MC Daily 3/26 - Previous Daily

Mar 26: Get ready to shake things up, because this daily will be a wild ride! Today, you’ll be exploring a trope in fanfic where characters swap their roles. For example, the protagonist becomes the antagonist, or the student becomes the mentor. Remember to keep their personality the same! Using this trope, write a fanfic piece that is 300 words long. By doing so, you will earn 200 points and 150 extra for sharing proof!

decided to use a daily from last march that i really liked, which also happened to have been the daily exactly a year ago ;D
basically in this ri get's max's role, max gets camphora's, and camphora gets ri's. yumsies!
589 words

Ri Breguet was sixteen years old when he went to the war. A young man blinded by the prospect of glory, the war gilded with hopeless optimism.

He is sixteen still, a shell of the same young man who had so eagerly provided falsified papers behind his parents’ back. Now, he only gazes up at the dull gray sky and feels the familiar regret tearing through his flesh, a sharper wound than what any bullet or shrapnel can do to him.

Then he hears footsteps behind him. One of his trenchmates, so he gave no more thought to it.

“Hi?”

He whips around, because that certainly does not sound like a man’s voice, and he finds himself face-to-face with an olive-skinned girl in a cream dress, the sight of the unstained fabric almost giving him a heart attack.

And then he takes a step back, but doesn’t draw his weapon. Even he could register that this girl is no threat. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Camphora! Camphora Lang,” she says brightly, her voice a sound too lively for these trenches. Eyes are beginning to turn in their direction now, and she looks around hurriedly. “Well, maybe this is a bad time…”

A flash of darkness, and then she disappears, as if she has never existed. Ri rubs his eyes and then looks around. “Did you all just see that??” It couldn’t have been a hallucination if they all saw her, right?

Scattered nods come from all around him. Ri is feeling lightheaded, a feeling exacerbated by the artillery strike now starting—he can’t even tell from which side. As a captain, he should know these things, but it seems as if these days his nerves are slowly frittering away… and away…

-

Well, that was awkward, Camphora thinks as she returns to the white void. She can see Jikdus sipping on tea, reading something.

“Hi, Mx. Jikdus,” she greets, sitting down across from them.

“Phora! Are you alright? You look frazzled,” they comment, setting down their tea.

“Oh, yeah… I accidentally landed in the middle of some trenches and it was really awkward…” She thinks about the encounter again, the redheaded stranger she had met. There was something strange about him. It’s almost as if… they were destined to meet, but of course that was just silly.

“You’ll be fine,” Jikdus said with a tinkering laugh. “I’ve had my fair share of awkward experiences here on Earth, too. One of them was involved with saving you, actually.”

They then fall silent, seeming to realize what they had brought up. “I’m sorry, Phora.”

“No, it’s alright,” she says quietly. Her mind goes to her parents, to her siblings. In saving her, Jikdus had unknowingly created a… contradiction, of sorts, in the universes. She doesn’t know when she’ll get to go back and stay with them for good again, although she’s had her good share of encounters with them since then. Fleeting as they were, she has been reassured by them. At least they’re still there. “Well, I think I’ll go visit the Starrgos now, Mx. Jikdus. I’ll see you later!”

“Bye!” they responded, smile distracted.

-

“No, Max, put these over here,” Waldemar says, sounding exasperated. Probably because Max had been steadily zoning out for the past two hours.

“Sorry, Papa,” he mumbles, carrying the stack of paper and plopping them down on the far corner of his father’s desk.

After school, Max would often come and help Waldemar with shipping files. It’s usually simple work, but today Max is simply particularly distracted.

adventure challenge!

305 words

Ri then focused again, and this time the train landed on a hill. With no train tracks, for some reasons. And it was snowing. Oopsies.

“Gang, we may or may not be stuck,” he said, trying to move the train to no avail. Guess he’d just have to get off and wander around looking for whoever’s hanging around in this universe.

So that’s exactly what Ri did, buttoning his suit tighter around him and then hopping off into the snow. He could already feel his socks getting wet. This environment was certainly not comfortable, and he looked back longingly to the warmth and brightness of the train. Well, no time to think about that. He’d have to find the poor person stuck out here.

Ri trudged through the snow for the next half hour or so. The entire bottom half of his trousers were wet now, and he’s slipped three times on the icy ground, so he really hoped that Jikdus thought to install a shower and pack some change of clothes on the train. But then he was jolted out of his thoughts when he saw a flash of yellow up ahead.

It turned out to be a puppy, wagging its tail as it looked up at somebody. And that somebody turned out to be…

“Max?”

Max turned around to Ri. “Oh, Ri,” he said. He stood up from the tree stump he had been sitting on and headed forward in his direction. Ri suddenly noticed that snow was falling, coating Max’s uniform and his dog’s fur in powdery white. “What are you here, for?”

He shrugged. “Just going around. I could ask you the same, actually.”

Max blinked at him. “…I’m not sure.”

“Well, that’s not good,” he chortled. “Don’t wanna freeze to death out here. Come on now, come to our train!”

Weekly 4
Jim Flabsdz
181 words
“Soooo… this thing,” Ri said skeptically as he looked at the cross-universe train, or whatever it was called.
“Right! I thought it would help you out in your adventures, since you seem to have a lot of people around sometimes,” Jikdus said cheerfully from inside.
“Wouldn’t this take a lot of effort to get past universes, though?”
They hopped down to stand next to Ri. “Not at all, Ri. I designed it with the materials most suited to pass through the universe barriers!”
Ri stared at them, wondering what the materials could be, and then suddenly remembered. “Wait… you used your stash of Kayowsian steel??”
Jikdus shrugged. “Perhaps?”
“Awww, you didn’t have to! This is the best,” he said, all previous traces of questioning gone.
Jikdus ducked their head with a smile. They have never been good with compliments. “Well, come on now, try it out!”
Ri jumped into the crew compartment, and then beckoned to them. “Come on, Mx. Jikdus! We should go together.”
Jikdus obliged, squirrel-fying and sitting on Ri’s shoulder, and then Ri set the train into motion.



Lieutenant Lilac
214 words
The next moment the two found themselves on some train tracks. Well, it made sense given that it was a train that they were operating, but then Ri took a careful look out at the window.
“Oh, dear,” Jikdus said.
Far off in the distance, another train was careening towards them… on the same set of tracks.
“We’re done for,” Ri groaned. “Mx. Jikdus, can we take this train somewhere else now???”
“It has a cooldown moment of 30 seconds…” they said apologetically, flicking their tail.
“…”
The other train was close enough that Ri could see the other train driver frantically struggling with the controls. It was slowing down, but probably not quickly enough.
“Is there absolutely no way we can just… take it away?”
“Well, it might catch on fire… you know how Kayowsian steel is sometimes.”
Ri could see the panic in the other driver’s eyes. “Yeah, I think that might be a risk we have to take…”
But it was almost 30 seconds, wasn’t it?
So Ri concentrated, and he felt a block to his intent that certainly must be a result of the cooldown required, all while the trains’ collision seemed imminent.
And then the barrier was gone. Just before everything could smash into smithereens, Ri and Jikdus’s train vanished.


Pandora Pink
202 words
The next moment, they were off… still on the same set of train tracks. Fortunately, now they were facing the right way, and the train ahead of them was racing off into the sunset.
“Phew!” Jikdus squeaked from next to Ri’s ear. “Close one.”
“Close one indeed,” Ri agreed, but then he saw two people running in their direction. Were those… Camphora and Basil??
“Judge Ri!!” Camphora called up at the two of them.
Ri opened the door with the push of a button. “Well, ‘ello there, you two! Come on in!!”
Camphora and Basil clambered on and sat behind in the frontmost compartment. “Where’d you get this train?” Basil asked, glancing around.
“Eh. Don’t question it too much.”
Ri’s hand landed on a certain spot on the wheel, and a bunch of buttons suddenly emerged on the dashboard from out of nowhere. He pressed a purple one for funsies, and a bag of raisins plopped down into his lap. “Neat! You guys want some?”
Everyone had some of the raisins, and Ri felt a slight rush through his veins. “Oh, neat, these are magic? I love this train!! Thanks, Mx. Jikdus.”
“I have no idea how that worked actually,” they admitted.



Peeles
305 words
Ri then focused again, and this time the train landed on a hill. With no train tracks, for some reasons. And it was snowing. Oopsies.
“Gang, we may or may not be stuck,” he said, trying to move the train to no avail. Guess he’d just have to get off and wander around looking for whoever’s hanging around in this universe.
So that’s exactly what Ri did, buttoning his suit tighter around him and then hopping off into the snow. He could already feel his socks getting wet. This environment was certainly not comfortable, and he looked back longingly to the warmth and brightness of the train. Well, no time to think about that. He’d have to find the poor person stuck out here.
Ri trudged through the snow for the next half hour or so. The entire bottom half of his trousers were wet now, and he’s slipped three times on the icy ground, so he really hoped that Jikdus thought to install a shower and pack some change of clothes on the train. But then he was jolted out of his thoughts when he saw a flash of yellow up ahead.
It turned out to be a puppy, wagging its tail as it looked up at somebody. And that somebody turned out to be…
“Max?”
Max turned around to Ri. “Oh, Ri,” he said. He stood up from the tree stump he had been sitting on and headed forward in his direction. Ri suddenly noticed that snow was falling, coating Max’s uniform and his dog’s fur in powdery white. “What are you here, for?”
He shrugged. “Just going around. I could ask you the same, actually.”
Max blinked at him. “…I’m not sure.”
“Well, that’s not good,” he chortled. “Don’t wanna freeze to death out here. Come on now, come to our train!”



Smarlls
242 words
Jikdus offered to take over driving once Ri returned, which he thanked them cheerily for before heading off to take a shower and change. But when he came back, it seemed they ran into a problem.
“The train’s not starting,” they said. “Must be because the engine’s frozen.”
“Sooo we can fix this, right??”
Jikdus exchanged looks with everyone else squeezed into the front compartment. “The thing is, you know this isn’t a normal train, Ri. We can’t just reheat this with any ordinary fire, it’d have to be really hot… and I‘m not quite sure where you can go to get such hot fuel without getting yourself burned in the process.”
“How does the engine work, anyway? Maybe we don’t necessarily need a fire,” Camphora said thoughtfully. Meanwhile, Basil and Max were heading for the back of the train to survey the engine.
“Well, it just draws on the microrips of the universe surrounding the train,” Jikdus began thoughtfully. “It says here it’s frozen, but maybe it’s not exactly frozen in the proper sense of the word.”
Ri was about to leave the two of them to it and head to check on the engine when suddenly the train roared back to life. Max and Basil clambered back into the compartment, grins on their faces.
“We just turned it off and turned it back on,” Basil explained.
Jikdus laughed heartily and gestured for Ri to sit back in the driver’s seat.



Skog
241 words
“Well, let’s get this show back on the road!” Ri exclaimed. He floored the gas pedal equivalent on the train, and then suddenly they landed into a new universe: 17th century England!
Unfortunately, the gang encountered a very similar problem. As it was, there were no train tracks here. And they spawned right in the middle of a busy street.
“We’re done for,” Basil sighed.
Pandemonium broke out in the said street, but in the midst of all of this action Ri caught a glimpse of the person he was hoping to see: “ELLIS!”
Ellis’s eyes met Ri’s, and he waved over at the train. In an instant Ri was out of the train, and Ellis was wading across the sea of people to get to him.
Keeping ahold off the door, Ri reached out his hand and caught Ellis’s, and then he pulled. He could do this, right? But his puny arms decided today was not the day he would be able to drag Ellis against a wave of people heading in the opposite direction, and he felt both his grasp on Ellis and on the door slip…
“I’ve got you, Ri, hold on to Ellis!” Jikdus called out from behind him, wrapping him up in what was basically a bear hug, and then suddenly all three of them landed on the floor of the compartment.
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Ri muttered, and then they were off again.



Baroness Bluebell
116 words
This time they landed in a random set of tracks in a random field. No one really was around, and Ri sighed at the prospect of looking for someone else again. He’d just barely gotten past the whole thing in the streets of London just a few moments ago.
“I think I see someone!” Ellis exclaimed from beside him, and Ri looked out the window to see Germain hurrying over through the empty fields.
“By the way, Ri,” Jikdus said from besides him. “I forgot to tell you that this thing can fly.”
“WHAT??”
“What happened?” Germain asked as Max helped him up the train.
“THIS THING CAN FLY!! Oh and nice to see you Germain!!”


Blahaj
116 words
Germain nodded at him. “Nice train,” he said quietly.
“Thanks!! Jikdus made it. You guys should go check out the rest of it, it’s pretty neat.”
Max, Basil, and Germain all headed down the train, while Camphora and Ellis stuck around.
“Wait, so that means I should fly this thing!” Ri exclaimed.
“Well, it does depend on what universe you’re in…”
Unfortunately Ri didn’t get to hear that part, as he drove the train up and concentrated and…
“LOOK OUT!!” Jikdus and Ellis screamed in unison as Ri careened right in the direction of a Petrichor skyscraper.
“MY BAD GANG!!” Ri hurriedly slammed the brakes—which fortunately still worked in the air—and attempted to navigate back down.


Mazasa
204 words
Then he realized that maybe in the middle of Petrichor was not the best place for such navigation, and so he focused and…
“Ri!”
Ri blinked awake to find himself hovering in some random field. Again. But this time, it was March and Theo who he saw out the window!
Although they seemed… quite different. For one thing, they were drinking boba. When was there boba in the Starrgos?? At least, Tastea boba.
Also, they were most definitely wearing early 21st-century teenager clothes. March was decked out in a hoodie and scarf, along with some cargo pants, while Theo sported a letterman jacket over a Sabaton shirt and some track pants. Theo put his headphones down around his neck as he followed March over to greet the train and its passengers. Ri was quite thankful that this universe’s version of March and Theo already seemed to know him.
“Well, hello guys,” he said cheerfully. “Come on up and take the Midnight train!!” He hoped that was a good reference.
“Cutesy,” March commented. “Alright, bet.”
March and Theo clambered up the train and also headed to the back. Ri looked back over at them one more time before getting ready to set off again.


Marc Mangosen
219 words
When Ri realized where the train had taken him to this time, he felt lightheaded.
It was the same house by the foot of the Alps, the same white roofs framed by the pine trees, needles rolling down the tiles and falling into the grass below. The snow from the mountaintops was far away, but so blinding.
In an instant Jikdus was standing up next to him. “Ri,” they said. “Alright, could everyone step out for a moment?”
“Ri, it’s alright,” Ellis murmured to him before joining Camphora, who looked at him sympathetically, out of the compartment.
“I don’t know why it took me here,” Ri said softly. He felt as if his adventure has been cut strangely short by this uninvited destination, as strange as it was.
“I don’t know why either, I’m sorry, Ri,” Jikdus replied, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can leave, you know. We don’t have to stay.”
But Ri’s gaze was fixed on the house outside, the house in the lovely scene. How unnerving it was, the blazing blue skies and glimmering sunlight on the house. The house.
He stood up.
“Ri, I’m telling you, don’t do this,” Jikdus said softly. “They’re not ready yet.”
But how long will it take for them to be?
Ri opened the door and stepped outside.



Gurtle
160 words
Jikdus didn’t try to stop him. Maybe they knew that he made his choice.
But Ri promptly stepped on a letter without having taken more than 10 steps across the grassy area in front of the Breguet household. He wondered if he should open it. Probably.
So he rips open the cream envelope and reads.

My dear Henri,
I’m sending this letter in the hopes that you may one day read it, however silly the notion is. We’ve seen you after the ordeal, we’ve buried you, but I’m still waiting for you to come back. You’re not dead, I can feel. It’s so strange, a feeling I can’t explain and a feeling I can’t voice. Who knows what would happen to me if I tried to share it?
But if you show up at our doorstep again, we will take you back home.

The letter is unsigned, but Ri could only guess at two people it could be. His parents.


Captain Celadon
219 words
Then the letter crumbled into ashes in his hands, and faded into the breeze. He stared at his hands for a moment longer, and looked up at the house. It was still the same, and it was as if he's never read the letter. But he had. But he had.
He looked back over at Jikdus, who watched him, and slowly he began to trudge back to the train.
“We can go now,” he said, and it made him feel empty inside, how he had to try again and again to rip himself away from the parents who never seemed to have so much time to spare for him anyway. Maybe it was just because he wanted a normal life.
But he has a normal life. A life that was normal for him, anyway.
“Can you tell me… the truth?”
And Jikdus did. He explained about the circumstances of his death, or what was supposed to be his death. The time they tried to reveal that Ri was alive, only to be rebuked. Maybe it was because the sting of tragedy was fresh and new, maybe it was because they’d never accept it.
“Once we have the mutliverses sorted out, we can try again,” Jikdus promised, again.
“But the letter…” Was it real? If it was, who sent it? Ri supposed he may never know. But he sat back on the seat and looked ahead into the horizon.


Maestro Maroon
151

“Everybody wants a thrill”
“Well, guys, we still have an adventure to finish!” Ri called out to the built-in loudspeakers on the train. Wow, Jikdus really had all of this planned out.
So everyone on the train ended up in… the white void!
“IT’S PARTY TIME!!!”
To make his point, Ri set off some party poppers or whatever they were called, and confetti rained down everywhere from the white expanses.
Snacks appeared along with random tables and couches, and Jikdus set apart a small space for everyone to hang around and yap and all that.
“Thanks for the train, Jikdus, we should definitely go on some more adventures with it,” Ri said gratefully. Left unsaid was everything else he was grateful to them for. Thank you for being there for me, all this time.
“Of course! We should, we should.” Anything for you, my boy.
And the Midnight Train kept playing.

for classics activity!

sorry for the abrupt ending and bad grammar oops this is unfinished
826 words if it matters :p

Two figures draped in white, a somber sight Haipeng never thought he’d see again so soon. He looks down at the child clutching his hand, dark eyes wide, and despite himself smiles. “It’s only us now, huh?”

The years go past as they do, him regaining some of family’s past fortunes and naturally overindulging Bailang a little. The boy has developed a cautious air, he noticed. It would suit him well in his life, but Haipeng couldn’t help but wonder where he had gotten it from.

(Not from Haixia, surely.)

Sometimes he and Bailang, already starting to grow taller than he is in these adolescent years, go for walks around the parks. There Haipeng indulges in his favorite stories, of the rest of the family gone too soon. Bailang always listened, those wide eyes seeming too large for his narrow face, never saying much. But Haipeng knew he understood, parsed through the rambles of an aging man and deciphered the nostalgia buried within. For it was that and not bitterness that truly defined his thoughts of the past.

His body aged with him, and soon enough there grew a persistent pain in his throat. At least he lived long enough to have illness be the end of him, he thought sardonically. He noticed Bailang lingering around the corner when the doctor made the diagnosis, cancer that would take him in a short few years.

The boy—not really a boy soon anymore—would be fine. Haipeng still had a sizable fortune waiting for him, and he was still young. There would still be so much left for him.

But it still hurts. It hurts, the loss of his voice and the loss of his dignity, being able to do nothing as the illness slowly ate away at him. At least he still had his mind intact, he repeated to himself, at least Bailang would be alright. At least the war still hasn’t come.

Until it did.

The two of them followed the news anxiously, and it no doubt hastened the progression of the illness. There was nothing either of them could do, really, about either of their problems. Bailang tried to enlist, but Haipeng took the fake identification papers and ripped them all up.

“You are not going anywhere near them,” he said shortly. He still remembered the years of occupation after the war, realized that whatever was to come would be so much worse than that.

He was right, of course. But he wouldn’t live long enough to see the rest of the war, wouldn’t live long enough to see Bailang’s second successful attempt at enlisting, or really any of what happens next.



His grandfather passed away in January that year. The same month, the Imperial Japanese Army arrived at Qingdao.

Bailang wishes he could say that he fought bravely, died defending his homeland from these ruthless invaders. Indeed, sometimes he wishes that’s what happened instead.

Instead, he stowed away on a foreign ship.

He doesn’t even know how he managed, being in his uniform and all. He just remembered the crushing fear and the equally crushing artillery, the majority of his unit wiped out, and he headed for the closest place of safety.

A few weeks later, when he snuck up to the deck to catch a glimpse of his bearings and perhaps ask someone where this ship was headed, he was spotted by a sailor. Who, to say the least, did not look pleased to see Bailang still in his olive green uniform and cap.

So, he made yet another bad decision in a long series of them—he jumped.



Max was taking another walk with Karin on the beach like he would any other day. It was a nice and sunny morning, and he lifted his head to gaze at the cloudless sky overhead.

“Papa, look!”

Karin’s sharp call drew his attention, and he looked over to where she was pointing. A person lying upright on the sand.

Max scrambled over. Startled at first by the uniform, he quickly realized it was in fact not a Japanese but rather a Chinese one. Shrugging the thought off, he checked the young man’s pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Now at a total loss as to what to do, he turned him over and thumped him on the back a good few times.

Nothing. Although that probably meant he had no water inside of him, Max reasoned. If he did, he probably would’ve been dead by now. He looked down again at the young man—was he even old enough to have enlisted legally? He shook off all of his questions and scooped him up. Until Max could decide what to do with him, this former soldier would just have to stay in his house.



“The beach is nice,” Bailang said quietly.

The three of them watched the sunrise on the waves, years later.

“It is,” Max replied. “There's nothing else like it in the world.”

a lil bit of context!
- haixia is haipeng's sister. she runs away, it's a whole seperate story :p
- max is haixia's son / haipeng's nephew
- karin is max's adoptive daughter
- intro scene is bailang's parents' funeral
- bailang washes up on san francisco where max and karin live

Weekly 1

woahh it's more bailang and haipeng lore but mostly haipeng lore!!!

Part 1

156 words

Li Haipeng's main character flaw is that he lacks willpower. He lets forces outside of him dictate how his life will go and to some extent what he believes in (although he always supports his sister and his grandson, even when he doesn't quite relate to them). He can't speak up for himself, either; others always have to push him into it.

He also tends to distance himself from others when he becomes emotional—bottle up his emotions, essentially. Even the people closest to him thus has a hard time deciphering what he’s thinking. This sometimes works against him when they think he's being insincere.

In addition, he's often plagued by indecision—he overthinks every detail and ends up tossing it all to the winds when it overwhelms him.

Finally, he's very resistant to change. He wants things to stay more-or-less the same and gets upset when they inevitably change, although as mentioned previously he internalizes these feelings.


Part 2

207 words

In the beginning of the story (1903), Haipeng is the eldest son of the Li family living in Qingdao. His strengths mainly include dealing with paperwork (he is a bit boring in that regard), and he is also a great mediator. He is often the one to resolve the (many) fights in his household, although of course this takes a toll on him too.

However, a lot of events then happen to him! Haixia runs away with her son and some German guy named Waldemar, Haipeng gets married, his wife dies in childbirth, his parents die, his daughter and son-in-law die, etc etc. After these pretty depressing events (which do occur over a span of 25 years) he is essentially left alone with his grandson, with not much of an existing fortune after years of occupation by the Germans and then the Japanese. Tough cookies!

Many of his flaws become more exaggerated by these events, as he builds them up as defense mechanisms. He certainly becomes more intolerable of change and of surprises in general, fearing that they mean bad things have happened. Also, he begins smoking more as a coping mechanism… and dies of throat cancer, but that’s outside the scope of his development of course.


Part 3

200 words

Early on in his adulthood, Haipeng wants to make a life for himself and ensure that his sister Haixia can take care of herself. He also wants to make sure his family retains their prestige and money.

As his life goes on, his motivations change pretty significantly: when Haixia leaves, he wants to find and reunite with her; when his daughter is born and his wife dies, he wants to be able to provide for his family; when his daughter grows up and marries, he wants to be more involved in her life; when his parents and then his daughter and son-in-law die, he wants to be able to see a life for himself without them.

His overarching motivation through all of this, especially once only Bailang is left, is to not be left alone. As he approaches his death, he desperately wants to know that he is not to blame for the misfortune that has descended upon his family through the years, and that Bailang would not suffer the same fate. Essentially, his main focus is searching for forgiveness and redemption. And as the war with Japan draws closer, Haipeng wants to keep Bailang safe, away from the front.


Part 2

1570 words
sorry i originally had like 3k words but his development was a lil inconsistent so i cut out a lot of it, which is why this might flow weirdly… SORRY GANG
also i'm crying bc haipeng is literally either doing paperwork or moping for 90% of this

The next few years pass by. He and his wife have a daughter, a daughter whose mother did not live long enough to see her smile. Haipeng cradled the infant while his parents muttered in the background. He thinks back to Haixia, and realizes that she is now in her shoes, yet the circumstances are still not the same. He hears muttered sorrows and sympathies instead of denouncements, and he can't help but feel that he is even further from her.

Life under the Germans, while of course always bitter, was showing signs of improvement. There were even schools for children of both Chinese and German heritage, although Haipeng knew it was only because of their (still dwindling) money and status that they were able to send her there in the future.

“Here, I'll take her,” Haipeng found himself hearing on every occasion. Lingling would be tugged away from him, and as the years passed, she'd go willingly, and then she would feel like she wasn't even his daughter at all.

Haipeng, meanwhile, kept doing his work. He had finally found a job outside of his family, and he worked there for long hours dealing with richer men's money. He would never lie or steal money, of course, but no one believed that when a coworker accused him of it. If they had not found the same money hidden in the accuser's pockets haphazardly a few short hours later, Haipeng surely could've very well been ruined.



She's married in ‘22, to a young boy who reminds Haipeng so much of a certain person, though he is unsure who.

(The scratch of ironed field gray fabric, laughter drifting down the halls, golden strands of hair on her clothes. No, no, he did remember, didn’t he?)

He's from a village in the next province over, bright-eyed and round-faced. Haipeng's never met him. His parents surely would have disapproved of the marriage, but they both passed the past month.

Qingdao was newly returned to China, and this was an equally joyful occasion. Swathes of red filled his vision, a sharp contrast to the white of the previous month. Blood and snow, life and death.

He still thinks of Haixia, sometimes, but she is only a fleeting memory. He has one singular picture of her, and he returns to it here and there, taking in the details of her face. It's been so long. He wonders if he is destined to remember her forever with no way of finding her, ever. To forever remember her as an example of what would happen if he stepped out of line, a cautionary tale to haunt him.

Or perhaps, he thinks as he stares at the characters swimming together on the paper beneath him, and rests his head on the table. Perhaps he is the cautionary tale, and Haixia's the one with a happy ending.



Despite the death of his parents and the loss of their fortune, Haipeng does still have some influence over the local authorities. They turn over documents to him that they had uncovered from the archives, and he combs through them until he finds him.

A Ludwig Waldemar Stehr, from the south of Germany. Haipeng stared at the man's face for an eternity, his sharp youthful features, golden hair, damning blue eyes. Why, Haixia, why?

His parents are dead. There's nothing to stop him. He books a ticket for the city where it was said he is from. Ludwig grew up in an orphanage, of course. He manages to track it down, weaving past the hordes of angry hungry people in the streets. There had obviously been much destruction on this continent—he had gleaned as much from the newspaper, but it was another thing to see the faces of their people upfront.

The matron-looking person blinked at him when he entered and started speaking fluent enough German. “Ludwig Waldemar Stehr? Oh, Waldi! Why do you want to know?” she asked, not unkindly.

Haipeng swallowed. “I think… I think he's with my sister. I don't know where they are.”

She frowned. “Ah, you've come a long way then. Well, We haven't seen heads or tails since he left for China in 1902. I'm sorry. He's never come back ‘round here, if that's what you mean.”

Something splintered within Haipeng. This was it, then. He wondered desperately what it could have been like if he set out to find her earlier, if he had been brave enough to plead with his parents.

What could've been if he had gone with her.



“If you could leave this place, would you?” she asked nonchalantly as he entered the room.

Haipeng glanced around swiftly before closing the door. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying it doesn't have to be this way. We can… we can be free, don't you think? Away from here. Here we have predetermined fates no matter who you are.”

She looked at Haipeng as f to see if he was following. He was—he had thought about it himself for so long. And Haixia continued explaining: the rich have things they are decduty to do, while the poor are limited by what they have, as technically free as they might be. For those two polarizing parts of society there were both so many limits, so many things that are predetermined.

“But… we can leave,” she said. “We don't have to stay here-”

“Leave where? Germany?”

She fell silent.

“I knew it,” he said, setting down his pen. “Stupid foreigner boy putting stupid foreign ideas in your head.”

“But you see what I'm saying, do you?” she says, brushing aside the comment.

His silence was obvious. He looked away, heart hammering. “But the truth is, even in Germany, you won't be free. Maybe less than here. They're not going to see you or Sicheng as one of their own. You'll be an outcast.”

She smiled wistfully at him. “I already am. I want to stay with him, gege. I think it'll be worth it.”

He sighed. “Why doesn't he just stay here, then? In China? The two of you will manage.”

“I can't stay here any longer,” she said quietly. “And no matter where we go, it'll remind me too much of… all of them.” Her parents, her heartbreaks, the joss paper crumbling in the winter breeze. “I want Sicheng to have a life where he has better opportunities, and… enough money.”

Haipeng covered up his papers, as if by instinct. “I… we do-”

“You know if I don't take it right now soon I won't have any of it,” she said bitterly, “and then where will I be?“

You can marry someone, he said, almost, but then realized how stupid that would be. And he should be the last one to suggest it, having experienced it himself and having it eat away at him.

”Why don't you leave, too? You know how they are,“ she said, her shoulders dropping as if bearing the weight of this entire household.

”Yes,“ he said. The truth is he has never seen the worst of it, not really, being the firstborn son. He suspects the reason his parents were so scornful of Sichen was because he was an all-too-familiar reminder. ”I'm sorry, Haixia. I just… don't want things to change."

Left unspoken was the question: Will you stay, if only just for me?



He watches Bailang run outside with the other children, the smile clear on his face.

Haipeng steps outside of the house and looks up at the rapidly clearing sky. Now that he is alone, all of the memories come rushing back. His mind is the brightening sea below the sun, flooded with the light of nostalgia.

Why?

He thinks himself pitiful, hoping for what could not be true, for ghosts to return to the mortal realm. Whatever dreams he had in the past were long gone.

And as clearly his memories had resurfaced so did his regrets, his pain and loss. For everything has changed, everything, all because he has not dared to move the fulcrum of destiny. Time after time, he had made the same mistakes, an unending cycle. Was he about to doom his little ray of sunshine to the same fate as everyone he had lost?

He was ripped from his daydreams when a weight slammed into him. Bailang. His eyes were glittering as he looked up at Haipeng.

“Grandpa, whatcha looking at?”

Haipeng blinked at the clouds that had covered the sun once more. “Nothing, Baibai,” he said, regret hardening into resolve as he laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.



Wu Bailang knew his grandfather had many, many regrets.

Whereas his friends’ grandparents would recount the past in cheerful tones, a layer of cynicism lay beneath the stories Haipeng told him, even in the ones that were supposed to be happy memories. He used to find it unsettling, even as a young child.

Now, as he stood facing the sea, Bailang thought he understood. His grandfather took the blame for everything until it killed him. But not before he raised Bailang, gave him all that he could have today.

He looked down at himself, and then to Max and Karin across him, and the entirety of his people behind him. And he smiled.

SANDY LORE OMG ahem okay hi!! the way i was literally making a family tree in my head while reading this :skull: anyhoo

okay the first thing i have to say is kind of grammatical - this is a nitpicky suggestion but sometimes the tenses seem a little confused? like i think you're going for a past memory/present reflections type of vibe and it works in the second bit of the story, but in the first part (they go for walks around the park/bailang always listened, the war still hasn't come/until it does) some of the tense switches seem a little random if that makes sense

He still remembered the years of occupation after the war

maybe clarify which war this is/which war and what the causes are of the war that's coming? just a little more historical context

or really any of what happens next.

i think maybe you could replace this with a couple more examples of what happens, or just less vague wording?

that's literally all the critique i have sdjkf this piece overall was great <3 to answer your questions the piece flows really well and the pov switches are really smooth. in terms of clarity in context, having a little more historical background as to the time period would help ground the piece a little more, but the in world/non historical context is really thorough. if i can say there was onee bit i was more curious about, its how bailang got from his unit to the ship, if you want to add some more context there? but other than those small things your writing is as phenomenal as always <33

critique for mily

hi mily! your piece is amazing - the atmosphere of the whole scene was perfect and the two characters have a great dynamic together, plus the dialogue is really well-done overall! like alia said (i'm also referring to her critique to not overlap too much with comments ahaha) it definitely conveys how they have a good relationship and are really just being more vulnerable with each other and knowing each other even better description-wise you did really well too! the imagery of the greenhouse and moonflowers was very clear, and i don't think there were any places where you have too much description either.

i’m just going to go ahead and go over some small things i noticed line-by-line :>

“Nice door,” I say. “The handle really shines like the stars,” I say sarcastically, but good-humoredly.

I LOVE THIS LINE HAHA
also, it might be just me, but i was thinking that the adverbs are a bit clunky, so i would maybe change one of them to something that's not an adverb? like instead of good-humoredly i would have the protag smile or something. (this is a very nitpicky comment ahaha don't worry about it too much)

“I like to think they’re more like stars anyway. They have their own spirits, like souls in the sky but on Earth. And that, I think, honors my mother a lot more.”

this is a really sweet line <3

All this time, I had thought my mother was only in the sky, a distant speck that was too far from the lowly ground of Earth. But she could very well be in these moonflowers too.

Perhaps it is simply my wishful thinking, but something truly makes me believe that she could be in these flowers too, not just amongst the stars.

i think these lines are essentially saying the same thing, so it's a little repetitive - maybe you can edit one of them to be more distinct, or combine them somehow?



i don't really have much else to comment on - you did really great with this piece tysm for letting me read through, hope this critique helps <33

alia critique pt. 1

alia hi!! a lil late but here’s your critique (it’s like half commentary ahaha)

okay so going into context stuff - for the most part i think it was easy enough to follow along! i feel bad bc i did try and look up the fandom this is from so i got a vibe of the world from that (i feel like you’ve recommended me a book from that universe before? haven’t gotten to read it yet though aw), but i’m definitely getting sort of a steampunk vibe from this (i guess mostly the wales mention and also the existence of an institute).
the characters all had great characterization - will get to will and jem in a bit, but you expressed the personalities of the three other characters very distinctly within just a short scene so that was really cool! i’m gathering (in simple terms) jessamine is annoying, charlotte is giving the mom friend, and henry is locked in :p

one thing i was a little confused by is their exact relationship to jem & will - i’m not sure if they’re superiors to them or equals, if you get what i mean? the part where jessamine tells charlotte to “control him” and that being her job, plus the way will was thinking about “troubling charlotte so” both gave the impression that charlotte was a matron-type character (and the way jessamine talks to her made me think that the two were around equals in status/age), but at the same time they feel like they’re around the same age as jem and will? like… they’re all just hanging out together, will calls jessamine jessie, etc. so i was just kinda confused about their relationships. aside from that though everything made sense!

as for jem and will - disclaimer i may or may not have googled what parabatai were before i finished reading (sorry was just very curious about the fandom oops) but i definitely already saw that they had some magicky partner bond, which you referred you a couple of times throughout… but their relationship is definitely very interesting! i def get will’s frustration about jem being dependent on his drugs or dying and jem’s trying to be self-dependent (i feel like that’s the wrong word but yk what i mean), and i think will’s personality is such a good like balance to jem’s - like the silly guy & serious guy dynamic i suppose :p speaking of which will is genuinely such a funny character like i enjoy his yapping so much - and as for the nature of their relationship… me personally it seems like it could go romantic it could go platonic but either way it’s a great setup for the two of them to grow closer!

Weekly 3

Part 1

SOOO weekly idea!! I’ve been hoping for a hi-fi weekly for a very long time because I love hi-fi.

Anyways, my overall plan for a weekly would be this: the first part would be just general research about a time period (good to start off broadly), and the second part (which would be the workshop part) would be historical real-person fiction!! It’s basically the only fanfiction I’ve written for the past 2 years so I suppose I’m a pretty good authority to write a workshop on it. However there are definitely concerns with being sensitive with regards to how a historical figure is portrayed, and I’m probably going to have an alternate activity for part 2 in case anyone doesn’t feel quite comfy with doing historical RPF (which is 100% valid), which is to just give their opinions on a historical figure (preferably from the same era as part 1 but it really doesn’t matter). As for part 3, I think I’ll have it be an exercise in building a historical character! Obviously people in the past lived very differently from us, and it’s a good exercise to really create someone who would have realistically been a part of a past era and get into their shoes. Then part 4 will just be a hi-fi story with said character, with mentions of a historical figure of their time (or maybe them even appearing!!) PERFECT.

Part 2

Welcome, folks, to this weekly on historical fiction! In it, you’ll be researching historical eras and figures, crafting your own historical character, and tying it all together with a story. Have fun!

Note: while it may be easier to use the same era/figure for all four parts, you don’t necessarily have to. (I obviously didn't LOLSIES)

Part 1: Researching an Era
To write historical fiction, it is important that you have a good understanding of the era your story is set in. For this activity, note down 200 words of information about a certain historical era—it can be as broad or as narrow as you’d like, from the Renaissance to the German occupation of Belgium during WWI.

Example

Before the outbreak of WWI, the United States was a global power with a strong industry and both colonies and countries under its influence in the Pacific. It proved its might in constructing a naval fleet and defeating the Spanish in the Spanish-American War, yet it still remained largely isolated from Europe.

Part 2: Historical Figures
Now that you have an era figured out, it’s time to research a historical figure from that era and write some historical RPF. Reference the workshop below to write a historical RPF of 200 words! Alternatively, state your opinions on a historical figure for the same number of words.

Example

One day Monty was eating his Caesar salad and drinking tea during lunch when Patton took his plate with a hamburger-

“Liberty steak,” Patton huffed to Monty, who looked typically skeptical. “It’s a liberty steak, for the last time.”

Ahem, yes, the plate with a liberty steak, chicken nuggets, and tater tots. Patton took it to the table where Monty was sitting, much to the British general’s suspicion.

“Hi there,” Monty said cautiously, trying to figure out when the American would stop getting so much fast food. Patton nodded to him, almost amiably, and started munching on his tater tots. They were really crispy.

Part 3: Historical Characters
You’ve researched both a historical era and a figure and written about them. Now, it’s time to work on something more original: historical characters! For this part, create a historical character from your time period out of scratch (some tips for researching for historical characters are in this workshop) and write a bio and/or reference sheet for them in 100 words!

Example

Name: Germain Moselle
Rank: Captain (infantry)
Age: 21 (in 1916; born 1895)
Height: 5'9"
Gender & pronouns: (cis) male, he/him
Orientation: bisexual

The son of a middling merchant, Germain serves as an aide-de-camp for a year before being transferred to a combat position at Verdun, where he meets Simon Albrecht.

Part 4: Tying It All Together
For our last section, use your previous research to write a historical fiction story of 300 words! Have the same character you created for Part 3 go around their world, and include either a mention of a historical figure or their actual appearance in the story. Have fun!

Part 3

Hey everyone, welcome to this workshop on historical real-person fiction! This will include a brief breakdown of what it is, as well as how to do research for it and write it. Let’s get started, shall we?

What is historical real-person fiction?

Historical real-person fiction (RPF) is essentially historical fiction centering around a historical figure. It differs from a biography in that some details may be fictionalized, and it is generally written in a style similar to fiction instead of nonfiction. It’s quite the established genre—for example, Hamilton and Six would both be considered historical RPF.


Researching for historical RPF

My previous workshop on historical research has more general information about researching history, which is important for understanding the era a historical figure is from. Often, this shapes their worldviews and actions.

As for the historical figures themselves, biographies are great to check out! Also, if the said figures have written any memoirs/diaries and they have been collected together, they will be useful too—an example being Erwin Rommel’s Infantry Attacks, as well as his posthumously published Rommel Papers.

And what should you look out for in your research? Well, obviously, knowing the broad details of their life is important, but it doesn’t hurt to learn some small things about historical figures: any pets they had, foods they liked, catchphrases they had, and so on. And often you’ll be able to catch a glimpse of a figure’s personality, especially from biographies. John J. Pershing, for one, was usually rather cold and aloof (especially when talking to his troops) but quite the ladies’ man.


Portraying historical figures

Generally, you’d want to have a thorough understanding of historical figures before you begin to write serious RPF about them—I tend to find that I’m really only comfortable writing more spoofy fics with historical figures I don’t know too well.

However, after researching for some time, there’s a good chance you’ll have a solid enough grasp on a historical figure. Feel free to start just treating them as any fandom character you’ll write about, and try out maybe writing a fictionalized account of a historical event.

It is important to consider the ethics of writing historical RPF, though. Be mindful of where you post your stories: in my fanfic entry last session, which was about Erwin Rommel, I made only references to the atrocities he had been complicit in, as further detail wouldn’t be too Scratch-friendly. In addition, try to be respectful towards real-world tragedies. Generally speaking, as long as they are not overtly offensive somewhat more silly stories are fine, like this one, but as you can see I would recommend adding a disclaimer stating your intent at the beginning in your historical RPF stories.


Conclusion
So, there you have it! A brief rundown on how to write historical real-person fiction. I hope you learned something new from this workshop—feel free to reach out with any questions, and happy writing!

mc daily 7/19

224 words!! used “does it have to be beautiful?” from @angieee-_

He walks through the park, plum blossoms fluttering to the ground before him, and he smiles up at the birds chirping above him.

But as he gazes out at the sea beyond the foilage, he can’t help but remember that moment.

The years have flown by fast since then, whittling his body down bit by bit. But he is well for now, and his mind is still sharp; the memory resurfaces fast.

Her disappointed eyes the night before. Her withdrawn face; she showed every sign, and he supposes he just… ignored them.

He knows she expected more of him, but now, as he stands in the same city thirty years later, he can’t help but think—does life have to be flawlessly beautiful? He understands her yearning for more, but he had always thought that… this is enough for him. To suffer through this stifling existence, just so he could stay by his homeland and the rest of his family. To admire the scenery, to point out the return of the swallows to his grandchild.

Maybe… his life hasn’t all been for nought.

Still, he wishes she were here. How can he not? “I will still love you, sister,” he tells the swallows. If only they could take his message when they set out from home. If only she could come back like them, too.

He watches the sky. It's spring, and the swallows are diving between branches, returning to their nests.

Then he hears footsteps softly approach from behind him. "Gege!” she calls, big brother.

He turns. His sister is walking over to him with a small bird in her hands.

“He can't fly,” she says, dropping the bird lightly on the ground as an explanation. It hops a few steps, and flaps its dark wings—only to land sideways in a heap.

“There's nothing we can do,” he says, watching the wilted bird hop around.

She gives him a look and walks off after scooping up the bird. He watches her go. He wants to call after her: to say that Mother and Father would want them home soon, to say that she is right and there is still a chance, to say that he is sorry for not understanding.

But instead, he just returns to his solitary playing.



Qingdao, China
Winter 1936

Li Haipeng stands at the edge of the path as he watches the sunrise. It has become a tradition for him every morning, here at this part of the park where the foliage clears for a view of the sea. As much as it burns his eyes sometimes, it reminds him of the past. Gives him hope.

He is suddenly jolted out of his thoughts by a solid weight slamming into him from behind.

“Baibai,” he says, nearly careening from the force of the impact. His grandson Bailang looks up at him from the ground with a sheepish smile. His unruly hair falls in waves over his eyes, and he brushes them—along with the stray leaves embedded—out of his eyes as he takes his hand up. In these adolescent years he's already growing taller than Haipeng.

“I’m sorry, laoye,” he says, although there is an unerased smile in his voice.

“You could have fallen into the water,” Haipeng replies. “Again.”

Bailang hums good-naturedly and hands Haipeng a handful of miscellany. He admires a feather and a blossom, although he drops the squirming lizard immediately. He had once thought that his grandson would be easier to raise than his daughter, but it seems that he was mistaken. They really became worse with every generation.

At that thought, he frowns unconsciously. Fortunately, Bailang doesn’t notice; he has his back to Haipeng as he skips down the path, no doubt to repeat the cycle.

He’s lucky he knows nothing of the occupation, Haipeng thinks as he ambles along, trying not to put too much weight on his cane. Neither the Germans nor the Japanese have been lenient to this city, during their occupations in the first quarter of the century. But now Bailang has grown up without them, with only the memories of the newly built attractions of the city, of the open shoreline unplagued by foreign flags.

He lingers around the plum trees as he watches Bailang vanish out of sight. Blossoms flutter to the ground before him, and he gazes up at the birds chirping above him.

“I will still love you, sister,” he tells the swallows. If only they could take his message when they set out from home. If only she could come back like them, too.

As Haipeng continues walking, it begins to snow—the first snowfall of the season. And he doesn’t know it then, but it is also the last he would ever see.



Spring 1903

Haipeng sits in the study as he rifles through his family’s accounts. The weather is lovely outside, but he hasn't budged from his seat the whole morning.

He hears footsteps in the background—must be Haixia’s, and alongside hers the toddling steps of Qingbo.

“Don't tell me you've seen him again,” Haipeng sniffs.

He feels her tense without looking at her. “It's none of your business,” she snaps. Then, as if to soften her blow: “I'll make tea.”

Haipeng turns a page in acknowledgment and frowns at it. Their family's place in this world is ever-uncertain. No matter how they have been respected by the citizens of the area, it matters naught if it is flooded with Germans and peasants from every village within a ten-league radius.

He understands that they all had a place in the world, a position to uphold. He wants to tell Haixia that, but he doubts she’ll understand.

When she returns with the tea, he sets the porcelain teacup by his side despite the chrysanthemum flowers inside; his favorite. He wants to ask her so many questions: who is he, really, this German boy? And more importantly, as he watches Qingbo—so young, so unaware of his fraught parentage—how can you avoid a mistake like before again?

But she's now cooing to her son, laughing when he does. And despite the heaviness of it all, Haipeng smiles.



Soon afterwards, the last of the thin snow washes away in sludge. Cancer, the doctor said, his sharp features grave. Haipeng could feel Bailang hovering on the other side of the wall.

And though life goes on, it is impossible to deny his deteriorating condition. In conversations, Bailang always falls silent whenever the coughing spells go on for just a stretch too long, and it is only ever him doing the talking anyway—Haipeng could only nod and listen.

He smokes anyway. The pipe had been his for fifteen years, one of the few good things about the Japanese occupation, and at night he watches the city lights. He remembers when this land was only villages of fishermen, before foreign powers put it on a platter and wrestled for it and built it into something he couldn’t recognize. The thought makes him feel even more lost.

“Laoye, you shouldn’t,” Bailang says one night as he walks onto the scene.

He huffs. “If I’m going to die, I might as well do it with some style.”

His grandson flinches. At that moment, Haipeng realizes: so wrapped up in his own cynicism was he that he never put much thought into how Bailang saw all of this.

“You’re not going to die.”

“I’m sorry, Baibai,” he says.

Bailang doesn’t quite meet his eyes, although he seems more just a little more relaxed. “I- good night.”

Haipeng watches him trudge up the stone steps and disappear into the courtyard. The scene gives him a strange sort of deja vu, but he can’t quite place why. So he remains outside, contemplating.

What really does it mean, to be set up for success and still fail? His family had more than so many others, but in the end it was him who failed his entrance exams and landed in a life of lowly work, who let his sister be lost to the world.

Who watched as everyone around him left. He was so close to joining them, too. If he had stayed with his parents that winter the influenza swept through, if it was he in the front seat as his son-in-law offered. If- well, his wife would have gone by herself no matter what he did, not living long enough to catch a glimpse of her daughter.

Well. Soon it will be the end for him, too. He will accept that if it means… closure.

It is Haixia whose memory is hardest to consolidate. She could be dead; she most likely is. But it is the uncertainty that makes it all the worse.

He recalls her withdrawn demeanor, coupled with hard eyes, the night before; she showed every sign of what she was about to do. And he supposes he simply ignored them.

Haipeng exhales in a wheeze. He wishes she were still here. How can he not? Haipeng and Haixia; he is the mythical bird to her twilight skies, and without her, his years have felt empty.



He awakens to realize something is deeply wrong.

Perhaps it is the cool sea breeze on his skin with its biting cold. Perhaps it is just the feeling that something is stilted within the household.

Haipeng steps over to the window on shaky feet. The dawn that greets him is just as blinding as the fact that his sister is gone.



As summer deepens into autumn, the headlines scream. The Japanese invasion is scything through the coastal cities. At breakfast, Haipeng coughs up blood into his handkerchief.

That day is also the last he is well enough to go outside.

He and Bailang return to the park. The plum blossoms have not yet returned. Nor have the swallows, still far beyond the sight of their home. They won’t be back in his lifetime. He’s accepted that; he’s accepted he’ll never know why. But to the end, he will always wonder.

Bailang walks by his side this time, holding onto his arm. Sometimes it seems like he’s a different person entirely, grown up so fast. His face is set in grim determination. It is the same determination he remembered of Haixia, of when the two of them climbed Mount Lao for hours to find spring water, of when she looked to the waters that very last night. In the end, she simply wanted to make her own life with her son outside the stifling confines of this place, what he dared not do.

And as with Haixia, Haipeng has an inkling of what his grandson is about to do. Despite the ruthlessness of the invaders—no, because of it. And he knows for sure the fate that is to befall his beloved grandson then.

You can’t follow me so soon.

He’d tried so hard to instruct Bailang otherwise, but he wouldn’t listen. They never listen, Haipeng thinks dizzily, and he feels Bailang’s grip on him instinctively tighten as he falters.

They never listen. But he doesn’t regret having loved them.

“Haizi, do you forgive me?”

Bailang has endured his winding rambles for all the long years of his young life. He must’ve understood.

“What is there to forgive?”

It was answer enough.



She’s running along the water, laughing, and he’s following her, catching her when she stumbles on her stubby legs. He doesn’t remember being this happy since before her mother had passed.

The sunlight splashes onto the glistening waves. He can feel the warmth of the sand through the cotton shoes. He pauses to look past the horizon, as he always does, but there is nothing but open sea.

When he turns back, his daughter is gone.

He looks around, but the beach dissolves into blankness, and now-

Now the whole scene is different. Shifting fabrics, red and white, toasts to a doomed union between condolences to five lives gone too soon. He stands motionless in the middle of it all. A funeral followed by a wedding followed by a funeral, how could he have thought he could escape this fate?

“Gege,” he hears a voice say behind him.

The hubbub clears. The cliffside, the windchimes.

Everything is soft. Dream to dream, breath to breath. Black and white feathers flutter past the edges of his vision.

He can decide right here, between his old life and whatever the next one may be. For only when he lets go of her will he find her again.

She's already waiting for him. Everyone is.

He turns around.



An ocean away, two men are sitting at a table, drinking chrysanthemum tea.

The older one speaks: “I'm sorry. My mother passed ten years ago.”

“No, I- I should be sorry.”

He smiles wistfully in response. “I think she never forgot him either.”

A pause. “I just wish… I found her.”

“You found me,” Qingbo says simply, pouring Bailang more tea. “They'd be happy about that.”

A lifetime of longing and regrets. A country torn and crumbling. The hope that somewhere out in the world, there is a string of destiny that connects rather than binds.

Outside the open window, a swallow lands in its nest and sings to the twilight sea.

Translation notes
- Laoye = (maternal) grandfather
- Haizi = child

tysm to willow, ruby, alia, and my irl friends for critiquing <3

full a/n in the next post!

a/n (not in word count)

hello, and thank you for reading to the home of swallows! this is a story that is quite personal to me and one that i’m unsure how i quite feel about, but ultimately one that i had a lovely time working on

i was born in the united states, but i lived out the first nearly seven years of my life in qingdao—my mom’s side of the family is from there. admittedly i haven’t been back since i was nine, so i don’t remember the city well. anywaysies, about two years ago i made a character whose mother is from qingdao. his name (well, one of his names) is max lutz, but you all may know him better in this story as li qingbo!

it wasn’t until this year i decided to expand on the lore of his family—first of his parents, and now of haipeng and bailang. although i’m not exactly an elderly man with smoking problems, in many ways i relate to haipeng and his key flaws. i'll just leave it at that! all in all, i think this story was quite meaningful for me to write, and i learned a lot from the process as well <3

some additional credits:

• my dad for coming up with qingbo’s (chinese) name, and generally being supportive of my work!
  
  
• several friends for listening to me incessantly yap about and share art of these characters - if you’re reading this, you know who you are ;D
  
  
• the opening chapters of thread of the silkworm by iris chang, as well as the movie the lychee road (长安的荔枝), for inspiring aspects of haipeng’s character. (speaking of the movie, go listen to 庙堂之外!! not only is it literally haipeng’s life but it is an amazing song in general)
  

so, i think that’s about it - thank you so much again for reading this piece, and i hope you enjoyed <33


and if you happened to like the characters, may i suggest checking out my artfight and attacking them ;D go to my scratch profile for more info hehe

critique for ruby

hi ruby! overall your story is so interesting - it's so chaotic and scary at the same time, and the worldbuilding is just so cool. you definitely captured the vibe of a nightmare very well, this seems like just the type of thing i would put in my dream diary haha

one general comment i had is to edit grammar/syntax! i'm assuming this is a rough draft and you just haven't gotten to go through that carefully yet, so this probably doesn't need to be said, but just in case xD i also won't be giving feedback on grammar/syntax because i think you would do best with fixing those by your own <3

and while the rest of the worldbuilding is really cool, i did have some confusion regarding vinegan and nageniv. i know they're alter egos, but i'm somewhat confused how tangible nageniv is and what exactly the relationship between the two is. it does make sense for it to be less clear because vinegan is supposed to be an unreliable narrator, but i think having a little bit more setup for how vinegan/nageniv came to exist. vinegan's diary has a good bit of context though which is nice!

some line-by-line notes :>

But she forced me to go outside, to look at the empty world; no animals, no people. Just a green landscape and a blue sky. It looked like a child’s drawing when they gave up halfway through.

absolutely love this description

That is when I notice that the sand is not red, but it is rather tainted with blood.

My muscles are beginning to tense with pain, my footing slightly slipping whenever I let out a shaky breath.

i'm kind of really confused on how you got from the first paragraph to the second xD from the looks of it you might be missing something between them? or is sabie the angel?

All I remember is that horrible white light and screams (…) and not give a second thought.

this whole chunk of thought is really moving :0 balances out the action and sillyness of the rest of the fic very well hehe

‘My names Ed.’ He says happily, his eyes making contact with mine, like literal contact. ‘I like eye contact.’

I LOVE THIS LINE SO MUCH it's so goofy and ed as a character is so fun to read about hehe

‘Nope. That was you, heres your rewards i gotta peace out now.’ He flies away on a fly, standing on it by his little toe.

i think it would've been nice if there was more of a conclusion and an explanation of how everything came back, but not revealing it fits the absurdist vibe of the story too!!

What do I do now?

find nageniv and battle it out :3


soo i think that's about it? content-wise i didn't have much to critique ahaha, i think given the style and genre of the story you can be a little more free with what you write :p hope this helped, and thank you for letting me critique! this was so fun to read <3

critique for willow

hi willow! to start off, your poem is lovely - the different focuses of each section are so interesting, and they work well as a cohesive whole. i also love the imagery in your poem, it's so clear <3

i think in general there are mainly improvements you can make with rhythm and wording - in some places the lines don't read very smoothly, and you also have some reptitive wording, so i'll point them out below in the line-by-line comments!

to conceal the hurt, to seal the pain.

your rhyming elsewhere is really smooth, but here pain doesn't go as well with again? the vowels are pronounced pretty differently i think - i don't really have good suggestions for alternatives oops but maybe you can try moving the order of words around to get a good rhyme!!

sometimes in the sounds of floorboards and my mum's cry.

i love this line aaa it's a very nice juxtaposition

i try to believe, that one day we can all be fine,

me personally this flows a bit better without the first comma :0

i have to act like it's okay, but inside, i'm all torn.

and here i think this would be better without the second comma

it took me a while until i could walk to your resting place.

this line feels a little too long & clunky - maybe “it took me time to reach your resting place” or something along that line?

you were never meant to be cold, but your skin was of ice.

this line is amazing <3 really hits hard

the veil of happiness shattered

we can hope that the veil will drop at last,

very nitpicky i think the veil is a bit repetitive - you do have it spread out across two sections so it's not big of a problem but just to lyk!

the throats of open graves

not only is this genuinely such a great expression, it also suits your section very well - i love it

his world, built on deceit and lies.

up to this point i think your poem has mostly been written out in complete sentences? so it would match better if this was also one

so we could never hear their cries and shrieks,

for the screaming thoughts and shrieks?

the repetition here is a bittt more obvious than the previous one since they're both part of the rhyming (and they both come right after “weak” haha), so i would maybe change one of them!

i sit on a glass throne,
i know it's bound to shatter,
just like my muscles and bones,
don't watch as i decay and fracture,
my feelings and memories no longer my own.

this stanza is so cool! i like how the rhythm builds for the first four lines and then drop during the fifth, it reflects the lines very well ) and the whole imagery in this part is lovely too

from lessons unlearned.,
something i hope you never follow.
to escape this, i still yearn.

1) punctuation after unlearned ahaha
2) i know you wrote it in this order for rhyming purposes but the last line here feels awkward? it's hard to explain why but i would say something more along the lines of “for an escape, i still yearn” so there's more clarity

am I hollow with guilt,
or just hollow with time?
is it just the cards i've been dealt,
or am i running out of signs?
where there's shadows of regret, no mercy is felt.

love the setup of this stanza too these are great lines and as a stanza it reflects the whole section very well!

i slowly have to say goodbye,

i don't really understand the slowly, and i also don't understand how you can say goodbye slowly ahaha - if it's for rhythm purposes (which i can see because it reads a bit weirdly without it) i would maybe use “finally” instead?


soo i think that's about it! after all of this i did have one question - are all of these sections about one person? i can see how the first and third poem are from their perspective and the second is, well, from the perspective of the outside - but i can see them as wholly separate too, so i was just wondering about your intention!

that aside though this poem was really good <33 for the most part everything was really clear, you had some really emotionally heavy lines and generally great description, and thematically speaking each of your three sections aligned very well with grief, corruption, and sorrow respectively! i really really enjoyed reading, and i hope this helped :>

mc daily 11/2
original desc

732 words!! used hellebore (delirium), ragged robin (wit), apple blossom (preference), and it was unnamed but speedwell (fidelity)

so waldi x reinhard exists now skibidi it's a whole thing but it will make sense trust

1996 words! for anyone critiquing: ik their relationship dynamic is a lil questionable so i will edit it so waldi isn't reinhard's doc + this is totally not finished but it's what i have so far + there's not a lot of background on characters oops bear with me on that. feel free to comment on anything else though!!

btw they are both in open relationships… once i write more i will get to addressing that LOLL but polyamory yay!!

tw for general discussion of amputation and warfare

He first comes to in a delirious haze. Vague memories and flashes of blooming red fill his vision, violet veins on a hellebore flower, but through the pain he sees twin flashes of brilliant blue above him. Is the smoke finally gone, is the sky finally clear?

That’s his last thought before the world goes dark again.

-

Reinhard blinks awake to see what seems to be a hospital around him. Nurses are hurrying around, tending to the other bedbound soldiers. He scans the faces around him and catches the gaze of a man about his age.

“Well, look who’s awake,” he says as he approaches to stand in front of Reinhard.

Sweeps of golden hair nearly obscure one of his eyes, but the other one is fixed on him. Bright blue with a sharp glint, widening slightly when it meets Reinhard’s gaze, and flickers of hazel spread from the iris. Like a ragged robin, he thinks vaguely. He wonders how he noticed that. His mind is still clouded by the lingering pain; still, it’s nothing like his memories of earlier.

“And what’s your name?” the man—probably a doctor or surgeon, Reinhard slowly realizes—asks, upon examining Reinhard for a few more moments.

“Holtzswarth- Lieutenant Holtzswarth.”

He nods intently as he stares at a piece of paper. Reinhard is still pondering the question when a nurse a few beds over calls out in their direction: “Dr. Lutz!”

“Coming,” he says back, glancing back at Reinhard for a moment and nodding before leaving without so much as another word. That wasn’t the most pleasant treatment.

Yet he’s back a few moments later. “Do you know where you are right now?”

“A field hospital?”

On goes the questions, and the more they talk the more Reinhard begins to feel that something is wrong. When the doctor finally steps back, Reinhard blurts out, “Is my leg gone?”

Something passes through Dr. Lutz’s eyes, but he nods. “I’m sorry,” he says, but there’s something detached about it, and he hurries away. Reinhard watches him go, a strange mix of unease and relief settling within him, and- and perhaps something else.

-

Yet before he knows it, he heals, somewhat, but in these dwindling days of the war supply is hard to come by, and more soldiers are coming in than out. The doctors and nurses are evidently overworked, but the one named Gertrud with braids bunched under her cap is patient enough towards him, and Lutz—despite his initial reservation—seems to be warming up to Reinhard quite enough.

It’s a little strange, really. It’s the same standard fare with all of his patients; he’d joke and linger, all of his easygoing charm on display, never going too far past the line of harmlessness with his humor. Strange that he finds the time to be personable, Reinhard would think absentmindedly sometimes, but he gets it done. When he comes to Reinhard, he’d tilt his head a little, mustache curling up alongside his smile. Those ragged robin petals of streaks shifting in the light as he teases Reinhard, about his hair and fashion and his wife, because you’ve got your wife waiting for you, don’t you, and mine too, the way he says it almost inviting argument.

Gertrud shows Reinhard her little collection of pressed flowers, sometimes, when the transports slow for the day and the sun shines lazily and everyone prays for Germany to lose one day sooner. This is an apple blossom; Alinia found it for me in a village, she says. Reinhard could imagine the sight: blue skies, an unscathed tree blooming in spring. The lilt in her voice is hard to disguise. He gazes over at Alinia, snipping away at a poor soldier in her accent, and wonders what Gertrud could possibly see in her.

At that, his thoughts wind back to— call me Waldemar, he’d said to Reinhard one night, lingering a few more moments than necessary. Does this man ever sleep? But it reminds him of himself, telling his troops to call him by his first name. Oh, how he misses every one of them, how much he wants to preserve them all forever inside his memory like Gertrud’s flowers. But it seems with each final letter he sends they crumble, scatter to the winds. Kurt, Klaus, Simon.

He still remembers sitting with Max in that bush, clumps of violet flowers growing in curious spikes. The boy still called him Lieutenant Reinhard. Reinhard picked the tiny flowers off a spike and hoped that he’d be able to protect him forever.

-

October fades away in gunpowder and smoke. The battlefront is pushed back further and further by the renewed offensive; still, the hospital is far behind. Reinhard realizes one day that the hospital is all the way back in Germany. Every day he finds the peace around him less unsettling. Yet every day his new reality sets in more clearly, despite the pain where he knows there is nothing, despite his efforts to pretend nothing has ever happened.

He distracts himself with happy memories, everything and everyone around him. His sorrows are coupled with relief that he cannot put into words; he’s going home, home to Hilde and their son, and whatever life he will have he will still certainly have one.

Sometimes Waldemar passes by, and he finds the time to ask Reinhard about his life back home. A common subject, among the men who are essentially ruined enough not to return to the trenches again, before the evidently imminent surrender.

So Reinhard tells him about all that he can remember, of Dresden and all of its factories and spiraling buildings, Hilde and the sunflowers and the warm summer rains. Waldemar watches him with a certain look in his eyes that Reinhard can’t place.

“And what about you? You have someone waiting for you back home, too, don’t you?”

His expression softens. “I do,” he says, smile warm. “She’s… everything to me.” But then something sparks out in his face. “I wish I’m with her. It has to be so hard for her, alone.”

Reinhard nods. He knows exactly what he means. He feels so useless here, wasting away, half his left leg gone; what kind of man even is he? He says none of this, but looking back into Waldemar’s eyes, he wonders if he will understand.

Waldemar furrows his brows slightly as he gazes back, but just claps Reinhard on the back and walks off.

-

That night, Reinhard couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

It’s not that he is alone in this, but he doesn’t tend to spend this long listening to the sounds of shuffling around him without drifting off. When it gets relatively quieter, he opens his eyes and gets a daring idea.

Gertrud’s gotten him crutches when he asked. She also indulges him in the story of her unit.

“We used to be in Belgium, at the beginning,” she says as she adjusts his covers. “That’s where we found Alinia. We stayed near the front for the first two years, and then we were sent back here.” She falls silent for a moment, then says softly, “I wonder what’ll happen to her when everything is over.”

Reinhard couldn’t help but feel sorry for the two of them, sorry for all of them.

He shakes the memory off and reaches for the crutches, hoping no one would notice him moving about—or care if they did. It seems not. He fumbled his way off the bed, grateful his gown covered everything, and moved around. Gertrud had also warned him to be careful, it’s only been a few days, but the fact that he is finally upright brings him a sense of stability. Not quite literal, as he almost plummets forward, but stops himself in time.

Somehow he makes his way outside without another fall. The moon is a thin sliver in the sky, and the stars are all so bright. The town near the hospital is clearly cast in the moonlight. He just stands and admires the view for a brief moment, about to turn back when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says behind him. Reinhard is so startled he almost falls again, but Waldemar steadies him just in time. Which is something of a tall order, given that he’s a good few inches shorter than Reinhard.

“How come you’re here?” Reinhard asks him.

“Probably the same as you, can’t sleep,” he replies, slowly stepping back. As he does Reinhard becomes aware of just how close to each other they were a moment ago. He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his balance.

The two of them just stand there for a few moments, silent, pondering the scene before them.

“It must have been hard for all of you,” Waldemar says suddenly. “I’ve been places, but I’ve never been there… right on the front.”

Reinhard is unsure how to reply, so he gives a noncommittal hum.

He turns to face him, gaze suddenly intense. “My- my son is still there. I think- hope.”

“Son?” Reinhard echoes. “You-” Just how old was Waldemar?

“I’ve looked for him, up there, for two years,” he continues, voice hollowing. “I never found him, but he still writes back, but we don’t know anything because of the censors. I… miss him, so much.”

His voice splinters ever so slightly at the end. Reinhard feels an aching sorrow, but after all this time the words still don’t come out right: “I’m… I hope he will be alright,” he says, carefully, feeling his voice close up the same way he first remembered Waldemar’s, breaking to Reinhard the news. Is this what it feels like, to bear witness to such terrible things, to expect nothing else? To be dulled to tragedy?

“Oh, me too, me too,” he responds.

He pauses for a minute, then reaches to take hold of Reinhard’s arm. His gaze is unreadable. Then he lets go and looks away, reaching for something in his coat as he does.

“My wife,” he says. “Well, not formally, but it’s no difference to me.”

Reinhard looks down at the picture. It’s a little worn, but he clearly sees the figure within, her soft features that… are clearly not European. Her features that remind him very much of one small figure in a steel helmet, the same round face, the same deep eyes.

Oh. But it can’t be.

And yet everything begins to piece together. Waldemar Lutz, Maximilian Lutz, his son at the front, talking to Reinhard in a soft voice—about his parents, about how much he misses them, how much he regrets everything, I just want to go home.

Waldemar gently tries to ease the picture back out of his grasp. “I know she’s lovely, but there’s no need to-”

“You’re Max’s father.”

He stops, lets go of the picture. “What?”

For a moment they are equally speechless. Reinhard sees Waldemar rapidly realizing everything, and yet he still has so so many questions. How could he and his wife let this happen?

“Lieutenant Reinhard,” he says softly. “All this time I thought that was your last name.”

“Mhm, well-”

“Thank you, Reinhard.” Waldemar’s grasping his shoulders tightly, looking as if he was about to pull him into a full embrace. “Thank you for everything.”

And Reinhard could feel his questions and buried anger melt away as he looked into Waldemar’s eyes, brimming with indescribable warmth. It isn’t until now that he’s really made sense of what he means to Max, to his parents. He knows what Max is to him, of course. But this, this, was so different. A wave of strange relief washes over him. He’s worth something in this cold life after all.

The two of them maintain eye contact for a few more seconds, a few seconds too long. Reinhard becomes keenly aware of the way Waldemar’s fingers pressed into his shoulder blades as he looked up at Reinhard. He also realizes he has yet to respond.

mc daily 11/4

306 words!! inspired by landgirl by six foot blonde <3

so sit here, sit on this sand
sit next to me, hold my hand
and savor what you can
i'm friends with the sea, i've never been a landgirl

She stands at the edge of the water, the waves lapping at her bare feet. The sunset was striking, tinging the edges of the water with gold.

She imagines leaving behind the land forever, sometimes. Here, nothing waits for her, only the dull faces in her ordinary life, one scarcely brightened by her brother and her friends. This turquoise island is surrounded by unimaginable beauty; she watches the rolling mountains and the shifting clouds, darkening with the impending arrival of twilight.

These are the skies for she is named. She wades deeper into the sea. The edges of her clothes are getting wet, but she doesn’t quite find it in herself to care, though she knows for certain her parents will be displeased. There’s something so free and vast about the ocean, something she can’t quite comprehend next to the tightening expanses of her world that even she could feel—the diminishing of an empire, a dragon choking on the sun.

She thinks of her brother, too, a majestic bird rising out of the seas. She understands why, she understands the desire to be free of freedom, for sometimes uncertainty deals more of a blow than the suffocating reality ever will. Of course she doesn’t think of it in these terms; she watches the swallows and seagulls soar overhead, thinks of this vast presence of algae and seawater as just another friend. Her brother, she realizes, must be looking for her.

And there he appears, calling her name; he kicks up sand as he runs over to her. She walks back to where he skids to a stop, and sits down by the edges of the damp sea, pulling him down with her. He harrumphs in displeasure, tinged with worry she doesn’t hear, but together they watch the sun dip below the horizon and the stars arise.

magreal writing prompt week 1

308 words of yapfest

when i was younger i’ve written a little bit of fiction on my own (outside of english class)—i think i have half a dozen very similar warrior cats fanfics i’ve started in 2020—but i really started to pursue it once i joined swc in march ‘21. for my first few sessions i mainly stuck to fanfiction and some works about ocs i quickly forgot about, but i eventually grew more comfortable with original writing, and starting about summer 2023 i began to create characters that would end up having their own established universes. as time passed i also began to grow more invested into writing as a hobby outside of swc, working on it more regularly; i also slowly began to have more confidence in my writing skills. i like to think that i grew just as much in my attitude towards writing as my actual technical skills, leading me to blossom into the writer i am today.

and why do i love writing? for likely similar reasons as my fellow swcers reading this: the limitless creativity that one can harness; the way to unravel fascinating themes, express tangled emotions, and reveal a little about ourselves, all within merely a strand of letters; the way we can take comfort in our favorite characters and settings, feel that strange flutter of excitement when we craft a perfect dialogue or description. with writing, there really is no limit. writing is not only a hobby for me, but it’s a skill, a form of expression, a way to recall memories and create something i can come back to and be proud of, a way to connect with others, and perhaps a way to entertain my friends.

writing means so much to me, and i hope it will be a hobby i continue for the rest of my years to come.

word war with skibidenial

553 words yum - prompt from emb (“Can we stay like this for a little bit longer?”)

Ellis traced the path of the stars above him, leaning against Ri’s shoulder. The meadow was vast, fireflies flitting through the weeds that surrounded the two of them.

“Can we stay just like this? For just a moment longer?”

He turns to hear Ri’s voice, a little despondent, a little hopeful.

“I… I hope so, Ri, I hope so.”

But he wakes up in a dreary haze, the clouds above London ever-menacing. Sometimes he wonders what would happen, if everything burnt down, if fire came and consumed this forsaken city drenched in plague. Would everything be over, then?

He mustn’t think that way. He gets up and he sees all of his patients. He is a mystery to them, behind his beaked mask.

That night he returns to the outskirts of the city. It had been a long walk, and he sits down at the top of the hill, watching the fields below. It’s really hard like this. He wonders how he could go through one more day, confined to this realm without Ri-

“Ellis.”

But it can’t be.

Ri steps slowly, the sound of his shoes crunching dried grass clear in the nighttime silence. And then he appears in front of Ellis, in full suit and bowtie. The familiar sight makes his heart ache.

“Ri, are you really here? I thought- I thought I lost you.”

Ri, sucked into the vast expanses of the multiverse. Ellis, in that moment, had thought all was really lost. He was returned to the same dreary city that he had grown up and trained his skills in, returned to the old life that so unbearable because of the thought of what could have been.

What could have been is this.

The night sky swirled, a vast expanse, as Ri smiles. He fixes his monocle, adjusts his suit, smooths down his hair a little even though they both know it’s destined to stay puffed up forever. So familiar, all of it. “Well, you can’t stop me,” he says with a teasing smile. “I’m Ri Breguet, remember?”

Ellis leapt up and hugged him, almost pushing him over with the speed at which he ran into his arms. Ri paused for a moment, then let out a small sigh and hugged him back. “I missed you too, Ellis, I’m sorry for leaving you. I didn’t know-”

“No, Ri, just- stop, you don’t have to apologize-”

It really sinks in for Ellis. Six months after with no knowledge of what had happened, no word from Jikdus or anyone else he remembered meeting. It was as if- as if everything about Ri and around Ri had simply vanished in a puff of smoke, a delusion, a fairy tale dream. None of it was Ri’s fault. Yet it strikes deep, how fragile this is, how he could lose it all at any moment.

“I’m just so happy you’re here again,” he murmurs, feeling tears well up.

Ri hummed and pulled back a little to look at him. Ellis knows him, he was never one for crying, but right now he seemed a little tear-eyed too. “I’ll never leave you again, I promise,” he says, and he kisses Ellis on the cheek as he takes his hand. “I promise.”

They stood together, looking up at the stars, and this is feeling so much