queenburd
bird queen
May! They/Them, 25+. Queen of birds. I have an associate's in illustration. I draw a LOT. (Dash Icon by 2mi127)
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Weeps I miss sleeping consistently
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Okay I did end up writing a small silly thing for 4/27!! Happy stanley day, here’s two idiots and a broom closet secret ending. Based on a really old doodle I made 8)
—
“Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here.”
The Narrator’s tone is quiet exasperation. He stares at Stanley, who smiles at him from the center of the closet and does not move.
“Stanley, I’m going to be completely honest with you, it’s been years and I still truly don’t understand your fascination with this place. There’s nothing here.”
Stanley shrugs noncommittally. The Narrator can’t follow him in here.
The fellow scowls and steps into the closet, uncomfortably close to him. He crosses his arms, deeply unimpressed.
Okay, usually the Narrator can’t follow him in here.
A smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “If it’s privacy you’re after, then I’m afraid you’re playing the wrong game, Stanley.”
Making a face, Stanley grabs him by the shoulders and turns him to push him out of the closet. It’s a bunch of things, he adds, blowing a raspberry at the fellow as he walks him to the stairs. There’s the privacy, yes, the way the Narrator can’t hear him when he can’t see him. There’s also the way the Narrator can’t stop talking, grumbling and snarking and being just fun to work into a lather.
“Wh-you really just live to get under my skin, you know that? A pest, that’s what you are.” The prim nose turns upward in a scoff, but the fellow scrunches it when Stanley stops on the middle landing a step ahead of him to press a stubbly cheek to his temple in a nuzzle. “A pest,” he repeats, hand on the railing, corners of his mouth turned up.
Stanley chuckles and bounds up the last half-flight.
There’s also the other thing, but you know, that’s pretty rare, so it’s always a fun surprise.
“The—wait—what other thing?”
Huh?
They blink at each other, standing on the landing.
The Narrator doesn’t know about the thing?
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Huh. Another secret of the Parable then. Stanley finds himself giggling.
“I—Stanley, I hate when you do that!”
He shakes his head. It’s not a bad thing, he promises! He’ll show the Narrator if it ever shows up, he just wants to surprise him. It’s—
Well, it’s nice!
-
He checks the broom closet every run, for countless runs. The Narrator sighs in resignation each time, but he isn’t dissuaded.
And then, a countless number of resets later: there it is.
“Wh—“
Stanley holds the door open and gestures proudly at the arcade console standing in the center of the broom closet. Tada!
“What.”
The Narrator gawks, mouth open. He makes monosyllabic, flabbergasted noises, before settling on, “what—how in the hell—“
Stanley leads him into the closet and shows him the high score, all labeled with the name STANMAN8. He presses the start button, hand on the joystick, and guides the pixelated line around the screen with intense focus. When it consumes the dot, he looks again at the Narrator, gesturing at the display.
Snake!
“Yes I understand the point of the game, Stanley, that’s not the problem!!”
Stanley giggles, and then steps away from the console to guide the Narrator by the shoulders to stand in his place.
“Th-buh-“
Play!
“This is why you end up spending hours in here?!?”
Yeah!
“To play a DIFFERENT game?!?!??”
Yeah!!!
“You’re unbelievable and I can’t believe you!!!”
The fellow sputters with a kind of rage, and then he mutters something viciously about destroying Stanley’s score so completely that the shame will make Stanley never play it again. Stanley cheers him on as he plays.
#one last time sorry#I feel kind of bummed I didn’t feel up for drawing anything today#but I tried to at least get something fun written and I want ppl to like it#okay good night
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“But that’s—but I made—Stanley, am I really your best friend?”
(This stupid idea has lived in my head since UD came out and none of my drawings have ever looked very good when I tried to draw it. This is no exception but I’m giving up.)
SO ABOUT THAT COLLECTORS EDITION…..
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hi i am quietly asking people in the TSP fandom read my fics if they like weird analysis on the game and its functions and its endings and its meta--and yeah okay MAYBE it gets shippy but it mostly is about two people trying to become friends and trying to overcome the fact that this game doesn't WANT them to be friends, but they still are trying to make it work
it's out of order because it was a collection I started writing on tumblr first in response to people's reads on TSPUD but it's designed with flashbacks and interconnections and it has a throughline of trying to learn to empathize, and failing sometimes, and trying to learn to be better
on top of studying how the game makes you play it, what that looks like in a character's head, and how it can change but still meet its fundamental goal of spinning forever.
because I have thought about this and thought about this and I've been here ten years thinking. and at the end of the day I'm like the old fart of a narrator. I wanna be heard too. wouldn't you?
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And here’s a couple doodles from the past week or so!!
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He’s had a long, lovely, birthday
Everyone say Goodnight Birthday boy
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Okay I did end up writing a small silly thing for 4/27!! Happy stanley day, here’s two idiots and a broom closet secret ending. Based on a really old doodle I made 8)
—
“Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here.”
The Narrator’s tone is quiet exasperation. He stares at Stanley, who smiles at him from the center of the closet and does not move.
“Stanley, I’m going to be completely honest with you, it’s been years and I still truly don’t understand your fascination with this place. There’s nothing here.”
Stanley shrugs noncommittally. The Narrator can’t follow him in here.
The fellow scowls and steps into the closet, uncomfortably close to him. He crosses his arms, deeply unimpressed.
Okay, usually the Narrator can’t follow him in here.
A smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “If it’s privacy you’re after, then I’m afraid you’re playing the wrong game, Stanley.”
Making a face, Stanley grabs him by the shoulders and turns him to push him out of the closet. It’s a bunch of things, he adds, blowing a raspberry at the fellow as he walks him to the stairs. There’s the privacy, yes, the way the Narrator can’t hear him when he can’t see him. There’s also the way the Narrator can’t stop talking, grumbling and snarking and being just fun to work into a lather.
“Wh-you really just live to get under my skin, you know that? A pest, that’s what you are.” The prim nose turns upward in a scoff, but the fellow scrunches it when Stanley stops on the middle landing a step ahead of him to press a stubbly cheek to his temple in a nuzzle. “A pest,” he repeats, hand on the railing, corners of his mouth turned up.
Stanley chuckles and bounds up the last half-flight.
There’s also the other thing, but you know, that’s pretty rare, so it’s always a fun surprise.
“The—wait—what other thing?”
Huh?
They blink at each other, standing on the landing.
The Narrator doesn’t know about the thing?
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Huh. Another secret of the Parable then. Stanley finds himself giggling.
“I—Stanley, I hate when you do that!”
He shakes his head. It’s not a bad thing, he promises! He’ll show the Narrator if it ever shows up, he just wants to surprise him. It’s—
Well, it’s nice!
-
He checks the broom closet every run, for countless runs. The Narrator sighs in resignation each time, but he isn’t dissuaded.
And then, a countless number of resets later: there it is.
“Wh—“
Stanley holds the door open and gestures proudly at the arcade console standing in the center of the broom closet. Tada!
“What.”
The Narrator gawks, mouth open. He makes monosyllabic, flabbergasted noises, before settling on, “what—how in the hell—“
Stanley leads him into the closet and shows him the high score, all labeled with the name STANMAN8. He presses the start button, hand on the joystick, and guides the pixelated line around the screen with intense focus. When it consumes the dot, he looks again at the Narrator, gesturing at the display.
Snake!
“Yes I understand the point of the game, Stanley, that’s not the problem!!”
Stanley giggles, and then steps away from the console to guide the Narrator by the shoulders to stand in his place.
“Th-buh-“
Play!
“This is why you end up spending hours in here?!?”
Yeah!
“To play a DIFFERENT game?!?!??”
Yeah!!!
“You’re unbelievable and I can’t believe you!!!”
The fellow sputters with a kind of rage, and then he mutters something viciously about destroying Stanley’s score so completely that the shame will make Stanley never play it again. Stanley cheers him on as he plays.
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Okay I did end up writing a small silly thing for 4/27!! Happy stanley day, here’s two idiots and a broom closet secret ending. Based on a really old doodle I made 8)
—
“Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here.”
The Narrator’s tone is quiet exasperation. He stares at Stanley, who smiles at him from the center of the closet and does not move.
“Stanley, I’m going to be completely honest with you, it’s been years and I still truly don’t understand your fascination with this place. There’s nothing here.”
Stanley shrugs noncommittally. The Narrator can’t follow him in here.
The fellow scowls and steps into the closet, uncomfortably close to him. He crosses his arms, deeply unimpressed.
Okay, usually the Narrator can’t follow him in here.
A smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “If it’s privacy you’re after, then I’m afraid you’re playing the wrong game, Stanley.”
Making a face, Stanley grabs him by the shoulders and turns him to push him out of the closet. It’s a bunch of things, he adds, blowing a raspberry at the fellow as he walks him to the stairs. There’s the privacy, yes, the way the Narrator can’t hear him when he can’t see him. There’s also the way the Narrator can’t stop talking, grumbling and snarking and being just fun to work into a lather.
“Wh-you really just live to get under my skin, you know that? A pest, that’s what you are.” The prim nose turns upward in a scoff, but the fellow scrunches it when Stanley stops on the middle landing a step ahead of him to press a stubbly cheek to his temple in a nuzzle. “A pest,” he repeats, hand on the railing, corners of his mouth turned up.
Stanley chuckles and bounds up the last half-flight.
There’s also the other thing, but you know, that’s pretty rare, so it’s always a fun surprise.
“The—wait—what other thing?”
Huh?
They blink at each other, standing on the landing.
The Narrator doesn’t know about the thing?
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Huh. Another secret of the Parable then. Stanley finds himself giggling.
“I—Stanley, I hate when you do that!”
He shakes his head. It’s not a bad thing, he promises! He’ll show the Narrator if it ever shows up, he just wants to surprise him. It’s—
Well, it’s nice!
-
He checks the broom closet every run, for countless runs. The Narrator sighs in resignation each time, but he isn’t dissuaded.
And then, a countless number of resets later: there it is.
“Wh—“
Stanley holds the door open and gestures proudly at the arcade console standing in the center of the broom closet. Tada!
“What.”
The Narrator gawks, mouth open. He makes monosyllabic, flabbergasted noises, before settling on, “what—how in the hell—“
Stanley leads him into the closet and shows him the high score, all labeled with the name STANMAN8. He presses the start button, hand on the joystick, and guides the pixelated line around the screen with intense focus. When it consumes the dot, he looks again at the Narrator, gesturing at the display.
Snake!
“Yes I understand the point of the game, Stanley, that’s not the problem!!”
Stanley giggles, and then steps away from the console to guide the Narrator by the shoulders to stand in his place.
“Th-buh-“
Play!
“This is why you end up spending hours in here?!?”
Yeah!
“To play a DIFFERENT game?!?!??”
Yeah!!!
“You’re unbelievable and I can’t believe you!!!”
The fellow sputters with a kind of rage, and then he mutters something viciously about destroying Stanley’s score so completely that the shame will make Stanley never play it again. Stanley cheers him on as he plays.
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[CLUSTERHUG]
HAPPY 4/27 EVERYONE!!!!
[youtube version]
[for unedited vers of some images check under the cut!]
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And here’s a couple doodles from the past week or so!!
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Okay I did end up writing a small silly thing for 4/27!! Happy stanley day, here’s two idiots and a broom closet secret ending. Based on a really old doodle I made 8)
—
“Stanley stepped into the broom closet, but there was nothing here.”
The Narrator’s tone is quiet exasperation. He stares at Stanley, who smiles at him from the center of the closet and does not move.
“Stanley, I’m going to be completely honest with you, it’s been years and I still truly don’t understand your fascination with this place. There’s nothing here.”
Stanley shrugs noncommittally. The Narrator can’t follow him in here.
The fellow scowls and steps into the closet, uncomfortably close to him. He crosses his arms, deeply unimpressed.
Okay, usually the Narrator can’t follow him in here.
A smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “If it’s privacy you’re after, then I’m afraid you’re playing the wrong game, Stanley.”
Making a face, Stanley grabs him by the shoulders and turns him to push him out of the closet. It’s a bunch of things, he adds, blowing a raspberry at the fellow as he walks him to the stairs. There’s the privacy, yes, the way the Narrator can’t hear him when he can’t see him. There’s also the way the Narrator can’t stop talking, grumbling and snarking and being just fun to work into a lather.
“Wh-you really just live to get under my skin, you know that? A pest, that’s what you are.” The prim nose turns upward in a scoff, but the fellow scrunches it when Stanley stops on the middle landing a step ahead of him to press a stubbly cheek to his temple in a nuzzle. “A pest,” he repeats, hand on the railing, corners of his mouth turned up.
Stanley chuckles and bounds up the last half-flight.
There’s also the other thing, but you know, that’s pretty rare, so it’s always a fun surprise.
“The—wait—what other thing?”
Huh?
They blink at each other, standing on the landing.
The Narrator doesn’t know about the thing?
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Huh. Another secret of the Parable then. Stanley finds himself giggling.
“I—Stanley, I hate when you do that!”
He shakes his head. It’s not a bad thing, he promises! He’ll show the Narrator if it ever shows up, he just wants to surprise him. It’s—
Well, it’s nice!
-
He checks the broom closet every run, for countless runs. The Narrator sighs in resignation each time, but he isn’t dissuaded.
And then, a countless number of resets later: there it is.
“Wh—“
Stanley holds the door open and gestures proudly at the arcade console standing in the center of the broom closet. Tada!
“What.”
The Narrator gawks, mouth open. He makes monosyllabic, flabbergasted noises, before settling on, “what—how in the hell—“
Stanley leads him into the closet and shows him the high score, all labeled with the name STANMAN8. He presses the start button, hand on the joystick, and guides the pixelated line around the screen with intense focus. When it consumes the dot, he looks again at the Narrator, gesturing at the display.
Snake!
“Yes I understand the point of the game, Stanley, that’s not the problem!!”
Stanley giggles, and then steps away from the console to guide the Narrator by the shoulders to stand in his place.
“Th-buh-“
Play!
“This is why you end up spending hours in here?!?”
Yeah!
“To play a DIFFERENT game?!?!??”
Yeah!!!
“You’re unbelievable and I can’t believe you!!!”
The fellow sputters with a kind of rage, and then he mutters something viciously about destroying Stanley’s score so completely that the shame will make Stanley never play it again. Stanley cheers him on as he plays.
#may writes#the stanley parable#tsp#the Stanley parable ultra deluxe#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#tsp fanfic#special gift for stanley 8)#the sparrow parable
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Can y’all believe it’s almost been a year since ultra deluxe came out??
Stanley and the Curator get along well. The narrator is irrationally jealous abt it. He doesn’t know why.
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Happy pride month, here are two old gay men dancing their way through a parable like a couple of idiots ❤️
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