#Stanley Hazard

[ratatatastic]

Emotions are high and the vibes could not be better today!

"Pretty awesome. Lot of emotions. Feels pretty hefty but like, fuck we're Stanley Cup Champions!"

When asked who the Cup is for? No hesitation, the fans.

"They sponsor us. It's for them. It's for them. Like they deserve it, they've been waiting for it, like it's for them."

how do you endear yourself to the fans? i think chugging a brewski while they chant your name will do it! and also complimenting them that too oh what a darling

CBS News Miami | 6.25.24 (x)

[cosmokrill]

He has a habit of substituting swears <3

Also this was their first kiss ehehehe

[semper-legens]

137. The Hazards of Love, by Stan Stanley

Owned: Yes Page count: 276 My summary: Amparo didn’t have a lot to lose. A delinquent life, a rocky relationship with their mother and abuela - true, they had a thing going with straight-A student Iolanthe, but that’s about it. So when a talking cat came in the window and asked for a drop of blood, Amparo jumped at the chance to better themself. But the cat stole their name and left them to the tender mercies of the Bright World, where humans are currency and food. Can they escape without becoming a monster? My rating: 5/5 My commentary:

We're back to webcomics! I absolutely adore The Hazards of Love. I discovered it about a year ago, and became completely enamoured with its world and its characters. It's an otherland unlike anything I've really read before - most of the otherlands I've encountered in fiction have been inspired by faeries and the sidhe, a very british kind of otherworld. Not this Mexican-inspired Bright World, which I'm sure contains a lot of references and symbolism that's flown over my head, not known much about Mexican history and folklore. It's really cool to see, and a really interesting story! You can read the webcomic here, and my previous post about this particular collection here. That said, on with the post!

I just gave a general overview last time, so let's go a bit more in-depth. Our protagonist is Fawn…eventually. Fawn starts out as Amparo Uribre, but their name is stolen by a cat and they are cast into Bright World. They spend some time nameless, take up the name Paola as a generic name when working for a Bright Worldian named Mimi, and eventually are dubbed Fawn by El Ciervo, their new patron who they cling to out of desperation. Which is interesting, since Fawn's story is a trans story. Fawn themself is trans (they describe themself as 'bad at being a girl') and the fact that the first identity they are forcibly given is a feminine name, with a feminine outfit to match, is not accidental. 'Fawn' is more gender-neutral, but it's noted later that El Ciervo only had female Fawns until our Fawn shows up - it's stated that boys don't last long in Bright World, with the implication that they're mostly seen as food. Fawn occupies this strange in-between space, in between human and Bright Worldian, in between masculinity and femininity, in between predator and prey. Fitting, for an otherworld. But it means they're slightly out of step with how Bright World wants to pigeonhole them, and that in and of itself is useful to their survival.

The Hazards of Love plays with its horror in very interesting ways. On paper, a lot of what happens is absolutely brutal. Fawn loses their hands, Rafael loses some fingers, people are butchered and eaten and tormented offscreen, Julieta loses years of her memories to pay her debts…it's terrifying! And yet, the comic itself keeps to a sort of gallows humour dark comedy vibe. The terrible things that happen are no less terrible, but everyone has a snide sense of humour about it, largely as a coping mechanism for everything they're going through. Bright Worldians can be goofy and flamboyant, but none of them would balk at graphically murdering any of our human protagonists. The horror has a tinge of lightness, the humour has an edge of unease. It's very tense, and works really well for the story that's being told here.

Next up, back to horror, and there's someone in the house…

[moonieandi]

snapshots | stanley pines x f!reader 

summary: a quick look through concerning the early months of your life “married” to stanley pines

warnings (TW): swearing

tags: fluff, early relationship described, vague-pining 

notes: this is probably just for me… but if anyone enjoys it then ill endeavor to continue it in some fashion. No note beyond that i just really really really like stanley.

edit 8/27/24: hello! below i have linked my new masterlist of parts concerning this one-shot turned series. thank you, and enjoy!

word count: 2.3k

| masterlist | part ii |

 His earliest memories of her are hastily intertwined with the abrupt disappearance of his estranged brother. 

There is a sudden break in his memory, between following Ford to the crumbling shack’s basement, to returning upstairs without him, and eventually opening the door to her very hazarded face. 

Her head had been engulfed by a too-big hat, hair matted and stringily stuck to her flushed face, thanks to the bitter winds that racked northern Oregon that winter. She had hauled ass from the “middle-of-nowhere” bus stop to in-town, to the shack. Miles, he had presumed, and her wet socks had solidified the fact. 

If he had known she would appear at the shack's front entrance not even a week after Ford had disappeared before his very eyes, then he would count himself lucky for the forewarning, because she made in through the front door like a tidal wave. 

He eventually welcomed the intrusion, of course, but it took not even 10 minutes for his hackles to rise after she implored at the whereabouts of his long-gone brother. Unfortunately for Stanley, she never once bought the practiced lie that he was Stanford. A lie that he only had the courage to voice now, but it fell weak on her ears. Of course, she had known poindexter… and of course, she had no inkling of Stanley’s own existence. Stanford had never spoken of his no-good brother then. Another nail in the coffin, next to the nails Stanley had put there himself. 

She spoke only in bursts as if it pained her. Voice dry from the winter air. 

“Where is he?” She frantically waved a pressed paper around, previously having been folded up in her pocket. “He asked for me, so where is he? Where is that idiot?” 

“Look hun, I have no idea what you're talking about.” Hands dragging through his too-long hair. “I’m him, he’s me, now what did I send ya again?” He moves to reach for the paper, but she crumbles it in her mittened hands, clutching it like a lifeline. 

His lie is weak, but he could do without the intrusion after the long week of attempting to compile his brother's ramblings in that god-forsaken journal. 

He didn’t even know her name for fucks sake. 

This was never the fault point in his lie to her though. Because she knew instinctually that he was not Ford, and that was all that mattered conclusively to her in the end. They shared features, that was something she could not easily deny. The same curve of their jawlines, the same texture of hair, the same set eyes, but she knew simply by the way he talked that this was not her former colleague. 

Her colleague was not nearly as broad-chested as the man in front of her. Not as sure-footed as the man in front of her, and despite them both sharing obvious features, wasn’t as striking as the figure painted in front of her. 

Unfortunately for her predicament, the man in front of her made her nervous, suddenly. Whether it was the sudden realization that she had entered this random man’s home, or that she was entranced by the way the distant kitchen light lit his features. She was unsure. 

Looking back at the paper, and then again at his large outstretched hand, she admitted defeat to her curiosity surrounding him. She would need a cup of coffee. 

Sighing, she brought the paper back to its original place in her pocket. Taking off her hat, her shoulders began to droop. She had walked miles, and she would get an explanation from him no matter what. 

“Do… do you have any coffee?” 

Movement in the shack was constant. 

He was used to the usual up and down the basement stairs nowadays, and the usual venture from room to room also. 

The woman had a habit of nesting. Much like his own mother. 

She constantly had to move things, change around Ford’s shitty sci-fi bullshit, and rearrange cupboards. The first month she took to doing it he figured it was her way of simply coping with the reality of their shitty situation, but after the third month, he changed his toon. 

My god was she short, but oddly fucking mighty. 

It was on the third month he had caught her rearranging the livingroom finally. It had been the most intimidating room in the shack, thanks to the mud-soaked 80’s carpet, and the mysterious tanks that Ford just had to store upstairs for some reason. 

Luckily in their cohabitation, they both agreed that Ford’s stuff all needed to be moved from out of site. Not really for them per se, but more so so they could both catalog all his bullshit. Cataloging was something she insisted on, so he got very used to random sticky notes with her small handwriting. He would admit that his knees began to ache not too many weeks ago from the constant movement of Ford’s shit to the basement, but he more or less refused to let her assist in the move when it came to walking down the very steep flight of stairs. 

He didn’t want her to fall, okay? 

He didn’t want anything to happen really, in regards to her. He tried to separate genuine feelings when it came to her presence in general. So when they eventually parted ways, it wouldn’t feel like another nail. 

But she had to goddamn move everything in this house, and he got the distinct feeling she didn’t enjoy the fact that none of it was really theirs to move. She had insisted though, one night, that it was important that they made themselves comfortable. 

“I’ll take the goddamn fall for this, mmk Stanley?” A slight upturned smirk on her lips. “Ford can yell at me all he likes, but if we are stuck here for some time let's not live like he’s just around the corner.” 

Despite his constant bickering about her and the stairs though, he found her upstairs one evening, attempting to move the long three-person couch from one of the rooms to the downstairs living room. 

She blushed, caught red-handed. “Okay okay, but this would be better downstairs in front of the T.V., no?” 

He tisked, hands on his hips. “And ya’ just couldn’t wait, huh.” 

She laughed while he reached for the other end, cursing under his breath. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute.” 

The couch did make it downstairs, but not without some cursing, teamwork, and some pinched fingers when taking it around the bend to the top of the stairs. Stanley leading in front, holding the majority of the weight the entire way. Not that he would tell her that. 

The couch made a home in front of the tiny box T.V. that they had, and they both enjoyed the comfort it brang. The shag carpet wasn’t as comfy to sit on as the couch. 

They both sat with a grunt, after adjusting the long couch. 

“Ah, now this I could get used to.” He flung himself onto the couch, closest to the back door. 

Popping down, she made her home on the other end. “Mhmmm. Good plan, good decision, go team!” Her hand extended out for a fist bump from him. 

His hand dwarfed her own as he met her in the middle. 

She was smart, he realized, too smart for the likes of him.

She was quick as a whip for sure, with knowledge of a hodge-podge of things, and half the time she talked when they were both downstairs he didn’t have a clue what she was saying. He hated it down here at times, her rambling reminding him of his faintly forgotten childhood. She was so different in the basement. She was so different from when she was upstairs. Like she turned it on and off. 

She herself knew that Stanely probably didn’t understand most of what Ford had been doing, but at times she felt she understood even less so. So she spoke it to him, to fill some void when they were down there. The void being Ford, of course, the bridge between the two.

She couldn’t help but get the inkling that Stanley did not think fondly of the basement, whether it was due to her ramblings, or because this was essentially his brother's coffin, she didn’t wish to ask. It was the one thing she hadn’t bothered to voice yet. 

He had been assisting with moving the portal's original structure all week. She needed the area cleared, to properly reassemble the shape of the portal and then lift it to its original place on the basement wall. The pulley mechanism was hastily drawn out somewhere in the control room,  but she also needed a proper understanding of the material's weight and durability to calculate the simple engineering equation. 

Of course, she attempted to do this without looking up from her scribbles. 

Stanley’s movement around the basement set her on edge. The sweat-soaked tank top, the curly messy hair, the broadness of his chest, the god-damn grunting as he moved material around. 

I mean, okay, she had asked him to do this specifically, but she… was beginning to forget why exactly she had. She had also offered assistance, too, which he shrugged off like he had the furniture.

Right, yes the weight she needed the weight. 

“Umm Stanley, have you been able to find in the journal what kind of material this is?”

He grunted, metal falling to the wayside as he turned to her. “Nah Doc, couldn’t find shit.” He lifted his tanktop end, dabbing at his forehead. “But I can tell you one thing, ain’t like anything I’ve seen before.” 

“Hmmm. You are right, this is almost too heavy to be normal steel, and it seems Ford didn’t exactly weld these pieces together. There’s no evidence of tig welding traditionally used.” 

He moved closer, his hand on his hip, the other extended. 

“Lemme check the diagram again, he leaves weird shit in the ledgers all the fucking time.” 

His hand grazing her own, she passes over the journal. 

He flips to the part of the portal page they have access to, his fingers meeting his tongue as he flicks from page to page. Contemplatively, his hand rests on his chin, and the entirety of the book rests in his own hand. 

Leaning over like that, he takes her breath for a moment. 

“See here.” He grabs her forearm, pulling her back in front of the journal still in his grasp. “He writes this cryptic message in the ledgers around the drawing, but it cuts off because we only got one part of this bullshit.” 

She sighs deeply, her hand running through her hair multiple times. 

“Fucking hell Ford goddamn it.” She quickly rethinks, hands waving to push Stanley back a bit. So she can breathe again. “I’m sorry, really, I just mean-” 

His laugh is low and shakes his shoulders until his head falls forward, his hand meeting her own on his chest. 

Breath gone, again. 

“Doc, ain’t no way we gonna get this done unless we curse him out from time to time.” His hand engulfs hers, making her form a fist he brings it to his head, knocking his temple. “I curse him too from time to time, but usually up here.” 

“Stanley, I really am sorry. I just-” A sigh, a shake of her shoulders. “I wanna know what the hell he was thinking, Stanley, I wanna understand I really do, but I don’t know what’s next. I don’t know what to do.” 

Three months of rearranging upstairs combined with the two additive months spent in the basement had drained her, and he knew it. 

She was different down here, changed. That’s why he fucking hated it down here. Because it upset her like this. She was too pale down here, too weary, and too goddamn self-conscious. 

The thing that had plagued him for so long, the inadequacy he felt all his life when compared to his other half, was seeping into her subconscious. Ford wasn’t even fucking here, and he had somehow made her feel less than. He had been working all his life to feel equal to him, but that was his own cross to bear, and his own nail to hammer. Not hers.

He didn’t think much of letting go of her hand, in favor of grabbing her chin. Tears made trails down her dirty round cheeks, eyes wide. He thinks she stole his breath for a minute. 

“Now listen here Doc, you ain’t gotta do this alone. I never wanted you to do this fucking alone, that’s not why I told you everything.” He takes a step forward. “I told you everything because I know we can figure this out.” 

She sniffles, moving closer, leaning into the warmth of his hand. Her own curled up into his dirty tank top, journal forgotten on the floor in favor of comfort. 

“It’s gonna take some time.” She mutters under her breath, only answered by the laugh in his chest. 

“Don’t I fucking know it Doc.” A pause. “But… I mean at least we got each other, right?” 

A smile blooms on her face, her heart slowing under the struggling reassurance Stanley was attempting to bring. 

“Mmm, yeah.” Sniffling, and nodding. “Ya, I have you Stanley.” 

“And I you, Doc.” 

He steps closer, encasing her in his large arms, her head making a home in his shoulder. He was warm, she noted, and strong under her withering confidence. 

His hand reaches up, knocking on her temple. “You can’t be calling me Stanley while we are upstairs, I hope ya know.” 

She nods in his chest. Only down here can he be Stanley to her now, even in her mind. 

[uno-san]

Can i request a continuation of your first fic? Stan eventually admitting the Mr. Mystery who sent the flowers wasn’t a secret admirer but infact Mr. Mystery himself?

First of all, I am so honored to have a request for a continuation! Truly one of the highest compliments. And reading back on comments before, I should have made a second part long ago! I had so much fun writing this and thanks to all who have read my work. Part 1 can be found here. There's a small recap written in this part though so reading it isn't required :) Enjoy! Mr. Pines, Part 2 (Stanley Pines x Reader)

Nearing the end of summer was always a melancholic event. In which the busiest season of the year would descend back down to hell and allow the workload to dwindle off to a manageable amount at the Mystery Shack yet leave you with a sense of grief at another amazing summer gone. It wasn’t like that before.

Ever since becoming a full-fledged adult with a life and responsibilities, the seasons and months had a way of blending together as one week after the next you were simply looking forward to the next paycheck. It was torture. Arguably not a way of living at all.

Keyword being before.

Sure, you could do without the new occupational hazard of being killed by a mecha-suit made out of feral gnomes, mind-wiping cultists, and God knows what else. Yet despite all the life-threatening danger, you’ve never been more alive! Everyday holds the potential for a new adventure and memories to make with the friends that you never thought you had.

That was the sadness about summer ending, however. Soos would remain at the shack but your other dependable co-worker, Wendy, would be off focusing on school. The same for Dipper and Mabel, who would leave Gravity Falls and Mr. Pines- Ah.

Stanley. 

You were in the middle of sweeping the trampled wood floors of the Mystery Shack when the name made you stop in your tracks. It always did. Worse yet, it’d have you chew the inside of your cheek to stop them from heating up. It made you feel juvenile. Quickly your eyes swept across the shop and back as if you chanted his name three times. When there was no puff of smoke you let out a sigh of relief.

It was the start of summer where your more challenging trails began. That being Stanley Pines, the older man who was the owner of the Mystery Shack and your boss, who had given you permission to call him by his first name. Having done so, naturally, on a day where a secret admirer, or, ‘Mr. Mystery’ (Whom Stanley says he’ll sue for stealing his title) sent you a beautiful arrangement of flowers. God, you can still remember what a pain it was to lug the large vase back home. It was a wonder how Wendy was able to do it all herself without having a car to help.

To add to the confusion already surrounding that day when Stan hadn’t confessed to being the culprit, you were disappointed. Your shoulders slumped when Wendy had reasoned it had to be someone else. Instead of wanting to know who this secret admirer was you were instead interested in knowing when in the hell you developed a crush on the graying con man that was your boss. Not that there were tons of eligible bachelors in Gravity Falls but then they’d be in your age range! Or ones with no criminal record, strong arms, jokes, a handsome face that could draw you in at any moment to share a sweet kiss with-

Fingers snap in front of your face. The sharp sound caused you to jump in response and fumble with the broom to prevent it from falling.

“Hey, kid!”

Stanley’s hoarse voice rang out from beside you; your shoulders tensed while your newfound grip on the broom handle could have splintered it. He must have noticed the panic in your face as he quickly raised his hands as if to show he wasn’t armed.

“Oh, Mr. Stans, I-”

“Huh? I…don’t know if, what-” The perplexed expression he made killed you in a thousand ways before his head shook out the unnecessary thoughts, “NEVERMIND ALL THAT. Forget it. I just wanted to ask ya to get started on restocking the bumper sticker display, alright? Last time to peddle the stuff out while we have the most out-of-town folk. Can ya do that?”

You nod, “Of course! I’ll get started on it straight away, S-Stan.”

The smile you offered didn’t appear to reassure him any as he lingered a moment. His hands were firmly planted on his hips while he actually leaned down to inspect you. Drawing close enough into your space that you had to nearly arch your spine not to bump into the man. Under his gaze all you could do was swallow the thick lump of nervousness that always choked you when Stanley was near.

Suddenly he blinked. As if Stan had just realized how the distance between your two had closed without his notice. Awkwardly Stanley stepped back and coughed into his hand. Your overactive imagination could have sworn his cheeks were tinged pink, “Just, ah…checking to see ya didn’t have a heat stroke or nothing. You don’t, so, start drinking water before you start freaking out the tourists. Got it, kid?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead stomping off to wrangle some poor soul into buying poorly-produced and expensive merchandise. You watched him from where you stood still, now overcome with a flurry of emotions from that blundered interaction. If a Gnome Mech wasn’t going to kill you then Stanley Pines sure as hell was.

With a shake of your head you did your best to gain control of yourself once more while the day threatened to drag on. On the way to the storage room you passed by Wendy. Who, as always, was laid back. She nodded towards you. You returned it without reveling in the silent approval of a teenager before you disappeared in the backroom to grab the needed box. Luckily it was light and allowed you to grab another heftier box full of other items that were in need of refilling and maintenance. It didn’t hurt to put a bit more effort into your job, after all.

Returning to the main room in front of the counter you could finally begin your work. It was almost therapeutic. Nobody bothering you. No immediate death threats or wild twins to wrangle in. Just you and a box of bumper stickers being neatly tucked away into different stacks.

You would have started humming to yourself if something hadn’t felt…off.

Something behind you had begun to radiate heat. Breathing down your neck and causing a nervous drop of sweat to run down your forehead. Slowly you began to turn around until a hot breath suddenly blew across your face, your eyes meeting with another pair with barely a head turn.

“OH, JESUS!”

The shock of it had you bring your arm back to slap the stack of bumper stickers across the cheek of someone not all too unfamiliar. Who you now recognized as Thompson yelped at the contact and went to quickly shield his face with a previously unnoticed bouquet of roses, “Dude, duuuuuuude, stop!” He cried out while his eyes were skewered shut with pain, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I- What-” You dropped the merchandise in your hand as if they alone had somehow enticed you to assault a poor teenager, “No, I mean…Shit. I’m sorry, I guess?” In the midst of your guilt it was hard to pin the blame on anyone, “What in the actual hell were you doing-”

“What in the actual hell- HECK is going on over here?” Stanley’s voice cut through the confusion. His heavy footsteps nearly rattled the walls of the Mystery Shack as he came to inspect the commotion. Stanley’s eyes fell onto the scattered merchandise that caused his frown to be deeper set, eyebrows furrowed in a conflicting mix of emotions. 

“Alright, there better be a good explanation for all this racket. You’re distracting the customers- WHAT IS THAT?” His eyes grew impossibly wide as he gestured wildly to the bouquet.

You opened your mouth to reply before the bell attached to the front door rang to grab your attention. Stepping through was Lee, the taller blonde teen that you’ve seen attached to Wendy’s friend group, miraculously holding a bundle of roses in hand.

“He’s lying to you!” Lee shouted and clutched at his heart in either a romantic gesture or a heart attack, “I’m the one who bought it for you, not HE!”

“Lee,” Thompson began to what you could only describe as stage-whisper in his friend’s direction, “I didn’t get to my part yet, I got frickin hit!” His hand moved to reveal the slightly pink mark on his cheek.

Lee lost his composure, “Aw, really? Bro, that’s fucking hilarious. But like…c’mon, bro, you gotta do your part before Nate gets here.”

“Wait, Nate?” Your confusion deepened as they ignored you in favor of having a whispered back and forth, with Lee pushing Thompson forward who nearly collided into you with the shove. The look you gave him was of someone afraid of a bomb about to go off.

Thompson wiped the sweat off his brow before offering his flowers with the same hand, “I like, fricken LIKE you, dude! Just love your whole deal,” He confessed with cheeks as hot as the son while he practically had to spit the words out. His heavy breathing began to pick up. Opening his palm you noticed that there was smudged ink on it that he was now trying to read, “T-That’s why I bought you the flowers-”

“WHAAAAAAAT???” Stanley suddenly roared to life while his hands tightened into fists. In a tantrum similar to a child he marched up, glowing down at poor Thompson who’d gone stark white.

“He’s lying to you! I’m the one who bought it for you, not HE!” Lee repeated. Stepping forward he cast a concerned glance towards the statue that was once his friend to present his own bundle of flowers to you.

The pollen made you want to sneeze. Impressively Lee managed to ignore Stanley to continue addressing you, “It’s true, I’m Mr. Mystery. And it’s even truer that I’m into older, uh…” He looked you up and down, “Into older individuals.”

Your brows drew closer together in concern, “How old do you think I am?”

Lee bit his lip and raised his brows in what he must have thought was a seductive look, “Old enough, bro.”

Thankfully you didn’t have to respond to that as Stanley’s hand shot forward to grab at Lee’s flowers, tossing them to the ground as if he was spiking a football and causing petals to fly everywhere. Lee stared at his hand in shock before having his attention drawn to Stanley who had the both of them in his sights and looking ready to strike.

“I’m not going to take any kinda lying in my house! Neither you or dweebus here bought ‘em any flowers. You two dorks don’t have the kind of cash for that sorta gesture anyway!”

“Uh, we totally could,” Lee said in an offended tone, “Flowers are like, 8 bucks at the grocery store.”

“The ones delivered weren’t from no grocery store, it was a specialized boutique!” “How’d you know that? Huh?”

“Gardening. Is. My. HOBBY.” Stanley passionately replied through gritted teeth.

“No, it’s not.” Wendy answered, bored.

This was starting to give you a headache in more ways than one. Especially in the sense that the few customers in the shop were beginning to stare you down, no doubt finding this whole spectacle the biggest mystery of the day. It made you want to shrink away and disappear into nothing! Sure, you were just lamenting the end to an exciting summer but this wasn’t the type of bang you wanted it to go out on!

Turning towards Wendy you had prayed she would be of help to wrangle in her friends while Stanley and Lee argued in the background. To your disappointment Wendy was hardly paying attention. To both you and her actual job while she busily texted on her phone. You waved your hand out in front of her.

“Please, a little help?” You were nearly begging, “Think maybe all your friends hit their heads at the same time or something. I don’t even know how they knew about the whole flower thing- WHAT, THOMPSON?”

The nervous teen had managed to shuffle past his friend and your boss. Apparently he had given up reading his hand to instead have his phone pulled out. His eyes would flicker between you and the screen before he tried shoving his remaining flowers back into your face again as opposed to your conveniently open hands.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May-”

“NO. No. No, no, no, noooo!” Like a sheep being surrounded by wolves you staggered back. Your growing panic is now drawing the attention of Stan and Lee who managed to stop arguing long enough to see you turn tail and run, “I’m going home until whatever this is blows over!”

What you expected to be an awkward exit quickly turned to a horror show as Lee and Thompson actually pursued you.

“W-Wait! We didn’t get to the part about how there’s soooo many other bachelors after you!” One of them yelled.

“Yeah, and that waiting too long to snatch you up will result in losing your love fooooreeevveeer,” The other, for whatever reason, said this more towards Stan. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” You shouted off behind you while carefully dodging between both aisles and customers alike.

Seeing as you had two stalkers on your tale Stanley raised a fist, “Hey! No harassing my, uh- favorite employee! Wendy, get my crossbow!”

“No.”

If they started arguing or not after that was none of your concern as you were apparently in a struggle for your life. If your heart wasn’t going to give out on you yet then the embarrassment would definitely get you by the time you get home. God, this was all starting to feel like a fever dream. Or maybe you DID die this summer and now you were in some sick limbo?

Whatever this was, it was clearly because of one thing. The incident with the flowers you received a couple months back, to be exact. After that day there had been no further gifts. How was it connected? Especially to Wendy’s friends of all people who you had the pleasure of not interacting with much at all this summer.

Perhaps they had been the ones to send the flowers in the first place? Attempting to draw you in further with a date to pull a prank on you. Trying to film your reaction for a video that they’d laugh about for ages to come and torment you with.

But no. That couldn’t be it.

Humiliation was certainly what they were achieving right now but if that had been the goal they would have pushed for it when the flowers had first been delivered. Give you a way to contact this ‘Mr. Mystery’. But they hadn’t. So what was the point of now?

You supposed this could haunt you later instead seeing as you had two hot pursuers on your tail. Both Lee and Thompson were still flinging compliments your way while Stanley struggled to catch up between having to clean up any spills along the way as well. Whenever you were able to catch a glance of him you’d shoot an apologetic look that he’d wave off.

It was another minute of dodging the two before you were able to loop your way back around to the front of the Mystery Shack, towards the parking lot and where your car was. To safety. A part of you was even willing to mow down a rowdy teen if you had too! But fate had other plans. The door swung open and you skidded to a halt; nearly crashing into the poor unsuspecting soul who-

It was Nate.

He saw you and grinned, slowly raising a damn bouquet of roses, “Heeeeey, just who I wanted to see! Wanna take a guess at who your secret admirer is? Hint, it’s me!”

Oh, come the fuck on.

Nate must have noticed a deranged look in your eye seeing as he took an awkward step back he clearly hadn’t planned on. From behind you could hear the heavy thudding of feet as Lee and Thompson had finally caught up. Great. You looked both ways. They had an expectant expression on their faces that you couldn’t make sense of.

“Alright, alright, break it up you hormonal goblins. Get BACK, I say!”

Stanley’s voice was like the calm in the storm. It gave you something to focus and center yourself on. You hadn’t even noticed him stepping closer to you before it was too late. Two strong hands clamped around the delicate curve of your waist while thick fingers tickled into your skin. The grasp had a shiver run up your spine. Then what started as a tender embrace quickly became a vice when you were lifted off of your feet.

You actually squeaked. In a display of strength you thought only adrenaline could achieve Stanley had hoisted you above his head and out of reach from your ‘admirers’. Like the tallest kid playing ‘keep away’ in the schoolyard. From below you could see the three teen’s jaws drop at the display while a nearby customer asked if this was part of the tour.

Stan must have heard it since a blush came to his cheeks a moment after yet he refused to release you, “We’ll, uh…just go for now. Break time and whatnot…WENDY, MAN THE STORE!” He shouted while beginning to push his way back towards the employee area of the shack. It wasn't until he was passing staring customers he coughed out a reluctant, “Stop watching and we’ll have a ‘buy two, get one full price’ sale.”

That disappeared the crowd quickly who were now buzzing with excitement at the prospect of a deal. Stanley began to walk you back. With no eyes on the two of you, Stan cautiously began to lower you down. Not to your feet, however. Instead you were brought back into his chest where you had more cushion to lay against. Despite the summer heat his body warmth only drew you in. Not to even get started on how hot your face already was from blushing for the last few minutes!

Stanley meanwhile had his eyes glued to the path ahead. Afraid that taking one glance in your direction would make him regret coming to your rescue at all and depriving himself the chance of seeing you blush longer. Though it was certainly a motivator to have a couple of guys flinging compliments your way so freely as well. God. Wasn’t he too old to be getting into a pissing contest with teens at this point?

Too old in general. Both with having a silly school crush on his employee and also trying to lug you around as if he was twenty years younger. Stan made it look easy but his back pain would be coming back with a vengeance tomorrow!

With your hand resting against his chest though it was hard to deny it was worth it.

Having led you towards the back office Stanley stepped in and used his back foot to kick the door shut behind you two, blocking the light from the shop to leave you in near darkness if it wasn’t for the rare ray of light peering from behind the closed blinds. Without the stark lighting the office was almost calming in contrast. That, or you loved hearing Stanley’s steady breathing more than you realized or the soft beating of his heart if you concentrated on your hand long enough.

Stan moved for the desk. It was crowded with various papers and trinkets he’d keep around to distract himself. At first you had thought he had been in search of something in particular until his hands shifted, with one suddenly slipping just under your butt to keep you hoisted up while the now free one began to clear a space for you.

Your entire posture stiffened once consumed with the realization that your boss was, to put it crudely, grabbing your ass. In spite of how rough they looked, his hands were tender. Mindful. Which judging from his expression you doubted he noticed where he placed his hand at all while tidying up his desk. You were grateful for the distraction. That way he couldn’t see the conflict in your eyes on whether you liked the contact or not after the day you had.

“Here we go…” His rumbling voice brought you back from the brink of a new meltdown as he settled you down onto the hard surface of the desk with your legs dangling over the edge. Yet his hands didn’t leave. Instead they attached back to around your waist with a feather light touch, as if the first hint of disapproval at the contact would knock them back. You showed no such sign, so they stayed.

“You, ah…all good, then?” Stanley seemed to have trouble meeting your eye, “From the dorks. I mean, they hang around Wendy all the time and get into shit, yeah, but they’re not dangerous or nothing. But if they had hurt ya-”

“I’m fine, Stanley,” You said with a soft and assuring tone, “Traumatized, maybe, but…Thank you for saving me.”

He nearly buckled at the ice-melting smile you gave him. For just a moment his fingers tapped against your skin as if they had been tempted to clasp around you tighter. They didn’t. Instead Stanley appeared to realize how close the two of you had gotten and shuffled out of the way, taking his body heat with him as he turned his back towards you to instead fixate his attention elsewhere in the room. Anywhere but you.

Stanley nodded after what seemed an eternity, “No problem. Besides, it’d be bad for the brand to have so many ‘Mr. Mystery’ running around! It’s protected IP!”

At that you found yourself chuckling, “Is this your way of saying you’re tired of hearing about the flowers?” Not that you’d blame him considering what a hot topic it was when it had first happened.

First, Mabel couldn't ignore any degree of romantic gesture without her wanting to be involved with it. Second, this was a small town with nothing to do on the good days. Toby Determined even tried to get an interview (How word got out was beyond you) and Stanley again had to come to your rescue by chasing him off with a broom. With today’s incident you began to worry that this would be a monthly chore for Stanley.

At the suggestion of Stanley getting irritated about anything involving you nearly made him jump to correct that assumption, “NO, I could listen to it aaaall day! Just not going to just stand around and let a couple of liars waltz in to take credit for it.” He said, “I mean, c’mon, they really think those flowers were from the grocery store? Please, I- whoever has way more class than that!”

You giggled at that, which was nice considering how embarrassed you were earlier. But Stan always did put you at ease with all the jokes or lax attitude he’d have to offer no matter the situation. What others found frustrating you found endearing.

“For all the class that he has, you’d think he’d have come forward by now, don’t you think?”

He gave you a look, “What do you mean?”

“Just that it’s been all summer since it’s happened. Not a word since,” You shrug and take your turn to stare somewhere else, “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound demanding or anything. But you gotta admit it’s rude to leave someone on edge like that, you know? Just makes me think they lost interest or something.”

Stanley didn’t reply. After seemingly going out of his way to avoid looking at you, you were all he could stare at now. His lips were drawn in a tight frown that settled unnaturally on his face. You were so used to his smiles. Now your boss had an odd expression of contemplation. The way his darkened eyes bore into you made you squirm where you sat, anxiously squeezing your legs together to try and keep your blush at bay.

It was an achievement that you were able to hold a normal conversation with him at all. After the shocking realization that you were disappointed that Stanley never took credit for the original gift, your time at the Mystery Shack had gotten far more difficult outside of the daily threat to your life. Especially when Mabel was like a bloodhound when it came to romance. And when there wasn’t any to be found you could be damn sure that she’d create your own, one way or the other. She was a menace.

“Kid, listen, I-”

“I guess I should-”

Your words quickly amalgamated until the two of you stopped to give the other an apologetic glance. Then silence again. Each prompting the other to continue their dialogue with a vague hand gesture. Both of your hesitancy grew with conflicted gazes.

“I-”

“I-” Stanley slapped his hand over his face to muffle his groan, “Oh, goddammit.”

You flinched at the frustration in his words, “Sorry, sorry! I was just trying to say I should go back to work if they’re all gone.”

Preparing to hop off of the desk you were instead met with Stanley’s large hands suddenly pinning yours to the desk before you could push off. His fingers nearly interlaced with yours. They were trembling. He was towering over you again to the point you had to arch your back to make room for him. Seeing this he released one of your hands to instead place his on the small of your back, supporting your posture.

Stanley’s face was now inches from yours. What little light that came into the room reflected off of his glasses and obscured his eyes. Could he have been taking in your flushed face and wide eyes? Or perhaps he was taking notice of your parted lips. You hoped it was that.

“I…I wasn’t swearing at ya. Just frustrated that I’m not being as smooth as I wanna be,” Stanley spoke in a tone far softer than you’ve ever experienced. With his voice rumbling in his chest it was like a soothing purr. He then swallowed what must have been a lump in his throat, “Listen, it was…It was me who-”

You captured him in a kiss. It was neither passionate or loving, but something new. It was potential. In this instance it was the best kiss you’ve ever had with chapped lips. Intended to be a quick peck you could still feel Stanley’s hands grasp you tighter as his entire posture grew stiff.

A second passes and you pull back, “I’m sorry, I should have let you finish,” You laughed, both at your overexcitement and his stunned expression, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say it. Keep going, please.”

Stanley didn’t respond right away as he instead simply stared at you. It was blatantly obvious when the reality of the situation began to hit him as his signature grin stretched across his face. How could an old man be so cute?

“So, uh-” He cleared his throat, “Guess I was saying that I’m the Mr. Mystery. Both at work and as your secret admirer, though I guess not that secret if you knew…Anyways I really like ya! You’ve got spunk, looks, smarts. I mean, how was I not supposed to send any sorta flowers- You get the point!”

This time he drew you in for a kiss. His was more brash and needy as if you’d change your mind at the last second. Using his grip on you he brought you closer until your bodies were pressed against each other and he slotted between your legs to fit. So intimately close yet born from the innocent need of wanting to be near you. This kiss lasted as long as you had air in your lungs.

The both of you parted from the kiss with a dopey smile.

“I didn’t necessarily know, by the way…” You mention after catching your breath, “Just realized how much I wanted it to be you after Wendy suggested it had been sent by someone else.”

Stan hummed in amusement while his hand began to rub up and down the curve of your back, “That so? Guess all that was just your way of getting to confess, eh? Gotta admit, that’s unexpected. But sneaky. I like it!”

“What?” You tilted your head in question, “You mean what happened with all of her friends? I was just starting to think that was you.”

He shook his head. The sweet mood was paused as the both of you had a confused look while playing the strange events over in your head. Stanley snapped you out of it by giving you a squeeze; with it a reminder of your new flourishing relationship with your boss Stanley Pines. You looked back up to see his grin return and a new twinkle in his eye.

“Ehh, we can figure that out some other time, toots,” He said with a wave of his hand to push the thoughts away, “Besides, we probably have a few minutes to uh, make up for lost time, if you get what I mean.” Stanley wiggled his eyebrows at you and made you giggle.

“Depends. Does this count as my break, Stanley?”

“It absolutely does.”

“What? C’mooooon, man.”

__ Outside of the Mystery Shack, hidden amongst the trees and brush, was the sharp glare of the sun reflecting off of glass. Binoculars, to be exact. Behind them being a young girl who wore a thick sweater in spite of the heat. She was biting down on her tongue in concentration as she scanned the building from one window to the next. Where could they be?

From beside her the bushes began to rustle. The noise attracted her attention and she turned in time to capture the magnified image of Wendy’s growing teen pimples as she stepped out from the woods. Mabel chose not to comment on this.

“Status report!” Mabel said in a tone far too commanding for a young girl like her to have. Regardless of this Wendy saluted.

“Mission happened, I guess,” Wendy gave a half-assed thumbs up, “The boys kind of went crazy in there so we didn’t get the romantic confession you dreamed of exactly. But they’re alone, at least?”

“Why, they went crazy under my order, lieutenant! Their goal was to be crazy in love,” She emphasized her words with a dramatic close of her first brought close to her chest, “And nooooow I’m trying to see the romantic confession but they have the blinds closed! Could you imagine trying to hide your love?! It’s inconvenient!!”

As if paranoid something would happen without her watchful eye Mabel returned to her vigilant duty of watching a closed window. Wendy meanwhile had her gaze darted away a moment as if struggling to find what to say. Eventually she rubbed the back of her neck and coughed to get her young friend’s attention,

“You know, it’s…probably a good thing the window is closed if your plan did work, Mabel. I don’t think you’d want to see what you think you’d be seeing.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re prooobably swapping spit right now, Mabel.”

Instantly the binoculars clattered against the hard ground as Mabel nearly convulsed, “Eew, ew, EW! And that’s too much of a picture for Mabel!” Quickly she climbed out of her hiding spot in the bushes to begin following Wendy who was laughing, “I gotta go wash out my mind’s eye now!” "That's probably for the best. Let's just trust them to move that last step themselves, alright, cupid?"

Both girls were laughing now as they returned to the Mystery Shack while patting each other on the back for a job well-done.

[urlocaldesertdweller]

His Ego (Stanford x Reader, PART 2)

(PART 1)

(Suggestive/borderline smut)

By request of an anon for a hate sex continuation of the link above! Also, this is a different ending from the first part!!!

(I tried rlly hard to make it something close to hate sex so I hope you can enjoy it either way)

You only can take so much from an egotistical asshole who thinks so highly of themselves. It frustrated you all the more that Stanford seemingly deemed you unworthy of his time from the say he came out of the portal.

You always had your own ways of fighting back, though, from "evidently" disturbing his private studies in the basement to inviting yourself to his outside adventures. You did this for many reasons, one to annoy him and two to discover why he hates you.

So, of course, when Dipper and Mabel told you that he was planning to return to the buried UFO behind town for further investigations. An idea of yours had struck your mind.

Self-invites were already a common thing between Ford and you. He would only tolerate you because the rest of the family would never let go of this odd, one-sided rivalry. He would mainly avoid you at all costs, even his own life, just to keep away from his own research.

But this time, you thought confidently to yourself on the hike. Things were going to be different, and that was a promise.

He handed you an extra magnet gun without making eye contact, so you'll live on the way down. He knew how much the twins and Stanley loved you. He knew that they would never forgive him if he let you die on purpose.

By the time you both finally landed in the large and dark hallways of the ship. You quickly followed behind him since he didn't care to bring a second light source for you. He had his limits, and you were, for some reason, at the top of the list (next to Bill).

A thick tension sticks between you as he stops in the room with the control room, setting his equipment, and starts to get to work. You watch him for a moment sucking a breath and gaining the courage.

As you step up next to him, you open your mouth to speak. But the moment catches up to you, and you make an awful mix of quiet screech and squeal, which makes Ford glare at you and sidestep away, still staring at you. You cover your mouth, close your eyes, cough, and gather your thoughts. You open your eyes as they harden on Ford.

Before he steps away, you grab his wrist. He is clearly confused, as you now have his full attention, and he turns his body towards you instead of the console.

"If you don't mind, can you let go of my wrist? Surely you have your own reasons for being here than to bother me."

Ford snarkily comments on your odd behavior. He looks at your hand, almost disgusted, and attempts to wiggle his lim away. But your surprising strength keeps him there. You finally speak up quickly, hushing Ford before he can comment on you again.

"Ford. You are nearing your 60s."

You grit your teeth as you think about how such an intelligent man like Ford can act bitterly to someone like yourself for some petty reason.

"What's the point of keeping up with this whole... Hate thing for me? Like, I'm actually confused about you! Why spend so much time and effort to hate on one person and have it be me?"

You are trying hard to shout as you break into a rant about all of the times he has treated you differently and how much it has affected you negatively. Your grip on his wrist goes into both of your hands on the lapels of his coat, nearly shaking him.

Ford is growing irritated not only by you putting your hands on him but also by you asking why he hates you so much. He roughly grabs your arms.

"Get a hold of yourself! You will activate something hazardous; it will all be your fault because you can't bear the fact that I strongly dislike you!"

He steps close, pushing a finger into your chest, and makes you step into the console. You chuckle as his response feels more like an excuse than anything. Your face hardens as you laugh, even in between the console and Ford. You push closer to Ford in an attempt to at least win by making him uncomfortable.

"Oh, it's going to be my fault? Of course, to you, everything is my fault when a small inconvenience happens to you!"

You are chest to chest, having to look up at Ford with his height. A finger raises to push to the tip of his nose mockingly.

"Because you think nothing bad ever comes from you, doesn't it? Isn't that right, little Mister Perfect?"

He pulls back as your finger lingers on his nose, his cheeks dust a warm pink.

"You always make assumptions about me. It's insane!"

Perhaps it's something in the aged air, but it only brings you more confidence. You stomp on his foot, and before you let him react, you take fistfuls of his coat, sweeping him to the console. He groans in pain and gasps at the suddenness of everything.

"What is it, Ford? Do you think that you are too good to even give me an answer to my question?"

He coughs as you push yourself against him. A determined look paints your expression, and he stares into your eyes, unsure of what to do. He does the occasional shift and shuffle, but your iron grip keeps him pinned and leaning comfortably on the console.

"It's anything but that! God forbid I can't be unrealistically nice to everyone on this doomed planet!"

He moves enough to leave him heaving. Eventually, it seems that the tension churns between you as you stare into each other eyes with an odd passion. You smirk until you peek at his lips; if force doesn't get the answer out, maybe being unpredictable could.

The silence speaks for itself as you roughly mash your lips into his. He gasps into the rough kiss, and he keeps his eyes open. You know how little experience Ford has in kissing and other spicy stuff, but you are more than willing to let him take on the challenge.

After a long minute or three, you tempt them to pry his soft lips with your warm tongue, and he resists, but with a hand to push his jawline, he becomes putty.

He can't help but gasp and feel his hips naturally move into yours as he steps into new foreign territory, making out. His reactions make you smirk; it encourages you to push him more as a hand rubs tenderly into the fat of his hip through his pants.

He pulls away, desperate for air; you chuckle, watching his turtleneck stretch and shift with his heaving chest. You don't wait for him; a sneaky finger finds its way to drag the turtle's neck down to reveal his delicious neck. You peck his skin from his shivering lips and strong jaw to, finally, his pale neck.

He mutters through his breath, asking you to be careful. You start with soft kisses to rough bites, making him yelp, which you shoot up, covering his mouth; you lean in close to his ear in a ticklish whisper to his ear.

"Who's going to activate something now, hm? Better hang on, Know it All, because I'm just starting."

He hums in slight confusion into your hand as he isn't prepared for your hand going from his hip to his growing bulge. You message it, pressing, twisting, poking it. His cock quickly wets the fabric making a notable stain.

He gasps and bites down on your hand. You keep it there for him; his reaction is worth every tooth mark on your hand.

He wriths under you, spitting out your hand. You expected a more suitable expression, but you were pleasantly surprised when he glared at you; he leaned to you in a raspy growl.

"I hate you... So much."

You giggle with evident delight enjoying him being pissed off. That is until you feel a hand snake around your back and push you into his hips. Catching you off guard and yelp.

Now, he is the one to smirk, and he starts to fall into an addicting rhythm between you and him. You are not happy to be caught, so off guard, your eyes twitch, and you feel your pride falter just a little.

"Don't make an old man like me all riled up and expect me to finish the job all by myself."

You sit up in one more attempt to roughly kiss him, hands, tongue, and all. He isn't surprised this time. He is a quick learner, after all. And a mix of tounges and saliva as Ford fights against you again, even during the long kiss.

He lasts longer, leaving you to pull away. You catch your breath, and listening to his comment makes you click in your brain.

"I thought you hated me. But don't you hate me nearly enough to keep me from being pushed away during intimacy?"

He stays quiet and stares at you unamused; his silence is up to you whether he truly feels about you.

Nevertheless, this is progress between you and Ford. Besides, you had a long "investigation" session with Ford in the UFO.

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 -  La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur. 

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days. 

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted. 

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises. 

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[pigswithwings]

What kind of computers are in The Stanley Parable/The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe? i spent about an hour trying to remember a lot of old brands and models, here are my thoughts!

(please note that there is a readmore because this post is long, and that i'll be making light fun about the silly way one of the computers is designed)

as far as i know there aren't many computers in the game, so i'm only going to be looking at two versions of them: the computer first seen in Stanley's office (which I will refer to as Stanley's computer) and the computers seen in the rest of the office.

the second computer (main office computer) is the easier one to identify! it closely resembles the ibm ps/2 (the image shown is a model 30, as i couldn't find many good images of the other models, but a good number of them also share similarities with the office computer).

in my opinion, the two closely resemble each other - the same body shape and positioning of disc drives/switches. fun fact - portal 2 also features computers that strongly resemble these as well!

however, Stanley's computer is far more difficult. unlike the rest of the office, Stanley's computer is incredibly unremarkable (props for the connection to his character, i suppose?), which makes identifying it much harder. there isn't any unique shape to Stanley's computer, nor buttons (of any kind) that could give a good hint.

the best i would offer for this computer is that it vaguely resembles a philips nms9100 pc. they seem to share the sort of blocky head and body shape, but other than that i was unable to find anything that could be considered "very similar" to what Stanley has.

so for Stanley's computer, i would conclude that it's a specimen all of its own kind, and this is where my critique of the computer kicks in. this isn't meant to criticize the developers of The Stanley Parable, but rather to emphasize how their design choices for this specific computer resulted in something very funny to me.

amazingly, Stanley's computer features no disk drives, no buttons, no brand name, and something that could be an attempt at ventilation but instead looks like two-thirds of a halfhearted honey dipper. this computer is most likely overheating constantly (considering the fact that Stanley is a loyal nine-to-fiver) and unable to run basic programs. frankly, i am astonished at the fact that the computer can even function, and i am left to assume that it must be held together by cardboard, tape, a bit of hot glue, and the willpower of the narrator. given that events of the strangest nature have occured on the parable, Stanley's computer isn't exactly the biggest concern - but it's definitely a fire hazard. please crowdfund this man a new workspace.

end notes:

- the stanley parable + ultra deluxe are great games, major props to the developers who worked on them for years at a time. it's only because of the aesthetic of the game that i first became interested in it, and its design continues to intrigue me. also computers are cool as hell

- i am entirely aware that my knowledge is limited and my computer diagnoses may not be fully accurate - if so, please correct me or propose other possible ideas!

- thank you for reading through the whole thing! :]

[artisiumstudios]

CHAPTER 1 SUCKAS

You Make Hell Tolerable

Chapter 1: Hey ma, I can’t call for a while

The car drove slowly around the icy curve, the rails on the side covered in dents and scratches. Some of them were broken off. Getting into a car accident would not be ideal to say the least. Especially right now. Stanley tapped his fingers nervously around the steering wheel, trying his hardest to control his ragged breaths. Just a few hours ago he had been lounging around his motel room– the first motel room he had been able to afford in months– when he had received it. A postcard from Gravity Falls Oregon with the words “Please Come!” scribbled on the back. Without even looking at who the sender was, he had already known who the postcard was from. He had copied off that handwriting for almost 13 years. In a flash he had packed the belongings he felt were important and had driven off into the snowy roads.

“Get yourself together Stan, this is what you've been waiting for,” he glanced over to his passenger seat, knowing that underneath all the food containers and failed lottery tickets laid the picture of two sweaty teenage boys with smiles as they cheered arm in arm. “It’s only your brother. Your twin brother, it’s no big deal. You know he’s just your brother. The one who let you get kicked out of- no. I'm not going down that road, I'm NOT going to hold onto any resentment. I screwed him over. I did this to myself.”

Stan quickly wiped his sweaty palms on his jacket, his pep talk doing nothing to ease his nervousness. He grimaced as he felt the soft texture of the jacket become rough for a second, the bloody stains –both his own and of others– and other various stains from these last few months being the reason his jacket was rough and peeling in places. Not to mention that he hadn't had a chance to wash half of his clothes in a hot minute, he was sure it was becoming a health hazard. Maybe he should make a quick pit stop at a laundromat, he couldn’t have the first time he was seeing his brother in 10 years be with a jacket that was probably growing a new type of mold on it, a bloodied shirt, and pants that were far too stiff for his own liking. Not only was his clothing disgusting physically, but he was sure that the smell he was emitting was any better. Sure he had finally managed to shower before he left the motel but that didn’t really matter if his clothing weren’t in a similar condition. At the red stoplight he quickly pulled out his wallet. 10 dollars. A sigh left his lips as he returned his wallet pack into his glove compartment. Well now he had a couple of choices. Either he could go to the laundromat and just save the rest of his money for gas but that meant he wouldn’t be able to eat unless he went to a grocery store and “borrowed” some food. But even then he wasn’t sure that even with the money he would have left over that it would be enough to even get him halfway to his destination. Sweet Moses, what was he doing? He could barely afford to keep himself alive and now he was driving half way across the country just cause his brother sent him a postcard. After ten years of silence, after getting the curtains shut on him and being kicked out over one stupid mistake he was really going to help Ford? He could barely help himself, how was he supposed to help Ford? He wasn’t smart, he was anything but smart. He was useless. Worthless. He ruined everything he touched, he would just ruin this too. He was going to ruin this. He was- He turned the radio on not wanting to spiral down that dark abyss any longer.

You packed in the morning, I stared out the window

And I, struggled for something to say

You left in the rain without closing the door

I didn’t stand in your way

But I miss you more than I, missed you before

Stanley groaned, what a cheesy song, although it did sound familiar. He turned the radio down trying to recall where he had heard that song before. Passing an old pawn shop the memory of a woman in a red dress and golden hoop earrings humming softly in a small kitchen while she prepared lunch for three little boys resurfaced. Ma had always been the sentimental type who often thought that little moments like those were the ones that mattered. Whether it was listening to music while cooking, or looking outside the pawns window watching as people walked by while waiting for a call. Although, now he understood what she meant. Stanley had started enjoying the small moments, they were the ones where he could finally allow himself to relax and not have to face reality, even if it was for only a few minutes. It was the small moments the ones that had brought him the most comfort in the last 10 years.

Well folks that was the top 50 songs that you can listen to while reminiscing where everything went wrong! This is your host McDazzle and it is January 26 of the year 1982!

Right, it was January. He had to call his mom and Shermie soon. Mostly his mom. Although being on the run meant he shouldn’t leave a trace, he also didn't want to worry his mom.

After Stan had been kicked out he had cried so much, leaving his face blotchy red and puffy for days on end. A horrible mixture of anger, sorrow, and disgust swirled inside him as he waited, as he hoped, that either Ford or his dad came looking for him. After a few days of nothing but the cold silence, he had driven out of New Jersey. Almost two weeks later he decided to call his mom. They were on the phone for 10 minutes before she apologized for letting him get kicked out.

“Maybe it will blow off in a few more days, you know your dad.” her tone was hopeful, optimistic.

But Stan knew his dad. He crossed the line and now he was on his own. He remained silent throughout most of the phone call but assured his mom that he would call often. He kept that promise for the most part, calling at least one a month. At times Shermie would join the conversation, telling Stan everything from what he ate that morning to how his teacher got him and his friend in trouble for passing notes. He enjoyed those calls, they always made him feel lighter and they cleared his mind, even if he couldn’t tell them everything. The months he was stuck in that prison in Colombia had been rough to put it lightly. Actually these last 3 years have been especially rough. Let’s just say Rico made sure he got his part of his pay back. At least the stitches weren’t sloppy.

Finally he passed a billboard, Welcome to Arizona. He made his way to a semi empty parking lot. His car was running low on gas and well, a little siphoning never hurt anyone. Especially if he did want to make it to Oregon without losing all of his money. Looking around he noticed a phone booth outside the small grocery store where he was parked. He quickly rummaged through his car for any spare change. He counted making sure he did in fact have 15 cents and quickly gave one last look around before heading inside the booth. Inside was graffiti varying from drawing of dicks to what appeared to be a muffin? But the one that caught his eye was a small yellow triangle with a tophat. A shiver ran down his spine, it was weird. Something about it rang an alarm in his head, an itch that he couldn't scratch. But why? Ignoring that, and that horrible smell that reminded him of that time he was inside a trunk, he swiftly inserted the coins into the machine and punched the 10 digit number he had memorized since he was 5.

Ring

Ring

Ri- CLICK

“That’ll be 99 cents.”

He chuckled, “Wow Ma, not even a discount for your son?”

“Stanley? Oh my god,” she laughed quietly.

“Yup, in the flesh, or I guess in the voice?” He overheard a voice in a background, followed by steps that got louder with every second.

“Oh my god! Hi big bro! How you been old man?”

“Old? I’m only 28 thank you very much,” He snorted before erupting into full laughter, “Geez, I am getting old arent I? Eh but i've been good, how about you squirt? Have you been giving ma shit?”

“Stanley language-”

“Just the normal amount!” The younger pines interrupted, “ But ive been great! You remember that girl I told you about?”

“Uh yeah, the brunette from- what was it, uhhhhh-”

“Yeah! Thats the one! I ASKED HER ON A DATE AND SHE SAID YES!”

“He’s been going out with her for 3 weeks now, they’re practically glued together up to this point.” Stan smiled softly, almost envisioning his mom rolling her eyes before letting her face fall into a small smile with her crow eyes showing ever so slightly. Moses he missed her.

“Proud of you squirt I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks! I was so nervous, you want to hear how I asked her out? Well I had to go buy flowers because well of course she deserves flowers, but when I went to the-”

“Hey, uh, Shermie.” It was his turn to interrupt him this time. “As much as I want to listen to your lovesick ramblings, I gotta head out soon, let me talk to Ma real quick.”

“Booooo LAMEEE.” Shuffling was heard over the phone before settling into a small silence.

“Ma?”

“Yes pumpkin?” Worried laced her voice.

“I, um… Look, I don't think I’ll be able to call for a while. I'm going to be heading out in a few, um I’m…” Should he tell her he’s meeting with Ford? He didn’t like lying to his mom, he never has, but the thought of getting her hopes up for a reunion that could end in heartbreak was too much for him to bear. “Look I'm going to be helping an old pal, I wanted to make sure to tell you before I left because there aren’t really any phones out where we are going. Didn’t want to worry you if it took longer than expected.”

Silence.

She sighed. “You’re lying aren’t you? Stanley I… I’ve been having nightmares, well more like a reoccurring nightmare. It’s you and Ford. It starts off with you two as babies. Everytime I close my eyes you grow up just a bit. And right before I wake up, I close my eyes once more, and when I open them, one of you is missing and the other is a shadow. Stanley, please promise me, you’ll be okay.”

Sorrow laced her voice making Stan’s skin feel like it was being stabbed with tiny frozen needles, his breath caught in throat almost suffocating him. He forced himself to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.

“I promise ma.”

He had driven for almost a whole day and his body and mind felt exhausted. His mom’s words plagued his mind feeling the anxiety bubble in his stomach, his skin felt numb and cold. Driving became a rather difficult task, and unhappily he pulled over deciding that taking a nap would be rather beneficial.

His dreams consisted of two small boys running towards their mom, both wearing their skin red from the sun and babbling about a forgotten boat that was now theirs.

1 nap later and a quick stop for more gas and another to the laundromat, he was in front of a shack. It looked both brand new and worn down, as if no one had been caring for it. A wooden sign hung outside the door with red painting KEEP OUT. Okay? He hoped he was in the right place, shaking off any remaining nerves as he made his way to the door.

“Okay, moment of truth.” He knocked.

At first there was silence, followed by cursing and frantic shuffling. He straightened himself out. Finally the knob turned.

“WHO IS IT? HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES?”

A crossbow was shoved in Stan’s face. He gasped as he leaned away, capturing the aggressor's face. He recognized the features on his face as his own, apart from the bloodshot eyes and overgrown patchy beard, he could still recognize Ford.

“Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.”

“Stanley?” Ford lowered his crossbow and adjusted his glasses, studying Stan’s face. His eyes softened slightly as he recognized his twin. But it only lasted for a second. He pulled Stan inside as he flashed a light into his eyes. “Did anyone follow you? Anyone at all? Does anyone know you were coming here?”

“I-UGH HEY, what is this?” Stan pushed Ford stumbling lightly as his vision came back. “Ugh I- you know what it doesn’t matter, no I wasn’t followed.”

Ford relaxed, letting his shoulder hang as he let out a breath. “Sorry! I just had to make sure-uh. It’s nothing.”

Ford clutched his trench coat as he waved Stanley down further into his house. Papers littered almost every surface of the house along with various cups filled with brown liquid that gave the stench of coffee. Machinery was placed around what he presumed was the living room with various numbers and letters displaying on the screen. One of them had a triangular prism, another one appeared to just show an electrical current.

“Look, you're gonna explain what's going on here? You're acting like mom after her tenth cup of coffee.” Stanley exclaimed as he followed Ford up to his desk. He saw him look through some papers collecting a few pages and what appeared to be a hardcover red book.

“Listen there isn’t much time,” Ford turned around walking past Stanley, his voice laced with worry and exhaustion, one Stan himself was too familiar with. “I’ve made huge mistakes, and I don't know who I can trust anymore.

Stans eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Hey easy there.” He placed what he hoped would be perceived as a reassuring hand on Ford’s shoulder, “Let’s talk this through, okay?”

“I have something to show you, something you won’t believe.”

“Look I've been around the world, okay? Whatever it is, I'll understand.” Well world was an understatement and saying been could be better said as chased but that was a different story for another time. Ford looked sick, exhausted, on the verge of breaking. It was unsettling.

“There is nothing about this that I understand.”

Yes Stanley had never been the smart twin, or just smart period. But this? It looked like it came straight out of one of his old superhero comics. Like one of those where the hero has to stop a doomsday device that the villain of the story was creating to end all of humanity. And this was-it was, well it was something. It looked like a machine, its purpose unknown to Stan. The centerpiece was a huge upside triangle with bright blue symbols marked throughout the circular center it, what appeared to be circular beams receding on the sides. In front of it was a handle with a bright red button. He felt the little alarm in his brain go off once more.

“It’s a trans-universal gateway,” Ford explained, “a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But it could just as easily be harnessed for terrible destruction.”

Well guess I wasn’t that far off. Stanley though to himself.

Ford brought the book from earlier up to eye view. “That's why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it. There is only one journals left.” Ford walked up to Stanley, now clutching the journal with both his shaky hands. “And you are the only person I can trust to take it.”

He handed the journal over to Stan, who observed it with thoughtful eyes. The red leather felt rough against his fingers, in the center was a six fingered golden hand with the number 1 written on it with blank ink. It looked worn out. This was Ford’s research. And he was trusting Stanley with it. He still trusted him, even after all this time.

“I have something to ask of you.” Stan looked at him with hopeful eyes, “Remember our plans to sail the world on a boat?”

Oh? OH! This was it, everything Stanley had wanted. A smile broke on his face hope filling his body. Finally after all these years he was getting his brother back, even after messing up and being nothing but a burden he now had the chance to make up for it. He would help Stanford and now he would get to fulfill his dreams of traveling with his brother, his best friend!

“Take this book, get on a boat and sail as far away as you can. To the edge of the earth. Bury it where no one can find it” Ford turned his back and walked away.

His hope was immediately shattered, now replaced with raw anger. Of course. THIS is what he should've expected, THIS was Ford’s style, not a sappy family reunion that Stan had been hoping for. Of course he would only be useful to Ford if it meant getting him as far away as possible. He felt himself explode.

“That's IT?!” You finally want to see me after ten years and it’s to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?”

“Stanley, you don’t understand what I'm up against. What I've been through!”

“No no you don't understand what I've been through. I’ve been to prison in three different countries. I once had to chew my way out of a trunk of a car. You think you've got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!” That last one sounded petty, but he understood the meaning of being too broke, too unable to even afford a haircut. But he doubted his brother would even understand. He was tired, oh so deeply tired, anxious, and devastated. “Meanwhile where have you been, living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money because you only care about yourself!”

“I'm selfish? I'M selfish, Stanley? How can you say that after costing me my dream school! I’m giving you the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won’t even listen!”

Stan felt his chest tighten, thinking about his worthlessness was one thing, but hearing it come out of the one person who you had always hoped cared even just a tiny bit was just agonizing. He felt that numbness from earlier return to his fingers, his eyes stung with tears that he would not allow to fall, a lump formed inside his throat. Maybe he should’ve listened and gotten out of there when Ford told him to, but of course, everything he does always leads to failure. Fuck it, it was too late to go back now.

“Well listen to this.” He pulled out his lighter “You want me to get rid of this book? Fine, I’ll get rid of it right now.” He held the flame right underneath the book, but two hands came pulling the book away from the flame. Stanley kept his grip tightly on the journal still having the lighter on in his other hand.

“NO! You don’t understand!” Fear flashed over Ford’s face, but it was too late for Stanley to care.

“You said you wanted me to have it so I’ll do what I want with it!. "Stan yanked the book holding it up against the flame once more.

“My research!”

Ford tackled Stan causing both of them to fall. The lighter fell next to Stan while the journal skidded across the floor towards their feet. Stan quickly swiped his lighter, placing it in his pocket. He turned around seeing Ford standing to get to his Journal. Stan pushed his foot out causing Ford to trip and land on his face. Stan stood up and ran grabbing the journal and heading towards the door.

“STANLEY GIVE IT BACK!” He felt himself once again being pushed, this time his back hit the metal door causing them to fall inside.

He landed over a control panel hearing some whirring come to life.

“You want it back? You’re going to have to try harder than that!” Stanley pushed against his brother's face, both falling against the floor once more. “You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever. You ruined my life! “ His voice was raw, croaking as he tried to hold back his tears. He continued to tug at the journal.

“YOU RUINED YOUR OWN LIFE!” Ford’s foot shot out pressing against his chest, he felt as his jacket burned off as hot searing pain made its way onto his right shoulder. Stanley screamed, his mind went blank, black dots spread throughout his vision, and he felt a coldness wash over his body. The smell of burned skin filled the room. Ford's foot finally stopped pressing against his skin.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!” Knuckles connected to his face as pain was replaced by adrenaline. Stan got up clutching his shoulder, picking up the journal from where Ford had dropped it. He walked past him looking at the machine that was now swirling with life.

“Some brother you turned out to be. You care more about some dumb mysteries than your family. Ten years of silence, you didn’t care about anyone but yourself. Not until you needed something” He turned back to face his brother, his face contoured in anger. “Was I just a pawn in your game, sixer?”

“Don’t- DON’T CALL ME THAT” Ford pushed his brother once again landing on the floor with the amount of force he used.

Stan felt himself being lifted into the air. His body felt weightless, a force was pulling him back and he screamed.

“FORD- STANFORD WHAT’S GOING ON?”

“STANLEY- oh no no no NO!” Ford tried to stand up only to be caught in the wiring. Hands shook as he attempting to detangle himself he looked up as his twin got closer to the to the portal.

“STANFORD HELP ME! PLEASE, STANFORD HELP ME-” he fell through the portal. In an instant everything turned white. A shock wave caused Ford to land on his back as his brother's cries were drowned out.

Mechanical whirring eased to a stop. Screams were silenced.

Everything was silent.

Edit: forgot to include this lol (also I was in class when I drew this so ignore some of the notes lol)

[bootleg-parable]

Meet the new narrators!

This is Evandor Maddenlowe of the Pageless Scripts, a Narrator who's Parable has been shattered, and his protagonist lost to time. Though Stanlei didn't escape without leaving Narry with a few reminders.

Ft. @insomniphic 's Narrator from memory.

And of course, Evandor's Stanley, who's name is spelled "Stanlei Oxford". He's a hazard to everything and everyone around him. Cough cough Narry.

Next up, we have Astrophel Orion of the Cosmic Scripts, who doesn't actually have an illustrated Stanley that we can show. He runs his own little portion of the galaxy, having been placed there by a being unknown after meeting a fate that settled him in this afterlife.

He's also not very nice, and him and his Stanely combat each other practically every day. As most Narries and Stanleys do.

We wanted to have a little fun and create TSP content outside of The Bootleg Parable. We hope that you like them! We might put out more lore of them soon, who knows.

[ratatatastic]

mikksy and lundy are having their fun with the cup and by that i mean making the space in front of the balcony of the bar a splashzone hazard while forsy and oel look on as bystanders to the chaos

can you tell hes happy to be a stanley cup champion :)?

6.25.24 (x)(x)

[penname-artist]

Merry Chrysler-

I MEANT TO POST THESE CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS A YEAR AGO

THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS SINCE THEN

I'M SORRY CHILDREN YOU CAN HAVE YOUR CANDY NOW

I swear I am totally not biased when I say that I'll side with Shu's headcanon of Lightning being very into singing and then getting caught doing so and being good at doing so while putting up Christmas decorations. Okay. Maybe a LITTLE bit biased.

But I am NOT biased when I say that he and Mater BOTH do it and they have a habit of starting a lyric and waiting for the other to give them the next one so they can duet the rest. It's adorable, but it drives the town crazy just as much.

Red always puts something happy and festive on the old Stanley statue. Some years it's a wreath. Some years he has a red glowing nose. Sometimes he gets little antlers. It's a nice nod to his love for the holidays, and it makes Lizzie so happy.

Finn and Leland used to play that silly Hide the Pickle game on Christmas morning, except with very ramped up stakes because they loved a challenge. Since his passing, Finn's now dangerously taught both Mater and Holley to play. Mater tries his best, though he's not great at hiding them and he's lucky at best with finding, and Holley, well...let's just say that she did such a good job her first time trying to hide it that they all gave up looking, and ended up having to buy another one to use.

Every year, Dusty goes out and puts up tacky Christmas lights for the year. And every year, he and Chug get tangled in it. And every year until 2013, Dottie was tasked with helping them out. Since 2013, every year she puts it up to Skipper and Sparky to do instead. Never fails.

You ever heard of something called a "Drive thru nativity scene"? I've been to one, once. You sit in your car and drive through a live reenactment of the towns and the nativity, and you pay fake coin taxes at certain stops, and dad almost got put in fake jail by Roman soldiers because he wouldn't pay those taxes anyways the point is they have one that they do at Radiator Springs now and over the years they have garnered a lot of traffic. Sally and Lightning only did the Mary and Joseph bit one year, and it ended in Joseph being run over by fans and backing up the line, so he lent his role to someone else (it changes every year)

During his reign over the Lodge, Cad Spinner went above and beyond for Christmas light displays during the holidays, which ate up the electric bill for one and left a fire hazard for another. When Jammer took over his position, though, the annual display had become wildly popular, so - with the assistance and better pay of the Piston Peak fire and rescue - they kept the event running. So long as Ryker stayed close by.

The Smokejumpers pulled an Epic Christmas Prank on - or rather with - Cabbie one year. He had no idea what everyone was giggling about, as they boarded up to drop over a fire. And then later, Maru held up a photo he got of him while he was taking off with them. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the bright red "ELF BACKUP" sign written across his hatch.

Blade's not really a Christmas guy, but, there's one thing he enjoys during the Christmas season, and that's peppermints. He's fucking addicted. Maru will catch him swiping them from the little bowl Patch puts out in the mess hall, and they go through a whole bag in less than two weeks. Addicted I tell you.

Specifically in humanized land, Cabbie has whittled - while Windlifter paints - simplified wooden nutcracker statues, reflecting the features of each of the Smokejumpers. There's five on the mantle in the mess hall for them, and another shelf that holds a handful more for the jumpers past.

[gin-juice-tonic]

[enter stan pines] Hi

Stanley Hackensack here

Have you ever put your leftover lasagna [holds up lasagna] in the fridge only to find that when you reach for it a month later it’s become hazardous to human health?

[Grody dad-looking guy whistles while walking into the kitchen. He opens his fridge and pulls out a substance unrecognizable as lasagna. This makes him falls to the ground sobbing as he beats his fist on the ground yelling ‘WHY, WHYYYY???’]

[Stan walks on screen] I’LL TELL YOU WHY!

It’s because you didnt use Sucker-ware®™© ! [Stan holds up tupperware looking container]

[GD (Grody dad) makes an exaggerated shocked face and smacks his hand on his forehead “Boy, am I ever a dope! What’s Suckerware?”]

Sucker-ware is a Stanco brand food storage container named after our patent pending suction seal, which prevents all bacteria from getting into the container AND suffocates the bacteria already there to death! Take THAT bacterium! 

[Stan closes the container while looking into the camera. A cartoon POP! noise plays. Little crudely animated bacteria ghosts float up the screen. A message: **Bacteria Ghosts not visible to the human eye** shows at the bottom of the screen]

Sucker-ware allows you to store food indefinitely, letting you actually eat the food in the back of your fridge for once! Watch this demonstration to see sucker-ware in action.

[A container full of food is shown sitting in a fridge. Little messages of “1 month”, “4 months”, “1 year”, “9 years” cycle above it. There is no visible change in anything other than these messages. It’s clear no actual time has passed]

[Stan opens the fridge, pulls the food out, and opens the container. He pulls a fork out of his shirt and shakes some chest hair off it. He takes a bite of the food.]

Mmmm! Still 100% Sucker-licious!

[steampoweredwerehog]

What if Stanley went insane perceiving Narrator in that out-of-bounds form too long and when Narrator reset and Stanley was back to normal Narrator was distant/left to be by himself for a while cause he's upset from "hurting" Stanley?

Yeah Narry’s got a lot to consider and think about while waiting for the next reset (which we’ll see more of next Part). He’ll probably leave Stanley on his own for a bit, watching from out of bounds, listening carefully to his thoughts. …The fear of being Percieved has come back a little bit.

The Narrator’s fully aware he’s completely different from humans. Never has this ever bothered him. In fact he’s inclined to gloat about it. But finding out that being looked at, in his entirety, is literally a hazard to the human mind is…disheartening.

[puckpocketed]

thgeres something DEEPLY fucked up abt the Memorial Cup in a way the Stanley Cup simply cannot match actually ! and i’m sure many others have commented on this but i’ve never shut up in my life about an opinion and i’m not starting now!!

the teams . the teams… theyre like Stanley Cup teams in a lot of ways . good, well built teams are a healthy mix of older players who know how to lead + play winning hockey, and young, electrifying talent. only, because of the overage limit (3x20 y/o’s) any mem cup contender will lose their most important players to simply… ageing out. in the nhl you if lose in the scf, most of the time you will have another shot. the cup window tends to be open for as long as your stars burn bright. a Memorial Cup run, however, is the culmination of a few very short, intense years of building up and building up and then One Big Push to make it. and maybe you finally do reach the very top of your CHL league, maybe you WIN — but then the actual cup tournament is this insane, intense set of round robin matches . and if you lose a few games — no best of seven — that’s IT, your season is over.

and if you don’t make it.. if you don’t make it with that meticulously constructed roster… your leaders, 20 years old (nhl bound or not) won’t be eligible to play in the CHL next season, your next best/most experienced players, likely 19, will all be about to turn 20 and, by necessity, must be traded away so that the team can fit under the overager limit for the turn of the season. the best of the best of your players might be plucked from the fold by the nhl teams that have drafted them. could you imagine being one of the players left over? could you imagine being one of the guys turning 21? being part of the mem cup contending roster that made it so so so close and suddenly that cup you missed wont be in sight for another 4-5 years? doesn’t seem that long in nhl terms, but that’s an entire junior career. that’s 1/4 of their lives at that point hello. HELLO. teams that contend for a memorial cup… how many of them are still contenders the year after? and the year after that? i would hazard a guess that the number is LOW!!!!! memorial cup windows being 1-2 years GOD juniors hockey you are SO fucked up for this !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[helpfandom]

Masterlist for Helpfandom

🎃 Pumpkin pretzels- Harvey {Stardew Valley}

⚠️ Hazard Taffy- Handsome Jack

🦇Batman:

🐢TMNT Masterlist:🐢

🦔Sonic Masterlist:🦔

🌲Gravity Falls:⭐

Bill and Ford General

⬡The Hex/ Mullinsverse💾

Jeremiah The Hex cuddling

Jeremiah The Hex General

Irving w/ Prompt 19

General P03 thoughts.

🎮Glitch Techs🎮

Five and Miko Team-up

Mitch Williams [Glitch Techs] HC Platonic

Five + Miko and getting a game for you

🔪Texas Chainsaw Massacre🔪 1974/1986/2022

Bubba w/ a Teen Reader

Nubbins General

🔪Psycho-1960🔪

Norman Bates

Norman Prompts 15+ 20

💊We Happy Few:💊

200 follower event Yandere analysis

Yandere Platonic Guide

Nick Lightbearer Semi-Romantic- Prompts 5+14

🐙Penguins of the Madagascar🐧

200 follower event yandere analysis!

🌲Camp Camp:🌲

David w/ Camper reader HC Platonic

Pikeman General Platonic

🟦Portal🟧

GLaDOS w/ test subject kid. HC Platonic

Wheatley HC Platonic

⚗️Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood:⚗️

Envy w/ Chimera! Reader HC Platonic

Envy w/ Kawaii kid. HC Platonic

Envy w/ Cutsey S/O HC Romantic

🔫Borderlands Masterlist:🔫

✨Glitter Force:✨

Rascal/Joker [Glitter Force] HC Platonic

Glitter Breeze vs. Rascal Versus.

Ulric w/ Child who Adores 'Villains' HC Platonic

❤️Not enough fics to be a category yet:❤️

Tinkerbell with a Reckless! Animal Fairy darling. HC Platonic

Ken [From the Barbie movie] HC Platonic

Sadou Maou w/ Foster Kid HC Platonic

Jack Frost w/ Runaway Teen HC Platonic

The Mask/Stanley Ipkiss HC Platonic