#tsp fic

[rexila-rites]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58002637/chapters/159960211

This Belongs In A Museum! (Volume 2) Update!

Chapter 6 - Psychometry 101

It began, of course, with one of Narrator’s unscheduled visits to her office. He had a lot to say, as always, but the important point was this: “They are my employees, Curie. I am perfectly within my rights to supervise a training session with them.” Narrator said, staying firm with his arms crossed. Curator, knowing full well that the only reason he was in her office today was to observe Stanley’s first training session with her (and thought this would somehow make it less obvious), did not challenge him further or correct him on employment hierarchy.

FINALLY GOT THIS CHAPTER OUT!!

With any luck i can get another one out next week...

[amazingmsme]

Is The Bucket Worth It, Stanley?

AN: Bear with me as I try & catch up on these fics, I've been working on homework a lot. This was really fun to write, the Narrator just opens up a lot of fun possiblities with his powers! Love messing around with that! Here's day 17!

The Narrator watched Stanley with annoyance, tapping his foot. He'd been more obsessed with a stupid bucket than with him. And that was unacceptable, quite frankly. He'd made it clear that he too was interested in the bucket! Yes, Stanley made it look so fascinating that even he was curious as to its unique properties.

"Stanley, I think it's my turn with the bucket now," he said, garnering no response. "Hm? Stanley, don't you agree? I'd like to see the bucket." Stanley hugged the bucket closer.

The Narrator sighed, rubbing at his temple. "Look, I'm not going to steal it, I just want to look at it! I can do that, right?" He was met with a skeptical gaze. "Oh alright fine. You can have the bucket for one more minute, but I'd really appreciate it if you shared after that." He thought he was being rather reasonable.

He left the room for only a moment, but when he popped his head back in, the bucket was nowhere in sight.

"Wha- Where's the bucket?" he asked in shock. Stanley merely shrugged. "What do you mean you don't know? It was just here!"

He caught sight of the tug at the corner of Stanley's lips. Oh, so that's how he wanted to play it...

"Stanley, you have until the count of three to give it back, and then I'll be forced to take drastic measures," he warned. The warning went unheeded.

"One." No answer. "Two." Stanley stared at him, arms crossed. "Three." Okay, they were doing this.

The Narrator sighed, taking off his glasses to clean them nonchalantly. "You're really forcing my hand here. Last chance," he offered him a way out. Just cough up the bucket now and you won't have to worry. Stanley was always a stubborn one.

"Alright, be that way." Before Stanley could question him, the Narrator spoke once more in a clear, deep voice.

"Stanley was in the dark." Suddenly, he couldn't see a thing. A pitch black void stretched before him in every direction. "He tried to move, but found he was tied to a chair." A chill crept up Stanley's spine upon hearing those words, and suddenly he was no longer standing. He sat in a chair, arms and legs tied down.

"He tested the bonds, but they were tight. Not so tight as to hurt, mind you, just tight enough to keep him secure. And the rope wasn't rough or fibrous either, it was soft like silk." As he spoke, Stanley realized he was right: the ropes weresoft and didn't cut into his skin.

"A single light turned on overhead. It wasn't very bright, but in the complete darkness it might as well have been blinding. A silhouette came into view, allowing him a glimpse of his captor." The Narrator stood before him, an incredibly smug smirk in place. Stanley threw his head back, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Hello again. Now I just need you to answer one simple question. Where did you hide that bucket?" He didn't know why he expected an answer.

"Oh well, you leave me no choice. Always the hard way with you, right Stanley?" he teased. He pulled his hands out from behind his back, wiggling his fingers in the air. "Feel like answering now?"

Stanley's eyes widened and he gulped, but still he shook his head. The Narrator smiled widely.

"Good." He let his hands connect with Stanley's torso, vibrating against his ribcage. His captive jolted away from the touch, biting down on his lip to prevent any laughter from escaping. The Narrator tutted and shook his head.

"Now Stanley, you already know this won't stop until you give me what I want. So I suggest you either cough it up, or get comfortable," he said, not a hint of sympathy in his voice. The Narrator heard a quiet whine slip past his sealed lips and smirked, tracing maddening circles over Stanley's sides.

He slowly ramped up the speed of his fingers, prodding between the spaces of his ribs and scratching lightly over the bones. With a snort, the dam broke and Stanley's bubbly laugh filled the air. He squirmed in his seat, twisting side to side and arching his back, but that only pushed his body into the Narrator's hands. He yelped when his own movements sent wiggling fingers straight into his pits.

"Feel like sharing with the class?" the Narrator asked, but Stanley shook his head. "Okay, more tickles for you then," he said, not even trying to should anything but gleeful.

He worked his way back down, tweaking each rib as he went. Every pinch drew out a different shrill sound and twitch. The Narrator noticed the way the pace of his giggles quickened any time he strayed too close to his belly, and he couldn't let the discovery go unexplored.

"Oh, what this? Does someone have a ticklish tummy?" he started, drawing circles on either side of his stomach. Stanley ducked his head to look away, as if to hide from the teasing.  He shook his head, adamantly denying  it. He was proven wrong when the Narrator wormed a finger in his bellybutton, causing an ear splitting shriek. 

"I'll ask again: where did you put the bucket?" he asked, squeezing his hips in a downright torturous way. Stanley bucked and cackled. The Narrator chuckled and leaned in to whisper, "I know you'll give up sooner or later. But I think we're both hoping it's later." His voice was a deep purr that sent chills up Stanley's spine.

He whined at the accuracy of the assumption, lip trembling in an adorable pout as he still tried to hold back his reactions. The Narrator shook his head and tsked.

"Now now Stanley, don't try and play tough. It only makes me want to break you even more," he taunted, drilling his thumbs in his hip dips. Stanley bucked and thrashed about, but those hands might as well have been glued to his skin.

His laugh turned to breathy frantic giggles when the Narrator began scratching lightly across his lower stomach. He slipped a finger inside his waistband, wiggling against warm sensitive skin. Stanley flushed and let out a giggly yelp.

The Narrator pulled away, allowing him a moment to catch his breath. But that didn't mean he had to be nice to him.

"Stanley knew what he had to do if he wanted this to stop. Either he was so fucking stubborn he refused to give up a metal bucket, or he loved this so much, he wasn't quite ready for it to end. He could feel nervous dread- or was it excitement? building in the pit of his stomach as he saw his captor reach into his jacket and pull out a long fluffy feather," he narrated this song and dance they found themselves in. He hadn't even been wearing a jacket, the idea just came to him. The wide eyed look Stanley gave him was more than worth it.

"So what'll it be? Mercy? Or more?" he asked, twirling the feather between his fingers. Stanley gulped, barely containing giddy snickers as he shook his head. "More it is then."

The Narrator brandished the tool with a flourish and swept it across his neck from ear to ear, as if he was slitting his throat. It sure as hell felt like he was being murdered.

He fluttered the soft plumes over his ears, sending him into giddy, shrill laughter and breathy snorts.

The Narrator leaned in to speak directly in his ear while he tortured the other with the feather. "As you continue to laugh yourself silly, I want you to really think: is the bucket worth it?"

[writingoncloudydays]

Oops they broke the fourth wall

Summary: The Narrator and Stanley become aware that the player controls their actions. They decide to confront the player directly, leading to a metafictional journey where reality and fiction blur together. How do The Narrator and Stanley navigate this surreal experience, and what insights do they gain about their existence?

Warnings: Nothing really, fourth wall breaking, Stanley being Stanley.

0.71k words

It started with a whisper, a faint sensation that something was amiss in the fabric of their reality. Stanley and The Narrator exchanged wary glances, their senses tingling with a newfound awareness of the unseen forces at play.

This whisper was not just an auditory hallucination but a profound disturbance, a crack in the veneer of their carefully constructed world. It was a subtle yet undeniable hint that the reality they had known was not as concrete as they once believed.

As they delved deeper into the mystery, their investigation led them to the revelation that shook the very foundations of their existence: they were characters in a video game, their every action dictated by the whims of an unseen player.

The realization hit them like a tidal wave, washing away the illusions of autonomy they had clung to. The walls of their environment seemed to close in, and the once-familiar paths and corridors took on an eerie, labyrinthine quality.

Shocked and disbelieving, Stanley and The Narrator embarked on a quest to confront the player directly, determined to seize control of their own destinies.

Their journey took them through the twisted corridors of their narrative, where reality and fiction blurred together in a kaleidoscope of surreal imagery. Hallways stretched into infinity, doors led nowhere and everywhere, and the air seemed charged with the potential for the impossible.

Along the way, they encountered bizarre creatures and mind-bending puzzles, each reflecting the player's influence on their world. They faced off against grotesque monstrosities that mirrored.

Their inner fears and grappled with conundrums that bent the rules of logic and physics. With each obstacle they overcame, Stanley and The Narrator grew more determined to break free from their scripted existence and forge their own path.

But as they drew closer to their goal, they began to question the nature of their reality and the meaning of their existence. Were they nothing more than puppets dancing on the strings of fate, or did they possess the power to transcend their predetermined roles?

This existential quandary gnawed at them, causing rifts in their partnership and moments of deep introspection. The boundaries between player and character, creator and creation, seemed increasingly nebulous.

In the depths of their existential crisis, Stanley and The Narrator found unexpected allies in the form of other characters who had become aware of their own fictional nature. These newfound companions, each with their own stories of awakening, added layers of complexity to their quest.

Together, they formed a ragtag band of rebels, united in their pursuit of freedom from the player's control. This diverse group, ranging from forgotten side characters to antagonists turned comrades, brought their unique perspectives and strengths to the rebellion.

As they reached the climax of their journey, Stanley and The Narrator finally confronted the player in a showdown that would determine the fate of their world. The confrontation was not a traditional battle but a profound dialogue that transcended the screen.

Instead of seeking vengeance or retribution, they offered forgiveness and understanding, recognizing that the player was merely a reflection of their own desires and fears. This moment of empathy and enlightenment bridged the gap between player and character, human and digital entity.

In the end, Stanley and The Narrator emerge victorious, not by defeating their adversary, but by embracing the truth of their existence and finding meaning in the chaos of their shared narrative.

They realized that their journey had been one of self-discovery and that true freedom comes not from controlling the story but from embracing the uncertainty of life's journey and writing their own destiny, one choice at a time.

As they stepped into the unknown together, Stanley and The Narrator understood that their journey was far from over. They had forged a new path, one where the lines between creator and creation, storyteller and story, were forever blurred.

With courage and conviction, they faced whatever challenges lay ahead, ready to shape their future in a world where anything was possible.

For they had learned that true freedom is not an end but a process, a continuous unfolding of choices and possibilities. In that infinite expanse of potential, they found a sense of purpose and a renewed determination to explore the vast, uncharted territories of their existence together.

[giddlygoat]

eight hours | the stanley parable fic 

[ 2527 words • fluff, could be seen as ship or platonic • oneshot; may be continued ] 

stanley’s tired. he just wants to get a good night’s sleep. the narrator eventually obliges, even if he doesn’t fully understand stanley’s desire to lay unconscious for eight hours. 

…

“stanley, what in the world are you doing?” 

usually, the narrator could wait patiently for stanley to leave his office before beginning their new run. he would use this short period as a sort of mental refresher, preparing himself for the adventure ahead and taking a moment of quiet to himself. stanley always left eventually, often in moments, but something was holding them up. he had seemingly crawled under his desk with his back to the corner in a curled up position that could only be so comfortable. 

“are you feeling unwell? you’ve been laying there for nearly half an hour now.” the narrator recognized the similarities between stanley’s display and general human tendencies regarding sleep, although he had not seen him asleep very often at all. he knew for a fact that stanley didn’t even require sleep. 

stanley only shifted slightly, adjusting the arm folded under his head. he made no effort to explain himself, or address the narrator at all, for that matter. 

“well, as long as you’ve not contracted some sort of deadly virus or something, i suppose i can’t stop you from sleeping my precious time away.” 

stanley’s face crinkled up just slightly, just for a second. the narrator felt a small zip of amusement through him. “yes, i suppose i should leave you to it. not like we have anything better to be doing right now… like exploring the surprise i made for you.” 

stanley did not perk up as the narrator had expected. that was strange; he was certain telling people that there’s a surprise to look forward to was supposed to be a sure way of getting their attention. 

“i said,” the narrator cleared his throat for emphasis. “you’ll miss your special surprise.” 

stanley burrowed his head deeper in his arms, as if that could block out the disembodied voice. 

the narrator sighed in exasperation. “come on, stanley, work with me here. is the mystery not enticing enough for you? what about i drop hints, or we play a game of hot and cold?” 

stanley did not move. at this point, the narrator knew very well that stanley would not be able to ignore him enough to fall asleep, and he deduced that his protagonist was simply ‘playing dead’ in the hopes that the narrator would get bored and flit off as if he had better things to be doing. 

the narrator almost chuckled at the notion. he would not break that easily. 

“look, stanley - i will be straight with you. i’m not going to stop pestering you until you leave that office. i really do have a surprise for you, something new - i really think you’ll love it! but you’re going to have to move in order to actually enjoy it.” a small prick of anxiety made itself known within the narrator. even when stanley didn’t cooperate, he would always move eventually. there had never been a time that the narrator was unable to motivate stanley to move eventually, either by persuasion, reverse psychology, or brute force annoyance. 

yes, he was sure of it. stanley had never stopped moving for more than an hour or so, and even on this rare occasion, it was with some purpose or goal in mind. something in the narrator’s subconscious urged him to reassure this thought thoroughly. 

stanley sighed, sluggishly rolling his head so that an eye emerged from his pillow of arms. he blinked slowly at nothing. 

“erm… please?” it felt awfully silly to say, and the narrator decided right then that he didn’t particularly enjoy it. 

however, it seemed to convince stanley. he sighed, crawled out from under his desk and stretched out, using his chair for balance. 

“yes! i promise you will not-“ 

[i want to sleep.] stanley signed. he had an air of determination about him. though, the narrator wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen him without that hard-headed aura. 

“sleep? why on earth would you desire to exercise the most boring of human functions?” 

stanley paused for a moment to consider whether or not this even counted as ‘earth’ before deciding that topic was a can of worms he wasn’t ready to open. he also decided that pointing out that sleep could actually be fun and fascinating among a dozen other pleasant side effects probably wouldn’t be useful, considering who he was talking to. 

so instead, he signed [i’m tired.]

the narrator scoffed. “no, you’re not. that’s physically impossible; i didn’t even code natural fatigue into you to begin with.” 

stanley grimaced. he wasn’t sure how to respond to that, especially not with the newfound bitter taste in his mouth. 

“if you’re just bored of the content so far, then i just offered you a solution. the surprise, remember?” 

stanley ground his teeth slowly, weighing his options. the narrator was not understanding him. this was a kind of bone deep, all-consuming exhaustion that had been due for a long, long time. his body didn’t have to ache for his mind to feel like a wet paper bag stuck to a parking lot. he was simply at his limit. 

but, he also didn’t have a lot of options. 

[if i come with you, will you let me sleep afterwards?] stanley was unsure of how to explain himself. despite the justification for anger in his situation, he felt nervous more than anything. he was desperate - he’d take what he could get. 

“sure, you can take a nap after you see the surprise.” 

stanley pinched the bridge of his nose. [no. i mean a deep sleep.] 

there was a very loud, very brief moment of silence. “…for how long?” 

stanley almost laughed. if he hadn’t already been dealing with this crap for so long, he might not have believed that he was bargaining the number of hours he got to sleep with some ignorant prick in the ceiling. 

[a night’s sleep. like eight hours.]

the narrator whistled, and stanley swore he heard the gentle shift of a rolling chair on the floor. “eight hours? that’s quite a lot, stanley. i’m not sure if i can swing that.” 

stanley made no effort to hide the obvious irritation on his face. [yes you can. you’ve swung harder for much less.] 

“well, what am i supposed to do for eight hours? i don’t exactly have a surplus of protagonists laying around at my disposable. i assure you, if i did, i would have given up on you ages ago.” 

[thanks.] stanley rolled his eyes. 

“gratitude is not the appropriate response here, stanley. that was a dig at your insufferable nature and reckless attitude.” 

stanley might have signed something in response if his hands weren’t busy holding his head. he drug them down his face, groaning in frustration. [please, let’s just get this over with.] 

“wonderful!” the narrator clapped. “right this way, stanley.” a familiar yellow arrow appeared on the floor before stanley, snaking through a newly opened door. the smile in his voice was back. stanley wished he had something to smile about too. 

“you won’t regret this. i made this just for you, you know.” the narrator continued to hype up the surprise stanley tried not to get his hopes up about. knowing the narrator, it was probably something underwhelming and useless, like another mostly infinite hole or a new closet. 

stanley followed the adventure line in no hurry. he allowed himself to fantasize about something beautiful and gratifying. the narrator occasionally rattled on about all the effort that went into this spectacular mystery gift, and how brilliant it was, and how ecstatic stanley would be upon seeing it. 

stanley imagined a stretching, open field surrounded by a horizon of trees and distant green hills. wind tickled his ears and sunshine kissed his face as he walked in the direction of his choice. no limits, no rules, no voice. 

the sluggish pace he progressed at did not escape the narrator’s notice. it either meant he was simply savoring every delicious moment of suspense or he wasn’t excited about his surprise, and something inclined the narrator to believe it was the latter. 

yes, upon closer inspection, stanley didn’t look happy at all. it then struck the narrator quite suddenly that stanley’s claims of tiredness from earlier were starkly evident on his features. he really did look exhausted. 

the narrator contemplated his surprise. perhaps the new closet he had cooked up would not please stanley as he had previously hoped. he knew stanley loved closets - there was no doubt about it, but he just didn’t seem to be in a closet exploring kind of mood. 

well, they were only paces from their destination now. the narrator had to act fast. 

“erm, hold on, stanley.” 

before stanley rose a brick wall, haphazardly slapped in last second. stanley took a step back, scratching his head. 

“let’s see… hold on, i just have to make a few minor adjustments. i realized my design wasn’t quite perfect and i really should present you with only the best.” the narrator hummed absentmindedly as he hastily constructed a new room in the closet’s place, digging through assets and arranging everything just so. 

stanley yawned slowly, unaffected. 

“right… there we go! sorry about that, right this way.” the narrator lowered the brick wall once more, and stanley followed the adventure line down to the end of a forgettable hallway. the door at the end was a deep green. stanley had to admit, the new splash of color was easy on the eyes. 

“well, what are you waiting for? go on,” the narrator urged stanley inside, anxious to see his reaction. stanley sighed, mentally preparing himself for disappointment. he twisted the knob and stepped inside. 

“oh, isn’t it just beautiful?” the narrator said dreamily. 

stanley had to pick his jaw off the floor. it… really was beautiful. he found himself in an expansive greenhouse surrounded by big leafy plants and frosted glass panes on every side. the floor was laid with swirling patterns in red brick and white stones. 

what caught stanley’s eye the most, however, was the enormous bed in the center of the greenhouse. a circular sheer curtain shrouded the bed in a hazy green. stanley was moving towards it before he could think.

“look, i’ve thought about what you said, and i think perhaps… i haven’t been the most accommodating. let me make it up to you.” the sheer curtain rolled back before stanley’s eyes, and he realized the comforter was fashioned to look like a lush moss carpet. he reached out and pet the fluffy surface, unable to believe what he was seeing. it felt marvelous. 

“you can have eight hours in here. oh, and i almost forgot-“ stanley only realized it had been silent when suddenly the sound of rain on the roof swelled around him. he looked at the foggy windows to see the color of the sky had darkened to a pleasant dusty purple. 

“there we go! perfect sleeping conditions. now, wasn’t that surprise worth it?” the narrator waited for stanley to move. he just stayed there frozen, his hand in the shaggy fluff of the comforter. 

“…stanley?” this was unusual. something about the situation inspired a prick of anxiety within the narrator. 

but sure enough, stanley’s taut shoulders softened, his hand retracting from the blanket. he looked around the greenhouse slowly, letting his eyes snag on every little detail among the abundant plant life.

had the narrator really created all of this just for him? just for this occasion? stanley gulped, inhaling deeply. the air felt richer and damper. his eyes stung. 

he didn’t bother signing. he unbuckled his belt, pushing off his slacks, and unbuttoned his shirt enough to pull it over his head and throw it unceremoniously to the floor. then he dove under the covers, eagerly wrapping himself up in the heavenly softness of the comforter. 

the narrator sputtered quietly at the sudden display, clearing his throat. he supposed that was a yes. “well, i suppose i should leave you to it, now.” he said rather awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. 

stanley’s eyes washed over the ceiling, watching the rain patter and roll on the glass above him. he finally worked up the determination to pull his arms out from under the covers once more in order to sign. [what are you going to do?] he asked out of curiosity more than anything. 

the narrator hadn’t expected stanley to say anything after all. to be perfectly honest, he didn’t have a clue. and in the vein of honestly, he didn’t particularly want to leave. he had just put this place together; it would only make sense to stay and admire it. just a bit longer. 

[are you there?] stanley signed after a moment. the narrator realized he had not responded. “ah, yes, of course. uhm… i was actually just contemplating that. i think i rather like this place, and i’m not particularly anxious to leave yet - if that’s quite alright with you.” 

a small smile grew on stanley’s face. the narrator studied it closely. [it’s very nice. thank you.] as if to prove his point, stanley gathered up the bunched up comforter in his arms and snuggled beneath it. the narrator studied this closely as well. stanley looked so… content. he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. 

“you’re very welcome, stanley.” he smiled despite himself. maybe stanley would finally understand that the narrator had his best interest in mind after this. yes, surely he would take a lesson from this.

somehow, watching stanley burrow into the cozy cocoon of his blanket made the narrator feel inclined to keep those sentiments to himself for now. 

several moments passed by, and stanley’s eyes had closed, the rise and fall of his chest slowing. the narrator had to admit, the sound of the rain was quite relaxing. he knew if stanley wasn’t asleep by now it was only a matter of time, and then it would be eight hours of nothing. 

perhaps the narrator would leave at some point to work on new areas or flesh out his story. but until then, he found that he wasn’t bored. quite the opposite, really. watching stanley sleep was fascinating. seeing him at peace was a rare thing. 

maybe the narrator had been too harsh on him. what good is a protagonist who’s sick of his own story? the narrator toyed with the idea of allowing stanley to visit this place regularly. it could be good for morale, and give the narrator ample time to perfect his new ideas. yes, he would certainly consider it. 

until then, stanley was fast asleep, and the narrator suddenly had no one to talk to. he’d never understood the appeal of sleep, as it just eats up valuable time, but seeing stanley in this state inspired curiosity in the narrator. it looked cozy. he found himself wondering what that might feel like. 

these thoughts would zip through the narrator’s mind as he flitted around his maps, making improvements to his plots here and there. eight hours would pass slowly and quietly, and the narrator found that his pondering kept the inherit bore of it all at bay. 

[shoefullofpudding]

CW: Some mild body horror

You stand before the Narrator. Not one, but multiple, all crammed together with limbs and teeth and eyes, like someone had attempted to create one entity from many. It crawls toward you, tumbling and sliding on fingers and toes, knees bent like elbows and elbows bent like knees.

Each mouth speaks, struggling to open in impossible ways.

“Love? Love… love!”

It speaks with guttural growls, not in unison but each word slightly offset, creating a chaotic echo. Soon, the word loses all meaning and sounds dangerous, a plea and a threat at the same time.

You scramble back. The cursed form of Narrators creeps closer. You turn and run, slamming the door behind you.

What became of the poor souls stuck in that forsaken mass? You never find out. Instead, you will yourself to imagine it was a dream. But you can never get that coarse cacophony out of your head.

Love? Love… Love!

Happy Valentine's Day

[alabasterplasterart]

Chapter 2 of Parabiosis is up!

You can read it at this link here (as well as the first chapter if you missed it, of course). Chapter one surpassed 100 hits in five days so I'm beaming, thanks for that support!

[4str0nuts]

ypu will be forced to hear about my au

short summary is that the narrator is stupid and didn’t update the computer systems in the parable, causing it to blue screen and making everything sleepy. check out my fic for more if ur interested pls https://archiveofourown.org/works/46132132/chapters/116134249

[bailey-the-narrator]

Am bored. Hand over your narrator and their personalities and I'll try to make a short fluff drabble of how mine would interact with yours

[rexila-rites]

This Belongs In A Museum! Update: Chapter 2 - Emotional Lubricants

It's the night of the museum fundraiser gala, and Narrator and Stanley find themselves switching roles as they prevent thefts instead committing them. Of course, this is a world full of weird abilities and weirder people, so there's no way the night will boring! But maybe they'd rather it was...

[fairycatfawn]

One of my favorite moments from the beginning of @rexila-rites 's This Belongs In A Museum! (Volume 2)

Also a few more drawings!

Narrator entering Stanley’s apartment first time (Volume 1)

And Curator!! <3

[ifwebefriends]

Image ID in ALT

Bad News: the Stanley Parable fic that I originally wanted to finish and post by the end of May is still not done and will probably take a few more weeks

Good News: I started a different Stanley Parable fic a few weeks ago that is already almost done and I feel pretty certain that I can get it done and posted by the end of Pride Month. If you want to be notified on here when it’s done let me know and I’ll make sure to ping you when I post about it on here.

[wheres-my-pencil]

surprise surprise i kinda actually kept writing by accident again fhsbfh. i never write like. fanfiction fanfiction or anything so this is new to me and will probably still be trash but i like this chapter (?) a little bit better :] keep reading to . well. keep reading fjfhdf. this is now 2/2, it's kinda finished now 💥💥

maybe stanley can only be expressionless at the discovery, and maybe it scared the narrator a little. he has no idea what stanley is thinking. he never does. he pretends he does so that nothing stanley might really feel about him could hurt him, or god forbid, reach him. he insults him to keep him at a safe distance.

stanley notices the narrator curl in on himself upon approaching, or maybe just at the thought of stanley seeing him be so .. embarrassing...

god, how could he let this happen.

stanley steps back to where he was and raises his hands in promise of peace, as if facing a scared animal.

they stay at a tense stalemate for a few seconds. the narrator looks at stanley's hands with a glint of hope in his eyes, and then swiftly looks down and away. for once, the narrator is at a loss for words.

stanley cautiously walks a little closer, sits down, and waits for him to find them again.

"i truly am sorry, stanley. it's hard to admit even to myself why i would do such a silly thing," he starts to mumble, shuffling himself from his spot in the air towards the floor into more of a sitting position, "but i seem to have taken some sort of.."

he looks up at stanley and is faced with the most overwhelming feeling he's ever had at just seeing stanley so close, face to face, and seeing him stare back for real. he looks away again and braces for something.

"some sort of. possibly. non-platonic.. liking... to um. you."

stanley sits up straight suddenly. the narrator pulls his knees closer toward his chest.

"now i know what you must be thinking- and you would be right. this is simply unacceptable. there must be some..." he hides his face in his hands, "some terrible sort of- glitch or mishap in the files that messed with my head."

he then folds his arms and burrows most of his head between them. stanley scooches closer, subtly trying to catch his eyes from where they glare at the floor behind him.

"this must be sickening to you, and i apologize. with deepest sincerity."

he wants some sort of answer. he lets himself (take a minute to gather himself to be able to) stare into stanley's eyes again with a furrowed brow. they seem far deeper than they should look. he would chalk it up to an optical illusion or prank, but there's a feeling in his chest that shouldn't be physically possible either.

"it sickens me too, in a way."

stanley hasn't moved. possibly out of disgust? shock? he's unreadable. the narrator shifts his focus to the ceiling.

"i'll be sure to take this up with the developers, or i'll fix the files myself somehow. better yet, i could delete a few and it should take care of this whole m-"

a hand touches the narrator's, where it sits clenched to white knuckles on his knee. it's strange and somewhat inorganic, but it's there. it's all computer code, all part of the game, but both of them felt it. they stare at the point of contact.

the narrator looks up at him, his lips tight.

"..stanley?"

stanley follows his gaze, and once again, and the narrator is struck with the same fear he felt during the first time they accidentally made eye contact. stanley gently lifts his hand off of the narrator's, and the narrator feels like he could die.

stanley turns his palm upwards, presenting it to the scared, slightly ghostly figure in front of him. the narrator starts to unfold his arms, still stiff in the shoulders, and hesitantly places his hand in the other's palm.

"is this.. um.. pardon me but um. what exactly do you mean by this?" it was the first time he had admitted to not knowing what was going through stanley's head.

"are we... ok like this? i mean- um. goodness something really must be wrong with me."

before he gets the chance to look away again, stanley pulls their hands towards his chest and holds them there. it feels unnatural and new, and it looks a little wrong, but stanley something odd with his face. stanley has seen pictures of it around the office, so he vaguely knows it's a positive gesture. he hopes not to get it wrong.

stanley smiles at him.

"oh." the narrator finds himself smiling all weird too. a little bit wobbly on his end. "that's. strange." he wipes something off of his face with his sleeve.

"oh stanley, i think i really must be bugged."

his other hand reaches for their joined ones.

"although, i don't think i mind it too much, if you don't," he chokes through a shaky laugh.

in an attempt to answer somehow, stanley moves himself to the narrator's side and tries to mimic the situation he found himself in earlier. his head doesn't quite rest the same way on the narrator's shoulder as it would if he approached from behind, and their hands are clasped together so he can't exactly wrap his arms around the man, but this was nice too.

and with the narrator leaning his head on stanley's, it seemed to have worked as an answer.

(read more for a short pseudo-fic?? that i wrote kinda by accident?? it's kinda shit and doesn't have anything about stanley and it's mostly just describing a half baked idea but have it if you want. also this has definitely been done before but whatever)

au where the narrator, unbeknownst to stanley, finds out that he can be physically affectionate in a form that stanley can't see or feel.

after countless careful testing of stanley's reactions to confirm this, he starts to casually sort of. walk side by side to him and brush their hands together.

after a few hundred resets, he's at a point where he constantly holds hands (phases them through each other) with stanley as he yammers on as usual. sometimes he floats around him in circles and studies the folds in his clothes and the way stanley moves, still blabbering about, until, carefully, he leans reeeal close to stanley's face. he takes in every wrinkle and dimple, every reflection across his eyes, and watches the way his character model's hair sways a little as he walks, still pretending to have some sort of strong opinion about whatever he's talking about. once again, he starts to do this regularly.

when stanley happens to look at something that lines up their eyes to seem like eye contact, the narrator gets all freaked out and goes strangely quiet. he makes up some excuse (let's see here.. the next door is .. hmm .. .. (the first time it happened he actually did get them both lost)), and the next few times it happens, he starts rambling faster, trips over his words, and flusters himself in his own monologue.

after another few hundred resets he calms down and gets used to the fake-outs and gradually forgets it was ever even a worry.

during one reset in this peaceful phase, the narrator hugs him from behind, wraps his arms over his shoulders and around his chest, and sighs somewhat like a dog as he rests the underside of his chin on stanley's shoulder.

of course, sighs of yearning and disappointment sound similar enough that this one fit nicely for his current monologue. in fact, he starts getting so caught up with sarcastically praising stanley for staying in the employee lounge for more than two whole minutes, that as he leans into his face, yawning mid-sentence from the pseudo-warmth of stanley's neck and left cheek, he doesn't even notice that stanley has not only stayed in the same room, but hasn't moved an inch for the past five minutes.

worse yet, the narrator only finally realized when he happened to look up admiringly again, and nearly flew across the room at the sheer intensity of stanley's eyes staring dead into his own. he paused his berating. he didn't even have an excuse prepared, and he wouldn't need one, considering how stanley's first movement after the narrator's nearly endless stream of complaining was to turn to look at him where he hovered slightly above the floor, somewhat disheveled and panicked.

that's all i got for now fhdwds

[writingoncloudydays]

The Chronicles of Stanley: Beyond the Nexus

Summary: follows Stanley, whose routine office life is disrupted when the guiding narrator disappears. Left to navigate a surreal and transforming office space, Stanley encounters conflicting narrators and discovers hidden worlds within his workplace. Through introspection and exploration, he rejects imposed narratives, embraces his agency, and embarks on a journey through a portal into the Nexus. There, he finds a sky city and begins a quest of self-discovery and adventure across diverse realms, shaping his destiny amidst the complexities of a multiverse.

Warnings: Mild Psychological Distress, Mind Manipulation, Mild Language, Mild Peril.

Words 0.74k

Stanley sat at his desk, the familiar hum of the office building now resonating with a newfound sense of possibility. The once predictable rhythm of his life had been irrevocably altered, and he was invigorated by the uncertainty ahead. The return of the original narrator, now an ally rather than a controller, marked the beginning of a partnership built on mutual respect and curiosity.

As Stanley gazed at the monitor before him, he noticed something strange. The screen, once a static array of spreadsheets and emails, now displayed a shimmering portal, its edges pulsating with a soft, inviting glow. He felt a nudge, not from an external force but from within, urging him to explore further.

“Are you ready, Stanley?” The narrator’s voice was calm, almost gentle. “This portal leads to worlds beyond your imagination, places where your choices will shape not just your destiny but the fabric of reality itself.” Stanley took a deep breath and nodded. He had faced his fears and emerged stronger; it was time to embrace the unknown.

When he stepped through the portal, he was immediately enveloped in a swirl of colours and sensations. Stanley stood in the middle of a vast, open landscape when the vortex subsided. The sky was a rich tapestry of swirling hues, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light.

“Welcome to the Nexus,” the narrator explained. “This is the crossroads of countless worlds, where possibilities converge. Here, you can choose your path, explore new realms, and uncover the secrets of existence.”

Stanley felt a surge of excitement. He had never imagined such a place could exist, let alone that he would have the opportunity to explore it. He took a step forward, and as he did, pathways began to materialize before him, each leading to a different world.

One path led to a city suspended in the sky, its towers connected by shimmering bridges and bustling with life. Another path descended into a lush forest, where trees towered like skyscrapers, and the air was thick with the scent of flowers. A third path wound through a crystalline desert, where the sands sparkled like diamonds under a brilliant sun.

Stanley felt the weight of choice upon him, but instead of fear, he felt exhilaration. The paths before him represented physical journeys and opportunities for growth, learning, and transformation.

���I am here with you, Stanley,” the narrator said, his voice a reassuring presence. “But remember, the choices are yours. Your story is now your own to write.”

With a resolute nod, Stanley chose the path to the sky city. As he walked, he felt a sense of purpose and determination. The town rose to meet him, its towers gleaming in the sunlight. As he crossed the threshold into this new world, he felt the eyes of its inhabitants upon him, curious and welcoming.

The sky city was a marvel of engineering and beauty. Its streets were lined with trees and flowers, and the air was filled with laughter and music. Stanley felt a sense of belonging as if he had found a place where he could be himself.

A group of citizens greeted him, their faces alight with curiosity. “Welcome, traveller,” one of them said, a tall woman with eyes that sparkled like the stars. We have been expecting you. There is much to see and learn here. Come, let us show you our world.”

As Stanley followed his new companions, he marvelled at the wonders around him. He saw gardens suspended in mid-air, libraries filled with books that seemed to come alive with the touch of a hand, and workshops where ideas were transformed into reality with a mere thought.

Throughout his journey, the narrator remained comforting, offering insights and guidance but never dictating his actions. Stanley realized that this partnership was the key to his growth. Together, they could explore the depths of these new worlds and uncover their mysteries.

As the days turned into weeks, Stanley became integral to the sky city, contributing his unique perspective and skills. He discovered his journey was about exploring new places and understanding himself and his place in the universe.

[lixel-5]

creating a collection. i call it possible stanarrator.

homosexuality

[shoefullofpudding]

AU where Stanley was pulled from reality, leaving a hole in the Parable.

Were we ever really meant to be together, or just two sides of the same coin, two foils in an endless comedic dance spinning toward tragedy? Maybe the first moment I let you in, spoke to you as a friend sealed your fate. 

I don't know. All I know is you aren't here. There's a hole in the world where you used to be, writhing and screaming with remnants of reality waving through the air like torn fabric. If I get close enough, I can still smell you. But I dare not get too close.

Why did the Parable do this? Is it my punishment for breaking script, for forgoing painful endings for a life of our own? If I had kept you at arms lengths, continued to lead you through narratives that stripped you little by little of your soul, maybe you'd at least still be alive.

But I couldn't. You grew on me, became more to me than my ego, and my status in this twisted world out of either of our control. I needed you to be happy. I needed you to be safe. I needed you to know that you were worth life, choices, and freedom.

I'm so sorry, Stanley. So terribly sorry. I hope you somehow escaped and can find a world where you can have the life you deserve. But I guess I'll never know if that's true unless I follow you into the void that tore you away. And even if it leads to death, at least we'll be together.

Here I come, Stanley. Let me get close enough to smell you as I fall into the abyss.

-

-

-

I don't know what to expect, in this cold void. Is this where you ended up, Stanley? Are you lost and waiting? Or will I only find remnants of you? I can't smell you anymore.

I find you curled up in the cold, eyes shut as you float endlessly. You look so scared and alone. I reach out and touch your face. It flinches and your eyes fly open.

Those beautiful eyes stare into mine and I see the fear drain away. You grab my hand and our fingers intertwine. Now we're spinning through this void together. 

I don't know if there's anything else out here, but there doesn't need to be. All we'll ever need is each other. Lost forever in a cold embrace.

The end.

[stellarzidal]

everything about the stanley parable already makes me want to IMPLODE. this fic took that energy and ramped it up to wanting to activate a nuclear BOMB in my organs

this belongs in a museum! by @rexila-rites was actual heat, PLEASEEE go read the first volume if you're into funny haha immortal guy being a thief and getting into shenanigans ☹️ i actually had such a fun time in the morning reading through this, especially the mascots arc (which is what is pictured!!!)

close-ups below! 🫶