Termination

Heads up 7 up 

Thanks for the tag @wyked-ao3 !

A bit about Owen, he’s really good at treating people, but because of his upbringing and lack of common sense with most things, He has certain misgivings about people and their reactions to medications. This isn't helped by the strange company he keeps.

A screech of rage pulled him from his dreamless sleep. It sounded strange and garbled, but Tori wasn’t in the vicinity so there had to be another explanation for it. It was then that Owen remembered a key detail that he had up until now misplaced, Maren had been drugged for a significant time and while he didn’t know the type of drug used, there was always the unlikely possibility that it could have been something addictive. 

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

@creatrackers @somethingclevermahogony +Open tag

Uninvited Pest

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Description: A new father struggles with insomnia and is visited by an unwanted acquaintance. 

Warnings: Reference to violence

 “Hey Obi, you’re looking oddly cognitive today. Did the brat finally exhaust itself?”

Oberon reflexively raised a hand to protect Poppy from Solomon. 

“Quiet jester.” He hissed out the words in a hushed tone while the mischievous creature rocked his head back and forth quietly, having finally replaced those blasted bells he was so fond of. 

“Oh you don’t mean that Obi, I know you missed me.” Oberon tried to put some distance between them, but Solomon quickly closed the gap and pressed the back of his hand against Oberon’s burning throat. 

“Tsk… Tsk… I knew the misses was out of commission but how long have you been caring for her little hell spawn?” Uninterested in discussing his wife at the moment, Oberon bit back.

“Didn’t you get executed yesterday?” Solomon straitened suddenly and pulled back as though appearing to be offended. 

“And I thought you couldn’t make it to the event.” His smiling jester mask shifted to a frown and a blob of black ink ran from the corner of his eye. Oberon shook his head in disgust gently lifting Poppy from her sling and setting her down in a small crib with star drops dancing overhead. It took him a moment of effort, but before he’d even pulled away, Oberon had resigned himself to the trickster’s company, at least for the evening. 

“Next time they should dig a bit deeper.”

“They don’t have the patience for it, but by all means I commission you to persuade them.” Oberon rolled his eyes and grabbed one of Solomon’s tassels to drag him from the room. 

The Jester put up a mock struggle, pulling fruitlessly against Oberon’s light hold until they had made it to the wine cellar. 

“So what do you want Solomon? I doubt you came all this way for my company.” The frown disappeared from his face, replaced once more with his devious smile. 

“Nothing so grand as last time Obi, just the world?” Oberon almost dropped the bottle he’d pulled free of the dust covered shelf. Instead he flipped it in his hand and almost instinctively finished the executioners work. 

Who is your favorite side character in your wip Bloodmage? What's one thing that character hates?

Thanks for the question!

That's a tough one. I have mainly focused on developing my main cast. Of the side characters that I have done more work on, though, one comes to mind more than the others.

Alasdair the King's right hand.

He's a half elf who was chosen as the king of the Fairies Bodyguard. He is a skilled fighter and considered the most dangerous of all fairies in combat despite his heritage. Due to his mixed blood, he is far bulkier than traditional elves, giving him an edge in pure strength.

There is a council of criptids that govern their groups and hold annual meetings to coordinate grievances and trade deals. During a heated argument, the king of the fairies picked a fight with the Representative for the blood mages Luis. During the insuing fight, Luis ripped Aladair's wings off and destroyed his left arm.

Even with this handicap he is still considered the most fit to be the bodyguard of the King, a fact that Luis uses to taunt the proud race when he gets irritated by them during the meetings.

Aladair dislikes Luis for the shame that he brought on the fairies, but he respects the bloodmage's strength. He hates himself for failing to protect his king's honor and is actively training other warriors to take his place.

Hypothetical scenario

Your OC's come to life, which oc are you terrified of ? Who are they?

Thank you so much for the ask Wyked! Sorry for the late responce.

I was thinking about this for a while, and I tried to reason that It might be someone from my main WIP, but really, when I laid all the facts out, I would be most terrified of Null.

Null is a chaotic spirit driven by his hunger and twisted nature from a WIP that likes to pop up in my head every now and again. I’ve tried writing it about three times, but when I get several chapters in the story, it always just feels wrong. Anyway…

To give some background for the story, there are 8 great spirits, 4 focused on creation, and 4 focused on distraction with a multitude of lower spirits for each type. Every 3-5 centuries a battle of sorts is held between them using chosen vessels (Humans who are compatible with specific spirit power) to determine which set of spirits is locked away into the spirit realm and which is left to mold the world to their whims.

Less significant spirits of either side can slip through the cracks and make it into the world despite their alignment. Null, being one such creature, came to the world following his drive for food and stumbled upon the creation spirit representing water. Since it was resting, Null was able to eat the great spirit. Long story short, he ended up with the Great Spirits' role in the next conflict and had to seek out a vessel that could withstand his dual nature or suffer in the spirit realm with no hope of food if he failed.

If he popped into this world, he would litterally have a feild day eating anything he could get his mits on. If he had any idea that I was responsible for some of the things that had happened to him, then I would not meet with a swift end.

An illustration below the cut off

Working on the color palate for them. But I'm not quite happy with it yet, so more work.

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

Catching up Tag

Thanks for the tag @renasdoodles

Favorite Color- Blue, especially deep blue or sea blue.

Last Fun Activity- Brainstorming about the main original story I have been working on.

Song(s) Stuck in My Head- Happy Days (Turtles). I only knew one line from it and then stumbled on the full song by chance. It has been playing in my head almost nonstop since then.

Current Obsession - Attempting to write. (My success has been limited, but I'm at least getting something done.

Spicy/Sweet/Savory- Savory or spicy, depends on my mood at the time.

Last thing I Googled- What is a Rakshasa.

Something you are looking forward to- my six day break starting tomorrow. It will be nice to get some worry free writing done (but I know deep down most of that time will be me procrastinating).

Tagging: @kuebiko-writing @davycoquette +open tag

@flashfictionfridayofficial Thanks for the prompt!

This little thing just popped up out of nowhere, and I decided to roll with it.

Ripples on a Pond

Leaning forward, Lan gently brushed his fingertips against the surface of the water. The glassy plain distorted under his touch, sending ripples cascading over the entire pond. Lily pads shifted, disturbing the creatures that had managed to find some comfort on the green tiles that littered the water. It wasn’t enough to disrupt them much, but their small black eyes fixed him with silent accusations all the same.

“Do you have to do this every day Lan?”

The disappointing tone wasn’t lost on him even as he kept his focus on the surface, watching it with trained focus. Rue did understand what he saw in the pond, and that wasn’t about to change if he explained it to her for the hundredth time.

“Yes. It pays to practice focusing control on things now and again. Who knows, you might even improve your craft.”

He earned a slap on the back for that one, sending another set of ripples cascading into the first as his finger once more pressed into the water with more force than he liked. The returning waves crashed with the new ones creating spikes in the surface and causing the small frogs to quickly abandon their resting places with croaks of protest.

“I don’t need that from you.”

A small smile flashed across his cold features before quickly returning to the stone mask that he preferred. Ripples of various strength and size continued to clash, throwing the once gentle surface into chaos. Standing slowly to his feet, Lan watched the chaos with disappointment. No matter how calm they started out, neither of them could help themselves in the end, could they? Entropy’s pull was too strong.

“Fine, no lecture tonight. What do they want from me today?”

Looking down at his comrade, Lan couldn’t help but notice the extra care that she had taken with her makeup today, prompting him to raise an eyebrow.

“A show of course, what else would they want from you?”

He scoffed at that. Seems that a certain someone was on the way, and the collective was looking to make a better impression than last year. Classics were good when used in proper moderation, but to have him perform twice in five years was a bit much for his taste. Rue’s tense expression betrayed the nerves that she had tried to smother with bluster.

“I’ll be there then. You’d best get yourself ready dear, wouldn’t want the captain to think that you had eyes for someone else, would we?”

Her face became beat red at that, and she stormed off in a huff, her shoulders far less bunched than they had been moments ago. Lan could feel another smile creeping back onto his face, but he surpassed it this time. It wasn’t something that he was planning on pressing further. She’d already made her intentions clear, and he could respect that. Turning to his workshop, Lan ran one hand through his unruly mane of hair. Now the question was, which performance would net him the most interesting waves?

What can you tell me about Luis?

Thank you for the ask!

He’s definitely one of my favorites from this story, so I might have gone a bit overboard with the explanation...

Luis is one of the first blood mages to ever be made and serves as a kind of side antagonist in the (Bloodmage) story. His main power has to do with disrupting other blood mage’s control, but he is also able to manipulate blood into various explosive constructs as well.

Due to the unstable mental state of blood mages, he spent a good portion of his early days indiscriminately killing to try to feed the bottomless desire for blood and violence that plagues his species. After growing sick of the conflict but unable to stop himself, Luis resolved to end his suffering but found the task more difficult than he had anticipated. In his lowest point, he was confronted by a tree spirit named Jade, who he instinctively formed an attachment with, creating the first tether. A process by which a bloodmage is able to reign in their violent and bloodthirsty nature by grounding themselves with another living being. This tether does not have to be a romantic connection, but in their case, it certainly developed into one.

With his mind restored, Luis reigned in his race, instructing them on the proper methods to prevent rampant destruction and insanity. As their leader, he acts as the primary representative of blood mages on the cryptid council, a group founded to help regulate supernatural creatures. Of the other council members, he particularly dislikes the fairy king and will regularly keep a pair of brass knuckles made from high-quality iron for his inevitable clashes with the fairy king’s bodyguard (Alasdair).

After his wife is killed by tech witches, Luis informs the council of his intent to wipe out her killers. Refusing to attach himself to another tether, Luis has resolved to get his revenge by any means necessary, even if it is costing him his sanity.

Given her nature as a forest spirit, even if her body is dead, as long as part of her core remains intact there is a chance for her to be saved, but with the teck witches bent on expanding their power he is left wil little choice but to take a more aggressive stance on the matter.

They are a really cute couple, in my opinion, and I love getting to write/draw little blurbs of them being happy together, so thanks again for the ask 😊

Happy Birthday

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial !

Couldn't resist writing a birthday song story with this prompt.

It's a little story from Hati's past. A very memorable birthday and very defining moment in his life.

Warnings: violence, tragedy, death, depictions of violence, trauma, survivors guilt.

He’d woken up from his nap to the sound of hushed excitement from the kitchen.

‘Mom?’

She’d turned to him bursting with excitement, presenting a cake just like the one he’d dreamed of, candles lit perfectly and everything.

‘I’m sorry if I woke you up, honey. I was just too excited to celebrate my little man’s birthday! I know it’s not the same with dad gone, but we can still have fun!’

She was sure they would, and that was enough for him. Would it taste as good as he’d dreamed? Haiti’s eyes sparkled in anticipation as his mother took a deep breath to sing.

“Happy Birthday to you…”

Within moments of the explosion, his mother stood over him. Her face was covered in blood, but her eyes were lucid, unlike the others. She could be saved? A smile flickered across her cracked lips as she knelt before him with a damaged paper package in her trembling hands.

‘I know we didn’t get to eat cake yet, but I wanted to give you your gift a bit early this year.’

He saw her smile and knew that he would make it through this somehow, his mother wouldn’t smile like that if there was no way out, he’d seen what it looked like when she gave up after all, and she was even taking the time to give him his birthday gift.

“Happy Birthday to you…”

’You got something extra special this year my sweet’

The forest green cap in her hands seemed to emirate a strange radiance that he couldn’t understand, but whatever it was, Hati was sure that it was special; no there was no doubt that this gift was extra special just like his mother had said.

‘As long as you wear it, the tech witches won’t ever be able to find you!’

She placed it firmly on his head and kissed his cheek warmly.

‘I love you Hati, never forget that.’

“Happy Birthday, my Baby…”

The sky burned as rays of weaponized light reigning down from above. Hati watched family and friends alike, burning under the scorching beams, but he stayed still as a statue, holding the cap to his head tightly. His face burned as tears rolled down his cheeks in silent lament. They never found him, like his mother had said, but he’d never stopped running just in case.

“Happy Birthday to you!”

Hati woke up in a panic while clutching the worn fabric of his cap until his fingers turned white and he couldn’t feel them anymore. Curling into a ball, he tried to make himself as small as he could. No one would find him then. His mothers voice still echoed through his ears as Hati cried himself to sleep like he’d done every year after escaping that hell.