marshing-on-archive - Tumblr blog

[marshing-on-archive]

This blog is an archive! To continue interacting, please follow @marshing-on​ !

For Stan’s IC blog, follow @marshing-on-ic​ !

[marshing-on-archive]

This blog is an archive! To continue interacting, please follow @marshing-on​ !

For Stan’s IC blog, follow @marshing-on-ic​ !

[marshing-on-archive]

This blog is an archive! To continue interacting, please follow @marshing-on​ !

For Stan’s IC blog, follow @marshing-on-ic​ !

[marshing-on-archive]

Hey all! After some thought I’ve decided to make Stan his own primary blog instead of being a secondary to @cosmic-coffeebean. This one will be getting an -archive added to it and the new one will be under the old name! Please go follow that one if you want to continue interacting! :’)

@marshing-on

I also made an IC blog for Stan so I could keep his main blog for RP stuff, it’s called @marshing-on-ic !

[marshing-on-archive]

You’re the only friend I need Sharing beds like little kids Laughing ‘til our ribs get tough But that will never be enough 🌨🌲

[marshing-on-archive]

If only the other’s dry attitude could soak up the rain like a sponge so the two would cancel each other out. Sadly it didn’t work like that, more rain only seemed to make things worse and Kyle wasn’t SpongeBob. 

As the fiery redhead ranted and pulled him to shelter from the crying skies, Stan kept quiet. He bided his time, distant expression unmoving. He let the jabs roll off his shoulders with the rain droplets trickling down his jacket. 

         You wanted to talk,  so  talk. 

That final quip, the verbal shove to get him to say something only earned a quirked brow. No. Kyle would be forced to wait for it, to have to go another minute without his ex (?) best friend saying anything. The young man filled the dead air with a small sip from his own coffee. Ocean-blue irises threatened to pull Kyle in the stormy undertow and drown him with relentless eye contact. 

Rhythmic drumming of rain on the awning above was mother nature’s backtrack to this disaster of a reunion. He didn’t deny the accusations. If Kyle wanted to blame him, fine. He didn’t come here to argue. If shouldering those claims meant they could fast-track past it, great. It stung, sure, but he could handle it. “You done?” Stan’s head tilted slightly in a silent challenge before continuing. 

“Good to see you too.” He murmured into his steaming drink, thumb anxiously ghosting over the cardboard wrapped around the cup. “Love what you’ve done with your look, drenched redhead is in season.” He pre-emptively rolled his eyes on the other’s behalf. 

Though he came here to talk, there weren’t many words he had to say. It was simple, plain, and stupid. 

“I missed you.”

“  ☁  -  our muses get caught in the rain without an umbrella  ”         —  「 @marshing-on​​​,  from  HERE. 」

“  FUCK!  ”

kyle has always been vocal about his feelings of displeasure,  but perhaps he shouldn’t have yelled it quite that loudly in the middle of downtown denver.     or at his best friend in the entire world & longest standing crush.     oops.     god,  this is somehow stan’s fault!     it  has  to  be,   because it certainly isn’t  HIS.     he glares at his sbf over the lid of his london fog latte,  the lightning that reflects briefly off of his glasses somehow making his gaze  sharper  as his teeth are bared after he takes a sip.

“  you just  had  to get coffee with me today,  didn’t you?  ”     he quips dryly.     “  we couldn’t have met up at my apartment,  or at yours,  or hell,  at  kenny’s :    no,  we just  had  to get coffee & go for a stupid walk so that you could try to  placate  me  after not talking to me for four fucking years.     what’s  THAT  about,  stanley?!  ”

nice,  kyle.     way to deny / forget that it had been  you  that had broken off contact.     it had all been  you  & your stupid fucking insecurities.     but it’s easier to blame stan than to accept responsibility,  just like it’s easier to blame stan for everything in his fucking life … like the storm that’s now drenching them both & forcing him to roughly grab his friend’s hand & drag him underneath the awning of a nearby bookstore that he frequents.

“  you wanted to talk,  so  talk.  ”

[marshing-on-archive]

I really love this animatic (I must’ve watched it like 100 times by now).

It inspired me to doodle a bunch of style bro memes that have all probably been done before lmao.

[marshing-on-archive]

I was doodling yesterday and I ended up making this little Style thingy basically Stan managed to steal a kiss from the elf King without pucking on him somehow lmao

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My Stan muse as been so strong lately it makes me regret not making his blog a primary one... but trying to manage three accounts on a phone SUCKS. My Tweek muse isn’t as strong right now either, himbo muses have taken over my life aaaaa

What to do... 😔

[marshing-on-archive]

idk man i love eric when he’s a totally morally corrupt unhinged bastard who still weirdly cares for his friends in his own fucked up way. like sb fucks with his bros? he goes and pulls a full scott tenorman esque plan on the person but acts like he didn’t do anything when questioned about it bc god forbid the guys would find out that he cares. bc he’s the only one allowed to bully them.

[marshing-on-archive]

Shifting Kyle’s form in his arms until he was confident, he straightened fully and abandoned the bench. The touch came naturally and without reserve; one hand gripped Kyle’s shoulder while the other held onto his upper thigh. “Taking you to my truck so we can patch up your booboo?” Emphasis on the childish word to really dig in that he was thriving in his newfound role as ‘responsible’ friend. “I dare not make my injured King walk himself to medical aid.” Brows raised in silent challenge.

To rub sugar in Kyle’s stripped ego, Stan’s bee-line to the truck was interrupted as he broke out into a waltz; fancy foot-work, spinning, and dipping as he cha-cha slided towards their destination. Would it be embarrassing if anyone saw? Sure, if you had any ounce of shame or self-respect. Both things Stan lacked, along with braincells. “Besides, not every day I get an excuse to carry you around, yeah? Let me have this. It’s fun.” For him. This simple joy only came from hanging out with Kyle OR nursing the end of a bottle filled with booze.

Finally he came to a halt outside of his truck, managing to cradle his best friends frame against his chest with one arm so he could free a hand to get the keys, unlock and open the passenger side door, then gingerly set the ginger inside. “There.” Stan rummaged through the messy glovebox until he found the little first-aid kit tucked away under old car insurance papers, popping the case open to finger through the contents for alcohol pads.

@marshing-on

continued x

The verdurous forest of his gaze captures the aureate sunlight for mere moments, as his eyes roll upwards with poorly concealed fondness at the other’s words, before setting it free. He cannot recall the last time his pummeling heart had not threatened to break free from within the confines of his chest upon sensing the electrifying warmth of the other’s touch, and he chastises himself for it. 

His leaden gaze follows the contours of the callused fingers resting against his skin until it meets with the other’s, and before long he finds himself submerged within the bottomless oceans of the young man’s eyes. It is nearly enough to deafen him to Stan’s spoken offer, until he is jostled out of his reverie by the strong arms which he is lifted into. 

  ❝——Stan, what the hell are you doing?❞

[marshing-on-archive]

“Mhm, sure. A likely story.” In truth, that likely was the real story. It was just fun to give Wendy a hard time. With a roll of his eyes, he watched as Wendy became unraveled before him. Easy as plucking the loose strings on frayed jeans.

“I dunnnoooo…” He chirped in a sing-song manner, “I really wanna brag to everyone about this.” Again, his body language gave nothing away. Involving Stan Marsh meant it was a 50/50 chance on him posting it or not. Dangerous in unexpected ways, a wild card. As the talk of future; namely further education, came up, his good aura faded away. “I guess I won’t post it then, but I’m definitely keeping it. A souvenir to this occasion.”

Her confession to hating South Park and wanting to get the fuck outta town as soon as possible struck a cord with him. Doubt rippled across his eyes like a pebble dropped into calm waters. A hand rubbed at his neck awkwardly, gaze darting away to take in the scenery around them. “Sure, but dreams like those are for people who are gonna actually go after em, yanno? I’ve kind’ve accepted my fate that I’ll be stuck in this bull shit town forever.”

Where would he even go? The idea of all his friends leaving to pursue their lives made him anxious… the only thing he had left when everyone was gone was this shitty town and the memories it held. Every street, each building, they all had a feeling tied to them. A side road near his house always reminded him of a fight between Kupa Keep and the Elven Kingdom; and the victory they had that day. Small things like that— would they be forgotten if he left? Was he abandoning those memories if he was no longer around to be reminded of them?

Ugh, he brought himself down. His face pinched with sorrow before it was forcefully smoothed back into a distant, neutral expression. You don’t have to cope if you just ignore your problems. There wasn’t any alcohol here. No excuses and nothing to blame his emotions on if he lost his composure. So he wouldn’t.

“What do you plan on doing after senior year?” College, obviously, but what institute? What major? What were her dreams? Let him live vicariously through someone else. They hadn’t talked much in the past years, people changed and with them, their aspirations.

marshing-on·:

His carefree look reigned in with a furrow of his brows as her tone dialed into the lecturing frequency. 

“Lots of things to unpack there,” Stan replied smoothly, standing up to round around the table and step into the empty space next to her to sit. Without a table to separate them he was suddenly aware of how cramped this picnic bench was but there was no backing down now. Resting an elbow on the table to prop up an arm and rest his chin in an open palm, he leaned in and returned the smirk with one of his own. 

“I’m honored you took time out of your busy schedule to notice when I’m not at school, Prez. I’m really touched.” 

Snagging his phone from his pocket and holding it up, he rested his head on Wendy’s shoulder with a sideways slump, holding his free hand up to peace sign while he snapped a photo of them together. “And now I got proof that South Park’s own model student skipped class with one of its worst. Scandalous. I should totally post this online.” Sitting up straight again to cut off contact, his neutral expression gave nothing away as he reviewed the photo before flicking the app closed.

“It’s integral to my mental health that I skip. You ever sit through an entire class with Mr. Bowell? I literally can’t. I feel faint just thinking about it.” Slick as a snake-oil salesman, he shot her a coy look, daring her to continue.

“I didn’t take time out of my busy schedule to notice anything, Stanley– the principal pointed it to me during one of our recent morning meetings.  “A member of your own class is making a habit of skipping every week, Ms. Testaburger!  I’m starting to question your leadership skills!” were his exact words if I remember correctly– and I always do.  Somehow, you ditching is making me look bad!”  Wendy was so flabbergasted by their principal’s behavior that she had no idea Stan was blackmailing her with a picture until it was way too late.  CLICK.  Blink blink blink— what the fuck was…. oh, shit.  And there it was.

Annoyed, but somewhat impressed by what Stan could get done in a couple of seconds, Wendy leaned back in her seat- doing her best to ignore the tiny tingle in her shoulder- and fixed Stan with an irritated look.  “Okay, but consider this: you don’t do that because if you DO then the other students will never take me seriously ever again!  The class president DITCHING?  Who does she think she is?!”  Worked up all of a sudden, the seventeen-year-old got up for some aggressive pacing exercises, back and forth over and over again.  Hands on her hips.  “Can you IMAGINE what the colleges out there in the world would have to say about that?!  ‘We don’t want her here!  A class president who ditched one time has no right to be here!  We don’t respect her!’”  She’d thought about this A LOT, apparently.  “I have to get out of South Park when I graduate, Stan.  I can’t be here anymore.”  She felt nothing for her hometown.  How fucked up was that?  It sucked the goddamn LIFE out of her.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

Deep breath.

She sat back down, eyes squeezed shut, and listened intently as Stan defended himself.  It got a smile out of her.  “Overdramatic much?  Mr. Bowell might be eighty-something years old, and tell us very boring stories that have nothing to do with math or school in general, but c’mon!”  She elbowed him gently in the arm as if to emphasize the exclamation.  “Don’t you want to get out of here after graduation?”

[marshing-on-archive]

Ugh, when you just wanna go to spooky places with your stupid friend Pete but you now have parental responsibilities and Halloween to prepare for. 

Gustav update: he’s doing good and ate a little after adjusting to the new environment

[marshing-on-archive]

@politicalberet

This is Stan in our current thread....

(Also Danny Gonzales is good inspo for Stan’s kind of humor)

[marshing-on-archive]

So. You and Wendy, huh? ;)

He finger-guns for an entire minute. Really build up the suspense. 

“We’re friends.” 

[marshing-on-archive]

His carefree look reigned in with a furrow of his brows as her tone dialed into the lecturing frequency. 

“Lots of things to unpack there,” Stan replied smoothly, standing up to round around the table and step into the empty space next to her to sit. Without a table to separate them he was suddenly aware of how cramped this picnic bench was but there was no backing down now. Resting an elbow on the table to prop up an arm and rest his chin in an open palm, he leaned in and returned the smirk with one of his own. 

“I’m honored you took time out of your busy schedule to notice when I’m not at school, Prez. I’m really touched.” 

Snagging his phone from his pocket and holding it up, he rested his head on Wendy’s shoulder with a sideways slump, holding his free hand up to peace sign while he snapped a photo of them together. “And now I got proof that South Park’s own model student skipped class with one of its worst. Scandalous. I should totally post this online.” Sitting up straight again to cut off contact, his neutral expression gave nothing away as he reviewed the photo before flicking the app closed.

“It’s integral to my mental health that I skip. You ever sit through an entire class with Mr. Bowell? I literally can’t. I feel faint just thinking about it.” Slick as a snake-oil salesman, he shot her a coy look, daring her to continue.

marshing-on·:

Holy shit, dude. 

Wendy accepting the offer to skip class and meet him at Stark’s pond was not something he ever thought would happen. It was kind of exciting that he got to be the one she broke her perfect record for. 

Stan busied himself with social media and sharing the leftovers of his breakfast with the park’s wildlife until the crunch of grass under hurried steps caught his attention. He didn’t look up until she sat down, calm seas washing over Wendy with a glance from the jock. Pinkened cheeks were one of the first things he noted. “Hey Wends. You’re a rebel now, congrats. It’s all downhill from here.”

He reached across the table to cup her face, a thumb brushing the flushed apple of her cheek– before pulling the hand back to lick his thumbpad and repeat the motion, this time now grazing the slick digit over her face like an overly doting parent. He laughed and pulled his hand away before it could be snapped off at the wrist. Did she really have anything on her face or did he just want to feel the warmth of her blush? It will remain a mystery.

“…..”  Wendy didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds because she couldn’t– apparently that tiny and seemingly innocent touch from Stan was more than enough to leave her breathless.  There weren’t any romantic reasons behind the breathlessness, though.  No.  She wasn’t interested in dating anyone until she had this fucked up town in her rearview mirror after graduation.  The reaction was just— they hadn’t touched each other in years, no hugs, no high fives, no nothing.  It was good that they were still comfortable enough to do those things.  Friends.  Friendship.

She finally managed to smile at Stan and I would not be surprised if said smile managed to reach her eyes.  Talking to him came as easy as breathing when she wasn’t having out of character moments of shock.  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that– as student body president I feel it’s my job.”  She was smirking at him now, a dimpled smirk.  “Are you aware that you ditch school every single week, Mr. Marsh?”

[marshing-on-archive]

“Oh?” The jock rumbled in response, grin betraying his otherwise cool façade. “Too late, dude. Compliment accepted. I’m blushing. Thanks.” Stan scooted closer to his best friend as soon as he fell into his seat. The state of the scraped knee made him suck air through gritted teeth and empathetically wince. “Seriously though, you need to be more careful.” 

Pulling his hands from his letterman pockets; warm, work-worn fingertips soon ghosted the edges of the torn skin on Kyle’s knee. “I’ve got a small first aid kit in my truck. Want me to carry you over?” The question was merely a formality, Stan was already standing and snaking his arms under the others frame to scoop him up. “Thisaway, my liege.” You play right-hand man to a kid pretending to be King once or twice and the dutiful persona never truly left, even if it was mostly used for teasing now.

The way his eyes twinkled like the sun reflecting off the deep ocean’s surface was a dead give-away that he was enjoying this role reversal. He was the one chiding Kyle and getting to play the part of a mother hen.

Protective starters - “You’re so clumsy... come here.” (From Stan @marshing-on)

@marshing-on

protective sentence starters

  ❝——I am not clumsy, you are simply distracting.❞ The pearlescent line of his teeth bites down upon the hushed wince which threatens to spill from between his lips, as his willowy form all but crumbles upon the bench where the other is seated. Long fingers carelessly unravel from around the basketball grasped within their hold before cradling his abraded knee and drawing it up towards his chest. ❝——And don’t even think about taking that as a compliment.❞