Bidaily 7/6-7/7

A song about Flamborough Head, John Paul Jones, and his apocryphal but dramatic quote! (flashbacks to when I had Liberty's Kids JPJ as my pfp during July 2021 xD)
Written in my best impression of Sabaton – go check out their songs

304 words! (300 not counting stuff in parentheses)

Amidst the war for freedom
A daring commander leads them
Through the North Sea, our enemy bleeds
It’s the campaign of the mighty fleets

The Scotsman’s stalking these shores
Pirate, raider, hero, foe
A story told, a battle unfolds
On the waters of England’s coast

The year’s seventeen seventy-nine
A nation’s life’s on the line
The namesake of the Almanac charges into attack.

On the waves, a convoy spotted
We sail for Flamborough Head
The cannons fire and the smoke rises higher
‘Til the Serapis is boarded

Abandoned by the Alliance
Now we’re left to fight alone
Two pounders toppled, ship’s at full throttle
The Serapis’s trapped in the mast

Hooks fly out and the ships finally clash
Victory came when their colors ceased to flash
Though the Richard falls, the glory calls
Another raid soon awaits

The year’s seventeen seventy-nine
A nation’s pride’s on the line
The namesake of the Almanac continues to attack.

On the waves, a convoy spotted
We sail for Flamborough Head
The cannons fire and the smoke rises higher
‘Til the Serapis is boarded

Fight and sail, fight and sail
We deny surrender, we will prevail
Fire at will, kills for kills
We’re unmatched in our skill

Fight and sail, fight and sail
We deny surrender, we will prevail
Fire at will, kills for kills
We’re unmatched in our skill

(Spoken)
Surrender? Surrender?
I have not yet begun to fight!

(Epic Guitar Solo™)

The year’s seventeen seventy-nine
A nation’s life’s on the line
The namesake of the Almanac charges into attack.

On the waves, a convoy spotted
We sail for Flamborough Head
The cannons fire and the smoke rises higher
‘Til the Serapis is boarded

On the waves, a convoy spotted
We sail for Flamborough Head
The cannons fire and the smoke rises higher
‘Til the Serapis is boarded

Max bio :D

Sorry I wrote this during a word war so lmk if there is any confusing information

Maxmilian Lutz (everyone calls him Max) is a German-Chinese (German father, Chinese mother) soldier of the First World War. He was born in Qingdao in 1900, but lived in Hamburg for much of his childhood. His father was rather concerningly nationalistic, one of his few bad qualities — the other was signing his son up for combat at the ripe old age of 15. Max, wanting to make his father proud, his friends impressed, and his country more accepting of him, reluctantly obliged. (If you’re interested, I can give a more detailed biography! He lived until the 1980s so there are other historical settings you can put him in.) He speaks 5 languages fluently, and a good few more with slightly less (but still decent) skill.

Max is a rather quiet person. One of his bad qualities is his relative lack of ambition and what one might call laziness — sometimes he couldn’t be bothered to work toward anything. Similarly, he has a problem with speaking up for himself, mainly resorting to ignoring those who taunt him. However, the same doesn’t quite happen when his good friends are involved — he won’t take any of others’ badmouthing of his friends. He has difficulty trusting people, both with information and emotions.

Character swap challenge (with Elfie)

help my narration and dialogue formality is so inconsistent xDDD

Philip pranced across the restaurant, leaping into a ridiculously large seat in the middle of the room. He flicked the dust off his suit and waited patiently for his food to arrive. Ohh, he had heard very very good things about this restaurant. It better live up to his expectations, or else he would CRY.

Just then, someone burst in from the door behind him. It was Filip! The other grasshopper hopped across the room, his flip-flops clopping quite distinctively on the wooden floor.

“Hey there, bro,” Philip said to him.

“Hi.”

The two now patiently waited for their food to arrive, because when Filip accompanied him on his tasting, they must both be fed! Everyone who gave Philip food samples knew that. Except for this restaurant, he supposed, because when the food came Filip did not get any.

“Do you have food for my bro here.”

“No sorry,” the random waiter said.

Because waiters and waitresses don’t get paid enough, Philip decided to pull a Karen and take this to the MANAGER THEMSELVES?! It was a very Karen-like move indeed, but Philip thought that he was in the right, because he had specifically asked for food for his twin.

“Hi there, you should get food for my bro Filip.”

“Isn’t that just your name?” the manager asked in confusion.

“No, that’s my twin. Anyways, I thought I put in the request!?” Philip scrutinized the manager with his monocled eye.

“Oh yeah sorry, here ya go.”

It turns out it was an honest mistake and that no one had ill intent, which was a relief. So Philip ate the food (a goose pâté by the way) and declared it to be top-tier! He made additional professional comments on it that were recorded in the culinary section of the local newspaper. After that, the two grasshopper twins hopped back to their house. The end!

Character swap challenge (with Sun)

I'm not familiar with planeporter lore and I feel like something about this confrontation is a bit unrealistic, but these two characters were fun to work with
This is written mostly based on Untainted but I also found some Ravencope content in your writing thread to work off :0

Stormhand’s eyes glitter gold as they scout the waters below. They’ve been through this countless times throughout the centuries, but something about it always feels different. That was how it was with planes, they supposed, something shifting ever so slightly each time.

But they were used to it, and it was only a vague feeling pressed into the back of their mind. Not to be bothered with when they were waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

A breeze. With a swirl of black, Ravencope appeared.

Stormhand could feel their own energy crackle and bend as they stared down the shrouded figure ahead of them. “Robin.” A statement, not a question.

Ravencope tipped his head almost imperceptibly as he gazed at Stormhand. In his red eyes there was amusement and bemusement, and Stormhand themselves couldn’t understand it either, why they had come here for a direct confrontation. There is no way that they could defeat Ravencope – now Robin is gone and what am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to-

The shrouds of black flutter around the darkporter as he leapt, and the attack was nearly too quickly for Stormhand to intercept. Nearly. Nearly. The blades clashed fiercely and the two locked eyes, and then-

The plane seemed to tilt. At least that was what it felt like to the two sparring amidst the magic surrounding them, a tilt, a change in what was typical. They were planeporters, they both defied the Terms and skimmed the limits of what was possible in the planes, but this. This was different. It was simply so strong, so alien, so-

Too much. Too much. The Multimultiverse could hold everything but this, because it was energy pent-up after centuries’ worth of death and vengeance, of bending and bending the fabric of reality without knowing its true limits, for they had to exist.

Weekly 1

Part One

320 words!

The girl scampered lightly through the rainy street, sending up droplets in the air as she stepped in one puddle and another. She hurried across the concrete, not wanting to be late for school. Her teacher had gently chided her about her tardiness just a week ago, and the girl really wanted to try to do her best.

She would be late for school again soon, if she didn't hurry, but the rain was drenching her hair and it was rather uncomfortable. She could feel her fingers getting a little numb, from all of the coldness and wetness that persisted with the rain. Oh, how she wished she had a nice umbrella! In her haste to head to school, she had completely forgotten to bring one – her mother was probably shaking her head at home as she saw the blue umbrella left hanging at the front door.

But as she passed by a building, she caught a glimpse of a flash of red. An umbrella! How perfect. She was sure that whoever owned the umbrella wouldn’t mind it being gone for a day; on her way back from school she’d just drop this off.

So, with that decided, she opened up the umbrella and was shocked to discover that sunlight emerged from it.

Holding it tightly, she ran giddily through the streets. The umbrella's embryonic warmth was soft and cozy, and she felt quite at ease despite the rain hammering down.

But eventually, the rain faded, and the girl folded up her umbrella in disappointment. It appears that it wasn't needed anymore, not when the real sun was out and beaming down on everyone else. Her umbrella wasn’t special anymore, if everyone else was having sun without it.

So now what? She unfolded the umbrella, raised it up, and was even more disappointed when rain began showering down from what had once been a source of light and dry warmth.



Part Two

404 words! I feel like my attempt to convey the significance of the food is lackluster asldfkj but this was interesting

The whole family was seated around the table, with its linen white tablecloth embroiderd with vaguely floral patterns. A steaming ceramic pot of tea sat beside her plate – she thought it was chrysanthemum tea, because that was the classic for such dim sum meals, but she wasn't sure, because it was still too hot for her to drink. On the other hand, many of the adults around the table were already refilling their cups. Ahh, how she envied the adult taste buds – able to withstand far hotter temperatures!

But no matter. The courses were starting to arrive, and she quickly dug into the various dishes as her uncle ordered practically everything that was carted around. It wasn't much of a strange action, seeing how the whole family (of 12 people) was seated around the table, one of the largest in the dim sum restaurant.

“So, how is school for you?” her grandma asked the girl with an air of kind interest, and she tried to answer as honestly as she could.

“Good! I’m taking full units this semester, and we’ve had events last week for the- performance.” She didn’t know how to say ‘theater’ in Mandarin, which rather irked her (she did not enjoy not knowing words in her first language) but her grandma just nodded contently.

“Well, a girl your age has to eat up! You’re doing a lot of work and you’re so young,” one of her aunts said eagerly.

“No, but eating makes you sleepy,” another aunt argued. “How are you supposed to focus on your work if you’ve eaten a huge lunch and you’re falling asleep?”

Everyone proceeded to engage in more conversation about food and productivity, and the girl blew at her tea as she listened.

“Next time you come over, Grandma will make you more radish cakes,” her grandma decided at the end of it all. She knew that it was her granddaughter’s favorite food. “I cook them better than this place anyways.”

As if on cue, the waitress who came over next offered everyone radish cake. The girl’s uncle eagerly snapped up two servings.

“Can I have some of that?” she asked, pointing to the radish cake. Her grandma grabbed a pair of the chopsticks and ferried half of a radish cake to her plate.

"Eat up,” her grandma said with a chuckle.

The girl proceeded to do just that, dreaming of even more great feasts ahead.









Part Three

406 words!

She thought herself to be quite the beautiful woman. Her cheeks were rosy and vivid. A pair of dark bright eyes gazed back at her from the looking-glass, her skin was as warm as ever, and her hair fell in sleek dark waves all around her face. And her smile! So many have commented on its charm, and even looking at herself she could agree.

But aside from all of her many facial features, there was a certain spirit in her eyes that she liked. It gave her personality, made her seem quite full of life.

That was the way she’d like to be perceived by others, anyways – pretty, bright, and cheery, ready to face whatever the world opted to hand her. Was she, though? She didn’t quite know, but she tried to be like that every day.

Looking more deeply in her own eyes, she could feel another presence there, faintly, but it was certainly flickering in the irises of her eyes. This was strange.

Hello there, she mouthed at the glass, almost childlishly. As expected, her minuscule self mouthed that back. She smiled at herself.
Then her reflection winked at her with both eyes.

She took a step back with a gasp, but her reflection shrugged, as if saying, I’m harmless, see? A supernatural occurrence, but a friendly supernatural occurrence.

“Who are you?” she asked her reflection, and she detested how scared her voice sounded.

The reflection gave another barely perceptible shrug, and continued to stare back at her. That she could see someone else other than her – well, someone who appeared to be just like her but with different actions – seemed wrong. Does that mean… does that me she was not herself? Maybe not who the mirror was intended for. Maybe the reflection was the real her, and not her physical body. But how could that be? How?

The reflection stared back, and she could've sworn that she looked amused. This situation was not amusing in the slightest! How the reflection could believe that was impossible to fathom.

And then her reflection mouthed something towards her. She felt a compulsive urge to mouth whatever it was back, but instead she slowed down, tried to read the reflection’s lips: you need to know yourself.
“I do know myself,” she protested.

The Reflection (at this point she accepted it to be a whole other entity) pointed at herself.

“You’re not me,” the woman insisted.

Exactly.



Part Four

404 words! I made the umbrella stand for specialness I think I’m not sure I just speedran this xD
I’m really proud of the phrase “embryonic warmth” so I kept it mwahaha
Also imagine if this whole weekly was about the same person :0

The young girl hurried through the rainy streets, bright red boots splashing in the water. The rain beat down on her, but holding her arms above her head, she was quite undeterred.

She walked somewhat apart from everyone else, who were dark and monotonous in the dreary weather. Her spirit shone brighter and more eager than theirs will ever be. That was something she held fiercely to her heart when her teacher commented on that.

“You’ve got real spunk,” she had said, and proceeded to explain to the 7-year-old what spunk meant. Then of course she’d chided her for coming to school ten minutes later than everyone else.

But the girl was determined not to make the same mistake this time. As a matter of fact she’d set out from home fifteen minutes earlier than she needed to, leaving her mother in her metaphorical dust. Her mother, and her gray umbrella too. It was a good thing anyways; her gray umbrella was quite drab.

So she set off, and her eyes lighted up in surprise as she saw the red umbrella. It seemed to glow, even under the darkness of the clouds. And when the girl opened it she was delighted to feel warmth and brightness radiating from the umbrella. It was as a miniature sun was imbued in the umbrella’s very self.

The embryonic warmth accompanied her as she quickened her pace, and it set her even further apart from everyone shuffling through the rainwater. Until the sun came out.

It burned bright, and a rainbow even came out, but the girl couldn’t be satisfied. Now everyone had sun! Before it was something special for her, but now… now there was no point in it anymore. No point in holding something that already existed, already existed to everyone. It would help her no more, and it would only make her look ridiculously special with an umbrella out in the sun.

She silently folded it up and made her way to the bus stop, head down, treading slowly and carefully as everyone else rushed around her. They were all chattering excitedly to each other; she was alone and quite silent.

Then she glared up at the sun with narrowed eyes and proceeded to open up the umbrella once more, wondering what would happen. Seawater and fish cascaded out, drenching her to the bone even in her raincoat.

If the umbrella had to be different, it was different from everything. There was a price to be paid for always straying from the crowd.

Daily 7/9

715 words!
oh my goodness why was this so repetitive at places

Max: Depending on what era of his life you’re looking at, Max has different sleeping habits. Obviously, when he was a kid in the early 1900s, there wasn’t much to pull an all-nighter for aside from the occasional annual celebrations. He went to sleep strictly at 8 o' clock each day, and even in his teenage years he still got a solid 9 hours of sleep per day (like me normally!) Unfortunately, the war just completely ravaged his sleep schedule. Artillery shells firing day and night – no one could possibly sleep a wink at night! He tried to work on repairing it after the war, but even in his 60s or 70s, occasionally he'd wake up randomly in the middle of the night. Sometimes it was the nightmares that rose him, sometimes he just got up for no readily apparent reason at all. He also had a habit of getting some naps in the afternoons especially later in his life, and it's extremely calming! Also, his job as a teacher occasionally made sleeping hard when he had a lot of content to grade, but generally he didn't do things that involved late bedtimes, so that was a welcome relief and rather nostalgic of his childhood times.

Leander: Leander generally sleeps like a normal good old person – they go to bed promptly at 9:30 and usually fall fast asleep, because working as a sailor is tough business and you need all the snoozing you can get before you eventually head to the docks at 7 in the morning. They don't have time for naps, quite unfortunately, but they're usually pretty content with their sleep schedule and don't really find reasons to randomly nap in the middle of the day.

Muiren: Muiren is a rather different story. She could get on easily with very little sleep, but she also has a tendency to randomly nap in the middle of the day for no reason at all. She doesn't really have many things to do aside from a side job – things to do as in important obligations like work – so she does have a lot of time for these little naps.

Camphora: Cam’s a lot like her oldest sibling in regards to sleep, but without work! Well, before she discovered her siblings she did do a lot of farm work for her adoptive family, but that didn’t stop her from staying up reading and writing and doing whatever heck else she fancied (like running a mile in the dark one time) at night. On the Journey™, she also slept like a relatively normal person (much to Basil’s chagrin for reasons to be explained later), and it remained pretty much the same until she got to the north, where she stayed up a lot to investigate stuff. She deals better with sleeping late than getting up early in the short term but vice versa in the long term.

Basil: Basil’s sleep schedule is a mess because random advisors had always insisted on calling him up at night when he wasn’t even the proper Crown, so try as he might he can’t sleep consistently. But he does like staying up late, which (in addition to his perpetual nagging for the two of them to be productive) made both him and Cam annoyed a lot when they were traveling. He also wakes up at noon sometimes as opposed to Cam’s consistent 8 o’clock and other times he wake up at 4:39. It’s a hit-or-miss with his wake-up time.

Hayden: Moving on to my older OC’s, Hayden actually normally gets decent sleep but when he’s not physically active like a good old pilot, he can’t sleep. When that happens he goes to the gym in the dead of night because they actually stay open to his whim which is pretty amazing. People ask a lot of rather accusatory questions about his sleep schedule which he has to explain every time because his ability to sleep is very hit-or-miss. Also he never really feels that tired. Ever. He never pushed himself much to sleeplessness that much but he’s had experiences and they’ve never been very different from normal for him. Once he stayed up for a whole night, but his day was completely normal and his sleep was also completely normal.

Heroes Fanfic WIP (revamped)

this is kinda copied from the original lol but anyways:


Hello! This is the Sabaton fanfic I’ve been working on. Basically, the figures that the album Heroes was based on are stuffed in a conference room with no idea how they got there. If you don’t know the album all that well, I hope you won't get blasted by confusion because that is exactly what I'm trying to avoid xD

So to help everyone, I’ve included a list of songs in order and the figure(s) that represent each one; most of them should come up pretty easily if you google them:


Night Witches: Yevdokiya Bershanskaya
No Bullets Fly: Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler
Smoking Snakes: Arlindo Lúcio da Silva, Geraldo Baêta da Cruz, and Geraldo Rodrigues de Souza
Inmate 4859: Witold Pilecki
To Hell and Back: Audie Murphy
The Ballad of Bull: Leslie Allen
Resist and Bite: Maurice Bricart
Soldier of 3 Armies: Lauri Törni
Far From the Fame: Karel Janoušek
Hearts of Iron: Walther Wenck


They are seated in a circle in the order that their songs were presented :>
I tried to present their personality as best as I can, based on the limited knowledge that I have, but there’ll certainly be shortcomings.
This was also rushed, which as usual means that it’s more full of action and/or dialogue (in this case the latter).

TW: mentions of execution, death, war, and other similar themes.

One minute, Franz Stigler was comfortably lying in his bed. The next moment, he was sitting in a chair in a conference room, with no idea how he got there.

Franz glanced around. To his right there was a group of three whispering among themselves. Gazing more closely at the three’s uniforms, Franz could see that they were part of the Brazillian Expeditionary Force. And to his left, there was a familiar face.

“Charlie?”

Charlie Brown looked a lot like he did on that fateful day, so long ago, on that B-17. Young, dressed in a sharp uniform.

Evidently, Charlie wasn’t the only one who seemed that way. He was gasping at Franz sitting beside him. “It can’t be…”

As Franz patted Charlie on the back, he noticed that most of the people seated around the table were looking at them enviously. They didn’t seem to have acquaintances at the table, much less close friends like the two.

“Does anyone know how we got here?” a mild-mannered German general to the immediate left of Franz and Charlie asked.

“I wouldn’t have an idea,” a Polish soldier responded. Strangely, Franz was able to understand him, despite not knowing a word of Polish. He glanced around the table, and saw that everyone else was nodding in agreement. So they could understand, too. How interesting.

After the Pole’s words, silence filled the room as everyone tried to take stock of their strange situation. The hush was broken by a middle-aged Russian woman, who suddenly stood up. “I believe we should introduce ourselves and try to determine why we are here,” she suggested.

There were general murmurs of assent, but also a few curious gazes at her uniform and medals.

“Very well. I will go first – I’m Major Yevdokiya Bershanskaya, commander of the 46th Guards Night Bomber Aviation Regiment,” she said, not without a touch of pride. Indeed, everyone else around the table was gazing at her in admiration. “Let’s go down clockwise. What about you two?”

Realizing that the major was talking to him and Charlie, Franz quickly straightened up. “I’m Oberleutnant Franz Stigler,” he began nervously. Many of those seated at the table were on the Allied side. “I served in the Luftwaffe.”

“And I’m Second Lieutenant Charles Brown,” Charlie said. “Of the U.S. Army Air Force.”

Like they did with Major Bershanskaya, the people seated around the table gazed at them with interest.

“How did you two get acquainted?” a Belgian major asked curiously.

“Exactly my thoughts; what happened?” the German general prompted the two.

“Long story short, Franz saved me and escorted my crew’s damaged B-17 to British territory,” Charlie replied succinctly.

“How brave!” one of the Brazillian trio exclaimed. “That would be treason, and yet you still did it!”

“What I did in saving the Berliners was tantamount to treason, too,” the German general remarked. “Though the war was already lost, I still could’ve been executed.”

“I was actually executed for treason,” the Polish soldier replied bitterly. “For ‘treason.’ Right, as if saving my countrymen was called ‘treason.’

“I have to agree with you,” a stately Czech field marshal sighed. “I aided my country in exile-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think we should go in the order that Major Bershanskaya suggested,” Franz said politely, glancing at the Russian ace. “Some of us haven’t spoken. Who’s next?”

The field marshal looked disgruntled, but relented.


The same BEF soldier that had just spoken a while ago raised his hand. “As a matter of fact, we are,” he declared, gesturing to himself and his two companions. “I am Geraldo Baeta da Cruz, that’s Arlindo – Arlindo Lúcio da Silva, and to my right is Geraldo Rodrigues de Souza. In Italy we held off 100 Wehrmacht soldiers for as long as we can, and… you can probably guess what happened at the end.”

“You were all killed,” an Australian spoke up plainly.

Da Cruz nodded. “Precisely.”

“But that’s such huge odds!” Charlie exclaimed.

Suddenly, a Finnish soldier jumped out of his seat as if just having a realization. “Wait, I have a question,” he said. “From what I’ve heard, I believe that some of us here are… dead, for a lack of a better way to put it.”

There were reluctant nods of confirmation from everyone in the room.

“I think we are all dead,” Franz observed. “How?”

“I guess we arrived after we died,” Charlie replied thoughtfully.

“Yes, but how? And is there a reason for us, specifically, to be here?” the Finnish soldier pressed. These were indeed important questions that no one quite had an answer to.

“I don’t know… maybe when we know each other better we could find out?” the Australian who spoke up earlier suggested. “You know, find out why we’ve been transported to a random conference room in our deaths.”


“Alright, then, let’s get this over with,” the Polish soldier huffed. “I’m Witold Pilecki of Poland. I sneaked into {a certain camp}; stayed there for more than two years to organize resistance, which failed; stole some documents from there, which were ignored by everyone; tried to get outside help, which also failed; fought in the Warsaw Uprising, which failed yet again; was arrested by a Communist government; became convicted in a court, which happened to be a kangaroo court; and then bang, I’m here. The end.”

Pilecki sat down swiftly, waiting. Seeing everyone’s astounded expressions, he added hastily, “It’s not a big deal, right?”

“You got yourself into {a certain camp} purposely? That must’ve taken some nerves,” Bershanskaya told him.

“Ahh, well, I just wanted to help my fellow countryfolk. Though they obviously didn’t return the favor.”

The Czech air marshal nodded. “I can sympathize, my friend.”

What was it with Eastern Europeans and false treason?

“Anyways, I think Audie’s going next,” the Australian piped up, nudging the young American soldier.


Franz surveyed the man as he stood up. He had heard of him before – Audie Murphy, quite the hero in the United States. And Murphy, despite his quiet demeanor and short stature, did seem to live up to his name: his gaze was steely and swept fiercely across the room.

“My name is Audie Murphy. I fought in Sicily, Anzio, and southern France. I did writing and acting. The last thing I remember from my life is the fog.”

A complicated life cut short by a tragic accident. Murphy was the youngest soldier of all of them here at the table; could his life has gone differently if he’d never enlisted the way he did? It was only a year’s difference, but it could have made all the difference.

“Thank you,” Major Bershanskaya said quietly.


The Australian nodded. “Definitely a hero.”

“Well, it’s your turn now,” the Belgian said to him.

“Alright, then,” the Australian said brightly. “My name is Leslie, Leslie Allen, but my friends also call me Bull. It sounds like we're just naming heroic things I did, so one time I won this football match all by myself-”

Charlie raised his eyebrows. “One, I don't think that's the kind of heroism we're going for, and two, did that actually happen?”

“Well, I'm a decent player,” Allen shrugged. “I was also a medic in the war – I'm assuming we're all talking about the same war here – and saved a couple of other boys at Tambu.”

“In the Pacific?” Pilecki asked.

“Well, yes, because I think I'm the only one so far who never served in Europe. I was in Libya, though.”

“Me too!” Franz exclaimed, but his excitement died down once realized that he and Allen would have been fighting each other.


The Belgian major stood up. “It’s my turn now, correct?”

Everyone nodded.

”Very well. I'm Major Maurice Bricart, and I commanded the Chasseurs Ardennais when the Germans invaded. Erwin Rommel himself called us the “green wolves” because we held out for a long time against him. We were ordered to retreat, and we didn't receive the message, so I suppose that was how we came by our fame."

“Erwin Rommel!” Charlie exclaimed. “The Desert Fox?”

“Well, he wasn’t much of a fox anyways if he couldn’t get past us,” Bricart said not without a touch of pride.


“That’s a fair point,” the Finn agreed. “Alright then, my turn. I’m Lauri Törni. I fought in the Finnish Army, for Germany, and in America as a Green Beret.”

“Ahh, a longtime enemy, I see,” Bershanskaya said with something bordering on amusement.

“That’s true,” Törni said with a shrug.

“I suppose you’re in the Wehrmacht as well,” the German general nodded. Törni looked rather nervous at that statement.

“Spit it out,” Allen nudged the Finn.

“I. Uh. Didn’t… serveintheWehrmacht.” At these words, everyone gawked at him, thinking about what he was implying.

“I see how it is,” the general replied, voice containing more disappointment than anger.


They were saved from an awkward silence by the Czech air marshal. “Well, there, good evening to you all.”

“How do you know it’s the evening?” Murphy asked him.

He huffed. “Just a sneaking suspicion. In any case, my name is Karel Janoušek, and I was an air marshal of Czech during my exile. After the war, I was imprisoned by-”

“Communists!” Pilecki called out almost gleefully.

“Yes, yes. But I survived the ordeal – barely.”

Everyone nodded in rather dejected silence, and then the German general stood up

“So, I believe it’s finally my turn,” he said as everyone looked expectantly at him, waiting for his story. “My name is Walther Wenck, and I was a general in the Wehrmacht. All throughout the war I’ve been on various fronts, and when Berlin finally came along, I decided not to finish the fight.”

“You defied orders?” Allen asked.

“Granted, no one really kept track of such things anymore, not when the war was nearly over. So I took the 9th Army, the 12th Army, and a handful of civilians across the Elbe, because as you know the Americans were more merciful than the Russians to the German people.”

He tipped his head not unkindly towards Major Bershanskaya, who nodded with little indignation on her part.

“Impressive,” Janoušek replied



“So, now that we’re done, what happens now?” Franz put out the question for everyone, who went silent for a while. There was no door out of the conference room, no windows either.

“Maybe there’s a vent. We have to be breathing somehow,” Pilecki replied. He stood up, and everyone followed suit. After a quick glance around the walls, he pointed up. “There!”

“Alright,” Allen said, and reached up to poke through the vent. “I think… here!”

He pulled out a tightly rolled piece of paper and showed it to everyone.

Hello Heroes,
It is our pleasure to have you gathered here. We’ve been curious about your stories for a very long time, and we hope you enjoy this experience we’ve put together for all of you.
Best wishes.

“Who sent it?” Murphy asked. “Is it not signed?”

“Nope,” Allen replied impatiently. “‘Enjoy this experience’? This is the ugliest room I’ve ever seen!”

“Wait, keep reading,” Törni suggested. “There’s something here.”

The thirteen people all crowded around the tiny slip of paper to read the words on it. Take out the oldest chair, and what you seek shall be there.

“I guess we’re in an ill-designed… escape room,” Charlie said, being more familiar with the situation than most of the others in the room.

“Oldest chair… everyone, look at the chair labels.”

“Chairs don’t have labels, I don’t think,” Bershanskaya said in annoyance to Janoušek.

“These do!” da Silva said.

But the chair labels, as they were, didn’t have dates.

“Perhaps it’s not referring to the chairs themselves,” Bricart suggested. “Maybe it’s our ages?”

“Well, in that case, we are definitely not the oldest,” Charlie said, pointing to himself and Franz.

“I think it might be you,” Wenck said to Janoušek, who was born in 1893. The air marshal scowled, but nodded. So he went ahead and pulled out the chair that he was sitting on, revealing a…

“Trapdoor!” da Cruz called out in excitement.

The trapdoor seemed to lead to somewhere dark and cold and empty, and everyone was rather intimidated.

“I guess I'll go first,” Murphy suddenly said. He headed down the rope ladder and waved farewell.

“Let us know how far it is and what's down there!” Allen yelled after him.

The whole group waited in terse silence, but it was quickly broken by Murphy's cry. “Come on! It's not far, and it's- well, I'm not sure what it is, but I think it's a puzzle.”

One by one, everyone headed down the narrow trapdoor, with Janoušek being the last. Franz marveled at the sight before him.

There was a vast room lit by bright blue fluorescent lamps. A huge timeline was up against the wall, covering the years from 1939 to 1945. Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Over here!” Murphy called out. Franz and Charlie were the first ones to reach him, and they looked at the box he was holding. It had about fifty cards, bearing the name of events. The Battle of Guadalcanal. Operation Overlord. The Battle of Midway.

“I think we have to put them on the timeline,” Törni, who had just caught up with the group, pointed out.

“Well, let's get started then,” Wenck said.

He took a card – The Battle of Berlin – and walked over to the 1945 section of the wall. There were smaller marks indicating the months, and Wenck placed that on April.

“I'm assuming we put these when they started,” he explained.

“That sounds about right,” Bershanskaya replied.

So everyone set about placing the cards in the correct place on the timeline. When they were done, nothing happened.

“Should we double-check if we got every right?” Franz suggested.

That they did. Pilecki noticed that someone got the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising and the Warsaw Uprising mixed up and fixed that. Someone also put the Battle of Prokhorovka a month later than it should have been, but aside from those two mistakes, there weren't any more. Still, nothing happened.

“If it's not the beginning of the conflicts,” Bricart began, “it must be the end!”

It took a couple of tries and more fixing mistakes, but once the Battle of Wizna had been put in its proper place, the entire timeline began to shift, fracturing into the middle of 1942 to reveal sliding doors. The group went through excitedly and saw… three large separate tunnels.

“It says that we have to split up into three groups,” da Cruz quickly pointed out to a sign as he and his two friends arrived at the fork.

“And then meet back up here when we’re done,” de Rodrigues continued.

“This is beginning to sound like a horror movie,” Charlie muttered.

“Do we have specific path assignments?” Bricart asked the Brazilians.

“I think so,” de Rodrigues confirmed. “Based on our seating arrangements. Us three are with Stigler, Brown, and Bershanskaya; Pilecki, Murphy, Allen, and Bricart; and then the rest of you are taking the third path.

“Alright, then, let’s get going. I don’t want my dead spirit stuck in this place forever,” Pilecki said.

So the group split up into their respective third and proceeded down the paths.


Charlie felt rather nervous walking along the path, which felt narrower and narrower the longer he walked. But finally, he and his group finally got to the end of the path, which was a small room. There was a computer on a table, as well as six pieces of paper that were obviously meant for the group to read.

”What's that?“ da Cruz asked, mystified, as he stared at the computer. His friends, who had died in the war just like him, were equally baffled. And although Major Bershanskaya had lived longer than the three, it wasn't enough to give her sufficient knowledge of a computer either.

”It's a computer. Charlie, do you think-“

”Sure thing,“ Charlie agreed to Franz's request. They were quite old during the computers' existence in their lives, so they weren't necessarily the most familiar with the piece of technology, but it was far better than having one of the other four trying to work it.

So Charlie turned on the computer, and it was on a certain webpage.

”Dear Heroes,

I'd like you to take about an hour of your time to listen to this album. I should think that it'll be interesting for all of you.“

The other tab was on a site called ”Spotify" and it was on the album…

“Heroes. An album about heroes.” By a certain band named Sabaton. Charlie read through the titles. Night Witches. No Bullets Fly. Smoking Snakes. And so on. He clicked the play button – or what he was pretty sure was the play button – with a deal of trepidation.

(insert track commentary content here aslfkj)

From the depths of hell in silence

Cast their spells, explosive violence


The six of them sat through the entire album. Well, not literally. Charlie and Franz were doing a workout routine, the Brazillians were jamming out to all of the songs, and even Bershanskaya was nodding to the rhythm.

“That was good music,” Charlie exclaimed. “I mean, I'm not very used to the metal genre, but still-”

“It was quite well-written, at the very least,” Bershanskaya agreed.

“I guess we can leave this place now?” Franz asked as he glanced around.

“Wait a second, there's something here,” de Rodrigues called out as he pulled out a patch of the Heroes album.

“So we get free ”Sabaton“ merchandise out of this!” da Silva exclaimed brightly.

“Alright, guys, come on,” Charlie said to the group. “The others are waiting for us.

So the six strode out of the room and through the now widening tunnel, back into the main chamber. The second group – Murphy, Allen, Bricart, and Pilecki – were already out. However, there was no sight of the other three.

”I'm guessing they're still listening?“ Murphy suggested.

He was right. Ten minutes Torni, Janousek, and Wenck emerged, the former two looking rather tired.

”The door locks. I never knew that the door-“

”If you just actually tried to listen to the music first,“ Torni snapped at Janousek, ”you would've-“

”But it was horrible! So loud and drumsy and strange-“

”I quite liked the album myself,“ Wenck said with a shrug. He alone seemed to have emerged unruffled. ”Although my favorite song is yours, actually,“ he said to Charlie and Franz.

”My favorite was Leslie's song,“ Murphy piped up.

”Well, I liked yours a lot,“ Allen replied. ”Say, they took a good bit of inspiration from your poem, is that right?“ Murphy nodded in confirmation.

”Everyone's songs were very well-written, but I think that Resist and Bite is my favorite out of the ten,“ Bricart admitted a tad sheepishly.

”Same with myself – Night Witches is mine,“ Bershanskaya agreed. ”It's because the song is about our entire unit, not only myself, and I think that it embodies all of us quite well.“

Everyone nodded in understanding.

”Alright. Now that we're all back, where do we go?“ Franz asked. Charlie thought that he was pretty good at this whole escape room deal.
”I think there,“ da Silva pointed towards the staircase that had just opened up. ”It's a bit cramped, but so was the trapdoor, and we got through that alright.“

He began ascending the staircase, but quickly ducked his head back down when he reached the top. Everyone else looked at him anxiously, but he popped his head back up to investigate and then turned back to the group.

”Models, I think,“ he explained as they all joined him.

There were dressers lined up everywhere, filled with everything from army coats to boots to medals.

”Look, that one looks like you,“ Charlie chuckled as he passed a mannequin with Franz's typically relaxed expression. But then he stopped and realized what he had said… actually made sense.

Evidently, some of the others had figured it out too.

”Are we supposed to be doing… a dress-up game?" Torni exclaimed rather anachronistically.

It appears that he was right. Charlie made his way to his own mannequin, and was rather startled to see how fiercely it gazed back at him. Well, no matter. It was time to make sure that the mannequin looked exactly like him, and he was ready for the challenge.

Heading over to one of the dressers, he tossed aside some boots that were too large to be his, a couple of German medals, and also a marshal's baton that was probably Janousek's. Then, he searched carefully throughout the various uniforms, until his hands landed on a familiar fabric. There was his uniform! He yanked it out and almost caused the whole dresser to fall over, but he got it back and began putting it awkwardly around the mannequin. The task was made considerably harder when the mannequin had those stiff limbs, but Charlie eventually managed to fit it on relatively well.

Then, he set off looking for his cap. Along the way he saw what looked like Franz’s cap and nabbed it, since his mannequin was pretty close to Charlie’s, but halfway back Wenck ran after him and asked for it – “that one’s mine, you see.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Charlie apologized and cringed at his own idiocy.

“It’s alright, the German caps look about the same anyways,” Wenck reassured him and went off.

Soon, everyone – including Torni with the three uniforms he had to put together – was about done. Murphy’s many medals looked on the verge of falling down, and Janousek couldn’t make his mannequin hold his baton correctly, but aside from that everyone’s uniform was pretty much assembled.

Just then, the wall on the opposite side of the staircase began to shift.

“What is it with these moving walls?” Torni muttered.


The walls opened up to a small theater. Even then, it had around 100 seats, and the thirteen soldiers mainly took up the first two rows.

“So, what are we supposed to be watching now?” Murphy wondered out loud.

Just then, the screen lit up, showing two people sitting in a cozy-looking room, with various war-related stuff tossed about.

“Hello there, Heroes!” the man on the left greeted. He wore a Sabaton shirt under a dark jacket.

“Why do they keep calling us that? It’s getting old,” Allen muttered under his breath.

“I’m Indy Neidell,” he continued.

“And I’m Joakim from Sabaton,” the other man continued with a small wave. He wore what looked like a bomber jacket.

“And this is Sabaton history!” Indy said once again, grinning. It seemed like the sequence was something that they’ve practiced many times.

When the bullets in the intro started firing, several people winced, but it was soon over.

“I know that there are ten song’s worth of content to cover, but we’ll try to make this twenty minutes. So two minutes for everyone!” Indy said brightly. He was about to say more, but the power suddenly went off.

“What?!” Pilecki cried out.

“Now what do we do?” da Cruz complained, looking annoyed.

“Fix it, maybe? Who’s good with engineering things?” Wenck asked everyone.

No one had more than amateur expertise. What was worse was that they couldn’t find the source of the video; there was no projector in sight.

Then they heard a yell of surprise.

“What happened?” Allen yelled back.

“I fell down somewhere!” Murphy replied in an even louder voice.

The group made their way to him, careful to not fall down anywhere themselves. It was too dark for Charlie to even have a vague idea what was in front of him, so he just held out his hands and tried to not bump into anyone. Unfortunately he ended up accidentally shoving Bricart, but the Belgian major simply waved off his apologies with a good-natured smile. Not that Charlie could see it, of course.

The whole group eventually made their way to where Murphy had fallen. It turned out that he had tumbled off the edge of a platform, but Bershanskaya quickly located the staircase leading down, so the 12 people all trotted down to where he was watching them sullenly.

“There’s a door,” he said, pointing at the door.

Without hesitation, Janousek opened it.

“WELCOME TO TRIVIA.” a monotone voice rang out overhead, not particularly loud, but sudden enough to make everyone jump.

They were now in a bright-lit room, with a stage and a screen, but there was no one else to keep any of them company except for themselves.

“RULES.”

Charlie and Franz shared a nervous glance as the voice continued on.

“You must confer amongst yourselves when each question is given. There will be 10 questions. You must get 8 correct to pass to the next level. If you fail, you may try again in 30 minutes with a new set of questions. Are you ready?”

“Uh, yes?” Allen said hesitantly.

“THEN LET’S BEGIN.”

A moment’s pause. Then, a message showed on the screen, and the mysterious voice read it out loud: “Number 1. Who is the youngest amongst you?”

Allen quickly pointed to Murphy, and everyone nodded.

“Uh, me?” the young American soldier said hesitantly.

“‘Me’ is not correct,” the voice said. “Please state the full name of your answer. The answer is Audie Leon Murphy. Murphy was born in 1925 and is thus the youngest of all of you.”

Collective groans rang out around the room.

“That’s not fair!” Allen protested, but the voice had already moved on.

“Number 2. Who was the last amongst all of you to die?”

Charlie raised an uncertain hand, looking around the room, and then gestured the numbers with his fingers: 2, 0, 0, 8. Everyone else nodded. Wenck pointed questioningly at Franz, but he shook his head in reply.

“Charles Lester Brown,” Charlie said carefully.

“That is correct. Brown passed away in the November of 2008.”

Charlie heaved a sigh of relief.

“Number 3. Who was the first amongst all of you to die?”

“If anyone died before 1946…” Pilecki whispered. Törni hurried to shush him, but it seemed that the microphone didn’t pick it up.

“We did, remember?” da Silva reminded him in a low voice.

Bricart shook his head at the conversation, and then spoke up in a clear voice before anyone could question him: “Maurice Bricart.”

“That is correct. Bricart passed away in 1940.”

A couple of the Heroes™ gawked at him, thunderstruck and wondering why he had totally neglected to tell everyone that he died so soon in the war. The Belgian major shrugged, as if it was only a slight unimportant fact that he had forgotten to mention (and Charlie rather agreed), and nodded towards the screen, where the fourth question was already showing up.

“Number 4. How many of you died from vehicular accidents?”

“How come all the questions are about our deaths?” Torni said in obvious annoyance. “We get it, we're dead. Thank you. There's absolutely no need to remind us so often of our own mortality. Anyways, helicopter crash here. ”

“They awarded you the Distinguished Flying Cross after your death,” Charlie supplied helpfully, a fact that he knew thanks to Soldier of Three Armies' bridge and the infographic that he read earlier. Torni's face turned a rather amusing shade of scarlet as he processed the information. The Distinguished Flying Cross, for a man who died in a plane crash. It was a rather strange mix of pride and outrage that Torni must’ve been feeling.

“Shhh!” Murphy shushed both of them, as they were talking in rather loud noises. Thankfully, once again the microphone didn't pick up the extra sounds.

“Well, I think I did too,” Wenck admitted. “No memories after my car crash, you see.” He quipped something about “repeating the mistakes of 40 years past” and fell silent, and everyone waited for more claims.

“Plane crash here too,” Murphy said quietly.

“Oh,” Torni replied, seeming a bit less ruffled about dying from an air crash when someone else did as well. “Well. Anyways, I died at the ripe old age of… 46.”

“I died when I was 45!” Murphy pointed out with a tad too much eagerness than normal, Charlie thought. Goodness, this trivia game was doing exactly what Torni pointed out - reminding everyone of their deaths so much so that they were getting excited about them. Well, at least some people. He couldn’t really imagine Pilecki being excited about the betrayal he suffered at the hands of a kangaroo court, for one.

“Please provide a numerical answer within the next 20 seconds,” the trivia voice spoke.

“No one else?” Torni asked swiftly.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Three,” Wenck finally said.

“That is correct. Lauri Torni, Audie Murphy, and Walther Wenck passed in a helicopter crash in Quảng Nam Province, Vietnam; a plane crash near Roanoke, Virginia; and an automobile crash in Ried im Innkreis District, Austria; respectively.”




(pretty big time skip sparkles)



A huge hallway with ten rooms, labeled with a number and a song title.

“One, Night Witches,” Törni read out the first room’s label.

“Oh, so it’s more rooms,” Janoušek sighed boredly. “At least I’ll be alone in one this time.”

“Can’t say the same for us,” da Silva quipped.

Charlie and Franz headed into their room, which was about the size of the conference room that they first landed in. There was a television and a remote, with only one button on it. A power button.

After sharing a glance, Charlie nodded to Franz, who then pressed down on the button.

The television burst into static. A thick, husky voice – Charlie was pretty sure that it was Joakim Broden speaking – rang out across the room. He had an accent that Charlie couldn’t quite place: Czech? Swedish? “Hello there, Mr. Stigler and Mr.Brown.”

“Just call us Franz and Charlie,” Franz spoke up, but it appeared to be a prerecorded audio; the man did not seem to hear.

“I hope you, and your other companions of the album, enjoyed listening to the songs and exploring this room. As you know, my name is Joakim Brodén, and I’m the lead singer of Sabaton. Everyone else is here, too-”

“Hello there, you two!” someone else’s voice overrode Joakim’s.

“Par, are you done yet? I wanna talk to Charlie and Franz-”

The Sabaton band members began a small squabble over what to say to Charlie and Franz. Knowing that they probably couldn’t hear him, Charlie raised his voice and said, “Come on, you guys don’t have to argue!”

“You’re sure right about that!”

Charlie and Franz turned around and gawked at Joakim, who appeared right in front of them! With his hair, sunglasses, armor, and camouflage pants, he exactly resembled himself in real life, or at least what Charlie assumed was what he looked like in real life. But he was a hologram projection, unfortunately, much to the two’s simultaneous chagrin and astonishment.

“Hello there, I’ve been wanting to meet you for ages!” Joakim said in a jolly voice. Charlie nodded to him, while Franz shook hands with the lead singer’s hologram.

“I think everyone else should be coming soon, they were still speaking with Yevdokiya when I left-”

Right on cue, the rest of the members swiftly appeared in holographic form right behind him. Unlike Joakim, all of them had long glorious hair.

“Did you steal all of his hair?” Charlie joked.

Hannes and Chris chuckled at that, while Joakim looked rather annoyed. “Now listen here, my style is just as-”

“Okay, okay, before you guys argue again – why are we here?” Franz asked.

“Ahh, quick to the chase, just like Yevdokiya was!” Joakim said in satisfaction. “Well, here’s how it is. You two are both dead – you know that, right?”

“I did assume that,” Franz said. “I mean, I was 92, and now I look like my 28-year-old self again. Does that sound normal to you?”

“No, no, of course not.”



(still not done but hey, it's a lot further than what I did in November 2021 xD)

heroes fan fic critique!!! these are all just suggestions and a lot of this is like i personally feel like it would be better phrased like xyz so feel free to disregard the suggestions you don't agree with

Rewording/Clarity/etc



Franz glanced around. To his right there was a group of three whispering among themselves. Gazing more closely at the three’s uniforms, Franz could see that they were part of the Brazillian Expeditionary Force. And to his left, there was a familiar face.


I think the underlined sentence’s transition is a bit abrupt. Something I believe would help with this is either rewording the sentence or picking a different transitional phrase.


Ex: “While these sights were surprising, none shocked Franz as much as when he saw who was sitting on his left.”



“Let’s go down clockwise. What about you two?”


I think that another sentence after this would be helpful, to clarify that the major is talking to Charlie and Franz.


Ex: “The major’s stern gaze rested on Franz and Charlie.”


Charlie Brown looked a lot like he did on that fateful day, so long ago, on that B-17. Young, dressed in a sharp uniform.


I think the underlined phrases are a bit repetitive.


“I was actually executed for treason,” the Polish soldier replied bitterly. “For ‘treason.’ Right, as if saving my countrymen was called ‘treason.’


I feel like the sentence at the end would be cleaner if it was something like “As if trying saving my countrymen is treason.”


“I think we are all dead,” Franz observed. “How?”


I think that “But how?” might work better here


A complicated life cut short by a tragic accident. Murphy was the youngest soldier of all of them here at the table; could his life has gone differently if he’d never enlisted the way he did? It was only a year’s difference, but it could have made all the difference.

I feel like you could elaborate more here on what happened to Murphy (unless this is intentionally vague), because these sentences don’t really give us too much information on Murphy’s enlistment.


”Very well. I'm Major Maurice Bricart, and I commanded the Chasseurs Ardennais when the Germans invaded. Erwin Rommel himself called us the “green wolves” because we held out for a long time against him. We were ordered to retreat, and we didn't receive the message, so I suppose that was how we came by our fame."


I think the last sentence here could use some rewording. It seems a little unclear to me that Major Maurice Bricart’s unit came by their fame by holding out so long against Erwin Rommel (at least I’m assuming that’s what you meant sdfdsf).



“That’s true,” Törni said with a shrug.



Hmm to me this shrug seems kind of out of place here. I don’t really think Bershanskaya didn’t said anything that should receive a shrug in response. Might be just me though.

CJ grammar police moment



“I am Geraldo Baeta da Cruz, that’s Arlindo – Arlindo Lúcio da Silva, and to my right is Geraldo Rodrigues de Souza. In Italy we held off 100 Wehrmacht soldiers for as long as we can, and… you can probably guess what happened at the end.”


I believe it should be “for as long as we could”



Character Portrayal



I think the characters are relatively easily to keep track off, I can remember most of them (remember as in remember their names, I don’t remember the majority of their backstories). I’ll admit that a lot of times when characters were talking, I had to look back through the story to be like oh wait it’s this person talking. (Honestly if you asked me to name all the characters right now, I could probably get more than half which is saying something I think sdfdsfds)


I believe they all have pretty distinct personalities, though I keep mixing up Franz and Charlie. I feel like the two seem to have very similar personalities (in my eyes at least).


I think in this short excerpt, where you are switching around between different characters and their backstories relatively quickly, it’s hard to really delve into the characters’ personalities. However, I feel like you did a really good job displaying their personalities despite that



Overall, I think this is a great piece (or at least excerpt of a piece dsfsd). I’m really impressed by how you are able to transition between each backstory so seamlessly :00 It was very fluid, almost like I was listening to the conversation as it was happening. And though I know virtually nothing about this album/band asdfdsfs I enjoyed reading this

7/11 MC Daily

not very good alskdjf but I parodied The Greatest Show
505 words!

Woah x9

Scratch Writing Camp, this is the moment you've waited for
Woah
Been lying' in the dark, your hopes sinkin' through the floor
Woah
And buried in your brain, there's a war that you can't ignore
Takin' your time, stealin' your mind
And all that's irl is left behind


Don't fight it, it's comin' for you, runnin' at ya
Just get this war done, don't care what comes after
Your war deadline, can't you see it gettin' closer?
Just hurry ‘cause you feel your fingers takin’ over (Oh)
It's speedrun, it's arson, it's floodin' open (Oh)
It's an enemy camper and your retaliation (Oh)
There's a war breakin' at the brick of a cabin that's holdin' (Oh)
All that you know, so tell me, do you wanna go?


Where it's covered in all the prompted fights
Where the late-sleepers are runnin' the night
Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you
Oh, this is the greatest show
We type it up, we won't come down
And the war can't stop us now
Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you
Oh, this is the greatest show


Woah
Colossal we come, throw these counts in the ring
Woah
Where the word limit's found and we keep on finishing


Don't fight it, it's comin' for you, runnin' at ya (Don't fight it, it's comin')
Just get this war done, don't care what comes after (It's only this moment)
It's blockin', consumin' anything that you know
Just surrender ‘cause you’re writing' and you wanna go


Where it's covered in all the colored lights
Where the runaways are runnin' the night
Impossible comes true, acceleratin' you
Oh, this is the greatest show
We light it up, we won't come down
And the war can't stop us now
Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you
Oh, this is the greatest show (Hey, hey)

It's everything you ever want (Hey, hey)
It's everything you ever need (Hey, hey)
And it's here right in front of you (This is where you wanna be)
This is where you wanna be (Hey, hey)
It's everything you ever want (Hey, hey)
It's everything you ever need (Hey, hey)
And it's here right in front of you (This is what you want)
This is where you wanna be (Hey, hey, hey, hey)

This is where you wanna be
Where it's covered in all the prompted fights
Where the late-sleepers are runnin' the night (Oh, oh, yeah)
Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you (Hee)
Oh, this is the greatest show
We type it up, we won't come down
And the war can't stop us now
Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you

This is the greatest show
Where it's covered in all the prompted fights
Where the late-sleepers are runnin' the night
Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you
Oh, this is the greatest show
We type it up, we won't come down
And the clock can't stop us now
Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you
Oh, this is the greatest show

MC Daily 7/12

180 words about the Adventure Catacombs

The walls of the catacombs are stifling, and you can’t help but shudder as you pass by the countless bones that were stacked in ragged rows. This was the test, and you’re sure you’ve almost passed: you’ve followed the map down to every bit of its precise details.

You sigh in relief as you enter a large cavern, where around two dozen people are gathered. They all seem to be on high alert, but most of them nod to you friendlily when you emerge from the tunnel – they know that you’re another fresh recruit.

Finally, the hour passes, and the heads of the Organization turn to all of you.

“Congratulations on passing the test,” one says brightly.

“And welcome to the Catacombs branch of Organization! You will be learning about all of us very soon,” another continues with a wink.

“But this cavern isn’t the best place to do that. We’re taking you to our base – hurry along now!”

You follow the heads down a trapdoor. The Adventure Catacombs were about to get much more familiar – and much more dangerous.

MC Daily 7/13

I used the sweet William (gallantry), sweet pea (departure), marigold (grief), and zinnia (thoughts of absent friends)! And even though it wasn’t on Alba’s list, I also used the red poppy (one of the most recognizable symbols of WWI)

TW: themes of war and death!

Klaus has no last name yet oops
Also this is horribly rushed I'll probably rewrite it soon :'D

800 words alsdkfj got carried away

In the first week in the trenches, Max Lutz made a friend.

He didn't quite remember his name anymore, and it scarcely mattered much now. But the other boy had wired glasses that he stubbornly kept on, even when they were shattered from the sheer force of artillery. He liked marigolds. And one day he approached Max friendlily, as if the two had know each other for years, and within a week Max had gotten quite comfortable in his presence.

Enough to call him a friend.

And that was a mistake.

Because a month later the British shells fired down at them and the boy's helmetless head had accidentally poked out of the trench for a second. For a second too long, because then a sniper's bullet came ringning out of the night and hit him right in the head.

Max vowed to not have friends anymore after that.



But then he went back on this personal promise a month later, when he met Klaus __. Max first saw him picking up poppies on the march west through Belgium, in the battles that took place behind swirling clouds of poison gas.

Klaus was an intimidating man. At least, that was what one who didn’t know him would say. Behind his large build and gruff appearance there was an inexplicably gentle spirit. He told Max about his message in a bottle during the Race to the Sea, about the soccer matches during Christmas Truce, about the chirps of sparrows in the brief moments between shell bombings.

Klaus, between the letters to his daughter and his faded watercolor paintings, kept carefully pressed flowers.

(The white-tinted magenta of sweet Williams fluttered ever so slightly in the dusty breeze, even as the vaguely registerable scent of chlorine began to fade.)

He’d show Max the flowers, then the paintings, and then the letters, before they were all sent back to his home in a bundle. He seemed to always have a supply of the three on hand, and Max could never figure out how.

As much as he seemed to physically resemble him, Klaus was nothing like Max’s stiff and aloof and… nationalistic father. Max’s father, certainly, would never chronicle the gardens of sweet Pea that he had last seen before he was swept west by the guns of August, the flowers’ vivid yet poisonous blossoms curling up in the autumn wind.

In the dark Klaus almost always had a plethora of folk songs to sing, and many of them Max recognized: the two of them were both from the north coast, after all. The other soldiers – some with somber faces half-shadowed, all of them merely acquaintances to Max – would curl up under the dugouts and trace the outline of their muddied boots, while Max would gently take a flower from Klaus to admire before quickly handing it back.



A month, then six, then a year; it all seemed too good to last, but the longer it lasted the more it seemed it’d stay forever. But it was not to be. With stilted breaths, Max spread the last of the poppy petals around Klaus’s now-dry fingers.

The lieutenant watched him sympathetically as he gestured to the others to cart off the man. Even though Maxx knew he should be mourning more than what he was doing right now, one thought still rebounded in his mind: at least he’d be buried. And in a semblance of wholeness, a semblance of peace.

After that, everything was out of the question. Dreams of home, clouds of dawn – all of that, gone. It was only afterward, years afterward – only when he was waiting in the Argonne for the Allies to be here at any moment that he opened the bundle. He couldn’t bring himself to see it or burn it until now.

Flowers. Zinnias and marigolds, from the bright green fields. Each of them carefully pressed, so that while their life was lost their brightness remained.

When he returned home, Max vowed, he would take these zinnias and marigolds and many more from the fields of Belgium and France: he’d take them all home to the daughter. Perhaps she was dead, perhaps she only existed as a figment of the poor man’s imagination. Alive or not, the zinnias had to go somewhere. The alive would bloom out in the sun; the dead would be kept in a drawer to be seen time and time again to his whim.

It was the least he could do, anyways, to keep the memories. The letters and the paintings and the flowers, the life that one human could have in a place of death.

The machine guns fire as they have always been and always will, but there is nothing to rival the flowers that bloom where they were never expected to bloom.

MC Daily 7/14

490 words about livestock rebellion?!?!

The pig crouched behind the bush, watching the humans with narrowed eyes. He was glad that he had taken a roll in the mud earlier today – the weather was horribly hot, nearly searing his skin off (or at least that was what it felt like).

Alongside him, his animal friends were also watching - and waiting for news.

“Are they here yet?” the horse demanded.

“No, Horsey!” the ox snapped back. “Be patient! We can't afford to make any wrong moves right now.”

The pig was quiet while the two bickered, until he couldn't take it anymore. “Shhh!” If anyone heard them, that would mean the end to him, the leader of the rebellion, and ultimately the downfall of the whole cause. Which was something that should not happen and should certainly not happen because of bickering.

The rebellion was a personal journey of his too, something that was quite important to him. After all, he had held a grudge against the humans for as long as he could remember, and this trip was instrumental to bringing the whole lot of them down!

“Chicken's here!” Oxi called out.

Chicken was darting swiftly towards the ragtag group assembled behind the bush. “I got the message!” they crowed.

They dropped the bundle of paper at the pig's feet, and he quickly read through them. Okay. Okay. The situation could be brought back under control. Yep. 100%.

“They've taken our entire southern branch hostage.”

Oxi gasped; Horsey seemed to collapse, and Chicken was just looking at him worriedly.

“Okay. Anyways.”

Peg felt quite lost. This situation was not going well. Now he'd have to figure out all of the ransom, which he does NOT have the resources to hand back.

“We'll find something, I'm sure,” Chicken said as they tipped their head.

Oxi snorted. “Oh, I'm sure too.”

Her sarcasm was immaculate, and Peg resolutely ignored her dark gaze. Then he saw something

“Wait.”

The humans were passing by. The four animals hid carefully behind their bush and watched as the marching of boots began to stop.

“Are they here somewhere?” they could hear one of the humans say.

Peg eyed the other three and nodded three times in rapid succession, then two, then one, then-

“There they are!” the same human yelled, but the group was already far off.

“That was a close call,” Horsey said.

“Of course, when had they ever been anything but close calls?” Peg said not without a touch of pride. But then he remembered the whole horrible hostage business. Oh.

“We'll ask the mercenaries-”

“To cough up money?” Oxi asked incredulously. “There's no way that's going to work!”

“No, no, no, you misunderstand my point,” Peg said, an idea slowly but surely forming and gaining speed within his head. This could work. This could work. Hehe. He was a lucky pig, to have ideas like these in his head.

“We’ll ask them for help. We’ll storm the headquarters."

The Google Translated song (from Seven Pillars of Wisdom)!
Someone has news.
today was hot
as before
A personal journey begins

The pig is very lucky.
The soldier went to war
he broke the law
The game has already started.

A dark Arabic voice said.
When there is war, people control themselves.
given name Lawrence
The seven pillars of science were broken.

freedom movement
Wild beasts hid on the road.
Work in groups and ask for help
The first Osman ul

The pig is very lucky.
Tafila, Medina, Damascus
he broke the law
back to the sandpaper

A dark Arabic voice said.
When there is war, people control themselves.
given name Lawrence
The seven pillars of science were broken.

Cheat or lie to win the war?
I want to talk to you
with money
Who will win the race?
Who created man?
Local or international?
The image of wisdom can speak.
A new beginning is a new home life
It is called Arabic

A dark Arabic voice said.
When there is war, people control themselves.
given name Lawrence
The seven pillars of science were broken.

The cry of darkness was heard throughout Arabia.
When there is war, people control themselves.
given name Lawrence
The seven pillars of science were broken.

MC Daily 7/15

303 words! This is before the Watson abduction 0-0

Fade in. HOLMES and WATSON are walking to the scene of the arson, where the ruins of the investigators’ base and home are standing. A crowd is also hovering around and gazing at the building.
HOLMES: So the Irregulars were right. This is almost certainly the work of the Coalition.
He frowns as he passes by the open newspaper spread out on the streets.
WATSON: (reading the newspaper as well) This is from yesterday, isn’t it?
HOLMES: And it’s oddly fitting that it should be at the scene of the crime.
The two fall silent as the crowd continue to chatter, apparently both deep in thought. Finally, HOLMES moves to look at the ash near the building’s door.
HOLMES: (approvingly) Of course the Irregulars couldn’t know the exact brand of cigar this had come from, but I daresay they’ve done a fine job of finding this nevertheless.
Meanwhile, WATSON is standing by the oil barrels.
WATSON: Holmes, do you think…
HOLMES: Yes, industrial oil barrels. No doubt their main source of fuel for the fire. I imagine that they’re the reason why this place burned down so quickly.
After some more investigating, the two turn away. They’ve gotten everything they needed to know. The two continue down the streets of the East End.
HOLMES: (moodily) We’re one step ahead, but merely one.
WATSON: One step ahead is better than nothing at all, I suppose.
HOLMES reluctantly nods.
HOLMES: I expect I’ll see you seen, then?
WATSON: Yes, if the visits in the next few days do not keep me for too long. This is an important case, after all.
HOLMES: When violent crimes are committed, there is always urgency to a case.
WATSON nods at this statement.
WATSON: Goodbye then, my dear friend.
HOLMES watches as WATSON hurries away in the fading twilight.

Weekly 2

Part One: 1090 words.


Part Two

638 words! It's kinda a combination of setting the stage (workshop by Rockie) and some character backstory (workshop by Nikki)

Perce gazed distractedly out of the train window as the rolling golden fields sped by. To his right was Camphora, fidgeting nervously at the edge of her seat. Finrod was already dozing in the corner of the compartment. Seeing all of the work that his husband had been up to during the day, Perce couldn't blame him.

“So, you're Cal's father?” Camphora asked nervously. Perce couldn't help but feel amused that this girl, whose tenaciousness he'd heard so many times about, was intimidated by him.

“Yes, that's right, and Mai's too,” he replied airily. “And you can't forget Fin over there” – he nodded in his direction.

Camphora nodded. A rather awkward silence descended upon the compartment, and Perce finally broke it with a sigh.

“Alright, then, since we're going to be here for a while and Fin's not going to be waking up anytime soon, I guess I'll practice being a jolly ol’ grandpa and tell you a nice story from the good old days,” he spoke up. Camphora's eyes widened in interest, and Perce took this as a good sigh.

“So, do you want to hear about Brightwings?” he asked. The formerly immortal parrot didn't come with the three on the train ride, but Perce expected that he'd seen them all soon anyways.

“I already did, for the most part,” Camphora replied.

“Ahh, Fin told you, didn't he?”

“He's a good storyteller too,” she added brightly.

“Of course, that's what being a teacher gets you,” he replied with a touch of amusement.

He thought for a moment longer, and he finally found the perfect anecdote.

“Alright. About Dusk Gate!”



Dusk Gate was a city on the southern border of North Starrgo, and it was often heavily fortified during the summertime, because that was when the supposed looters were the most active. Of course, the guards often interrupted civilian matters, and there were also countless cases of crimes against the citizens of the city, but because no one wanted to get robbed the guards were kept.

Of course, it was certainly different now – as Camphora pointed out, most of the guards were removed after the threat has passed the nation – but back in the days it was quite irksome to deal with all of the guards. Perce suspected that they were actually mercenaries paid by the government, but he had no actual evidence of this, as the one time when he tried to investigate he got arrested.

“Arrested?!”

“Well, I guess everyone gets arrested once or twice in their lives?” Perce shrugged. Arrest was quite taboo for a military officer, but then he had already quit his position then, so no matter.

“But- you were arrested?”

Perce almost laughed out loud at Camphora’s expression. “Of course! We sabotaged the guards, got caught, pled self-defense, and it actually worked!”

Camphora just kept gawking at him.

So, he continued. “Well, the judge was a good friend of ours back in the Academy.” But at these words, he felt a pang of sadness strike through him. The Academy. It felt like almost an eternity ago, that polished campus with its halls of former royalty and staff of potbellied majors. He did not miss the war, but he certainly did miss the camaraderie that he had found. And he met Finrod there too, and it was at the lantern-filled river of the Honeydew River that they had first kindled the light of their love.

Camphora had obviously noticed the silence that he’d fallen into, and she tipped her head at him, expression half-quizzical, half-sympathetic. “You miss that place, don’t you?”

“All these years and I still do,” he admitted with a short glance at the still-sleeping Finrod.

She nodded in understanding. “How is it there now?”

“Most likely… not a military academy anymore. Although I’ve never gone back, so I wouldn’t know."



Part Three: 664 words

MC Daily 7/17

452 words! I did owl-bouquet and gift-boba (and made a new character out of it >:3)
Tapioca goes by she/they, sorry if there's any initial confusion!
also I reused Alba's flower project hehe

Tapioca flapped her wings as she coasted through the air currents, with a bouquet of honeysuckles and ambrosia clutched in her talons. It was quite warm down south. The Boreal Owl wasn't quite used to it, of course, being from the austere forests of the north. Still, it was certainly a nice place to have a wedding.

“Tapioca! Over here!” a red-and-blue parrot called out from afar. Brightwings.

They swept down into a dive towards the parrot, who was effortlessly carrying a much larger bouquet of flowers.

“Hello there,” she greeted and handed over the bouquet. “The flowers.”

“Great, great, I knew you could do it,” he replied brightly and flapped off in the opposite direction. “Be right back!”

So they waited for a bit for his return, while gazing over at the sunny beach. Palm trees! Up in the north there were no such things as palm trees. Although their leaves do look smaller than how they were pictured on postcards, Tapioca reflected. Hmm. It was quite a nice scene either way.

Finally, Brightwings returned with a basket full of various delicacies. Tapioca particularly enjoyed the sight of the fish. “Here, hold this,” he said, shoving it towards her. She took it with quite a bit of confusion.

“For the humans, of course,” Brightwings said with just a hint of annoyance. He didn't always like humans, but then everyone at the wedding aside from him and Tapioca were humans. Oh well. How unfortunate.

“Right,” Tapioca nodded gracefully. “Should we head to the venue now, then?”

“Oh, right!” Brightwings hurried and glanced up at the sun growing higher and higher in the dawn sky.

It was his plan to hold the wedding earlier in the day, as the temperature was often too high towards noon this part of the year. So the two birds began flying towards the seaside venue with their heavy loads.

“Brightwings!” Perce called out to the parrot as the two finally landed not far from the piles of the wedding gifts. Hmm, the grooms were quite popular even if they were no longer officers.

“And… Tapioca?” Finrod chanced a guess at the owl's name, and they nodded in confirmation.

“That's right - a happy wedding to the both of you,” she said politely.

The two men beamed. When one knew a talking parrot, a talking owl wasn't much of a surprise.

“And I think you should open that soon,” Tapioca nodded towards a gift. It was about the size of a file cabinet, encased in golden wrapping paper, and had a card attached with the owl’s name. “Before the ice melts, of course.”

The box was opened to reveal a 4-cup holder filled with boba milk tea, still cold.

7/18-7/19 Bidaily

My picture:

Writing

481 words! I used this picture
Mild TW for discussions of cocktails (albeit only alcohol-free ones), and mentions of the mafia and a knife

Banana lounged carefully on his guitar throne as he flipped through the book of cocktails. There were so many flavors of cocktails that he could make! Banana quite enjoyed cocktails, although only the alcohol-free ones (because he was allergic to alcohol).

“Mugster, look at this.”

Mugster was the head of the Mugger mafia family. He was one of Banana’s closest friends as well, often supplying extra soda to Banana’s household. Banana himself had also often hired the Muggers to do some odd jobs – stuff like picking up groceries that you wouldn’t usually expect a crime family to do.

Anyways, Mugster peered over at the cocktail that Banana was pointing at. “Guitar cocktail? You want to make a guitar cocktail?”

“Yes! I want to absorb the power of my throne into myself,” Banana said grandly as he envisioned how he would look once he drank his guitar cocktail.

Mugster surveyed him skeptically. Banana had many many delusional dreams and was quite the comp sci major, often lounging in his house without going out. But Banana was also a nice guy to spend time with, seeing as Mugster’s only other company consisted of many criminals, some of whom frankly didn’t like the former runt of the Muggers all that much.

“But you wouldn’t have a throne anymore,” he finally decided to point out.

“Well, I won’t drink my entire throne! Just some of it would work,” Banana replied cheerfully.

Mugster sighed. “Fine.”

He began to shift awkwardly off the guitar, but Banana swiftly rolled past him. The guy could sure roll well, especially considering how crooked he was. Well, not crooked like Mugster. Literally crooked. But not crooked in the figurative sense.

Banana then headed to the knife drawer. Mugster stayed put – partly because he was rather fragile and didn’t look forward to his inglorious death on the floor of a kitchen by falling. Banana, on the other hand, wouldn’t be smashed into oblivion if he fell, so he was obviously the best for the job.

In any case, Banana came back, somehow clutching the knife by the root (stem? branch?) at the top of his head, and began to saw the strings of the guitar off. Mugster looked on rather uncomfortably, because he rather appreciated guitars and didn’t enjoy seeing one decimated. Ahh, well, it wasn’t worth alienating Banana. The recluse had more strange skills that Mugster could ever dream of.

And finally, the guitar parts were all collected after a lot more uncomfortable screeching sounds, and Banana proceeded to make the cocktail. It was done in a blur of yellow and a whirlwind of even more screeches, which the down-to-earth and Mug Deity-worshipping Mugster did not quite want to understand. He also did not want to understand the demonic Banana.

Being friends with him and being on his good side was quite enough.

“Cocktail?”

Mugster accepted and drank it all.

The chill autumn wind swept past the Jade Palace, scattering crinkling leaves in its wake. A knock sounded at the door, and the red panda Master Shifu moved to answer, wondering who could possibly be out on such a high mountain, at such a late hour.

There, on the ground, wrapped in bundles of ragged cloth: a leopard cub. Shifu glanced around, seeking traces of anyone who could’ve left this cub, but there was nothing visible. The air was utterly still. It was as if a shadow had come and dropped the cub before dissolving into the night.

And for a brief moment, Shifu wondered what could’ve made someone bring their cub to the temple – what disaster must’ve befallen them and made them unable to care for their son. Or perhaps it was something much more cold and unfeeling – perhaps they did not care about him.

Well. He could care for the cub in the meantime. The kung fu master wasn’t particularly the fatherly type, as far as he was aware, but his duties would scarcely have to come down to parenting an orphan.



Naturally, Shifu was mistaken.

The searches for nearby snow leopards yielded no results, and there was a lack of both able and willing caretakers. So, Master Oogway agreed to have the cub raised in the Palace. Permanently.

And so Shifu took care of the cub, naming him Tai Lung. It meant “great dragon,” and that was certainly Shifu's wish for him. To become the Dragon Warrior!

At first, Shifu wasn’t entirely confident that such an ideal would work. But Tai Lung could very well become the Dragon Warrior that the master could never be, and Shifu watched in satisfaction as he stumbled upon the cub romping around the training room.

So the newly named Tai Lung, glittering destiny set out before him by his master, continued to grow under the careful tutelage of Shifu. In the beginning, it wasn’t quite easy.

“But I don’t want to be the Dragon Warrior,” he whined one day. He was six, and Shifu had already trained him for two years.

“Nonsense! Who wouldn’t want to be the Dragon Warrior?” Shifu replied sharply.

Tai Lung’s expression was full of hurt, so Shifu hurried to clarify. “It’s a great honor to be the Dragon Warrior. You’ll be powerful, and respected by everyone in the Valley. And right now, I’d say you’re making great progress.”

The cub seemed still uncertain, but warmed up at the head pat following these words. There had been no more protests for the rest of the two’s years together.

(It perhaps would’ve changed everything if there had been.)

And as the days turned to months turned to years, the master’s pride towards Tai Lung only grew. He was a wonderful son – his skills were legendary, and Shifu was sure that this was a reflection of the master’s own competence too. He did not catch the wondering expression on the leopard cub’s face as he trained, nor the greedy eyes set upon Shifu when he told legends of the Dragon Warrior’s greatness.

And one day, when the cub was nine or ten, Oogway stopped Shifu’s path out of the Palace one morning.

“You have to stop trying,” the tortoise said.

“Trying what?”

Oogway seemed unperturbed by his gruff tone. “You believe you can force him, change him, shape him.”

Shifu bristled. “Isn’t that what I’ve always done?”

It wasn’t until years later, when he was in that dank and rotting prison next to the immobile shape of Tai Lung, that Shifu thought of that exchange. And later on, Shifu would always wonder: where did it go wrong? Where did Tai Lung start to develop the murderous qualities he displayed in full during the latter part of his life?

Perhaps there wasn’t one single starting point. Or perhaps it was when Tai Lung terrorized the local children when he was eleven, perhaps it was when he talked of world domination when he was fourteen. Both cases resulted in stern talking-tos, but Shifu was far too blinded by the golden light of the past to take them seriously, to truly acknowledge that Tai Lung may be changing more and more from his once innocent little self.

Indeed, something bitter festered in his mind, and Shifu saw it far too late.



His life of training was long and tedious, but finally, Tai Lung stood before the two masters with an expectant look on his face. He had grown tall over the past years, lean and muscular. The light of golden dawn shone behind him, dappling his spotted gray fur with tips of gold.

The moment felt almost heavenly in its glory. Until the truth.

“He’s- he- not the Dragon Warrior?”

Oogway’s neck shifted ever so slightly. “No, it is not his destiny. There is too much darkness in his heart.”

“But- but I thought…”

Shifu looked pleadingly toward Tai Lung, but the snow leopard didn't quite know how to react to that revelation either.

“I- I suppose it must be true, then-”

And then he followed the tortoise, leaving Tai Lung standing mutely behind the two of them.
In retrospect, it wasn’t what he should have done.



Tai Lung fled. Stifling weeks passed in the Palace, with Shifu, yet the leopard still did not return.

Instead, word of his crimes did. Villages plundered, houses destroyed, civilians fallen victim to his dark wrath.

And through the wreckage of it all, the messenger reported in terror, he was heading up the mountain.

In the hours before the snow leopard’s arrival, Shifu’s fury boiled – not only at his wayward son but also at himself. He was a liar, a swindle – how could he have trusted Oogway like that to forfeit Tai Lung’s dreams? The red panda knew that it was his duty to trust in his master, a discipline he impeded on himself as well as Tai Lung, but perhaps if the tortoise hadn’t denied Tai Lung the scroll…

And then he wondered: had it been like that since the very beginning? Has there always been a streak of evil and a destiny of destruction? Was there a way that Shifu could’ve controlled it, just like he controlled every bit of himself with the ironwood’s strength and the Tranquil Pool’s clarity?

Or perhaps his control had been… too much. He was fixated on Tai Lung becoming the Dragon Warrior; whatever love he had shown to the leopard made no difference. Shifu deceived himself with the thought that Tai Lung would never change, but the leopard did change.

With this understanding came a blaze of horror, a stab of guilt. It was Shifu who led to Tai Lung's savagery. It was Shifu who trained the cub too harshly, embedded him with dreams that would never come to fruition. He had failed his student, his son: Shifu, not Tai Lung was the one responsible for these terrors.

Shifu’s silent minutes before the arrival were marred with guilt.

When Tai Lung finally came, hurtling through the doors and leaping up towards the Dragon scroll clutched tightly in the jaws of the stone dragon, the two masters were ready. Or at least, one of them.

Shifu sprang forward. He knew it was his duty to stop this forsaken traitor before more havoc could be wrecked upon the village – this forsaken traitor Shifu made by his own hand.

But… but… no, how could he?

Even now, Tai Lung's murderous expression seemed to soften before his eyes, turning back into that cub he had raised and trained and loved for two decades.

The strike came before he could realize it, and the next thing he knew he was crumpled on the marble floor, the fight ahead of him a mere blur. His legs were broken, most likely, and everything was burning and aching like nothing he could have ever thought.

And he watched, agonized, as Tai Lung crumpled down in a ragged heap. Oogway's expression was as austere as ever, and Shifu turned away.



The first few days after betrayal were difficult. But against Shifu’s better judgment and after days of long traveling, he found himself standing before Tai Lung inside the newly-built prison.

When he came face-to-face with the leopard, a sudden question flared through Shifu’s mind: why did he come here? It was as if he was acting in a trance.

“This can still be fixed,” he said, as if to himself.

“You have to stop trying,” Tai Lung growled, and the way that his words mirrored Oogway’s struck deep into Shifu’s heart – a heart that he’d thought couldn’t be broken more. “Give me the scroll.”

And at that moment Shifu realized that there was nothing more he could do, Tai Lung would remain this way for the rest of his days, and Shifu would never satisfy him, because he was too far gone down the path of hatred, too unwilling to look back.

(Many years later Shifu wondered what would have happened if he only stopped trying. There was nothing to try, nothing to control; if that’s what he learned from Oogway then so many tragedies would’ve been simply avoided).

A cold dawn greeted the master, winter wind digging into his bones. And at that moment, he made his oath.

He swore that there would be no more monsters like Tai Lung created from his hands; he swore that he shall not allow his heart to be swayed from cold duty. He swore that he would never greet any students with open arms, with open hearts; for only then could they really hurt him.

And he swore that he would never love again, because his love was a weakness; it opened him up, filled him with something that was as full as life itself, and then it ripped him open from the inside out.

But deep down, the regret still nested. If only he could have dropped his forceful ideals of Tai Lung becoming the Dragon Warrior - they were nothing but ambitious empty dreams anyways, ones that served only to break the bond that the two shared. If only. If only. They would’ve walked every day on this earth together without a sky full of broken dreams and clouds of abandonment.

It was too late now.

The cold dawn light whipped at his fur as he began the long trek away from the prison into the breaking daylight. It was all for the best. It was all for the best.



He still remembered that day. The morning's training had been difficult, and Tai Lung had been complaining about it all the way back to the temple.

“But Papa, why can't…”

The rest of his sentences seemed to fade away as Shifu gawked at him, not quite believing what he had just heard.

Tai Lung called him Papa?

He chastised the cub for the breach in formality (“It's ‘Master’, you hear?”) but it was only with the greatest reluctance, and when Tai Lung repeated the offense half an hour later Shifu couldn't have been more delighted.
And that night, as Shifu gazed above the peach tree to the starlit skies, a wondrous warmth filled his heart. Dreams and hopes chased each other in gleeful loops; he envisioned Tai Lung as a grown warrior, on the path to goodness and greatness. But before that, Shifu saw the beaming leopard sharing a bowl of dumplings with him at dinner, just as the two had done today.

He was utterly unaware of the trust and affection crumbling within Tai Lung’s mind, unaware of how soon they both had to bury their love deep inside their hearts and begin to see each other as tools to their own means.

How could he have ever predicted that his world would eventually be so lost?

Credits here ^^

MC Daily 7/20

336 words! Of course it's about the Ursula Major, and I tried to put style dissonance in it for funsies xD

The bear peered above at the stars. They all seemed so distant to her dark eyes, and the night was barely lit by the scattered dim lights and the sliver-thin moon.

That had to change, she decided. The nights could not go on longer with so little illumination.

So she went to the mage that lived deep in the forest cave. “Great mage!” she called. “Could you tell me how to bring more stars into the sky?”

The mage, a lithe black bear much smaller than the brawny grizzly that stood before them, shook their head. “Classified secrets, buddy,” they drawled in a bored voice.

The bear was puzzled, not quite comprehending the mage's deceptively difficult manner of speaking. “Does that mean no?”

“Yeah, duh, now get out of here. I've got no idea why I'm stuck here talking to folklore animals like you,” they harrumphed boredly.

The grizzly turned away in disappointment. She'd heard many tales of the mage's wisdom, but it turned out to be all for naught. Perhaps she found the wrong mage? In any case, she resolutely stomped out of the cave and looked towards the sky, then decided to climb a particularly tall-looking tree right beside the cave.

She'd hoped that the tree would take her all the way to the edge of the world and ahead of the stars, and she was not disappointed. The grand stars loomed right in front of her, illuminating her earthy brown fur. This was it! Now she could bring the stars closer to earth.

Alas, she was quite mistaken. When she reached out a huge paw, she was immediately drawn towards the stars by an invisible force. With merely a gasp of shock, she became one of the stars herself, dissipating into them as the Ursula Major. With her weight, the scattering of stars began to fall closer to earth, and they finally stopped much closer to the earth: just as the grizzly had wanted before her grand ascension.

“Ok boomer,” the mage said.

Critique for Vi :D

Hi Vi! I really enjoyed reading your retelling hehe - I hope my critique is helpful, and if you disagree with a suggestion you definitely don't have to take it - I have a good few nitpicks asdlfj sorry about that :'D

Quick note: I've never heard of this story until I read your piece, so that might be helpful to keep in mind ^^

Also, I definitely get that you're really close to the word count so I'm not sure how applicable some of suggestions are going to be ahaha - I hope they're still insightful though!


Worldbuilding

The worldbuilding is pretty neat, and I think the way that you described the Serpents (and all of the characters, actually) was brief but pretty clear!

I'd appreciate more descriptions of what Rai's home is like, aside from the details of the water and storm – it doesn't have to be too detailed, a couple of sentences would be enough!


Comprehensiveness

I think I pretty much get what's going on in the story! Just a couple of quick questions for clarity's sake:

• Why did Illujanka agree to give the eye & heart to Rai if he knew that Ramman was going to take revenge? Or did he not know?
  
• Was Rai's relationship with Nathaira supposed to have been turning romantic, or was it only platonic? (I'm really getting more vibes of the latter but they do have an arranged marriage going on, so I think clarifying that would be helpful.)
  

Aside from that I don't have much xD


Emotion

Okay, so, emotion! I'm just going to say that the last confrontation at the end was a very emotional scene, and all of the feelings that'd be associated with making a last stand alongside loved ones are present

Also, the abhorrence and shock that Rai feels towards Ramman was really well-executed! Although I think you could do with a bit more internal commentary after Rhea reveals that Ramman was going to kill Illujanka – I think that his moment of shock would be really impactful to read about.


Pacing & Flow

Overall, the storytelling is really engaging! I think you balanced description pretty well with action & dialogue, and the pacing throughout the story is pretty appropriate for each scene: the banquet was more slow-paced, while the climatic end of the story was relatively more fast-paced.

Just a couple of quick preferences:

hadn’t wanted anything to go wrong with the wedding. Now Nathaira spoke to him for the first time since they were wed,

I think a line break would signify a better transition from description to dialogue :>

Rai looked down, stomach heavy.
Glancing up, Rai saw that his father had approached.

“When he glanced up, he saw that…” sounds a bit better for the second sentence because there's a transition from the first!


Characters

I really like the way that Ramman was slowly revealed to have darker goals! I think you portrayed him as a really intimidating figure in the first scene :0 and there's a good little piece of foreshadowing about him “hiding something” that was good for setting up the stage for the later conflict.

Also, I love your portrayal of the Serpents through Rai's perspective! The way he realizes that they aren't all that bad and begins to trust them is really cool. And the whole thing with Illujanka telling Rai that he could call him by his name definitely had the effect that I think you were going for!

Rai's a really strong protagonist too he goes through some really nice development throughout the story, and it's really cool to see how he took his found family's side over his father's, despite how he basically grew up on the whole “Illujanka sucks” narrative.

The world was clearer to him than it had ever been before.

Because he's finally free from his father relentlessly drilling hatred for the Serpents into him

This is more random commentary than actual critique, but I kinda feel like Rhea is a filler character :') I mean she doesn't have much of a role in the storyline anyways, so she's mostly there for context's sake, which is fine but not very interesting ahaha.


Grammar & Syntax

But this is what it was always like.

Since everything is in past tense, this should be "this was what it was always like"

where his heart would be

Not really a mistake but I think it sounds more right as “would have been” instead of “would be”?


Wording

as electric as his father’s lightning.

Hmm, I think “electric like his father's lightning” would work better, because in the original you're kinda implying that the “electric” is a quantitative amount (this is totally personal preference though, both works fine!)

The slight hiss to her speech was reminiscent of her father,

I think it makes a bit more sense if you say "reminiscent of her father's"

Perhaps his own shed skin from his true form. But the Serpent’s black eyes were wide and kind.

Hmm, I'm not sure what the “but” in the second sentence is contrasting - is it his appearance? Whatever it is, it'll be great if you could clear it up a little (“But despite ___, the Serpent's black eyes…”)

The Serpent had treated Rai as his own father had not.

The start of this sentence is a bit misleading, and I was really confused because I thought it was going to just say “The Serpent had treated Rai as his own father” which was kinda weird xD

Nathaira stood behind her father, who faced Father, a black trident in hand.

I think “who faced Father with a black trident in hand” sounds a bit smoother.


Miscellaneous

“I’ll be right back.”

This is just a tad informal considering all of Illujanka's other pieces of dialogue – maybe expand the contraction to “I will”?

A burst of light and crackling heat.
The world turned cold and dark

Didn't he just close his eyes in the previous paragraph? So I don't think he'd be able to differentiate light and dark that much :'D


Conclusion

So that's about it! I don't know how well I covered everything haha but I hope this was all helpful

Critique - for Sandy

I really loved this piece, and for context, I have seen at least the first 2 Kung Fu Panda movies~ though it was awhile ago so I didn’t remember everything perfectly, as I was reading it was coming back to me. However, though my memory was foggy, the story made perfect sense and overall flowed quite smoothly - even if I hadn’t watched the original, I think I would have no trouble understanding what happens.

I think the emotion was well executed, I really felt the disappointment and anger that Shifu had for himself. I think with a few more of the memories that you’re adding, it will be even more acute.

The chill autumn wind swept past the Jade Palace, scattering flutters of crinkling leaves in its wake. A knock sounded at the door, and Master Shifu headed towards it, wondering who could possibly be out on such a high mountain, at such a late hour.

Okay not much to say here but I really like this opening— Perhaps I’d say “A chill autumn wind” instead, though that’s really a personal preference, and it would lead to several sentences starting with “A” in a row.

A leopard cub. Shifu glanced around, seeking traces of anyone who could’ve left this cub, but there was absolutely nothing visible. The air was completely still. It was as if a shadow had come and dropped the cub before dissolving into the night.

First off, I love that final sentence! has some very cool imagery and really sends the point home. My only qualm with this is that it feels a bit abrupt. Since we’re dealing with an unfinished piece here, that’s fine, but I was a bit thrown. I think you could lead into the sentence “A leopard cub” more to make it flow more smoothly.

And for a brief moment, Shifu wondered what could’ve made someone bring their cub to the temple. What disaster must’ve befallen them and made them unable to take care of their son. Or perhaps it was something much more cold and unfeeling – perhaps they did not care for him.

Shifu’s ear twitched as he remembered how his own father had left him here on that day, how his small red panda self had waited day and night for his return. It seemed that the cub would suffer the same agonizing wait and likely the same lack of results.

Main thing here is that “on that day” feels very vague. In fact, I think the sentnece would work just as well without the phrase at all.

Well. He could take care of the cub in the meantime. The kung fu master wasn’t particularly the fatherly type, as far as he was aware, but it would scarcely have to come down to that.

–

Naturally, Shifu was mistaken.

Love the transition here hehe :>

The searches for nearby snow leopards yielded no results, and there was a lack of both willing and able caretakers. So, Master Oogway agreed to have the cub raised in the Palace.

And so he took care of the cub, who he dubbed Tai Lung. It meant “great dragon,” and that was certainly Shifu's wish for him. The Dragon Warrior!

I think the third sentence here is a bit difficult to understand because you say “he” a lot, where I think you’re speaking about Shifu, whereas the previous male character you mentioned was Master Oogway.

At first, that was not quite his intention. But when the cub seemed to show an affinity for the martial arts that the warriors practiced, Shifu was delighted.

I’d reword this sentence, it’s just a bit unclear; maybe say instead something along the lines of “While Shifu tried not to press his own desires on the cub, he was unable to conceal his delight when the cub showed an affinity for the martial arts.”

{Tai Lung’s first foray into the arts of kung fu; Shifu is pleased}

–

So the years began to pass.

{Chronicling how Tai Lung grew, maybe a slice-of-life anecdote or two}

The cub’s first decade was the most difficult, but those gilded afternoons the two spent playing checkers were so blissful.

In the coming years, Shifu would always wonder: where did it go wrong? Where did Tai Lung start to develop the murderous qualities that he displayed in full during the latter part of his life? Perhaps there wasn’t one single starting point.

In any case, Shifu was far too blinded by the golden light of the past to truly acknowledge that Tai Lung may be changing more and more from his once innocent little self.

{A bit more narration, maybe a full-fledged scene, showing how Shifu upped his expectations of Tai Lung and became more aloof? And how when Tai Lung didn’t receive enough love he tured to seeking power instead}

{‘Or maybe, Shifu simply ignored the signs.’ of Tai Lung becoming increasingly more power-hungry in his late teens}

–

His life of training was long and tedious, but finally, Tai Lung stood before the two masters with an expectant look on his face. He had grown tall over the past years, lean and muscular. The light of golden dawn shone behind him, dappling his spotted gray fur with tips of gold.

Perhaps the “Golden light of dawn”? I just think it reads a bit clearer. Otherwise, all this is great!

The moment felt almost heavenly in its glory. Until the truth.

“He’s- he- not the Dragon Warrior?”

Oogway’s neck shifted ever so slightly. “No, it is not his destiny.”

“But- but I thought…”

Shifu looked pleadingly toward Tai Lung, but the snow leopard didn't quite know how to react to that revelation either.

“I- I suppose it must be true, then-”

And then he followed the tortoise, leaving Tai Lung standing mutely behind the two of them.

In retrospect, it wasn’t what he should have done.

–

Tai Lung fled. Weeks later the leopard still did not return, but word of his crimes did. Villages plundered, houses destroyed, civilians becoming victims of his dark wrath.

And through the wreckage of it all, the messenger reported in terror, he was heading up the mountain.

In the hours before the snow leopard’s arrival, Shifu’s fury boiled – not only at his tragically wayward son but also at himself. He was a liar, a swindle – how could he have trusted Oogway like that to forfeit Tai Lung’s dreams? The red panda knew that it was his duty to trust in his master, a discipline he impeded on himself as well as Tai Lung, but perhaps if the tortoise haven’t denied Tai Lung the scroll…

And then he wondered: has had it been like that since the very beginning? Has there always been a streak of evil and a destiny of destruction? Was there a way that Shifu could’ve controlled it, just like he controlled every bit of himself with the ironwood’s strength and the Tranquil Pool’s clarity?

Or perhaps his control hashad been… too much.

With a blaze of horror, he realized.

It washad been him that leadled to Tai Lung's savagery. It was hehad been him who trained himthe cub too harshly, embedded him with dreams that would never come to fruition. HeShifu had failed his student, his son,. aAnd heShifu, not Tai Lung, was the one responsible for these terrors.

Here you had some minor tense changes and unclear antecedents, which I’ve indicated. :)

“No,” Oogway had said. “What he did was his own decision.”

“A decision he would have never made if I trained him better! Or trained him right!”

Oogway had turned away then, without giving Shifu any comfort of thought. They both knew he would just reject it anyways.

When Tai Lung finally came, hurtling through the doors and leaping up towards the Dragon scroll clutched tightly in the jaws of the stone dragon, the two masters were ready.

Shifu sprang forward. He knew it was his duty to stop Tai Lung before more havoc could be wrecked upon the village by the forsaken traitor.

But… but… no, how could he?

Even now Tai Lung's murderous expression seemed to soften before his eyes, turning back into that cub he had raised and trained and loved for two decades.

The smash came before he could realize it, and the next thing he knew he was crumpled on the marble floor, the fight ahead of him a mere blur. His legs were broken, most likely, and everything was burning and aching like nothing he could have ever thought.

And he watched, agonized, as Tai Lung crumpled down in a ragged heap. Oogway's expression was as austere as ever, and Shifu turned away.

–

{Tai Lung is sent to prison}

There must be a new Dragon Warrior, a true Dragon Warrior, one who shall blaze through history when Tai Lung’s disgraced shadow does not. He and Oogway made no discussions about selecting one, but the unfilled position haunted Shifu like a specter, a reminder of Tai Lung’s dreadful treachery.

There was surely someone to be found, he knew. Something. But amidst everything that Tai Lung has broken, what is there to be restored?

–

{A quick narration of how Shifu visited the prison, and an exchange between him and TL; then Shifu leaves}

And at that moment, he made his oath.

He swore that there will be no more monsters like Tai Lung created from his hands; he swore that he shall not allow his heart to be swayed from cold duty.

He swore that he will never greet any students with open arms, with open hearts; for only then could they really hurt him. And he swore that he would never love again, because his love was a weakness; it opened him up, filled him with something that was as full as life itself, and then it ripped him open from the inside out.

The cold dawn light whipped at his fur as he began the long trek away from the prison. It was all for the best. It was all for the best.

–

He still remembersed that day. The morning's training had been difficult, and Tai Lung had been complaining about it all the way back to the temple.

Same as before :)

“But Papa, why can't…”

The rest of his sentences seemed to fade away as Shifu gawked at him, seeming to not believe what he had just heard.

Tai Lung called him Papa?

He chastised the cub for the breach in formality (“It's master, you hear?”) but it was only with the greatest reluctance, and when Tai Lung repeated the offense half an hour later Shifu couldn't have been more delighted.

And that night, as Shifu gazed above the peach tree to the starlit skies, a wondrous warmth filled his heart. Dreams and hopes chased each other in gleeful loops; he envisioned Tai Lung as a great warrior, all grown-up. But before that, Shifu saw the beaming leopard sharing a bowl of dumplings with him at dinner, just as the two had done today.

How could he have ever predicted that his world would eventually be so lost?

I hope this critique was helpful! I tend to lean more on the technical side, but I did try to touch on some other things as well. Everything seems consistent, and other than those things noted, clear as well. It seems to be a good character study and backstory for Shifu. Overall, the atmosphere is really good too, and I loved the repeated use of adjectives like “gold” and “gilded.” I really liked the piece, thanks for giving me the chance to read through it! :D
(also sob I can’t seem to find which thing is making all this bold, my apologies-)