It’s time to write a poem,
About looking back to see
Exactly where you came from
And all that you’ve achieved

At eleven, I wrote a book
A story about…
Wait.
What was it about?
You know, it was really unclear but
It was definitely a book
And the main guy was a crook
A very bad thief who sucked at his job
And was so dang annoying that I want to sob
There was this girl too, with a really weird name.
She did not do anything in the book except shift blame
There was another one, too, the only one who did anything
Well
No
She didn’t,
But at least she wasn’t annoying.
She knew what to do and how to pull through
But even she didn't see this coming

Because the story ended on book one of my planned twenty eight,
This girl is still stuck and honestly… at this rate
It's not looking good.

158 words in this very bad poem uwu

Heart of Stone || 1890 words

What does it mean…
I kneel, placing my still-beating heart into iron hands.
…to sell your soul?

It was traditional to offer something to the deities when you came of age, asking for a wish to be granted in return. The greater the sacrifice, the more you received. Many gave a family heirloom they cherished, or long-hoarded savings, or the promise that they would dedicate this or that to their chosen deity. Some would offer the best of their labors: the most perfect apple they’d ever picked, the most beautiful dress they’d ever sewn.
I climbed the stone steps slowly as the priests chanted the words of the ceremony in an ancient language, blessing the youth and, I suspected, praying to the deities that no one would make too foolish of a wish.
I wondered what they would think of mine.


My best friend, Callie, was right behind me, clothed in pure white. All of the coming-of-age were; it was tradition, symbolizing their purity, celebrating their last day of childhood. My collar rubbed against my neck, but I didn’t dare scratch it and ruin the sacred moment. As we passed the candles lining the steps, they flickered, fragrant smoke spiraling away from the billowing skirts and tunics.
There were five of us today, all the children born that moon. I didn’t know the boy who stood to my left after we mounted the final stairs, but Callie was to my right, her hair in a simple black braid hanging down her back. Loose wisps of hair had escaped, framing a face flushed in excitement.
In front of us were seven figures, representing the deities: one stone, one iron, one a shrub, one silver, one gold, one clay, and one glass. Each outstretched cupped hands, ready to receive offerings.
Callie went first, kneeling and placing her sacrifice – the most beautiful rose I’d ever seen – into the hands of the shrub. Like the rest of her family, Callie was a gardener, and her favorite flowers were roses. Still, I couldn’t help but think that surely there was something she valued more highly, something that would gain her more favor with the deities. The rose, though lovely, would fade quickly, becoming nothing more than a heap of crumpled petals.
“I offer the most perfect flower of my labors to the deities, and in return I wish that my beloved may always love me, as long as we both live,” she says, bowing her head.
The priests waited for a moment before signaling that she could stand, and she rejoined the line, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Do you think they’ll like it?” she whispered to me.
I didn’t have time to respond because it was my turn. Swallowing, I knelt in front of iron hands, heart pounding in my throat.
“I offer my heart, my life-blood to the deities…”
Pain shot through my chest, and I gasped, red light coalescing above my palms to form a throbbing mass, which I placed on the figure’s cold hands. Unless the deities accepted my offer and sustained my life, within moments, I would die.
“…in return, I wish-”
I had to stop for a second, wheezing through the agony.
“-to become the greatest artist the world has ever known.”
Silence fell, thicker than honey, dripping down the sides of reality. In that heartbeat, the world had stopped, and turned, and looked, eyes wide with wonder and fear.
I lay panting on the stone, desperate for life, for breath.
The place where my heart had been throbbed, once. And then the pain was gone, and I could stand. A breeze whispered around my feet, and for a moment I thought I heard a voice within.
A daring boy, to be sure…and a foolish one. Laughter.
Then everything exploded back into color and sound and chaos, the crowd shouting and stamping, candles sputtering on the ground as the priests panicked.
They would have a hard time salvaging this ritual, although it wasn’t the first time someone had made a disruptive wish. The coming-of-age who hadn’t gone yet glared at me, knowing their turn would have to wait.
I didn’t care.
My heart now throbbed in iron hands, no longer mine – but that was the cost of greatness, wasn’t it?


Somehow, the ritual pulled itself together and finished, and life went on as it always had. Some wishes had immediate effect. Others hadn’t yet surfaced. Mine was somewhere in between: it had been a year, and I knew I was getting better, but I wasn’t the best. Not yet.
Callie was waiting for me when I stepped outside, as she always was, ready for our usual walk. She had the little crease between her brows that meant she thought I had spent too long in my studio, but I ignored it.
Today she seemed to have something on her mind as we walked. She jittered in a way that was unlike the girl I knew, flushing and paling at irregular intervals. I began to wonder if she was ill.
“Do you love me?” Callie blurted.
I stopped walking and stared at her. A cart rumbled by behind us, and I imagined the driver snickering over what she’d said.
“What?”
She looked down, toying with a strand of hair. “I just…I do, but you never said anything, and you’ve never talked to any of the other girls but I don’t know because you never even looked at me like you…like you might. And I wanted to know."
A year ago, I’d held my own heart in my hands. Now it seemed that I held Callie’s, and a mistake would cost me the companionship of a lifetime.
“Callie…” I hesitated. “Of course you’re important to me, and you always have been-”
I didn’t get a chance to finish, because Callie threw herself at me, squealing. “I knew it! I knew you’d say yes. We can have the wedding in spring…I’ve got to work on a dress if I’m going to get it done on time!”
She continued chattering while I stood in stunned silence. I hadn’t meant for it to go this way. I’d been going to say more. Things had changed; I wasn’t the same. We weren't the same.
But there wasn't a way now to get out of it without breaking her heart. So I smiled, nodded, and let her talk, while an empty place in my chest twinged.
Maybe once I could have given her my heart. But it wasn’t mine to give away anymore.


Somewhere, a forsaken heart throbs painfully, seeking for what has been lost.


We clashed often. Callie wanted me to stop working so much on my art and find another job. No one wanted to buy an amateur's paintings, not here.
She was blind to my progress. I showed her the line of canvases over and over, and all she could see were the hours I spent with them instead of her.
“I’m doing this for both of us. I’ll be able to give you whatever I want once I succeed. Don’t you understand that I’m just trying to fulfill my wish?” I asked her once.
Her eyes flashed. “All I want is a chance to live out mine! You were always…you were always the only thing I wanted.”
Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, and I held her while she cried, wondering what might have happened if either of us had made a different wish, because the ones we’d made didn’t work together. But I didn’t know how to tell her that, how to tell her that we just didn't fit, not with the choices we’d both made. I knew it would only crush her. So I locked my lips instead. I locked the door to my studio. And I locked myself out of our life.


Somewhere, a forgotten heart beats in iron hands, patches of it turning cold and stony.


Eventually, it happened. One year there were hardly any bids for my latest piece; the next the auction was jammed full, crowds outbidding each other every two seconds for a chance to buy one of my works. Callie moped, tending her garden for hours or wandering listlessly around the house, but I was too busy to pay attention. Every moment I could spare was spent dipping my brushes in my paint pots and splashing color across an empty white void.
In the past, I’d had frequent episodes of stabbing pains in my chest, but those hardly ever bothered me now. I didn’t miss my heart. I hardly ever thought about it. And I’d gladly make the same sacrifice again to gain the fame that was starting to trail my works.


With every beat, it grows cooler, more rigid, as the essence that made it a heart escapes.


I was in the middle of a series focused on individual colors when Callie got sick. I didn’t notice until she started coughing so loudly I could hear it all throughout the house, and even then it took time to register it beyond merely an annoying sound.
“I’m not feeling well,” Callie told me, coming into my studio.
I squinted at my paint pots, trying to find the perfect shade of red. I’d just finished a painting done entirely in blue shades, and red was next on the list – but I couldn’t find any inspiration. None of the shades spoke to me like they usually did.
“I’m sorry, dear,” I said absentmindedly, wondering what would happen if I mixed scarlet and vermilion. “You should go get some rest.”
She coughed again and I looked up, realizing for the first time how gaunt her face looked. How tired. When she pulled her hand away from her mouth, I saw blood specks on her palm.


I stood up and dashed to her side just in time to catch her as she fell, coughing and coughing and coughing. Crimson leaked from her mouth. I studied her for the first time in months, maybe years. She looked so fragile, hands calloused from gardening and trembling from her weakness, midnight hair streaked with ash.
“I want to know,” she rasped, weary blue eyes searching for mine. “Did you…ever really…love me? Or were you just…trying to…fulfill my wish?”
I didn’t reply, fascinated by the color painting her lips. It was beautiful, redder than the rose she had sacrificed on that long-ago day, redder than my heart had been. For a moment I wondered if I should feel something – if I would have felt something, had my heart still beat where it belonged – but the empty canvas beckoned behind me, its call louder than anything else.
“Did you…ever…love me?”
“Callie, it’s – it’s all right. You’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure her.
I rubbed sticky scarlet fingers together as I searched for what else to say. It was just a cough, of course, but then, the blood…I stared at my fingers, and, on an impulse, stood and swiped my hand across the canvas. My next painting came together with a click.
I didn’t notice until the dead silence fell that Callie had stopped breathing.

This is what it means to sell your soul:
Somewhere, two hearts have stopped beating.
I am the greatest artist the world has ever known.

tysm to vi, snowy, and zy for critiquing!!
author's note (not included in word count): https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/8469419/

What does it mean…
I kneel, placing my still-beating heart into iron hands.
…to sell your soul?

It was traditional to offer something to the deities when you came of age, asking for a wish granted in return. The greater the sacrifice, the more you received. Many gave a family heirloom they cherished, or long-hoarded savings, or the promise that they would dedicate this or that to their chosen deity. Some would offer the best of their labors: the most perfect apple they’d ever picked, the most beautiful dress they’d ever sewn.
I climbed the stone steps slowly as the priests chanted the words of the ceremony in an ancient language, blessing the youth and, I suspected, praying to the deities that no one would make too foolish of a wish.
I wondered what they would think of mine.

My best friend since forever, Callie, was right behind me, clothed in pure white. All of the coming-of-age were; it was tradition, symbolizing their purity, celebrating their last day of childhood. My collar itched on my neck, but I didn’t dare scratch it and ruin the sacred moment. As we passed the candles lining the steps, they flickered, fragrant smoke spiraling away from the billowing skirts and tunics.

There were five of us today, five of the village’s young who would advance beyond our first eighteen years and take our place as adults. I didn’t know the boy who stood to my left after we mounted the final stairs, but Callie was to my right, her hair in a simple braid hanging down her back. Loose wisps of hair had escaped, framing her face, which was flushed with excitement. In front of us were seven figures, representing the deities: one made of stone, one of iron, one of a shrub that had been carefully clipped into shape, one of silver, one of gold, one of clay, and one of glass. No two were the same, but each of them had outstretched hands, cupped to receive offerings.

Hi chuey!!! This piece is so good screaming like literally teach me. I am trying to find things to critique as I'm reading it and I like… can't. This entire part is like perfect. I guess the only change I would make is to add a hair color for Callie just to make it easier to visualize in the sentence about her hair. Something like “in a simple black braid hanging” but obviously change the color to her hair color. I also might reword the next sentence to make it a bit easier to read, like “had escaped, framing her face flushed in excitement.” but honestly i think it's just a style choice so 100% up to you!!

Callie went first, kneeling and placing her sacrifice - the most beautiful rose I’d ever seen - into the hands of the shrub. Like the rest of her family, Callie was a gardener, and her favorite flowers were roses. Still, I couldn’t help but think that surely there was something she valued more highly, something that would gain her more favor with the deities. The rose, though lovely, would fade quickly, becoming nothing more than scarlet dust.
“I offer the most perfect flower of my labors to the deities, and in return I wish that my beloved may always love me, as long as we both live,” she says, bowing her head.

The priests waited for a moment before signaling that she could stand, and she rejoined the line, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Do you think they’ll like it?” she whispered to me.
I didn’t have time to respond, because it was my turn. Swallowing, I knelt in front of iron hands, heart pounding in my throat.
“I offer my heart, my life-blood to the deities…”
Pain shot through my chest, and I gasped, red light coalescing above my palms to form a throbbing mass, which I placed on the figure’s cold hands. If the deities didn’t accept my offering and sustain me with their blessing, I would die in moments.
“…in return, I wish-”
I had to stop for a second, wheezing through the agony.
“-to become the greatest artist the world has ever known.”
Silence fell, thicker than honey, dripping down the sides of reality. In that heartbeat, it felt as though the world had stopped, and turned, and looked, eyes wide with wonder and fear.
I lay panting on the stone, struggling for life, for breath.
The place where my heart had been throbbed once. And then the pain was gone, and I could stand.
A breeze whispered around my feet, and for a moment I thought I heard a voice within.
A daring boy, to be sure…and a foolish one. Laughter.

Screaming literally how do you do this. Honestly my only critique is probably going to be rewording things to give them more of a punch? Like replace “I would die in moments” with “within moments, I would die.” because putting “i would die” at the end makes it like…. I don't know the term sob but like more powerful if that makes sense? Also i think the en dashes should be em dashes but that's not super important <3

Hmm honestly this is super impressive. I had such a hard time finding things to critique ahjaksjahdakdgaha i guess my last note would be to change up the end a little bit? I love all the emotion of the piece but i feel like it would maybe hit harder if the last bit was spread across more lines? I honestly do this too much so ignore me if you dont like it but here’s what i would do:
I lay there panting on the stone, desperate for life, for breath.
The place where my heart had been throbbed.
Once.
And then the pain was gone.
A breeze whispered around my feet, cold. For a moment, I thought I heard a voice within.
Laughter.
(insert character line).

Obvs this is just a little rough draft sort of thing but I feel like this would draw more attention to this part (if that's what you’re going for ofc)! All in all this piece was SO much fun to read and honestly i doubt this was very helpful because finding things to critique was a struggle you're literally so good–

TRIGGER WARNING! EXPLICIT MENTIONS OF ALCOHOLISM, ABUSE, AND DEATH! DO NOT READ IF SENSITIVE TO THAT!















Context:
In Wait for me Yesterday in Sping, Kanae is thrust 5 days into the future, which is when he finds out Akito is dead. When it’s 6am, he gets sent two days into the past at 6pm, until he goes to April 1st 6pm. He calls this ability ‘Rollback’. Akito died on April 2nd, at around 1:30am. Akito’s sister, Akari asked Kanae to let Akito die but later feels guilt for it. This fic is what might’ve happened if Kanae listened to Akari and let Akito die.

‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭୨ Wait for me Tomorrow ୧ ⊹ ˚₊‧

Kanae still has nightmares of that day, he still has memories, cruel reminders of what he did wrong. Today was the second (technically sixth) day that Akito was dead, and his wake was still on April 5th.

I could’ve stopped this.

Kanae could’ve stopped Akito’s death, he had full ability to, Rollback practically served him the ability to prevent Akito from dying on a silver platter. Despite that, he didn’t. He deliberately chose to make Akito die. Akito died from alcohol poisoning like he had before, but Kanae might as well have been the one to kill him.


It was late at night, Akari was snoring peacefully. Kanae wanted to go to sleep as well, but he couldn’t go to sleep. He couldn’t fall asleep knowing that Akito was about to die. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined seeing Akito’s corpse, laid face down outside the bar. It made bile rise in his throat, the thought that he was about to leave Akito to die.

Akari had specifically asked him to not save Akito, and Kanae knew she was right to think so. Akito was abusive, he hurt her. She had every right to be mad at him. Kanae didn’t want to go against Akari’s wishes, but Kanae knew that it’d be wrong to let Akito die.

Kanae took out his phone, checking what time it was, checking if Akito was dead yet.

It was 1:25 am, 5 minutes before Akito would die. The bar would take about 8 minutes to go to, but if he ran then maybe…

Kanae took a glance back to Akari, giving her a silent apology, before he ran to the doorway and put on his shoes. He opened the door, listening to the loud creaking noise it made, before he began to sprint towards the bar. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, his fear exponentially growing with every step. The soft breeze of Sodeshima felt like a hurricane’s wind, accompanied by Kanae’s heart beating out of his chest. He turned his phone on again, checking how much time he had left.

1:27 am

He had 3 minutes left. Kanae rushed to Akito, running like his life depended on it. Though, it wasn’t Kanae’s life that depended on it, it was Akito’s. Kanae kept on running, panting and gasping for air. He couldn’t afford to stop now, he had to make it to Akito, no matter what. The cherry blossoms softly flew around him, a stark contrast to the panic he was feeling. Kanae wished he was more athletic, his legs felt like they were burning up, his throat was completely dry. He ran and ran, praying for a miracle to happen, praying that everything would fix itself.

“Akito…Akito!” Kanae whisper-shouted under his breath, as if saying Akito’s name would make him live longer. Kanae turned his phone on, checking how much time he had left. It was 1:28. He only had 2 minutes left. “Shoot! Akito…Hang in there…!”

Kanae’s pace only quickened, desperation coursing throughout his whole body, what was he thinking!? Why would he stand by and let someone die? He was a terrible person, there was something wrong with him. He had a sleepover with the girl he liked instead of saving her brother’s life, why did he do that!?

Kanae finally made it to the bar, he ran to where Akito’s body would be, praying it wasn’t too late. It was there he saw Akito, face down on the ground.

“Shoot! Akito! Akito!” Kanae shouted out, running to Akito and turning him around. Akito’s cheeks were flushed rosy pink. Kanae put his hands on Akito’s neck to check for a pulse, nothing. What time was it? Kanae rushed to pull out his phone, scared of the answer.

1:31 am
He was one minute late.

“God-! NO! Akito!” Kanae screamed, rushing to call 112 on his phone. His fingers slipped on the screen, the sweat on his fingertips making it hard to click the numbers. He eventually pressed the call button, the first thing the operator heard was his panicked breathing.

“1-1-2 what is your-”
“M-My friend, his name is Akito Hoshino. He- he, he’s collapsed outside a bar right now- and- he- he isn’t breathing!”

Kanae drowned out the rest of the conversation, he looked down at his hands, he only saw scarlet red smudged all over his fingers. It was then that he realized that he was screaming, loud.

Kanae doesn’t remember what happened after that, he wanted to forget about it.

—

It was April 3rd, 6am. Ironic, considering how Rollback works. Foolishly, Kanae almost thought that Rollback would happen, that it would be April 1st, 6pm again. But it wasn’t, Rollback wasn’t going to come back again, he messed up the once chance he had to save Akito.

Kanae hasn’t been able to face Akari, not after last night. He returned to the Hoshino’s house to inform Akari of what happened. When he walked into the room, Akari was already awake. She seemed to already know what happened. Kanae saw that haunted look in her eyes, and he realized how badly he messed up. He didn’t realize it, but he became terrified at what he did. He ran out of that house without saying a word to Akari. He failed her.

Reminiscing on that memory, he mustered up enough courage to call Akari. It was a jerk move to not tell her in person, but he had to apologize to Akari, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to if he saw her in person. He called Akari’s number, it rang 3 times. Kanae was about to cancel the call before Akari answered.

“Kanae…? Is rollback happening?”

The voice sounded so weak, so small, nothing like the energetic girl Akari was.

“A-Akari…N-No…No rollback…” Kanae whispered, tears pricking the side of his eyes. “A-Akari…I- I-….”

Say it.

“I’m so-…so sorry Akari.”

There was silence that felt like it stretched into eternity, Kanae thought Akari didn’t forgive him, he thought that Akari was mad at him.

“Why are you sorry…?”

The question caught Kanae off guard, before he swallowed and found his voice again. “What do you mean…? I- I could’ve saved your brother, but…I-I didn’t.”

He heard Akari take a breath over the line, before she spoke again.

“I’m the one who asked you to! I’m the one that killed Akito, not you!” Akari yelled, causing Kanae to jerk the phone back from his ear, he didn’t expect to hear the girl yell.

“But- I’m the one who- who knew he was going to die! And- and yet- I…I didn’t do anything! Akari, I’m the reason your brother is dead right now! I- I It’s on me, not you!” I couldn’t help but sob for a quick moment, an ugly sound ripping from my throat. “Akari, you can be mad at me. I- I can take it.”

I deserve it.

“Kanae…” Akari whispered, “God-…Come to my house Kanae, I-…” Akari took a quick moment to sniffle, “I need to give you a hug.”

I laughed, something I didn’t think I’d be able to do at this point. I smiled, even though I knew Akari wouldn’t see it since we were talking over the phone. “Alright Akari.”

I hung up the phone, though I knew Akari wouldn’t mind. I slipped my phone into my pocket, and made my way to Akari’s house, and oddly enough, I found myself smiling.

I knocked on the door, and Akari answered it, she immediately wrapped me in a hug. I froze at the gesture, before hugging her back. I then spent the next minutes realizing I was crying.

“I- I’m sorry-! I’m sorry Akari!”

Akari cried in my arms, we both cried for a long time, before Akari decided to speak.

“You can’t blame yourself Kanae, it- it’s too late now. We can’t change yesterday, not anymore.” Akari seemed to hug me tighter, “But…”

Akari pulled back from my hug, smiling at me despite the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself…But, we still have tomorrow waiting for us.”

| ♞ | ୨ 1360 words

THIS IS SO GOOD- i started getting emotional istg

Weekly 3

Part 1
(These are all very stereotypical examples/explanations of them btw - don’t judge haha)

The Damsel in Distress
Positives:
The Damsel in Distress is probably one of the most well-known tropes, used worldwide, a lot in acting more than literature. Famous examples of this could be Rapunzel (rescued by a prince from her tower, Snow White (left to die, but saved by her true love’s kiss) and Sleeping Beauty (again, saved by the prince’s kiss).
Some positives to this are that it shows clearly who the hero is - the one who saves the damsel. This means it is clear to the reader, who has probably read/watched stuff like Rapunzel and Snow White, which can be pretty useful!! It can also appeal to younger readers with its simple, well-known sort of plot, most of them usually around the same-ish storyline, with a lot of common traits with each other e.g they’re all saved by a handsome prince, two of them are saved by a kiss, they all fall in love with the hero who rescues them.
Negatives:
This is an extremely widely used trope! When writing, you probably want to use something a bit different! There won’t be much new stuff to come up with for this trope as most of it has probably been written - unless the damsel is a zombie and the hero is a slug or something wild like that
Also, it won’t let you create unique characters as much as when you are writing freely or with a different trope. The damsels are helpless and pretty usually, hence the name ‘damsel’ and the hero needs to be strong and heroic, the ‘hero.’
Another negative is that this is quite a sexist trope. It indicates that women are helpless and that men are stronger and more powerful. Who says it can’t be the other way round?
So, in general, I wouldn’t use this trope at all by choice!! <3

The Chosen One

I know that probably a lot of people will do this one, and I wanted to do some different ones, but I have some very strong feelings on this one!
Positives:
Some positives are that this trope can lead to lots of outcomes. Unlike the damsel in distress, which has only a few, or even one, clear ending - the damsel being saved, falling in love with hero etc - this one has endless outcomes. Usually there is some sort of prophecy, so you could make that go any way you want. Some good examples of uses of this are Percy Jackson and Harry Potter.
Negatives:
It’s very generic. Usually the protagonist in these sorts of books when they’re girls have long dark tangled hair, are seen as an ‘outcast’ specifically at school and usually one or both of the parents have died and they’re an only child. It’s similar for male characters. They always have some sort of prophecy saying that they’ve been chosen to defeat so and so and it just makes me so annoyed, because nearly every fantasy book has this sort of plot (not all of them though <3). They could just write something where the protagonist is a normal person with a few friends at school, siblings and both parents who something bad or strange happens to!

The Forbidden/Secret Love

This one probably isn’t as common as the others, but I still think it is quite widely used. It’s generally about two characters who have families that don’t want them to marry that gender, religion, race or just a rivalry with the family (like Romeo and Juliet) but end up falling in love and running away together into the sunset or something else.
Positives
It provides a lot of exciting opportunities. If two characters are in love, making it forbidden makes the plot a lot more twisted, interesting and thrilling. This makes the reader more absorbed.
Negatives
It doesn’t have loads of outcomes. If you’re creative, then there are quite a few, but it’s not the most free trope. It usually ends with the two characters running away with each other, dy1ng or being forced apart but they still yearn for each other. It can be quite hard to come up with another with another strong ending (but I’m sure most people in SWC could <3)

The Sidekick

The sidekick is another very famous, well-used trope. They’re generally made to seem dumber than the hero (but might not be), overlooked but quite cunning and have great ideas at times. They can also be seen as less powerful than the hero/master and overall lesser, although they might not be. They will most of the time have a bigger heart than the hero and sometimes outwit the hero. We see sidekicks in characters like Robin (with Batman) and my all-time favourite, Piglet to Winnie. Piglet may be dumb and looked down on by some other characters, especially Owl, but is extremely sweet, as is Winnie <3
Positives:
The sidekick is great if you want a likeable character. They’re easy to empathise with and understand and a good character for connecting with the readers. As well as this, if you’re looking for a character to write a story from the perspective of, a sidekick is great as they are easy to understand from most reader’s point of view.
Negatives
Yet again, they’re very generic, hero and sidekick, the ultimate duo etc And similar to basically all of the other ones I’ve done, they don’t leave loads of room for unique character building. Unless you have an evil sidekick who then abandons the hero and goes on a villain arc MWAHAHA

The Wise Old Mentor/Wizard

The wise old mentor/wizard is another common trope!! In their demeanour, they are usually kindly, wise (woah, I’d never have guessed) and a generally lovely person to be around. These sorts of characters are usually visualised with a long silvery beard and some sort of cloak. Famous examples of this are Dumbledore (obviously) and the one, the only *drumroll* GANDALF!!
Positives
This character, again, will connect with your readers. They will, in some cases, become favourite characters due to their overall awesomeness and smartness (well, Gandalf’s definitely one of mine!!) and a nice character to write as. They will also be great companions on journeys and great givers of advice, and I use this one a lot to help with foreshadowing and stuff.
Negatives
Generic, widely-used blah blah blah I won’t repeat myself for the fiftieth time.

Part 2

Trope: Sidekick

(Harry Potter Fanfic!!)

Ron stumbled through the dark forest, tripping over roots, his breaths fast and shallow. His hair clung to his forehead in a cold sweat and his face was deathly pale.
“Harry!” He yelled desperately, “Harry!”
“Ron!”
He could have collapsed with relief (but he decided in the circumstances it wasn’t the best idea). He glanced over his shoulder to see their pursuers still, well, pursuing, their shadowed figures growing closer by the minutes, guns cocked and waving around wildly.
“Harry, could you come a bit quicker, please?” He wailed, his voice taught with fear. As much as he wanted that lovely gem that was kept in Gringotts, and as much as he loved every heist they did, and as much as he wanted to save his family of living in the Burrow for the rest of their lives, he did not want to end up in Azkaban.

A boy scrambled towards him, with sparkling green eyes and jet black hair.
“Come on, Ron, let’s go!” He hissed.
Ron nodded slowly. “Go… where exactly?” He asked, his voice inquisitive.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Somewhere they can’t see us, duh!”
He gave Harry a thumbs up. “Got it.”
Harry sighed, caught his breath and leapt into the trees. Ron watched in awe as he leapt underneath branches and over logs and through thorny undergrowth with such agile ease, his limbs so fast you could see just a blur.

A noise from behind startled him. The guards. He had to start moving. He tumbled down the slope and scaled the gnarled roots of a tree hauling himself further and further up .He saw Harry, a speck in the distance, turning around to wait for him, beckoning for him to come quicker. He staggered towards him, bl00d blossoming on his skin where thorns had ripped and torn at his clothes, a burning stitch growing in his chest.
“Harry!” He exclaimed in joy.
Harry put his head in his hands.
“Can you say a word that isn’t my name?”
Ron scratched his chin. “Hmmmm, that’s a tough one. Let me just stand here and ponder that thought while these guards catch us and take us to Azkaban…”
“Seriously, Ron?”
He grinned. “Come on, let’s go rob Gringotts. The question is though how do we get there? We’re miles away!”
Harry gazed at him skeptically. “We were both on the Quidditch team at Hogwarts, I was literally the best, don’t argue with me, you can’t deny it, what do you think we’re going to do?”
Ron scratched his chin again. “Walk?”
“Fly!”

Part 3

Percy blinked his eyes open, sunlight streaming in through the skylight above him. For a moment, he just lay there, thinking he was still in bed at home. His mum would call him to have breakfast. Serve him waffles drizzled with maple syrup. Everything would be OK. Then the memories came flooding back.

The beast.

It had taken his mum.

He would never see her again.

Ever.


“Percy!”
A tanned, grinning face appeared above his.
“I hear you’re new here! Welcome to Camp Half-Blood!” They boy exclaimed. “I’m Luke! Obviously, I don’t need to ask who you are!”
Percy hauled himself out of bed. “Hey, Luke. Nice to meet you.”
A girl with shiny bronze hair beckoned to Luke. “Come on!”
Luke smiled apologetically. “I’d better go. Bye!”
“Bye…”

Percy watched as Luke swaggered off, his steps confident and almost… condescending? He couldn’t sit around all day though. He leapt towards the showers, relishing in the thought of the steamy hot water.
“Join the queue!”
About 30 kids stood in front of him in a frantic line.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” He muttered.

A few hours later, he stepped out of the shower after having found that the ‘hot’ water was… not so hot.
The whole day, to him, seemed like a blur. Breakfast went so quickly he didn’t even know what he had eaten, he scaled the lava climbing wall without looking where he was going, or looking at anything for that matter and dinner came in what seemed to be about five minutes from his shower.

He loaded his plate with a juicy brisket, lumps of cheese and a strange looking ‘cheeseburger.’ It was made up of two pieces of sourdough with some hummus, cheese and some more brisket in the middle. He slid off pretty much the whole contents of his plate into the fire, without realising that he had just burned all of his food and his plate was completely deserted and collapsed onto a bench at the Hermes table opposite Luke.
He didn’t talk to anyone, just stared at his plate, thoughts whirling in his mind, stirring a hurricane of grief, pain and fury. His fists clenched. His body shook. A tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek.
“Mate, uh, you’ve got something above your head.”
Percy glanced up to see literally everybody staring at him. He frowned.
“Why are you all looking at me?” He asked cluelessly.
The campers exchanged worried glances. He suddenly became aware of a pulsating emerald glow around him.
“The Son of Poseidon.” Chiron murmured nearby.
Whispers rippled through them.
“He’s a son of the Big Three!”
“They’re illegal!”
“Do you think it’s part of the prophecy?”

Chiron rose from his chair suddenly.
“Percy, I need you to come with me, please. Now.” He ordered
Percy walked tentatively towards Chiron and followed him up the rickety stairs of Big House and outside a door in the attic.
“Chiron, why are we here?”
His voice cracked a little as he said it, still mourning his mother inwardly.
“In this room is someone called the Oracle. Hopefully she’s going to give you a prophecy and send you on a quest.”
Percy nodded. “Yup, OK. I’ll just go in, then?”
Chiron gestured forwards. “Go ahead.”


He crept into the room, a cold feeling of dread washing over him as a musty smell filled his nostrils. As his eyes travelled around the room, they fell on something… very interesting. With a creaking sign above it reading ‘The Oracle’, a dusty wooden rocking chair lay still in the corner. And sat upon it was a mummy. All wrapped up in fraying cloth.


Great. Just great.

“You won’t go on a quest.
Kronos will reign supreme.
You’re gonna fail.
Suck it up.”



Percy tumbled backwards as a rasping voice came out of the mummy’s mouth, green smoke wreathing around his body. Really? Was that it?
“Anything else?” He called to the mummy expectantly.
It shook its head and settled back down.
“Useless,” he muttered.
He bounded towards the door, very eager to leave and burst it open.
Chiron listened as Percy told him the extremely insightful prophecy.
“Wow.” He uttered once Percy had finished. “Are you sure there wasn’t anything else?”
“Definitely not.”
“Oh, that’s annoying. I wanted a bit of excitement.”
Percy shook his head. “Sorry, you probably shouldn’t come to me if you’re looking for that.”
“OK, I’ll go see if Annabeth has any better results.

2 weeks later


Percy gazed at the monstrous beast ploughing through the strawberry fields towards him. He stood, glued to the ground, frozen in shock as it neared closer and closer, venom dripping from its beastly fangs. It prepared to strike.
A searing pain shot through his chest. Everything went black.


Part 4

Tropes: Sidekick, Wise Mentor/wizard, Damsel In Distress
(Rapunzel fanfic with a twist!! Credit to tangled and rapunzel for inspo)

Rapunzel sighed, stroking her lustrous golden hair, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I just want to be free of this stupid tower.” She murmured, sorrow lacing her voice. “I want to see the world.”


The door flung open. A tall, gangly woman strutted through the door, her crimson cloak flowing out behind her, raven black curls cascading down her back. Mother.
“Excuse, Rapunzel, what was that I just heard? You want to be free! Now, let me tell you, young lady, the world is full of dangers! You would hate it there. Remember, Mother. Knows. Best.”
Rapunzel frowned.
“But I want to see the world, Mother! I don’t care if it’s dangerous! I want to live!” She exclaimed longingly.
After hearing this and looking pretty angry, her Mother burst into song. Something about how her one true love wasn’t worthy for her and she was naive and her mother knew better than her. All absolute rubbish, of course.
“Mother, stop!” She interrupted loudly, “This is all stupid! Some song is not going to change my mind! I will run away with Flynn at all costs and I don’t care what you say!”
Mother put a hand to her heart. “Really, Rapunzel, dear, surely you see that…”
“Ugh, just shut up!” She wailed. She stormed into her bedroom, hair trailing behind her.
She felt a tugging on her scalp. She glanced behind to see her hair trapped underneath Mother’s foot.
“Mother. Knows. Best.”
She freed her hair and Rapunzel trudged into her room and slammed the door with a bang.

Scarlett tapped her accomplice, Darcy on the shoulder. She was snoring, drool dribbling down her chin.
“Wake up!” Scarlett hissed. “Wake up! We have to go!”
Darcy’s eyes snapped open and she leapt up, her movements sudden and startled.
“Wait - What?” She exclaimed, her eyes still glazed from sleep. “Mummy?” She asked, gazing at Scarlett.
She rolled her eyes. “No, silly, Scarlett. And now we need to go and save Rapunzel or what’s her name from the tower, before anyone else does and steals our fame. OK?”
Darcy bit her lip. “Five more minutes?” She begged.
Scarlett shook her head firmly. “Let’s go.”

They wandered through the trees, birds chirping in the tangled canopy of branches. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, creating a dappled haze amongst the gnarled trunks.
“Now, Darcy, I need you to understand that there might be people following us. They might have guns. Don’t walk over to them and try to start a conversation and don’t get in their range. They will shoot.”
Darcy nodded shakily. “You should have told me that they had guns. Then I could be all cosy in bed and relaxing, not terrified for my life!”
“Shut up. Get used to it.”

They carried on, Darcy a little wiser from her pep talk, Scarlett huffing about her friend’s stupidity. Darcy was supposed to be smart! She got the best grades in last year - year 10 - by far.
“We’re here.” Darcy announced.
Scarlett looked up, surprised they had reached it so quickly.
“Wow. That is one heck of a tower.” She stated solemnly.
“It sure is!” Darcy replied.
“How are we going to get up there? There are no trees, no handholds… how?” Scarlett asked in frustration.
“Ask Rapunzel to let down her hair. Obviously. It will be catchy for the readers in the future and useful because Rapunzel has super long hair! Perfect!” Darcy yelled, elated.
“Keep it down! But, good idea.”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Scarlett told the brick wall in front of her.
“Smooth.” Darcy muttered.
Sure enough, a wad of hair came flying down. It looked as though it had been woven with starlight, glimmering in silky waves.

1 hour later

“We’re halfway there!” Darcy screamed. “Can I get down now?”
“No!”

Back inside the tower.

Sat on her bed, her head buried in her hands, Rapunzel wept. Big ugly tears that soaked her lilac dress and her velvety duvet. Until her throat was sandpapery and dry and her cheeks were blotchy and red.
A pop startled her. In front of her appeared an old man.
“Who are you, old man?” She queried in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
The man stared at her indignantly, his long silvery beard knotting with Rapunzel’s hair. He swished his rich teal cloak.
“I am not old! I am the wizard Gandalf, all the way from Middle-Earth! Woah, your hair is longer than my beard!”
Rapunzel smiled politely. “Yeah, could you leave me to cry in peace?
Gandalf nodded. “Can’t wait to leave. But anyways, some people wanted me to come here so I could bring fame to this place or something and give you some life-saving advice. Here it is, don’t listen to your mother; you have to escape. Also, lock her up and give her this potion before you leave.”
He handed her a small crystal bottle with a fizzing amber liquid in.
“And finally, make sure a film gets made out of your tragic tale! Bye!”
Gandalf disappeared with another pop just as two bedraggled girls heaved themselves through her window.
“Hi, I’m Scarlett and this is Darcy. We’re here to rescue you.”

daily for myth!! 312 words, +300 points
this wasn’t supposed to be so long but i kept yapping anyway sobb
IT STILL FEELS I INCOMPLETE BUT I WAS RUNNING OUT OF IDEAS

i was born
on may 19
and my parents named me natalie
but why, i can't say
'cause it means born in december
and sometimes it makes me wonder
if the name was meant to be
'cause i don't really like it,
i might change it if i could
to something that fits me better
maybe alex or name that
doesn't really have a gender
'cause i think i do but sometimes
i wish i could be in between
not female, not male,
just something in between the two
'cause i think that might be me
but i don't really know,
so i guess i'll wait and see

but anyways, that's besides the point
i went to school, i made some friends,
i lost some along the way
two times i know
it hit me hard
but it was for the better
'cause if we were still together
then i'd still be in that place
that i don't want to be in,
the one where i surrounded by my thoughts,
the one where i can't escape,
so honestly? i'm happy
'cause i got some better friends now
who actually really care
i hope they know i care about them,
'cause i know it doesn't always show
as much as i wish it could

and anyway, here i am now
waiting on an application
i hope i make it, but we'll see
and though life isn't easy,
i hope i can learn
how to show people me,
how to not be afraid
to let them know that i am bi
i hope they'll still accept me,
but i hope that i'm not wrong

anyway, i'm running out of time now,
so i should probably wrap this up,
it doesn't matter who you are,
'cause you're valid no matter what
and whatever life's got in store for you,
i hope it makes it good

critique for zy 511 words

I touched the necklace around my neck instinctively. It was cold. But it was solid.

Ooh, I love how this opens! The only suggestion I would make here is to change the position of “instinctively” - I'd put it before “touched” instead of at the end to help the sentence flow better.

More solid than anything else.
My mother’s fake smile.
The cheers.
The laughing.
Our group.
Everything was falling apart so, so fast.
First, Mak had dumped me.
Left me with nothing but the hollow heart of what we used to have.

I'd combine “First, Mak had dumped me” and “Left me with nothing but the hollow heart of what we used to have,” since otherwise the final sentence is a run-on. I won't say to never use run-ons, since they can be used for dramatic and stylistic effect, but using too many can overwhelm your reader. I like to think of “breaking the rules” for effect as something like using salt - too little, and the food is bland, too much, and it's inedible. But strike the right balance, and your words will be perfectly seasoned.

Left me alone.
I sat still, staring at my own reflection like it could somehow keep me from falling apart. My hair
was down, the dark pinkish purple falling in waves around my shoulders. I looked hollow.
Dead.
A corpse.
I think that's when it hit me.
Seris wasn’t our curse.
I was.
I was never enough.
Not like them.
They were brave.
They weren't afraid of retaliation. Not like me.
I sat in the dark, blankets wrapped around my body, unable to get warm. It was cold. We had heat. It was on.

While I can tell what you're trying to portray here with your protagonist feeling cold even though the heat is on, putting the two cases together in the same section with no divider is a bit confusing. Perhaps try putting “We had heat. It was on” in parentheses, or something similar. I'd also cut out “It was cold” entirely because it's not needed to explain what's going on, and it feels a bit overstated.
Love the emotions you invoke here! They really bring the piece to life.

This was an overwhelming sense of nothingness.
Like there was just an empty hole inside me, consuming me despite its lack of anything.

Again, I'd combine “This was just an overwhelming…(etc)” with “Like there was just an empty…(etc),” especially since you can get even more contrast that way - a longer sentence followed by several short ones. Varying your sentence length like that can give your writing even more impact, especially in emotional or tense scenes like this one. Also, I'd cut “despite its lack of anything” since it doesn't add anything (it's already been established that the hole is empty).

I was alone.
Now.
Forever.
Because I had left.

Lovely chunk here! You're very good at utilizing your style to really hit the readers with the emotions your character is feeling in these moments.
(Sobbing, on rereading this commentary it sounds so flat. Unlike you, I am, uh, not always the best at portraying emotions in my writing.)
(WAIT it's because I used a period at the end. Periods are so passive aggressive oh my goodness. Anyways.)

Normally, I had Mak to comfort me. She kept me warm, wrapped her arms around my body as I freezed in my palace. She was… everything to me. And now she was somewhere else, sitting in the same cold darkness but without anyone.

I believe it's froze instead of freezed in that tense? I might be wrong though lol.

I missed her.
I missed the way she looked at me.
Even in anger, she was so much more.
That’s what they had taken from me. And they would take much more, everything I had, anything I had left. That’s why I was so… afraid.
They didn’t understand. Nobody understood why I felt this fear that they did not.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said, facing the people in front of me.
My mother smiled. “Hmm?”
I looked into her eyes, my heart accelerating. “I’ll stay. I’m sure I can… I can find another group.”
“This is why you’re so well liked, Kai’isha. You know what’s important. That’s so valuable these days,” she purred. “If you stay this way, you’ll be so much better off.”
Tears welled up behind my eyes. I wanted to leave. I wanted it more than anything. But I knew what it would cost me.
Everything.
I already lost Mak.
I couldn’t lose this too.
It would be too much.
But what was I getting out of this?
No.
I had to stay.
No matter what the others thought of me.
“You know, your little blue haired friend was the one who turned them against you. Can’t you get revenge against her? Be better.”
My father spoke up. “Yes… I agree. You can just be better than her.”
No.
I couldn’t.
Seris was twice the person I would ever be.
But I nodded anyway. “I’ll have to find a new group.”
They nodded. My mother’s fingertips lingered on her teacup, her eyes laced with venom. She won.

I would changed “laced” to “bright,” since you're referencing eyes instead of voice/tone, but that's just a personal preference!

She always did.
Whatever. It was fine.
I could move past this.
I could be better than Seris and all her psycho friends.
It would just take a bit of elbow grease.
A bit of effort.
Yes.
That was it.
Just some careful corpse charisma.
I could do it.
I did it once, didn’t I?
I would leave them to fend for themselves. They were nothing without me, anyway.

My mother arranged a small hangout for me and a similarly aged girl from another family. They were just like us. She, like me.
Militia.
She was Amirrora’s cousin. She was so much better than Amirrora, though.
And we got along so, so well.
“Hello, Kai,” Militia said, her voice laced with careful excitement.
We were so similar. “Hey!”

Since you already used the word similar above, perhaps consider using “alike” here instead?

“Come on up,” she said, beckoning me towards the stairs from her spot on the second story balcony. “I have a really amazing surprise for you.”
She was perfect.
She was everything I needed right now.
I was stupid to have even considered following my group. Maybe me and Militia could even form our own group, just me and her.
She was so much better than Mak.
But she was different, too.
She didn’t love me.
At least, not the way Mak did.
And as I followed Militia to her room, running through the motions, the lack of trust was apparent.
I had made a mistake.

OKAY end review time!! First of all, I loved reading through this piece! You portrayed the manipulation really well; the only suggestion I would make is adjusting the dialogue slightly so that her mother isn't laying it on quite so thick and is a bit more subtle with her statements. However, you'll also have to consider and balance out both her personality and the protagonist's, so it's ultimately up to you.
I'm pretty much out of time so I won't ramble but good job!! You did a fantastic job and I'm delighted I got to critique this <3

20th march daily:

gone. but not forgotten
161/150 words

she leaps out of the atmosphere
flying past the clouds, up to the sky
she swirls and twirls like stardust
looking down with a sad sigh

there’s nothing left for her on earth,
nothing to think, to do, to say
so she fades up to the heavens
and she stays the same age

she stands and watches time pass
like a comet flying by
her family grows old
whilst she looks on from nearby

sometimes she gets lonely
an outsider to the world
but she waits from her perch patiently
time moves fast and blurred

she wonders if she’s remembered
for her happy busy life
she wonders if she’s visited
an afterglow of daylight

her hope crumbles like the petals
of flowers left beside her grave
she’s not one of them anymore
they are not the same

she’s gone but not forgotten
a fragment of the past
the memory of her bright days
forever in our grasp

Daily 20: First Day of Spring - Poem
word count - 166 words

Skies etched with shades of blue,
a downpour of silence as it all melts.
Slumps to slush, grass revealed,
“It's time”, some yell in the distance,
but to those who know
it's anything but.

An umber lust world
shining across the valley
And like tears the river flows,
watering the flowers.

Bloom they do, but slow progress
is made. With the blink of an eye
it all vanishes.
A feeling of despair we know.

This brief message of love,
another of hope. Is the sign
a sign of new beginnings.

Sprouts bud but so do the memories unravel,
and at times like these we wonder
why the blossoms are yet to sprout.

The cold winds, harsh times harness
each other and the dandelion seeds fly
Embarking on a new journey of
prospering hope.

The high tides rise and I know time has come
to say goodbye. The petals falter but they'll come
again once more.

activity :: daily
day number :: 20
daily :: reflection poem
cabin :: thriller
word count :: 247

Ending ‘24
Was
“Almost out of the maze”
But I was still blind
No vision
To the world
Beyond.

Starting ‘25
Is a new slate
A new day
A new year
And new me
“New year
New me.”
That’s what they all
Say.

But people can’t
Change
They can only get
Older.

They can only
View
The world differently
Through the lens
Of someone
Older
Wiser
But not
Changed.

You can alter
You can diverse
And spread apart
And become different
From who you used to be
But
You can never
Change.

Looking back at ‘24
From the eyes of ‘25
I can see that things got better
Things were better
Than I viewed them as.

In the heat of the moment
And the sting of the tears
And the burn of the hatred
And the flame of the friendship
I saw
The ashes of it all.

Looking back at ‘24
From the eyes of ‘25
I can see that I was wrong
That things were fine
That it was good
That it can get worse
That I should be grateful
That
“It isn’t life if you don’t
End up battered and bruised”
By scars that seem to be there
But never really were.

Because in the eyes of
Someone older
Life
Never really
Changed
Just to spite me
It just
Begged for something
In return.

Because in the eyes of
Someone older
Life
Never really
Changed
Just like
I
Will never really
Change
Only get
Older.

author's note :: huh. well,, this is defo not my usual style of writing, i wanted to experiment with not only a new style but instead of reflecting on my emotions during last year (bc if you've read my poetry i'd literally just be grief left and right lol) i wanted to try and showcase how things look now and how my mindset altered since. so uhhh… yeah xD

“Confluence”

No inheritance is owed to those
Not born of blood and bone
The thoughts and hopes a mind may hold
Have no life of their own

I think I must have been asleep
Right from the very start
The voices whisper in my dreams
You can see them in my art

In one world, I am waiting
For my spark to light anew
In the other, I am writing
Not sure of what to do

Somewhere in the middle
Is what makes me who I am
Abstractions of the imaginary
Running these programs

Scrawled across the canyon walls
Are the words ‘the end is nigh’
Meanwhile, I press ‘start’
At least a couple thousand times

It’s up to me now, isn’t it?
To make this next big leap
And set my course in motion
The way it was set up for me

At some point, the fear
Faded into hesitance
Easily overcome
If I gave it half a chance

It doesn’t seem like much, I know
No fountain will erupt
Into the unknown, I go
Any day now, I’ll wake up

March 21 daily - Google Translate
Song was “Babs Seed” from MLP; lyric was “First we thought that Babs was so really really sweet” →“First, I had a good father.”
440 words

First I had a good father. A father who only got home late once a week, who took me to the bookstore, who watched nature documentaries with me, who occasionally bought me sugary cereal. Then I had a less good father, a father who went out late most nights. whose money I stole to take to the bookstore, who once forgot to buy anything but cereal. And then I had no father. A father who went out at an unknown time and never came home.
I had a house that I called mine. I still call it mine, but I only sleep there every few weeks, when I miss it and think I can get away with it. Now I just have a room that I call mine but really it’s the guest bedroom in Cam’s parents’ house. “Guest” implies “temporary,” which we all keep pretending it is.
I have a mother, but I haven’t seen her in almost ten years, when she moved across the country. She moved away for good reason, a reason called we didn’t want to live with her anymore. I still don’t, nor do I want to move across the country, so here I am.
Cam and I annoy each other more than we used to. Maybe this is what having siblings is like. We never got along perfectly; they were always getting me to do things that were probably a bad idea and could often get me in trouble. Then again, whenever I got in trouble, I could just blame it on them.
They tried to take several days off school to “take care of me,” but their parents wouldn’t let them. I went back to school after the first week, anyway; no reason to fall behind. Not like I had anything better to do.
We tried investigating, but we didn’t find any clues besides his wallet in the driveway; I assumed it had fallen out of his pocket. Tried to be like proper detectives, but we weren’t as successful as when we solved the case of the missing monkey at age ten. It helped that the case of the missing monkey was one we made up.
We used to catch fireflies, my dad and I. He would nail holes in jar lids so they could breathe, and we’d keep them overnight before letting them go. I wondered if they were the same fireflies, year after year. Whether or not they live that long, the ones I’m watching in Cam’s yard must be different. They’ve never been trapped in an empty peanut butter jar, though they may have been trapped in a bug net.

If you’re not the one for me (Song Lyric Daily)

Finx stumbled into the Pizza Hut as quick as their feet allowed. They were gonna run late! They checked their watch in a rush. 5:47, I have 13 minutes! They ran to the counter, grabbed the 4 pizza boxes, bolted outside, and shoved them into their Pizza-delivery bike. Finx peddled as fast as they could, wind blowing in their hair. He chanced another quick look at his watch. 5:50. Their navigator read 9 minutes to reach the house. This was going to be a close cut. The aroma of fresh made pizza, coming out of the Pizza-box-storage-compartment, was getting to Finx. What can they say, they’re a foodie. Finx had mastered the art of eat-biking a long time ago. Maybe I could… No. No.. They had to stop themselves, at least for -they checked their watch- the next 5 minutes. They kept pedalling. They were going to make it.

Time seemed to slow in the last minute. Mere seconds felt like hours as Finx made their way down in the neighbourhood, searching for the house. The everlasting smell of pizza made their mouth water. They hadn’t had anything to eat since lunch! They were going to die if they couldn’t eat something in the next 5 minutes. Does my boss seriously expect me to not eat delicious pizza when it’s right in front of me!? Whoever thought of the idea of keeping the pizza in front of the biker? But they just kept pedalling onward, they had to make it, just another – checks watch again – 2 minutes. Where was this house? Scanning the house numbers they finally saw a post box with the numbers: 1239. Finally!!!! Finx quickly got out, banging their knee on the bike as they lifted their right leg over it. They wasted no time and grabbed the pizza boxes, they checked the pizza order once more to check. 3 super-supreme pizzas. Wait a second… wasn’t there 4 pizza boxes in their hands? Then it them. Joy lit up in their eyes. Finx had to physically and mentally stop themselves from jumping up and down like a 2 year-old. The cook made an extra!

After delivering the pizzas, Finx took their super-supreme pizza down to their bike. They rode down to the park and started walking towards the bench to sit down. Then their day was ruined…
Finx tripped. The pizza was flung up and out of the box, landing on the ground. Finx crawled over to see the damage. The toppings were everywhere and the pizza was ruined, covered in dirt and dried grass. What had they done! Finx was sure they were going to die of hunger. I guess it was not meant to be I’m sorry, sweet pizza, you didn’t deserve this. Finx sat up on the grass and contemplated the meaning of life…

day 21 - translating lyrics - 21/3/25

• song : like a flower by irene ; lyric : i'm growing like a flower >> i grew up like a flower (not a big change eh)

• 465 words!

In a faraway town called Blossom Town lived a small girl named Flory.
She came into this world 10 years ago and became the joy, light, and love of her parents.
Knowing that where they lived was named after blossoms, she was named after flower, the word itself.
Ever since she was born, she was treated like a flower.
She looked like one.
She dressed like one.
She acted like one.
Let's just say, she is one.
Every day, she slept on a bed decorated with flower petals topped with bed cover, sheets, and blanket that was Fuchsia themed.
Woke up smelling like flowers from the lily scented spray that she sprays on herself every day.
She washes up in a bath filled with a variety of flower petals, uses Butterfly Pea Toothpaste and wears floral dresses.
Sometimes even dresses made out of flowers.
On weekdays, she goes to school with a floral printed backpack and all everyone swarm like bees around her.
On weekends, she carries her floral printed bag and travels out of the town to do photoshoots and model for fashion brands.
People in her town describes her in many ways.
They say she “lives like a flower”, “is pretty like a flower”, “is amiable like a flower”,
“is shaped perfectly like how flower bouquets are”, “is sweet like a flower”.
She is known for being the twin of flowers.

Yes, she is known for being a flower.
However, no one knows the other side of her.
No one knows it exists.
The side of her when she is just being - her.
She has superpowers hidden behind that perfect frame.
She has more in her than just her looks and ways.
She's not just a flower.
She's not just that.
She definitely isn't.

Behind that frame, there's a Flory that longs to be like any normal kid in her town.
To play, to have fun, to have friends but not just because she's popular, she wants real friends
Behind that frame, there's a Flory who doesn't want to be known for just being a replica of a flower.
She wants to be known for how she really is.
Behind that frame, there's a Flory who wants to have things that show what she really likes.
She likes many things. Not just flowers.

Behind that frame, there's a Flory who secretly doesn't like flowers.
After all these years, she grew to dislike flowers.

And behind that frame, there's a Flory dreaming to be a writer and write out her life, worlds, thoughts, and imagination.
Dreams come true, don't they?
She trusts that it does.

So did it?
It did.
You are now reading what Flory herself wrote.
I grew up like a flower, but I don't have to be one.
I am me.

first daily in so long lol… i lost motivation. when i shuffled my liked playlist, it gave me one of my favourite songs by my favourite kpop idol!!
so yeah. i grew up like a flower.
side note : this story is based on my thoughts and not my experience.

daily 021: lyric translation ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
word count: 426 / 400
original lyric: i only threw this party for you
translated lyric: these parties have been organized especially for you

I’ve thrown twenty parties this year, and you’ve missed eleven of them. And during each and every one of them, I’ve waited close to the door for nearly the entire party, willing you to come through the door. As if staring through the windows at the driveway would make you come. I remember all your favorite snacks, the ones you buy from the vending machine at school– and I bought all those snacks in party size. So we could share them.
All my friends showed up and they watched me stay at the door. At this point they’ve been hoping you’d show up too. They hate watching me stay there, they keep telling me to stop waiting and stop throwing these parties and give up on you, but I can’t. I can’t give up on you.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and my head snapped up. It’s you.
I jumped up, swinging the door open breathlessly. You smiled at me, your twinkling green eyes and freckles and perfect sun-bleached blonde hair. I practically melted right there, grinning back at you and opening the door wide. I didn’t say anything, just let you inside, and you didn’t say anything either.
Your eyes raked over all the snacks, darting to the speakers. Your favorite artist blasted out of them, I remembered the time you told me about the last-minute concert tickets you found. And that time we shared airpods, two out of the five songs we listened to were by him.
“Everyone’s out back,” I said, smiling awkwardly. I had stuffed my hands into the back pockets of my jeans like an idiot, but you were looking at me in this endearing way for it and suddenly I didn’t really mind.
“Let’s go, I guess.” You smiled your boyish grin, and everything was fine again. The pieces have all fallen into place, the queen took the king.
But it really wasn’t fine, because you left the party with my best friend. She was dr!nk and couldn’t drive herself, and you, being ever so gracious, took her home. And I watched as you dragged her out the door, laughing at her silly jokes and smiling at her just like you smiled at me. And I couldn’t figure it out. It was all perfectly set up just for you, and for what? For you to leave with my best friend. And I’m not even sure why I’m said, I knew I wasn’t more than a friend– I thought I could change that. I thought it would be different this time.

a/n: it was supposed to be silly and ended up practically being a vent abt real life send help

Daily 21

Put your playlist on shuffle, and take the first line from whichever song comes up. Insert the lyric into our ever-trusty language assistant, Google Translate, and translate the line into as many languages as you’d like (the more the merrier!), before reverting it back to the original language. Using this new, possibly (and hopefully!) silly line, write a short story in at least 400 words. Completing this daily can earn you 300 points for your cabin, plus an extra 150 for sharing proof.

I google translated Paper rings and got: In the evening, as we were leaving, the outside musicians approached us because we were the social part of the group.


We walked out of the building, heading out toward our getaway car. Suddenly, a large group musicians approached us. “Hiiiiii” One of them said awkwardly. “Um, hi?” I replied “We have a favor to ask.” One of the musicians said “We have, no idea how to socialize. And since your Taylor Swift and all, maybe you could help us?” They asked, still very awkwardly. “Um, okay. I guess I have some blank space.”
“Oh thank goodness.” They said. “Wait here.” I said to him. I headed back into the loud, party building with the outside musicians, who all looked anxious and/or awkward. “Okay so how do we socialize?” Asked one of the outside musicians. “Uh, go talk someone, you’ll do great!” I gave her a gentle shove and push her over to a small group of people, then stepped back. “Uhhhhhhhh, hi! I’m Samatha” The musician said awkwardly, looking back at me for support, I gave a thumbs up. “Oh, hi Samatha, I’m Betty.” One of the girls in the group replied, the one wearing a cardigan, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Hi! I’m Augustine.” Said the other girl, Betty rolled her eyes. “I’m James” The boy said. I gave Samatha another thumbs up as they began talking about something or other. “Alright, one down, five more to go.” I muttered to myself. “Come on musicians!” I said, walking off, with the musicians trailing behind me. I walk past a large group of ex-boyfriends (ugh, who let them in here?) and a couple different eras, a lady looking into the party from the window, a vampire, (“Your at the wrong party!”) and over to my cats, who of course got the best seats in the building. “Here. Pet them” I said “Is this really socializing?” One of them asked “Pet them.” Two of the musicians became distracted petting the cats. I managed to get one of them to go talk to Lord Byron, and the other to hang out with Debut. One left. “How about Red? What about her?” I asked “No…” The musician said, looking uncomfortable. “Okay, reputation?”
“No… I don’t like snakes.”
“Folklore?”
“No… too sad.”
“1989?”
“No…”
“Ooh, what about them?” I asked, pointing to a large group of Tortured Poets “No…”
“Well, who DO you want to hang out with?” I asked. The musician looked at the ground, she seemed more awkward and anxious then ever. “…You…”
“Oh. Okay. I guess I have some blank space.” I kinda wanted to leave the party, but oh well, I guess shake it off and hang out with this musician.

431 words

competition entry #1 (not fanfic)

my mom hates tulips
she says they die too fast
but i think that’s what makes them pretty


a/n:
if you couldn't tell, it's a poem! it also does not have a title because if i were to title it tulips then the poem would be about tulips and it's not really about tulips, is it? many layers

competition entry #2 (fanfiction) ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚
fandom :: dead poets society
title :: carpe diem

Todd laughed, walking around the dock. He had the script in one hand, holding his arms outstretched and dramatically quoting it. “Through this palace, with sweet peace. / And the own of it blest, / Ever shall in safety rest. / Trip away. Make no stay. / Meet me all by break of day.”
Neil continued, straight-faced despite Todd’s insisting joking manner, “If we shadows have offended, / Think but this and all is mended: / That you have but slumbered here / While these visions did appear. / And this weak and idle theme, / No more yielding but a dream, / Gentles, do not reprehend. / If you pardon, we will mend.” He paused. Next was his favorite part, he could just picture himself on the stage addressing the audience. Applause would ring in his ears, and he’d turn backstage with a smile, bowing good night to his crowd. “And, as I am an honest Puck, / If we have unearned luck / Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue, / We will make amends ere long. / Else the Puck a liar call. / So good night unto you all. / Give me your hands, if we be friends, / And Robin shall restore amends,” he finished, ending his pacing at the edge of the dock. He wasn’t looking at Todd, but rather looking out at the lake, as if the sun and the birds gliding along the edge of the water were his audience. The water was still, disturbed only by the passing breeze or the flutter of a duck’s wings.
Todd was watching him silently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He didn’t say anything once Neil was finished but rather stared at him with some kind of look in his eyes. “Wow.” He had always admired Neil for this quality of his, for being able to so easily command everyone’s attention, including his own. Their friends knew they were polar opposites– they had always looked at them a little funny for that.
Neil laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “You know, you should have tried out for the play. You would have made a great Oberon.” He was only half-joking– he loved it when Todd let loose, he was this whole new person. He rarely saw it.
“Oh, don’t lie,” Todd laughed, swatting Neil with his script. “I don’t even like plays. You know that. I only like them if you’re in it.” It was true, what he said. He had despised going with his parents to the fickle plays– they were attending only to chatter with their alum friends.
Neil went quiet. The sun was setting then, and there was some kind of golden glow reflecting off the lake. They would have to go in for supper soon, but Neil would wait. He walked to the edge of the dock, dangling his feet off the edge, dangerously close to the water. Todd watched him, silently sitting down next to him. “Maybe doing this play was a mistake,” Neil mused quietly. “I mean, my father…” his voice faltered. “Maybe acting was a whim, and…” He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t know anymore! My father– if he finds out, he’ll– he’ll kll me!” This wasn’t the first time he had brought up his worries, and each time, his proclamations seemed to become increasingly frantic.
“Who cares what your father thinks?” Todd said, chuckling. He couldn’t meet Neil’s eyes– he was trying to lighten the mood, and Neil knew it. Todd wasn’t very good at that, but Neil smiled weakly anyway. “Carpe diem, right? That’s what Keating said.”
“Right. Carpe diem,” he mumbled, dragging his eyes away from Todd and toward the lake. There was a pause. “You know, sometimes I really wish you’d stop being such a turtle.”
“What?” Todd looked at him, a little alarmed. Immediately their previous conversation popped into his head, Neil berating him for being uninvolved during their poet meets.
“You’re so scared of being known. You couldn’t read your poem in front of the class, but Keating forced you, and then you spat out the most beautiful piece of literature I’ve ever heard.” Neil’s voice was strained, but Todd would pass it off as being a sore throat from his acting. “I– you have so much talent, and you’re so insistent on hiding it from the world!” Truthfully, Neil just didn’t want Todd to end up how he did– not following his talents and passions just because of the other people in their surroundings.
“Yeah, right,” Todd laughed. He rolled his eyes, amusedly enough. He was afraid to admit that some part of him thought Neil was right. In his mind, he could never even try to be like Neil– so reassured of himself.
“No, really!” Neil looked at Todd. He was offended, offended that Todd didn’t believe him. His brows were furrowed, his cheeks pink from the frosty air. They had been spending so much time outside that trimester, practicing Neil’s lines and biking along the grassy knolls.
“I— you know that’s not true,” Todd started, looking back at Neil, his eyes darting between him and the lake. Neil didn’t respond, just looked back at the lake. Todd wasn’t smiling anymore, just looking at Neil sadly. He knew what he wanted, but he wouldn’t ever voice it— not even to Neil. They sat there for a few minutes, the only sound being the squawk of the geese and the soft inhales and exhales of the boy’s harmonizing.
“It’s almost dinnertime,” Todd noted. He hardly ever broke the silence between them, and it caught Neil by surprise.
“It’s okay. Spaghetti and meatballs can wait.” Neil smiled absentmindedly, the kind of sad smile you’d only see when there’s regrets.
After a minute, he said, “It’s so beautiful.” He was staring at the lake, his eyes softened, and Todd realized he almost never saw Neil look like this, so perfectly unburdened. He was worried about Neil, though Neil would never let him finish that thought when he brought it up. The bags under Neil’s eyes grew darker with each day approaching the play, each day approaching his conversation with his father.
“Hmm?” Todd looked at him, almost quizzically. He was lost in his own train of thoughts, a spiral down roads he found himself frequently driving down.
“The lake. It’s so beautiful.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day following the play, the temperature had dropped significantly– so significantly that the boys were skipping class on the statement that the weather was simply too cold to function. It was autumn just the day before, with golden leaves and chilled air– but suddenly, it was as if the sun decided to shine no longer and leave Vermont in an icy haze.
Todd walked through the snow, the soft crunch under his feet creating some kind of somber rhythm. The other boys were following behind him, glancing between Todd and each other. He hadn’t said anything since Charlie had broken the news to him, they could only assume he was in shock.
He stopped at the crest of the hill, looking down at the lake. Everything was frozen over, the snow falling down in heavy sheets. His coat was nearly falling off his shoulders, as if one of the other boys had only haphazardly put the coat on Todd himself so that he wouldn't freeze to death.
“It’s so beautiful,” he said, turning back and looking at the other boys with a smile. “I’d never really looked at it, you know? It’s just…”
Pitt’s brows furrowed, his head tilting to the side. Charlie just looked at him with some kind of understanding, like the look soldiers gave each other before one ran into battle. The other boys glanced at each other. Suddenly, Todd gagged, falling to his knees. Choking on his own disbelief, his horror. This wasn’t real, he told himself. He repeated that in his head over and over again, like it would somehow bring him back. His breaths broke out in heavy sobs, his eyes shut to prevent a steady flow of tears he knew would come soon enough.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charlie pressed, pushing snow into Todd’s mouth as the boys all huddled around him. The cold of the icy powder shocked Todd, and he shuddered, forgetting about Neil for just a moment, his mind reeling at the stark feeling of the absence of warmth. His tears– they practically froze on the way down, little circles of gray amongst the perfect white.
“Neil— Neil wouldn’t do that, it was his father,” Todd sobbed, his words breaking in and out between hiccups. “It was his father! Neil was happy, he did the play, all he wanted was the play, and he did it! Carpe– carpe diem, he seized the day, he was happy!” He broke away from the boys’ grasps, ripping his arms out of their reach and running towards the dock. He kept slipping, falling to the snowy ground.
A few of the boys tried to run after him, to hold him back, but Charlie stopped them, holding his arm out to block the path. “Let him be,” Charlie said, his voice cracking. His cheeks were pink from the chilled air, wet with tears. Charlie was closest to Neil– next to Todd, of course, and was one of the few to notice their peculiar relationship. He’d never say anything, though, Todd wouldn’t want him to, but he had always known there was something else behind it. After all, Neil was the only one who could manage to push Todd out into the world.
“Neil!” Todd cried out, a terrible, guttural yawp, falling to the ground at the edge of the dock. The wooden planks creaked their response, their own cry of mourning.

only seven
(piece for critiquaireiasieare)

the little girl walked into the clinic—
she was six, maybe even seven,
with a huge grin on her face and
a teddy clutched in both hands.

“can i adopt a baby?” she asked,
pointing to the hospital nursery.
the woman gave her a distant smile
and shook her head at the girl.

“why not? i’ll take good care of it”
the girl pouted, hugging her teddy.
“you’re too young,” the woman replied,
“you can’t take care of a baby.”

the girl sighed and trudged off,
her pigtails bouncing with each step.
right after, another girl came in,
same age but no grin or giggle.

“where’s the abortion clinic?” the girl mumbled,
hugging her arms around herself.
the woman gave her a sadder smile
and shook her head at the girl.

“that department closed down,” the woman said softly.
“can’t you make an exception? i’m only seven,”
she whispered, her eyes tired.
the woman just shook her head. “i’m sorry.”