Daily 12

(…) take a title from another writer in the comments and let it lead you somewhere unexpected.

Title chosen: i know what it looks like (but we're not in love)

Notes: So I finished re-reading Don't Let the Forest In today and the Andrew-Dove-Thomas dynamic is forever stuck in my head. I tried to do something like that and unfortunately, I ruined it. Anyway excuse my lazy naming I should be asleep.

Word count: 295 words

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Dear Jane,

Twelve years ago on a playground, there was you and there was Jake. It had always been that way until I came barrelling in—then two turned into three and that was how it’d be for the next twelve years. Three is a magic number. Best friends forever, inseparable.
We fought for the first time yesterday.

Jake and I have never felt so lost. We don’t fight. We bicker and we argue and we snap at each other and tomorrow it’ll be okay even though we never say a word about it.

Something tells me tomorrow won’t be okay until we talk about what really happened. The problem is, I don’t know where to start.

Oh Jane, my darling Jane. You and I would give up the world for your brother. I would never hurt him. I couldn’t ever hurt him. His heart is made of far stronger stuff than whatever I could wield against it.

My precious Jane, my bit-of-magic-on-earth—why would the two of us ever leave you out? There is no me without you. And there is no you without Jake. Inseparable, do you remember? A triangle is the strongest shape, and it is meaningless without all its points.

Jane, my dearest Jane. We’re not in love, Jake and I. We never have been.

Three truths I’ve told you. That should be enough to absolve me of my guilt. But I haven’t told you the entire truth, have I?

You’re the most brilliant person I know, Jane. I’ve given away my fragile heart, wrapped in gold and all things beautiful. And now you know that Jake never had it.

Put me out of my misery, my lovely Jane. My heart will survive whatever you choose to do with it.

Yours.

Daily 13

Falling back to one of our favorite classics of intrigue and vintage beauty, write 350 words of a story utilizing flowers and their meanings, weaving in at least 3 different blossoms (…)

Notes: Hoo boy have I got to stop speedrunning my dailies. Why, this is practically nonsensical! If you're reading through these notes, please believe that I have every intention of rectifying my sleep schedule here on out. Flowers chosen are all mentioned clearly in the piece, so I won't clarify that here.

Word count: 353 words

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Star shaped, odd blue with five perfect petals. Borages, whisper a voice in your mind.

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

The flowers. Borages. Symbolizing bluntness. You know what you must do.

You stare at the flowers growing from the cracks in the pavement in front of you. You wonder if they’re even native to this place. You wonder if they were even there before you leaned down to take a closer look.

“Bluntness, huh?”

Truth. Honesty, no matter the cost.

“I think this is pointless. I’m going to go.”

The borages (what a weird name, really) wilt and wither away. You start to move when you hear it: wait.

Out of the crack in the pavement, there’s a flurry of impossible growth. Barely a second passes before you see the flowers unfurl their petals. Thin strands of all colors sticking out from the center, like a child’s drawing.

You step over them. Vines grow rapidly until they block your path. You can’t make your way around them, no matter how hard you try.

“Advice?” you sigh.

Ice plants. Heartless.

“Accusation, or command?”

Request.

“I don’t think it counts as a request if I can’t even refuse,” you scoff.

A simpler truth?

“Fine!” You rip out the flowers by their roots. “I hate this.”

Three simple words. That should suffice. Again, the flowers wilt into dust in your hands. The vines creep away in a rush until it seems like they had never been there at all. You take a step, until again, almost apologetic: there’s more.

You groan as a plant springs up where the flowers were. Ugly little pods, like miniature hedgehogs. Like pinecones.

Xanthium. Rudeness. A gift.

“For what?”

Another plant shoots up. You roll your eyes. “Is the flower talk really necessary? Or can they just send messages like normal people do?”

It adds to the drama factor. Sweet pea. Remembrance.

“What is that supposed to mean? A gift so I can remember to be rude?”

That is not what remembrance traditionally means. In this case, perhaps.

“Can I finally go now?” you say exaggeratedly.

No reply. Finally.

Weekly 3

Total word count:

• Part 1: 421 words
  
• Part 2: 460 words
  
• Part 3: 557 words
  
• Part 4: 831 words
  

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Part 1:

Dead Wife Haunting the Narrative
Okay, sometimes it’s just a dead girl who isn’t even a wife, sometimes it’s not even a girl, and sometimes they’re not even dead. It’s a trope that can be very compelling if done right, and tragically, it isn’t always done right. While it can contribute to a fascinating character backstory, the “Dead Wife” in question often ends up as a plot device with nothing else going for them. If you never know why the Dead Wife leaves such a gaping wide hole in the characters’ lives, THEN WHAT EVEN IS THE POINT!!!!!

Found Family
Delicious, scrumptious, 10/10 no notes. Sometimes canon splits up the characters towards the end of the story or it just straight-up doesn’t explore the possibility, which is SAD and TRAGIC but that’s why we have fanfiction, I guess! On the other hand, sometimes the author tries too hard to convince us that the characters are a found family, which is also SAD and TRAGIC because on one hand, so compelling! But on the other hand: the chemistry just isn’t there.

Love Triangles
Yeah, the traditional ones got boring real quick BUT there are so many fun alternatives to explore here!! Maybe the “rivals” fall in love and then run off into the sunset together! Or maybe they scheme together to get the third to fall in love with them! Maybe none of them fall in love at all because they realize they were just pandering to comphet and then proceed to become crazy cat people!!! THE UNIVERSE IS WIDE OPEN AND WAITING.

Crash-Into Hello
There are so many variations of this that it’s practically impossible to create a proper pro/con list for it. There’s arguably nothing very romantic about a possible concussion, though I suppose that if they help each other pick things up there’s something charming about the simple kindness of the act. This trope has been overused to the point of no return, though. There’s only so many times you can see it before you inevitably start getting bored.

The Reinforcements Arrive in the Nick Of Time
Okay, YES, it’s a very blatant deus ex machina and you could argue that it’s just lazy writing, but like COME ON. It’s so COOL. And EPIC. Is there anything more satisfying than a dramatic lineup of the forces of good just when the battle seems to be hopeless? Personally I’ve come to find that I quite enjoy this trope, even though there’s always a “of COURSE they show up now” moment.

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Part 2:

School hallways are definitely the bane of my existence. Dante was wrong about the nine circles of hell. Narrow crowded public places should one hundred percent qualify as hellish material. Apart from the fact that it gets disgustingly humid and full of litter and things falling out of lockers and (if you’re particularly unlucky), some or the other obnoxious teenager yelling about some or the other obnoxious thing.

The fact that I am also, by definition, an obnoxious teenager, is irrelevant. I have main character privilege here. I’m convinced of it. There’s something sinister going on behind the scenes here—I only hope I’ll be in time to uncover it all.

Anyway. Back to the situation at hand. I weave through the crowd, ducking under wayward arms and careening sideways into lockers to avoid having to touch anyone particularly sweaty. At one harrowing moment I have to flatten myself against a wall (gross) in order to avoid being accidentally punched in the face. I’m doing it. I’m actually succeeding. Running through crowded hallways is an extreme sport and honey, I’m an Olympic medalist. No one can stop me. I’m on top of the world!

I am knocked to the floor and the breath leaves me in a rush. I stare at the ceiling. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

This cannot be happening.

I have worked so hard to avoid it. I did everything. I attended three separate gymnastics classes so I’d never be caught unaware. My reflexes should’ve been as sharp as a knife. And yet they failed me. Right when I needed them the most, they abandoned me. I have been forsaken by my own efforts, betrayed by my own body.

I have been crashed into. In a school hallway. Completely by accident.

Dread curls in my stomach.

The worst part about being accidentally teleported to what is essentially romcom land is that there is a trope around every corner. Despite all my efforts to avoid it, I seem to have stumbled into mine after all.

Distraught, I heave myself off the floor. I stare at the guy in front of me warily. Surprisingly enough, he looks just the same.

“I am not falling in love with you,” he says, horrified. Okay, wow. That’s kind of insulting. At least he didn’t inflect on the word you. That would’ve been mortifying.

I laugh hysterically. “Yeah, you’re no treat either, bud.”

He visibly panics. “It’s not about you! Wait, no, that sounds wrong too—I just—”

“I get it,” I blurt out. “Me neither. Friends?” I hold out my hand for a handshake, mostly to keep him from babbling. He sags in relief. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And then we never see each other again. The end.

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Part 3:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Okay, well, it was just cloudy. And it was barely drizzling. So yes, not entirely the kind of atmosphere one would expect. Definitely not as dramatic as it should have been. At least it was night, though. All good, properly dramatic things happen at night anyway.

Percy (short for Perseus, after the Greek hero with one of the arguably less tragic endings) Jackson ran home with his jacket held over his head, hoping to avoid any more raindrops than necessary. Of course, avoiding the rain entirely was impossible. If his calculations were correct (they rarely weren’t), the moment he’d been waiting for would happen today. And for that, he’d have to be tastefully yet lightly drenched. His hair was sufficiently wet already, so he pulled his jacket tighter and ran faster. Any more rain and he’d just end up looking like a drowned rat, and he couldn’t have that happening on his big day.

He yanked open his door and stumbled inside, trying to present as nonchalant as an air he could manage. He needed to fool the forces into thinking things were completely normal, because if they suspected that he knew, the whole thing would probably fall apart. He couldn’t have his feeling of wrongness until he’d dried off a little. It was a pity that he couldn’t use his powers to dry off, because he wasn’t supposed to have discovered them and also, he needed to undergo the proper training montage. On the bright side, since he already knew about them, he could probably pull off a neat “supernaturally good at water manipulation with barely even training” sort of shtick. He had a feeling he’d need it.

Gabe was out, thankfully, but his mother was humming in the kitchen. She didn’t show any outward signs of her suspicions, but Percy knew that she had reached the same conclusion as he had.

“We can go to Montauk,” she says, all casual. “Just the two of us, our own little vacation!”

Percy grinned back. He loved scheming with his mom.

It wasn’t until Grover stumbled in that he started to feel a growing sense of dread. Because Grover wasn’t arriving in a halo of glory, gracefully shedding his disguise to reveal his satyr nature and Percy’s (rather obvious) chosen one status. Grover was crashing haphazardly into the scene, eyes wide and panicked.

“Why do you have goat feet?” asked Percy, baffled. Because Grover wasn’t supposed to have goat feet, not yet. There was supposed to be a monologue. With a sinking feeling, Percy realized that maybe, just maybe, their calculations had gone awry after all.

It was really a dark and stormy night, now. The forces were converging on them, despite how fast they were going in their car. “Mom?”

Sally Jackson, brilliant woman that she was, seemed to have already figured out the Fates’ plans.

“Sacrifice,” she said grimly.

“So soon?” Percy asked, his voice cracking.

His mom softened, reaching out blindly to hold his face in her hand. “It’ll be okay. We already suspected this would happen, you know how narrative forces work.”

“I’m not ready,” said Percy.

“They rarely are,” his mom said, smiling sadly. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Percy wakes up the next morning inside the camp barriers, freshly mother-less and officially a demigod.

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

Part 4:

Once upon a time, in a faraway ivory tower lined with vines and flowers, there lived a princess. Well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that the princess was trapped there. It is quite disheartening to use such a strong word so early in the story, but I’m afraid it is true. She had every possible comfort in that tower, though how such comforts were provided in such an isolated place remains to be seen. Many suspect that the witch (yes, a witch. Very rarely is it anyone else imprisoning young princesses) who imprisoned the princess there had a deal with some sort of magical faerie-like race, or maybe even elves or pixies. But of course, this is all common knowledge, and so let us flit away and skip to the juicier, more interesting parts.

As I’m sure many of you have come to suspect, the princess harbored a deep, secret desire to escape the ivory tower and yet never made and move to do so. It does seem baffling, does it not? Most princesses manage a rope ladder made of bedsheets within days (sometimes hours) of their imprisonment, and yet this princess, who had spent her entire life stuck in this tower, had never even thought of it. But we must not blame her too harshly, dear readers—how many times have you planned entire scenarios that you never worked towards making true?

As fate (or rather, narrative laws that govern fantasy universes) would have it, soon someone would come along to steal her away from her secluded ivory tower, and in doing so, rescue her. Two someones, curiously enough—though I suppose even stories of this kind require variety every now and then.

The first was a soldier. He had a kind smile, a bold heart. Always quick with a joke, always willing to strike up a new friendship. He was, by all means, the picture of what a True Hero ought to be. But alas! His luck was quite against him. He went to bed one night having set up camp with the rest of his company, only for the troops to be attacked by bandits in the dead of the night. It was a fierce battle—though how a group of uncoordinated bandits managed to hold their own against an entire regiment of trained soilders remains to be determined. Our poor soldier was wounded and left for dead by his company. And now, dear readers, you may unleash the judgement I had asked for us to withhold in the princess’s case. Such lousy training of an entire troop of soldiers is quite foreboding for the country’s safety.

The second rescuer turned out to be a thief, and I am very sorry to say that she had no sense of morality whatsoever. She was roguish and cunning, and yes, exeptionally charming. One learns to expect a tragic backstory when they encounter a character such as hers, but she her upbringing was quite happy indeed, loose morality aside. Thievery was an inherited art, and her family was one of the best. Funnily enough, she’d been hired by the troop of bandits for their attack on the soldiers, and she too had been left for dead. Fate is a funny thing, is it not?

And so, the soldier and the thief, unbeknownst to each other, made their way to the ivory tower. Something compelled them to scale up its walls, and climbing in through windows set in opposite walls, they were confronted with each other and a child.

Yes, a child. Didn’t I mention that before? The princess was hardly thirteen, for heaven’s sake. I did say that we oughtn’t to judge her too harshly.

Anyhow, the three of them went through many trials and adventures while trying to reunite the princess with her family. At least, the thief and the soldier were keen on reuniting the primcess with her family. She was simultaneously wild and sheltered; one has to admit it is quite a headache to keep track of. As far as the princess was concerned, she was having the time of her life like one of the characters from her storybooks.

Eventually, all adventures come to an end, and this one was no different. There were some disappointments—the thief was sentenced to death, the soldier was to be put on trial for treason, and the princess found herself quite unwelcome by her parents indeed. I am sorry to say that the king and queen were shallow folk who were more than happy to trade away their firstborn to a witch in exchange for prosperity—they reasoned that they could always have more.

But there were happy moments too, like the princess befriending her way past the guards (the soldier taught her that) and stealing the keys to the prison cells (the thief taught her that) and the three of them disappearing into the sunset—their own makeshift little family—to have many more adventures together. All in all, not a bad ending!

Capitolcom News ✓ @CCNews
OBJECTION! Phoenix Wright slams prosecution with the bold claim that the witness is secretly a shape-shifting alien committing identity theft, and that the allegations against his client were false. Read all about it in our latest article! https://totallylegitnews.com/xJ28e7
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Peeta Mellark @breadboy
Replying to @CCNews
@PhoenixWright from one bluffer to another, that was impressive. Maybe we should meet up and exchange tips sometime ;)
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Phoenix Wright @PhoenixWright
Replying to @CCNews, @breadboy
Exchanging trade secrets is more of a third date conversation, but I'm up for it if you are! ;)



gimme food or i riot @mysticalmaya
WHY IS MY BOSS FLIRTING WITH PEETA MELLARK ON THE TL??????????????

#1 Everlark Shipper @everlark5ever
ASKLDCJASKLDJCASLKDJSALKDJASLKJ

sheila ♥ @whatsmyname
this was NOT on my courtroom drama bingo



Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
If anyone requires my presence I shall be rotting at the bottom of a very steep cliff. Farewell, world.
This tweet has been deleted.


i just wanna be part of your symphony @DollFinn
posting this three minutes after phoenix wright responds to peeta mellark,,,,, miles edgeworth i know what you are



Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Apologies for my previous post and for the distress it may have caused. For those of you who have expressed concern for my wellbeing, I assure you I am fine. If you or someone you know is struggling with their mental health, help is available at https://totallylegitlink.com

KABOOM! @lysosomebelike
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth
NOT THE PR DAMAGE CONTROL TWEET



Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
I am legally obliged to say that Peeta and I are still happily married. The conspiracy theorists need to tone it down.
|
Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
but let's be so fr here i started a rebellion who even cares about legal obligations PEETA GO GET YO MAN



Kermit the Frog ✓ @KermitTheFrog
Hi-ho! I’m here today to congratulate @breadboy and @PhoenixWright on their new relationship, and you should go and do that too!
If you ask me, Peeta could’ve done better with a certain amphibian…but that’s neither here nor there.
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @KermitTheFrog
It seems we are like-minded in that regard.
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Kermit the Frog ✓ @KermitTheFrog
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth
Bold words, Edgeworth! Feelings can sure be hard. Don’t worry, I still think you’re remarkable—and you should too! ♥
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @KermitTheFrog
Thank you, Kermit. ♥



amogus @yusosus
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth, @KermitTheFrog
KERMIT THE FROG???????

sheila ♥ whatsmyname
Replying to MilesEdgeworth, KermitTheFrog
i repeat, this was NOT on my courtroom drama bingo!!!!



princess-glittersparkles

big day for gay lawyer shippers today. just not how you’d expect

314 notes



amy needs a break @amyboid
GUYS.
[Grainy, poor-quality picture of Miles Edgeworth and Kermit the Frog eating ice cream on a park bench. Kermit looks remarkably dapper in a stylish sweater and slacks. Edgeworth is seated primly, dressed in his usual infernal red suit with the frilly white collar.]

Akira @bikeslide
Replying to @amyboid
THEY’RE ON A DATE??????



Akira @bikeslide
Miles Edgeworth how does it feel to be the luckiest man alive.
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @bikeslide
Quite fulfilling, actually. Kermit is a lovely amphibian.
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Kermit the Frog ✓ @KermitTheFrog
Replying to @bikeslide, @MilesEdgeworth
Awww. You’re not too bad yourself, Mr. Lawyerman! ♥
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Akira @bikeslide
Replying to @KermitTheFrog, @MilesEdgeworth
HELP??>>????



bluffmaster6000

You guys will NOT believe what’s going on in the courtroom drama fandom


[Image ID: Destiel confession meme. The text below Dean’s face has been edited to read: MILES EDGEWORTH IS DATING KERMIT IN RETALIATION FOR PEETA MELLARK ASKING PHOENIX WRIGHT OUT.]

#you guys. #calling it now this is officially the craziest timeline #i’m lowkey convinced maya just hacked into phoenix’s account and it spiralled from there #not that im complaining #if god hates gays then why do we keep winning

36,459 notes



Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
date night! oh and i’m here too ig but that’s okay i’ll clear out now
[Picture of an (ostensibly) romantic candlelit dinner—the silhouettes of Phoenix and Peeta sitting across from each other.]


amy needs a break @amyboid
Replying to @mockingjay
@everlark5ever so sorry to break it to you hon
|
I am a broken woman @everlark5ever
Replying to @mockingjay, @amyboid
JUST BECAUSE I STOLE ONE COOKIE DOESN’T MEAN YOU RETALIATE WITH HEARTBREAKING NEWS, AMY


i just wanna be part of your symphony @DollFinn
Replying to @mockingjay
WOW OKAY NOT EVEN A NO HOMO ONLY BROMO STAGE????



Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @mockingjay
Is this why you asked me to send three dozen roses to your address?
|
Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth
no those were for me now go smooch your frog boytoy



Phoenix Wright @PhoenixWright
Replying to @mockingjay
Katniss please this is twitter the public is watching
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
Replying to @PhoenixWright
do you see that? fire is catching
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Peeta Mellark @breadboy
Replying to @mockingjay, @PhoenixWright
You can’t just quote yourself every time someone tries to argue with you, Katniss.
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
Replying to @breadboy, @PhoenixWright
Watch me.



r/relationshipadvice

↑ 3.8k • Posted by u/throwawayturnabout 5 days ago

I might have messed things up with my best friend forever because of my new relationship. HELP.

Soooo I’ve recently started dating this guy (call him Peter). I should probably clarify that said guy is married, but we discussed it with his wife before we started seeing each other and we’re all okay with it. Maybe it’s unconventional, but we’re happy with the arrangement. But that’s not the main problem here.

The thing is, ever since Peter and I started seeing each other, my best friend (Greg from now on, for convenience) has been acting…well. Weird? I don’t really know how to describe it. We’re fine one minute, but whenever I make even a passing mention of Peter, Greg gets all defensive and huffy? Sure, he’s always like that, but it feels more noticeable. Whenever I try to confront him about it, he points out that I’ve been acting similarly about his boyfriend which?????? I mean, the guy’s fine, I just think Greg could do a lot better than him. Besides, Greg’s boyfriend is like, suspiciously nice. I think he’s hiding something.

Read more v


overthegaybow ↑ 3.8k • 5 days ago
OP idk how to break this to you but i think you’re both just really gay for each other

throwawayturnabout ↑ 1.5k • 4 days ago
WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT??


gumonshoe ↓ 13 • 1 day ago
op you sound like phoenix wright lol

throwawayturnabout ↓ 17 • 1 day ago
I don’t even know who that is



Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Happy birthday, @KermitTheFrog ♥
|
Phoenix Wright @PhoenixWright
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth
You’ve never wished me a happy birthday?????
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @PhoenixWright
You've never been my boyfriend.


Reac Shen @riacshen038
WOAH OKAY SHOTS FIRED



1-20 of 38 works in Miles Edgeworth/Kermit the Frog




salami @salolee
HOW IS THERE ALREADY MILES EDGEWEORHT/KERMIT FSNFIC


Lucinda-Anne @annluci
Replying to @salolee
Okay I’m curious now what even is their ship name





Summary:

If you've got a girlfriend, I'm jealous of her
But if you're single, that's honestly worse
'Cause you're so gorgeous it actually hurts


Notes:

Hi. I crashed into a tree because my friend called me with the news while I was driving. I am now in the hospital with 12 stitches. Anyway have some Frogworth fluff




i didn’t lie @whyjuly
THE DEVIL WORKS HARD BUT FANFIC WRITERS WORK HARDER
[Screenshot of the aforementioned fanfiction on Archive of Our Own.]



potatobasketcouch

Imagine you go through hell but you manage to survive it even though the odds were against you. Now you and your wife are happily married and you’ve finally found some semblance of peace and you finally get to stay out of the media and it’s quiet. It’s nice. Except one day you’re bored so you flirt with some guy online, and then he flirts back, and now you’re both dating and your wife is incredibly supportive of it even though you suspect it’s only because she loves the chaos of it. But it turns out the guy’s stuck in a homoerotic friendship with his literal sworn enemy. Said literal sworn enemy seems less than happy about your blossoming relationship, and you might start feeling guilty, except the sworn enemy then starts going out with a frog and now your boyfriend’s all mopey about it. Also you’re back in the media spotlight again. Well it happened to my good friend Peeta Mellark.

#i’d say people need to leave him alone #but at this point he’s practically asking for it #i need to study him under a microscope #why does he do the things he does

3,800 notes



MissPiggy ✓✓✓✓✓✓✓ @MissPiggy
People need to stop asking moi about how I feel about Kermit's dalliance with Mr. Edgeworth and start asking @colesprouse when he's going to send the flowers he promised moi
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avery @riskygambles
Replying to @MissPiggy
Yes Miss Piggy, sorry Miss Piggy.



seventyyearsofsleep reblogged bananasplits


lesbianedgeworthagenda

predictions for the new year:

• some famous pop star is revealed to be a part of a cult
  
• one of my beloved mutuals posts something so brave yet controversial that i am forced to cut ties with them in a heartbreaking scene while my motif plays in minor key
  
• ponyville polycule canon
  
• phoenix wright gets sick of waiting for miles edgeworth to ask him out so he starts dating like. peeta mellark or something
  
• new doritos flavor is launched and immediately discontinued within the next five days. it is never explained again
  

lesbianedgeworthagenda
why did this suddenly get 3k notes overnight guys im scared



lesbianedgeworthagenda
oh my gosh. this is not happening no no no nO-



whozier

[Image ID: picture of a bewildered cat being held down. The caption reads ‘YOU’]



lesbianedgeworthagenda

I’M SO SORRY GUYS I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THIS I SWEAR



primrose-qardens

get dodgeballed, idiot


[Image ID: Apollo holding a red dodgeball. The dodgeball represents the gift of prophecy.]

#op I fear that YOU’VE become the mutual from your first prediction #also please never make any major prophecies ever again thank you



Phoenix Wright @PhoenixWright
Cooking breakfast for my beautiful boyfriend!


Peeta Mellark @breadboy
Nothing screams date-able behavior more than a little fire-based trauma flashback in the morning, I guess
|
gimme food or i riot @mysticalmaya
Replying to @breadboy
ohmygosh @mockingjay why would you even let him in the kitchen
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
Replying to @mysticalmaya, breadboy
I THOUGHT IT WAS SWEET AND ROMANTIC HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW HE'D SET THE KITCHEN ON FIRE


I am a broken woman @everlark5ever
Replying to @breadboy
…breakup arc?



Capitolcom News ✓ @CCNews
Phoenix Wright confirms breakup with Peeta Mellark in a recent interview following his latest case. “It just wasn’t working out, but we’re still on amicable terms.”
|
amy SERIOUSLY needs a break @amyboid
Replying to @CCNews
@everlark5ever MY BELOVED OOMF WHY WOULD YOU MANIFEST THIS
|
WE’RE BACK BABYYYYYYY @everlark5ever
Replying to @CCNews, @amyboid
I DIND”T KNOW THIS WOULD HAPPEN PKAY



Kermit the Frog ✓ @KermitTheFrog
Now that sure was a flipper-flipping twist! In related news, @PhoenixWright Miles is free and available if you’re willing.
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @KermitTheFrog
@breadboy Kermit is also free and available if you’re willing.



Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
@MilesEdgeworth pick up milk and eggs on your way here plz thanks
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
also the cat food buttercup likes not the tuna flavored onw the one that smwlls like sour milk
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
@MilesEdgeworth please
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
@MilesEdgeworth @MilesEdgeworth thanks
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Miles Edgeworth @MilesEdgeworth
Replying to @mockingjay
…
Fine.
Why here, though? And why not ask Wright instead?
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Katniss Everdeen @mockingjay
Replying to @MilesEdgeworth
phoneix would just forget and i have to hit my post quota for the month sonrhow thanjs miles ur a lifesaver


doug a deep hole @heyitsdoug
and so katniss everdeen continues to serve the people by giving them what they want…….even if it’s just an excuse to hit her post quota……..truly the woman of all time……
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gimme food or i riot @mysticalmaya
Replying to @heyitsdoug
amen to that!



HI X I’M DAD @reccalol
Yeah, I think that’s about as good as an ending we’ll get.

FIN.

Explanation for the Apollo dodgeball meme: it's basically a reference to another meme where a girl (captioned “Apollo”) is throwing a red dodgeball (labelled “the gift of prophecy”) at a group of kids (representing “random internet users trying to be funny”)

Read my author's note here! It's very silly.

This piece was born out of a very simple question. When I heard that my good friend Elfie was judging this session, I immediately thought: what is the single most cringeworthy thing I can write, that he'd have to read and judge as an actual work of literature? Of course, this meant Ave and Fi would also be subjected to any insanity I cooked up, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

Sadly, the only remotely crazy enough crackships I could come up with involved dead philosophers and possibly very butch women. I didn't know enough about either of those. Thus ended my arduous search for a fandom that was suitably very cringeworthy for Elfie specifically. I could now only write something that no one save myself found completely hilarious.

Okay, that's an exaggeration! I decided to talk to Sun who sent me one six-ish minute video that very possibly changed my life. Yes, it was on crackships. Did you know there's a Donald Duck/Pythagoras fanfiction? Or an Edward Cullen/Excel, somewhere out in the depths of AO3? Yeah, I didn't either. Anyway, I typed up the first few messages and sent them to Sun as a joke.

This, dear readers, was a mistake. Because I spent WAY too much time formatting it properly. And I spent WAY too much time trying to come up with suitably punny usernames. And this was SO MUCH time spent that I decided I simply had to make those three fake posts my entire fic. Out of spite because it took me so much time, naturally.

I'm very, very grateful to Sun for entertaining all my “HEY WHAT IF I WROTE (insert terrible ship)” type messages. For, when I threatened to change the main ship to Miles Edgeworth/Elmo, not saying “THAT'S CRAZY” but instead asking “how would that work.” Because that opened the door to a beautiful new dimension of silliness. I ended up switching out Elmo for Kermit based on the results of a poll, but I hope this will suffice!

Huge shoutout to Ivory for providing me with a random Taylor Swift song when I jumpscared them asking for a random Taylor Swift song. Almost all fanfics use either Taylor Swift lyrics or incredibly niche indie-band-with-a-cult-following lyrics, so of course I had to comply.

Final shoutout to Serrie, for finally getting me a copy of Ace Attorney. My life is so much better for it.

Daily 25

Your task is to write a 250 word description and create an aesthetic set for your brand new holiday!

Word count: 253 words

Aesthetic set: https://ibb.co/7d2KMWy5

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

SLEEPYFEST is a holiday dedicated entirely to celebrating the wonderful phenomenon that is sleep. ZZZZZ. On this day, observers are advised to ZZZZZZZZZ. In fact, if you don’t (long, drawn-out yawn that lasts precisely 26 seconds) you will be—!

Asleep. On a pillow. In a comfy bed with a blanket, naturally. ZZZZZZ.

NO ONE. Is allowed to interrupt your peaceful slumber! The sleep paralysis demon? He gets paid leave today, actually. Insomnia? She’s on vacation with her family, she’s not going to show up tonight! SLEEPYFEST, in some regions, often lasts an entire week. ZZZZ. While non-stop sleeping is difficult to observe, it is considered a mark of honor. There are ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ competitions, as well as (long, drawn-out yawn that lasts precisely 37 seconds) races.

The holiday is often accompanied by themed decorations, such as comfy pajamas, as well as soothing chamomile tea for those who find it difficult to participate in the ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Furthermore, there are elaborate pillow-fort building activities within the observers of this holiday. String lights and blankets are sold in bundles in the weeks leading up to this holiday, as no festive occasion is truly free of the clutches of capitalism. Pillows are rampantly available on discount too.

Corporations are loath to admit the existence of this festival. Indeed, very many refuse to give paid leave for the occasion. That does not stop the general public on skipping work on SLEEPYFEST. Schools, however, are legally obliged to assign a weekend-long holiday, and students eagerly await it every year.

Weekly 4

Word count: 2469 words

Prompts (in order of appearance): (I'll fill this in later it's past midnight now and my atrocious naming is the least of my troubles T-T)

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

“Hey. Hey, Brenda. What in the name boiled potatoes dipped in batter and grease and all things unholy is this?”

“I honestly have no idea, Jim. Maybe you should try to press the button?”

Jim eyes the button warily. “I don’t trust it, Brenda,” he hisses. “It looks suspicious. Like it’s going to blow up the world if I press it, or something.”

Brenda considers this. “Well, if that were the case, there should’ve been a DO NOT TOUCH sign,” she suggests, gesturing broadly. “Come on! Just give it a shot, it might be fun!”

They stare at the button a little longer.

“If anything bad happens, I’m blaming you,” says Jim.

“Fair enough,” nods Brenda. “I’d do the same. We should press it together, so it’s both of our faults and we can blame each other. On three.”

“Okay,” says Jim on an exhale. They hold out their hands next to each other, hovering above the button. Brenda starts counting down. On three, they slam their hands down together and scramble away rapidly.

The world explodes in glitter.

****

“Brenda?”

“Yes, Jim?”

“Why am I covered in glitter, Brenda?”

“Well, that’ll be the glitter explosion from the red button, Jim.”

Jim dusts off his hands before he tries to wipe off his face, only mostly succeeding in getting the glitter out of his eyes. He spits out a few sparkles, coughing. Brenda, who seems immune to basically everything, is already surveying the landscape around her.

“Alright then,” says Brenda decisively. “Where on banana split shrimp paste world are we?”

“We’re looking for Helen in a cave with a mysterious red button that, when pressed, covers us in glitter. Haven’t you been keeping up?”

“Oh, Jim,” sighs Brenda. “Take a look around, will you? We’re not in the cave anymore.”

“My eyes are covered in glitter, Brenda.”

Brenda huffs, pulling out her handkerchief. She scrubs relentlessly at Jim’s face despite his protests. “Better?”

“Why,” says Jim, baffled, “are we in a forest?”

“My guess? Teleportation. Helen probably pressed the button too.”

“Oh, Helen,” sighs Jim. He tries to bury his face in his (still glitter-covered) hands before Brenda slaps them away. “We really need to teach her some self-preservation skills.”

“How?” says Brenda, raising an eyebrow. “We literally just did the same thing as her.”

Jim wisely doesn’t argue. “Let’s just figure out how to get out of here.”

****

“PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TURN LEFT,” advises a mysterious VOICE.

“Was that a tree?”

“Yeah. That one,” says Brenda pointing.

“MUST YOU RUIN MY DRAMATIC ENTRANCE?” whines the VOICE—or the TREE, rather. “THE READERS DESERVED SOME SUSPENSE AND BUILDUP!”

“Readers?” echoes Jim.

“UNIMPORTANT,” booms the tree. “NOW TURN LEFT.”

“O’ Great Tree!” exclaims Brenda, clearly an expert on mollifying strange entities. “Pretty please will you give us directions to our young friend, Helen? We would follow your directions whole-heartedly, but we cannot leave without her!”

“HMM,” muses the tree. “PERHAPS LOOKING INTO MY MAGIC LEAVES WILL HELP.”

“Magic leaves!” exclaims Jim, managing to sound only slightly sarcastic. “Will you let us look into them, O’ Great Tree?”

“VERILY I WILL, FOR IT IS POINTLESS TO DENY THE INEVITABLE, AND YOUR JOURNEY MUST CONTINUE,” says the TREE. “YEET!”

An entire pile of leaves slams into their faces in a gust of wind. On the bright side, at least there’s less glitter now.

****

There’s a quick montage of images, flashing by far too quickly for Jim to register. Brenda, however, who is used to everything, seems to get the hang of it immediately. “I know where Helen is!” she exclaims. “Come on, Jim! Thank you, Mr. Tree!”

“MR. TREE WAS MY FATHER,” booms the TREE. “YOU MAY CALL ME O’ GREAT TREE.”

“Farewell, O’ GREAT TREE!” acquiesces Jim, as if they haven’t been calling the TREE that the entire time.

Brenda grabs his hand and drags him away, rushing through the forest at breakneck speed. “Come on!” she hollers.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” yells Jim.

“Positive!” replies Brenda cheerily, turning right onto what looks very much looks like the Very Wrong Way. “I have an excellent sense of direction!”

“I’m pretty sure we were supposed to take a left at the last turn there,” says Jim, exasperated. “Did you even watch the leaves properly?”

“Oh, relax a little, soldier boy,” crows Brenda. “We’re almost there!”

“WAIT,” yells Jim, digging in his heels and dragging her back. They stumble back together and fall onto the forest floor, gasping, not a moment too soon.

“I cannot believe,” says Jim, “that you almost threw us into a ditch.”

There’s no reply, which is disconcerting.

“Brenda?’

“I’m sorry,” she replies quietly.

Jim sighs. “Come on,” he says, picking himself up and dusting himself off. “Let’s just go slower this time.”

****

They pick their way through the forest, albeit going much slower this time. They consult each other at every other turn, but neither of them suggests going back to the great TREE for a recap on the directions, because the TREE seems suspicious—not to mention full of weird, irrelevant knowledge that seems to make no narrative sense whatsoever.

“I hope she’s alright,” sighs Jim after ten minutes of walking through a stretch of forest.

“Me too,” admits Brenda. “I know she can take care of herself, but she’s so prone to making mischief that it’s hard not to be worried.”

“She really has grown on us, hasn’t she?”

“Like a wildfire in a dry forest,” laughs Brenda.

So of course, the forest sets itself on fire. Swearing, the two of them start running, too panicked to keep track of where they’re going. It’s going to be such a pain trying to find their way back, but there’s no time to worry about that now.

They duck behind a rock, gasping. Jim peeks around to check how many more seconds they can afford for a break and gets hit in the face with a gust of hot air.

“We should move,” he says.

Brenda nods, trying to catch her breath before they start running again. “Alright,” she gasps. “Okay. Let’s go.”

****

The fire is getting closer, and they can’t seem to outrun it, no matter how hard they try. Are forest fires supposed to be this fast? It’s hard not to think that there isn’t some other driving force behind it.

Brenda and Jim leap over fallen logs that seem to get in their way out of nowhere. They crash unceremoniously through the undergrowth. “Are we ever going to stop?” gasps Brenda.

“How?” exclaims Jim. “We don’t know anything about this forest!”

“Maybe we should go back to someone who does.”

“I thought we agreed that the TREE was suspicious and untrustworthy!”

“Do we even have another choice?”

Groaning, Jim plants his feet and glances around for a few precious seconds. He picks a direction and starts running, Brenda hot on his heels. By some miracle, they manage to make their way back to the TREE.

“O’ GREAT TREE!” shrieks Brenda. “Will you protect us from the fire?”

“WHAT FIRE?” asks the TREE. And sure enough, they turn around to find no trace of the flames behind them.

“But it was right there!” protests Jim. “It nearly burnt off my hair! O’ Great Tree, what explanation do you have for this?”

Brenda grips his arm as they turn around to face the TREE—only to find no TREE at all. In its place, Helen grins back at them cheekily.

“GOTCHA, SUCKERS!” she says, voice high and childish once more. “That was fun!”

“Helen, what the—”

Jim elbows Brenda before she can finish. “Maybe you should start explaining,” he says, glaring at Helen disapprovingly.

****

“You guys saw the red button too, didn’t you?” says Helen, unperturbed. “Well I pressed it, and then there was this huge glitter explosion, it was so cool!”
Brenda, who has just found more glitter in three different places, grunts in disagreement.

“And then the glitter made everything weird and funny—it was like magic, really! And I think I saw into the future, because you guys were there, so I disguised myself as a tree and—”

“You did that on purpose?” says Jim, aghast.

“Wasn’t that hilarious?” laughs Helen.

“Helen, you nearly got us killed! And we were so worried about you,” says Brenda. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Helen wilts under their censure. “I thought it was fun,” she huffs, trying to hide her hurt. “But I guess it wasn’t.” She scuffs at the ground.

****

Brenda sighs. “Let’s just find a way out of the forest, yeah?”

“What? No way!” exclaims Helen. “Why in the name of thirteen thousand pineapple slices would I do that?”

“We can’t stay here forever, Helen,” tries Jim. “We’ve got to find a way back.”

“But it’s so fun here! I literally have magic now, in case you’ve forgotten,” says Helen, glaring at them and crossing her arms petulantly. “I don’t wanna go.”

“I thought you wanted to go find your parents,” says Brenda. “Come on, Helen, we can’t do that stuck in this forest—they’re not from this world.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to find them anymore!” snaps Helen. “Maybe I just want to stay here with you two. Think of it! Just the three of us, it’ll be perfect!”

Jim and Brenda glance at each other, the admission sitting heavily with them. Brenda sighs. “Maybe you’d be able to stay here, Helen,” she says softly. “But Jim and I wouldn’t last. And if we found a way to get out, we’d take it. And we couldn’t force you to leave with us, so we’d go without you.”

“Brenda,” hisses Jim.

Helen sniffs, swiping angrily at her tears. She takes a minute to compose herself, before lifting her head. “It’s alright, Jim,” she says. “I don’t think I like trees very much anyway.”

****

“Do you know which way we should go?” asks Jim gently.

“Nope,” says Helen, back to her cheery self. “It was just a bunch of glitter, and then poof! Here I am. It was probably the same for you two. Hey, do you think I can recreate that?”

“The glitter portal?” asks Brenda skeptically.

“THE GLITTER PORTAL,” confirms Helen with significantly more flair. “I don’t really know how the magic works, though. There wasn’t exactly a guidebook.”

“Well, how did you disguise yourself as a tree?” asks Jim.

“I just thought about it really hard. Do you think that’ll work for THE GLITTER PORTAL too?”

“It’s worth a shot,” says Brenda. “Maybe just picture a cloud of glitter carrying us away and dropping us somewhere back in our world. Let’s just pick the cave with the button, yeah, Helen?”

“I could probably take us further.”

“Best not to risk it,” says Jim. “Give it a shot.”

The world explodes in glitter.

****

“Ugh,” says Jim, coughing out more glitter. “We should’ve tried a different transportation method; I’m never going to be free of sparkles ever again.”

“I think it suits you,” grins Brenda. “It goes well with your broody charm.”

“Gross,” says Helen. “He doesn’t have broody charm, he’s pathetic.”

“Grow older and you might understand.”

“Double gross.”

“I am right here,” says Jim pointlessly. “I’m starting to wish Helen had managed to keep her magic, if only it could get rid of the glitter. There isn’t even anywhere to wash off around here.”

The world explodes in glitter. Again.

Blinking, the three of them find themselves near a stream.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” says Jim faintly.

“At least travelling will be quicker,” replies Helen, sounding slightly hysterical.

****

“How do you still have magic?” says Brenda, voice high and panicky.

“I have no idea! I thought I’d be rid of it! You’re the grown-up one here, maybe you should tell me.”

“Jim?”

“Hey, don’t look at me!” protests Jim. “I think we all need to just calm down—”

“Calm down? I can use glitter to teleport us anywhere!”

“You do not need to sound that gleeful about it, Helen,” snaps Brenda. “Speaking of glitter, why is there a large undulating mass of it in the sky?”

The three of them whip out to stare up.

“It’s spelling out something,” says Jim, master of stating the obvious.

“RELENQUISH THE MAGIC,” reads Helen, with faint surprise.

“You definitely need to teach me how to read sometime,” mutters Brenda. “Okay, how to we do that?”

“I’m not giving up my powers just because some unknown person tells me to!” shrieks Helen.

Jim gives her his best flat, disappointed look—the one that always worked best on new recruits.

“Oh, alright,” sighs Helen.

****

“Hey, I think the glitter’s spelling out something else,” says Brenda.

“SING THE MAGIC-RELINQUISHING SONG,” reads Jim haltingly. “How does that even go?”

Another flurry of movement in the sky. “TO BE SUNG TO THE TUNE OF WISHING WELL.”

“I don’t know how that goes!” yells Helen.

“JUST MAKE IT SOUND HEAVENLY,” reads the glitter.

Jim and Brenda wince. Helen is utterly incapable of sounding even remotely heavenly. “Is there an alternative?”

“FINE, JUST READ IT OUT IN A RHYTHMIC, MUSICAL WAY,” reads the glitter. Somehow the text looks exasperated. It rearranges again. “NOW SING THE FOLLOWING: BYE BYE MAGIC / FLY AWAY TO INFINITY AND BEYOND / SO THAT I AM FREE OF POWER / HOORAY AND YAYSIES.”

“That doesn’t sound musical,” says Helen.

“READ IT OR I DROP THE GLITTER MESSAGING TO KILL YOU,” reads the glitter. Effectively chastised, Helen begins to sing horribly off-key.

The world explodes in glitter. Again. This is really getting old.

****

“Okay, where are we now?” sighs Jim as he wipes out the glitter from his eyes for the third time.

“Um, Jim? You might wanna keep your eyes closed for this one,” says Brenda. He can practically hear the wince in her voice.

“How bad is it?” he asks grimly.

“Well, it really depends on your definition of good,” says Helen. She sounds very cheerful, which is never a good sign. “It’s practically paradise for me, but I think you’ll find quite a lot of reason to disagree because you’re old and stinky and boring.”

“I’m not stinky!” gasps Jim, offended. He almost misses the old comment. “Wait, how old do you think I am?”

“I dunno, sixty?” says Helen. Brenda snickers, so Jim makes it a point to ask: “And how old do you think Brenda is?” to which he gets the extremely satisfying reply of “Sixty-five.”

“Okay, I’m going to look now,” says Jim, opening his eyes warily.

He buries his head in his hands, and Brenda doesn’t even bother trying to stop him.

They’re in a cave filled completely to the brim with glitter.

This is the exact opposite of Jim’s comfort zone.

Daily 30

Write 500 words about what you would do and how you would if it’s your birthday every day.

Word count: 505 words

Notes: My, this was fun! I didn't expect it to end up like this when I started writing but somewhere along the third paragraph I started considering Implications and while it's not the kind of piece I'll cherish forever, I'm rather delighted with how it turned out :D

⇾ ▫ ♜ ▫ ⇽

If it were my birthday everyday, I would one hundred percent exploit the birthday card all the time, whenever I could. I’d be downright insufferable about it. People would get sick of me exploiting the birthday card to get them to do whatever I wanted so much, it’d be glorious. Get me a book every day for my birthday. Take me to the library. Download an entire databases’ worth of movies. Take me to a concert. Get me out of school. Buy me a pretty dress. And so on and so forth, depending on whatever catches my fancy on whatever day it is.

I don’t think I should ever get anything done at all—I tend to be very lenient with the breaks I give myself, especially when it’s some sort of special day. I’d procrastinate so hard I’d be procrastinating on procrastination, as impossible as that may be. I’d sleep the whole day if I could—I’m sure I would. It’s extraordinarily tempting to treat yourself when you have a viable excuse, and I think I have never quite been able to resist the temptation to just…put it off for later. Enjoy doing everything apart from what I should arguably actually be doing.

Of course, at one point, I would start wondering about the strange nature of this birthday. Surely it cannot last forever, a birthday everyday. One is not simply born everyday. Reborn, reshaped, sure, but not true birth, not the kind that would warrant a birthday. The logic doesn’t work out. The only conclusion, therefore, becomes a time loop. Okay, it’s not the only conclusion, but it’s the easiest one, and as of now, the most compelling. The best part about time loops, though, is that eventually everything is erased. I could do anything—anything at all—and I would never have to deal with the consequences.

My, isn’t that compelling? An infinity of no consequences. How incredibly like Emily Hornby from The Do-Over, by Lynn Painter. She decides to have her fun with the lack of consequences; I think I would too. Maybe I’d spend one of my birthdays being unabashedly, incredibly rude. Wouldn’t that be nice? Getting out all that rage? It is, after all, my birthday. I deserve to do what I want, don’t I? I could tell people what I really feel (it’s my birthday!) and if it hurt their feelings, well, that’s okay! They won’t remember today.

I wonder if I’d ever get bored of an eternity of doing whatever I want. I’m sure I would, at some point. But there’s no telling what’ll happen if the loop breaks. What if everyone remembers them too? What if they don’t? What if they only remember the worst loops? And when it’s not my birthday anymore, I’ll have to go back to trudging drearily through the everyday, over and over again. Another time loop entirely of my own making. Why would I ever do that? No, I think I’ll have my fun. Until then, well, happy birthday to me!

SWC July 2025

Script, yet again!

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Dailies

• 02.07.2025 (Motivational letter swap, 288 words)
  
• 05.07.2025 (Wrote about stuffed animals without saying stuffed animals)
  
• 06.07.2025 (Spoof on a famous book)
  
• 08.07.2025 (Omit a letter, in this case t)
  
• 11.07.2025 (Touching grass)
  
• 13.07.2025 (Testimony against mango theft)
  
• 14.07.2025 (Constellations)
  
• 16.07.2025 (Trope subversion)
  
• 17.07.2025 (Classic rewrite)
  
• 20.07.2025 (Elements of literature spinner)
  
• 24.07.2025 (Myth rewrite)
  

Weeklies

• Weekly 1 (Character development)
  
• Weekly 2 (Fairy tales)
  
• Weekly 4
  

Daily 2

Motivational letter for @littlelonebird!

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Hi, Maven! I see you're in Thriller this session—both Zy and Ivory are amazing at what they do and I'm sure you'll have an absolutely wonderful time in SWC with them this July.

Something I’ve found about word goals is that they’re usually much easier to meet than you think they are, so long as you haven’t been too ambitious. Between dailies, weeklies, word wars and cabin wars, the words usually just pour in. And that’s not even counting all your other non-SWC writing! Basically, what I think I’m trying to say is: don’t worry too much about meeting your word goal just yet. 9k seems impossible until you do two weeklies and your English homework and you find you’re almost halfway there.

(I actually don’t know what your word goal is, but I personally think it’d be very funny if it actually turned out to be 9k).

Anyhow, speaking of weeklies! Starting early is key: if you tackle each part every day or two, you can finish in more than enough time! But that’s advice, not motivation, and also: you know that already. So what I’ll say instead is this: do NOT listen to the procrastination monkey. Do it now if you must. You’re strong enough to resist the temptation. I believe in you. IT’S ABOUT DRIVE IT’S ABOUT POWER YOU STAY HUNGRY YOU DEVOUR!

As for your fifteen dailies, I think that’s a perfect goal to have. It’s reasonable, and it’s balanced, and I’m starting to think maybe I should consider setting that as a goal too. Be strategic about skipping dailies, though! Don’t let too many side by in a row let you find your motivation wavering.

Wishing you all the very best,
Recca >:D

Daily 5

(…) today you'll be writing about a preexisting product, but you’re not allowed to use the name of the product anywhere in your writing!

Word count: 343 words

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

“Surely you must’ve had one before?”

“Oh, perhaps. But everything from before seems like a haze in my mind—I can hardly remember anything. I might’ve had one, I might’ve not, but that doesn’t change the fact that in either case I still wouldn’t know.”

“That is possibly the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not that bad. I don’t honestly get what the big deal is anyway.”

“What the big deal—oh, come on! They’re the best things to ever exist—”

“—since sliced bread?”

“Even better than sliced bread! You can never go wrong with them! Getting a new one is fun, but the best ones are always the oldest, most well-worn ones. I swear, they get softer and more comfortable every day. I’d keep mine with me all the time if I could.”

“That seems unhygienic and also unproductive.”

“Semantics! The point is, they’re amazing. I’d die if I had to live without mine.”

“You’d die if you had to live without food. I’m sure you could survive without your—”

“No! Don’t say it, please! The very thought of it is awful. Horrific beyond comprehension. If you ever finish that sentence, I think it’ll be the end of our friendship forever. Under no circumstances could I find it in my heart to forgive you for breathing such a hateful, horrible thought into existence.”

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything about you getting rid of it, geez.”

“You’d better. Having one is basically a basic humanitarian right all children (and most adults) need to be provided with.”

“I’m not sure comforting animal-shaped stuffing is important enough to be considered a humanitarian right, really—”

“It’s the principle of the thing. Everyone needs something to hold onto when they go to sleep. Y’know, to chase the monsters under the bed away.”

“…those aren’t real.”

“Did you even have a childhood? Never mind, don’t answer that. Let’s just go get you a comforting cloth companion or whatever it was you called it. Everyone needs at least one, I’m telling you!”

Daily 6

(…) write a 150+ word spoof on a famous book.

Word count: 222 words

Notes: Kinda wish I had more time to do this because I lowkey missed the point of the daily but it's late so ehhhh. I'm honestly surprised I've never thought to compare Little Women and Pride and Prejudice before this. It's been ages since I've read Little Women, though, so do take this with a grain of salt. This work is hereby titled Pride and Women.

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In Regency England, five sisters are born to a genteel family—Meg, Jo, Wilhelmina, Beth, and Amy Bennet. Or maybe they were Jane, Lizzy, Mary, Kitty and Lydia March. Honestly, it’s really hard to keep track of character names. Let’s just call them One, Two, Three, Four and Five for the order in which they were born.

One is the kindest, gentlest, prettiest girl in all the country. Two is a raging feminist, except within the next few hundred years feminism becomes a mockery of its original self and in every subsequent adaptation or retelling she will be portrayed as a Strong, Independent Gurlboss Who Don’t Need No Man and somehow manage to destroy the entire point of her character in the first place. Four is a plot device and Five somehow manages to fall in love with Two’s ex-boyfriend.

Their father, Mr. Marchbennet is largely absent from the proceedings due to either boredom or warfare, while their mother, Ms. Bennetmarch, is the only one who cares about getting her girls married so that they are guaranteed to live socioeconomically stable lives as opposed to the far more tumultuous affair of being, gasp, a spinster!

Oh, right, I forgot about Three. Well she either doesn’t exist or no one cares about her, so we don’t need any more details about her anyway.

Daily 8

For this daily, it's your job to omit an ABC’s sign in your writing. Your story has to contain a minimum of 300 words and no words in your story can contain said symbol that you pick.

Notes: Hurled away my t's! Dude, I had so much fun writing this (that's a lie, I was actually really close to setting myself on fire every time I was forced to confront the fact that I'm incapable of forming sentences without that and it) and I think I definitely need to try writing more nonsense. I didn't even get around to making up fake words! And literary spirals into madness are always so fun >:)

Word count: 301 words

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Okay, I’ll confess: I have never done—

Oh, for—

You see my problem? I have so few words—

I have so few words I can use. My hands are bound and I find myself—

I find myself—

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

My gosh, if anyone else could see me now! Hanging off of a cliff, my fingernails digging down and clinging—

Holding—

My mind cracks, and however, my proclama— declara—

Oh, send away, send away! Nonsensical ramblings are all I have in my arsenal anymore, perhaps making doohickeys up will suffice. So annoying! So angry-making! Makes me wish I had a heavy fridge I could fling off beyond my line of vision, so far away I will never find said heavy fridge again!

I will concede I am lying. I have phrases and synonyms and far-reaching placeholders and really, were I less lazy, less mulish, I could make a passable endeavour, one more sincere and sensical. However, I am so very—

No, no, foolish! Foolish, grave, dangerous misspeak. Be more careful and quick and I will be okay.

And I have much more of a very long road I compulsorily walk! I am weary, so very weary. All easy words are beyond my grasp and I am unable, I should presume, for I find myself wavering even here when I am so close and so far!

Am I making sense? I know for sure finding any sense in my ramblings will be nigh impossible—I know because I recorded all you see here.

Shall I make concessions? Chop aside all words joining my words, every single no-no lexicon having forbidden symbols. Plusgood indeed if you find no sense in my sayings, for none can be found, I propelled all sense away, far away, across sea and horizon, so far even I will never see!

Weekly 1

Total word count: 1099 words

• Part 1: 153 words
  
• Part 2: 227 words
  
• Part 3: 236 words
  
• Part 4: 483 words
  

Notes: Man, I'd almost forgotten the feeling of speedrunning everything so desperately and sloppily that I hated every slapdash bit of everything I'd written XD
Also, classic Recca move of putting a lot of effort into a project only for it to look like zero effort :P

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 1

She gets insanely envious of others. Always wants what she can’t have, but that never stops her from going ridiculous lengths to try and get it anyway. It results in a tunnel-vision sort of phenomenon. If they have something she wants for herself, she’ll go any lengths to get it. Some things are more unattainable than others; in these cases, it’s a fifty-fifty chance on whether she’ll try to be insanely likeable or forgo it entirely and skip to insanely dislikeable. Either way, not always a pleasant person to be around.

Undoubtedly has more flaws that aren’t tied to her jealousy, but it’s easiest to explore one at a time. I do think she’s prone to sabotage, though I’m undecided on whether she goes far enough to self-sabotage as well. I suppose that makes her clever, but manipulation dynamics are hard to work with on short term. We’ll see how it pans out.

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 2

Let’s say she sees them. She has always seen them, of course, but maybe this time sticks out for some reason in particular. Maybe she’s having a terrible day, and maybe she’s caught in a silent battle of who’s better with one of them, and maybe it’s just hundreds of little things snowballing into one big thing. The point is, seeing them is what breaks the straw on the camel’s back.

She’s struck by this overwhelming, all-consuming loneliness. She wants what they have. Or—no, not exactly what they have, but maybe something close to it. And she won’t admit it, but she’s jealous. What does my brilliant girl do, then? Hatches some sort of evil plan destined to tear them apart. Will it work? Unsure. If it does, it sends her on a power trip and she destroys whatever they have entirely. If she can’t have it, no one can, etc. and basically everyone is miserable.

However, I am a sap, and I doubt it will go so far—they’ll probably remain unaffected, but it doesn’t stop her from her rampage. Eventually she spirals so far into loathing (outwards, inwards, all around) it gives way to despair. But the unwanted side-effects of trying to sabotage someone involve knowing them, and my silly little MC lets herself be known in turn, and it’s really downhill from there.

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 3

As mentioned before, she’s just really lonely. She wants so badly to be known. And because irrationality is a staple in trashy literature, just seeing them makes her blood boil. It’s like the opposite of cute aggression.

She wants what they have but she won’t let herself have it and instead skips straight to proving that them being together is worth nothing in the face of the real world, because really, how dare they? How dare they be happy when she can’t? Terrible mindset to have, and we could do with far less people who think like that, but it’s so awfully convenient with fictional characters.

There are certain expectations she finds herself unable to live up to. She’s convinced that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be someone worth caring for, because she tried once and the effort that came with it nearly killed her. Maybe the break wasn’t clean, and maybe it was so ugly that it took what was already rotten in her and made her worse. (That sentence sounded more elegantly dramatic in my head, but I oughtn’t to trust my judgement when tired.) Maybe she’s always been quick to turn to envy, but maybe it was worse when the person she trusted to have her back acted like they couldn’t trust her to have theirs. Maybe them turning to others was a major point of discontent. Who knows?

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 4

“Oh, I saw him leave a few minutes ago,” she says. “Said something about being done for the day.”

She’s lying. She actually hasn’t seen him all day, but she can text someone to keep him busy long enough for her to effectively get rid of both of them.

She’s already seeing the fracture lines starting to form, the thin lines of doubt beginning to set, as invisible and inevitable as water chipping away at rock until it breaks into nothing. The thought of it sends a rush through her; she’s so wired up she could run a marathon. At its heels there’s a faint twinge of something else, something more solemn, but she ignores it in favor of the heady feeling of rapidly approaching success.

We were supposed to go out together today. A promise is supposed to mean something.

She feigns surprise at this: “Oh, really? That’s odd. I thought he would have at least mentioned it.” She spouts a few more lines in this vein, knowing that they’ll fall on deaf ears. The swirling mess of despair, confusion, annoyance—it’s all so potent that it’s the easiest thing in the world to nudge into place, fitting perfectly into her plans.

She feels content. Surely some devastation will come of the seeds she’s planted, and when it does, she’ll finally be free. She can finally tell that gaping hole in her to shut up, to stop being delusional, because nothing lasts. She’s not different, or special. They’ve all got the same lot in life. There’s no secret happy ending waiting for anyone. Not even them.

She pulls out her phone to text him some or the other excuse to keep him away. She’s decided that she’d rather have the satisfaction of driving the axe through them for herself. But she pauses, glancing at the half of the whole in front of her. Something in her clenches.

Maybe—maybe she can wait a few minutes. No need to put in extra effort to cast suspicion on her when things inevitable fall apart. Best to let things happen naturally, right?

There’s a call at the door, and like two opposite ends of a rubber band stretched too thin finally released, they collapse towards each other. It’s nauseating.

“Oh,” she says. “I must’ve been mistaken,” she lies, neatly extricating herself from the situation. It didn’t go according to plan—why did she stray from the plan? She might still be able to salvage this if she strikes while the iron is hot, while the cracks are still new. Yes, maybe playing the long game will be safer. She can push them apart eventually. No one can really be that happy together, but—

They invite her to come along, and she falters. It could be so easy to ruin them.

She declines the offer. Maybe she should wait before making her next move, that’s all.

Daily 11

For today's daily, take a screen break, walk up to someone, and interact with them! Now, return to your device and write at least 200 words inspired by the interaction

Notes: He's going to end up disappearing under mysterious circumstances one day, but I certainly won't have any hand in the matter.

Word count: 245 words

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

They face each other, hands in fists held in front of their faces. Bouncing on the balls of their feet, one leg slightly out in front of the other. She wonders if his form is any better than hers, but judging by how they haven’t even started throwing fake punches yet, they’re both feeling too silly to actually care.

He lets out a war cry, still braced to attack, but not making any move to do so.

She blinks. That’s new. She lets out a wild yawp of her own, but she still doesn’t throw the first fake punch. Imitation is the safest tactic when your opponent throws a curveball at you—that’s how she always plays chess against him. Not that she’s ever won a game that way, but details.

They spend the next few seconds taking turns to screech wordlessly in each other’s faces until eventually he gives up and tries a different strategy.

“Okay, I’ve got this new kick I want to try out,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Okay. It’s called the torture kick,” he continues, still bouncing around like a Walmart version of Muhammad Ali.

Without pausing for breath, he starts singing the worst possible song known to man in the falsetto he uses solely to be annoying. She walks out of the fake fight with nary another word—defeat is bitter, but it was not honorably won. She shall surely best him the next time they face each other in combat.

Weekly 2

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains mentions of—well, quite a lot of things, actually, most predominant of which is surprisingly humans being eaten by other humans or otherwise. Off the top of my head, there is also a mention of the red liquid which upon grave injury flows out of thy body, and drink. Do proceed with caution.

Total word count: 1769 words

• Part 1: 263 words
  
• Part 2: 284 words
  
• Part 3: 570 words
  
• Part 4: 652 words
  

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Part 1

Sinbad and Odysseus both make needlessly long voyages across the sea and keep getting distracted on their way home, accidentally losing years in the process. A major difference is that while Sinbad’s voyages are largely voluntary with breaks at home in between, the Odyssey is one long, uninterrupted journey.

There are certain overlapping incidents in both stories, most prominent of which are the island with a monster that eats the crew and the island where the crew is fattened up before being eaten. Circe becomes a group of thin cannibals. Polyphemus shifts from a cyclops to a terrifying monster, but they both get stabbed in the eye as a means of escape.

With the curiously rampant number of crew members being eaten, it makes one wonder if the original people telling these stories thought about cannibalism the same way bicurious people think about bisexuality.

There are a few other possible points of comparison. The island that turns out to be a whale from Sinbad’s first voyage capsizes his ship and leaves him clinging to a bit of wood in a violent sea; if one is willing to squint, they could argue that the whale becomes the Arabian Nights’ version of Charybdis. Odysseus is stranded on Calypso’s island; Sinbad is stranded on multiple islands—in one very notable incident, he procures a very clingy old man who won’t let go of him.

Granted, the Odyssey hardly counts as a fairy tale, and they’re not different versions of the same story as much as different stories with some similarities, but it’s very interesting to explore!

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 2

On her thirteenth birthday, her mother gave her a bottle of perfume. She took a sniff and said: why, it smells like my favorite flowers. Her mother replied: perhaps it does, but I would swear upon my head that it smells like my favorite flowers.

Baffled, she stared at her mother, who only smiled in lieu of reply. It took much pleading and cajoling before she could extract a satisfactory response from her mother, but at last she had her answer.

This perfume, said her mother, daisies for you and roses for me, can turn you invisible. No, don’t shake your head! You of all people should be ecstatic, it’s true! It was bestowed on your many-times-great grandmother by a fairy on her thirteenth birthday, and it has been passed down to every girl in our bloodline for her thirteenth birthday. And we’ve gotten very lucky indeed, for there have never been any sisters until now. The spell is foolproof—it has never run out and I doubt it ever will.

Already her cunning mind was running through the infinite possibilities when her mother said there was a caveat. Your true love will be able to see through the spell, she said. It’s how three-times-great grandma was convicted for arson and your five-times-great grandma was put in jail for grand larceny. For all their love was true, it seemed they were never truly loved in return. I had to give up on using it when I met your father. You must be careful, dear.

Well, the girl never fell in love with anyone, and so, she lived a life of outrageous crime with her magic perfume and no one ever found out. The end.

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 3

On the first day of the ball, the prince pretended he was only an eighth as bored as he really was. Women, women, everywhere, as far as the eye could see—all primped and pressed and polished to woo him off his feet. It was a pity he wasn’t built to be wooed by women. He would find the whole lot of them more enjoyable if they stopped making the conversation about marriage three sentences in. There was one that was almost tolerable—he’d even remembered her name and dress! But she was whisked off by her father before they could properly ogle the rest of the eligible bachelors together. Well, he ogled the bachelors. Gwen, who’d shown up wearing what was possibly the manliest dress to exist, ogled the women and trashed on his poor taste in men. But they’d been having fun together!

There was a slight commotion at the other end of the hall as someone showed up late. The prince only spared her half a glance—her dress was gorgeous, and there was something pleasing about her face and manner. He rather hoped she wouldn’t prove as disappointing as the others. So far, the only other nice people he met were Sarah, who was more than willing to talk his ear off about horses while they danced, and the charming foreign knight whose name he still couldn’t pronounce. His patience was running thin, and he wanted to go to bed.

He reached for a glass of champagne, only to find it snatched away from his hand at the last second. Startled, he sees the latecomer girl rapidly chugging it down. “Sorry,” she says, once she’s drained the flute. “I needed to look busy.”

“Whatever for?” he asks, baffled. Then, he recalls his own near misses at these parties with awkward acquaintances and decides he ought to cut the poor girl some slack. “Okay, never mind—I’ve done the same more than a few times myself.”

“Oh,” says the girl, finally seeing him. “You’re the prince.”

And then: “I thought you’d be taller.”

She promptly winces, blanching immediately. He waves her off before she can apologize. “Yes, the blood of royalty is rather disappointing. Exhibit A,” he says gesturing towards himself. “If you still need to look busy, perhaps you should grant me the honor of a dance,” he offers, deciding to be courteous.

“I can’t,” says the girl. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I can’t afford to be noticed,” she says, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. It really is quite gorgeous. “I just wanted to have some fun,” she admits, nearly to the point of tears.

The prince sighs. He should really introduce this girl to Gwen, it might do them all some good.

“Look,” he says. “Just come with me. No one’s going to say anything to you—I’m the prince. Also, your dress is much prettier than you are—people won’t even notice it’s you wearing it.”

She wrinkles her nose as the insult, but the prince merely raises an eyebrow. “You could spend the rest of the ball hiding. Or,” he says, grinning conspiratorially, “we could have fun. Think of all the pranks we could pull with all these people here.”

She accepts (against her better judgement, no doubt), and he feels marginally less bored already. “Come on,” he says, offering his arm. “I’d like you to meet someone.”

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

Part 4

Once upon a time, in a forest of ivory and gold, there was a great oak tree. Not far from it lived a woodcutter in his little cottage, though how he survived in so isolated a place remains a mystery. The woodcutter had a daughter, but this girl’s mother was tragically missing from the picture because she had passed away, as most mothers in such stories tend to do.

The girl loved spending her days with the oak tree, because ivory and gold making a striking picture and children like shiny things. By the time she was old enough to have grown out of her penchant for shiny things, however, loving the tree had become habit, and so that is what she did. She spent all her time scrambling up its branches and whispering her secrets in its leaves because as previously mentioned, they were quite isolated in the forest and the girl had literally no other companions or pastimes save for taking care of her dearest father when he returned home after a long day of chopping wood in the forest.

The girl’s life was simple and uncomplicated, and she breezed through each day happy and carefree until tragedy struck. Her father staggered home without his axe, and he was gravely injured. Distraught and with no one around to help, the girl flung herself at the oak and begged for a solution. You mustn’t fault her for such foolishness, because it worked out in her favor. The girl had poured half her soul into that tree and given it new life. The tree told her to pluck the leaves from its highest branches and feed them to her father. The girl clambered up as nimble as a squirrel—the path was familiar to her. She raced down with the leaves and shoved them down her father’s red-blooming throat, and to her relief, he was hale and hearty after a day. Thus grew the girl’s attachment to the oak.

One day, when the girl had grown into a young woman, the prince of the kingdom happened to pass through the forest. He had heard much about its ivory and gold, and he wished to use the riches for the country. He happened to see the girl and was struck by her beauty (she was not, in fact, very beautiful, but the sight of her next to the wealthy oak was enough to make her so) and befriended her. Their courtship was slow and steady and on the day the woman was to be married, she went to her old friend the oak and asked it for a favor—something precious she could bestow upon her wealthy husband that he would be proud to bear. The tree allowed her to strip off enough of its bark to fashion an ivory handle out of it, befitting of a king’s blade. Thus grew the prince’s fascination with the forest.

Though the woman moved to the capital to live with the prince, she visited the oak nearly every day, for she was rich and money opens many doors, including ones that get you halfway across the country even with medieval era transport. The prince grew jealous of the time she spent with the tree, because he was exactly the kind of loser who would be jealous of a tree. Hiding his displeasure, he fed her falsehoods of how ruinous, treacherous, evil, the tree was. She must break all ties with it immediately.

Heartbroken but determined, the woman went to the tree and asked it for a final favor—to break their friendship forever, as penance for the oak’s sins. The oak, however, being blameless, could not bear the weight of a demand so cruel, and so it stretched out its branches towards the woman and entangled her within them, consuming her until she was indistinguishable from the vast ivory expanse of the tree’s bark. The end!

Daily 13

Oh no! Last night while the campers were sleeping, Smarlls the ibex’s stash of mangoes was stolen, and everyone here is a suspect. For today’s daily, write an alibi explaining why you’re innocent

Word count: 378 words

Notes: Dogberry from Much Ado About Nothing go brr

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

You DARE accuse me of something as pedestrian as mango theft? Me? It’s outrageous! Preposterous! Absurd, I tell you! Why would I steal Smarlls the ibex’s mangoes when I have a treasury full of them to the brim? I have no want of mangoes! I could eat one every day and I’d still be rich!

I see you do not yet believe me. Very well. I shall make my actions last night clear, and you will cease to believe in the foolish delusion that I could be responsible.

Mary sir, last night I was thoroughly engaged in clearing out the set. There had been an unprecedented attack on it, indeed, half of the crew was desperately trying to salvage the flaming remains of it. Moreover, you will find that my crew will be able to testify as to my actions.

Secondarily, given my preoccupation with my flaming set, I had no time to steal the mangoes. I went to sleep almost immediately after I had done what I could, trusting my crew to be able to take care of the rest. They are mighty fine people, and I would not trade them for the world. Trust their word if you will not trust mine.

Sixthly and lastly, as I have said, I have no motive to commit mango theft. I have nothing against Smarlls, against whom this heinous crime was committed. I offer my condolences. Given my own wealth of mangoes, I can only imagine the grief that must come with this incident.

Thirdly, I have no idea whence the mangoes could have been stolen. I had no knowledge of the location of this mango stash, nor did I know it existed until you arrived with your baseless accusations against mine innocent character.

And to conclude, you have not presented any evidence that I could have done it. Such amateurishness may be excused—presumably you have not been playing enough Ace Attorney. I shall take your leave now. I have already wasted far too much time in convincing you of my innocence when you have not even taken the necessary steps for proving my guilt. You may return with your allegations when you can show me something that proves I deserve them. Farewell, and good day to ye.

Daily 14

Choose a constellation, and write a story of 250 words. Your story could be about anything, any aspect of the constellation.

Word count: 266 words

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

When they said she’d be the one painting the heavens, she really wasn’t expecting to be handed a paintbrush and some white paint and told to get to work. If she was being really honest, she kind of thought there’d be something more grandiose. A little more drama, a little more flair—but no. Just a paintbrush and white paint. But she tried to make the most of it, she really did! Painted the whole outlines of the galaxies, vague shapes for where she’d put the details.

Here’s the thing, though: she got bored halfway through the outlines and couldn’t be bothered to do the details. And the worst part was that she HAD to fill in the details, because she signed up to paint the heavens and there was no way she could switch halfway through without getting fired.
Things were not looking very good for her, no indeed. In a fit of pique, she flicked her paintbrush across the heavenly canvas and promptly lost her mind over the fact that she’d probably guaranteed the end of her entire career and—

Wait a second.

Huh. That actually…that actually looked nice.

So she went on splattering the heavens with random flecks of paint and all of them eventually became the stars and all of the constellations are, in fact, collaborative fanart by generations of humanity. The only real constellation are the dots that make up Orion, which she painted on purpose because she loved the idea of having a silly li’l guy in all the chaos. She is very delighted to see that everyone else agreed.

Daily 16

Take a common writing trope and put your own unique spin on it

Notes: Sad Angsty Codependent Gays this. Sad Angsty Codependent Gays that. ENOUGH!!!!!! Womeb.
Or, in more coherent terms: I try to satirize a trope (sadboi gays), only to stumble into another trope (genderbend) while the world weeps at the beauty of task failed successfully.

Word count: 341 words

. ⭑ . ⭒ .

While the world erupts into chaos around her, Val takes a moment to think about Livia. Think about her hair and her eyes and her laugh, god, her laugh. Val would burn a city down all over again if you promised her it would mean she’d hear Livia laugh.

As if summoned by her prayers, she arrives like a (insert needlessly dramatic comparison). Val stares as Livia crouches down in front of her. She looks as unfazed because she always looks unfazed, but Val has learned to see through the cracks. She catches the slightest tremble in Livia’s ever-steady hands, the edge of something in her gaze.

Val is just about ready to burst out of her skin. She feels like she’s one second away from exploding, and Livia’s the only thing left holding her together. She remains kneeling as Livia looks her over, cradling her face between her hands and tilting her head this way and that.

“And here I was thinking I’d finally be rid of you,” says Livia at last, voice dry and devoid of any hint of emotion.

Val laughs bitterly. “Guess you’re stuck with me for a little while longer. Sorry to disappoint. ‘Least this way you still have the honor of getting rid of me yourself.”

Livia doesn’t take the bait. “What happened?”

Val shrugs, gesturing vaguely towards the world dissolving into flames. “Told you I wouldn’t be able to keep it in check.”

“You keep underestimating yourself,” says Livia, frustration bleeding into her voice.

“And you keep expecting too much of me,” Val snaps back. “Why won’t you ever listen?”

“I’ll start when you do.”

Val scoffs. She’d turn away if there were anything more worth looking at than her.

“Hey,” says Livia. “I wouldn’t say you could if I didn’t believe it. You need to trust me.”

Something about the simple way she says it makes the tension bleed out of Val. She feels, more than sees, the world shifting back to normal.

“Fine,” says Val, resigned. She could never refuse Livia anyway.

Daily 17

For today’s daily, you’ll be choosing a classic novel and reimagining it in a contemporary setting.

Notes: So this ended up being more trashy gossip rag, but I would like to have it on record that I think a sitcom style mockumentary would also be very funny.
Try not to see whether I've successfully 'experimented with how themes, characters, and conflicts from the original story would work in today’s world, while still keeping the central idea the same', you'll only end up hurting yourself.

Word count: 300 words

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Welcome to another episode of Keeping Up With the Karenins! In today’s issue on the life of these ridiculously rich Russians and their drama, we find that Anna has become hopelessly enamored with Alexei, the new transfer student. So jock that everyone knows him only by his surname Vronsky, they seem like a perfect match—if it weren’t for the teensy tiny fact that Anna’s still very much involved with her older college boyfriend who is, by some trick of the universe, also Alexei. Holy love triangle, Batman! Public opinion is divided between whether Anna’s going to ditch Karenin and whether she’s secretly gunning for polyamory. It seems only time will tell.

Let’s move on to Anna’s brother Stepan, who desperately needs to tone it down with the almond oil. Rumor says he’s messed up big time and that Dolly won’t ever talk to him anymore. Insider sources are currently gathering information; rest assured all will be revealed soon! One thing seems certain, though: it seems Anna isn’t the only one in the family with a penchant for fresh faces…

In more comical news, Levin (who will be referred to mononymously for the rest of the foreseeable future to preserve your informant’s sanity) still thinks he has a shot with Kitty Shcherbatskaya. Given the fact that he failed so miserably at stringing together enough words to coherently ask her out, it’s a miracle she understood he was asking her out in the first place. She was lucky enough to cut him off before the serenading began. It seems the most anticipated promposal of the year has been doomed forever, how tragic! We approached his brother Nikolai for comment, but he was too busy washing his books with potato soup to say anything of note.

Stay tuned for our next update!