New On Writblr - Tumblr Posts

Alright, I’ve seen this introduction game for writblr bouncing around, started by @iloveyou-writers , and thought I’d give it a go, because I know like. Nobody else on here lol.

Hi! I’m Archangel, or Arch, and I use she/her pronouns. I tend to traverse writing genres pretty freely, but my favorites (and most common) are fantasy, sci-fi, dystopia, heroes and villains, and horror. I’ll write anything though, so be warned. As far as tropes I love, it’s a lot of Hero Villain stuff, that one “Oh. Oh.”, hurt/comfort, anything to do with fae(is that a trope?), and of course, enemies to lovers. Also one bed. Sue me.

I would say I’m SFW, but everyday I am dragged towards NSFW, and it is entirely my friend’s fault. So uh. I may not stay SFW for long? I do tend to write a lot of mental health stuff, (including self harm, but more so healing from it/getting help), kidnapping, and hurt comfort, as of now. I don’t know what tropes I won’t write, but if someone ever asks for one (if one day, I am blessed with an ask 🕊️) and I realize I won’t write it, I’ll let you all know.

In my opinion, the best work I’ve ever written is either my half written, totally not mildly abandoned book The Edge of Truth, or my other book that is slightly close to being done and has no title, the poor thing. The Edge of Truth is entirely serial killer based and I love that the main point is to not only trick the characters, but the audience too, while leaving clues the whole time. Haha, foreshadowing. Also it’s lesbians so like. My no name book is superpowers based and has been a war to write, but I love the character dynamics and also my demon character. On here, though, my favorites are likely my Map of Fae story, or the one with the hero who can steal powers. I will not link them because tumblr hates me and I can’t make it work for the life of me :(

My favorite characters I’ve written are probably Riven, Mercy, Lucy, Melody, and Aletheia(but sometimes she actively fights me as I try to write her, which sounds over dramatic, but of course it does, I’m a writer.) (All of those are book characters that I’ve written so you likely won’t find them on here, at least for a bit)

One last thing is that I go absolutely feral for anything to do with fae, or other supernatural creatures. Also hurt/comfort. I’m lgbtqia+, and my writing is too, so check the homophobia at the door, and if you can’t part with it, then kindly find the nearest exit.

I’m also obsessed with the All For The Game series (It’s rather unhealthy, really), and my friend is relentlessly trying to get me to write megamind fanfiction. Sometimes my writing sounds British, but I’m not British, and I have no explanation.

Thanks for reading that horrifying essay, and I challenge these people to fill this out (I have very few writer friends and I’m very lonely so here are the few I know): @ettawritesnstudies @jtl-fics @save-the-villainous-cat @epiclamer @megreads22 @d-cs @lektricfergus @meadowofbluebells

Hello, I saw from your introduction that you are hoping for an ask and I think I have a prompt for you: A villain who is tasked with poisoning the hero only to realize that the hero is their little sibling. You don't have to write it if you don't want to, but it came to me while working on my introduction and I thought you might enjoy it.

Anyway, have a good rest of your day. :)

This is such an awesome prompt, thank you so much!!

(Edit: part two)

The villain was a lot of things, but they weren’t one to use poison. They planned, they sabotaged, unleashed mind games and carefully tilted domino effects—but they didn’t use poison.

But some ostentatiously rich benefactor wanted the hero to die without the mess of broken buildings and bones, so they had paid off a higher up, who paid off someone else, until an envelope filled with a packet of poison ended up tucked into the villain’s hands.

So here they were, at a party, a vial of something toxic and deadly and shimmering tucked up their sleeve.

Someone bumped into them, muttering an apology, and they straightened their suit. It took two seconds to snag a champagne glass off a waiter’s tray, one to empty the vial into it, and four, to arrive at the hero’s side, grin fixed on their face.

“Having fun yet?”

The hero turned, blinking beneath a masquerade mask—wouldn’t do to reveal their identity, now would it—and smiled, slightly.

“Absolutely loads of it.”

The villain glanced at the table the hero stood at, all but abandoned, and hummed.

“Looks like it.”

The hero did nothing more than sigh, elbows resting on the standing table. Somewhere, the mayor laughed. The hero winced.

“Why don’t you go talk to him,” the hero gestured with their head. “He organized this for us to make peace, you know?”

The villain slid a baleful look at the center of the party.

“He organized it to parade us around like dogs.”

The hero simply went back to studying the half crumpled napkins.

The villain blew out a breath.

They nudged the glass of champagne towards the hero’s hand. The hero didn’t take it.

“Peace offering,” the villain urged. The hero gave something between a grimace and a frown, eyes darting between the villains face and the glass.

“Oh. I mean, uh—thank you, but really, I can’t—” the hero went to rub the back of their neck, and stopped halfway there.

“Too much of a goody goody for alcohol?”

When the hero didn’t rise to the bait and take the glass, the villain clucked their tongue. “Come now, it’s only champagne.”

This time, they took it, fingers hesitant, as if they had never held a champagne glass before.

Too trusting, their hero, with their wide eyes and still soft face.

The villain clinked their glasses, indicating for the hero to drink. The hero downed their glass whole—which they hadn’t expected but made this a lot easier—and coughed.

“It’s champagne, not whiskey,” the villain laughed, and the hero squinted at their now empty glass. “You have to admit this is a relatively nice bottle.”

The hero coughed once more, looking a little green.

“I don’t know, I’ve never had it before.”

“What, champagne?”

The hero shot them an unreadable look.

“Alcohol.”

The villain paused. “What are you, sixteen? You sound like my youngest sibling.”

The hero choked on a breath, face flushing slightly as they looked away.

“Strange comparison,” the hero said, voice slightly strangled, and the villain simply stared at them.

A moment later, they shoved off their elbows. “I should go, mingle or whatever—” the hero stopped, frowning, as they swayed slightly.

They made to raise a hand to their head, and simply stared at it as it shook.

The poison was fast acting, then.

“I—bathroom. I should—“ the hero’s hand dropped, and they took a stumbling step.

A moment later, the villain had an arm around their shoulders, guiding them through the crowd with an easy smile. They were light, shorter than the villain, and for that, the villain was grateful.

They were one step into the bathroom when the hero dropped like a stone, slamming into the side of a stall with violent thud.

“Shit,” the villain murmured. They clicked the lock, leaving them alone together. “They didn’t say it would be this fast.”

Really, they just wanted to make sure the hero’s power didn’t go off, decimating the entire building. The villain knew it could—and under their right mind, the hero would never let it. But while dying…

The hero let out a sob into the bathroom tile, and shadows began to trail their way across the floor, as if desperate.

Control of shadows was an expansive and brutal power, stealing thoughts, forming beasts, sending terror down spines in broad daylight. It was the one thing the hero and villain shared—the shadows, even if the hero was gentle and the villain was brutal in their usage of them.

That’s what made it so, so easy for the villain to scatter them from the hero’s grasp.

The hero shuddered, and managed to shove themselves upwards in time to vomit into the nearest toilet. The building shook around them, and the hero’s mask dissolved from their face.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t want you to die like this,” the villain admitted. “You deserve a valiant battle.”

The hero heaved again, and those shadows blasted outwards, as if on reflex. The villain tucked them away.

The hero managed an incredulous laugh.

“I didn’t think you would poison me.”

The villain blinked.

“You see too much good in people.”

The hero rested their head against the toilet, face still turned out of view.

“You hate poison,” they offered, and the villain hesitated.

The villain hated poison, yes, but there were very few people who knew that—one person who knew that, bearing the memory of small fingers swallowing pretty colored liquids and the number for poison control. Weeks in the hospital, their younger sibling’s hand clutched in theirs, as the villain watched them recover.

But the hero couldn’t know that; they had made sure nobody knew that.

The hero was just delirious, that was all.

“You seem to be grasping at straws.”

The hero laughed again, and it sounded like it tore something in their chest. “I forgot how much this hurts.”

The hero had been poisoned before?

“Hero—”

“It was never supposed to end like this.”

The villain took a step closer and the hero didn’t flinch, even though they undoubtedly sensed them.

“We’re on opposing sides, someone was bound to get hurt—“

“I never hurt you,” the hero shivered, and then retched once more.

“You’re a hero, you’re not supposed to.”

The villain took a step forward, until their shoes almost touched the hero’s sprawled legs, and the hero slumped further.

“I never caught you, either,” they murmured, and the villain frowned.

Something was wrong. They were missing something, a vital piece of information.

“I was supposed to keep you safe.”

The villain froze.

“Hero, what are you talking about—”

“I’m sorry,” the hero sobbed. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get hurt. If I wasn’t your hero then someone else would be and they would hurt you and catch you, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t—“

The hero dragged a hand down the back of their neck, as if wiping off sweat, and their hand came away smothered with concealer.

The villain stopped breathing.

There, on the hero’s neck, half covered by foundation, was a birthmark.

A birthmark only one person carried, imprinted into every childhood memory and scrapbook photo the villain had.

The hero was still rambling, half desperate and half broken, but as soon as the villain touched them, their voice fell away.

They hauled the hero up, glancing desperately over their sweaty face, their unfocused and half delirious eyes, body shivering with pain. Those too trusting eyes latched onto the villains face, and the hero smiled. A smile the villain had been looking at for the past sixteen years. A smile that had never had a drink before. A smile that had been poisoned once, by a cleaning product under the sink. A smile the villain looked forward to seeing every day. A smile that belonged to the only person the villain had left.

“You were never supposed to poison me,” their sibling whispered—and collapsed into the villains arms.

(Part two)

A ten, but….

I got tagged in by @jay-avian in their post here, (thank you by the way) and thought it looked fun! So here are a couple of my characters, kind of organized by what story they’re from, kind of not.

Melody—is a ten, but is the daughter of a serial killer and has already masterminded a plan for how your first introduction to her will go

Agent Jules—is a ten but is falling in love with a highly intelligent and slightly feral child of a serial killer

Lucy—is a ten and can rob you and kill you in under twenty seconds but her ace ass is awkwardly avoiding her best friend so he doesn’t have the chance to confess his love

Aletheia—is a ten but made a deal with a demon and then got kidnapped

Riven—is a ten but is a sassy little shit (and also a demon)

Travis—is a ten but literally ran away to Oklahoma to avoid his problems and proceeded to fall in love with a country boy and spill his secret identity

Shawn—is a ten but is also just kind of an asshole

Alex—is a ten but keeps shattering windows when he gets excited and his powers flare

Drake—is a ten but keeps getting stuck half phased through walls

Clarke—is a ten but is insane and plotting to take over the world

Briar—is a ten but got peer pressured into playing a children’s horror game and got yanked through a mirror into the reverse realm and was replaced by her reflection

Rain—is a ten but lives in an poisonous rain apocalypse and is used by the government to cause chaos so no-one questions why they haven’t found a cure (they have, it causes superpower mutations) (guess who has those)

And that’s the main ones! Or at least, the most fleshed out ones. Thanks for reading, and I’m going to tag @meadowofbluebells @ettawritesnstudies @kittensartswriting @iloveyou-writers @rehnwriter to join in the fun! (If they want)

Nine People Tag

Thank you, the lovely @jay-avian for the tag. I have so many to catch up on that y’all actually inspired my anxiety to inspire ME into being productive. So thank you (genuine and with love).

LAST SONG: I can see you by Taylor Swift, TV & the Across The Spiderverse Song List

LAST MOVIE: Across the Spiderverse, or Insidious. Can’t remember the order

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Criminal Minds

CURRENTLY READING: Killer Instinct by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

CURRENTLY CRAVING: Dirt Cake Ben & Jerry’s ice cream because they don’t ever have it in stores and I’m too lazy to go into the actual ice cream shop

LAST THING SEARCHED FOR: Most painful places to get stabbed that are non-life threatening

Dragging you into the fray, kicking and screaming, @imaginativemind29new @clairelsonao3 @writeblrfantasy @writersandkitties-blog-blog-blog and anyone else who wants to join!

15 Questions (Adelie edition)

Thank you @oh-no-another-idea for the tag! This was so fun! I got like, kind of carried away…

Cat settled across from her on the rooftop, grinning, copying her to sit half crossed legged, one foot dangling off the edge. The city was a hundred stories below, and quiet under the wind.

She ran a hand through her hand. “Get on with it, then.”

He grinned wider.

Are you named after anyone?

“You don’t even know my name, she pointed out.”

He watched, expectant.

“I couldn’t tell you,” she admitted.

Cat squinted slightly. “Your mother?”

Adelie shrugged one shoulder.

“She’s not exactly capable of answering that.”

“Odd way to describe someone who’s dead.”

She shot him a look, and he raised his hands as if backing off. He pantomimed writing something a journal, nodding his head.

She was going to shove him off the roof.

When was the last time you cried?

“I don’t cry.”

Cat scoffed. “Now that’s a lie. You cried last week.”

“You stole a can of tear gas off a riot cop and threw it at me.”

“Right, but there were tears.”

She expected him to move on, but he didn’t, eyeing her expectantly.

She grimaced.

“Two days ago.”

“Training?”

“Yeah.”

He hummed, writing on air once more.

Do you have kids?

“Cat, I’m seventeen.”

“Hey now Sunshine, I don’t judge life choices.”

“I’m pretty sure you judge all of my life choices.”

“Not true. I just find the heroism boring.”

“Thanks, Cat.”

Do you use sarcasm?

“I don’t know, do you?”

Cat grinned.

“I’m asking the questions.”

“Good for you.”

“Sunshine—“

“I love you.”

He blinked at her for a moment.

“For a hero, you’re quite vicious, you know that?”

This time, she grinned. “Why do you think the media wants us to be a couple, hm?”

What's the first thing you notice about people?

“Generally wether or not they’re trying to kill me.”

“How boring.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll focus on their hair so they have a nice opportunity to stab me.”

Cat put a hand to his chest as if wounded.

“I only tried to stab you once.”

“How kind of you,” she said drily.

What's your eye color?

At this, she paused.

“I’m…not sure.”

Cat stilled, too.

“You don’t know what color your eyes are?”

She tipped her head, trying for nonchalance as her mouth went dry.

“Not everyone is as obsessed with themself as you are, Cat.”

He said nothing for a moment.

“Green,” his voice was rough. He pulled out his imaginary paper again, avoiding her face. “Your eyes are green.”

Scary or happy endings?

“I don’t like any endings.”

“Not even the happy ones?”

“Those aren’t real.”

He sighed. “I hate your father.”

“Well yeah, he’s a superhero, you’re a villain. That’s the whole point.”

“That’s not why.”

“Cat,” she said lowly, and once again, he dropped it.

Any special talents?

Her fingertips began to glow slightly, and she had to shake her hand to make them stop. Cat watched, amused.

“Trouble?”

“None, thanks,” she said breezily, and he laughed.

“So, the light…”

“It’s energy.”

“From…”

“My hatred for you.”

He batted his eyes.

“Awww, you’re so sweet”

“You’ve got three seconds before I push you off this roof.”

Where were you born?

“Probably here. Kind of attached to the city.”

“All work no play.”

“I find great joy in throwing you through walls, thank you.”

He winced slightly.

What are your hobbies?

“Saving people.”

“Not a hobby.”

“What are you, the hobby police?”

He shrugged. “I could be. You don’t know.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Punching you.”

“That’s also under the umbrella of saving people. What, do you not knit or something.”

“Do you think I have time for knitting?”

He nodded sagely. “There’s always time for knitting.”

She groaned. “Truce Sundays. That’s my hobby.”

“Your hobby is eating junk food once a week on top of a skyscraper where we are forbidden from murdering one another.”

“Yep.”

Have you any pets?

She looked at him, and he frowned at her.

“I don’t count.”

“Aww, but Cat—“

“I’ll throw you off this roof right now—“

“Well, now who’s the mean one—“

“Literally it’s always been me, I’m the villain—“

“Someone’s throwing a hissy fit—“

“Genuinely go get hit by a rocket launcher or something—“

“I survived the last time that happened so really—“

“I hate you.”

“Ditto,” she said, but they were both smiling.

What sports do you play/have played?

“Volleyball.”

Cat looked like he was prepared to tell her heroism wasn’t a sport, and stopped, mouth half open.

“What?”

“Volleyball,” she said with amusement.

“You play volleyball,” he repeated, slightly stunned.

“Good for the reflexes.”

“Uh huh,” his brow furrowed. “Volleyball.”

“You know, with the net—“

“I know what volleyball is Sunshine.”

How tall are you?

“Why would I know that?”

“I mean, I can tell you right now that you’re short.”

“Oh fuck you—“

“Like 5 feet 4 inches MAX.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And according to the media, you’re dating me.”

“For fucks sake will you let that go.”

He smirked.

“Have I finally brought the cursing out of you?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed, delighted.

Favorite subject in school?

“Fighting.”

“Not a subject.”

“English.”

“Good job, you picked a normal people school subject.”

“You say that like you weren’t also raised by a powered person.”

“Well yeah but mine isn’t a douche—“

“Cat.”

“Fine, fine.”

Dream job?

“I’m doing it.”

Cat put down his imaginary paper, face serious.

“Sunshine.”

“Cat,” she mimicked.

“This cannot be your dream job.”

“I help people,” she defended. His brow wrinkled.

“No, you almost die.”

“But I help them,” she repeated, and he shook his head.

“Being a superhero shouldn’t be anyone’s dream.”

“And being a super villain should be?”

He lowered his gaze to the city.

“I didn’t say it was.”

She paused, frowning.

“But you’re—“

“You’re not the interviewer, Sunshine,” he interrupted.

She pursed her lips.

“You can’t just say something like that—“

“I can and I will.”

He looked to her, and that smile was back again.

“How many news articles do you think they’ll publish this week about us dating. Superhero’s daughter and supervillain’s son, star crossed lovers!”

“If I’m lucky, none,” she said.

He stood up, and winked at her.

“The only time you get lucky is when you see my face.”

“Cat—“ she cursed, and he laughed as he vanished in a snap of shadow.

Alrighty, time for tags! (No pressure of course) @jay-avian @imaginativemind29new @clairelsonao3

When the zombie apocalypse started, you felt only a sense of sour humor. Like on those nights when you wished you could sleep and never wake up, some cosmic entity heard you, and was taking a kind of sick vengeance.

Your friends laughed and stole liquor out of locked cabinets and took shots in the name of doom.

You went home and turned the tv all the way up and locked every single door twice. It wasn’t enough.

Don’t approach someone if they appear sick, they said. Avoid them and dial 911.

After a week they disabled emergency service lines.

Stay indoors. Only go out when necessary. Keep your distance from one another, they said.

Online, people called it a hoax.

But that footage they showed on the news, people emptied out and filled with some creature that knew only hunger, that snarled and lunged for those around them without hesitation…something in you knew without doubt that it wasn’t fake.

The government gave blinding smiles and sent every army they had. They promised everything would be fine.

Nothing would ever be fine again.

Bullets did nothing. No matter how wounded, those humans that were empty and vicious dragged themself with bloody nails after anything that pumped blood. Those soldiers died and came back, killing their friends and family and comrades.

The government stopped going on tv.

With all your precautions, with every warning you gave your friends who didn’t give a shit anymore, who took this as a sign to give up, with every tip you got from the news, it didn’t save you in the end.

Thousands, millions were dying every day and you…

One week after the start zombie apocalypse, you saw a dog. A pitiful, sick dog that whined at you and gave you mournful eyes, and you froze.

And you stopped.

And you knelt down next to it because you with your fear and your kind heart wanted to be a vet.

Because you, with all of your precaution and all of those warnings forgot everything.

A week and a day after the zombie apocalypse started, you lost control of your own body. You were filled with something so hungry every bone in your body ached.

That’s fine, you thought. I’ll die soon anyways. The people on the news said the host always died. That there wasn’t anything left inside.

Two weeks after the zombie apocalypse starts you realize that the people on the news were wrong.

You start screaming. No one bothers to try and save you.

The creature inside of you has been dragging you across this wretched planet for a month, and you crave death with the same fervor that it craves flesh. The news people, your neighbors, your family, they flee from you.

They cannot hear you begging for them to burn every scrap of you alive.

You wish they would.

Two months after the start of the zombie apocalypse the creature inside of you has run out of things to eat. You are starving. Everything hurts. Your heart is giving out.

At some point, the creature inside you starts to consume your body.

You should be dead by now

It won’t let you die

It eats your vocal cords. Rips them apart with your fingers, tears out your tongue. Peels off your flesh.

The pain consumes every thought until your nerves fry.

You count it as a blessing.

You lose your eyes, your fingers, every piece of you soon after.

You cannot bring yourself to care.

A year after the zombie apocalypse starts, your body gives out. You lie on something that feels like asphalt. The remains of your muscles and tendons and joints and bones twitch as the creature pulls once, twice, again, but you do not move.

You feel it then, as it leaves you lying there. The utter cruelty of it as it leaves you lying on the ground, when it has been the only thing keeping you alive for eleven months.

You have been dying for over a year. You have been dead in your mind for far longer.

You regret every thought you ever had about the zombie apocalypse, about the notion of quick death and reanimation.

You regret the things you didn’t do. The things you did. You can feel your heart, finally, give out.

You wish you could see the sky one more time as you slip into the dark.

But you haven’t had your eyes for a long, long while.

And with one last breath, you die alone on an empty street, with only the uncaring creature that stripped you for parts and murdered you slowly to watch you go.

“Don’t die.”

The sidekick’s hands pressed into the hero’s wound, and the hero blinked dizzily.

“What?”

“I said, don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, wait, who are you?”

The sidekick’s gaze had an intensity the hero didn’t know existed. Then, they grinned, and it was like sunshine.

“Your new sidekick. And I can’t be your sidekick if you have the audacity to die on my very first day, so don’t die.”

The hero blinked once more.

“Nice to meet you?”

“I’ll say nice to meet you when you stop bleeding out.”

—————————

“Don’t die,” the sidekick reminded the hero, half laughing, half serious.

The hero rolled their eyes with affection.

“Have I ever?”

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero glanced up.

“Relax, it’s just a graze. No bullet holes, see?”

They held their arms away from their body, twisting to show the lack of harm.

The sidekick sighed with something close to relief.

—————————

“Don’t-“

“Die, yes, I know,” the hero finished. The sidekick’s eyes narrowed.

The hero’s heart twisted.

“I won’t, I promise.”

The sidekick nodded, once.

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero sneezed, eyes bleary.

“It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, and people die from those.”

The hero laughed, voice nasally.

“The agency would be thrilled to have cause of death ‘common cold’ written in my file, I’m sure of it.”

The sidekick threw a pillow at them, and brought them soup.

—————————

“Be careful, okay?”

The hero snapped their head up.

The sidekick blinked at the sudden movement, mouth still half open.

“What?”

The sidekick cleared their throat.

“I said be careful,” they gestured awkwardly with one hand. “It’s Supervillain. They don’t pull punches.”

The hero’s mouth was dry.

“Right. Yes.”

They strapped their last piece of gear on, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and hero,” the sidekick tried for nonchalance, smiling slightly. “Don’t die.”

The hero smiled back.

—————————

“You idiot,” the hero hissed, hands frantic. They didn’t know where to press, which wound to try and stop first. The sidekick coughed weakly.

“I had it handled,” the hero’s voice broke.

The sidekick managed a pained wheeze that might have been a laugh.

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“It’s Supervillain, why—“ the hero tipped their head upwards, tears slipping from their eyes.

The sidekick whimpered, slightly. “You could have gotten hurt.”

The hero pressed their hands onto the chest wound.

“And you getting hurt is okay?”

The sidekick didn’t answer. When the hero looked up, their eyes were closed.

“Hey, no no nonono don’t do this to me, sidekick, hey,” the hero scrambled, fingers slick with blood, heart pounding. “Don’t die.”

A curse, an oath, a command, a prayer.

Don’t die.

The sidekick, just barely, smiled, tugging the hero down to whisper into their ear. Just two words. The two words.

The hero sobbed, shaking their head, pushing back to find a pulse—

And found the silence of a waiting grave.

—————————

“Don’t die,” the hero said to themselves quietly, pressing a piece of gauze to their side.

The medic watched them intently, eyes soft, but didn’t say anything.

They knew. The whole goddamn base knew.

And that was the only thing that would come out of the hero’s mouth.

“Don’t. Die.”

The medic’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes watering, and they vanished out the door.

The hero realized, then, that their cheeks were wet.

Two words.

An oath. A prayer. A command.

“Don’t die,” They whispered, and for a moment, just a moment, they could pretend it was sidekick saying it.

The very first words they had said to the hero.

And their very last ones, too, pained hushed whispers in the hero’s ear, a final breath.

“Don’t die.”

The hero started sobbing, then.

And they didn’t stop.

Don’t.

Die

If I’m not traumatizing people on the internet am I even a writer