Writing Stuff

Hi hi! You can call me Theo or Snake I'm just a little guy who enjoys torturing blorbos and readers alike.

[fourwingedwriter]

Hello!!

I am a writer of many genres, but the ones I enjoy most would have to be fantasy, post apocalyptic, anything with a god system, and an overall whump theme to all of it. Feel free to add me to your tag list or tag me in a master post!

My Bingo Card

*Spam like/reblog is highly encouraged

Completed work:

Of the Divine - Ryn finds herself cursed by the god she devoted her life to. Her rival, Hylen, sets out to break the curse and restore the reputation of his god.

Cyborg Whump - A short story showing the start of the recovery process for a cyborg whumpee with the help of an enthusiastic mechanic caretaker.

Elemental - A oneshot focused on Helio, a fire mage, as he fights a severe injury with the aid of an old friend, Jade.

The Wastes - A Post Apocalyptic tale following a group of 6 doing their best to survive their circumstances.

Magical Signs - Millo, an enthusiastic young man, stumbles across a mute girl performing magic with sign language and is ready to learn more.

Arcane Madness - My first finished plot and a rather short read. Focusing on the relationship between a healer and her terminally ill partner as they explore the outer realm.

Godly Warriors - Another god system! This one is based losely on taxonomic levels and it's from the POVs of the immortals warriors who serve their gods

Current WIP:

Essential Decay

Rewriting Of the Divine

Random Stuffs

Redacted / Discontinued

My main (very very chaotic) blog is @fourwingedsnake

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The sillies

An attempt at digital drawing that turned out all right

Reference under the cut

@fourwingedsnake @the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @diabolical-blue @writingphoenix

@loftwingofcrimson @elronthemage @butterfly-teacup @sunflowerrosy

[ot3]

pros of an original setting: you're not constrained by the politics, geography, history, or even physics of the real world even a little bit

cons of an original setting: you have to Name Everything now. Good luck!

[fourwingedwriter]

The Stain on My Soul

[Cal: you still here?]

[Lily: yes]

[Cal: where'd you go? Are you okay? I haven't seen you in an hour]

[Lily: upstairs]

Calliope silently removed herself from the conversation she'd been mostly observing anyway, walking in the direction she assumed the stairs were in. As she climbed, it became obvious Lily was the only one at the top, the music that had been so loud downstairs now only a distant echo, with no voices to fill the void left in its wake.

If not for the shallow breaths of someone attempting to supress their crying, Calliope wouldn't know she was in the right place. There was no visual cues for her friend beside the faint shadow from behind the couch set in the middle of the large space.

It was difficult to keep her composure when she saw the state of her friend. Her plaid shirt, the one she wore nearly every time they were together, was horribly stained with mascara, the worn beige fabric now a splotchy middle gray. Her face was a splotchy red, marks showing where her palm had been pressed just moments before.

Calliope gently took the nearly empty cup from Lily's grasp as she sat on the floor beside her. They mirrored her pose, knees curled halfway to her chest and arms wrapping around them.

"I'm sorry," Lily said quietly.

Calliope glanced at her briefly before looking back at the floor between her feet, "You know... you could talk to me instead of hiding in a corner and drinking."

Lily started shaking, gripping her arms, nails digging into the fabric there. She sat like this for maybe a minute before choking out, "I don't want you to hate me."

Calliope properly turned to her this time, almost moving to reach out to her, "Why would I hate you?"

Lily's eyes stayed trained on her feet, "Just _look_ at me. I'm a fucking mess."

"You're still my friend."

"I shouldn't be."

Calliope touched her arm this time, the pads of their fingers pressing into her elbow, "You don't mean that."

"You should hate me. I don't know why you insist on pretending im- that i—" at this she broke. Choking sobs broke from her as she burried herself in her knees, nails raking through her hair.

Calliope wasn't sure what to do. They wanted to hug her, but she worried it might make this all worse.

Her voice was muffled, "You shouldn't care. I'm just going to disappoint you."

"I do care. I care a lot. I wish you would talk to me." They protested, feeling like they were arguing with a brick wall. Lily was too drunk to listen to a word she said, let alone remember it in the morning.

"You'd never see me as a guy anyways."

Realization stuck her square in the chest. She sat there processing, going back over the last year with a new lens. The way they'd talked about men. The way their clothing shifted away from anything feminine. The way they avoided talking about gender all together. Then, not knowing what else to do to comfort him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

He practically collapsed into her, face pressing into her sleeve, staining her shirt too.

--

Lily awoke to the smell of coffee and a roaring headache. He reached up to hold his head, arm brushing against back of a couch as he did so. Confused, he started looking around unsure why he would be sleeping in his living room.

The sounds of mugs clinking and padded footsteps came from the kitchen, telling him how much he'd fucked up. He'd been at the party and he'd been drinking and... he couldn't remember much after that. He sat up, the nausea creeping up his throat making itself known as he did.

Lily looked into his kitchen to find Calliope frozen in place, coffee mug halfway to her lips, like a deer in headlights. He then noted the shirt she was wearing, a ratty tee that he kept burried in the back of his dresser, something he never wore. She set the mug down on the nearest counter, awkwardly waiting for him to talk.

"Why are you...?"

Calliope took a deep breath, her tone wary, "How much do you remember from last night?"

Panic flared in his chest, his heartbeat far too loud in his ears, making his voice sound higher pitched, "What happened?"

"Nothing bad. Just..." she looked around, as if finding an excuse to not tell him so quickly, "I'll grab you some water and we can talk after you shower."

Lily was grateful for the chance to wake up fully, but the possibilities of what happened gnawed at him. He vaugly remembered hiding upstairs with two too many shots of vodka, trying to forget his woes. He tried to remember as he trudged to the shower, knowing the clothes he wore now were not the same as the night before.

The mirror told part of the story. His mascara still trailed from his eyes, smudged in places, marks left on his forearms. He wasn't in his bra anymore and his pants were different, but his undershirt remained. Guilt tugged at him. She shouldn't have had to do that for him. He was too old for this.

Back out in the kitchen, Calliope held her face in her palms, unsure how she would break the news to him. Would he push her away? Would he clam up again and not communicate? Would he kick her out?

The muffled sounds of a shower came from down the hall, where her closest friend stood, unaware that he outed himself only 10 hours beforehand.

She played mindless games on her phone for a while, her coffee going cold, trying to calm down. Anxiety built in her chest. Maybe she shouldn't tell him and let him come out in his own time. When he was sober.

No. That would be disrespectful. He'd want to know. She could at least offer him some decency. She had t—

Lily dimmed the lights and sat across from her at the table, wet hair slicked back, a thick hoodie shielding his neck from the water. He fiddled with his phone case, aimlessly checking the time before looking at her.

"Um. I. I think I'm just going to say this. And I want to say I'm sorry it had to happen this way..."

oh. _oh._ Oh shit. What did he do? What did he say? What did—

"You came out to me last night. You were just rambling and I think it slipped out while I was talking with you... you were crying and I wanted to make sure you were okay." She fidgeted, slipping her rings on and off her fingers.

He stared blankly at her. Chest tightening as a weight came off his shoulders. He was out to her. She _knew._ Why was she still here? How could she look him in the eye? Knowing what he was.

"You were going on and on about how I would hate you and I didn't feel comfortable leaving you drunk by yourself so I," she gestured to his condo, "and I dont hate you. I don't. You mean the world to me, I don't want to lose you."

He was crying again, hands clasped together, knuckles white, "I'm sorry."

"I still love you, man."

[ewaneneollav]

repeat after me: people don’t notice the little details. i’m going to get away with it. people don’t notice the little details. i’m going to get away with it.

[ziptiesnfries]

y'know i used to be on team "whump is kind of a silly word and i wish it was called something different," but these days i think i'm more on the side of "the word 'whump' is a rent-lowering gunshot."

the concept of fictional characters being harmed is a universal storytelling device enjoyed by people outside of the whump community, for sure, but the word "whump" sounding as silly as it does can be a deterrent to people who take themselves maybe a tad too seriously. like almost nobody involves themselves in this community on a whim just because they heard the word "whump" and said to themselves "that sounds very cool and i almost definitely know what it means just from this one instance that i've heard it."

[whateversebastian]

REBLOG IF YOU ARE A WRITER ON TUMBLR

IT DOES NOT MATTER WHAT KIND OF WRITER YOU ARE YOU CAN BE WRITING: POEMS, FANFICS, IDK NORMAL FICS, NOVELS, SHORT STORIES, IDK ANYTHING!! JUST REBLOG!!!

[wdarlingyap]

"But I don't like the ending/the character/the plot point. I would have done it differently."

Yes. Good. Go get a pen. This is where it begins.

[queen-of-the-merry-men]

When writing always remember… a character flaw is only a flaw until becomes useful. 

Is your protagonist manipulative? Well that’s awful… until they manipulate the antagonist into making a decision that saves the lives of their friends. 

Is your protagonist a skeptic? Well that’s not good… until someone tries to lie to them. 

Is your protagonist overprotective? That sucks… until someone they love is in danger. 

Is your protagonist remorseless? Well that makes them pretty unlikeable… until a hard decision has to be made. 

[saeronovace]

[susiephone]

The flipside is also true!

Your protagonist is honest? That’s good… until their survival depends on them being able to lie convincingly.

Your protagonist is brave? That’s good… until they foolishly run headlong into danger without a thought for the consequences.

Your protagonist is forgiving and able to see good in everyone? That’s good… until they continually forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it, and get taken advantage of because they can’t fathom that some people just suck.

Your protagonist is funny? That’s good… until they piss off everyone around them because they don’t seem to be taking the situation seriously, and they keep avoiding dealing with their problems by hiding behind humor.

Most personality traits aren’t inherently good or bad. It’s all about context, and how far they go.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 29

Prompts List | Masterpost

Prompts: "Trust me." | Forbidden Love | Doubt | Mind Control

Word Count: 100

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: living weapon whump, scars, mind control

----------

"Trust me."

The words echoed in Whumpee's head. Every moment they had to themselves, any time they had to think---

"Trust me."

Whumper's voice. Always Whumper's voice. Never anyone else, why was it never---

"Trust me."

Whumpee blinked. They were zoning out again. At least they weren't on the field. They couldn't afford a lapse during a mission. The last time it happened---

"Trust me."

Whumpee couldn't remember. But they traced a finger along a deep burn scar on their forearm. It had taken weeks to heal.

"Trust me."

Whumpee would. For now.

"Trust me."

But they would be patient.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 29

Prompts List | Masterpost

Prompts: "Trust me." | Forbidden Love | Doubt | Mind Control

Word Count: 100

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: living weapon whump, scars, mind control

----------

"Trust me."

The words echoed in Whumpee's head. Every moment they had to themselves, any time they had to think---

"Trust me."

Whumper's voice. Always Whumper's voice. Never anyone else, why was it never---

"Trust me."

Whumpee blinked. They were zoning out again. At least they weren't on the field. They couldn't afford a lapse during a mission. The last time it happened---

"Trust me."

Whumpee couldn't remember. But they traced a finger along a deep burn scar on their forearm. It had taken weeks to heal.

"Trust me."

Whumpee would. For now.

"Trust me."

But they would be patient.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 28

Prompts List | Masterpost

Characters: Orian Goldeneye, Azura Lazuli (The Legend of Orian Goldeneye)

Prompts: "No one can hear you." | Asphyxiation | Photograph | Stalking

Word Count: 500

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: captivity, implied lab whump, abandonment

----------

Orian met the woman not long after he began his nightly excursions.

And he knew upon sight that she was like him.

Someone who could enter this strange, disconnected version of the real world, where anything was possible.

Everyone else Orian had seen so far appeared blurred, as if viewing them without his glasses, the colors muted and fuzzy.

But she was crystal clear, with long blonde hair and a dress blue as the ocean.

Orian peeked at her from around the corner of one of the long, white-tiled corridors of the place that had been his home for the past two years. He had never seen anyone with clothes like hers here, the adults wore the same dark gray uniforms, and the other kids in comfortable but boring white jumpsuits.

But as he watched, her dress seemed to change before his eyes, shifting from a deep dark blue to a brighter teal shade.

Orian gasped.

Her head snapped towards him, and he ducked back around the corner.

She hadn’t seen him.

She couldn’t have seen him.

No one else could see him. No one could hear him. Why would she?

She would leave, and he would be alone—

“Hello, little one.”

Orian flinched in surprise as the woman came around the corner, smiling at him.

“Uh… hi.”

“I’ve been looking for you.”

He blinked. “You… have?”

“Is that really so hard to believe?”

“N-no… but… I thought….”

“That nobody could find this place? That you would be stuck here until they killed you? So did I, when I was brought here.”

Orian stared at her for a long moment. “You… you got out?”

She nodded.

“But… why come back?”

“Looking for you, of course! I knew they’d unearth another one of us in due time.” She held out her hand. “My name is Azura. What’s yours?”

He shook the offered hand. “Uh… Orian.”

“Good to meet you, Orian. Good to know my intel is accurate.” Azura glanced down the corridor for a long moment. “I should leave soon.”

He blinked. “What?”

“And you should limit your time here in the dream. Nothing good will come if they find out you’re one of us.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll find you again. Teach you what I know.”

“But—!”

She shoved her hand at him. Before Orian realized what was happening, he awoke in his bunk with a start. He almost went back into the dream world.

Nothing good will come if they find out you’re one of us.

The first dreamshaper he met, and she told him to hide.

But she would know, wouldn’t she?

Orian exhaled slowly, rolled over to his side, and waited for true sleep to come.

Azura did find him again a few nights later.

His captors threw him into the dreamshaper cell two weeks later.

----------

The dreamshaper cell snippet

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 26

Prompts List | Masterpost

Characters: Octavian de Silv, Reese Takari (WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure)

Prompts: "You're only making it worse." | Flare | Virus | Poison Ivy

Word Count: 400

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: poison ivy

----------

"Don't touch it! You're only making it worse."

"But it hurts!"

"It will keep hurting if you scratch at it."

The kid huffed in annoyance, though she shoved her hands in her pockets in an attempt to stop scratching at the rash forming on the back of one hand. "I didn't even hit the targets."

"I didn't either, when I was first starting out," Octavian said. "Here, rinse the rash."

He gestured to the little creek that bubbled up from the ground. Reese narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, but the desire to soothe the itching from the poison ivy won out. Neither of them had realized the crawling vine had taken up residence in the underbrush until it was too late, and Reese had brushed against it retrieving a throwing knife.

"How long until it heals?"

Octavian poked around the roots of one of the trees, plucking a leaf from one of the plants growing around it and rubbing it between his fingers. "I've never had it, so I don't know."

Reese hissed through her teeth, holding her hand under the cool water. "How have you never had it? I thought you spent your whole life in these woods."

A strong scent of mint wafted up from the leaf in his hand. Octavian grabbed a few more and joined her at the creek, smashing them into a paste using two rocks. "Most of it, yes."

"And you've never once touched this stuff."

"I didn't say that. Show me your hand."

She shoved her hand at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Of course I've touched it." Octavian smeared the green paste over the rash. "Several times."

"What, so you're just immune?!"

Octavian side-eyed her. "I'm an elf. Is that really so surprising?"

"I've never heard of elves being immune to poison ivy."

"You're a human and thirteen years old at that. You can't possibly know everything about elves."

Reese rolled her eyes. "My father was the human-elven diplomat for the better part of twenty years. Sure." She examined the rash, now fully covered by the mint paste. "It's not itching as much."

"Good. I may not be a healer, but I know a thing or two about the plants in these woods."

"Whatever. Can we go home now?"

Octavian sighed. "Fine."

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 24

Prompts List | Masterpost

Prompts: "Why are you looking at me like that?" | Drugged | Insecurity | Dislocation

Word Count: 400

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: dislocation, captivity, drug whump

A/N: based on this post by @half-corrective-surgery

----------

"Here." Whumper unlocked the cell door and pushed it open.

Caretaker's mouth went dry.

Whumpee lay sprawled on their back on the floor of the cell like a discarded doll, one arm bent at a sickening angle, a myriad of bruises discoloring their face and throat. Even from outside the room, Caretaker could see their breathing was shallow, and their eyes half-closed.

"What the hell happened to them?" The words fell from Caretaker's lips before they realized who they were speaking to.

Whumper shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Just patch them up. That's what you're here for, right?"

Before Caretaker could respond, they grabbed them by the shoulder and shoved them into the cell. The lock clicked behind them, but Caretaker was already running to Whumpee, dropping to their knees at their side.

"Whumpee! Are you all right? What happened?"

Whumpee flinched in surprise and cried out as the movement aggravated their shoulder. Now that Caretaker was closer, they knew it was dislocated, but not broken.

"It's okay!" Caretaker tried to keep their voice steady. "I'm here now."

"C… care… taker…? I… I can't… nngh… dizzy…."

"Shh… don't try to speak," Caretaker soothed. "I think you have a concussion---" As soon as the words left their mouth, they spotted an empty syringe on the far side of the cell, tossed away just as Whumpee had been. "Or drugged. Probably both."

"I'm… m… s… sorry…."

Caretaker forced a half-hearted laugh. "For what?"

"I… I can't… nngh… can't talk…."

Caretaker gently probed at Whumpee's injured shoulder, earning a hiss through their teeth.

"…hurts…."

"I know, I know…" Caretaker pursed their lips.

"Why… why're… why're you… looking… at me… like that…?"

"Can you do something for me, Whumpee?"

"I… I can try…."

"Take a deep breath in."

Whumpee obeyed.

With a swift, sharp motion, Caretaker shoved their shoulder back into place.

Whumpee let out a long, low whine. All they were capable of saying, with who-knows-what running through their veins.

"It's okay! You're okay now! Your arm is fixed---"

The cell door opened without warning, and Whumper stepped inside, seizing Caretaker by the shoulder. "Your job is done here."

"Wait!" Caretaker tried to pull away from them, back towards Whumpee, who couldn't do anything but watch.

But Whumper's grip was stronger than steel, and they hauled Caretaker out of the cell as if they were nothing, their pleas and shouts falling on deaf ears.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 22

Prompts List | Masterpost

Characters: The Knight, the Prince (Royal Whump)

Prompts: "You're still you." | Disability | Recovery | Quiet Company

Word Count: 700

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @writingphoenix @wolf-the-whumper @juneofdoom

CW: suicide attempt mention, fantasy whump, curse whump, permanent injury

<- previous

----------

~Three days later~

-

"You know, you don't have to stay here anymore."

The knight frowned at the prince's words. Both were seated on the floor of the dungeon cell, sharing a meal the prince had brought. "And what would you have me do, my liege?"

The prince tilted his head knowingly. "Be my knight again."

"You're out of your mind."

"That statement is a point in your favor!" The prince waved a piece of bread at the knight as if to drive in his words. "You are not afraid to tell me when you think I'm wrong."

"That cannot possibly be true."

"You are only proving my point!"

"Being concerned for your sanity and safety is not a trait unique to myself, my liege. There are plenty of knights within the palace who are more skilled than I. One of them will fill the role---"

"But I don't want one of the other knights!" A touch of panic entered the prince's voice, and he paused, composing himself.

The knight toyed with one of the bracelets on his wrist, waiting.

"Look at me," the prince murmured ruefully. "Whining like a child."

"I understand your desire," the knight said softly. "I, too, have grown fond of you. But you must understand. This---" he rattled the bracelet "---is only a temporary solution. The curse is blocked, but it is not banished. I am a liability."

"You're still you."

"I tried to take my own life!"

"Because you believed it was the only way to protect me."

The knight ground his teeth, but did not argue.

The prince sighed. "Look. I know you're concerned about the sorcerer. We all are. My sister is looking into the reliquary and the relic inside to figure out what they might want with it."

The princess…. "She has a touch of magic, doesn't she?"

The prince stiffened, glancing towards the cell door. It was cracked open, but the prince had sent away the prison guards to give them privacy, and the knight hadn't spoken loud enough for his words to carry that far. Even so, he dropped his voice. "Yes. But she is nothing like the sorcerer."

"It is still magic."

"What she does is different! She---" the prince made a noise of exasperation. "She can explain the difference better than I. What I'm saying is: we can help you!"

"I'm willing to believe you. But my answer remains the same: I am a liability. I cannot serve you as your knight as long as I must wear these bracelets."

The prince perked up. "Will different bracelets help? Are you concerned they will fall off? Or break?"

Before the knight could answer, he was already reaching into the small pack at his side, finding something shoved in the bottom. He withdrew a small parcel, wrapped in a pale blue cloth. "Here."

The knight took the object hesitantly. It was lightweight, no longer than his palm, and the contents clicked together softly as he handled it.

Suspicion growing, the knight unwrapped the cloth and froze.

A pair of immaculate, hammered silver bracers glimmered up at him. They were simple, free of design or gemstone, with leather cords to secure them in place.

"I-I was worried my sister's bracelets would fall off or break---they're not meant for anything other than beauty---so I had these commissioned." The prince's voice shook slightly, betraying his nerves. "And---and you don't have to be my knight if you don't want to. But at least be my confidant. I still need one of those---"

The knight sighed. "Fine."

"---and I really don't want to start over anew with---wait you said yes?"

A ghost of a smile crossed the knight's face. "Rehearsed that speech, have you?"

The prince blanched. "Was it that obvious?"

"My liege, I've been chasing you around since you were twelve years old." The knight glanced down at the bracers. "And I would be loathe to make someone else put up with you while I live."

"So you will be my knight?"

The knight nodded, slipping on the first bracer, taking care not to disturb the princess's jewelry until the replacement was secure. And, for a moment, he marveled at the craftsmanship of the piece.

Freedom can come in many forms.

His could be stripped away at any time, but it was still freedom.

How ironic, then, that it came to him in the appearance of shackles.

----------

Hello and welcome to the acknowledgements.

Thank you to writingphoenix for encouraging me to continue this series for June of Doom, I honestly don't know if I would've remembered to finish out this arc haha.

Thank you also to the ever lovely fourwingedsnake, melpomenelamusa and wolfy-the-whumper and again writingphoenix for your awesome comments! I read them all and they spark much joy ^-^

I am certain without a shadow of a doubt that the royal whump sillies will return in future prompt fills and other experimentation. The curse sticking around will also be a continuous plot point in future installments, as y'all know I love permanent injuries in my whump.

Thank you dearly for reading! <3

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom 2026 Day 21

Prompts List | Masterpost

Characters: The Prince, the Princess, the Knight (Royal Whump)

Prompts: "This isn't over." | Heatwave | Spite | Dissociation

Word Count: 1k

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @writingphoenix @wolf-the-whumper @juneofdoom

CW: fantasy whump, verbal abuse

<- previous | next ->

----------

The knight watched the princess disappear deeper into the vault.

In his head, the sorcerer sighed. "That child gets a taste of magic," they said, amused, "and she thinks she can break a curse with a snap of her fingers."

"Don't speak about my lady in that way," the knight hissed.

"I shall speak in any way I see fit. Perhaps she means to finish what you could not."

The knight's jaw tightened, but he did not argue. He had received the same vision of a silver, gem-encrusted box as she had. It would not be difficult to find such a box, even in the dark. The princess had left without a word.

"Even if she does find the relic," the knight whispered, "this isn't over, is it?"

The sorcerer chuckled softly. "Of course not! You must bring it to me."

"And then?"

"And then I use it to lift the spell."

"But there's more, isn't there? You wouldn't go to all this trouble if you weren't getting something else---"

Cold suddenly flooded through his body, white light bursting from the markings on his skin, bringing with it a sensation like fire. The knight cried out, his muscles locking up in pain.

"That's enough questions."

The attack passed, and the knight was left gasping, hands curled into fists.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?"

The knight stared at the floor. He didn't look at the prince, who still clutched at his arm. The prince who still, stubbornly, refused to leave him. "The longer I hold it in, the more it wants to burst out."

"So release it---!"

"No!"

The prince flinched at the ferocity in the knight's tone. "But---"

"I-I-I can't risk hurting you!"

"You haven't yet. I don't think you will."

"His trust in you is remarkable."

"Shut up!" The knight snarled. "Just---shut up!" His palm still stung from the cut on his hand, the cloth wrapped around the wound doing little to curb the pain.

The broken mirror still lay on the floor before him.

Still within arm's reach.

Still sharp.

The knight reached for it. If he could just get it to his throat---

A hand snatched away the shard of silverglass before the knight could touch it.

He could only stare as it was thrown out of reach, clattering across the stone floor.

The sorcerer had not thwarted this latest attempt at ending the curse.

The prince had.

"What are you doing?!" The knight demanded before he could stop himself. This was his prince---he could do what he pleased! But….

"You seem to think the only path forward is the one that ends with your death. You refuse to even look at the problem from any other angle."

"I am a liability, my liege." The knight angrily scrubbed at the markings on his arm with his good hand, as if he could hope to rub it away like a clod of earth. "This---this thing puts your life and the lives of everyone in this palace at risk! We cannot afford to waste time looking for---"

"And I can't lose you!"

The knight blinked. For the first time since the prince had joined him in the vault, the knight forced himself to look at him. To see his face. The anguish in the young prince's expression sent a spear of guilt into his heart.

"I can't lose you!" The prince repeated. "Not like this. Not by your own hand, please."

The knight exhaled slowly. "And what would you have me do, my liege? No prison cell can hold me. They will not leave me in peace until I give them what they want."

"The princess has been scouring the archives, she's already found so much---"

"About something that has been outlawed three centuries ago? I do not believe our texts can hope to tell us in so many words how to rid myself of this curse."

"Remarkable you even have histories willing to acknowledge our existence," the sorcerer mused. "I thought they were burned ages ago to spite us."

Before the knight could tell them to shut up, a clatter echoed from out of sight, and the princess appeared from around a tall cabinet that held ceremonial weaponry. In one hand she clutched a small object that glinted in the magical light.

"You cannot believe they will let me go if you give them that!" The knight exclaimed, flinching back as the princess drew close.

"So I was correct!" The sorcerer crowed in his ear.

The knight ignored them as the princess dropped to the floor in front of him, holding out the silver object in one hand. "This is the reliquary you seek, is it not?"

"Yes! Yes! This holds the relic!"

"They… they say yes…." the knight said slowly.

The princess carefully placed the reliquary on the ground. When she raised her head, her expression was stern. "Then know that you cannot have it."

With those words, her other hand darted forward, clasping something around the knight's left wrist. The knight registered the cool touch of metal against his skin.

Metal that glinted the same way as the reliquary.

The princess clamped another around his right wrist.

Bracelets.

She had given him bracelets.

Metal bracelets.

Silver bracelets.

A noise of surprise came from the sorcerer.

But if they had any comments, they did not voice them.

As the knight stared at the jewelry---simple bands with gemstones lining the exterior, fit for a royal---that covered the first set of markings, the light from the rest of the runes and the frost-covered floor faded away, shrouding the vault in true darkness.

A clatter. A muffled curse from the prince.

The lamp reignited, filling the room with a soft warm glow.

The knight stared at his arms in awe.

The runes still scored his skin, white in color like a tattoo or scar.

But the surges of freezing light that had been coursing through him faded.

And---perhaps---the sorcerer was silenced.

He almost couldn't hope.

But hope was much more powerful than dread.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

this genuinely makes me so mad. some of you really don’t deserve fanfics. at all.

comment like this, besides the ai witch hunt, is one of the reasons why fanfic writers don’t want to post their fics anymore.

we write for free. whenever we can. whenever we have time. whenever we’re not too exhausted by life and responsibilities. we write for our own enjoyment. as a hobby. not a job. we update whenever we can. whenever we want. we do not owe anybody anything.

one of my favorite fics was updated after literal 13 years. but the point is that fanfic writers do not owe you anything. whether a fic was abandoned forever or updated after a decade or two is not something you as a stranger has a say in.

stop being entitled. stop treating fanfic writer as a content farm or a machine that produces contents for your enjoyment.

we’re not your employees. we’re not your slaves. we’re kind enough to share what we write for our own enjoyment with you for free. so either respect and appreciate us or be quiet.