TL Philip 🇵🇸 (they/them)
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odaaauthor.bsky.social
TL Philip 🇵🇸 (they/them)
@odaaauthor.bsky.social
27 followers 12 following 360 posts
Writer, tired, CSA survivor, easing back into this, profile pic by @samiihyan.art
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odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - inside
Here, we get a sneak peak at Harthin's idea of leadership and how it clashes with his father's.
“You’d burn your own bridge for a chance at a trap that the enemy might not even fall for,” his father said. “I’d burn them all if it kept my men alive,” Harthin said. Tuldist tilted his head. “And when they starve because you cut off of your supply routes, do you think they’ll care that you were trying to keep them alive?” Then, the king moved a single wooden token — a tiny, painted figure holding a staff — closer to the river crossing. “They’ll have protection spells. Casters protect their own. And they never go first. You want to kill them, you’ll need to trick them into thinking they’re safe.” Harthin wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “How?” “Order all but one of your maniples to retreat,” Adsyne chimed in. “Let them think there is discord amongst your ranks. The spellcasters will get overconfident and try to eliminate what little resistance there is. They’ll be distracted, and won’t notice the trap.” He pointed at a ballista. “Anti-personnel bolts.” Harthin frowned. No matter how skilled, the enemy spellcasters couldn’t defend themselves from thousands of arrows raining from the sky, and the spears of infantry at the same time. But all of his own troops would die in the process. The rot inside Harthin soured. “No, I won’t sacrifice my soldiers to—” Tuldist raised his hand to strike and Harthin froze. The blow came as swift as the last one. This one, at least, didn’t cut him. He closed his eyes and suppressed the rage that bloomed like roses in his head, biting back the thorns in his mouth.
July 24, 2025 at 8:41 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - minor

I have something that fits the vibe. In which Harthin, for once, isn't having the absolute worst time anyone could possible be having. See? He gets reprieve. Sometimes.
“Maybe I want to be sharper and more masculine like you,” Harthin said. “Not manly, but boyish.” “Eyeliner does that really well for you,” Adsyne said. In that case, Harthin would wear it every day. The rest of the night passed uneventfully, as did most of the day. After training the next day, Harthin and Adsyne spent the night taking in the celebrations for the eve of the new year. The streets were wet and slippery from melting snow, but nobody seemed to mind. Ribbons ran from lamppost to lamppost, strings of paper lanterns hung above the streets, buskers competed against the noise of crowd to be heard, and Harthin was once again flabbergasted at how many stalls could fit in the streets, peddling trinkets and seasonal treats. Harthin adored the unrestrained joy and whimsy on Jüseph’s face as the three boys made their way through the festivities. He enjoyed himself as well, of course. How could he not? He was with his best friend and… well, his only other friend in the city. The weight of royal responsibilities seemed so small when he watched Jüseph laugh.
July 23, 2025 at 7:43 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - moon

A snippet Harthin reads from another character's journal. One of five, if I can stick to plan, scattered through the book between chapters. I'm hoping readers will be able to guess which character wrote them by the time they reach the reveal near the end.

Also yay eldritch horror!
The castle in my dream was old. Older than Castle Keldyn. And not in the regular sense of the word, where things crumble and layers of dust cake every surface. The walls were spotless, the drapes were pristine, the floors shone. But it heard the world’s first screams, soaked the first drops of blood ever spilled into its foundations, stood sentinel as stars flared and died. It held more stories than a library, fed on them, twisted them into something alive. It was dark, the kind that wraps around you when you’re running from something and whispers stay. And at the center of this ancient, yawning, consuming thing was a boy. Not a king, not an emperor, not a god. Just a boy made of starlight and shadow with skin the silver of moonlight, eyes that sparkled like jeweler-cut amethysts, and hair so black it swallowed light whole. And he was beautiful. So beautiful that even monsters curled at his feet and let him stroke their rotten, too-many-eyed heads. They adored him like hounds with their masters, and they called him Harthin Ashthorne. But that name didn’t quite fit. There was no such thing as Harthin. Not really. It was only the Dark wearing a boy’s skin. And he loved me. Oh, how he loved me.
July 20, 2025 at 7:45 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - search
The opening to book 2 is, um... Not exactly the most cheerful piece of fiction I've ever written. It quite literally opens with a suicide attempt. It does make a great contrast for later in the book, though.
“Harthin? Are—” Adsyne dropped his blade and flew to the Prince’s side. “Give it to me.” Harthin did as he was told. His fingers trembled as the blonde peeled sharp glass from his grip. He leaned against Adsyne as the other boy lifted him to his feet. He searched the fragments one more time for a version of himself he didn’t despise. The thorn boy would’ve been so disappointed in him. He’d promised to love himself. A lie, apparently, with which he fooled even himself. His heart was rotten, barely more than a collection of bruised muscles and fraying sinew. Nobody would want it. Nobody but the thorn boy.
July 19, 2025 at 12:36 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - together

In which Harthin is Not Well and seeks comfort in the only person who he believes is truly his.

There's some definite inspiration in this scene from Don't Let the Forest In, so if you like this, I highly recommend you read that book.
“Hold me,” he said. Adsyne’s arms were comfortably warm as they wrapped around Harthin’s shoulders. The Prince pressed himself closer, but it wasn’t enough. He climbed into the blonde’s lap, but it wasn’t enough. He pushed their bodies together, but it wasn’t enough. Any closer, and he’d have climbed inside his best friend’s skin, but it wasn’t enough. He would’ve split open Adsyne’s ribs and stuffed himself inside, if he could have. If he’d had Adsyne’s lungs sewn inside him after the execution, maybe he would’ve been able to breathe. He laced his fingers through Adsyne’s hair and pressed his mouth to the curve of the other boy’s neck, not to kiss him, but because he wanted to feel his knight’s pulse against his lips. He wanted to taste Adsyne’s life, to feel it thick and thrumming on his tongue. “What are you doing?” Adsyne asked. “I don’t know,” Harthin lied. He was hollow, empty, a boy-shaped void, trying to fill a hole inside him that could never be filled. “I just… Don’t ever leave me, okay? Promise me you’ll always be by my side.”
July 18, 2025 at 10:40 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - Locker

I don't have today's word, but I do have wardrobe, which I think is pretty similar and definitely fits the vibe.
The blonde’s fingers traced the line of his jaw before retreating. The loss of contact brought back the cold. “Get some rest, Harthin.” Adsyne stood, but the Prince grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go,” Harthin said. “Please, stay with me tonight.” Adsyne’s gaze flicked to the bandages on his hand, then his wrist, then his eyes again. He gave Harthin that sunshine smile he’d come to adore. “Make some room.” Harthin scooted over and Adsyne climbed into bed with him. The Prince lay his head on his knight’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The blonde’s fingers brushed through his hair again. His cat, Cinder, hopped down from his wardrobe, crossed the room, and leapt into his bed. She curled up against his back and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.
July 12, 2025 at 8:25 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - smile

Harthin is his own worst enemy istg
Adsyne’s smile was beautiful as he sat beside Jüseph. Harthin wondered what was going through his head. Cute like you, he imagined Adsyne saying. It made the vines coil so tight around his ribs he thought they might break. Strange, he thought, how he could have a decent time with Jüseph when it was just the two of them, but as soon as Adsyne was in the room, he couldn’t stop imagining all the ways his best friend could hurt him.
July 9, 2025 at 10:23 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - Challenge

Green is such a beautiful color on Harthin.
“Like he doesn’t just show up when he feels like it,” Adsyne teased. “Hey!” Jüseph challenged. “I gave you a whole two weeks without me showing up uninvited. What more could you possibly want?” Adsyne beamed. “I didn’t say I disliked you coming by.” The vines coiled around Harthin’s ribs tightened. He stood and brushed the snow from his shorts. “We should start heading back,” he signed. “It was nice to meet you, Jüseph, but I should start mentally preparing to see my father.” “It was nice to meet you, too,” Jüseph chirped as he stood. The three of them separated, Jüseph returning Harthin’s coat before going home, the Prince and his knight returning to the castle. Harthin and Adsyne walked side-by-side, their knuckles brushing. A jolt went through Harthin at the contact. He wanted so badly for it to mean something, to know he was important to Adsyne in a way nobody else was. He couldn’t handle it if the boy he’d known from birth got tired of him. “What did you think?” Adsyne asked. “Of what?” Harthin glanced at his knight’s hand and briefly considered holding it to show Adsyne how desperate he was to not lose him. “Jüseph.” “Oh. I think he’s really sweet.” Harthin’s mouth was filled with thorns.
June 26, 2025 at 8:56 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
Screenshot of a Tumblr post by ofdarknessandashauthor: In the Nickelodeon show SpongeBob, Mr. SquarePants owns a home while working as a frycook at a fast food restaurant. This is to remind viewers that the show is a work of fiction.
May 24, 2025 at 9:00 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
If you see this, post a sword!

Old piece drawn by @laurenmcrown.bsky.social. This character is no longer canon, but they were once going to be one of Harthin's children. Before I realized boyo is ace
May 6, 2025 at 6:29 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - talk

From book 2, in which Harthin is locked in solitary confinement and sensory deprivation for many, many days. Poor kid was not okay.
One day, there was a blizzard. It felt like ice was stabbing each and every nerve in his body. The shadow-people on the street wouldn’t talk to him, wouldn’t even look at him. He must have done something bad. Or maybe he wasn’t real. Why else would they be ignoring him? He reached out toward one, but his hand passed through them like they weren’t there. He wanted to go home. Where was home, exactly? He couldn’t remember. There was a tiny room and an uncomfortable bed, that much he knew. He’d been lying on the cobblestone for a long time and he wanted to scream to see if anyone would notice him, but then they’d just get mad at him for making so much noise. The jailer might come and… And do what? Why couldn’t Harthin remember his face? Besides, he felt like he shouldn’t talk anyway. Maybe if he was a good boy, if he stayed silent and didn’t complain about the ice in his veins, someone would give him a blanket. Maybe they would take him home. There was a blizzard. It felt like ice was stabbing each and every nerve in his body. The shadow-people on the street
April 28, 2025 at 8:12 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - smoke

Literally the only instance of this word I have in book 2 is in the prologue... It's fun to play around with formatting and stuff. Another thing I like to do is shift from 3rd to 2nd person for certain scenes or chapters.
Nobody told him death would be so terrifying. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing on a bed of embers. Near-black storm clouds roiled above him, streaked with veins of volcanic orange. Cyclones of ash and smoke dotted the horizon. The embers beneath his bare feet stretched on for miles, like an endless desert of destruction. It was so cold. He looked down at himself, only to find he was completely naked, his skin the color of recently-cooled ashes. What was his name again? Where was he? How did he get here? He tried to remember, only to find an emptiness inside him. With nothing better to do, he started walking… W a l k i n g… W a l k i n g . . .
April 20, 2025 at 8:43 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - chill

From book 2, a journal entry from one of the characters. I won't say who, though... that's a spoiler ;)
In my dream, I was a traveler. My clothes dripped with rain and my heartbeat rang like a dinner bell in the halls of a castle that had never known silence. It was warm, like the breath of a wolf as it opens its maw to feast, but it was a welcome change from the chill of the rain. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve stayed out of the Dark’s domain. But I never do what I should, do I? A candle flickered. A shadow stretched. And then he was there: the Dark, the Prince, the Horror in the Walls. Harthin Ashthorne. He stood at the top of a staircase, dressed in nothing but a shirt so loose it slipped off one shoulder. His skin gleamed pale as bone, and his lips curled into a smile that could cut gods. A monster lurked in the shadows behind him, too many eyes for one face staring at me. It sniffed the air, then licked its chops. “You’re lost,” the boy said, tilting his head, “aren’t you?” I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. I was looking at something that should not exist. His features were delicate, androgynous, beautiful, but his gaze was sharp enough to carve commandments into stone. His frame was draped in just enough fabric to suggest more than it hid. And the Dark wanted to be seen. It craved adoration. And I wanted to see it. I wanted to adore it. I wanted to know it. And so I was doomed.
April 14, 2025 at 5:37 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips lip

From book 2, in which Harthin is jealous and his codependence is showing. The lightheartedness before that, though... That was necessary, I think, what with all the angst in the rest of the book XD
Jüseph flung himself onto Adsyne’s back, one arm limply wrapped around the blonde’s neck. “Get off him, you monster!” It was adorable, the way his voice cracked. They laughed as Adsyne fell backward onto him. Harthin took his chance to pounce on Adsyne. His hands found their way to Adsyne’s sides and he tried to get his revenge for the harrowing tickle-assault he’d been forced to endure, but Adsyne, much to Harthin’s dismay, was immune. Harthin wasn’t sure what happened next. One moment, he was the one on top. The next, Adsyne’s legs found his neck and suddenly, he and Jüseph were both pinned beneath Adsyne. Adsyne’s hair was a mess of golden threads, like sunlight woven into waves that reached his jaw. His skin was flushed slightly and he bent down, forehead-to-forehead with Jüseph as he tried to catch his breath. The vines coiled tighter. One of Harthin’s brittle ribs snapped like a branch bearing too much weight. He narrowed his eyes and for a moment, considered pulling Adsyne in for a kiss, just so Jüseph wouldn’t get to do it first. Then, Adsyne’s hand found Harthin’s cheek, his thumb brushing across the Prince’s lips, and the thought was gone as quickly as it had come. “What am I to do with the both of you?” Adsyne breathed. “It was bad enough when it was just one of you, but now I have two chaos fairies to contend with? This is unfair.”
April 12, 2025 at 7:29 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - cry

Everything in book 2 even remotely close to cry is a massive spoiler so we'll be borrowing from book 1 today. I didn't realize it back then, but I've been using nature imagery to describe Harthin's emotional state for literal years now, but it's gotten way more deliberate recently.
He couldn’t go faster. He tried so hard, but his legs wouldn’t carry him any more swiftly than they already were. He was sprinting, his feet pounding like thunder on the snow, but the distance only seemed to be growing more and more vast. He tripped. Panic seared through his veins like molten lead. No longer was his anxiety the gentle pattering of rain on a spring day; it was a tempestuous downpour like the ones during the worst days of Decay. It soaked into him like he was desert soil, flooding his marrow like a tsunami. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him. There was something wrong with him. Ahead, where starlight filtered through the rifts between the trees, was his only salvation, the only place he could be fixed, so he steeled himself and picked himself up. For a moment, he could’ve sworn the shadows helped him to his feet, but it was such an absurd thought he pushed it from his mind and pressed forward. And then he cleared the treeline, and the night filled his lungs like he’d been cut free from a noose. Harthin collapsed to his knees and, for the first time in days, he took a deep breath. He had made it. He was safe. There had been too much pressure in him to cry, and it had threatened to boil over into an explosion, but now, beneath the moon and stars, a dam had broken and water could flow. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he adjusted how he sat, hugging his legs to his chest. He pressed his forehead to his knees and sobbed. He was faintly aware of Vraine sitting beside him, the other boy’s steps featherlight on the ice-crusted snow, and the two of them sat there in silence.
April 9, 2025 at 8:02 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
A bonus snippet for my morning #WriteSky folks because I've been trying very hard not to have a panic attack for the last two hours and decided to funnel it into my writing. I love writing horror. There's also a bit of Bloodborne inspiration, for those who've played it

CW: panic attack, body horror
Tunnels. Labyrinths. Ruins. Blood transfusions. A Proxy urging caution. A warning ignored. Dreamers. Cult sacrifices. Brains lined with eyes. Fingers morphed into tentacles. Blood turning pale. Deformed villagers. A beached god. A lone man with a sword. An orphan’s cry for help. A whole plane of existence born of hatred and despair. Tentacles. Blood. Eyes. A mother’s curse spoken in a language older than the foundations of the world. “Curse the hands that dared to sin. Curse the eyes that dared to see. Curse the wombs that bear their kin. And their wombs, too, for all to be.” Harthin woke. They were with him. They were watching him. Hundreds thousands in the Dark watching him wanting him craving him too many thoughts too fast too advanced too old planes of thought and memory too high twisted and rippled and colorful and loud His chest hurt Too much he was going to die it was all too much somebody help he couldn’t breathe help it felt like someone was lobotomizing him help his body was too hot help why couldn’t he stop shaking help he stumbled to the mirror in his room help his head in his hands help him he let them fall don’t look he looked stop him save him too many eyes and not enough faces it wasn’t him that stared back liar yes it was it was him but so much bigger he is the forest he is the Dark he is everything he is nothing. Too late. He feels your breath on the page. Harthin jolted upright in bed, terror buzzing like wasps through his body. Jüseph and Adsyne were there. The mirror wasn’t. They’d taken it from his room while he was in the dungeon. It wasn’t there. This was real.
April 8, 2025 at 10:18 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - whip

Not a whole lot going on in this scene, tbh, but it's still neat. We love magical mounts.
Harthin relaxed a little and went to his bedroom. He gave Cinder a scratch on the head as he retrieved the ring-whistle Korelia had given him. He slipped it onto his finger and made his way to the courtyard with Adsyne. As soon as he stepped out into the snow, Harthin brought the whistle to his lips and blew. Motes of light, like moonlit fireflies, coalesced into the shape of an antlered horse — a dúr, as Korelia had called him. His black fur was glossy and soft, his silver mane long and perfectly groomed. He prodded at the snow curiously, then turned his gaze to Harthin. The Prince grinned and took the beast’s snout in his hands, resting his forehead against Jester’s. “Hey, buddy,” the Prince murmured. “I’m sorry it’s been a couple weeks since we rode.” He put a foot into the stirrup and slung himself into the saddle. “Let’s try to have fun today, all right?” Jester waited as Adsyne led Butterscotch out of the stable and climbed into the saddle. They rode through the city at a painstakingly slow pace, but Harthin didn’t want to accidentally trample anyone, so he put up with it. Once they were free of the walls, they picked up speed a little bit through the lower city, then settled into a brisk trot as they reached the plains, kicking up snow as they went. The leagues of farmland were covered under a thick, white blanket, and though he preferred forests to planes, he had to admit there was a certain beauty to the desolation that sprawled out before him. “I’ll race you to Lord Marston’s estate,” Adsyne said. Harthin grinned. “You’re going to lose.” “We’ll see about that,” Adsyne said. “Ready?” “Ready.” The Prince and his knight broke into a gallop, the wind whipping through Harthin’s hair as Jester lurched forward. As they raced toward a manor a couple miles in the distance, Harthin was able to, briefly, forget about the harrowing afternoon that awaited him the next day.
April 8, 2025 at 8:08 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - name

Don't make telepathic contact with edlritch entities. It's generally regarded as a bad idea. Harthin wouldn't have survived this if he wasn't The Most Special Boy In The World
“What’s it doing?” “Clinging to the ceiling. Watching us.” Adsyne’s hand curled into a fist, then unclenched. “I chased it all the way here from… Tuldist told me to kill it.” Frowning, Harthin closed his eyes and submerged himself in that familiar network of connections. Sure enough, there was something there. It was, perhaps, not the best decision of his life, but he reached out to it. Touching its mind was like pressing his soul against a sky made of lullabies and dying stars. Harthin couldn’t comprehend the way it thought, but it was like the gravity of a black hole trying to swaddle him in the rings at the edge of its event horizon. There were ripples of color that didn’t exist, spirals of memories that hadn’t happened yet, bubbles that contained galaxies. Wings that never learned to fly. A consciousness older than time. Fragments of himself scattered through the universe. It was crying. It was afraid. Its consciousness pressed closer to Harthin, like child seeking safety from its mother. Beached gods. Orphans. Ascension. A name bleeding out of a broken mind. A childhood crumbling like moth-eaten paper. Warmth. Smallness. Cries for help in a language that made the bones of the world vibrate. Shedding an adolescent human’s body like a cocoon. Harthin felt something in his womb, something alive and wriggling, and he dropped to his knees, arms folded over his abdomen. And when he opened his eyes, he saw it, too.
April 6, 2025 at 8:14 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - laugh

Their dynamic is so much fun to write
“You’re gorgeous,” Jüseph breathed. “Malãe, can I stay with Harthin and Adsyne tonight?” Harthin didn’t remember inviting Jüseph to spend the night. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on the Prince, too,” Marris signed, then went back brushing the hair off of Harthin’s clothing. “One damaged heartthrob is enough.” “Says the woman who likes to date men she can ‘fix,’” Jüseph teased. “Piralco,” Marris said with a laugh, the Vrükian word for ‘brat.’ Jüseph beamed. “I win,” he singsonged. “For now,” Marris signed. “But I’ll get you back, bòbündro.” Harthin raised a brow. Their back-and-forth was almost as amusing as what his and Adsyne’s. He wondered if the two of them could be like that, if he could just get over his own petty envy and resentment. “So is that a yes, then?” Harthin asked. “He can stay the night?” “I suppose,” Marris said. “Take a change of clothes, Jüseph. Take two, actually. We know how messy you can be.” Jüseph chuckled. “Sure. Can I have some spending money, too?” “Have you lost your damn mind?” Marris asked. “You’re friends with two of the richest people in the nation and you’re asking me for money?”
April 4, 2025 at 9:46 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - official

I don't have exactly the same word, but I think 'aristocrat' is close enough
Harthin marched into the throne room, his knight in tow. The hubbub was noisier than normal, and it set the his nerves screaming like needles poked each one. Fortunately, they went silent when the Prince entered the throne room. A baron who’d been making some case about bloodline propagation or something — Harthin hadn’t been paying attention — turned and stepped out of the way. All eyes were on the boy, the Prince, the ghost who’d risen from the dungeon. How many of them, he wondered, were like that man from Lindros’s shop? How many were willing to trample over others for their own personal gain? How many had gotten to their positions by doing exactly that? “Good afternoon, Father,” Harthin said, stopping before the dais. “What an unexpected pleasure.” The king’s voice was a forest without birds. “I presume you’re here about the letter your little friend received?” “Did you seriously reinstate the draft for one boy?” Harthin asked. “Of course not. That would be ridiculous,” Tuldist said. “All children ages ten to thirteen have been drafted, as have all adults ages fourteen to twenty.” Harthin frowned. So it wasn’t a move against him. “For what purpose? We’re not at war.” “I’ve learned to recognize patterns in my millennia as King of Izania. What’s coming is beyond war.” Harthin frowned. “What? What’s coming? What could possibly warrant forcing so many people into military service?” He turned and scanned the room. None of these privileged, parasitic aristocrats were young enough to serve. None of them would know what it felt like to kill. But their children would. He closed his hands into fists and returned his gaze to his father. “I’ll join them. I’ll go through the same things they have to. It’s only fair.” “No,” the king said, “you won’t. You are not like them. You’re a Prince. You will be directing the fight, not charging in the vanguard like some common rabble.”
April 3, 2025 at 7:45 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - trick

From book 2, in which Harthin has some complex feelings about his best friend's totally-definitely-not-crush.
Jüseph looked at Harthin like he was checking on a glass placed precariously on the edge of a table. Then, he hugged Harthin, too. Harthin tentatively returned the embrace. It was… pleasant. Jüseph was soft, despite being roughly as skinny as Harthin — or rather, as Harthin had been before the cell. If Jüseph was taller, they’d probably wear the same size clothes. How similar were they, Harthin wondered. Would Harthin have been like Jüseph if he’d had a stable home life? Was… was that why Adsyne was replacing him with a stabler, happier version of Harthin? Was it because Jüseph was a real b— Harthin jumped when Adsyne’s hand clasped around his shoulder. “Stay with me,” the blonde murmured. “Sorry,” Harthin said. He looked at the red-haired boy before him. He wished he could kill the vines and moss and thorns inside him. He wondered if Adsyne would’ve felt the same way if he’d met Sorath. If Harthin did something with Jüseph that he did with Sorath, maybe he could trick himself into associating those feelings he had for Sorath with Jüseph. It was worth a shot, at least, but what? He didn’t feel like going to a bathhouse, and how would he ask Jüseph to dance with him? Maybe sword fighting? Though, he wasn’t sure the other boy stood a chance. Maybe they could go to The Hunter’s Roost. Harthin had quite liked the food when he’d eaten there with Sorath, though he wasn’t hungry at the moment. Honestly, he felt… bloated, full beyond what his body should’ve been able to hold, like he’d swallowed seeds and a forest had begun to sprout inside him. “I visited you in the infirmary,” Jüseph said. “I’m not sure you recognized me, but…”
April 1, 2025 at 7:50 AM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - lonely

CW: BRIEF FLASHBACK TO CSA

From book 2, in which Harthin kills (one of) his rapist. And something about it just doesn't feel right. Because vengeance take away the pain. It doesn't magically make the trauma vanish. It doesn't undo what she did to him.
The axe was surprisingly light in Harthin’s grasp. He wished it was heavier. Killing someone was a weighty act, and the weapon should reflect that. His hands trembled as he stared down at his mother, bound and gagged, on her knees before him. The cold had turned her lips blue. Her crimson hair fell over her face. She was bruised and beaten, like she’d fought the arrest. It was strange, being the one who held the power for once. The guilt knotted his gut like tangled roots. For a moment, he recalled her hands around his throat, her bare legs on either side of his face, her telling him how that was the only thing he was good for, that he was worthless otherwise. Tell me you want it, or I’ll leave you alone in the dark. And he had. Because he was only seven, and even after five years of it happening by that point, he was so desperate for his mommy’s affection, however warped it had been. The roots twisted tighter around each other. He took a breath of the crisp air and turned to gaze upon the crowd. Hundreds of faces, hundreds of eyes that didn’t see what was really happening. They had all come to see him kill his biggest torment, his rapist, his mother. If only they saw past his performance of a Prince delivering justice, to the barely-adult boy on the brink of collapse. Riu, the silver-feathered raven, perched on Ren’s shoulder, who stood amongst the masses with a pensive look on his face — nothing like the disdain he’d seen in his mother, or the cold indifference of his father, who stood on the other side of the woman who knelt before him.
March 30, 2025 at 7:11 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - touch

Someone's a little jealous... and terrified of abandonment
“What did you think?” Adsyne asked. “Of what?” Harthin glanced at his knight’s hand and briefly considered holding it to show Adsyne how desperate he was to not lose him. “Jüseph.” “Oh. I think he’s really sweet.” Harthin’s mouth was filled with thorns. Adsyne smiled, the kind of genuine, soft smile reserved for love. “Yeah.” A sour taste spoiled Harthin’s appetite. He felt moss in his throat, ice in his veins. His fingers bent like the gnarled twigs of a tree stripped of its leaves. There were roots in his stomach and monsters in the sharp corners of his mind. If someone touched him too harshly, he thought he might break like a stained glass portrait.
March 29, 2025 at 6:31 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPsnips - quick

From book 2. Harthin likes being looked at. He likes feeling attractive. He likes that people want him, even though he's ace. I wonder if it's connected to his trauma at all XD
Jüseph shivered beside Harthin as they trudged through the snow, even after Harthin had given the other boy his coat. The Prince caught plenty of eyes as they made their way through the city. He usually did, being royalty, but a lot of the looks he got were different than usual. Some people looked at him like he was mad, walking around with half his legs bare, but others eyed him with intensity, their gazes lingering a little too long for casual curiosity. He caught a boy, maybe a year older than him, staring at him like Thali stared at her boyfriend. The boy turned away quickly, his face flushed. It set the moths behind his ribs fluttering again, and he preened at the attention. A quiet thrill ran through him at being seen like that, at being desired. It gave him an enrapturing sense of power and though he knew he shouldn’t care, that it shouldn’t matter, he basked in the elation. It wasn’t like he returned their sentiments, of course. He’d never thought of anyone like that, never even had a real crush. He very much doubted he ever would. No, he was firmly asexual. He was open to kissing, with the right person, but certainly not anything more than that. “Copper for your thoughts?” Adsyne asked. “Just thinking about… Well, I like how people are looking at me,” Harthin said, signing so Jüseph could be included. “Like you’re a fool for dressing for summer weather in the dead of winter?” Adsyne asked. Harthin chuckled. “Yeah, that’s definitely what I meant.” Adsyne elbowed him in the ribs for the second time in an hour. “You might have a problem with vanity, Your Highness.”
March 27, 2025 at 7:54 PM
odaaauthor.bsky.social
#WIPSnips - Lung

From book 2, in which Harthin has purposefully killed someone for the first time and has a visceral physical response to it.
He’d killed her. Four people. He’d killed four people. The ringing in his ears drowned out the noise of the crowd as they rejoiced in his vengeance, his justice, his ‘freedom.’ The roots swelled within his gut. Harthin cupped a hand over his mouth and fought back the bile that rose in his throat. Thorns and glass filled his mouth. Flowers bloomed in his lungs. Moss grew thick and slimy his windpipe. He couldn’t breathe. The axe fell from his trembling hands. Turned out, intention mattered. Sorath’s death had been accidental. He’d had no way to know the thorn boy would come to life and kill Kíalanzí and Albraïc. His mother? That wasn’t an accident. He lifted the axe. He let it fall. He was a murderer. Harthin couldn’t believe how easy it had been. To swing. To kill. She died so quickly. He flinched as hands clasped around his shoulders. The Prince whirled around, then relaxed when he saw it was only Adsyne. His Adsyne. “You’re okay,” Adsyne said. “It’s over.”
March 25, 2025 at 8:00 PM