Fifty-Head Hydra Attempt xD

tw: you might get a migraine reading this
and yes i edited that one word but everything else is completely untouched

also i know it sounds really weird when i said it, especially with hydra grammar, but what i meant near the beginning was that panzerkampf is an anti-fascist song and not anti-communist asldfkj

504 words in 4:56 >:]

hello THERE OKAY SO I'M DOING THE FIFTY HEADED HYDRA AND I THINK I SHOULD BE DOING PHYSICS SOON BECAUSE IT'S DUE IN 4 HOURS AND BY THE WAY IM LISTENING TO PANZERMAPFT BECAUS EO H BOY ISN;T IT AN AWESOME ANTI COMMUNIST I MEAN N@ZI FASCIST BOOPYFARTS SONG. YEAY okay so no more uppoer case because it makes my head hurts and i think i can't even readi it proberly and oh my heer comes the part wher ei mistpell allo fmy my werod s and that owrkd looked like werewolf and obh byy what im deven think tjere's only tnaks and sabaton and theat is all of existen ce and oh my do you even here me and im not evne makins sense and screw the apostrophe and oh my starclan how did i speel tha comreecly and why did a stary clan and oh my starlcn AGOIN is this even going to count for words because i dont think so and OHY EA THERES MY LAB REPORT THAT I HYAVE WO WORRY ABOUT IT. okay so i need to figure out why the heck that something is happening bue i dont know what that something is because this is a five headed hydra an dyou cant imagec be to erember what the heck that is kin the lab report and oh my sabaton is really cool but then my words all real mistpelled an i say oh my way too mayn tams an i thin k i should stop and my thtat is millarious and ih have a disease??? NO I DEONT WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS THEY ARE AR OVER THE LACE AND I CANT LOCATE THEM BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE GET IT??? honestly i m son not sure whether this will count for words, becausth theortically theyree' all words just mispedlled right and i tTHINK I CAN DO IT I CAN TCREALLY THINK SO AND CJ WILL DEFEINITELY BE ABLE TOD THIS AND I THINK FI AND NIGHTS??? I FORGETO WHO HAS A FASTWP M IN SWC, OH YEAH SLO FVIAR AND A
UNCOUNTERD CITY ON VOALTALK SHOROE AI DON'T KNOW HAOT TO SPELL THAT WORD IALL I SMNOW IS THAT IT'S A RIVER IN EASTERN RUOPE BECAUSE CZECH PLACE (NOT GONN a say the full name but sabaton does in two songs lol which is prety col and also wan wamn i thought i woucl spell thigns corectly but appratnly now and this sola is pretty cool cool solo it'ss noet exprotardiry cool but i think is a soolid sol because all sabaton solos are prekty solid and oh nO I BETTER ATCH UO I DON'T RELALY KNOW IF THIS COUNTS FOR WORDS WHICH IM SAYING DOR TLIKE THIT THRID TIME BUT I REALLY HOPE IT DOES AND ALSO I NEED TO GO BACK TO MY PHYSICS LAB REP AFTER THIS BUT I THINK I'M ACTUALLY DOING IT OH YEAH IM JUST LIKE THE PRAGUE PEOP

Rat Leader fic for extra challenge :D

Rat Leader prowled the streets of the alleyways, her menacing gaze sweeping around at the stray cats that were there.

“Don’t you dare eat any rats tonight,” she growled towards the cat. Despite how rough and intimidating they behaved, the cats were instantly terrified by her presence, and fled. Rat Leader doubted that they understood, but no matter. The shock to them was good enough.

“That was impressive,” Horace chortled as he saw the cats flee in terror.

“Thank you, Papa,” she replied, not without a trance of pride. She hadn’t heard him or the other rats approach, so focused on the cats as she was, but now she turned to see a whole crowd of them by her feet.

“Alright, sweetie-pie” – Rat Leader rolled her eyes at her mother’s nickname but secretly kinda liked it – “how about we meet the new group you’ve told us about?”

Rat Leader had managed to find another group of rats who were just as dedicated to the cause as the kingdom under Horace and Eugiene. It was the good news that everyone needed: recently, humans had invented a new kind of trap. The particular scientist who patented it, Dr. Antirat, was known by all the rats as a fearsome opponent. The aforementioned group that Rat Leader met had access to all of Dr. Antirat’s equipment and the means by which he invented his rat traps.

If they took Dr. Antirat down, and learned of the mechanics in rat traps, then the rest would be absurdly simple. They could force and blackmail the human into saying good things about rats, and the rat owners who were sympathetic would help spread the word. Even those humans who were neutral or ignorant on the matter would join Rat Leader’s side, and then boom, there would be a peaceful revolution! Admittedly Rat Leader preferred FIGHTING more than this plan, which was devised by her adoptive parents, but oh well. Whatever works would suffice.

MC Daily 7/23

455 words! I continued the Saga, and the full version of Part 3 hopefully be posted at the end of the SWC session just like the last two xD

“So, now what do we do?” James put the question out nervously.

Marcel understood, and swiftly translated for Pierre before replying, “I don’t really know. I mean, there are seven of you, and I don’t think you can stay in Lily’s father’s house or the clubhouse forever, right?”

Penelope winced at the somewhat annoyed tone underneath Marcel’s words, but she completely understood the sentiment. They couldn’t be these kids’ guests forever; sooner or later they’d have to leave. But they couldn’t do that, not amidst this frightful war!

“I think we should tell Mother,” Pierre finally spoke up. “I can take Cassiopeia and you three along” – he nodded towards the Lumley siblings – “and we’ll see what she says.”

“There’s no way she’d say yes!” Gaston said fretfully.

But Pierre shook his head with a knowing look on his face. “She’d understand.”

Daylight was swiftly approaching, and so it was decided that the Lumleys would go to the Morteaus. Penelope had heard that Jeanne Morteau was quite like Pierre, but with an even harsher tongue than her eldest son, so she was understandably worried. There wasn’t much of a choice, however. And she was a Swanburne girl through and through, with pluck filling her to the core and a clear and reasonable mind – surely no one could be worse than being captured by malevolent soldiers!



“Well, then.”

Penelope remembered certain Swanburne teacher that she knew, who had severe-looking brown curls and spectacles that magnified her intense eyes. But despite her appearance, she was also quite a kind and fair individual, if not somewhat abrasive at times.

And Madame Morteau, standing before Penelope and her siblings, certainly reminded her of that stern-but-reasonable teacher. “You’re the children that I’ve been hearing so much about.”

Henri finished translating – the poor boy looked rather put-out with all of the business this morning, and Penelope resolved to make a better effort to master her French – and waited for the Lumleys to respond.

“Oui,” she said politely. “We’re from England. I’m Penelope Lumley, this is Alexander, Beowulf, and that- that’s Cassiopeia.”

She couldn’t stop her voice from trembling ever so slightly as she spoke, and Madame Morteau gazed at her sympathetically. “We’ll take care of her,” she promised, and then smiled. “And you can stay for as long as you’d like – but you’d help out on the farm?”

Penelope nodded shakily and tried her best to return the smile. “Thank you so much-”

“And you can pass off as our cousins,” Pierre cut in swiftly. “The hair.”

The Lumleys’ auburn hair was a few shades down from the Morteaus’ brighter red, but it was close enough.

Marcel then exclaimed something that Penelope didn’t quite catch Henri’s translation of, and Madame Morteau nodded.

Weekly 3

Part One

271 words, this is so messy don't mind me-

OKAY. So. Brainstorming! The central plot of the story will be about Perce and Finrod accompanying Brightwings on his journey to find his origins, because surprise surprise, he's immortal!!! This is because a deity's spirit has also sorta fused with his when he was born – not exactly that he was the same person as the deity/spirit.

In any case, Brightwings starts getting flashbacks as of late, and as Perce and Finrod are aware that a parrot is not supposed to live as long as he did (50-ish years) they decide to follow his wandering thoughts and try to get him to this remote island off the coast of South Starrgo – the very very very south coast! Like literally the most south you can go in the country.

I suppose that the conflict is that Brightwings gets semi-possessed(?) by the spirit of the deity, because half of it is on the cave of the island and the other half is,, well, within the parrot himself. So the two try to chase him down without much success. (Really quickly clarification here that the two guys are in their. Hmm. Early fifties, because Buteo’s already in the Shore Guard by now). They eventually make their way to the middle of the cave, where the climax occurs in this supernatural spirit seperation thing, and then bam, they're done! Brightwings' red feathers turn black but he still has blue wings so I guess there aren't going to be name changes any time soon.

Beginning: Brightwings’s dreams, illness, and subsequent visions
Rising Action: They go to the island!
Climax: Cavern confrontation
Conclusion: There’s some lore reveal!




Part Two

399 words

Towards his fiftieth year, Brightwings began having strange dreams.

There were dark teal waters rippling slowly beneath darker boulders, and a damp cold cave. Voices spoke – he couldn't understand them, but at the same time he knew of their urgency and their desperation. Who were these spirits who had called for his help? He never found out, as the dream always ended there, and he'd awake in a cold shudder.

And the dream came back every night, always the same. Perce and Finrod always attempted to console him, but their words turned rather empty when the strange cold horror returned again and again.

And then he became sick. Or at least, he was pretty sure he was sick. His feathers began dropping out, and the ones that remained became ever more dull, faded maroon and dusk blue instead of his once colorful plumage. Everything became cold, and everything became dark.

When he was roused one day by Perce's worried shaking, he decided something had to be done.

“But what can you do?” Finrod asked nervously.

Brightwings shrugged, but he thought he knew the answer, and he thought that whoever listened would answer him too.

So that night, before his dream, he thought long and hard of the action he wished to do in his sleep.


And against his wildest fears, it worked.

“What can I do to free you?” he cried out. His voice reverabrated around the chamber, and it silenced the voices of those spirits (or was there only one?) who had tormented him for so many nights.

Free me.

It was a statement, but also a question.

“I'll set you free!” he promised. This could all be a fever dream, but Brightwings was tired of this.

Yes. Set me free.


The next morning, his sickness was gone. and Brightwings felt fuller and brighter for the first time in weeks.

“Your feathers…”

Perce gawked at the brightness that the parrot's plumage had been restored to.

But something else replaced the hanging damp sickness. Something else. A desire… to head south.

“I have to go to the Amber Sea,” Brightwings insisted to the two men.

“The Amber Sea?” Perce said, startled. “What can you find in the Amber Sea anyways?”

“I have to go,” he repeated sternly. “I made a promise and I'll keep it.”

Perce and Finrod exchanged two worried looks, but they didn't quite want to argue.



Part Three

539 words ^^

“A boat?” Buteo asked, startled.

His fathers and their parrot had strolled into headquarters just moments ago and asked for a boat that could take them to the Amber Sea.

“There's no way I can get a boat for you there!” he replied. “This isn't a cruise line!”

“Well, you are the Shore Guard after all, and there's something very important that you should probably know about-”

“But this is nepotism,” Buteo retorted to the parrot.

“Not really, if I agree,” a voice said behind him. Madeline. She was surveying the family with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“We can't just give them a boat because of a parrot!”

“Well, this ‘parrot’ is Brightwings and he's borderline immortal with occult visions of what's going to happen,” Perce brought up.

“Sorry, Baba, but-”

“We’re not a cruise line, but we do have a renting program,” Madeline piped up. Buteo huffed.

“Alright, then, I guess I’ll have to comply with this nepotism then,” he shrugged as his parents and Madeline grinned at each other.

So Perce, Finrod, and Brightwings set sail on the little craft they had rented from the Shore Guard, much to Buteo's chagrin and Madeline's delight. It was a pale blue craft, someone aged but still in good condition, and so they sailed all the way down south to the island that Brightwings insisted they find.

The parrot himself wasn't doing as well anymore. Headaches and ringing sounds in his ears frequented him, and the closer they got to the island, the more frustrated and hurt he felt.

But, a couple of days later, they were finally here. A far-off island, one that Perce had feared that they would not find: it was all the way here, amidst the Amber Sea, more ordinary than the trio would have hoped.

”That way!“ Brightwings cried.

Unfortunately, the two men had no idea where exactly he was gesturing to, because he was already spinning around in circles.

”Alright,“ Finrod sighed. ”I suppose we'll make camp here tonight, and then explore tomorrow – poor Brighty's almost fainting.“

”I think he did faint,“ Perce pointed out. Indeed, the parrot was completely still, wings held limp.

After Finrod quickly checked that the little parrot wasn't dead, he began setting up camp with his husband.

When morning dawned, the two woke up to quite the shock: Brightwings wasn't there.

”Where did he go?“ Perce cried as he hurriedly scrambled up. Finrod followed suit. Abandoning all hopes of making breakfast, the two of them wandered deeper into the woods, calling the parrot's name.

Their search was quite aimless until Finrod spotted a trail of red feathers: all of which lead towards a deep, dark, cave that waited inconspicuously at the edge of the clearing that the two had stumbled into.

”Well, this is something,“ Perce said with quite a trace of apprehension. But taking a look at Finrod's determined expression, he laughed. ”Brightwings would be fine… right?"

Both of them tried not to consider the fact that Brightwings could be dead down there, perhaps reduced to mere bones, completely devoured by some malicious carnivore.

But what awaited them were only more feathers, leading deeper and deeper into the cavern that was looming in front of them.



Part Four

463 words :0

After exchanging a quick look, the two began to venture into the cavern, where it grew steadily darker.

“Light?” Perce asked Finrod, but neither of them had any sources of light that they could possibly use. That is, until Perce found a matchbox in his inner pocket. Huh. He’d forgotten when he had ever put such a thing inside his pocket.

Surprisingly enough the matchbox was still entirely functional, despite all of the time that it had spent in solitude inside the pocket, and a swift flame rose up when Perce struck a match. It didn’t provide much illumination, however, and all of the wood in the cave was too damp to use.

But at least the two men were able to make their way further on with at least a bit of light. They scarcely would have needed it for what they saw at the end of it, though.

A crystal in the middle of the cave was emitting a harsh light, and in front of it, lying on a rock that looked unsettlingly similar to an alter, was-
“Brightwings!”

Finrod hurried to the parrot, Perce following suit, but they could not have predicted what was about to come next.

Welcome.

“Who are you?” Perce demanded fiercely of the voice.

It scarcely matters. Perhaps you should attempt to free me of-

“We’re not letting you free!” This time Finrod was the one to speak, and his defiant voice echoed rather eerily around the cavern. “Not until we take Brightwings back.”

With that, he made a leap for the parrot, but an invisible force tossed him back.

No. He is my vessel; I am asking for your assistance in freeing me from his body.

The voice proceeded to explain how he was an ancient spirit, whose soul has been trapped in Brightwings’s body since the parrot’s birth.

“Does that mean- does that mean you were him-”

I have merely granted him the power of speech and unusually high intelligence, but rest assured I am not your parrot – I have merely been sharing his body for the past half-century, just an unperceived guest.

Perce and Finrod stayed silent.

Now. That crystal. Place your hand on it.

The two did as they were told, sharing a nervous glance.

You will not be harmed. I merely need mortals to bear witness to this occasion. Close your eyes.

And then it happened more quickly than the two of them could have imagined: with a searing flash of light (that traversed even beyond the two’s eyelids), Brightwings was awake.

“Thank you!” Finrod called out, but the voice was gone, and the crystal was dim once more.

“Thank who?” the parrot said crossly, but Finrod merely wrapped him up in a tight embrace. And then he realized.

“You feathers!”



Part Five

335 words!

So the three departed the cavern once more, all while examining Brightwings’s new feathers intently. Instead of the red-and-blue plumage that he had decked for his entire life, his red feathers had all turned black.

And with nothing else much to do on the island, and with sunset still far off, the three decided to return home.

The boat rocked on the rippling waters of the Amber Sea as they all conversed.

“So the legend is real?” Brightwings exclaimed in shock as Finrod and Perce recounted what had happened at the cave.

“What legend?” the two asked simultaneously.

Brightwings sighed, but he remembered that the two were from North Starrgo – they wouldn’t have known the legends of the South. “Long ago, there was an ancient huntsman, who was very powerful. He hunted down loads of prey, made his village very content, blah blah blah, whatever heroes do anyway-”

Perce huffed. “Get on with it!”

“Alright, fine. So the huntsman was one day approached by two mysterious figures from the mist and was offered immortality, at least in a more spiritual sense. His soul would forever settle into the land and watch upon his village’s descendants for the rest of time.

“But then something went wrong! No one was sure what happened, but he ended up lost forever. The legend has it that there will be two to set this mistake right, just as two had caused them.”

“You’re one, then?” Finrod asked, quickly digesting the information.

Perce nodded “Most likely. But the other…”

“Tapioca!” Brightwings exclaimed, thinking of the talking Boreal Owl that he knew. “She must be the other one! Which other talking birds do you know? I’ll have to talk with them, then…”

“So. We set free the spirit of an ancient huntsman from Brightwing’s body all in one day,” Perce said, rather impressed. “And I thought my life would never get more interesting.”

Finrod laughed, and the rest of the journey home was as smooth sailing as the seas could ever see.

Critique for Alia!

732 words! did this Somewhere Else(TM) so there aren't quotes or anything asldfj

hmm i don't think it's immediately clear who “they” is referring to? i'm guessing it's orpheus & persephone but i was a bit confused when i first read it because i thought there was some soon-to-be revealed outside source of help

ahh i remember commenting on this line too - if it reflects persephone's personality then i think you should keep it! but it might be stronger if you get rid of the dialogue tag and preface the dialogue with something else?

hmm i get that having “there's/there are” so many times in a row is repetitive, but the italicization is messed up a little if it's changed to this

you might be a little short on words but a description of the train station or train would be cool! i think the whole story would benefit from more concrete setting descriptions, even if it's a more character-focused piece

although on second thought it's not all that important, because again, this piece is focused a lot more on character interactions. i think you've done description well enough anyways! plus the characters' locations are always really easy to keep track of, even if they're not always described in detail i think i'll still leave this up if you want to think about this and find it helpful hehe

awesome imagery especially with “whispered glowing embers of love”, it's a really cool metaphor!

hmm i think this part is a bit wordy, but i also can't think of a good way to reword it – maybe adding a comma before it might help make it look less jumbled?

quick continuity thing, wasn't orpheus on his knees two paragraphs ago? maybe mention he stood up again haha

you used “wonder” a bit earlier so this is a bit repetitive, but on the other hand it's a different meaning of wonder so i think you should be fine, but on the third hand the word is a bit clunky. sorry i'm indecisive about what to think haha and it's really not a big deal anyways

extra emphasis!

hmm not sure how young really describes his singing - also, it's mentioned that many years have passed during his separation from eurydice, so idk if he could sound young :0 a bit of clarification would be cool!

i think “can” makes more sense?

it might be more effective if these two phrases were closer – maybe combine them into the same sentence would be cool, or just deleting the line break! and then the rest of the second sentence might be able to stand on its own.

i think this part (and the ending in general) would do great with just a little bit more imagery to set the tone – maybe a quick description of how the song reached all around the world and to hadestown? it'll make a great transition to hades and persephone too

i love this line! and the depth it adds to their relationship is amazing



mkay, summary comment time! so i'll just start off with saying that this piece is absolutely amazing reading it again after seeing the first part last session is so cool!

i especially loved the dual storyline and how well the two sides intertwined - the way that hades and persephone received the perfect amount of focus is really cool too.

plus the character development: the way that hades become less rooted in his past beliefs, the way that orpheus and eurydice learn how to really be with each other again, it's all just so amazing!!

also, the pacing is consistent and just right for each scene, while the atmosphere is a bit heavy but so hopeful at the same time

i don't know much about hadestown (but i'll definitely go listen to it soon ahaha) but i think i understood the story well enough without knowledge of the original work!

a really quick thing i noticed: i didn't make any in-line comments about it, but sometimes the sentence structure is a bit repetitive. dialogue aside, a lot of sentences start off with characters (their names or pronouns), so a bit more variety in regards to that would be nice. maybe try starting sentences off with dependent clauses more often? you did nail sentence length really well, though, so that definitely helps with flow

i think that's about all i have to say haha, amazing job alia!! best of luck on the comp

Proof Post :>

(902) Roleplay day stuff
Sandy strode into the cabin and surveyed the daily sadly. She really loved Roleplay Day, but unfortunately she was too busy with math and physics homework to participate much. She also had a physics lab report, due today, that she didn't start – she supposed she could just speedrun the writing-based parts of the report when cabin wars started, but she still had calculations and outlining to do before that. “If only I did all of this earlier,” she sighed. “Oh well.” With that, she left the cabin.
Sandy gasped at the Question of the Day. “Invite An Alien To Live With You Day?” she said incredulously. “That's really wordy and oddly specific.” She paused for a moment and continued: “I mean, I don't think I can realistically /choose/ what an alien living with me would look like, but having something that looks like an ordinary pet would be cool. And I'll name them Laffy Taffy, because I actually wanted to name my cat that, but her name, Tory, just kinda stuck.” Sandy laughed at the thought.
She poked her head back in 15 minutes later, though. “It looks like I'm not going to help out with my research lab today, so I'll have more time to do stuff!” she said excitedly. Granted, she was a bit sad that her lab's computer was still not fixed after two weeks, but on the flip side that meant more time for physics and for roleplay!
“It's been the other way around for me,” Sandy admitted ruefully. After three weeks, she still hasn't finished her third character reference or made more than one attack on Artfight. But hey, at least she might be close to getting to her highest word goal of all her sessions, judging from all her unadded reserves! “Your summer holidays are really late, though! Mine started two months ago,” she continued, bemused.
“Barbenheimer!” Sandy exclaimed. “I wish I could watch both of them today.” She actually had completely forgotten to ask her parents to get tickets for Barbie and she wasn't all up for seeing Oppenheimer in theaters, but maybe they could go watch the former on Tuesday instead – on Tuesdays movies at her local theater were half the usual price!
“Honestly, I don't really picture it in real life pretty often, but I kinda imagine the whole camp to be… well, like your average summer camp! With a lot of elements from the SuSWC rooms,” Sandy explained, as she thought again of the very epic project weekly from last year. “Hey, maybe I should do SusWC again sometime!” It was really helpful for her writing.
“Mhm, I see,” Sandy nodded as she digested the information about British school holidays. Her school also had somewhat early summer and winter breaks even for America, which explained the difference too. Then she thought of something. “Oh! I remember last session, in Folklore, we were talking about tourism for one of the Questions-of-the-Day and you mentioned that you lived in the UK,” she said, hoping that she remembered right. “It's cool how there are SWCers from so many places in the world!”
“Yep, and we were both in Horror last November too,” Sandy added brightly. “It's really cool to see you around! We should definitely talk more. And I totally agree, but I always get tripped-up by timezones,” she continued. She's gotten a lot more used to the concept due to SWC, but she often still forgets that other people had different times than her. And some of them were living in winter! In July! Honestly, she could never understand the Southern Hemisphere.
“Alright, then, folks,” Sandy said as she scampered into the main cabin. “I'm going to do nothing else other than get as much of my math and physics done as I possibly can before cabin wars! Okay, well, maybe not the writing parts of my lab report, and I need to take breaks, but still!” She resolutely opened her laptop at the corner of the cabin just what she said, fervently hoping that she wouldn't get distracted (although it was practically a canon event whenever she worked on homework).
“Hey there, Sun!” Sandy greeted as she landed in their chat studio. “I was wondering if the judges could grant me a 2- or 3-day extension for my fanfic comp entry – my physics class started this week and there's a good bit of work involved for it.” She shuddered as she thought of the 14 labs and 5 tests (crammed into five weeks) awaiting her. “Also, my calc final,” – funnily enough, her summer calculus class was also the reason she asked for an extension last July – “is on the 27th.” And then there was her school club position, which involved planning the details of an overnight camping trip in mid-August, but her classes were the main reasons she was seeking an extension. “Currently I have around half of my entry done, but everything I've written so far was during a word or cabin war and I have plans to change certain themes, so it needs a lot of editing.” Sandy thought that was about enough information for the judges, so she patiently waited for their reply.
“Goodbye, Roleplay Day!” Sandy called out. She had ramped up a decent number of words despite how busy she was today, and she was both excited about and utterly unprepared for cabin wars. Speedrunning and chaos await!


(93) Roleplay snippets xD
Sandy took a quick glance at the time at the bottom right corner of her laptop screen. “Also 8:16! We're timezone buddies,” she said delightedly.
Sandy, who was just about to go to bed, perked up at Wild's remark. She had actually just successfully done a hydra two hours ago! “Yep, I did! Having a typing test-WPM of 80 definitely helps.” Sandy dropped the link for Wild in case they were interested in reading through an incredibly incoherent hydra ramble and then waved goodbye. “It's off to bed with me now, then!”




(603) Lab Report!
Purpose
The purpose of this lab is to investigate how objects of certain masses can be moved by different types of forces — applied force, friction, gravity, and so on. The lab also involves calculating and solving for maximum force of static friction, the coefficients of static and kinetic friction, normal force, time, and other variables of interest. This is all done using two simulators: one that shows forces in 1 dimension, and one that shows forces involved when an object is sliding down a ramp.


Equipment: Computer, calculator, PhET Simulations, simulation objects (file cabinet, refrigerator, textbook, sleeping dog, ramp)


Procedure
The procedure listed on the worksheet was followed. It involved simulating the force applied, position, velocity, and acceleration of different objects: first a file cabinet (Figure 1), then a refrigerator (Figure 2), and finally a sleeping dog (Figure 3), all with different masses. Then, the four different values were graphed and analyzed, and the changes in the graph between the different objects were also predicted. Then, the file cabinet was simulated again, this time with friction (Figure 4). The applied force was adjusted so that the friction turned from static to kinetic, as calculated by the maximum force of static friction, and the process was repeated with the textbook (Figure 5). Finally, the forces of gravity and friction acting on a cabinet sliding down a ramp, as well as the net force when an extra force of 50 N is added, is observed (Figure 6), and the time it took for the ramp to slide down was measured (Figure 7).


Discussion
Because the simulation is run online and not affected by real-life limitations, the measurements are probably free of error. However, if the experiment was performed in real life, there would be some errors in measuring the mass of the object and the force that is exerted on it. Also, there could be errors in measuring the friction between the two surfaces as well. But because the simulation takes into account the forces of friction and calculates the strength of these forces, it can be assumed to be reasonably accurate.


Conclusion
This experiment helped me understand the real-life applications of Newton’s Laws of Motion by demonstrating the effects of force and friction on different objects. In addition, I was able to practice using formulas to calculate kinetic friction and the maximum force of static friction, as well as normal force, and how the type of friction transitions in regards to the strength of applied force. Practicing also helped me understand the differentiation between the different kinds of sources.


0 N, because the friction of the object against the surface is the same as the applied force, so the two forces cancel out and the net force is 0.

The values are rounded to the closest even tenth, meaning that 0.25 will be rounded to 0.20.

The total force is 197 N instead of 1 N, because once the object is in motion, the force of friction is kinetic instead of static. The force of kinetic friction (392 N) is a lot smaller than that of static friction (588 N) so the total force becomes much larger.

a. Total Force: The graph will not change (remains 400 N)
b. Acceleration: The graph will be at 1 m/s2 (the refrigerator is twice as heavy as the filing cabinet, and using the formula F = ma we can see that acceleration will be 1 m/s2)
c. Velocity: The graph will be less steep (a lower acceleration means a smaller velocity and thus a lower slope).
d. Position: The graph will increase at a lower rate.



(253) Rommel stuff
Now that I’ve concluded my tirade on the Wehrmacht, I think I’ll go over Erwin Rommel. I’d assume that you’ve heard of Rommel and skip out on all of the biographical details that are mostly irrelevant to this discussion.
So. Erwin Rommel. Ahh, what an incredibly complicated man. So contradictory in all of his actions, so incredibly twisted in propaganda, and so, so flawed.
And all of those traits make up this man that we all see differently. A tragic villain; fallen angel? A hero on the wrong side of the war? An opportunist who turned a blind eye to whatever he wanted to ignore? Frankly, I think there’s a bit of all three of these.
I’ll attempt to go over some new points about Rommel that I haven’t mentioned before, but frankly there’s not much to go over. He knew many things about war crimes, but didn’t try to stop them. He was a man of fairness, but he was also an opportunist. He was hailed as a family man, but had many tumultuous relationships in his youth. He was supposedly chivalrious; how could you be, when you’ve been complicit in such a large-scale crime?
Altogether, there isn’t much about Rommel that is new to discovery. I think that all I can do is to find more sources, analyze them, find common ground and disagreements between them, and make progress on my ragged essay that I hope will form more nuanced opinions in the minds of people. Perhaps that will be enough.



(441) How to stop WWI and/or WWII without destroying the world
Well, well, well. Seeing as I don’t have much time, I’ll jump straight into it.
So! You want to stop the world wars from turning the world horrible. Well, I’ve got just the answer for you. Or not. Because all of this is completely unresearched so please don’t trust it it.
We’ll start off with WWI first. Even if Gavrilo Princip the elegantly bi Serbian haven’t shot Fatty Franz Ferdinand (that was a reference but it also sounded unnecessarily rude, so-), there was something that would’ve made the war go off anyways. So what I think that everyone should do is to have a NICE, LONG TALK and work things out! We can start off with Austria-Hungary being convinced to be nicer to its minority populations. Germany can learn how to be less aggressive. And stuff like that.
Alas, if that doesn’t end up happening and everyone still gets riled up when FF dies, then we can try to de-escalate the situation while everyone’s freaking out for a month during the assassination and the outbreak of war.
And if that still fails. Well. TIME TO KILL SOME HISTORICAL FIGURES.
I think Fritz Haber is a solid plan. (Sorry, Haber.) Maybe Bosch, too, but I don’t know how important he is in the grand scheme of things. But Haber! His process made it so that overpopulation can exist, he created toxic gas and sowed the seeds of inhumane warfare (even if gas wasn’t used in WWII), and he helped with inventing Zyklon B (extremely ironic seeing as he was Jewish). So. Yeah. I don’t see why we can’t kill him off. It’ll probably only delay the inevitable, but it’s still something, and it’ll be saving & reducing lives in exchange for his.
For WWI (and WWII too, actually), it’s best if the Allies are more competent than their enemies and win more quickly. So. Cut down on all of the horrendous failures of the French Army (lookin’ at you, Foch) in the early days, and also find a way to make sure that trench warfare doesn’t set in after the Race to the Sea.
I think I’ll move onto WWII for now, but I’ll come back to this topic later, hopefully!!
So WWII. Assuming we don’t want to kill Hitler, then (as with before) we need less competent Germans and more competent Poles and Low Country-ners. Well, I think the former is a tad easier to achieve. Offing the two main blitzkriegers, Guderian and Rommel, might work. Making the Maginot Line better, forcing Britain and France to actually help Poland properly, and so on. Also sending Captain Raginis some Polish pastries!!! Because he’s cool.

Daily 7/24

153 words about the Heroes Fanfic hehe

Thirteen figures from World War Two wake up in a conference room.

A major of a Russian night bomber regiment, soaring in the black.
Two pilots, with a bond forged under snowy skies.
Three Brazilian heroes who had fought to the last.
A soldier of the Polish resistance, hiding behind 4859.
A young man who had gone To Hell and Back.
An Australian who pulled twelve men to safety during the fight.
A Belgian major who led the green wolves, holding fast.
A Finn of three armies, across continents he'd fly.
An exiled Czech air marshal fending off the Luftwaffe's attack.
A general who saved a city as two ideologies began to collide.

Each of them has their own deeds of the war, many of which have gone unsung. That aside, they're in a pickle: there's no way out of the room. Or is there? An escape room and dramatic backstories await!

Weekly 4



| Path 1: DAY, Prompt 2 | Path 2: ANCIENT, Prompt 3 | Path 3: PAST, Prompt 1 | Path 4: FUTURE, Prompt 3 |



First Verse

50 words exactly based off It’s Raining, It’s Pouring!

The rain greets the battered souls
As they drift away from their homes
With a song of farewell, they know all too well,
They would now be alone

A sudden flash in the dark
Not a second for last remarks
Of death they’ve forseen, limbo in-between
In sorrow they depart



Current Day: Butterfly Effect

580 words hehe

One day, Finrod was up making some coffee. Truly such a slice-of-life moment!! Perce wasn’t just up yet, and Finrod really wanted to make the absolutely best coffee for his partner, seeing how he was usually up before Finrod on most occasions.

But. The morning would take a disastrous turn, and why is that? Well. You see, Finrod left the expresso completely out in the open, and a certain parrot walked by to catch look of it.

Brightwings’s first thought was one of disgust. Why in the world would humans drink coffee? He still didn’t have a good answer to that. But then curiosity took hold. Hmm, what if he tried some? It smelled quite neat and warm, and given that Brightwings had never tried coffee in the years of his life, he thought that now might be the time to do so.

A grave mistake.

Finrod came back into the room just as he started to take a couple of sips.

“Brightwings!” he chided. “That’s for Percster.”

Brightwings turned back to face him with a demonic expression – as demonic as a parrot could have, anyways – and resolutely took some more sips.

“Uhm.”

Before Finrod’s eyes, Brightwings seemed to swell in size. “You shall obey me!!!! I AM UNDEFEATABLE!!!”

Before he could reply, Finrod was knocked back by the sheer force of wind that came with a flap of Brightwings’s wings. (That sounded awfully redundant.) Red and blue feathers flew everywhere, and of course some of it fell in the coffee as well.

“STOP IT!” the boy cried.

Alas, the parrot wouldn’t stop. He proceeded to completely lay waste to the poor kitchen: pots flew everywhere and hit each other with horrendous bangs, and silverware clattered on the tiled floor. The sink somehow got turned on during all of these chaos, flowing into a pan that got knocked out of the conveniently open window by another pan.

“ARHGHHHHHH” a voice screeched from outside. It was Ri, who had been wanting to visit the residents of the dorm room, but was instead greeted with boiling hot water. Then he tripped and knocked aside someone else, who dropped their phone, which clattered across the road in front of an economics professor who was walking by. (Oh, I guess this is a modern college AU now.)

The professor squawked in alarm and misclicked his stocks page (that’s why you shouldn’t do stocks on your phone), sending his many many shares selling and making the stock markets very panicked. (The professor is rich, okay?) There were more screams around the campus because I guess kids these days love the stock markets, and then there were noise complaints from literally everywhere within a 4-mile radius because I guess kids these days are very vocal about their stock markets. All of these chaos and shenanigans startled Perce, who woke up in a flash.

“What the heck is going on?” he asked, alarmed.

Finrod, who was just about to head out to check the damage, turned. “I have absolutely no idea.”

The two lept outside to survey the damage, unaware of how it was all caused by them.

“I should go back to sleep,” Finrod said, sullen how horrible his coffee for Perce must be and how absolutely berserk Brightwings-

“BRIGHTWINGS!”

The parrot was flying right over the two boys as they called out his name. “STEALING AND CHAOS ARE LEGAL!!!! I’M YOUR NEW OVERLORD!!! FEAR ME OR ELSE DIE BY MY TOTALLY EXISTENT HAND.”

Oh. Wow.



Pre-chorus

40 words!

Drop by drop by drop
Puddles of mud, everything falls under the
Drop by drop by drop
Of rainwater gray

Drop by drop by drop
Dampened by flood, wiped clean of blood
Drop by drop by drop
As everything fades



Ancient Times: Uncontrollable Fate

408 words for my comp entry :0

So the leopard cub continued to grow, under the careful tutelage of Shifu.

In the beginning, it wasn’t quite easy.

“Give me my flute back!” the master yelped as the cub snatched off the flute and scampered off. Shifu looked to Oogway pleadingly for some assistance, but the tortoise simply looked on in amusement.

And as the days turned to months turned to years, the master’s affection for Tai Lung only grew. He was such a wonderful son – his skills were legendary, and Shifu was certain that this was a reflection of his own competence too. But of course, at the end of the day Tai Lung’s checker skills just didn’t match up to Shifu’s own. Unfortunate, of course, but the red panda was secretly proud of that.

And through this time, Shifu felt their relationship begin to change too. According to the happy-to-help villagers he had consulted throughout the years, this was natural; in a child’s teenage years they’d often feel an urge to drift away from their parents.

As much as he hated to admit it, Shifu worked as much as he could against this.

“You have to stop trying,” Oogway had said to him one sunny afternoon.

“Trying what?”

The tortoise 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.

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

“You have to stop trying,” Tai Lung growled, and the way that his words mirrored Oogway’s (albeit however much different in tone) 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. Oogway had called destiny, but Shifu only called to Oogway’s judgment, one that he felt was right. Oogway called the shots; Oogway was his master, and it was only because of that that Shifu relented.

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



Chorus

50 words exactly using “kicked the bucket”

A bucket of rain overflows
Spilling out into the road
Drenching the souls in the waters of gray
As the bucket falls with a metallic clang
Now they’re left to wonder
As they now continue to wander
What the mist would bring
For they are the souls of the lost



Distant Past: Tragic Ending

NOOOOO MAX
682 words of Maxi Taxi dying in Klaus’s place </333
TW for death, war, and mild gore

It was night when he died.

That statement doesn’t quite encompass that night, though. Because there was so much more than just his passing from the earth.

There was the usual bellowing of artillery, clattering of those accursed machine guns. And the charging from the other side, waves of young men who didn’t really want to cut their enemies down (despite how much they tried telling themselves otherwise).

That night the stars were gone; they were obscured by the thick smoke that had fallen upon the battleground. And the moon, too: it was merely a dull
sphere of vague white that couldn’t entirely break through the stifling gray.

The lieutenant ordered a countercharge in a fierce voice. Klaus and Max scarcely exchanged a glance before they went over the top, onto the grounds of No Man’s Land where bodies used to lay and now still laid, and the stench of smoke and death crowded around the soldiers until they could scarcely heave a breath.

Max raised his gun and fired at random through the gateway of gray; he heard yells of pain and misery from the other side, but he would never know if they were caused by him; never know the faces and names and stories of the British and French boys that he had sent to the dark fields of death.

And what came next quite shocked him, because he was so used to always evading Death’s snapping fangs of bayonets and roars of artillery and breaths of poison gas. Because he had gone onto No-Man’s-Land countless time, being scratched but never killed unlike so many others around him.

Until now. He felt a tremendous force striking him, and at first he thought he’d been hit by an artillery shell and exploded into bits. But through the horrendous pain he vaguely registered that his body was whole… or at least, for the most part, if he disregarded the streams of blood.

“Max!”

That was Klaus, he was certain. Indeed, the big man came hurtling in his direction and started pulling him back. And the smoke was the last thing that Max registered as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Flickers of scenes came, shoving past the black that obscured Max’s vision and the agony that persisted. The nurse who had given the slightest regretful shake of her head, the bloodied and somber face of the lieutenant, the smokey swirls that continued to obstruct the brightness above.

But what he always saw the most was Klaus. He was constantly hovering besides Max, and everytime he rose back into murky consciousness, Klaus’s expression would get ever more despairing.

And then suddenly became clear. The darkness faded completely, the pain turned to a dull ache, and the sounds of the world all came flooding in. But a horrible realization came with this clarity: he didn’t have much time left.

And as always, Klaus was there, unshed tears struggling to stay behind the floodgates. Just like in Belgium, some outrageously whimsical voice in Max piped up. And his heart tightened as Klaus slipped some of his fresh flowers into his hands.

“Take them,” he said.

“I- I don’t want to,” Max insisted, his voice sounding awfully weak. He didn’t want to ruin the sight of Klaus’s beloved flowers with pain and death and blood.

And then suddenly panic flared up like a bonfire. He was dying, he was going to be dead, he’d never see Klaus and his parents again. With the flowers still in his hands he began to shake.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Klaus said gently, surprisingly gently given the circumstances. “Look.”

He held out the periwinkles that the two had picked the day before. Those were Max’s favorite flowers – colors pale and serene, speaking of the dear memories of the two’s friendship. The moonlight that finally emerged lit up the petals in five luminescent rays, and Max continued to look on at the flowers.

And he didn’t realize he was dead until a flash of darkness passed, Klaus’s voice rang out in a heartrending cry, and the periwinkles scattered on the bloodstained ground.



Bridge

62 words, from this song “Every Breath You Take” by The Police

Forever
They trod on
Today
Peace still not won
And then-
A light in the distance begins to glow
The souls feel warmth seep into their bones
A breath to take their lives away
A breath so they may stay another day
What is this place?
What begins to fade?
What is the meaning of death
When your breath
Is flying away?



Distant Future: Clock

Continuing the Saga :0 a clock that represents… Jeanne’s dead husband? That was why it was called attention to when she talked about Cassiopeia (because Jacques died from a sickness as well) and when Otto entered. Yeah, pretty strange symbolism for sure.
429 words!

So Madame Morteau ushered them into the small house. It felt quite roomy and comfortable despite its small size. A clock was hung up on one wall.
All in all, it looked liked any typical rural household, she supposed.

Madame Morteau got Cassiopeia settled on a bed downstairs, and when Penelope, Alexander, and Beowulf came out of the room, the woman had a couple of words for them.

“She’d be fine,” she said, her eyes flickering towards the clock for a few seconds. “Colette got sick last last fall, and she got better quite quickly.”

She nodded at Henri, and the boy scampered off.

Penelope wondered if there was something aout that clock that was particularly important for Madame Morteau. After all, she’d never heard a peck of information from the Morteau brothers about their father; Was he perhaps at the front? Or…

Another voice broke her out of her thoughts. Pierre whispered something to his mother – to her great relief, Penelope could make out much of what he said, which about leaving with James, Sarah, and Henri — and then departed the room. Madame Morteau turned to the sibling, and then muttered under her breath something Penelope caught slightly. … can do it again. What was that supposed to mean?

Before she could question things further, a voice sounded from outside the house. “Jeanne!”

Madame Morteau froze as she heard the voice, she gestured for the Lumley siblings to get in, quickly, into the room where Cassiopeia was lying, then closed the door behind the. Penelope edged closer to the door. She was unsure why they were made to hide, if the man was the Monsieur Morteau that she’d never heard about. Hmm.

“Otto!” Penelope heard Madame Morteau say.

“I’ve got some more vegetables from the Fabres” – at this moment Penelope realized he had a German accent – “here you go!”

“Thank you,” Madame Morteau replied, with an uncharacteristically soft voice.

In the short period of pause, the clock’s tick-tock reverberated around the room.

“Well, I better get to überwachen now,” the man named Otto said, and hurried again out the door.

Madame Morteau paused for a moment, likely making sure that he had gone, and then hurried into the room once more.

“Who was that?” Penelope asked.

“He’s Otto. He’s a German soldier, and he… lives with us.”

Penelope’s hopes sank like a stone in water, but then Madame Morteau clarified the situation: “he’s a good man,” she said, voice once again taking on a certain airiness. “And- and he won’t turn you in, I can swear on that.”



Chorus Repeat

51 words, I just added in a bunch of more winter themes xD

A bucket of love overflows
Spilling out into the snow
Freezing the souls in the sleet of gray
As the hail falls with metallic clangs
Now they’re left to wonder
As they now continue to wander
What the world of ice would bring
For they are the souls of the frost



Ending

390 words for an alternative ending to one of my Aladarius fics

And as Alador turns his back on the Blight manor, a light gust of wind begins to blow. It skims over the fields of purple grass, whips around his hair. Strangely enough, the twilight does not seem to give away into darkness but into light, a brilliant clash of purples and ambers and finally pure white.
For a moment he seems to be suspended, across the very substance of time and space and two realities.


When he comes to his perception turns from inward to outward, and he takes in the surroundings of the hospital around him. The purple over every inch of room he could see, varying in shade. Hs wheezing breath returning time and time again like his unsteady heartbeat.

But most important of all there is Darius. Darius. He’s alive, he’s whole, and he is standing in front of Alador.

He screams out Darius’s name as Darius screams out his, and he thought nothing could have been more heartwrenching than this.

“I thought you were dead.”


They talk over the next few days, when Alador is permitted to leave and the two return to their small apartment untouched by flames. Alador fears that this may be yet another dream – how many dreams can you throw yourself into? But something at the back of his mind insists that this is no dream, and the past three months he had spent are no dreams either.

Darius tries to understand, he really does, but sometimes Alador can’t transfer his jumbled and bitter memories into words. That’s fine, Darius would say, and the two of them would return to work on their abominations, falling into a comfortable and cozy silence.


One day he passes Odalia in the streets, and she turns to look at him. Within her icy blue eyes there is a flicker of something there, something almost like satisfaction. Then she whispers, "Congrats.”

But he turns away. So what if the past was a dream? So what if this was a dream? They are both real to him, jarring and clashing images that will occupy his memories forever. But now he is here and so is Darius, and he didn’t care what was truly real, because he knew from the bottom of his heart that he was real and his loved ones are real, too.

So he keeps walking.

Critique for Zai!

done Somewhere Else again hehe, 323 words!

hi zai!! i'm sorry this is so late and so undetailed but here's some feedback on your fanfic comp entry for context i haven't read the red, white, and royal blue, and i didn't even know your fic was a fanfic of it until i read the author's note xDD

so first off i think that the choice of having a poem, the choice of poet, and the choice of poem were ALL DONE SO WELL. the similarities between henry and rupert brooke are so cool and each line from the poem really reflects what's going on in the story!

also i really like the vibe of the piece, which the setting contributes to a lot. the fast pacing during the climatic revelation really set the mood! plus i love the ship metaphor, that was so cool :0

the emotions, characters, and dialogue of the whole piece are great too it's really easy to see both henry's and bea's perspectives, and the nuance their relationship holds is very well developed during the story. i can't comment on the british-ness of the dialogue lol but everything felt super genuine

quick note about the plot i was kinda confused on! since i didn't really know much about the original material, henry coming out to bea was almost like a plot twist to me. i think you've hinted at it a bit before the actual reveal, but i was still really taken by surprise. i know it's a totally spur-of-the-moment thing but maybe a bit of background info about that might help? it'll also give more context to bea's reaction :> but ik that you're super close to the word limit already so i'm not sure how that'll be implemented ^^' and if you think everything works fine the way it is, totally feel free to keep that as is!

but that's about it! i hope this was at least a little helpful hehe, best of luck on the comp <33

tysm to Vi (@violent-measures), Moonlit (@MoonlitSeas), Alia (@–tranquility), and CJ (@cb2jkl) for critiquing, as well as Reese (@TheBiblophile7) and Luna (@Luna-Lovegood-LOL) for offering to critique <333

Bidaily 7/25-7/26

432 words written in Fae's style! I don't think I emulated it very well so I'm sorry about that, but I hope this is interesting to read regardless – it was definitely really fun to write!

Quick backstory time hehe - so my sister Misty is in Horror this session and I decided to look through one of the many Backrooms wikis for research purposes! And then I stumbled across these two cool-looking characters, and on the wiki there were also a couple of fics featuring them some of which I had no time to read asldfkj. Their relationship was completely displayed as platonic in the ones I did read, but that's not going to stop me from shipping them for funsies – hey, it did say on their pages that “(b)oth of them refuse to elaborate on what relation or business that they have with each other”! That's basically an invitation for a fangirl like me to ship them! /hj /lh

Long story short, this exists and I call it Crimaster

The Hub hums; despite the stillness, there is a certain tingle in the air. It is as if the infinite tunnels are echoing the rush and roar of the Frontroom highways, however faintly. The place is a maze of dizzying turns and flickering lights, lights that flare gold above the well-trod yet currently deserted asphalt road. And the rune-carved doors stand as austere and uniform as ever.

But deep into the Hub, where many roads converge into a single courtyard, an entity dwells. His likeness is captured in a glorious statue before the base of the tower, all dapper in a sleek coat, but deep inside the room his countenance is molded into something like pain.

He is the Keymaster. And this pain is unusual for his prideful self, irreconcilable with his reassured belief that he was something equivalent to a god.

With a light touch of his fingers, the ring of keys at his hip clash against each other and jingle. One of them in particular seems to shine in the dark space of its own accord, and try as he might the Keymaster cannot tear his eyes away from it. The Key of Salvation; despite its name, it has the greatest potential to do ruin, more than anything else in this reality. Every moment he frets at its sight. It has been the object of his distress, the force by which his ego is beginning to crumble.

So he closes his dull teal eyes instead, and as he does, memories come flashing back – a red cloak sweeping through the edge of his vision, armor and blades glinting in the dark. For better or for worse, the figure refuses to cease haunting the Keymaster’s thoughts.

He is the Crimson Wanderer.

He follows no laws save for his own, but he is molded to the very ideals of peace and harmony. He seems invincible, but his labored breaths sometimes sound in the silent wake of battle. He has no face, but his voice is so astoundingly melodious that the Keymaster wonders how he could’ve ever not noticed after half an eternity.

And the Keymaster grasps at that voice within the recesses of his mind, for that was how he escaped the temptation of false salvation time after time. He sweeps his wild dark mane of hair out of his face, opens his eyes once more, and stares with fluttering hope out of the tower. Perhaps when the armored warrior ceases his fight, wherever he is, he will return to these buzzing tunnels.

And then the Keymaster will be waiting with bright eyes.

MC Daily 7/28

Daily by Poppy: “Everyone has one random fact that they know- a fact that they don't really need. Write a piece based on that random fact, whatever it may be!”

Wrote about the Heroes™ and the demise of three of them - 357 words! (Technically it's not one single fact aslfj but hopefully this works :0) (y'know now that I think about it Murphy and Lauri Torni have a lot of similarities :000)

TW: Discussions of vehicular deaths
Despite my explanation of it I still think that Audie Murphy's comments were too casual asldkfj will edit later

“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.”

MC Daily 7/29

Worldbuilding: the world’s magic is slowly dying (Ave)
Antagonist: The antagonist is the main character’s significant other (Ember)
Lesson: Time loops should never be your first option when dealing with a problem (Peachi)
Dialogue: “I realized I was the puppeter far too late” (Clev)
Turning point: One of the people on the antagonist's side reveals they were never on the antagonist's side and join the MC (Skye)

1520 words

A rare rambly daily A/N :0

Yet another godly Backrooms fanfic xD and yet another Crimaster fic?!?

You know, I should actually do more research into the Convergence Canon before, like, writing all of this xDDD but too bad because I’m randomly invested in (the completely non-canon) Crimaster just like I was into (the completely non-historically-accurate (not by a long shot (like it’s the true definition of a crack ship (I should stop rambling)))) Pershfoch alskdjfl;s

Ahem. Anyways. This is written from the Crimson Wanderer’s POV because I did the Keymaster last time!! And I’ll say again that I need to do more Backrooms Wiki research, but hope you enjoy anyway!

(I think I misinterpreted what I’ve read so far, because the Convergence + Pantheon Canons’ lore is pretty confusing :’) also the whole deal with Kei’ and the Keymaster and how they differ in the two canons and also the relationships between the gods are even more confusing – so just pretend I both did my research and interpreted everything in a way that makes sense xDDD)

A few of the prompts are bent a little – there’s not really any magic in the backrooms (although the Convergence & Pantheon Canons are pretty much as close to the fantasy genre as you’ll ever get in the Backrooms), and the Keymaster wasn’t really a true antagonist (I mean he was one for like only 1/3 of the story) :0

Okay so a post-writing message: the climax (and ending too) is insanely nonsensical and the emotions behind it needs work, but this is practically a comp-worth fanfic! Which is funny because I should go and work on my actual fanfic entry xDD

I’ll link last year’s daily here for prosperity hehe

They move like gray shadows.

The members of the Royal Court are pacing around the dim throne room, seldom stopping, always talking, never letting go of their heightened anxieties.

The Court’s powers have been vanishing for a long time – though truth to be told, the Crimson Wanderer’s not quite certain of how exactly that is; without the Clocksmith, time seems to be at a standstill.

And every day there are buzzing chatter about the state of things. Theories about how these liminal realities are fraying at the edge of their seams, how the Void is swallowing every particle of every level whole. There’s no denying that there is indeed something ominous poised to strike.

“I can’t get around Levels as easily now,” a voice besides him suddenly says.

He turns, startled, but it is just the Keymaster, gazing worriedly at his interconnected rings of keys.

“The Level Keys are malfunctioning too,” he continues darkly, fidgeting with the said keys absently. “I- I can’t-”

“I know. I hear the other wanderers call for help…”

And he never answers them. The Backrooms have shifted beyond his ability’s comprehension; he cannot ever seek out the desperate voices begging for life, and that haunts him to his core. What is the point of being a great warrior if you can't save anybody?

The Keymaster gazes over at him, teal eyes soft with sympathy.

“It’ll be fine, Claudius,” he says, and then he takes ahold of the knight’s armored hand, but the Crimson Wanderer can hear the doubt piercing through his voice.

“I don’t know if that’s true, but there’s no need for anything else on your part.”

He tries. He hopes it will work. Will it, really?

—

The other Court members occasionally exit and reenter the Hallowed Gate. But the Crimson Wanderer can tell that it becomes increasingly hard to do so, just as time becomes more difficult to perceive, entities and wanderers take on more hostility than known before, dark matter becomes ever more consuming.

And the Keymaster returns one instance with a weary look in his eyes.

“Almost fell into the Void,” he says, and everyone else gawks at him in shock, because his noclipping skills are borderline legendary, but the Crimson Wanderer only sits in his own dark silence.

And so everyone stews within the Court, their inactivity in the grand scheme of things ever clear in their minds. Tension flares up: the King of Normality snaps at the Jester, half of the Court resolutely ignore the Storyteller. Everyone can tell that the situation gets more desperate by the unperceivable moment.

One day – no one could tell how days were passing by now, but the term still stands – the Crimson Wanderer was, true to his name, wandering the areas of the Hallowed Gate. And then he heard heavy footsteps in the direction of the armory, footsteps that were all too familiar.

Moving as quietly as his armored frame could allow, he makes his way over towards that direction, and catches a glimpse of the Keymaster’s dark coat flashing out of sight as he enters the armory. The Crimson Wanderer opted to simply eavesdrop instead, not wanting to have to answer questions, because that has never worked when this came.

“Kei’,” the Keymaster begins, and the Crimson Wanderer knows who he is speaking to, far too well.

“A Keymaster who finally has the nerves and foresight to seek me out,” a roaring voice rumbles with pride. “I would’ve never thought.”

He doesn’t reply to the statement, but only says, “Our reality is falling apart. That will not be in your best intentions.”

“Truth to be told, one reality disintegrating does not really matter to me,” Kei’ says, voice taking on a trace of boredom.

From his voice, the Crimson Wanderer knew that the Keymaster was scowling. “Playing hard to get?”

“I’m just jesting.” A rather demonic-sounding laugh. “Though I do have to say, your arrogance-”

“I’ve heard enough about my arrogance.”

“Oh, really? Because I’m certain that’s why you’re here now, trying to convince me to give you more powers so that you can ostensibly restore this reality. What do you want to do, Keymaster? Break Claudius’s Crimson Heart all over again?”

The Crimson Wanderer startles at the last part. All these times he’d been here and Kei’ has never said those two lines. In his shock, he slips, and the jingle of his armor reverberated across the empty space, absolutely unmuffled unlike before.

“And it looks like we have someone else here with us,” Kei’ says. “Wonder who it could be.”

The Keymaster skids to a full stop outside the armory.

“Claudius…”

It’s the same, it’s the same, it’s the same and nothing will ever change this.

So the Crimson Wanderer stays silent as the Keymaster plows on.

“I’m sorry, but it’s for the best - this is not my decision to make!”

But he could take it no more: “It was always your decision! Have you learned nothing from last time, from Hubris? And I don’t know what’s been going wrong, because every single time I come back the same thing happens.”

“W-what?”

“You’re making the same mistake time after time. I thought after all that happened with the Crown you’d be more wary of power, but…”

He trails off. And the Keymaster does not say a word in reply.

Then Kei’ emerges, sending the two into something that seemed like a blazing white void, pyramidal head bright and tentacles fluttering, and watches the two with something almost akin to amusement. But unlike before, there is something deeper, something closer to hope. “Tell him, Almighty Crimson Wanderer.”

“It’s…” – inside his mind the Crimson Wanderer grasps for the term he had learned from the Clocksmith – “a time loop.”


It is the first time, although the Crimson Wanderer does not quite know it yet. The shouts reverabrate across the entirety of the Hallowed Gate, but their anger turns to horror when the Gate collapses.

Everything is dark and tangled in these ruins. Yet before the moment of oblivion there is still a mind, a mind that aches with questions and thirsts for answers, a mind that is dazed from the betrayal of past.

What did I do?

That is the Crimson Wanderer’s last thought as existence ebbs and fades around him.


The Keymaster watches silently, fidgeting with his keys, as his partner recounts the desperate time loop, his failure to hold together reality seven times because of the Keymaster’s actions. When the Crimson Wanderer finishes, no one says anything for a long moment.

Kei’ finally speaks after a sidelong glance at the Keymaster. “Do you want to know my mistake? My mistake was that I realized I was the puppeteer far too late.”

With a lazy flick of Kei’s many tentacles, the Keymaster is sent reeling across the strange white void with a rather sickening crash.

“Not that he’ll die from just that, of course. I saw to that. Avatar of my creation and all. But here’s the more important issue of…”

But to both of their shock, the Keymaster simply stands up and staggers shakily towards them.

“I’m sorry,” he manages out when he reaches where the Crimson Wanderer was standing next to Kei’s floating form. “I thought that it might be enough to save all of us, but I can’t, and that’s why I asked Kei’ to help me, but I would’ve never wanted it to be like- like last time-”

He breaks off with a pleading look, and at that moment both of them are more aware of their mortality – however distant it may be – than they have ever before.

“It’s not your burden,” the Crimson Wanderer finally says and takes his limp hand. Something seems to dissolve within him at that instant, like a knot being untangled. And he can see that the Keymaster seems to be more at ease, too, his features shedding the anguish that had held on.

Kei’ gazes at the two of them as they talk, not seeming surprised. “Alright.”

With a flash, the sights of the Hallowed Gates come flashing back as the essence of Kei’ disappeared, leaving only the deity’s voice.

“You truly have the spirit of Jaga’dain, Claudius, for better or for worse.”

Slowly the Crimson Wanderer feels the familiar gripes of liminal reality, however anomalous it may be, rushing back; this is the world he is familiar with, this is the world he is destined to serve.

“Do your job well, Keymaster” Kei’ adds, and the Keymaster dips his head in silent agreement. Then the echoes of the voices in the chamber fades, leaving only the gold-plated armory behind.

The Crimson Wanderer can’t quite bring himself to look at his partner, to speak, before he was swept up in an embrace. One can surely wonder how a haughty keeper could’ve ever fallen in love with a quiet knight who had shown no one a glimpse of the sight underneath the armor.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

In the end it matters not who says which; the Backrooms continue with their existence just as the two lovers of the Court continue with theirs.

Critique for Syze

Hiya Syze :0 I remember we did a critique trade last July too haha – anyways, the deadline's really soon so I'll get right into it!

Overall, this fanfic was awesome! The atmosphere is perfect and captures SWC perfectly, and your characterizations were pretty brief but effective and the themes of the piece are true to the camp, so that's really neat too :>


A couple of notes!
- I think Crystie, Lizzie, and Phoenix could do with a quick introduction! Like some quick context on where they were - something like, “three campers sat by the fire, they were…”

- Rain's name isn't capitalized ahaha

- At the end, before your last sentence, I think a last scene would be great! Something about all of the campers gathering somewhere to… take a group photo? Eat a mango cake? It can be anything, but I think it was a bit strange to transition from Poppy straight to the ending :')

- The change in pacing/focus (earlier characters like Ave having more focus than later ones) is a bit strange and unexplained :0 maybe adding more character interactions and more action in general, starting with Crystie, Lizzie, and Phoenix?

- Skye's section (“They quickly became inseparable at the camp, supporting and encouraging each other's creativity.”) should probably have another split thingy with the ellipse? (I really don't remember on the spot what they were called, sorry ahaha) It also transitions better to the next scene with the three campers :>


That's about it, sorry this is really rushed :') but this fic is amazing and I love all of the feels you poured into it – best of luck on the comp <33

These are a week late and a bit on the shorter side, but they're done this was an amazing session ahhhh <33

[Thank-you notes!

Hello! Looks like it’s time for thank-you notes once more :’)

I’d start off with saying that this session was absolutely spectacular in its simultaneous originality and nostalgia. I’ve had so much fun with everything, from activities to cabin wars to the chats with folks I’d see around camp. And I’d like to thank each and every participant, past and present, for shaping SWC to the wonderful thing it is today. From the mangoes to the arson to each set of memorable moments, this camp’s been truly one of the best things I’ve had the fortune to encounter on the internet <33 it’s a pity that the end of camp had arrived so soon, but we’ll make do, and of course we shall speedrun on the last day xD

So. Let’s begin.


First one is to the hosts – you guys are as awesome as ever <33 thank you so much for making this session go so smoothly! I really loved the new changes you've implemented to the cabin wars system, and the general amount of exploration and the theme of the session are aamzing! I don't know what goes on behind the scenes of your planning, but I'm sure it's a very cool and amazing process.

And the daily team! You guys literally picked the best dailies this session ( I had literally so much motivaton for all of them hehe) and they were a perfect mix of nostalgia and novelty! I don’t know how I’ll be able to go back to my old life of… not doing all of the dailies :’D

To the writing comp judges and everyone on the panel - tysm for helping to judge the comp! I can definitely tell that it's tough work, and even though you have more to do, I hope you have fun while working - I sure hope I will too!

And speaking of the writing comp, thank you to everyone who critiqued my entry! Vi, Alia, Moonlit, CJ, and Luna – you were all amazing and I really appreciate your enthusiasm to help and Reese – thank you so much for offering to critique <3 it is completely my fault that I didn’t finish my piece on time to hand in to you before you left, and I totally should have let both you and CJ know that I would be finishing late. But that aside, thank you all so much again

To the memory book committee and its heads – Alana, Moonlit, and Faer – thank you so much for making something so cool from my firsthand experience last session, I know how difficult it is to keep up such a large project, but you're all doing such a great job and I'm absolutely sure the final product will be amazing - keep up the good work!


And now for individual notes - I’ve been able to talk with so many people this session, and I’m really happy about that I loved having convos, playing mafia, doing activities, and/or just saying hello to all of you guys!

Reese! I had a really nice time talking to you before and during this session. You’re such a sweet and friendly person, and I always feel like you’re just really welcoming and someone I could talk to – it was really nice to see you around on the servers and the main cabin <33 I really enjoyed our convos about Six of Crows and other random topics that came up, and I look forward to more fun talks!

Aliaaa! The Folklore Spell Shop was an amazing experience with you and Piper, and I’m really happy we got to keep up our friendship after March ended. You never cease to astound me with all of your historical knowledge and ideas, and you are such an amazing dancer as well :000 ty for giving me a bunch of recs, from Epic to Hadestown (I promise to listen to the latter when I get the chance), for our critique trades, and for all of our fun convos I’m definitely looking forward to more of our work on the collab entry!

Heya Syze: doing word wars with you throughout the session was so neat, and I love that we got to do another critique trade after the one we did in July thanks for being around this session, hehe

Icy! I just wanted to start off with saying that it was so great to catch up with you after our July session last year I really enjoyed our morning talks (or at least, they were morning in my timezone, haha). You always made my day when you messaged me, and it was so fun discussing everything from SWC to lockdown with you :> you’re an amazing friend, and I really hope we can keep talking after this session.

Hi Wynter! It was nice seeing you around - I remember talking with you before the session started, and that was a really nice first meeting! I also loved chatting about Monk with you hehe, Monk fans unite

Moss!! I feel like most of our interactions this session were outside of SWC (thank you for that amazing Bobcookie attack <3) but I’ll say that you did a great job with Sci-Fi along with the rest of your leading team! I hope you have lots of fun with your robotics team too :>

Luna! This was the sixth session that we’ve had since we first met each other in Thriller - I can’t believe I haven’t written you a personalized thank-you note for so long :’) despite that, you’re just as usual the amazing hostie and leader! SWC wwouldn’t possibly be the same without you.

CJ!!! It was so fun hanging out with you this session, you’re such a fun and upbeat person our random little convos about everything, from our statuses to WPM (have I ever told you that yours is legendary), it’s been so great talking to you! Keep on being CEESLAY hehe

And last but certainly not least, Ember :0 I loved your enthusiastic presence everywhere, and you’re just so totally empathized with your mass attack struggles haha - thanks for being around this month

Now the Steampunk folks!

To the leading team, I'll just start off by saying how much I loved the storyline - I might've not been able to interact with it as much as I’d hoped to, but I had loads of fun when I did, and you guys really brought Steampunk Sherlock Holmes and co. to life and thank you for being so patient with me as I went through everyhing! It was so fun going through everything you guys set out :> I’m really sorry that all of your hard work didn’t come to complete fruition – I take back what I said in that earlier poll; if you both have the time during August, I’d totally love to complete it if you’re still interested!

To Sun: Sun, I remember you saying that you wanted to get to know me a bit this during this session - I definitely think that happened on my end I can really relate to your summer classes' homework struggle ahh, best of luck on that :') I know that you do feel somewhat upset with not doing enough work, but you’re already keeping up with so many things, and you’re also such an amazing leader this session - it was so nice seeing you around and speedrunning activities together xD

Ave! I didn't see you for a bit in the beginning because of your trip, but it's been nice to talk to you more this session you were so hardworking and dedicated to Steampunk throughout the session, and you’re also such a kind person :> it was also really nice hearing everything about your puppy, I hope she’s doing well right now - and even though we haven’t really had many opportunities to talk otherwise, I’d love to remedy that!

Ally: thank you so much for chipping in during cabin wars – I love the Max fanfic that you wrote, and I sure loved writing Rat Leader for you too! Your outgoing personality and your friendliness were really highlights of the cabin, so thank you for that

Elfie: ahh Elfie you’re such a legendary icon :starstruck: you helped out so much with our cabin wars! And you’re such a smart lit buff - I need to ask you for more recs soon :0 we haven’t talked much this session and I’d love to catch up with you more in the future, but it’s been amazing being your friend for so long <33

Zai!! The coolest meowing lasagna-eating polar bear on earth B) tysm for everything you did this session as part of the daily team – I hope you got enough ice to stop global warming hehe :> I hope you had fun wtih your camp and your poetry shenanigans, and your writing is as cool as ever

Hello Ayid! I didn’t get to see you as much this session, but it was neat being in the same cabin as you again

And all of the other Steampunk campers – sorry I don’t have a personalized message for all of you, but it was great being in the same cabin as all of you and I hope you all had fun this session.



So, looks like that’s about it – even if you didn’t receive an individual note, just know that I really appreciate you for being part of SWC and having fun. Until next session!

Critique for Lark
Hiya Lark, here’s my critique for you I kinda just speedran all of this during an hour-long word war, so this might not be all that clear - if you have any questions, feel free to ask! I also didn’t read the prequel to this story, so you should definitely keep that in mind as you go through my critique, in case something I point out is already explained in the prequel. (Also sorry I don’t know the narrator/MC’s name ahaha)

Okay, first off, this is amazingly written! The pacing is really consistent and it adds on well to the tension, and the ending is amazingly executed – the atmosphere of it is simply beautiful.

Something I loved theme-wise was how you completely validated the narrator’s feeling of uncertainty even with (actually, especially with!) the different feelings of those around them – it’s a view that’s really refreshing to see! The way you clearly pointed out the differences between their attitude and the feelings of the rest of the class was also a very effective way to set the narrator apart from the others, without it being in a way that sounds unrealistic or cliche.

You asked for comments on character dynamic, so here it is: I think both were done well and they both contrast with each other! Lily’s conversation with the narrator showed that she genuinely wanted to help and encourage the narrator, but didn’t really understand the their views on the matter. On the other hand, Emily not only showed that she understood the narrator’s feeling perfectly, but also communicated that they were in it together! So I think that this contrast is done really well and helped define both relationships :>

Something I didn’t quite understand was how Emily’s gesture made the narrator feel like part of the group – from the way I’m interpreting it, Emily’s only one person and also the narrator’s best friend, so it’s natural that they’ll be close :0

But aside from that small thing, the piece is absolutely awesome! The emotions were really well-expressed without being over-the-top, and it was also really cool to see how they evolved that’s about it hehe, hope this critique was helpful!

CRITIQUE POSTS

These are the critiques I received from two lovely SWCers (Syze and Lark) through the Critiquitaire :> I completely forgot to ask them to post it in my thread, so I posted them myself here!

Lark's critique for my flower daily

tapdancer707 wrote:

First reaction: this is so sad aaah- this is wonderful, and I would honestly love to read a longer version of this story! I love the descriptions of how Max and Klaus connected and became friends, stories about friendship are super underrated imo so this is exactly the kind of story I like <3

As for character dynamics, we see a lot about Klaus but not as much about Max- so balancing the two out more could be good. We know that Klaus shows him the things he sends home. Does Max have letters or stories to share as well, or does he prefer to just listen? If so, why? In addition, Max and his friend are described as boys in the beginning, while Klaus is compared to Max’s father. this makes me wonder, does Klaus become more of a father figure/older brother to Max, or is it more of a typical friendship?

we do see a bit more of Max’s character at the end though, when he vows to take the flowers home to Klaus’s daughter. Between that and the rest of the final few paragraphs, he seems hopeful in a way, despite the tragic loss. That’s super interesting to me, since in so many stories these things cause the character to just be full of despair- so I’d like to see where that hope came from.

In conclusion: this story is awesome, and adding more details about Max/the friendship would take it to the next level! Also, I just realized you asked for stuff about the ending but I didn’t have much- the last line is so so good though. “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.” like- its so poetic, and the symbolism here is also amazing <3

Syze's critique for that Crimaster fic

syrozenne wrote:

First of all, let me just say that when I first read your piece, I was completely shocked. I could really feel the emotions “in the air” because of your amazing use of descriptions. It has a fantastic job of character development, especially given how brief the narrative is. Awesome job!

I thought your use of the emotion was beautifully portrayed throughout the work, so I felt somewhat even attached to your characters, even though I knew nothing about them and their dialogue. The interactments between the character are almost real, and slowly, the plot thickens around this base.

Overall, this is an emotional piece that I liked reading and honestly couldn't find anything to pick at, other than the slightest grammar and spelling mistakes. The character interaction was excellent and really obvious. The story's flow was incredible! It's truly challenging to have these sorts of compositions flow smoothly with events that flow together, but this one did!

The storyline is incredibly interesting all around! I believe you did a good job of striking a balance between description and conversation, action, and scene-specific pace. The worldbuilding and tone are excellent, and I appreciated how the setting was quietly revealed piece by piece, gradually revealing to the reader.

That's about it! I would love to see more of this story since it is so heartfelt and sincere. One scenario included so many different feelings, and the final statement is really lovely. Great work! <3
__________

They move like gray shadows.

The members of the Royal Court are pacing around the dim throne room, seldom stopping, always talking, and never letting go of their heightened anxieties.

The Court’s powers have been vanishing for a long time –, though truth to be told, the Crimson Wanderer’s not quite certain of how exactly that is; without the Clocksmith, time seems to be at a standstill.

And every day, there are is buzzing chatter about the state of things. Theories about how these liminal realities are fraying at the edges of their seams, how the Void is swallowing every particle of every level whole. There’s no denying that there is indeed something ominous poised to strike.

“I can’t get around Levels as easily now,” a voice besides him suddenly says.

He turns, startled, but it is just the Keymaster, gazing worriedly at his interconnected rings of keys.

“The Level Keys are malfunctioning too,” he continues darkly, fidgeting with the said keys absently. “I- I can’t-”

“I know. I hear the other wanderers call for help…”

And he never answers them. The Backrooms have shifted beyond his ability’s comprehension to comprehend; he cannot ever seek out the desperate voices begging for life, and that haunts him to his core. What is the point of being a great warrior if you can't save anybody anyone?

The Keymaster gazes over at him, his teal eyes soft with sympathy.

“It’ll be fine, Claudius,” he says, and then he takes ahold of the knight’s armored hand, but the Crimson Wanderer can hear the doubt piercing through his voice.

“I don’t know if that’s true, but there’s no need for anything else on your part.”

He tries. He hopes it will work. Will it, really?

—

The other Court members occasionally exit and reenter the Hallowed Gate. But the Crimson Wanderer can tell that it becomes increasingly hard to do so, just as time becomes more difficult to perceive, entities and wanderers take on more hostility than known before, and dark matter becomes ever more consuming.

And the Keymaster returns one instance with a weary look in his eyes.

“Almost fell into the Void,” he says, and everyone else gawks at him in shock, because his noclipping skills are borderline legendary, but the Crimson Wanderer only sits in his own dark silence.

And so everyone stews within the Court, their inactivity in the grand scheme of things ever clear in their minds. Tension flares up: the King of Normality snaps at the Jester, while half of the Court resolutely ignores the Storyteller. Everyone can tell that the situation gets more desperate by the with each unperceivable moment.

One day – no one could tell how many days were passing by now, but the term still stands – the Crimson Wanderer was, true to his name, wandering the areas of the Hallowed Gate. And then he heard heavy footsteps in the direction of the armory, footsteps that were all too familiar.

Moving as quietly as his armored frame could allow, he makes his way over towards in that direction, and catches a glimpse of the Keymaster’s dark coat flashing out of sight as he enters the armory. The Crimson Wanderer opted to simply eavesdrop instead, not wanting to have to answer questions, because that has never worked when this came.

“Kei’,” the Keymaster begins, and the Crimson Wanderer knows who he is speaking to, far too well.

“A Keymaster who finally has the nerves and foresight to seek me out,” a roaring voice rumbles with pride. “I would’ve never thought.”

He doesn’t reply to the statement, but only says, “Our reality is falling apart. That will not be in your best intentions.”

“Truth to be told, one reality disintegrating does not really matter to me,” Kei’ says, her voice taking on a trace of boredom.

From his voice, the Crimson Wanderer knew that the Keymaster was scowling. “Playing hard to get?”

“I’m just jesting.” A rather demonic-sounding laugh. “Though I do have to say, your arrogance-”

“I’ve heard enough about my arrogance.”

“Oh, really? Because I’m certain that’s why you’re here now, trying to convince me to give you more powers so that you can ostensibly restore this reality. What do you want to do, Keymaster? Break Claudius’s Crimson Heart all over again?”

The Crimson Wanderer startles at the last part. All these times he’d been here and , Kei’ has never said those two lines. In his shock, he slips, and the jingle of his armor reverberated across the empty space, absolutely unmuffled unlike before.

“And it looks like we have someone else here with us,” Kei’ says. “Wonder who it could be.?”

The Keymaster skids to a full stop outside the armory.

“Claudius…”

It’s the same, it’s the same, it’s the same and nothing will ever change this.

So the Crimson Wanderer stays silent as the Keymaster plows ploughs on.

“I’m sorry, but it’s for the best - ; this is not my decision to make!”

But he could take it no more: “It was always your decision! Have you learned nothing from last time, from Hubris? And I don’t know what’s been going wrong, because every single time I come back, the same thing happens.”

“W-what?”

“You’re making the same mistake time after time. I thought after all that happened with the Crown you’d be more wary of power, but…”

He trails off. And the Keymaster does not say a word in reply.

Then Kei’ emerges, sending the two into something that seemed like a blazing white void, pyramidal head bright and tentacles fluttering, and watches the two with something almost akin to amusement. But unlike before, there is something deeper, something closer to hope. “Tell him, Almighty Crimson Wanderer.”

“It’s…” – inside his mind, the Crimson Wanderer grasps for the term he had learned from the Clocksmith – “a time loop.”


It is the first time, although the Crimson Wanderer does not quite know it yet. The shouts reverabrate reverberate across the entirety of the Hallowed Gate, but their anger turns to horror when the Gate collapses.

Everything is dark and tangled in these ruins. Yet before the moment of oblivion, there is still a mind, a mind that aches with questions and thirsts for answers, a mind that is dazed from the betrayal of the past.

What did I do?

That is the Crimson Wanderer’s last thought as existence ebbs and fades around him.


The Keymaster watches silently, fidgeting with his keys, as his partner recounts the desperate time loop, his failure to hold together reality seven times because of the Keymaster’s actions. When the Crimson Wanderer finishes, no one says anything for a long moment.

Kei’ finally speaks after a sidelong glance at the Keymaster. “Do you want to know my mistake? My mistake was that I realized I was the puppeteer far too late.”

With a lazy flick of Kei’s many tentacles, the Keymaster is sent reeling across the strange white void with a rather sickening crash.

“Not that he’ll die from just that, of course. I saw to that. Avatar of my creation and all. But here’s the more important issue of…”

But to both of their shock, the Keymaster simply stands up and staggers shakily towards them.

“I’m sorry,” he manages out to say when he reaches where the Crimson Wanderer was standing next to Kei’s floating form. “I thought that it might be enough to save all of us, but I can’t, and that’s why I asked Kei’ to help me, but I would’ve never wanted it to be like- like last time-”

He breaks off with a pleading look, and at that moment both of them are more aware of their mortality – however distant it may be – than they have ever before been.

“It’s not your burden,” the Crimson Wanderer finally says, and takes taking his limp hand. Something seems to dissolve within him at that instant, like a knot being untangled. And he can see that the Keymaster seems to be more at ease, too, his features shedding the anguish that had held on.

Kei’ gazes at the two of them as they talk, not seeming surprised. “Alright.”

With a flash, the sights of the Hallowed Gates come came flashing back as the essence of Kei’ disappeared, leaving only the deity’s voice.

“You truly have the spirit of Jaga’dain, Claudius, for better or for worse.”

Slowly, the Crimson Wanderer feels the familiar gripes of liminal reality, however anomalous it may be, rushing back; this is the world he is familiar with, this is the world he is destined to serve.

“Do your job well, Keymaster,” Kei’ adds, and the Keymaster dips his head in silent agreement. Then the echoes of the voices in the chamber fades, leaving only the gold-plated armory behind.

The Crimson Wanderer can’t couldn't quite bring himself to look at his partner, to orspeak, before he was swept up in an embrace. One can surely wonder how a haughty keeper could’ve ever fallen in love with a quiet knight who had shown no one a glimpse of the sight underneath beneath the armor.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

In the end, it matters not who says which; the Backrooms continue with their existence just as the two lovers of the Court continue with theirs.

Nov '23 Weekly 4 story

A figure stood on the docks, gazing out over the wintry sea. Ashy clouds draped over the sky, turning the water a turbulent shade of slate. There seemed to be a storm approaching from the horizon – no doubt some unfortunate vessel had already been struck, perhaps been capsized by it as well.

Well, well. This bad weather was going to be very tiresome. Best wait it out, nice and cozy at home.

But just as the figure was about to turn and leave, something suddenly struck their mind.

They took off at a run, hoping that they weren’t too late.

-

Their legs began to carry them back away from the dock and to the road. The mysterious figure did not quite know where they were going, and they didn’t realize until shortly after.

The warehouse. Yes, the warehouse, that’s it.

Gulls screamed rudely overhead, but the sound did not deter the frantic course that the figure took. The warehouse, warehouse, it must be the warehouse.

After what seemed like an eternity of boots stomping on dull gray streets and running against the dull gray wind and everything dull gray – there. The warehouse was in sight.

They burst in.

There was nothing. Dust gathered on the ground, and it was stirred up by the abrupt entrance. But there was not a single item in the warehouse, not a single one. Everything had been evacuated.

The figure just stood. They hadn’t arrived on time. Now what was left?

“Who’s there?” a voice called out from the entrance. A stocky man clutching a pipe strode in, squinting. “You’re not allowed-”

He paused. “Leander?”

“Yes, it’s me,” they replied with a ragged sigh.

“My deepest apologies… The boat’s gone.”

“There must be something I can do,” Leander said firmly. “The storm is nearly upon us, and if we don’t reach the destination in time…”

They trailed off, lost in their silent thoughts as the warehouse owner looked on.

“Mister Coe. Is the Shore Guard still in possession of the boat?

Coe bobbed his head. “I believe so. They requisitioned it in response to the storm.”

“It’s not just the storm,” Leander replied. “I have to leave,” they added abruptly.

They bid farewell to the alarmed Coe and strode swiftly down the road.

Reaching the Guard headquarters, Leander rapped rapidly on the door.

A clerk opened the door nervously. “Yes?”

“Could I speak to the supervisor?”

“Right this way,” the clerk answered, leading them to an office.

The head supervisor and her second-in-command were sitting at a table and sipping on their beverages, obviously not busy at the moment. The two looked up to see Leander standing stiffly in front of them.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but this is quite urgent,” they said courteously.

“What’s the nature of your concern?” the supervisor inquired, putting down a cup of tea and returning their politeness in kind.

Well, this has the potential to go smoothly. Leander took a deep breath, gathering all of their confidence. “I believe that one motorboat of Mr. Jiel Coe was requisitioned early this morning.”

The second-in-command jumped into the conversation. “That’s true,” he replied, picking up a records log. “It’s to prevent anyone from heading out to sea, as you’d understand.”

“But I’d like to ask for the boat back for a short time. It’s urgent.”

“Why would it be so?” the supervisor responded with another question.

Leander thought for an explanation, and they found a perfect one: “I left an important personal item in the locked drawer. I was thinking of mailing it to my family up north, since they’re really in need of money, but the postal service will be stalled for a long time during the storm and there’ll be a huge delay.”

The supervisor evidently found nothing questionable with the story. “Your requested is granted.”

Inside, Leander was bursting with triumph. “Thank you, officer.”

-

The supervisor quickly signed a slip of paper and handed it to Leander. It was a permit. “Show this to the guard when you get to the harbor,” she instructed. “Have a good day, and I hope you are successful in finding your… personal possession.”

Leander thanked her, and the clerk ushered them out of the office and back through the small headquarters building to the exit.

The storm seemed to be coming ever close, darkening the dreary skies. Knowing that they didn’t have a second to waste, Leander sped towards the harbor. Precious time had been used up in finding the whereabouts of the boat, and…

There it was!

The Lutjand, Coe’s vessel, was floating on the gloomy gray water in the midst of a couple of yachts. It was a dark blue, its name painted on the back in unsteady white letters. Leander walked up to the closest guard they could find and handed over the permit.

“A ‘personal possession’? Care to elaborate?”

“Well, it’s quite valuable, so I’d rather not,” Leander answered crisply.

The guard shrugged. The permit did have Officer Madeline Strigid’s signature, and that accounted for something, so Leander was permitted onto the boat.

Good. Everything had gone well for them so far, and if it continues then maybe, there could be a small chance that they could sail out in time…
Leander subtly cut the rope with a pocketknife and hopped onto the boat. They pulled out the chain of keys that Coe had given them, and swiftly found the one for starting up the boat. They leaned forward towards the front, ostensibly to open the lockbox, then plunged the key into the ignition and sailed off.

The couple of guards, who were surprisingly (and irresponsibly) not properly watching over Leander, gawked as they heard the motor and saw the boat heading out towards the raging storm.

And the best thing, Leander knew, was the fact that the Shore Guard was unlikely to send too many people in pursuit. Who’d want to risk the lives of so many to just find one crazy sailor, heading into the storm?

They skillfully navigated the vessel’s controls – the time spent on steamboats on the river back home paid off – and guided it over the rough silver waves of the sea

-

The report of Leander’s flight out to sea reached Officer Strigid swiftly, and she innerly reprimanded herself for not looking into their story more carefully before signing the permit.

“Buteo!” she called to her second-in-command. “Is the speedboat ready?”

He nodded in reply, and the two of them set out to the docks.

As Strigid started up the boat, Buteo scanned the sea with binoculars. “I see them. They’re heading right into the storm!” Then, in an undertone, he added, “Why do we have to go do this ourselves?”

“I don’t think this young sailor is quite sane,” she replied simply.

Meanwhile, Leander was indeed approaching the storm. Could they make it past? It seemed very risky, but it must be done. The ship was heading farther and farther away, and if it reaches its destination…

This thought spurred Leander on, and they guided the motorboat right into the midst of the storm. Perhaps that was a bad idea, for a wild wave suddenly toppled the boat over.

Lander was knocked into the water, below the upside-down boat. Oh, dear, this couldn’t end well. They were nowhere near the ship just yet, and if they had done things right, there would be no help from shore.

Mustering all of their strength, they slid around the boat and attempted to right it back up. No luck. The boat simply crashed against Leander’s body, knocking them further down into the water.

Stunned, they tried to head back up, but their weary muscles refused to cooperate.

Leander was drowning.

-

Somewhere in the back of their consciousness, Leander remembered:

The ship. It was a grand and luxurious vessel, caryring a swarm of nobility and the upper class. Yet on board there were also damp and depraved souls, dark and withheld secrets.

Leander’s sister was on there somewhere. Heading north, in the direction of home.

But that wasn’t all. Because there were shadowy figures who slipped onto that ship, slickly sneaking through the documentation check. Leander did not know what these shadows wanted, but there was something sinister in their movements, as they wished ill will upon something.

Leander thought nothing of it, when they saw their sister board safely. But when they remembered the storm, then thought of the strange figures, something crossed their mind. They had a faint inkling of what those people would do, and it wasn’t a reassuring one.

So they must get there on time. Before the storm and the saboteurs wreck havoc and endanger the ship, its fortune, its people, and Muiren. Who knows what could happen?

But they’d never get there if they died in the water.

Just then, Leander was aware of the water being stirred up, almost vibrating, around them. Strange. They’ve never felt water do that naturally, unless…

A hand reached down and grabbed their arm, then neatly dragged them up to a boat.

“Hello there,” Strigid said calmly as the storm battered the boat. She opened a storage closet and pulled out a towel. Leander accepted it gratefully and wrapped it around themselves.

“Thought you’d just float out and drown, hrm?” Buteo grumbled, adjusting his coat. “It’s a whole lot more work for us.”

“You don’t understand! The ship-”

Strigid interrupted them. “What do you mean, ‘you don’t understand’? It would have been appreciated if you put a more trust in the Shore Guard.”

Leander sighed. Could they explain everything to these two officers? Well, it was worth a shot. “Can we keep on going? But around the storm?”

Strigid reluctantly obliged. When they had given the rockiest waters a wide berth, she glanced at Leander. “Now, what do you have to say?”

They told the two officers everything – their suspicions about the masked figures, their worries about their sister Muiren, and their general unease about the voyage. “I know it just departed this morning and it’s just hunches, but something does not feel right about that ship.”

Neither of them replied immediately. Leander waited anxiously, knowing for sure that the thoughts they had just voiced would be dismissed.

To their pleasant surprise, Strigid nodded slowly. “I see where you’re coming from. Admittedly our security is at times… ahh, imperfect. You must really believe in this if you’re sailing into the storm.”

Buteo raised an eyebrow at her, for moments before she had been doubting Leander’s sanity, but now she seemed entirely convinced. “Do you really have nothing else to base your thoughts on?” he asked Leander skeptically.

“Well, I think these saboteurs are intending to rob the ship, or something even worse,” Leander replied, gravely. “And they'll be doing it under the cover of the storm – maybe they'll loot the vessel, blow it up, and then pretend that it was wrecked by the storm.

Buteo didn't find that answer to be very logical, but he could sympathize with them. He had a younger sister too, and he'd protect her to the end of the universe.

“That's why I didn't bring in an official report. It wouldn't be processed in time, and you won't believe me,” Leander concluded.

As much as they hated to admit it, both officers understood where Leander was coming from. It was such an outlandish theory that no one would’ve listened to it in normal conditions. Alas, they were all here now, and there was no going back. Best to stick it out and see where it gets the three of them.

“Does this boat have enough fuel to last us this far?” Leander asked with a trance of nervousness.

“Yes, we'll be able to go five more leagues and back to shore,” Strigid replied, unruffled. “And as you see we've almost caught up with the ship.”

The speedboat rushed ever closer to the towering ship that sailed towards the horizon.

-

As Leander glanced upwards, a picture appeared before their mind’s eye.

A briefcase. One of those shadows was holding it carefully, oh-so-carefully. It was propped up and carried beyond the security check. What happened then?

They concentrated, and a fleck of the memory returned.

Those people opened it. They undid the clasp and fiddled with the briefcase’s contents, then snapped it shut again. In that dark and shadowy corner, they thought that there was no one who noticed.

But Leander did.

They didn’t even board the ship, only saw Muiren off with a wave and departed. Perhaps they were the only one who knew.

Now, that very briefcase was strapped against the side of the observation deck. A throng of panicked passengers were gazing up at the five people, dressed in all black, standing at the deck.

The three in the speedboat realized at the same time.

“It’s a bomb.”

-

“We have to save all of them!” Leander exclaimed.

“Well, what else did you expect?” Buteo replied with a hint of exasperation, but he was frowning, like he did not quite expect this very situation.

“We have no backup out here,” Strigid reminded the two of them. The rest of the Shore Guard was back leagues away on dry land, trapped by the raging storm. “So it looks like we're on our own.”

As the rain was still pounding heavily, the figures – though to tell the truth, “terrorists” now fit as a better description – did not notice the speedboat creeping ever closer.

“What do we have on board, then? That could help us?” Leander asked.

Buteo rifled through the storage cabinets. “We have a supply of flares, which isn't going to help anyone. Fireworks as well. Matches, rope, a grappling hook, four life jackets, a lifeboat, firewood, a pocketknife, and… that's it.”

It seemed like an awfully inadequate supply.

“We have surprise on our side, until they notice us,” Strigid remarked. “I just don't know how we'll use that to our advantage; as you see, we have nothing that's relatively useful to disarming terrorists. And how are we supposed to get up?”

Leander considered something. “You have a grappling hook?”

“I've never used it,” Buteo told them. “And Officer Strigid here knows just as much as I do.”

“Typically, a career on the sea often does not require a grappling hook,” Strigid pointed out. “We often don't intercept large vessels like this one.”
Well, well, well. They'd have to think of something to make this work.

Meanwhile, Strigid had navigated the speedboat until it was just under the bow, quite far from the observational deck. Several passengers, drenched with rain, had already noticed the boat and the trio on board.

“Shhh!” Buteo hissed to them, signalling them to be quiet. It worked, for the most part.

Just then, someone tossed a rope overboard. Leander couldn't believe their eyes – it was Muiren! Their sister was gesturing for the three to climb up.
Leander went first, followed by Strigid, who took the pocketknife. Just in case. Buteo, as agreed, would handle the boat and circle around the ship.

-

Leander, Muiren, and Strigid made their way through the thick crowd, stirring up curious yet continuously frightened murmurs as they went.

“Get all the gold that you can find, or we’ll blow this ship up!” the ringleader of the terrorists screamed. Obviously, they were not afraid of death themselves.

The passengers scrambled to obey. Meanwhile, Leander couldn’t shake off the feeling that this had happened before. They were crowded by people, there were rabid threats, the rain was relentless, and the reek of fear shook everyone present to their core – everything was so familiar. Muiren’s eyes were widened, and Leander couldn’t help wondering if she was thinking about the same thing.

They were jerked out of their thoughts when Strigid suddenly rushed towards the ringleader, clutching the pocketknife. This was familiar, too, this display of courage and the raised morale of the crowd, how they surged forward to vanquish those few who held their lives at gunpoint.

Shots were fired. There were cries of pain, splashes, and chaos. Leander remembered this event so vividly, yet so vaguely at the same time.

Regardless of where this strange memory came from, they knew what they had to do. They raced to the observation deck, darted through the wreck of confusion and suffering, and tossed the bomb overboard as far as they could.

-

With the bomb sunk to the bottom of the ocean and the passengers’ strength in numbers, the terrorists were quickly subdued and locked up in an impromptu cell in the hold.

To everyone’s relief, no one was dead. The captain of the ship quickly sent for medics to tend to the wounded – Strigid among them – and expressed the utmost gratitude to the Shore Guard officers.

Buteo, who had swerved away from the bomb and rescued two passengers fallen overboard, nodded in acknowledgement. But he added, “We owe this rescue to this young sailor,” indicating Leander.

For the most part, they were simply glad that their sister and everyone else on deck was alive and well, but they politely accepted the captain’s words of thanks.

Strigid joined Buteo and the Captain on deck. “Well, I suppose we’d be returning to land again,” she said, unperturbed as usual by the events that had just transpired. Then, with slight amusement, she added “I hope your next trip home goes well.”

“Thank you, officer,” Leander replied. Muiren nodded as well. The two siblings couldn’t be more excited to return.

The clouds overhead slowly dispersed as the ship glided back to the shore.

Weekly No. 3 ₪ SRC August '23

Welcome to the second to last weekly of this session! This weekly is a reading crawl inspired by Wonka™ candy. Start off your crawl, complete the candies activities, and finish to earn 1,200 points for your cabin! Get reading ;]

Part 1: Start your crawl

→ “Come with me,” Wonka says. “- explore any rooms you'd like!”

Read 100 pages of any book.
✅ 100 pages The Willpower Instinct

_________

Part 2:

Three-Course Meal Gum:
→ This candy will give you whatever is for appetizers, dinner, and dessert! However, it still has some flaws - so don't crew for too long! Choose only 2 activities from below and complete them.

- Read a fantasy book for 10 minutes.✅ 15 pages Iron Widow
- Read a mystery book for 10 minutes.
- Read a sci-fi book for 10 minutes. ✅ 19 pages Iron Widow



Square Candies:
→ Square candies! Who would have thought? Wait, they don't look square… quickly do 4 activities from below before these mess up your eyesight!
Choose 4 activity from below and complete it.

- Read 30 pages of a realistic fiction.
- Read 20 pages of a non-fiction. ✅ 20 pages The Willpower Instinct
- Read 40 pages of a graphic novel. ✅ 40 pages Major Impossible
- Read 20 pages of the book nearest to you right now. ✅ 20 pages The Willpower Instinct
- Read 20 pages of the book farthest from you right now.
- Read 20 pages of the book in the room you are in right now. If there is none, find a book from an adjacent room. If there isn't one in that, repeat the process. ✅ 20 pages The Willpower Instinct

Everlasting Gobstopper:
→ Just like the three-course meal gum, this is still a faulty gum! Choose 4 activities from below and complete them.

- Look outside. Pick any object, animal, or plant, and take out the first letter of the name of it. Then, read 10 pages a book who's title starts with that letter. ✅ moss - 10 pages Major Impossible
- Pick the first letter of your username. Read 10 pages of a book that starts with that letter! If your username is a symbol, read 15 pages of any book you'd like.
- Pick a book you've been reading but haven't finished, and read it for 20 minutes. ✅ 16 pages Pride and Prejudice
- Look outside. Pick any object, animal, or plant, and take out the first letter of the name of it. Then, read 10 pages a book who's title starts with that letter.(note: this is duplicated purposefully!)
- Open] a book, any book. Close your eyes, flip through some pages, and lay your finger somewhere random on one. Then, write the definition of that words in the Main Cabin! ✅ fact (TWI)
- Find a book with a title that starts with “The”. Create a different title for it, and explain the new title in the Main Cabin! ✅ The Willpower Instinct –> The Willpower Practice

_________

Part 3: Finish your crawl

→ End your journey. Take a few chocolate bars, and off you go!

- Read 20 pages of any book.

✅ 20 pages The Willpower Instinct

11/10 MC Daily

first daily of the session!!!
this is simultaneously super rushed and super time-consuming and i should do a lot of editing and is it even clear that they're a ship?? i hope so :p
alba's flowers post for reference! some flowers mentioned here aren't on there though (lavenders and heathers i just picked because they exist xD)
basically the spiritual successor to the flower daily last session
903 words hehe

Verdun.

Simon Albrecht’s first impression of the place was not the gloomy forts, not the grumbling fellow Germans that he found himself becoming prisoners alongside, not even the mysterious French captain that first gave all of them their orders.

No. It was of the daisy that Max had given him.

He had touched it fondly. The boy – or at least Simon insisted on calling the sixteen-year-old a boy, laughing as he did – had collected many flowers along with Klaus, and the two of them were in the habit of placing them inside books to preserve their essence, for even if the solidness of the flower faded its memory did not.

Simon, unfortunately, did not own books, at least not here out in the trenches. (He marveled at the fact that the two’s books hadn’t been long drenched with rain or ruined by mud or even set aflame by someone’s cigarette.) And the daisy was a tad too cumbersome to put into, say, a stray cigarette case. So there was nothing to do, really, besides watching it die. For whatever reasons, Simon found it just fine.

And so the aforementioned captain besides him listened intently to his story as he told them, asking questions about the various members of the cast that emerged. His gray eyes alternatingly looked into the charred remains of No Man’s Land and the very essence of Simon’s soul.

The captain himself told his own stories – lackluster, he admitted, compared to Simon’s of his friends and their daisies and the heather that bloomed in the fields in his childhood home – but stories nonetheless, of a short but bright general and his own cast of staff members, the comfortable quiet camaraderie they shared. And the lavender fields they sometimes passed. The general, he added softly, had lost someone just like him. Maybe it was his inability to tell the dead and alive apart that sent the captain to this wasteland wrought by millions of shells.

Simon listened with curiosity, something lighter than Germain Moselle’s reserved intensity. He missed his own friends too, back in the German lines, either dead or alive. If he never knew whether they were dead or alive, would they be both? Neither? Would they still have their daisies either way, or would the dried flowers crumble into pieces or blow into the wind?

Further behind lines, there were ferns sometimes peeking out from whatever sparse vegetation remained; Simon would run his hands along them as he passed. He could not believe that there could possibly be beauty in this war, but Germain told him that he was sunlight himself, smiling all the while as he handed him two pristinely preserved honeysuckles. To this day Simon did not know how Germain had got them. (Perhaps a bribe here and there, a clandestine mission to a florist somewhere.)

As the months of the relentless siege moved on, life began to settle with more normalcy. The work was hard, and cruel, and Germain’s eyes would flicker wearily when he approached the laboring prisoners. But something in them would light up again, whenever they met Simon’s.

(His eyes were like storm clouds. Heavy, dark. But they brought promises of rain and petrichor and all that would restore this land.)

“Here you go,” he said one September night as handed Simon a daisy.

Simon only grinned. “Where do you find these?”

He ducked his head. “Somewhere.”

“Well, that’s good enough for me!”

And then Germain pulled out a French book – he told Simon that it had been a bestseller perhaps half a century ago, a tale of a sailor wronged by his acquaintances – and offered it to him, nodding towards the flower. Simon understood.

It would last for quite a while.

The echos of Nivelle’s “on ne passe pas” – “they shall not pass,” as Germain translated for Simon – bounced relentlessly around Souilly. Or at least they did… metaphorically. After all, “they” have alread passed, Germain quipped as he nodded to the prisoners. A rare burst of humor for him, anyhow.

And as the fighting drew to a close, as the German forces’ resistance wore thin and then slipped altogether, the two of them walked down in the tunnels. Their hands were clasped tight, and though they shouldn’t have found it in themselves for smiles (for they knew how they would part ways after the battle ended) they basked in each other’s all the same.

Until December.

“So you’ll have to leave.”

“You’ll be leaving too.” A pause. “Maybe we’ll be leaving together.”

“Simon, do you know what the odds of that are?” Lightning could strike soon. His hands shook.

Simon took them, planted a soft kiss. “No.”

The storm abruptly subsided. A laugh, a beam of sunlight. At least temporarily. The sunlight’ll be there for a while, but of course it wouldn’t last.

(Not that it ever had a hope of lasting, anyway; storm and sun cannot coexist)

But flowers are fed by both, as long as both are in equal quantity, after all.

And in the tunnels under the fields of Verdun, in the war of the poppy fields and memory gardens; a soldier of daisies and sunlight, another of clouds and mysterious ways; that December day where the earth shook with the force of nature and darkness; it was clear that none of them will last, would all fade with the daisies eventually—

But the moment itself was fine enough.