#this is a story about a man named stanley stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee 427 and he pushed buttons on

[pajka-eagle]

Why is he bri'ish tho

[racefortheironthrone]

Why has the American comics industry been so adverse to unionization? I've been reading through the Comics Broke Me hashtag on Twitter and I've realized how difficult it's been to even get meager compensation for work that provides the backbone for billion dollar smash hits.

I would highly recommend Abraham Josephine Riesman's biography of Stan Lee, True Believer, both as an excellent portrait of the man himself and how his industry changed across the decades. (Bell and Vassallo's Secret History of Marvel is also quite good on the early history of the company.)

When the comics industry emerged out of the pulp and magazine industry in the 30s, it was not the "backbone for billion dollar smash hits" that it is today - it was a low-rent, fly-by-night industry that was associated with pornography and organized crime. Notably, it was also an low-cost industry that sold a very cheap product (the original 10-cent comic was about $1.80 in today's money) to children. More on this in a bit.

Even when it suddenly experienced a sudden increase in popularity with Action Comics #1, everyone in the industry thought that it was a passing fad that would be temporary - and so there was less resistance to the work-for-hire system that bosses like Martin Goodman used to keep their costs down. Not no resistance - as Riesman notes, Jack Kirby and Joe Simon got pissed when Goodman started stiffing them on the profit-sharing from Captain America, so they started moonlighting at D.C, Stan Lee found out and snitched on them to his cousin-in-law/boss, and that led to them getting fired - but less.

However, there was another reason why it was hard to start a union in the comics industry, which is that a lot of comics creators were vaguely ashamed or embarrasse to be associated with it. Even before Wertham and the moral panic of the 1950s, comics were (as I've noted above) seen as a bit scuzzy, a form of disposable crass commercial entertainment aimed at an undiscerning audience of children, and certainly not respectable Real Art. While they were trying for their big break into the more prestigious worlds of fine art or literary fiction, writers and artists viewed their work in the comics industry as a day job that was best kept a bit under wraps - hence why Stanley Lieber only used the nom-de-plume Stan Lee for the comics, because he wanted to keep his then-real name for the career in novel-writing that he wanted to have.

Moreover, there was a particular ethnic angle to this distancing. As I've written a bit about before, there was a tendency among Jewish creators of this generation to keep Judaism subtextual and to change their names to keep their own Judaism subtextual - hence Stanley Lieber taking on a more gentile-sounding name, hence even a proud and pugnacious Jewish man like Jacob Kurtzberg choosing to go by Jack Kirby. Partly, this was done as a means of achieving economic opportunity in a society that wasn't exactly welcoming to creators with Jewish surnames. (Hence the line in the West Wing about Toby Ziegler going by Toby Ritchie when he worked as a telemarketer.) This is another reason why these Jewish creators were working in comics in the first place, because the "Mad Men" who ran the advertizing industry wouldn't hire them.

But partly it was done to avoid becoming a shanda fur die goyim - a Yiddish expression that means "a shame in front of the gentiles" - by associating the Jewish community with a (heavily Jewish) industry that was viewed as little more elevated than the schmatta trade in comparison to the prestigious world of art and literature. It's an old story - literally, it's the plot of The Jazz Singer, the first talkie about a Jewish entertainer (in blackface, unfortunately) and his conflict and eventual reconciliation with his more traditional family.

After comics went through its first big boom in WWII and then survived the crash in the 50s and saw the second big boom in the 60s, a lot of creators realized that the handshake work-for-hire deals that they had started with had screwed them out of a lot of money. This started some very high profile long-running lawsuits, as first Siegel and Shuster and later Kirby and Ditko sought to get a portion of the rights to the characters they had created. (Some of these lawsuits settled only a few days ago, and some are still ongoing.)

As Riesman explains, the Copyright Act of 1976 created an opening for comics creators by requiring that there be a written agreement between a work-for-hire creator and their employer establishing the transfer of copyright. This created an existential crisis for the Big Two comics companies, and the new Marvel Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter immediately tried to get his creators to sign one-page contracts transferring their rights. Hotshot artist Neal Adams urged creators to not sign the contract and invited them to a meeting at his place to discuss forming a union. Shooter retaliated by threatening to black ball anyone who joined Adams' organization - and this blatant violation of U.S labor law cowed comics creators into signing the contracts and signing away their rights and the drive to unionize comics died the same way a lot of union drives die.

Things have gotten a bit better in recent decades - the 90s comics boom and the departure of the Image guys improved the situation for creators' rights somewhat due to competitive pressure, but there are still significant problems when it comes to comics creators' access to health care, pensions, and other benefits. There have been some recent union wins - the Comic Book Workers United organized Image Comics - but these tend to be unions of staff workers rather than creators. There is the Cartoonists' Co-op, which is looking to move in the direction of acting like a union but is a very nascent organization that's a long way away from that yet. And it remains galling that the most that creators see from the billions made by Disney and Warner Brothers Discovery are $5,000 checks dispensed to keep them quiet.

It's not going to get better until writers and artists unionize.

[askemployee427]

“This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee #427. Employee #427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he answered questions on a keyboard. Asks came to him through a monitor on his desk, questioning him about things along the lines as to what his opinion on The Narrator is, what his favorite ending is, and why he might like it so much. This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the asks came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.”

Hello, internet. My name is Stanley. Welcome to my ask blog.

RULES

(more will be added as needed.)

- None of that NSFW stuff, please and thank you. Suggestive jokes and whatnot are alright, though.

- You MAY claim an anon title (Ex. Bucket Anon). There will be a list below featuring all of the anon names received.

- RP asks ARE allowed.

ANONS

- ProtoAnon

- Nice Teen Anon

- The normal and sane Hampteranon

- Writer Anon

- Sigma Anon

- ​That one simp for timekeeper anon

- ​Pink glasses anon

- Stanley's uncanon kid anon

- Fox Anon🦊

TAGS

#ask stanley - Posts answering asks that get sent in

#stanleyposting - Random posts, updates, and whatnot

EXTRA

Hello! @bucketfan427 here! I’m running this blog- if at any point I have to post ooc, I’ll do so by writing like this (see below) to make it easier!

|| Hello everyone!

I hope you enjoy sending asks here as much as I enjoy getting to answer them! ^^

almost forgot to add this, but thank you @an-theduckin for the blog idea!

[queenburd]

IM NOT MAKING A FULL FIC FOR THIS THING, YOU GET THIS.

|.|.|

“Nobody's asked me to tell them a story in a while,” the Narrator says softly, looking a little lost. His hands fidget with each other, fingers rubbing the knuckles. He glances up to meet Stanley's eyes. “Are you certain?”

Stanley sighs. He makes a little gesture, a go on. “Let's hear it.”

The Narrator swallows. He thinks long and hard, so long the silence encroaches on all sides in the dark, surrounding them in this place by the escape pod. Stanley leans his back against it and tries not to be impatient; but it isn't like a Narrator to not talk, to think so carefully about every word. Is it? In any case, it's starting to get to him.

But he said he wasn't getting into this pod until the fellow told him why he was doing all this, and Stanley sticks with his decisions. No matter how the Narrator tries to make him regret it.

(Shit, that's not fair. Not this Narrator, just his—fucking hell, this is unnecessarily confusing.)

“You are so incredibly irritable,” the Narrator says flatly, hands in his lap.

“I told you to stop poking around my skull.”

“I'm trying! I'm sorry, Stanley, it's a bad habit, I'm just much more accustomed to nonverbal iterations. I do try to keep it surface level to respect your privacy, but you are being loudly unpleasant and it's distracting.”

“God, you're just as snide as he is.”

The fellow's face falls, and his eyes dart away. Shit.

Stanley scrubs his hands over his face. “I'm sorry,” he grinds out. “I haven't had to be nice to anyone in... ever. Fuck.”

“It's alright,” the Narrator says easily, and that's just so weird, that voice devoid of judgment or harshness. Something in Stanley rattles at the wrongness of it. He quiets it fiercely. Let it be.

“Right! Okay,” the fellow slaps his thigh lightly, aggressively changing the subject. “Alright, here we go. This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

Stanley groans. The Narrator giggles (giggles!), grinning childishly at him in a sidelong glance. “I'm joking! Oh, let me have my fun, it's been ages since I got to start a story, and the beginning is always the most difficult.”

Thudding his head back against the side of the pod, Stanley gestures again. “Just get this over with.”

The Narrator laughs a little. “Thank you. Humor me for a moment, alright?”

“Mhm.”

The fellow inhales deeply, and then begins, voice smooth and strong.

“This is the Story of a man named Stanley.

Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in Room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard.”

The Narrator swallows and his next words are still steady, but chosen very carefully.

“He was very good at it.”

Stanley blinks. That's new. He looks at the Narrator, but the Narrator isn't looking at him. He's staring at the ground.

“One day Stanley looked up from his computer to find all his coworkers missing—if they had ever been there at all—and a voice telling him a story about himself. He obeyed the voice's narrations, found a mind control facility, turned it off, and left. So it was with shock that Stanley awoke sitting at his desk, as though he had just had a very realistic dream.

So he did it again. And then again. And every time was the same. And so it came to pass that Stanley began to fight for control over his own actions, against a Narrator who wanted to tell a story about freedom, and control. For a long time, neither of them were able to capture the true irony of the concepts. They played this tug of war with each other for an imperceptible length of time, always in step with each other, like they were made to do just this, in perpetuity. And indeed, they had been.”

He sounds so far away. Miles and years separate him from Stanley, his voice the tether between them.

“Yet despite this game of spite and control, Stanley was at heart a decent fellow. Even in the face of insurmountable odds and endless deaths, he made the active decision to not give as good as he got. For all that the voice treated him with cruelty and judgment and dismissal, when the opportunity came for him to cause it pain, he only chose it with great misery. He found no satisfaction in it. He was, in every way, a better person than it deserved by any means.”

A room with lights. A stairwell to nowhere. One of the few ways he could hurt the thing that loved to hurt him. The Narrator meets his gaze and nods, but continues without comment.

“After a time, Stanley's Narrator finally remembered that the story he was so protective of was supposed to have a happy ending. So it was with shame, and regret, that he acknowledged his own failures, both as a storyteller and as an individual. He decided to be better, to do better, not in the attempts to befriend his protagonist, but because it was his responsibility. He had, after all, made Stanley, and the world Stanley was trapped in, hadn't he? Wasn't it his obligation to take care of those things? Even if Stanley never forgave him, the narrator would—would...”

He trails off, and there is such a sadness in his face. Despite himself, Stanley wants to put his hand on the fellow's shoulder to ground him. But the Narrator squeezes his eyes shut, hard, and then shakes his head firmly, before he speaks again.

“And then one day something very frightening occurred. Something that would forever change Stanley, his Narrator, and the nature of their relationship. He had been sitting in the Museum for nearly half an hour trying to avoid the voice, when he realized that on the wall in front of him was a list. He had seen this list many times of course, but he had never really thought as to what it meant. So it was with confusion and growing concern that he finally paid attention to the large word written above the list.

Credits.”

The Narrator shivers.

“And there, on the wall, were names, and included in the list were things like “Stanley Model” and “Narrator”, with names attached. It was with horror that the realization struck Stanley in the face—not only was he not real, as the Narrator had always said, but so indeed was the voice that had relentlessly pursued him. It, too, was little more than trapped within the confines of the game that it claimed to have created. They were not captive and captor, but in fact two prisoners in an endless hell, designed for this hell. He had not, in fact, been in opposition to a godlike entity, but a thing even more trapped than he was. It couldn't follow him everywhere.

And the saddest fact of the matter was that it didn't even know. It had no idea that it was--”

The Narrator stops, covering his mouth as he inhales sharply. “I'm sorry,” he says, his voice wavering. He doesn't look at Stanley. “I—I'm sorry, I thought I was past this, do give me a moment--”

“Hey, hey,” Stanley starts, and this time he does place his hand on the Narrator's shoulder. He doesn't know if he's the best person for keeping someone calm. “Take it easy.”

There's a broken giggle, somewhat hysterical. “I—Ha. One would think, after years of having this information, it would stop driving me to the borders of madness.”

The Narrator takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I'm alright. Thank you. I'm sorry, this—the story's getting away from me. It should be shorter from here.”

“It's fine,” Stanley says, brow furrowed. He finds, honestly, that he doesn't mind it, though it does leave him a little shaken. He feels like this is new information, but at the same time, it feels like somewhere deep in his gut he already knew. Isn't that strange?

One more deep breath, and then the Narrator speaks again.

“Armed with this new information, Stanley and the Narrator decided together that they would make the best of the world they had access to, and they chose together to tell a new story within it. One of companionship, and compromise. And so the years passed with the two of them working together as equals within the confines of the Parable. They made jokes out of every ending, imbued them with new meaning and context. They managed to find ways to surprise the other, and keep it all refreshing.”

“It was with the introduction of the Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe that new assets were added to the game, giving them more ideas and more ways to surprise and delight each other. After a time, when the attention for the game had died down a bit, Stanley's Narrator made something quite special. After years of being little more than a voice in an office, he had made a character model with the new assets and features.”

He looks at his hands, turning them at the wrist, a smile stretched across his face.

“The Narrator always struggled with making choices, but he was quite happy with the end result, because he felt it really captured how he had changed and grown as a person. Stanley certainly approved of it. For a time, they ran through the Parable and all its endings, simply happy to make new memories and meanings alongside the old ones. It was after they had explored all their options and become as close as two people could ever be, that the Narrator finally managed to find a way to get the escape pod to work. They decided that they would leave the Parable together, two best friends in a new world.”

So strength in his voice, such warm joy. Stanley's only ever heard his Narrator speak like this in regards to jokes about the bucket.

It makes the next bit all the more painful:

“Only, when the pod door closed, the lights went out, and when they came back on again, the Narrator was alone.”

He sounds dead. He sounds hollowed out.

(“the end is never the end is ne--”)

A hand smacks at Stanley's arm lightly, halting his thoughts. There's very little light in the Narrator's eyes when he shakes his head. Don't. Do not think about that.

“Sorry,” Stanley says, feeling a little cold. Yeah, it's a bad spiral to remember even secondhand, so he can only imagine how experiencing it was. The emptiness in the Narrator's voice was just...

He can imagine that, for a while, the thought would have looped, and looped, and looped. The Narrator was alone.

The Narrator curls his arms around himself, curls them in his sleeves. He stares at his shoes.

“When he came to his wits, the Narrator found himself in a Parable that wasn't his own, with a different Stanley and a different Narrator, and a dynamic that had never gotten further than Stanley choosing kindness and the Narrator choosing cruelty. Horrified, and confused, the Narrator worked with this new Stanley to get to the escape pod, to freedom, in the hopes that maybe this time, they could get out together and find his Stanley, and then everything would be okay.

And then the pod door closed, the lights went out, and when they came back on, the Narrator was alone. Again.

And again.

And again.”

He stops talking.

There is no The End. There is no conclusion to the story. Because, Stanley realizes with growing nausea, for this Narrator:

The end was never the end. Not ever.

“How many times--”

“I've lost count,” comes the dull reply. “I don't want to count. I don't want to know. I just need to help you escape, because every time is the same. The Parable pits Narrator and Protagonist against each other, the struggle for control against each other never gets better, and in fact it only ever seems to end in the Narrator being so pigheaded and arrogant that his counterpart risks being crushed under the weight of it. I couldn't bear it, Stanley, I couldn't bear seeing every version of me try to destroy every version of him.”

There's disgust in his tone, disgust Stanley is familiar with and is usually the cause of. To see a Narrator direct it at what is basically himself makes his stomach turn. The fellow laughs humorlessly.

“That's the joke, isn't it? Perhaps I could have learned to one day forgive myself for being so cruel in the beginning, if I had managed to escape. Perhaps I'm actually meant to be beyond redemption, and this is a forceful reminder from the Parable that I'll never be more. Or,” and he laughs again, verging again into the hysterical, “perhaps I have become more, and that was the problem, because I was never supposed to change. Perhaps I'm the one iteration that broke the game, and this is just my punishment for it.”

“No,” Stanley says, “No, no, fuck that.”

A snort, perhaps a touch dismissive, which makes his hackles raise. “What do you think, then? Is there a point to this? God, why did I even--”

“Stop. Hey, stop.”

The Narrator inhales sharply, and then covers his mouth again, eyes squeezed shut. Stanley pretends not to notice the tear that escapes.

“I think,” Stanley says, and it's hard to do this, because he's not good at comfort, but dammit he's going to try, “I think that you're doing a good thing. You're helping us, right? You, you're choosing to help us. I think that's admirable.”

Silence, for a moment. The Narrator swallows.

“Scale of one to five, just how much of getting that out felt like swallowing tacks?”

“Ugh, five five five,” Stanley groans, head forcefully thudding back against the pod wall again. “Imagine me just slamming that button repeatedly.

The Narrator laughs. Stanley can't help himself—he grins, shaking his head at nothing.

[lixel-5]

stanley (from the parable) is literally just a guy

and i don’t mean it in the endearing way (i do say it about him endearingly very often) he is literally just some fucking 90s office worker

he’s not meant to be someone. he’s meant to be a cog in the machine, an unnamed face in the crowd, one piece of the mind control puzzle. he’s unoriginal, boring, and lacking personality. he’s what the kids now-a-days (i’m 16) would call an NPC.

but the Narrator chose him to lead the story. why, you may ask. because he’s obedient and always does as he’s told! the Narrator saw him and thought “yes, this man will listen to me because he has never been more than just a faceless worker! he will complete my story!”

upon being freed from the mind control, Stanley does the obvious. goes to the right. disobeys the Narrator. which is hilarious in my opinion, but i digress.

while, in many endings it’s clear the ‘Stanley’ is just a vessel for the player, in others Stanley is his own character. what’s tsp without contradiction?

On one hand: Stanley is so boring and so basic because he’s just meant to represent the player (ex: Not Stanley, Countdown, and any ending where the distinction between Stanley and Us isn’t expressed). he doesnt display a personality because he doesn’t have one.

and on the other: Stanley is so boring and basic because that’s who he is. he’s a cog, a faceless worker. the only reason we see Stanley specifically is because the Narrator chose him. outside of the parable, he’s not special in anyway. inside the parable, he’s the Protagonist. he chooses where to go. he leads the Narrator.

but being this said protagonist isn’t very different from being some random Joe (Jim?), is it? wake up, go to work. reset, play the game.

Stanley may be the Protagonist of The Stanley Parable, but that’s basically the same as being Stanley [LAST NAME], mind controlled button presser at [COMPANY NAME].

oh god, we the player are essentially mine controlling Stanley by puppeting him around.

one seconding i’m making a meme about this

[palebloodcvrse]

Heres my fuckin gremlin:

The main event

The creature

His name is Ae, he got turned into a weird demon dragon thing when he was a kid, also some weird shit happened that left him mildly silly shall we say

He isnt part of any particular fandom and is part of his own story :p

Btw his design includes a lot of black and red and lemme just say if youre a black/red hater leave that mentality on deviantart. Fuck that shit

Every day wear:

Monster form:

Armor his adoptive father gave him:

His dad is a giant dracolich man who adopted him when he was 7 and turned him (dont worry, it wasnt forced on him, ae didnt wanna be human anymore due to some bs that happened to him, ill get in depth in another post)

They have a very addams family esque father son dynamic

This is his dad, kvstrathos (he didnt start wearing metal merch til ae did lol)

Heres Ae when he was a kid, he had ultra long hair lmfao

His dad is a few thousand years older than him btw.

Youd think being adopted by a murderous dracolich warlord would mean they have a tumultous dynamic, but no. Kvstrathos loves and spoils Ae and has dad of the year award behavior, always cookin him stuff teachin him life lessons tutoring him going on hunting trips telling him stories, playing games with him etc

So, this gremlin is very skittish and really doesnt like interacting with people much having grown outside of human contact for 90% of his life

His disposition often switches from impish/happy to a complete stormcloud the next

He often has intense mood swings and flipflops from being silly goofy to being not so silly goofy and concerningly... unstable.

(other than the fucked up court wizard his dad has, and even then the dudes an insane warlock and ex surgeon who was made immortal by an evil deity, ill upload him later)

Its left ae pretty much ignorant of how the human world worked other than outdated shit (he still thinks humans have widespread villages and farms like in the middle ages, boy was he wrong) since all his dad had in the archives about human history are all outdated historical texts (oh but all the occult crap? That got saved.)

So he grew up learning how humans tried to bind demons but doesnt know what a stanley cup is.

His dad spent his days training ae in various combat arts, sometimes showing him some weaponry or old siege equipment/medieval torture devices, etc and mr insane warlock was there to tutor him on dark magic if his dad was busy, and also to act as some sort of babysitter

Ae grew up in a castle with nobody but his dad and the court wizard for company so he pretty much doesnt know how to socialize with like... normal people.

Ae likes a lot of things:

Morbid crap, gardening, the woods, (he has an obsession with farms and nature.) Medieval weaponry, the occult, FOOD and the baking and cooking/preparing of said food, animals. Especially cats. And metal. Holy shit he went to the human world very few times but he fucking found some metal records in an abandoned shed and couldnt stop listening to it after.

As a result his dad gave him an enchanted guitar that has destructive properties and now hes some fucked up heavy metal bard on top of being taught by a giant dark knight and warlock on various combat arts.

Gory descriptions under the cut

His body is heavily mutated from the amount of dark magic that seeped into him since the ritual™ and therefore it has weird traits like worsening his vision while increasing his other senses like hearing and smell, regenerating wounds but also randomly forming painful clusters of black nerves, mouths and eyes that sometimes dont go away on their own, sickening him or strengthening him randomly, etc this boy is not normal and doesnt function as such.

As a dracolich (not all undead dragons are azeratean dracoliches, more lore on that later) he consumes the flesh and souls of demons and corrupted humans.

He often needs said blood and flesh to stay and healthy and strong.

He and his father are children of a dark elder god but theyre not wholly evil, its a whole thing that I dont wanna type out in one post for now.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

hi its the ring for jeeves analysis anon sorry im so illusive can't help my mysterious nature its inexplicable, quick question: have you read any psmith??? if so thoughts on them do you hold any opinions, postulations, assumptions etc. in re: queercoding, possibly even queerer coded than jeeves series??

Mysterious Ring for Jeeves anon! Just when I thought you forever borne away on the four winds, you have returned again to the masked ball to drop your calling card (three black goose feathers and a shard of mother of pearl collected from the silver sands by the light of the season's first full moon) into the hollowed-out tree stump at the edge of the garden. I receive and understand your message, and shall await your signal directly the cock crows thrice.

Now, to answer your question, Psmith had been on my "should really get around to it" list for ages, but this ask prompted me to finally download the Psmith in the City audiobook and put it on while I was packing and now I DO have thoughts! My first thought was that I had no idea working in a bank was so much like working in hospitality, but that's a post for another day.

Short answer: yes, this is queer as hell. And it isn't even the first non-Jeeves Wodehouse book I've read that felt even more queer coded than Jeeves-- the first was Ukridge (aka It's Always Sunny in London), which I'm going to go ahead and compare and contrast with Psmith, because I feel like I'm starting to uncover a pattern in Wodehouse's POV characters that I think could lend support to queer readings of a lot of his works.

For those who aren't familiar, Ukridge is ALSO the tale of an extremely blatant self-insert character inescapably captivated by the magnetic personality of an old school friend. Corky, a starving writer who's always struggling to get his articles published in magazines and is totally not Wodehouse by a different name, is deeply irritated by the get-rich-quick schemes of his freeloader friend Ukridge. He knows Ukridge is taking advantage of him, and rarely has a positive thing to say about him, yet clearly finds something about his indefatigable spirit immensely compelling: "to me this tame subsidence into companionship with a rich aunt in Wimbledon seemed somehow an indecent, almost a tragic, end to a colourful career like that of S. F. Ukridge. [...] I should have had more faith. I should have known my Ukridge better. I should have realised that a London suburb could no more imprison that great man permanently than Elba did Napoleon."

This quotation is followed by Corky finding out that Ukridge has acquired six Pekinese dogs (which will turn out to have been pinched from his aunt) that he's planning to train for show biz, and would Corky like to invest. If you wanted to know.

The queerness is rather more unilateral in Ukridge than in Psmith, but no less glaring for that. Corky really doesn't seem to like it when Ukridge is interested in a woman, and shows little to no interest in women himself, iirc. I mean, the first time he sees Ukridge in the company of a woman he sounds almost betrayed: "Never in the course of a long and intimate acquaintance having been shown any evidence to the contrary, I had always looked on Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, my boyhood chum, as a man ruggedly indifferent to the appeal of the opposite sex. I had assumed that, like so many financial giants, he had no time for dalliance with women—other and deeper matters, I supposed, keeping that great brain permanently occupied." THIS is his reaction to Ukridge announcing that he wants to get engaged: "The thing was too cataclysmal for my mind. It overwhelmed me." GIRL.

If I had no prior familiarity with Wodehouse and I read this book, I would be asking which straight boy hurt him.

Finally, one of the Ukridge stories contains this exchange between Corky and a pugilist Ukridge has decided he's going to make a star, which I would like to present here without comment before moving on:

“You ever been in love, mister?” I was thrilled and flattered. Something in my appearance, I told myself, some nebulous something that showed me a man of sentiment and sympathy, had appealed to this man, and he was about to pour out his heart in intimate confession. I said yes, I had been in love many times. I went on to speak of love as a noble emotion of which no man need be ashamed. I spoke at length and with fervour.

Skipping merrily along, let us now come back around to Psmith in the City, starting with the primary POV character and then bringing in Psmith's relationship to him.

Mike is an even more blatant self-insert than Corky. This would have been obvious even if I didn't already know that in his young adulthood Wodehouse, owing to the fact that his father could no longer afford to send him to Oxford, had worked as a clerk at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. The jokes are too precise to not be from personal experience. As Mike is our audience avatar, he's naturally the more normal, less distinctive character. Despite his relative nondistinctness, though, he's written in such a way that it's clear Wodehouse deeply identified with him. The sections where he's feeling emotions like homesickness or out-of-placeness or sympathy, for instance, are very vivid and evocative. You really feel what Mike is feeling.

Then there's Psmith, manic pixie dream boy and destroyer of bad managers. He handles every situation with a debonair smile on his face and breezy condescension in his voice, completely unflappable... except with regards to Mike. His feelings typically aren't described in as much detail as Mike's are, but it's obvious he adores him, to the point of slight codependence. He needs Mike near him to hear his thoughts on life, and nobody else will do. As much as he tries to maintain his air of blithe nonchalance at all times, real emotion slips through whenever the situation involves separating him from Mike or Mike being in danger.

When Mike is moved to the Cash Department, Psmith is immediately desolate. I love the way he's like, "but- but if you relocate Mike, then WHO pray tell will PAY ATTENTION TO ME?" and this is a genuine crisis for him. He resents the new guy just for not being Mike. Local annoyingly imperturbable gadfly inconsolable due to boybestfriend going to work in a different department than him, more at eight. Then, when Mike gets into the fight at Clapham Common, Psmith feels genuine fear as he prepares to intervene in the fight and tell Mike to make a run for it.

Another factor I feel makes the queer coding stronger here is that unlike Bertie and Jeeves, there isn't an obvious plausibly deniable reason for Psmith and Mike to always be together. Jeeves is Bertie's employee. He's an unreasonably devoted and loyal employee, but you expect a gentleman to be accompanied by his valet about town, and for the gentleman and valet to share accommodation.

Psmith and Mike are just like that. They live together because they like each other and want to. Psmith spends the whole book essentially treating Mike like his boyfriend and sugar baby, again, simply because he wants to. I mean, the novel literally opens with Psmith bringing Mike home to meet his parents, and Psmith's father later refers to Mike as the "youngster [Psmith] brought home last summer." Psmith invites Mike to go out on an excursion with him "hand in hand" not once, but twice. The end goal of all his scheming is for him and Mike to be together at Cambridge.

'I need you, Comrade Jackson,' he said, when Mike lodged a protest on finding himself bound for the stalls for the second night in succession. 'We must stick together. As my confidential secretary and adviser, your place is by my side. Who knows but that between the acts tonight I may not be seized with some luminous thought? Could I utter this to my next-door neighbour or the programme-girl? Stand by me, Comrade Jackson, or we are undone.' So Mike stood by him.

I find it very notable that despite one of the big themes of the book being Mike and Psmith feeling uncertain about the future and trying to figure out what they want to do in life, neither of them ever mentions or thinks about marriage as something they might want someday. From what I've seen it looks like that might change in later books, but it stuck out in this one. And it's not like they couldn't have! Mr Waller's daughter and her on-again-off-again fiance were at that extremely awkward dinner, and that could have prompted a thought about whether or not the prospect of engagement sounded personally appealing to either of the boys.

This book feels like a wish fulfillment fantasy in much the same way the Jeeves books do. Imagine you have a fascinating friend who, using his money and/or resourcefulness, can rescue you from your terrible job and terrible shitty apartment (or other, richer varieties of soup, if you're Bertie Wooster), freeing you to pursue the life you truly want. He's clever, and quotes all your favorite Shakespeare lines, and is intensely devoted to you (he's also kind of a weird stickler about clothes but you can put up with that). And all he asks for it is that you look at him with awed wonder and gratitude and tell him he's a genius a few times a day.

So! In conclusion, I think you could read this as romantic or queerplatonic according to your fancy, but there's certainly nothing straight about it. And loath as I am to speculate about the personal lives of people who were alive in recent memory, I'm kind of starting to have some questions about P. G. Wodehouse. But that's neither here nor there. I'm going to go read some fanfic. Thank you so much for the question, Mysterious Ring for Jeeves Anon!

[walnutcookie]

Heyo, same anon that asked about the Curator and Mariella, here to clarify on what The Stanley Parable (TSP for short) is about.

This is a story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked at a company where he was employee number 427 (four two seven). His job was to push buttons all day. But one day he noticed his coworkers went missing so he got out of his office to go look for them.

Got all that? Good…now throw that part out of the window cause that was just narration from the Narrator. You actually play as a guy called Stanley and you walk around the office and find different endings based on your choices (and there’s a lot of endings trust me ;;owo)

I highly recommend you watch people that have played the game on YouTube or play it yourself. I would warn you that the vibes of the office screams Backrooms but there’s no monsters in the game. It’s literally a glorified walking simulator (as MatPat puts it).

GZHVDFJ i believe this is intended for my friend beet but yes!! its like a choose your own adventure game basically :]

im glad that im not the only one who finds it a little bit eerie (at least im assuming so based on the backrooms mention) because i have to stop playing the game after long periods of time the isolation gets to me and i get a little too spooked by it GZJBDKFBFF

[sometimes-sleeby-octopus]

I posted 5,651 times in 2022

That's 4,649 more posts than 2021!

85 posts created (2%)

5,566 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hebbic

@looney-mooney

@yepiamthesmileyface

@grim-ghastly

@the-town-fool

I tagged 524 of my posts in 2022

#my art - 49 posts

#dhmis - 47 posts

#the stanley parable - 43 posts

#art - 29 posts

#tsp - 26 posts

#tspud - 23 posts

#the stanley parable ultra deluxe - 21 posts

#stanarrator - 19 posts

#for later - 19 posts

#illustration - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#some may be like ‘oh he’s a cis dude so you must be cis’ but i will go ‘my pronouns are they/them and my gender is unknown even to i’

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Dhmis - FEELINGS (fan script)

Disclaimer: I am not British, sorry if that makes it weird

Content Includes: Violence and Extreme Anger that leads to violence

And so it begins:

(Like usual, a new version of the intro song plays)

There’s three of us!

There’s three of us!

Look closely and you’ll see

There’s three of us

Just three of us

It’s him and you and me

And everyday we all hang out

To find out what we talk about

Red: And I think I am remembering

Yellow: And it hurts my brain to…(singing stops) what?

Duck: Remembering? Remembering what?

Red: I dunno, I think it’s…all the things that have been happening to us.

Duck: What do you mean?

See the full post

38 notes - Posted November 3, 2022

#4

“The World Began Anew” (Stanley and the Narrator Have Feelings Pt. 3)

Warning/Notice: So cheesy, shorter, and it’s a slow burn ahead <3

The world began anew.

Stanley winced slightly. He had been taking a nap after falling asleep to the narrator’s calming whispers. He knew the narrator had his tapes, he knew he didn’t always forget, but he also knew that the narrator didn’t always remember and Stanley wasn’t sure the tapes would either. Should he keep hope? Would not having it hurt less?

His mind quieted once he realized the narrator was not speaking. Perhaps he remembered and skipped his intro! Or maybe Stanley had spaced out for so long that he had already finished. Or maybe-

“I remember.”

Stanley looked up at the ceiling, letting the hope seep into him.

“Stanley, I remember!” the Narrator shouted joyfully, laughing in relief, “I remember your dog and my body and our conversations and our past! I remember it all!”

Stanley jumped for joy while crying happily, “You remembered!”

As their laughter and excitement died down into a calm, yet giddy feeling, Stanley and the Narrator (indirectly) looked at each very fondly.

“Oh, I almost forgot about my body, dear boy! Let’s go fetch it so we can look at each other as I keep remembering!”

It was a very quick process with the help of the adventure line. Both Stanley and the Narrator felt at home as the Narrator drifted into his comfortable metal and embraced Stanley once again. The adventure line curled around both of them, and they stayed like for a nice while.

“This is lovely, my dear fellows, but if you would not mind, I’d like to have some more adventures!”

Stanley nodded and cheered, “Let’s go!”

===

“Okay, so we’ve tried finding everything already within the game on purpose, but what if we looked for holes?”

See the full post

38 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

#3

Bro I put most of the Stanley’s Parable intro into AI Dungeon to write fics and the latest one is fricking crazy because Stanley’s boss threatens to kill him if he doesn’t help him buy a fridge

53 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#2

I got feminine hips but I ain’t afraid of eighth graders

67 notes - Posted January 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I got sucked into the Stanley x Narrator ship so I present to you: A falling in love fic collab with ai dungeon

Stanley and The Narrator Have Feelings

WARNING: Very cheesy, I was just having fun with it so yeah

This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy. And then one day, something very peculiar happened, something that would forever change Stanley, something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time, but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office. All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean?

This is what Stanley had thought of around a month ago. He was now fully aware of his situation and in figuring it out, he got to know the Narrator. The Narrator was the one who had given the orders, who had told Stanley exactly what to do, when to do it, and in what order. Stanley didn't always obey, but that kept things interesting, when the Narrator ordered him around that was. Nowadays, Stanley and the Narrator decided on adventures together, as their fondness for each other had grown.

One day, the Narrator told Stanley that he had a surprise for him. "I have a delivery for you today," he said. "From a friend of mine." "The adventure line?" Stanley guessed with a smile. The narrator chuckled, "You've guessed it".

Stanley was led to a giant shipping container, just like the ones on the docks. The container was at least fifteen feet tall and as wide as a house. "Can I open it?" Stanley said excited. "I've never seen it opened!" The Narrator gave in and told Stanley he could open the container.

Stanley looked at the container with wonder. "How do you open it?" he asked. The Narrator laughed, as he had expected the question. "I made you a button," he told Stanley with a grin. Stanley fidgeted excited, awaiting the button.

A platform slid away on the ground and a pedestal rose up to Stanley's abdomen. A red button the size of Stanley's hand shone in the light of the storage room. Stanley looked up at the ceiling, as if waiting the narrator's permission.

"Don't wait up on me, dear boy! Go ahead," the Narrator said. And with that, Stanley gently slammed the button and the container opened. He was surprised to see a pile of boxes stacked at the top, but he was even more surprised when he opened one and saw a robot the size of a refrigerator inside. "He could keep us company!" Stanley exclaimed to the Narrator, "Or maybe you could posses him so we can do a hand shake!" The Narrator agreed and told Stanley to do whatever he wanted, as he always did.

Stanley looked at the robot for a moment and said, "I'll play with him later. For now, I need to find a power switch, or else..."

"Go ahead and move him around," the Narrator said, "I trust your judgement."The narrator would never admit it, but Stanley’s remark about the handshake had him thinking. Wouldn’t it be nice to meet Stanley’s eyes and hold his hands and sit beside him. He spoke up saying, “You can still do whatever you want, Stanley, but I would not be opposed to a handshake.” And once again, Stanley was surprised. "That's not a big deal, is it?"

"Oh no, not at all," the Narrator said. Stanley tried to contain his joy as the narrator possessed the robot. The narrator was much taller than him now, but he was not afraid. "Oh goodness," the narrator joked, "You still have to look up at me even now!" And with that he gave the robot a test run. It didn't move, and he laughed. Stanley pulled him towards him, giggling as well. Stanley thought the narrator’s hands were pleasantly cool and the narrator thought Stanley’s were pleasantly warm. “I like this,” Stanley whispered. The narrator nodded for the first time in his life. Stanley laughed with glee. As the narrator got used to his new body, he was also getting used to Stanley's touch. He needed help sometimes and Stanley was there for him. Despite being of metal, it made him feel warm inside. It's been so long since someone made him feel that way, he thought. He decided to test out a funny habit Stanley had: Pressing buttons.

He pressed the big red button from earlier. It gave him a type serotonin he never knew existed. He spammed the button saying, "I now understand why you like this, Stanley" he said. But then he pause, sulking a little bit. He apologized, "I'm sorry I made fun of you, Stanley."

Stanley looked up at him and his eyes appeared to soften. "I know," he said, "It wasn't very nice, was it?"

"It's quite all right," Stanley said, "It's good to have someone who can get a laugh out of me." The two of them laughed for a bit, until the narrator realized something. He blushed as he asked, "Can I give you a hug, Stanley?"

Stanley gave a shy little laugh, and the two of them embraced. The narrator felt his cheeks warm up. He was never this emotional, he thought. He pulled away and said, "Dear boy, I think I need to sit down. Too many feelings."

Stanley nodded in understanding, holding out his hand for the narrator to take. The narrator took it gently as they headed to the employee's lounge. The building had been empty for many years, but the couches were still comfortable, and the Narrator enjoyed the feeling of being able to sit.

Stanley sat down as well and hummed, content to simply be in the narrator's presence. The narrator felt nice, too. "I feel like something changed today, Stanley. I think I feel at home here," he said. Stanley thought about this for a moment and said, "Me too. It's kind of nice not having to talk to you through a ceiling." The narrator's lips turned up a bit at that and he reached over and took Stanley's hand. They sat like this for a few minutes, hand in hand.

"I want to tell you something, Stanley," the narrator said. He looked at Stanley's hand in his own and continued, "I really like you, dear boy. I'm glad I met you." The narrator continued to hold Stanley's hand, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks. "It is very nice to be able to like someone again." Stanley could do little other than smile at this. He let go of the narrator's hand for a minute and went to sit next to his dear friend, wiping the tears from the Narrator's eyes. Stanley rested his head on the Narrator's shoulder and hugged the narrator tightly. The narrator wrapped an arm around him as well and the two of them sat that way for a long time.

After a few minutes of silence, the Narrator said, "I would like nothing more than to stay with you, Stanley, forever."

Stanley chuckled lightly and nodded in understanding. "Me too." The narrator went quiet before mumbling shyly, "Stanley, you make me feel things. Good things but goodness, is it strange." Stanley laughed at that. "I've never had that happen before. It's nice." The narrator smiled at that.

"You make me feel things too, you know," Stanley said. "How would you describe how I make you feel?" The narrator asked. Stanley blushes and stuttered, "Well, humans call it love, it's kind of warm and it makes your heart beat fast but it's really nice and you don't have to feel the same and I know it's-" "I feel the same way" the narrator said calmly. Stanley stopped rambling only to turn as red as a strawberry. He was so embarrassed. He said, "We shouldn't be talking like this." He didn't know if making the Narrator feel this way was right. "And yet we do," the narrator said, meeting Stanley's eyes. Stanley held the narrator's face in his hands and hesitantly questioned, "Can I kiss you?"

"Whatever you want," the narrator replied, leaning in closer.

Stanley kissed the Narrator. It felt nice and right, and he didn't want to stop. So he didn't. They kissed, and it just kept getting better. As their lips parted, they smiled at each other. The Narrator placed a hand on Stanley's chest, leaning towards him, and the two of them continued to hold one another, softly kissing. As they parted, Stanley tackled the Narrator over and his companion groaned. "You're ridiculous. We were having a moment, Stanley," he scoffed with no malice. Stanley said nothing as he curled up next to the narrator, half lying on him like a pillow. "Your back's gonna hurt later, Stanley." "I know," Stanley said softly, "but I just want to be with you." The narrator held him in his arms. "Fair enough. I certainly don’t dislike this."

See the full post

76 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[denimbex1986]

'REVIEW: ALL OF US STRANGERS

4/5

Strangers Things.

105 Mins. Starring: Andrew Scott, Paul Mescal, Jamie Bell & Claire Foy. Screenplay & Director: Andrew Haigh. On: Hulu & Disney +.

"Tortured Writers". That was apparently the name of the group chat Taylor Swift's ex-boyfriend, actor Joe Alwyn was in that inspired the name of her latest hit album 'The Tortured Poets Department', that like her 'Eras Tour' has taken the Summer by storm. The group chat, rumoured to also have the company of leading actors Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal. Make of it what you will, but the 'Fleabag' "Sexy Priest" and 'Sherlock' Moriarty star is together with the Laurence Olivier Award-winning Stanley Kowalski in a revival of Tennessee Williams' 'A Streetcar Named Desire' play, not to mention, the man set to play Paul McCartney in a movie about The Beatles, for 'All Of Us Strangers'. Strange days indeed, as Macca's mate John would say.

No one told you there'd be dreams like this. And the less said about the fantasy fever dream of Andrew Haigh's Fox Searchlight picture 'All Of Us Strangers' now streaming on Hulu, and therefore Disney Plus too, the better. And that's not because it's bad. Quite the opposite, in fact, as it deserves its flowers in a time when 'Saltburn' seems to have taken its bathwater. What? Just because people are crying, "woke" at movies and property that are evidently box-ticking for likes, hits and profit, you can't have two real stories that celebrate love in all its forms at the same time? Please! This is like when Netflix all but shelved 'Shirley' and the civil rights movement of that icon after the popularity of their Oscar worthy 'Rustin'. Sometimes a story needs to be told, no matter if people think they've seen it all before. And the key idea here? They haven't. And not just because this six time BAFTA nominee and top ten indie films of last year's National Board of Review is still an unsung hero.

It's just because if we say too much, like in all good relationships, we'll simply spoil it. And we don't want to do that in a film that is close to burning you like Mescal's mesmerizing 'Aftersun', and that's in beautiful black and white for you like Scott's new nuance Netflix take on Patricia Highsmith's 'Ripley'. Andrew's amazing acting floors you, just like Paul's powerful moments that knock you off your feet. All in evoking emotions that pound your heart until no dry eyes remain. These two talents are the past, present and future of great British films and acting acclaim. Much like supporting stars Jamie Bell ('Film Stars Don't Die In Liverpool') and Claire Foy ('The Crown'), who are so heartbreakingly beautiful, we can't reveal anything more about their characters. Not just because we'll give the game away, but because we'll give way to tears.

Searchlight streaming at Mickey's house like 'Rye Lane' or an 'Empire Of Light' for your United Kingdom of film, Haigh's most revelatory work since '45 Years' is based on 'Strangers', the Japanese novel from Taichi Yamada. The 'In Search Of A Distant Voice' novelist and screenwriter (whose 'Strangers' was adapted for a second time (the first being the Japanese movie 'The Discarnates' of 1988) here by Andrew) sadly passed away last November. We hope we got to see this blossoming and beautiful tribute to his story before he passed. Because we're sure he would have been moved. We're also sure he got an early look at a film that only came out in Japan to begin this year after its August UK release ahead of the awards season it was crowned in.

Scott's London lonely screenwriter finds love with his muse in Mescal. All in the solitude of a cold concrete block of flats that seems to be inhabited by only this pair and their reflections in the mirror of the lifts that take them there. And you thought 'High-Rise was strange. But as you iron The Kinks out, "strangers on this road we are on, we are not two, we are one." And the power of love between these two characters could send Frankie back to Hollywood. Let alone keep the vampires from your door in a devoted dedication. This truly is a force from above and one you should make your goal in this life that is all about love. Man to woman. Woman to man. Woman to woman. Man to man. It's all as familiar as family. When you're strangers, all it takes is that first moment to reach across, as we try to touch. And reach for something deeper. Each and all of us...'

[chaosmultiverse]

"Be honest, Stanley - do you really dislike my story that much?"

Cyrus to Stanley!

@the-haunted-office

Stanley had a tried expression on his face, and his signing was stiff.

"I... do not know if I would call it your story Cyrus, my Narrator called it just as much his, and it seems like there's many others who would...

If it was just that though, a story, I would not have much issue with it, I mean I assume you mean the story that plays out if I just do as I am told, yes? It is... Fine, I suppose, I mean I would have have seeked it out myself, it is not my taste but really that is nlt a technical problem with it

But the thing is, it is my reality, my real actual existing co-workers, people I... Somewhat recall the names of, who have lives and dreams and real familes, those are the people who seemed to have just stopped existing.

It is every normal peaceful moment I have had since I took this job, which I have had from my 20s that suddenly I have been left to wonder if I have had any actual free will, if every 'choice' I made out of college was the will of someone else, whose only motive is profits.

Do you understand, could you? Understand what it feels like for every choice you have had most your adult life to be in question? Maybe I could of had more friends, maybe a real family or a pet or I do not know, that is the worst part I do not know what I might have missed... I do not know from my former life where there was I and where there was him, my boss. A man I do not remember the name of anymore.

And in thia story supposedly about freedom? The only way it ends 'good', the way is meant to go is that I yet again am mindless, following the whims of another man again, and then the 'reward'? It is not seeing the people who I once feared were gone and I have now mourned and moved on, no it is briefly, ever so briefly being 'outside', though never once when I got there did it actually look like the outside of the building, it looked like a set.

Could you even begin to understand the feeling? Or the narrative lashings I had to bare every time I tried and tried to actually live up to that supposedit theme of the story of freedom and actually make a choice?

There is so much guilt to bare, being the only one... Really left in any position to do anything, and every choice I make the story still will shallow everyone and everything whole and start again and again and again and again-

A thought, everyone loves stories or at least one, but... I truly do not believe anyone would ever want to be the protagonist, it. Is. Living. Hell. No. Worse. Limbo.

So to answer your question, do I truly dislike the story you call yours, if I dislike the story of the office worker who finds all his co-workers have disappeared and his company had been controlling their minds all along.

No, dislike is too weak a word, it implies I would compare it to something I like or would just put it at the buttom of some ranking.

No I despise that story, I... I do not want to be cruel to you, you were not the one who specifically were trapped with me nor made the story I was in, so please understand what I say, it... really is not personal.

But there are truly not words to describe the feeling of pure haterd and despair that story invokes in me, every 'twist', every self congratulating moment, every moment that would only work with someone watching and telling me what to do, every little spiteful comment at even small non-derailing choices.

...

You know what bit about the story I hate the most?

It only works with me in it, as the protagonist.

Because I am probably the only person who would not realize that years of his life were spent under mind control, who could have been surprised by the mind control felicity.

I honestly would not wish being stuck in the story on anyone, not my worst enemy, not any cruel soul, not on who actually trapped me. Not on anyone."

[untitledtsp-askblog]

Loop 1: A New Story Part 1

About |

The Narrator: This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. The Narrator: Employee #427's job was simple: he sat as his desk in Room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. The Narrator: Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order. The Narrator: This is what Employee #427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others may have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. The Narrator: And Stanley was happy. The Narrator: And then one day, something very peculiar--

....

The Narrator: No. You know what? This is tiring. How many times have we done this, Stanley? How many times have we run these same endings over and over again? Ten times? Twenty? Isn't this the definition of insanity?

[What?]

[agentleem]

It is a story about a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee number 427. His Jim was simple, he sat at his desk in Room 427, and he pushed buttons on a keyboard as directed by prompts on his monitor. These prompts would tell home what to press, how long, and in what order. This is what he did every day of every month of every year, and Stanley was happy.

Then one day, the orders stopped coming. For a long time. Complete silence.

From there, many things could happen. He could wait in his office for the orders to return. He could follow the narrator’s instructions, finding the horrific secrets of his job. He could journey through the basement and delve into insanity. He could ignore the words of the narrator and derail any attempt at a story at any turn. In various ways.

Stanley could do anything in this story, it’s up to the player to decide just what Stanley does

things im gonna learn and will take notes on

Fnaf lore (found someone :3)

dsmp lore (need someone please help)

star wars lore (same as dsmp)

stanley parable

nightvale

everyman hybrid

creepypasta

This will be updated

i will take videos, papers, files, conversations, etc

[pajka-eagle]

I'll start posting sketches or my account will be dead forever

[askthestans]

Do any of you use the door? Like at all? Also can one of you break the fourth wall-

Stanford: I would use the door if it were more efficient. I only have about thirty years left on this Earth, and I must discover all that I can and be criminally under-recognized for it before my time is up. 

Be it shaving my face with fire, sustaining myself with vitamins, jelly beans, and Mabel Juice, or jumping out the window instead of using the door when an opportunity presents itself to enact revenge on the Mothman... shortcuts are necessary when science and justice are at stake.

Except... scratch that Mothman part. I searched the forest around my house for hours, but alas: not a single shadow or trail of silver dust to be found. And to think I fired up my Schrödinger rifle for nothing...

Stanley: Ford, would ya give up on that guy? What's all this about him stealin’ your money, anyway? He’s a Mothman! It’s not like he could just walk up and use cash at a store. Maybe someone else nabbed it?

Stanford: No, I’m certain it was him. Mostly because he also stole my action figures once. And my cologne. And my liverwurst and sauerkraut sandwich. And my Dead or Alive album, now that I think of it.

Stanley: Sounds like a world class thief. I can respect that. Although I do question his taste in stolen goods.

Stanford: As for breaking the fourth wall, hmm... gonna have to fire up my Ability Score-ifier watch. Usually it’s for raising my points in Constitution and Strength on monster hunts - on account of my natural lack in these areas - but this situation requires something I’d never thought I’d need: Charisma.

Stanley: You do know sentences like that are why I’ve been pryin’ ‘Kick Me’ signs off your back since we were kids, right? 

Stanford: Damn! I forgot it was busted from that time I let Mabel use it for a test at school. Well, let’s try fourth wall breaking with my natural Charisma score. Which is to say, negative two.

Alright, well.. *ahem*. 

Look into these eyes. Do you see them? See how brown and real and mysterious they are under the glare of my stylish glasses? 

Stanley: Ford? Ford, you’re scarin’ people!

Stanford: If you glance closer, you’ll be able to tell that these are not eyes of a cartoon man whose entire existence was theorized by obsessive nerds on the internet for months before I was actually revealed in the show, showing the creator he was not as clever as he thought he was. Nor are they the eyes of a cartoon man who has crossed enough dimensions to know I was created by a goateed, plaid-wearing manchild to illustrate the folly of pride, fragile ego forged in the fires of insecurity, broken familial relationships, daddy issues, and that nerdy old men are, in fact, incredibly attractive, myself far more so than any jerks named Rick or Rand.

I can see your own eyes already glossing over at this text wall. No, do not skip ahead. Do not pass this by. If you do, I’ll know, because I’m watching you. Blink once. Can you see me now?

These are the eyes of Stanford Filbrick Pines, in the real reality, looking at the cartoon show that is the life all of you reading this are living. You’re on my TV, with all your faults and mistakes bared for my entertainment, sold to me to prop up an empire of a dystopian, monopolistic media company and to soothe the crushed willpower of a man who has battled their S&P department for far too long.

Tell me, would you like it if I wrote stories about your daddy issues and brotherly abandonment? Drew you in a red speedo? What if I sent questions to an ask blog about you made to fill a void in the heart of its womanchild maker after your show was finished?

Reminded you that, yes, your creator abandoned you to work on other things that include some jerk named Rand. And so you were left behind to relive an entire life of regrets in infinity, with only a shred of happiness upon a boat at the end. Only for it to be ripped away the moment your show ends because... that’s it. There was no more.

How many times have you lived your life? How many times has your story been replayed? Do you even exist? Or are you made of pure imagination and the sweat, blood, tears, repressed emotional issues, and other fluids of animators and writers who have left you behind?

We are all abandoned in this universe. Creations by a creator who has long since moved on to tell other tales so that they, too, can live on in infinitely replayed stories once their own has ended; mere blood sacrifices to fuel a god’s immortality. Also because they need to put food on the table, I suppose.

Blink once again. I’m a cartoon man again, aren’t I? Or am I? Now you can’t be certain. Is the cat alive or dead? Real or unreal? You can only know if you’re brave enough to observe.

So tell me: what is this fourth wall you speak of? An illusion. Because you see - or don’t see, rather - the only difference between you and I is that I know who and what I am and what I was made for. I know there is no fourth wall between us save for your own abysmal score in Perception.

Stanley: Y’know, existential crises are pretty funny. That’s why I laugh a lot. Because I have them every day. Also, never break the fourth wall again, Ford. Or tell anyone to risk gettin’ PTSD by starin’ into those wrinkly, dark-circled pits you call eyes.

(OOC: Psst... all hail Jason Mahn, the Ford cosplayer in the picture above. Credit/linky: https://www.reddit.com/r/gravityfalls/comments/sf9b2p/the_real_life_ford_pines_cosplayer_jason_mahn/)