Hello hello! My name is Kate, and I'm your friendly neighborhood fantasy writer.
About Me: I am a female Catholic writer, artist, musician and bookworm who is over the age of 18. This is a writing and whump blog, mostly original works with the occasional fanfic thrown in there for variety. This blog is mostly sfw aside from swearing and posted/reblogged violence.
I love love LOVE writing fantasy, but I am also obsessed with whump (hurt/comfort, heavy on the hurt). And if you didn't notice, I like dragons and that's a big part of why I love fantasy. Also if you send me an ask I will answer in either ten seconds or six business months.
Writing requests are open!
Note: I am strongly and openly anti-ai "art" and "writing", pro-life, Christian Catholic and I wear my opinions on my sleeve. You cannot change this. My ask box is open, but blatant hate, threats and scam asks will be deleted.
Directory below the cut
2024 intro | Whump blog intro | Why I love whump
The Society of Fantasy Whump Enthusiasts: A Tumblr Whump community centered around whump in fantasy settings.
Fandoms I Create For
Other socials:
Discord: tildeathiwillwrite
Archive of Our Own: dealerintheoreticalmurder (fanfiction) tildeathiwillwrite (original fiction)
Fandom Sideblog @tildeathiwillread
Roleplay Sideblog @jumpers-extended-universe
My Writing:
Novels/Serials
The Legend of Orian Goldeneye
Tales from Valaria
Trials of the Six
Onyx Ridge
Short stories
The Immortal Thief (immortal whump, 1st person POV)
Hero x Villain (hero and villain whump)
A Musician and A Curse (siren whump)
Well of Information
Where Threads of Snow Are Drifting (low fantasy, memory whump, grief)
Royal Whump
Other
Writing Event Contributions
Tags on my blog
#my writing -> all of my writing. all of it. there's a lot.
#my reposted memes, #my memes -> all my memes. They are also on my Pinterest, hence why I refer to some of them as reposted.
#my random thoughts -> random thoughts about anything and everything
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Even with her eyes closed, her mind wouldn't calm, a constant whirlwind of information keeping her wide awake. The histories she'd read that day mixed with the theories she'd drawn and the conversation she had with her brother, all a jumble with the undercurrent of forbidden knowledge that she had learned early on never to speak of.
Never to acknowledge its presence.
Until that day in the storm.
Now it was louder than ever, the smallest of items begging for her attention.
The heirlooms were the worst. Many of them had been involved in one gruesome death or another, either worn by the victim or deeply cherished to leave a indelible mark. As a child, the princess had refused to wear many of the jewelry given to her, even before she had the words to properly express why she was so repulsed by them.
Even after she could speak of what they said to her, no one believed her.
No one except her mother.
The queen remembered the stories passed down within her family line and recognized the gift within her daughter. She always said to the little princess to never tell a soul, for fear of execution for sorcery.
But after reading all the histories, the princess knew this wasn't sorcery. Sorcery was magic obtained unnaturally, purchased by blood, body or soul.
Her gift... her gift was something else.
But as before, the princess could not explain it.
Hissing through her teeth, the princess opened her eyes and threw back the covers of her bed, climbing out and leaving her bedroom in a heartbeat. No point in trying to sleep if she wasn't tired.
And something... something else was bothering her.
Finding a small lantern, she lit the wick from the dying embers in the fire in the chamber beyond her room, donned a shawl and slippers, and wandered into the palace hallways.
The princess didn't know where she was going. She just went.
This happened, sometimes. Never so late at night. And the restlessness had never been so strong.
But she had her suspicions.
When her aimless walking took her to the dungeon cells, her thoughts were confirmed. She didn't need to guess for the last part.
The cell door was open.
The knight was gone.
The princess couldn't muster the energy to be surprised. It had only been a matter of time before he might try something rash. Within a day of regaining consciousness, though... that was impressive.
Exhaling slowly, the princess knelt and retrieved the rope that bound the knight's wrists together. She rubbed the fibers between her fingers, staring blankly at the wall, her eyes darting back and forth in place.
It was more like a series of images, thoughts, and emotions than actual words. The ropes had nowhere near the same connection to the knight as his sword, but they had been with him long enough to leave an imprint.
Terror.
An image of frost spreading across the stones, forming familiar symbols.
Despair.
A mocking voice in her ear.
Resolve.
The armory.
The princess stood and left the cell, moving quickly. She did not panic. She was not panicking. But her breath came in shallow gasps, fear curling in her gut that she might be too late.
The armory door was open.
Weapons had been scattered about the floor: a knife near the wall, a sword, bent at an impossible angle, and an arrow, broken clean in two.
But no knight.
The princess pursed her lips. A mystery, but when magic was involved, the improbable suddenly became commonplace.
She chose the knife. That, out of all the weapons, seemed the most likely to leave an imprint.
And she was right.
She hated being right sometimes.
The knife clattered to the floor, and the princess fled from the armory.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
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🥩 Does your character have a strong moral stance on anything that might make them stand out? This includes lifestyle choices.
She believes wholeheartedly that sapient supernatural creatures deserve the same rights as normal human beings; a view that is not universally held by others in her field. Her mentor also held this view, and both of them are a huge reason why Onyx Ridge is viewed as a safe haven for the supernatural.
Of course, a supernatural creature looking for sanctuary must adhere to the laws of the town, or Eliza will not hesitate to kick them out. She can kill if she must, but she always gives them a chance to leave on their own first.
🎒 What are your characters 3 bare essentials - 3 objects that matter so much to them they would feel lost without them?
Pistol. Even if she encounters something that won't be harmed by normal bullets, just the threat of a weapon can be enough to avoid a fight.
Her kit. It's a small bag attached to her belt that holds the standard fare for repelling supernatural threats: holy water, salt, silver, a crucifix, etc.
Her hat.
🚩 What is your character's biggest red flag? What red flag puts them off others?
She's a little rough around the edges, often to her detriment (which is where John comes in to smooth things over). She also can be reckless and brash, it is difficult for her to admit when she is wrong. If someone breaks her trust, she is very slow to forgive.
A red flag that raises her hackles is when someone speaks ill of a supernatural creature for no reason other than their species. It usually comes from other humans---but not always!---and it always gets the person on her shit list. She's heard it plenty of times in the saloon by the stagecoach passengers, and no amount of insistence from William or Charity that "it's fine! They don't know any better, we've heard a lot worse!" can keep her from seething about the hushed complaints of being served by 'bloodsuckers'.
@doinglinesakawriting (since you wanted to be tagged ^-^)
❤️🩹 How does your character's past impact their present? Are they working on their trauma or blissfully unaware of it?
🌶️ How does your character perceive intimacy? Did they come to the conclusion on their own or was it influenced by their upbringing?
📌 How easily can your character sense a change in a dynamic? Can they tell when they are being lied to?
(in reference to this ask game)
Hmm... which oc... I rolled Hector on my oc pickerwheel, so him it is!
❤️🩹 How does your character's past impact their present? Are they working on their trauma or blissfully unaware of it?
As a Watcher, Hector certainly has opportunities for trauma long before Luc ever came into the picture (he actually missed his nephew's naming because he was on the other side of the territory chasing a murderer). It makes him overprotective of his family and apprentice, and part of his arc in The Watcher and the Thief is accepting that he cannot protect them from everything.
By the time The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure rolls around, Hector is "retired" (forced out of his Watcher position, still working with the Hunter's Guild) and a lot more willing to let the younger generation deal with things on their own. He's certainly aware of his trauma, but he's not particularly inclined to see a therapist (as psychology is a relatively new field).
🌶️ How does your character perceive intimacy? Did they come to the conclusion on their own or was it influenced by their upbringing?
Hector never has a love interest (on or off-page), and part of that is due to the dangerous nature of his work. He acknowledges that any job can get him killed, and anyone he pursues a romantic relationship with may be targeted because of their connection to him. So he never seeks out any romantic relationships, but he tries to stay involved in his siblings' and their families' lives as much as he can, even taking on his eldest nephew as an apprentice.
📌 How easily can your character sense a change in a dynamic? Can they tell when they are being lied to?
Oh he's very good at reading people. He clocked Kaira almost immediately---key word, almost---though he tried to give her the benefit of the doubt and nearly died for it. If someone is very good at lying, he might not notice right away, but the longer a liar is around him, the more likely he will notice something being off.
Tales from Valaria Masterpost
Referenced snippet here
@doinglinesakawriting (since you wanted to be tagged ^-^)
Boo hoo i'll be able to add more physical storage to my phone and be able to change out batteries if they degrade as well as all these other optional features I won't have to touch
I love how they add totally absurd things no one is asking for to make the idea look crazy. And still, I must emphasize, failing to make this look like a bad idea.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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just saw a 'comments' tab on someones blog you know where the following and likes tabs would be if enabled and it was just showing all the replies theyve made on peoples posts. this is fascinating when did this feature come out
if you've made replies on posts there is now a tab on your blog showing every post youve replied to and your reply.
if this is not what you want, either go to your blog and click comments and disable it from there or just go to your individual blogs setting pages. just change it from blue to grey if you dont want everyone to see your replies AND the post you're replying to
PLEASE BE ADVISED that it is set to disabled for blogs that have not made any replies but it will turn ON if you reply with that blog in the future.! i just tested it with my main, which was greyed out but it turned on the moment i left a test reply
figured i'd get the word out bc i have not seen a single mention of this and i'm sure there are plenty of people who maybe comment on things they don't want on display for everyone to see on their blog lol. you can still look at your replies with it toggled off just no one else can, like locking the following and likes list
so for some reason this feature was actually announced on the tumblr engineering blog. interesting choice not to reblog it to the staff or tumblr blog, esp considering they asked for user input on how to implement it, but i suppose considering the response to the last update maybe the replies would be too overwhelming...
so couple of clarifications. comments are disabled as default for primary blogs that have their likes disabled. they are seemingly enabled for all other blogs that have replied to posts
posts you comment on may show on your followers 'for you' page if you leave your replies publically available. they may, in the future, show in on your followers dashboard if your follower goes to their dash settings and enables this. apparently, if your likes are enabled, your followers can already see those on the dash if they've gone into preferences and selected to do so, which I was unaware of, and that seems to be disabled at default, but it's possible i disabled it previously and forgot about it ig
CW: fantasy whump, psychological whump, suicide attempt
A/N: Dead Dove I am so serious about that last part
<- previous | next ->
----------
Hours passed.
The sun set beyond the castle walls, and night settled over the world. The moon didn't show her face tonight, leaving only the cool, distant light of the stars to pierce the darkness.
Most in the palace would be asleep. The rest would either be guards on patrol outside, or night workers elsewhere.
The knight slowly got to his feet.
Now or never.
His footsteps were silent on the stone floor---leather boots, not his trusty steel, another thing the sorcerer stole away from him---as he crossed the cell to the door.
Putting his hand on the lock, the knight exhaled slowly, focusing his thoughts. He'd spent hours considering this plan, how his curse seemed to operate. How it had unraveled the knots on the ropes until they fell away from his wrists. How it had left patterns where his hands touched.
How it was favored towards the motives of a thief.
"I am not a thief," he whispered.
But he pushed sharply against the door, forcing his anger into the lock.
Frost spread across the wooden surface, swirling into runes and symbols before his eyes.
The prince had once told him that every snowflake was unique. When the droplets of water froze into ice, each formation was different, no two crystals the same.
The curse was not like that. The symbols served a purpose, and some hidden formula guided them into across pre-determined paths. Was it the knight's will that caused them to form in such a script? Or was it the sorcerer's?
The lock clicked.
His breath hitched, heart beginning to race again.
It worked!
...it worked.
The knight shook his head to clear his mind and eased the door open, listening carefully. The corridor greeted him with silence.
So he left.
His step was confident, his destination determined long ago, though he did not recall when he made the decision, exactly. Perhaps it was when he awoke yesterday morning and recognized the room. Perhaps it was after the prince left.
It was certainly made after the sorcerer spoke to him.
At the thought of the sorcerer, his step slowed. Were they watching him at this very moment, hidden in the shadows? Were they residing in his head, peering through his eyes?
If the sorcerer had an opinion on these thoughts, on this decision, they made no comment.
Perhaps they were simply a hallucination, after all.
All the more reason to continue.
The knight quickened his pace. The corridors of the lower palace were familiar, yet foreign. The same worn stones, the same metal sconces, the same wooden beams.
It was the knight who had changed.
All too soon---and not soon enough---the knight reached his destination.
Not the throne room. Not the vaults, or the library. Not his own bunk in the garrison, however much a warm bed appealed to him. It wasn't even a door leading out into the night, where he could disappear forever.
No, the knight slipped into the armory.
The far-off starlight glinted through the tempered glass windows, reflecting off racks and rows of battle-axes and swords, crossbows and knives, morning stars and metal-tipped arrows.
The knight selected a simple dagger from its mount on the wall. He didn't require anything fancy. Like him, it just needed to do its job.
Beneath one of the windows seemed as good a spot as any.
The knight settled against the wall, the stars making a square of light on the ground before him.
He admired the way the light glinted on the hammered steel of the knife in his hand before pressing it against his chest, right about his heart, the point angled between two of his ribs for a swift delivery.
"I am not a thief," he murmured again. "And I am not your puppet!"
Before he could talk himself out of the decision, the knight thrust the knife into his heart.
It sliced through his shirt.
Pierced his skin.
And---
A flash of white.
A burst of freezing cold light erupted from his chest, blinding him.
Something---or someone---tore the knife from his grasp, and it clattered across the stones.
The knight blinked the stars out of his vision, instinctively pressing a hand to his heart.
His skin was intact.
"Well, that was unexpected," the sorcerer said in his ear.
The knight stared down at the hole in his shirt in mute horror.
"Not the attempted suicide part, mind you," the sorcerer clarified. "But rather, the flashiness of your magic defending you."
"It's not my magic!" The knight snapped. Scrambling to his feet, he seized a sword from the nearest rack and moved to fall upon it. Surely gravity would---
A flash of white light.
The sword bent in half.
"Fascinating," the sorcerer mused.
The knight ignored him, this time snatching up an arrow from its quiver and pressing it against hiss throat, above where the markings ended and left bare, vulnerable skin.
The arrowhead snapped off from the force of his hand against the impossibly unyielding flesh.
Unleashing a string of curses, the knight hurled the useless shaft across the room and collapsed back against the window, held upright by the windowsill.
"Oh? Giving up?"
"Please," the knight whispered, voice shaking. "Please let me go. You have to let me go."
The sorcerer hummed softly, but did not reply.
"I will rot in that cell until I die of thirst, if I must."
"If you think that would work, be my guest," the sorcerer said. "But if there was any mortal way out of that curse, believe me, I would have found it."
The knight frowned, the sorcerer's words from during the ritual returning to him.
I was not nearly so coherent when I experienced the same.
You know well the binding power of oaths.
"'Mortal'?" He repeated.
"I have reason to believe your king possesses a relic, hidden away in the royal vaults, that may be the key to reversing the spell."
The knight exhaled slowly, thinking. "How do you know this?"
The sorcerer's voice grew melancholic. "I have tracked the relic across hundreds of years, thousands of miles, for centuries. The histories, both written and oral, say it is so."
"It could have been stolen long ago," the knight said softly. "Or destroyed."
"Perhaps. But we will not know until you look."
The knight folded his arms. Every instinct screamed at him to fight. To try another weapon. To find another way out. Anything but trusting the vile human---if they could even be called that---who had stolen away his mortality.
Finally, he spoke, words forced through gritted teeth.
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