#tabby's writing

[tabbiwritesgenshin]

failing light | various

synopsis: how would they act when you die

genre: angst

word count: 1,119

a/n: I don't have anything interesting to say but can I add how baffling it is the support my previous post got? like damn, i went from 20 notes to 253. tysm y'all omg

Collei wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, to yell, her whole world had crumbled in only a few glances, yet she couldn’t. She was struck with both fear and shock, you were her most beloved person in the entirety of Teyvat, you were the only person who had shown her any love in a long while and now..you were just..dead. She could only stare at your body for what felt like hours until she eventually lost consciousness.

Eula clutched your body with all she had, she had to make sure your last moments were ones of peace. She tried her best to contain herself, to ignore her tears, to do everything she could to look strong for you, yet, she couldn’t. She was left as a crying mess as the concept of losing the only person who loved her dawned on her mind. 

Again she had lost, again Ei had weeped, again was someone else taken from her, again, she felt hopeless, like she had lost everything she held dear. She wanted to move on, she wished to maintain strong, that’s what you desired, that’s what she promised to you..yet she couldn’t. The pain was too much, the grief overtook her. Again would she retire to her Plane of Euthymia, again would she abandon everyone, again would she despise herself.

Ganyu was afraid, she was scared, terrified of the idea of losing you. She tried everything she could yet nothing worked. The half-Qilin tried every bit of knowledge she had on medicine to try to save you, even those used only by the Adepti, if she could, she’d even give out her life for you. Perhaps it was due to the panic of losing someone again, but during her numerous attempts to extend your life, she hadn’t accepted the fact that you were truly gone.

Kujou Sara was unfortunately experienced in the concept of loss and death so when you approached her with heavy battle wounds, she knew better than to panic. Her pain and grief were incomparable to whatever suffering she had seen before in her life, yet, she kept strong. She didn’t want you to pass in fear or sadness. The moment you died it shattered whatever facade was left in her. She collapsed onto the floor, still clutching your cold body. The mighty Tengu general of the Shogunate was lost..truly destroyed.

The skies were split and thunder roared as The Raiden Shogun weeped to your lifeless body. All semblance of hope..all happiness which she had ever felt in her life vanished as her eyes gazed at the ones which had given her so much with so little in return. No longer would the Shogun hold back against humanity, she would make all who dared harm her beloved pay, none shall be spared. All will suffer for the sake of eternity so no one she held dear would fear again.

Rosaria always acted like she didn’t care, Rosaria always acted like nothing mattered to her, even when she had someone to love, someone who loved her, she still acted with this cold exterior, yet, when she was faced with the news that the most significant person in her life had died every facade she had, every coldness in her heart, they were crushed as a sense of hopelessness would crush her like a boulder. Never again would that be a facade, after you had died, after she was left alone once more, that coldness overtook her heart and no amount of warmth could heat it ever again.

The Anemo Archon Venti would hold you on his lap as you slowly passed away, even in your last moments, his love was there to comfort you. Even after you were gone, he would not leave this position, even when you were buried, even when everyone thought you had died alone, even when everyone thought you two hadn’t even spoken to eachother, he would always be present in the place of your passing. Every night, every month, every year, he would sit there for hours at a time, drinking away as he talked to himself in only praises of yourself.

The Wanderer felt different, he was the creation of a god, mortals were below him, none were equal to him, he was above every single one of those worms, yet, there was one of those so called “worms” that for a single moment, for a brief second, could make him believe he was only a human, that he could feel happy, he could feel everything those he called below him could feel. There was only one person who could make him happy, only one person who could help him forget about his betrayals yet even them suffered, even them were hunted down due to his past, even them suffered because of him. Some would say, that the Wanderer, after so long, would return to who he was, even for a single minute, would enjoy murder once more.

He knew it would happen, a karmic debt was placed on Xiao a long time ago, he knew it, he knew that those around him would suffer because of it, but even then, the mighty conqueror of demons could also fall prey to the enticing and intoxicating love he used to think he was undeserving of. His more rational side was prepared for such an occurrence, of losing his most loved one yet deep down, he knew he wasn’t, he knew the moment you were at the brink of death, he would sacrifice his own to keep you safe..but he was too late, you were dead before he could heal you, before he could save you. Never before had the Yaksha felt such deep hatred, such unfeeling rage, so much was it that when he was done with his vengeance, when he had bathed in blood in the name of love, he felt nothing but a consuming sense of hollowness.

Zhongli grasped your hand with all the softness and grace he could have. He had a rather long talk with you, reminiscing about the fond times you two had, the love you shared, the pain and the happiness you had shared. He knew it would come to this, he knew that this would happen eventually. You were a mortal, a mere human, he was an archon, a god. Once you were gone, once time finally caught up with you, he couldn’t help but to shed a tear. Once again, none who would share his memories, once again, another loved one had been hit with time. Some could say that from that day, the enigmatic consultant of the Wangsheng funeral parlor seemed more distant, more cold, even.

#collei x reader #eula x reader #ganyu x reader #ei x reader #kujou sara x reader #rosaria x reader #raiden shogun x reader #venti x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #❥ tabbi writes ❥

[fireflysummers]

Heroes, Gods, and the Invisible Narrator

Slay the Princess as a Framework for the Cyclical Reproduction of Colonialist Narratives in Data Science & Technology

An Essay by FireflySummers

All images are captioned.

Content Warnings: Body Horror, Discussion of Racism and Colonialism

Spoilers for Slay the Princess (2023) by @abby-howard and Black Tabby Games.

If you enjoy this article, consider reading my guide to arguing against the use of AI image generators or the academic article it's based on.

Introduction: The Hero and the Princess

You're on a path in the woods, and at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a Princess. You're here to slay her. If you don't, it will be the end of the world.

Slay the Princess is a 2023 indie horror game by Abby Howard and published through Black Tabby Games, with voice talent by Jonathan Sims (yes, that one) and Nichole Goodnight.

The game starts with you dropped without context in the middle of the woods. But that’s alright. The Narrator is here to guide you. You are the hero, you have your weapon, and you have a monster to slay.

From there, it's the player's choice exactly how to proceed--whether that be listening to the voice of the narrator, or attempting to subvert him. You can kill her as instructed, or sit and chat, or even free her from her chains.

It doesn't matter.

Regardless of whether you are successful in your goal, you will inevitably (and often quite violently) die.

And then...

You are once again on a path in the woods.

The cycle repeats itself, the narrator seemingly none the wiser. But the woods are different, and so is the cabin. You're different, and worse... so is she.

Based on your actions in the previous loop, the princess has... changed. Distorted.

Had you attempted a daring rescue, she is now a damsel--sweet and submissive and already fallen in love with you.

Had you previously betrayed her, she has warped into something malicious and sinister, ready to repay your kindness in full.

But once again, it doesn't matter.

Because the no matter what you choose, no matter how the world around you contorts under the weight of repeated loops, it will always be you and the princess.

Why? Because that’s how the story goes.

So says the narrator.

So now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about data.

Chapter I: Echoes and Shattered Mirrors

The problem with "data" is that we don't really think too much about it anymore. Or, at least, we think about it in the same abstract way we think about "a billion people." It's gotten so big, so seemingly impersonal that it's easy to forget that contemporary concept of "data" in the west is a phenomenon only a couple centuries old [1].

This modern conception of the word describes the ways that we translate the world into words and numbers that can then be categorized and analyzed. As such, data has a lot of practical uses, whether that be putting a rover on mars or tracking the outbreak of a viral contagion. However, this functionality makes it all too easy to overlook the fact that data itself is not neutral. It is gathered by people, sorted into categories designed by people, and interpreted by people. At every step, there are people involved, such that contemporary technology is embedded with systemic injustices, and not always by accident.

The reproduction of systems of oppression are most obvious from the margins. In his 2019 article As If, Ramon Amaro describes the Aspire Mirror (2016): a speculative design project by by Joy Buolamwini that contended with the fact that the standard facial recognition algorithm library had been trained almost exclusively on white faces. The simplest solution was to artificially lighten darker skin-tones for the algorithm to recognize, which Amaro uses to illustrate the way that technology is developed with an assumption of whiteness [2].

This observation applies across other intersections as well, such as trans identity [3], which has been colloquially dubbed "The Misgendering Machine" [4] for its insistence on classifying people into a strict gender binary based only on physical appearance.

This has also popped up in my own research, brought to my attention by the artist @b4kuch1n who has spoken at length with me about the connection between their Vietnamese heritage and the clothing they design in their illustrative work [5]. They call out AI image generators for reinforcing colonialism by stripping art with significant personal and cultural meaning of their context and history, using them to produce a poor facsimile to sell to the highest bidder.

All this describes an iterative cycle which defines normalcy through a white, western lens, with a limited range of acceptable diversity. Within this cycle, AI feeds on data gathered under colonialist ideology, then producing an artifact that reinforces existing systemic bias. When this data is, in turn, once again fed to the machine, that bias becomes all the more severe, and the range of acceptability narrower [2, 6].

Luciana Parisi and Denise Ferreira da Silva touch on a similar point in their article Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics but on a much broader scale. They call up the Greek myth of Prometheus, who was punished by the gods for his hubris for stealing fire to give to humanity. Parisi and Ferreira da Silva point to how this, and other parts of the “Western Cosmology” map to humanity’s relationship with technology [7].

However, while this story seems to celebrate the technological advancement of humanity, there are darker colonialist undertones. It frames the world in terms of the gods and man, the oppressor and the oppressed; but it provides no other way of being. So instead the story repeats itself, with so-called progress an inextricable part of these two classes of being. This doesn’t bode well for visions of the future, then–because surely, eventually, the oppressed will one day be the machines [7, 8].

It’s… depressing. But it’s only really true, if you assume that that’s the only way the story could go.

“Stories don't care who takes part in them. All that matters is that the story gets told, that the story repeats. Or, if you prefer to think of it like this: stories are a parasitical life form, warping lives in the service only of the story itself.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Chapter II: The Invisible Narrator

So why does the narrator get to call the shots on how a story might go? Who even are they? What do they want? How much power do they actually have?

With the exception of first person writing, a lot of the time the narrator is invisible. This is different from an unreliable narrator. With an unreliable narrator, at some point the audience becomes aware of their presence in order for the story to function as intended. An invisible narrator is never meant to be seen.

In Slay the Princess, the narrator would very much like to be invisible. Instead, he has been dragged out into the light, because you (and the inner voices you pick up along the way), are starting to argue with him. And he doesn’t like it.

Despite his claims that the princess will lie and cheat in order to escape, as the game progresses it’s clear that the narrator is every bit as manipulative–if not moreso, because he actually knows what’s going on. And, if the player tries to diverge from the path that he’s set before them, the correct path, then it rapidly becomes clear that he, at least to start, has the power to force that correct path.

While this is very much a narrative device, the act of calling attention to the narrator is important beyond that context. 

The Hero’s Journey is the true monomyth, something to which all stories can be reduced. It doesn’t matter that the author, Joseph Campbell, was a raging misogynist whose framework flattened cultures and stories to fit a western lens [9, 10]. It was used in Star Wars, so clearly it’s a universal framework.

The metaverse will soon replace the real world and crypto is the future of currency! Never mind that the organizations pushing it are suspiciously pyramid shaped. Get on board or be left behind.

Generative AI is pushed as the next big thing. The harms it inflicts on creatives and the harmful stereotypes it perpetuates are just bugs in the system. Never mind that the evangelists for this technology speak over the concerns of marginalized people [5]. That’s a skill issue, you gotta keep up.

Computers will eventually, likely soon, advance so far as to replace humans altogether. The robot uprising is on the horizon [8]. 

Who perpetuates these stories? What do they have to gain?

Why is the only story for the future replications of unjust systems of power? Why must the hero always slay the monster?

Because so says the narrator. And so long as they are invisible, it is simple to assume that this is simply the way things are.

Chapter III: The End...?

This is the part where Slay the Princess starts feeling like a stretch, but I’ve already killed the horse so I might as well beat it until the end too.

Because what is the end result here?

According to the game… collapse. A recursive story whose biases narrow the scope of each iteration ultimately collapses in on itself. The princess becomes so sharp that she is nothing but blades to eviscerate you. The princess becomes so perfect a damsel that she is a caricature of the trope. The story whittles itself away to nothing. And then the cycle begins anew.

There’s no climactic final battle with the narrator. He created this box, set things in motion, but he is beyond the player’s reach to confront directly. The only way out is to become aware of the box itself, and the agenda of the narrator. It requires acknowledgement of the artificiality of the roles thrust upon you and the Princess, the false dichotomy of hero or villain.

Slay the Princess doesn’t actually provide an answer to what lies outside of the box, merely acknowledges it as a limit that can be overcome. 

With regards to the less fanciful narratives that comprise our day-to-day lives, it’s difficult to see the boxes and dichotomies we’ve been forced into, let alone what might be beyond them. But if the limit placed is that there are no stories that can exist outside of capitalism, outside of colonialism, outside of rigid hierarchies and oppressive structures, then that limit can be broken [12].

Denouement: Doomed by the Narrative

Video games are an interesting artistic medium, due to their inherent interactivity. The commonly accepted mechanics of the medium, such as flavor text that provides in-game information and commentary, are an excellent example of an invisible narrator. Branching dialogue trees and multiple endings can help obscure this further, giving the player a sense of genuine agency… which provides an interesting opportunity to drag an invisible narrator into the light.

There are a number of games that have explored the power differential between the narrator and the player (The Stanley Parable, Little Misfortune, Undertale, Buddy.io, OneShot, etc…)

However, Slay the Princess works well here because it not only emphasizes the artificial limitations that the narrator sets on a story, but the way that these stories recursively loop in on themselves, reinforcing the fears and biases of previous iterations. 

Critical data theory probably had nothing to do with the game’s development (Abby Howard if you're reading this, lmk). However, it works as a surprisingly cohesive framework for illustrating the ways that we can become ensnared by a narrative, and the importance of knowing who, exactly, is narrating the story. Although it is difficult or impossible to conceptualize what might exist beyond the artificial limits placed by even a well-intentioned narrator, calling attention to them and the box they’ve constructed is the first step in breaking out of this cycle.

“You can't go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it's just a cage.” ― Terry Pratchett, Witches Abroad

Epilogue

If you've read this far, thank you for your time! This was an adaptation of my final presentation for a Critical Data Studies course. Truthfully, this course posed quite a challenge--I found the readings of philosophers such as Kant, Adorno, Foucault, etc... difficult to parse. More contemporary scholars were significantly more accessible. My only hope is that I haven't gravely misinterpreted the scholars and researchers whose work inspired this piece.

I honestly feel like this might have worked best as a video essay, but I don't know how to do those, and don't have the time to learn or the money to outsource.

Slay the Princess is available for purchase now on Steam.

Screencaps from ManBadassHero Let's Plays: [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Post Dividers by @cafekitsune

Citations:

Rosenberg, D. (2018). Data as word. Historical Studies in the Natural Sciences, 48(5), 557-567.

Amaro, Ramon. (2019). As If. e-flux Architecture. Becoming Digital. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/becoming-digital/248073/as-if/

What Ethical AI Really Means by PhilosophyTube

Keyes, O. (2018). The misgendering machines: Trans/HCI implications of automatic gender recognition. Proceedings of the ACM on human-computer interaction, 2(CSCW), 1-22.

Allred, A.M., Aragon, C. (2023). Art in the Machine: Value Misalignment and AI “Art”. In: Luo, Y. (eds) Cooperative Design, Visualization, and Engineering. CDVE 2023. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 14166. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-43815-8_4

Amaro, R. (2019). Artificial Intelligence: warped, colorful forms and their unclear geometries.

Parisisi, L., Ferreira da Silva, D. Black Feminist Tools, Critique, and Techno-poethics. e-flux. Issue #123. https://www.e-flux.com/journal/123/436929/black-feminist-tools-critique-and-techno-poethics/

AI - Our Shiny New Robot King | Sophie from Mars by Sophie From Mars

Joseph Campbell and the Myth of the Monomyth | Part 1 by Maggie Mae Fish

Joseph Campbell and the N@zis | Part 2 by Maggie Mae Fish

How Barbie Cis-ified the Matrix by Jessie Gender

#slay the princess #stp spoilers #stp #stp princess #abby howard #black tabby games #academics #critical data studies #computer science #technology #hci #my academics #my writing #long post

[tabby-shieldmaiden]

Note that “enjoys writing in” can be different from “most frequently write in”. And feel free to state your reasoning in the tags!

#tabby says something #polls #writing #writer #writeblr #fanfiction

[cowboycatss]

the true lives of the fabulous umm.. um. catjoys.. kittyjoys… no the furbulous ??killjoys?? the mew lives of th

#danger days #ddttlotfk #my art #i feel like they Should have their own tag atp but we’ll figure her out later idk #i got too lazy to write out what everyone is i am a Phone and Finger artist it hurts to write too much 😞 #poison is a swirl tabby #kobra: flamepoint oriental shorthair #the girl: selkirk rex #cherri: somali #jet: laperm but I might also change to selkirk bc i think he’s got more of that vibe in the design #ghoul: seal point #the witch is some fucked up Cheshire Cat type nonsense /j #anyway. Behold the worlds worst danger days au #cat days

[g0ose-bumps]

Soap Gets a Visitor

Soap and Ghost but cat edition™.

There was a cat staring at him from the halls of their base. It was sitting in front of his door and it's fur was a striped tawny brown. The size of it threw him off; it was shockingly massive for what looked to be a tabby. There was a hard glint in it's eyes that made it look remarkably human in its distaste.

Soap stares back. He rubs a hand over his eyes tiredly. It was a strange day when he was hallucinating indifferent cats right outside his doorway. Soap should really wake up now.

He wipes his face more vigorously and closes his eyes. Counts to ten and opens them. The cat was still there. This time it looked even more unamused at him. Feline features showing a minute displeasure in the way it grimaced.

Soap boggles for a second. If he wasn't dreaming then that meant there actually was a cat on base. He couldn't believe the balls on whoever brought the cat in. They were really pushing their luck. Aside from working dogs, animals weren't allowed and even then, Soap tried his hardest to avoid them. Dogs and Soap had never gotten along. The scars from his last encounter were just another reminder of that.

The bushy ringed tail of the cat swishes on the ground, thumping loudly at the flooring. The sound shocks him from his stupor and draws his focus to the black tip that was waving jerkily by his feet. The cat seemed to be annoyed at Soap's lack of attention on it and was handily showing him its ire.

Soap makes a quick decision. It wasn't every day he got to pet a cat, and despite Soap's poor relationship with dogs, he liked cats. They were more prone to giving him space and walking away when they had enough. And he couldn't help but have a fondness for them; they reminded him of a certain lieutenant of his afterall.

Soap furtively checks for anyone around. It would be best if there were no witnesses. He didn't want to get sent to latrine duty if he was caught. Soap just knew Price would do it if he had any inkling that he was going to let the cat stay with him till he found its owner.

It was only going to be a couple hours anyway and it was better for everyone if he had the cat in his room. He couldn't let the animal roam around the base unattended.

The sergeant crouches down and offers a hand. The cat only wrinkles it's nose and backs away from the hand.

"Yer a tough customer." He chuckles softly. "Ye remind me of someone I ken." He tells the disinterested animal.

It pauses, yellow green eyes tracking him curiously.

Soap grins and withdraws his hand. "Curious now?" A tail swishes impatiently. "Aye, ye are aren't ya." He replies back teasingly.

The cat gets up and stretches, it's mouth opening to show off its teeth in a large meandering yawn. Soap felt he could relate. He'd been wakened by scratching at the door. According to his beside clock, it was 0400 hours. Too early for anyone not on a night rotation to be up.

Ghost would be up though—albeit on duty. Soap was a little tempted to go and find the man. See how he'd react to the animal. Soap wasn't sure if they'd get along. Ghost liked dogs, but that didnt mean the reticent man would like cats too. Maybe the cat and Ghost would get into a cat fight and hiss at each other; it was a possibility.

Soap widens his door open and scoots back a few steps, crouching down low to encourage the cat to come in with low pss, pss, noises. He holds out a hand just in case the cat decided to rub against it for pets.

The cat only wrinkles it's whiskers and saunters through the door, pass his outstretched fingers. It had the sort of feline grace that was inherent to all cats (and a ghost) that made it seem like they owned the place and was only deigning to come in cause they felt like it and not because you wanted it to.

Soap was already halfway in love.

Despite the dimness of his room, it jumps neatly on Soap's bed, nudging around his sheets for the best spot to lay in. The cat seemed eerily focused on the bed. Soap couldn't help but find it a bit strange. Not that he had any experience in this exact circumstance, but usually animals tended to investigate new areas first. Though it did made sense if the cat was someone's pet and thus, was already used to the general layout. The sergeants room was just a basic copy of every other private room available.

The cat wiggled around some, deciding to lie in the exact centre of the bed. Soap snorts. "You're a demanding one, aren't ya." He sighs, a little helplessly. Warmth spread across his chest like weeds sprouting in pavement. God help him but he always did like the hard to please type.

Soap closes the door quietly. He carefully creeps up to his bed, wanting to see if he could pet the cat. With each step closer, the cat straightens up from its sprawl. It's ears flicks back for a moment and then eases. "I'm nae gonna hurt ye." Soap murmurs softly.

For all that the cat invited itself in, it seemed to be wrestling with itself in whether to flee or not. Closer up, he can see the fine scars that ran the bridge of its nose. It's eyes appeared to be set in a permanent glare. Soap was struck by the resemblance.

"Ye really do remind me of Ghost." Soap tells it wonderingly.

The cat freezes and it's ears flatten out showing the white spot on the backs. Soap manages to get one step away from it and lays a hand out near its mouth. He knew he was gambling. Leaving his hand vulnerable to bites was something only a fool would do. But some instinct of his told him he just had to be patient and outwait the cat.

It's white jaw twitches as if it wanted to bite. Soap waits. The cat bores a hole into him. There's a weighty pause, both of them seemed intent to wait and see what the other did first.

Soap thinks. It seemed to like hearing about Ghost, maybe talking about him would help.

"Ghost was like this too with me." He says.

The cat's orange tinged face scrunches up. "He was!" Soap argues. "He didn't like me talking to him at all." A wry grin forms on his mouth at the memories.

"But I wore him down." Soap inches closer against the bed, one finger touch away from the cat's scarred face. It's long whiskers twitches and it's eyes were dead set on him.

"Yer a bonnie one." He whispers to it.

The cat freezes. Soap takes a leap and strokes the side of its striped cheek. It was so soft Soap wanted to cry. At the touch, the rigidness of the cat melts away. It's tensed muscles unclench, visibly relaxing.

Soap does it again. A deep purr erupts from its chest, eyes closing blissfully as Soap rubs the base of its spotted ears.

"Yer just a big softie underneath the scars." He whispers, more to himself than anything. The words pour out like the fingers that ran a line down the curve of the cat's spine. It's back arched to follow his hand. He could feel the thick muscle and scars that hid beneath the striped fur. It's purrs going deeper still, vibrations shaking the white tuff on its chest.

The cat's striking eyes shut, caught on the bliss of Soap's careful hands.

Soap shifts despite himself, a pained exhale coming from his throat as he moved. His kneeling position by the bed was starting to hurt. The cats eyes open at the sound of Soap's pained grunt.

It got up shakily and walked to the far corner of his bed, away from Soap. "No, don't go." Soap pleads. He wanted to keep on stroking it's soft fur, but if the cat didn't want him to then he'd better give it some more space.

He gets up onto his feet and makes to move away. A plaintive meow stops him in his tracks. He turns to see pleading yellow eyes stare back at him. The cat seemed to want him to get on the bed and pet it some more.

"So demanding. Just like The Ghost." He grins. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's just a needy big guy like yerself. Ye both soak up attention like yer starving for it." Soap muses.

The cat's tail lashes at the remark. "Ach, don't be so mad." He shushes, coming closer to the bed and sitting on the side. "It's not's a bad thing—" Soap swings a foot carefully on to the bed. "Being needy that is." He finishes softly to the cat.

"I wish Ghost needed me more." Soap confides.

The cat's paw raises as if it wanted to push him away. It's all tensed up again, a hunch rising on its back. "It's okay." Soap croons. A hum grows from his throat. He shuffles closer, sheets ruffling up under his movements.

"We all need some love in our life." He lets a couple fingers hover near the cat's face. The cat stands dead still, it doesn't even appear to breath.

Soap rubs the top of its head near some of the scarring. Motor boat purrs stutter and start, sounding more like an engine than feline. It was shockingly loud. Even the cat looked surprised at the intensity.

He was beginning to think the animal wasn't anyone's pet, or at least not any longer. The cat didn't seem used to physical affection. It was scarily alike Ghost in all ways. Soap could tell that just like his lieutenant, those fine scars on its face and body went far deeper than the physical. It seemed simultaneously too confident and skittish with human contact.

Soap continues his mission to have the animal melt into mush. He carefully massages behind its ears and strokes underneath its chin. It seemed to like it. It's purrs taking up the whole room. The cat relaxes even more, going from solid to liquid. It resembled a lazy puddle more than an alert predator. Soap's heart swells until it feels fit to burst. The cat liked him!

Soap gets comfortable on the bed, fully enraptured by the animal sprawled out on it. The cat yawns again, it's eyes drooping in its apparent tiredness. Soap felt tired too. It was just so nice—having company right next to him, so warm and alive that wanted his affection.

His hand falters. He yawns. His eyes shut close. Everything felt like a hazy dream. If only Ghost was here, it'd be perfect. Soap could already imagine it: a nice cottage out in the countryside, a cat slinking around, going as it pleased and a gravely voice and an even more gravely body to cuddle up to. "Wish Ghost was here." He rambles to it tiredly. "I'd think you'd fall in love with him too." Tiredness draws heavy eyes shut.

"Just like I did."

Darkness chases his eyes. The sound of purrs drowns the rest.

Soap sleeps.

—

Soap wakes up. He was lying on his bed over the covers. Strange. Wait. The cat. Where was the cat?

He looks around, trying to catalogue any sign of that bushy black tail but to no avail. He gets up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checks his closet and underneath his bed. Still nothing. He checks to make sure the door was closed. Yup. Closed. His clock beeps at him shrilly. Shite. He had to go.

Soap readies up to go, making sure he got his boots on right and his sheets tucked properly. The cat would have to wait. If it was even there at all. It might have been all some dream of his. Though if it really wasn't a dream, the cat wouldn't have been able to leave his room without being able to suddenly open a door knob with no opposible thumb.

Regardless, he was going to be late if he dawdled longer. He rushes out of his door, not wanting a lecture from Price. Soap only got three metres from the doorframe before slamming right into something solid, large and black. Ghost.

"Sorry Lt." He chokes looking up, embarrassment colouring his cheeks pink. Ghost looks at him oddly. Something about his heavy gaze made the man appear vaguely embarrassed to Soap. Perhaps it was the visible squint in the lines around his eyes. Ghost had decided to forgo eyeblack this morning.

Ghost grunts at him.

"Ye happen to see a cat anywhere, sir?" Soap rubs a hand back his neck nervously. "Big tabby with a black tip?"

Ghost stiffens. "No." He barks agrivatedly and leaves. Soap is left watching the rapidly retreating back of his lieutenant.

Soap blinks. He could've sworn he saw the man blushing at what he said in the brief look he managed before the man beat a hasty retreat. There was a heavy red on the visible patch of skin. It was a noticeable departure from the sallow colour of the man's skin.

Did Ghost somehow know the cat?

One thing for sure, Ghost knew more than he was saying.

Soap was going to find out what.

+

#ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soap x ghost #soapghost #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #cod drabble #my writing #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #simon riley #cod mwii #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #what type of cat is ghost? #not a tabby thats for sure #werecat!ghost #cat #werecat #shifters

[gerdy-sertorius]

The Definitive Damsel Analysis (if I do say so myself)

(Disclaimer: I know it’s absurdly long, and for that I apologize. I apparently am more unwilling to make cuts than I am to present subpar work. I’m working on it. Only editing I do for my autistic ramblings is copyediting, baby! Whoo! I will be updating this for the Pristine Cut once it comes out and we get even *more* Damsel. Obviously, as I’m sure you can tell from the length, I really like Damsel. There will be all of the bias. It will be great.)

(Author’s Note: For the love of the most high God, it took me like twenty read throughs for me to standardize what I wanted to call the Scorched Grey. Here is a brief list of all the terms I used to refer to her: Scorched Grey, Burned Grey, Burning Grey, Fire Grey, Damsel Chapter 3. Sometimes but not always preceded by “the” or “The”.)

Alright, ladies and gentlemen. I have oft made the statement on here that Damsel is the best route in the game, and this began as me trying to definitively prove that, by microscopically going through the route, I could establish exactly why, it would seem, that Damsel has objective superiority. It sorta… evolved, though, so instead I will be going relatively chronologically throughout, and trying to point out a couple things that all of you know about and maybe a couple things you don’t about the best character in the game. With that preamble out of the way, let’s begin with the goofy stuff, the grab bag if you will. 

This will certainly be more personal taste than anything else, but I do think there’s a lot of miscellaneous stuff that Damsel does better than the other chapters. For example, I am convinced that it has the third best music, behind Tower and her routes and then Thorn. I am genuinely obsessed with “It Was Always That Easy”. The basement has some *fantastic* art, and I think that really carries a chapter that is otherwise generally bland when it comes to actual visual activity. It’s really carried by its genuinely perfect dialogue. 

Overall, and most importantly, this chapter is the undisputed master of the idea of positive ambience. You know elevator music? How it’s there to artificially increase the cheeriness of an otherwise dreary moment, like a hotel hallway or, yanno, an elevator? Well, this is the chapter that does it perfectly. Everything is designed to make it “nicer” than it actually is. The Narrator even takes that into account when describing the basement. The sound design is fresh and relaxing, the music is uplifting, the Princess’s voice is obviously fantastically done, but also the Voice of the Smitten plays a large role in making it feel “good”. It’s something that exists in order to communicate exactly the feelings it wants the player to feel, which is all warm and fuzzy inside. But let’s move on to the actual content, shall we?

Damsel has *the* best Chapter One and it isn’t even close. Certainly not in the horror department, where I think Beast and Nightmare shine, or even in the whole characterization bit, where the award can only go to Spectre and the masterclass that is her Chapter One. But Damsel has something else to it. Damsel has tragedy, almost Shakespearean in nature. Nobody else has it (except Witch, to some extent, but nowhere close to the same level), nobody manages to reach that connection, there and then broken, to honestly feel for both Princess and Slayer. Allow me to paint a picture of a playthrough. 

You are on a path in the woods. At the end of that path is a cabin. In the basement of that cabin is a princess. You are here to slay her. But you don’t do that. That voice itching in the back of your skull, the one you quite literally call Hero, your moral compass even, raises some objections. You don’t want to kill *anybody*. That isn’t something you want to mark yourself with, especially not solely on the word of an individual you just met. For now, violence is a nonstarter.

You enter the cabin. And you hear her voice. And you see her. You even talk with her for a while. The moment is… hypnotizing. Despite the Narrator’s warning of manipulation, well, you cannot help but be manipulated. This is a genuinely nice, sweet, scared Princess who simply wants to be free. You have to save her. It is the right thing to do, it is the… only thing to do. Anything else marks you with the dirtiness of simply being unwilling to help someone in need when you had the full ability to. 

You go to get a key. Unsuccessful. The door locks. Even worse. The Narrator is moving from irritating to downright malicious, clearly enjoying recounting the lock of the door. Disgust for Him has been present since you entered the cabin, but it shifts to anger very quickly. That shift continues with full force as you attempt with what little ability you have to save the Princess, even if you don’t quite know how you will get out. The question does not last long. For the shift to anger shifts once more, to a sort of incomprehensible fury.

For the Narrator has crossed a line. Not only has he taken away any semblance of choice, not only has he raised your own knife against an innocent, someone who has been nothing but kind to you, but you are the one who must bear the shame for it. You are the only one who is doing the foul deed in any eyes but your own. Speaking of, the Princess’s eyes are filled with genuine happiness at the moment, as you are finally giving her the freedom she has yearned for such a  long time. Yet through no fault of your own, you raise the pristine blade, the one you refused to bring down to the basement in the first place. You scramble through the list of options, attempting to find anything that could provide a sliver of hope in the situation, anything without the grim finality of “Slay the Princess”. 

At last, you find one, and are able to bark out a warning to the Princess. That happiness in her eyes is shifted to a look of fear, one directed at you alone, one condemning you with such a sorrowful betrayal that it almost hurts to see. She begs for you to stop, and then she says something that almost calms the internal storm of the player: “Please, I know this isn’t you.” She recognizes that it isn’t us that betrayed her, she understands that we aren’t trying to do this, that we are flat-out trying to stop it. But the eye of that storm is passing, and soon.

And as she takes the blade, as she prepares to do what she must to live, that same look of tragic betrayal crosses her eyes, this time not directed at us, but at herself. She hates that this is her only option, the only way that she can live is to kill another, one with every intention of freeing her and no intention of harming her. And in the end, she simultaneously underscores the tragedy of the moment while confirming our perception that she could never be a threat to the world. As she plunges the blade into our chest, she has failed to even do the bare minimum of making our death painless, something that fills her with even more guilt, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries and fails to end our own agony. The last thing we see of her are her endless cascade of both tears and apologies, as everything goes dark. 

This… is beautiful. A glorious tragedy, one with limited theming, simply two characters with emotions that feel natural. And, quite strangely, the first chapter has almost nothing to do with the second chapter. But it is still important. I’ll get to that later. Better things await now! For with the end of the tale of the Hero and the Princess, we have a new individual, everyone’s favorite buddy, the Voice of the Smitten. 

I am certain I do not need to underscore just how popular Smitten is. Easily the most fan favorite of the fan favorites, especially solidifying his place within that roster with the Kiss from a Thorn. He is jovial, passionate, he is Don Quixote, complete with the unlimited self-delusion that comes with the territory. There’s a reason people love him. Romantic in a game entitled a love story, the largest of personalities in a game stuffed with them, he is the storybook hero come to life in a game that has just as much reverence for storybook heroes as the deconstructions of them. In short, he is the visage of likability itself, with all the bombast that comes with that. Yet that is only from a wholly external perspective. 

For what I am certain I do need to underscore is just how sinister Smitten is. For all of his likability, the Smitten is also probably the single slimiest voice out of all of them with the possible exception of the Opportunist. This is not a new revelation – people have understood that since the beginning with his frankly disturbing behavior regarding the Princess. What is perhaps more interesting is his relationship with the player. For he is one of the two options that reflect the player at this point within the story. Either the player is trying to do the right thing and free an innocent, or they have somewhat… different motivations. 

The former reflects the Hero. Somewhat naive, in many routes somewhat bumbling even, but first and foremost focused on the external. That is, “how can I make a positive impact on the world around me?” As contradictory as it may seem to how the Hero is presented, it’s something of an intellectualist approach. The Hero is trying to find the best possible world and working towards that with all of his might. It is, one could say, devoid of emotion except that determination to change the world, to make it a better place. While the goal remains the same, the path to get there is fundamentally continuously being calculated. The Hero is your conscience, and as such he must *always* work overtime for that. 

The Smitten is not that. No, he has made no secret that he is the path of passion. Even when he is generally considered to be a better person, he declares that, “Whatever world would condemn two star-crossed lovers to a cycle of violence and despair isn’t a world worth saving.” His focus is internal, it is on ourself and our romance. There is no extensive study into what is the correct option, there is only what would assist in our relationship, which is somehow ordained by the universe. To put it into understandable terms, Hero is a modern hero while Smitten is a Romantic-era hero. 

There’s an important line when going down the stairs that I think speaks volumes about the type of player and playthrough currently occurring. That is “We can still do right by her without all this over-the-top fawning.” *That* is the line of demarcation between the route of the Hero and the route of the Smitten. If you decide to embrace or repudiate the Smitten at that point, I think the route is sealed. I am convinced that the game will continue on in a fixed way based on that philosophy. The point where you must, internally that is, decide if you are doing this out of a desire for what is right, or an infatuation with the Princess. 

Now, of course there isn’t anything wrong with taking the path of the Smitten, and it’s personally one of my top points in the game, but whether you admit it or not, you are long past morality being what decides your actions. That has come and gone. Now, the goal is to express the passion of the moment and delve into your romantic relationship with the Princess. I’ll be evaluating each of the routes differently, loosely organized with a focus on how it reacts to the player. After that, I’ll go on into theming of each route one by one and all that jazz.

The path of the Smitten first. The player embraces that he has been sent to save the Princess from her unjust and foul imprisonment above all else. So that is what he does. He marches downstairs, the blade being nothing but a passing afterthought as it is immediately dismissed out of hand. When it comes to the crucial point of “doing right by her”, the justification is made that two things can be done at once, that you can do this for her and do a little bit of fawning on the way. Doesn’t harm anyone.

And with that the basement arrives, and you see the Princess on the floor. She is perfect in all ways. There is nothing wrong with her. And that’s before you start talking to her. When you do begin talking to her, all of the kindness and innocence from Chapter 1 are magnified to the greatest degree possible. She can do no wrong. And, from a meta standpoint, there’s another thing that stands out – it is really, *really* funny. From everything the Smitten says to the “Then I didn’t end the world!” to the Narrator’s (a villain at this point) growing exasperation at your trust for the Princess, it endears you to the moment even more. 

Because it’s not only that it’s funny. It’s not only that the Princess is genuinely nice to you. It’s something more than that. Something that I am loath to talk about but will anyway. The Princess is incredibly – *sigh* – **cute** within this chapter. This is objective, with science to back me up, I’m sure. But she is specifically designed to be as heartwarming as possible, and every line makes her more and more into someone who should be saved by you, into, well, a Damsel. While it isn’t explicitly stated, throughout the progression of dialogue, the need to protect her becomes more pronounced. You were already primed to like the Princess, you already internally committed to a romantic future. But after stepping into the bear trap willingly, you cannot escape. 

And if you’re anything like me, you are perfectly fine with that. So you take in the moment, you rescue her from her chains and laugh at the way her hands slipped out of the chains and the Narrator’s comical anger at it. It’s all very feel-good, all cleanly written dialogue, and both the Princess and the Smitten are likable, they’re fun, and the Narrator is a fun enough villain for the Smitten and you to unite against. The Hero, if we’re being honest, barely registers, and if he does it’s usually as an extension to the Narrator, as a foil to yourself. And with her finally free, she embraces you, sealing the deal on her perfection. 

And after that, something else happens. The deconstruction begins. You want to see if her dialogue has any more of that saccharine present throughout the rest of the chapter, and are immediately rewarded with the “The princess closes her eyes in deep reflection” and the follow up joke. Hungry for more, you click through some more of the dialogue, but something begins to happen. She begins to… unwind. The Smitten seems to reciprocate in turn, to a lesser extent. In fact, she really starts to return to the horror that this chapter was a nice respite from. So you cut your losses, decide to leave with her, and everything returns to normal. Bathed in the glow of your future, you immediately forget about the deconstruction.

After that, you finally get out of the basement, get a genuinely great moment opening the door alongside the Princess, never think twice about clicking “You’re not doing that.” as fast as humanly possible, and finally await the door at the end of the cabin. You finally get your fairytale ending. The princess goes out into the world together with you. You brought her out. And then she is taken by the Shifting Mound in a way reminiscent of her dying. Even if this wasn’t your first playthrough, it still comes as a shock. For the most part, you were being that Romantic hero, living in the moment with your passion. The thought of this happening was gone entirely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it *hurts*. And the chapter is over. 

The route of the Hero has a different point of view on the whole situation. That’s not to say it’s not easy to get drawn in by the hilarious dialogue and sheer cuteness of the Princess – far from it. It is, after all, what drives the conflict within this. For the Hero, and the player that goes along his path, has one bit of information stand out. That the world ended after the Princess killed you. Now, you can naturally be skeptical of the information, but the Princess isn’t helping her case here. Entirely vague, entirely unwilling to mention anything about it. The only thing she seems to care about is getting on your good side. 

Now, you still want to save her. That much is clear. You still don’t take the knife in the beginning, and you saw her Chapter 1 incarnation. She is still a good person, kind and loving. But there are questions raised, important questions. Which is why not all Hero routers get the same ending. There is a conflict between how far you’re able to go before the risk of the world ending eclipses your distrust of the Narrator and your trust of the Princess. If the whole world really does end if she’s free, is it worth it? And as such you get to the major points of the Hero ending. 

The first is the Deconstructed ending. As you question the Princess, you desperately try to figure out what the best way to go forward is for you. And that starts with getting a straight answer from the Princess on what exactly she plans on doing. The operation… does not go well. As you try and push for anything, any sign that she isn’t going to end the world, the same rejoinder comes in, alongside a distorted track. “I just want to make you happy.” The Princess is not an individual anymore, and begins to change shape. But you are locked in with a horrified inability to look away, like one who sees a car accident. And with that, the Princess is a Princess no longer, and the Shifting Mound takes her away. 

There’s also the option of taking the Hero’s advice when confronted with the scenario: to leave. You don’t like what’s going on and you try to do whatever you can to undo the doing. Perhaps surprisingly, it works. And then you’re forced to deal with the cognitive dissonance of the Princess and *that* being the same individual. But you, not without a healthy dose of skepticism, still head upstairs alongside the Princess. In the end, you can’t bring yourself to kill her. Throughout it all, she still has been the beautifully endearing picture of innocence, if a questionable one, and especially with regards to the knife on the table, there is no way you can take it to her chest with no warning, especially after everything you did in the first Chapter. So you leave with her, and the “end of the world” really does come in one fell swoop with the call of the Shifting Mound. You can’t help but wonder if the decision you made was the right one, not really. Like, you still believe she didn’t deserve to die, but maybe, just maybe, it would have been a better ending.

So what if you did kill her? What happens when love *truly* melts away into skepticism. After the continuous question dodging and whatever the… other thing was, this is clearly not an ordinary Princess, it is not the same Princess that you tried to save at the beginning. There is only a sliver of her, a shadow of her former self. Slaying her, well, slaying her is probably doing her a favor. It might be doing the world a favor, too. Maybe she is an individual with malicious intent. And as you take the blade and plunge it into her chest, you instantly know you made the wrong decision. She does not oppose it. She simply lets you kill her with a single tear hanging in her eye, saying “I think this is what you want.” It’s meant to feel dirty and it does, even heartbreaking in the moment, although it is immediately counterbalanced by the effect of the Smitten killing you over it.

I won’t exactly go over Scorched Grey the same way, I think there’s generally only two frames of mind going into it, and that’s either the standard “Hero-Skeptic” framework that I’ll expand on later, or simply a completionist mindset. Plus, it’s technically not The Damsel. Plus I’m lazy. But this is the point where I will try to expand on the theming of each and every route and mindset to go through within the Chapter, and that *will* include the Scorched Grey theming. 

It’s made quite clear from the chapter that one of the primary themes is objectification, the making of the Princess into nothing more than a vehicle to live one’s fantasy into. The taking of an individual and making them into an it. The destruction of humanity by your own desire, and what that says about your desires in the first place. Ironically, this is merely one fourth wall away from the rest of the Princesses, each of them being a piece of fiction that many simply engage with *because* they are an object, but with the Damsel it is directly nodded to within the narrative. One meta-layer is peeled back, if you will. 

Nothing hammers this more home than the entirely jarring line that escapes the Shifting Mound’s lips when you ask about the vessel she holds. Unlike the rest of the fragments, which are all given an indication that they have been fulfilled after the Shifting Mound takes them, the only note she has to say is that the Damsel has “served her purpose”. There is nothing that she wished for, as anyone who has obtained the deconstructed ending can attest to. But even in the more standard runs, she is simply a tool to be used and discarded. And there are three general reactions to this line. 

The first is the hardcore Smitten route’s preferred choice, denial. “The Princess was far more than an object, she had character, she had kindness, she had motivations from the beginning! The narrative is what is wrong, there’s nothing wrong with the Princess. She. Is. Perfect. Not just from a narrative standpoint but a metanarrative one as well. She has depth, she *is* a character.” All in the hopes that if they insist on it enough, it will become true. The Damsel was not designed to be viewed in a vacuum. There are themes that run through her character, and including negative ones, and the denial of them is a far truer denial of the character than any sort of objectification could ever be. 

Then the more moderate Smitten routers get a different response. A slap in the face. They did all of this, they had fun, they laughed with her, they cried when she was taken. They were connected to her, they had a real connection to what she was. One could even accuse them of… loving her. They honest to goodness cared about this Princess, they were invested in her story. Yet, in the end, they also formed her around themselves. They “molded her to love you”. As much as they loved the Princess, that was only because they cut out a piece of the Shifting Mound that they *could* love, a caricature of her true nature. They still took an individual, and despite truly loving her, made her into something that she was not so they could do that very thing. She is not a person. She is a plot device, an individual made to love and be loved with nothing beyond that. She is an object. 

Lastly, those who went on the route of the Hero get that same slap in the face, that selfsame bucket of water poured over their heads, but in a different way. They didn’t try to objectify her. They didn’t want anything of the sort. All they wanted to do was the right thing. Right? Yet even in that desire to do the right thing, they still get that same chilling text from the Shifting Mound. They have built an individual just like those who went on the route of the Smitten. Just a different one. Not one who was built around your “glorious romance”, but rather one built around something of a glorious Romance. The need to be a Hero. The desire to do what was right, to save an unjustly imprisoned Princess. The Princess became a plot device in the end anyway, just one that needed to be saved rather than one who needed to be loved. 

I want to continue off of that. The player is trying to do nothing more than the right thing, he is simply doing what a Hero should. And that determination to do what is right leads to him getting impacted the most by that line in the ending, the line that implies that whatever right he was doing, he was still being driven by selfishness, by that need to be a Hero. That hits the player right within where it hurts, it almost could be said to strike at the one emotional vulnerability of them. To have your hard work, your pain, your desire for what is right to be considered nothing more than the delusions of a Don Quixote tilting at windmills in order to fight giants, just as lost as Smitten, that doesn’t feel too great. It almost minimizes your struggle, and it is genius. You play as a Hero because you want to feel like a Hero, not because the morality of this world means anything to you. It is stripping that meta-layer down one by one.

But objectification is not the only theme present. While it may seem like something of a potpourri topic to throw in, earlier on the server we were talking about the Damsel in particular’s perceptiveness with regards to perception. When the door shuts and locks, it is the first and only time the Princess gets visibly **negative** in any way during the entirety of the Chapter. Even when you kill her, she still does so with nary a frown on her face. Even as a tear rolls down her cheek, she still smiles. But not at the door. The narration points out quite clearly that she frowns. This is, I reiterate, the only thing that happens. And her response is not “we’re stuck down here”, it is not “I’m unable to leave now”. 

What it is happens to be “that’s not supposed to happen”. She recognizes the construct in a way very few allude to within the game. Adding onto that note, within the Scorched Grey chapter, she (correctly) determines the very nature of the construct and that inherent “cycle of violence and despair” inherent to it, even (correctly) determining that the only way to leave was to annihilate that very construct. This is shown even clearer at the other major event at the door. When you ask if the Princess can open the door, the sole question she throws back at you is “Do you think I can?”, and after a response in the affirmative, “Then I can”. In the end, it is quite clear that she is, *heavily* ironically, one of the more aware characters in the game with regards to your circumstance. 

While speaking of the Scorched Grey, I think this route also exemplifies another major theme – the nature of the Princess as a being of perception. All routes exemplify one facet of the Shifting Mound: Spectre represents the gravity of her, Tower her divinity, Prisoner the very incarnation in and of itself of her within the construct, and so on. Damsel has something different, though, and that is that she’s just a slippery little fella. Far more than anybody else, Damsel changes throughout her chapters, in ways more pronounced than anybody else. The Shifting Mound declares that we “molded her to love you”, as I quoted previously. That molding takes stage front and center throughout all of our interactions with her. 

The most obvious example is her deconstruction, which when her sole true motivation (to leave) is discarded, she begins to break down, unable to offer to the player anything beyond the only desire every other Princess has. With the compulsive need to love the player, etched into her core, there is nothing she can do other than try to add to that love, losing herself within the process. But that is not the only time she changes. Because she is willing to give up that freedom in, well, a heartbeat. Attempting to kill her does not lead to any sort of resistance from her. The one goal she had, staying alive and winning her freedom, is out the window despite being (questionably) willing to kill for it in the last chapter. Now, throughout the Scorched Grey, it’s made clear that she did not, in fact, want to die, that she just wanted to be free together, but the complete unwillingness to save her own life is a stark contrast to the first chapter. 

In fact, that perpetually changing nature alongside her being so objectified means that it’s really, *really* hard to figure out her true character. There is very little in her that does not change and very little remaining that isn’t specifically put there by you. She is an eel, wriggling out of your grasp and impossible to pin down, in a large way like the Shifting Mound herself. But… for the most part, there are two facets to her character beyond the already listed themes. And a sharp divide between them. 

Chapter One Damsel and Chapter Two Damsel are not the same person. That’s usually true for most of them, but they also usually have some semblance of similarity between their counterparts. The only exceptions I can think off the top of my head are Spectre and *maaybe* Stranger if you want to count that. The rest of them act as exaggerated versions of the existing individuals shown. Chapter One Adversary likes fights. Chapter Two Adversary likes fights. Chapter One Witch is built on the back of distrust. Chapter Two Witch is built on the back of distrust. Everything lines up nicely. 

That is not the case for the Damsel. The only thing that you can say with both of them is that they are nice and do not want to hurt you. The Chapter One incarnation (henceforth Princess) is a tragedy of a character that doesn’t want to kill you but still must to secure her own life and freedom against a renegade puppeting you. The Chapter Two incarnation (henceforth Damsel) is a Horror-”Feel-Good”-Comedic-Tragic character that shows nothing about the emotional anguish she went through in chapter one. I love both of them, but they have an unmatched disconnect. And I think that sort of adds to the character. Now, there is absolutely a benefit from an emotional through-line (there’s a reason Thorn is my second-favorite chapter), but in this case, only brief touches to the beginning enhance the story. 

The most striking thing is the sense of comedic horror that comes when Damsel just completely ignores any expected trauma from the Princess’s emotional destruction. It, depending on the route you take, either makes you love her character more and more as the humor begins to entrap you, or it begins the process of getting the player unnerved, exactly like the developers wanted. It is a key dividing point in the mindset of the player and the route that they have chosen. The Damsel says nothing about what happened, heck, she barely acknowledges it except to indicate that “You died!” 

Secondly, it sets up Damsel as a sympathetic figure while still allowing her to begin establishing herself. Without the setup from the Princess, the player has no idea how to view Damsel, potentially even seeing her as a less on-the-nose Razor, with her comedically hiding her sinister intentions. The Princess allows the player to begin on a note that the Princess is *actually* friendly rather than simply pretending to be so. At the same time, it’s divorced enough that apart from that frame of reference at the beginning, Damsel is still allowed to shine within her own character. 

Lastly, and most importantly, it sets her up for the Scorched Grey. The guilt at causing the death of an innocent and the belief that you would be unable to cause the death of an innocent yourself leads her to blame the construct and attempt to bring it down, which seals your fate in the third Damsel chapter, the only time where the two chapters meet in a beautiful climax of Passion going too far and causing pain, in attempt of running away from that very thing, morphing into something that not even the Smitten is able to remain devoted to in an awful tragedy of love being not enough in the end. 

Wait, wait, wait. Did I hear “the end” being spoken? At this time of year? Localized entirely within this essay? Well then, it’s time to talk about what puts this saga at pure perfection, shall we? I probably could just use the awesome power of Ctrl + V to get the desired effect, but I still do want to offer my narration, so I’ll compromise and do a bit of both. “Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another. And another. And another. And another. Do I miss your heart because I cannot stand to see it go? But the stakes meant nothing to you. You had a desire, and you set that desire free, you lifting me and me lifting you, forever and ever and ever, consumed by true belief, there was nothing that could hold us back.” 

Do I even need to explain why that’s so good? Definitively the best poem in the end, it isn’t even close, especially when coupled with Ms. Goodnight’s awe-inspiring delivery. Did I say that the Scorched Grey was the perfect synthesis of the Princess and the Damsel? I was lying. This is. Every word so lovingly placed, the language sounds like it comes from the pen of God Himself. It is emotionally resonant, the art is beautiful, I have not run into such a short piece of dialogue that outdoes it. Gonna be honest, mostly just wrote up this essay to gush about it. Even now, it is considered by most everyone to be one of the best lines of dialogue in a game filled with magnificent ones. 

And the other one, that of the Scorched Grey. It’s simpler, ironically. “I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me. Hollow eyes watch from the dry corners of a memory. A home built on all of the futures that were supposed to be, preserved until the moment of reunion. The fire of the heart sets it all ablaze. I kill you and me.”

This, this right here is one of the most slept on ending poems and it’s not even funny. So fantastic at expressing the heartbreak inherent to the Scorched Grey’s character. I don’t know how you can see the line “A home built on all the futures that were supposed to be”, especially with the Scorched Grey dead and charring in a wedding gown, and not feel *something*. It’s not as good as the standard Damsel stuff, but then again, nothing is. It’s still deserving of more praise than it currently receives, and one of my top three ending poems of all time, only edged out by Prisoner. Gosh, this game belongs in a museum. 

Seems I need to debunk some stuff that happens to get a lot of traction regarding those who speculate on Damsel, too. First of all, her character motivation is not guilt nor gratitude. That sort of thing works incredibly well in fanworks, and I’m happy to see it ~~because that means I get to see Damsel in a fanwork~~. It has little to no backing within canon. Damsel is a chapter about the only motivations for the Princess being those put in place by the objectification of the player. There is nothing regarding anything beyond that, and it detracts from the existing, well-elucidated themes that are actually within the chapter. The only sort of substance to them is both Chapter 1 Princess and Scorched Grey indicating guilt for killing you, but that is almost entirely repudiated within the actual Chapter 2. 

Speaking of the Scorched Grey, another thing I saw somewhat extensively is that you somehow “taught her” that killing is the way to love one another, and that’s why she kills you in Chapter 3, and I honestly do not know how that gained any traction at all. It’s pretty clear that she views all the death as a pretty terrible and messed up thing and only kills the two of you to escape the cycle of death. It’s spoken of as a means to an end, not an end in and of itself. I am genuinely confused on how this got started, because it really just… opposes the main *in-narrative* themes of the Chapter??? Like, you don’t even have to analyze it, it’s just within the text, plain and simple. 

Anyway, I deeply apologize for the length of this once again, look forward to an appendix when Pristine Cut comes out. I’ve already played it because my uncle works at Black Tabby, but I don’t want to spoil it for you gents. If my opinions change massively after playing through the new update from today, I will change that too. Anyway, Damsel is the best character, literally does not do a single thing wrong within any of her chapters, has definitively the best Shifty stuff, and you should invest in her. As more people vocally become willing to throw money at anything related to Damsel, the likelier it is that we get Damsel merch. I need it so badly. Please. Anyway, if anything stands out to you or you disagree, I am begging you to tell me to get my act together and explain what I said wrong, so do that. Also please. 

#slay the princess #the damsel #the princess #black tabby games #I spent an ungodly amount of time writing this up #But I honestly think this could be the be all end all work for this tiny character in a tiny game #Also #Seriously #Play Slay the Princess

[gailynovelry]

#dark fantasy #queer fantasy #political fantasy #queer books #writeblr #indie publishing #if you want to support a weird little lesbian and a sweet potato of an orange tabby #give it a whirl! #i have done everything for this project myself #writing and editing and book covers and book design and also this advert; it's a lot of work but really fun #so uh take this as your cue to have fun and go whole-hog on whatever silly project you personally want to make #i didn't need to query to get this done

[celtic-crossbow]

So I Live a Lie in the Light

Setting: Forest (6 year gap) Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Tabby O’Sullivan (OC) Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of child abuse; mentions of pregnancy Summary: Daryl has a secret. He’s always known it could affect all of those he loved. Just not like this. A/N: Tumblr is being an uber twat right now and won’t let me edit so hopefully there are no mistakes.

It had been getting more difficult to hide. Emotions always made it worse. For most of his life, he had tried to hide from them; push them down and bury them. And that was before he was bitten. He had been so young and careless, out in the woods after a particularly heavy beating from his father. Nature had always been his safe place. That night, it was anything but safe. 

He had thought it was a dog at first, a low growl the first indication he hadn’t been alone. He had stumbled through the bushes and landed directly in the middle of the dinner table. The creature was kneeling over the deer carcass, its clawed hands holding open a gaping hole so its canine-like maw could delve inside. 

It had heard him, probably smelled him now that he thought back on it. Running had proven useless, its long legs catching up to him with ease. He remembered thinking he would die right there that night. Even now, he could feel the pain flare to life around the scar its teeth had left on his shoulder. 

Then it had let him go. 

His daddy had been passed out drunk when he got home, allowing him to care for the wound without explanation. He would find out on the first full moon since the attack that the creature had been Merle and what exactly that bite meant for the rest of his life. 

So Daryl, a lycan, had kept his secret. It made slaughtering the undead while alone a piece of cake. Even when he was with his chosen family, he had strength he would never be able to explain if he didn’t hide it well. Had he not been so consumed by fear, he could have saved them. He could have saved so many of them. 

After Rick’s supposed death, he had skulked off into the woods to find his brother’s body, dead or alive. He had left everyone behind. He had left her behind. If there had been anyone he would have told, it would have been her. He wanted to tell her; wanted to show her how much he trusted her. How much he loved her. 

But he was afraid. The walkers had done nothing more than die and had become the enemy. What would that mean for him? A lycan. A werewolf. 

Rather than live with her rejection, he chose to live with her absence. It was better for both of them this way. 

Daryl had made her promise to never visit aside from after each full moon. He had been adamant and, so far, Tabby had held to the promise. She’d set the world on fire for that man, so even when her heart ached for his presence, she held fast to the agreement. 

Until now. 

Circumstances called for an earlier visit. She brought supplies with her but secretly hoped this would be when he’d return. It had been six years. Two day visits every 30 days or so just wasn’t cutting it. He’d always allow her to stay in his camp, sharing touches and sweet kisses and whispered words. Sharing his bed and his body. She yearned for those moments. 

Maybe today was the day. 

“Daryl, are you here?” Tabby peeked into the tent, surprised to find Dog stretched out on the bedroll but no archer. “Daryl?” With careful, quiet steps— just like he’d taught her— she crept across the forest floor. It wasn’t long before she heard the familiar snarls of a herd. Oh god, no! 

She didn’t call for him. It would only alert them to her presence when he could be perfectly fine and hiding to wait it out. But why would he leave Dog? There was a new, unfamiliar sound as she closed in, an animal of some sort. Probably, being mauled and eaten, the poor thing. When she could see a few of the uncoordinated, shuffling bodies, she pressed herself against the nearest tree, carefully leaning around to the other side. 

What she saw defied everything logical she had ever been taught up until the dead began to walk. 

A large, black creature was slaughtering walkers left and right; taking heads and limbs and tossing them carelessly. It was covered in fur and stood on two legs at about seven feet, with decipherable knees but canine hocks below them. The fingers and toes were tipped with large, razor-sharp claws that were slicing through flesh like butter. The torso was comparable to that of a human but larger, broader with pronounced skeletal and muscular features. But its head… Its head was large with canine features: elongated snout, pointed ears, and a mouth full of dangerously sharp, dripping teeth. 

Tabby was frozen to the spot with wide eyes, tears on her lashes, and only one coherent thought: Daryl. 

Had it killed him? 

The creature paused with a walker’s head in its grasp, raising its snout to sniff the air— and turned its black gaze right to where she was hiding. 

“Oh fuck.” She whispered, stumbling backwards before she turned around and began to run back to the camp. There was a roar unlike any she had ever heard from somewhere behind her but then the sound of more walkers being dispatched. “Dog!” Tabby screamed, relieved when the canine poked his head out of the tent. “Dog, come! We have to find Daryl!” She saw the archer’s pack on the ground, choking on a sob. Why would he go anywhere without supplies? “Come, Dog! We have to—”

When she turned, she was face to face with an open maw of pointed fangs, rivulets of thick saliva stretching and falling to the leaves. She lifted her foot to take a step back, watching its eyes lower and then rise before it growled. She couldn’t die. Not now. She hadn’t survived years of slow moving corpses to be taken out like this when she was so close to everything she could have ever wanted, apocalypse or not. 

“Dog.” She whispered, oddly concerned that the canine hadn’t made a single sound. She started to risk a glance but didn’t have to look far. Dog was sitting calmly at her side, looking up at the creature with his tongue hanging out the side of his open mouth. 

Movement in front of her brought Tabby’s eyes forward. A huge, clawed hand was reaching for her, slowly. She whimpered, raising her shoulders and screwing her eyes shut. The touch on her face was shockingly gentle. When it pulled away, she released the breath she had been holding and opened her eyes. It was backing away. 

It made a noise before things began to shift. Bones and colors and size, shrinking and morphing until…

“Daryl?!”

He was naked as the day he was born, a hand out against a tree to balance himself as if the change had sapped his energy. The look he was giving her was unreadable, so many emotions flitting across his face that she couldn’t pinpoint just one. 

“Ya weren’t s’posed to come here.” He whispered. 

“Yeah, I get that now.” She snapped. “What the fuck is going on?” He stepped toward and when she stepped back, his expression crumbled. 

“Yer afraid of me now.” He choked on a sob, his chin quivering. Daryl walked briskly past her and grabbed his pack, jerking out clothing and proceeded to begin dressing himself. “Ya can go if ya want.” The tremble in his voice made it clear that wasn’t what he truly wanted. Besides, she came to tell him something and now, more than ever, it seemed more imperative. 

“Daryl,I—” The redhead braved a step toward him, visibly trembling. Yes, she was afraid. Even so, something in her gut told her that he would never hurt her. She was afraid because she didn’t understand. She needed to know what this meant for her. How it changed things. “I need an explanation. I need to know—”

Tabby paused, standing straighter when he went still with his shirt halfway pulled over his shoulders. Daryl sniffed the air— once, then twice —and turned to her, his brow creased. “Ya smell diff’rent.”

“You can smell me? Like…a dog?”

“Lycan.” He corrected, pulling his shirt the rest of the way down. The archer began to step toward her, but she consciously made her feet stay planted. 

“Lycan?” Tabby queried, blinking.

“Werewolf.” Daryl stated calmly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He was nearly in front of her now, taking a moment to lean in and inhale through his nose once again. “Why do ya smell diff’rent?”

“New body wash?” She giggled nervously, a fine shaking to her person but still not moving away. 

He actually dared to look insulted. “Ain’t like tha’, Tabby-cat. S’ya scent. Yer smell. Ain’t yer clothes or soap or perfume. S’you.” The jig was up. She had to tell him and then he’d need to her what it meant; if it was dangerous. What she needed to do. 

“So,” The redhead dropped her gaze, toeing at the rocks. “What happens when…lycans?” He nodded. “When lycans and humans have sex and that results in the creation of a little being?” 

Daryl stood up straight, looming over her in a way that had never intimidated her before that moment. “Yer…pregnant?” Tabby nodded, her chin quivering. Daryl barked out a laugh and doubled over, hands on his knees.

She stared with wide blue eyes, incredulous. “You’re seriously laughing right now?”

The hunter shook his head and stood up with an expression of pure relief. “Thought ya’d got bit. Didn’ have the…dead stench but I didn’ know how else ta take it. Ya weren’ s’posed ta be able.” He sobered quickly, reaching cautiously for her shoulders. When she didn’t back away, he pulled her in against him. “Anyway, aint been through it ‘fore n’ haven’ ran inta many others like me, but s’far s’I know, ain’t no diff’rent than a human. Jus’…” he trailed off, easing his hold on her so that she could move back a little. 

Tabby looked up at him, fear present in her trembling orbs. “Just what?”

Daryl bit his lip nervously. “Kid’ll have the curse. Ain’t no two ways ‘bout it. Don’ know how much or how lil’ it’ll show up. Could be born like a pup, could be human. Could change immediately, could take months, years. S’a lot I don’ know.” He let her go and turned away. “M’sorry. Didn’ think ya’d ever…”

Tabby stood in stunned silence, completely overwhelmed and more than a little frightened. One thing hadn’t changed, though. She didn’t think it ever would. She stepped up after a deep breath, wondering if he already knew she was closer because of super hearing or smell. Regardless, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her head between his shoulder blades, pushing back the mental image of them snapping and shifting only a few minutes before. 

She still loved him. He was still somehow her Daryl, even if she had a lot to learn. 

“I’m scared. You can’t blame me for that.” She felt more than heard him sigh. “But I’m not scared of you.” Now a sharp intake of breath, blue eyes searching for her over his shoulder. Tabby leaned back, only enough for him to turn within her embrace, pressing herself right back into his chest. His arms encircled her immediately, warm and familiar. “I’m scared for our baby, what it means for them. What sort of life they’ll have to lead. What precautions we’ll have to take.”

Daryl nodded but didn’t interrupt. 

“I do know that I want this and I want it with you.” She smiled against his shirt, squeezing him tighter. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Together.” He repeated softly, a hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. 

Pulling back, she gave him an all too familiar smirk, a mischievous twinkle in her wet eyes. “So, if I scratched behind your ear, would your leg shake?”

“Stop.”

@lilyevanstan1325 @willowaftxn83-87 @graciepies @sohhel @lazyneonrabbitt

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x female oc #tabby! #werewolf au #were!daryl #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon twd #twd daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl #Spotify

[arqueervist]

She can make me worse.

#slay the princess #black tabby games #god im so gay for her #the voices in my head are fine too ig /j #jk everyone did a great job #loved the voice acting sm #and the writing #10/10 #moodboard of i am gay

[reipeeeas]

This Earth, for You.

(1/4)

.

.

Harumaki Gohan "This Earth, for You"

#ensemble stars #enstars #あんスタ #enstars fanart #rei sakuma #kaoru hakaze #reikao #undead #adonis otogari #koga ogami #Ps this is a song i associate with my cat more... but reikao also make me feel the same way. warm and fuzzy like my tabby. #Bye-bee I'll go back to writing reports

[rapidlydecayingcorpse]

playing slay the princess has me experiencing every human emotion within the range of three hours

#wonderful wonderful game #go buy it play it #god it's so good #man. #slay the princess is a game developed by black tabby and distributed #rambling in the tags #but dude it has me speechless #the biblical similarities... #what makes us people... #i could generate any theme #i want to write an essay #tags rambling over #stp #slay the princess

[tabbiwritesgenshin]

a little warmth to brighten the night | liyue women

synopsis: how it's like to cuddle with the Liyue gals

word count: 2,152

a/n: i spent an all nighter to write this because i won't be able to for a while...yeah. enjoy this early Valentine's Day gift!

Beidou -

Beidou is the headstrong type of person to tease everyone on the boat. But with someone she's actually comfortable with, who she feels a bit mushy about, she'd be much more open to cuddling. Especially after an adventure where she gets a little beat down, she would appreciate a good cuddle from someone she trusts, it being one of the few moments she shows her more vulnerable side to you

She's a very physical person and likes hugs and other sorts of contact: holding hands, being close, etc. She'll even be so bold as to grab your chin and look you in the eyes. She also believes that touch is a good way to get to know someone. So whenever she gets close to you, you can be certain that she likes you. She's quite the believer that a hug can fix just about anything, so she's sure to give you your affection whenever it's needed.

The Crux captain may also have a slightly rough touch with her skin being rather calloused. If she's more reserved towards physical contact, her hugs would be more gentle and warm but when she's more used to your relationship, she'll be right up on your waist before you can even say hi to her.

In a gentle but firm voice she says:

"Everyone has a warm, soft spot on the inside, and if that spot is exposed, a warm hug on its own can fix just about anything. So, my dear, may I hug you? I know you don't need to be fixed or anything like that, but I just want to give you one, so you know that I always have your back."

Hu Tao -

At first, Hu Tao's love language is usually a simple hug, head pat, or even a snuggle. Despite her job and her usual "playful/prankster" personality, she's really just a big love bug underneath her shell. Even though she won't openly say it, she appreciates those little moments of intimacy, and is really comforted by it.

For the longest time, Hu Tao was alone in both friendship and love. The entire concept of a relationship being quite the hard thing to swallow for her, so at first she would be more laid back with her affection.

Once she's fully comfortable around you, expect her to be clinged onto you 24/7. Hu Tao would be a really touchy person with no particular preference, as long as she got to hug you, it was game.

Hu Tao's eyes slowly opened. She had fallen asleep during the night, and now dawn was coming. She slowly reached around and began to move her hand around, until it touched a soft, warm body, and she couldn't help but smile. At this time of morning, she usually got cold, even with her thick bed sheets. But now... now she was nice and warm. She turned towards the body she had just touched and smiled at it, before wrapping her arms around it and nuzzling herself closer towards it. "Work can wait today"

Keqing-

Keqing is likely to be super proactive about her affections, so she's often the one being snuggled with more than the one doing the snuggling. she's quite gentle with physical contact, so if you started cuddling with her, playing with her hair or holding her hand, she would most likely go along with it and be rather passive. So in a lot of ways she is the perfect cuddle partner, but she rarely initiates it, usually being too embarrassed to ask for it.

When Keqing is stressed, she likes being curled up in the arms of your loving embrace. It's the one thing that can calm her down. She feels safe, comforted, and at peace. She finds the sensation so pleasant, it makes her want to drift off into a calm, gentle sleep…

She's a very affectionate person - she loves to cuddle with you at the end of the day. If especially needy,, she'll even wrap herself around you in a tight embrace and purr softly in your ear. Whenever she's tired, she'll curl up on your lap and take a nap. She's so cute that it's almost too much to bear.

Your eyes grow heavy as you drift off to sleep, resting your head on Keqing’s lap.

“Hmm? Are you asleep already? …How adorable. Sleep well, Y/n, I’ll be right here by your side when you wake up~”

Ningguang -

Ningguang is the kind of girl who likes to be cuddled from behind, wrapped like a blanket in a cozy fashion. She doesn't think too much of physical touch in that sense but if she's stressed on a day, she likes to use it as a coping mechanism. She doesn't always get the chance to be held, so when she does, she's extremely warm, soft, and content.

On certain nights, she enjoys being the "big spoon". Ningguang is a possessive sort of partner, always trying to make clear to you that you were her's and only her's, so her best way of proving it to you was in those small actions.

For both your well-being and her reputation, your relationship had to be kept a secret, so your cuddling session and general affection was very rare, even if it pained Ningguang for it to be way. For all the public and Ningguang's enemies knew, you were only of many workers on the Jade chamber

"Cuddling? With you? Why, of course. Being that close to someone else is very rare for me to be so... intimate. But with you... it's like having a warm fuzzy blanket."

"It feels... Good. But, not in that way, more so... It's like we can be each other's comfort when we need it the most."

"Just two travelers. Keeping each other cozy."

Shenhe -

Although Shenhe usually refrains from showing emotion because of the way she was raised, if she gets close enough to you in that she feels comfortable showing her softer side to you, she can be unexpectedly romantic. She would never admit it though... it'd be too embarrassing.

She can be very attentive with it, if she notices or feels that you are in any way, sad or unwell, she'll spend her entire day trying to comfort you, that includes cuddles. She'll gladly be the big spoon if it meant seeing you better.

Shenhe is a very sensitive person. When touched or held, her heart beats faster and she can feel herself getting flushed in an instant. As her senses are stimulated by the warm touch, she loses herself in the present moment. The world shrinks in size and grows darker as only you are visible to her, being the only thing that mattered. In this moment, she is just a vulnerable girl with no powers being let at your mercy..and to her surprise.. you don't do any harm to her, you only show her your love.

"..."

Her whole body quivered ever so slightly at your touch. She was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions, a mixture of embarrassment and shyness. She was afraid that at any moment, her heart would explode, and she would not be able to hide the fact that she was nervous. She didn't want to be shy, yet when she tried to be more confident, she only felt her cheeks grow a redder color

"...Can you keep doing this?"

Xinyan -

Xinyan's a cool and confident woman and doesn't have much trouble with public affection but gets really embarrassed if you cuddle her and her friends catch on. She's always been pretty bad at keeping her face from turning bright red at such an action. She's the type to snuggle with you, yet secretly be extremely embarrassed about it.

She enjoys being the big spoon, she'd lie down with you curled into her arm or resting your head on her chest - this is also her favorite position, since she can feel your heartbeat as she strokes your hair and hums you her favorite tunes.

After a long day performing for fans, Xinyan's favorite thing to do to rest up is cuddle up with you and enjoy the rest of her evening together with you. When you're stressed or upset, she’s more than happy to listen to you talk and offer words of encouragement. Even when she’s tired, she’ll always make sure to comfort and support you, as she knows how important it is to feel loved and cared for.

Xinyan wraps Y/n onto her arms, holding them in a comforting manner.

"You don't have to worry about anything, I'll make sure everything is okay."

Her voice is quiet, soothing. They close their eyes, falling asleep with a peaceful smile on their face.

"Shhhh... shhhh..."

Yanfei -

When Yanfei cuddles with you, she likes to make sure she's close to you. She makes the absolute most of it by clinging onto your body and holding you tight... In her arms, she can feel your heartbeat, listen to your breathing, and feeling its warmth. There is nothing more comforting than that after a long day of work... When she is embraced this way, there is nothing that can separate her from you.

She gets very cuddly with you and tends to be playful when she's trying to make you laugh. She usually initiates hugs by wrapping her arms around your neck or shoulder and pulling you close to her, and she usually likes being the little spoon at night. She'll probably tease you a bit when you're just having a casual conversation in-between cuddles, but when it comes to sleeping, she is very serious about physical closeness.

She'd be really playful about it, especially if she's with you, just saying sweet things and maybe teasingly flirting, but she'd never be really forward about it. The most she'd do is suggestively raise an eyebrow and give a little smirk, she would usually get pretty embarrassed if you flirted back at her. Yanfei would be totally caught-off-guard, causing her to stutter a lot, maybe even turn bright red depending on how much you teased her

"If you ever get too cold during the night, I can make sure you get nice and warm."

Yelan -

First of all, she's really good at making you feel safe. You can wrap your arms around her and rest your head on her, and all your problems just seem to disappear...

As for the cuddles themselves... She likes being in front. She can wrap her arms around your back and stroke your hair, and pull you closer until you're touching her. And that... is where you both will stay like that for quite a while.

She's not big on physical contact, but if she sees you're having a hard time, she'll wrap her arms around you .When she does, she won't say anything, but she's very good with her hands. She'll stroke and soothe wherever you're sore, easing your mind and body. She doesn't need to say anything... she just lets her touch do the talking. If you can, try to look into her eyes. You may get a sense that it's a side of her she only reveals to you.

As you lie there with your head on her shoulder, her hands stroke down your back, feeling your warmth.A long moment passes, but then she turns her head slightly, to give you a sweet and gentle smile. "..." She doesn't say anything, but that says it all. You have someone by your side now, watching over you... nothing to worry about.

Yun Jin -

Yun Jin is very professional at all times, but as you lay next to her, you can sense an air of gentleness around her. She has a calm, mature demeanor that makes you feel so calm and relaxed. She is warm to the touch and she seems to have a comforting aura that envelopes you completely.

Despite how serious she was at all the times, when you two were alone, free of the prying eyes of her fellow peers at the Opera Troupe, she would always be the little spoon, feeling loved and safe in your arms, something which she rarely felt.

To return from a long day in the Opera house to your loving arms was a feeling better than Celestia itself. Yun Jin would always have her worries and frustrations fade away by one simple hug from you.

Yun Jin strokes your cheek with her finger, a gentle, yet warm touch. Her eyes are closed, her mind a blank slate, and she rests her cheek against yours. You are both quiet, and only the rhythm of your breaths is audible. You look up at her beautiful tranquil eyes, their softness only adding to the overall serenity of the situation. She then leans in and says, "I am here."

#beidou x reader #hu tao x reader #keqing x reader #ningguang x reader #shenhe x reader #xinyan x reader #yanfei x reader #yelan x reader #yun jin x reader #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #this has drained my sanity #❥ tabbi writes ❥

[lazyneonrabbitt]

MarchWeres prompt day 31

Celebrations

Daryl Dixon x Original female characters

A/N: The last prompt! It has been a ride, this first try at a writing event. I had fun!!

Preparations were in full swing now, within the walls of Alexandria.

The whole last week had been about today's celebration. Something for everyone including the kids.

The adults were gathering tables and lining them with cloths, taking plates, glasses cups and cutlery from their homes and setting the table. Others gathered bread, prepared thermos' with tea and brought pitchers of water to the tables.

Everything was on the way to be an amazing brunchlike meal. Inside the closest house, meats were prepared. Cooled and sliced or heated and put in sauce. Fresh greens and vegetables were placed in between the plates too.

All while the kids of the community ran around in search of the last piece of the celebration meal.

Eggs.

All of them had stayed busy yesterday, painting them all kinds of pretty colors.

Daryl had spent all week out in the woods to get as many different meats for this feast. He brought home a collection of birds, fish and some small game. He had his hopes set on a deer as well, but even with his enhanced senses he hadn't been able to sniff one out in the area. He was tired from being in his changed form day after day, but he found it important to have this one day of feeling normal.

He hoped to spend the day before with all the kids and assisting his wives with egg painting babysitting, but instead he spent all day in the creek, fishing for those last bits of the feast.

He had apologized about it throughout the entire evening but was time after time assured everything went well on their side and told how happy they were with what he had brought back.

"Come on, big guy." Tabby was the one on older Dixon-duty while Sherry went to put the kids to bed after the moms spent enough time scrubbing paint out of their furry paws.

Tabby took Daryl upstairs to find Sherry getting ready for bed already. She knew her partners would be up only a short while after Tabby left.

"Yer too good fer me, girls." Daryl's tired, gruff voice sounded quietly as one pair of hands unbuttoned his shirt and another undid the tie on his sweats and pulled them off his body. "You did amazing, bringing us so much food." They peppered kisses all over him and lead him to bed, each curling up against him on either side. "Everyone is gonna have a feast thanks ro your hard work." They kissed him goodnight, sharing a kiss over his chest too and making sure their hunter rested.

"How's the search going, Jude? Has RJ beaten your count yet?" The siblings were digging around the porch stairs, RJ bouncing as he found another egg and put it in his bucket. "Yeah. He's so good at this! Are you sure uncle Daryl hasn't taught him stuff?" Sherry only giggled at her as she leaned down and sneakily pointed out a yet unfound egg and gave the girl a wink before moving on to watch around the area.

Tabby was on the other end of the street, watching a set of fluffy rascals on their own egg hunt as she peeled one cracked egg for Willow to gnaw on while Hunter and Rose were on either side of someone's shrubbery and sniffing out the remaining eggs.

"Hey, no sniffs. That's cheating, Rosie.." Tabby volunteered to watch the pups and make sure they wouldn't either eat everything as soon as they found it, or sniff out everything and not leave any for the other kids. All of that while carrying around Willow in her arms, who held an egg between her paws and smacked loudly as she slowly nommed on her snack.

It wasn't long before all surveilling parents came back with the kids and all found eggs, the indicator of the feast ready to begin.

All the kids were seated inbetween the adults around the table and proud tales of egg hunting were shared all over the place.

If anyone would take pictures of this and show them to anyone outside the community they'd velieve they were tsken before the fall, but still here everyone sat together enjoying their easter sunday feast.

"Hunter, eat some bread too." Sherry handed her son slices of bread to put his meat on. "You need to eat other things too, nit just the tastiest stuff."

Rose sat on the other side of her, peeling an egg and stuffing it in her mouth entirely before downing a glass of water and moving on to put warm meat on a slice of bread and devouring that too.

"Wow, here I thought Hunter was the one with the apetite." Carol laughed behind her hand, finishing her bite of food.

"Let the girl eat! She needs the energy if she still wants to spar with me later." Rosita interjected, catching Rose's attention with the mention of sparring later.

"Yeah!" The pup exclaims around a mouthfull of food. "Go'a eat good!"

Daryl was proud of his little fighter girl. Such a fierce little kid.

"Hey, Lobo. Can you hold her for a bit?" Tabby had moved over to hand Willow to her dad. "I'd love to use both hands to eat."

Willow was gladly taken off Tabby's hands by Daryl, who only had a few bites left on his plate and shared those with her while Tabby ate her own meal.

Sherry watched how Daryl kept his daughter entertained with a piece of meat on his fork. Tabby joined in to stare at him skillfully dodging her grabby hands and keeping it out of reach with the sweetest loving smile on his face. Both moms kinda stopped eating, food hovering on varying degrees between their plate and mouths as they watched what was concidered the most beautiful scene.

Daryl could feel the stares and pauzed his movements, having Willow steal the last piece of meat off his fork and nom at it, pulling back Daryl's attention to her and feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He wasn't used to being fatherly so out in the open in front of everyone, but it was clear everyone who saw the scene play out loved it. "Good job, Willow." Carol cheered from across the table. "And here I remember you worrying about being a shitty dad back at the prison." She continued her sentimental speech with love. "Did you ever think back then you'd be as lucky as you are now?"

Daryl took a moment to admire all he had, then. Willow in his lap, happily chewing away.

Sherry and Tabby, each occupied with one pup now, cleaning paws or just being happy together. It was perfect to him.

"Nah, tha' ol' me woulda told ya yer crazy fer even thinkin' tha." He softly booped Willow's nose as dhe looked up at him. "M'the luckiest. N' I love all'a my family."

#marchweres #sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd au #werewolves #werewolf #werepups tag #sherry tag #tabby tag

[misscammiedawn]

To be loved is to be altered. To be perceived is to invite a new version of yourself into the world born from the other's eyes.

One of many tales spun in Slay The Princess.

Every chapter your perceptions shape the princess and add to the complex web of contradictions that make up her entirety and every chapter her perceptions of the bird boy protagonist add more voices to the menagerie of voices in his head.

I think a lot about the Leave/Slay endings and the simple line:

After everything that has been said and done can either one of them truly remember what it was to be the unaltered person they were before their relationship (don't get the wrong idea, two people interacting have a relationship).

It's impossible.

Though it's possibly an allegory for going through multiple relationships I prefer to read it as an allegory of the joys and pains of knowing a person and intimately, the game exists only within the boundaries of this entanglement. That's the story.

I long for a route which hits Eternal Sunshine territory. Like the moment of clarity in that every voice exists at once but I'd like to focus on that former allegory a moment.

What if you were to choose to make no choices whatsoever.

The game starts.

You're in a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a princess. You're here to slay her. If you don't it will be the end of the world.

[Close your eyes and do nothing]

And yes The Narrator would protest. Perhaps even cold hands may eventually reach out. But you do nothing. Some people just aren't ready to break another heart or feel their own heart broken. Some people would rather avoid being changed by the eyes of another or invite a new version of themselves to be born into the world through being perceived.

It's safer that way. Right?

and like Joel Barish in Eternal Sunshine you refuse to go forward and so you go backwards. You cannot change the past but you can bring your baggage from the past into the present. It's human nature after all. We can't help but reflect, compare and construct from that we already understand.

Why don't you think back to the last "princess" you shared your heart with? The one from before. Think about them for a few moments. Think about all the transformations you inflicted upon one another over time. Did it end beautifully? Tragically? Horrifically?

It doesn't matter.

The game never lets you avoid your fate. The basement awaits.

I wonder, though, what would be in the basement when you approach The Princess for the first time with your baggage projected upon her?

#camden posting #slay the princess #black tabby games #I considered writing fan-fiction #but my better judgment won out #lowkey I think it'd just launch you straight to a later chapter artstyle with unique dialogue and a Strange style ending

[frequentlysecondo]

Mia Arancia || Fluff || Primo x gn!Reader

Tl;dr: Sharing fruit as a love language and Primo deserves a break from gardening in the summer.

This is my first time posting writing on tumblr, I apologize if my formatting is a little clumsy <3

In the enchanting nature of the Ministry’s garden, the rows of greenery were bathed in the golden hues of the rapidly approaching end of the day and appeared as otherworldly as ever. Primo could be seen standing in the middle of his growing vegetables, looking reminiscent of a scarecrow as he marveled over what must’ve been long hours of work, remaining motionless as he stood exactly where you had hoped to find him.

Primo simply observed your leisure stroll as you made your way closer and arched an eyebrow curiously. His gaze flickered between your approaching figure and the horizon, questioning the unexpected visit. Nonetheless, the sight of you beckoning him from the other side of the garden with an eager wave only piqued his interest further. Knowing your penchant for mischief and mystery, a smile tugged at his face when you approached.

Drawing closer to Primo, you tilted your head, studying his countenance intently. His voice, though calm and composed, carried a note of playful suspicion.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" He inquired with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You're up to something, aren't you, mio dolcezzo?"

You shook your head, your faux serious expression suddenly shifting into a wide grin. "No, no," you responded, your voice laden with a faux sense of urgency. "This is a matter of very serious business, my dear. C’mere." With a playful flourish, you waggled your fingers and extended a hand in a hopeful invitation.

Once your fingers had interlaced together, the two of you ventured further into the back corners of the garden. Eventually, your steps came to a halt, leading you to a secluded alcove adorned by a magnificent orange tree. Its branches gracefully bowed under the weight of growing fruit imbued with the warm hues of a setting sun. Primo’s eyes sparkled with delight as his gaze swept over the nearly picturesque scene before him, his eyes moving from the lush emerald leaves to your face. A smile played upon his lips as he clasped your hands in his own, your fingers entwined like an unbreakable bond.

“Ah, you’ve led me to the orange tree,” he whispered, a blend of curiosity and surprise clearly evident in his words. A confused chuckle escaped him.

“I had planned on harvesting these in a few days time.” he admitted with a hint of amusement.

Before he could continue, you drew his attention to a particularly low-hanging branch which bent under the weight of a perfectly ripe orange. Excitement brimmed in your voice as you pointed it out, the already wrinkled sleeve of his shirt crumpled further in your fist in attempt to pull his body closer to the branch in question.

“But look! This one is ripe today.”

Leaning over your shoulder, Papa reached up to gracefully pluck the orange from its branch. A glimmer of admiration danced in your eyes as you watched his movements, amazed by the confidence held in the simple swing of his arm as he brought it back down to open his palm in a proposal.

“Are you suggesting we share our first orange of the harvest?” He gently turned the fruit in his hand, inspecting the dip where the gentle curve of a leather peel met the wooden stem. The time spent considering what he had asked was closer to a day dream rather than a debate on your actual answer, artificial hesitation induced by an overactive imagination. After a few moments your distraction was cut short by the feel of firm, pitted rind being pressed into your palm. “We must eat it together, of course," His expression beamed with a sense of pride as he spoke, eagerly presenting you with the literal fruit of his labor as a treasure to be cherished, shared.

“I’ve always thought oranges are best when split with someone else.” It was hard to resist a smile while agreeing and holding the orange up to the light to study it for yourself. Sitting down in the grass under the tree, there’s a comforting wave of tranquility as you lean back against the textured bark before pushing a fingernail against the rough skin of the fruit and slowly beginning to pull it apart. Primo slowly sits down next to you with a soft sigh as his muscles stretch, your shoulders bumping together sending a rush of electricity through your veins even after all the time you’d spent together.

"You know, you're quite good at peeling these things," he mentions quietly as he studies your movements. "How do you do it so effortlessly?" He asks curiously, raising a brow. You laugh in response, the sound twinkling like wind chimes in the light breeze as you held out a slice of the orange to Primo.

“Lots of practice. Oranges are my favorite.”

"Orange peeling is a rather unique skill to practice," The grin that shines on his face could easily beat out the brilliance of the sun when he reaches out to take the section of fruit.

“You can peel it so easily and swiftly," He continues with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“You always make the simplest of things most interesting. Thank you for offering your skills to me, mia arancia." His attempts to butter you up make you laugh, scooting closer to him in order to duck under his arm despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air.

"We'll have to share one each day, sì?" He suggests while biting into the orange slice, the sweet juice dribbling on his chin and smearing along the black lines of his face paint that was already distorted by the sweat of the day.

“I would like that very much. It’ll remind you to take a break, too.” You tease Primo playfully. Despite being retired, he still insists upon spending long days tending to his plants, rare to take a rest without being prompted. The thought of meeting every day for something so small simmered in your mind, the tender domesticity of being near one another for no real reason other than to exist. Together.

“Did you know there’s a lot of poetry about sharing oranges with your loved ones?” You ask suddenly as you pop a slice of the juicy fruit into your mouth and continue to peel the opposite side.

"I didn't know that," he admits. "About the poetry." He pauses for a moment. "What does it say?" He asks quietly while he lays his head atop yours, content to watch your fingers move swiftly to continue separating the sections.

“It’s all symbolic of sharing your life and love in a gentle way. A simple act of service can carry great meaning, you see?”

Pure contentment bubbles in your chest as you feel Papa shift closer to you and the feather light flutter of his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder is enough to make you wonder if you have ever truly felt this peaceful before. You hold up another piece of the fruit close to his face in offering as you explain further.

“To love someone enough to cherish the mundane. I’ll read you some.”

And so you sat together until long after the horizon imitated the color of the fruit passed between between your hands, repeating lines of prose while sharing an orange or three with the sweet nectar sticky between your fingers and lips.

“[..] They got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy,

As ordinary things often do

Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.

This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy.

I did all the jobs on my list

And enjoyed them and had some time over.

I love you. I'm glad I exist.”

-The Orange, Wendy Cope, 1992

#ghost bc #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus I #papa primo #primo #primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #primo emeritus #fluff #self indulgent fluff #sharing fruit as a love language #Tabbi Writes

[socialmediasocrates]

please...this weekend.....please.....

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 zevlor #tav x zevlor #zevlor x tav #please....please.....i just want to post something this weekend #i was so behind on my posting schedule because of that ungodly long chapter #thirty thousand fucking words #i yearn for death #but i also want to write more zevlor and tabby #tabby northgate #mothspeak