun and we could all hype each other up#and sometimes creativity needs a nudge#or just the chance to break from a bigger project for something short#i am waffling a lot i'm sure i'm gonna run out of tags soon but let me know if this appeals to you#even by an anon if you're shy!#this is very vague i'm not even sure what the specific event would be centred around#like should it be for a single show or everything#maybe i will open a discussion? probably not but maybe 😂#rik mayall
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what-even-is-sleep · 6 months ago
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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
#yes I’m making all these posts in a row#it’s bc I’m obsessed atm#mypost#Bodkin#bodkin netflix#PLEASSEEEEE#WHY DID THE PAPER MACHE HEAD LOOK LIKE GILBERT#CAN WE HAVE AN IN-DEPTH CONVERSATION ABOUT EVERYTHING ABOUT GILBERT BEING FORCED TO SWALLOW/CHOKE ON HIS WORDS (recorder) BUT THAT SOUND—HIS#STORY (HIS pov. however ‘abstract’ and detatched from consequence it may have been) BEING WHAT CATCHES EMMY AND DOVEs ATTENTION TO SAVE HIM#. LIKE#OUGHHHHHWJEHQIHSJSBWJXNAJSNNQJZNWHXJWHXJEBXNDUSBJS#AND THE WOLF IMAGERY PLS SOMEONE TELL ME ABOUT THAT#IS THERE MORE THAN THE SURFACE? what do I not understand? as im writing this out am thinking: ok its cause dove is a lone wolf#WAITTTT WAIT OMFG AND when she remembers that her mom told her to howl when she was lost… bc wolves actually have family and I’m p sure the#lone wolf thing is a myth… after she realizes that she’s not alone and she can choose to interact#GOD GRAHHHHH IM GOING CRAZY OVER THIS SHOW#other things I’m thinking abt (will maybe make a post abt?)#OUGH YEAH OK dove symbolism: wolf/lone wolf. sunglasses/shielding herself (OUGH AND SHE PICKS UP THAT XTRA LAYER OF DEFENCE WHEN SHE COMES#BACK TO HOMELAND/familiar space… bc she’s vulnerable to her past here…. hrahhh#. also LMFAO when she calls the sheriff a piggy#hrmmmmm aughhh I want to dissect Gilbert and Seamus’s friendship oughhh#ok wait even more on Dove: I want to dig into when she calls Emmy Emmy vs Sizargd (will have to look up the spelling whoops) —was it always#blatant manipulation? how much of it is a reflection of what she is? hrmmmm there’s so much there I think#another Q: why did Emmy call the tech guy Shitpants again at the end? ik there were the stakes I just wanna dig into her character more. why#would she say the shitpants thing instead of manipulating him in other ways? (not saying her was was unreasonable at all lol-j wanna dig#into her character.#OH prob something abt the whole ‘her needing to release her anger’ thing? idk ahh I want to analyze her more
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queenburd · 1 year ago
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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.
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sillygooseun · 5 months ago
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guys help i’m thinking about the finale of spn
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undead-moth · 4 months ago
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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.
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