Weary Traveler, Restless Scone
Biscuit sighed as she took in the long, winding road ahead of her. It was going to be a long, grueling walk. If she was going for any other reason, she would give up now. Go back and wait, see if there was any other solution. But she knew there wasn’t. She would have to make the journey.
Waving goodbye to people who didn’t care about her, and frankly, probably were confused as to why she was saying goodbye to them, she set out in search of people that did care. Her family. They had been separated by misfortune, and Biscuit was determined that they would see each other again. Her family could not possibly make the journey, so it would be up to her.
Stepping into the road, Biscuit had resolved herself to get through the journey as quickly as possible. But when night came, and it was obvious that she could not make it to her destination before morning, she threw herself onto the ground and slept.
Waking up, Biscuit groaned as she realized the toll this journey was taking on her. She ached all over, and her back was sore from sleeping on the hard plastic. She longed for the rolls of paper that she slept in back there, but she knew there would be better beds once she made it home.
While she was on the road that day, though, she turned a corner and could see around a large mountain. She scanned the horizon, and realized that she could see home from here! She was excited, before she realized that it would take her many more days of walking before she could get there. She didn’t know what to do, as she had only planned on it taking one or two days.
Sitting by the side of the road, Biscuit cried as she felt her injuries and despaired over the long journey. But just when she was about to give up, she heard a voice from the sky. “What’s this strawberry biscuit doing over here, by the donuts?” asked a worker at the bakery. Out came the baker to see. “Oh!” He exclaimed. “I must have put it in the wrong spot. We’ll have to put it back over by it’s friends, here.”
Biscuit felt him grab her, and was terrified before she realized that she was going very very quickly, and not towards the blueberry biscuits that he had accidentally put her with this morning. No, they were headed towards the strawberry biscuits!
When he set Biscuit down among her family, they all embraced her and she cried, happy tears from being with her family again. She told her story over and over, them telling her how brave she’d been, and how courageous. She smiled, but was still humble, and reminded them that she didn’t really make the journey after all. But she was still glad to cuddle up with everyone else once nighttime came, and sleep in a warm, soft bed.

daily #2 // 743 words // misheard lyrics: “cause the guards gotta kiss too”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
A fierce banging echoed through the dim, gloomy hallway. Chanis Gate trembled, its thick black metal bars seeming to bend slightly under the immense force. Klein leapt to attention, seizing his Nighthawk-issued revolver and loading it with golden purification bullets.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
As the heavy knocking grew more and more urgent, Klein crept across the worn stone tiles. An eerie, biting wind rushed through the corridor, setting the utilitarian-looking oil lamps aflutter. Klein’s heartbeat accelerated sharply, cold sweat beading on the trigger of the revolver.
He inhaled. Exhaled. From his pocket, he produced a golden Loen pound, twirling it between his fingers.
I am in danger. He thought this seven times and flicked the gold coin up into the air. Klein caught the coin, staring into the cold, lifeless eyes of William Augustus VI.
It was a positive result!
Klein was torn between standing guard at Chanis Gate and running back to the office of the Tingen Nighthawks. As a Sequence 9 Seer, though, he knew that his combat power was severely lacking. He decided to return to the Blackthorn Security Company and seek a stronger Beyonder.

As he walked, Klein’s mind whirled with many chaotic thoughts.
What exactly was it that pounded on the gate?
Why did it stop?
Was that perhaps a normal phenomenon?

Klein couldn’t come to a concrete conclusion. He entered the duty room, pulling on the rope, and the gear spun to bring him back up to the second floor. The clear intonation of a bell resounded through the office of the Tingen Nighthawks.
Faintly, Klein heard footsteps rushing toward him. By his judgement, it was most likely only one person. As the footsteps neared, Klein could hear soft panting. Clearly, the Nighthawk was in a hurry.
Leonard approached Klein with his hand on his revolver. The tall, striking Nighthawk with a poetic bearing had his handsome features contorted with worry.
“What happened?”
“It’s Chanis Gate. Something was pounding on it from inside,” Klein replied. “I did a simple divination—it was something dangerous.”
The Midnight Poet frowned, appearing to be deep in throught.
“The other Nighthawks are all out,” mused Leonard. “I suppose I’ll… yes, that sounds good.”
Who are you trying to impress by acting all mysterious? Klein lampooned silently. He sat on the couch, fidgeting idly with a silver soli as the good-looking Nighthawk scribbled on a scrap of paper.
“Let’s go,” said Leonard, donning a pair of thin black gloves. Klein’s eyes were drawn to the small action. His gaze lingered over the poet’s elegant fingers as they curled and flexed, and a faint red tinge appeared on the Seer’s face.
Leonard looked at Klein, his head tilted in perplexity. “Klein?”
“I-it’s nothing,” Klein responded hastily. He rose quickly, attempting to hide his blush.

The two Nighthawks walked to Chanis Gate silently, their readied revolvers gleaming under the firelight. The corridor was cold, abnormally so, and Klein fingered the Flaring Sun Charm in his pocket.
“Relax, my dear Seer.”
Leonard wore a lazy smirk on his face that Klein judged to be extremely attractive and extremely infuriating at the same time. Still, Klein released the charm, and they arrived at Chanis Gate without incident.

“Dear poet, kindly remove your feet from the table.”
Klein’s face was a stony mask of annoyance. Hours had passed without any sign of the knocking returning. The two Nighthawks were bored—extremely so. Though they had played cards, Klein had eventually relieved Leonard of all his money.
“Anything for you, my dear Seer,” Leonard laughed. Klein’s face flushed instantly. He looked at the floor in embarrassment, hearing the scrape of wood against stone and the gentle taps of footsteps.
“My, my,” whispered Leonard—directly into Klein’s ear. A hand from behind gently touched his chin, tilting Klein’s face up and to the side. His eyes locked with Leonard’s, as inky and deep as the night sky. “Flustered, are we?”
Leonard’s handsome face crept closer to Klein’s. Inexplicably, Klein found himself closing his eyes. A light pressure brushed against Klein’s lips, as gentle as assonance and as alluring as verse. Klein’s eyes opened to find Leonard licking his lips lightly, his eyes curved in amusement.
“Let’s continue this another time, my dear Seer. I’ll be off, then.”
Klein leaned back in his chair. He covered his face with his hands as if to mask his excitement.
How unbefitting of the Fool, he lampooned. How unbefitting indeed.

Chasing Penguins

——

500 words

——

(orginal lyric :: or should i just keep chasing pavements
mishead lyric :: or should i just keep chasing penguins
from the song “chasing pavements” by adele !!)

(i swear i know funnier my mind just blanked </3)

——

They told me penguins didn't belong here.

“This is Connecticut,” my brother said, leaning against the porch railing. “There are no penguins.”

I shrugged. “Then explain the footprints.”

He looked down at the trail of tiny, three-toed prints stamped across the fresh snow. They began at the edge of the woods, wandered through our backyard, looped around the bird feeder twice, and disappeared beneath the fence.

“Probably a duck,” he muttered.

“Dude, ducks don't waddle like that.”

He rolled his eyes and went inside.

I came back the next morning with a notebook.

If there really was a penguin, I was going to find it.

For weeks, I followed clues that never quite made sense.

Another line of footprints after a storm. Fish bones left on a frozen pond. Black-and-white feathers snagged on low branches that vanished before I could bring anyone back to see them.

The adults smiled politely.

My friends laughed.

Eventually, everyone stopped asking why I disappeared into the woods every afternoon.

I kept going anyway.

Winter melted into spring.

The footprints disappeared, but I had learned every trail, every stream, every hidden clearing. I could tell when rain was coming by the smell of the air and which birds returned first after the cold. I knew where foxes slept and where deer crossed the creek.

Still no penguins.

One afternoon I found an old woman sitting on a fallen log, feeding breadcrumbs to a flock of sparrows.

“You look disappointed,” she said.

“I've been chasing penguins.”

“I can tell.”

“You can?”

She smiled.

“Most people are.”

I frowned. “There aren't any penguins.”

“Of course there aren't.”

I stared at her.

“Then why didn't anyone tell me?”

“They did.”

She tossed another handful of crumbs onto the ground.

“You just hoped they were wrong.”

I thought about all the afternoons I'd spent searching.

“I wasted months.”

“Did you?”

I looked around.

Sunlight filtered through the trees in ribbons of gold. A creek bubbled somewhere beyond the ferns. A pair of rabbits darted through the underbrush, and a hawk circled silently overhead.
I'd never noticed how beautiful this place was before I'd started looking so closely.

The old woman stood, brushing snowmelt from her coat.

“Sometimes,” she said, “we chase impossible things.”

“Why?”

“Because they teach us to notice everything else.”

She walked away before I could ask her name.

Years later, I still don't know who left those footprints.

Maybe they belonged to a duck after all.

Maybe my imagination had just filled in the rest.

Or maybe there really had been a penguin, hopelessly lost, wandering through a Connecticut winter before finding its way home.

I don't think it matters anymore.

Every now and then, after the first snowfall, I still glance toward the woods, half expecting to see a little black-and-white bird waddling between the trees.

I know I probably won't.

But some dreams are worth chasing, even if all they leave behind are footprints that teach you how to see the world.

7/2 - 500 words

I Will Love You Like The Ashes in my Ziggurat Box
Søren took a sweeping dive off the side of the pyramid, weaving around tourists and buildings as he flew to the dig site. Ivory wings flapped, coasting on the wind until he spotted a roped-off pit in the ground at the base of a looming temple.He flapped his wings once more and rose in the air, swooping down and landing before a woman coated in dust.
“I came as quick as I could,” he spoke to her as he walked to a small wooden table and put on some gloves, “do you really think this is it?”
“The Anomaly only presents itself once a year. It can't be a coincidence that its symbol is engraved on the lid.” The woman walked over to the table and placed a small clay box on it.
“Are you sure, Mayve? Because if this isn't real it–”
“The press will have a fit, I know. I'm sure.” She assered.
Søren shook out his arms, deciding to trust Mayve for the moment. His brain couldn't really fathom the idea that this was the box that held the Anomaly, the thing he'd been searching for all his life. Being born under the Anomalous mark was usually said to be an omen of great things but for all his life Søren had been remarkably lackluster. This would change that, this would change everything.
He watched as Mayve ran a flathead screwdriver along the lower edge of the lid, slowly breaking the seal that had developed in the years the box had been underground. She carefully pushed her skeleton key into the lock, fiddling with it until they both heard a loud, unmistakable click. She looked back at him.
“Do you want to do the honors?”
He nodded and stepped forward. He grasped the lid and, hands shaking, opened the box.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Was this normal? He turned towards Mayve to gauge the expression on her face and, as soon as his eyes lost focus on the relic, watched as a storm, black as night, swirled around him. He flapped his wings, panicked, and found he couldn't fly. In fact, he couldn't move at all. Frantically, he tried to take off again and, picking up a current, managed to gain a bit of ground. But, instead of moving forward, he was being pulled back.
“Mayve! Mayve!” He shouted for help, scrambling in the sand for some kind of purchase. “Mayve!”
Her eyes were blank, she didn't seem to be able to see him at all.
The storm picked up as he screamed and he felt the pull get stronger. Lighting cracked above him, blinding white in the encroaching sea of inky blackness.
“Mayve!”
It appeared just as suddenly as the storm had started, the Anamalous mark burning into his vision. Thunder boomed and, with a final crack of lightning, he heard a loud ‘slam!’. Darkness.
Mayve watched as Søren opened the box, blinked, and saw the last of his golden feathers vanishing as he was sucked in.

Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy

The first time it happened, nobody said anything.

It was during rehearsal, under the dim, flickering lights of the community theater, where everything smelled faintly of dust and old curtains. The band was running through the song for the third time, and right on cue, Marcus stepped forward, grabbed Julian by the shoulders, and planted a dramatic, full-on kiss on him.

The music screeched to a halt.

“What are you doing?” the director snapped.

Marcus blinked. “The lyric.”

“What lyric?”

Marcus, unfazed, sang it again. “Excuse me while I kiss this guy.”

There was a pause—a long, heavy pause where confusion thickened the air.

Then Julian, still stunned, said, “I thought we were just committing to the bit.”

“That’s not the lyric,” someone from the band called out, already laughing.

“It’s kiss the sky,” the director said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Marcus frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes more sense than assaulting your castmate mid-song!”

“It’s not assault, it’s choreography,” Marcus shot back. “And for the record, Julian leaned into it.”

Julian raised a hand. “In my defense, I thought I’d missed a memo.”

Rehearsal dissolved into chaos after that.

But here’s the thing: once the idea was out there, it wouldn’t go away.

The next run-through, Marcus hesitated—just for a second—at the line. The band played on. The director watched him like a hawk.

“Excuse me while I—” he started.

And then, from somewhere in the back, someone yelled, “DO IT.”

Marcus didn’t need more encouragement.

He grabbed Julian again—less aggressively this time—and delivered a kiss that was, if nothing else, deeply committed.
The band faltered, then kept going.

The director groaned, but didn’t stop them.

And just like that, it became a problem.

Because it worked.

Not in the way anyone expected, but in that electric, unpredictable way that makes live performance feel alive. The audience during previews reacted instantly—gasps, laughter, applause that came too early and too loud.

People started talking about it.

“Did you see that moment?”

“Was that supposed to happen?”

“Are they—?”

By opening night, the director had a decision to make.

She gathered everyone on stage before the show, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“We are not doing the kiss,” she said firmly.

Marcus nodded. Julian nodded. Everyone nodded.

The curtain rose.
The show began.

Everything went perfectly—until that line approached, hanging in the air like a loaded question.

Marcus stepped forward.
Julian tensed, just slightly.

“Excuse me while I—”

A beat.
A pause.
The entire audience seemed to lean in.

Marcus turned—not to Julian, but to the crowd—and gestured upward with exaggerated flair.

“Kiss the sky.”
There was polite applause.
The scene moved on.

Backstage afterward, the director smiled, satisfied.
“See? Much better.”

But Marcus and Julian exchanged a look.
Because they both knew something the director didn’t.

For the rest of the run, the kiss came back—but never the same way twice. Sometimes it was a cheek peck. Sometimes a dramatic dip. Once, inexplicably, a high-five followed by a blown kiss.

The audience never knew what they’d get.

And that was the magic of it.

A mistake turned into a choice.

A misheard lyric turned into a moment people came back to see again.

And somewhere along the way, nobody really cared what the original line was anymore.

Daily Two : Misheard Lyrics 550/500 words
Original lyric: I feel, the Lavender Haze creeping up on me.
Misheard lyric: I feel, eleven turkeys creeping up on me.
(Lavender Haze, Taylor Swift)

Full disclaimer: I don't know what this story is. I don't know why it is what it is. I don't know where I was going with this. Read at your own risk.

I feel eleven turkeys creeping up on me as I walk through the eerily quiet, and annoyingly private, untamed garden. I try not to glance behind me. So long as I don’t give any hint that I notice them, they probably won’t attack.
Probably.
I’m careful not to start running, but my pace does quicken and my heart starts to race faster. I’m almost there. I just need to get there and I’m good.
The gardens are a winding mess that are really, really difficult to navigate. Trees everywhere, blocking your sight, paths that spiral this way and that, sometimes going under each other as tunnels, and hundreds of different plants snaking across the ground.
I’ve already taken a wrong path twice.
But this time I’m sure I’ve got it right.
At last I round a corner and see the light of the forgotten shed shining through the dead leaves of an oak tree. My steps slow and I can practically feel the turkey’s breath against the loose cloth of my shirt.
I shiver, but step closer to the shed until I can see it in full view. The light is from a line of lit candles set on the wall.
The forgotten shed isn’t what I had expected.
Well, some of it is. The entire base of the shed is covered in thick layers of spiderwebs. The brass handle of the door is rusted and the muted green paint of the walls is peeling.
But it smelled nice. Like lavender, and fresh rain- though it hadn’t rained in at least fifteen years. The candles cast an inviting glow on the shed rather than a creepy one, as I might have thought. Subconsciously, I feel my tensed shoulder relax and I start to feel peaceful.
Something I haven’t felt since I entered this city.
I raise my hand without realizing it, reaching towards the door handle. Right before I make contact, a twig snaps behind me and I flinch, spinning around.
I realize my mistake too late.
Suddenly, my vision is obscured by what seems like a thousand feathered beasts. Claws rip into my skin and I scream- but I can’t scream! Something is silencing me, deafening me. I can’t see, can't speak, can't hear. Can’t do anything. I try to move my hand but the turkeys bat it down. Pain sears across my body and I’m worried this is the end.
I won’t stop fighting though.
I desperately thrash around, but as soon as I knock one off another takes its place. At last, I’m able to reach out a bIoodied hand and grasp the doorknob. I turn it and push it open with all the force I have left. I don’t know for sure what it will do- but if the stories are even somewhat accurate… It should help.
A sudden rush of warm air blasts through, and I can see again! Hear again! Scream again! The air whips my hair and pushes my eyelids up. The turkeys are forced off, howling and screaming as they’re knocked against the trees.
I watch in wonderment as the air somehow heals my wounds, closing them up and making me feel normal again.
Shakily, I stand up.
I’m finally here.
The forgotten shed.
I take a hesitant step forward.
It’s time.

Into Twenty Songs || Daily 2 || 670 words

Lio fiddled with his pen, pushing and releasing the little button at the top.
Click. Click. Click.
Before him, the blank sheet of paper stared accusingly up at him as it reposed on his desk. White and empty, like his thoughts.
He sighed, allowing himself to slump further in his chair. The toes of his grimy high-tops hit the baseboard, and he started tapping them against the wall. He was probably dinging the paint, but he didn’t care.
Words, words, words. Music. His restless gaze landed on his guitar, which was precariously propped up against his unmade bed. Several pages of sheet music were scattered around it.
Songs, songs, songs. And not a single one of them was good enough for Lisa.
Lio let a stream of air sputter through his lips, staring up at the ceiling. He ran a hand through his dark hair, rumpling it further. He hadn’t bothered to comb it today. It felt unfamiliar under his fingers, too short. He’d cut it yesterday, at his mother’s insistence, and he was still finding little itchy bits of shorn hair clinging to his skin.
When was the last time he’d showered? Or eaten?
He banged his foot against the wall in frustration and lowered pen to paper, clicking it again so the ink-smeared metal tip would shoot out. Come on, Lio, this isn’t that hard. You know what you’re doing. You know… how to do this…
He filled half the page, stopped and looked at it.
It wasn’t too bad. Although now that he thought about it, he’d probably picked the wrong key signature. And maybe he shouldn’t have put in so many accidentals. But when he started fresh without them, the music now seemed too bland and stale. Predictable. Lisa liked things with a little ginger in them.
He crumpled the page — that was attempt number nineteen — and threw it at the window, half-hoping it would turn into some kind of… of really, really heavy rock midway through its arc and smash the glass. Or a miniature missile.
The paper ball bounced off the window harmlessly, startling a pigeon who’d been curiously inspecting his room. It fluttered off, leaving him alone with his useless mind.
He tilted the chair back even further, enjoying the moment of carelessness, before misjudging how far he could go without gravity taking effect.
Lio crashed to the floor, knocking over his guitar. It twanged unhappily as it fell on his face, and an avalanche of crumpled paper followed. His chair lay overturned next to him.
Groaning, he laid his head back on the floor and wished he were anywhere else.
Lisa’s birthday was tomorrow, and all he’d come up with was a whole lot of nothing. His face twisted in a grimace as he sat up, grabbing a sheet of paper off his face.
His eyes lighted on the ink scribbles that filled the page, and he stopped for a moment. Huh. He vaguely remembered this one. He’d started it at 2 am last night, but quickly abandoned the attempt.
It sort of wasn’t terrible, though. Better than his other tries, at least. He slowly got to his feet, righting his poor guitar as he did so.
Yeah. He could probably work with this.
Someone knocked on his door, but he ignored it, picking up his chair and sitting down at his desk again.
“Lio? Lio, it’s lunch time.” His mother’s voice was insistent, but he couldn’t stop. He was afraid he would lose his fragile grasp on the ideas blossoming if he did.
“Coming,” he said absently. “Not hungry right now.”
“Lio…?” She waited for a moment, then sighed and started back downstairs. He’d make it up to her later. Right now, he had a song to write.
Tried to write a dozen songs and all of them were wrong, baby.
Took me twenty times to get it right…
Gave a little bit of myself into every lyric I discarded
But when I started this one I gave it my heart…

Lyrics: “Statue of Big Dog With Fleas” from O Fortuna Misheard Lyrics

Luna cast a nervous glance at the ambulance-only entrance to the emergency department, seeing some kind of giant obstruction having been placed right in the automatic doorway. She sighed. Who in their right mind would obstruct the entrance to the emergency department of a hospital? Ambulances and paramedic crews needed to get in and out!

“Hey, Amber?” Luna asked, approaching the charge nurse’s desk where Amber was sitting, typing away at her computer. “Do you know what’s going on with the ambulance entrance?”

Amber looked up and shook her head. “Honestly? I don’t know. We’re getting the estates team to move it as soon as we can, but there is a statue of a dog with fleas blocking-”

“Hold on.” Luna said, trying to keep an absolutely serious face. “You’re telling me that the ambulance-only entrance is being blocked by a statue of a dog with fleas.”

“Yep,” Amber replied completely seriously. Luna shook her head. That just could not be possible. At all. There was no way the big grey rock thing blocking the ambulance entrance to the emergency department was a statue of a dog with fleas, right?

“Amber, would you mind giving me five minutes? I should probably take a look at this for myself,” Luna said. She had to see this for herself.

“Go ahead,” Amber said.

Luna took that as her cue to go. She headed down the short corridor that led to the ambulance parking bays at Aspen Glenn Memorial, and sure enough, there was a stone statue of a dog with many fleas around it placed bang in the middle of the sliding doors. Whoever put it there clearly wanted to annoy the healthcare staff, and whoever that was has indeed done a good job. Luna was both annoyed and also amused at the statue blocking a very important entranceway into the emergency department.

“Luna!” Luna heard someone call her name from outside, and she turned around, recognising the voice of the senior emergency medicine resident, Rena Miyazaki. She saw Rena drag a body across the ambulance bays and Luna immediately ran over to help.

“Rena?” Luna asked, surprised that Rena was even at the hospital, since she was sure the older doctor wasn’t scheduled to be on shift that day. Although, from Rena’s appearance, Luna suspected that Rena wasn’t planning to be anywhere near the hospital because she was wearing a full body tactical suit. Great.

“I did not shoot him,” Rena explained, just as Luna noticed blood coming from the man. “That was Agent Becker’s doing.”

“Maybe you could just hang out with less trigger-happy people?” Luna said, helping Rena carry the man inside. “Violence is never the answer or the solution to anything.”

“You’re right,” Rena replied. “But Agent Becker and I saw him place the statue in the ambulance-only entrance way, and she shot him.”

“Of course she did,” Luna sighed, not even surprised. Some of Rena’s colleagues from where she did secret agent work were far too trigger happy for Luna’s taste, but these sorts of people did exist in the world. Agent Becker frequented the emergency department, and Luna had gotten very used to her trigger-happy nature.

The two made their way past the statue and into the corridor. “Hold him there,” Luna instructed Rena, before turning to the man who was now their patient. “I’m going to get a gurney. But before I do, why did you choose to block the emergency department with a statue of a dog with fleas?”

“It’s a big dog with fleas,” the man snapped. “And I only did it because I don’t think that ambulance drivers should be interfering with the work of superheroes.”

Well.

There was a lot to unpack there.

daily 2
“Daily:
Mishearing lyrics is a common — and usually, an extremely funny — mistake. Today, imagine one of your most egregious misheard lyrics as a title, and write 500 words using it as a prompt. Doing this will earn your cabin 600 points, and you can earn an additional 200 points if you share proof.”

“bakers gonna bake bake bake bake bake”

V Was at her college dormitory with her little sister, Kat.
“Kat, can you please stop ‘helping’ me?”
“but i’m finally in college with you! if you’re baking, then i’m baking, too.”
“great.” V was clearly sarcastic. She headed out to the bakery, where she worked.
“hello.” she greeted the boss, Cynthia.
“wonderful, you’re here. now we can start.” V looked confused.
“now, since V is in college, we’re going to have a group project.” V looked surprised. Opal rolled her eyes. Nicole was listening to music.
“but…”
“everyone find a partner for pie-making.”
“Hey, wanna be partners?” Sienna walked up to her.
“yeah, sure, why not?” V responded.
“I Was thinking maybe we could do my own recipe? it’s Pumpkin custard pie with some special ingredients plus all the toppings!!!!!”
“eh, i guess. it’s not like i have anything better.” Sienna was the only other college student in the bakery, and V found her very annoying. after spending Eleven years of Kat and Sienna’s sleepovers, playdates, and after-school clubs that V got dragged along to, V could not stand Sienna working at the same bakery as her.
“Great! i have the recipe right here!” Sienna Read the recipe out loud.
“okay, i think we’re done. i’ll put it in the oven now.” V reached and put it in the oven.
“Great! now, i was thinking that we could make some little pumpkin pie muffins to go with them!”
“Sienna, Cynthia just said to-” V was Interrupted.
“Great! you agree! i’ll start the oven.” V slapped her Hand to her face.
“You can make them.”
“aww, but-
“okay, time is up! let’s take these out of the ovens.” Cynthia Called out.
“phew…” V Muttered.
“Nice work, V and Sienna. but what Exactly did you make?”
“Oh! it’s my own recipe. Pumpkin pie with-”
“wait, did you use your own recipe? i told you use one of the pre-made recipes.”
“well, i didn’t have much time before Sienna decided to team up with Me, and she just suggested it and i didn’t hear you say-”
“Wait, Are you blaming me?” Sienna started to cry. she ran out of the bakery.
“i- i’m sorry!” V Ran out after Sienna.
“Kat… have you seen Sienna?”
“ gasp do you finally want to hang out with us???”
“no. i need to apologize to her.”
“then she’s in the cafeteria.” Kat told her.
“Thank you.” V ran down to the Cafeteria.
“Sienna.”
“What?”
“i’m sorry.”
“…”
“sienna, please talk to me.”
“fine. there. i talked.”
“sienna, i’m sorry. and i bought you a cookie.”
“grumble”
“how do i make it up to you?”
“Playing with me and Kat.”
“Ugh. fine.”
So, V Played With Sienna and Kat. they played dolls for 30 minutes, where the harry potter characters dueled. then Some girl named Amber came in and got turned into a chicken, then broke the curse by doing a concert. then they talked V into doing a sleepover with them, and letting them play with her wigi board.

Paige's Writing

Daily July 9 - 858 words

Gretel may have always been just a little curious about the witch. Parents used her as a warning for misbehaving children. “If you don’t eat your supper, the witch will come in the night and eat you up,” mothers would say. Most likely, they didn’t truly believe in the witch themselves, but Gretel didn’t realize this. She wholeheartedly believed there was a witch living in the woods, and she was right.

She was an obedient child, not one the witch was said to eat. Neither was her older brother, Hansel, but that didn’t stop their parents from trying to abandon the two children in the woods. The first time it happened, she tried to convince herself it must have been an accident, and Hansel hadn’t had the heart to contradict her. The second time around, it was quite obvious to both of them that it was intentional; that even if they could find their way back home, their parents wouldn’t want them.

“What do we do?” whispered Gretel, trying not to let her voice tremble.

“We keep going,” Hansel said, trying to be brave for her. “We’ll find a house eventually, surely.”

“But who would take us in?” Gretel asked, her trust in adults having been altogether destroyed.

“We’ll find work,” Hansel said decidedly. “Then, we can rent our own place and live by ourselves.” He took his sister’s hand and led her on through the woods a little more confidently than before.

Soon enough, they did reach a house, but quickly realized something wasn’t right. It took too long for them to understand what that thing was, and Gretel barely had time to comprehend that this old, cruel woman was the witch, before her brother was put in a cage and Gretel was made to do chores until Hansel was plump enough to cook and eat. For the first time, she felt grateful for the famine they had been experiencing, because it meant Hansel would take a long time to “fatten up” like the witch wanted.

Despite constant fear, and despite the grueling labour the witch made her do, Gretel remained curious. As she scrubbed strange substances from the kitchen floor, she asked, “What do you put in your potions to make them so green?” As she chopped wood outside, she inquired, “What are those spells you’re doing? You say them very well.” The witch would scoff and cackle at her, but there was something in her that longed to show off, and she tended to answer Gretel’s questions, thinking it no harm to tell this skinny little girl about magic she could not possibly understand.

Gretel remembered every word the witch told her, and she planned. She whispered hurriedly to Hansel when she brought his food each day, and nabbed small items here and there from around the house, though nothing substantial enough for the witch to notice. So far Gretel had collected the dregs of some purple liquid, a half-crushed flower, and a torn page covered in what might be spells. She wasn’t nearly ready, but that night when the witch checked to see if Hansel was bigger, she proclaimed, “Enough! I don’t care how skinny you are, I shall cook you tomorrow!”

Gretel trembled on the floor by the fire, unable to sleep. She knew from questioning the witch that the vial of purple liquid was leftovers from a petrification spell. She read the page of spells over and over, and came to understand that the half-crushed flower in her pocket was a magical one; how she had been so lucky to have that be the exact flower and exact page she managed to find, she had no idea. But she was grateful for it, and studied the page until she had it memorized.

The next morning, the witch made her stoke the fire on which her brother was to be cooked. Sweating, Gretel waited until the witch went to retrieve Hansel from his cage, then quickly crushed the entire flower in her fist. She uncorked the vial and shoved in the broken bits of flower just as the witch re-entered the room, holding Hansel’s wrist with an iron grip.

“What are you doing, stupid child?!” the witch shrieked. Gretel responded by throwing the vial at the old woman’s face, where it shattered on impact (probably due to some magical property of the witch’s skin), covering her face in purple goo. It began to boil, causing her to shriek and release Hansel’s hand. He ran over to his sister and the witch made to grab him, but froze mid-movement, taking on a grey hue before shattering into millions of pieces.

The two siblings stared in shock and horror, then hugged each other tightly.

“That was amazing,” Hansel cried, letting go to look his sister over. “Did she hurt you at all?” Gretel shook her head, looking around the kitchen, seeing something new in the place. The pantry had enough food to last them a long while, and was also filled with just the right ingredients for a new, self-appointed witch to learn her craft.

“I think we’ve found our new house,” Gretel said, smiling.

Daily July 2 - 522 words
I wrote this in one sitting and have not edited it much
Misheard lyric from the song “500 Miles” by The Proclaimers
“I Would Walk 5000 Miles”

Why did I ever say I would do this? Why on earth would I commit to such a walk? This is what I wonder as I trudge along with a heavy bag on my shoulders, sand in my shoes, trying to convince myself of why I should walk the last 1483 miles. Here are the reasons I come up with:
1. I’m so close (well, comparatively)
2. It’s really not so far
3. It totally is so far, but I want the money
4. I want to win that money from my brother
5. I would look like such a loser if I gave up now
6. My brother would never let me live it down
7. I’ve never backed down on a dare before
8. And I don’t intend to start now
9. It’s not so far
I sigh, come to a stop, and sink down to take a seat in the grass. It’s wet from morning dew, and I can feel it seeping into the bottom of my pants. I remove my shoes and shake out as much of the dirt as I can. I massage my feet, which hurt like crazy, then massage my bag, which hurts more. It was a choice between a heavy bag, or less food, and of course I chose the food. I honestly can’t comprehend who wouldn’t choose the food. Thankful for this earlier wisdom of mine, I fish out a sandwich and gratefully sink my teeth into my breakfast.
My chewing, I think as I eat, is the only sound of human creation for miles in every direction. I can’t decide if that’s beautiful or terrifying. The landscape is certainly beautiful though, all rolling hills and bushy trees and flashes of birds in the corners of my vision. Despite the lack of other humans, myriad sounds fill my ears; birds chirp, leaves rustle, somewhere far off a waterfall crashes down, down, down. The sun has only just finished rising, and there’s still a slightly orange tint to the horizon. Farther down the hill from where I sit, I spot a young deer, and slow my movements, watching until it looks up when I take a too-quick bite of my sandwich. Oh well.
In terms of bad decisions, this isn’t the worst one I could have made in the name of money. I could have:
1. Sold all my possessions
2. Joined the mafia
3. Married someone for their money (I would have to find a rich person first, though)
Instead, I’m:
1. Getting time outdoors
2. Witnessing beauty
3. Doing something I can hold over my brother’s head forever
4. Eating a pretty good meal
5. I also kind of have to pee
I crush up my empty sandwich wrapper and tuck it back into my bag. Then I put my shoes back on, stand up, and try to wipe the dampness from the seat of my pants, starting to regret sitting on the grass. Taking a big stretch, I finally heft my backpack back onto my shoulders. Taking a deep breath of the fresh outdoor air, I set off in search of a good place to relieve myself before I walk the next ten or so miles to civilization.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Misheard Lyrics ⋆.ೃ࿔

✎ ᴍɪꜱʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ⋮ "Maybe I'm too emotional, but your apathy is like a wounded soul“
✎ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟ ⋮ ”Maybe I'm too emotional, but your apathy is like a wound in salt"
⋆.˚ Song ~ good 4 u ⋮ by Olivia Rodrigo

Indifference.
Indifference.
It makes a difference.
That day was different. And thing is, you knew it was. The chaos… your voice.
Her eyes reflected purity until you took it away. It was fast- unnerving in the simple sense. I should have caught it. I should have cured her, helped her because I could.
But that was from before. Before our time.
She did try. I do not know if it was her best. I do not know how much I watched. But everything lingered. It always did.
I watched her downfall. I watched her fall into you. How you capsulled her into your own time, a force so serene yet so strong.
I still think about it up until this day. I wonder about the people who have seen her scars. I have memorized them. And somehow even before you, they affected me. I felt them.
But I felt you more.
And so after her, you reached for me.
Your arms outstretched like the strong branches of that fig tree which rested outside your place.
How tempting. How lovely.
And the sad part about life is that your conscience will subdue itself to the most unlikely forces.
That's life. That was my life.
The walk was fairly simple. I began slowly towards you. Something radiated off of you. What I longed for.
I guess I could say I fell into you. But I fell for your care, your protection and comfort. You were the answer.
Joy.
Joy.
Happiness.
Oh, how these feelings unleashed at that time. A swirl and array of color. It bloomed.
Oh the blossoms, the blossoms of emotions that filled my life.
And in these times your worries are so fleeting, I felt okay. I did feel okay.
Yet my life went like most stories do.
You should have known.
I should have.
Could I?
So it went like this. Days went by. The first act feeling fine. It was more than fine really.
But you know how things change.
You changed them.
It was by today that I knew that. I knew that for a while actually.
I knew it. I knew you.
The closed door.
The air in the room was dancing around me. I struggled to breathe. I grasped at the particles around me- panting.
And then it went.
Rising slowly, steadily, with a kind of control that lacked control.
Louder and louder.
Screams.
Screams.
You shouted.
More and more, your voice.
Your voice into my throbbing mind.
You desired for it to end this way. You did this on purpose.
You.
You.
You.
I broke.
You broke me.
Tears. Crying. Silence.
I could feel the world around me. I felt it all. Every-
every color.
You saw me. Vividly. How could you stand it? How? I still wonder.
You are cold. Cold and hard. I see that now.
But I knew you.
I knew you.
The insanity in that moment was driven.
Your wounded soul.
Your soul is wounded.
It was not her fault.
It was not my fault.
It never was.
But now you must see no one will stay.
No one will comfort you.
No one will like you.
Your apathy.
Apathy.
Apathy.
So long as that stays, so will the state of your soul.

✏ 7.2.2026 ~ Daily #2 ⛧ ~ 544 words ౨ৎ
⛱ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜰꜰʀᴏɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ ⋆˚࿔

Kat's SWC Writing! <3
✧ Hiya! To those who don't know me, I'm Kat, a writer who only recently got into writing! Pronouns are she/her and I'm in Turnabout Mystery this year! Can't wait to see what SWC 2026 brings! >:3

✧ Dailies:
none (yet >;D)

✧ Weeklies:
7/2
Part 1 (206 words)
Magic:
-spells and curses (like with wizards and witches)
-superpowers (born with supernatural abilities)
Creatures and Beasts:
-Human-like creatures
> can share traits with animals like ears or tails
> can also have mysterious traits (fae, elves, etc.)
-Completely inhumane beasts (dragons, kraken, etc.)
>sometimes they have a moral compass and feelings, other times they don’t
Immortal beings:
-Gods and Goddesses
>gods or goddesses may choose a champion or hero to represent them and fight in their name
-Titans (parents of gods/goddesses)
>sometimes seen as antagonists
-Deities (general term of supernatural beings)
>usually seen as less powerful than gods/serve them
>sometimes seen as antagonists
-Shrines (built to honor any deities)
>sometimes people will give offerings and praise in exchange for blessings

Ideas:
-Deities claim champions who face off in trials in hopes of pleasing the gods and goddesses. Deities can gain favor from this and mortals get a chance to gain a supernatural ability and money
-Thousands of years later, a powerful goddess saves Earth from death, granting them unique traits to help them survive in a mostly barren world. They develop a new society primarily based on flora and fauna, worshipping the goddess and her “stewards,” deities created by her to assist humanity.

Part 2 (305 words)
Deities known as “shepherds” of the mortals choose a person to annually participate in a trial of skill and intellect. These mortals train alongside their patron deity for months, with the objective of pleasing the gods/goddesses and therefore helping the image of the patron. It is considered a huge honor to be chosen to participate and “winning” the trials can earn them supernatural abilities, which are only possessed by the upper class in society.

These upper class people are known as the Champions, and hold powerful roles in society. They are given much more opportunities and are acknowledged as important people, just below deities in the social ladder (though some are regarded as higher if they possess stronger skills and abilities) and play key roles in society. Although some of these Champions are not as favorable as others, they are all portrayed as the saviors of mortals, meant to show them a brighter future.

The lower class of society makes up a majority of the mortal population, and are known as the Wanderers (due to their supposed lack of knowledge on the structures of the world and what lies in the future and their tendencies to “wander” in search of answers). There is a significant division between these 2 social classes due to the supposed “superiority” of Champions compared to Wanderers, from which mortals are selected to participate in the trials.

There is also an unofficial middle class of people, left unnamed. This class is made up of upper-lower class people who either won the trials but were not granted an ability or children of the Champions who move out at the appropriate age (it’s important to note that Champions cannot marry Wanderers). This middle class is not acknowledged by the gods/goddesses or deities but still is known by both the Champions and the Wanderers.

Part 3 (624 words)
Ray stepped out of his house with his bookbag slung over his shoulder and breakfast in hand, making his way to the park. He wove his way through the morning crowd that was heading towards the marketplace, approaching the familiar gates with anticipation. He searched for his friend, spotting her sitting on the bench and making his way towards her.

Iris was easy to spot in the park. Her hair was a vivid silver, exotic as her personality. Ray loved the way she lit up the room by entering, and her bubbly personality made her an amazing accomplice. And Iris had been more than happy to be his friend, especially since she had yet to make one besides him.

People always judged her because of her family, which really rubbed Ray in the wrong way. Her parents were apparently Champions, and she only recently moved here after becoming responsible enough to take care of herself.

Ray didn't care about that, though. She was always fun to hang around, and they spent so much time together that she was practically apart of his famliy. Today, they were having a picnic. Inside of his bookbag, Ray brought fruits and some sandwiches, while Iris packed some tarts for their dessert.

Iris looked up from her book, spotting her friend out of the corner of her eye. She flashed a grin. “Hi Ray! Did you bring the food?”

Ray nodded. “Yep, right in here,” he replied, patting his bag and sitting beside her.

They both pulled the food out of their bags and began to eat, making conversation about their weekend plans and the books they were reading.

After the picnic, Ray returned home, stopping by the market on the way home to buy ingredients for dinner. He heard chatter about the Shepherds and how the season for the selection of representatives had started.

As he opened the door to his home, he stopped in his tracks. The Shepherd Zaria sat at the dining room table, her usual attire swapped for a flowy long-sleeve top, shorts, and long boots. She talked idly to Ray's parents, who seemed equal parts awed and terrified.

Suddenly, as if she sensed Ray's presence, the deity spun her head in his direction, smiling politely.

“Oh, hello! You must be Mr. Ray Linden. Please, take a seat.” She gestured towards the chair closest to her, and he hesitantly took a seat, smiling in a way that he hoped seemed genuine.

She cut straight to the chase. “I'm sure you've heard of the Trials before, right?” He nodded slowly, unsure of where this was going. “And you know how each Shepherd chooses a mortal to represent them?” He nodded again, a bit more confidently this time. “Amazing. Well, I've chosen you to be a part of the Trials this year.”

Ray felt his heart stop. What? He was about to scream and demand to know why, then he remembered she was a deity. Gathering his composure, he turned to look directly at her. “Excuse me for my question, but if I may ask, why choose me?” He wasn't the smartest in his class, and he most definitely wasn't the most athletic or strongest.

“If you really wish to know, it's simply your character. It defines you, more so than anyone else in this village.” She smiled, more warmly this time.

"Anywho, you'll need to start your training as soon as you can. Meet me at the central fountain in the marketplace at 1 pm sharp, not a minute later. She stood up and left through the doorway, humming a small tune as she did.

Ray groaned and left the table to go to his room, flopping onto his bed in despair.

I am absolutely doomed.

Part 4 (511 words)
(Swapped with @Le_lake)

Talia wove her way through the rugged terrain, following the trail towards the beach. She hoped to find some trinkets to sell for money or keep for herself, and over the years, she learned this beach usually had the most. When she reached the shores of the island, she smiled. The water always calmed her, and the beach provided her a calming haven to escape from the stress at home.

She walked along the shore, small waves washing her feet and wet sand sinking wherever she went. As she searched for some goods, she hummed to herself. Eventually, she ended up with a torn blanket, a newspaper that had only just dried from being soaked by the seawater, and a broken hand mirror. I mean, one man's trash is another's treasure, right? I'll take what I can get. The blanket could be resown into clothes or the tear could be fixed, the mirror could be sold for its metallic frame, and any paper was usable for drawing or writing. As she made her way back to the forest path, she spotted a shiny object out of the corner of her eye. A bright pearl lay there in the sand, untouched by anyone else.

Curious, Talia picked up the pearl, checking it for any blemishes. However, it looked practically perfect. Perhaps it’s an omen from the Name, Elsar, she thought, feeling slightly amused. However, she wasn’t about to look this gift horse in the mouth. She tucked it into her pocket and continued on her way home.

—

That night, Talia was getting ready for bed with her siblings. She was the 2nd oldest out of all of them, and the oldest in the house since her brother, Caine, moved out to find a job in the eastern parts of the Island. The room was rowdy and bustling, the 3 younger children talking animatedly with each other. Entertained, she left to go into her own room and change into her nightgown. However, she suddenly remembered the pearl that was still in her pocket. She pulled it out in an almost delicate fashion, and lightly put it onto her nightstand, before changing and going to sleep.

When she fell asleep, however, something awaited her. She opened her eyes, and thought she woke up in the middle of the night. But when she looked around her, she realized she was floating in an endless void, which shone a dull purple and indigo.

In front of her stood someone she never expected to see in person. The Name, Elsar, stood (or floated) in front of her, a warm smile dancing on his lips. “Hello, young one.” He breathed.

“H-hello Your Divinity.” She stuttered, lowering to a bow.

“Do you know why you are here?” He asked her, watching her gaze thoughtfully.

“Um- no, I do not. Would you be able to tell me? Um, sir?” She added hastily, not wishing to disrespect him.

He chuckled softly. “You are here because you will be my Champion for the games this year.”

Oh no. I am doomed.

✧ Word Wars:
No prompt, @FlamingoTesting
187 words
Ivory dug up the soil, her gloves covered with dirt as she furiously worked on her garden. After feeling satisfied with the size of the hole, she took her daisies and put them in, lightly packing the soil around them. The garden bed was filled with an assortment of colorful flowers, from roses to dandelions to forget-me-nots. Taking a heavy breath, Ivory pulled out her water can. After filling it up with water from the spout, she lightly drizzled water onto each plant, careful not to overwater her precious flowers.

A few minutes later, she stepped back to admire her work. The flower beds were a rainbow of flowers, though one flower stood out to her the most. The daises.

Ivory's best friend, Monroe, had loved daisies. She could recall the times when she would go with Monroe to the local flower garden and just sit there, admiring the quiet beauty. She smiled almost sadly, lightly brushing her fingers on the petals. The daisies were planted in the very center of all the flowers, acting as the centerpiece of the garden dedicated to her friend.

✧ Other:
none (yet >;D)

Daily July 2nd
653 words

“There are so many to devour,” Jase said, eyeing the new shipment of petalfruits that had arrived in the harbour that morning, face pressed against the window frame.
“We have petalfruits in the cupboard,” Kayla told him, glancing up and meeting his hopeful gaze. “We can get some more in a few days when I receive my commission."
“Fine,” Jase said, retreating back into the house to search through the cupboards.
He emerged with a decaying petal fruit that was probably once the same blush pink as the new ones that had just arrived in town.
With money tighter than ever across the entire island, Kayla was starting to worry she would never be paid for her dress. If she wasn’t paid, she couldn’t buy petalfruit for Jase. If she couldn’t buy petalfruit for Jase, he would die and her secret would be out.
While petalfruit was a rare delicacy for the rich which granted soft hair and glowing skin, and often enjoyed on the mainland by the royal family, it was all the only thing the fae could eat. And they weren’t supposed to be living unrestricted lives on the island the way Jase was.
He bit into the mushy fruit with a frown.
“Kayla, this one tastes weird,” he complained.
She sighed and brought it into the kitchen, cutting off the especially rotten parts and handing it back to him. Refusing to let the browned pieces be wasted, she swallowed them down before she could think about it. That took care of dinner.
“Go out and play,” Kayla said, ushering Jase out of the door into the sea-salt air and dirt roads. “Just be back by dark.”
He grinned and took off towards the harbour, leaving Kayla in peace to work on her latest gown. This one was special, a commission straight from the princess of the mainland. She couldn’t risk Jase tripping into her and spilling petalfruit juice on the expensive fabric she had saved up for or tripping over the gold thread she had traded for weeks of food. The design she had in mind this time was ambitious, to say the least, but she needed the money. She began to cut the deep red satin and fit it around her mannequin with care, and the hours slipped from her hands as she worked. Eventually, she emerged from the miles of fabric with a rough form completed.
Stepping back to admire her work, she realized the hour. It had fallen dark long ago, and Jase was nowhere to be found. Her heart picked up. Could he have been discovered?
As she rushed from the house, she tried to refrain from imagining their heads on pikes, side by side on the road. She went across the street and knocked on the door. Sometimes Jase liked to sleep over at the young boy’s house and she prayed it had happened once again. The boy’s mother opened the door.
“Kayla? What is it?” she asked.
“Is Jase over?” Kayla replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“I’m afraid not. I saw him go towards the harbour earlier, maybe he is still down there.”
“Thank you,” Kayla said, darting towards the sea visible from her kitchen window, Jase’s favourite place to be.
She flew down the sloped street and finally saw the busy harbour. The petalfruit boat was still there, but the workers seemed to be almost finished unloading.
“Jase!” Kayla shouted over and over, pacing up and down the harbour. “Jase!”
She was about to give up when she heard a reply.
“Kayla!” Jase screamed.
He was covered in petalfruit juice and standing at the edge of the shipment boat as it pulled away from the island.
“Kayla, help!”
He couldn’t get in the water or everyone would see his truth. His fae features would appear and their heads would be on pikes in the square. She had to get him.

Daily 2:

Mishearing lyrics is a common — and usually, an extremely funny — mistake. Today, imagine one of your most egregious misheard lyrics as a title, and write 500 words using it as a prompt. Doing this will earn your cabin 600 points, and you can earn an additional 200 points if you share proof.

Put the leeches to your hand, your team, your vibe


Our school’s Football team is called the Leeches.
Weird name?
Oh, you have no idea.

So, you know how highschool sports can sometimes be wayyyy too competitive? Well, our team had been losing the past few years. I didn’t really care, football was whatever. But the new football coach? He clearly did.
The old coach had, like, retired or something, and the new coach was… weird.
Everyone had rumors about him. That he was a NFL superstar player, for… some team, I can’t remember, or that he had been, but then he got kicked out for, like, I dunno, something. The reasons vary. Some people say he did some illegal stuff, I can’t remember what, or, more strangely, that he was some kind of monster or something.
I didn’t really believe any of it, but didn’t really like the new coach that much either, he kinda had a… weird vibe, and not in a good way, but I didn’t interact with him much. We had a separate PE teacher (she also trained the cheerleaders), who was pretty nice, as far as PE teachers go. A little weird, too (Like, how much self defense training do highschoolers even need?), but nice overall. But I could tell she didn’t much like the new football coach much, either.
But anyway, he became coach, somehow changed the team name to the Leeches (which is like, what? Why would name your team the Leeches???), and then the team started winning. Which was fine. As I’ve said, I do not care about football. But the players started acting… weird too.
They were all really focused on winning. Like, sure they been before, but now that seemed to be all they were interested in, and they aren’t really paying attention to anything but football. I heard one of the girls in the hallway talking “Greg isn’t answering my calls or texts! And he ignores me whenever I try to talk to him!” (Greg is one of the football players I’m pretty sure, and I’ve seen these people together, so they must be friends or something). Other people seemed to be getting suspicious too, especially the cheerleaders and our PE teacher.
Anyway, one day, after PE, I remember I had left my bag in the gym. So I went to go get it. I heard some voices from inside the gym. That’s a bit weird, I don’t think there’s another class going on in there right now. I thought. But it was probably just some cheerleader or some other sport practice. So I went to get my bag anyway. The voices were beginning to sound louder, and angrier. I pushed open the heavy gym doors.
And there was the football coach, and our PE teacher, arguing loudly in the middle of the room, with the cheerleaders on the one side, looking irritated, anxious, or worried, and the football players on the other side, looking… honestly, not looking like much anything. Looking kinda… stiff and possessed, to be honest.
And there I was, standing awkwardly in front the gym doors, as it appeared that the football coach and PE teacher were about to have football player cheerleader war in the middle of the gym.
One of the cheerleaders notice me, and looked over at me, whispering to the other cheerleaders. Soon, everyone was looking at me
Great.
“Uh… Hi.” I said, pressed up against the doors, staring at the football and PE teacher who were both staring/glaring at me.
“What are you doing here?!” Snapped the football coach.
“I… uh… came to get my bag” I said, pointing hesitantly to my bag, sitting in the corner.
After a moment of silence, our PE teacher sighed “Just get your bag and go.” She said
“No, no, she can stay” The football coach said, looking very very creepy. “You can see our practice”
“Uhhhh… no thanks” I said, running and grabbing my bag.
“You are not going through with this!” Our PE teacher said to the football coach, seemingly going back to their argument. I looked around at the cheerleaders, and then at the football players, and gasped.
“Oh my god, are those leeches?!” I pointed to the football players’ hands, which looked to each have a black leech on them
“Oh, well, now we have to kill her.” The football coach said
“Wh-What?” I said, feeling increasingly worried as I glanced between the football players and their coach
“I’m going to have to kill you” Our PE teacher said, crossing her arms and scowling at the football coach
“Um…” I glanced between them nervously
“You came here, and possessed the football team! It’s a good thing I’ve been training the cheerleaders in monster fighting, since we’ve had to stop you from killing three people already!” She snapped at him.
“Ugh, you act like that’s such a bad thing! Your football team were a bunch of wimps before I came, and now they’re winning!”
“You possessed them!”
“UGH, I’m only here because I got kicked out of the NFL for tax evasion! I don’t want to be teaching these shrimpy little kids! I want to be winning! And I can’t make these highschoolers win with out a bit of possession!”
“They don’t need to win! They’re kids, let them have fun!”
“Um… Can I go?” I asked, interrupting their argument
“No!”
“Yes!” They yelled at the same time.
“Football players, attack!”
“Cheerleaders, to me!”
And I bolted from the gym as possessed highschool football players and monster fighting cheerleaders went to war.





Well, they must’ve won, since all the cheerleaders and our PE teacher are still here, and the football players are back to normal
Plus, there’s a new football coach after the previous one “took a surprise vacation” and “announced his retirement”.

Highschool went back to normal after that, although I then had a much bigger appreciation for all the self-defense training in PE, and for the cheerleaders.





(989 words.)

hi I'm new and commented to sign earlier plz check
_____________________________
hi this is not related to what you see above this is my personality
DARKSIDE: (cant share much its very dark tho this is the source of my most emotionless)
BRIGHT SIDE: creative awesome happy Grifftopian lol

daily 2! misheard lyric: "gave my heart a fear of stipulations' instead of ‘gave my heart with zero stipulations’
it's a bit of a stretch ahaha and i'm not too proud of it… but that's okay ;D

Last year, I was carefree and in love.

Beau had given me a grand confession of love, professing his feelings through song in front of my house on the morning of February 14. We kissed. He asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes.

Beau was charming and handsome. I fell for him. Hard.

He was jealous of other guys, though. Threatened to call it off whenever I so much as waved at one. I would apologize, though, and he would accept it. Kiss me again. Tell me he loved me.

We were together for the rest of the year. We kissed every day. We had date nights once a week.

Beau caught me striking up a conversation with Aaron one day. We had known each other for a while, and he wanted to congratulate me on getting into the theater program.

Beau pulled me away with a forced, fake smile. Dropped it as soon as we were out of earshot, his eyes rough and steely.

“What the heck, Summer?” he breathed out.

“I-I'm sorry. I really am,” I stammered.

He shook his head. “You said that last time.”

“He's just a friend, Beau,” I pleaded.

“Sure,” he said bitterly. “Next thing I know you'll be kissing him behind my back. And then where will we be?”

“That's not going to happen,” I said firmly.

“Like heck it's not,” he replied. “I'm calling it off.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I said I'm calling it off!” he said, his voice rising.

I stepped back. “Beau, what? Where did this come from? He's my friend. I'm allowed to have friends.”

He looked me in the eye and shook his head again. Stepped back. Left me standing there.

I wasn't carefree and in love anymore. And maybe I wasn't ever truly in love with Beau— maybe I was more in love with the idea of him. But it didn't matter. Whatever the past was, her reality was the same.

I was alone.

It's been a year now. I've met a few people, but I still feel alone.

I'm sitting at a lunch table, surrounded by people I don't really know.

I chime in occasionally, but I'm not really listening.

Lunch ends quickly. So does the rest of the day.

Aaron runs up to me after the last bell. He's been doing that lately.

“Summer! Wait up!”

I turn around. “Hey.”

“Are you free this evening?”

I blink. “Uh. For what?”

“I was thinking you and I could… I don't know.. go for some coffee?” he asks, his face hopeful.

He's asking me out. On a date. My heart rises up to my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it's useless.

I'm not ready to fall in love again. Not after Beau.

“Let me check my calendar,” I stutter.

I know I'm free today. But he doesn't know that.

I grab my phone, pretend to look at my Google calendar.

“Whoops, looks like I've got a dinner date with my mom.” I give him a weak smile.

“Oh. Okay.”

His face falls.

A sharp pang of guilt hits me, but I shove it away.

“Sorry!” I say, turning around and opening my car door.

I can't fall for someone again.

Everyone has stipulations. I can't risk not being able to meet them.

──★ ˙ misheard lyrics daily
580 words … july 2

Today, imagine one of your most egregious misheard lyrics as a title, and write 500 words using it as a prompt. Doing this will earn your cabin 600 points, and you can earn an additional 200 points if you share proof.

I got dumb hair; I wanted normal hair

With a sigh, Jungkook stared at himself through the reflection of a mirror. He touched the strands of the macaroni that flowed from his scalp. The pasta was supposed to be his hair, which he was blatantly annoyed at. If only he has the soft hair or fun colors that the other members had on their head. Why did he have to be the odd one out?

“I wanted normal hair…” he mumbled, with tears threatening to fall from his eyes. RM, the leader of the group, came over to him in an attempt to comfort the maknae.

Grabbing his shoulders, RM made him look at him in the eye. “Jungkook, I don't care if you have normal or macaroni hair. Either way, you are the perfect member for this group,” he comforted.

“Your looks don't affect your voice, and ARMY loves you either way. We'll find a way to restore your hair back to normal, I swear,” RM promised, although that didn't seem to help him.

“I… I just wanted- wanted normal hair.” Jungkook's voice cracked as tears slid down his face.

“Shhh… don't cry.” RM wiped away the tears with a tissue. “It'll be alright…”

Suddenly, Jin burst through the door of the practice room, holding a bottle of an unknown serum in his hands. “Guys!!” he yelled eagerly, and RM frowned at his insensitivity.

“Can you calm down? Jungkook isn't really happy right now,” he scolded, and Jin just sighed, deciding it wasn't worth the argument. “I think I found a cure to Jungkook's little… situation,” he explained in a quieter manner, gesturing towards the abnormal hair.

RM nodded and grabbed the bottle. He opened it, revealing a light amber liquid. “Where'd you get this from?” he asked, looking up at the older one. Jin just ominously smiled, simply telling him that a certain somehow gave it.

With a deep sigh, he dripped a little bit of it onto Jungkook's head. In an instant, his hair turned back into the normal. It was no longer made out of pasta but was the familiar dark color that he had since birth.

His face lit up at the sight of the restoration, and tears no longer slipped down his cheeks. “Thank you, hyung!” he gratefully exclaimed, beaming with joy at the result. “I thought I was gonna have macaroni-hair for the rest of my life,” he confessed.

“Never doubt your hyung,” Jin reminded with a cheesy smile.

“Hmmm… What if I made a song about this?” RM chimed in with a sudden idea. They were about to launch a new album, and he needed some concepts to base songs on. Perhaps this little mess Jungkook got into could be an inspiration. It was unique, and something the members—especially the maknae could pour their emotions into, considering they experienced it firsthand.

Jungkook groaned. “No, that's embarrassing! ARMY will definitely make fun of me, and it'll ruin my idol image!” he protested, refusing to let RM write a song about it.

“I think we have bigger things to worry that ruined our image than a macaroni hair incident,” Jin scoffed.

RM listened to Jungkook's complaint and thought for a compromise. “How about I just add a little Easter egg? Like it'll be referenced, but subtly so only we and the company know,” he suggested.

Jungkook begrudgingly nodded. “Ugh, fine. But only I can sing it,” he agreed bitterly.

And thus, those certain lyrics from Dope by BTS were born.

580 words