#stanley likes having his own hair style

[tsp-invisible-narrator]

Stanley's and the invisible Narrator's (aka Invis) relationship in a nutshell.

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #stanley likes having his own hair style #invis is actually a gremlin and a prankster and it's so funny to me #the worst person to have the narrator role #promotion au

[strangesickness]

i think richie tozier is really into glam metal. i think as a preteen he was really into rock n' roll because bill was really into rock n' roll, and i think bill would mostly listen to very core rock n' roll, not branch off into sub genres too much, he really appreciates the early stuff i think. but richie, at like 11 years old hears livin' on a prayer on the radio and he's immediately hooked. his parents buy him slippery when wet for his birthday and a bon jovi poster. his parents are pretty clueless about this stuff so wentworth takes him to the store so they get the right one. maggie's pretty sure bon jovi's for girls, but is just excited she isn't going to have to deal with her son playing the same three records over and over again anymore.

when richie's twelve the bon jovi poster gets moved to his door, so that it's hidden when he has it open. he feels guilty when he looks at it. it's his favorite poster though and it gets rotated around his room a lot.

when he's fourteen there's a bon jovi concert in maine and he convinces his parents to let him go so long as his sister goes with him to chaperone. it's a pretty life changing experience for him. his sister ends up really liking the music too, so thats cool. he gets a t-shirt that quickly becomes faded and soft from constant wear.

all the lights and effects and just the energy really flips a switch for him. it's not just bon jovi anymore, he's spending hours in the record store, he gets a job so he can buy a CD player, it takes a ridiculously long time to get to that point.

he also gets big into KISS because of course he does. he probably spends more time looking at the cover of his paul stanley album than he does listening to it. he may spend an unhealthy amount of time gazing longingly into paul stanley's eyes but his favorite is probably ace frehley. he has a ridiculous amount of magazines that he just got for interviews with them. this is the era of glam haircuts for richie. it takes him at least two years to figure out he actually has to style it though, so that's fun.

he tries to make his own music but he's hot garbage at it, he moves on to trying to play his favorite songs on guitar, which he also sucks at, he eventually gets desperate and tries to play on bill's mom's piano. he is swiftly removed from the household. he gets really good at singing his favorite songs though.

i'm not really going anywhere with this. richie tozier likes glam metal. it awakens something gay in him.

you can find some relevant images and some more of my commentary under the cut.

slippery when wet, the first album richie sought out on his own, and the beginning of the end of his heterosexuality.

i'm not going to say this is the poster, because i don't know enough about this stuff to confirm if this poster would've been sold around the right time. but you get the picture. ideally it would be this exact poster, but i'm not picky. i think richie comes home from school one day and looks at this poster and has a fucking. biblical experience. like it's just a normal school day, and then he just goes home, closes his bedroom door, turns around to take off his shoes, and stares this man straight in the eye and just thinks "holy shit he's beautiful" i think the poster sleeps in the closet that night.

this is the paul stanley album i'm talking about. i think this is also richie's main haircut inspiration, but it takes him years to figure out what hairspray is. lucky for him his hair is naturally curly so he didn't look too stupid, but things weren't ideal.

i think he takes a lot of style influence from various musicians, but he's never willing to part with his dear patterned button ups, so his workaround is: obnoxious button up + leather jacket as we saw in the movie.

he really likes cinderella, and feels a little betrayed when they change genre direction in the 90s. i think he sees tom keifer

wearing a lot of jewellery and decides he also wants to wear a lot of jewellery but ends up either hating it, or forgetting it, he also never convinces his parents to get his ears pierced. if he ever manages it, it's because bev did it herself, she probably screwed it up pretty bad too, and he just ends up with some pretty gnarly scaring on his right ear.

originally posted january 27th. reposted january 29th.

#none of this was influenced by me or my music taste or how i felt watching concert videos of bon jovi at eleven #just in case you were wondering #bon jovi is like earth shatteringly pretty though. i'll say that #“richie why are your walls covered in pictures of pretty and vaguely effeminate men?” #“richie why is your failed piercing scar on the right ear?” #“richie why do you have a collage of magazine cutouts of ace frehley on your wall?” #all maggie tozier at some point probably (she is confused and trying to engage with her sons interests) #it stephen king #it novel #it 2017 #it 2019 #richie tozier #maggie tozier #wentworth tozier #strange ramblings

[southparkgang]

☆CHAPTER 2 MEET THE GIANTS☆

"Aa-" at that moment kyle was about to scream but was stopped my a large finger pressed against his lips. "shhh calm down! Im friendly!!!" the gaint boy said giving kyle a deep and kind look. Kyle pushed with all his might to pry the fingers off him, but it only resulted with him tripping over his own feet whilst getting up and almost falling.

The giant grabbed kyle by his feet catching him. Kyles old green hat falling off into the giants hand , showing kyles big head of hair. Red like fire. Many people told him he shares a personality with his hair. Hot and short tempered, He took it as a complement. "woa i didnt realise humans were this easy to scare! Sorry" the giant let out a giggle and but kyle in a more comfortable possion by holding him but letting his hands free.

"Who are you????" "are you real?!?!" "is this a dream!!?" kyle screamed fear spred across his face. "umm lets me explain.." the giant sighed. "my name is stanley but call me stan for short. Im 15 Im a giant! And it seems you opened a portal to this relm turning you into a elf it seems!" stan said then smiling! ":)" (wtf am not an elf!?! Is this dude drunk ) "but im not an elf!! Im human and need to go home! My brother ike will be home soon"

"well it looks like your not getting out of here anytime soon lil-elf... Dont mean to alarm you but the portals gone and ur an elf so if you went back youd be taken and killed" "heh.." stan looked away kinda nervous for two reasons. (what will he say when he realises hes stuck here and i called him lil-elf!?! Urg stan your so stupid!!!!" stan then blushes looking back to find the tiny 2foot boy pulling back his hair and finding his pinky human ears were now most certainly pointy and big! "Oh god!! What the heck!?!" kyle cried out, his big ears flopping to show saddness.

Kyle was now looking around franticly for other elf like features. Finding a cute pink nose and red cheeks like apples. "hey! Its not all bad! Can you image what its like to be like 50+ ft tall!! It sucks!. And look i have ears like you so its not all bad! " stan give kyle hope he'd be ok.

Kyle slumped feeling weak. (Im so stupid.. Trying to open a portal becuase i was bored?! Now im stuck here and am a freaky elf!!!? Your useless kyle, now your family will worry about you... Happy birthday me..) stan saw kyle slump and finally let go. Holding him in the clasp of his hands. Kyle was now so overwhelmed with all this he cried. For first time in 6 years. It all came out like a fountain. Once it started it cant be stopped.. "hey! No no no it will be ok ! I promise!"

There is one way out... We must go though the dark ash forest on the other side of this kindom to find tolkien black. The great wizarding wizard! He can get you back to normal and sent you home in not time!. " " but it will take months... Are you sur-" "YES! I WANNA GO! ANYTHING IT TAKES !!!" kyle screamed tears falling of his cheeks and onto stans warm hands. Stan smiled putting his head close to kyles. Kyle leaned his head on stans nose. A little noise boop and it brough a smile to kyles face again. "(*´ ˘ `*)" stan cant help but blush.... "so we can go to my house for now and when its later we can start! Its that ok lil-elf?" "kyle." "what?" "my name is kyle btw, i forgot to tell you. Im kyle am also 15". Kyle said. "you can call me lil-elf if u like idm :)" "oh ok!" stan was to flusterd to talk, he gently took kyle and put him in his shirt pocket.

It was so warm. The perfect place to sleep. Dark,warm and kyle could only hear stans heart beat and his foot stepts. "you ready to go?" stan said. "mmmmph s-stan giant... B-bi-big man~" kyle was so tried from walking home in the human relm he could only murmer words and blush. Stan smiles and his pupils widened.

(my little elf and im his big giant <3)

☆(part 3 mabye laterrrr. If you cant tell i ship style >_<)☆

#south park #g/t #tiny south park #style south park

[rubydracogirl]

Siren's Treasure

Alright, so, I've got about three prompts of my Mermay list finished. I'll link the other parts as I upload them, but I'm starting with this first one.

As promised, this is a Gravity Falls fic, Sea Grunks style.

Siren!OcXFord and Stan Pines (I'm greedy, leave me alone.)

Rated M just in case

Chapter 1

Bottle

It’s well known that the sound of the sea can be calming. Some have even said it’s healing. One thing Ford was sure of was that he’d always found comfort in large bodies of water and so did Stanley.

Sure, the sea came with its own perils but after traversing the multiverse and surviving Weirdmageddon, handling the dangers of sailing around the world seemed small in comparison. 

Still, the strange shape he’d been catching glimpses of in the water bothered him. Whatever it was had been tailing them for several weeks. He’d mentioned it to Stan who dismissed it with a shrug.

“I dunno how to tell you this, Poindexter, but it’s the ocean. There’s fish in the ocean.”

Ford wasn’t so sure, but he put it at the back of his mind. It couldn’t be more dangerous than the kraken they’d fought off a few months back-

“Hey, Sixer, any idea on when we’ll find some actual treasure?” Stanley griped as he popped open a bottle, casting his eyes over to his fishing line, which had been sitting without a bite for over an hour.

Ford grunted in reply.

“If you hadn’t acted so recklessly in Ireland, we could have had some real leprechaun gold!”

“You and I both know they were never gonna just give us their treasure!”

Ford rolled his eyes as Stan went on, and he turned his gaze back to the waters. His brow furrowed as he noticed movement. Was it their tag-along?

It was fairly big, whatever it was. A seal maybe? That would explain why Stan hadn’t hooked any fish-

“-And besides, treasure is just one half of what we’ve been missing! We still haven’t seen any babes!” Stan drank the last of his soda and made to throw the bottle overboard.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Ford commented, almost absently as he eyed the water.

“What, and not pay tribute to Glass Shards?” Stan shot back as he hucked the bottle overboard. “I know you’re still a nerd when it comes to women, but c’mon-”

“That’s not true! Look, we could try hitting up some coastal towns on our way back south.” Ford tried placating his twin. 

Stan raised a brow.

“Do I look like I’m getting any younger-”

A loud clatter interrupted him. The bottle Stan had thrown overboard bounded and rolled along the deck, coming to rest at his feet.

“...What the hell?” Stan bent and picked up the partially empty bottle, which now held some sea water.

The twins glanced at each other before looking at the water. But there was nothing there.

Stan chucked the bottle again, more aggressively this time.

It landed with a splash and they watched tensely as it sank out of sight. Nothing happened, and they both relaxed after a few minutes. Ford flinched as Stan broke the silence loudly.

“As I was saying- OW!”

The bottle was thrown right back, hitting him square between his shoulder blades this time.

“Son of a bitch! Ford, quit playing around!” Stan swore as he whipped back around, temper flaring with his confusion.

“It’s not me!”  Ford was craning his neck, and he pointed excitedly.

“Look! There!”

Stan turned, squinting at the water.

She was so easy to miss. Her hair was dark and gray-green like the waves around her, and the strange, rippling patterns on her skin blended with the rays of the sun bouncing off the water. The face that peered at them from the water could have easily been mistaken for a human if not for the fins that poked from her hair and the gills along her neck. 

They caught this in a glimpse as she ducked back down out of sight.

“Mermaid?” Stan choked in a hopeful tone.

“Close, but I don’t believe so.” Ford replied, running to the other side, looking for another sign of her. He could see her shape, but she wouldn’t breach the surface again.

“Give me that-” He snatched the bottle from Stan and threw it overboard, waiting.

He saw the bottle bob and half-sink before it was grabbed by a webbed hand. She rose back up and tossed the bottle back at him. Ford caught it with some ease, adjusting his glasses with his other hand as he studied her. 

She rose up a little higher from the waves, meeting his gaze with equal curiosity and he noted her serrated teeth, the sharp ridges on her brow bones, and most importantly, the dorsal fin on her back-

 “Greetings!” He called out to her, pulling out his notepad and flipping to a blank page. “What’s your name-”

She ducked down out of sight and Ford sighed in frustration.

“Heh, still not too lucky with the ladies, I see.” Stanley guffawed, leaning over the railing as he searched for another sighting of her.

“For your information, I dated a siren back in Gravity Falls!”

“Oh yeah? Did she know that’s what you were doing?”

“What do you mean, of course she- Stan, that’s deplorable!”

“Hey, hey, it’s not my fault you’re prone to creepy behavior-”

“I AM NOT- That’s not important right now! You realize what this means right?” Ford groaned as he gestured to the water. “The thing I’ve been seeing has to be that siren! Which means she’s been following us for the past couple of weeks!”

“I knew I had a magnetic personality, but I didn’t realize it was so strong!” Stan chuckled. Ford gave him a sour expression.

“I sincerely doubt you’re the reason she’s been hanging around.”

“Hey, don’t be jealous!”

“The only thing you attract is trouble!”

“Like you’re any different, Mr. Let-Me-Poke-This-Anomaly-With-A-Stick-And-See-What-Happens!”

“That was one time!”

“What do you-No it wasn’t!”

The two continued to bicker, and their voices carried across the water. Neither of them noticed the Siren poke her head back above the water as she watched and listened. 

She smiled and her dagger-like teeth glinted in the sunlight before she ducked back down beneath the surface.

#gravity falls #my writing #Mermay #fanfic #OcXCanon #Siren!OcXFord Pines #Siren!OcXStanley Pines #Sea Grunks #Prompt 1: Bottle #this first part isn't spicy but it probably will get spicy in later parts

[adultswim2021]

The Venture Bros. #44: "Perchance to Dean" | November 2, 2009 - 12:00AM | S04E03

This episode sorta drove home how much better this season is. I went into this one thinking of it as a non-highlight; sort of a middling episode of the season. Jackson Publick, the writer of the episode, says of it: “I don’t think this is anybody’s favorite”. That’s an accurate statement, probably. Hell, by some token it’s inessential; I don’t think any of the other big lore-heavy episodes of the show reference this one in any significant way. But here’s the thing: this is still a very good episode that has GREAT moments. 

This one starts with a flashback, where Brock is new to the Venture compound, wearing a baja. He doesn’t speak, so Patrick Warburton doesn’t get a cool hundo for this one. The clone slugs are all babies at this point in the chronology, and Doc just spotted a deformed Dean. He flushes the dud, who, we soon find out, somehow survives and has become a full-grown young man in current-day time.

Dud Dean has been digging up dead Deans and making a nasty skin suit out of them, so he can become the real deal. This dude is all messed up. He also hallucinates a ghostly Doc Venture who tells him to be bad and murder the real Dean on account of him running out of shallow-grave Dean clones to harvest. 

Meanwhile, the rift between Dean and Hank is getting worse; Doc is trying jump-start Dean’s future of super science by introducing him to the ultimate super-science muse: progressive rock. Dean takes to it and feels inspired, and immediately sets to work on coming up with a cure to reverse baldness, as he seems to be destined to lose his hair like his father.

Hank, meanwhile, is grounded for defiantly sass-pissing on his father’s bathroom floor. He's being forced to do chores while he nurses his case of sour grapes. Dermott, his hoodlum friend (strongly implied to be Brock’s illegitimate son in season three), sneaks into the compound, calling their security a “joke”. It just so happens that Doc Venture and Sgt. Hatred have set to work on beefing up their security system by placing combustible replicas of Rusty everywhere. 

A little bit of sitcom-style mistaken identity with a Dean corpse (being dug up and stolen by the mutant Dean clone) leads Hank to believe that he killed his own brother while joyriding in his dad’s car. Dean thinks his science experiment somehow grew his mutant, who is now chasing him around the compound. Local police are descending on the compound after some complaints. Then, spoiler alert, mutant dean explodes while hallucinating a moment with one of the Rusty land-mines. It’s pretty wonderful and cinematic, and has a great abrupt ending. 

Reggie Watts is in this one as a package delivery driver for an unspecified driver. He does a great job, and I forgot that was him until I was reminded that it was in the commentary track for the episode. Hank racistly assumes he has the shining (like Scatman Crothers in Stanley Kubrick’s motion picture of Steven King’s The Shining), and in a pretty funny reversal we find out he actually might. He calls the local sheriff sensing that something bad is going to happen there.

It sounds like in the writing process that the two main goals of this episode was to make use of a huge cache of prog rock jokes Jackson and Doc had been riffing on. Even though it’s still a fairly significant part of the episode, it was still reduced more than they thought it would be. This was also based on the idea of how much it must suck to live near the Venture compound, and have neighbors/civilians get involved.

The deformed clone plot-line is probably not terribly popular with fans. It IS fairly hard to believe that a clone slug could, as a baby, survive in the walls or whatever into adulthood. If The Venture Bros. has anything close to having a "Principal and the Pauper" episode, it’s probably this; in that the events of it don’t really get referred to much, if at all. Deformed Dean's attic hideout does become Goth Dean's new bedroom in later seasons, but I'd say that's less about poetic rhyming and more like an Easter egg. I say this one's still better than a lot of season three episodes, and there’s a lot of fun to be had if you want it. Hey, guys? Who doesn’t like to have some fun? :) 

MAIL BAG:

Hey man, season 3 of Jellystone, a cartoon on Max with Hanna-Barbera characters, came out last week and ep 14 features Space Ghost voiced by George Lowe and Brak voiced by Andy Merrill. Zorak and Moltar are featured too, but new voices. It’s your duty to tell the world and thank you for your service!

You know something? These clips popped up on YouTube and--I guess you could pretentiously call this "the YouTube effect" if you want--I assumed that they were old and I just never saw them until now.

I liked the clips I saw just fine, and I respect and support the Jellystone show without ever actually on-purpose watching it. I guess I don't mind them recasting Zorak and Moltar in this context, but I'd be disappointed if they tried to revive Coast to Coast with the new actors. Space Ghost Coast to Coast should just stay dead, at least in an audio/visual form. That is my take and it is precious and a gift to the entire world.

#the venture bros. #adult swim #adultswim2021

[degenerate-gremlin-blog]

OK so last night I had a stanley parable dream. I don't remember any of the dream anymore but I do remember this one specific scene. After passing through the (I'm assuming "correct") door, Stanley went to the mind control facility (I don't remember if he passed through any rooms before this as I forgot as stated before) but the facility looked different. Instead of going through the elevator and walking into an area blatantly called the mind control facility (bit on the nose narry), Stanley walk through a hallway where the floor was either a black steel (like in the actual game) or black tile. Or wasn't that at all? Again I don't remember. Anyway, then there's these little small stairs like, two steps. Then you have to go through these large glass doors. The push pull kind you see in stores, banks, and stuff. That's where Stanley saw him. Or rather I saw him. The narrator. He was silhouetted on the right glass door. As depicted in the artistic interpretation above, he was a black shadowy figure. It's hard to see due to how small it is but at the top of his head there's a little dent to signify parted hair. His eyes were a glowy white and large. The only thing that wasn't shadowy was a yellow turtleneck sweater. He doesn't even move or nothing he was just, staring at me. And when I push through the doors, he wasn't there on the other side. Only in the glass and he was gone there too. The mind control facility was dark, the only light was the lights on the ceiling (which didn't illuminate at all despite being on) and the blue light from the computer screens (literally they were all blue screens). The "facility" didn't look like a facility at all it was an office. Like the kind you see in government stuff where the desks and computers, and employees were all next to each other. Once Stanley stepped inside, the large screens on the wall in the front of the room turned on. Like in the original game. Except instead of Stanley's coworkers, it was all Stanley. There was footage of Stanley going through the two doors, rooms, hallways, all while the narrator was mocking him. Laughing and berating Stanley for the choices he made, about his life, letting him know hes been closley watching him and how much of a puppet he truly is. Then the dream ended. It was honestly very creepy and it's not like it was a bad dream either. It's just one of those dreams with a invested story arc. Thought I share it here before I forget this part too and you are free to remake this interpretation in your own style if you'd like. You'll probably give it more justice than I do. (Tldr in the comments).

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp #dreams #weird dreams #shadow narrator

[littlemountaintownrp]

I think it's the nicest hat I've ever known

Stan has been accepted

out of character info

Name/Alias: Ali Pronouns: she/they Age: 22 Join Our Discord: ;) Timezone: mst Activity: 6.9 Triggers: badly written characters Password: craigs gay Character that you’re applying for: Stan Favourite ships for your character: Anything messy

in character info

Full name: Stanley Randall Marsh Birthday: October 19th, 2004; Libra Sexuality, gender, pronouns: closeted bi man, cis, he/him Age and grade: 17 Faceclaim: i dont have 1 yet

Appearance:

Stan's about 6'1, he has broad shoulders and an athletic build; his body is well sculpted from his long hours on the farm and football. His face can be described as slimmer and angular. He has broader cheekbones and a defined almost square shaped jaw. The peek at a Randy-stache was even starting to form, really solidifying how much he looks like his father. The resemblance was uncanny, except for the shape of his eyes and how he spoke. On occasion, people that know his father will approach him, thinking he’s Randy from afar. When he keeps up with his haircuts and keeping it at around a 3” skater cut, the unwanted confusion is kept a bit at bay, but every winter when he grows out his hair to keep him warm, he gets it frequently. 

Despite his strong semblance, his wardrobe often sets him apart. Stan’s never been the type to care that much about he was wearing, outside of his very short metrosexual phase. He would take $200 to a goodwill and buy anything that he thought felt comfortable as soon as he started to get properly paid by his father. The staple pieces are his wrangler jeans, he saved up to buy 5 pairs in different shades of blue because he liked the fit so much. As for shirts, he wears a lot of just plain white shirts, graphic shirts he found at a thrift store, or a button up flannel overtop of the previous two options. His dad got him a pair of cowboy boots with a weed plant on the side that when Stan started to wear, he fell in love with the comfort even if he thought he looked dorky. He has two main coats, a big brown work coat for when he has to go out and water the plants in a colder morning, and a nice YSL jacket style coat for when he has to go to school. Stan owns a small collection of designer clothes. It consists of two coats, a sweater that was a gift and a wallet. Having a few nice things was all he wanted. He prefers to spend his money on other people.

Personality:

Stanley grew up in a very small Republican town, it leaves a mark on a person. For the most part, he’s politically indifferent, and indifferent to a lot. His job and schoolwork are the only things he really works on. Though it sucks out his soul, it comes back on his one day off a week that he tries to spend with as many people as he can. He tries to be generally indifferent to his life responsibilities. If he doesn’t like it, he won’t want to do it, but he has to do it regardless. He does it so he can spend time doing things he actually wants to do. It made him responsible, and a generally happier person. Mental health isn’t his biggest priority, and he deals with a bad day by drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and watching the sports network. He tries to be a generally nice guy, but has a tendency to be a bit misogynistic, but in an almost chivalrous way. He doesn’t let women open doors so that he can do it for them, he sees women as weaker than him because physically they were. It wasn’t in a superiority way; it was in a protective way. Stan’s a pretty soft dude and didn’t want to see any girls getting hurt around him, he’s always been a protector type, trying to save animals and help people. 

Religion isn’t the most important thing in the world to him, but he still feels a strong tie to his Catholicism. Stan has literally met Jesus on multiple occasions and feels a strong connection to his faith for that reason. Other peoples’ religions have nothing to do with him, so for the most part he doesn’t care or pay attention to it. His history with different Christian based churches only further solidified to him that he should focus on his relationship with Jesus and maybe the saints. Though he’s not very involved in the church, and occasionally goes on a Sunday morning when he’s going through a hard time. Overall, Stan’s just an easygoing farmer boy, he’s just focused on trying to have money and enjoy his youth.

History:

Ever since the day it started, Tegridy farms would encompass all of Stan's life. Anything Randy got up to, he got the brunt of at home that day. He had to move away from his friends, which meant his mom didn't have her bridge nights anymore which made her mad, Shelly had her reasons too, even if Stan never exactly knew what they were. Over time, he got more used to living outside of town, and Kyle's parents started letting him spend full weekends, and he'd go home with Stan on a Friday, and come back to school with Stan the following Monday, it was the dawn of the rumor that they were gay for each other. It was almost every weekend, and when Stan got over hoarding and properly and deeply sanitized his locker, he even let Kyle store a pillow in there on the Fridays and Mondays to make it easier on his friend. The vast majority of his core memories of this life are just him and Kyle on the family farm.

When he was around twelve, Randy bought two baby dairy cows. This was what really made Stan actually like living on a farm, and shortly after the cattle matured to adolescence, Randy went out and bought a bunch of fertilized chicken eggs, a hen, and an incubator. Stan loved the baby chicks the moment he saw the eggs and cried actual tears over each one that didn't live. The plan for these chickens was never to eat them or anything like that. The week they were bought, Randy was obsessed with the idea of raising chickens and having fresh eggs. Once Randy's fascination with the chicks was over, Stan took on all the animal duties, knowing that in his heart, taking care of these animals was what his heart wanted him to do with his life. Hunting was traumatic to him as a kid, but something about raising animals and caring for them healed that in him.

Around his 14th birthday, Randy gave Stan an official, legal job on the farm, so he could finally get paid on the books. It gave his dad some kind of legal loophole being a family private business or something. Stan really wasn't paying that much attention to the legal information, he cared that he was being paid $28 an hour for 15 to 25 hours a week, and his dad had hired someone to do his taxes for him. His job was primarily packaging and trimming when he was ten, until he was an official employee. That's when he became a laborer. Randy put him out in the fields on a tractor to harvest and water. Around the same time, Randy hyper fixated on starting Sharon a garden which she seemed to like. Seeing his mom happy for once, made Stan okay with managing the plant care for a week for so.

His strong work ethic is what really helps him progress in life. Driving a tractor all day basically taught him how to drive a car, day in day out laps around the property. After talking to his dad, he was able to get his permit almost immediately, and Randy was practically jumping for joy when Stan said he wanted a truck, because it could be used for work and be written off. His 16th birthday present from his dad was a brand-new black Chevy Silverado with a hitch on the back. He loves his truck more than he loves being alive. It has a back seat, so all of his friends can sit inside when it's cold, his truck bed is large, so when it's hot everyone can ride in the back. He keeps an air mattress and a blanket in a box in the backseat in case he ever "needs" it.

His education has always meant a lot to him. Graduating is a steppingstone of his path to most likely taking over the family farm. It wasn't until his 17th birthday, when Randy bought Stan a horse that he truly knew this was what he wanted. Deeply truly, he loved the farm, even though originally it ruined his life, riding Buttercup, a beautiful show mare, made him realize that it gave him a new life.

Sample Para [ Removed to keep the feed clear of NSFW]

Headcanons: (Or any additional information you’d like to add about your muse)

Stan's favorite school subject is Reading/Language. He loves words, and still writes poetry from time to time.

Randy and Stan go for lunch at Hooters every Wednesday because Randy can write it off as a business expense, and it did not help Stan be shaped into a feminist.

Football is still a big part of his life, even if it takes a backseat to the farm on most days.

He would say he's socially liberal, and financially conservative, but upon taking the political compass test, he's fairly moderate.

Anything else: (Something you’d like to add about yourself or questions you have for the admins, list them here)

#stan marsh

[tsp-invisible-narrator]

I’m loving your au! I have a few questions. Please, feel free to ignore them if the answers are too spoilery. The Narrator said “I’m visible again???” What did he look like before his body became invisible? When you’ve shown him happy with Stanley before this happened, he was already invisible so when did he stop being visible? Could he make replacement Stanley more alive if he wanted to/wasn’t suffering from a lot of truma?

"What did he look like before his body became invisible?" - The Narrator kinda looked like a cross between a cloudy day and a lava lamp. Invis reminds me of a rooster, spiky hair style, slowly turning grey, hahah. He's an old man. Okay, oldish. Around 55.

"... so when did he stop being visible?" - Invis stopped being visible when his story started. The story basically forced him to. Which makes sense because him being visible would ruin the immersion.

"Could he make replacement Stanley more alive if he wanted to/wasn’t suffering from a lot of truma?" - Yes. Sadly Invis is too scared and hopes that his Stanley will become more alive on his own.

#ask #text

[freelancearsonist]

hiiii so i heard you're doing ships and that's super exciting!! i'm about to put way too much info so please don't hate me for how much i'm writing about myself :)

so to start out, i use she /her pronouns. i am 5'4 with brown hair and green eyes. i naturally have freckles everywhere and they show up more evidently in the summer. (i just sent in a quick picture for further help). my love language is definitely touch. i am an outspoken person, always needing to talk, and i'm too independent for my own good. i'm told that i'm very stubborn, but i'm very thoughtful in my own way, despite not being a very sympathetic person. i get lost in thought pretty easily, and love to ramble on and on about my interests. i make friends pretty easily, and i am told that i'm a creative person. i'd say i'm an ambivert in the context that i love being around people and going out and i'm more on the extroverted side, but definitely need my alone time. i spend my time alone listening to music 24/7, researching things for literal hours on wikipedia, writing, and watching movies. that leads to my next thing about myself, i love film. it's my passion, and i want to be a big director someday. i'm currently working on a screenplay that's going nowhere so far. that's the goal. my favorite movies are: the graduate, shallow grave, and la haine. my favorite is 'the graduate' because of the symbolism and integration of showing the materialistic craze of the 60s, the cinematography is to die for, and i have my own inner conflict with hating the main character because he's a self centered prick, but understanding his fear of the future and feeling of uncertainty in anything. i love wes anderson and stanley kubrick's directorial style. i can also quote the first eleven minutes of 'ratatouille' by memory alone. my comfort movies incredibly odd, though. i love: fantastic mr. fox, the pixar story (a documentary i've seen at least a thousand times), and the truman show. my favorite books are: the catcher in the rye, just kids, looking for alaska, and my childhood favorite: the miraculous journey of edward tulane. my favorite article of clothing is a red and blue striped sweater that's like three times too big for me. it's so comfortable and i live to wear it with long skirts and baggy jeans.-my big six in astrology are: taurus sun, libra rising, capricorn moon, taurus mercury, aries venus, cancer mars. my myers briggs is entp-t.

omg i TOTALLY 100% ship you with nathan bateman

look ok i know this doesn’t make much sense at the surface BUT

he’s a huge film buff, he’s down for movie nights every night of the week. not to mention he’ll produce literally any idea you pitch him.

also he really needs an s/o who can put him in his place, who’s not afraid to call him out when he’s being a bit of an insensitive asshole. very stubborn but thoughtful but not always sympathetic???? that’s him and you to a t and we love to see it 😌

#clarke’s 3k celebration

[the-haunted-office]

He looks just like the other Stanley, Stanley Null realizes. The same face, the same hair, the same build. He assumes they'd even have had the same eyes, had he not lost his in death.

He's learned that most Stanleys, while they have similar appearances, have their own unique individuality to them. Their hair styles and shades may vary, their eye shades may vary, even their skin tones. Their personalities all may be similar, but even those you can tell apart if you hang around enough Stanleys.

But here - himself and the Stanley from this Office? Identical.

The Thursdays are identical too. And, he believes, so were the Cyrus's. Well... until he killed his and ate his soul.

Interesting. That's very interesting.

Stanley wonders if this Cyrus still harbors the same feelings for his Stanley that Doomsday's memories are telling him he did. Stanley believes that Cyrus does, especially after that enormous fit he threw over the leather jacket, and is interested in finding out.

He heads in the direction of the control booth.

#stanley null #writing for days #the end of days #he startin shit

[snowymultimuse]

~ Stanley Randall Marsh ~

Basic Info

Age: 22 Gender: Cismale Sexuality: Bicurious, identifies as straight Birthday: October 19th Zodiac: Libra MBTI: ENFJ Occupation: Full Time Farmer Faceclaim: [ig: toolikk] Ships: Open to any with chemistry

Appearance

Stan's about 6'1, he has broad shoulders and an athletic build; his body is well sculpted from his long hours on the farm and football. His face can be described as slimmer and angular. He has broader cheekbones and a defined almost square shaped jaw. The peek at a Randy-stache was even starting to form, really solidifying how much he looks like his father. The resemblance was uncanny, except for the shape of his eyes and how he spoke. On occasion, people that know his father will approach him, thinking he’s Randy from afar. When he keeps up with his hair cuts and keeping it at around a 3” skater cut, the unwanted confusion is kept a bit at bay, but every winter when he grows out his hair to keep him warm, he gets it frequently. Despite his strong semblance, his wardrobe often sets him apart. Stan’s never been the type to care that much about he was wearing, outside of his very short metrosexual phase. He would take $200 to a goodwill and buy anything that he thought felt comfortable as soon as he started to get properly paid by his father. The staple pieces are his wrangler jeans, he saved up to buy 5 pairs in different shades of blue because he liked the fit so much. As for shirts, he wears a lot of just plain white shirts, graphic shirts he found at a thrift store, or a button up flannel overtop of the previous two options. His dad got him a pair of cowboy boots with a weed plant on the side that when Stan started to wear, he fell in love with the comfort even if he thought he looked dorky. He has two main coats, a big brown work coat for when he has to go out and water the plants in a colder morning, and a nice YSL jacket style coat for when he has to go to school. Stan owns a small collection of designer clothes. It consists of two coats, a sweater that was a gift and a wallet. Having a few nice things was all he wanted. He prefers to spend his money on other people.

Personality

Stanley grew up in a very small Republican town, it leaves a mark on a person. For the most part, he’s politically indifferent, and indifferent to a lot. His job and school work are the only things he really works on. Though it sucks out his soul, it comes back on his one day off a week that he tries to spend with as many people as he can. He tries to be generally indifferent to his life responsibilities. If he doesn’t like it, he won’t want to do it, but he has to do it regardless. He does it so he can spend time doing things he actually wants to do. It made him responsible, and a generally happier person. Mental health isn’t his biggest priority, and he deals with a bad day by drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon and watching the sports network. He tries to be a generally nice guy, but has a tendency to be a bit misogynistic, but in an almost chivalrous way. He doesn’t let women open doors so that he can do it for them, he sees women as weaker than him because physically they were. It wasn’t in a superior way, it was in a protective way. Stan’s a pretty soft dude and didn’t want to see any girls getting hurt around him, he’s always been a protector type, trying to save animals and help people. Religion isn’t the most important thing in the world to him, but he still feels a strong tie to his Catholicism. Stan has literally met Jesus on multiple occasions, and feels a strong connection to his faith for that reason. Other peoples’ religions have nothing to do with him, so for the most part he doesn’t care or pay attention to it. His history with different Christian based churches only further solidified to him that he should focus on his relationship with Jesus and maybe the saints. Though he’s not very involved in the church, and occasionally goes on a Sunday morning when he’s going through a hard time. Overall, Stan’s just an easygoing farmer boy, he’s just focused on trying to have money and enjoy his youth.

History

Ever since Stan moved to Tegridy Farms, his life was overtaken by the weed industry. In the beginning, and for a few years it kind of bothered him that he had to move away and couldn’t see his friends as often. It kind of ruined his life. He couldn’t have friends, a girlfriend, or any fun. Despite all that, he was able to start a new venture for himself in middle school. Selling his dad’s product. Randy had so much production, that Stan taking a few ounces here and there was virtually undetectable. Stan was the one processing it anyways, and the ugly shitty pieces he didn’t want to save for his own supply, he put in a side bag to sell to kids he didn’t really like very much. The quality depended on how much he liked people for sure. It lead to people doing him favors for a couple grams. By the time he was a freshman, he was really good at his operation, he kept it small and casual, and in a town with less than 750 occupants, that wasn’t really a secret operation. Detective Yates just didn’t come knocking on his door because no one snitched on him. According to a lot of the adults that his dad kept baked, he was just a good kid. Just a good Catholic boy that reads his bible and works hard in his dad's fields, and is never late when running deliveries for his dad. Every year since he was 8, he’s been the football quarterback, and in this small town dynamic, it awarded him certain luxuries. If he was wearing his letterman with the Q on the left part of his chest, and a cop pulls him over, he will be let go almost immediately. Some cops hear his last name, and will mention his dad but he tries to play it off. He got his truck, a black chevy tahoe, for his 16th birthday, when he got his license. Randy bought it for him, and even wrote it off on their business taxes. Technically he got it to do deliveries in, but he smokes a lot of weed in it, and tries to get as many girls on an air mattress in the back as possible. During his junior year, Randy made the monetary decision to increase the size of the farm and start keeping animals and food. It was a decision sparked by a threat to divorce Randy again, and since Sharon got to finally have her dream, it brought a new era to Tegridy Farms. However, at the detriment of Stan's education. He dropped out and began taking online classes in his few evening hours. It took until he was nineteen to finally get his diploma, and any inklings of a desire to go to college were ultimately squashed before they could become ideas.

#muses #stan marsh

[ringgaardringgaard56]

hermes mini kelly 3

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[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.6

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.5 - ch.7 (finale)

~~~~~~~~~~

The air was still quite nippy and crisp, but the afternoon sun sparkled on the white snow and made the atmosphere pleasant to stand in if the Main Sequence Star was shining directly on a living organism, like it was on Stan from where he stood on the porch. He sighed tiredly as he dug into his hoodie’s pocket for a fresh cigar and lit it with his Zippo-style lighter. He knew he probably shouldn’t smoke with a kid in the house, but after the few days he’s had, he needed and had well earned a smoke-break.

The door opened and Stan hid his cigar by his side, his right arm glued to his hip to hide the newcomer on his left, but when he saw it was an adult, he relaxed and took another puff. “M’trying to quit.” He mumbled.

Ford snickered. “Yeah, it looks like you’re trying really hard.”

“Don’t be shitty.” Stan said casually.

“Mind if I lend one? I can replenish you in a few minutes.”

Stan stared at his goody two-shoes of a twin and handed him a cigar and the lighter. “You smoke?”

“Not often. For a celebration or after a long day.” Ford answered as he lit his borrowed cigar. “Maybe twice a month. Thrice?”

“Huh.”

Ford looked down at the lighter in his hand, and he was surprised when he recognized it. He can clearly remember seeing the tiny silver box in a store and thinking Stanley would like it as a Only One More Year of High-School present. “I gave this to you.”

Stan smiled as he took it back and pocketed it. “Yeah, it’s a good lighter. Only needed to change the flint a few times.”

“Hey guys!” A small voice called from inside the house. “Do you like vanilla or chocolate?”

The twins looked at each other, smiled, and called back. “Both. Both is good!”

“Both it is!”

Stan chuckled and shook his head. “Knucklehead… I knew she had to be family just by looking at her!” He bragged proudly.

“I suppose I was too distracted by the fact that a cold girl was at my doorstep to recognize the family resemblance.” Ford reasoned, shrugging. “I wanted to make sure I did the right thing. I didn’t exactly feel like getting arrested for kidnapping.”

Stan barked a laugh. “Yeah, you got a good point.” The conman yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Guess I’ll head out tomorrow.” He mentioned offhandedly.

Ford stared at him, a little saddened and disheartened by this fact that was news to him. “You’re leaving?”

“I mean, yeah?” Stan equally stared at his brother, confused and not daring to be hopeful, but still. “What?”

“I just…” Ford hesitated and busied his mouth by taking a hit of his cigar. With everything that has been said and how well he and Stan have been communicating, he really didn’t feel like ruining it now. He relaxed his shoulders and said with his eyes on the snowy woods. “I was really hoping you would stay.”

Stan looked dumbfounded, like a child discovering candy for the first time, but he looked away and down at the porch floor. “Oh.”

“I’ll of course be taking care of Mabel until Dipper comes back in time for her…”

“He might not.”

“We got over our grudges. They can do the same.” Ford said firmly. “Still, you have a point. Dipper might not be able to come back. Regardless, whether it’s for a short time, a long time, or for the rest of my life, I will take care of her. I might not be the best for her, I can acknowledge that…”

“C’mon, Sixer, don’t be like that.” Stan scolded lightly, giving a sympathetic look to the nerd. “What else can you do, y’know? There’s no way in hell you’re gonna give her up, I’ll kidnap her and run away to Canada before I let you…”

Ford laughed and waved a hand as he smiled. “No no, I promise I won’t.”

“Good.”

“The point is, she loves you. Clearly. And it takes two, and I’ll be busy with my research, especially once the snow melts and the anomalies become more active in the spring and summer, but…” Ford bit his lip. This was a bad idea. If he makes it seem that the only reason why Stan needs to be here is because of Mabel, if or when she’s gone, then Stan will have no reason to stay. And there were many reasons why Ford wanted Stan to stay.

Despite how much of a social-cripple Ford was, he knew that Stan was homeless. His frequent traveling and how full his car was right now was enough proof of that. And Ford hated that for his brother.

But there was another, bigger reason why Ford wanted Stan to stay. So he better just say it.

“Do you know why I went to Backupsmore?” Ford asked.

Stan’s facial expression darkened as he looked away and he shrugged. “Cuz I fucked up your project?”

“No,” Ford answered plainly. “I may not have been accepted into West Coast Tech, but there were so many other colleges that wanted me. I could apply to Yale or Harvard or any college from New York to California and instantly be accepted.

“But I didn’t.” The author added grimly. “Stanley, when you left… When you were gone, I was a mess. So many days I just lied in bed without meals or sleep. Ma was hysterical. I failed most of my exams and only barely scraped a C in the ones I didn’t fail. My GPA dropped significantly and I even lost my Honor Roll. Thankfully my past grades were enough to let me graduate with a 3.2, but my clean record was stained and a lot of prestigious colleges didn’t want me.

“All I wanted at that point was to get as far away from Glass Shard as possible. Luckily there was a small college outside of San Francisco that practically accepted everyone and had a wide range of studies to offer, so I applied and was accepted by graduation day.”

“Good for you.” Stan grunted.

“No! The point is, I…” Ford groaned, feeling like he was failing, but he had to try. “I understand if you don’t want to stay. I understand you have your own life and things you want to do, and I can live without you again if I have to, but… I really, really don’t want to. Yes, I know that part of growing up is going in different directions and being independent and all the other bells and whistles, but it doesn’t have to be. So, if you can tolerate living under the same roof as me again, and if you’re okay with it, I want to offer you a job.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at the six-fingered man. “What kinda job?”

“The committee gives me monthly boosts so I can continue my research. As long as I prove to them once a year that progress is being made, I have a good income coming in. It is a big job, exploring the large woods, climbing mountains and waterfalls, combing the lake, mapping the Enchanted Forest, and hunting down monsters and anomalies to learn more about them. I’ve always managed to make it out of trouble alright, but… I need a partner, and I want to keep it in the family.” Ford smiled at the last sentence.

“What are you saying?” Stan sneered, not daring to believe, not daring to hope, but that stupid smile Ford had…

“I’m saying I want you to do this with me, Stanley.” Ford said matter-of-factly. “I can share the grant with you after bills are paid and groceries are purchased. We can renovate the small room on the ground floor to be Mabel’s bedroom and you can have the entire attic as your own space.

“I know it’s not sailing around the world, but… Please. Will you give me another chance?” Ford pleaded with a soft smile.

Stan grinned and shook his head. “Shit, Sixer, you’re a better salesman than me.” He looked him in the eyes. “Okay. Yes. I’ll stay.”

Ford’s cheeks puffed with happiness as he smiled, his lips pressed together, and he looked ahead, happily daydreaming his future. Being surrounded by weirdness for a living was amazing by itself; doing it with his twin and raising their niece together on top of it was better than anything he could have imagined.

Stan was watching him and laughed good-naturedly, then held out a hand to him. Ford blinked at it like a startled owl, but then returned the smile and sealed the deal with a high-six.

Both brothers stood contently outside with their cigars for a minute, but then heard a bowl clatter on the floor. Mabel must be making a mess in the kitchen, which was fine.

What wasn’t fine was the sound that followed of a body falling on the floor.

Ford raised an eyebrow and called calmly, “Mabel, are you alright?”

They both expected a quick “yeah, sorry, I’m okay,” and maybe an explanation to follow, like she tripped getting down from a chair or something. But there was no reply.

“Mabel, sweetie?” Stan hollered, trying not to sound mad or scared or anything but cool-under-pressure, but this voice trembled with fear.

Still no answer.

Ford and Stan quickly discarded their cigars and bolted inside. Racing like children for cookies, they soon stood at the doorway of the kitchen and were horrified to find Mabel sprawled on the floor on her front, her hair scattered over her face to hide her expression, and her legs and bottom-half of her body slowly fading.

Literally. Fading. Mabel was fading away. She was disappearing like a stain on cloth.

“MABEL!” The men screamed and were immediately on their knees beside her. Ford scooped her up into his arms and felt her pulse and looked over her.

“What happened to her?!” Stan cried out. “Pumpkin, what’s wrong?!”

Ford’s eyes widened in panic as a horrifying realization slapped him in the face. “Mabel… You changed history.”

The tired girl nodded with her eyes closed. “If… If you guys had a fight… and never made up… in my timeline, then I guess…” Mabel paused to yawn tiredly. It didn’t hurt, but she was really sleepy now.“I guess that timeline doesn’t exist anymore, huh? I guess I don’t exist anymore.”

“WHAT?!” Stan yelled and took Mabel’s hand and squeezed it. “We have to do something! You’re family! You’re… We can’t just let you d- not exist!”

Ford held Mabel tighter and closer to his warm chest, making her smile. She swore she could hear his heartbeat. It was too fast. She would have to fix that. Poor Ford was also shaking like a leaf. Mabel could fix that, too.

“I’ll exist.” She smiled up at her uncles. “In a few years.”

Ford bit his lip. He shouldn’t ask this, it was probably dangerous to learn about the future, but the worst was already happening. What else could possibly happen that was worse than losing his girl? Ford couldn’t help but ask, “When?”

“August 31st, 1999.” Mabel’s eyes dazzled. “You’ll meet Dipper, too.” She shifted her eyes to only Stan and whispered, “Did you know you were there? You came to see us when we were born?”

Stan’s eyes watered as he smiled at the new piece of information. “I did?”

“You did. I came out first. You were so proud when I kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

Stan made a watery chuckle and wiped at his eye. “That’s my girl.”

“Dipper came next. He was blue. Umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.”

“Was he okay?” Stan asked.

“He was fine. You knew he would be. You never doubted.”

“I never will, pumpkin. I swear.”

The fading is now much worse. It was spreading over Mabel like a virus. Her legs were hardly visible to the naked eye, and even her shoulders were losing color. This Mabel is almost completely gone. 

Ford, pressed for time, bit his lip as tears flooded his eyes and he cupped Mabel’s cheek and cradled her. “I… I can’t let you go! We just started to become a real family! Wh-What am I going to do without you?!”

Mabel smiled and used the free hand not holding Stan’s trembling hand to caress Ford’s jaw and lower cheek, then cupping his face so her fingertips grazed his sideburn. “It’s okay, really. I’ll see you again, and next time it’ll be when both of you come to see us. Totally worth it.” 

Ford held his breath, and shut his eyes, a tear escaping from each eye and sitting comfortably in the corners of his windows to his soul. Stan hiccuped a laugh and rubbed her hand between both of his. Both of them were doing everything in their power not to cry. 

To that, Mabel laughed and said, “Boys are stupid. It’s okay to cry.”

The cursed power of Mabel. Making people be honest and breaking dams.

Ford curled into his niece, his face sloe to her heart, and cried gently. He wasn’t ready, but he didn’t think he could ever be ready for this.

Stan laughed with tears streaming down his face and he kissed Mabel’s tiny fingers trapped in his hold, then held their hands close to his bowed forehead and just focused on feeling her pulse between his palms.

It only lasted another minute.

Ford was mortified when his chest sank and his arms were empty. He threw himself back and stared at his lap and felt sick to his stomach to find his little girl missing.

Stan’s hands also clasped together and he squeezed tightly, his fists against his trembling lips as he cried.

The genius who always seemed to know what to do didn’t have a damn clue what to do with himself. He growled in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, then let out a painful howl and moan that most definitely disturbed birds and made a deer or two gallop farther away.

Ford removed his glasses and held his knees, sobbing his heart out. Stan blinked his tears off his eyes, resulting in them rolling down his face, as he watched his brother completely shatter to pieces. He had seen him upset before, sure; all those years of bullying, of Pa’s outbursts and sometimes physical punishments, hopelessness that he was actually worth something. You don’t spend seventeen years with a person and not see them break every so often, granted the blessing to help them put themselves back together again.

But Ford didn’t need Stan to swoop in and fix it. There were no bullies to punch or parents to stand against or jokes to crack that would make this okay. All Stan could do was throw his arms around him and bury his face into Ford’s shoulder and cry, too. 

So that’s what they did on the kitchen floor for over an hour.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper blinked to try to see, but all he saw around him was inky blackness for miles. His heart raced as he looked around for his sister. “Mabel? Mabel! Mabel, answer me!”

The boy scrambled and collapsed out of a portable potty at the fair. He blinked his eyes rapidly to adjust to the sunlight, scurrying off his hands and knees, clutching the warm time-machine in his hands. Wendy was still admiring her price and Robbie was still sulking, and Waddles was still trying to get away from Pacifica.

That didn’t matter! Mabel was stranded back in time! But how far back?! When was Mabel?! Dipper started jamming the button, but the machine wasn’t working, and it was soon swiped from him by a black-gloved hand.

“Mason Pines,” A gruff voice commanded above him and Dipper looked up to find two new guys with that Blendin guy. The two other guys were muscular and guarded with high-tech armor. 

“You are under arrest for violating the Time-Traveler's Code of Conduct and for jeopardizing the timestream.” The man labeled as Dundgren stated as serious as death.

“Do you have any idea how many rules you just broke?!” Blendin squawked. “I’m asking. I wasn’t there with you. It was probably a lot, right?”

“Wait, wait please!” Dipper begged as the two members of the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent each grabbed the boy by an arm. “My sister! She’s still back there! We have to get her!”

“You have the right to remain silent.” The man labeled as Lolph informed robotically. “Anything you say can and already has been used in the Court of Time-Law.”

“Let me go, Mabel needs-...” And Dipper and the three time-travelers were blasted forward in time.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the endless space of time, Dipper was levitated off the ground by a giant baby using the power of his forehead-hourglass to trap him in a baby-blue field. Members of the the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent circled the two, and Blendin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and smiling smugly as the kid who caused so much trouble was getting what he deserved.

“You and your sister have broken the eternal laws of space-time.”

“I’m sorry!” Dipper cried out, trying to fight the energy circling him, but it was futile. “I’m sorry! Do what you want to me, just help my sister!”

“Your sister does not require help, nor do you require punishment.” Time Baby informed as he held his feet. “You are lucky the events that occurred do not change anything drastically. However, your timeline has shifted and therefore this reality’s version of you and your sister are no longer viable and will cease to exist.”

“What?!” Dipper squeaked and looked down at his body to find his legs disappearing. “No no NO! What’s happening to me?!”

“You and your twin sister will be born again on August 31st, 1999, but too many things are different in your timeline for this version of you to continue to exist.”

“W-W-What did I do wrong?! What did I change?!” Dipper cried out as his whole body was drained of color. “What changed in our timeline?!”

“Your uncles have amended their bond thirty-four years ahead of schedule. As unfortunate as this is, your sister miraculously delayed the plans of Bill Cipher by an entire millennia.”

“What uncles?!” Dipper asked, panicked as the fading reached his neck. “Who’s Bill Cipher?!”

“If you wanted the answers you sought out, you should have been patient.” Time Baby scolded. “We all get the answers we seek… in time.”

“P-P-Please!” Dipper begged as he appeared as a ghost. “Please! What did Mabel do?!”

Time Baby cruelly stayed silent, testing Dipper’s strengths, but he was dying, anyways. Might as well.

“She met the Author of the Journals. Your missing uncle.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Mabel…” He rasped, and then he ceased to exist.

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #timestuck au #fanfiction #stanford pines #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #angst #why did i write this? #cuz fuck you that's why #I HAD TO I’M SORRY #pls don't hate me

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Stanley Pickett *Supporting character

Voice Claim: (

Partner(s): None. Parents: Never knew his mother, Father Arthur Pickett no longer living. Kids: None. Age: Immortal and several centuries old. But translates into roughly mid-late 30′s. Birthday: 13th of October. Height: 180 cm (5.9ft) Body type: Skinny. Eye color: Light Khaki and sand. Classification: Immortal, Warlock. About: Resourceful, Independent, Adaptable, Melancholic, Imaginative, Contemplative, Intuitive, Creative, Observant, Practical, Calm, Logical, Experimental, Mystical and Reserved. ~ Has long white and black hair with few thin braids. ~ Down to earth. ~ Sexuality: Pansexual. ~ Sad boi. ~ Being as old as he is, he has experienced losing every person he ever loved. ~ Have cast a spell on himself, never to love again. ~ Keeps people at a distance. ~ Is only really close to the McKinney clan. ~ Always wears a black hat. ~ Smells like: Sandalwood or Musk. ~ Doesn’t like nuts. ~ Is a pretty bad dancer, and always tries to avoid it. ~ Very powerful, and does/knows a lot of magic. ~ Believes more in other people’s worth than his own. ~ Low self-esteem at times. ~ Not very good at verbal communication. ~ Often talks in a sort of poetic way, as if he plucks a random line from a poetry book without any sort of link to anything. ~ Lives in a trailer. ~ Plant hoarder. ~ Often gets lost in his own world. ~ Sometimes feels like he’s losing it. ~ Lonely. ~ Connects easier with animals than humans. ~ Spends a lot of time sitting around nature. Alone. ~ Very into herbology. ~ Environmental friendly. ~ 8/10 would fall apart if you hug him. ~ Time isn’t real. ~ Sometimes falls asleep in the bathtub. ~ Actually a really good kisser. ~ Doesn’t trust people easily. ~ Doesn’t really believe in traditions. ~ Drinks a lot of rose or Bergamot tea. ~ Loves: Fireworks, crows, warmth, crackling fireplace, peaches, apricots, solitude, rain, thunder, Daffodils, licorice and none sexual intimacy. ~ His style is: Unique/eccentric? ~ Wears a planchette/Ankh necklace. 

Stanley’s tag Stanley’s house/home Stanley’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One song to describe him: Pixies - Where is my mind (EFIX & MAUGAN KENWARD) Personal Playlist: 1. Edith Piaf - Non, Je ne regrette rien 2. Duke Ellington & John Coltrane - In a sentimental mood 3. Ryder - Ruins 4. The Ink spots -  I don't want to set the world on fire 5. Mansionair - Hold Me Down 6. Nate Eiesland - Drifting 7. Lloyd Price - Just Because 8. Richard Maltby - Midnight Mood 9. Wild Culture vs. Riley Pearce - Brave 10. SG Lewis - Silence (ft. Josh Barry) 11. Doris Day A Sentimental Journey 12. Harry James - Sleepy Lagoon

#Stanley Pickett #immortal #supernatural #warlock #simographysup #ts3 #sims3 #sims 3 #simblr

[fact-fictionx]

Fear - Benedict Bridgerton

A Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader oneshot. 

A/N: This is a new style of writing for me, but I wanted to write this but didn’t want to become too attached and it end up being a multipart fic when I already have one on the go. 

This is loosely based from this ask I sent (x) 

If you would like to send a prompt (doesn’t have you be x reader, can be any pairing, even a OFC), I’ll try my best to get through them. 

Let me know what you think xx

Dear Benedict,

By the time you read this I’ll be out in society, but right now I am quite frightened of that prospect. I knew mama would not allow me to hold back for another year, but somehow I feel too young. You may laugh, at nineteen I am far older than some of the other young ladies I will debut with, but that does not retract from the idea that I am completely frightened.

Yours, Y/N

**

For Benedict when he was in London it was hard to find solace in his own home. His younger siblings lost now that their father was no longer here. The first year without his father, Benedict Bridgerton spent little time in his own house. Where the second Bridgerton truly found solace was in your house. Your family had lived a few doors down from the Bridgertons for longer than your parents could even remember, the family friendship blooming from the similar ages you and your siblings shared with the eldest four Bridgertons.

Your brothers matched Anthony and Benedict in age, whereas you were two years younger than them and your youngest brother coming only a few months prior to the birth of the third Bridgerton, Colin. Your three brothers and the Bridgerton brothers grew close, leaving you to follow in their footsteps as you grew up between them. You played in the mud at your frequent visits to Aubrey Hall, much to your mothers dismay, and giggled innocence when Anthony and Benedict often bullied each other.

As you grew into a young woman, your friendship with the three Bridgerton boys soon grew apart. You were civil, of course, but you were not permitted to spend as much time with them as before. Instead you learnt the piano and began your journey with terrible embroidery.

After the death of Edmun Bridgerton you sat solemnly playing the piano, it was a sad time for everyone to hear the news, but your heart wretched thinking of the Bridgertons and how they would miss their father. The Bridgerton family didn’t frequent so much at your home, and the dinner invitations stopped, which you expected, but it still didn’t mean you didn’t miss their presence.

One day you sat tinkering away on the piano, piecing together notes and scribbling them down on paper. After a while you fell into the zone, your fingertips caressing the keys as the melody chimed from the instrument. You didn’t notice that Benedict Bridgerton had settled himself into the corner of the room, flipped open his sketch book and started to draw.

When you finally took notice of your surroundings your playing suddenly stopped. Benedict looked up and your eyes caught each other, the young Bridgerton snapping his book shut and jumping up. “I am so sorry, Y/N” he straightened his clothes, you noticed that his eyes were heavy, his hair disheveled and his skin sallow. You had seen grief affect people this way, and you knew that if you could give him some sort of respite from it, you would let him sit for as long as you wanted.

“Don’t be Benedict, you can stay,” you smiled politely. With a nod and a look of thanks, Benedict sat back down and opened his book.

From then on you often found yourself alone with Benedict, he pottering away in his sketchbook and you practicing the pianoforte. Your parents did not care, you were both young and friends. You began to share dinners at both households, and you watched Benedict blossom from the grief he was feeling into a fine young man.

After a few months your silence grew into conversations, something odd you had read in the paper, or a piece of gossip you had heard from a maid about another high strung household. Soon, you and Benedict became friends.

When he left to study in Oxford, you felt lost, alone. But you continued to enhance your own studies, practice the piano and continue with your terrible endeavour of embroidery. When Benedict came back for the first summer your heart burst, the Bridgerton’s crooked smile making you feel warm inside, it was then you knew that you were in completely in love with him.

It was at nineteen your mother finally put her foot down on you postponing your coming out another year, and you were well and truly frightened. Penning the letter to Benedict was difficult, you knew there was little he could do. By the time he received it and responded, there could be a chance you would be engaged to marry another man. A life without Benedict was a life you weren’t sure you wanted to live, but Benedict didn’t know the feelings you had for him, to him it was just a friendship.

Your first ball was a complete nightmare. You stepped on the toes of two gentlemen, and accidentally threw a drink down another. Completely mortified you tried your very best to persuade your mother to let you miss the next one, but when Violet Bridgerton insisted that she came to the ball with you, your mother practically dragged you out of the door.

“You see dear,” Violet spoke as you walked around the room with your arm hooked in hers, “People will forget about your first ball, if you fascinate them at another.” You were completely confused by the statement Violet said, how could you fascinate anyone? You were a mumbling wreck when a man approached, completely unaware of what was appropriate to talk about. To be quite perfectly honest, you had expected to feel the same comfort with the man you were to marry as you did with Benedict Bridgerton, but you were not quite sure you could find that.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Anthony Bridgerton spoke as he approached you, he stopped gently in front of you and tipped his hand forward, you stared at his hand for a moment before realising that Anthony Bridgerton was not just a friend anymore, he was a Viscount and you were now a lady, you had to treat him as such. “Lord Bridgerton,” you curtseyed slightly, feeling a rush of embarrassment wind through your body as you placed your gloved hand in his, his lips brushing slightly on your knuckles, a mischievous wink coming from him as he stood back up. You furrowed your eyes at the man who you knew far too much about and wondered what he was doing.

“Care for this dance?” He asked, not letting go of your hand. “Of course…” Your words were drawn in curiosity, unsure why Lord Bridgerton would dance with you after the gossip that had very quickly spread after the last time.

As you stood in Anthony’s hold you relaxed slightly, Anthony Bridgerton had no intentions of making you his wife, you were completely sure of that after watching him sneak back into Bridgerton house at the early hours of the morning, his cravat crooked and his hair a complete and utter mess. Anthony Bridgerton had made it well known that he did not intend to marry just yet. “You are not a bad dancer,” Anthony muttered as they circled the floor, “You flatter me, Lord Bridgerton,” you chuckled in his hold, his hand firmly on your back as he led you, “Why are you doing this?” You asked, your gaze focusing back onto the eldest Bridgerton. “Truth?” he raised his eyebrows, “Nothing but,” you responded, “Mother,” he said dryly, “She wanted me to help you attract some attention,” he added, “Oh and here I thought you had every desire to dance with me,” you gave him a wry smile as your eyebrow cocked. “You do not desire to dance with me?” Anthony asked back, his eyebrow cocked in amusement, “You are the wrong Bridgerton,” you sighed slightly before gasping as you realised the words that tumbled from your mouth. You felt Anthony chuckle in your hold and you met his eyes in desperation for him not to speak a word to anyone else, “Oh dear, Y/N, everyone knows but Benedict, and everyone knows that he is in love with you, but you.” Anthony smirked, “Anthony Bridgerton, do not dare play with my feelings.” You scolded him, not caring about formalities in such a situation. “But I am not, I believe our mothers have a bet on, but I try to not believe ladies with such high esteem bet,” his smirk was a constant on his face as he pulled from the hold and bowed as the music ended.

Sleep failed to dawn on you that evening, you could not stop playing the words Anthony said over and over in your head. Completely aghast at the fact your own mothers had bet on you and Benedict, you feared bringing the subject up with your mother incase Anthony Bridgerton was telling a lie, which you did slightly suspect.

The next morning you sat in the drawing room, your fingers delicately pressing over the piano keys as your mother sat completing her most recent needlework endeavour. Tea had been brought up by the maids, along with an array of sweets and biscuits. You were doubtful that any suitors would call, after your dance with Anthony you only danced twice more. They weren’t as eventful as your first ball, this time you didn’t step on their toes or spill a drink down them, but you were too consumed in your own thoughts to have an even legible conversation with them.

The butler walked into the room announcing himself with a cough, causing both you and your mother to snap your heads to the doorway. “Lord Stanley for Miss Y/L/N,” your heart skipped a beat. You were not sure you had ever conversed with a Lord Stanley, but someone had come to see you and it filled you with giddiness and nerves.

As Lord Stanley walked in you were completely taken aback by his presence. His blonde hair shone in the morning sun that filtered through the window, his jaw was strong and you were sure his ocean blue eyes were piercing you from across the room. He held a bouquet of flowers and your heart fluttered at the first flowers you had received as a gift. Standing up abruptly you curtseyed to Lord Stanley before guiding him to sit down.

Lord Stanley was filled with humour, he made you giggle uncontrollably and as you spoke he looked directly into your eyes, listening intently to what you said. When he left you glided across to the piano with a smile on your face, but as soon as you sat down your thoughts shifted and you couldn’t help but compare him to Benedict. Benedict was funny, his humour nuanced, he didn’t just watch you as you spoke, he actively listened and hung onto every word, asking questions to find more meaning, but he also knew when silence was needed.

After a week, one ball and two occasions of promanading with Lord Stanley the whole of the Ton was abuzz with the idea that you would marry. You could anticipate a proposal of marriage coming soon, Lord Stanely had visited your father a few days ago thinking you hadn’t noticed. Your heart wretched as you thought of Benedict, wondering if waiting for him would be a good idea, or if you should accept Lord Stanley and start a life with him. Marrying Lord Stanley meant that Benedict would no longer be your neighbour, you would move to the north and only visit London on the occasion. The Bridgerton family a distant memory that you would only say hello to when you brushed by them in the ballroom.

As you prepared for the evening's ball you looked through the mirror at your Lady’s Maid, Anna. “Should I marry Lord Stanley?” you asked with a sigh, your eyes connecting with the brunette as she dressed your hair, “I do not think that’s a decision I should make, miss,” Anna responded, you swallowed, trying to think of the answer yourself. Every time you thought of marriage with Lord Stanley your mind switched to Benedict. Your dreams were filled with Benedict the closer you to Lord Stanley.

Lord Stanley was a perfect gentleman, and everything you would have wanted in a man, and you were sure he would be faithful and give you a perfect life. But perfect did not mean happy. You dreamed of a love match, after hearing stories of Edmund and Violet as you grew up you wished to have what they had. Your parents loved each other, of course they did, but when they married it was from necessity and they grew to love each other.

On his return to London all Benedict heard about was the impending marriage between you and Lord Stanley. It ate him up to think about you with someone else, but what more could he expect. He clutched his response to your letter in his hand, it had been sat in his desk for weeks waiting to be sent, but he couldn’t bring himself to send it, to potentially risk everything.

Benedict was dragged from the house soon after he had arrived, thankful that his mother and Anthony had given him enough time to change from his travelling clothes to something much more suited for a ball. The Bridgerton family had arrived early, but people had begun to filter into the room, the musicians playing soft accompanying music that did not really warrant anyone dancing. Standing at the refreshment table Benedict spoke to his brother, sipping at the dire lemonade that had been served.

“So who is this Lord Stanley?” Benedict attempted to be smooth in his question to his brother, but from the look on Anthony’s smirk he was far from smooth, “Him,” Anthony pointed at a tall blonde who waited with a slight eagerness at the bottom of the stairs, “He seems nice,” Anthony shrugged, “Completely enamoured with Y/N, there’s rumours that tonight he will ask her for her hand, word has gone round that he always has her father’s permission,” Benedict’s heart dropped in his chest.

Looking at the entrance to the ballroom Benedict’s heart thumped in his chest, he knew he had been gone the best part of a year, but he hadn’t expected to be completely speechless when he laid his eyes on the most beautiful woman.

As you entered the room by your mothers side, you smiled at the guests as you walked through with apprehension. It was not news to you that Lord Stanley was going to ask you tonight, and you still were not sure how you would answer. Scanning the room your eyes met Lord Stanley’s briefly, giving him a polite smile before continuing to roam the room. Your throat clamped shut and your heart began to thump in your chest as your eyes met with Benedict’s, you had not heard from him since you sent your letter, you had not expected to see him tonight.

Gulping with an overwhelming sense of anxiety, you fell from your mothers hold and shuffled through the crowd, finding an escape in the library of the house. Reaching the safety of the silent library you began gasping for air as the tears pricked at the back of your eyes wishing to escape. Benedict was here, Benedict would know of the engagement soon after it happened, Benedict would be in and out of your life in just mere minutes if you were going to say yes. Benedict, the man you were completely certain you loved for the last few years was here and you were due to be betrothed to another man. Your father had already given him permission, there was no doubt a discussion of you dowry. For all intents and purposes, you had been signed off to Lord Stanely. A lot would have to happen if Lord Stanley and your father were willing to let you say no.

Turning in your panicked state you gasped as you saw Benedict Bridgerton looking at you with what seemed to be a thousand different emotions.

“Benedict.” You whispered, your heart skipping a beat as the Bridgerton bounded across the room to meet you. His arms wrapped around you in an embrace that made all the fear and panic escape from your body, in his arms you felt safe. “Y/N,” he whispered as he pulled from the embrace, his hands still resting on your shoulders as he held you at arm's length. You looked at him with apprehension, your heart pounding against your chest as if it were trying to escape. “Are you going to marry him?” he asked, his eyes filled with sorrow as the words fell from his mouth.

Your lips opened to answer Benedict, but you truly did not know the answer. Your heart belonged to him, but you did not know where his heart lay.

“I responded to your letter,” Benedict broke the silence, “I did not receive it,” you added, confusion riddled in your voice as your mind continued to ruminate on Benedict’s first question. “I-I didn’t send it.” Benedict stuttered slightly, his hand reaching into his waistcoat and pulling out a folded letter. You could see your name scribbled on the front, the letter had been scrunched and crinkled numerous ways, no longer the pristine piece it once was. “Here.” Benedict whispered, handing the letter to you and stepping back.

You stared at the paper in silence, your breathing heavy and your mouth agape as you looked at your name written in Benedict's hand. You had seen this many times over the years, your mind knew his penmanship better than your own, and yet seeing your name written by him at this very moment made your stomach twist. With a deep breath you broke the wax seal and began to read.

Dear Y/N,

I cannot imagine the fear that is running through your mind, but I am sure you will stun many gentlemen on your debut.

I must admit that I am in fact very jealous that I cannot be there to see you, and I cannot fathom the thought of you playing the piano for anyone but I.

I miss the time we would spend in your family library, me sketching and you playing harmonious melodies throughout the afternoon. The laughter we shared and the complete comfort I felt in your presence.

The gentleman in me wants to wish you well, wants you to have numerous gentleman callers and to be whisked off your feet with gifts and poetry, but right now Y/N, I cannot be a gentleman.

To imagine you with another man is abhorrent, I do not want to wish you well. All I want you to do is to wait for me.

Yours, Benedict.

A tear trickled down your cheek as you looked up and met Benedict’s pleading gaze. “Ben,” you whispered, your eyes running over the words once again, his heartfelt plea in his writing, his face filled with hurt as he looked at you, waiting for an answer, wondering if he had been too late, if he should have sent the letter as soon as he wrote it and maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be in the situation where he would have to see you marry another man.

“I did not know you felt this way,” you wiped the tear from your face and sniffed back any ones that threatened to fall, folding the letter in your hand you looked at Benedict who stepped forward again. As he closed the gap between you two, your attempts to stop your tears failed, a singular tear rolling down your cheek. Benedict caught it with his thumb, his hand lingering on your cheek. “I was unsure of your feelings,” Benedict whispered, his eyes fluttering around your face, trying to find the answer. “I am quite sure I have always loved you, Benedict Bridgerton.” you whispered. You watched how his eyes glistened with happiness as the words fled your mouth.

Before you knew it, Benedict had crushed his lips onto yours, his arms wrapped around your wait to pull your body into his. You moulded into his embrace, feeling his warm lips on yours as you reacted to his touch, your hands grabbing onto the lapel of his jacket to keep yourself steady whilst simultaneously keeping him connected to you. It was all you had ever dreamed of and more, his touch was soft but passionate, it was like years of feelings had burst free and you were no longer hiding.

“I suppose that makes me the winner, mother.” Anthony’s voice carried through the room, disrupting you and Benedict in your embrace. You pulled out sharply, stumbling back as a gasp escaping your lips as you had been caught. Anthony and Violet Bridgerton stood at the entry looking on, Anthony had a smirk on his face whilst Violet wore a shocked expression. “I won't tell your mother what I saw, but you two will not be allowed alone again until you are married,” Violet said sternly, not impressed that her son had just been improper with a lady. “But what about Lord Stanley?” you asked, your lips tingling from Benedict’s touch, your heart racing and your mind a complete haze. “He went to ask your father a few nights ago, in which he said to ask you, which I believe was your mothers doing, she wasn’t going to force you into anything,” Violet smiled before turning away. “Told you the bet was true,” Anthony winked at you, before gesturing for you and Benedict to leave immediately.

#Benedict Bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #benedict x reader #bridgerton ff

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Imagining the end of capitalism

My latest column for Locus Magazine is “The Unimaginable,” about the relationship of science fiction plays to the future. Sf is a literature of inspiration and warning, not prediction.

https://locusmag.com/2021/11/cory-doctorow-the-unimaginable/

I mean, thank goodness. If the future was predictable, there’d be no point in getting out of bed, because the future would arrive irrespective of our actions. Sfnal tales that posit a predictable future (like Asimov’s “Foundation” or Heinlein’s “Jonathan Hoag”) are pure fatalism.

Instead of predicting a future, sf imagines lots of futures. This is an intrinsically political act, because it rejects the political claim that the world is the way it is because it could not possibly be different. This claim is often implicit in ideology, but Margaret Thatcher made it explicit, claiming “there is no alternative” to free-for-all capitalism. This idea — shortened to “TINA” — is the cornerstone of capitalist realism, whose goal is to foster a mindset where “It is easier to imagine an end to the world than an end to capitalism.”

Now, this is obviously untrue. It’s super-easy to imagine a world without capitalism. My own books — Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, Walkaway and more — have done so. The very exercise of imagining a postcapitalist world is heady and refreshing.

But while postcapitalist futures are a dime a dozen in sf, the actual moment in which capitalism ends is rarely depicted. For example, Kim Stanley Robinson has published a string of astoundingly great novels depicting postcapitalism (Pacific Edge, 2312, etc), without giving us the transition itself.

Or rather, he hadn’t given it to us, not until 2020, when he published his blockbuster climate novel “The Ministry for the Future.”

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/03/ministry-for-the-future/#ksr

“Ministry” breaks new ground for Robinson and does something rarely seen in the field: depicts a plausible, step-by-step sequence in which capitalism falls. To make this work, Robinson employs a documentary storytelling style, where short vignettes depict key moments through the eyes of dozens of characters. This in-the-round view of a complex and wrenching change is so damned hopeful — a tonic against the dystopian fatalism all around us.

But as I wrote with in initial review of Ministry, I think Robinson’s book has an important omission. The transition from capitalism to postcapitalism that it depicts involves multiple acts of spectacular, ghastly violence. For example, one key turning point comes when every private jet in the sky is destroyed midflight by a coordinated drone-attack.

This event is depicted through a news-story-like exposition — the documentarian’s camera does not switch on in the cabin of any of those jets, nor in the lair of the terrorists who caused them to fall.

I think I understand why Robinson made this choice. He’s trying to split a very fine hair: the injustice and death of unchecked climate change will make people angry enough to murder, and the people who have it in their power to avert climate catastrophe might be motivated by the fear of that anger. I don’t think he’s glorifying the violence, nor apologizing for it, but rather, depicting it as a kind of inevitable outflow from abandoning billions to suffer and die in order to preserve profits for a tiny elite.

Even for a writer of Robinson’s prodigious talents, giving us the worm’s eye view of the terrorists and their dead is hard going. You don’t want to glorify the violence, and you don’t want to transform the martyrdom of their victims into redemption for their decades of genocidal greed.

Margaret Thatcher is the opposite of science fiction: TINA is a demand to stop trying to imagine an alternative. By contrast, thinkers like David Bollier advance TAPAS, which stands for “There are Plenty of Alternatives!”

https://www.thealternative.org.uk/dailyalternative/2020/5/30/tina-tacos-commons-bubblng-up

As Michael Hudson writes for Naked Capitalism, TINA’s appeal is in its ability to offer a deceptive “proof” that markets produce the best of all possible worlds:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2021/11/neoclassical-economics-is-dead-what-comes-next.html

For decades, capitalist realism has attempted to extinguish our very ability to imagine alternatives. Hudson says that the thing that comes after capitalist realism isn’t another ideology with pretenses to empirical capital-T truth. Rather, we’re heading to a world based on “a variety of useful alternative views on economic policies and practices.”

Robinson’s decision to draw a veil over the spectacular violence in his transition isn’t a flaw, but rather, a residue — the last remnant of our TINA-stunted imaginations. It points the way for future work, where writers lean hard into this question.

The more ways we imagine a transition, the more hope we bring into the world. The very fact that a transition is possible is a reason to attempt it.

#pluralistic