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by 8Pandacakes

Summary:

Not wanting to burden Stanley with his, totally temporary, feelings the Narrator simply spawns in a copy of his character model to pretend to be with. After being caught by the man himself he decides not to use the stand in anymore but finds himself drawn back to it for further release as his feelings deepen.

Little does the Narrator know that after the first time, it's not stand in Stanley he's kissing anymore.

Notes:

So, when I write Stanley Parable fanfiction that's just for fun but when Dan Erikson does it, he gets an Apple TV+ show. Life is so unfair. If you don't know what I'm talking about the show Severance was stated in an interview to be inspired by The Stanley Parable. I literally found that out when trying to look up information for a possible TSP Severance AU.

Anyway, this has nothing to do with that show I just wanted to rant.

Finally, something by me which doesn't involve my humanoid versions of the characters. Not an AU just normal regular within the game world fun. Don't worry I'll probably be back to my crazy shenanigans in a couple months with a Beauty and the Beast AU or something. But for now. Enjoy :)

Chapter 1: It caught the carver with his own deceit

Summary:

The Narrator is caught trying to flirt with a statue of the man of dreams. CAUGHT IN 4k (NO CLICKBAIT)

Notes:

"Pygmalion loathing their lascivious Life,
Abhorred all Womankind, but most a Wife:
So single chose to live, and shunned to wed,
Well pleased to want a Consort of his Bed.
Yet fearing Idleness, the Nurse of Ill,
In Sculpture exercised his happy Skill;
And carved in Ivory such a Maid, so fair,
As Nature could not with his Art compare,
Were she to work; but in her own Defence,
Must take her Pattern here, and copy hence.
Pleased with his Idol, he commends, admires,
Adores; and last, the Thing adored, desires.
A very Virgin in her Face was seen,
And she had moved, a living Maid had been:
One would have thought she could have stirred; but strove
With Modesty, and was ashamed to move.
Art hid with Art, so well performed the Cheat,
It caught the Carver with his own Deceit:"
- Pygmalion and the statue (Ovid)

It looked exactly like him. Of course it did.

The Narrator circled his newest addition to the Parable as it stood in the center of the Zen room. His favorite room, which was his even more favorite now. There stood an exact copy of Stanley’s character model, generically posed with a neutral expression and eyes shut. It wasn’t difficult to create, just copy paste some code and upon the next reset an exact copy of the asset appeared.

The white button up shirt, dark pants, and dress shoes. Narrator walked around scrutinizing it even more closely. Once he reached a full rotation and stopped in front of the character model again, he paused. It had his short brown hair, soft to the touch as he carded his hand through it; It had his blemish free face, as he let his hand drift down to cup his cheek. Same arch of his nose. Same deft fingers. Same kissable lips.

Yes, this would do quite nicely for his purposes.

For a while now he’d been nursing a considerably large crush on his protagonist. Which was absolutely ridiculous given how much of an insufferable, unprofessional, obstinate man he was. Stanley somehow knew exactly how to push the Narrator’s buttons, and of course it worked because he was made to push buttons. He could rile him up mostly intentionally, but more recently the pent-up emotion the Narrator felt around Stanley was wholly his own fault.

That’s why he needed this. The Narrator stared at the Stanley model’s closed eyes. Once he purged himself of this desire it wouldn’t distract him anymore. It’s the same reason he gave into Stanley’s whims and wishes over having other options, routes, and endings. If he stuck just to the plan there would be more following the story sure but it would feel too forceful. No, he wanted Stanley to choose to follow his story in the face of all these branching paths. Give him the paths and soon Stanley would be rid of his desire to explore and finally obey.

So, he gave himself a Stanley stand in. A completely empty blank slate character model that looked exactly like Stanley. He could pretend it was Stanley, and once he had his way with it the Narrator would be satisfied.

His real protagonist would never need to find out. The Zen room was the perfect spot not only because it was calming, but also because Stanley never liked coming into the Zen room if he could avoid it. For him, the way to leave was not so simple.

Narrator took one step closer into Stanley’s personal space and thread his fingers through Stanley’s hand pulling it from its outstretched recently spawned in position into a more natural loose state down at his side.

It was awkward at first, but the Narrator took a deep breath. He just had to imagine the fantasies that had unwittingly played in his mind and act on them. Pretend this was Stanley, and Stanley was offering himself to Narrator. What would he want to do?

“Don’t be nervous Stanley” he whispered into Stanley’s ear trailing his other hand up around the character’s shoulder blades and rubbing his back. He trailed down the length of Stanley’s arm till he reached the wrist and with a gentle hold maneuvered that one as well resting Stanley’s arm across the small of his back.

He smirked “Now don’t try to be sneaky, Stanley” he chastised as if the unmoving object would accidentally brush his hand too low and catch an unprompted feel of his ass.

The Narrator leaned his head down and let it rest on Stanley’s shoulder. He so rarely spent time in his own corporeal form instead of just the disembodied voice. So, sue him for being a tad touch starved. Stanley’s hug was an equal constant, as tight as he’d set it up to be, nothing more nothing less.

“I’m endlessly intrigued by you Stanley” he complimented, nuzzling into the crook of his neck “While I don’t always agree with you, I like seeing what you choose to do, how you use your free will”.

Except this Stanley didn’t have free will. He was holding onto a husk. Like when Stanley was paused in the Skip ending and he’d just stared at his unmoving form. No, no it wouldn’t do to think about that at a time like this. This was supposed to be his escape, his fantasy, his way of letting go!

The Narrator pulled back only enough to remove his glasses and pressed even closer into Stanley. He frantically kissed his neck, then his jaw, then the side of his mouth, and finally trailing up to straight on his lips. Lips which didn’t kiss back. Lips which stayed there solid as stone. He slung both arms over Stanley’s shoulders and held their bodies pressed against one another by clasping his hands behind his head. Forcing another kiss to his lips in an attempt to breathe life into him. Narrator let his head fall.

“At least just push me away” he whispered, “That’s what he’d do”. Any response from the facsimile Stanley in his arms would be something.

Before he could decide between a third attempt and giving up a door opened behind him. Narrator immediately whipped around towards the door, his back pressed against Stanley only to be face to face with the real Stanley.

“Stanley” he breathed out in shock, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, although luckily his hands weren’t grabbing anything damming anymore once he’d let go in order to turn around. “What brings you here?” he tried to seem casual.

Stanley started at the Narrator for a beat. He didn’t like the Zen room, but after 20 minutes without the Narrator giving his opening speech, he started to worry something more serious than a simple break was going on. [Looking for you] he answered distractedly, so rarely did Stanley get to see the Narrator’s human form but his eyes were drawn to arm across his middle.

Narrator forced a laugh “Oh, this. It’s a prototype for a new thing I’m adding to the game”. Yeah, not creepy at all that totally sounded normal and believable.

[Is that...me] he pointed between the character model and himself. He saved the image of what it looked like for him to hug Narry in his memory. The Narrator struggled to extricate himself from the false Stanley’s hold for a while until he realized he had to move the arm himself.

“Placeholder character model” he mumbled “Not everything revolves around you, Stanley”

[Well, it is the Stanley Parable] Stanley placed emphasis on his own name like he always did. [So, what’s the new ending?]

“Wouldn’t it be more fun to experience that for yourself-” The Narrator forcefully bit his own tongue. That sounded like a come on and wasn’t he trying to avoid coming onto Stanley. That’s why he made the fake one, and what was he even getting himself into, there wasn’t any new ending.

Stanley stepped up the small number of stairs onto the Zen room platform and approached the Narrator [Hint] he requested succinctly.

Narrator scoffed “No Stanley” he wanted to make a flat a rejection as possible. If Stanley came any closer, his ability to say no to him would surely falter. There was also no hint to give, because there was no ending.

[Fine.] Stanley pouted. His head down and lips pursed. Lips that moved, lips that puckered, lips that were warm and tender which held breath behind them. Open eyes to stare into get lost in. The Narrator forcefully shook the ideas from his mind.

“Don’t give me that Stanley. Is it such a crime for me to want to surprise you?”

[I’m not being replaced, am I?]

“And what gave you that idea”. Stanley angrily thrusted his arm out to gesture towards the other him standing in the center of the room. “Like I said Stanley this is merely a placeholder” he wasn’t fully lying “He’s nothing more than a mannequin”. The Narrator stepped beside the character model and lightly knocked on its temple.

They stood there for a few tense seconds, neither knowing how to continue. [Ok, guess I’ll leave you to your work then]. He made his way towards the staircase room.

Narrator smiled somberly “No, lets continue on with the story. Why would I keep you waiting. I’ll remember this the next time you claim you hate following my plots” he tried to lighten the mood as the two walked into the staircase room. Something about the Zen room removed some of the Narrator’s power. It was nice in that way because he didn’t have all the information from the whole of the game world flooding his head, but it also meant it was a strain on his ability to do a reset with another sentient being in here.

So, if they wanted to leave Stanley had to temporarily die. That’s just how it went.

Unlike most times with the Narrator talking or pleading for him not to jump this time was a silent affair. Stanley climbed the stairs the first time and walked off the platform without looking down. He trudged up the stairs the second time and leapt off, holding his head to brace for the impact. Stanley made his way up the stairs the third time limping his way up each step until he sat on the edge of the platform breathing heavily. The Narrator looked up at him from below and held out his arms.

Stanley tipped forward, and the Narrator caught him just at the end of his decent. Enough to inflict the blow but a way to ease some of the final pain. He wheezed in the Narrator’s arms unable to move his broken fingers to articulate his thanks, not that the Narrator needed it anyway.

The Narrator climbed the stairs with Stanley in his arms. Hugging him close in bridal carry as Stanley let his head rest against the Narrator’s chest. His eyes closed in whimpering pain. “Don’t be nervous Stanley” he whispered in his ear “You know the pain will disappear soon”.

He jumped off the ledge taking the final necessary plunge to induce the reset criteria. The Narrator returned to his voice-only form in order to give his own character model time to heal its injuries and Stanley was back in his office chair in mint condition. The Narrator mentally noted he’d have to check the Zen room later to see if the character copied faux Stanley still remained, but for now he needed to spend some quality time with the real Stanley and do a run of the game.

“What ending are you planning on today, Stanley?” he prompted as Stanley made his way down the hallway and approached the two open doors. “As Stanley came to a set of two open doors, he entered the door on his left” he narrated as usual.

Stanley looked up to that nowhere in particular place he always did that the Narrator soon learned meant he was looking at him, and smiled. [Let’s follow the story this time] he then promptly followed the direction and went to the left-most door.

“Wonderful Stanley” the Narrator praised, then something like guilt soured within him “You’re not doing this because of what you saw earlier?”

[Saw what?] Stanley asked obliviously as he carried on through the next room without the narration telling him where to go.

Narrator huffed “Oh I don’t know you walked in to see me with another character model, and then worrying you were being replaced. You aren’t being replaced Stanley, I told you that, no need to try and appease me by following the story”

[I’m not] Stanley lied [I want to do your favorite ending; the true ending is fun]

“Well then, thank you Stanley. It is nice when we can simply work together like this” Narrator let the issue drop. This could be something they talked about once Stanley felt more secure on where he stood within the game.

He wasn’t literally replacing Stanley. The fake Stanley was there to do something the real Stanley wouldn’t want to, and he was never even supposed to know it existed. But maybe if the idea of there being a copy of him, even a non-alive version, scared Stanley so much he could just delete it. This was meant to make things more bearable between them, not cause a rift.

Yes, that's what he’d do. Simply delete the damn thing. The Narrator ate his cake already, he could no longer in good faith keep it as well. He’d gotten his odd urge to kiss Stanley out of his system and the disappointment he felt at the experience signified these feelings would no longer plague him.

A satisfying ending to the story if the Narrator thought so himself.

Notes:

"A satisfying ending to the story if the Narrator thought so himself"

Although sadly for the Narrator he doesn't control this story, I do. And I say it does not end here so there.

Chapter 2: He knows 'tis madness, yet he must adore

Summary:

Stanley goes in search of answers and gets more than he bargained for

Notes:

"He knows 'tis Madness, yet he must adore,
And still the more he knows it, loves the more:
The Flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.
Fired with his Thought, at once he strained the Breast,
And on the Lips a burning Kiss impressed.
'Tis true, the hardened Breast resists the Gripe,
And the cold Lips return a Kiss unripe:
But when, retiring back, he looked again,
To think it Ivory, was a thought too mean:
So would believe she kissed, and courting more,
Again embraced her naked Body o'er;
And straining hard the Statue, was afraid
His Hands had made a Dint, and hurt his Maid:"
- Pygmalion and the statue (Ovid)

Stanley let himself be guided through the freedom ending. Left door, up the stairs, straight on to the mind control facility etcetera etcetera. Allowing the Narrator to tell him what to do and where to go left Stanley free to occupy his mind with more important matters without arousing suspicion.  

He couldn’t get the image out of his head. His arm fit so perfectly around the Narrator like he was meant to hold him close at all times. Stanley rarely got the chance to physically interact with the Narrator. What sort of ending would mean that he got to hold him like that? 

No not him necessarily, Narry had said the character model was a placeholder. Maybe the ending would be him saving the Narrator from some sort of creature that had grabbed him. Some monster or dragon that would kidnap the Narrator and it was up to Stanley to get him back safely. Without any voice to direct him he’d rush across the Parable, scale the building to its highest peak, and find where the Narrator was being held prisoner. Then once he was rescued, they’d kiss. Obviously because the genre conventions demanded it! The Narrator would agree with Stanley that if he made an ending like that then they’d naturally have to share some sort of sweet intimate moment or else it wouldn’t hit all the necessary beats. Then Stanley would follow whatever route triggered that ending over and over till the Narrator forgot what the true ending for the Parable was even about.  

Yeah, he’d kiss him so good it’d leave the Narrator speechless. Was he a good kisser? He suddenly felt self-conscious. Stanley imagined he would be, but it’s not like he had any way of knowing. That wouldn’t be a necessary skill for him to have been programmed with. Then again getting a stupidly huge crush on the Narrator was also not a necessary thing for him to have in the game and yet here we are.  

As Stanley approached the ON/OFF switch he felt the sudden urge to press the ON button.  He’d get to hear the Narrator do his sexy deep evil mocking voice and breaking off the path just a smidge would better hide that he still feared replacement. Disobedience was so characteristic of him the Narrator would be glad he’d returned to acting like his usual self. 

 Although, while the countdown ending was tempting something in the back of Stanley’s mind told him it would be risky to go against the Narrator after promising him the freedom ending. That was surely grounds for replacement, and he didn’t exactly want to die again after having to jump of the stairs.  

“Stanley. You’ve been standing at the buttons for nearly a whole minute” the Narrator interrupted his train of thought. 

He wasn’t supposed to get lost in his head he was supposed to be totally normal! Without replying or giving the Narrator time to worry any longer Stanley lunged forward and hit the ON button despite his previous excuses not to follow through on the instinct.  

“Oh- Oh , Stanley you didn’t activate the controls, did you?” The Narrator purred slightly put on the spot. Stanley smirked. He truly enjoyed hearing the Narrator talk like this. He could handle the consequences later. It felt fitting to do the countdown ending if his time at the Narrator’s side was truly limited.  

“After they kept you enslaved all these years, you go and you try to take control of the machine for yourself, is that want you wanted? Control?” 

Stanley didn’t run around. He sank to the floor slowly, his back against the control panel, eyes closed, head tilted back and took in the moment letting the Narrator’s taunts fill his mind and the voice wash over him. 

“Ah, now this is making things a little more fun, isn't it, Stanley? It's your time to shine! You are the star! It's your story now; shape it to your heart's desires.” That made his heart clench instead. The good moment was ruined, because he had forgotten this little line which hit a bit too close to home now. Stanley could never have his heart’s desire, and he was only the star for now. Stanley felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. 

“Stanley” he heard “Stanley” but now the Narrator’s tone was back to normal. The lights were still flashing and the timer was still counting, but the Narrator had broken from the script.  

He waved off the Narrator’s obvious concern [Keep going. I brough this on] 

“Stanley if you accidentally hit the wrong button I can reset now, and we can go towards the freedom ending again” 

[No need. I did it on purpose] 

“Well, I suspected as much. Getting you to do the freedom ending is never so simple” then the Narrator stopped himself “My apologies Stanley I should be comforting you”. 

[I’m fine] 

“You’re not.” he said with finality. A few seconds passed between them “You’re not still worried about being replaced are you, St-” Before the Narrator could finish what he was meaning to say the bomb went off and the Parable exploded.  

Reloading back into his seat Stanley felt a slight wrongness with everything. The countdown ending usually takes longer than that. The Narrator must have had the same realization because instead of going right back to the story he explained “It seems I failed to add the extra seconds”. 

Stanley nodded in acknowledgement. He readied himself for what was to come. The Narrator would want to continue their conversation from in the control room before the explosion interrupted everything.  

“Stanley, I’m going to give you a bit of free time so that I can better reconstruct some parts of the Parable after the explosion” 

Or not, but Stanley couldn’t feel too relieved. [Code for going to the Zen room to work on your secret ending] Stanley accused hoping it came off a bit jokingly. 

The Narrator scoffed “I couldn’t even if I wanted to as my character model is still not inhabitable. Not everyone has your spry youthful energy Stanley” 

[I’m not spry] Stanley argued [I can’t even jump half the time] 

That got an actual laugh from the Narrator “That’s what the jump circle is for. Go have fun Stanley, sit in the broom closet if you want.” 

Stanley smiled widely, he’d actually gotten Narry to laugh, and give him the go ahead to do whatever he wanted. While a nice sit in the broom closet with the reassurance bucket might do him some good Stanley knew exactly what he wanted to do. The only way to guarantee he wasn’t being replaced was to figure out for himself what the Narrator was working on.  

And if it wasn’t anything bad like Narry was claiming then he still wanted to know the surprise. In the monotonous confided space of the Parable the smallest hint of something new was exciting. 

Hiding the minutely increased pace to his walk until he was sure the Narrator had gone off to rebuild the exploded parts of the game, Stanley only began to sprint once he went through the right door. Following the same path he had when he’d first found the Narrator, he jumped down to the platform in the warehouse silently. Even if the Narrator had left to rebuild the Parable, he could still decide to check around other parts and catch Stanley heading towards the Zen room. There would be no other explanation for why he’d choose to go down there instead of one of his own favorite places. 

Sneaking in past the colored door Stanley knew the room would be exactly as he and Narry left it. The swirly lights and calm music of course, but there it was the main attraction. His doppelganger. Stanley scowled at the perfect mirror copy. He didn’t know what the character was here for, but he knew one thing. Those hands got the touch the Narrator and his hadn't, for that they were enemies.  

Stanley couldn’t move or break the character model out of fear of leaving a trace or breaking the Narrator’s work, but he wanted to let some frustration out. He stalked up to the thing and stood in front of it asserting his power over the lesser recreation. But the character model didn’t cower under his intense glare, it didn’t even open his eyes.  

He looked around the room and saw nothing else on the platform, just the placeholder model. What could it mean? It’s not like the Narrator would give him other coworkers to talk to that would nullify the crux of the story. And who would want a story about Stanley the regular office worker with his group of regular office coworkers who weren’t missing? 

Was this to help him design more collectible statues? If that was the case Stanley would have offered to pose for him instead. 

Was this going to be some new outfit DLC? Stanley wouldn’t mind wearing something other than his work attire. 

Was he truly so bland he’d be replaced with an exact copy of himself? Not likely in the face of so many more possibilities and so few more hints. 

Stanley saw the other him’s arm still bent at a slight angle. Turned away from across his body which allowed the Narrator to step away. He stepped to the placeholder’s side and mimicked his pose exactly, then bent his arm across himself into the position he’d seen it in when other Stanley had held Narrator.  

[Did you move that way of your own accord?] he asked knowing that the thing’s eyes were still closed. No response as expected. Stanley reached up to knock on the placeholder’s temple with two fingers the same way he’d seen the Narrator do. It’d be small enough not to leave a mark, but obvious enough that it showed the thing who was boss. As soon as Stanley’s fingers came into contact with the character model, for the first time, he felt a spark of static electricity surge through him. And the character model glitched out before disappearing. 

Fuck. 

Stanley ran round the perimeter of the platform. Empty. He checked in the stairs room. Empty. He even climbed the stairs all the way to the top, empty, and safely climbed the stairs all the way back down.  

It’s not like the thing could move. It was a useless character model replica of Stanley it couldn’t think, feel, or move. Could it have been teleported somewhere else? Surely the Narrator would be notified if something was deleted or had left the world boundaries. What was he going to do, he’d just destroyed all of the Narrator’s careful work! 

Would Narry even believe it was an accident. Would he think he did it deliberately because of his fear of being replaced? Stanley returned to the spot the character model had been in and hoped maybe it had just turned invisible. Gone. 

He had to tell the Narrator what happened. However, before he could take another step Stanley heard the door creak open, and he instantly froze to the spot in shock. He was caught, Stanley closed his eyes tightly, there was no way out of this.  

Then instead of the ensuing lecture he heard the Narrator let out a sigh of relief “You’re still here” he said. The Zen room’s calming music couldn’t mask the footsteps he heard echoing through the room as the Narrator approach. “Although I promised myself I’d delete you anyway. No hard feelings, but-” 

Stanley’s eye shot open, and the Narrator jumped back.  

“Stanley?!”  

Not knowing what to say Stanley stood there. This was it he was being deleted and replaced, he wouldn’t make it harder on the Narrator by begging for his life. Do it already. 

The Narrator cleared his throat “No, of course not” he chuckled to himself “That would be ridiculous of me, you’re not him. But how come you can move now?” he sighed again “I very well can’t delete you if you gained sentience. I still don’t understand how that keeps happening with things I create. First Stanley, then the bucket, now this!”. 

That’s when it clicked. The Narrator thought he was the replacement character model. Suddenly he got an ill-advised plan in his head. Worse than pressing the ON button, or the skip button, or jumping off the cargo lift. If he played along and pretended to be the placeholder come to life then the Narrator would never know it went missing, and Stanley could figure out what the new ending would be.  

But if Narry was working on something, why did he talk about deleting it? At least he was safe from deletion now.  

“Although I also can’t in good faith use you for my purposes if you’re sentient” he continued. 

Stanley nodded. He wanted to know what the placeholder’s purpose was, so he needed the Narrator to continue. When the Narrator stared at him in bewilderment he smiled and nodded again. 

“You’re agreeing to-” then he broke off “No this is ridiculous, stop seeing what you want to. He doesn’t know what he’s doing”. The Narrator turned away to leave but Stanley stepped forward and grabbed his hand.  

The Narrator’s breath audibly caught in his throat. Once Stanley had the Narrator’s full attention again he gave him Stanley’s patented puppy dog eyes™ that would occasionally give him what he wanted. Narry’s eyes sparkled as he stared back in wonder. “Tell me no” he instructed in low whisper. 

Stanley shook his head. 

“You don’t mind if I continue with your previous purpose?” 

Stanley nodded. Do whatever you want. He tried to convey with his expression, knowing the placeholder likely couldn’t sign and that would quickly give him away. Poke me, prod me, mess with my code, I don’t care. Whatever you need to do to work on our- your next project. Don’t rely on placeholders. I’m here to help. Just let me hold you like before, plea-. 

With a crash Stanley felt the Narrator’s lips on his. 

Notes:

Happy Valentines Day y'all! :D

Wow! a real kiss this early, surely this means all is well and nothing can go wrong lol. I've been trying my hand at writing some more than just kissing intimacy (re:smut) but it's not great. So, the rating could change later or it could just stay tame with maybe like a fade to black or implied. Either way this chapter note will read super ironic in a few months.

For some of my overlapping readers the next KTSP chapter is practically done but there's this one transitional scene that's giving me trouble, stay tuned. Comments are hella appreciated I love reading your reactions so than you for sharing them with me even if I don't reply to each one.

Chapter 3: And as she were with vital sense possess'd

Summary:

Bucket parallels abound. Stanley almost comes to the right conclusion but is missing the most important piece. Both come to terms with the fact that they aren't satisfied with one kiss, and that's okay.

Notes:

Explor'd her limb by limb, and fear'd to find
So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind:
With flatt'ry now he seeks her mind to move,
And now with gifts (the pow'rful bribes of love),
He furnishes her closet first; and fills
The crowded shelves with rarities of shells;
Adds orient pearls, which from the conchs he drew,
And all the sparkling stones of various hue:
And parrots, imitating human tongue,
And singing-birds in silver cages hung:
And ev'ry fragrant flow'r, and od'rous green,
Were sorted well, with lumps of amber laid between:
Rich fashionable robes her person deck,
Pendants her ears, and pearls adorn her neck:
Her taper'd fingers too with rings are grac'd,
And an embroider'd zone surrounds her slender waste.
Thus like a queen array'd, so richly dress'd,
Beauteous she shew'd, but naked shew'd the best.
Then, from the floor, he rais'd a royal bed,
With cov'rings of Sydonian purple spread:
The solemn rites perform'd, he calls her bride,
With blandishments invites her to his side;
And as she were with vital sense possess'd,
Her head did on a plumy pillow rest.

- Pygmallion and the Statue (Ovid)

He was getting kissed back. He was getting kissed back. He was getting kissed back! 

It was only when he felt an arm come to rest along the small of his back that the Narrator realized his hands hadn’t moved from their grip on either of Stanley’s shoulders. It was not the optimal romantic position for kissing, but he didn’t care at the moment. Stanley had wanted to be kissed, agreed to be kissed, Stanley had-  

Not Stanley. This wasn’t Stanley. He’d do right to get his head on straight and remember that. The real Stanley was probably sitting in the broom closet with that dammed bucket having a grand old time.  

As the copy he was kissing bit his bottom lip all thoughts of how close Stanley and the bucket were got whisked away. The kiss was intoxicating. The Narrator chose not to think about why his kiss was being returned with such fervor. It should have alarmed him of course, but he chose not to think about the obvious fact. He unthinkingly let his lips part upon the implied request.  

There was no chance Stanley could be experiencing anything close to what he was right now. The Narrator was finally kissing the love of his life. He pulled back for a breath. Panting heavily, the limited oxygen to his brain made his thoughts only able to focus on a single thing, which was Stanley’s kiss worn lips. Narrator lacked the ability to look away from Stanley’s expressive eyes completely engulfed by his pupils. 

Had he made a program to make the characters kiss that well? The Narrator couldn’t recall. Maybe it was just because it was Stanley, even the most mediocre kiss from him would be- 

Not Stanley. This wasn’t Stanley. It’s not Stanley. It will never be Stanley. He is- 

Pulling the Narrator by his lapels for round two.  

The act being initiated by Stanley was even more enjoyable than the first, or technically second, who was counting anyhow. All of his fears that this wasn’t right that he’d misunderstood were silent in comparison to the more present thoughts. Like how he’d been so wrong to dismiss the idea that the failed kiss meant he’d gotten over Stanley. The Narrator didn’t think he would ever get over this feeling.  

But all too soon it was over. Stanley’s arms held him close by the waist and the Narrator found his hand drifted to the back of Stanley’s head ruffling his hair. Why had he ever made the sleek professional hair model? This tousled one suited Stanley much better.  

“That was, unexpected Sta-” he forcefully coughed and cleared his throat not continuing.  

The eyes which stared back at him expectantly were Stanley’s. The Narrator wanted to scream. How had the copy learned to imitate that look?! Had it been sentient and watching but unable to show any signs of response this whole time. Narrator was on the other end of Stanley’s pitiful pleading adorable expression. He’d do anything once those eyes were turned on him. If only he knew what it wanted. 

“I don’t suppose you know any methods of speech or communication” he began “I presumed I hadn’t copied over much more than a physical form but given all prior evidence I’m not sure I can be the judge on what abilities you possess” 

The hold around his waist loosened and the fake Stanley brough his hands between the two of them, and began signing. [I can do this] 

The Narrator almost fell back in shock. He was glad it could communicate with him but why in Stanley’s way. “Excellent” he said, even though it was anything but. Despite all their similarities he needed to keep them separate, which was so simple before it could do all this. Pretending an immovable object was a placeholder for the object of his affection was one thing but projecting that onto another sentient being was a whole other ball game.  

[Have I served my purpose?] it asked. 

“Please do not phrase it that way” 

[Is there anything else I can do for you?] it continued. 

The Narrator felt a crushing sense of guilt. He’d created something not for the purposes of narrative or player agency or for Stanley but to use for his own pleasure. It was wrong. This needed to end now. “Yes” he chocked out “I’m unable to reset the game in here since you-” 

[I understand] and the fake Stanley walked into the staircase room. How did he know what to do? The Narrator went to follow but the fake Stanley turned around [I got this] he insisted. 

Stanley stood in the empty staircase room for a few seconds, his heart pounding and breath coming in shallow. Panic. He needed to remember those grounding exercises he’d learned from Mariella but it felt hard to calm himself without the bucket or Narrator to turn to. No, don’t think about the Narrator right now! 

He walked up the staircase more distracted in his own thoughts than with the idea of dying again. Because what the fuck did he just experience?! 

His ultimate goal with coming to the Zen room had been to discover what the placeholder was for. And was this the answer? Stanley hadn’t expected his fairytale kiss ending to be a real possibility. He jumped off the top and began again. 

The kiss was longer than any fairytale ending kiss he’d imagined. An ending like that might require a change in the game’s rating. Not to mention he didn’t tell Stanley off for starting up the next kiss. So maybe it wasn’t about that? He jumped off and began again. 

Stanley’s head hurt. Placeholder. The Narrator had called it a placeholder, a mannequin, nothing more. It wasn’t supposed to look like Stanley forever. The kiss therefore had nothing to do with Stanley. Yeah, that sadly made the most sense. He jumped off and began again. 

His thoughts were a mess through the pain. Narry didn’t expect his kiss. The plan for the placeholder wasn’t broken when he – it – could suddenly move. Narry kissed him. Kissed “placeholder”. It didn’t have to be Stanley, but he wanted it to be. He jumped off. 

He spawned back in with a gasp of a revelation sitting up suddenly in his seat. If the Narrator made his own character model not long ago, then he hadn’t had lots of experiences in it. He always talked about how different it was exploring the Parable in a corporeal form. Maybe now he wanted to experience more than the Parable could offer. The Narrator had the power to create things in the world to try out all these new things. He was now crafting a new companion for himself. He lied to Stanley about it being an ending because he was too embarrassed to admit what it was actually for... 

Narry was making himself a boyfriend, and Stanley had killed him out of accident and jealousy.  

Maybe ‘boyfriend’ was a bit too strong. It was just kissing for all Stanley knew. There probably weren’t any emotions to it. Although if that was the case why didn’t Narry ask him to try out these new experiences with. No strings attached of course, it’s not like Stanley was loveable anyway. The Narrator said so himself. 

“Stanley if you’re trying for the coward ending you need to move at minimum enough to close the door”  

[I’m trying to decide what to do] What to do indeed? Not relating to which ending he was going to try, but he knew the Narrator would take it that way. Stanley had a choice to make, and nobody trying to tell him which way to go. Continue being the placeholder or come clean? To be or not to be, as the Narrator might quote in his charming intellectual way. Stanley sighed wistfully at the thought, yeah his mind was made up.  

“You can’t be bored already Stanley you just had a break” Yep that’s totally what he was sighing about. Boredom. Not the Narrator’s stupidly cute fancy talk. 

[It got cut short] 

“I apologize for the sudden reset. We can make it up to your poor bucket later” 

[Or now] Stanley had a bucket to grab, and apartment to go to. If he could show the Narrator he was willing to give him new experiences then he’d realize that he should have come to Stanley all along. Then when they kissed the Narrator would say his name, because he'd willingly knowingly kiss the real Stanley, it was genius.  

The Narrator didn’t like the bucket apartment ending. For one the crux of it was Stanley ignoring him, which hurt. It was all bucket this and bucket that to where he even had to act like he wanted the thing. However, his annoyance with the bucket seemed duller now as they went through the ending. Not because of any actual feelings for the bucket or wanting to have it, but maybe because the Narrator now understood how Stanley could get so quickly attached to it. Why he’d placed personifying characteristics onto it.  

Was it really so wrong to wish for companionship? If it helped take the edge off how badly he wanted the real Stanley there were truly only positives in enjoying his time with the fake one. Only if the placeholder still wanted that.  

“Stanley, what are you doing?” 

[Watching TV] And there Stanley was, sitting on one side of the couch beside the bucket. He hadn’t picked it up yet progressing the ending. The television wasn’t on, it couldn’t turn on, and there was nothing to actually watch.  

“What are you and the bucket even supposed to be watching?” 

[The bucket’s favorite show, it’s getting to the good part. Come on join us] He patted the arm of the sofa. Stanley seemed to forget he wasn't currently in his character model.  

“There’s nothing on the screen, Stanley” 

Stanley placed a finger up to his mouth to shush the Narrator, but it stopped his speech for a whole different reason. The Narrator became entranced with the slight purse of Stanley’s lips because he now knew exactly how they felt pressed up against his own. If the bucket weren't there they wouldn’t need a set dressing nonfunctional TV to keep them occupied on that couch.  

Playing into the fantastical element was the only way to reason with Stanley when he was with the bucket so he whispered his next words so as to not speak over the program “Won’t you be late for work at this rate”. Stanley tried to hide the shiver that went down his spine at hearing the Narrator speaking softly.  

[You’re right] Stanley picked up the bucket and continued through the phases.  

He stalled purposefully again at the final part, in the bedroom full of candles. “What are you doing now, Stanley?!”. 

[Removing the fire hazard] Stanly replied then turned back to slowly one by one picking up the candles and placing them away from the bed. It cast the room in an even more shadowed glow.  

“They aren’t a fire hazard if you simply grab the bucket and finish with this ending so we can start on the freedom ending next go around” the Narrator obviously hinted. 

Stanley flopped onto the apartment bed and signed towards the ceiling [Later]. 

“Stanley.” 

But the commanding voice only made Stanley smile [Not my fault you made a comfortable bed] he placed his arms beneath his head and toed off his shoes so they fell off the end.  

The Narrator scoffed “It was for realism. What else would you have me make?” 

Nothing, Stanley thought to himself, if I had my way you wouldn’t feel the need to make that placeholder guy. You have a perfectly good protagonist right here. Stanley stretched out languidly on the bed to add to his point, as if the Narrator could read his mind. [How do you KNOW it’s soft. Come on try it] His hair became unkept from all the movement against the pillows.  

The Narrator didn’t dare speak for a solid ten seconds. He swallowed hard forcing down any other ideas which came from seeing Stanley on his back splayed out across the bed. Especially with his hair like that, just how the placeholder’s had been after their kiss. “I trust I can take your word for it, Stanley. You look-” he hoped the pause wasn’t noticeable “comfortable”. 

[I could fall asleep here] 

“The bed is not for sleeping, Stanley” that made Stanley chuckle. “You know what I mean!” the Narrator said indignantly “It’s for the story!” 

Stanley got up, found his shoes, and put them back on. To his knowledge his plan had not worked. [Just so we’re clear. The bucket may be my friend and I may listen to him too, but he could never replace you] 

“Thank you Stanley, you are irreplaceable to me as well. I hope you know that by now” 

With that Stanley grabbed the bucket to finish off the ending. He figured out the placeholder wasn’t there to replace him, because it served a much bigger purpose than his own. Stanley was just glad he was able to replace it, because that was the only way he’d get to experience the things he wanted with the Narrator.  

Notes:

Stanley: So, he wants to kiss this guy who just to happens to look like me coincidentally. But he could never want to kiss me, guess being not me is my only option.
Narrator: I want this little shit so badly I need to kiss this fake one again just so I can be normal around him.

Poor Bucket has to witness these two idiots and their shenanigans, and so do ya'll. Hope you liked it. While 'The essence of divine love' may have shown they can communicate properly those guys are the outliers. At least they kiss sooner in this one even without realizing it :). If you've noticed I'm trying a new thing with having both POV thoughts kind of at the same time without the strict breaks so we can sometimes get boths opinions on a situation. I don't know, I'm trying new stuff.

Chapter 4: Hard as it was, beginning to relent,

Summary:

The Narrator does spend time with Stanley in the apartment ending. Oops did I say Stanley... I meant the placeholder.

Notes:

The Feast of Venus came, a Solemn Day,
To which the Cypriots due Devotion pay;
With gilded Horns the milk-white Heifers led,
Slaughtered before the sacred Altars, bled:
Pygmalion offering, first approached the Shrine,
And then with Pray'rs implored the Powers Divine:
Almighty Gods, if all we Mortals want,
If all we can require, be yours to grant;
Make this fair Statue mine, he would have said,
But changed his Words for shame; and only prayed,
Give me the likeness of my Ivory Maid.
The Golden Goddess, present at the Prayer,
Well knew he meant th' inanimated Fair,
And gave the Sign of granting his Desire;
For thrice in cheerful Flames ascends the Fire.
The Youth, returning to his Mistress, hies,
And, impudent in Hope, with ardent Eyes,
And beating Breast, by the dear Statue lies.
He kisses her white Lips, renews the Bliss,
And looks and thinks they redden at the Kiss:
He thought them warm before: Nor longer stays,
But next his Hand on her hard Bosom lays:
Hard as it was, beginning to relent,
It seemed, the Breast beneath his Fingers bent;
He felt again, his Fingers made a Print,
'Twas Flesh, but Flesh so firm, it rose against the Dint:
- Pygmalion and the statue (Ovid)

It was a bit difficult to tell time in the Parable. There were loops, endings, and the spaces between. After so many endings and go arounds, you can even lose track of how many exactly happened. It all becomes a general sense of something being a while ago.  The only thing the Narrator knew was it was a noticeable while since he revisited the Zen room.  

Obviously, he hadn’t done so in an ending with Stanley. However, he’d also not visited outside of the endings since there was no space between the endings as of late. The Narrator had control of that. 

“Stanley” he started instead of the usual opening cutscene. Without a word Stanley spun his chair around and looked up towards the ceiling cocking his head to the side. “How would you feel about some free time?” 

Stanley shifted forward to the edge of his seat. He should have been suspicious of this, they so rarely had these many breaks so close together. Then again, in a contradictory sort of way, the time between breaks did feel longer. That could be blamed on Stanley anticipating his next stolen moment with the Narrator. 

[I could use a break] he signed, trying to lean back in the stiff ergonomic office chair. Playing it cool. Like it didn’t matter. Like he wasn’t looking forward to the exact same activities the Narrator was. 

“Wonderful” the Narrator tried not to sound too excited “I have a request to make” 

Stanley’s smile faltered, unnoticed, [I gotcha. I won’t go to the Zen room and bother you while you work on the placeholder stuff.] 

“Or the apartment ending” 

[Or the- what! Why?] 

“I understand you may want to take a nap, Stanley but-” 

[What does the apartment have to do with the placeholder!] 

That was not the reaction he expected. Stanley might still be thinking about what he’d seen or what the Narrator was creating, but he hadn’t brought it up since. “That would spoil the ending, Stanley”. 

[The ending. Right] 

“You aren’t still trying to get a hint on what my plans are” Stanley’s so cute when he’s curious. The Narrator could admit that's why he created the ultra-deluxe edition, but now that curiosity was getting close to something he wanted to stay hidden. What would Stanley think if he found out what the Narrator was planning to do with the placeholder? 

[No. It’s fine you can keep your things private] I already know what it’s about, Stanley didn’t mention. I know it’s not an ending. It doesn’t concern me. Even if I want it to.  

“Thank you for understanding Stanley” 

[Of course. I’m going to go work on something too. I’d appreciate some notice before you check in or reset] 

“That’s a fair request I can allow” the Narrator smiled, now he wanted to know what Stanley was planning “Writing another speech perhaps?” 

[No hints]  

And with that they parted ways for a very short while. Stanley arrived at the bucket apartment ending first, buzzing with anticipation. There was little they could do together in the empty Zen room, but here the options were seemingly endless. Stanley paced back and forth trying to calm himself down but everything about the room simply made his heartbeat faster.  

The small kitchenette in the apartment. The Narrator might want to experience the taste of food, or the act of cooking something instead of immediately coding it into existence. Stanley wanted to know what that would be too. Playing house with Narry. He could see the scene playing out in front of him.  

Narrator in front of the stove in a frilly pale yellow apron. “I don’t understand why you insisted we use buckets when I could have made a much more respectable pot and measuring cups” 

Stanley came up behind him snaking an arm around the Narrator’s waist the same way he knew would fit perfectly right. From both seeing it from afar and from his own experience. He kissed Narry’s temple as the other man leaned into his touch. Once Stanley had him distracted, he tossed a handful of cheese into the bucket. [It’s leftover night, no making new stuff] he explained with his now free hand. 

“Kitchenware doesn’t count, Stanley” 

[Bucket is just better at carrying liquids from one point to another] Stanley argued lightheartedly, letting go of Narry with another soft peck. Grabbing another bucket he poured a splash of the water from the first bucket into the one on the burner fixing the thickening cheese sauce. The remainer of the water Stanley set to boil and poured a box of macaroni noodles inside.  

“I did see that you know” Narry said. 

[Guilty] he freely admitted. But would they really be Stanley and the Narrator if Stanley didn’t throw his own little flair onto the Narrator’s carefully crafted creations. They fell into a clam silence as Stanley watched the Narrator’s profile while he worked. 

“A watched bucket won’t boil, Stanley” Narry chided, not looking over, giving another good stir to the sauce as Stanley idled beside him with a stupid smile on his face. 

[I’m not watching the bucket]  He leaned back against the kitchenette and absentmindedly placed his hand on the hot stove. Shocking him out of his imagination instantly. 

Stanley startled coming back to himself all at once. He grabbed his hand and inspected it, no burn, but it felt so real. He made his way back across the room. Pacing up and down the plush smooth carpet. Stanley sat on the floor and ran a hand across it. What in interesting texture, much different than the stale carpet in the rest of the office.  

He guided the Narrator’s hand towards the carpet as well as they both sat in front of the large floor length window. “Stanley! Touching the floor is unsanitary” 

[I take off my shoes before I go inside] 

“That doesn’t negate my point” 

Stanley huffed [Fine] but he kept one hand on the Narrator’s and instead boldly guided it to rest on his thigh [Is this better?]. 

The Narrator splayed his fingers out, minutely tracing towards the inside of Stanley’s leg. Just enough to bunch a bit of the fabric of his work slacks “It’s possibly cleaner, but definitely a much more interesting experience than touching the floor” 

[Yeah] Stanley signed lifting his hand off the Narrators to give him more freedom to wander and explore. His other clutched tightly to the tuffs of the carpet behind him as he braced for something. Something his mind didn’t know but his body seemed to sense instinctively.  

“Exquisite craftsmanship” Narrator muttered.  

[You made me] 

“I did indeed” the Narrator huffed lightly his hand inching ever closer to Stanley’s inseam and higher up towards the crotch of his pants “Although, I may have made these too tight” he teased pointedly. He was definitely the one causing this reaction in Stanley. 

Stanley took in a breath, frozen, but upon his exhale the scene had disappeared from his mind's eye once again, and he realized he’d been sitting on the ground. Alone. He stood up rapidly and dusted off the knees of his pants for lack of a better thing to distract his mind with.  

Holy fuck that escalated quickly. He’d gone from fuzzy around the edges dreamlike ideas of making dinner with the Narrator to whatever the hell that would’ve turned into.  

He tried not to get too worked up in his imagination before the Narrator even got here. Who knew what he had planned? The most likely option was that this was inspired by the last time they’d done the bucket apartment ending. The Narrator obviously didn’t want to watch TV with Stanley, but maybe after thinking about it he decided it was something worth trying with the placeholder. 

If Stanley was being kinder to himself he might blame it on the bucket being there. Narry didn’t like the bucket so if Stanley really wanted to test if the Narrator would spend time with the real him, he shouldn’t have included it. But part of Stanley knew that even at the time. He knew he could use the bucket as an excuse if his plan didn’t work. That was its job, to be reassuring. Remove his doubts and fears. Fear of rejection because he doubted he was what the Narrator wanted.  

But he also used the bucket to rile the Narrator up just as much as he was. Stanley knew it made him jealous, not feeling like he was the center of attention, while the Narrator may not love him, he clearly liked having his love.  

What would it take for that need to have Stanley’s admiration turn into a need to have all of Stanley? How close could he tuck the bucket into his side while sitting on the couch till the Narrator got even more fed up and forcefully moved his metal friend out of the way. The he’d press Stanley back into the welcoming cushions, not satisifed with merely being beside him now. Maybe, if he’d moved the candles off the bed less diligently. Climbed onto the mattress on all fours to grab one across the room, swaying his hips, would the Narrator finally take notice?- 

There wasn’t a knock at the door before it opened. Stanley was facing away from the entrance but still visible from it. “How did you get here?” the Narrator asked, a kindness in his voice that would not be present if he caught Stanley where he told him not to be. Good he still passed as the Narrator’s placeholder. 

[You wanted me here] Stanley called upon every ounce of self-assuredness he could muster as he calmly sat one of the dining table chairs and watched the Narrator enter the apartment. 

The Narrator hadn’t expected to see the placeholder already. He’d spawned in and synced into his character model and planned on checking out if the apartment was in the right shape before finding a way to sneak the placeholder out of the Zen room. 

The hardest part wouldn't even be trying to figure out if the thing could exit its original location, it would have been not running into Stanley. The narrator knew how bad it would look if Stanley saw the placeholder could move. He’d go back to thinking it was a replacement. But none of that happened. It didn’t matter anymore and the Narrator could rest easy. He joined the placeholder at the two-person dining table.  

“I take it you’re little confused as to where you are and why. You must have appeared here because how else would you know the route” the Narrator leaned forward, his elbows on the table in stark contrast to his usual formal self. He entwined his fingers, palms down flat, and rested his chin atop his hands. 

[A little] Stanley played into his part, but it wasn’t fully a lie. He knew where he was, but not why. 

“This is another location I created, a recreation of a simple apartment. I thought it would be more enjoyable for us to spend time here” Because now you need to die in order to leave the Zen room just like the real Stanley which was not a part of my original plan. He left that part out. 

[That’s what I’m here for] he smiled across the table. Your enjoyment. Quality time. Things I don’t understand why you didn’t come to me for! 

“Yes” the Narrator sighed his eyes downcast.  

Stanley knew the Narrator enough to sense when something was off, but the placeholder wouldn’t be able to tell. He stood and made his way over towards where the Narrator was sitting, who was slow to react to his movements.  

The Narrator stared at the table, his vision blurred even with his glasses on. He needed this distraction, this outlet, but faced with it again it was all so overwhelming. It’d taken everything to keep this away from Stanley. Kissing the placeholder was supposed to make everything far simpler, not more complicated.  

His train of thought was halted when he noticed the placeholder crouch in front of his seat. The Narrator turned from staring at the tabletop to staring down the placeholder. The facsimile of Stanley’s likeness peered back up at him. [Are you okay?] 

What a perceptive and considerate little thing he created. The Narrator smiled just a bit, but he once again couldn’t help thinking of Stanley. Stanley who took notice of too many things, coming too close to secrets better kept under wraps. Stanley who had the upmost care for every minute detail of his small ever repeating world. The Line, the Bucket, the name buttons, the baby game, the broom closet, he treated each one with kindness. When the world had only shown him cruelty.  

A world the Narrator had created. 

“Yes, Sta-... I’m merely a bit worn out” Emotionally speaking. 

[Why?] Call me Stanley. 

“As I said before, I created this environment. It takes a lot of work to keep it up and running” It takes a lot of energy to pine after your protagonist. 

[So, you’ve felt this way before?] Be vulnerable like this to me as Stanley.  

“Not until recently” Maybe if I’d realized the cause of my feelings sooner. 

[Is it because of me?] Was making the parable that taxing? 

“No” Not you, the real you.  

Without another reply Stanley stood and grabbed both of the Narrator’s wrists. He pulled him up to his feet and lead him over towards the couch. Stanley moved his hand to the Narrator’s shoulder and guided him to sit. Without protest the Narrator complied. Then Stanley moved to sit beside him.  

[Is this what you had planned?] 

“I didn’t entirely have a plan. I simply knew I needed to see you”  

[So, you’ll let me come up with an activity] 

The Narrator couldn’t help but smile again. What a novel notion to suggest. The Narrator follow someone else's plans from the beginning. How amusing. He sank into the couch. It was quite nice, and he enjoyed even more pretending Stanley was at his side. The Narrator hummed a bit to himself musing over the last time he was here. He could’ve taken Stanley up on the offer to sit beside him.  

Or lay with him.  

Simply let himself fall asleep “Yes, Stanley. I think I might like that” he said dreamily, eyelids fluttering shut as his head tipped on Stanley’s shoulder. The weight of the world fell from his shoulders, the worries of keeping his secrets drifted away, and the Narrator truly felt at ease.  

Notes:

If you didn't know yet I have a Tumblr now!!! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/8pandacakes
Just a place to talk current fic progress and fandom stuff. Mostly TSP because that's what I'm currently working on. Check it out if you want :D
I'll be super busy in the next few weeks so I can't guarantee another update super soon but I'll try not to make y'all wait 4 months again lol. That's why I've been posting a lot recently so you have something to hold over while I work on my upcoming stuff both fic and original writing content related. If you like this fic and want something complete I suggest 284.5 KTSP because I just finished that one a little while ago. Other than that see you later <3

Also notice the tags and rating changed. I don't know if the little inuendo is enough to justify a mature rating but I changed it now in case I want to do more in the future. ;)

Chapter 5: And tries his argument of sense again,

Summary:

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:

The Narrator dreams as Stanley puts him to bed, and Stanley is awoken from his own dream by the Narrator. Neither discuss in detail, and both must act like everything is fine. It's not.

Notes:

"The pleasing task he fails not to renew;
Soft, and more soft at ev'ry touch it grew;
Like pliant wax, when chasing hands reduce
The former mass to form, and frame for use.
He would believe, but yet is still in pain,
And tries his argument of sense again,
Presses the pulse, and feels the leaping vein.
Convinc'd, o'erjoy'd, his studied thanks, and praise,
To her, who made the miracle, he pays:
Then lips to lips he join'd; now freed from fear,
He found the savour of the kiss sincere:
At this the waken'd image op'd her eyes,
And view'd at once the light, and lover with surprize.
The Goddess, present at the match she made,
So bless'd the bed, such fruitfulness convey'd,
That ere ten months had sharpen'd either horn,
To crown their bliss, a lovely boy was born;
Paphos his name, who grown to manhood, wall'd
The city Paphos, from the founder call'd."
- Pygmalion and the Statue (Ovid)
*Guess who ran out of poem now :(

This was supposed to be the Narrator experiencing new things, not Stanley. Yet here he was unlocking new interactions with the Narrator like little achievements. Kiss him, earned. Have a heart to heart, earned. Let him relax, earned.  

Okay maybe he had that last one already. The first time the Narrator had shown him the Zen room he was opening up to Stanley letting him into the one place he could feel calm and happy. It was peaceful seeing the Narrator able to let go for just a moment, but Stanley couldn’t stay there forever sooner or later they’d both have to return to the story. And that’s when he’d tainted the one good thing in the Narrator’s life.  

The second time was when he destroyed the placeholder, but Stanley was making up for that now.   

This, however, Stanley couldn’t ruin this. The Narrator felt comfortable enough around him to fall asleep, and he was going to provide that opportunity for him to recharge and reset. Wasn’t this the perfect metaphor for their current arrangement? The Narrator, who put so much of his time creating enrichment for Stanley he forgot to do thing for himself suddenly realizing it was okay to rely on him in return. Even if he was doing so unintentionally and unknowingly. The Narrator hadn’t meant to fall asleep just as he hadn’t meant for his companion to be Stanley, because he wasn’t the placeholder, and yet he’d finally called him Stanley, which felt significant.  

With that thought he finally turned to look at the man on his arm. Eyes closed and face lax, every furrow and crease in his expression which betrayed his ever-turning mind smoothed away. Stanley huffed out a laugh as he noticed upon further focus that even in sleep the Narrator would not stop his monologue, his lips moved minutely, and some whisper of words fell from them. Unintelligible sleep-talk that tickled the side of Stanley’s neck. It was as if the Narrator was whispering sweet nothings into his ear.  

However long Stanley may want to stay like this he knew half-leaning over in a seated position was not the optimal idle pose for sleep. He didn’t want to wake the Narrator, also knowing for certain it may be forever before the man allowed himself to rest, so he did the only thing he could. With careful maneuvering Stanley worked his closest arm around the Narrator's back holding his upright as he bent to get his other arm under his knees. He stood and lifted his companion off the couch slowly, careful not to jostle him awake.   

The Narrator was so deep in sleep that he hadn’t even stirred. Stanley marveled at him as he held the man in his arms, pulling him securely towards his chest. It was Stanley’s turn to carry him now in the exact same way. Except their final resting place was more comfortable and less morbid.   

Stanley laid the Narrator down gently on the nearest side of the bed, then went around to the other side and pulled half the covers back, before finally moving the Narrator to the newly exposed side. That did leave the first part of the bed sheets oddly rumpled, but who was he trying to impress?   

He stared at the Narrator with a single debate in his head. Should Stanley undress him? Surely, sleeping in his usual formal attire couldn’t be the most comfortable, and might ruin them. If their roles were reversed the Narrator would be able to just code an outfit change onto Stanley like it was nothing. Because it’d be nothing, it wasn’t like the Narrator wanted to see him naked, because Stanley was fat and ugly and really really stupid.   

But the Narrator wasn’t. He was gorgeous and intelligent, and the least Stanley could do was make sure he wasn’t sleeping in his shoes. Maybe he could unbutton his blazer just to make sure it didn’t wrinkle weird. Stanley would obviously also have to remove the Narrator’s tie so that he didn’t choke to death in his sleep. While he was removing little things it’d also be best to take his belt. With that and the shoes gone it wouldn’t be too mush of a stretch to remove his pants, and if they went the suit jacket would have to follow. Then by that point he might as well just start undoing his button down, and-  

Stanley yanked the blankets up over the Narrator’s shoulders before he could think of it too much longer. The only thing he removed was placing the Narrator’s glasses on the nightstand and even then, his hands shook. He brushed a hand across the Narrator’s forehead sweeping his hair aside and gently placed a kiss atop his head.  

The kiss had not awoken his prince. The Narrator must really have been tired. All throughout that time while Stanley struggled with himself the Narrator remained sound asleep. Stanley might begin to worry for his health if the steady rise and fall of his breathing wasn’t there. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful, so- Stanley couldn’t help a yawn which escaped him. He must be getting tired as well.  

With a final slow blink Stanley stepped away from the Narrator’s side. He couldn’t just watch someone sleep no matter how pleasing a picture it made and the urge to crawl into bed beside him, nestle himself perfectly around his back, and fall asleep with the Narrator tucked back into his arms was strong. No, he needed to escape while he could in order to maintain the facade that Stanley and the placeholder were different peop- things. The placeholder wasn’t people.  

He made himself close the door when all he wanted to do was turn back. Hewanted to throw away all pretend and pretense. Have the Narrator wake up and see he was still there, and admit who he’d been all this time. But since he couldn’t do that, he prepared his own sleeping arrangements for now.  

The Narrator’s dream was not a pleasant one. He silently paced around the skip button room in his physical form, though he would never admit it, the truth was in those years without Stanley he had created his character model. What else was he to do? He couldn’t used it then, too afraid to break something or worse get frozen himself and force Stanley into the torture of waiting for years in nothingness.  

Stanley stood unmoving. Hand on the button in front of him. He appeared untouched by time as the room broke down around him. The Narrator knew Stanley couldn’t hear him, feel him, see him, or react to him, but soon he may. As the skip button itself physically lay between them, it’s affects kept them apart even more. He’d wait for Stanley. As long as it took.  

[You’re lying to yourself] Stanley refuted his thoughts as if he’d spoken them aloud. Somehow back from the skip, springing to life just as suddenly as the placeholder first had.  

“I am not, Stanley!” he insisted “I will wait for you”  

That made the other man laugh [Narrator! You think I’m him! No, I’m how did he put it... the replacement. And if you were actually so benevolent I wouldn’t exist].  

The placeholder had never been to the skip button ending. “What?” was all the Narrator could say, then the next moment Stanley was leaning over the button and kissing him roughly. When it pulled away the Narrator whispered “You’re the placeholder”  

[Can’t really say the one and only, but you’re correct. Now Narrator you really should call me something better than placeholder. How about... Stanley! Since that’s who you want me to be]  

“I am not calling you Stanley” Names were important. They held meaning. Calling the placeholder Stanley would be a step too far. It would be like actually replacing him.  

[You’re right, I’m not like him at all] the placeholder carded a hand through his hair. A territorial romantic gesture with the way he was doing it. The Narrator didn’t like how much he liked it [I actually love you] and the Narrator fell into another kiss with the placeholder. That jolted him awake immediately.  

He sat up in bed, one hand on the side of his head the other covering his mouth. That had been a dream? Which meant he fell asleep. As he tried to piece things together the Narrator soon realized how blurry the room was. He found his glasses on the nightstand but hadn’t remembered taking them off or getting into bed.  

Trying to recall past the dream to the night before only left him with the vague memory of falling asleep on the couch. So, the placeholder must have carried him to the bed.  That’s why the placeholder was present in his dream when it was usually Stanley himself who starred in them.  

The Narrator looked to his side and found the other half of the bed was empty, but evidence of disturbance remained. The sheets appeared creased, and the pillow had a divot in it from where someone had slept. The Narrator  ran a hand along the blanket to smooth it out and found it had long gone cold. If someone had been there it wasn’t for long and they had left a while ago.  

So, much for waking up to see-  

Then a realization struck him. There's someone he’d been neglecting, someone he’d forgotten about. Stanley! The real one. What if Stanley, the rule breaker he was had ignored his request and came into the apartment. What would he have seen? That aside, how long had the Narrator been gone? Stanley could have gotten hurt or stuck in his abscene or maybe even worried about where he was. He needed to find Stanley. Despite the embarrassment, the Narrator could not forget his responsibility to his protagonist.  

For ease of moving around the Parable he opted out of his character model form, invigorated with the energy of sleep and adrenaline. “Stanley! I will reset if I can’t find you” he warned. The broom closet was empty, so was his office, and the bosses, and Mariella’s space.  

Although it felt like an anxiety ridden search it didn’t take long for the Narrator to find him. “Stanley! Oh, there you are” the Narrator’s tone softened off as he saw Stanley and was suddenly dismayed that he’d left his physical form in order to find him more quickly. His protagonist was sleeping in quite the uncomfortable position that he really wanted to ease him out of. Stanley was curled up on his side on one of the employee lounge couches with nothing under his head.  

Whenever the Narrator caught him sleeping in the past, he’d either find him with some makeshift pillow, a hand tucked beneath his cheek, or an arm bent under his head. This time, however, his arms were thrown out in front of him, one dangling off the edge. He looked as if he were reaching to hold something which wasn’t there. Likely he’d forgotten to grab the bucket.   

“Stanley. Wake up” the Narrator let a non-urgent normal tone gently echo throughout the room. He couldn’t fault Stanley for sleeping like he usually did, since he’d done the same, but he was truly as impatient as his subconscious reprimanded him for. Especially so soon after recalling the skip button ending. Wake him up, but don’t scare him. Try and at least do one thing right by Stanley.  

He should have stayed in the Zen room, stayed awake for the placeholder, stayed away from where Stanley needed to be. If he hadn’t told Stanley to avoid the apartment his protagonist could have slept in the bed. His joke about denying Stanley a nap before wasn’t supposed to be so real.  Selfish act after selfish act, once one started he couldn’t stop.  

Hopefully Stanley had slept the whole time. If he had seen the placeholder, a mirror of himself, sleeping alongside the Narrator what sort of conclusions would he draw then? The Narrator called out to him again, best not to delay the awkward confrontation.  

The soft call of his name slipped easily within the dream’s logic. A lazy morning in bed with Narry. Stanley reflexively drew closer to him upon the call and soon awoke of his own volition. Arms tensing around the air, holding his dream object tighter towards himself. He expected to feel soft flesh under his palm, but as dream and reality blended the contradictory feeling of emptiness roused him. Stanley blinked as the last remnants of his dream escaped and he no longer held the Narrator in his arms. Stanley looked around, an empty quiet room didn’t always mean you were alone in the Parable. He knocked on the wall beside him “Yes, Stanley I’m here. I was wondering when you’d wake up”  

[Yeah, I’m awake] Of course he’d gone back to voice form. Out of reach literally and metaphorically. Only ever tangible when he thought Stanley wasn’t around.  

“Good” then the Narrator paused for a beat “Not curious on how long you slept for?”. That was their usual banter in this situation. How long were you watching me? How long was I out? Give me five more minutes. Miss me? Stanley was always glad he couldn’t sleep talk, or who knows what he’d give away about his dreams. But this time the air between them felt different, something had clearly changed, maybe he had given something away about the contents of his dream.  

It was a nice dream for as long as it lasted.  

[Like you would know]  

“What’s that supposed to mean Stanley. I am your omnipotent Narrator I know everything”  

[Not if you’re sleeping too]  

“How did you-” So he had seen.  

Shit Stanley fucked up. He didn’t know that only the placeholder did. He needed to lie, and fast! [Why else would you want the apartment?]  

“While you may use it for sleep there's no way you could know that's what I’d been doing. Perhaps I was cooking. I have skills you don’t know about Stanley”  

Yeah you do! Stanley thought lasciviously, minding his smirk was more on the side of playful than interested. [You can’t cook]  

“Oh, ye of little faith” Maybe he had avoided the apartment. It appeared Stanley could do what he was told occasionally, and the Narrator was safe again. “Now stop stalling Stanley we have endings to run”  

[You sure you slept well? You sound tense.]  

“I slept fine, Stanley”  

[So, you did take a nap!]  

The Narrator made a disgruntled bristling noise of being caught out. “You’re too perceptive for your own good, Stanley”. Luckily, I’m better at hiding what matters. If Stanley had seen him, he’d call him out plainly.  

[No, I just know you well enough] and you don’t even know the half of it.  

Notes:

Sorry, this took a while I got fanfic cursed and lost power for a couple days. Then when I came back to it, I scrapped and rewrote a bunch of random pieces to hopefully make more sense character motivation wise. Let's just say Stanley's dream part came easy, the Narrator's did not. If you thought it was shit, go read The Coworkers Ending I got better dream sequences there.

Chapter 6: Pleased with his Idol, he commends, admires

Summary:

The Narrator and Stanley, I mean the placeholder, talk it out... until they do a bit more than talking.
It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes. Well maybe not all your clothes just yet because this is the non-explicit version.

Notes:

Yes, you read that right. If you follow me on Tumblr (@8Pandacakes) you know that I cut the sex scene out of this chapter because this thing would've been done way sooner without it and I wanted to get this chapter out. So, it's fade to black for now, and I'm gonna include all the explicit stuff in either a later edit or in a companion piece fic of the cut pages.

Sorry for the 2 month wait I've been working on an interactive fiction narrative game, a screenplay, and a research paper that have taken up all my writing energy. But now 2/3 of those are done. Fingers crossed my screenplay places well in competition because writing is fun and if I could do this instead of a job I would.

Despite the warning in his dreams the temptation of returning to the placeholder was still strong. The Narrator had barely gotten his fill of make believe romance with Stanley, and while every reason in his mind told him not to continue, maybe a bit of Stanley was rubbing off on him as the Narrator disobeyed his own advice.  

It didn’t take long for Stanley and the Narrator to find themselves in the apartment again. More accurately, Stanley posing as the placeholder and the Narrator found themselves in the apartment again.  

“I wanted to apologize for wasting your time” the Narrator was pacing back and forth in front of the window while Stanley dutifully sat on the couch his body turned toward the Narrator offering him his full attention.  

[There’s nothing else I’d rather spend time doing than spending it with you] 

With a sigh the Narrator came to a stop. Of course, it would tell him that. Dissuade his fears and parrot back what he’d dream of Stanley telling him. “You don’t know what you’re saying” 

[I’m complimenting you, Narry] 

“You wouldn’t if you knew what I’ve done” he said softly “About how I treated someone I’ve-” ‘come to love’ went unsaid because Stanley interrupted. 

Why couldn’t the Narrator take him at his words? Narry was always so high and mighty in monologue. Acting all better than him, but here with the placeholder he always seemed so lonely, lost, and unsure. Stanley stood and approached the Narrator [That’s not fair. Not to yourself and especially not to me]. 

The Narrator was caught off guard for a second, the placeholder despite its limited experience could pull a convincing act at being wiser than what it was. It almost made the Narrator believe it did have knowledge outside of its limited scope. As if the placeholder was just as fully fleshed out as Stanley was. “You’re correct, but I was simply suggesting that-” 

He held up a finger to the Narrator’s lips. If he wanted this done right he’d have to do it himself. Stanley was good at turning the Narrators set-ups into cooler adventures most of the time. He’d fix a bit of this narrative here too. [And it’s also not fair how we’re wasting time on this conversation when my hands and your mouth could be better put to use]  

The Narrator’s eyes widened, and Stanley knew the line he’d been waiting to use on him had been the cause. He slowly ran a hand down the Narrator’s chest and left it flat against his sternum as he leaned in with a tilt of his head. 

Stanley’s expectation was that the Narrator would pull away and insist they needed to talk things out more. Instead, he found his gesture welcome as the Narrator easily fell into the kiss even after so long since the last one they shared. This was better than any apology, not that the Narrator had reason to apologize anyway in Stanley’s eyes.  

It was actually Stanley who pulled away before he wanted to. The Narrator had a hand on the back of his head throwing himself into their kiss like a lifeline, but with closeness at which their cheeks rested it left one thing quite hard to miss. He didn’t even know the Narrator’s character model was capable of doing it until he felt the wet streaks on his cheeks for himself.  

The Narrator was crying. [Narry?] 

He quickly wiped his eyes. It had all been too much and not enough at the same time. Too much intimacy, too much of a good thing, and yet not enough Stanley. “You- aren’t him ” 

[Him?] 

“Stanley” 

Why did the Narrator feel the need to mention him? [I’m not] Stanley agreed, the outright lie left a bitter taste when all he wanted was a taste of the Narrator. I’m not Stanley. I’m the one you actually love. Whatever that was supposed to mean. The placeholder was anyone but Stanley, because Narry wouldn’t need a placeholder if he actually wanted to kiss him? 

“I can’t keep getting the two of you confused” 

Stanley nodded [Ruins the moment I guess] he supplied.  

The Narrator pushed up his glasses to wipe his eyes “You said before, it’s not fair to you, or him”.  

[Don’t think about fairness right now. Think about what you want] 

“I want you” the Narrator confessed pulling Stanley back towards himself. It sent a shiver down Stanley’s spine the way he spoke in the husky countdown voice. He didn’t need the Narrator to call him by his name anymore if he just kept saying phrases like that. I want you I want you I want you iwantyouiwantyouiwantyouyouyouYOU. 

They fell onto the couch when Stanley felt the armrest push into the backs of his knees and he let himself fall backwards onto it. Legs dangling over one end and his back and head flat against the cushions. Apparently, in the flurry of making out they’d meandered over to the living room area, but Stanley wasn’t going to complain.  

The Narrator looked down at the placeholder as he was splayed out on the couch. Its shins were between his legs and looking down on him now the small voice of guilt in his head about the fact that the placeholder was a replica of Stanley got silenced. “Take off your shirt” he breathed out before he even wondered if he’d properly rendered in a shirtless torso for the placeholder. He knew Stanley had one, but such a small detail could’ve gotten lost in his attempts to make the placeholder stagnant. Oh, remember when the placeholder was simply a still sprite, now look at him.  

Stanley didn’t need any illusions of choice here. This time he’d gladly follow all of the Narrator's orders. He rushed to undo each button of his dress shirt opening it up and leaving his skin on display. The Narrator had made him, so it was a safe bet that at least somehow Stanley was physically to his liking. Reaching the bottom he yanked the front of his shirt out from where it was tucked into his slacks and tossed each side toward letting the material fan out away from his chest and surround him. In place of his shirt tails Stanley let the tips of his fingers dip below his waistband staying at the tops of his hips. He stared back at the Narrator with an impish grin, daring him to make the next move.  

The Narrator swallowed, mouth dry, he couldn’t take his eyes off the placeholder. This was exactly how he recalled Stanley’s model to be, which meant the placeholder would also have Stanley’s... his gaze drifted down the placeholder’s stomach to right between where his palms were resting. The Narrator curled his toes against the physical reaction which stirred inside him. “You’re beautiful” he breathed out running his hands up and down the placeholder’s thighs. He stopped right on top of the placeholder’s hands telegraphing his intentions as he held the edge of the placeholder’s belt. 

[You first] Stanley instructed pulling his hands out and placing one on top of the Narrator’s to stop him. 

“You don’t want to see me” the Narrator replied undeterred from his mission to remove more of the placeholder’s clothes.  

Stanley shook his head against the couch [Not true, but it’s also not fair if I’m the only one naked] 

“I thought we weren’t talking about fairness right now” the Narrator teased earning him an eyeroll. 

Without a reply then the placeholder sat up, surging forward as he reached out for him and hooked his arms around the Narrator’s neck. He pulled them into another kiss and worked the Narrator’s suit jacket off his shoulders from this new angle.  

And the Narrator could improvise well. Starting at the placeholder’s collar bone the Narrator peppered kisses along the placeholder’s torso deepening the suction in places enough to leave a mark. How many times had he seen Stanley bruised and bloodied? Enough that the idea should sicken him, but somehow the intentional marks were so enticing to leave even if they would go away upon reset.  

Stanley would never let the Narrator claim him like this. Never trust him enough to let himself be held done and laid himself bare. Stanley wouldn’t throw his head back and close his eyes and tense under the Narrator actions in a display of pure enjoyment.  

“I love you” he left a confession in each one whispered into the placeholder’s skin. 

“I cherish you” 

“I need you” and again the lines between Stanley and his placeholder blurred in the haze of pleasure. And this was just the beginning. 

- 

Stanley laid in the bed of the apartment ending blissfully boneless and spent, perfectly content to just shut his eyes and ride out the afterglow. But then his eyes shot open as he realized his ruse of a double life didn’t leave much time for dawdling. He needed to stand, leave, he... He felt the cushion beneath his head move and realized it was connected to the faint sound of laughter. Stanley’s head was pillowed on the Narrator’s chest and he could feel that voice directly in his skull and the rumble of his laughter.  

“You appear...happy” the Narrator commented idly carding a meandering hand through Stanley’s hair. That eased his nerves a bit with the gentle way he was being pet, nails barely grazing his scalp, as the Narrator tucked some stray piece behind his ear for him. Stanley nodded in agreement with the statement, pressing closer to the Narrator in doing so. Maybe he could stay like this for a few more minutes. 

That drew out another chuckle past the man’s lips, then he sighed splaying a hand on Stanley’s head letting the tension leave him “and Stanley was happy” he said in the sigh with such an airy lost quality to his voice Stanley was sure the Narrator had probably only said it unconsciously due to word associations.  

“Stanley!” the Narrator yelled as he went tense under Stanley “Not again- I" the Narrator scrambled for a moment before stopping. He looked down at Stanley and Stanley looked back up at him, sitting up and pulling away this was his chance to come clean.  

[Narry I-] he began [I enjoyed our time together] 

The Narrator smiled “So did I” he admitted before kissing the top of Stanley’s head “But I need to warn Stanley, before I reset to fix this whole mess” he gestured to the messed up sheets and clothes strew about “You understand”.  

[I do] Just like that the Narrator had disappeared back to just a voice. 

What Stanley didn’t understand was his own emotional reaction to the Narrator running off so fast. The disappointment made sense, the feeling of longing for a time when they could just lie there together without a care in the world, but the jealousy was odd. Stanley as himself was jealous of his placeholder self for his intimacy with the Narrator, but Stanley right now was jealous of his Stanley self for being the priority.  

They were both him anyway, why was he going crazy over this?! 

When he appeared back at his desk, clothed without having to put his clothes back on, he stood to continue the story and found not everything went away upon reset. Hiding the way he stumbled out of his chair from the exhaustion and soreness.  

“Stanley are you alright?” Okay, so he didn’t hide it all that well.  

[Fine. Fine] he rushed to explain waving a hand [Just tripped on the stairs earlier] 

The Narrator made a contemplative sound “Could there be something wrong with the code. Your injuries should fully reset”. Lucky for Stanley to learn that apparently sex with the game’s Narrator was the exception to this rule. “One moment Stanley while I investigate the source of this issue” 

Shit! [No need! Like I said I’m fine] He couldn’t let Narry look through the code. If he did and he saw the placeholder had glitched out what was he going to think then. Narry needed his placeholder, he cherished it, loved it. He might even realize what Stanley had been doing, tricking him, and not even coming clean when it’d gone as far as sex.  

“Are you positive Stanley?” 

[100% I can walk it off] 

The Narrator paused again for a moment “Oh, alright” Wow he was much more agreeable lately “Although, if this continues, I may need to run some tests” 

[You mean repeating the same conditions to see if it triggers the bug again] 

“Yes, Stanley exactly” he replied “In the meantime, you will need to be more careful. There are handrails for a reason” Ha rails. Like it wasn’t getting railed that lead Stanley into this predicament in the first place. Not that he would mind running a few repeated tests. His private smile at his own joke was cut short as his lower back tinged painfully again reminding him of the consequences, and Stanley grit his teeth. He hunched forward with a hand to his chest and realized with horror that certain places under his fingers cause a sort of dull pain.  

Fuck. 

He raced through the halls ignoring the Narrator until he reached the broom closet. [Give me a minute] he shut the door and trusted the Narrator was giving him privacy. Stanley practically ripped open his shirt revealing his chest was covered in tiny bruises: at the base of his neck, around his pecs, and littered across his body. Stanley sunk down his back to the door still staring down at himself, in the moment he enjoyed the little hickeys the Narrator left but only because they were supposed to go away. Narry had left these on the placeholder, not him! If checking the code didn’t give him away these certainly would.

Notes:

I swear my internet provider knows when I'm gonna post on Ao3 because it just now decide to get spotty. Totally fine earlier today but all the sudden!

Chapter 7: His Hands had made a Dint, and hurt his Maid

Summary:

Stanley hides knowing the marks will give him away, and maybe he had too much faith in the Narrator's ability to put it together.

Notes:

Simply having a wonderful Pride month time! :D Here's a new chapter for the new month. I got super stuck for a while but then busted out hella progress all at once when I figured out the solution. That's the kind of turnaround y'all have come to expect from me, nothing for 3 months then boom chapter after chapter!

I know I promised the smut would come soon, but I wrote this instead so don't be too mad at me :) lol. By this point in a long fic I'd have started my next long fic, and I have like the first chapter of 2 different things I just don't know which I want to commit to as my next project.

“Stanley. You’re really beginning to worry me now” The Narrator said as he lingered in the hall using all his control not to look in on the broom closet as Stanley had requested him to. However, it had been far longer than a minute and with Stanley being clearly in pain before dashing off to hide in the broom closet it was obvious something was amiss. Even more so than Stanley wanted him to believe.   

What could have happened? There weren’t many stairs for Stanley to have fallen down, and he didn’t specify. Most likely it was the large main stairs, Stanley had likely gone down to visit Mariella or up to listen to music in his boss’s office. Although, part of the Narrator believed Stanley might be acting evasively for a reason, what if it was those stairs. He wasn’t hurt in a way that suggested Stanley fell the whole way, at least it appeared, but a sick feeling told the Narrator he couldn’t completely be certain. What if he’d been injured some other way, and didn’t want to mention it? What and why the Narrator didn’t know, but it was possible. There were a number of ways the Parable could hurt Stanley, ways the Narrator had implemented.  

Did he know his protagonist at all anymore? The more time they took away from the story and the longer he left Stanley unsupervised the less in control of the Parable the Narrator felt. First, he’d reset without warning, then fallen asleep, and now he’d gotten… distracted, each time he came back from a moment with the Placeholder something with Stanley was amiss.   

“I know I’ve been away more frequently as of late, Stanley. Not that you’re much safer in most endings while I’m around, but you know I still care about your wellbeing. I-” Why were things so difficult to say. Words he could admit aloud in the Placeholder's presence but the simplest of things he kept hidden from Stanley. Even while Stanley was on the opposite side of the door unseen, he still couldn’t say it.  

He needed to adjust his approach. The last time he’d let Stanley see his physical character model... was when Stanley accidentally walked in on him and the placeholder for the first time.  That felt like it was so long ago, and maybe it would help, being corporeal would feel more grounded and not only would he be able to better articulate himself to Stanley it could also make Stanley feel more at ease. “One moment Stanley, I’ll be right back”  

Stanley, with his back against the broom closet door, sighed in relief. His shirt hung loosely on his shoulders unbuttoned as he traced the little marks on his chest and neck with equal parts care and trepidation. These symbols of love he coveted weren’t meant to stay, a trait they shared with the one who’d given them to him. He’d looked all over himself and found no marks which couldn’t be perfectly concealed by his office attire, but that wouldn’t stop Stanley from knowing they were there; and what if he messed up just once before they healed. If the Narrator asked why he’d buttoned his collar all the way unnecessarily or worried again over a stagger in his step.  

He was safer in the broom closet. The Narrator survived years in the Skip he could handle a few weeks of Stanley hiding out. It was fine. Whatever he had to do to keep his secret. It wasn’t selfish if it was the best for both of them.  

After resigning himself to an even lonelier existence Stanley heard footsteps approach from the other side of the door accompanied with the tink of metal “Stanley, If you don’t want to explain yourself to me then I thought you might want the bucket here instead”.  

The Narrator waited with the Bucket for another moment wishing Stanley would somehow convey that this wasn’t necessary, and he felt physically and mentally okay and ready to converse. When he’d returned from getting into his character model the Narrator had passed the bucket and realized that if he could admit things to the Placeholder he couldn’t tell Stanley, maybe his protagonist felt the same about him.  

He knelt down and placed the bucket beside the door. “The bucket is right here for you” he said softly, and at that promise the door finally opened a crack. Only Stanley’s hand emerged as it felt around the floor for the bucket, the Narrator pushed it closer to him causing their fingers to brush up against one another’s.  

When Stanley felt the Narrator’s hand under his own, it reminded him of the intimacy he stole as the Placeholder. Everything he was trying to hold back rushed to the forefront of his thoughts. He let out an involuntary sob at the sudden onslaught of memories, as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.  

“ Oh Stanley ” the Narrator threaded their fingers together and held Stanley’s hand almost on reflex, he moved forward pulling the other man into his arms forcing the door to swing open and the bucket pushed to the side. He cradled his protagonist in his lap holding him tightly, one hand petting the back of his head, as Stanley wept softly into his shoulder. “Stanley, it’s alright. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. Nothing can hurt you. Nobody will replace you... I love you Stanley”  

They stayed like that on the floor of the Parable for who knows how long. None of their problems could reach them as long as the pair remained on the floor of the Parable in each other's embrace. The Narrator whispering affirmations into Stanley’s hair as Stanley kept his face buried. Until finally he had no more tears to cry and his sobbing petered off into shallow breaths, and Stanley pulled away just enough to communicate. [Narry-]  

“Stanley!” the Narrator interrupted, his calm whisper turned to shocked yelp. His eyes which drew to watch Stanley’s hands were now looking past them and at the small bruises on his exposed chest. An area which had previously not been his focus during their interaction completely covered by the hold against his body. “What happened? Were these from your fall? I knew you were hiding injuries from me Stanley, there's no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed about it.”  

Stanley fell all right. Hard and fast for his Narrator, then got his heart hurt. The Narrator gripped each of his upper arms as he pulled back to get a better look at Stanley inspecting the bruises through the shadows cast by how his open shirt lay. [I didn’t fall down the stairs]  

He could get onto Stanley for lying later, this was obviously not the right time. His protagonist looked so fragile and frightened and had just been bawling his eyes out over something clearly of greater import. “Then what are-” the Narrator began before it clicked why these particular bruises looked eerily familiar. This was no regular injury. “When- where did you- who?”.  

[You Narry.] Stanley shook off the Narrator’s hold as each bit of contact felt like an undeserved comfort burned into his skin. He pulled his shirt back giving a clearer picture of the marks, this time undressing in front of the Narrator didn’t feel as satisfying. He looked away out of shame [You gave these to me, well not to me exactly, but-].  

The Narrator stared in shock. Each place Stanley was bruised was a spot he’d kissed and marked the placeholder. “This isn’t possible Stanley, this is- Oh my” he covered his mouth with his hand “Stanley, I didn’t realize that you and  he were...” ‘connected’ the Narrator intended, but left hanging.  

‘One in the same’ Stanley filled in mentally [Yes].  

“All this time” the Narrator breathed out. It all made sense now. Why the placeholder could move, could sign, could mimic Stanley’s facial expressions perfectly, how it knew so much, and how could the Narrator not have realized. Without knowing it, Stanley and the placeholder were sharing experiences. No wonder Stanley acted strangely after each break he’d known all along what the Narrator had been doing. Wherever he was in the Parable, Stanley had been able to feel everything the placeholder felt.  

How jarring it must have been for Stanley to suddenly feel these things and not know their origins. He felt the Narrator kiss him, touch him, fuck him. He’d done it without asking if Stanley was willing, and his protagonist had been so courteous or more likely so afraid he hadn’t brought it up. And now here was marked proof of this intangible bond, this crossover from copied code. It was the only way the marks he’d left on the Placeholder could be on Stanley now.  

The Narrator grabbed Stanley’s hand “I wish you had told me, Stanley. If I'd known I never would have let it continue” he said, hoping Stanley would understand the sincerity in his apology. That’d he’d never meant to betray him like this. The placeholder was made so Stanley wouldn’t have to be burdened with his feelings, yet he’d somehow still forced them upon him. He’d been worried about hurting him indirectly though Stanley getting injured in the Parable, he never imagined how he’d hurt him like this.  

Stanley’s head whipped back to look at the Narrator. He took in the other man’s expression as his words settled into a bleak understanding. Drawing his hand back swiftly in one motion he’d moved further away from the Narrator so that no parts of them overlapped or touched [I know, and I’m sorry] was all he could let himself reply. All he wanted to do was retreat into the broom closet again, maybe toss himself out the window. He knew it would hurt when the Narrator put it together, he’d taken up for the placeholder, but this was worse than anything he expected. There was no anger at his deception, just a pitying tone and veiled disgust. The words cut with finality that Stanley was right and he’d never had a chance. Nothing they shared would have happened had he been himself. The Narrator didn’t want him, and he deserved that for what he’d done.  

The small sad smile the Narrator was putting on didn’t help. He so rarely got to see and hold him, so why now did he have to look him in the eye and see everything he lost. Stanley had wanted only good memories of seeing his Narrator. THE Narrator, not HIS. The Narrator would never be his friend, acquaintance, and especially not his partner after this or ever. He’d made that quite clear.  

Or as clear as rejecting him after saying he loved him could be.  

“Don’t apologize Stanley” the Narrator respected Stanley’s need for distance. He looked over to where the bucket had been discarded and pulled it closer to where they sat. After a beat he placed it down between them and carefully removed his so as not to risk another incident of physical contact. Stanley had every right to shy away from his touch now. “This was all my fault I shouldn’t have...” the Narrator trailed off.  

Stanley gripped the bucket close, hugging it to his chest securely. The metal of the bucket was cold against his skin, but the shock of the sensation couldn't dilute his emotions, yet he lacked the tears for crying any longer. Stanley stared into the empty bucket, his only companion, and tried to steady his ragged panicked breathing. He could feel the Narrator watching him and maybe it was the fact that he was so often just merely a voice but Stanley could tell even without looking up that the Narrator wanted to say something. So, he didn’t let him.  

And ran away again.  

Backwards down the Parable, his breathing more from panic than exertion, with the bucket held near not knowing where he was going just that he had to go somewhere. Would it fix anything? That could be answered by, did it fix anything the first time? What was even the point of running in a finite space of infinite loops.  

Stanley didn’t plan on going to the warehouse.  

Stanley didn’t really know why he stepped on the platform.  

Stanley didn’t choose to fall off of it either.  

Notes:

Stanley lying about falling, then actually falling XD

Yes yes I know it's a cop out to make him run away again. Sue me, but don't until you see the stuff I have coming up I promise it's worth this very annoying trope in the miscommunication genre. Also, my favorite part of the reveal is the Narrator asking Stanley "Who?" like who the fuck do you think gave Stanley all those hickeys there aren't many other people in here. Jealousy knows no bounds.

Chapter 8: Explor'd her limb by limb, and fear'd to find

Summary:

When you have gotten all the pining and angst out of the way, whatever remains, no matter how long it takes to get there, must be the chapter where they FINALLY just spell everything out and lay all the cards on the table. Then maybe finally they can sort their shit out and be happy.

Notes:

This one has been so fun to write. I have tons of parts of it that hit the cutting room floor because there's so much to explore with this concept. Y'all know me, I obviously went the angst and misunderstandings route. I think it was good to write a true in the Parable set story after so many humanoid AUs.

Anyways I hope you enjoy the ending. It was a challenge trying to make a satisfying conclusion, where most of my fics end with a kiss this started with one lol (and even escalated from there). I appreciate y'all's kindness and support. Thank you for reading :D You're the best!

He wants to get rid of it. Delete it, do away with the placeholder in the same way he should have from the beginning. Reset to a time before the greatest mistake he’s ever made and ones he kept making. But he can’t reset, things are what they are, and even if the placeholder goes away that won’t remove the fact that he knows, and he knows that Stanley knows too.  

He wants to unknow. Erase the memory, it’s possible to unknow things he learned or guess he must have learned. He’ll unknow in the same way the Skip button ending is a hazy memory told second hand by Stanley. Thousands of years of insane isolation flit from his mind apparently, so it can’t be that hard. But he doesn’t deserve to forget this time.   

The Narrator remained in his physical form as he paced around the hall outside the broom closet. Now that his mind is on the skip button ending it’s starting to sound like a probable idea. A few thousand years in solitude felt like a close enough comeuppance for what he’d done. If only Stanley would agree to the plan. Who was he to make demands of Stanley at time like this? Besides, Stanley would never agree to that. He’d never willingly do that ending again and the Narrator asking would only force Stanley to feel bad for him and try and downplay what happened. Any punishment was merely a way for the Narrator to feel better about himself, he didn’t deserve that.   

Did it even truly matter if the sensations transferred between the Placeholder and Stanley? In the end, despite how much he’d told himself otherwise, he’d mentally superimposed Stanley in its place the whole time. Acting out a fantasy of having a Stanley who reciprocated his affections all the while the real Stanley suffered.   

Speaking of suffering that’s also why he likely couldn’t delete the placeholder. If small injuries passed between them who knew what the ripping pain of having your code backspaced would feel like. Would Stanley be deleted as well? That was not something he was willing to risk.   

At the very least he needed to sever the connection, and find a way to return the placeholder to before it became sentient. It was harsh especially since the placeholder did nothing wrong, only followed what the Narrator had set up, but the dangers of having another being walking around who’s endangerment also endangered Stanley’s was far too risky. It still felt like a betrayal to the one thing that even gave him the facsimile of love.   

Was there no one who came into contact with him and left unscathed? Was he doomed to hurt all he cared for? Was this what the Parable was meant to teach him? Everything he created would only create a hell for himself and those who inhabited it. He could not escape the never ending cycle.   

If memories weren’t fully transferred between the Placeholder and Stanley the situation would most likely need to be explained. He owed the Placeholder that much at the very least before going through his code. Arriving in the Zen room, the Narrator steeled himself for coming face to face with the Placeholder again. The music was serene as ever and the lights danced already mid performance. And there was the Placeholder standing amongst it all. Lying in wait. Seeing it turned away from him felt like that moment when Stanley had run off.   

It looked exactly like him. Of course it did.  

The rumpled white button up shirt, dark pants, and dress shoes. It had his short brown hair, the delicate softness burned in his memory; It had his face, the one he’d seen twisted into sadness and drenched in sorrow. Same- bucket?  

Stanley didn’t know why he’d subconsciously lead himself back to the Zen room. Maybe to throw himself off the stairs a couple or four times until he’d made up for all the lies he’d lived. Except by the time he’d made it to the room the familiar atmosphere had distracted him. He watched the mesmerizing display and let it fill his conscious mind as the colors and lights swiveled in and out of view. All the while whispers of words he’d heard before resurfaced and the faint images of these encounters made themselves known in his minds eye.  

 

“Oh, this. It’s a prototype for a new thing I’m adding to the game”  

 

“Placeholder character model. Not everything revolves around you, Stanley”  

 

“Don’t be nervous Stanley. You know the pain will disappear soon”  

 

“You’re agreeing to- No this is ridiculous, stop seeing what you want to. He doesn’t know what he’s doing”.   

 

“What are you doing?”   

The Narrator’s voice this time was much louder and more assertive than the faint memories. Stanley turned around and he was eye to eye with the Narrator. This was the anger he’d been expecting, and since Stanley didn’t answer his question the Narrator asked again “What are you doing?”  

[Here?] Stanley clarified with the free hand which wasn’t holding the Bucket’s handle.   

That made the Narrator’s eye twitch under his glasses, probably something Stanley’s antics had caused hundreds of times but not a look he got to see so up close. “No. I expected you to be here, I created you here, and I’m going to in a sense get rid of you here. But before I do, what are you doing with Stanley’s Reassurance Bucket?”  

[...You gave it to me]  

The Placeholder looked so confused and adorable purposefully to pull at his heartstrings. Little did it know his heart had been crushed just before this. This was just cruel. “No. I never gave it to you I gave it to Stanley! And no matter how much you or I pretend or how many of our interactions he’s an unknowing participant in, you will never be Stanley. The bucket is his dammit, it’s the only thing he cares about! Haven’t we done enough damage to Stanley already?!” he yelled while climbing the stairs up onto the main platform of the zen room.  

[I don’t understand] Stanley replied stepping back.  

The Narrator paused in his approach “Oh course you wouldn’t!” he threw up his arms and began to pace unable to look at the placeholder “I only made you to look like Stanley not to think like him. If you had his wants and ideals you never would have stayed with me, Stanley never stays on the story I set out for him. So of course you don’t understand why that’s so important!”  

[Narry!] Stanley rushed forward and grabbed the Narrator’s sleeve forcing him to pay attention [I don’t understand what you’re talking about because you already know I’m Stanley].  

“Please, don’t. Not right now” the Narrator felt his knees give out from under him as he slowly dropped to the floor of the Zen room. Cumbersome physical form making his vision blurry with mist and voice hoarse from screaming. He would have completely crashed if it weren’t for the hand on his arm guiding him down slowly and holding him up most of the way.   

Stanley crouched in front of him and pulled his hand away [I am Stanley. You put it together, remember].  

All energy for anger gone and replaced by grief he could only muster a barely audible and defeated “I did no such thing”.  

That would appear to be the case, or his statements wouldn’t make any sense. But how after he’d seen the bruises could the Narrator not have put it together? Maybe he was just in denial? The Narrator was trying to convince himself he hadn’t done all those things with him. [Well then, you said it yourself, Stanley has the bucket and there’s only one of Bucket so if I have it that means that...]  

The Narraotor’s gaze shot up and locked with Stanley’s as a look of horror dawned on his expression “I’ve mistaken you for the placeholder. You weren’t meant to hear all that Stanley I was just off to break your connection with it and then we can-”  

[You’ve been doing that a lot lately you know, mistaking me for the placeholder.]  

“I know and it’s wrong of me to have created a separate being to-” he moved to stand and retreat.  

[I never said I’m not the placeholder] Stanley pressed on.  

“Stanley” Was he implying what it seemed he was implying?  

[How else did you think I as Stanley had these?] Stanley pointed to the more obvious bruises on his neck.   

The Narrator wiped his eyes with the back of his hand brushing up his glasses before he decided to remove them altogether. “I believed that since I’d used your code to create a copy that somehow anything either of you experienced seemed to transfer over. Now I see that instead I thrust my unwanted advances on you directly Stanley and I’m deeply remorseful”.  

Stanley shook his head [No. I’m the one who should be sorry. You wanted to experiment in your own privacy and experience new things and I forced myself into that situation. It’s like you said you never would have- never would have continued if you knew it was me]  

Oh. Now what sort of predicament had they found themselves in now? The Narrator stared at him for a beat “...Yes I guess you would take it that way Stanley, but you’re partially mistaken. Stanley, I- as you know I love you but I knew this was unrequited and before that I wasn’t even truly sure if that’s how to best explain what you meant to me. You’re my protagonist, but also more than that... and so I thought that if I acted out some more romantic gestures on a copy of you it might alleviate this desire. I was wrong Stanley. Nothing could make me feel any differently towards you.” That was surprisingly easy to say when he knew Stanley’s happiness hung in the balance.  

[Unwanted? Unrequited? Narry do you still think that I don’t feel the same way? After everything.] Stanley reached out and cupped a hand to the side of the Narrator’s face lifting it so their eyes met more surely. The Narrator seemed so dejected and ashamed. [ I pretended to be the Placeholder because I thought that was the only way I’d get to be with you in any sort of romantic context. Since you didn’t want me as Stanley.]  

“Stanley” he almost laughed out his name at the absurdity of Stanley’s assumptions “You never questioned why I’d make an exact replica of you for this purpose?”  

[I assumed it was a coincidence. To save time, and you’d want to change the placeholder’s look later to be your perfect guy. Then you’d either figure it out... or I'd finally become someone you liked]  

“You think I would create this Parable without already molding you into the most beautiful man.” he cupped a hand to Stanley’s cheek and this small act was more enjoyable than any contact they shared under guises and pretense before. Because it was genuine and full of emotions like love instead of guilt. “Think about it, Stanley. Firstly, I’d have to look at you for extended periods of time and Secondly, I’m quite the perfectionist when it comes to my work. I told you this as the placeholder during our...”  

Stanley blushed knowing to when he was referring. He shook his head no, yet was unable to extricate himself from the comfort of the Narrator’s hold.  [I’m not perfect or beautiful. Not as me, regular old Stanley]  

“You are. To me you are everything” the Narrator smiled and tucked a bit of hair behind Stanley’s ear.  

[You’ve said the opposite in the broom closet ending before] he countered.  

“Words of a spiteful projecting man trying to forcefully convince himself he didn’t fall in love with his creation. Any more misconceptions you need me to set right, Stanley?”  

[Just so we’re clear. I love you, romantically in the dating sense not just for sex but I liked that too. And you feel the same? And this whole time we’ve been going in circles around each other?]  

The Narrator laughed “We are experts of just going in circles, and loops and infinite cycles always ending right where we started and never progressing. Yes, Stanley your sentiments are shared 100%. You didn’t hear me admit I love you?”  

Stanley nodded [I did, but maybe you meant it platonically... And you’re not mad that I accidentally made the Placeholder glitch out of existence and came onto you under false pretenses]  

“So long as you can forgive me for believing I was with another man and pretending it was you all this time, Stanley. Though that does make me wonder where the original Placeholder could have gone”  

[You kissed him first didn’t you?]  

“Jealous, Stanley? I quite enjoy seeing you jealous actually”  

[Oh yeah] He held up the bucket and shook it gently so the metal clanked [Two can play at that game].  

The Narrator stood abruptly in an overacted show of betrayal “Stanley you would never!? Not after I poured out my heart to you!”  

Stanley placed the bucket down and drew himself up from the floor while laughing and lead them both away from the bucket. He smiled at the Narrator [You know, this isn’t how I imagined we’d get together].  

“I never imagined it happening at all Stanley. So, enlighten me what would you have wanted?”  

He mulled it over for a second [Less talking and awkwardness. More kissing]  

The Narrator smirked “Well, Stanley now that we’ve gotten the logistics and confessions out of the way like adults”. He leaned in to whisper in Stanley’s ear nuzzling into him with a much softer kiss at his neck amongst the bruises from rougher ones “I don’t mind your ending this time around”.  

Stanley felt a shiver run down his spine and he closed his eyes in pure delight. He worked an arm around the Narrator’s lower back and held him close. [Narry. Tell me again how the most powerful, creative and handsome being in the Parable fell for the guy who always ruins his plans].  

That made the Narrator laugh, the soft exhale tickling Stanley’s neck “I’m endlessly intrigued by you Stanley” he complimented, nuzzling into the crook of his neck “While I don’t always agree with you, I like seeing what you choose to do, how you use your free will”. Why did the words give him an odd sense of deja vu? “Even when that choice includes fishing for complements.  

[I said a nice thing about you too]  

“All words, Stanley. The man who asked for kissing is leaving his partner severely lacking in them” the Narrator tsk-ed in tease. Stanley wiped the smirk off his face with his own mouth tightening his grip so the Narrator was pulled perfectly flush against him. He kissed the Narrator in earnest, erasing all their previous ones from the taste in his mouth as none could compare to this one. It wasn’t hasty, longing, sorrowful, miscommunicated, or incomplete. This kiss was one of new beginnings, and safe harbors after storms.  

If this was a dream sequence, he didn’t want to wake up; and if this was an ending, he didn’t want to reset. Everything was perfect and impossible and real. He traced the words [I. Love. You] over and over into the Narrator’s suit and hoped after enough repetitions it would finally amount to the amount of love he needed to convey.  

The Narrator caught his hand with his own when Stanley’s dipped too low “Now don’t try to be sneaky, Stanley” he chastised a breath away from their lips touching. Stanley could swear the Narrator held a bit of his lip between his teeth as a warning before their mouths parted. Stanley rolled his eyes, he wasn’t even consciously moving his hand lower, but now that the idea was in his head he wouldn’t mind being allowed to grab his new boyfriend’s butt while they made out.  

After a while the pulled apart again for a final time this session. [Do you wanna get back to the story?] Stanley asked knowing full well even in light of all the confessing and kissing who the Narrator’s first love was.  

“I was hoping to put that off given we are in the zen room, Stanley”  

[Don’t be nervous, Narry]  

Notes:

Epilogue:

The original Placeholder glitched through the floor and fell into the regular apartment ending. He’s been hanging out with Mannequin wife this whole time, they’re married. [re: idling as unmoving objects with his bent arm perfectly lined up to cause them to hug]. <3

Notes:

Sorry not sorry but I only know how to write idiots who are allergic to proper communication.