Intro Post

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.

Writing share tag 

Thanks for the Tag @wyked-ao3 ! I haven't gotten to the stage of editing yet, but here's a little something that I was able to get written a couple of weeks ago.

Blood Mage: council meeting 

No one enjoyed these meetings, but unless the fairies or vampires picked a fight with Luis there was usually no cause for concern. At a subtle gesture towards Marie’s seat, Susian’s face went pale. The witches were fairly peaceful these days, why would they go and pick a fight with Luis of all people?

As Susan decided the best way to word such a question to the already dozing representative, she was interrupted by a loud boom accompanied by an explosion of plaster and metal crashing down from the ceiling above. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

A cry came from the indigent Fairy King now covered in a layer of dust and red crystal fragments, his ever-faithful guard having taken the brunt of the explosion’s force shielding him. 

“Shut up bug. I have no time to prattle with insects.”

Susan and the others froze at the vitriol in Luis’ tone, sure he never got along with the king, but that voice wasn’t one that he used on anyone unless he had a mind to end them. The eyes of everyone drifted to the enraged bloodmage now standing several feet from the table, carefully trying to gauge how to react. Red lines covered his skin, pulsing with an unnatural glow, threatening to split him at the seams if he let himself slip even minutely. Her mouth went dry as Susian realized he had entered a frenzied state, and even the Fairy King made no move to speak now.

“I came to inform the council of my formal intent to eradicate the Witches.”

His words felt like a hot iron being slammed into Susan’s gut. Her predecessors and colleagues had long wondered what to do if such an eventuality came to be, but to hear it now drove her mind to despair. What had they done to offend him to this degree? Why in their right minds would the witches have picked such a foolish fight? Now everyone would be dragged into this insanity, and more than anything that meant she wouldn’t be getting her time off again, no one in the Order would. 

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

@creatrackers @somethingclevermahogony +Open tag

✨ What have we found...?

It's a new Flash Fiction Friday!

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Write between 100-1000 words. It can be any genre, in any text format and 18+ is fine by us, just please tag accordingly.

Use this Friday’s theme in your text. Any way you see fit.

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✨ And now, the new prompt!

[#FFF 263 In The Meadows]

This prompt has been brought to you by someone who wishes to remain anonymous, thank you so much! What can we find lurking in the meadows? Perhaps it's somewhere that was and is no more? Are their flowers? Have they all but died? Is it a picnic? Or dandelions blowing in the wind? Whatever it is don't let it escape; write!

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The Collective <3

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

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.

Thanks for the prompt, @flashfictionfridayofficial !

6936

Another random story based solely on the prompt. I hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Referenced Infidelity and Gaslighting

The flowers bloomed too early that spring, and an unexpected chill froze the golden buds even as they swelled with life.

Trudy stepped through frozen blades of grass, her bare feet blue from the cold. She didn't notice, couldn't feel her blood turning to ice with every step she took. 

The house behind her cast a looming shadow in the half light of morning. It had made her happy once, knowing that the old building cared for her. It cared for him more, though, concealing him protectively as he ripped her heart out over and over again. 

She had awakened twenty years ago, her power a simple enhancement of the senses, so trivial that she had been embarrassed to mention it to anyone. Too embarrassed to mention it to him. Trudy now wished that she had, he might not have brought so many mortals to their bed while she carefully tended to their garden if he had known. 

She'd done her best to ignore it at first, thrown all of her love on him, because she had loved him dearly, but with every self satisfied look cast towards her by departing mortals, a piece of Trudy’s love had been chipped away. 

"They are on quests, dear. I'm sharing my wisdom, allowing them a place to rest. I couldn't stand if these weak creatures were without guidance like your brother."

He always used her brother, always trying to make her feel like she was overreacting. It had worked before her awakening, but after she learned of his betrayal, it just made her bitterness grow.  

Stepping to the edge of the shadow, Trudy breathed deeply and stepped into the light. Her skin cracked under direct exposure. Even today, he had asked her to tend to the flowers, even today he had defiled their wedding bed. The finality of the action tipped the scales in her heart, emptying the last slivers of love from her soul.

Trudy bent down and picked a small bud, half opened and covered in frost. She'd watched this bud grow from a seedling, nurtured it through every stage of growth. It had been so full of life yesterday that she had already planned where in the house she would place it. Now, it would rest in her hair. 

With one last look towards behind her, the ice in Trudy’s veins turned to fire as a manic joy flooded every fiber of her being. Trudy had come to the property line six-thousand nine-hundred and thirty-five times before this one, but some sliver of affection had always held her at bay. 

Today, she skipped over the line gleefully. Disappearing from the home she had known for almost fifty years, with a long dead sense of wonder now burning in her chest. 

OC in three

Thanks for the tag, @renasdoodles !

Rules: Find three pictures that fit your OC! Remember to cite your sources and include image IDs to make your post more accessible to people with screen readers!

(Had to just draw my pictures because my phone decided it didn't want to cooperate with downloading images)

Kinda a botched execution, but I tried 🫠

This is for Billy, the snipper from the weird story I am working on.

Tagging: @kuebiko-writing , @davycoquette , @flurrysahin +open tag

(Just let me know if you want to be removed from the tags! Also, no pressure to use the prompt. )

What inspired the spirits in your wip?

Thank you for the ask! Sorry I'm a bit late responding. It's been a crazy week.

I had a mythology book when I was young, and it had stories from various cultures. Several stories discussed the veil between the spirit world and reality and how it would become thin during all hallows eve. Additionally, there was always the potential for things to slip through cracks in the veil if they weren't too powerful.

The idea in mythologies that natural phenomena and fluctuating conditions were due to invisible interference from higher powers gave me the idea to have them fight every 500 or so years to explain seasons of prosperity and destruction in the world.

With all of that in mind, I divided the spirit's into 8 great spirits representing earth, wind,fire, and water for both chaotic and good. Under them are other spirits who are either weaker or overall uninterested in the conflict.

I originally had designed one creature known as Null to be the only supernatural being that I focused on, but once the others came into play I knew that he needed to be incorporated in an off the wall manner to fit his character. So I them made it that if a spirit of similar element was killed before the 500 years, then the one who killed them had to take their place. With that in motion, it was only a matter of making Null a glutton who had no interest in spirit politics, then I had him "accidentally" eat the light water spirit right before the 500 years were up again.

Null was the original base of the entire story, so in everything, I needed him to be preserved. As for where he came from... I used to play a mobile game called The Battle Cats and he was inspired by a combination of different creatures in that. (They have something pretty fun character designs in it) Another point in the early draft if the story was that he would pop up I random places appearing as an inosenct animal at first before distorting his features and revealing his pseudo humanoid form playing into his chaotic side.

Thanks again for the ask!

Two of the inspirations for his main design.

Desire Or Dispair

I would be much abliged if you could share a snippet of your character(s) experiencing either a moment of desire or despair.

Desires for anything from food to people and Dispair from betrayal to loss, I'm interested in how other people's characters express themselves.

Idk where this came from, but I figured it might be fun.

No pressure tagging: @renasdoodles @kuebiko-writing @wyked-ao3 @creatrackers ,

@somethingclevermahogony @laisley-writes @leahnardo-da-veggie +open tag

My own contribution below the break.

Warning for mentions of injury and medication administration.

Desire: Broken Script

Stepping forward onto the balcony with a glass of wine held lazily in his hand, Nihil examined the guests with a bored expression until his eyes landed on Alexia. The glass fell uncerimoniously from his hand as Nihil recognized the familiar robe that had somehow been fashioned into a dress.

As the glass shattered, Alexia looked up at him with a coy grin, batting her eyes in a playfully taunting gesture.

A smile played at the corner of his own lips as he considered her challenge. He'd never bothered to dip his toes in the field of romance before, but she was well on her way to changing his mind.

Despair: Blood Mage

Hati could tell that the injury on his neck was nothing to scoff at, that he might die here to a blasted Vampire after surviving all of thease years, but seeing Billy's arm being torn off so easily by the rampaging vampire made his blood run cold in a way he hadn't felt since he was burried under a mound of dirt watching his people being torn to pieces.

The hiss of pain that followed the creatures sudden retreat sent his brain into overdrive as the worst-case scenarios flooded into his terror stricken mind.

He couldn't lose his family again, not to the tech witches, and definitely not to some overgrown leech. Scrambling towards the snipper, he began babbling incoherently at the oozing injury until something cold peirced his neck, and he caught a quick glance of Owen before crumbling into Billy, panic still coursing through his veins.

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