Daily 19, prompt and writing style from Bea ( @Alfalfa78 ): Lint goes to the top of the mountain to yodel.Rustle.
That was the sound of the wind howling past Lint’s furry orange ears.
Her tiny and measly body trotted up the mountain with surprising strength, much more than you’d expect.
Lint tripped, stumbling against a large gray rock, and fell to the ground with an oomf.
It hurt. It hurt a lot.
But she stood up anyways, even as her buckled under her weight.
She had to keep moving, had to, had to if she wanted her clan to live.
She reached the top, finally, after three long hours.
She opened her mouth.
And let out a long, incredible yodel.
“Aroogergbnlpiurehygtfuonipwdmsa!!” Lint yodelled. “Etrfbgfineavsdhc!”
This was what her clan depended on.
Lint had to yodel.
She had to.
Otherwise her whole family, all of her friends, everyone she’d ever known would be erased.
“Rgfwheobhgvnfmdnvbbgruhkjdfn!!” Lint yelled in to the wind.
Where no one could hear her but the ruthless beings above.
No one knew of this impossible task that she accomplished every dawn of the new year.
No one would ever know.
No one could ever know.
Or everything would be ruined.
No one appreciated the work she had to do for her clan.
No one thanked her.
No hugs to relieve her from her worries.
No encouraging smiles.
Just lie after lie after lie.
But still, Lint yodelled.
“Kttgrfsjdcnmtyeuilfns!” She screamed. “YGRWFVDSCX!”
The wind beside her head whistled again. The trees seemed to loom behind her.
And maybe the altitude was getting to her, but it seemed like the mountain was moving.
But Lint didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
So she didn’t.
“WREFRGHJURYHTEGFWCSTHEBGRVFD CKI&JUTHGREFCSU&^HYDWSADCVBGHUY^%T$REFDSCFVGBHNY^T%$REDFVGBBH!” She screamed, yelled, wailed with all of her might.
Lint opened her mouth to start again.
“RE-” she stopped.
She couldn’t continue.
It was as if all of the weight was suddenly lifted off of her shoulders.
Lint felt free.
She didn’t know why, or how, but she somehow knew that this burden wasn’t hers to bear any more.
A giant cat appeared in the sky.
“Lint,” it boomed.
Lint looked up.
Woah.
“You are free,” it said.
“Really?” Lint asked.
“We have seen how hard you work,” said the cat. “We have decided that you have had enough. You may go home.”
The cat waved a paw and all went black.
And then it was light, and Lint was back home at SWC.
And she was free to go prank the other mascots.

✪ Daily Task 19: Lint the Fox Daily ⊹ ₊

Skylar's Prompt - Lint goes on a rescue mission

(WARNING: I tried to add they twist but by the time I realized there was a twist, my daily was done. I tried to change mine to third person because I noticed that in Skylar's writing but I also TRIED to make it similar. I'm not good at this <3)

Why did Agent Elysium think the sneak attack was a good idea? The truth was she didn’t even know. It was so cramped up here in the ceiling. Some of the other agents have even fallen out of the ceiling tiles. Look, she’ll admit, she has done this previously on some past missions before the whole “AI takeover" stuff, but this is rather difficult with the amount of agents they have now. She hears an automatic creaking sound of robot joints below her current tile so she decides that that is her stop. Agent Elysium kicks the ceiling tile down so that it will land on a robot’s head and she drops down with it to crush the bot. Then she quickly grabbed a knife from her toolbelt and threw it at the second AI bot.

“Perfect” Agent Elysium whispered to herself before grabbing the knife from the second bot’s engine. She quickly examined her knife. It’s still unscathed and Agent Elysium takes pride in that. It was her first weapon that she ever made and modified. It’s been through some tough patches but it’s survived, just like her.

Elysium straps the knife back to her belt and continues walking down a hall only to run into a flat and cold surface. That couldn’t be right. She stumbled back and the illusion had faded. The two AI bots are still there but somehow she ran into a wall. That couldn’t be possible. Elysium looked around the rooms for a hallway only to find at least twenty AI bots facing her direction, weapons drawn. She had been caught.

This was it.

Game over…

Wait. What was that sound? Elysium’s head perked up at the sound of a gekkering noise coming from behind the bots. She strained her eyes to see behind the AI and saw it. A fox with a visor on that you could only get from the agency weaponry. Elysium should know because she spends most of her time there. It was Lint. The fox pounces on the robots, distracting them long enough for Elysium to get her bow off her back and nock an arrow. Together, Lint and Agent Elysium made the robots dwindle in numbers until eventually they were all defective.

“Let’s get back to the rest of the agents. They’ll need our help,”

» — ⋙ 387 words total ⋘ — «

──★ ˙ elements of literature spinner daily
519 words … november 19

If you've been in SWC before, you've probably seen the Elements of Literature spinner — and if not, you're in luck. Your daily for today is to combine the four elements of literature provided by the spinner into a story of 400 words worth 450 points, and claim 100 extra points if you share evidence!

innocent, hi-fi, solitary place, deus ex machina

I swallow my tears as they touch my lips. I cover my mouth, muffling the sobs. Any sound I accidentally let out can lead to my death, so it's best to stay silent and hope.

The room is dark, with only the faint candlelight in my hand. There is not much to see anyways. The room is small and bare, an extra space. We cleared it out at the beginning of the war, just in case the Allies would come. Father always said that they would never touch our city, but he was wrong. Germany was losing the war, and they could just take us at any moment.

They had shoved me in here as soon as we heard the front door break. I was terrified, but my parents were out there. I am not sure what they planned to do, nor where my brother was. He had left early in the morning, but was very vague in his answer. He had claimed that he was “just running errands,” but we knew that wasn't the case. He would never willingly do work.

A scream comes, after a gunshot rings out. I panic inside, thoughts spinning around in my head.

Father had also worked for the government, so we were in even more danger. I wonder who was the source of the shriek, it was most likely coming from Mother. She was probably shocked with grief and fear.

The home goes quiet again. I wonder what had happened.

All of a sudden, footsteps grow louder. They don't sound like Mother's shoes, but rather heavy boots. I grip my mouth tighter, scared of even breathing. Did they know where I was?

There was a knock on the door, but I didn't move. I curled up into a ball, clenching a stuffed rabbit. It was the only thing I had with me. There was nothing for me to do. I couldn't run or hide anymore if they got in.

Eventually, they got tired and kicked down the door. I stared right at them, my face full of terror.

But before I could scream, or they could say anything, they were on the floor.

Lying there. Lifeless and still.

I look up, it was my brother. His expression was full of hatred, but there was a hint of guilt. No one would have expected him to do this. Out of all the people, my brother, took not one, but multiple soldier's lives.

Father came limping, as Mother rushed to help him. She was alright, but still startled from all of this. It turned out that Father was badly injured, just like we expected. Mother was a nurse and helped him recover from the gashing wound. However, none of his vital organs were hit. It was a miracle, really, to say that all of us survived.

I couldn't bare to look at my brother, despite him saving me. He took lives from people. Those who had families and friends to return to after the war was over. I stood there, frozen in my spot, staring at the bodies.

Was this really the right decision?

Daily - Nov 20th - 635 words

Visionary - an individual who perceives the potential for future change
Hi fi
Place of studying/strategy
subplot

Lucy hummed quietly as she searched through the books. To her, every single one was a world, a place outside of this realm but not quite at death. Filled with large forests, clear rivers, brave heroes, and kind animals. Each was its own way of thinking, some were in languages she would never understand.
Of course, being here could mean death.
It couldn’t /really/ mean that, but being in a library repeatedly could be grounds for punishment, especially if they caught her reading books “not appropriate” for her gender or age. Her fingers lingered on a book. ‘The Rest of The World. A Merchants Journal.’
A few shelves over, a book clattered to the ground and Lucy jumped. The librarian, a young man named Mr. Jarvins, snapped his head around in alarm as a teenage boy with pitch black hair came over onto Lucy’s side of the shelf. He had never sold her out before, but she knew better than to trust anyone. Lucy was already out of sight and hiding in a small divot that slanted in such a way it was very hard to see inside unless you brought a lantern right up to it.
Black-hair reached over and plucked the very book she had been looking at, and Lucy let out a small, angry noise. He tilted his head to the side, as if he had heard something. Lucy clamped a hand on her mouth as he came closer.

Ben stepped quietly over to the hollow between the shelves. He had hidden there many times when he had to get away from home. If anyone was hiding it there, he wanted to know who.. and why.
Mr. Jarvins came over. “Ah, Mr. Benjamin! I was wondering if you would like to check out this new book I found! A merchant brought it in. A breathtaking story of creatures called-”
“I already found my book for today,” he cut him off, never taking his eyes off the divot. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Mr. Jarvins looked at him for a moment too long (He knows something, Ben realized.), then turned and strode into a side room with his office in it, leaving him alone in the library. Coward.
Ben walked up to the divot and peered in. It was too dark to see anything, but he could make out a small shape. “I know you’re in there. Come out right now!”
The shape straightened out, and gracefully stepped out into the light. It was a young girl, not more than 14, looking at him with an expression of defiance.
“What in the world were you doing in there?” he asked, shaking his head. “It’s not a place for a young woman.”
“Reading,” she replied contumaciously. “You have a problem with that?” He caught the smallest tremor in her voice, a crack that let a bit of fear slip out.
He relaxed into a more easygoing stance. “No. My mother loved to read. My question is what were you doing in that little crack in the wall? It should only be used by children who really need to escape.” He stopped, biting his lip.
She didn’t notice. “Well, as I’m sure your mother knew, a girl reading does need to escape.” Despite her rebellious tone, he could sense a bit of relief leaking from her, since it was clear he wasn’t going to turn her in. “And give me my book back!” She reached over and snatched the book he had chosen, then ran off to Mr. Jarvins’ office to check it out.
Ben stood there for a few seconds, stunned at the pure forwardness of the strange girl. He shook his head, then walked out of the library. He would have to wait until he found her again to check out that book.

(yes I know the subplot is not very clear. I couldn’t write any more)

starrii's writing competition entry (1071 words, not counting author's note)

no one cares about our words, but we'll make them count- excerpts from the diaries of different girls

~

“always know that when you write it down, no one can pretend it never happened.” — anonymous

~

1. the language we never learnt to speak, and we’re suffering because of it

6th July 1940, Anne Frank's diary

it's checked in hues of white and red. a diary. the original diary of a young girl, by anne frank. you start reading curiously, as the words warn you about the past, of how history could repeat itself again.

“we start believing that we belong, but every sun doesn't rise ; no one tells you where we went wrong. — ‘waving through a window’, Dear Evan Hansen ”

a. fantasies

my name and picture
on billboards throughout
the entirety of America
billboards spanning tens of ice-cream trucks,
all over California
all bearing the legend
‘ the
Annelies Marie Frank,
legendary actress’.
or perhaps, Anne Frank.
or something else.
possibly, people will flock to see a glimpse of me.
a legend of Broadway, of Hollywood.
that was my ultimate dream
my castle.

such are my thoughts while daydreaming.
yet, in the smothering dark of night,
a new fantasy shapes in my mind.

a place, where the black moth of the Shoah wouldn’t exist.

a place where stars are a beacon of hope,
of light.
certainly not a sign of hate
as they are now, in 1940.
my once-unshakeable dream is often changed by time- sometimes, I don’t care about fame.

my thoughts are volatile, as now are my castles in the air.

b. flight


as I write this,
the day is young
and I
hope we’ll be as well
until the end of this nightmare.
if it ends,
that is.
today’s dawn was the one
which saw us fly away,
away from our home
away from our friends
away from everything we’d known.
for the past
eight years.
the sixth of july.
before, I was sure
that flight
was exhilarating.
trust me, reader-
for to have come so far,
only you
could understand my words-
flight may be joyful
but in my case,
it was an exodus.
a retreat,
an escape
from
who
we
were.
and I believe
it’s ultimately futile
and it won’t lead to our security.
for what is existence
or even safety,
when you have to run
from your friends?
and
you can
trust
no
one?

our escape has infinitely multiplied my fears.

c. changes

today, Hanneli and I were
removed from the Montessori school.
stripped of a caring teacher
because of who we are.

we have been given stars
on our coats
saying ‘Jude’ on them.
in handwriting worse than that of the boys at school.
are we really so worthless
that anyone can write
anything they want
on something
we’re forced to wear?
the moment anyone’s eyes
rest on that blasted
star
they shoot us a piercing look
and sweep away.
you’d think that maybe the
others wearing the stars
would sympathise?
surely, I can tell you,
castles of cruelty
have fractals of hate
spreading to every single corner of people’s hearts.

d. blind hate

hate is
not a language,
it is a cruel imitation of one.
only a select few
are well- versed in it
black moths,
black monsters,
with faces.
some call them the
Nazis.
I call them
goblins.
whatever their name is,
they’re
evil.
and they’re identified by
those signs they put
everywhere:
Verboden
Voor
Joden
Forbidden
for
Jews.

you know, I often think
that Jews are forbidden to
breathe.

what can one do
when hate is spread
everywhere,
when the monsters
look like
your
next-door neighbour?
that’s why fairy tales warn us
to beware at
every turn, for
evil is always
lurking
around
the
corner.

that’s what good people cannot understand.

~

2. (un) popular opinions on myself, and you

20th November 2025, my (Starrii's) diary

you open a document on the laptop. it's titled private. diary. do not open, this is not a drill. you ignore the instruction, and open it anyway.

a. me

you know,
I’m short
I’m small
I’m not beautiful.
I’m not cute.
I’m not a goddess,
Nor a demigoddess.
Not special.
I’m chaotic
I’m loud
I’m selfish
I’m annoying.
I do, however,
possess
my voice which I'm not afraid to use.
and that
sets me apart.

b. questions

but if I am so
useless,
so third-rate,
then why is it
that even after telling people
my friends
my acquaintances
new students
other parents —
how can you talk to her?
don’t you know there was an official complaint made against her?
she’s a bad influence- you can do better.
that I still found friendship
for at least this year?
how is it
that SWCers
still
don’t hate me,
that the teachers
still
like me,
that I can
still
have people to talk to?
I study
I have fun
I read books
I talk
I laugh.
you, on the other hand,
turn
green with envy.
you bribe me with sweets,
I refuse.
you give me chocolate for your birthday,
I don’t want it.
you go with your story to the principal..
how is it possible,
I wonder,
that even after your constantly
atrocious behaviour

I
didn’t
break
yet?

~

3. serene fantasies

09th January 3154, the last page of a battle- worn diary (that of an anonymous soldier)

you turn the pages of a holographic diary, but the last words jump out at you. The verse is very short, but poignant. it seems like a farewell to the world, to reality, and to existence. interestingly, the holograph registered teardrops on the paper.

Every night
I toss and turn
In
the
trenches.
the trenches,
where I wait for
my
fate.
the fate I
cannot escape.
I can’t sleep.
Instead,
I dream of a world
where there is no genocide.
a world
where you won’t be startled
by
bombs being
thrown at you.
a fantasy
where you can connect with the outside world.
a utopia
where everyone is
free
healthy
peaceful.
a place where people
obey the message
of the
white dove.
Peace.
of course, it’s just a daydream —
yet, I ponder often.

will it ever be a reality?


~

“I broke into a million pieces, and I can't go back.”- ‘what it sounds like’, kpop demon hunters

author's note

hii, and welcome to my writing comp entry! this piece is really close to my heart, as I've gotten obsessed with WWII for the past few months. originally, my entry was supposed to be only the first poem, but I really wanted to make it more rooted in the present. the result? this piece <3

I'd like to clear up a few things, though-

the 1941 one is very minorly inspired from when we flew away by alice hoffman
I know the last one is really short but it's supposed to be like that
a huge thankyou to toko and silvi for critiquing
yes, I utilised some lyrics from waving through a window from the musical dear evan hansen

‹‹ go back to writing archive

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Daily #20: Elements of Literature spinner || 406/400 words
If you've been in SWC before, you've probably seen the Elements of Literature spinner — and if not, you're in luck. Your daily for today is to combine the four elements of literature provided by the spinner into a story of 400 words worth 450 points, and claim 100 extra points if you share evidence! So what are you waiting for? Get spinning: https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/1047415761
Prompt: survivor, utopian, place associated with family, stream of conciousness

I walked into the forest, and started living my memories again. It was the place where, 5 years ago, my family and I met the citizens. The first group of human beings we had seen since the Night had started. Because when that asteroid hit the Moon, fragments of the satellite started orbiting the Earth, and the sky went dark. It's still dark. The forest, that was a beautiful place that seemed to live in an eternal autumn, is now a field filled with trees that are no longer alive.
The entire Earth is a dark field filled with plants, animals, cities that are no longer alive.
Except Willow, the city of the future. Or that's how they call it.

Willow was a perfect sci-fi city. Its name sounds beautiful, it reminds people of nature, but everything is artificial. Nothing is beautiful. Patterns repeat day after day. It's not beautiful. It's functional. Efficient. It's control. And we regret joining, we regret accepting their offers. We had no other option. The Earth was dying. But we still regret it.

“Hey, … I don't think you are supposed to be here”
I turned around, and saw a strong man, with dark brown, almost black hair and a beard. Nicholas.
“I know I'm not supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to do anything other than my daily routine right? I'm just supposed to be-”
“Shh, don't-”
“They can't hear me” I snapped.
Nicholas moved his hand. Then, he moved his finger. He was writing something in the air. He repeated the movement.
'They can'
He grabbed a paper, wrote something really quickly, and left.
I walked away too, but I turned around to see the forest again. And I noticed a tiny piece of paper on the floor. It was the paper Nicholas had written. He had probably dropped it. I took it and looked around, trying to find him and return the paper to him, but I hesitated. What if the paper was for me?

I opened it. It said:
The injection contained a chip to track you
Burn this paper after reading

Right. They injected us something when we joined. They showed hostile behaviour before. They were kind to us after. I had forgotten about that.
The peace, the routine, everything was just a lie. They tracked us, they made sure nobody disrupted the order, the roles each person had. The entire city was a lie.

sometimes a birth is a celebration, a day of happiness and certainty, of future hopes. sometimes a birth is grief, loss, the promise of darkness in coming months. sometimes a birth is a mistake, plain and simple. such description is best applied the birth of charles adrian elm, heir — though no doubt that title will be stripped with the birth of a second son — to his mother’s island.
he takes mother’s husband’s name, despite uncertainty in his parentage. charles frederich is a merciful lord, a gracious head of the family, who has every right to throw his love out of the island and do what he pleases with the child.
but what the rest of the court does not know, and the lord does, is that charles adrian is his son. an ancient blood curse rears its ugly head in his blood, manifesting itself as a monstrous form and a certain taste for the flesh of others. and though love between parents and child is difficult, it is strong. they cannot easily part with the monster who calls them mama and pa. so, fearful and desperate for a cure, the parents lock him away beneath their palace.
here he grows up, knowing only the dark passages of an ancient maze, crumbling and twisted and bursting with ghosts. he — no longer just charles adrian, but rejean, a twisted nickname meant for a pet, now given to a boy — wanders the maze alone. though at first visits from his family and the wider court were often, they dwindle quickly with the passing years, until months could go without him hearing the voice of another. or, the real voice, for the ghosts speak to him often, fill his head with backwards ideas and evil.
it is no wonder, in such a situation, that he grows into the precise monster his parents so feared.

across the sea, just at the tip of the mainland, lies a rough coastline, a range of craggled mountains and rocky cliffs, where spirits run thick through the pines and penitents study their speaking. here a young boy is found in the woods and brought to the head priest, who declares him a child of the forest, to be taught and cared for by their people, and that one day his eyes will save them. such a prophecy is rare, even from their powerful head priest, so the citizens of the nameless monastery do as he says, and young hugo grows up loved and cherished and never hungers.
he learns to listen to the spirits and much later to speak back. always the listening is more important.
in this time, their monastery, though distant, is in debt to the lord charles frederich, and must send tribute to him. always this involves carefully sculpted wooden decorations, or weavings by the monks, or wines squeezed and aged on the coast. but one year, this year, it all changes, when the request arrives on a merchant ferry.
“torlin requests your presence,” emmerson says to hugo, official to the final word before returning to his usual mischief. “think you’re in trouble?”
hugo frowns down at the rug he’s seated at. this is where he and the high priest were meant to study, but now the ash kid is asking him to a summons and the monks just outside are whispering, and everything seems to have tilted while he wasn’t looking. he squints up at emmerson.
“is that supposed to be a joke?” he asks, but he already knows it isn’t. hugo follows emmerson to the chapel, the small one near the little mountain’s peak.
inside torlin sits, alone, head bowed in prayer. his head does not turn as hugo crosses the threshold. he wants to call out, but holds his tongue. the spirits are thick here, though peaceful as ever. a stirring in the air, a circular movement centered on the priest, tells hugo all he needs to know. torlin is elsewhere, even as his body remains bent over the pews.
he sits by his teacher, taking his hand in his own and giving the lightest squeeze. a minute passes in silence. hugo cannot hear the spirits, not now as he refuses to listen. he wants to hear it from torlin.
“ah,” torlin sighs, returning to his body. “my summons was successful.”
“always, teacher,” hugo says, suddenly passionate. “only ask, and i will be at your side.”
“oh, hugo.” torlin’s voice remains a sigh, sad and distant. “i wish you would not be so willing.” he pauses, thinking. “elm demands tribute.”
“yes, they always do.” but clearly this year is different. what could they possibly—
“our children. they wish for blood.”
“blood? what?”
“a monster prowls their foundations, howling in the night, hungry and thirsting, screaming for sacrifice.”
it sounds like something out of a story, a twisted offering of the future. a horrific demand of the young. a sacrifice to a hungry god, a ghost, a man—
“what do you know about the monster?” hugo’s voice is hardly there as his own mind fills with images and possibility. he doesn’t think to ask for mercy or to refuse the implicit call. if the church’s children had to go, he would go with them. simple as that.
“nothing much. he is some unholy joining of goat and boy.”
“boy,” hugo echoes, thoughtless, and earns a frown from his teacher.
“he’s not human. i saw it.” the spirits showed him, he means. “he is a monster. and you’re going to kill him.”
this startles hugo back from his brief trance. “kill him?” it goes against everything torlin has ever preached or taught or lived. but his teacher’s face is solemn, grim, serious. pained.
“i do not wish death on this creature. however, if that is what it takes to save us, any of us…” you hangs unsaid between them. torlin is not allowed to show preference towards his young ward, even when they are alone. especially when they are alone. but the love thickens the air between them, spirits drawn to it like moths to a flame.
“i’ll go,” hugo promises, taking both torlin’s hands into his own. “i will do my service to my home.” another unspoken and to you. “i will slay the monster and bring my people home.”

today he asked for the water of life, in such words. those are the only words he can speak still, which worries me. i wonder at his capacity for language, which has so diminished over the years. he still cries out for “mama,” though i doubt if he saw my face he would recognize me as the woman of that name.
my rejean. i weep for his hunger. charles has sent demands to all those who owe us penance. asking for their children, without telling them what such an ask entails, weighs heavy on my conscience. but what can i do?
i must feed my child.
the first boats near, and should dock by morning. i hope my son will hunger no longer, so alone in the darkness of confusion.

hugo sets foot on the island with uncertainty. he’s never been so surrounded by water. it unsettles him. the hot air hangs over their ship; rowers had to work night and day to bring them here through a spell of unnatural still air.
an ill omen. winds bring life on the coast and on the sea, only death is brought by stillness. a foul pessimism has settled over the boat and its fourteen passengers, all under the age of eighteen. the crew from elm seem unfazed by the air.
hugo wonders if that means they’ve brought it with them somehow and are intentionally inflicting pessimism upon the children of the church. such a thing would not be beyond the capacity or morality of an island that demands the blood of others’ children.
he tries to accept their welcome, their well wishes, their many gifts piled at the feet of the fourteen. in only a few days, he thinks, all these will be burnt, or else recycled, if everything goes to the plans of the lord. yet now they are showered with lavish clothes, foreign perfumes, bellies stuffed with only the most prime of foods.
to fed their monster, hugo thinks. all this for him, not us. but i will steal it back. we will return to the little mountain.
he never told the others of their presumed fate. such a thing would be too much for even the oldest, a year his senior, to bear. the young ones, who clung to each other the whole week on the sea under the impression ceremonies and riches lay at the end of the voyage, certainly could not survive knowing what really awaits them in the belly of the palace.
at their formal dinner of welcome, the lady stands to toast her guests.
“my son sends his regards to the children of the coast,” she says near the end. “he hopes to welcome you himself soon, but tonight he is ill.”
this all feels strange in his mind. thoughts catch on each other, tangling strangely.
the lady has a son. the palace has a monster. the lord has a demand.
she moves quickly to a different subject, and finishes not long after that. right after dinner, the children are shown to their rooms, where plush decorations and even softer beds greet them. the three youngest, girls with large brown eyes and needy hands, follow hugo wordlessly to his room, not even glancing into their own. knowing they need him more than he needs — anything — he lets them crawl into the room’s giant bed after him and snuggle close for warmth.
he doesn’t sleep.

he comes he comes he comes spirals in echoes all around. fate fate fate and sate sate sate and names.
howls ring out beneath the palace and the spirits mutter in harmony. the night welcomes their unrest.
he comes he comes he comes
adrian charles adrian rejean hugo

in the morning, hugo rises before the sun. from the large glass windows, he looks out at the sea. he longs for home.
“soon,” he promises himself, hand clutched to his heart.
they lead the children down, down, down, the stairs getting more worn, the darkness clinging at every surface, the heat and humidity stifling. even without speaking, the children all agree to be terrified together, to take each other’s hands, to not go quietly into this evil death alone.
the palace attendants do not even look at them at the stairs’ bottom. they are simply gone.
hugo cannot look at the children either, terrified of their terror, of their trust in him, of their doom.
he steps into the darkness, letting the strings of the spirits lead him to the labyrinth’s center.
there, where the sun never shines and the night never ends, he finds a boy. small and shaking, covered in light golden fur, horned and cloven footed.
he looks up, their eyes meet, and hugo loses it all when the monster speaks.
“hugo. i’m so glad to see you at last.”

Daily 20th November - Elements of Literature

Sidekick // Utopian // Solitary Place // Congeries

I sink into the emerald green beanbag gratefully, my chest heaving with exhaustion.
“What was that?” I gasp. “I-I don’t know what just happened.”


So, basically, I have been moved to a new planet. The sun is currently in the process of dying. And Earth is at this very moment being swallowed by the dying sun, so anyone who was on there would be fried to a crisp. So I have been moved to the moon Titan which is now in the life zone, where Earth was before, and its surface has melted revealing beautiful, peaceful oceans and a mixture of rural and urban colonisations have been built upon them. Titan is now a stunning place. Where I am, I can see clusters of shrubs bursting with fruit, their boughs leaning under the weight of vibrant berries and towering pines and oaks, littering the ground with pine needles and acorns. A lake glitters in the middle under both the dim, golden light of the Sun and the glaring bright rays of the closest stars, which filter through the tangled canopies, creating the dappled clearing where I am now.

Now this all sounds great, but the thing is only a select amount of people could move to Titan. I was one of those lucky few - my skills and talents in biology are treasured. Back on Earth, I was working with Albert, possibly the most skilled scientist alive, one a cure for cancer. And cancer still affects those on Titan. So they brought us two with them on their glistening metal spaceship to soar through the inky darkness towards Titan. Seeing as there are so few of us, they decided to spread us all out over the moon. It isn’t nearly as big as Earth, but there is still a lot of space. So it’s just me and Albert in this luscious green expanse of woods and lakes. And nobody else. We’ve been here for a few years - at first it seemed great. No one to bother us, just a lulling sense of peace. But now a cold feeling of loneliness is beginning to bleed through the both of us, like an icy cloak embracing us, beckoning us into an empty future.

And to add onto that lovely statement, Albert and I have now been banished from Titan. Yay.

We had been having a normal work day - we were doing our picturesque walk to the lab, through dewy grasses and sparkling cobwebs, and then we were interrupted by… our boss? I wasn’t even aware that we had a boss. Albert is my boss. That’s it. Nobody else should feel OK to walk in on our fragile shell of peace and shatter it.
“Albert. Elijah. I need to let you know of a change that has recently been mentioned amongst the High Council.” He had begun hesitantly, his gaze flitting nervously between the two of us.
I had cleared my throat, my brow furrowing. “And what change would that be?”
He looked down.
“Well, um, the High Council have decided that… that you should be banished from Titan. T-to Scylla,” he stuttered, his eyes wide and worried.
Albert had glanced at me in horror. “Scylla,” he hissed. “We can’t go there.”
I nodded. “I know.”

Scylla is a manmade planet floating nearby Titan. It is full of all the people who ‘couldn’t fit’ on Titan. Basically the people who the High Council believe are worthy to provide fuel and resources for Titan while polluting their own planet so those on Titan can live out their happy, uninterrupted lives. It’s a prison. A torture camp.

“I’m sorry. Come with me.” The man had said.
He had pulled heavy iron shackles and began to try and fasten them onto our wrists.
I had pulled back roughly.
“Get off me!” I exclaimed indignantly, cradling my wrists away from him. I had clutched onto Albert’s arm.
“Come on, we have to go!” I whispered urgently.

And with that we had taken off running.

And here we are now. The isolation is weighing down on us more than ever. I yearn to see my wife, my sisters, my parents, my friends. I long for that buzz of people talking joyfully. Not just me and Albert.

I feel like a mere speck in a gaping, vast stretch of yawning darkness.

And it’s killing me.

Spinner wheel !! 513 words
orphan / tragedy / place of communion/food / breaking the fourth wall

Corey Henderson, scrawny, dejected, and overall quite cynical. He wasn’t the top choice for a hero, but he wasn’t the worst that anyone could’ve come up with, either. He–

Hey. You. Yes, you. I know you’re listening to me, just like I know you’re reading this story. This story wasn’t meant to be told, not by this narrator. Tell them to pop back to wherever they came from.

Corey wasn’t meant for this story, either.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Corey was something of a lost soul. That wasn’t a fancy term for him, either; it was just what people like him were called. Because Corey was a boy who had lost everything, and that loss had turned right back around and taken him, too. Sometimes, when a person has endured enough hardships — when they lose family, friends, and home — they become something of a wanderer. And sometimes, those wanderers–

Sometimes, those wanderers are picked up from their deepest, darkest moments by some deity that doesn’t want you to know they exist. Not until they show you, and then all they want is to be recognized, loved, and praised.

Sometimes, those wanderers become the strays picked up by those old gods. The gods are neither vindictive nor benevolent, but something in between.

Like Switzerland.

Sure, like Switzerland. Those gods are not villainous, but they are not kind, either. In exchange for giving a wanderer purpose and care, they turn said wanderer into a lost soul. This means that what once belonged to them is no longer theirs at all. Their soul and ambitions are lost, replaced by whatever the god wishes. Sometimes, this can be the will of said god.

Quit talking about my life like it’s a documentary. This deity took my soul in her hands, and then she replaced it with the need to help. Yay, she made me a better person. Is that what you wanted to hear? Instead of fending for myself, I’m supposed to fend for everyone else.

That was what Corey’s goal was. His ambition, boiled down to a concept of self-sacrifice in exchange for not having to feel the same way he used to. But there was a drawback to being helped. No, he no longer wallowed in that shame. Instead, he felt detached.

I said stop it.

His mind felt foreign to him. He was not made for this; he was made to have his own life. But he took the hands of this deity, this woman who replaced him, for what she said was the better.

Do you feel fulfilled, Corey Henderson?

What’s it to you?

Do you?

No. Screw off, okay?

Corey Henderson was a lost soul, indeed. And this floating would only destroy him.

What’s that supposed to mean?

You know your fate, but perhaps it’s better you didn’t. In the end, we all drive ourselves to ruin. Your fate, the one you run from, begins here.

Here, in this cafe?

Here and now, Corey Henderson.

What do I run from?

You run from something you cannot prevent. You run from yourself.

Spinner Wheel || 500 words || Daily No. 20

Elements used: Jester, Fairy Tale, Comfort Place, Cliffhanger

“You do know this is highly improper?”
I eyed the person beside me. He swept a bow that nearly caused him to lose his balance, lifting his widely smiling face to mine. “Miss, I assure you, I never pay attention to propriety.”
That much was obvious. I didn’t trust him, but that didn’t change the fact that I needed him. Still, I would rather have worked with any other member of Fate’s council than him.
Bells jingled as he sat in midair, crossing his legs as neatly as though they had solid ground and not air supporting their slender weight. His proportions were spidery, exaggerated – everything about him was stretched, twisted, and bent to the point of caricature.
The Fool cupped a sharp chin in one long-fingered hand, surveying me with what I assumed to be curiosity. It was difficult to tell behind the mask. It was white, with garishly painted red circles over the cheeks and a smile that stretched inhumanly wide. The lips and nose were thin and sharp, and the whole thing was admittedly master craftswork; unlike most masks I had seen, it was molded to his face, no visible gaps left between mask and flesh. Swirls and symbols were lightly etched across it, inviting a closer look.
“Well?” he said, drumming his fingertips against the edge of the mask.
It was the middle of the night, but we were still in a public street, and the Queen had eyes everywhere. “This isn’t the right place to talk. Follow me.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” the Fool said, but I knew from his tone that he was needling me. He would work with me, but only enough to meet the minimum requirements. The rest of his time, I predicted, would be spent gleefully tripping me up and making things as difficult as possible.
I ground my teeth as I opened the door to my quarters, but I didn’t have any other options left. Fate’s council was the last card I had to play, and if I didn’t win the game with it, I was out of luck.
The Fool drifted in, unfolding his legs into a standing position. He still floated a good five inches off the ground, though.
“Hm. Not a bad place,” he said, running a hand down the wall.
I ignored him, moving towards the kitchen. Privately, I agreed. It was a very nice place, in fact. But I wasn’t going to stand around chatting about my taste in interior design when we had more important things to be doing.
“Tea?” I asked.
The Fool turned his smiling face towards me. “Alas, I must refuse. Nice try, though.”
Someday I was going to rip that mask off his head. “Then let’s get to business.”
He steepled his fingers, and I got the impression that behind the mask, his real smile was stretching almost as manically as the painted one.
“So, little mortal, tell me: how do you plan to overthrow the Queen?”

⋆ thursday, november 20th: elements of literature spinner daily
skeptic / tragedy / familial place / deus ex machina

lou sits on the floor of her sister’s bedroom, staring blankly into the soft yellow walls that she had known for her entire life. laughing on the soft flower-shaped carpet, playing with my little pony dolls, surrounded by her stupid band posters. most importantly, feeling sheltered from the mere sound of her voice, the softest touch of her fingers when brushing her hair out of her face when she was crying.
all of that, gone in an instant. well, not really, all the physical stuff was obviously still here, but it felt… empty, without the presence of emily. the dolls on the shelf are no longer pieces of comfort but rather entities that smiled at her mockingly. don’t you wish you were still six and playing your days away?
at least her death had been quick - the doctors had said she had died on impact when the car flipped. lou’s glad for that, at least. it would’ve broken her heart to know that her sister had spent her last moments in agony.
she wipes a tear that she hadn’t even noticed falling, and hugs her knees tighter. it had all happened a week ago now, except it felt like no time had passed at all. her mind was still lost to that fated day when her everything had been taken. her mom had tried her best to comfort her; offering therapy, grief camp, whatever she wanted.
she wants to sink into the floor of this bedroom and stay forever.
all of a sudden, there’s a knock on the door. “come in,” she says hoarsely. it was probably one of her parents trying to convince her to eat something.
instead, she’s met with the face of a man she had never seen before in her life. lou would’ve screamed, but her mind is so numb that all she can think to do is blink cluelessly. it doesn’t help that he’s got wings of an angel and is glowing ridiculously.
“fear not, my child!” he bellows, voice echoing. “i sense your misery. i can bring her back, if you wish.”
lou keeps staring. finally she gathers her bearings, “no you can’t. is this all a joke to you? has someone sent you to play with me?” her words get angrier and angrier, and she can’t help but cry harder at the mere thought of just another minute with emily. she hated to admit it, but whoever organized this cruel prank hit the nail perfectly.
the man looks taken aback. “joke? no, i fear you misunderstand me. i have been sent from the divine myself.”
lou just keeps sobbing. (his wings looked oddly realistic.)
“please, what can i do for you to prove my worth?”
“give me a cat,” she says suddenly. there was no way this guy possibly had a cat on him. to her surprise, there is a gray tabby on her lap not moments later. the man is smiling gently. “i’m hallucinating,” she concludes. there was no way. even if he had a cat by some crazy chance, she hadn’t seen him pull it out.
“listen to me, child,” he says as he places a hand on her shoulder. she flinches, and he immediately lets go. “i promise i can bring her back. in the flesh. i’ll rewind time and she’d have never gotten in that car in the first place and everything will be perfect.” (his smile is blindingly white.)
hallucination, joke, or not, lou’s so tired she finally gives in and decides to play along. she thinks back to all the fantasy stories she had read as a kid. “listen, i appreciate it and all, but there’s no way there isn’t a catch.”
“none,” the guy says simply. she can taste honesty in his words, but still doesn’t believe it.
“no, no. i’ll have to lose her all over again because of fate or whatever, or someone else is going to die instead, or you’ll make me give up my soul, or, or…” she buries her face in her palms, spiralling helplessly.
“i swear on the divine that all the people you love will go as they were originally intended to. long lives for both you and your sister - no fate is messed with. please, i hate to see you so heartbroken. if anything goes wrong, i’ll be here to fix it all up again.”
lou sighs. she hates herself for feeling so hopeful - this was all wrong, her mind screamed.
but she would literally give up anything for emily. so what was there left to risk, if this guy’s terms and conditions were genuine?
“…fine.”

‹‹ go back to writing archive

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Weekly #3: Fighting Procrastination || 851/800 words || 1250 points
You just don't feel like writing right now… You'll write later… The words just aren't coming…. Procrastinating? Don't worry, we've all been there. For this weekly, we're focusing on learning strategies to avoid procrastinating and getting your work done! So if there's a weekly you don't want to leave till the last minute, it's this one!

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Part 1: Taking Accountability || 303/300 words
Now I know we all have reasons not to do our work. We often give ourselves excuses and delay our responsibilities, but today we're gonna combat that by taking accountability of our tasks. For this part of the weekly, reflect on yourself and what causes you to procrastinate. Is it because it seems hard? Too boring? Just don't feel like it? Compile all your reasons for procrastinating together with 300 words! Good luck and I wish you all a lack of procrastination!

I don't want to study the regions and capitals of Catalonia. I have to study the names of 40 regions and each one has its capital. It's boring, and I don't like geography. I'd rather memorize the entire periodic table in English (I've already memorized it in Spanish) because I think chemistry is cooler than geography, and memorizing the periodic table will help me in future years, but memorizing all the capitals of the regions won't help me that much. Also, being on Scratch is clearly more fun than memorizing a bunch of names. I want to make more dailies for Scratch Chaos Camp because :sparkles: we love causing chaos :sparkles:
And I have more exams to study for! I have 9 exams in the next 2 weeks. I don't want to wait until 2027 to choose the subjects I want to study, I'm sorry but I am not interested in history or in learning about a man who lived 700 years ago and wrote books in Catalan about religion. No, thanks.
Also, for some reason, my class is the only one that has to study the provinces of Spain, the regions of Catalonia and all their capitals! The other classes have another teacher, and apparently, they don't have to. That's not fair. I do want to learn more, but this exam is already hard, we have like 6 pages of theory, math formulas, ~ 50 provinces, 40 regions and 41 capitals to study. We won't be able to finish in an hour. And everyone will probably forget all the names after the exam. Yes, I understand that we need to study the country we live in, but at least be fair and make everyone study it, or else it isn't fair. Exams are supposed to be the same for all the classes, right?

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Part 2: Motivation || 227/200 words
Welcome, warrior! Your quest continues in the second part of this week’s challenge—to defeat the gruesome monster of procrastination! For this activity, head over to Jade's wonderful workshop on healthy motivation habits and explore the motivation boosters she’s shared. Then, choose three habits to try out for yourself. Once you’ve completed them, write 200 words total about the three habits you practiced–reflecting on your experience and what you learned. Have fun, and may productivity be ever in your favor!

Listening to music:
I did some homework while listening to music, and it didn't help a lot when I tried to study geography, because the lyrics were distracting me. I don't think I can write while listening to lyrical music. But when I did my physics homework, which was basically maths, it worked better, and it helped motivate me (although I didn't really need motivation to do physics, everyone probably knows that I love physics)
Time pressure:
I tried commenting the things I was going to do in the main cabin / chat studios so I had no excuse to delay the task anymore. It worked because I felt that I “promised” to do these things. It is a strategy that works for me, and it helps me fight procrastination. Cabin wars is also based on time pressure and it's also great to fight procrastination, but unfortunately, we don't have cabin wars every day.
Encouragement:
Commenting in studios also helps because other people sometimes motivate me to do these tasks, check in to ask me how I'm doing, or celebrate with me when I finish a task (especially when people from the same cabin celebrate when I submit a daily or a weekly). It makes me feel happier about finishing the task. My family also encourages me and celebrates with me when I finish or achieve something.

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Part 3: Time Management || 301/300 words
Now that you know why you're procrastinating and have the motivation to fight off the procrastination potatoes for good (good for you!! :00), take a look at this super helpful workshop by Moonlit on time management! Try one of the methods listed in the workshop (or more, if you're feeling extra motivated!) and write about how it worked for you. Make sure it's over 300 words - you got this! <3

I tried Pomodoro during cabin wars! I wrote for 25 minutes and then took a 5-minute break before going back my writing competition entry. I'm not sure if I like it. I found having to set timers and look at the time repeatedly a bit annoying. I prefer working without a timer and taking breaks whenever I feel tired, even though that feels more disorganized and maybe less efficient. It just works better for me.
During the breaks, I went to eat some cookies but I kept thinking about my writing, the weekly and the things I had to study. I felt that 5 minutes was probably too short for me, I didn't have enough time for a proper pause because again, I was a bit too worried about accidentally forgetting to look at the time and pausing for longer than intended. Fortunately, I did get some work done though, like the weekly I'm doing right now, or editing my writing competition entry. I had to take a longer break to go to eat breakfast (ironic, because breakfast contains “fast”) and I accidentally messed up my entire schedule, so I gave up when I came back.
It's also hard to maintain a regular schedule during cabin wars because I had to pause to send wars to other cabins. Well, I didn't have to, I wanted to, that's the fun part of cabin wars ;D
I think that, after trying Pomodoro, I prefer working with a flexible schedule or timetable, because it's easier for me to adjust and I don't have to start a task and finish it at an exact time. Especially during cabin wars, when the other cabins, the shields and Scratch in general keep distracting me from doing my work. (SWCers, you all are really good at distracting)

‹ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ‹ ☕︎ › ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ›

Part 4: Lock In! || 20 words
Now you’ve learnt all about how to fight procrastination, it’s time to put that into practice and lock in! Spend one hour locking in on a task, whether that be homework, an SWC daily, a writing project you’re working on, or a piece of art. I know it seems intimidating but you’ve got this!

I locked in and finished my writing competition entry, and also wrote a few stories / scenes for cabin wars!

✧ ❝weekly 3❠ ✧



✦ ❝part 1❠
I really really don't want to do any of my homework right now because it is so boring to do homework. I am tired. Homework obviously is not very fun. You know what is fun? (LOW TAPER FADE) talking to my FRIENDS agh I do not want to do homework I want to go on dbd and gaehive and yap there. Side note my google docs is trying to get me to change “gaehive” to “gamehive” but since when is “gamehive” a thing hello?? Anyways. I don't quite understand this music theory stuff. It does not quite make sense, like, what is a direct or hidden 5th or octave? What is the difference between a direct and hidden 5th or octave? I'm lowkey so confused. This is annoying. I want to be doing pretty much anything else besides homework. I wish I could just motivate myself to do homework and be able to lock in but NOPE!! My brain is very mean to me. I'm still giggling over accidentally copy pasting “Help! There’s a Con-Artist Under My Bed” instead of the link to the swc daily that I was TRYING to post, I am entirely blaming Akaru for this, and now I keep thinking about that and laughing, and that's also distracting me from my work. Oh my goodness, I can NOT do this. Talking to people is so much more fun… honestly, I think I need a life. Whatever. Olive sent me the link to “Help! There’s a Con-Artist Under My Bed” so now I lowkey want to listen to it because that is the number one most hilarious and peak song title ever and now I actually have access to it (maybe… still not sure if it's unblocked) so I want to listen to that too instead of doing my work. BUT NO! I must do my work first! Sighs. Oh man I am going to be so cooked after I get to the library tomorrow… I'll (hopefully) have bsd and green yuri to read… so I will NOT be wanting to lock in. But for now, now that I think about it, that's actually motivation to lock in so goodbye.
✦ ❝363 words❠


✦ ❝part 2❠

Listen to music
Listening to music was actually a bit helpful sometimes. I feel like it did in fact help me lock in on my math at least. It was also fun to look for different songs and listen to them (I Wait by day6 is actually so peak oh my goodness. I've always found the concept of liking a specific artist or band somewhat odd for some reason but I think I'm getting into day6 oops). The problem is I don't feel like it always works. For physics work, oddly enough, I feel that music actually distracted me instead of helping me lock in. And for music theory, I can't even listen to music because I need to be able to listen to the notes I'm writing. But there's also lots of times when music does help. Like right now, I'm listening to Help! There’s a Con-Artist Under My Bed by Small Towns Burn a Little Slower and it is in fact motivating me to keep writing this.

Time pressure
This definitely did force me to lock in and did work to motivate me. I had to take notes on an article for a class I had right after lunch, but I had no notes, so I had to do the entire thing during lunch. Very motivating to get me to lock in and do the notes before class. However, I feel like this generally isn't the best strategy for me, as while it does work, it also stresses me out a lot and I often end up putting off the thing to the point where by the time I realize how soon I need to have it done, there's not really enough time for me to finish it well.

Reward yourself
This one is DEFINITELY the best locking in strategy for me. It works so well as long as the reward is good enough. So I tried this on Sunday actually. I had just looked up where bsd and tgswiiwagaa were in the library system and discovered that they were both at a library not too far away from my house, but that I'd never been to. So I leapt into action, my goal being to finish as much of my work as possible so my parents would let me go to the library. It unfortunately didn't quite work out to get there on Sunday, but it was still a really good motivator. I did end up getting there on Wednesday though so yay!

✦ ❝416 words❠


✦ ❝part 3❠
I attempted time blocking. I was uncertain if this would work for me, as in the past when I tried it I was unsuccessful, but I thought it was possible that it would work if I had the added motivation of doing it for the weekly to stick to the schedule. I was wrong. It did not work for me. My problem is that I feel like I have to stick perfectly to the schedule. If I mess it up, I get stuck. Then I have to keep going with the same thing while the time slips by. The other problem is that I frequently get distracted, so even if I have a specific schedule, I will stray from it in order to do the thing I want to do that is distracting me. This leads me to getting behind the schedule and messing up my timing. I feel like time blocking would be a really useful and helpful technique if it actually worked for me, but unfortunately it does not. Thinking about this, I then attempted the Pareto Analysis. I was not sure if I did it right, to be honest. My main takeaway from it was that I frequently am distracted by scratch. I don't want to do my work, I would much rather talk to my friends, and just with the click of a button and a few keys, I can do that. And boom, work is forgotten, I'm distracted. I wasn't entirely sure how to fix this, but I feel like a good way to prevent it is giving myself some sort of motivation to do my work before chatting online. Another solution may be to limit my gaehive time specifically, as unfortunately dbd tends to be inactive rather frequently, but given that it's so inactive, I'd be more likely to be able to get off of there, not worrying that I might miss something, whereas if I were to be on gaehive, I'd know that there are a lot of comments going by that I'm missing.
✦ ❝341 words❠



✧ ❝total 1120 words❠ ✧

Weekly 3 ☆ Fighting Procrastination
0/800 words

─────────────

Part 1 ⋅ Taking Accountability ⋅ 317/300 words

i’m not really procrastinating that much on anything right now, which i see as a win!

though i have been minorly procrastinating a bit on one of my assignments. funnily enough, it’s writing, and i usually enjoy writing, but for this project whatever i write seems to become awkward and off-putting. so i haven’t done much on it because it’s tricky, and i don’t want to, but i know i have to. i know that it probably won’t take that much time but i also feel like i don’t want to be ‘wasting’ my time doing it. although i know i have to do it. by tomorrow. so uh yeah.

another reason for why i’m procrastinating is because i keep finding other good things to do. and i know i’ll probably sit down and do it later but i don’t want it to be bad so i guess i don’t want to write it. i know that how good this is will have no effect on anything but i still want it to be good. i have an outline in my head but i don’t know how to write it so i’ve sort of given up, i think. i’ve also been procrastinating on doing some journaling/scrapbooking, which i haven’t done in a while, and since i enjoy that more i’ll probably use my free time today doing that instead of my assignment-

i can’t really find any other reasons apart form the fact that i dont really want to do it and that i have better things to do, which sounds quite obvious, but it has been getting in my way of doing this, and i had quite a while to do this too. i know i’ll have to do it eventually, since i’ve got to have it done by tomorrow, but i’d prefer to have it done and dusted sooner rather than later, to be honest.

Part 2 ⋅ Motivation ⋅ 0/200 words

Daily #21
11/21/2025
164 words

Arrows. Red.

Shots not taken and separate life paths that mirror two shattered souls.

In our multiverse, Hawkeye recruited Black Widow into SHIELD. In this multiverse, the roles are reversed.

Natasha Romanoff, product of the Red Room, has redefined herself as the golden weapon of SHIELD. Rising through the ranks, Nick Fury assigns her to take a threat out.

Clint Barton, a circus runaway and orphan, has crawled out of his brother’s ashes and made living as a ruthless mercenary. Master archer, he catches the eyes of agencies that ruined his life.

Bullets. Purple.

Grazed skin.

She misses. He notices.

Broken lives reflect in their eyes and they pick them up together. One piece at a time.

A mosaic of crushed glass is reduced to dust when ghosts haunt and don’t pull their punches. Names of whom they built their life to protect themselves against.

Black Widow and Hawkeye may become Avengers, but patchwork lives must first be sewn and heroes built, not born.

Critique || 1087 words (I am dead)

Hello hello, and welcome to another critique! This took forever sob, I'm so sorry about that </3 hopefully it's helpful enough to make up for the wait!
Let's jump right in, shall we?

Dear Journal, it's January 17, 2025. I don't know if I'm ever making it back alive. It's been nearly five years since the Pumpkin war started. The Orange fight of doom some would refer to it as.

The last sentence here is a bit awkwardly worded – consider rephrasing it as “Or, as some would refer to it, The Orange Fight of Doom.” It doesn't have to be this exact sentence or structure, of course, but I think moving some words around would improve the flow.

I do not know why I just began journaling today but my family needs a way to remember me Caroline deserves a way to remember me before I die in this doomful war.

This is a run-on sentence – there should be a period in between “me” and “Caroline.” Also, “doomful” feels a bit melodramatic – consider “terrible” or “awful” instead.

On January 17, 2045 was the day I was taken. I was 16 years old, 21 now as it's my birthday, the day that marks the start of this war.

Here, I'd reframe the sentences a bit – try something like “I was taken on January 17, 2025. I was 16 years old; today, the day that marks the start of the war, I'm 21.”

We've lost so many people, many many of my friends and fellow soldiers, all gone for the price of this war.

The repetition of “many” here distracts from the main point of the sentence. Good job framing the main character's anguish, though.

We must win. It hurts too much to know that they sacrificed their lives all for nothing. I won't let myself die without leaving on their legacies. My father's legacy especially. Mother, Caroline, Claire, I miss you all ever so much. Please know I am alive, I am alive, I am alive. I'm sick of fighting. To this day we are brawling to live-to survive, I'm struggling to find reasons to stay alive in this war. In this petty argument between King Carl and King Peter of the Pumpkins. I just want to go home, finally give Caroline a huge kiss when I see her. Hold everyone I know as close to me, no, as tightly as I possibly can. I do not want to say this war will be the end of me, but I hope to survive this war, end it, fast. I dread every morning I wake up, every second someone dies, and every sleepless night imagining I am back home.
- Charlie

This is a nice opening hook! My advice here would be to pay careful attention to your word choice and sentence structure. Try not to lean too hard into outlining specific emotions (for example, saying “I am so sad”) – you can detail these feelings more subtly if you infuse the circumstances with emotion with the vocabulary and tone you use.

Dear Journal, it's February 14, 2050. This is the first new day I've received access to paper. How lucky is it that its Valentine's Day? Oh how I wish to tell Caroline how much I love her and miss her ever so deeply. The war is as bad as ever. General Carroti got shot yesterday but he has received medical help so I hope he is okay. General Carroti says I will help lead our people to victory if he dies. I cannot believe that that would be hid final wish.

Just wanted to point out a small typo here – it should be “his” not “hid.” Also, there should be an apostrophe in “its,” making it “it's.” Finally, I'd remove “ever so deeply,” leaving it as just “love and miss her.”

To lead our people to victory to make all pumpkins go extinct? Why would he say that? To entrust all responsibility to me? A mere 21 year old? No one understands why he's choosing me and not the Lieutenant that saved his life. I'm so confused what I have done to gain his trust yet my mind remains blank. Either way General Carroti is in good health compared to some of us, I am sure that he will not die.
- Charlie

Nice plot twist here! However, consider making it more obvious why Charlie is being chosen to lead the army. Did he do something? Know the general well? Also, the series of questions here breaks up the flow a bit, so consider condensing or deleting some of them.

Dear Journal, it is June 23, 2025. It has been so long since I have last written?

I think you may have meant “Has it really been so long since I have last written?”

General Carroti passed away in April, leaving his army with me. It's very busy you could say, being a general. But I will say that it's a lot of work. Every night I struggle to fall asleep in the fear the one of my plans shall fail horribly and many will die. I don't think that I could bear that. That guilt along with the heavy weights of this leadership position I must withhold? That would be a lot. Lieutenant Carrot is jealous of me. I can see the hurt pass through his eyes as I speak words of encouragement to the soldiers knowing that he could've been in my situation but he isn't. Just the lieutenant.
- Charlie

I won't point them all out for time's sake, but there are several areas you could refine flow and adjust punctuation. Reading your writing aloud is a good trick – it helps you to see where you might stumble over awkward wording or miss punctuation. I do like seeing Lieutenant Carrot's jealousy here; that's a nice touch.

Dear Journal, it's September 28, 2050. It has been yet another few months since I have last written. Since then not as many soldiers have been dying. We may actually have found a way out of this war, but we cannot confirm anything yet. After these five years of working hard.

“After these five years of working hard” is a fragment. Now, I'm not against fragments under specific circumstances – used for emphasis, especially in action scenes, they can be quite effective. However, for general writing, they make it feel choppy and uneven.

Many of our soldiers are tired and need rest. Even I need rest. But now is not the time to take naps. We must understand to get back to the carrots as fast as possible, no matter the cost.
- Charlie

The use of the more casual word “naps” here is a bit jarring considering the solemn, formal tone of the letters and diary entries so far. Try something like “But now is not the time to relax.”

Dear Journal, it's Charlie again. It's December 21, 2050. We have lost many people within these cold winter months. The soldiers are losing faith in our army. Frankly I am too, but I cannot allow myself to give up. I cannot bear the weight of knowing those whom were sacrificed died for nothing. I still ever so miss Mother, Caroline, and Claire. I hope they are okay. They have not been responding to my letters that have been sent to them. It worries me. I will lead this army to victory. I swear it on my life.
- Charlie

The phrasing “ever so much” doesn't really fit the rest of the writing – I'd recommend either replacing it with a different phrase or leaving it out altogether. Saying you miss someone has much the same impact as saying you miss someone extremely – they both get the point across, and adding words like “very” doesn't add helpful emphasis to the emotion in this context.

Dear Journal, it is January 16, 2051. Tomorrow will be the last day of this war. The final Gambit. Our fights have become insufferable with each passing day. I do not care to win or lose. I want to live but that as itself is impossible. For whoever may read this, give this letter to my mother, Charlotte, and make sure she reads it with my twin sister, Claire, and my girlfriend, Caroline.

I would clarify by saying “more insufferable” instead of just “insufferable.” I'm also not sure what you're trying to say in the sentence “I would like to live but that as itself is impossible” – consider clarifying with some rewording: “I would like to live, but that is impossible.”

Dear mother, I have made a very difficult decision recently that I believe you deserve to know. But before we go on to that, I would like to thank you. Thank you for taking care of me for the 16 years I lived under your roof. I would do anything to take it all back. Do you remember that time when I was 5 and I tried baking you a cake? But in reality it was just another toy with powder and candy spread over it? Oh how silly and young was I!

“Oh how silly and young was I!” is a somewhat awkward phrasing that detracts from the rest of the letter. Consider rephrasing, or even cutting it altogether – it's not always necessary to spell everything out to the reader, and the context here should be enough for the reader to put it together for themselves that the main character was silly and young.

I will hope that when you read this, your eyes will be filled with joy and not sorrow. Do you remember that time when I was 14 and I asked you for romantic advice and my face went red? I was so embarrassed and I didn't know how to ask out Caroline. I remember you sitting me down and handing me money to buy her flowers to make her a gift. After I had done that you asked me if she said yes and you screamed when I said she had. Mother, you are my biggest supporter and I will never be able to thank you enough for that.

This letter is an excellent pivot – balancing grief while introducing some levity and sweetness.

Dear Claire, I am unable to know how to start this off.

I'd rephrase this as “I do not know how to start.”

Do you remember when we were 7 years old and I straight up told you that I liked girls and you said okay? Or that time when we turned 12 and I cut my hair short and you were the absolute first person I said “I'm a boy” to. That day you helped me trim my hair and future haircuts after that.

I'd clarify here by making it clear that the first trim and future haircuts are separate – try something like “That day you helped me trim my hair, and assisted with future haircuts after that.”

Lastly do you remember when I said to you I was finally dating Caroline and you said you utterly despised her until you saw how happy she made me feel? Then all of a sudden you hugged me and told me you loved me? My dearest sister, Claire, I love you ever so much and I could not have asked for a better twin.

The sudden switch from despising Charlie's girlfriend to hugging him and presumably accepting her carries some tonal whiplash – try slowing things down a bit to show more about why Claire changed her mind.

To my dearest Caroline, hi. How are you doing? Though I hope you are well you may feel distress after reading this letter.

“You may feel distress after reading this letter” feels rather passive for the context. I'd reframe the moment to acknowledge she may be distressed, but also that the main character doesn't wish her to be.

But let's remember our memories together shall we? Do you remember our first kiss? After our date to the movie theatre? We were both inexperienced and all our friends had kissed after their first date so we did it too. It was horrible. But I recall whispering to you that it was amazing, because truly in the moment it had been.

I'd change where the word “truly” is, as I think it would fit better between “it” and “had.”

It was amazing.

This is established in the previous sentence and doesn't need to be repeated.

Caroline, we were together for two years before I had been taken and I would not judge you if you have found someone new, but I still require your presence for the reading of this letter. I love you, I still love you, and I will always love you. I wish I would see you for one last time. I miss how your smile lit up my morning, I miss hearing you sing and recite poetry, and I miss us. Thank you for being my girlfriend and being there for me throughout my dysphoria and anxiety.

I love the detail here you include about the first kiss being horrible – this is a smart choice I don't see in many romantic moments or scenes, because first kisses are generally idealized or made out to be perfect. Describing it as something terrible both tinges the letter with a comedic moment and grounds it in realism, as well as honesty – the main character isn't afraid to be straightforward with Caroline.

To my mother, please do not worry about me or how I will be doing after my decision, I urge you to care for Claire and Caroline whilst I am gone. To Claire, please take care of mother dearly, do not let her live alone as a widow but instead enlighten her and keep her occupied and in good health until she dies of old age unlike I. Now to Caroline, please find someone new to love. Those are my final wishes to you all. Now for the truth that you all must hear, I am going to die. I will go up to King Peter of Pumpkins and make a deal. I am willing to allow him to behead me himself for peace between our two lands. I am sorry that this is how you will have to hear this but, please do not worry. I will be displayed in front of all pumpkins to see as the foolish man who allowed himself beheaded, but to our country of carrots, I will be a savior.
- Charlie

First off, I love the concept you've outlined here! I have just a few notes. First of all, some overall writing advice is to be careful with how many extra words you use – some emphasis is good, too much emphasis pushes it over the line. Using words like “very” “much” and “so” too often can deaden the impact, turning what should have been a heavy moment into something that feels more immature. Also, watch out for run-on sentences and fragments, as these can kill momentum and disrupt flow.
Second, the overall tone of the story seems to be meant to be serious and sad, which is fine! However, the juxtaposition of the serious tone and seemingly whimsical setting – a pumpkin and carrot war – is a bit jarring, as the reader isn't sure whether this is supposed to be comedy or not. Usually, using settings like these would be reserved for satire or absurdism, so treating it with gravity gives it a strange feel. That's not to say it can't be done; there's no rule that says you can't frame a vegetable war as a tragedy. Just be aware that it's going to be harder to get your intended point across, and you may risk confusing readers who aren't sure what genre story it is.
Your fragments were paced pretty well – they were consistent lengths, and contrasted the main character's life before with his current reality. Overall, this was quite fun to read! Thanks for letting me critique it – I'm sorry it took so long to finish.
Until next time!

ignore this post wrong account

weekly 3! 880 words total

Part 1 - 300 words about procrastination - 331 words

I have books that I would rather be reading instead.
I want to go on scratch…
It’d take a lot of my energy
It doesn’t seem easy
I don’t completely understand what I have to do
I don’t like my work enviorment
It isn’t due for a while! Or there isn’t even a deadline
I’m too busy
I don’t like this task
I’m not thinking of the consequences or they don’t seem too harsh

First of all, I don’t want to do tasks because I have books that I’d rather be reading. Sometimes when I left off at a really good part of a book, I want to read that instead.
Another reason is that scratch can be really distracting when I should be working on work and so instead I just browse on scratch or talk to friends.
Also sometimes the tasks seem like they would take a long time or that they’d take a lot of my energy. Or it doesn’t seem like the task would be easy.
Other times I don’t completely understand what I have to do! So I just put it off because future me can deal with it.
Sometimes when my desk isn’t clean, I don’t have motivation to do my work because I’d have to clean off my desk!
Whenever something has a deadline that is far away, most of the time I will avoid it because I still have plenty of time but those deadlines can be sneaky and come fast. Other times there isn’t even a deadline for something so that means I completely forget to do it.
I’m too busy. I have too many things going on and I can’t fit this task into my schedule.
I don’t like this task. It isn’t appealing to me so I am going to avoid doing it for as long as I can.
The consequences of it not being as good don’t bother me, or I don’t even think of them in the moment.

Part 2 - motivation 200 words - 208 words

The three habits that I did to motivate myself were spending time wtih my brothers, setting goals, and listening to music. All of them helped give me motivation to do my tasks a lot now.

I started off by listening to music from my church camp playlist. It made me feel very motivated to pack for camp, since I am leaving today for a father daughter retreat with my dad. It makes me feel very motivated for that specific task and it brings back memories from when I was at camp.

Next, I made a goal to pack for camp, complete the weekly, and do one math lesson. I have goals set and the music made me feel motivated, so I am willing to do these things. These goals are also achievable and realistic, so they are easy to do. Once I finish these goals I will feel very rewarded.

Finally, I played a game of checkers with one of my younger brothers and it made me feel happy. He won though, unfortunately. But spending time with other people is making me feel very motivated to finish these tasks. I don’t have to interact with people for a few hours now that I spent time with my brothers!

Part 3 - 300 words of time management - 341 words

For my first block, It is going to be 30 minutes (until 1:30) and I going to work on packing my backpack and suitcase for camp.

I packed my suitcase and most of my backpack (most of it because I might have some last minute things to add). Packing went very well, and I estimated how long it’d all take perfectly. I did take a few minutes out of packing because I got a tiny bit distracted making sure my dad knew what all to pack but otherwise it went perfectly and now I am all packed! I also had white noise playing in my headphones since I have discovered that is what helps me focus on a task the best.

Now for my next block, I am going to work until 2 on a math lesson.

I worked until 2:30, mainly because my mom came home and told me to go outside and play with the dogs. So it added on a lot of time but now I am done with my math lesson! I estimated it correctly and it had been around 30-40 minutes.

I’ve found the time blocking technique very helpful becuase I’ll focus on a specfic task until a set amount of time. And to avoid distractions, I will put white noise on my headphones, turn my phone onto airplane mode or do not distrub, and use self control to not go into my browser. Usually when I am deeply focused I can stay focused for long periods of time.

I have also used the pomodoro technique in the past, but something I have discovered is that if I take a break sometimes it can slow down my motivation making it harder to start back up again. So, I usually do longer focus sessions and short breaks.

I do need to work better on what I do during my break. Usually I just play on my phone or text friends. Instead, I should probably do something like drink a glass of water or move around.

Bookshop Daily || 175 words || Daily No. 21

Princess Calantha is cursed… or so they say. She’s always found her ability to be more of a blessing than not – her kiss reveals people’s true selves, which she’s been using for the past three years to turn unwanted suitors into roaches, toads, and on one memorable occasion a gorilla (a very bad morning for everyone involved). However, things take an unfortunate turn when the Court of Fairy Godmothers, extremely displeased at the state so many of their royal godsons are now in, deliver an ultimatum: either Calantha must find and kiss her true love before she comes of age in six months, or she herself will turn into her true self: a girl made of ice. Thoughtfully, they’ve even provided her with suitors to choose from: their once-rejected godsons, now (mostly) restored to humanity. (The gorilla was a hopeless case, sadly.)
Calantha must work with her little brother, faithful lady-in-waiting, and one very annoying royal messenger with a fishy past (literally) to unravel her curse – and uncovers more along the way than she anticipated.