#stp fanfic

[salty-an-disco]

This is the story of a man named– wait… you’re not Stanley! And this isn’t–

Hmmm. Well, this is awkward. Wouldn’t you know about a man named Stanley? Works in an office, likes to push buttons– No?

Oh, well, while this isn’t my usual script, it does seem that there is a story to be found here. Isn’t that nice? Oh, and would you look at that– It seems like you’re the hero of it! How fun!

OK, let’s see–

You’re on a path in the woods. And at the ending 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’ll be the end of the world.

Oooohh, concise, but immediately intriguing. With a nice twist of expected roles. I like it!

#slay the princess #the stanley parable #tsp Narrator #stp protagonist #Displaced Narrator AU #< how imma be tagging anything related to this AU #choose your own adventure #crossover au #stp fanfic #Sal Writes

[tai-janai]

Reunite

Path 11: Eternity

(Chapter Select)

You awaken in a cabin.

That's all it is. Nothing particularly special about it. A little dusty, but nice. Almost cozy. Windows, table, door. Just as familiar as always.

You realize, after a moment, that your mind is empty. The Voice isn't with you.

You look down at yourself. Though your figure wavers, you are no longer wounded.

You turn around to try the door. It doesn't budge, an abject denial. Instead, you turn to the table. The table with the blade.

It is real this time. Not semi-corporeal. Not invisible, not textureless. You grab it, and you feel its weight for the first time. You look into the bright metal blade. You catch a glimpse of a reflection in it. You focus on it; it is something you've never seen before.

"Is that... me?"

The Cabin:

No, but... You've never met me before, have you?

The blade twitches in your hand. As if magnetically, it pushes from you, and floats in front of you. Like some sort of unnatural contortion, it spins, and its form is misshapen. Then, another identical blade splits from it.

Then another, and another. Many blades float about you, all reflecting parts of the same something.

If you have questions, now is the time to ask them.

-AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION-

You all know the drill. Ten questions to ask the Echo. Leave reasonable questions in the comment section here, and this post will be reblogged with an answer at some point soon. ("I" and "My" for yourself/MC, "you" for the echo, if possible)

This will be first come, first served, but multiple questions at once is advised against. If your question is asked and answered, then you get the go-ahead to ask another.

Please have caution but let your curiosity guide you! Try to keep them in the same style as the ones asked in the Source Material. You only get ten questions, do make sure to make them count! Nothing is quite off-limits, but there are answers to everything, and everything that has led to this is important.

#stp #stp fanart #stp fanfic #slay the princess

[strixcattus]

Chapter I: Fear/Safety

That's how this works.

History

System check. Go.

Heart: Beating. Incredibly quickly, to boot.

Lungs: Shaky but functional. Airways unobstructed.

Liver and digestive system: Not actively trying to kill you.

Nerves and muscles: Responsive to voluntary commands.

Sense organs:

Paranoid’s eyes snap open, then slam shut again at the sting of light from outside.

Operational. Your eyes have been shut for long enough that the pupils could dilate. You’ve been here for longer than an instant.

Mental faculties: Functioning well enough to progress this far in the checklist. Further analysis is impossible to conduct without filtering it through itself, and thus meaningless.

Backup: Has not yet complained about the systems check.

“Who’s there?” he asks, aloud. His voice is louder than he’d expected it to be.

No one answers.

He opens his eyes again.

He is in a cabin, which is already unusual. Normally, the cabin would be a ways down a path—which ideally would be solid beneath his feet, and if he were to really get his hopes up, would even be open and lined with perfectly ordinary trees.

The cabin is… very nice, actually. Its walls are made of clean stone, with wide, glassless windows. Cloth banners drape from the tops of the walls on either side of an ornate wooden door, and the blade is perched on the edge of a sturdy, carved wooden table—already quite a step up from the other cabins he’s had the dubious pleasure of entering. A warm light filters through the viewing window in the door.

This is a much friendlier place than any other cabin he’s seen, which means it is not to be trusted. The other cabins presented themselves as exactly as dangerous as they actually were. This one is hiding something.

He turns around and grabs for the handle of the door to the outside. It’s well above his head—how inconsiderate of the designer of this cabin. The body he normally inhabits would have been tall enough to reach it easily, but he’s clearly not taking the backseat in that body anymore.

He’s alone, and he is in his own body, his pathetically short, scrawny body that can feel every molecule of this world trying to drag him to the ground.

He finally manages to grasp the handle on his third attempt, legs kicking uselessly at the floor they can no longer reach. The quilt on his back falls to the floor without a hand holding it in place. It’s fine. There’s no one else here to see him, and he can pick it back up once he’s opened the door and escaped this place.

His feet find purchase on the wall beside the door, and he pulls. And then he pulls harder, and then he tries to twist the ring-handle as though that might be the obstacle preventing the door from opening.

It’s not, obviously. It’s locked. Where has he seen that trick before? Right—every time he tried to go somewhere the Narrator didn’t want him.

He lets go and falls to the floor, the bones of his arms clashing painfully with the cobblestones even through the fabric of the quilt beneath him. This is fine. There are more ways out of a cabin than the door.

The windows on the right are just low enough for him to look out—and no doubt low enough to climb through. The Narrator might never have bothered to mention them, but they’re still a viable escape route.

He clambers up to the frames of the windows and looks down.

The ground spans out far beneath him, a dry plain with steam rising from the ground. It’s certainly a far cry from the woods he’s used to, but that will just make it easier to see any ambushes coming, and the fall still looks safe enough. He’ll be fine. He just needs to go back and grab his quilt, and then—

His footing slips and he falls forwards into the window, all hopes for a controlled landing vanishing from his mind. If he’s lucky, he’ll get away with a broken arm. If he isn’t, it might be one of his joints that snaps, or even his skull—

His face collides with an unseen barrier, and he’s sent sliding back onto the cabin floor, facing a harsh landing for the second time in as many minutes. At least this one isn’t far enough to break any bones.

The windows won’t let anything pass through them. Of course they don’t. Do they even exist on a conceptual level? Is that why the Narrator never mentioned them?

Fine. There is one more exit he hasn’t tried. He’ll just have to play into the Narrator’s games. That’s how this works.

The Narrator, who is still not present.

Quilt back in place, he takes the blade from the table and grips it in his beak. The handle of the other door is even higher than the first. He’ll have to jump and hope he’s lucky enough to maintain his grip.

His fingers slip out of the ring on his first attempt, but he manages to grasp it on the second, and this door swings open the moment he’s caught hold of the handle, as though the cabin itself wants him to enter the basement. He drops to the floor and steps onto the stairs, slipping the blade beneath his quilt.

The stairs are as polished as the cabin, with a soft carpet to match the banners. Beautiful candelabras light the way down—a nice change of pace from the basements lit with starlight alone, if that.

“Is that you, my hero?” asks the Princess from somewhere unseen. Her voice is clear and innocent.

Great. She’s as much of a liar as the cabin.

“No, that’s someone else,” he mumbles as he descends the final few steps to see what, exactly, he’s working with.

The Princess is actually exactly where she’s supposed to be—at the other end of the basement, beyond another carpet, beneath another tantalizingly open window, and with one hand in chains. A second chain hangs ominously on her other side, leading to nothing.

She herself looks like an ordinary princess, with a golden tiara atop her head, wide eyes, and the most extravagantly puffy dress Paranoid has ever seen—not as though his sample has much in the way of puffy dresses, but he still feels safe asserting that this one is particularly puffy.

She tilts her head to one side. “...Is that you?”

She’s fishing for information. He’ll have to ensure he doesn’t give her any. Play dumb.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, gripping the blade tighter. “Do you know where we are?”

The Princess shrugs. “We’re in a basement! And above that is a cabin. And outside that… I’m not sure.”

“Who locked you down here?”

She pauses for a moment, then shrugs again. “I don’t know! But it doesn’t matter anymore, right? Now that you’re here to free me?”

She’s playing dumb, too, isn’t she? And what’s more, she’s better at it than him. He’ll have to be more direct or he’ll never get anything. “Who are you?”

“I’m… a Princess?” Her voice shakes a little, as though she’s unsure if this is the answer he wants to hear. “Oh! If you need a name, you can call me the Damsel.”

Damsel. A damsel in distress. Something to be rescued. Or an innocent. Of course, this is all assuming she’s telling the truth about what she is, and since she’s a Princess, by default I can’t rely on that.

“What do you want?” he asks, squinting at the Damsel.

Her response is quicker than her previous ones. “I want to leave!” Of course she does. She’s a Princess, after all. “And then after that…”

The Damsel trails off into thought, and Paranoid leans forward. “After that?”

She shrugs. Again. “I don’t really know! What do you want to do after we leave?”

“Get far, far away from this cabin,” Paranoid whispers. It should be soft enough that the Damsel can’t hear him, but she tilts her head when he speaks nonetheless. “Do you know how you’d get out?” he asks at a more normal volume. It’s a risky question, but at this point it’s probably the only way he can get any real information.

The Damsel shrugs. Maybe she’s not as good at playing dumb as Paranoid thought, if she only has one strategy—but she is still managing to dance around all his questions without missing a beat, which means she very much has one up on him. “I don’t know! Don’t you have any ideas?”

She cannot possibly be this incapable. She’s a Princess. She has to have a way out. She’s just playing dumb so he can let his guard down and she can strike.

Maybe he ought to strike first. But that would be showing his hand before he can see hers, and if she has something up her sleeve he doesn’t yet know about, it could spell the end for him. Then he’ll just wake up in a new cabin, and she’ll be even more of a threat. That’s how this works.

There’s something strange about that shackle on her wrist. He can’t see it, but he knows there has to be something. Some way she has more power than it seems she does. Something she has over him. That’s how this works.

She wants to use him. For what, he can’t tell. She’s a lot more cagey than the other Princesses he’s met. But she clearly wants to use him for something. That’s how this works.

That’s how this works. There’s a set narrative, and he has to figure out where everything fits into it before it swallows him whole.

Her hand. It’s not unusually slender, but it is slight enough, and the shackle large enough, that her hand has already half-slipped through her chains. She could probably slide it all the way out on her own.

And the moment she sees weakness in him, she will do so.

The Damsel tilts her head, and he remembers that the normal thing to do in this situation would be to continue the conversation. Anything out of the ordinary might tip her off that he knows that she knows she has the upper hand, and then there would be no reason to keep lying.

“No. I don’t know how I would get you out.” I know full well how you would get out, but there’s not a chance I’m enabling it. I’m just going to stay right here until I have you figured out, and then I’ll find my ticket out of this cabin.

She frowns. “Really? But… you’re supposed to save me. That’s how this works.”

That’s how this works?

That is not how this works. They’re supposed to slay Princesses, not save them, because even though the Narrator who ordered them to is clearly an untrustworthy sack of half-truths, the Princess they’re meant to slay is just as clearly a world-ending monstrosity who would be one step away from ending them if she didn’t need them to…

…If she didn’t need them to escape. Is that what this is? That’s how this works? She can’t just take her hand out of the chains because she needs him to do it for her?

Only one way to find out. He’s probably going to regret this. “Isn’t that chain big enough to slip over your hand? What do you even need me for?”

The Damsel glances down at the shackle, places her free hand on it, and slips it off her wrist. Of course she does.

…Then she slides it back on and looks at Paranoid. “Like that?”

What.

“Yes. Like that.” Paranoid grips the blade as tightly as he can. “Why can’t you just do that?”

The Damsel looks at him for a second before breaking out in laughter. “You’re funny! You’re really funny! Don’t you know that’s not how this works?”

Apparently not. “Explain to me how this does work.”

“I’m supposed to wait for you to rescue me,” she says. “Then you’re supposed to rescue me. Then we’re supposed to leave together. And then… I don’t know! I think that’s where it’s supposed to end.” She tilts her head. “Why? How else would it work?”

Paranoid hesitates. This is probably going to get him killed, and getting himself killed will only get him killed in a second, even worse manner.

…On the other hand, he’s really out of ideas at this point.

“You’re supposed to wait for me down here,” he begins. “Then I’m supposed to come down here, and you’re supposed to threaten me into letting you out, if you even want out instead of slicing me to pieces. Then either you kill me, or I kill you and then die, or I give up and let you wreak havoc on the world.”

The Damsel blinks. “And then what?”

“And then…” Paranoid shakes his head as though that will cause some thread of logic to slide into place. “I don’t know. I think that’s where it’s supposed to end.”

“Hm,” the Damsel says. “I think I like my version better.”

Paranoid forces out a laugh. “Yeah. I wish that were how this worked.”

“That is how this works!” She holds up her chained hand. “Can you let me out now?”

She’s asking him to let her out of the chains that she just slipped over her hand a minute ago. Sure. Fine. This may as well happen. Except…

“The door’s locked upstairs,” he says. “I couldn’t get out.”

The Damsel frowns. “Really? Do you think it might open if I tried it?”

He’s about to say no, that’s not how this works, the point of the cabin is that the Princess isn’t allowed to leave and the Hero can come and go whenever. Then he changes his mind and is about to say yes, absolutely, you’re some sort of world-ending monstrosity and I’m all of three feet tall. Then some bitter part of him is about to say no, everything about this whole setup is out to get us both but also me specifically but also you specifically, and if the past has taught me anything it’s that the way out will only open when you’re dead.

What he actually says is, “Probably. At least you’d be able to reach the doorknob.”

She holds out her chained arm, and Paranoid takes a moment to mourn the loss of the last bit of sense he has before taking hold of the shackle and slipping it over her hand.

The Damsel watches him through every step of the process, not as though there’s more than one step to it. “Your hands are really small.”

Shut up, he thinks but doesn’t say.

He leads the way up the stairs, half-expecting the door at the top to slam shut on them. But it doesn’t, and why would it, when the Narrator has been silent this entire time? It was always his doing whenever a door locked on them.

They step onto the first floor of the cabin, and the Damsel strides past him, reaching for the door handle. It’s easily within her grasp.

Paranoid clutches the blade under his quilt. If the Damsel can’t open the door, it’s his only remaining option. He’ll have to slay her and leave before he can learn what the consequences are.

The latch clicks and the door swings open.

The Damsel steps to the side as though allowing him through first. A courtesy? Or a way of making sure her back isn’t turned to him? Or a way of making sure his back is turned to her?

Or maybe he’s thinking about this too much, and he just needs to get some fresh air.

He steps outside into the driest “woods” he’s ever encountered. Heat wafts through the openings in his quilt, as warm as if he were standing in front of a roaring bonfire. He’ll probably end up boiling if he stays here for too long, what with the quilt wrapped around him… though there might not be enough moisture in the air for “boiling” to be an option. How is that even possible? There were steam clouds, right? Or are they just… haze?

It shouldn’t matter, anyway. This is where it all ends. That’s how this works.

He waits for a moment. The void does not come.

When he turns around, the Damsel is looking at him, brow furrowed for the first time he’s seen. “It’s supposed to end now, right? That’s how this works, right?”

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s how this works.”

Clearly, how this works and how it is are not necessarily always the same.

“I think… we need to look around,” he begins. For some reason his eyes hurt. Why would heat make his eyes hurt? “See if there’s anything… anything else…”

The blade slips from his grasp, dry grass crunching beneath it. He does not land on top of it, saved by the Damsel catching him from behind.

“Anything… else out there,” he mumbles as his eyes close and he finally falls asleep.

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the paranoid #the damsel #stp fanfic

[roseddraws]

Okay so I posted this on Ao3 ages ago but completely forgot I meant to upload here so uh… better late than never?

Anyway this is the first part of my roleswap au :D Working on part two now; I’ll upload it here once it’s done, but there are two chapters on my Ao3 already if anyone wants to check it out!

#okay the drawing is kind of boring but I figured it wasn’t getting any better so I might as well upload it #STP’s style is harder to imitate than it looks godDAMN #slay the princess #slay the princess fanart #slay the princess au #slay the princess fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #stp au #stp fanfic #also chains are so hard to draw #I regret committing to this I’m gonna have to draw chains for EVERY PART #slay the monster au #<- AU tag

[toon-topaz]

Hehe here's some art I made for mine and @birdmitosis's ParaCold RP, that I am currently transferring to AO3

#toontopazart #slay the princess #stp fanart #stp fanfic #stp spoilers #stp voices #the spectre #stp the princess #voice of the cold #voice of the paranoid #paracold

[ace-robot-has-matcha]

Wow it’s done hooray wow

Read Smoke and Glass Chapter 1

Edit: I forgot the knife jdhdjffhsjdjcjsjd

#stp smoke and glass #slay the princess #stp fanfic #stp #the princess stp #the hero stp #voice of the hero #fanfic #my art #my fanfic #digital art #artists on tumblr #ao3 fanfic #fanfic cover

[wynn-ing-at-art]

forgot to post this yesterday but here's a lil scene from my fic, here!

#slay the princess #stp #stp fanfic #slay the princess fanfic #i know it doesn't exactly look like it is but i promise it is #ocs #full background #proud of myself for this one ngl

[cosmic--dandelion]

The Voices as animals! Clockwise from top right: the Hero, the Smitten, the Skeptic, the Opportunist, the Stubborn, the Broken, the Paranoid, the Contrarian, the Hunted, and the Cheated. Not pictured: the Cold (a trout).

#slay the princess #illuminating heaven #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #stp fanfic

[salty-an-disco]

Yeah, might as well see what this story is about. [Proceed]

Indeed! We’re onto an incredible adventure you and I, I can already tell.

Ahem.

You walk up to the cabin. A plain wooden structure sat atop a hill. You’ll find the princess within.

I should warn you, before you go any further: She will lie, she will cheat, she will do everything in her power to stop you from slaying her. Don’t believe a word she says.

‘We’re not going through this are we? She’s a princess! We’re supposed to save Princesses, not–

OH, geez. Who said that? Did you say that? But a prompt didn’t even appear! I– I thought that was the established form of conversation. I narrate, monologue, go on different — but fun and engaging — tangents, and you reply with short sentences at the end of it! You shouldn’t change an established pattern like this, at least warn me–!

‘Uhm. Mr. Narrator–’

ARGH. There you go again! Hrrng. Although… it doesn’t really sound like you? Is there someone else here?

‘Yes. Sort of. I’m them, but– not? Me talking is not the same as them talking. At least, I don’t think–’

Then why are you still talking? It’s unsettling! You shouldn’t be able to interrupt my narration like this! That’s not how I work–

‘I’m sorry, but I cannot just stay quiet! I’m also part of this story, you know?’

Hrrrnnng. At least separate your lines more from the narration. I can barely notice you!

‘Uhm.’

Voice of the Hero: Is this better?

Yes, much better. Ahem. As I was saying, before being rudely interrupted, you shouldn’t believe a word–

Voice of the Hero: You already said that part. And you were actually the one who interru–

AS I WAS SAYING BEFORE BEING RUDELY INTERRUPTED–

Voice of the Hero: …

… You shouldn’t believe a word the Princess says.

There. You can say your piece now.

Voice of the Hero: …thanks. Yeah, as I was saying… … I forgot what I was gonna say.

Thank you for your contribution. Very enlightening and necessary to the progression of this story.

Voice of the Hero: Hey, that’s not fair! You were the one who side-tracked me!

#Displaced Narrator AU #tsp narrator #voice of the hero #stp protagonist #crossover au #slay the princess #the stanley parable #stp fanfic #tsp fanfic #choose your own adventure #sal writes

[dualogical]

I've been thinking how would things change if Quiet started a a child. The Blade determines the age of the Princess in this case, someone you can trust more (someone your own age) or not, an adult. This is a love story but of the parental kind... well sort of. As it turns out most routes would make lousy parents. About the Voice of the Hero here, did you know that baby crows have blue eyes?

Smitten: Come on he gives peacock vibes I'm sorry. Very cheerful in this case.

Stubborn, locking eyes with the child version of adversary: Her face looks extremely punchable.

Paranoid: as you can see the fluff hides BEAK and the wings are maybe for intimidation purposes. his tufts/ears can rotate in many directions

Broken is obviously always on the edge of an anxiety attack. Very obedient to his own determent.

#slay the princess #the long quiet #stp the long quiet #stp voices #stp hero #stp paranoid #stp broken #stp smitten #stp stubborn #child au #deaged au #I can't see the damsel and the witch as anything other than children in this route #just like I can't see the tower and apotheosis #as anything other than adults #stp fanfic #stp fanart

[tai-janai]

Reunite

Path 12: An End

(Chapter Select)

At the bottom of the stairs is the basement. Smooth stone walls and cobble flooring. A lone, barred window that lets in bright white light.

The Other sits at the other end. It does not wear a metal chain around its neck. Held tightly in its hands is a pristine blade. His form has changed somewhat; he looks softer than you remember, and a cape is wrapped around his shoulders.

It looks at you, and its eyes soften. Its lips turn upward for a sad, relieved smile. It is happy to see you. After everything the Echo said, you still feel like he is a part of You.

The Hero:

Hey...

His voice is weak. He tilts his head and watches you approach, but he does not move.

"Did you hear any of that?"

Something flashes in his eyes, like he hasn't figured out if he did or not. Then he scratches the back of his neck.

The Hero:

Yeah, I... The, uh, sound travels pretty well into here.

You sit on the floor in front of him. He seems a bit flustered.

The Hero:

I-it was... a lot of information. I'm not really sure... how to take it.

"How did you get here?"

The Hero:

Oh. I... got really worried after you got taken away by a pair of hands, so I kind of... followed you. It wasn't that hard, I know your psyche pretty well by now. But before this place was anything, I'd already been split from you. Then, I was put down here for... some time. I don't know, time is really weird here. It felt like forever but I know it wasn't.

He looks down at the blade in his hands.

The Hero:

And this thing was here. It's always supposed to be, right? One of those, uh, rules?

"What about the Others?"

The Hero:

Well, I finally reached the end of the last world, so they're probably all together. Knowing them, they're all probably looking for me. I'm only here, though, after I left that last world, there's no part of me left with them at this point. Not 'til I leave this one, too.

The Hero:

That world... At the end, you had been taken over by something, were you? The thing that wanted those Beings dead... The Princess?

You remember the way your body did not feel like yours. The way your mind conflicted with itself, wanting the Being dead, because it was meant to kill you. You remember that fear of death.

The Hero:

Are you okay?

You look into his eyes. Your eyes. His eyes.

"Do you know what you were supposed to be?"

The Hero:

Ah... The Long Quiet, He called it. If you're asking if I was ever that, I don't really know. Your memories are all I have, and all we know is that we woke up in a cabin.

"Did you know you were supposed to slay the Princess? And by connection, me?"

It laughs a little.

The Hero:

I only barely knew there was a Princess, mate. I had no idea what we were or what we were supposed to do. My only sense of purpose came when we saw that first Being, anxious and trapped. We felt bad for it, even if it was terrifying and hated us.

The Hero:

The... idea of killing you feels weird. You're so... me. But I've been doing it this whole time. It's something I was made for, like some... inevitability. It feels obvious until I take the second to think about it.

Its eyes trace the edge of the blade.

"What comes next?"

He thinks. His face contorts in frustration.

The Hero:

I... I never felt like the one making the choices here. He said I am choice, but I don't know how to make any, myself.

The Hero:

He made it sound like three options. I have qualms about each.

The Hero:

I could slay you, the way I was always supposed to. Death and change would be gone, and all of the other guys will get their happily forever after in the places they are now. Or ... We fix ourselves back up to being... what, everything? A god? And then... things will just... keep going?

"And the third option...?"

The Hero:

I stay here with you, and we don't do anything, forever. The cabin crumbles and it'll be just us. And... I'll never see the others again. Nobody will join back together, but, they'll eventually die. I, uh... don't think the guy upstairs would like that too much, though... Um. I... I don't know if I like that one, either. But it is... an option.

You think about these choices. Everything about them scares you.

"Do you have a preference?"

He looks to the side, flustered, and a hint of a smile he's trying to hide. He gestures vaguely at you.

The Hero:

Well, I'm not gonna lie, I-I liked being, y'know, Us.

With a pause, his gaze turns downward.

The Hero:

But I liked being with Them, too.

The Hero:

And... I hate to say this, but they would not like being anything but what they are now. Like, they love you, they really do, they're unbelievably grateful for everything you've done for them- But I... It wouldn't be... what they wanted.

He shrugs and leans his head to the side.

The Hero:

You could do it anyway, though, I guess. They probably wouldn't be able to do much once we're all in one piece.

He looks into your eyes, and his feathers droop.

The Hero:

After everything, would it still be freedom? Your choice, limiting theirs...?

"Why are you making me decide? I thought that wasn't my role."

The Hero:

I don't know? I didn't make the rules here. I'll go along with whatever you come up with. I mean, I am choice, right? The thing that gives you the options...? Not the one making the decisions.

"You clearly have a preference, and it's the one that means I get slain."

The Hero:

It's not like I want you to die. Just, out of everything so far, I don't want what we've given them to go away.

He sighs. You know be is conflicted. He fidgets with the hilt of the blade. He really is more them than he is you. But, you don't blame him.

"I'm scared. I don't know what being a god would be like."

The Hero:

I don't know, either, but this is it. The big ultimatum.

Decisions. You were never made for decisions.

You can die along with Death, and let the others be happy in what remains of the construct for all of eternity.

You can go against the others' wishes and reunite the way the Echo offered, with Death eradicated.

Or you can stay here alone with the Other, keeping him with you forever, while the worlds and the shattered fragments continue on, dying and reforming.

#ok so if you cant tell im leaning towards one option here #im hoping you all trust the hero #but i am leaving it in your hands. #stp #stp fanfic

[strixcattus]

Chapter IV: Violence/Passion

He's going to die here.

History

The cabin comes into view blurrily, almost like they’re just waking up. They didn’t doze off in the cabin, did they? That wouldn’t make a very good first impression on the Princess.

Though, this cabin doesn’t look like that first one. Its walls are formed from pale, rough stone, with openings in the sides to serve as windows. The doors are more of the same, cutting quite an impressive figure. Instead of a plain wooden table, there’s a metal altar holding the blade, and a couple loose planks lie askew on the floor. The cabin normally wouldn’t look like this on the first go-around, would it?

So why doesn’t Smitten remember what they did last time?

It’s probably not all that important. Even if he doesn’t remember, surely someone must. He’ll just have to go along.

“Well, boys?” he asks. “Shall we go and see what form our beloved has taken this time?”

No one says anything. That’s rude of them.

No one does anything, either. That’s a bit far for a prank.

“Very funny of you,” he says, listening for any sign that someone else is here. “Yes, you’ve got me this time, good joke, now let’s be off to fulfill our… destiny…”

It’s completely silent. There’s no one else here.

His shoulders drop, and he turns around to face the door to the outside. His body obeys, allowing him to see that the cabin is entirely empty, except for him.

That probably isn’t good.

Maybe something happened to the others. Maybe they’re somewhere outside. Maybe they’ve been tossed about to different cabins like this one.

If they are, he’s sure it’ll all work out. They’re resourceful people. Everything’s going to be fine.

Still, he should try to find them. He’ll just pop down to the basement, free the Princess from her imprisonment, and then the two of them can meet up with everyone else who’s also made their way out. It’ll be easy.

He leaves the blade on its altar. Wouldn’t want to give the Princess the wrong impression, if she has as little memory as he does.

The doors are heavy, resisting his attempts to wrench them open no matter how much he strains. Eventually, one of them folds and scrapes slowly across the floor, and the other follows a little more easily. The stairs beyond are cramped, stone walls pressing in on him, but they don’t look as though they’ll pose any obstacle. If those doors were to decide to close again, though, he might be in trouble.

Oh well. He’s sure the Princess will be more than capable of getting the two of them out, if the doors even do shut on them. The Narrator, conniving scoundrel that he is, is blissfully absent, and he was always the one that tried to meddle.

“Is that a challenger?” the Princess calls from the basement. Her voice echoes off the stone walls. “Finally. I haven’t had a good fight in far too long.”

A fight? Why would she want to fight him? They have the same goal!

Maybe she just got the wrong impression in some time he doesn’t remember. He should say something to put her mind at ease. “Fear not, Princess!” he cries. “I have no ill intentions towards you!”

She laughs. “Is that so? Why don’t you come down so we can meet face-to-face, then?”

This is progress! Probably. She does sound like she’s willing to talk. And he was planning to finish climbing down the stairs anyway.

The basement is less like a room and more like a cave, not much wider than the stairs. The Princess stands at one end, taking up most of the wall, chain in place on her wrist.

A pair of horns rise from her forehead, framing a set of spikes that look almost like the crown she usually has. The skirt of her dress is translucent, with a slit in the side, and a long tail curls around her. Her feet look more like hooves.

She’s beautiful.

Her eyes narrow onto his hands. “No little knife, huh? Did you forget to bring it with you?”

Is she talking about the blade? She must be convinced there’s no way out unless she’s cut free from her chains. “Fret not, fair maiden. We won’t need the blade for this.”

“Is that so?” The Princess grins. “Good.”

Smitten steps closer, reaching for the shackle on her arm. This is going well. He’ll slip her hand from the chains with no problem at all, and they’ll leave the cabin and go see what else is out there… as long as that mirror doesn’t show up again.

It won’t. It can’t. He won’t stand for it.

He should probably ask her name once they’re out, too. But one thing at a time. He’ll slip her hand from the chains…

His back lands on the hard stone floor, sending shockwaves through his bones.

The events leading up to the landing piece themselves together backwards. He landed on the floor because he fell. Why? Because the Princess pushed him. No, pushed isn’t the right word—she grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. Why? Heck if he knows. All he did was reach for the chain.

He looks back up at the Princess, vision swimming back into place. She’s frowning at him. Why is she frowning at him? She ought to know he has no intention of hurting her, right?

“Are you really going to give up this quickly?” she asks.

His brain hasn’t finished pulling itself back together, so all he can say is, “What?” And, if he were being honest, that’s probably what he would say if he were in peak condition.

“You hit the ground once and you’re down for the count?” The Princess leans over him. “Did you just come down here to toy with me or what?”

Toy with… her? But he had no such intentions… right? “I can assure you, my intentions have never been anything but pure.” He pulls himself to his feet as his vision finally snaps back into one piece. “If you’ll allow me to remove that shackle, the two of us can go at once.”

The Princess looks down at the chain. “What, worried it’ll slow me down? You must be confident.” Before Smitten can figure out what she means by that, she begins to strain against the chain, metal groaning before it finally snaps. She’s free! This is great! “You’d better live up to the figure you’re making yourself out to be.”

“Oh, I would never dare mislead y—” Smitten begins, cut off by a fist landing on his shoulder and throwing him across the room. His flight is cut short by the wall of the basement, head directly striking the stone. Some imperceptible noise echoes in his ears.

Didn’t he just say she could trust him? Why doesn’t she trust him?

The world is slowly beginning to decide it would rather not remain in one place. Smitten wobbles on his feet as he takes a few steps towards the Princess, nearly having to lean on one wall for support. “Why would you… do that… my love…” he wheezes, lungs refusing to cooperate with him.

“What do you mean, why would I do that?” The Princess stares at him, her arms folded. “Why wouldn’t I do that? You did come down here for a fight, didn’t you? Or are you less honest than you claim to be?”

A… fight? He never said anything about a fight or that sounded like it was about a fight or fight-related or anything of the sort… right?

“I’m afraid I… don’t have any idea… what you’re talking about.” He slumps against one wall, legs unwilling to do their job on their own. “All I want is… to set you free.”

“And what if I don’t want to be free?” The Princess takes a step towards him—he thinks. It’s all a little blurry. “What if I want something else?” Another. Probably. “What if what I want is for you to fetch your little knife and fight me?” She’s either right in front of him or still by the back wall. It’s still unclear.

Smitten wobbles backwards. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. “Th—that can’t be right. Freeing Princesses is always the right thing to do.”

The Princess grits her teeth. “You are impossible! Why don’t you start thinking for once so that I don’t have to!” She reaches out with her hand, faster than Smitten can see—not that that necessarily means it’s fast, with the way he is right now—and grabs his throat. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kill you, right now, so you can come back with a half-decent head on your shoulders. And when you do, you’re going to take your little knife, and you’re going to march right down to this basement and fight me.”

The pressure on Smitten’s neck tightens. He’s going to die. He should probably say something nice before he dies. A nice little pre-death one-liner while he’s still pre-death. A nice little… that shouldn’t be too hard…

His meandering is cut off with a pop, or maybe it’s a snap, or maybe it’s more of a squelch or even a crunch. It’s still a little hard to tell what’s going on around him, and more so to put words to it.

But words don’t matter in some cases. No matter what combination of letters accurately capture whatever sound he hears, soon after everything goes dark, and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. That part comes after. The walls are made from a pale, rough stone, with open holes for windows, and the doors to the basement are heavy and carved from the same material. The blade lies on a metal altar—

This is the same cabin.

The Princess’s final words to him dance just out of his grasp. He certainly wasn’t doing all right in the head by the time she killed him, was he? At least that’s over and he can approach her with a clear mind.

It must have been important, though, whatever she said. “I’m going to… you can come back… and when you do… right down to this basement.” There must have been something in between all that…

Oh! Of course! She must have seen how badly he was doing and killed him knowing he’d come back in one piece and be able to hold a proper conversation with her. How thoughtful of her!

He strides over to the doors with a bounce in his step. This time, he knows to brace himself in order to wrench them open.

The Princess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded. Her face falls when she sees him. Why would she…?

“I thought I told you to bring your knife this time around,” she says. “Do you just not have it or what?”

Is she forgetting something? Is he forgetting something? “You must be mistaken. We don’t need to cut you free. If you’ll just allow me to—”

She growls. “Did everything that happened last time breeze through your empty head? If I wanted to be free, I would be.” She pulls against the chain, metal snapping and falling to the floor in pieces, leaving only the shackle around her wrist. “Now go and get that knife so we can fight.”

The memories that abandoned ship the moment Smitten hit his head start to drift back. “Going to… take… knife… right down to this basement… fight me.”

But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you want me to fight you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you? It’s fun. And it feels right.”

Smitten laughs a little as he backs away. “I don’t know if I’d exactly describe it that way, though I suppose… if it would make you happy…” There’s something wrong with this Princess. Not that there could possibly be anything wrong with any Princess—they’re all perfect in their own way—but this one has something wrong with her.

He does a little hop back to the base of the stairs. The Princess continues to watch him. “I’ll, ah, be going to fetch that blade now,” he says. “I shall return posthaste.”

Then he turns and bolts up the stairs, not stopping to catch his breath until he’s well and fully in the upper part of the cabin.

She wants to fight him. But that’s not… that’s not how this works, right? She’s supposed to want to be free. Sure, there were a couple Princesses that had other intentions, but that was only after they’d been wronged and were out to take righteous revenge!

…Did something happen to her in the time Smitten hasn’t been allowed to see? Is she trying to take out her anger on him? But that doesn’t sound quite right.

She wants to fight him. Not to kill him, presumably. Just to fight him a little. She doesn’t look angry—at least she didn’t, not before they properly got to talking. Maybe a little spar could be fun, if it’ll make her happy. She said it would be, so he’ll believe her.

“I hope you aren’t trying to run away,” the Princess calls from below. “What’s taking so long?”

Smitten jumps and scoops the blade from the altar. “Don’t worry, fair maiden! I’m merely steeling my nerves for our battle.” He may as well play it up. If a fight’s what she wants, he’ll do his level best to make it as dramatic as possible.

He steps down the stairs, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. He can’t let the Princess down.

She is waiting for him in the basement, and her face breaks into a grin when he comes into view. “Finally. Let’s get started, shall we?”

“We shall.” Smitten raises the blade, pointing it at the Princess. “En garde!”

The Princess doesn’t waste any time in launching herself across the room, fist narrowly missing Smitten’s face. He ducks past her—she’s tall—and whirls around, catching her arm with the blade as she aims another punch. A few drops of blood fly away from the nick and splatter on the floor.

He didn’t mean to do that.

She seems to take notice, stepping back instead of continuing her attack and glancing at the cut in her arm. It’s shallow, at least so he hopes, but a drop of blood still traces down her wrist as he watches.

“I’m sorry—” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. You didn’t. That’s your problem.” The Princess wipes at her cut with one thumb. “All this and you still don’t get what this is about.” She thrusts her arms out to the sides. “I died and I’m still fine. I killed you and you’re still fine. There are no consequences for us here. We can kill each other all we want, and nothing is going to happen.”

No. No, he was right. This one does have something wrong with her, no matter how he wishes he could look past it.

His hand trembles just enough for the blade to slip from it and clatter on the floor. “But I don’t want to kill you,” he says meekly.

“Don’t think of it as killing me.” The Princess takes a couple steps forward, and Smitten scrambles a couple steps back. Their dance as such is cut short by Smitten hitting the back wall of the basement, allowing the Princess to catch up to him and pick up the blade. “It’s not like I’ll stay dead. Now get up.” She tosses the blade at his feet. It lodges, tip-first, in the stone floor.

He’s going to die here a second time. He’s going to die because he couldn’t bring himself to give the Princess what she wanted. That’s not right. He’s supposed to give the Princess what she wants, but what she wants is supposed to be freedom, and—

The Princess’s fist smashes into the wall where Smitten’s head would have been if he hadn’t thrown himself the rest of the way to the ground. As it is, some of his feathers float lazily through the air as a reminder of what might happen to the rest of him if he can’t keep this up.

He tugs the blade out of the ground as the Princess turns for another strike, and stands to face her. He’s going to die again. She’s going to kill him, and he’s going to deserve it. He’s supposed to be giving her what she wants, because she’s always right, but…

The Princess is always right. If she thinks they can’t die, if she thinks that him trying to kill her is fun, well, she probably knows better than him.

He lashes out with the blade, carving a stripe up the Princess’s arm. She swings at him, fist colliding with his shoulder. Something that probably isn’t supposed to go pop goes pop. He strikes back, this time burying his blade in the Princess’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

The Princess steps back, laughing, the sound wetter than it should be. She grasps the handle of the blade and tosses it back.

Smitten catches it. Then he drops it again as his injured arm decides it’s had enough of its current working conditions and falls limp. The Princess pretends not to notice as he reaches down to pick it back up.

“See? Isn’t this so much more fun than talking?” the Princess asks once they’re face-to-face again.

“I suppose,” Smitten says, unable to get another word out as the Princess launches herself towards him.

He lashes out with the blade again and again, barely deflecting each of her attacks with stripes of red carved across her arms. The Princess’s fists connect as often as not—there’s a crunch as she lands a blow on his ribcage, then a snap as his already-injured arm is well and fully put out of commission, then a squelch that was probably some crucial organ.

He’s going to die here. That’s fine. The Princess said it would be fine.

She steps back as though meaning for her next punch to be her last. “Are you sure you’re really trying to kill me?” she taunts. “You’re not just trying to postpone your own death?”

Smitten tries to answer, to say, No, of course not, I would never dare to imagine going against your wishes, but something is very, very broken in the parts of him in charge of speaking, and all he manages to do is inhale blood.

The Princess seems to notice. “I’d say you’ve only got a few seconds left this time around. Why don’t you make them count?” She holds out her arms. “Go on. Stab me—unless your heart isn’t in it.”

My heart… is always… in everything. Smitten raises the blade with his remaining arm, steadying it as much as he can. I hope this makes you happy. He brings it down with as much force as he can muster, right over her heart.

Then he falls, and none of his limbs opt to catch him.

The Princess continues to stand over him, unfazed even by the blade in her heart. Assuming it even made it to her heart.

Her sitting down beside him is the last thing he sees as his vision fades to a sort of reddish black. “Were you even trying to kill me?” she asks, followed by, “No. You were.” There’s a sound like she’s leaning back against the basement wall. “You’re no good at this. Even if you come back with the passion you had at the end, you still won’t be able to kill me.”

He says nothing, of course. He’s not sure he can even fully understand what she’s saying.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she continues. “If you were meant to be here, you’d be meant to fight me. And you’re obviously not meant to fight anyone.” Her hand lands on his neck, fingers pressing into his feathers as though searching for something. A pulse? Does he still have one of those? “Is there someone else out there who’s meant to be here? Is that what this is?”

If she keeps talking after that, Smitten doesn’t hear any of it. Everything goes dark—darker than it already is—and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. Every piece of it lines up with how it looked the last time, anyway—same pale stone walls, same heavy double doors, same blade on the same metal altar. He grabs the blade without even thinking.

He needs to go back downstairs and apologize. He failed to live up to her wishes. Should he try to make it up to her? Give her the fight she deserves? He did make a promise to her. Or maybe he just thought it. Or thought he thought it. The latter half of the last go-around is a bit fuzzy again.

By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he’s made up his mind. He raises the blade and charges towards the Princess—

—And she catches it before he can close the distance, tip of the blade sinking into the palm of her hand. She twists her wrist, and Smitten’s grip breaks before the blade can wrench free.

“Does your brain just stop working after you’ve been beat up enough?” she asks, tugging the blade out of her hand. There’s a visible hole in the back of it where the tip broke through the other side. “I told you, we’re done here. I’m going to find someone whose heart is actually in this.”

Smitten sputters, still in the process of grasping that the blade is no longer in his hand. “My heart is in this! It would be impossible for me to not put my entire heart into anything I endeavor to accomplish!”

“So I didn’t just disarm you before you could land a hit on me?” The Princess glances at the hole in her hand before tugging on the chains once more. They splinter just as easily this time as they did the previous two. “You’re not cut out for this, loverboy. Stick to writing poetry or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

“I can fight!” Smitten follows close behind the Princess as she strides up the stairs. She ducks a little to avoid hitting her horns on the doorway. “If you’ll allow me another chance, I can assure you I will not let you down a third time.”

The Princess glances over her shoulder. “You don’t actually want that.”

“I do! If a fight is what you want, I will gladly—”

She tosses the blade to him, and he fumbles the blood-slicked point of it, barely managing to keep his grip. “You’re just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear. And it is. Just not from someone who’s lying.”

Smitten extracts his hands from the blade, looking around in vain for something to wipe his hands on that isn’t his own cape. He settles for smearing the excess blood across the cabin wall. “I would never lie to you.”

“Oh?” the Princess asks, eyes glinting. “If you’re so honest, then tell me: Was it fun?”

Of course it was fun. The Princess said it was, and it clearly was for her, and anything that makes the Princess happy is good enough for him. Right?

“I’ve… had more enjoyable experiences,” he finally admits.

She nods and turns her attention to wrenching the outer door open. It’s not as heavy-seeming as the ones to the basement, but maybe that’s just because she’s so much larger than him. It’s not as though he ever tried to open it himself. “There’s more of you, right?” she asks.

“Yes. Several.”

“Then there’s someone out there who doesn’t have to lie when he says he gets it.” The Princess steps back from the door. “Let’s go find him already.”

Smitten nods. “Certainly. Say, before we leave, you wouldn’t happen to have a name?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Adversary. You?”

“Smitten. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

The Adversary scoffs. “Suits you. Come on.”

They don’t get more than a step into the outside world before freezing again.

Everything is… meat. The cabin sits atop a hill of smooth skin that collapses into fleshy lumps of meat at its base, and the path, instead of packed dirt or smooth stones, looks more like the bones of a spine. In place of trees, clawed fingers reach from the ground, meat bared to the world and webs of translucent meat strung between their knobby bones. Smitten can’t resist glancing at his own hands and noting the similarity.

“So. Meat,” the Adversary begins. “Not normal.”

“No,” Smitten agrees. “Meat is most certainly not normal.”

The Adversary takes a few steps forward, hooves sinking into the meat with an array of smushes and slushes and squishes and sounds that can scarcely be put into writing. Smitten follows suit.

He can feel the meat between his toes. Also sticking to the bottoms of his feet, and wrapping above his feet. It’s very squishy.

There’s little reprieve from the meat. If he tries to pull his attention away from the sensations beneath his feet, there’s the sound to worry about. If he ignores the sound, there’s the smell of blood filling the air. And that’s to say nothing of the sight—the only place he can look without finding meat is the back of the Adversary’s head.

At least his focus on her means he notices when she suddenly stops walking, and he’s saved the embarrassment of crashing into her. He still almost does, losing his footing on the meat for a second before she catches him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She points across the meat. “That’s another one of you, right?”

Smitten follows her arm to the horizon. She’s right. Between a pair of meat hands is a figure wearing a long, black cloak, veil hiding his face at this distance. Next to him is a smaller figure, with a dress and a tail flicking behind her.

He can’t be sure about the second figure, but he certainly recognizes the first.

The two figures pause, clearly having noticed them at the same time. The shorter one turns to the taller as though saying something, but Smitten has no intention of giving them enough time for him to be the one to approach.

He strides across the meat, for once able to ignore every sensory detail of the stuff, and soon comes face-to-face with the worst one of the bunch.

Cold tilts his head to one side. “Oh. You’ve escaped. Good job.”

Leading with sarcasm, is he? Smitten has no intention of allowing him to have his way. He grips the front of Cold’s cloak and shoves him against the nearest meat hand. “I’m more surprised you didn’t leave your Princess rotting in the basement,” he growls. “Are you just toying with her? Does she know what sort of monster you really are?”

The Princess that was with Cold glances between him and Smitten, brow furrowed as though trying to figure out what to say.

“Ha! And here I thought you weren’t a fighter.” The Adversary seems to have no such issues. “Looks like there’s one person you’re supposed to fight.” She steps up behind him with a squelsh—she’s so tall she doesn’t have to strain to get a good look at Cold’s face. “Don’t know if it’s the same way for him, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cold levels his gaze with Smitten’s, still not bothering to struggle against him. “If he actually followed through on his promises, I might be interested in seeing them play out.”

Smitten tightens his grip. “I am no liar. You would do well to mark what I say—I will drag you into the depths of my misery and leave you there to drown.”

“Been there. Done that.”

The other Princess seems to have finally snapped. “Would one of you shut up and explain what you’re talking about?”

Cold shrugs. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Not that interesting?” Smitten shoves him further into the meat with a wet smeesh. “You murdered my true love in cold blood. And so I took my revenge.”

“Was that really intended to be revenge? I thought it was just an attempt at reuniting with your ‘true love.’ Did you think I would mind being stabbed?”

Has he no limit to his insults? “Perhaps I hoped it would snap you into something capable of sympathy.”

The Princess sighs. “We get it. His brain is broken. Can you cut it out now so we can go somewhere with less meat?”

Fine. In the interest of the Princess being allowed to go somewhere with less meat, Smitten releases his grip on Cold’s cloak. Cold remains suspended on the meat hand for a moment, making no move to extract himself, before he peels off its surface with a long, drawn out squueeemch and lands on his knees with a pair of squishes.

“Sticky,” he observes, then stands (with a pair of ssspops) and turns back to the meat hand. “I wonder—”

“Nope! Not going through this again!” The other Princess grabs Cold by the arms and yanks him away from the meat hand. “Let’s go! We’re leaving!”

The Princess leads the procession, dragging Cold behind her despite his weak protests (“One couldn’t kill me, could it?”). Smitten follows close behind.

“If I may, could you tell me your name?” he asks the Princess. “My own is Smitten, and this—” he indicates the Adversary, who is currently trailing at the back of the pack— “is the Adversary.”

“We’re doing names now?” The Princess wrinkles her nose. “Witch is fine.”

Is she… surprised he’s asking for her name? No, of course she is. Of course Cold would never extend such a courtesy. “I’m guessing he hasn’t bothered to make a proper introduction? Allow me to correct such a grave error. This is—”

“I’m Cold,” says Cold.

The Witch turns to stare at him. “Really? In that cloak?”

“He means it as his name,” Smitten explains. “Though I’m not surprised he didn’t bother to adequately clarify.”

Before any arguments can start up again, the Adversary cuts in. “Do you two know where we’re going?”

The Witch shrugs. “Not really. We were following a river, but then it started to look like blood and he—” she jerks her thumb in Cold’s direction— “started asking me how I thought it’d taste, so I dragged him away from it. Now we’re just heading anywhere that isn’t made of meat. Unless you have a better idea?”

“No. Anywhere that isn’t meat is fine. Besides, now we know there really are other people out there.” Smitten hazards a glance back to see that the Adversary’s face has split into a sharp-toothed grin. “Which means there’s someone out there I can fight.”

The Witch whirls around so sharply Smitten fears she may have given herself whiplash. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smitten tunes out the remainder of the discussion. He’s already heard it all. He doesn’t need a second reminder.

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the smitten #the adversary #and surprise guests #stp fanfic

[roseddraws]

Is no one gonna write about the voices developing into their own people after getting their own bodies, helping each other survive and grow into multifaceted individuals? Fine, I’ll do it myself

#slay the princess #stp #stp spoilers #stp fanfic #slay the princess fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #almost all of the stp fics I’ve found for stp have been romance #which is FINE and good and makes sense considering the plot and a lot of them are really well written #but we need more found family and if I have to write it myself then so be it #like does no one else see the found family potential here?!

[toon-topaz]

So a few days ago I asked for some suggestions on Slay the Princess characters to interact, and I'm starting with this silly little scene with the Damsel and Voice of the Paranoid

#slay the princess #stp voices #stp princess #the damsel #voice of the paranoid #stp fanfic #writing #fluff

[el-tostador]

Voice of the Karen: Our coupons only expired yesterday! We should turn them in, and she refuses to accept them, then call the bloody manager! Oh and this dreary store could certainly use some Christmas music! Hold on, play this one! That would certainly liven this place up a bit!

Voice of the Hero: Uhh…are you sure that's a good idea? She looks like she'd absolutely hate that right now.

Voice of the Karen: Who cares if she hates it! My music taste is impeccable, plus we can always get her fired if she verbally assaults us!

Narrator: You're supposed to slay the princess not-

Voice of the Karen: Oh shut up! The PRINCESS is in our minivan, outside. With her friends. Waiting for us to get them some food before we get them to soccer practice.

Voice of the Hero: Wait wait wait!…when did we get a car…or-or kids! For that matter.

Voice of the Karen: Shut up. Now, play this song, I'm sure everyone will just LOVE this!

Narrator: sigh You play 'All I Want For Christmas' by 'Mariah Carey'. The entire cabi- I mean, store, becomes engulfed in festive cheer. The princess looks at you with wide, dead eyes.

The Retailer: "That horrible song. Again."

Voice of the Karen: HORRIBLE?!?! Why I oughta-

Voice of the Hero: Maybe we should turn that off, I don't like how she's staring at us.

Voice of the Karen: MANAGER! CALL THE MANAGER!

Slayer: "It's not a horrible song! It's art! Maybe if you opened up your cold dead heart, you'd be able to appreciate it!"

Narrator: The princess smiles sardonically, her voice strained.

The Retailer: "That song is the reason my heart is 'cold' and 'dead' in the first place."

Narrator: Her smiles drops, her eyes still hauntingly wide.

The Retailer: "Now turn it off. Or else."

Voice of the Karen: Report her to the manager! She's threatening violence against us!

Voice of the Hero: She didn't threaten us though? Maybe we should turn it off. She looks…angry.

Narrator: Maybe you should listen to that little voice. If she gets angry, she might destroy the world. My world.

Voice of the Karen: No! No! We're reporting her to the manager now! No hesitating!

Slayer (Karen): "Are you…threatening me..? GET ME YOUR MANAGER! NOW! YOU DON'T DESERVE THIS JOB! I should know, the customers always right!"

Narrator: Are you serious? Are we really doing this? sigh As you continue berate the princess and threaten to get her fired, she closes her eyes with a relaxed smile. Then…you hear the sound of something piercing through skin and muscle before you feel the cold sensation. As you look down, you find a phillips screwdriver embedded in your chest. The princess must've stabbed you while you were ranting. As you look back up at her, you notice the shift in her expression, her previously tired, dead eyes now look at you with an unrestrained fury. She isn't smiling. She throws the barcode scanner at your head with such strength and accuracy that you are knocked down.

You hear her jump over the counter and see her stand over you, she leans down to look at you with what is clearly a mocking smile.

The Retailer: "Oh, I'll take you to meet the manager, alright?"

Narrator: She takes a 'Live. Love. Laugh.' ceramic mug that you had bought from your bag, and then raises it high over your head. She brings it down at once, smashing it into your face, then again. And again, until it finally breaks, and the broken pieces stick themselves into your bruises and your eyes. The rest of the pieces clatter on the ground. You feel another sharp pain in the chest, right in your heart, as she rips the Phillips screwdriver out of the previous hole in your chest and drives it through your ribs and into your vital organ. Over and over again until you're sure your ribs are no less broken than your mug.

sigh

Everything goes dark, and you die.

CHAPTER III THE MANAGER

#I randomly typed this in a reddit comment section and figured I'd drop it here #slay the princess #Stp fanfic #Voice of the Karen #Brainrot is chipi chipi chipping away at my mentality #Stp fanroute

[ace-robot-has-matcha]

Smoke and glass 4 is finally out! It took a long time but it’s here! Sorry for the longggggg hiatus. That motivation got sucked up. It should be on a more regular schedule now.

Transcript:

Panel 1: The Hero looks nervous as the tiny figures of the Cold and the Cheated stare at him with hatred in their eyes. The Princess stands to the other side, her arms crossed.

Hero: Princess, these people keep staring at me! It’s creepy!

Princess: You’re one to talk.

Panel 2: Closeup of Hero’s big creepy eyes

H: What?

Panel 3: Princess angrily looking up at him.

P. You’re one to talk.

#stp smoke and glass #slay the princess #stp #stp fanart #stp fanfic #voice of the hero #the princess #voice of the cold #voice of the cheated #my fanfiction #my writing #ao3 fanfic #writers on tumblr #comic #mini comic