The Stanley Parable Oneshots

☆Being Normal☆

Stanley wouldn't consider himself a artistic person, sure he had to crank out a few assignments for school as a kid, but he didn't enjoy doing them.

Sure, Stanley was admittedly a part of theater, but he only did it because he was tired of band.

So, no. Stanley was not a creative person, sure he could hold a conversation about art long enough with Todd, but he didn't appreciate the way Todd did.

No one really appreciated art like Todd did, the guy had drawings on classified papers for the company. Although, the boss didn't seem to mind.

The Narrator on the other hand, loved arts. He relished in the fact he knew how to easily slip into the role of another person.

He enjoyed playing in orchestra for a bit, he loved making things with his hands.

Whether The Narrator needed to let go of some overwhelming feelings or he just needed to be in control, it helped.

Which brought them both to this moment. The two were in bed, The Narrator drawing on his ipad and Stanley, well he was hogging the six blankets they had.

Stanley had one for his upper torso that was pulled over his head, another in a long strip across his waist, one of them was lazily just tossed on both, there was a blanket covering his legs, then another just on him, and the last one he was snuggling.

The Narrator kept watch, making sure he didn't sweat or suffocate since that would be bothersome to deal with when he wanted a blanket.

The Narrator was close to Stanley or more of Stanley was laying on the Narrator's lap and he wouldn't get off even if the Narrator shoved him off.

He didnt mind much, their bed was small anyway, I mean, they lived in a 5 bedroom apartment, but it was small.

And that was if you counted the closet in the bathroom and bedroom as rooms. Why was there a closet in the bathroom? Stanley couldn't tell you, but the Narrator assumed it was for linen or bandages.

The Narrator had a bit of a creative mind, which also meant creative methods, foods, games, and well another place to dive into.

But for sure he didn't just like vanilla, he was the rainbow sherbert of ice cream.

Stanley liked rocky road, whatever that was supposed to mean, maybe he simply liked existing more.

Rocky road wasn't like chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry, sure the base was chocolate but more! It was like if another ice cream spilled its toppings and rocky road engulfed it.

Safe to say Stanley wasn't vanilla, or so the Narrator thought as he drew, he had a book opened to the side where he joted down his thoughts.

The journal was messy, thoughts spilled on it like coffee spilling on Stanley's shirt on his first day of work, Stanley still had nightmares just staying locked in his office waiting for the coffee to dry.

Slow jazz was emitting from the radio, it hadn't been changed in over four hours, but the Narrator liked it a lot.

The way it sounded tickled the Narrator's brain in a good ways, not in the bad ways like burnt blankets felt.

Don't ask the Narrator how he knew that, ask Stanley for having such a shitty dryer that burnt every soft thing it encountered.

Before the Narrator, Stanley had simply been surviving, not truly living. Sure, he lazed around the place now, and he did the same back then, except now he could without feeling like he was a piece of shit for laying around.

Now, Stanley could sleep all he wanted, hell one time he fell asleep on the couch and he got carried to bed instead of the familiar pain of someone waking him up by putting a cigarette out on him.

Stanley also felt more encouraged to do other things than lay around, he actively cleaned the place and then he could practice with his magic cards all he wanted!

But today was a recovery day after a long week at work, so Stanley got to sleep all day as the Narrator simply did his part to make an apartment a home.

The Narrator was a pretty weird roommate, an even weirder lover. He tended to do some things that weren't considered humanely possible, sometimes people commented on how the guy seemed to shape shift.

And how he constantly referred to the bed as a nest. He also would hoard plushies in one corner of the room before he burried himself in the fluffy softness of cotton.

Or how he would seem to know every language, he could hold a conversation with Todd about German arts any day. Or understand what the fuck the Australian janitor said that Stanley unlovingly nicknamed 'Fuckface'

That wasn't normal, at least it didn't seem normal.

Maybe it was. Maybe they were the only normal ones in the world.

Yes, that must be it, if it wasn't then that was fine, but it was a fun perspective to see things in.

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Sorry for the inactivity, I've been burnt out for the last couple of months and was in a bad place since my last upload. I hope I'll be more active soon and I also hope you like the new writing style! :3

I also thought I was gonna write way more, but then the car ride ended so sorry for like the around 800 words :(