#stopped making decisions. i became lazy. and i came up with- well- i came up with a character named stanley to do the thinking for me. he | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

queenburd · 6 months

Text

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.

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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.”

The buttons glow softly. He presses them mindlessly.

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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.”

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.

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.

#the stanley parable #tspud #may writes #the sparrow parable #tsp #idk why i am bothering to tag when the embedded links mean it wont show in the tag but #here we are.

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fandomtherapy44 · 22 days

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Dean x reader Can I get a double shot of Espresso and your number? Coffee shop AU

Summary: A one shot of a coffee shop with Dean :)

Song Inspo : Espresso by Sabrina Carpenter

Paring: Dean Winchester x reader

Word count: 1,385

Warnings: Language, Robbery with a Gun, a bit of French kissing

Divider by

Firefly Graphics

AN/ Hey yawl sorry for not posting for a while hit writer's block so hopefully this will get back into the swing of things. Also been obsessed with espresso so yeah I mean you have to write a coffee shop story right.

I can't relate to desperation

My give-a-fucks are on vacation

And I got this one boy and he won't stop calling

When they act this way, I know I got 'em

I hummed while whipping down the counter and suddenly a pair of fingers rudely snapped in front of me. “Hey sweetie instead of the shitty concert why don’t you get me a fucking double shot.” I put my rag down and breathed in deeply. I need this job. I need this job. I need this job. “Sir we just opened if you could just give me a few minutes-” “I don’t fucking care that your lazy I need my damn coffee.” He argued like a child. “Sir please-” “You know what bitch I don’t need this fucking attitude I'm going to have this whole shitty place shut down in a week!” With that, he flipped over some napkins and stir sticks and slammed the door behind him.

I sighed and went over to clean the third mess made by an adult this week. A lot of them barely had any patience waiting for freaking ice water. As I was cleaning a pair of muddy boots stepped in front of me.

“Need any help?” I looked up and saw the handsomest man I had ever seen. Green forest eyes, Sunkissed freckled skin, a smile that could make your darkest day seem bright. I forgot what I was asked for a minute.

“Uhh no no I'm good but thanks, it’s my job anyway.” “Yeah but that guy went out of his way to make it harder, what an asshole.” “Yeah well, they haven’t had their scheduled nap for the day.” We both chuckled at my joke and then came an almost comfortable silence that I broke. “So what can I get you?” “Just two blacks please.” “You just became my favorite person for the day.” I said half joking while making the coffee. “Really then maybe I'll come in every day.” And he did.

Seeing Dean had become a daily experience that I had his coffee ready for him before he would even walk in. We would make small talk eventually learning small parts about each other's lives. Like with a co-worker but then we started to become more. “So Y/n I was wondering when you got your breaks.” I almost split the very hot coffee I was holding. “Why?” “I wanted to get to know you more.” It was a decision did I want this to just stay at a co-worker level or to grow into making something more. I gave him a wide smile. “Okay, so their…”

That morning coffee, brewed it for ya (Yes)

One touch and I brand-newed it for ya

Before I knew it Dean had become one of my best friends. It also helped that he was amazing to look at. “So my dad had left and me and my little brother had climbed on top of the shed thinking we were freaking Superman and Batman. And well let’s just say that we weren't made out of steel so I had to put Sammy on the handlebars of my plastic bike and ride him to the ER.” He finished by laughing so hard he slammed his hand on the table spilling our coffee.

“It sounds like you and your brother have a lot of those stories.” “Yeah, we do.” He smiled thinking in his head. He looks like he was going ask me something but at that time a guy walked in. “Oh hold that thought I'll be right back.” “So what can I get you?” “All of your money.” He raised his gun to me. “Okay yes, right way.” I opened the cash register. There was no way in Hell I was going to risk my life for six bucks an hour. I didn’t see but Dean had sneaked his way behind him. He whistled at the robber and he turned his head in confusion and before he knew it his lights were out.”Omg, how did you do that!?” He looked like cogs were turning his head. “Uhh, lots of Bruce Lee movies.”

I'm working late 'cause I'm a singer

Oh, he looks so cute wrapped 'round my finger

My twisted humor make him laugh so often

My honeybee, come and get this pollen

I had only stayed away for two weeks I would like to stay away longer but my boss needed me open. Why not another employee well because he was getting annoyed training new people you know his job fucking asshole. I stumbled my way to the shop it was about thirty minutes before opening. Then just my luck it started to snow which meant a line of customers wanting a warm drink to start the day and I was the only one for four hours. No wonder I only get paid six dollars an hour. But one good thing was waiting for me. “Ahh, you waiting for another robber Batman?” “Ha no just making sure the girl is okay.” That made me smile.

“Well, Bruce today’s coffee is on the house.” I opened the shop and we both scurried in away from the cold. “No no I couldn't plus wouldn't your boss be pissed.” “Well, he made come back after being robbed so he can fire me for all I care so you're usual?” “Ha, actually I'll get something different.” “Really well I'll be happy to do that.” He gave me his smirk and put on a little show looking up at the menu. “Can I get a double shot of espresso and your number?” I looked up from the machine. “Winchester you asking me out?” “Well, I guess I am.” “Well then I guess here it is.” I gave him his double shot with my number on the cup. “Pick you up at eight?” “Try seven.” “Yes mam”

Now he's thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh

Is it that sweet? I guess so

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know

That's that me espresso

Move it up, down, left, right, oh

Switch it up like Nintendo

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know

That's that me espresso (Yes)

Thinkin' 'bout me every night, oh

Is it that sweet? I guess so (Yes)

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know

That's that me espresso (Yes)

Move it up, down, left, right, oh (Move it up, down, left, right, oh)

Switch it up like Nintendo (Yes)

Say you can't sleep, baby, I know

That's that me espresso

I don’t think I've been this nervous for a date in a while the last few I accepted that we were both just filling time. But with Dean, I was making time to be with him. I fluffed my outfit one more time sprayed on my favorite scent and opened the door. I looked him up and down and he looked more nervous than I did. “Wow, you look… beautiful.” I blushed because it felt like a real complaint and not a tactic to get into my pants. “Well, you don’t look too bad yourself.” “Thanks uh these are for you.” He handed me my favorite flowers. “Thank you these are lovely.” I put them in water and we left.

It was nearly the end of the date and we had someway made our way back to the coffee shop. “Ironic no?” I nodded to the shop. “Actually I wanted to lead us here.” “Oh” “Look Y/n I really like you and I was wondering if you would to go on another date.” I walked over to him and put my arms around his neck. “Mhh how about two dates and a kiss.” “I think I could arrange that.” He put his hands on my waist and slowly brought me into the kiss. It went further when I felt his tongue prod and I gladly accepted. We eventually had to come apart for air. He licked his lips tasting something. “Is that coffee lipstick?” “Espresso” I whispered and we went back in.

Is it that sweet? I guess so

Mm, that's that me espresso

Would you guys want a part two maybe with some Smut??

#dean winchester #supernatural #team free will #sam winchester #espresso sabrina carpenter #espresso #dean winchester x reader #Spotify

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stanleyparableaudio · 2 years

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Transcript:

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 sceptical! 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.

#people say ''ohhh but he didn't REALLY do it'' because they kept playing. that was you!!! YOU have to let him go #voice #request audio #the stanley parable: ultra deluxe

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give-soup-please · 2 years

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Recontextualizing the apartment ending with the figley ending (theory, long post)

I just had a brainwave. So, I always hated the apartment ending because it felt like such an unkind callout to the player about wasting time playing video games and using escapism while the real world waits for us outside. But what if we've been misinterpreting this ending? What if this ending isn't about us, and isn't about Stanley, it's been about the narrator the whole time?

Choice dialogue relevant to what I'm going to talk about is below:

"So, he went further. He imagined that he came to two open doors and that he could go through either. At last! Choice!

As he wandered through this fantasy world, he began to fill it with many possible paths and destinations.

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.

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 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!"

Like I said, this feels like a horrible call out towards us players for doing what we do best- playing. But what if... this isn't about us, or Stanley? What if it's about the narrator?

Because at the end of the figurine ending, the narrator talks about why he created Stanley. He talks about wanting someone to make choices for him. Choice dialogue for that is below as well:

"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 sceptical! 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."

He's not calling us out for using escapism, and he's not calling Stanley out for being part of his game. He's calling himself out for being unable to stop using a proxy for making his own decisions.

The apartment ending has nothing to do with us at all. There's some part of the narrator's mind that knows what he's doing is unhealthy. The rational, skeptical, intelligent part of him knows that this is wrong, that he shouldn't be caught in this loop. He's upset at himself for being unable to stop doing what he's doing. And if people take a look at escapism behavior and cycles of addiction, there's some additional tragedy to the ending.

"You see? Can he just not hear me? How can I tell him in a way that he'll understand, that every second he remains here, he's electing to kill himself?

How can I get him to see what I see? How can I make him look at himself?

I suppose I can't, not in the way I want him to.

Perhaps... well, maybe this time he'll see. Maybe this time.

And I tried again. And Stanley pushed a button. And I tried again. And Stanley pushed a button. And I tri-"

Holy hell. He's genuinely angry at himself for this behavior. Unable to leave the parable, unable to break free, unable to stop using Stanley as a crutch. He's not talking about Stanley, Stanley's the fiction. He's been talking about himself the whole time.

I can't help but feel that the figley ending recontextualizes some of the other endings, especially this one.

What do you think?

#tsp #the stanley parable #narrator #theory #does this post make sense? i sure hope it does!#brainrot hits different when youre in the shower i guess

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learningtosmelltheroses · 2 months

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6 years is amazing, I've been trying but I'm picky and lazy to cook different vegie options that's not just pasta, chips and pizza so I always fail and end up eating meat options, it's better than not just eating 😅, I feel like Z has also said that about being a vegetarian that doesn't eat veggies, but at least Z is in a tax bracket where she can afford take out 7 days a week. I think next time I attempt being vegetarian I have to do research and collect recipes, probably also meal prep ahead so I don't feel lazy after work, but wow 6 years is goals well done to you.

This is gonna be a long answer because I LOVE to talk about this topic (so if you want to talk about it in my dms we totally can!!!)

So here's my story to become a veggie!

I graduated as an IT Developer alongside my high school degree (idk if that's common in other countries, but here we have that a lot) and as my final project I had to develop an Android App and I did one to help people become vegetarians!!

So I had to do a scientific research to prove that my app was good so I did a lot of research about nutrition and what vegetarians lack the most after changing their diet. And reading all about the better health, the environment and most importantly the animals... how could I still eat meat? This project was during a whole year so I was understanding things while I wrote my research and then one day my mom was cooking, and she was seasoning a piece of meat and I was looking at that for 5minutes realizing that that was a dead animal (crazy how we normalize this in a point most people forget) and I was so disgusted I never ate meat again.

But I started slow, I kept eating chicken for 7 months after stopping every other type of meat. And then I stopped that too. And that's how I became a vegetarian.

And I never felt the need to meat eat again.

I wasn't a fan of veggies too, so I had to adapt. It is a big change in your life and I gained so much weight after I started because there were so few vegetarian options in restaurants and usually were pasta or other carbs 😂

So I started to look at recipes that were more healthy, started going to a nutritionist so she could help me plan my diet and how I could learn to like vegetables. At first I would roast a lot of veggies and then smash them together and make like a smashed potato but with a lot of veggies (carrots, zucchini, onions, potatoes, broccoli...) 😂😂 ps: I also don't like cooking and I am too lazy to do it everyday.

And I don't make my friends or my fiancé to not eat meat because I think that's a very personal decision.

My best friend tried being a vegetarian and it lasted a whole year and she felt so guilty because she missed eating meat. So when she came to talk to me I told her it was ok but the way she could "help" was eating less, or not eating everyday.

So take your time. Start cutting meat everyday. Look up for vegetarian options that look delicious to you and with time, you will be able to change that completely. But a very important point in the process of doing this: do your health check ups because not eating meat influences in how your body absorbs nutrients and vitamins and you most likely will be with a deficiency of vitamin D and B12 😔

It's being 8 years for me now and I don't regret one bit! 💚

Sorry for the long answer (but I did warn you)

#vegetarian #becoming vegetarian #veg #veggies

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technovillain · 2 years

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Some of us don't say: "I'm sorry, it's just not working out between us. Some of us say: "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 sceptical. 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 did make for a wonderful companion. Even if he was a fiction. But 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 stanley parable #love how the creators said the narrator was if divorce was a person #hilarious #also this speech is the best part of the new game i'm obsessed w this cutscene #it was so hard to go back and find too i forgot where it happened #...#tsp #.txt

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n3x0tic · 2 years

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The Flash: Being Cisco’s sibling and having a complicated relationship with Barry Allen.

This is follow up part of what’s it like dating Barry Allen, since I feel like it’s too long and mostly focuses on your relationship with Cisco.

You were a big fan of the Flash since he was known as the streak.

Most importantly, you were Y/n Ramon, also known as Cisco’s sibling. Also, to much like him, you were a meta human whom received your powers at the first particle accelerator explosion, alongside Barry Allen after visiting your brother.

Due to the nature of your brother’s work, you knew Barry was a meta human, and that his powers required study at the time due to the shift in his metabolism and such.

Your relationship was strained since Cisco seemed to dismiss the fact that like his newly bff, you were also a meta human with power’s that seemed to change your physiology. This was also why you began to resent Barry.

The most noticeable change was in the way your body reacted when you heard loud sounds and some frequencies. It made your body shiver uncontrollably, with chills and sparks traveling around you, it made you in a way want to become undone, or so you felt. Also, it was the fact that under stressful, and anxious situations some parts of your body tended to melt into unformed mass, it was all due to the fact that you were a shifter, both in changing shapes, extending your body, and changing forms to that of another person.

One day your mother and older brother Dante tricked you into meeting your brother, saying that he was having problems and stooped communicating with them. You sighed in defeat quickly, knowing that it was the more appropriate turn of events in case if anything happened, you were to have an advantage due to you meta powers.

To your surprise, and much to your brother, everything was fine, if anything you were freaking out at the sight of the Flash in S.T.A.R. labs, completely ignoring the fact that either Caitlyn, Harrison Wells, Joe and Iris were there. Although you weren’t acquainted with the last two.

After Cisco asking what we’re you doing there, you told them of what your mom and brother told you, coming to the obvious realization that you were tricked into going to him, in hopes of fixing your relationship.

You decided to leave after knowing you wasted your time for nothing and the excitement of being near the Flash causing the the lower part of your face to melt, but he stopped you im your tracks, in an awkward way, knowing completely that he’s been neglecting you for almost a year after the incident. Not even talking through the phone or even a text.

Trying not to show your brother what was happening turned into Flash noticing this particularity of yours, coming to you after apologizing to interrupting the conversation asking if you were okay.

Cisco noticed, and he asked what happened, you gave a lazy but to the point answer of why that happened, stating that Flash seemed to care more about your well-being than your actual blood related brother would. The latter let an "ouch" with a noticeable hurt expression.

After that, Flash encouraged you to talk things out, to which you did since it came mostly from him. Cisco took you to Jitters, paying for everything, noticing that you also were a big eater, and quickly regretting his decision.

You laid out the fact that you felt abandoned and neglected by him after the particle accelerator explosion, and when you meta human powers surfaced. How you hated the fact that he gave his attention to Barry who was not even his friend at the time, and how you despised Allen for it too.

He was taken a back, surprised mostly at the fact that his sibling who was not a person that harbored any negative emotions to anyone, was capable of expressing with great detail what he felt, how and why. He apologized, explaining how he became absorbed with his work after almost coming close to loosing his job after the explosion, that was his only hope at the moment.

You understood, and forgave him, with the condition to make up for lost time, meanwhile he made it thing better with and more importantly for you.

You stayed with Cisco for a few months, you became fairly close with the team, except with one who seemed to try his hardest to be on your good side. It was nine other than Barry, which you didn’t understood what he had to offer with the team, but you thought it had to do something with his actual job, and didn’t question much due to the fact that you weren’t in the lab when the Flash was out and about saving people.

After talking things with Cisco, you came to terms with the fact that you weren’t capable of liking Barry, not at the moment or the foreseeable future.

Everything changed when they revealed Flash’s true identity as Barry Allen, the emotions it stir up made most of you body to completely melt. After a few breaths , you gathered yourself both emotionally and physically, while you took a minute to process.

To say that the news weren’t a shock to you was a complete lie, but the more you thought about it you saw the similarities and you cursed your limited brain for not piecing things together.

Your thoughts shifted to the opposite direction you wanted, since you wanted to hate Barry, but you couldn’t, not after knowing that the cause of what made you and your brother’s relationship to become so distant. Was to forge a hero who’d had saved countless lives. And so you ultimately apologized to both Barry and Cisco for your behavior for the last year, but they told you that they were sorry that they had to kept that secret from you, and that it harmed you in the way it did.

Although you were on good terms with Barry you still didn’t talk to him like you did to the team, and after everything, a part of you decided not to get close to him, but alas, fate had other plans.

While trying to fight a villain, and rescue citizens at the same time. He requested your help since you had a certain degree of control with your powers. You were hesitant but accepted after words of encouragement from everyone.

Even if you were inexperienced saving people, you did well for a beginner while Flash fought. Using you shifting habilities to stretch and take out civilians from possible dangers, but while you did that, the villain took out a noise bomb that made everyone fall into their knees, but to you, it made you fall to the ground as you experienced an intense chills and sparks in your body while the loud ringing made you forget of the outside world and also making you body molt.

Flash quickly adjusted himself, putting some noise canceling and wrapped his fight once and for all. Quickly taking you to S.T.A.R. labs for a check up.

Caitlyn took you biometrics, and signaled that you were fine, even if you were unconscious at the moment.

When you wake up, instead of seeing a worried brother, you saw an awful look of guilt in Barry´s eyes.

When he saw you awake and grunting, he bombarde you with questions regarding your well-being, and you assure him you were okay now.

He expressed how he felt so guilty of your current conditions, regretting exposing you to danger when you weren’t prepared and how things could’ve escalated for worse.

You stood up, placing your hands on each side of his face, gathering his full attention while you reassured him once and again hoe everything was fine thanks to him.

He came to terms with things, and after noticing finally the position you were in you both jerk away awkwardly as Cisco soon walked in. Questioning the reason why both of you were being weird.

That was what opened pandora’s box, since then, you two had been getting close, but not in a friend way, and the way you interacted weirded Cisco out so much.

#barry allen #x male reader #x reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #the flash #cisco ramon #gay #lgbtq #the flash x reader #headcanon #flash x reader

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blue-sunflower-bee · 1 year

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Life outside the parable

Like I mentioned in previous posts, the figurines ending made me think of another theory. This is gonna be a long post I guess so the whole thing will be under the cut

While some fans made Normalverse AUs where Stanley and The Narrator were normal humans that lived outside the parable, or escaped the parable together and then lived a normal life, I had a different thing in mind.

What if Stanley and Narrator indeed were normal human beings:

Stanley a normal office worker that loved to work in his own garden and Narrator being an author whose special hobby was programming little things like websites/apps etc? And he was so passionate about it, even dreamed to develop a whole game one day... But he was skeptical. Was he good enough? Should he really risk it? What if the critics would all be negative? Luckily, Stanley was there to encourage him and practically make the decisions for him.

"I was passionate, I was skeptical. I weighed each devision with profound thoughtfulness. And then somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions. I became lazy. And I came up with- well... A character named Stanley to do my thinking for me."

What if they lived a perfectly normal life together, you may choose if they lived as romantic partners, roommates or best friends...

But what if one day Stanley grew ill and died, left the Narrator behind, who felt like he was drowning in loneliness and grief?

"Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely? Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship."

But he still had his project, sth Stanley had encouraged him to actually implement. And so he did. He put a lot of effort into it, a lot of his time to distract himself from his grief and pain..and then the thought came to him... Why not honor Stanley and his impact and make him a character in the game?

A little NPC which he could built after the real Stanley...but the more time he spend to create the model of his Stanley, the more he thought...

Why not make his Stanley the protagonist? Who needed Mariella, Employee 432 or the Curator?

His Stanley deserved to be the main character in his game, without him it wouldn't even exist...

And suddenly, this wasn't a game about a woman called Mariella anymore, it become the story of a man named Stanley, it wasn't a game for the public anymore, it became his own private game.

His chance to spend have some more time with his Stanley...

And he loved his protagonist, he really did, even tho he let him go through hell in some endings...but wasn't that only fair after Stanley had been so cruel, enough to leave him alone so early?

"And Stanley really did make for a wonderful companion. Even if he was a fiction."

He was able to lie to himself for the longest time. That this companion was enough. That Stanley was still there... Didn't even visit his grave, cause to him, it didn't exist.

He lived in that stage of denial for a long time, until the wall of lies got more and more cracks.

It wasn't the same. It missed the warmth, the intimacy of a real companion. It wasn't enough.

And he knew the dependency on his protagonist wasn't healthy. But it was his way of dealing with Stanley's death until he was ready to properly say goodbye.

"But I suppose it's grown old now. 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."

And so he did. After he let Stanley have one last run in the office, he deleted the game... And instead of trying to deal with his grief with fictional protagonists...he started writing about it. About his feelings. And he visited Stanley's grave, put some of his favorite flowers there...and talked to him... Even tho he knew no one was there to answer...

Some more fun facts about this AU:

In this AU, Stanley had a dog he had called Bucket. Narrator had challenged him to give him a ridiculous name, and well... The dog was a gift from Narrator cause Stanley was struggling with panic attacks and he thought the dog may have a calming effect. And it did

They have a little garden with a lemon tree and Stanley almost planted all the flowers himself. He jokingly called it the memory zone cause the Narrator used to sit there and flip through old photo albums or book scripts, usually becoming quite sentimental.

The Narrator's real name is Nathan, but during the time he was developing the Stanley Parable, he got so used to referring to himself as The Narrator that he had almost forgotten it or barely uses it.

I hope you don't hate me because 9f the angst lol

#Tsp #Tspud #The Stanley Parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #Story idea #Tsp narrator #tsp stanley #Grief #Freedom Ending #Figurine ending

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the-melting-world · 2 years

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Positive Tension 🍋

@the-midsummer-masquerade | Thank you for hosting and managing this event 💕

You can read all of the fics to Don't Stop Til You Get Enough | Midsummer Masquerade here

Day 3 prompts: bondage, outdoors

Khleo x Cadenza

Cadenza belongs to @arcanecadenza

Khleo is non-binary and uses she/they pronouns interchangeably.

Music: “Positive Tension” by Bloc Party

~ 820 words

Khlee von Heine was in the middle of dragging an unconscious masquerader out of a garden fountain when she spotted a tall, dark-haired magician pacing one of the stone-paved intersections.

The barhand had met this magician – Cadenza – many times in fact. It was nice to see her outside of a tavern hall, and in something that revealed much more than she typically would whenever she stopped by for a drink.

Khleo made sure the party guest was somewhere they could safely rest before making their way over to the stone path. She briefly adjusted her champagne stockings before interrupting the magician to ask if she needed any help.

Something of importance had been lost. A bundle of silk that she had left on a stone bench by accident.

“I only stepped away for a moment,” Cadenza snapped at no one in particular. “Didn’t think it would get stolen.”

“Pirates probably. They show up at these events sometimes.” Khleo crossed their arms and scanned the area one last time. “Look, we can’t replace the silk, but I got some rope that you can borrow.”

The tension in Cadenza’s brow ebbed by a few degrees. She folded her hands behind her back and finally gave the barhand some thoughtful eye contact.

“Can I see it? I need to be sure that it’ll be a reliable replacement.”

Khleo told her that of course she could and to follow them.

The rope was located close to the outdoor bar where Khleo was stationed for the night. She and Cadenza were partly shielded by a stack of wine barrels and some hedges. Beyond was a blanket of green, illuminated by a lazy swarm of fireflies.

When Khleo showed Cadenza the rope, they weren’t surprised by the magician’s need to investigate and test its hold. Khleo suggested that they tie Cadenza’s wrists so she could make a well-informed decision.

“Well?”

Cadenza scrutinized the bindings while Khleo absently dragged their thumbs over the parts where the magician’s skin met rope.

After a while of no response, Khleo offered, “Do you want another demonstration?” They tugged until they had Cadenza’s mouth hot against their own. “Behind your back this time?”

Cadenza took her time thinking it over while she kissed the barhand.

“Yes, I would.”

Khleo was efficient. Their chest became a steady wall of support while Cadenza assumed this new position with her back to the barhand.

“Get on your knees for me?” Khleo asked, their voice thinning out into a calm rasp. They secured the knot before letting their hands wander under Cadenza’s sheer robe, up her ribcage, finding stiff tacks of flesh among all that was soft.

Cadenza bit back a moan, seesawing her shoulders until her robe could no longer hold on. She shivered under Khleo shallow bites, closing her eyes against the restless movement behind her as the barhand’s suspenders dropped off and the buttons of their shirt came undone.

Then Khleo reminded Cadenza of the rope.

“Don’t forget to struggle a little.”

They encouraged her, twisting her nipples just so.

Cadenza swore and bucked against the rope. She found it both delightful and frustrating that it was quite tight.

“Ah. Not too much now, Denz.”

Khleo cupped the magician’s jaw to hold her head steady for the next round. They dipped their hand past Cadenza’s waist and worked those practiced fingers of theirs, enough to stoke a small fire in the pit of her stomach.

“You have me right where you want me, don’t you?” The magician said through her teeth.

The barhand gave an innocent shrug before flexing her warmth around Cadenza and breathing calmly against her neck. “Your words, Denz. Not mine.”

The closeness of their breath was enough to make Cadenza squirm harder against her bonds.

“That’s right.” Khleo made a satisfied sound. “See? Not going anywhere.” Then she cleared her throat and gently nudged the crease of Cadenza’s ass. “Spread your legs a bit for me. Please.”

Cadenza steadied her chin and closed her eyes as she concentrated on dropping her hips and spreading her legs some more until her snatch was hovering just above the grass. Khleo’s fingers came back into play shortly after.

“Good to know that this rope is reliable, huh?”

Cadenza turned her head, catching Khleo’s smirking mouth in a not-so-gentle kiss.

“Yes. It is.” she agreed, her voice steady and reflective despite the fact that her hands were tied and her pussy was swollen up to Khleo’s knuckles.

The barhand worked their magic above and below Cadenza’s waist, occasionally applying warm pressure to her neck. There were sounds of glasses clinking and idle chatter from the outdoor bar, but all Cadenza could really focus on was the unhurried smacking of Khleo’s lips against her slightly damp skin. That and Khleo’s soft rasps and even subtler purrs.

Cadenza’s gaze grew heavy, but she held on, watching the lightning bugs flicker and drift past herself and Khleo into the balmy summer twilight.

#midsummer masquerade #vesuviaafterdark #the arcana #khleo the barhand #apprentice cadenza #khledenza #lemon #coco's writing

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olivieraa · 21 days

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its gotten to the point where this word is basically slang since everyone uses it, but it reminds me of ocd as well since everyone uses ocd to describe being quirky or neat or somewhat clean, but "hyperfocused" is a word that's so attached to my being, that it irks me beyond belief when I see people describe their hyperfixation or whatever on something fucking stupid in which they really could just use the word "focused"

hyperfixation is absolutely integral to my ocd. its one of the main things I cant control.

the best way I can put it is someone being lazy and so they decide to procrastinate, do literally anything other than what they're supposed to be doing. and they just cant bring themselves to do the thing. they continuously nope out of it even when they sit their asses down to do the thing and then they're like "ah I need to go to the store for toothpaste!"

I have a fear of hyperfocusing on something bc then that's it. I'm glued to that till I'm finished/its over/its done, whatever it may be. could take days, or weeks, or months.

it has screwed me up in school, in jobs, in college, even just being online.

I used to love watching AMV's when I first entered the internet. just casually watching them. until my brain realised I shouldn't just casually watch them. they should be organised and categorised. and then 3 categories became 8, and then 14, and then I had 20 playlists of AMV's based on things I cant even remember until I one day had to stop watching AMV's altogether bc I turned it into a chore. and I knew then at that point they couldn't be enjoy anymore. I couldnt just put one on for fun. I knew I'd categorise it, and want to go onto the next one, and do it to that too. so I stopped altogether and never went back. this simple fun quick thing I cut off completely.

on tumblr, I casually reblogged everything and anything on this site when If irst came on here until I realised what tumblr actually was and had to start tagging things so that they were organised on my blog. but oh no. I didn't just tag the character, the anime, and the whatever else. it got to the point where a reblogged picture of just Joey had about 18 tags. to make matters worse, I wanted my tags alphabetical, and it was during the time you couldn't rearrange the order of tags. so if I realised I was missing a tag that started with the letter c, I had to delete all the previous tags to put that c word in and then retag again. post after post after post. I got to page 100 on my blog before I panicked that I may have missed something and started again. ...and then I started again. and again. so I stopped tagging. bc I stopped going to school bc I was tagging my blog. that's all I did for days. I didn't do anything else. I was completely focused on the organisation of my blog. and so I had to stop myself from ever tagging again. my '#niece watches' tag doesnt count bc they're there mainly for blocking purposes lmao

another online example, it happened at christmas when I decided to watch attack on titan. I'd made the decision to start again from the beginning (despite having seen season one 4 times) bc my plan was to put on something I could casually watch and pause and do work and then take breaks and go back to watching and it'd be so easy.

nope. I binged 100 eps in 5 days. I went to bed at 5-6am. I couldn't stop. and I'm not even kidding, the best way I can describe it is, lets say you've the most important test of your life in 1 week. and you need to study. and you ASSUME that during your lil break times you can casually watch attack on titan, SPECIFICALLY for chosen break times, maybe once and hour, but studying is priority bc the exam is in ONE WEEK and you haven't started studying. so maybe you'll get through like, idk, maybe 7 eps a day?

episode fucking ONE hooked me in. an ep I've seen so many times. HOOKED me in. like I hadn't seen it before. I was absolutely glued to it. ep 1 ends and I'm like "oh wait I should study............ but like, its fine. I'll do one more ep and then do EXTRA study."

another ep, another ep, another ep. I got to ep 6 and was about to click 7 and was like

to my goddamn brain.

I momentarily won. I managed to do about 20 mins of study, then watched ep 7-14 in a row. still on day one. I opened a book for a total of 20 mins. so I promise myself, bc this test is so important and high priority, that I'll properly start tomorrow.

it never happened. I did nothing other than watch that show and do basic necessities. for 5 days. I had no control over this decision. its like there's another me who always wins. always wins. and she's evil. I had to finish the show before I could move on. it had to be complete.

I dont know how to get out of these moments. I remember when I went to my second ever job I told them about how it screwed me over a little in my first retail job (stocking shelves, oh but didn't those shelves need to be perfect. even if I was supposed to have been on aisle 4 or 5 by the time the managers came back to check in on me, no no I was still on aisle one perfecting aisle one. and nobody was going to ruin it for me, boss or not.)

and they told me it seemed like a good thing in the second job! but I was like "no I cant let it happen here, I cant. it gets bad."

and it happened. they put me in charge of a task and I found it hard to do anything other than perfect that task to the point that I was focusing on doing that same thing every day to keep it perfect, even when I was told to do something else.

so... yeah. they overuse of hyperfixation and hyperfocusing when people just mean "I was focused on this thing" drives me insane

crazy person rant over

#that's why I learned my lesson and watched banana fish #jujutsu kaisen and durarara during time off lmao #I didn't think attack on titan would do it bc I didnt care for the show that much originally #but I damn well knew I couldn't risk it with drrr #and banana fish and jjk were new to me so didn't wanna risk them either

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sivavakkiyar · 2 years

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youtube

When Did I Stop Wanting To Be President?, answered by William S Burroughs:

“Both in this life or any previous incarnations I have been able to check out, I never wanted to be President. This innate decision was confirmed when I became literate and saw the President pawing babies and spouting bullshit. I attended Los Alamos Ranch School, where they later made the atom bomb, and bombs bursting in air over Hiroshima gave proof through the night that our flag was already there. Then came the Teapot Dome scandal under President Harding, and I remember the unspeakable Gaston Means, infamous private eye and go-between in that miasma of graft, walking into a hotel room full of bourbon-drinking, cigar-smoking lobbyists and fixers, with a laundry hamper.

“Fill it up boys, and we talk business.”

I do not mean to imply that my youthful. Idealism was repelled by this spectacle. I had by then learned to take a broad general view of things. My political ambitions were simply of a humbler and less conspicuous caliber. I hoped at one time to become commissioner of sewers for St. Louis County—$300 a month, with the possibility of getting one’s shitty paws deep into a slush fund—and to this end I attended a softball game where such sinecures were assigned to the deserving and the fortunate. Everybody I met said, “Now I’m old So-and-so, running for such and such, and anything you do for me I’ll appreciate.” My boyish dreams fanned by this heady atmosphere and three mint juleps, I saw myself already in possession of the coveted post, which called for a token appearance twice a week to sign a few letters at the Old Court House; while I’m there might as well put it on the sheriff for some marijuana he has confiscated, and he’d better play ball or I will route a sewer through his front yard. And then across the street to the Court House Café for a coffee with some other lazy bastards in the same line of business, and we wallow in corruption like contented alligators.

I never wanted to be a front man like Harding or Nixon—taking the rap, shaking hands, and making speeches all day, family reunions once a year. Who in his right mind would want a job like that? As commissioner of sewers I would not be called upon to pet babies, make speeches, shake hands, have lunch with the queen; in fact, the fewer voters who knew of my existence, the better. Let kings and Presidents keep the limelight. I prefer a whiff of coal gas as the sewers rupture for miles around—I have made a deal on the piping which has bought me a $30,000 home, and there is talk in the press of sex cults and orgies carried out in the stink of what made them possible. Fluttering from the roof of my ranch-style house, over my mint and marijuana, Old Glory floats lazily in the tainted breeze.

But there were sullen mutters of revolt from the peasantry: “Is this the American way of life?” I thought so, and I didn’t want it changed, sitting there in my garden, smoking the sheriff’s reefers, coal gas on the wind sweet in my nostrils as the smell of oil to an oil man or the smell of bullshit to a cattle baron. I sure did a sweet thing with those pipes, and I’m covered, too. What I got on the Governor wouldn’t look good on the front page, would it, now? And I have my special police to deal with vandalism and sabotage, all of them handsome youths, languid and vicious as reptiles, described in the press as no more than minions, lackeys, and bodyguards to His Majesty the Sultan of Sewers.

The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. Then I met the gubernatorial candidate, and he looked at me as if trying to focus my image through a telescope and said, “Anything I do for you I’ll depreciate.” And I felt the dream slipping away from me, receding into the past, dim, jerky, far away—the discrete gold letters on a glass door: William S. Burroughs, Commissioner of Sanitation. Somehow I had not intersected. I was not one of them. Perhaps I was simply the wrong shape. Some of my classmates, plump, cynical, unathletic boys with narrow shoulders and broad hips, made the grade and went on to banner headlines concerning $200,000 of the taxpayers’ money and a nonexistent bridge or highway, I forget which. It was a long time ago. I have never aspired to political office since. The Sultan of Sewers lies buried in a distant 1930s softball game.

What would you do if you were in the President’s place? You would be inexorably pressured by the forces and the individuals that made you President, and by your own desire to be President in the first place; so you would wind up doing just what they all have done. It’s enough to stop any sane man from wanting to be President.”

#William s burroughs #routines #Youtube

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andie-gnzls · 2 years

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Hello

I'm not exactly new here in Tumblr but this is a new account. I've been feeling a lot of things and I want to right them somewhere where people I know in real life won't be able to read.

I've been stressed, exhausted, and even though I am not willing to admit it, depressed. I'm not like clinically diagnosed and I don't want to self-diagnose but there's no better word to describe it but that.

I'm applying for colleges but I don't want to go to school yet. I'm struggling, especially in school. I've been begging my mother since I was in 11th grade to let me rest for a while because I'm drained. She said that stopping for a year won't be the solution to it.

I'm turning 18 this August and I don't want a party but like the decision if I'll go to school, I don't think I have a say on it too. I feel like I don't have control over my life. Even my money.

Back in February this year I earned roughly 24 thousand pesos (PHP) for playing online games but it went straight to my father's bank account. I couldn't argue with them. When they withdrawn it, I only saw what I had earned in my mother's hands. She didn't let me touch it whole. She decided I should buy a new closet and so I said 'sure'. When it arrived, I was having a really bad headache and and so I couldn't help them in assembling it. I was called 'lazy' and was told that I was acting so I won't get to help.

My mother handed me two thousand pesos (PHP) and I went out with my friend to buy books, I went to a book sale and spent only 25% of the money she gave me, including my food that whole day and my ride back and forth to and from the mall. She was pissed off that I used my money. I tried to ignore her but I still ended up having a breakdown and crying about it. A few days after, the night before my brother's birthday I decided to buy some food and drinks so we can celebrate a little early. We drank and ate that night but I never heard anything from my brother tho he was well aware that I spent almost a thousand pesos just for that night. The morning came and I asked my mother for more money to buy my brother a birthday cake because I promised him that I would, I also asked her how much is left of my money because I know she's been buying things with it (I told her that she could use the money around the house if necessary). She suddenly became defensive and started shouting the money's all gone and that I was being a selfish daughter. I cried a lot that day because wtf was that. Whenever I think of it until now it still makes me cry.

I'm stopping there for now. I don't want to cry too much or else my girlfriend would know I cried. Bye for now

#hello #how can I start a new life away from my parents pls help

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hellofastudysession · 2 years

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the stnaley parbale the stanely parable my god the ts anley parble the stanley baraple the psabnlet parable the sanelybatel parblee t

#personal #you wanna know something cool?#the tsp wiki has an ultra deluxe dialogue page now #you wanna know something else cool?#the end of that page is the narrator's dialogue in the figley ending #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 the 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- aah- 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 a story- so very much.#okay. here we go.#this... is the story of a man named stanley.

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rubye402 · 2 years

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So people have some thoughts on who 432 could be. I have my own thoughts I'd like to share, since a couple of people liked my thank you to Crows Crows Crows so hey.

Also, yes there ARE spoilers to TSP UD again. For the sake of it being spoilers and this WILL be a big post, I'll just add my thoughts below the cut.

So! Who is 432 in my personal hc?

Narrator... At least, formerly before TSP.

Let me explain this one.

So first off, a plot about doing a monotonous and tedious job and finding out the only reason you're happy with it is via mind control and the story is about breaking yourself free to live your life? That is 100% from the perspective of someone who has some experience in this environment, and I will not be convinced otherwise.

Like, we all KNOW a 9 to 5 sucks even if we don't work there, but to so heavily take place in an office building and one that specifically has a shipping department not far from there with shelves upon shelves of boxes is NOT the writings of a man who didn't work at a similar place. Especially when you consider WHY Stanley even exists. Quote from one of the new endings to UD

"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 sceptical."

...

"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."

...

"Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely?"

"Yes perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine companionship."

"And Stanley did make for a wonderful companion."

"Even if he was fiction."

...Not only do we get confirmation of why Stanley and his story was written. He was written to serve as Narry's companion through his life. More than likely, through his job, and his lack of friendly peers IN his job.

And even in the vanilla ORIGINAL game, there was this sheet of paper.

There's literally a whole ROOM dedicated to "Employee 432 peer reviews." No, I'm not joking. Here's a screenshot I took myself.

(Now, I don't wanna assume pronouns, but as a side note, Narry voiced by Kevan Brighting, a male voice, so the fact these papers have He/Him pronouns also fits into that this could be Narrator IRL assuming his voice ISN'T going through a voice filter from... Wherever he's talking from.)

Having all of these negative things said about 432, he might have stopped thinking for himself and just decided to follow along to please his peers. And as a reminder as to how NARRY handles negative feedback, what was one of the first "New Content" paths we see proper?

He IMMEDIATELY bends over backwards to have as little negative reviews as he could from other people. He IMMEDIATELY takes it to heart even though in the end, adding it only makes him unhappy with the final product. He IMMEDIATELY becomes self conscious after the first two critics.

"Only positive reviews of the Stanley Parable. That's my motto of today, and it's always been my motto! I'd do anything for the customer, Stanley."

And speaking of new content, we get to see more than the one place then the "wife" ending

For a refresher: We have the original apartment from the original game, the more expensive looking apartment in the... I don't know what the ending is called, but I called it the "bucket cult" ending, personally. And finally, the Memory Zone... House? Cabin? Property?

We'll say Memory Zone Cabin.

I have a feeling the cheap apartment was during Narry's time working mindlessly for the company.

The expensive either was before or after he worked there. Unfortunately, it's more likely it was before he started working, he lost it, and had to work at his 9 to 5. At least in my eyes.

And finally, the Memory Zone Cabin is, as Narry kinda confirmed it to be, his happy place. That would be the DREAM for him. To live somewhere cozy out with a whole lot of flora and nature. Might I add in the "Story" ending that we get something similar shown to us as a reward for playing Narry's story?

It's not the same exact location, obviously, but it's still very nature-y in theme.

Having all these other locations that isn't the office are usually apartments, or video games in the "Games" endings. Things that Narry COULD feasibly see in his real life to put into TSP. The Mind Control facility is very much mission control and general science fiction looking locations like what you see on TV. There's the museum theme for the "Escape" ending. Maybe the "Zen" ending was another thing like the Memory Zone of a happy place. All things that either one could come up with, or take HEAVY inspiration from in their real life.

The Stanley Parable's Story ending is the ending HE always wanted for himself. Stanley is his escapism character. In Stanley getting this ending, NARRY gets that ending. And when Stanley wanders away from going with this story, he's punished for essentially taking away Narry's one and only way to get a good ending, and so Stanley doesn't get a good ending if Narry doesn't.

Which makes the "Zen" ending all the more potent in sadness. While Stanley is essentially getting to do what Narry does to him of taking the potentially good ending with a very "I'm taking you down with me", Narrator truly doesn't feel genuinely happy himself all the time. This story he crafted is a coping mechanism, and he's desperate for it to work as best as possible. If you had anti depressant medication and they only work a portion of the time; essentially when they actually FEEL like working with and for you, how'd frustrated would YOU feel when they don't work towards them?

TL;DR: 432 has gotten so much bullying from his co-workers, that it wouldn't be a stretch to the imagination that he would want an escape. ANY escape he can find. So I can see 432 being a desperate Narrator making Stanley so he feels like he has SOME semblance of choices being made, even if it's for him. Taking real places he's seen, or taking the image of some happy places, and inserting them into TSP. I can see it being his escapism dream, and the ending of, ironically enough, breaking the cycle, being what HE dreams of most.

#the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp #tspud #tspud spoilers #kinda #tsp narrator #tsp 432 #long post under the cut #And I'm only scratching the surface of my own TSP headcanons

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captains-simp · 3 years

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Valkyrie ~ Queen's Stress Relief

Valkyrie X fem!Reader Smut

Word Count: 2,752

Includes: established fwb (kinda) relationship, dom!Valkyrie, spanking, degrading, oral and strap on

[ masterlist ]

Buy me a coffee ☕

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Everyone knew that being the Queen of Asgard was no doubt a very stressful job.

On the good days it consisted of settling petty debates very few people cared about. On the bad days it including making hard decisions that could lead to some sleepless nights.

Valkyrie excelled at the role of Queen, just as everyone predicted. But despite this the stress of the job could sometimes get to her.

To her people she was a fearless leader who was firm but fair, never failing to do right by them. But you saw past the sterdy walls she had built. You knew she hated when there were things that were just out of her control. So you tried to help your Queen in anyway you could.

It was an arrangement. That was what you had offered. When things became tough and she needed something to take her mind off of her responsibilities, you would be there.

Granted, it was mainly just sex. A way for Valkyrie to regain some form of control and have something to provide her with a kind of stress relief. Something to give her full, undivided attention to. Moments in which it felt as though you too were the only ones that existed in the world.

But as you spent longer around your Queen you found yourself helping her in other ways. She never kicked you out after sex, so you prepared meals for her when you knew she wasn't eating. You put things away when her house was becoming cluttered. You ran small errands for her so she had time for more important things. You did everything you could.

All she had to do was send a quick text. Your job at the town pub hardly took up much of your time and allowed for you to be at Valkyrie's beck and call, not that your arrangement was all that regular. She rarely had the time and a quickie wouldn't cut it.

You never asked questions about what was on her mind. That wasn't what you had offered and you knew she would have denied the arrangement if that was what you had pitched. She appreciated that you understood that. But that didn't stop you from subtly dropping that you were a great listener every now and then. She always smiled at that.

It was late on a Friday night. You had just finished covering a shift for a friend at the bar and decided to walk the long way home on that particularly quiet night, catching a glimpse of the sun setting over the calm sea.

There were a lot of bonuses to living in an asgardian village, one of which was never having to worry about not being safe in the town. You could stroll through it at midnight without a single concern, never once considering who or what was lurking in the shadows. So it was baffling to hear that the rest of Earth wasn't the same way and that people didn't feel safe walking alone so late.

Your phone buzzed from your jacket pocket so you went to look at it without hesitation. You smiled as you saw it was a message from Valkyrie.

It's been a while, want to come over? It read. You agreed instantly and altered your course to head towards Valkyrie's house in the middle of town.

It had been a while. You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss it. Miss her.

You arrived at the Queen's house in no time, probably aided by the fact you had half skipped most of the way, and tapped at the door three times.

Valkyrie answered in less than 10 seconds and looked as beautiful as ever.

She wore her lazy day outfit that you thought always made her look so warm and inviting, like you would be able to stay in her embrace for hours on end. You knew you shouldn't think like that. Shouldn't make up scenarios, no matter how short, about your Queen. But scolding yourself never stopped the thoughts.

"Hey." Valkyrie greeted with a small smile.

"Hey." You smiled brightly, looking more excited than you had planned to let show. Valkyrie didn't notice though, and if she did she didn't say it.

You glanced up at her mesmerizing brown eyes to see her looking at you with that 'I know you're not paying attention' look that always made you weak at the knees.

"I'm sorry." You muttered, realizing she had told you to come in.

"Long night?" She enquired, it was the only sort of small talk that would happen.

You hummed in response as she placing her hand on your lower back over your jacket and pushed you lightly in the direction of her room.

Despite knowing the layout of her house as well as your own, you let Valkyrie guide you through her home silently, too focused on the light touch of her hand on your back to think of anything to say and barely taking in your surroundings. It wasn't an awkward silence, but one filled with tension.

You were vaguely aware of going through the living room and arriving at the foot of the stairs. Her hand left your back and your body yearned for it to come back.

Instead, she called over her shoulder as she continued towards the kitchen counter. "Upstairs." Was all she said.

You took the stairs two, sometimes three, at a time and almost leapt in Valkyirie's room.

Nothing had changed since you had last been there. Different clothes were scattered across the floor and you spied a couple of empty beer bottles next to the bin, but over all she was doing well. Her King sized bed looked as inviting as ever and you were quick to scramble onto it and place your jacket on the chair near the bed.

You smiled to yourself as you undid the button and zip of your jeans and lowered them slightly. Valkyrie's steps were heard on the stairs so you leant back on your hands and tried to paste an unreadable expression on your face.

She strolled back over to you, her eyes never leaving your own, as she came to kneel on the bed and parted your legs, crawling slightly to meet you all while you held your breath.

Her hand trailed up your jean clad legs and came to rest on the zipper that you had undone yourself. Valkyrie hummed as her fingers slipped between the zips to brush against the thin fabric of your panties.

"Someone's impatient." Valkyrie stated more to herself than you. She gripped your hips suddenly and flipped your whole body onto your front as though she was turning over a piece of paper.

Just as you pictured how her muscles might have strained a little under her jumper you were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt a harsh smack against your ass. You moaned slightly as you jolted forward, not expecting the motion but definetly being aroused by it.

"I haven't even taken your jeans off yet." Valkyrie chuckled as she pressed herself against your back and breathed lightly on your neck. You arched your neck slightly in an automatic response to her close proximity and felt her hands snake around your stomach.

Her hand caressed the bare skin of your stomach, relishing in the way your slight stomach muscles tightened at her touch. They then wandering down to the hem of your jeans again.

"I bet you'll look so weak below me when there's nothing between us." She husked as she bit your earlobe and unzipped your jeans.

That was something Valkyrie always liked to do. Act like she didn't know exactly how these nights would play out. Like she hadn't memorised every inch of you. Like she didn't know the ways she could pleasure you and how much she enjoyed doing so.

You couldn't form a response to her words and only tilted your neck more for her in a hopeful attempt to have her attention there. You were glad to feel the sensitive skin being met with her warm, soft lips.

As she kissed and sucked on patches of skin along your, neck her fingers slipped into your jeans and didn't hesitate to rub your lower lips over your soaking panties.

"Such a needy slut, desperate for my touch." You moaned quietly in response and closed your eyes to the feeling if your wetness spreading.

Valkyrie was holding you down by the space between your shoulder blades while her fingers altered to massaging slow circles against your clit.

You bit back a moan at the sensation, almost wanting to speak up and ask her to remove the barrier. Valkyrie always wanted to do things at her pace, which could drastically vary from one time you see her to the next.

She pulled down your jeans and tossed them across the room before lifting your ass up into the air and taking your ruined panties off too.

You turned around to catch a glimpse of her but was met with one of her warning glares that sent shivers down your spine that never failed to rest between your legs.

"Look forward." Valkyrie ordered as she rubbed the smooth skin beneath your panties. "And count." She finished.

Just as you registered what she was saying you felt a sting across your ass and a loud smacking sound echoing throughout the room.

"One!" You moaned out and pressed your head against the sheets. Valkyrie didn't give any kind of recognition before bringing her hand down harshly across your ass again. You whimpered slightly as you managed to speak again.

"Two." More of a whisper this time. It wasn't common for Valkyrie to spank you, in fact it was rare. It meant something hadn't gone her way

"God you're such a slut for pain." She spat with a smirk. "You're going to be a mess in no time." The degrading backed up your theory. Not that you were complaining, just a little worried. You would try your luck with talking to her later.

She spanked you again, just as hard as the previous two but hurting more due to your fragile skin. As much as you loved what she was doing, it hadn't happened in a long time so your tollerence to it was nowhere near what it once was. You couldn't help but be filled with excitement at the thought, having craves that kind of pain for a while.

"Three!" You moaned into the sheets.

Valkyrie continued this unrelenting for 20 hits before rubbing your ass soothingly and soaking up the view of you exposed glistening folds.

"Such a predictable whore." Valkyrie said coldly. You blushed deeply at her words, your core squeezing around nothing in response. Of course, with your luck, she noticed.

"Oh? You like it when I treat you like the pathetic little slut you are?" You moaned out into the sheets from arousal, but this wasn't what she wanted. "Answer me." She demanded and pulled your hair back roughly to force you to look at her.

"Yes...! I love it." You admitted and felt yourself gush with wetness at the feeling of her fingers trailing lightly over your folds.

She flipped you back onto your back and aching ass before kneeling down infront of you, maintaining eye contact as she licked a strip through your folds.

You moaned and arched my back the moment her tongue made contact, feeling the older woman smirk against you and hum softly.

She wrapped her full lips around your clit and sucked eagerly. You continued to moan breathlessly at the action and felt a knock immediately grow in your abdomen the longer she sucked the sensitive bud. She dipped her tongue into your folds to taste your juices and moaned against you. The vibrations made you shudder in the most unsubtle way possible.

Her tongue sunk further into your weeping channel and you found yourself gripping the sheets beneath you even tighter, your knuckles soon turning white with every passing moment of having Valkyrie's tongue inside you.

"Mistress! I'm gonna-"

"Not yet." Valkyrie said clearly as she leaned back. You should have been glad at that, knowing you would have been embarrassed if she had made you cum so quickly.

And yet, you were still about to whine in displeasure until I saw her throw her sweatpants across the room to join your own discarded clothes. She stared into your eyes as she did so and revealed to you the strap she had been packing.

The sight of the strap firmly attached to the harness that clung to your Queen's curves made you want her all the more.

Valkyrie returned to the bed where she swiftly straddled your sides before taking your top off. She reached back to unhooking your bra and didn't suppress the pleased smile on her lips.

She leaned down to kiss the areas around your nipples and occasionally nipped and sucked on small patches of skin. I moaned lightly at her actions and closed your eyes with a smile. You wanted to grip her hair to push her to actually giving your nipples attention and eventually further down, but you didn't dare.

You sensed the older woman's hips shift on you and brush her strap against your throbbing clit. You whined lowly at the teasing feeling across your body.

She finally captured one of your nipples in her mouth and swirled her tongue over it. You gasped out at the sensation, even more so when she pinched the other nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

The older woman kissed up your neck again as the strap parted your folds for her. Valkyrie pushed onwards and very soon the tip of the strap sunk itself into your wet channel.

You moaned at the feeling of Valkyrie filling you up quickly and without hesitation. You clenched around the invader as she pushed onwards and stretched you to accommodate the girthy strap.

"Your cunt takes my strap so well, baby." Valkyrie moaned above you as her hands moved to either side of your head, her face inches from your own and locking you in an unbreakable gaze.

Once she bottomed out with an unexpected force she stilled for a short.moment before retracting her hips and snapping them back in place.

You could even hear the noise of your wet pussy everyone the strap returned to you between the heavy breathing and moaning you couldn't contain.

Being so close to your Queen after all that time made the heat between your legs grow and you knew Valkyrie could pick up on how much you gushed with wetness.

"Oh fuck." You moaned below her as her hips picked up speed. You gripped onto Valkyrie's back like a lifeline and prayed she wouldn't protest. Instead, she took the motion with a new vigour in her ruthless thrusting.

"Mistress!" You moaned louder as you dug your nails into her smooth skin.

"Please...don't stop!" You begged, too engrossed in the pleasure to care how desperate you sounded.

She complied without a word, her hips guiding the strap to mercilessly thrust into you at an overwhelming pace that was nothing short of pure bliss.

"I'm gonna cum." You moaned out, her pace unrelenting and hitting the back of your pussy without fail every time.

"Cum." Was all she said as you came hard on her fake cock, staring into each other's eyes and seeing the immense amount of pleasure you were receiving from your Queen.

She watched as though in a trance as you rode out your hide, clenching desleretlt around the strap as her pace finally slowed and she pulled away, leaving you feeling empty.

Valkyrie handed you a glass of water as she fell down beside you and waited for you to finish. You had expected her to get up and shower like she usually did, but instead Valkyrie wrapped one of her strong arms around your waist, closing her own eyes as she held you close to her. You smiled at the extremly rare gesture.

Sure, the arrangement had started out as just sex. But you had eventually learnt that these affectionate gestures helped your Queen settle her nerves too. It had taken her a long time to display this and it was always very limited. You loved every second of it.

Always willing to provide whatever Valkyire needed and secretly hoped that one day it could grow to become more.

#valkyrie #valkyrie mcu #valkyrie marvel #valkyrie imagine #valkyrie x reader #valkyrie smut #brunnhilde #brunnhilde imagine #brunnhilde smut #tessa thompson

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Wen Ruohan/Wei Wuxian?🍉

Forked Path - ao3

“You did me a favor, and I intend to repay that,” Wen Ruohan said, adjusting one of his gauntlets in irritation – more at the fact that he was sinking back into that old nervous tic, a tell that he’d thought he’d eliminated years ago than at the actual request, ridiculous as it was. “But to confirm, you’re certain that this is what you want? It’s not in my nature to stop midway, so if you have any hesitations, exercise them now or not at all.”

The two rogue cultivators looked at each other and after a few moments of clear silent communication and struggle, they looked back at him and nodded. The man did so reluctantly - Wen Ruohan looked at his wife, the immortal mountain’s disciple, and her nod was far more firm.

“Very well,” he said, lips twisting in distaste. He hated owing people favors, especially when they rejected his preferred counter-offer to graciously allow them to work for his sect, but he wasn’t yet so ungracious that he wouldn’t live up to something he had to do. “We are therefore agreed: in the event both of you die prematurely, I will take your son into my sect to be raised therein, rather than allow him to be raised alone outside or in the Jiang sect."

He paused, frowning. "To be clear, however, I am not going to raise him myself! He’ll be brought up among one of the branch families.”

Dafan Wen had some kids around the same age, didn’t they? That was pretty out of the way. With luck, he could avoid having to see the brat at all…and that was all assuming that these two died, of course. Still, based on their level of certainty and the association of the immortal mountain with divination, Wen Ruohan was going to assume a worst-case scenario was likely to occur.

“That’s fine,” the man said, his voice oddly sarcastic. “We don’t expect you to do more for us than you do for your own children.”

That pricked at Wen Ruohan’s pride, since he didn’t have a conscience to be affected.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked with a frown. He had two sons of his own, and they were being raised perfectly well by his wives, as far as he knew. It wasn’t really his concern until they were old enough to actually start getting started in cultivation, swordsmanship, or even the scholarly arts, at which point he would naturally take over their education with the assistance of many able tutors – he was far too busy to waste time with them, squalling brats that they undoubtedly were, until then.

“Nothing,” the woman said, and she looked amused – he almost suspected she was amused at his expense. “After all, with hard work, even the sharpest sword can be ground down into a needle.”

That wasn’t how that idiom went at all, but Wen Ruohan was too lazy to correct her.

Later, though, after they’d left, her words kept pricking at him in the same matter as idiomatic needle – it occurred to him that he didn’t much like his wives, even though the connections they’d brought to his sect were exceedingly beneficial. It was said that where there was a father, there was a son, the two invariably resembling each other, and he’d assumed that that would be the case here…but on the other hand, if he left all the initial raising of his sons to those wives he didn’t like, wasn’t he risking them raising the children to be just like theminstead of him? Grinding down his sons’ edges, so to speak?

That would be utterly unacceptable.

He was so busy, though. Beyond his own cultivation, his sect now controlled over a third of the cultivation world, and he was ambitious to raise that to half, and then perhaps even further. How could he waste time on something as pointless as taking care of small children?

On the other hand, he supposed that in the long run he’d actually be saving time if he at least made sure they were raised up right. After all, he’d always assumed that his two sons would be his right and left hands, his able aides capable of enacting his will, and obviously it would be a disaster to find out later on that they’d been spoiled rotten or rendered stupid....

No, he was sure his arrangement was fine. How much damage could his wives do in just a few years?

…perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad an idea to check in on them.

Just to make sure.

He definitely wasn’t going to raise that stupid Wei boy, though. Favors had limits!

“Your accomplishments do you credit,” Wen Ruohan said to Wen Qing, and even meant it the way he didn’t mean most of the things he was forced to say at these stupid discussion conferences.

After all, Wen Qing was of his bloodline, if distantly – Dafan Wen was a branch family – but at any rate, they shared a surname, and it was sheer pleasure watching her put all those other ‘promising’ young masters in their place. Anything that added a sheen of glory to his sect was a good thing.

She saluted deeply, trying to hide the way she was beaming, and Wen Ruohan wondered once again if it was time to bring her back to the Nightless City as his ward instead of leaving her out in the wilderness with the rest of Dafan Wen. To get the sort of medical skills she had at her age showed promise and talent, and he needed people of promise and talent, especially ones with his surname, if he were going to make good on his intention to conquer the cultivation world.

He would’ve brought her back years ago, in fact, except that Sect Leader Nie said that children were fidgety, flighty creatures that were bad at dealing with change and that he’d be better off sending medical texts and tutors to Dafan Wen rather than bring Wen Qing back to the Nightless City over her father’s protests. Normally, Wen Ruohan would have disregarded advice he didn’t like and proceed with his own intentions regardless, but Sect Leader Nie had been helping him deal with his own sons ever since he’d reclaimed them from his wives, who he’d discovered had been ruining them, and it seemed unwise to dispute with him regarding matters of child-rearing at that point. After all, if he wanted Wen Xu to end up as even half the son that it looked like that Nie Mingjue was going to be, he needed the man’s expertise, and that meant making compromises, irritating as it was.

Compromises like not just killing Wen Qing’s father for refusing to hand over his children, despite it being easier to accomplish. Or not killing Sect Leader Nie himself, no matter how irritating the man was, because now his sons loved that old bastard.

(Wen Ruohan had spitefully decided to get back at Sect Leader Nie by spoiling his youngest son, who seemed at first glance to be more like the lazy scholarly type, beyond belief. It seemed to be working very well so far, including in causing Sect Leader Nie no end of frustration at his extremely clever-when-it-came-to-evading-work second son; Wen Ruohan, satisfied, viewed this result as being wholly due to his own efforts.)

“How did you find that talisman you mentioned in your last paper?” he asked Wen Qing lazily. “I hadn’t seen it before. Was it in one of the books I sent, or somewhere else?”

In truth, that had been the most interesting aspect of the presentation from his perspective – he didn’t have either talent or interest in medical cultivation, but he could recognize firepower when he saw it. Just because the talisman worked on disrupting things at a very small level for medical reasons didn’t mean it couldn’t be repurposed for larger things…

“Oh, no, Wei Wuxian invented it,” Wen Qing said. “He used it to blow stuff up until I convinced him to make a smaller version for me.”

“Wei Wuxian?” Wen Ruohan asked, frowning, and then recalled – ah, yes, the Wei boy. His parents had died some five or eight years back, if he recalled correctly, and he’d had to go fetch him pursuant to that old agreement; it had been extremely annoying at the time. He’d been in the middle of a very nasty argument with Sect Leader Nie at the time, the one that had led him to think his most serious thoughts to date of eliminating the man entirely, and then, just as he’d been on the cusp of making a decision, he’d received word of the deaths of Cangse Sanren and her husband Wei Changze.

Naturally, he needed to find and recover their son as he’d promised long ago, which given how unreliable reports of the location of rogue cultivators was naturally became a colossal waste of time, but on the bright side it had at least given him a chance to vent his spleen and get out some of his rage on something other than wringing Sect Leader Nie’s neck. It turned out that Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze had died in some obscure night hunt in Yiling, but figuring that out had all but taken a full-scale canvass of six different territories – and then Sect Leader Jiang, who hadn’t bothered to do anything near the same level of search and had opted to search the various towns individually on his own, as if that would ever work, had tried to leapfrog off the back of his hard work, thinking he could just thank him and take the boy away just like that.

Wen Ruohan had refused, of course – he had the parents’ personal request, and that outweighed Wei Changze having been a former servant of the Jiang sect or Cangse Sanren being possibly a former lover of their sect leader – and it had turned into something of a political mess for a while.

That had been where he’d gotten most of the venting out, actually.

Sect Leader Nie had sided with him in that fight, though, rather viciously, and by the end of it all Wen Ruohan was reminded of why exactly it was that the man was a useful ally to have around. He’d also forgotten what exactly they’d been fighting about, but he wasn’t going to admit that, so he just magnanimously forgave him. It had all turned out rather all right, and Wen Ruohan had put the boy out of his mind shortly thereafter.

Why would he come up now, all of a sudden?

No, wait, he’d sent him to Dafan Wen, just as he’d planned. And of course Wen Qing was from the main branch of Dafan Wen as well – she would’ve been raised with Wei Wuxian as a little brother.

“How is he doing?” he asked, more out of etiquette than actual interest, but Wen Qing lit up and started talking about how her little shidi was a verifiable genius, and so good with her actual younger brother, and whatnot. Wen Ruohan nodded, pretending he was listening, and cast his eyes around the rest of the discussion conference, looking for a distraction – there was Sect Leader Nie, who was generally good for a laugh, but he was scolding that second son of his for failing one of Lan Qiren’s classes and having to be sent a second time over. Jiang Fengmian was comforting him, telling him that he was sending his son as well this year, and of course Jin Guangshan’s heir was of age as well, and would undoubtedly be going, too…

Hmm.

“If he’s such a genius, he should interact more with his peers,” Wen Ruohan announced. “I’ll recommend him – and that brother of yours, I suppose – for the lecture series at the Cloud Recesses this summer.”

It wouldn’t do to be left, after all.

“You…you will? Really? That’s wonderful! Thank you for the opportunity, Sect Leader Wen! They’ll treasure it! How can we ever repay your kindness –”

“As long as they impress me with their talents,” Wen Ruohan said, already imagining Jiang Fengmian’s constipated expression at seeing his lover’s son that was stolen from his grasp wearing Wen sect colors and, in an ideal world, smearing his own son into the ground with his superlative skill. “That will be repayment enough.”

“You need to get laid,” Sect Leader Nie said, and Wen Ruohan was reminded again of why he despised the man and should have killed him years ago. Why hadn’t he done that again? “As a matter of cultivation.”

“You’re joking,” Wen Ruohan said, putting down his bowl of wine and staring at him in disbelief. He hadn’t expected the man to actually be serious. It was rare enough an event, but in fairness to him, he never joked about matters of cultivation. “How does one help the other?”

“It’ll help balance you out.” Sect Leader Nie thought about it. “Or at least let you get out some of that nervous energy that makes you a paranoid megalomaniacal little bitch about eighty percent of the time.”

That sounded a bit more in character.

“If dual cultivation could fix personality problems, Lao Nie, you’d be immortal.”

“Who says I’m not?” Sect Leader Nie asked, teeth bared in a smile. “Only time will tell. Haven’t I already outlived my father?”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes. Sect Leader Nie had outlived his father because when he’d started in on a qi deviation like every other member of his blasted family, he, Wen Ruohan, had personally dived into the irritating bastard’s spiritual consciousness and dragged him back out again. It was very much not something that people were supposed to do, being more likely to cause qi deviations in the person doing the rescuing than resulting in an actual rescue, but he’d never cared what people were supposed to do and, really, it would be extremely annoying to have to do without him now that he’d invested all that time and effort and figured out how to get some real use out of him. Anyway, they both seemed to be fine and possibly they were also soul-bonded now - he wasn’t actually sure, Wen Qing always got a weird expression on her face whenever she talked about it, and he usually stopped listening at that point.

He didn’t really care. As long as it didn’t interfere with his plans, what did it mtter?

“Who exactly am I supposed to be dual cultivating with, exactly?” he asked dryly, deciding to address the matter head-on because that was the only way Sect Leader Nie understood things. “Don’t volunteer yourself again. I already told you that I refuse to indulge your ridiculous kink for dangerous people.”

Anymore, anyway.

Sect Leader Nie made a face at him, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. He might’ve fallen for that before the whole spiritual consciousness-soulbond business, but now he knew for sure that it was a kink, so – no.

Nothappening.

“You have a kink for things that increase your power, I don’t know why you’re being so judgy about my kink,” the other man grumbled. “And I don’t know, find someone – not another wife, you hate your wives, and anyway they’re much happier with their other lovers.”

“I didn’t pick them because I liked them,” Wen Ruohan pointed out. “I picked them because I wanted to absorb their sects and all the aligned sects associated with them. Which I did.”

“See, this is your problem! You married for power, rather than power, if you get my meaning –”

This was true. If any of his wives could cultivate worth a damn, maybe he’d care more about them. As it was, getting a son on each of them had been an exercise in willpower.

“ – and now you’re too busy pursuing power to fuck anyone else. You really need to get it out of your system. Find someone who can kill you.”

“No one can kill me,” Wen Ruohan said. “I’m the closest thing the cultivation world has to a god. Everyone should bow down and worship me.”

Sect Leader Nie started muttering something about megalomania again, but Wen Ruohan ignored him. It wasn’t a qi deviation talking if it was true.

“I bet we could find someone who could kill you if we tried,” Sect Leader Nie finally said. “And if they’re powerful enough to kill you, they’re probably powerful enough for the dual cultivation to improve your own cultivation, which is all you care about…we should start a war, maybe.”

“A war? Against who? And why?”

Sect Leader Nie frowned thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “The Jin sect?” he suggested, probably because he’d never liked Jin Guangshan. “Or the Jiang sect? Or both, I guess, since they’re allied. They’re next on your take-over list, aren’t they?”

“You’re next on my take-over list,” Wen Ruohan said threateningly, except Sect Leader Nie only laughed at him. Which was fair, he supposed, that whole soul-bond thing made the whole conquering business somewhat unnecessary – Qishan Wen and Qinghe Nie were bound together now as thoroughly as if he’d married the man.

Which he hadn’t. And wouldn’t. No matter what stupid snarky comments Sect Leader Nie said about Wen Ruohan treating him as a de facto consort on account of not having devouring his sect whole.

(Which he wasn’t going to do either - his sons still loved the man, and by now they were as thick as thieves with the Nie boys. What was he supposed to do, disappoint them? It’d be the same as disappointing himself, and he wasn’t about to do that.)

“I suppose we could start a war against the Jin and Jiang,” he allowed. His plan had always called for battle eventually, since he knew there was a limit to how many sects he could absorb through political, marital, economic or other means. As long as the other Great Sects stood against him, he’d never be able to achieve total domination – plus, he’d have to continue to suffer through those awful discussion conferences with the boring lectures and the petty politics of it all. Why couldn’t they see that they’d allbe better off under his dominion? “I could send Wen Zhuliu –“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s not how you fight wars honorably, and also because I hate that man’s guts. I can’t believe you gave him your surname.”

Wen Ruohan rolled his eyes yet again. Such petty concerns were beneath him. “If we launch a surprise attack using him assassinate the Jiang sect leaders, thereby bringing down the Lotus Pier, the war will be over sooner,” he pointed out.

“Makes it harder to assimilate them into the Wen sect afterwards, though,” Sect Leader Nie pointed out, and damnit, he had a point. “Not to mention you’re going to want some experienced people policing your waterways when you finally take over…”

Damnit.

“Fine,” Wen Ruohan said. “We’ll declare war the old-fashioned way. Maybe we’ll find someone on the opposite side that can impress me, and then I’ll marry her – or him – and be done with the whole business. Happy now?”

Sect Leader Nie made a maybe-so gesture with his hand. “Anyone who can match you in power can probably kill me,” he said regretfully. “Would you consider sharing –“

“Paws off my hypothetical future consort, you beast. Anyway, aren’t you already pursuing Lan Qiren because he nearly slit your throat with a guqin string once?”

“A man can look!”

“Say,” Sect Leader Nie said, staring at the army of fierce corpses currently shambling along to the tune of Wei Wuxian’s flute, advancing inexorably towards their enemies – an entirely new cultivation style that the boy had recently invented. In an effort to impress his benefactor Wen Ruohan, apparently. “Are you sure about the no sharing rule?”

Wen Ruohan stared at the grown man perched on a tree like a demon, wrapped in shadow and crackling with power, eyes glowing as red as the sun-patterns on his clothing, who seemed to want nothing more from the world than to serve it up to Wen Ruohan on a platter.

“Yes,” he said, voice only a little strangled. Maybe Sect Leader Nie had a point about power being a kink for him. “I’m very sure.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #sect leader nie #wei wuxian is sir not appearing in this fic #my fic #my fics #forked path

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