Daily 29

The barista who hands the hero a coffee, the guard who opens the gate, the kid who walks past during the emotional climax—do these characters sound familiar? Choose a background character from a movie and write their story. What were they thinking in that moment, and what was happening just outside the frame? You can stay faithful to the film if you’d like or reimagine it entirely. Write at least 400 words of this character’s backstory for 500 points, with an extra 100 points for sharing proof!

using Senora Pezmuerto, from Encanto

Once upon a time, there was a girl who REALLY liked fish. The fact that her name was Pezmuerto (which means dead fish) was a total coincidence. She liked to watch them, eat them, and stir them with a stick. She even embroidered fish on things. She begged her parents for a pet fish, and finally (after MUCH whining and begging), they agreed. They did, however, warn her that fish would eventually die. But she didn’t actually listen to them. So she got a fish. She named it Goldy. Goldy lived for a few years, but then, one fateful day, one of the madrigal kids was out in the village. “Give me prophecy! Who am I gonna marry?”
“Am I going to do well on my test?”
“Will I eat cake tomorrow?” Kids asked him lots of questions. Oh, right, this was the future seeing one. Frankly, he looked kind of overwhelmed. But Pezmuerto didn’t actually acknowledge that. So she walked over. “Can I have a prophecy?” She asked excitedly. “Okay…” So he did a prophecy. “What does it say? What does it say?”
“Um… Your fish will die.”
“WHAT?!?!?!” She screamed at him “No she won’t! You liar!” And she ran off, crying. The other kids didn’t really want prophecies from him, anymore.
But the next day… her fish… was dead. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!” She screamed and cried. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. Goldy did live a good life…” Her parents tried to comfort her. But it didn’t work “It’s his fault! The prophecy kid! He made my fish die!! It’s all his fault!” She cried. “Honey, these things happen, I’m sure it wasn’t—”
“Yes it was! He told me Goldy would die, and now she did! It’s his fault!!” Her parents didn’t think it was the kid’s fault, but they didn’t try to reason with her right now.
But despite how they tried to tell her, even when she wasn’t screaming, how it wasn’t his fault, she never believed them.
Many years later…
Bruno, the prophecy one, had disappeared, and rumors circulated more then ever (even though we don’t talk about him). So Senora Pezmuerto told everyone what had happened to her poor, poor fish.
Ten years later, one of the madrigal girls, Mirabel, the one who did not get a gift, was asking to know about Bruno. And since you don’t talk about Bruno, you sing about him. And Senora Pezmuerto told Mirabel aaallll about the sad fate of her fishy. “He told me my fish would die, the next day, dead!” She told her, as she recounted her tale. “So keep your fish away from him!” She warned “I don’t have a fish?” Mirabel said “Your fate is sealed when your prophecy is read!”


(455 words, 435 words without the quotes from We Don't Talk About Bruno)

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

◪ Noͦ 29
Wordcount: 417/400
Topic: Background Character
Points earned: 500+100 for proof
Cabin: Cyberpunk

Sometimes, I think about that poor secretary of the CEO and Y/n. In fact, I think about her a lot. She must be a poor soul, having to deal with all these stupid things happening around her. If she makes the smallest mistake, she ends up getting fired, or worse, flung by the CEO out of the window because she accidentally triggered Y/n's sad backstory flashback because she decided to wear black and yellow clothing, which reminded her of the day she almost got stung by a bee in a bee farm.

I personally think that the secretary was once a Y/n as well. When she was a y/n, she was able to fire secretaries whenever she wanted because of her own CEO. But the problem was, her own CEO wasn't a proper CEO. No, he was actually a fake CEO. He was a fake CEO who was only posing because he wanted to collect Y/n's for his secret Y/n collection. He wasn't even 7 feet tall- he was only 5 feet 4, wearing boosters bought from TEMU. When she found out about this, she had to run away and actually grow taller than 4 feet 11 to escape his clutches. When she applied for the secretary job, she realised that she had entered the job that she so used to carelessly cast away- and she started to appreciate the way that secretaries had to live. Constantly hearing the CEO singing in a voice fit for some sort of deep drum instead of a human, and then Y/n singing in the voice fit for a mini chihuhuahua instead of a human.

But it turns out that the new CEO was also a similar scammer to what the secretary had faced before. She had only realised the signs because she had lived them- the extra inches on his boots, and the sudden high-pitched voice he got when he wasn't maintaining the proper pitch. He was just a poser. So she approached the Y/n secretly and told her about his cruel plan. Y/n looked at all the signs and realised that she was right, and that she should have escaped from here. So the secretary and Y/n managed to escape and decided to actually trust in each other instead of the useless 7-foot man who tricked them.

At the end of the day, always trust your girl friends over a man who is most definitely not that tall </3

Original post

The same sick lottery every year. I never go. Too many downcast eyes, and too many broken faces that fracture a little bit more when another townspurse’s name is pulled, and they rise, smiling, lifting their clothes from the dusty ground as they hop up the steps, smiling as they take their ticket. As if a quarter of the papers in the bowl don’t have their name scribbled over it in a loopy scrawl. As if anyone else, with dust streaked faces and boots caked in dirt, would ever see past the gate as the gold glinting of the brass train disappears into the distance. I’ve stood by that gate, watching the train disappear into the horizon one time too many. I had almost given up on participating, but this was my third, and final, year. Last year the business did well, I’d saved up enough to buy fifteen tickets. That was half the minimum number that the townspurses would dump into the bowl, walking upstage with thirty tickets cupped in their hands. Fifteen tickets. I took refuge in the fact that, well, it was at least twelve tickets more than anyone else on my street had ever pitched. I put my hands in my pocket and ran my fingers over the coppers and crumpled notes. Sitting on the roof of our complex, I watch the empty streets, and the tower in the center of town. If I am spending the coppers after all, I need to be written in before the third bell. I see movement at the top of the bell tower as a chimer pulls the thick rope down in one strong stroke, and the sound of a single rumbling chime rolls over the houses. The bell quiets, and thus the registry is open. Most everyone else was already there. It’s a little less than one interchime on foot from here to the registry, takes half as long on a bike, but I can’t afford getting it confiscated. Heaving a sigh, I turn and make my way down the rusty rungs of a ladder, and begin the trail on foot.

The roads are empty. It’s always a little like this, on the writing and pulling day. I liked the past two years the most, when I would watch the first bell ring, then the second, and then the third. All without putting a single mark on a single slip. It was quiet as well, then again, it was always quiet, but a different quiet. A peaceful quiet, where the air itself hummed with a glimmer of hope, the normal quiet, on the other hand… The normal quiet was a quiet of stifling desperation. The citadel was not made to hold this many people, and not for this long.

I put my right hand out and let my palm drag against the concrete, my steps becoming soft and rhythmic, fading into the background. The notes and coppers whisper in my pocket with every step, and it’s perhaps the last time I’m ever making this trip. Heck, it was my first time even seeing the registry up close, I’ve seen it in pictures plastered all over, nailed to trees and pasted to walls, but not in person, never in person.

I feel a small protrusion from the wall as it scratches a line along my palm as I hear faint chatter drift to me through the stagnant air.

I'm almost at the registry. Almost about to hand over the most money I’ve ever had in my pockets for fifteen blank slips, and I feel, for once, despite it all, the same glimmer of desperate hope that perfumes the air around the registry, flowing in and out of its large shuttered doors as people congregate.

My critique and overall thoughts:
I really enjoyed reading this with how the final destination is slowly built up to. The first sentences do a good job at introducing the reader to the main ideas of the piece. There is really nice flow within the piece where early on it outlines the main plot being about the day of registration, drawing of the tickets, and then the building up to the registration itself. There are small glimmers of hope within everyone as described throughout the piece. People hope for their name to be drawn, even the main character despite knowing that the whole thing is rigged in the end.

The way that the world is laid out is well done within the short length of the story. It was easy for me to grasp the context of the setting with the anticipation of a train and the lottery to be able to board said train to escape a city that is experiencing immense overpopulation.

A couple of stand out issues that I notice (because I also do these myself if I'm not careful):

The first paragraph is very exposition-loaded which causes the writing as a whole to be somewhat bogged down. A lot of time is spent explaining the world which also conflicts with the sparse movement within the first paragraph. This time spent explaining before there is actual action removes the momentum of the story and makes it more of a exposition dump than an actual story. The momentum keeps being broken up by inorganic explanations and history behind actions rather than embedding this history within how the character moves in the space. This is fine for novel-length writing, but as a short story, this stagnates the momentum you really need to keep.

One thing I suggest watching out for is dense prose: long sentences filled with descriptions. Prose being dense can be done very well, and it is in many points of this writing, but some sentences feel like there is an excessive use of descriptive language that it bogs down the story in some areas. Different descriptions and ideas begin conflicting with each other.

There is one notable idea conflict problem where the character is stated from the beginning to never participate, yet the entire piece acts as a contradiction to that idea. This should definitely be expanded upon unless it is intentional to showcase some hypocrisy within the perspective character for claiming to never participate.

Another suggestion alongside density, I do feel like the first paragraph could use some breaking up. The first paragraph spends a lot of time switching around through different actions, topics, and ideas; however, this is brilliant if you intend to make things feel exhaustive to stylistically behave as how it feels to live in this world anticipating the next draw. Though, I would suggest reworking the paragraph regardless of the stylistic potential due to this being a short story that doesn't benefit from the density.

All in all, I really enjoyed reading this! The bits of information received about the world are very coherent and thought-provoking, and it is extremely interesting that I'd argue that I would love to read a full length novel about this premise to see what happens next. Where does the train lead exactly? Is the whole point more of being able to escape the city, or is there concrete information regarding what is beyond? So many questions. It's really interesting and with some polish, it will be even better!

Writing Competition

decent's analysis and stealth promotion of a metaphorical vocaloid song about fish

Ah yes, Vocaloid songs! Known for having very dark and depressing meanings! I adore Vocaloid with my very heart, so I've listened to a lot of underrated bangers. So what better way to give them more love than with a line-by-line song analysis? The song in question is “Cynicality” by DenkiKujira, also known as “I've eaten myself that night” (even though no one calls it that), sung by Kotonoha Aoi. This song is beautifully written, hiding its meaning through metaphors of…
Fish.
I promise this song is more serious than how I worded it.
The song itself is in Japanese, so I'm using an English translation translated by Tackmyn Y. This analysis also includes some parts of the MV, like onscreen text, and excludes lines that I don't think are important to the meaning of the song. Without futher ado, let's analyse this song!

Before we actully get to the lyrics, the MV has labels for some fish.
“PACIFIC SAURY - Today’s special! - it was such a kind kid.”
“SPEARFISH - it used to be energetic.”
These fish are described as being kids who used to be happy! However, I don't think these fish represent actual children though. Rather, I think they represent the ambitions and dreams that a child would make up. You'll see why later.

Now for the actual lyrics!
“Because they aren’t satisfied
Just working at a fish store on Rapport Street,
The slow-witted kid
Fidgets with the world just a little bit
To chat with some dreaming fish,”
I've interpereted this part as a kid (who I've interpereted as Aoi in the MV) working to achieve her dreams. This part is obvious to me, but the rest of the verse is pretty abstract.
“But in truth,
Boredom the same concentration”
The English is kinda broken here, but there's still meaning to be found. When you're younger, the grown-ups always tell you that you'll be able to achieve your dreams, as long as you work hard enough.
“As body temperature always sticks with them,
So nobody has nowhere to run at all.”
I interperate the “body temperature” as the figurative type of warmth like the kind of cozy happiness. The second line seems to symbolise Aoi wanting to give up her dreams, but her passion keeps her from doing so.
Before we move on, the fish says this in the MV text:
“Don’t kill me…
Heya”
As you can see, the fish looks worried and paranoid about being killed. This definitely doesn't seem like foreshadowing!

We're now on the second verse. The first thing we see is Hatsune Miku, who seems to represent part of Aoi's feelings, hanging weakly to a moon with an ugly face. This looks like more foreshadowing, yay!
“Clinging onto the moon,
You’re falling tonight so smoothly, right?
But put your shoes on.
Come on, don’t be a baby!”
The “moon” in this verse could be referring to the dreams that Aoi had. “Falling smoothly” could be letting go of these dreams. How, you might ask? Well, the two last lines are worded like a parent being annoyed at a child for not listening to them, so I think this verse is about being forced to move on from your dreams. The last line in this verse doesn't seem to have any meaning, so I'll just skip it and go to the MV text right after this.
“Eat fish
Or you’ll turn into a fish.”
The “Or you'll turn into a fish” line is followed by a sad looking fish looking through a mirror. Something interesting is that in the original Japanese text is that the word “fish” is written in hiragana, the simple writing system in Japanese learned by children, for the first text, and changes into the kanji, a more complex writing system, for the second text. I interperate this as a metaphor for growing up. For the text itself, if we go along with the interperetation that fish symbolise childish ambitions, this could mean that the fish in the first text could mean “ignore your dreams”. Because the second text is accompanied by a sad fish, I thought about how fish in real life seemingly have no purpose, just floating around. Therefore, I decided to interperate the second text as “or you'll wander around, hopeless.”

Now we're on the third verse. The MV doesn't seem to matter right now, so I'll skip describing it.
“The discounted fish asked,
“Am I going to be thrown away?”,
And just wouldn’t stop crying,
So everyone stumped wept together at the supermarket.”
It would seem strange that people would cry for a packaged fish, sold to be killed and eaten. However, since these fish are supposed to be childish ambitions, this line could mean adults being worried for Aoi losing her ambition.
“A plastic bag in the evening glow.
The packaging sheet was drenched in blood!”
Assuming you buy fish from a grocery store, you don't see any blood on the package of a fish. Most of the time, the fish is sold whole, so blood isn't likely to go on a package in the first place. However, with the fact that this song is titled “Cynicality”, I think this is Aoi finding the cracks in her ambitions.
““Let’s be together forever and ever.”
See, that’s why I said we had nowhere to run at all.”
These lines go back to the last line in the first verse. The MV seems to tell us that the fish is saying the first line, reinforcing that Aoi wants to give up her dreams, but can't due to her passion.
For some reason, a strange fish-cat thing says some MV text:
“Come on, hurry up and eat it…
No way I could do thaaaaaat…”
Again, there's some playing with Japanese writing systems in the original Japanese text. The first line is written with a kanji character, and second line is written with only hiragana. This seems to be Aoi's thoughts; she wants to give up her ambitions, but her passion stops her from doing so.

Now onto arguably the most important part of the song.
““The world you were born into
Has turned into a dream. That must have been scary.
It’s going to be all right, there’s nothing to fear,” I said
And stabbed the fish with a knife.”
Aoi seems to be trying to comfort the fish before she kills it, seeming reluctant to do so. Also, after this verse, Aoi's eyes turn half black, when they were fully reddish in all the other colored pictures of her before this. Aoi's eyes are colored half black, half reddish from this point on. This seems to symbolise that along with her dreams, Aoi's personality is dying with them.

Now it's time to get into the chorus!
“Cynical, easy death (cynicality) → clouded.”
Tackmyn, the translator says that there's wordplay in this line. It's a mix between “cynicality”, “death”, and “easy”. This might represent how the death of your personality leads to your emotion fogging up, leading to, well, cynicality. The rest of this verse is useless to the meaning except these last four.
“It says, “Goodbye,” in such a small voice!
I’ve always been slightly uncomfortable,
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Dear me…”
Aoi seems to be uncertain about giving up her dreams, but is certain she couldn't do a thing about them. They were always meant to die, right?
Also, behind Aoi, there's a wheel that spins and shifts between these four words:
“pork - fish - chicken - myself”
There's also a note attached to it. (There's another note on it, but it doesn't seem important, so I'm skipping it.)
“Always consume when specified.”
This might not seem important right now, but it'll make sense later.

So now we're at the fifth chorus. The first three lines aren't important, so we'll skip them.
“Alright, let’s forget everything.
It’s so certain, it’s even a dream,
That we will be
Nowhere as of today,
So we’ve got to go to where they are.”
Aoi seems to have completely given up any hope on fulfilling her dreams. She's certain that following her dreams will take her nowhere, so she has to live a normal life like everyone else. This is supported by her eyes becoming fully black, symbolising her full death of personality. Aoi's eyes are fully black for the rest of this MV.

The second chorus begins, in a more “cloudy” tone. (this is the best I could describe this.)
“Cynical, easy death (cynicality) → clouded.
The burnt skin is the first to melt away.
So are its clayey taste
And the eternity crying in series.”
Aoi seems to be “consuming” her dreams, fully letting them go.
“Aren’t you scared of getting clouded and lost?”
Aoi doesn't want to believe in her dreams anymore, believing they'll just hinder her from having a stable and successful life. The last line here just reinforces what I talked about in the first half of the chorus, so I'll skip it.

Now we're on the last (and most confusing) chorus.
"Cynical, easy death (cynicality) → clouded.
But you still have to pay taxes, right?"
Whatever Aoi does, she'll still have to live like everyone else, so what's the point in following her dreams?
“See, it’s a bargain day of the supermarket on your way home!”
This line is very confusing to me. Maybe it means Aoi is eating more of her dreams? This line seems important, so I'm keeping it here.
“Even if it’s burnt and stuck to you,
The next day will always be fun,
And that won’t get us anywhere at all,
Dear me…”
Sure, maybe little bits of Aoi's dreams will stay with her, but the next day will always pass, so there's no point in following them.
By the way, do you remember the wheel behind Aoi that I mentioned? Well, every word in that wheel has been replaced with “myself”. Along with her “consuming” her dreams, she's consuming herself.

Before the song ends, there's one last verse:
“In the end, we were stuffed
Into the airtight trash can.
That’s just how
Each one of us died such a slow death, huh?”
Without ever achieving her dreams, Aoi is just another person wasted away without a purpose.

Ok, with all of that being said, this song is about growing out of your dreams and growing cynical! At first, Aoi wanted to achieve her dreams, but slowly grew out of them and eventually killing them, making her more jaded.

Wow.
I've had a history of having big plans and ambitions. You can see it a lot on my old account. Ideas for series and projects, but they're all scrapped and thrown away. Even when writing this analysis, I was so focused on finishing and submitting this into the competition that I forgot about everything else about SWC. Eventually, I stopped posting as much and toned down my ambitions, shrinking them into none at all. Sometimes I call myself a realist, but really, am I anything more than a cynicalist?
However, I've started to get out of wasting away. I've been trying some art tutorials! I'm still drawing boxes, but at least I'm doing something! I also have dreams of eventually having a webcomic or indie animation series, and it'd be a shame if I let them go. The thing is, don't let yourself go to waste. Find a hobby, try to get better at it, and eventually, you'll make it through.
Oh, and listen to “Cynicality”. It's not for everyone, but it's a great song for me.

Critique for Mildred
Words: 368
Read her work here!

Hi Mildred! Your piece was so amazing and also had such a deep meaning. Please take everything I say with a grain of salt, and I don't consider myself a great critiquer but here we are.

I'll start off with just a few nitpicky things real quick, but I'll also give a general overview after! For some reason I literally can't do a critique without being nitpicky, sorry.

August fidgeted slightly.

I think this part could be made stronger without the adverb, maybe by saying what he is fidgeting with?

What’s up with all the flowers?”

Is there supposed to be a quotation mark here? If it's a grammar thing I just don't know about, sorry!

He collapsed over his toilet, bile kept spilling.

I think you should turn the comma into a semi-colon, or rearrange the sentence a little to make it a full sentence!

One last nitpick is that maybe his thoughts could be in italics to easily separate them? Without the italics it may seem like you are just switching from third person to first person.

As a general overview, I really liked how the fidgeting that he once hoped was a remnant of his older self turned into a reminder of the despicable person he used to be. I also almost cried when reading this, it was so well written!

I think at times you opt for telling over showing, so adding even more little details like the fidgeting could enhance the story even more overall. For example, adding more description could paint an even clearer picture of August's journey to turn himself in; or describing more about his rehabilitation and where he is after the accident could help us get to know him as a character.

I really liked the interaction with Elijah, I thought he was written very well and I could really “see” that conversation taking place. I also really liked the pieces of “evidence” that helped him come to the conclusion that he was the Botanist as well as the interview formatting at the end. It feels very creative and authentic, like we are looking at the evidence too.

I think that “Judgement” would work best for the title, in my opinion! Thanks for letting me critique your amazing piece, and good luck in the writing comp!

Lilo and Stitch fanfic || 581 words

George Ewesay was cursed.
The details of this curse had been passed down to him by his mother, as she lay gasping on her deathbed. She had clutched his hand, frail and trembling.
“Georgy,” she panted, brown eyes searching his. “You must know the truth about our family.”
He leaned in closer. “What? What is it, Mother?”
“We…” She paused, struggling for breath, before continuing — “…Are incapable of enjoying the perfect cone of ice cream.”
George stared at her in disbelief. He’d seen his mother eat ice cream plenty of times.
“Out of a bowl,” she said, reading his thoughts in the way mothers do sometimes. “But I always… I always wanted to know what it would be like to get down to the last perfect, drippy bite of an ice cream cone…” She sighed, and her face slackened as she leaned back against the pillow.
Since that day, George had resolved that somehow, someway, he would find a way to break the curse on his family, for all future generations of Ewesays. Ice cream in a bowl just wasn’t good enough. He, George Ewesay, was determined to eat it from a cone.

Years later, he sat on the beach, pale skin sunburnt to a crisp. What better place to enjoy ice cream than on the beach, after all? He got mint chocolate chip, his favorite flavor, from a little beachside truck and lifted it to his lips, certain that this moment would be the one the curse fell away from his family line forevermore.
A passing seagull had other thoughts on the matter. George stared sadly at the white goop now dripping down his cone instead of luscious melting ice cream.
“Aye, that happens sometimes, mate,” the ice cream man said, chuckling.
George threw the cone away and went home.

The second time, George was out with a date in the park. He was holding a chocolate ice cream cone. She was wearing a pretty white shirt.
He held it carefully away from himself, trying not to let it drip all over his shorts. It was a hot day. George turned to his date to ask if she had any napkins, but she seemed to have other thoughts about why he’d turned his head. She grabbed his face and kissed him.
The ice cream fell off the cone, right onto her pristine white shirt.
The girl pulled back, gasping, and George tried to help — succeeding only in smearing the ice cream further across her blouse. She gave him a furious look, standing and stalking away before he could do or say anything else. She left behind a trail of sad chocolate drips.
The curse had struck again, and it was slowly ruining his life. At this rate, the Ewesays would never be free.
George clenched his fist, alone on a bench in the park, ice cream still dribbling down his arm. He had to end this soon, before it got even worse.

As it turned out, he lost his final cone of ice cream to a freakin’ spaceship wing.
After that, George gave up and went home, swearing off of ice cream for the rest of his life. It had brought him nothing but trouble; the best cone of ice cream in the world wasn’t worth nearly being killed for.
He lived out the rest of his days quite peacefully, although the mere presence of ice cream was enough to send him running from the room, sure disaster would strike.

UNPLUGGED)

NOT CONNECTED.
NOT CONNECTED.
Your TV is not connected to the internet. Please check your Wi-Fi connection.

(Stupid thing, just turn on already.)
(Finally.)

You’re here for the 7 o’clock news, ladies and gentlemen.
The date is July 1st, 1946, 2026, and we’ve got
all you need to know about the happenings of the world.
Let’s hand the time over to Gilda on the bombs in—
Oh, right.
We’ll be back in a minute!

We’ve all been there. Your paper is due at eight in the morning, and
you’ve left it for days. Now it’s
3 A.M. and you don’t have a clue what you’re doing. We’ve got you
covered; with Hemingway, you can…


(Not this again.)

NOT CONNECTED.

I like this part! Your notes said you wanted feedback on the clarity and flow so i’ll focus on that. Obviously we’re not very far into the story yet, but as of this point i don’t know what’s going on. I assume that’s intentioned, but just to let you know in case its not! I like the formatting of having either the speech or the thoughts in parenthesis, that’s very unique. The advertisement near the end stood out to me, i havent read the whole story yet but if it doesnt have a repearrance i think it should!

FALLOUT / What the Textbooks Don’t Tell You

So you need to write something that brings people hope.
So you take the cynical side; why is that?
So you have to decide what’s really important to you: the past
or moving on from it. Because there’s only so much you can do.

“I hate to tell you, but no one really cares about the Marshall Islands, not
right now,” he says. He has a misplaced qualifier, and
I don’t correct him.
I don’t tell him that no one’s ever really cared, look at the textbooks.
A footnote, an unnamed country, a world forgetting,
and history
is more than written by the victors; it’s
unwritten.
But everyone’s a victim, everyone’s a tragedy, and
it’s just another inevitability, another sun rising.

It was as if the sun came out.
Tremendous.
Even the blind girl in the camp could see it, and
they played in the summertime snow, it killed them, it—
Trinity, a name, a state of holiness, and
they played God with kids’ lives.

I like this part a lot too!! It feels informative in an eerie sort of way, if that helps you at all. The part at the end that is centered was confusing the first time i read it, but i understood the second time except for the last two lines, this is probably nitpicky but when i think of the term “playing God” i think more of trying to control the way someone lives their life, not ending that life. But honestly, its a tiny detail, i just wanted to point that out <3

They bombed that place to hell and said
it is safe for you to go home now, we promise
(as the radiation seeped into your bones,
killed your voice, and
they never lifted a finger to help.)
But I am not supposed to write about the terrible things anymore. They are
stories told, stories buried, stories overshadowed, we’ve
left them behind, so stop forcing us to remember. You’re
disrupting the peace.

They tell me, Don’t study history, it’ll get you nowhere, so I
devalue the humanities,
because poetry never invented anything
and it’s too late to change the past.

They tell me, Don’t study history,
and then we wonder why
history is destined
to repeat itself.

Oooo i like this part too!! Im going to keep saying that ajskadhajag anyway, the only thing i would change is maybe shifting the first and second line of the second part, including “so i” in the beginning of the second line to balance out the formatatting!! One thing i really like so far is that all the lines end with “important” words which that part sort of throws off for me, but its a really small detail again <3

Tragedy Comes Like a Held Breath in a Parking Lot, Forgotten

In seventh grade, I wait in my soccer uniform under shelter
while lightning splits the sky, irritated
that our coach won’t let us play. But
we’re good little rule-followers, not yet taught in the language
of defiance, so we wait,
we wait,
we wait.

The screaming of a ringtone disrupts our chatter, and
my teammate picks up the phone, and hold on,
is she crying?
She asks “Are they okay?” and hangs up and tells us
her cousins were across the street from the shooting
that made the papers that morning.
We hug her and tell her that they’ll be alright, as if
we can will it into being, as if
these words we’ve seen on TV will suddenly make it better.
She says it’s just scary, it’s just
that we’re halfway across the world and can’t do a thing to help them.

I think you do a really good job of showcasing that feeling of everything being wrong, needing to help and not being able to do a thing in the grand scheme of things. I dont think i have any notes for this part— great job!

Summer after freshman year, I walk out of the Barnes & Noble with my cousins
and my arms full of books. I teeter
under the weight as I get inside our rental car, and my mom jokes
about my endless “to be read” list while black-and-white cars
with flashing red lights filter in.
I try not to notice as a police officer shines flashlights through the windows
of vehicles exiting the parking lot, but despite my best efforts,
I hold my breath.
My mom says, “Time to get out of here,” and my dad hits the gas,
takes the other exit, decides
it’s a drugs case, that’s what it looks like, as
cops from five other towns rush in.

“A shooting. At the library,”
my aunt says when we arrive at Trader Joe’s, and
I should not be shocked,
not after all this.
But for all I know, I could have been there,
I would have been there,
I should have been there.

Then we forget the tragedy and buy bagfuls of
chips and frozen foods and
all the things we can’t get back home, pretending
that two bags of white cheddar cheese puffs absolve us
from the guilt of so quickly forgetting
a murder.




When we get back,
we tell my uncle, “You’re lucky
we made it home alive,” half-laughing, and
joking is shockingly easy.
We tell my uncle, “Literally,” and
somewhere out there, someone
cannot say the same.

I think this part could do with a tiny bit more explanation! Im a bit confused, especially as to why the cops are at this place when they just came out of a Barnes and Noble and not a library? Maybe im missing something but it confused me a bit!! Likewise, i would maybe changing “forgetting about a murder” to “forgetting about x deaths” because gthat would introduce the information of how many people died when we otherwise dont know what happened in this shooting and it leaves me feeling a bit confused

Passive Nihilism

Not another one of these stories,
we’ve heard it before. I close tabs about
the BREAKING NEWS every day to read book recommendations,
to watch snippets from concerts, because
it’s all the same now.
Scroll past genocide, it’s just entertainment.
Let’s watch the highlights from the game last Monday.

A trial put on hold, some murderer with a list of
unspeakable crimes, or maybe this time it’s
a blocked bill, a stock market crash.
Oh, that’s horrible, I think, out of habit,
as I delete the news from my inbox. This is
yesterday’s news, this is
last week’s news, this is
not special anymore, so what’s the point, huh?
You need
bigger headlines, bolder thoughts,
stir us from this stupor with something radical, not
another injustice, that’s boring.

I laugh at economic depressions because it’s
funny that the word also means despondency, as if sorrow
belongs to the money and
not the people.
Yes, that’s right, it’s stolen it from us, but it’s
all for the better,
and we’re stronger for it.

We’re not sad anymore, we’re
melancholy, it’s prettier, it’s better, get it right.
Stop letting it matter, you’re a weakling.
Stop crying, idiot, just ignore it. Too bad, this is
how the world works,
so grow a thicker skin and
get over yourself, because in a few years,
we’ll all be dead,
Anyway.

The only thing i think could make this part better is changing the last stanza (or the last part, i dont know if this a story or poetry) to be without the insults. Maybe its just me, but the juxtaposition of everything falling apart combined with “weakling” and “idiot” are giving me contrasting vibes but not in a way that feels ironic or well intentioned. I apologize, im not the best at putting how i feel into words, but it distracts from the meaning for me instead of adding to it if that makes sense!

Hypocrite!

You hypocrite, you! Talking about how you want
the world to be happier, then wallowing
in your own misery; why don’t you bother making
a difference, making
an impact
if you’re so inclined as to criticize everyone else?

I mean, what do you even
want us to do? Change the news?
Rewrite history? It’s
a bit late for that.
You’re too stuck living in the past and talking about the future,
but come on, why don’t you do something now for once?

At this point in the story, i dont really understand this section and feel like it could work a bit more seamlessly attached to the end of the last section since to me, it doesnt provide more meaning on hypocrisy specifically contrary to the last section.

Places I’m Not Supposed to Love

We debate California vs. Texas again today, a recurring argument,
and it’s pride in where we’re from, sure, but this is the kind of thing
that has torn the fabrics of friendship, easily.
You say, “But the taxes are so high in California,”
as if we know the first thing about taxes.
You say, “The government’s a mess.”
You say, “People are leaving the state, no one wants to be there.”

You don’t understand—
I never thought about the government
or the taxes, it’s just
home.
We walked to the library after school twice a week.
We climbed trees in our backyard and built a zipline from the deck.
We grew up there, so of course
everything is rose-tinted and beautiful.


We debate California vs. Texas today, and
my friend wrinkles her nose every time I mention my hometown.
My mom goes all-out for the Fourth of July; she doesn’t want to be embarrassed
to celebrate our heritage.
And I know: I’m not supposed to love this place,
but I do.
Look, I am proud of my citizenship
but not my leader.

You don’t know this place, do you?
It’s not all bad.
I’m trying to remember that.

Having not read the entire thing, im also hoping this will come back? An explanation or realization regarding the fact that because a place is home doesnt explain away the differences or possibly harm caused by either of these places. I dont actually know which one of the places the narrator is from, and i assume its meant to be that way? Im also slightly confused about the meaning of “but not my leader” and i cant quite tell if its a current political commentary or not, or who that leasder could be.

Headlines, Systematically

“Have you seen today’s episode of
The Daily Show? It’s just so
funny, here, let me
show you, you
have to see it.”

If I were better at speaking, I’d tell you
to pause it, I already know what they’re going to say.
Headlines, systematically prepared,
designed to elicit a reaction. I’ve seen
the impassioned language,
the questions,
the “THE DOOMSDAY CLOCK PUTS US AT 85 SECONDS TO MIDNIGHT
AND WE’RE VERGING ON SELF-DESTRUCTION”
before.

I subscribed to The New York Times in eighth grade;
my teacher told me to.
I talk politics with friends over lunch as if it does something
(they say it does, but really?).
My dad hits the horn in support of protests, and
my piano teacher asks me if they’re dangerous.

They’re voices.
Of course they’re dangerous, but
not like that.

Pull me in with your questions,
tell me I’m missing something, won’t be complete without it,
make me a person I despise so I buy your ________, and
everyone hates each other, don’t they?
Headlines, systematically engineered to instill fear.
Cynicism is all the rage, but

I just want to love this world.
Is that really so bad?

Goodbye to The New York Times, I delete every email I get
as soon as I see it.
Goodbye to studying the present, it hurts too much.
I don’t want to read this tragedy anymore.
I know the bluster, the abuse, whatever it is, I’ve seen it,
so, please, spare me the details
just this once.

We ask for progress then destroy our hope in it.
How do you expect me to work for a future
I can’t believe in?

I can’t decide if i like the blank bar or not, but thats really the only note i have about that part! I feel like the rule of three could be implemented in the second to last section here, with another “goodbye” line. I like the ending of this part especially!

On the day my chemistry teacher asks us “What gives you hope?”

We respond with the typical:

My friends.
Family.
Three o’clock. (So going home, then?) (Yeah, pretty much.)
Sleeping.
My dog.
Friends, definitely.
Can you come back to me? (Sure.)
My family.
Summer break! (Wow, looking far ahead already.)
Lunchtime. (What do you have?) (I don’t know. I just like lunch.)
Friends, and—
Graduation. (Ooh, looking forward to leaving us all behind, I see.)
Winter break.
My friends and my dog, probably.

But what is there to say?
Truthfully, I don’t know, I’m not sure
if there is anything at all that makes me believe
in the next day.
I settle on,

“People, sometimes.”

and one day, maybe,
I will not need
a qualifier.

I like this ending too, but i dont feel like its as punchy as it could be? like, it sort of feels like it was going to end on a specific line to showcase the meaning of the entire story, and it didnt if that makes sense. This is obviously just my opinion but i could see it being re-structured to end with the line of hope. For example, “I settle on an answer and hope one day I will not need a qualifier. “People, sometimes.”” but again, super small detail.

I doubt this critique was very helpful, but i hope i at least gave you some insights into how it reads! It flows well, but i wonder why the smaller sections in the centered text only appear twice? It just feels a little asymmetrical, but other than, i loved this piece! Thank you for letting me critique it <3

oh, last thing! im struggling to understand how each section ties into the next!

—-
pain is a stubborn companion, always looming close, shadow stretching out into the nothingness as it occasionally reaches out to squeeze my heart
too tight
when it bows its neck over my shoulder a silent scream rattles my body. my heart begins to pace with worry and my eyes widen with a horror only it can see.
sadness settles over me like a layer of skin clinging to my bones. It leaves a metallic aftertaste that never truly goes away.
guilt carries the acrid stench of smoke that wrinkles my nose as it brushes its hands across my cheeks, caresses my face in its arms, presses kisses along my neck, wraps it legs around my hips. but when i forget its presence it handles me more roughly, squeezes my throat until my eyes water and grazes its teeth along my jugular vein, drawing blood as it trails.
grief is more silent. less daring. i occasionally feel its slow breaths against my hot, sweaty skin and hear its low, deep, melodic hum that quickens my breath.
emptiness has nested itself into my chest, an infinite void that can never truly be filled.
we're all trapped together in a cage where truth is only shown on this side.
—-
206 words
random piece for critique

Critique for Chuey <3

Okay here are my thoughts! I only commented on the things I would change up so I could get this to you on time, but there were so many good lines, I really liked it <3

His grampa was rough and battle-worn, but he loved Gav too. Or so he’d thought.

I feel like this might benefit from clarifying the last sentence’s antecedent…could do “His grampa was rough and battle-worn but loved him too. Or so Gav had thought.”?

Gavinor had never intended to end up in the strange place.

Maybe you could be a bit more specific than “strange place,” like “strange memory place” or something?

They found him there, after a while; Gav had been stuck reliving the day both his parents died, over and over.

I think breaking this up will make it more hard-hitting. Try something like “Gav had gotten stuck. Stuck in the memory of the day his parents died. They died over and over and over.”?

And here, in the Spiritual Realm, he could hear a voice. It was the voice of his father, and it told him everything would be all right, it would protect him. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice.

Maybe reveal that it was his father’s voice at the end of this section instead of before you say he knew and trusted it since that might follow from what we know if his dynamic with his father, if that makes sense.

Gram was there with him this time, but even though she picked him up, she let go too. She walked through the light back into the real world — he cried out for her to stop, he had been yanked from her grip, why didn’t she realize she no longer held him but an imposter — but she never looked back.

Maybe switch up the order a bit… say that he was yanked from her grip before? (It’s kind of confusing if we don’t already know he’s been taken from her, I guess.)

He had cried, then. Alone again. Scared again. Abandoned again. Trapped in the worst day of his life, forced to relive it over and over.

Hmm I do like the repetition too but I might change up this section a bit to make it flow a bit better? Something like “He had cried, then. Scared. Alone. Abandoned, all over again.”?

He watched the day he himself had entered the Spiritual Realm, seeing with fresh eyes the frustration on Dalinar’s face when he discovered his grandnephew. He recognized the meaning behind it now in ways his younger self hadn’t — couldn’t. This was his grandfather’s legacy: a man intolerant of circumstances that went against his plans. Anger and abandonment.

Try a paragraph break before the last sentence? Because it’s kind of disconnected from the previous sentence.

Honestly this was so good I couldn’t think of much to change! I really loved reading it!! Good luck

Daily March 29th
Words: 492

In the Kingdom of Corinthia’s sprawling classical castle, Princess Clio ran through the hallways. She was beginning school at Royal Preparatory Academy that day, and she was so excited! She had heard that they had a theatre department and often put on plays that she was excited to be a part of. She also hoped she would make some friends other than her siblings at home, as they could be annoying sometimes and she was the only one her age. She had an older brother who had already graduated from Royal Prep and a baby sister, but she was overjoyed that she would finally be finding some royal friends her age.
She loaded into the rounded royal carriage with her bookbag in hand and her fanciest handmade hat on her head. She always felt most confident when she was wearing one of her hats.
Soon enough, the flying coach arrived at the school and Flora, Fauna and Merryweather welcomed her inside. She adjusted her pink dress, running her magenta-gloved hands through her brown hair as she nervously walked into the classroom.
As soon as she came in, a princess in a teal dress with flowers in her hair came over.
“What a strange hat! Hello, I’m Princess Hildegard of Freezenburg.”
“I’m Princess Clio. Of Corinthia. Nice to meet you!”
Hildegard squinted at her hat, pursing her lips.
“You can come stand by Princess Amber of Enchantia and I if you take off that hat.”
“Of course! Let’s go!”
Clio stuffed her hat into her bag, feeling terrible. At least she had made some new friends. Princess Amber seemed to have the same snobbish attitude as Princess Hildegard, but the others seemed to admire them and now that Clio was standing beside them, they were all looking at her too.
“Well, the hat may have been strange but you must have something in your hair,” Amber said after introducing herself.
“Maybe this,” Hildegard said, reaching into her pocket and placing feathers in Clio’s hair.
“Perfect!” Amber agreed.
“Let’s go to the library,” Hildegard said, so they did.
Hildegard and Amber taught Clio all about the school, who they thought was cool and who to avoid.
“We don’t want anyone to think we are strange or common, of course,” Hildegard said.
“Yes. Some of the princesses and princes here like to associate with commonfolk,” Amber said.
“Oh, really? What is so wrong with that?” Clio asked.
“We are royal!” Amber and Hildegard said together.
“Right.”
Just then, one of the princes walked by. He was tall, with dark brown hair.
Amber and Hildegard leaned forward towards him, waving and adjusting their crowns.
“That’s Prince Hugo, the most handsome prince at Royal Prep,” Hildegard whispered.
“You know what? I like you. I think we’re going to be great friends,” Amber said.
Clio grinned. Just what she wanted. She tried to ignore the hat in her bag as she replied.
“I feel the exact same way.”

Ever since they had appeared, Tafrax hadn't been the same. At least, that is what Kiori heard. Comments from her elders about how the city was changing; the lights were brighter, but the oppressive hum had gotten louder. A new creation had arisen, one that had made her family terrified of what it meant. Billboards had cropped up, plastered everywhere about the divine, accompanied by what Kiori assumed to be some religious symbol and messages. Something about the dawn of a new era with the divine.
One had appeared looming and watching right out in front of the building they lived in for the time being. Nothing was there before, but now it was a message about gods. It was only an eyesore that blotted out the sights of the distant, neon city.
Tafrax had no “god”. Kiori frowned. They never had a “god”.
“Stop looking at that sign for so long, you're going to stare holes into it,” Kato spoke up next to her. Kiori gazed over to the feline sitting upright on the railing, her legs dangling down. Kiori let out a huff.
"Well, I hope it gains many holes to a degree that it would no longer exist…“ she crossed her arms.
”Not like you can do that without drawing attention to all of us…" Kato angled her head to the side, a hint of amusement within her tone.
Well… I hope I could do it one of these days, Kiori thought. The thoughts hadn't been put to rest just yet.
"I mean, what are they going on about the divine?" Kiori continued her ranting, though her sister merely shrugged. Something about the billboards set her on edge… Kiori knew that Kato felt the same way about them.
Kiori scowled, leaning against the railing. If only she could get rid of them, then at least the sight wouldn't be as bleak and mind-numbing, especially considering this was all that she could see. It started getting into her head, even.
Their family had left hours ago. It was so boring waiting for them to return from shopping and gathering supplies. They were going to move from this city soon.
She wanted to go every time they left, but she was always the one who had to be left behind. Something about how she was “too obviously one of the evolved” and “you will be captured”, yada yada… She was grown up enough. The green markings had already started to fade whenever she changed form. Her glowing claws wrapped tightly around the railing… those hadn't faded.
Kiori stared out at the board again. It always felt like they watched, but she knew that boards like those didn't have eyes. It still made her family cautious, though.
"If only that one… bleeping thing wasn't–" Kiori hissed. Boredom was absolutely agonising. She just wanted to do something. Punch a hole in the wall, launch the stupid billboard into the Expanse… anything.
There was wariness across Kato's face, and then a smile in Kiori's direction. Kiori shared her gaze for a few moments.
“Say. Since we're both bored, we could sneak away to the hideout,” Kato suggested with a grin, eyes glimmering, though no light was cast across her face. Right. The hideout!
Kiori lifted her head, propelling herself backwards from the railing. She immediately bounded in the direction of the hideout without saying a word. Kato tailed behind her. It was just off this balcony… down these couple of buildings… through the back alley. It was routine by this point.
“Y'know, one of these days we got to show Alek the hideout,” Kiori said as she leaped off the balcony, landing perfectly onto the pipes along the side of the building that barely held her weight. Her green claws clung to the cold concrete, managing to hold herself upright as she stepped precariously across. She slid down the angled roofing to the ground, Kato landing beside her.
“Nah, he'll snitch,” Kato said upon landing. The ground shifted beneath her.
“You sure?” Kiori kept up her pace, ears angled around her. She glanced briefly upwards. Ugh, not another one of those billboards… It was like they followed her.
“He's a goody-two-shoes, remember?” Kato argued with a roll of her eyes, her tail lashing from side to side.
“And I'm not?” Kiori countered… though in hindsight that was not exactly the point she thought it was. Kato only snorted. Kiori frowned and immediately shoved her shoulder into Kato's side with a grin.
“I'm a good kid!” She pleaded as Kato retaliated by tugging on her hair, not hard enough that it hurt. Kiori narrowed her eyes and launched herself into a full-on wrestle. Kato paused mid-swing of her arm, and suddenly, her gaze turned away. Kiori took this distraction as an opportunity to get her own victory.
Kiori was immediately halted by Kato gripping her shoulder tightly. Her markings glinted brighter than usual for a second. The light above them suddenly dimmed. That's not a good sign…
“Stop, quiet,” Kato tensed suddenly as her eyes darted around the area. Kiori looked in the direction she was staring. Nothing was there. She turned the other way, nothing.
“My bad,” Kiori whispered an apology, though she didn't understand what she was apologising for. What had Kato seen… or sensed?
Perhaps she was a bit too loud for sneaking off to a hideout. That was it.
Kato moved to grab her wrist and started moving soundlessly to the destination. Kiori said not a word as she was led to the hideout. Her footsteps softened instinctively as they neared.
A light flickered overhead, and the ever-present hum quieted for a moment, as if the world had finally allowed her to breathe. Yet, that moment of added silence felt almost more suffocating than the silence backdropped by the hum from before.
Kiori felt herself shifting deeper into the shadows. Kato tightened her grip with a wordless glance. She looked around once more. Maybe there were footsteps, maybe there were eyes…
Nothing… still nothing.
The small, tucked-away building that they had dubbed their secret hideout was before them. It was deep within the inner city where there was barely any traffic. Their family warned them about straying too deep, but Kiori enjoyed the thrill of the risk. Besides, nothing had ever happened to her from sneaking out.
Kiori remembered when they first found it during one of their secret late-night outings into the city… and the second visit, and the third. It was unforgettable.
The area was silent beneath the oppressive hum of the city. Kato seemed a bit less tense now that they arrived, though she did still take a few moments to glance around the vicinity. Even if Kato seemed calmer, the silence was stifling. The only sound that Kiori heard was her own breathing. The near silence of the area usually didn't bother her, but… she felt like there were eyes she couldn't see looking in her direction. It was likely just another one of those annoying billboards. There was one put out the last time they had gone there. Nothing stared back.
Kiori silently anticipated entering the hideout, wondering what they would do once they were inside. They always had to be careful not to be noticed through the windows as they were uncovered, but she could recall the organisation within. They had a couple of boxes of vintage card decks and a few other odds and ends they would find on outings. There were also the many scraps they would store around the hideout for creative projects. Kiori would miss this place.
The two of them neared the door, which Kiori opened first.
The air smelled stale like it always did, though the smell of mint - Kato's favorite - still lingered in the air from the last time they spent time there. The candles they had found still sat there unlit. One of these days, they were going to light them… though they still hadn't found a lighter.
Most of it was untouched; boxes sat in a circle surrounding a makeshift table to one side, hidden from view. What no one knew was that they often hid things underneath the boxes. Kiori thought it was pretty smart after they had lost something before. She frowned when she noticed something sticking out from the bottom of one of the boxes.
Kato pushed her suddenly.
“Kat-” She tried to make out before her mouth was covered. Urgency was all across Kato's face when she turned.
“Hide.”
What?
Kiori whipped around, now fully inside thanks to Kato's prodding. Her sister was always right.
Something was definitely wrong, but… what?
She stepped backwards. She could've sworn she heard extra footsteps. Everything felt like it was collapsing and closing in on her. She couldn't breathe.
“Target located.” Who-
The door slammed. But she was inside, and Kato was outside. Kiori stood there frozen.
“You aren't taking anyone today!” Kato…?
Lights flashed and flickered along the walls, coupled with the shrill sounds of hissing explosions, though the building was left completely unscathed. There was more shouting. Her heart pounded.
Kiori mustered up the courage to peer out through the window. Kato was injured, but fighting. There were so many surrounding her. She couldn't recognise any of them as being the pursuers her family spoke of… but they bore a familiar symbol, one burned into her mind from the billboards. All of their eyes were on Kato; not even a glance was angled in her direction.
Kiori had never seen Kato fight before. She never had to.
She had to move.
Kiori shattered the glass of the window she was peering out of. The glass fragments reflected the neon glow of the crossfire she was about to run through. She crawled up and sprang out from the broken window, careful not to step on any of the glass. Not careful enough. She bit her tongue from the pain as she bolted, slipping past every hissing arc. The noise was distraction enough, right? She glanced back for a second. She wasn't being followed.
But… what about Kato? I can't just…
Her heart pounded in her chest to the rhythm of her gait. She was running alone. She couldn't go back. She didn't look back again. If she did now, she would regret her escape. Her heart clenched at that. She already regretted her escape. Kato needed help, but… she needed help.
That's what her sister always told her. Get help if you are in trouble.
This time, they were both in trouble.

Word count: 1759

⋆.˚ “Behind the Palace Walls” ⋆·˚ ༘ *

Based on the POV of a servant in Arendelle's Palace

Long before the castle gates were shut and the halls fell silent, Ingrid had known love and laughter.

She had been there the night the first princess was born. Elsa, tiny and quiet, with eyes that seemed to take in the whole world. Ingrid remembered holding her only once, briefly, while the queen rested. The child’s fingers had curled around hers, impossibly small, impossibly warm.

And then came Anna. Loud, bright, and full of life from the very beginning. Ingrid had laughed aloud when the baby cried through the night, a sound that filled the castle with something joyful and alive.

Back then, the doors were always open.

Ingrid spent her days tending to the girls’ rooms, mending tiny dresses, polishing the floors that Anna would soon skid across in her socks. She learned to step lightly during their games, to dodge flying pillows and bursts of laughter. Elsa was always more careful, more considerate of her surroundings. But when she smiled, it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Then came the night everything changed.

Ingrid had not seen what happened, only heard it. A thud. A cry. Rushed footsteps echoing through the halls. After that, the castle grew…different. Quieter. Colder, though no fire had gone out.

The doors closed.

At first, Anna knocked constantly. Ingrid would pause outside the room, tray in hand, listening to the small voice plead through the wood. “Elsa? Do you want to build a snowman?”

Ingrid had to walk away each time, her chest tight, her hands trembling. It was not her place to interfere. Servants were meant to serve, not question.

Years passed, and the girls changed.

Anna grew restless, her laughter softer now, often forced. She would roam the halls alone, brushing her fingers along the walls as if trying to remember something she could no longer reach. Ingrid sometimes left small comforts behind, a fresh pastry, a neatly folded shawl, little things Anna might find and smile at, for even just moment.

Elsa, meanwhile, became like a ghost behind doors. Ingrid would enter only when she was called on, eyes lowered, careful not to linger. She noticed the gloves first, and the way Elsa held herself so tightly, as if one wrong movement might shatter something fragile and unseen.

Ingrid wanted to say something. To tell her she didn’t have to be afraid. But the words never came.

Servants were meant to be invisible.

On the day of the coronation, the castle came alive again. Doors opened. Voices returned. Ingrid stood at the edge of the grand hall, watching as Anna spun through the crowd, bright as ever, and Elsa moved like a shadow in silk, composed but distant.

For a moment, it felt like the old days.

Until it didn’t.

The fear Ingrid had sensed for years finally broke free, spilling into the open for all to see. And as chaos rippled through the kingdom, she realized something that made her heart ache more than any silence ever had—

She had watched these girls grow up. She had been there for everything.

And still, she had never truly been able to help them.

As the snow began to fall where it shouldn’t, Ingrid stood frozen among the others, her hands clasped tightly together.

Invisible.

Always invisible.


✎ 3.29.2026 ~ Daily #29 ❀ ~ 546 words ౨ৎ
⌗ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

Merry music swirled through the opulent ballroom, and Lilia May smiled as she stood to the side, holding up her golden mask over her face as everyone else who glided around the dance floor were. Her eyes traced the mesmerising paintings and gold adorned walls, and she was so entranced she didn't notice someone had sidled up beside her.
“Do you care to dance, m'lady?”
Lilia jumped, blushing slightly as she stumbled back a little and the gentleman had to grip her arm to stop her from falling. “I, ah…of course.”
The gold mask he held over his face made it hard to see much of his features except rippling dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed kind enough. The warmth in his eyes deepened in what she supposed was a smile as he held up a gloved hand and she took it.
They walked to the centre of the floor as the musicians struck up a new song, and Lilia realised with excitement that they weren't far off from King Louis, who had just taken the hand of a beautiful young lady and was starting this dance along with everyone else.
“What is your name?”
Lilia glanced back at him and smiled, before remembering he couldn't really see it. “Lilia.”
He bowed his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lilia. My name is Dante.”
As she danced with Dante across the ballroom, she kept stealing glances back to where King Louis was dancing, watching as he and his partner glided elegantly to the music. She spun out of his sight for a moment, but once Dante twirled her back around, she noticed the king had stopped dancing and seemed rather on edge. He was glancing around, and Lilia's brows furrowed. What was happening?
“I dare say you are rather restless, m'lady.” Dante's voice shook her back to attention, and she turned back to him. “Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes, I'm sorry—I just saw that the king is dancing near us.”
“Ah, it's a fine sight to see him dance, is it not?”
Lilia nodded. “Indeed, but…”
All at once the music stopped, and Lilia and Dante both turned as did everyone else in the room. Lilia's mouth dropped open.
King Louis was running, through the crowds and out of the ballroom, as if someone was chasing him. Murmurs swept through the room, full of confusion.
“What's going on?”
“Where is the king going?”
“I have no idea.”
“Carry on, carry on!” Lilia heard the highly esteemed bodyguard of King Louis, D'artagnan, call from across the room as he ran after the king.
Nobody followed his request, still standing dumbfounded as he left the room.
Lilia glanced back at Dante, who had removed his mask as did she. “That's odd.”

466 words

Words: 466
Daily
Cabin: Fairy Tales
Camper: Iwishihaveadog


Project: Caine

The coffee smells like copper. But Arthur drank it anyway. It was 2:57 AM at the C&A Research Facility. He tiredly yawned in his chair. The dark green light of the monitor reflected his eyes.

“He won’t eat” A voice behind him muttered.

Through the camera, Elliot didn’t look like a revolutionary intelligence machine; he looked as normal as a kid who hadn’t seen daylight for the last two weeks. He withdrew into the dark corner, trying to hide from the cameras.

“He wants his dad,” Arthur replied. He sighed. He knew the truth. He was one of the people who got sent to a small complex to help clean up the traces. His dad was killed in the process. A&B didn’t care. Arthur still remembers the sight of the terrifying Elliot, sobbing in his closet, tears stained his cheeks.

Elliot was the key to A&B’s success. His right brain hemisphere dominates his body, creating an artist with fatal accuracy to every recreation. They plan to sample his brain to train an AI that would be supposed to be “revolutionary”. This all sounded crazy, maybe because it probably is.

To ensure the project stays hidden, they were willing to do anything. And they meant anything. Just the thoughts of that make his soul leave his body. Suddenly, a movement on the screen snapped Arthur back to reality.

Another figure appeared.

It was Will. He was the lead scientist responsible for “Project: Cain”.

Will was a nice guy. Arthur met him a lot of times. He doesn’t think like any of them, or anyone at all. He was different, more brilliant, more, crazy. If you ever see him at a coffee shop at all, he was probably thinking about how to transfer kinetic energy into a matter.

“Good morning, Elliot,” Will said. His voice became part of the static.

“I wan-t to go home,” Elliot cried, his voice thin.

“You are home. There is nothing to worry about. Did you finish the letter yet? Don’t let your father wait, he is very impatient.” Will said cheerfully, the image of the scene still flashed in Arthur’s head as Will lied.

Elliot calmed down, wiping his tears off after another. He took out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Will. He admired it for a while and responded with a smile

“Good job, Elliot. Your dad is going to be so proud of you, you know that? He is going to be so eager to hear from you.” Will padded Elliot’s hair. “Now are you ready?”

“Y-yes.” The boy hesitantly replied

“Then let’s go.” Will tried to sound calm, but Arthur knows that he is holding back his eagerness inside, his enthusiasm.

And then, just like that, they disappeared from the screen.

weeklie yay *eats u*
200 word intro
Bean (full name: Bean Soup) was a very good soup. Comprising thirteen different types of beans, lentils, and other assorted legumes, Bean was a veritable powerhouse of nutrition—absolutely packed with proteins and fibers. But Bean wasn’t just a nutritious soup, She was a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors and spices, any chef’s dream.
“Man. I sure am lonely,” Bean murmured. As the Absolute Soup, She had consumed all other soups at the moment of her birth, absorbing them all into Her brothy greatness. She was the paragon of soup, and yet it wasn’t enough for Bean. She craved something more, something deeper. Something… human. Bean, when being born into the role of Absolute Soup, had experienced all of the experiences of humanity had while eating soup.
Bean had seen the joys of families happily feasting on hearty, warming soups on a cold winter’s day, bringing a comforting warmth that could not be dispelled by the most bitter of gales. Bean had seen the despair of eating thin, watery soup, with no sustenance but tree bark and the wavering, uncertain hope of the same tomorrow. Most of all, Bean had seen the eighth wonder of the world through Her soupy eyes. Yuri. Bean had seen lesbians, and She wanted a soup girl to kiss.
Unfortunately for Bean, she had eaten all of the soup girls.
400 word opportunity
Bean began to wander the world in sorrow. Each footstep She took made the world tremble; each tear She shed filled oceans and weathered mountains. After eight thousand three hundred and forty-five years of aimless exploration, the culinary world was in shambles. All dishes had fallen before the might of Bean Soup, yet She still could not find Her destined partner. Maybe, She thought despairingly, there is no one in this world who can be my match.
Little did Bean know, the great wizard at the edge of the world, Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Signage Lastname, was the most yuriful of them all. He had gone as far as to sacrifice his last name, now lost to the ravages of time, in order to extend His lifespan artificially. Soon, one of His many middle names would follow—necessary sacrifices for His pursuit of yuri. Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Signage Lastname had watched Bean in Her desperate search for yuri and viewed Her in a light most favorable.
“Bean Soup,” a booming voice declared from the heavens. “I, Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Signage Lastname, bless Your pursuit of yuri. I, Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Signage Lastname, shall shed one of my names and become Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname, and bless You with the power of creation. Go forth and manifest Your yuri, child.”
Bean Soup was in awe. The very Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname had given Her one of his names—equivalent to a yurillion years of life—and had blessed Her pursuit of true love. Determined, She clenched her conceptual soup-fist, Her will as hard as a raw bean. She would absolutely not squander the power of Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname's name.
“With Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname's treasure, I summon…” Bean exclaimed, her onyx eyes gleaming with a light brighter than any Great Northern bean. A brilliant flash erupted from the very concept of Soup as Bean spoke, the sheer luminance blinding the sun. It was none other than the Absolute Radiance, emitted at the moment of an absolute being’s descent upon the world. Coincidentally, Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname’s Radiance was the brightest in the history of the universe—with the sole exception of Bean Soup, of course.
300 word enemy
A nascent soul bead, twinkling with opalescent pinpricks of Radiance, took form in Bean’s hands. Standing at the edge of the world, nearly consumed by the hungering void beside her, Bean awaited Its birth with bated breath. The gentle, undulant pulsing of the soul bead gradually slowed, matching the steady rhythm of Bean’s soupy heart, its color changing from a deep indigo to a light tan—the color of chicken. Shockwaves, sending ripples through the earth, emanated from the bead, their ferocity uprooting ancient forests and shifting tectonic plates of the world.
Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname let out a heavy sigh. His glorious, sleek, salt and pepper beard, threading through heaven, earth, and abyss alike, bore the weight of His small yet mighty hands’ wandering.
“How things change in a cantrip’s cast. It seems… this old man has gravely erred.”
Sensing the coming tribulations Bean would face, Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname ceased pondering his orb. The yuri… the greatest yuri the universe would ever see, destroyed by His errant hand. But, like Fireball cast in a small room, His yuri radar erupted with blazing intensity—maybe, just maybe, he had not committed crimes against yurimanity, but uplifted all yurikind, that they may bask in new yuriful heights. Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname, hardly daring to hope against all odds, touched the mirror-like surface of His orb with trembling fingers. His eyes, gleaming with diamond tears yet unshed, widened under the torrential flood of yuri picked up by the orb, then curved into smiling crescents.
“Ah… young love… to be eight thousand three hundred and forty-five years old again.”
At the edge of the world, lilies bloomed around Bean’s feet, light rain carrying the scent of oranges. She was facing a being similar to Herself, yet ever so slightly different.
“Bean Soup… I, Chicken Soup, challenge you for the seat of the Absolute Soup!”
400 word repurpose
Trial by combat was Bean’s forte. Over countless years—well, not entirely countless, they were 8345—She had usurped one hundred thirty-seven Absolutes with this very method, absorbing their Authorities into her own.
She chuckled softly, amused by the scene of a rabbit challenging a tiger. At the snap of Her soupy fingers, She extracted the Authority of Creation from Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname’s precious middle name, transforming it into an empty vessel for an immense power.
Two onyx eyes, darker than any black-eyed pea, sent shivers down Chicken’s back. An aura of oppression, of a predator toying with its prey, seemed to bloom within their murky depths.
“Authority of Soup—Domain Beanspansion: Unlimited Broth.”
Bean casually turned over Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname’s relinquished middle name, Signage, in her nimble fingers, before commanding it to consume Unlimited Broth. A sense of mockery, of uncontested superiority, dripped from Bean’s every action—giving up a facet of an Authority’s power was utterly unhinged!—yet Chicken merely gritted her teeth in silent frustration, not saying a word. Chicken firmly adhered to the principle of never interrupting an opponent in the middle of erring.
Signage devoured Bean’s Authority of Soup Domain, a fathomless, ancient gurgling resonating within it. As the absorption of Unlimited Broth finalized, Signage gradually morphed into a boxy form, like a carton of broth one might find at a supermarket. Now, rather than the Authority of Creation, Signage carried the sheer offensive might of the infinite oceans, of the tides that consumed all in their path.
“I think I’ll call you… The One Broth, Immolating All Stars. Tobias for short.”
Bean waved Tobias for dramatic effect, accidentally leveling a mountain range as she did.
“Oops,” Bean murmured, holding Tobias still at her waist. No need for collateral damage. Coughing softly, she asked, “Shall we begin?”
Chicken lunged at Bean, her soupy claws tearing against the fabric of space and time in her relentless pursuit. “Domain Expansion!” she roared, her constituent chicken pieces weaving intricate hand signs, “Malevolent Chicken!”
From within the depths of Chicken’s churning, flavorful soul, the power of her Domain erupted, its overpowering might instantly eroded the cliff at the edge of the world, forcing Bean to shift a step.
Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname, munching on popcorn, nearly had his jaw hit the floor as he pondered his omniscient orb. “My… nobody has ever made Bean move. This child might be the strongest Absolute in history,” Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname uttered aloud. However, the sheer audacity of his statements made the heavens coalesce, dark storm clouds rumbling above his wizardly abode.
“Ah! With the exception of Bean, of course! My mistake,” Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kiosk Middlename Lastname apologized, giving penance for his heresy. Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kios? Middlename Lastname grumbled as his existence was eroded, but restrained his tongue, fearing further erasure.
i ate raspberries and blueberries :3
500 word music
At the tenuous boundary of life and death, a chicken was emerging from the ground. A very evil, malicious chicken—malevolent, even. Bursting fountains of crimson blood erupted from the stars above, draining them of their lifeblood, creating the beady eyes of the chicken. The garnet eyes, filled with swirling vortices, pulled on Bean’s very essence, drawing Her into an illusion as it sang a song that is legally distinct from Antonymph by Vylet Pony.
i messaged somepony over Tumblr last night
she said ‘rawr x3’ so it’s true love at first sight
throw on my Kandi bracelets now im headed to class
im still 20 percent so get your head out your
The singing of the unwholesome chicken struck Bean’s soul as it wove a tale of beautiful yuri. Though She was tempted to remain immersed in its illusion, She knew that doing so would result in the utter annihilation of her soul. Then… the worst would come to pass. She would die yuriless.
Bean uncapped the carton of Tobias, amber liquid gushing out of the opening. A fragrant, savory aroma enveloped the border of true and false, gnawing at Malevolent Chicken’s illusory domain.
im the antonymph of the internet
still cleaning up the viruses that you had left
i think im falling in love again
dont stop, dont stop until you hear the (yay!)
im the antonymph of the internet
been fighting on new grounds over if my love is valid
Chicken Soup revelled in the power of Her Domain, at the exquisite tapestry it wove from song, watching as Bean knelt before the power of yuri—or rather, yuri unattainable.
“How’s that taste? Even humans can have yuri, but you? You can’t!”
Reddish beef stock dribbled from Bean’s soupful lips at Chicken’s ruthless provocation. It was, unfortunately, true. She had not been able to find true yuri, and Chicken’s words stung deeply.
Holding back onion scented tears, Bean raised Her carton of Tobias. An orb of blue light, pulsating wildly, expanded at the open spout of the box. As it flickered with an unstable radiance, Bean whispered, “Leek Blue.”
The cold light rumbled as it shot away from the carton of Tobias—now capped—and blasted a wide canyon through the land as it traveled, the entire area obliterated under the sheer power of Leek Blue. Beef stock dripped from Chicken’s wound, but with pure willpower, She maintained her chicken’s yuriful song, altering the track to something with more raw malice. Ethereal synths and soothing drums could be heard from the chicken’s beak as it played Sad Love by Motel Ghoul, opting for a direct attack instead of self-inflicted emotional damage.
beautiful stranger dont hide your face
i could be the only, i could be the only one
GAY!!!!
‘*,’ Bean thought lesbianly, ‘I really am gay.’
Having taken no damage from Chicken’s attack, Bean decided to end the fight with Her strongest attack.
That was, of course, yuri.
Bean rushed Chicken, Her hands glowing with an ominous aura, prompting Chicken to adopt a defensive stance.
As another exclamation of “gay” erupted from the chicken, Bean’s lips met Chicken’s unguarded ones. Chicken, entirely unprepared for the sudden yuri attack and discombobulated by the shock of surprise yuri, was then Apple logo’d by a Hollow Potato from Bean.
200 word ending
Six seven years later, Chicken awoke from her long slumber, induced by excessive damage to her vessel.
“Where… am I?” Chicken’s voice was raspy from years of dehydration.
Taking in her surroundings, she saw a massive forest of porcelain soup bowls, complete with spoon bouquets. This did not seem to be natural.
“Hi, Chicken.” Bean’s onyx eyes, filled with tenderness, gave Chicken a sense of safety—entirely incongruous with her cold, chilling air sixty seven years prior.
Somewhat disbelieving, Chicken asked, “Is that you, Bean?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Awkward silence hung heavy in the air, causing the two to shift uncomfortably. Bean, fidgeting with her fingers, repeatedly glanced at Chicken, blushed, and looked away. Chicken, of course, picked up on Bean’s somewhat strange demeanor, and hesitantly ventured, “Is there… something you want to say to me?”
Heat flooded Bean’s liquid cheeks, her surface simmering, then boiling, as she mustered her courage.
Bean was afraid. For the first time in her 8412 year life, Bean had felt true fear. Not even when facing Wilhelm Amadeus Wolfgang Yottabyte Carry-On Baggage Kios? Middlename Lastname had she felt this afraid, but now? Her yuri was on the line.
Still, Bean knew that without even proposing to Chicken, there was no way to guarantee that she wouldn’t have to kill this beautiful soup girl. As she breathed deeply, her mind becoming as tough as old and rather nasty celery, she decided that she would just go for it.
“Um… will you marry me? You’re really strong… and also hot… and also cool…”
“yes i love yuri!!”
“that’s so sigma of you!”
They then lived happily ever after.

Howdy Muxa! I really liked your piece overall! The plot is good, and I loved the writing, there's just a few minor things I've pointed out! Of course, you should take this all with a grain of salt, and you can totally ignore all of this if you'd like to! My feelings won't be hurt, I promise!

At least, that is what she heard.

I love the opening paragraph, but I've got to know who “she” is, before you start using pronouns to refer to her. I'm assuming that “she” is Kiori, but it's not clear until later on.

"Well, I hope it gains many holes to a degree that it would no longer exist…" She crossed her arms.

This sentence is a little clunky, but since it's part of dialogue, I'll give it a pass! Dialogue's allowed not to follow typical grammar rules, if you ask me, because most people don't follow all the rules of speech when talking. I did notice that the quotation mark is floating, all by its little lonesome though, so I changed that.

It was just off this balcony… down these couple of buildings… through the back alley… It was typical motions by this point.

Personally, I would swap out “typical” with something like “familiar” or “routine” or the like, because they flow better to me.

A light flickered overhead, and the ever-present hum quieted for a moment, as if the world had finally allowed her to breathe. Yet, that moment of added silence felt almost more suffocating than the silence backdropped by the hum from before.

Ooh, I really like these two lines. A good balance of something familiar, or hopeful, or at the very least pleasant, and then quickly flipping it on its head and making it eerie. However, I would change “the silence” to “the quiet” because quiet, to me, allows for some amount of sound, which seems to be the general vibes of this section/point. But I really liked these lines, they really stuck out to me!

Their family warned them about straying too deep, but she enjoyed the thrill of the risk.

Using context clues, and from what I've learned about characters, I'm assuming “she” would be Kiori. But for clarity, I would use the character's name here. I had to re-read it a few times to figure out who was talking.

Besides, nothing had ever happened to her from going out.

I would change “going” to “sneaking” because “sneaking” makes it feel more ominous and tense to me.

I really liked how you made it feel like that the billboards/signs were following and/or watching Kiori and her sister. Very ominous and sinister vibes that felt kinda cool and definitely added some background tension. Because… those signs (probably) aren't ACTUALLY following them, right? … right?

But yes I thought that the story was very interesting! Neat plot and concept, and I really liked Kiori and Kato as characters! The ending was also very interesting, too. A good cliffhanger that leaves me wanting more but also not feeling like “huh” at the same time! I liked it a whole lot!

Oh, and just a note, I did notice that you weren't entirely consistent in your usage of capitalization after ellipses. Sometimes they'd be… Capitalized like that… but sometimes they wouldn't. Personally, I always leave things lowercase after them, but I'm not quite sure what your personal preference is! This was just something I noticed.

Taking Flight

A/N: This story is a bit of a backstory for Nimbus, my Dungeons and Dragons character! Though I created the characters and plot myself, my DM came up with the details of the kingdom (Keirus) and city (Austorp). The specific locations where the story is set (the library and shop) are original, just not the city itself. This story is a bit silly, but I had a lot of fun writing it and hope that it's fun to read as well!
Also, if you want to know what Nimbus looks like, find a picture of the crows from the game Monument Valley and imagine one wearing a fedora and a long coat :P


It had been far too long since Nimbus had stretched their wings. The library had closed to the public hours before, and even the night guards had stopped their patrols and headed home.

Nimbus, though, was wide awake. How could they possibly rest after learning about the impact of the Enchanted Era on modern Keirian politics?
Thankfully, the sixth-floor windows were never locked, and Nimbus slipped out silently. They extended their wings, catching a current in the cool night air and soaring upwards. Their coat flapped behind them as they landed on the library rooftop.

With sharp eyes, Nimbus scanned Austorp's skyline. A glint of gold caught their gaze, and they squinted downwards, adjusting their hat with one wingtip. As far as they could tell from seven floors up, someone had dropped their purse—and that someone seemed to be quite wealthy. Passersby gave the bag a wide berth—even if they could see the world from Nimbus' bird's-eye view and notice the surprising lack of guards patrolling the street, they'd still be too terrified of getting caught to risk snatching something that wasn't theirs.

Nimbus, though, was tempted—even if whoever dropped the purse returned for it, they wouldn't miss just one gold piece.

They hopped off their perch on the rooftop, swooping to the road below, where shadows cast by a row of locked-up businesses concealed their dark feathers. Furtively, Nimbus reached out, grasping a coin in their beak before hopping back into the darkness. They examined their prize, pleased by its golden glint.

A snore rumbled from the shadows beside Nimbus, loud enough to shake the windows above. Their head jerked towards the sound, feathers ruffling with worry.

From the volume of those snores, whoever lay in the shadows was sound asleep. Though Nimbus was desperate to leave with their shiny coin, they couldn't help but want to investigate. They took the coin in their beak again, approaching the source of the sounds.

Squinting into the shadows, Nimbus made out the silhouette of a middle-aged elf sprawled against the wall, silver hair rumpled and drool running down one cheek. His round glasses had slipped halfway down his nose, and he was dressed entirely in dark linen—it was no wonder Nimbus hadn't noticed him in the near-darkness.

Nimbus was too busy staring, wondering what the elf could possibly be doing here, to realize the coin had begun to slip from their beak. They flinched at the clink when it hit the stone pavement, painfully loud in the night.

The elf abruptly stopped snoring, eyes twitching open. He looked around, clearly startled, before spotting Nimbus, who was standing as still as the statue of Queen Guinevere that graced Austorp's central plaza.

“Oh. Hello.” He pushed his glasses up, leaning towards Nimbus.

Nimbus stepped back.

The elf noticed the fallen coin, and his eyebrows furrowed. He patted one pocket, then the other. “Is that mine?”

“Yes,” Nimbus said reluctantly. They looked longingly at the shiny thing as he slipped it back into his pocket.

They pushed the purse towards the elf. “Is this yours, too?”

“Why, it is!” he said, blinking at the bag.

Nimbus couldn't wait any longer to ask their questions. "Who are you? What are you doing? What are you wearing?“

The elf slipped the purse into their pocket, patting it three times for good measure.

Nimbus' wings twitched with anticipation.

”My name is Adric, and I own this shop,“ he finally answered. ”Every morning for weeks when I've opened up, the shelves seem disorganized, my fruit is missing, crumbs are scattered everywhere…

“I planned to wait outside overnight to investigate the break-ins. Evidently, that didn't go as planned.” Adric gestured to his disheveled clothes. “I haven't slept much lately, and I suppose I couldn't expect to sit in the darkness without drifting off.”

Nimbus cocked their head, picturing the brave investigators from the mystery novels they loved. This elf, slumped against the wall, eyes half-closed from exhaustion, didn't match the description. "Sounds like a job for a real detective,“ they replied.

Adric abruptly stood up. ”Would you help me?“

”What do you mean?“

”I need someone to watch the shop until dawn. You seem wide awake, and you helped recover my purse. You're perfect!“

Nimbus opened their beak, ready to object. They were nothing like Inspector Shadowstep, the hero from their favorite novels. Sure, they'd devoured every book they could find about criminology and forensic science, but reading about mysteries was completely different from actually solving them.

But the chance to take on a case of their own? They couldn't miss this opportunity.

Before they could overthink their decision, Nimbus struck a pose, wings stretched wide and hat tilted jauntily. ”Lucky for you, you're speaking to East Austorp's best detective.“

”Really?“ Adric scratched his head, looking Nimbus up and down.

”I suppose I could make room in my schedule for your case,“ Nimbus said, desperately trying to remember Inspector Shadowstep's dialogue.
”And what payment will ‘East Austorp’s best detective' require?“

Nimbus cocked their head, unsure how to answer. One of those shiny coins would be nice, but they didn't know how much a real inspector expected. ”We'll discuss that later,“ they said as confidently as they could manage. ”I'll have everything figured out by morning.“

Adric nodded. ”Then I wish you the best of luck," he replied, punctuating his sentence with a yawn. Tipping his hat to Nimbus, he disappeared around a corner into the maze of Austorp's streets.

Whenever she was assigned a case, Inspector Shadowstep always began by checking entry and exit points. Nimbus stretched up to test the front door's handle, but found it locked. They turned next to the two windows flanking the door. Though they were small by Elven standards, a dwarf or gnome could easily fit through, not to mention a bird like Nimbus.

They pushed at a window pane, and to their surprise, it slid open. Curiously, the flowerbeds underneath weren't disturbed. If a creature had entered through the window, wouldn't they have uprooted the plants while scrambling through?

Nimbus hopped up and squeezed through the window, dealing some damage to the flowerbeds along the way.

Inspector Shadowstep had an eye for detail, and Nimbus mimicked her scrutinizing gaze as they scanned the store. Nothing seemed obviously out of place. But as they stepped further inside, something soft squished under their talon. They lifted their leg to find a bit of orange peel stuck on one claw.

Strange. Oranges were rare in Austorp—Adric must have imported them from outside Keirus—and they were expensive enough that nobody would leave a scrap behind, much less a trail across the entire shop.

Nimbus quietly followed the bits of peel and pith towards a set of shelves.

They peered around the corner. Hundreds of beetles carpeted the ground, swarming over the remnants of an orange, carapaces shimmering with color in the dim moonlight—mirrorbacks.

Nimbus stumbled backwards, and their talons scraped against the floor.

The bugs froze.

Nimbus had encountered the metallic beetles among the stacks of the East Austorp Library, but never so many in one place. When they read Insects of Austorp, they'd learned mirrorback beetles consumed anything they came across, but they had a taste for fresh fruit and meat. They must have smelled the oranges and bored straight through the brick walls into the shop.

The insects seemed occupied by the orange, but a swarm this size could turn on Nimbus and devour them from talons to beak in an instant.
For a moment Nimbus considered retreating to the safety of their nook on the library's sixth floor. But Inspector Shadowstep never gave up on a case.

Nimbus jumped into the air, wings beating wildly, sending wind gusts whooshing towards the bugs. Their coat billowed around them, and their precious hat flew from their head and landed a few shelves over.

The mirrorbacks scattered from the remaining scraps of orange peel. A group gathered under Nimbus, climbing atop each other to tower upwards, inch by inch, until they were almost high enough to grasp Nimbus' dangling talons.

Nimbus swooped across the shop, trying not to focus on the thousand tiny legs pattering against the ground behind them. They snatched the last orange from a high shelf and squished it in their beak. Just as the mirrorbacks caught up, they hurled the orange out the still-open window, drips of sticky juice trailing behind as it bounced into the empty street.

Catching the fruit's scent, the beetles surged towards the window, rushing through in a glimmering mass.

After the last mirrorback heaved itself over the sill, Nimbus landed, then shut and locked the window. As the fear subsided, their chest puffed with pride. They strutted over to retrieve their hat, then began to search for the hole where the mirrorbacks had entered.

It didn't take long—when they stooped to examine a current of cool air below a table, they noticed an opening in the brick, the edges bite-marked by the mirrorbacks' vicious fangs. Nimbus shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if those insects had reached them.

They stuffed a rag in the hole as a temporary blockade, then settled on a shelf to wait for Adric.



Hours later, the doorbell tinkled and Adric entered, rays of early morning sunlight spilling through behind him.

“You're back!” Nimbus chirped, hopping off the shelf.

“I thought you left! How'd you get inside?”

“I'm pleased to report that your case has been solved,” said Nimbus, ignoring Adric's question and imitating the proud-but-slightly-condescending tone they imagined Inspector Shadowstep used when addressing clients.

Adric brightened, peering down at Nimbus.

Nimbus pointed to the blocked-off hole. “You have an infestation of mirrorback beetles. They burrowed through the wall to eat your produce, and they leave scraps everywhere. I imagine neglecting to lock your windows doesn't help, either.”

“Mirrorbacks?” Adric stroked his chin. “It's a relief nobody's been sneaking in here—except the bugs, it seems.”

He smiled. “I truly appreciate your assistance.”

Nimbus struck another pose, wings outstretched in delight. “Another case cracked by Inspector Shad—Inspector Nimbus.”

Adric reached out a hand, and Nimbus shook it with their wing.

“Well, it was certainly nice to meet you, Inspector Nimbus.”

Nimbus nodded, not budging from the doorway.

“I suppose you require a payment.”

Nimbus nodded again.

“Do you only accept gold, or might I offer you something more…unique?”

“I'd consider an alternative.”

Adric locked the door and closed the curtains. At the back of the shop, he lifted a corner of the carpet to uncover a trapdoor. He opened both its locks, then lifted it, gesturing for Nimbus to enter.

Nimbus' curiosity overwhelmed any apprehension, and they stepped through the trapdoor, fluttering downwards.

As Nimbus' eyes adjusted to the basement room's dim light, their beak fell open in astonishment. Lining the walls were hundreds of books, books they'd never seen in years spent scanning every corner of Austorp's libraries. They rushed towards the shelves, hungrily taking in each unfamiliar title.

“I've been collecting for years—they're all authentic Enchanted Era,” Adric declared. “These books hold great power, for those who put in the time to decipher them.”

Nimbus turned to the elf, bouncing from talon to talon with excitement.

“You can choose one, if you like.”

Nimbus ran a wingtip over the worn covers, landing on a thin book titled Thaumaturgy. They pulled it from the shelf, admiring the gilded text on its spine.

Adric chuckled. “Ah, that's a good choice.”

Nimbus followed Adric back to the shop, unable to take their eyes off the book as the elf double-locked the trapdoor.

Finally, they slipped the volume into their deepest coat pocket. They stepped out onto the streets of Austorp, now bustling with mid-morning activity.

Adric smiled. “Keep the book safe, young Inspector.”

Nimbus dipped their head to the elf, then looked back to the library rooftop and stretched their wings outwards, ready to fly.

Daily for Poetry March 30th….
624 words

I looked around, the poison grassped in my hand. I was going to poison him. I needed to. No one thinks about how overrated a hero can be. He k!lled my parents, and I want revenge.
No hero cares about the people sacrificed in the process of blowing up a villain. My parents worked for someone, and sadly, that someone was the person that this hero hated. Sure, it wasn’t a completely just cause, but isn’t everything a little messed up? My parents simply worked as security guards for a guy who was doing bad things. They were just using their talents to get themselves money to have a family. Then the “hero” blew up the facility. Sure, he stopped my parents’ boss from doing a few bad things, but he k!lled all the workers at that facility, my parents included.
My walking got faster as I got madder. I didn’t care if I was the “villain” for doing this; I was gonna release this poison into this hero’s house, and he was gonna pay for all those lives lost. I was going to have revenge, and there wasn’t gonna be collateral. Those who hurt me get hurt, but I wasn’t gonna k!ll all of his supporters, just the ones that destroyed the facility. I got the job done in a way that revenge was just revenge and not mass murd3r.
I arrived at his house, no cars, no people, just an empty house begging to be poisoned. I scanned for security measures, but apparently, he wasn’t afraid of being attacked; he thought he had destroyed all the villains. He thought wrong.
I snuck in through the door, picking the lock with my knife like a thief. I was no thief; there was no point in stealing from him. His family might need the money.
I walked in, I heard alarms blaring, and as fast as the wind, I set up the trip wire attached to the poisonous smoke.
The hero teloported in and looked around. I had slid behind the couch quietly, and his eyes squinted. He started to leave, better things to do, I guess. Then he tripped on the wire, and the gas started filling the room. I pulled my mask up. He started talking.
“Gas, cliche. My enemy could’ve at least picked something new,” he sighed after he finished talking, “didn’t steal anything at least. Probably thought there was nothing worth stealing.”
My heart cried out as I heard this. Heroes, always assuming the worst of the people who didn’t like them. I tried to sneak out, but the floorboards creaked. The hero turned his head around quickly, looking for the person who made the noise.
I ducked my head quickly, staying hidden behind the couch. I desperately searched for another place to hide. The only things in his front room were the patterned blue couch I was behind, a folding table, and a bookshelf, probably full of biographies of him.
While he was looking away, I darted into the next room. It was a kitchen, plenty of places to hide. I slid underneath his kitchen table’s tablecloth and hid while the hero went to look outside for me.
I was scared, but I managed to sneak around the table and head into his bedroom. There was a window out there, a window to a road where I could sneak away. I hacked at the window as hard as I could and leaped out. I hear the hero running toward the sound.
My legs ached as I sprinted to the nearest car. Breaking in through the window and using a pin to start the car. I sped away as fast as I could, away from the danger.

Daily #30 - Villain POV

Soft shadows danced across the walls as Tristan passed, holding a candle that burned resiliently in spite of the gusts of wind that tried to stamp out its flame. He walked lightly, senses on high alert, knowing one echo of a step would alert an audience he didn't desire.
In his free hand he clutched a pristine white envelope with a dark red wax stamp that made his heart thump every time he caught sight of it. His fingers shook around the paper, something so simple yet holding major intel within.
He turned the next corner out into a wider hall, then stopped short. An unintelligible noise floated through the chilly corridors, confusing but unmistakably human.
Tristan stayed frozen, reaching a gentle hand to brush off the hood of his cloak and free his peripheral vision and hearing from its dark folds. Every sense was magnified as he stood waiting, considering his options. He could continue on to his quarters, but the last thing he wanted was to bump into someone. Bumping into a guard, he could get away with, but anyone else would bring up questions he could not respond to.
His breath hitched—a sound came again. The click of a door, then light footsteps.
At once he slipped into the shadows behind a recess in the nearby wall, and blew out the candle. Darkness engulfed him, a streak of moonlight from a high window out in the open his only source of light. The footsteps continued, but he began to realise they didn't seem to be making progress. The sound didn't come closer or recede.
He peered from behind the wall, straining his eyes through the dark. As his sight adjusted, he saw a shadow swaying across a wall down the other hallway paces away. It drifted out of sight, then came back again, and the tension in Tristan's shoulders eased. Whoever it was appeared to be pacing, so it was likely a guard.
With no choice but to run into this stranger, Tristan scrunched up the letter and stuffed it into his cloak before he stepped out to continue his venture. His tread remained quiet, in case he found a way to slip by unnoticed.
The figure continued to pace as he neared the bend, and as Tristan drew closer he hesitated again, studying the shadow. His brows furrowed when he noticed the unmistakable flow of skirts from the slender figure's waist. That wasn't a guard.
A brief thought that this might be the queen—as strange as that would be—or even that commoner girl was enough to make Tristan slowly retreat, but then the shadow froze. He halted as well, cursing under his breath.
“Who goes there?”
Tristan's back tensed at the voice of a woman…Lady Via.
The whine of steel against steel sent him jumping out into the open before her sword could slash him in two. “It is I, it is I, stay calm.”
Via stopped short, and Tristan hesitated when he noticed redness in her misty eyes. She turned away that instant, but he already caught the brilliant flush that stained her cheeks.
“M'lady, are you all right?”
She sheathed her sword without a response, back still turned, but he could see her hands were shaking a little.
“Via…?”
“I can't sleep—that is all.”
Tristan tilted his head, eyes searching her countenance. “You seem flustered.”
“Anyone would being sneaked up on as I was.” She turned then, only enough to give him a sharp side eye.
He reached into his cloak to push the letter deeper into the pocket, ensuring it was out of her sight before stepping closer. “I apologise, I didn't mean to startle you…why are you up so late?” His eyes traced the folds of the nightgown that hugged her figure, then her coily hair that hung tousled and unruly.
Her arms folded. “I ask the same of you, my lord.”
A smile he couldn't help softened his face. “You've got me there. I supose we both ought to be asleep.”
He could tell she was fighting a smile herself as she reached behind to pull the drapes from a nearby window. Moonlight poured in, a brilliant white orb glittering in the western sky to herald the ridiculously late hour they were awake at.
“We are marching early, you know…the Drins aren't exactly patient. Have you slept at all?”
Via shrugged, still facing the window. Tristan stepped even closer, and she stiffened.
“Via, what's wrong?”
Her fingers tugged at the tassels of the curtains more harshly. “…Nothing. Nothing, I only…”
He reached to pull her frantic hand from the fabric and she flinched, stumbling away from both him and the window. The moon hid behind the drapes, plunging them back into shadow.
Silence echoed between them, louder than their hushed whispers had been. Via continued to shrink back, arms folding again.
“Please, Lady Via, what is bothering you?”
Hesitation again.
“I must admit, I myself have been fairly on edge tonight.” He offered a careful smile. “Something about the air…no doubt the shadow of the war that hangs over us.”
Via fidgeted, but her mouth opened this time. “…Yes—yes, I have to agree. I- alright, I awoke from a terrible dream, and I couldn't get back to sleep since, and…” She paced away, hands tugging her braids. “I fear it was less of a dream, and more of a…vision.”
She glanced back, searching his eyes, but he kept his expression blank. This was a new obstacle he hadn't considered…he knew what was coming.
“Was it of the war?”
“Yes…the march tomorrow, even. This will sound crazy, but Sir Tristan, I'm wondering- I'm wondering if we should even go at all.”
There it is.
He raised an eyebrow. “Fears talk in your dreams sometimes, m'lady—”
“Obviously. But I struggle to call this simply a dream.” Her eyes fell to the ground beneath them. “I wanted to…speak to King Alastair.”
Tristan's jaw started to throb, sore from the tight clench he struggled to release. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, mind racing. One little nightmare from the queen's sister wasn't going to undo everything.
“Maybe it's stupid, I know, I just—”
“It's all right, Via.” He took her hand, and her brows furrowed but she didn't pull away. “Your concerns are valid. I can bring them to the king as soon as possible if you wish.”
The hardness in her bronze eyes softened as she looked up again, searching his gaze. “I appreciate your offer, but perhaps he ought to hear it from me…”
“I can get it to him faster, while there is still time,” Tristan insisted. “Preparations for the march are already far ahead, and Alastair sure values having time to think.”
He felt her hand slipping from his grip, but he held it tighter and leaned close. “I'll help you handle it. For now, you should get some rest. A tired mind means your sword swings slower, and I value my strongest warriors.”

1179 words - I had so much fun omds xD

Weekly
Beginning - Enemy - Pet - Trick - End
Total 2,602 words


Y/N watched MMC from behind a giant oak tree. She knew what he was doing. She’d seen many kids attempt it before. He was asking Rachel from a quest.
Personally, Y/N really wanted to go on a quest. But after certain events, Rachel didn’t really like her. So her plan was to hitchhike on other people’s quests.
She noticed Rachel chanting and began to creep closer. After all, if she wanted to butt her way into the quest, she would have to hear the prophecy.
“To the sea of monsters you must venture
To save yourself from a boring lecture
To pluck a mango and return before dark
So that on your calculus exam you get full marks”
“Weird prophecy,” Y/N muttered. But still, she inches closer so that when MMC began to walk away, she would surprise him.
Sure enough, he was surprised.
“GAH!” He exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”
Y/N grinned. “I want to join you!” She exclaimed. 
MMC shook his head. “No,” he muttered, “this is gonna be a solo project.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Come on, MMC! You always need three people to go on a quest, everyone knows that!”
Sighing, MMC gives in. “Fine!” He agrees, “you can come. But who’s the final person?”
“ME!” An enthusiastic voice yelped. MMC and Y/N jumped. 
“Oh!” Y/N squeaked, “Hi, Third Wheel!”
Third Wheel grins. “Can I please come?”
MMC slightly grimaces. 
Third Wheel is persistent. “I have an exciting opportunity for you that you can only be claimed if you accept me into your team!” 
Sighting, MMC and Y/N agree.
Third Wheel smiled, revealing a mouth of golden teeth. “Amazing!” She exclaimed, “Now, seeing that the sea in mention is most likely the sea of monsters—“
“You were listening?!” MMC asked.
Third Wheel nodded. “Y/N was eavesdropping! So I did too! Do you have a problem with that?”
“Third Wheel,” Y/N started, “Why do all of your dialogue lines end with an exclamation mark? It’s like you want the readers to dislike you.”
“Y/N!” Third Wheel hissed, “You’re not supposed to break the fourth wall! Number one rule of this fanfic! What would the author do if she knew what you were doing?!” Y/N shrugged. 
Looking at you, Y/N says, “Well, hi there. I know that you think that we’re just figure of memes. I know that although the instructions say that you should insert your name into the Y/N thing, you don’t! Instead, you just read it as ‘Y/N’. So maybe my name should just be Whyen.” Third Wheel elbowed Y/N, hard.
“Y/N! You know that we’re not supposed to talk to the readers! That’s even worse than breaking the third wall! Now, continue the story. We left off at… uhm, I’m telling you my exciting opportunity.” 
Sighting, Y/N nods. “Alright, Third Wheel. What’s the exciting opportunity.
“Okay, my father—“
MMC cut her off. “Your father is Zeus, right?” 
Third Wheel nodded. “My father, Zeus, has like a lot of planes. So we could ride on of his planes to the sea of monsters. Got it?”
MMC nodded slowly. “That might work! Now, since we need to do something for the next few scenes, let’s go train to fight monsters!”
Everyone agreed (for once! Everyone has finally agreed!) and go off to train battle strategies and defense. 
(552 words)

Y/N's sword clashed against MMC'S. She grunted as she dodged his attack. “You're pretty good,” he commented. Y/ N didn't reply. She knew he was trying to distract her. Suddenly, his hand went slack. Confused, Y/N stopped fighting
“What's the matter?” She asked.
I when he didn't answer, she followed his gaze to a pretty blonde girl sparring in a nearby arena.
“Not her!” Y/N growled. Stalking over, YIN yelled,“ Stereotypical Competition!”
Stereotypical Competition stopped fighting and smirked. “Why-slash- en! What a surprise! Also- I don't go by that name anymore. I am now Compet. Pronounced Comp-ay.
Y/N's eyes narrowed. ”You're distracting MMC! He can't focus!“
”Are you sure it's me that's distracting him?“ Compet asked, ”Because the only thing that's distracting me now is that awful hair.“ She glanced up at the messy bun Y/N had pulled her hair into cuo YIN sighed.” Compet, look. I know we've had our differences, but I really need MMC to focus. We have a quest-“
”Ah yes, the quest!“ Compet waved the statement. away. ”You shouldn't go on quests anymore, Y/N. It's predictable. Readers get bored. Might I suggest finding a hobby? Perhaps a change in character? Maybe become humble! Woah- that would really a plot twist!“” VIN gasped. Did Compet just insult her AND break the fourth wall at the same time?! the scandal!
Y/N pressed a finger to Compet's chest. “That's. It. You've pushed me around for too long!”

Compet fanned her face. “Ah, yes. Victimize yourself, Y/N! That doesn't erase the fact that I'm not the bad guy here! You are!”
Y/N laughed, turning into a shadow of all the pick me main characters that have come before het. “I'm not.” She hissed.
Compet smirked. ”Believe what you want to believe, Y/N. If you want, we can be enemies. I’ll be the villain.”
(320)

While Y/N and MMC were training, Third Wheel was off in the woods exploring. She wasn’t the type for fighting. Only, after a few minutes of wandering around, she realized that she was utterly and hopelessly lost.
“Dang it,” she muttered, “I don’t know how to make it home.” She tried a few trails but only succeeded in getting even more lost.
Feeling hopeless, she sat down on a large boulder.
Suddenly, a rabbit hoped over and perched by her. Third Wheel smiled. She liked animals. Especially cute ones. She softly pet the rabbit and almost had a heart attack when it said in a British accent, “Lost now, are we?”
Third Wheel screamed. “Did you just speak? How? You’re a rabbit!”
The rabbit sighed. “My name is William,” he said, “and yes, I’m a talking rabbit. Get used to it.”
Third Wheel suddenly had an idea. She leaned forward. “Could you guide me back home?”
“Of course!” William replied, “Follow me!”
He began to hop off and Third Wheel trailed after him. Soon, they arrived near a river.
“Here you are,” he said, “my home.” Third Wheel giggled. “Silly rabbit,” she reprimanded, “this is your home. I want you to take me to Camp Half-Blood.”
William nodded and (after muttering about unspecific requests) set off in the opposite direction. Pretty soon, they came to Camp Half-Blood.
“Yay!” She exclaimed, “Thank you—oh, ew.”She shielded her eyes from the grotesque scene of Y/N and MMC making out.
William, too, shielded his eyes.
“Author help us,” Third Wheel muttered, “I mean I know my name is Third Wheel but I thought Sage was going to make them a slow burn enemies to lovers.”
“Sage?” William repeated, “who’s that?”
Third Wheel sighed. “Thats the name of our author.”
William nodded, understanding. “Well, in that case, I’m sorry for that whole situation. I’m sure there’s someone out there making Third Wheel x MMC AUs and posting them on AO3. All hope isn’t lost.”
Third Wheel scowled. “Hush!” She said, “Someone might hear!”
William fell silent but then Third Wheel smiled.
“You know what,” she said, “I like you. I think I’m going to keep you as a pet and name you Willie.”
William stiffened.
“Yes to the pet— never to the Willie. Willie is a peasant’s name. I am and always will be William.”
Third Wheel nodded. “Got it,” she said, “William it is.”
(400 words)

Y/N pushed MMC away when she realized Third Wheel walking towards them. She was carrying a… was that a rabbit?
“Hey guys,” she said, “this is my new pet.”
“Greetings,” the rabbit said in a British accent. Y/N’s mouth fell open. 
“Did that rabbit just talk?” She asked, incredulous. William sighed.
“Again,” he murmured, “I have a name. I am William, who are you?”
Regaining her composure, she replied with, “I am Y/N. This here,” she gestured to MMC, “is MMC.”
William hopped out of MMC’s arms and extended a paw. “Greetings, Your Name and Male Main Character. Or, as you’ve nicknamed yourselves, Whyen and Em-Em-See.”
Y/N squatted down and shook William’s paw. 
MMC, who had been quite silent while this whole ordeal had gone on, suddenly asked, “Third Wheel, have you heard back from your father?”
Third Wheel smiled brightly and nodded. “His plane should be here any second now.” Just as she said those words, a private jet suddenly appeared behind her. “Ah, here it is.”
The trio (or quadruplet if William counted) split off to go gather their belongings. When they returned, Chiron was conversing with the pilot. 
“Children, there you are!” Chiron exclaimed, “I’ve been talking to your nice pilot. He’s a very interesting person. I assume you will be heading off now?” 
MMC nodded, and gave the pilot a once-over. Chiron trotted over and handed MMC a pack. 
“This has money, ambrosia, and nectar. I’m sure you know what to do with that, correct?”
MMC nodded and accepted it. 
“Well now,” Chiron clapped his hands. “Off you go in your quest!”
With a few parting words, the group climbed into the jet and buckled in. 
Soon, the jet shot off into the sky. 
“Woah! Look at the city!” Third Wheel exclaimed, pointing at all the famous landmarks. 
Y/N picked up a VOGUE magazine and MMC decided to take a Power Nap. This system worked great until something strange happened.
“OH MY GODS!” Y/N shrieked when William began to transform.
Third Wheel clamped a hand over her mouth in shock. MMC continued to sleep.
The girls gaped in disbelief as the rabbit transformed into a boy. 
Once truly transformed, he gave the girls a lazy grip.
“Why hello ladies,” he said in the familiar British accent, “Loki says hi.”
***
“Loki?” Third Wheel repeated, “Like the Norse god?”
The boy— was his name still William?— nodded. “The one and only trickster god. ” he replied, “And I’m William. His demigod son. Probably his favorite, by the way, seeing that his other kids all hate him and have denounced him from their lives.”
Y/N nodded slowly. 
Third Wheel cleared her throat. “So you’re tricking us?” She asked.
William nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! My father has planned this entire thing! The prophecy, the rabbit. All apart of his plan!” 
Y/N frowned. “To do what?” He asked.
“To take over Camp Half-Blood, of course! We just had to distract you all long enough to invade! Little did Zeus know, when he gave you this plane, it created a hole in your camp’s security!”William began to make his way to the cockpit and the girls trailed him from behind. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder, and the pilot promptly fell over. “See?” William said, “even the pilot is an illusion.” William pushed the pilot off the seat and took over the plane. “Time to make our way back. This trip has been cut short!”
(527)

When they arrived at Camp Half-Blood they noticed two miraculous things. MMC had finally woken up and the entirety of camp was fighting wolves.
“Hey there!” Insignificant Side Character yelled, “Help us fight these * wolves!”
William snorted at that. “* wolves,” he repeated.
Y/N, MMC, and Third Wheel all charged and killed some wolves. I wish I could go into great detail, but we don’t really have time for that. Long story short, Loki showed up, made some threats, destroyed some cabins (Annabeth and the architect team are going to spend forever fixing that). But it in the end, the all won. 
After all, they are the golden trio and have main character armor. 
When they finally eliminated all of the wolves, they enjoyed a nice cookout with hotdogs. And even though William was technically evil, they invited him anyways. And he had the incredibly crazy experience of being a British boy trying hot dogs and s’mores for the first time. 
When they finished their food, William returned to wherever he came from and Y/N, MMC and Third Wheel went to Cabin 10, 5, and 1, respectively. 
The final thoughts passing through Y/N’s brain as she drifted off to sleep? That was a hectic day. And William had a nice accent.
(212)