#tsp fic

[queenburd]

you, and me, and this thing called eternity has updated.

happy 4/27!

[time-travelling-chaos]

Wrote something for the gift exchange of @tsp-gift-exchange for @mediums-georg / @reba-loger ! Happy 4/27 day! I went with your first prompt about Stanley going through the freedom ending for the first time and realising that the trees are fake. I hope you'll enjoy it!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Stanley Parable Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Narrator/Stanley (The Stanley Parable), The Narrator & Stanley (The Stanley Parable) Characters: The Narrator (The Stanley Parable), Stanley (The Stanley Parable) Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, The Narrator doesn't know Stanley's thoughts, The Freedom Ending (The Stanley Parable), The Memory Zone (The Stanley Parable), Trees, Video Game Mechanics, unreality, Stanley's day gift exchange Summary:

After avoiding it for a long time, Stanley finally decides to go through the freedom ending, unsure of what to expect. Still, he can't help but hope for a way out, something to get him out of this office, and to perhaps see the nature

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[rexila-rites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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

Chapter 26: In That Sleep Of Death

Something like a crumpled tube of metal snaked into the light, plated like armour or perhaps like a series of flattened buckets linked together to form a body like a centipede, with the segments at the front reared up and splintered, like a mantis shaped from the metal strips of a boiler explosion. Despite its many segments and the screeching of metal, it moved with uncanny fluidity as it reared up. “What the hell is that?!” Narrator exclaimed. Stanley grabbed the back of Narrator’s shirt and said “Harold.” “Who the fu-” Stanley pulled them both to the ground just as the metal creature lunged through the air above them.

[uncommonphenomena]

Anybody got any good stanarrator fic recommendations? Can be on here or AO3, any rating or word count is fine :)) I want to get into reading more of them and I’d love to know what people’s faves are!

[shoefullofpudding]

Been a long times since I've been around these parts:

*lobs an sad TSP story and runs away*

The Narrator longed for the confusion, the chaos, the frustration like an itch that moved to the middle of his back, daring to be scratched. He missed the mess, the banter, the stolen laughter when no one was looking. He missed Stanley.

There were only echoes where footsteps should be, a stale wind that stank of memories. No stubborn detours, or derailing conversations poking holes in his narrative. There was nothing.

Stanley... The only bright spot in this nightmare... snuffed out. Gone. Forever.

What were words even worth without someone to share them with?

[amazingmsme]

Is The Bucket Worth It, Stanley?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stanleys-drugs-and-hookers]

WHO WANTS TO UHHH READ A TSP FIC???

i wrote smth,, go check it out??

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64163101/chapters/164650411

This is an TSP AU I have been thinking of for a while. There's many inspirations that attached itself to it! I'm proud that I wrote it out.

More chapters coming soon!

[writingoncloudydays]

Oops they broke the fourth wall

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

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

0.71k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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