Choices

What is the craziest thing any of your OC's has done? What motivated it?

Thank you so much for the ask Wyked!

I feel the need to mention that the story I am writing is a bit off the wall with most of the things that happen in it, but it makes me happy so I want to roll with it and see how things turn out.

To the quearion: I think that Luis probably holds that position, but since the thing he does is a very big spoiler for the story, I'll share another individual's dip in sanity.

A side character tech witch named Nickolas took on the roll of the Winter Holiday Man.

To give a bit of context, the tech witches learned of a significant power source many years ago, but due to the nature of that power they weren't able to locate the source even after wiping out the warlocks who were protecting it. They tried to take advantage of the imagination of the hiding power source by giving more credence to various holiday figures in an attempt to locate him.

Most of the tech witches assigned to their roles were purely doing what they had to and seriously hunting the fleeing child. Nicholas, on the other hand, became engrossed in his role and gradually descended into the persona he'd been given, abandoning his original directive. He does end up finding the child who was a teen at that point, but he couldn't bring himself to betray such an innocent and ended up helping him find someone whom he could trust, giving him hope for the future.

Legend of the Winter Holiday Man

The Winter Holiday Man lives in the frozen lands, making presents for all of the most patriotic boys and girls in the world.

On the coldest night of winter, he puts his bottomless bag on his belt and rides his flying bear around the world to deliver presents to all of the deserving people who believe in him.

So traitors beware lest he runs out of sulfur, and his flying bear grows hungry during their perilous treck.

Short Story: Green

The end of the world happened slowly; as most things do. The plants began to disappear—one by one becoming extinct—too gradually for the general public to take seriously. When they did notice, humanity shrugged it off as the natural cycle of things.

And then it was the animals. That was harder to ignore.

It was the pollinators first, of course. Without their help, much of the flora could not proliferate as they once had. The lack of sunlight, of fertile soil, of bees or butterflies or hummingbirds were the beginnings of the end. Grassy meadows became barren deserts and lush forests became wasteland littered with twigs and branches—the corpses of once-mighty trees. Green became a lost color.

There weren’t many humans left when Zoe found hope and began her journey. The last human interaction she had was years ago to a man dying of smoke sickness; a common story for the few still alive. The ever-smoking towers brought industry, jobs, prosperity for a while…before they brought illness and death.

Over time, the smog and ash the towers spewed blocked out the sun, displaced the air, and changed the color of the world. Those who inhaled too much of the toxic fumes died slow deaths. Many grew up breathing it, assured by charismatic politicians that it was not harmful. They didn’t want to see past the lies; humans were an optimistic species after all.

Zoe walked past one of the many ever-smoking towers—still spewing death into the air—and took a moment to gaze at the darkened sky. She wondered what the sun might have looked like; what it still might look like hiding behind that veil of black and gray. There were stories, of course, but she liked to imagine that the sun was green.

With one hand, she adjusted the breather that sat over her nose and mouth, clutching a small egg-shaped container in the other before continuing her stroll, stopping at at a flickering metal box that matched her in height. An oxygen vending machine.

She had stopped by every O vendor she had come across in her years-long journey. Air was something she could not afford to let run low. Her expedition was a long one and she didn’t even have a notion of when it would end. It was better to refill her breather as often as possible before there would be nothing left; when soon—she assumed—there would be a large stretch where there would be no more O vendors to provide breathable air. She didn’t know when or where, but she knew it was inevitable. There were only so many O vendors that could have been put up before the smoke sickness claimed too many lives to justify the expense and many were already running low on supply.

She inserted a plastic card into the machine and fresh air was pumped into her mask. She breathed it in appreciatively, taking in the slight chemical smell of the original container and wondered what air from plants smelled like as she crossed empty streets and passed more ever-smoking towers.

Her destination was far but she was almost there; or so she hoped. Just a little farther, she kept telling herself, repeating it every so often. Her personal mantra.

She held the little container close to her, afraid that she might lose it; that it might slip and tumble down somewhere she could never hope to reach; that it might wither before she got to the one place in the world the sun was said to touch. The Sunpatch she had been seeking since she had found the egg-shaped thing—her hope—that she carried with her.

She had walked for so long with no direction save for the little information she had managed to gather after so much research on the Sunpatch. Much of it were rumors that lead to dead ends, others were educated guesses when information was obviously incomplete. She hoped to the hidden sun that the one she followed now wasn’t another dead end. It was her last lead and she was so old and so tired.

Her elderly legs hurt and her feet were numb from so much walking but she soldiered on as always. Zoe was determined to get the little egg-shaped thing to the Sunpatch no matter the cost to herself.

Her journey was a lonely one; solitary but never by choice. Often she wished that she could have company; another of her kind. The egg was a good listener but not much for conversation. Had the world not ended, her conversations with egg would be seen as madness but there was no one now to judge her.

For years, she trudged through desert and dead forests and broken cities and rock fields. She searched every used-to-be settlement for survivors—but always found no one—and stopped by every defunct food store to stock up on liquid snack cakes, bottled water, and portable air cans. On rare occasions, she even found running water in the long-abandoned cities. In those, she had the luxury of a quick bath and change of clothes. This wasn’t one of those cities.

She chose a building that looked to be in good shape and tried the door. Locked. A quick glance around found her some rubble; pulled up concrete from a sidewalk.

The aging woman lifted the heavy fragment and hurled it at the window, shattering the glass in an explosive cacophony of clinking, clanging, and crashing. No one will care about a broken window. No one is here to care.

She swiped the opening with a balled up rag, sweeping away bits of broken glass before carefully climbing in; agile despite her age.

The space was lined with mostly-empty shelves that made little paths. Zoe noted these as she passed the counter with an old register caked with dust sitting on top of it. It must have been a corner store once.

She searched and found a few bottles of liquid snack cakes and water. No canned air, unfortunately. Whomever owned the business—or perhaps survivors that had fled the city in search of better homes away from the towers—had taken most of the supplies before they had gone.

Opening and attaching one of the little bottles of liquid snack to her breather via a short, thick straw, she sucked on the meal, reading the text on the bottle. She had read them a million times but the mind needed something to keep from going mad and with the world so empty there weren’t many options. “Now with 50% less fat and 100% more calories!” it claimed. What a load of ash.

Zoe rested well that night before awaking to bottles and cans strewn about the former shop. Wakefulness came slowly and she didn’t notice the peculiarity of the out-of-place things at first. It was after a few blinks that it registered. “No! No no no! Where is it?!”

Her heart skipped a beat and she went into a frenzy looking for the little egg-shaped container; missing from the rotten pillow where she had left it before falling into an exhausted slumber. She dug through her rucksack, searched every nook, every cranny, and under every store shelf, but found nothing but rubbish.

The floor was sticky from spilled snack cakes, their bottles chewed by the incisors of a small creature. She had no guesses as to what it could have been but it had left a trail of liquid-snack footprints to follow and so she got to tracking the thief.

The tracks lead her to the store’s backroom; dark without electricity to light the way. She squinted, backing up a bit to where there was light enough to see as she rummaged through her pack and pulled out a small metal flashlight. She shook it a few times, and then flicked the switch on its side. The beam of light flickered before holding steady.

She ventured into the dark room, sweeping the light beam from side to side in an effort to continue tracking the creature that pilfered her hope. The backroom was in worse wear than the store’s front. A thick blanket of dust and cobwebs covered just about every surface that wasn’t disturbed by a certain little thief. Zoe found the footprints again etched into the dust and followed them, taking care not to step on any of the impressions.

They lead her to stairs going down to a basement darker than the backroom. She gave her flashlight another shake before venturing the stairs—step by cautious step—holding the railing as she moved down. The old wood creaked under her weight and she feared that she would fall through, break her neck, and die in a dusty dark basement under an abandoned store in a long-forgotten city. For much too long, she tested every stair before proceeding.

Her feet found purchase on solid concrete ground fifteen minutes later. She swept light over the new room slowly, almost missing the bundled fur in the corner. There it is!

The rat turned when the light touched its black fur and hissed. Behind it was the egg-shaped container that Zoe had been looking for; a bit scratched up but otherwise fine.

She crouched down on creaky knees and attempted to reason with the animal, “Come on now, I need that.”

The rodent responded with another hiss, back fur prickling up.

Slowly as to not make any sudden movement, she retrieved a bottle of liquid snack cake from her bag. “How about a trade then?” She twisted the lid open.

The rodent watched her intently, the over-sweet smell of liquid cake entering its nostrils and masking every other scent in its tantalizing aroma. It wiggled its nose in satisfaction as it began to salivate.

“You like that don’t you?” Zoe cooed, removing the lid completely. She poured a small amount of the contents onto the floor in front of her, “Come on. I know you want it.”

The rat hesitated before cautiously approaching.

She poured more liquified food onto the floor, pooling it up for the little scoundrel.

Temptation and instinct overwhelmed the rodent and it scurried to the food. It lapped up the thick batter; greedy from hunger.

The human added to its meal, pouring a bit more for it before righting herself and walking around the rat to the egg. She bent down and retrieved her hope up off of the floor, giving it a quick inspection under her flashlight when she was standing again. “Well, you didn’t damage it too much…” she said to the hungry rodent, “I’ve got to go now, little rascal. Enjoy your meal.”

She carefully made her way around the sticky mess and the rat to the foot of the stairs and frowned at it, annoyed at having to climb back up. Fear began to well up in her at the thought of falling and so she took a moment to breathe, steeling her nerves for the ascent. I made it down all right; I can make it up again…

The rat squeaked then, interrupting an otherwise still scene. She turned her light on it as it ran in a circle once, twice, and then scurried to the shadows of the back wall. “Where are you going?”

The rat squeaked again as Zoe realized a bit late that this rodent is the first sign of life she had found in her travels in years. She had been too focused on retrieving her stolen hope that she had nearly missed the fact that this creature survived the smoke-sickness that was choking the life of nearly every living thing…and it wasn’t wearing a breather. Here?! No…we’re too close to towers…but it has to breathe somehow…

She touched the latch of her breather, tempted to remove it to see if perhaps the air was breathable here, but she thought better of it. If I die here, it’s over for real. There will be no hope left…Some animals had adapted to breathe less air and this rat was probably one of them. She couldn’t be fooled by it.

Instead, she followed the rat deeper into the dark; hand outstretched, shaking the flashlight every once in a while as if it would keep the battery going.

It wasn’t long before the rat lead her to a hole in the wall just big enough for Zoe to crawl into. The old woman sighed and considered turning around. The rat squeaked impatiently at her before scampering into the tunnel.

Against better judgement, she latched the flashlight to the shoulder strap of her pack, slipped the egg into one of its more secured pockets, and got on her hands and knees.

She crawled through the tunnel, surprised that it didn’t narrow or end so abruptly. Someone must’ve dug this before they left the city. Stinging pain throbbed in her old knees as she continued shuffling forward, following a used-to-be common pest through a tunnel under a convenience store.

The passage was longer than Zoe had ever expected an improvised excavation could be. She had to stop and take breaks, maneuvering herself into a more comfortable laying position every so often to rest. It lead deep into the earth before steadily slanting upwards; so gradual that Zoe hadn’t noticed until light shone through ahead of her.

Eager to escape the cramped walls, she quickened her crawl toward the light. She didn’t know how long she had been shuffling in the subterranean tunnel but she guessed from her backaches and bruised knees that it must have been a while.

She pulled herself from the hole, moving dirt and small rocks as she surfaced. The light was blinding after some time in underground darkness and her chest was starting to feel tight. She had enough air for at least another day! Surely she hadn’t been traversing underground for that long! But she was gasping for air, struggling to fill her lungs. Her breather was running low.

Panic starting to intrude on her psyche, Zoe desperately scanned her surroundings. Massive dirt and rock walls bordered her from the outside world. Stalactites hung from the earthen ceiling above, drops of water falling from their tips in rhythmic succession. She found herself in a vast cavern of sunken earth; nowhere near an O vendor.

All of this for nothing…because of my foolishness…because I followed a rat of all things!

As if in response to her distress, a whistling gust of wind—gray particles dancing within it—embraced Zoe in its cooling hug before racing up toward an opening in the ceiling, blowing out of it like a volcano and parting the endless gray-black clouds of the ever-smoking towers. It was from that opening that a beam of yellow light pointed to a single circular patch of yellow-green before dissipating a moment later.

Zoe’s eyes widened at the sight; brief but certain. She had been searching for so long and here it was; hidden under a city, under ever-smoking towers that blocked from view the few moments of sun that managed to touch earth periodically when upward wind broke black clouds. She stifled tears as she approached the Sunpatch.

Reverently, she held the egg-shaped container in both hands, dropping to her knees before the little patch of life. With shaking hands and burning lungs, she set the egg aside and began to dig, clawing the earth with bony fingers until she was satisfied with the divot she had made.

Dizziness was setting in as she lifted the egg and popped it in twain above the little hole, dropping a singular ball—smaller than her fist—into the exposed earth. The tightness in her chest was nearly unbearable by the time she buried the seed.

Her life’s mission finally complete, she smiled with satisfaction; with all the love and hope she could possibly give to the world. As the wind returned, quickly flying toward the opening in the ceiling, she laid her tired body down and faced the beam of sun as it came in for another few precious moments. Her air had run out and the world was closing in around her; replaced by an overwhelming serenity. The tension left her body, smile softening but never vanishing as she stared at the mound she had created and the brilliant streak of dusty yellow light that caressed it.

The sun wasn’t green but it was beautiful.

Originally published on renalawhead.com on July 22, 2024

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Project 32 'Night Hound'

A cruel punishment to set an example.

The dead companion had laid at its master's feet as loyal as it had been in life. No power had been enough to stop that. Desperation and isolation drove the master to make this creature from the body of a dead companion.

Night Hounds appear as tall, emaciated hounds that appear normal up until the joint between the neck and head where the head has been severed. Two tubes connect a skinless substitute head to the body. Hard to kill and exilent guard dogs, the hounds are also extremely loyal, and once choosing a master will stay with them until death.

If the bond is close enough, then the soul of their chosen master can animate and linger with them as they pass into the afterlife.

Ruined Safehaven

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Some context: On the run from a group of powerful vessels (those wielding powers of nature and destruction), Silus tries to bring Luna to a small town for some sense of normalcy in the whirlwind of their journey.

Warning: implied massacre, devastated landscape

Luna rushed past Silus, hiking up the hill with renewed determination.

-Did you really think it was that easy? I didn’t take you for a coward and a fool-

Silus paused, his throat drying out instantly as he recognized the familiar smell of sulfur faintly hanging in the air. Just over that, Ridge was supposed to be safe, but they would have already guessed that wouldn’t they? 

Despite the heavy pack weighing him down Silus lurched forward with the last ounce of stamina he had been preserving, tackling the excited girl to the ground and covering her mouth before she could let out a startled squeak. Now that he was paying more attention, the smell was only getting stronger, accompanied by a sinking dread that started bubbling up in his guts. Luna’s eyes were wide with fear, but when he motioned for her to remain quiet, she nodded slowly, not even making a peep when he removed his hand. 

Luna’s small body trembled as he shifted away from her, but Silus couldn’t stop for apologies this time. Creeping slowly to the crest of the hill, the gnarled woods gave way to a sudden wasteland. Dust and ash hung thickly in the air like a wall, not creeping past some unseen boundary. Any sign of their refuge was completely blotted out, but if he listened closely, he could hear the muffled screams of those trapped inside. 

The air in his lungs began to grow thick as he watched the ash begin to twist and form itself into dancing ghosts of the past, mocking him while growing evermore realistic. One spector pressed its pale hand against the boundery, pressing forward just past where the ash had stopped. It smiled with a hollow expression dripping with satisfaction when he flinched. She couldn’t see this. Slowly withdrawing from his possition, Silus pulled himself to his knees and picked the exhausted girl up. Despite the protest of his aching bones, he held her close as he moved quietly off the path, hoping that whatever that was didn’t chance to follow them. They needed to move further inland. 

Stopping Time

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Prompt: FFF264 Counting Clocks

Info: Just a snippet from the villain of a project I am working on. Blood Mages are similar to vampires in that they deal with blood and are functionally immortal, but are notably a separate creature type in this story. They deal in insanity and explosive blood rather than drinking blood.

Story Warnings: Dealing with the death of a loved one and descriptions of blood/body horror. There is an image at the end that contains a dead body with detailed injuries.

Five hundred and eighty-seven clocks, only thirteen shy of another century. Passing his thumb over the face of an old model, Luis smiled at the memory of his love hurriedly rushing towards him with her prize. she'd given him one for every year they'd been together, and every time she presented it, her face would beam with an unfathomable joy, melting his heart.

From the gold chained pocket watch he kept in his breast pocket, to the towering grandfather clock in the corner of their sitting room, each device was a precious treasure that he cared for long past their intended expirations.

He'd always had a fondness for time keeping devices, but when his love started to give them as gifts, Luis had formed a bit of an obsession with them. For years he had derived great enjoyment in the constant task of winding them up, and keeping each one perfectly on time to the half second. It kept him content that he was doing something, and the constant need for routine had stopped him from going mad on more than one occasion while his partner was out hunting. In all of their time together the clocks had always been operational.

Now staring at the walls of clocks which had come to a standstill, Luis was haunted by the absence of their familiar ticking. She was gone, and with her, Luis had lost his anchor. It was a simple enough process to form another attachment, but five hundered and eighty-seven years couldn't just be ignored, especially when it had been spent with her. No, the position could only be filled by his love at this point.

Standing slowly, Luis ran a shaking hand through his hair as blood began to boil over and seep through his skin coating every inch of his body. He could feel her even now, a gentle wind resting on his shoulders keeping him from bursting at the seams. The witches would pay for their crimes and then he would be reunited with her one way or another.

"Please wait for me Love."

Skin peeled away as his form faded into the growing shadows. Luis, arbiter of his abominable race, once more, dropped the fragile veil of his sanity to hunt.

On the hunt for a new clock, Jade was attacked and killed by a group of tech witches. (It's a bit of a weird story...)

I went to an aquarium today and got to do a bit of sketching. Wish I could have had more time/motivation, but I'll take what I can get.

Writer Questionnaire Tag

Thanks for the tag @renasdoodles !

What is your absolute all-time favorite idea you’ve ever had?

I really don’t know honestly, there have been so many that I’ve been scared to touch for years at this point. I couldn't pin down a favorite though, my top favorites are all there for different reasons.

Is there a question you’ve been asked in the past that really stands out to you, and you still think about sometimes? 

‘Are you a cat person or a dog person?’ This one always gets me conflicted because by all accounts I would say a cat person because I am far closer with them, but I also really like dogs. It’s a bit of a stupid question to keep thinking on, but it keeps popping back in my head at the most random times. 

What is your favorite part of being a writer? What parts could you take or leave?

I love being able to write the stories that I want to read, sometimes I go back to a draft that I abandoned months ago and re-read it to find that I'm really interested in what happens next, and that's a really fun experience. 

What I don’t particularly enjoy is probably when I leave notes for myself to fill stuff in later and it really isn’t enough information to know what in the world I was intending to write. 

What is your greatest motivation to Write/create? 

When It comes down to it I really want to be able to reach a point where I can write the stories from my mind in a way that does them justice. I also want to be able to draw the things that are rattling around in my head.

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever heard or been given as a writer? 

First drafts aren’t meant to be perfect, you are just getting the ideas down on the page and setting the ground work for your story to start solidifying your next steps. I particularly struggle with this one since I want to have everything perfectly in place but for my writing style that just isn’t realistic. 

What do you wish you knew when you were first starting out writing?

Don’t be scared to ruin your stories, just write them. If you get to scared to even try working on something it will die in your mind forever unspoken and for me that is worse than failing because I gain almost nothing from the wasted creativity.  

What is your favorite story you’ve written to completion? Link it if you’d like and can!

Honestly, I’ve disappointingly only been able to finish a couple of fan fictions since I developed a really bad habit of abandoning story ideas out of fear for the results. I’m trying to get myself back on track but it’s just a bit of a task to keep myself in line. ;-; Sometimes I wonder if the writer part of my brain got switched with that of a hyperactive child. Of the Fan Fictions I've managed to post on Ao3 'A Bit of Clean Water' Fandom: Vampyr (Video Game) is short little story that I'm pretty happy with.

Which of your characters would you say has the most controversial mindset? Why do you say so, and how do you particularly feel about their ideals? 

I won't mention the character but their mindset is that people are inherently weak short minded creatures that are incapable of governing themselves. No matter how great a thing they might make it can be devastated in the span of a generation because their will could not be inherited by their successor. The character believes that because of this people are inferior and do not deserve to stand at the top of the food chain.

I personally understand some of where he's coming from because it is pretty scary how easily something great can be destroyed by a bad successor no matter how great the founder might have been, but I feel like this character is a bit to critical of the race and extreme with his execution.

If you when you first started writing met you now, what would younger you think? 

Probably be a bit horrified at first, but the first story I wrote before I was ten ended with the main character dying in a car crash after someone cut her breaks for a petty reason, so I like to think that my younger self would at least somewhat understand where i'm coming from with my writing. As for my personality... That would probably be a much harder sell. (Younger me could barely play mobile games that had any community features, knowing that I put my writing out for people to see might give younger me a heart attack)

No pressure Tagging:

@kuebiko-writing @wyked-ao3 @creatrackers @davycoquette,

@somethingclevermahogony @laisley-writes @flurrysahin @zaynabameen,

+Open Tag

Last line tag 

@wyked-ao3

Thanks for the Tag! I haven’t gotten much writing done recently because of life but this was a little section from something my brain decided it felt like writing. 

The guardian stared at him with eyes that glowed like distant galaxies. 

-Sleep young warrior, sleep and let this poison pass from you-

The voice echoed through his mind and he felt at least somewhat relieved that he hadn’t broken down for no reason. 

No pressure Tags: @renasdoodles @kuebiko-writing @laisley-writes @leahnardo-da-veggie ,

@creatrackers @somethingclevermahogony +Open tag

I'm always up for some motivation. If you are still taking "orders", I would love tea.🍵

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LATE NIGHT INSPIRATION

(I have no idea where this came from)

I was watching a show and just started sketching. To my dismay, the scketch sparked a new story idea into my head, but I have too many things I'm working on at the moment to give it the proper attention it needs.

Not being able to fully finish most of the stories I start has always been a problem for me and it frustrates me to no end, but I liked the art for this one, so I figured that I might as well post the sketches.

Quick plot synopsis because brains really do go off the edge when tired: the knight was about to take a bath after being on the road for three months, and the robot pirate was raiding. Just as they were about to reach their goals, both of them were abducted by aliens trying to collect data. The two of them break out of containment and meet up, deciding to put aside their differences so they can escape the alien planet.