#tsp fic
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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?"
#tickletober#tickletober 2023#tickletober day 17#the narrator#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#stanley#the stanley parable#tsp#the stanley parable fic#tsp fic#the stanley parable tickle fic#tsp tickle fic#ticklish!stanley
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Reposting this link as it is now completely finished! Posted 4/27 finished 4/32 5/2, it's a story about absent friends and the hits of the 80s, 90s, and 00s-
Sometimes a song really speaks to you. Sometimes, they’re totally unrelated but are just fun and cathartic to sing. Sometimes, they’re vessels for painful memories. But just because a memory is painful, doesn’t mean you want to let it slide. Today's a very important day.
Or: Narrator dissociates in a Karaoke booth for 2 hours.
Please heed the tags and enjoy the Superthieves lore buried in this songfic!
#superthieves au#clock 0ut fic#tsp fic#clock 0ut narrator#clock 0ut stanley#tsp mariella#tsp timekeeper#tsp curator#rex fic updates#ahhh now I can go back to seeing a man about his robot-
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Book Done!
My handmade book for my fanfic series "I see you, I hear you" is now done!
Yea the title writing on the front isn't centered because I'm bad at judging how much space I need (same for the spine haha)
But I still like it! :D
Also you may notice that the text on the pages doesn't look centered either- it's because I cut the right edges of the pages so they're all the same length, and I messed up the first time, so I had to cut off even more :')
But the results are great cus the pages are now all the same length like a real book and you can see and feel that! :D
Overall I am very pleased with it. It's not perfect, but it's made with a lot of love :3
(there's several more mistakes but you don't see those so I won't need to mention them haha)
The art I used was commissioned by me & drawn by @rune-ko 💜
And of course I'll invite you to read this series on AO3 if you haven't already! It's 17 works with 150k words total, and the series is finished!
Found here, of course: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3887746
#the stanley parable#the stanley parable narrator#the stanley parable stanley#tsp#tsp art#tsp fanart#tsp stanley#tsp narrator#tsp fanfic#tsp fic#book binding#fanfic binding#admin photo#/ reblogs comments tags additions all is welcome and appreciated!!!
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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.
#tsp#the stanley parable#tsp narrator#narrator#stanely#fourth wall breaking#small writer#tsp stanley#stanely being stanely#stanarrator#tsp fic
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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.
#my fics#the stanley parable#tsp#stanley tsp#the narrator tsp#stannarrator#tsp fic#uhhh i don’t share fics often and i’m nervous lol. hi. i don’t have a beta reader i just try to spellcheck and perfect all my own stuff#which is why i hardly ever finish fics rip shsjdndnn#i know this one doesn’t have a super satisfying ending. i meant to like. make more. but i know if i wait to post it it’ll never happen#so here! enjoy whatever this is lol#oh and i know stanley technically has apartments with beds in the game but.#this is actually inspired by my mom’s greenhouse which is enormous and has a full size bed in it!#and it’s actually the deepest most peaceful sleep of your life believe me. it’s so rad. so i wanted stanley to have that#he deserves it <3
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New fic, lets go boioioiss!
Summary:
Stanley falls off his chair and gets bruise on his forehead, the Narrator can't help but to kiss it better.
Its a short fluff one-shot! Theres one illustration for the story :D
Have fun reading ya'lls!
Click here to be redirected to the fic!
*Click the keep reading to see the illustration for the fic!
:P Gays
#hori can write#hori can draw#tsp fic#the stanley parable#tsp#the stanley parable: ultra deluxe#fanfic#stanarrator
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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
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Stannarrator fanart and fluff!!! (I'm sorry if the short fic is kinda shitty and also the anatomy on this artwork is kinda ehhh idk)
Narrator looked up at the office worker who seemed to lend a hand, as if inviting him to dance since romantic music started playing on the radio. A tint of rosy pink slowly appeared through his cheeks. The narrator wasn't used to being given romantic affection, and he wasn't sure enough if he could handle dancing with Stanley at all (he'd explode from being so flustered). He held his hand and stood up from the chair. Narrator was taller compared to him.
Stanley placed his hand on the narrator's chest, while the other one held his hand. Narrator's eyes widened, and he was visibly blushing harder, forcing his lips to not smile. Stanley was smiling the whole time too, and god, Narrator can't help but admiringly stare at his smile. He was caught staring at him multiple times, even if they were at a certain distance from each other.
"Your hand is cold. Is it because of the air conditioner?" He asked. The temperature of Stanley's hands were cold enough that they were noticable. Stanley shrugged, not having an answer to it. Narrator would be lying if he said he didn't want to kiss it and press his lips on his palm for a good while to warm it up. He really wanted to do that.
The narrator placed his other hand on Stanley's waist before they began moving their feet, dancing along to the music. Each step they took, Narrator could feel himself calming down from being flushed. It made him feel quite happier too. After a minute, Stanley's eyes slowly closed and they continued dancing. Narrator continued to admire the man and held him closer. This caused Stanley to suddenly stop and tugged Narrator by the arms. "Oh- Stanley?"
Stanley tiptoed for his lips to reach Narrator's cheek, pulled him closer and leaned forward to give him a kiss. Even his lips were cold, but Narrator's cheeks were surely warm. "Hm.."
He could get used to this. He'd love to.
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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!
#parabiosis fic#alawriting#fandom char#the stanley parable#tsp#tspud#tsp fandom#tsp fic#the stanley parable fanfic#tsp fanfic#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#a03#a03 fanfic#a03 writer
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Could I perhaps interest you in my TSP HR!AU??
Weird Dreams Can Be Entertaining
It's funny, right? How such a high being such as the Narrator can learn from a meer human. Though the Narrator itself didn't think that. Not anymore, at least.
All creatures, big and small, mighty and seemingly insignificant, have the capacity to learn and develop. Humans have a wide range of knowledge accessable within their world about their world; that, the Narrator has learned.
Narrator's kind, although they go by many names, focuses on gathering information, so to speak. “Researchers”, “Archivists”, “Explorers” and “Holders” are close enough to their job to get the idea.
#the stanley parable#tsp#tspud#tsp au#Half Real AU#HR!AU#my fic#tspud fandom#tsp fandom#tsp fic#ao3 link#ao3 fanfic#ao3 writer#lime™/ trixel's post#limelemonleafpost
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Just Like A Prayer
Pairing: Stanley/The Narrator (The Stanley Parable)
Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Words: 3396
Read on AO3
#tsp#tspud#the stanley parable#stanarrator#the countdown ending#tsp fic#fanfiction#sef writes#i had entirely too much fun with this one#me handshake emoji stanley: voice kink
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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
#astronuts art#the stanley parable#tspud art#tsp#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#tsp fic#tsp au#The Sleepy Parable#making an au tag for my sanity if i do post more art god bless
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This Belongs In A Museum! Update:
Chapter 32: Epilogue
Work is work, and life moves on.
Also this fic is ONE YEAR OLD?!?! and FINISHED?!?!?
I have NEVER been able to stick to a project this long and finish it, and I wouldn't have been able to do it if it wasn't for my server friends and the encouragement from everyone who commented or kudosed or anything 😭😭😭
As always, Thank you for reading andI hope you enjoyed the ride! Now I'm off to work on Jailbreak and then... Volume 2...
#clock 0ut fic#clock 0ut narrator#clock 0ut stanley#the stanley parable fic#tsp fic#superthieves au#rex fic updates
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Okay so since exams and so many other things are ripping my ass in twain, here’s a snippet from this, just to make up for the long wait:
(Based on this post of mine)
Also for clarification:
The Narrator - TSP Narrator
The Instructor - LBP Narrator
“You see, the player begins at the front door, where everything appears to be normal. The clock motif is introduced, representing the shackles of pressure mortality has on the common man, and the battle between survival instinct and societal instinct - one fights to live, the other to work and please others.” The Narrator babbled on, eyes on his creation and not the expression of growing concern on his listener’s face “It also symbolises how the end of the workday is constantly on the hero’s mind, a brief reprieve from the capitalist hellscape he’s trapped in. But what are the consequences of such a reprieve - the level asks as the photos reveal the character’s family - when you leave all the stressors to harm those around you?”
As The Narrator continued, The Instructor grew more ill-at-ease. Vague symbolism and depressing subject matter aside, the level contained minimal gameplay. To proceed, you simply walked to the right. Not to say he didn’t enjoy more abstract levels which prioritised storytelling, but this…it wouldn’t sit well with those who played it. People wouldn’t get it.
And yet - watching as The Narrator’s eyes shimmered with the pride of creation and his arms gestured madly as he tried to communicate his concept - he couldn’t bring himself to stop him. He was proud of what he made, and that was enough. It didn’t matter what anyone said.
As if realising he’d been talking for several minutes now, The Narrator suddenly cut off his ramble. A strange fear flickered in his eye, but quickly left. As if he were afraid of talking too long.
“Well, I’ve- I’ve talked enough,” he said, shrugging with a shaky grin, then leaning forward slightly as he asked “So, what do you think? Honest answers, please.”
The Instructor smiled sweetly, and responded “It’s absolutely wonderful.”
Goodness gracious, he was not prepared for the reaction that caused.
Not exactly instantly - two seconds passed after uttering the words, presumably as they registered in The Narrator’s brain - yet still quickly, he lighted up like an overly-photic Christmas tree, beaming like he’d just seen the presents under it. It was a dramatic change. He shined as opposed to wavered. A beacon of ecstatic pride.
“Yes! Yes, I knew I’d knocked it out of the park with this one!” He laughed, eyes twinkling, pumping his fist in the air, adding in delightfully whimsical sing-song: “I did it! I did it! I did it!”
It was the first time he’d laughed since coming here.
A genuine, warm, exuberant laugh. Triumphant. It was like the Sun peeking out of the clouds after an all-day thunderstorm.
The Instructor’s throat tightened. This didn’t make sense to him, as nothing was evidently wrong. Was it simply anxiety? Stress, and nothing more? A fear of negative feedback being shown to such a…such a…
He swallowed thickly. Such a fragile, yet strong thing. Paradoxical was his barmy nature, both reeking of insecurity and annoyingly egotistical; logical yet emotional; being simply around him toed the line of tediousness at pretension and wonder at disposition.
He annoyed him, and yet he enraptured him.
And right now, there wasn’t a single kernel of indignation in The Instructor’s temperament as The Narrator continued to joyously celebrate this itty-bitty victory.
What was there instead?
He…he didn’t know how to say. With heavy lids and a frown, he could only mutter some half-baked allusion to the truth, too quiet to hear:
“You’re wonderful.”
“Goodness, I’m terribly excited to release this into the world! The masses!” The Narrator remarked, excitedly wringing his hands “People will look at this and see a brutally honest reflection! A thrilling statement on the world! A work of art unafraid to say what needs to be said! …now, just to name it…”
As The Narrator published his level, going about naming it and writing a description and the appropriate tags, The Instructor could just about hear him quietly echoing “Wonderful” over and over under his breath.
At first he shrugged it off as narcissism. Then the notion that perhaps kind words must be a rarity came to mind. His chest ached with the thought.
#fun fact: the level the narrator made is actually based off a level I made once. never published it.#lbp3#lbp2#lbp#lbp1#lbp narrator#tspud narrator#tsp the narrator#tsp narrator#the stanley parable ultra deluxe#little big planet 3#little big planet#fanfiction#tsp fic
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Summary:
Stanley has always been idiotically stubborn, but this was just extreme.
In other words: Stanley takes revenge against The Narrator with the one way he can, with his own choices, or more so a lack of them.
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First ever fic! Hope it reads well!
Thank you to the lovely @chubs-deuce for both beta reading and helping me out with fixing writing errors. Love you buddy, no romo 💚
(EDIT: Technically a continuation to two comics I made. Forgot to mention that bit here, sorry.)
Part one | Part two
#tsp#tspud#the stanley parable#the stanley parable ultra deluxe#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#how do you tag fics????#fic#tsp fic#my fic#doodles#my art#tsp doods#tspud doods#stanley doods
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Throwback to the time my friend sent me a screenshot of two batshit AO3 tags and I laughed at it for a second before saying "wait I know those tags" and he looked up the fic and that's the time my friend learned I had read the Wires fic
#charlie if you see this im so sorry#i did it for the meme#and out of curiosity#the stanley parable#tsp#tsp wires fic#wires fic#wires#tsp fic
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