seen from United States
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seen from Türkiye
seen from Belgium
seen from China
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seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
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seen from United States
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❀ ;U
If I get 5 “❀"s I’ll voice act my character
[[My own wife....has turned on me....
and that makes 6/5 technically so stay tuned for bad girl impersonation of Stanley Pines. It’ll be done tomorrow since it’s 1 am here and I gotta be quiet.]]
(( CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! :U That's so awesome!! ))
[[Thank u bb <3 Carla was hella fun to draw btw I’ll draw her again for ya sometime]]
✎ (( SHRUGS A BUNCH ))
@callmehotpants ‘Cause ya look strangely familiar...
“It’s not your fault.”
“Quit saying that!” Stan shouted, tears welling in his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? Everything is my fault. My family left me, you left me, my brother even called me back... and then... then, this!” He threw a hand at the portal. “It’s all my fault! I’m the common thread. Don’t you see that?”
Awkward Reunion
@callmehotpants
It was shaping up to be just another day. At this point, it had become a routine for Stan. Wake up in the morning, groan about his aching back, put his dentures in, talk to himself in the mirror, do the minimum required amount of grooming he needed to keep from repelling customers to the Mystery Shack, open up for business, greet Soos at the door, put on the Mr. Mystery act and begin tours. A large (and largely fake) grin spread over his face. Perhaps it would have been a little more genuine if the tour bus that had just drove up had been a bit larger. This tour group was varied as they usually were; although, there was only one kid this time (and he did not look happy to be there). Stan made a mental note to keep an eye on him because he looked like trouble. Nothing could ruin a tour faster than a little brat. There were the parents, of course. There was a young couple. He tried to avoid making a bit of a face. Ugh. They were holding hands and everything. And there were a couple of old women. Well, that was definitely more interesting.
One of them caught his eye immediately. There was something about her. Maybe it was the sparkle in her eyes, the shape of her face, or the way she moved- He wasn’t entirely sure, but he was almost captivated. He shook his head to brush off the thought. Obviously, he was being stupid. This made him hope he wouldn’t get all tongue-tied like he sometimes got whenever he visited the diner and had to talk to Lazy Susan.
Stan threw out a smoke bomb to add some spectacle to his entrance. He held up his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, behold! It is I, Mr. Mystery, and my world famous, Mystery Shack. Witness wonders and befuddlements the likes of which have never been seen anywhere before! Come, come with me.” Stan made an exaggerated motion with his arm.
@callmehotpants
Excuse him while he continues to nuzzle her nose and blush because of how happy he is.
“Hey, your ass is the only one worth kissin’ around here.” He’s very tempted to goose it but he keeps his hands where she can see them. In fact, he takes her hands with his, rubbing his thumb over the ring on her finger.
“... I still can’t believe it.”
Starter for @callmehotpants!
“Hi Mr McCorkle, I’m here to pick up Carla for the sock hop...”
Nah, too informal.
“Sir? I’m here to take your daughter to the dance.”
Jeesh, do that and he’ll think you’re a serial killer.
Stan was pacing around on the front porch outside Carla’s house, wondering how the heck he was going to get out of this one. He knew Carla’s parents didn’t like him (a feeling which was starting to become more than mutual) and given his unorthodox get-up, he was starting to think that he would be lucky to get away with just having the door slammed in his face.
He smoothed back his already thoroughly slicked hair and took a deep breath.
It’s now or never Stan.
He raised an arm up to the doorbell, just ready to press it when...
The front door opened, Carla having taken the intiative.
The horizontal monster mash. Y'know, bumpin' uglies, making the beast with two backs, etc. etc.
I thought it was called the horizontal mambo. Not the monster mash.
That’s upsetting.
