Casper White, although better known by the night as the vigilante Ghost, landed on top of the apartment block that sat on the edge of the city. He pushed himself up from the floor and looked at the skyline. As per usual, there was no sight of Casper’s companion.

The night was cold, the concrete roof was cold, the howling wind was cold, and Ghost would be cold until he could jump into the mouth of the city. When he pulled his mask down, his breath looked like smoke, floating towards the starless sky. Something else landed on the roof, the click of heels giving away their arrival; Ghost pulled up his mask to turn to his partner.

The cold wasn’t a problem for Executor. The smaller boy’s costume covered every inch of him besides his eyes and the fingerless gloves.

“How long have you been waiting?” Executor asked. He wandered over to the edge of the building and stood besides Ghost.

“Not long,” Ghost admitted, “But only because you were on time for this meeting.”

Executor smiled, his eyes crinkling, but offered no explanation as to why he was always late.

Beneath them, they could see the sprawling connections of alleyways and the dots of those who knew to take advantage of the darkness. Ghost had to squint to see exactly what was happening below him. Some of the nearby buildings hadn’t been designed with roof access in mind. Ghost hopped between the apartment balconies until he landed on the ground. Executor slid down the fire ladder. They wandered through the outskirts until they reached the city centre.

Street lamps flickered on for brief seconds; the light casted a soft glow that made the pair look like spirits haunting the streets. Girls started to work corners, and Executor took the time to check they were okay. Executor walked with his head high, as if his presence was more than enough to frighten off the walking nightmares. Ghost, who had seven inches on his partner, peered down each corner trying to spot any possible crime.

“Do you think Sam the hot dog guy would make us pay for the patrol snacks if we staged a crime to save him from?” Executor asked.

Ghost clicked his tongue, “We’re meant to stop…“ he trailed off, staring down a pitch-black alleyway.

Executor stopped and turned to ask Ghost what had caught his tongue but quickly also peered down the alleyway. “What’re you looking at?” Executor asked.

“Looks like a mugging but I can’t be certain.” The assailant’s fist smashed the wall besides the victim. Ghost hissed, “The assailant seems to have a strength power. I don’t see any other weapon on them. That or they weren’t expecting a fight, which is highly improbable.”

Executor nodded. He pulled Ghost’s sleeve up. His fingers hovered above Ghost’s wrist. Ghost nodded, and that was all the consent his partner needed. Executor’s fingers were warm as they brushed over his skin. Ghost wanted to grab Executor’s hand and insist he wasn’t feeling his heart flutter as it began to beat strong and consistently. Once Ghost was taking deep breaths, Executor pulled his sleeve jacket down and vanished into the mist of the night.

Ghost walked into the alleyway. The victim, a woman in her mid-twenties, heard his footsteps, turning around to face him with wide eyes. “Help,” She mouthed with exaggerated mouth movements. Ghost nodded.

The assailant hadn’t noticed him, so Ghost took the chance to live up to his name. He pulled out the pocket knife, large enough to hurt but small enough to do no lasting damage if its target got medical help. He aimed for the assailant’s left shoulder.

The sting caused the assailant to randomly swing. The punch was too high. Ghost ducked under it with ease. He sunk into the shadows and let them consume him as he watched. The assailant stumbled forward before looking around for Ghost.

Ghost grinned under his mask. The assailant’s eyes glazed right over him. He rolled back into the light. He aimed a kick for the man’s legs and missed. The assailant reached out. Ghost stepped out of his arm’s length. He gripped his dagger. The best course of action was to try and get the assailant on the floor. Getting his hands tied up would be marginally easier if he didn’t need to worry about getting hit hard enough to leave his head ringing. He had to keep the fight low.

The assailant stepped forward. His arm was outstretched. They were backing out of the alley. Outside of the alley meant fewer spaces for Ghost to use to hide among. He started to head diagonally, each step moving a little to the left.

Shadows made Ghost one of them, blending him into the darkness. He moved to the assailant’s side and adjusted his dagger accordingly. He dived for the assailant’s thighs. Ghost’s head was caught in a large, heavy hand. The hand threw him to the ground.

Ghost’s back scraped against the concrete. The dagger flew out of his hand and clattered on the floor a metre away.

Executor didn’t wait. Ghost’s partner sprinted forward. The assailant turned to face him, the sound of the heels giving him away. Executor didn’t rely on weapons the same way Ghost did because his body was already one. Every punch the assailant threw his way, Executor dodged. Executor took every missed hit to slip closer to the assailant.

Months, perhaps years, of sparring with Executor made it obvious to Ghost what he was doing. He was dancing but every dance was only as good as its dancers. Executor was a professional and the assailant was too, to an untrained eye. Yet, his feet were too heavy while Executor was light on his heels and quicker.

When Executor could feel the assailant’s breath, he slammed his heel onto the man’s foot. Executor wore stilettos. The assailant took his eyes off his opponent for a second but that was all Executor needed. He pressed his fingers to the man’s neck.

The man fumbled. In his increasingly dazed state, he thrashed. The assailant knocked Executor off him. The unrestrained strength slammed Ghost’s partner into the wall. With a sickening crack, Executor’s head bounced off the wall and his hood fell off.

The assailant blinked. He started to collect himself as his heart started to beat around the expected amount of oxygen to his body. Ghost scrambled to collect his dagger and get up. He raised the knife near the back of the man’s neck and guided him against the wall.

Executor pushed himself up. His hair was curly and sat just below his ears. Casper could probably tie it in a ponytail. Executor pulled off his gloves and circled around to the man’s side. He placed his full palm on the assailant’s cheek. Executor’s hands were scarred. The assailant’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell onto the floor. Neither Ghost nor Executor moved to soften his fall.

Executor kicked the limp body away. He looked up at Ghost with narrowed eyes. Ghost tilted his head towards where the near victim had stayed shock still, pressed against the wall. Executor’s eyes softened. He slipped the gloves back on and approached her with his palms in the air. “Do you need help getting to the main street? It’ll be brighter there.”

The victim stared at Executor’s hands before she shook her head. Awakened from her terror, she ran out of the alleyway.
“That could have gone better,” Ghost said, tucking his weapon away.

Executor laughed, his tongue clicking the top of his mouth as he did so. He flipped around to face Ghost, his hair briefly caught in the breeze; his eyes crinkled in pure joy. “Don’t tell me that one measly hit would have kept you down!”

“It didn’t keep me down for long.” Casper teased, letting himself linger on the sight of his partner. Executor tugged his hood back on; Ghost started to walk to the exit of the alley. They started to repeat the pattern.

Daily 28/03/24 continue a fairytale - 524 words

Cinderella's dress was made from silk. There were women hovering around her, helping her lace every bow and smooth the creases in her skirt.

“Oh isn't this exciting!” One of the maids (Cinderella is still getting used to the fact she has maids and doesn't need to even make her own bed anymore, let alone her fiancés or his father's) cries, “It's been so long since we had a new princess!”

Cinderella nods, “I just hope everyone accepts me.”

“Don't be silly! How can anyone not love you Ella!”

Cinderella's stomach ties itself into knots at her name. She stumbled slightly. A different maid this time grabbed her and patted her hips, “Oh this isn't too tight is it?”

Cinderella shook her heads. Her mice had never asked questions such as this. They'd always known when a dress was too loose or too tight.

The last bow was tied and the maids scurried away. They haphazardly packed their bags. Cinderella reached forward to grab a needle and thread (in case they dress needed last minutes adjustments) but had been swatted away. “You're going to ruin the dress!” They exclaimed. “Princess' don't worry about such inane things!”

Cinderella wasn't due down to the church for another hour. She wandered around her room, tracing the mahogany wood and Marvelling at how her fingers didn't leave soot stains anymore. She caught her reflection in the mirror. Her heart pounded and leapt into her mouth. The mirror was covered by a towel.

Someone knocked on her door. Cinderella stopped still. Her face turned to stare at the door. Her mouth hung open but she couldn't find the words to say. “Can I come in.” The Prince Charming asked.

Cinderella nodded before remembering that her prince couldn't see her from the other room. “Yeah.” She whispered.

The door opened a crack, Prince Charming popped his head through. “You look beautiful Cindy.”

Cinderella was so much stronger than she was in that second. Over the years with her step mother, she hadn't cried in front of prying eyes since Her father had died. She cried then.

Prince Charming barged through the door and peppered kissed across her cheek. He lifted her head up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“You're not meant to see your wife before the ceremony. It's bad luck.” Cinderella said in lieu of an answer.

Prince Charming laughed. “Well I think it's bad luck for the light of my life to be upset on whats meant to be the happiest day of her life. Do you want to tell me what's wrong Cindy?”

Prince Charming was the only person who called her Cindy. Cinderella's chest felt as light as a feather, like a puzzle that had finally been completed, when he called her that. It made her want to scream and cry and push him away that he call her something that had hurt her for so long.

Cinderella's shook her head.

“You don't want to tell me?”
“I don't know.” Cinderella said, “I really just don't know.” She repeated again and again as she began to sob like a broken mantra.

29/03/24 - Write a prologue (374 words)

The eighty ninth prince of hell went by many different names over the years. Satan was common to no one's surprise. The bible made sure to emphasise the main point of hell, the suffering, but forgot the to explain how the whole system actually worked.

The eighty ninth prince of hell chewed on the end of their pencil, which was getting rather blunt from a century or two of use. As they began to write up the deal for their newest victim, they wondered exactly what name they should put on the legal contract. Definitely not Satan they decided, far to likely result in the hard work landing in their fathers palms. The eighty ninth prince also wasn't a guarantee since their siblings were getting more desperate to climb up the ranks. They'd be able to defend themselves but the prince had taken a liking to this soul in his research. They were attached, as far as a demon could be, and would be unwilling to part with such a curious character.

They eventually decided that the soul would belong to the demon whom the contracted made a deal with. A nice and simple way to keep the soul in the eighty ninth princes hands forever.

The deal rolled itself up once the final sentence had been written. Now was the easy part, the prince supposed: getting the soul to agree to a deal that would by most means seem outrageous.

The eighty ninth prince of hell hadn't claimed that title for no reason however. Amongst his two thousand siblings, a few were bound to fall into the same trap of humans such as not reading the terms and conditions or being tricked into thinking a contract served their purpose when it only did so in the short term. He had a silver tongue, quite literally, and knew how to use it.

How hard could it be to get a human to agree to sell their soul? The eighty ninth prince of hell evaporated his form into a cloud of mist. They travelled to the surface world and traced along the path that his future victim was taking to his home.

Soon, the eighty ninth prince of hell thought, they'd have Casper White's soul.

30/03/24 - What's the worst superpower your OC can have? -342 words

Laura's greatest fear, three years after watching her parents die, was silence. She laid on her back in bed and listened to world whirl around her. Her younger siblings, Jodie the room over was dreaming of grand palaces and a glass ballroom. The sleepy peace washed over Laura as it hummed and muttered incoherently. The apartment below was filled with screaming. It didn't get muffled by the floor the same way actual screaming did. Nightmare or living nightmare, Laura wondered for the nth time. She got out of bed and padded towards the door. Through the crack in the door, Laura could see Jodie turn around and bury her head deeper into her pillow. She stretched her hand towards the knob of the door. The cold metal shocking her drowsy system.

Laura's hair was ruffled by sleep. Her phone pinged, Ximena warning her that she better not be thinking of going out online. “We have a maths exam tomorrow. I won't help you if I find out you weren't sleeping. Or at least awake studying.” Her hand ungrasped the door.

Laura shot a text back, “My neighbours are fighting again. I think.”

She knows Ximena's response. It would be something along the lines of how Laura should not act wtihout knowledge. These were the kind of mistakes that got them caught, the kind of mistakes that killed them. If she strained her mind, she would hear Ximena loud and clear, able to differentiate her between the crowds of people in the city.

But Laura is tired. She wants to sleep so she can score well enough to keep her scholarship. The sleeping city makes it harder than the waking city to snooze. Straining herself and giving herself a bad headache isn't going to help.

Meditation, Laura mumbles to herself as she climbs back into her bed, lying on her back. Breathe in the for four, hold for eight, out for six. If she can clear her mind, she can trick herself into believing everyone else has too. The neighbours continue screaming below.

Thank you notes: March 2024 SWC

Alright. These thank you notes hopefully won’t be long but I have a lot of people to thank this session so!
Obligitary thank you hosts, co-hosts, (g)hosts and daily team for putting together this session. This session was fabulous and it was definitely in part of your amazing skills in keeping everything organized, on time, creativity and working as a team. Hosts have fun making the result project!

Thank you Soki, Vi (esp Vi for the profile picture!), Nini and Bookie for being brilliant leaders and co’s, This has been the most excited I’ve been to be in a cabin fpr a while and you absolutely lived up to it! Now we’re at the end of the session can I come out of the closet and say my team? ^^’

And thank you to everyone I’ve interacted with this session, in cabin wars, cheering you on (or being cheered on) in the main cabin, doing critiquaires and more. This session was made up just as much by all the little moments with you guys!
-
To the individual thanks aka people who made this session special for in particular <3
Thank you to Mousey! I know we spoke frequently before this session but getting to know you well this session has been amazing and you can’t escape from me now! We did horrible jobs motivating each other to edit but I believe you’ve been on top of that anyways (live a soldier you are o7 I could not, and didn’t!) and please stay safe under icicles!

To Sandy, who I didn’t speak too much but who critiqued my writing comp entry for a different writing contest! And then jumped in to give me the critique I needed for the final weekly. Your writing is amazing and keep it up!

To Pheonix who I met this session and is honestly just a blast to talk to. Thank you for jumping in for the third part of the third weekly and giving me updates on your Babel read through. We need to swap book reccs and chat more. I don’t even know how I ran across you but boy am I glad I did.

To Zai who critiqued my writing comp entry for SWC. Here’s to both of us not getting disqualified on the bounds of violence again! (Hopefully) (also I am still very happy to read your entry if you got that extension!)

To Alana and Poppy who I kept seeing adding my dailies and weeklys (and every other point adder I just saw these guys a lot in my messages ^^ Thank YOU! I have a parasocial relationship with you both now! I’m going to see you around future SWC’s and be like: OH MY GOD THEY ADDED MY POINTS THAT TIME.

To FI, who even without being in the session, gets a thanks. You were my rock in many dailies where I was tired and didn’t want to do them, letting me use them in that daily about being in an SWCer’s life and a bunch of other stuff that is between me, FI and God. Also Thank you Fi for your code because I used it to upload all my weeklies and dailies so honestly, couldn’t have done this session without you. Have fun being a panellist officially

To the user on another platform of which I can’t name for the Red Hood Tim Drake playlist. I wrote basically everything to that playlist so. Good on you.