Empty

Margaret enjoys listening to people's problems; it helps to keep her grounded and reminded that she isn't the only person suffering in the world. She takes comfort in the fact that she isn't special and that her problems aren't anything new. That means that there are others like her and that even when things are hard for her, Margaret can always lend an ear. Sometimes, it's hard to bear, but in the end, Margaret still listens to people because she wishes someone had listened to her.

She has her vices, but she doesn't usually hate herself for them since she is human and trying the best that she can. When she was younger, Margaret hated her weakness, but as she grew, Margaret was able to learn to be kind to herself.

Intro Post

Hi,

I made this blog to try and force myself to be more productive with my original writing/drawing. My success is unfortunately an uncontrolled variable right now.... I am a serial procrastinator and I'm pretty introverted but I'm trying.

Most of my writing tends to be a bit on the darker side and geared towards fantasy, but I dabble in various genres as ideas come to me.

Feel free to tag me in writing games and just to share something that you are proud of. :)

Note: Please let me know If I am ever coming on too strong because I can be a bit dense at times. I'm open to and encourage constructive feedback.

I also have a secondary blog for Fan fiction mostly for updates and fan art.

Side Blog for Fan Fiction

Good luck today/night and happy writing!

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...)

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

Dialog tag game

Thank you for the tag, @aalinaaaaaa

A selection of dialog from a short story I'm trying to tackle on the side.

"Given your contributions, such a proposition is not unreasonable.. If I deny you this boon, will you follow in the footsteps of our brothers?"

"Of course not, I will defer to the will of the Emperor."

"And what of your soilders, would you take them on this fools errand?"

"My men are the finest soilders that the empire has to offer, barring your honor guard. They would better serve under your direct guidance."

"It seems at least one of my siblings was born with an ounce of sense."

No pressure tagging @renasdoodles @kuebiko-writing @laisley-writes @somethingclevermahogony @wyked-ao3 @creatrackers + open tag

What's Bloodmage about? 👀👀👀

(I adore the title by the way)

Thanks for the ask! Sorry in advance for the ramble...

Oh boy, how to describe this one... (I will preface this story as insanity with plot. Most of the characters are severely brain damaged or willing to follow along with the crazies to keep them safe, and I love them all. )

An unofficial squad of soldiers and cryptids are trying to stop a vampire cult (who has infiltrated and overtaken a large world power) that plan to block out the sun and take over the world. All while a large war is happening in the background under the orcestration of the vampires. Most ordinary soldiers have no idea what is going on, and a collection of governing cryptids are trying to keep it that way.

After the squad is forcefully split up thanks to the trickery of the enemy leader, the medic of the group is in a plane crash while trying to reunite with the others. The wreck happens to land in a ritual cite put together by the vampires in an attempt to bolster their numbers with another type of volitile cryptid called bloodmages.

Caught up in the ritual, the medic is turned into a bloodmage, but he is one of the severely brain damaged characters and flasely concludes that he has been turned into a vampire. Unable to end himself with the traditional methods, he decides to find his fellow squad mates to continue their goal only to get caught up in another mess involving bloodmage politics.

Extra context: Bloodmages are beings who have been implanted with red blood crystals that are harvested from a deep pit known as the mouth of hell. After a long comatose incubation period the blood mages awake with enhanced durability/longevity and powers unique to their specific brood (powers have pretty significant variability with some potential for overlap such as the ability to make constructs, bombs, and weapons from their blood/blood they condense store up from others). Along with their other abilities, bloodmages are incredibly mentally unstable unless they have something or someone to tether them to reality. This makes them great short term soilders due to their drive for violence, but not for long term use as they tend to start attacking one another if they grow bored with easy combat.

Thanks again for the ask, I've been really bad about keeping on this one due to some hang-ups with the plot, but I love it to death :)

@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?

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt

A Bad Time to Remember the Past

I wasn't planning on putting this guys perspective up yet, but it seemed to fit for the prompt, so I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Discriptions of medical procedures, violence, blood, burning skin, laceration, and dismemberment.

@wyked-ao3 (a bit more on the villain of my story. He now has a proper name! Albrecht)

Glossary:

(In case you are curious about any of the terms in the medical procedure)

Topical Benzocaine: a gel spread on skin to numb before injections.

Articaine: a type of numbing agent injected locally in tissue to numb an area.

Epinephrine: used in local anesthesia to increase the duration of numbness by constricting blood vessels in the area and preventing the local anesthesia from being absorbed by the blood stream as quickly.

Buccal: the gum tissue covering the outer side of teeth.

Palatal: tissue over the top of the mouth on the inner side of the teeth.

Maxila: upper jaw

Nerve block: an injection that targets higher on a nerve branch to numb more tissue at once.

Infiltrations: injections that target a specific area and numbs the nerves directly adjacent to the injection by targeting the approximate location.

Now, back to the story.

Topical benzocaine followed a minute after by 2 carpules of Articaine HCI 4% 1:100,000 epi. Infiltrations for the buccal and a nerve block for the palatal side of the right maxila. Within minutes he’d watched as the surgeon took out a scalpel and carefully cut gum tissue down to the bone and gently peeled it back as the patient lay, mouth open, not even flinching. Then the drill had come, and with a whir of mechanical power, the bone was carefully bored down to expose the gaping sinus.

Of all the things that Albrecht had been forced to observe in his mandatory job placement hours, this was the one that really stood out to him. It was fascinating what a little chemical compound could do to dull the senses. He’d even been able to hold a mundane conversation with the man about his line of work while the surgeon scurried off to attend some other matters.

Another wave of explosions rocked by him. Albrecht’s head screamed in pain as that long forgotten memory snapped back into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. With both armies cowering in the darkness, he should have been on the cusp of his victory, the whole world bathed in beautiful darkness by his machines. Yet here he stood, recalling the memories of a child, a fool who didn’t understand the meaning of his own destiny.

Looking about him in confusion Albrecht’s teeth gnashed at the husks of his elite soldiers, boiled in their own skin at the shine of an artificial sun. Ever calculating, he could already see that what remained of his force wouldn’t last long after such a devastating attack. Ten blasted years of preparation… all for something like this? The fangs under his mask ached as he fought for control of his raging mind. His careful planning should have seen him to the end, in the way that it always had.

The power coursing through his veins spiked as the pieces of his strength once gifted to his thralls all began to converge back into him in a wave of sickening pressure. The feeling blinded him, and for the first time in his long life, Major Albrecht lost his ever firm grip on reason. Head snapping towards the source of his misfortune, he narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Using his powers, the Major smoothly dropped into the shadows and quickly traveled in their protection until he came upon the small vehicle, still driving away at a speed far beyond its natural means. There were four, no five of them, as far as he could tell, but it made no difference. They would all be dead soon enough.

With an enraged roar, Albrecht materialized in the shadow of the car and dug his teeth into the little warlock at greatest fault for this downfall. The man yelped in pain and raised one hand to secure the hat on his head before using another to push Albrecht away so he could stop the bleeding. He had no intention of letting him live.

A glimmer of something shiny peaked out from underneath, but he had little time to dwell on it as a stake was driven almost into his heart. Whirling around on the would-be attacker, the Major sunk his claws deep into their forearm, tearing through it with a growl of surprise at the strangely wooden texture. He grinned in satisfaction as a sharp hiss of pain rang out from whatever the thing was. It still felt pain, so even if it wasn’t human, he could still break it.

Half drunk on this strange ecstasy, he almost missed the smell of steel. His mind suddenly flared with a sense of danger, and he pulled away as a shot rang out, hitting the side of his helmet and exposing part of his face to the blasted false sun.

Like a bucket of boiling water, the pain brought him back into focus, and Albrecht immediately retreated into the shadows, taking the limb he’d managed to sever with him. With his armor damaged even this much, he wasn’t fool enough to risk an end to his plans even with his spiked blood lust.

Note: The procedure mentioned at the beginning of the chapter is for a sinus lift to increase the bone level enough to place a dental implant.

Greatest Honor

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial

Short and sweet, no warnings.

They smile and clap, faces made of dull plaster with hollowed eyes. It was a crowd so dense that individuality was completely lost. All he could do was stand there frozen in place, a smile etched across scarred skin. This was suffocating. Why did they have to drag him out for this clown show?

*Merow?*

Gwen hopped onto his lap and butted her forehead between Van’s eyes, snapping his attention from the monitor. Her whiskers twitched impatiently, while sausers of sparkling darkness stared into his soul begging for attention.

“Pft… Don’t you know not to mess with millitary men Gwen? Your reputation could be ruined.”

Van returned her greeting with a small bump of his forehead, instantly elicited an echoing rumble from her stomach. As Van drew away, Gwen tilted her head to the side, inviting scritches that he was powerless to deny. Van’s fingers ran through her fluff, ruffling the emaculately groomed coat completely out of sorts. Fawn wouldn’t be happy about it, but Gwen enjoyed the attention.

Van placed a kiss on her forhead and let out the breath he had been holding.

“What would I do without you baby?”

Satisfied with his company, Gwen settled on Van’s lap as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for the first time in days.

Unconventional Gifting

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Story Warning: Mentions of burning people, sadistic behavior, and descriptions of body horror.

Much to his disgust, the air in his tent felt fresher than it had in months. How long had it been since his fingers had started to twitch again? With a renewed wave of irritation, the Sergeant stood up from his desk for the first time in days and decided it wouldn't be breaking orders if he stopped the fire from getting out of control this time. Since he was young, it had been the one thing that brought him joy. Back then, he would burn anything he could get his hands on, bugs, animals, or plants. It didn’t matter much. They all sparked a strange joy in his heart. That being said, there had always been something missing, some itch he’d never quite been able to scratch no matter how much he burned.

Then the war came, and he discovered the one thing he had failed to consider as a target: people. Unlike the other things he had burned, people tended to beg and plead. They might call him a monster, but at least he was aware enough to know that the sense of power he felt from their cries sated the desire he had been starving from. To date he had burned three-hundred and eighty-seven prisoners, with only one survivor who he would track down eventually, but the war was still young, and in what was proving to be a battle of attrition, the Sergeant could tell that he might even be able to push those numbers into the thousands.

“Is the area clear?”

His assistant exited the tent and quickly returned. There was fear in his eyes as the Sergeant stared down at him intensely. There should be several more prisoners, so the assistant wouldn’t have anything to fear unless he got on the Sergeant’s nerves.

“The troops have rounded up all the rats.”

A smile spread over his face at that. They had sent more pathetic mice to try and end him, but they were just providing him the entertainment that he craved. It was poetic in a way that he realized was probably sick.

“Well, then we can’t keep them waiting.”

Stepping out of his tent, the Sergeant felt a sharp pain in his chest and looked down to see a spot of red right above his heart that was quickly expanding. His assistant stumbled and grasped one of his eyes with a scream of pain. The Sergeant’s skin grew cold as an overwhelming sense of dread washed over him as screams of pain began emanating through their camp. His soldiers were the best. They wouldn’t have been taken out so easily, he couldn’t be taken out so easily.

Collapsing to the ground while clutching his wound, the Sergeant watched his assistant let out a final cry of agony as a green sprout began to poke out between his bloodied fingers. The Sergeant barely felt his own pain as he lay almost paralyzed on the ground, wondering how this had happened. As his vision began to grow hazy, he saw what looked like a living tree stepping towards him. He couldn’t understand what had happened, but he could feel in his bones that the thing was coming for him.

-Five-thousand eight-hundred and twelve, quite the high toll for someone so young-

The words sounded like a whisper of wind rustling through leaves. HE didn’t have time to contemplate what this creature was as a crushing pain passed through him and for the first time in his life the Sergeant began babbling incoherent pleas for his life for what felt like an eternity before his body stopped responding to his commands and he was forced to lay in frozen agony as his body was eaten from within.

…

“Hey Billy! MA was worried”

The Forest Guardian begrudgingly took his eyes off of his latest target. Owen was running towards him with a stupid grin plastered over his face like he wasn’t stepping over twisted bodies while covered in blood. This man… he needed to get his head checked.

Still, he meant well and seemed to be in functioning condition, so Billy didn't need to spare his attention just yet. With a wave of his hand, Billy dismissed his concern and turned back to the bodies with a smile of surprise. A field of violets had begun to bloom from the dead. It was well worth the three days he’d spent watching the tent through his rifle scope.

It never ceased to amaze him how people who had caused so much pain to the world always seemed to make the most beautiful flowers.