Critique for Gigi!

Hey Gigi!! To start this off, I’ll just let you know that I’m gonna do less of a line-by-line format and just mention what I had in mind in general—hopefully that works for you :>

So with structure and story, I think that the storytelling was done very well! The balance between action and reminiscence was very well done. I love how you started with the mention of the ribs, it really got my attention and it was a great set-up for the atmosphere of the story!

Similarly, the themes are pretty subtle but expressed in just the right amount with both the backstory and the present-day! I especially like how you conveyed them through the little details: this is just my interpretation ahaha but I saw both the lipstick and the grandma’s ribs as symbols. And great work with emotion and character dynamic! Both were done amazingly, and I definitely felt how Laura really loved Ximena.

Speaking of which, there was mainly just one thing I really wanted to ask about. Ximena was referred to as Laura's sister only once, and I was actually kinda confused on whether it was symbolic, or they were literally sisters? If it was the latter, I felt that the reveal was a bit weak—like it didn't really matter either way if they were sisters, if that makes sense? I remember being mildly surprised at the fact that they were related (before I considered that they might not be literally sisters ahaha) and didn't really give much more thought to it, seeing how close they already seemed. Maybe you can withhold more backstory info if you intended it to be more of a surprise, but keeping it as is doesn’t undermine the themes or character dynamic at all!

Also extremely tiny nitpick but I don't think Google Maps show the closing times of residential buildings, assuming you were trying to hide the fact that it was a graveyard? But then I could be wrong and either way, it's a really tiny thing. Also, I wasn’t sure if you meant undertaker when you said caretaker, or if it was also part of the red herring.

Can I also just say a couple of words about the ending? It was absolutely amazing—the vibes are amazing and the tone of the dialogue is just so familiar, you can really see how the two characters feel about each other!

Overall, this was a really nice fic that I had a great time reading, and I hope this helped!

MC Daily 3/11 – Introspection

219 words! context: i'm currently taking a class on homelessness and it is so fascinating and so depressing at the same time.

She ambles through the dark streets. She will have to arrive back at the shelter soon, or else she would be left out to be at the mercy of the wanderers of night.

Most of them are not malevolent, she knows. Only most.

How many uncountable times has she walked the same path in the same fading light? How many uncountable times has she reminisced about the not-so-faraway past, when she had security, comfort, safety?

Headlights emerge on the end of the nearly empty street, and she shields her eyes from the blinding lights. Soon. She is a mere block or two away.

She remembers being proud of her achievements. Good grades. What can grades do for her now? There is not enough stability in her life for her to keep going to the place of good grades, the place of former friends.

And yet she has met new people. She thought she never would, not in this environment, but there were those who pitied her, took her under their wings. And there are those who saw her as a friend, as an equal.

Suffering loves company, she recalls with a bitter smile. Or at least something along the line.

Well, if this is to be her life, she might as well find some sort of happiness from it.

MC Daily 3/13 – Profile Inspo

used the soa quote from alia's profile hehe - “two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk”
467 words! i wanted this to be cool and mysterious but it kinda accidentally turned into half-comedy oopsies (theo needs to learn how to find a pulse)

It was on a quiet evening when Theo Chandra was walking along the water's edge. The sun perched just in the middle of the river's course into the flatlands, dragging the blue of the sky down into a sea of fiery orange. It was a place of peace, he supposed. Peace was all too rare in these parts in these times, with the Scarlet Moon's forces preparing for what was rumored to be a grand conflict.

Theo thought that it was nothing so grand. Nothing that preposterous. But it was certainly bad news he heard about the Organization, bad news he heard from his brother.

He would've continued ambling on, lost in his thoughts, had he not caught sight of something floating down the river.

It was a small log, evidently from a young tree, but it was still enough to keep afloat the figure draped across it. In the fading light Theo could see them reaching up their hands, as if trying to call for his help, but then their fingers went limp.

“Hey!” he called out, hopelessly hoping that whoever it was would be able to hear him.

But nothing. He leaned closer past the edge of the riverbank, reaching out an arm. They seemed to be unconscious, but alive or dead he couldn't tell. Unfortunately, he couldn't reach the log, and there was nothing long enough around for him to be able to push it towards him. There was only one thing to do, really.

Wincing as he stepped into the river, Theo waded deeper and deeper in until the water threatened to reach his chin. But it was enough. He seized the bottom of the log and pulled it closer to shore. Thanks goodness the currents weren't as strong this time of the year; otherwise, he could've ended up just like this poor person floating on a log in what was essentially the middle of nowhere.

So he dragged the log onto the bank and, remembering how he had seen the nurses do this once, put his fingers to the person's neck, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Theo checked his own pulse first—and found that he had in fact placed his fingers on the wrong part of their neck. To his great relief, when he tried again, he found the rhythm: weak, but certainly there.

He examined the person more carefully. Their light hair, half-red, half-blonde, was short and waterlogged, covering much of their face. There was a loose petal or two embedded within it as well, although most of them seemed to have been lost to the waters. Lucerne petals, if Theo's long lessons in the gardens had taught him right.

And then he realized that perhaps he should bring them to someone more qualified to deal with drowned strangers.

Weekly 2
Flower

363 words!!

It was a lovely Saturday morning—not that the days of the week had so much meaning as they once had before the war. Despite this, there was a certain cheerfulness in the air. It was the first day of sun after a long week of rain.
“But I like the rain,” Alinia said plaintively.
“I used to like the rain too, before it made everything damp and moldy,” Gertrud replied, gazing absentmindedly at a juniper bush where birds were chirping. “Not good for infections, if you ask me.”
Alinia winced. Right. Infections. The important things. Gertrud seemed to have found her work passable for the most part, and she was kind. But Alinia wasn’t exactly the most serious person on the job, and she knew it herself.
“Anyways, how are you doing?” she asked Alinia, sounding decidedly more gentle.
She was taken aback by the question. “Well, I suppose,” she replied. “Well enough for a war anyway.”
Alinia didn’t think particularly highly of her own quips, but she could see Gertrud smile just a little. “I hope so. I don’t really think I am, but that is something I will have to work on myself.”
“You don’t have to do anything yourself,” Alinia responded, feeling slightly puzzled. “There’s me, and Charlotte. If you ever need anything, I mean-”
“I’m not sure you can help, Alinia.”
“And I’m sure I can, somehow,” she said resolutely.
Gertrud gazed at her. “Alright.” A pause. “I just… alright. I’m becoming friends with someone who I did not expect to be friends with, and I’m with my best friend from home, and I don’t want either of them to get hit by a bullet again. Now unless you have a charm that’ll protect you from bullets for sure, which I doubt, I don’t know how you can help me.”
Alinia stared at her for a moment. “Yeah, I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” she replied. “I can say with absolute certainty that no one has ever been hit by a bullet around here!”
Gertrud paused for a full second before she laughed. “I really appreciate you, Alinia.”
“I think you appreciate your gillyflower pot more,” she returned.



Constellation

335 words!!!

One night there was some random toad dude named Bufo who hopped around a marsh happily, enjoying his blissful toad life.
But then suddenly out of nowhere some ALIENS showed up!!
Bufo looked up at the aliens curiously as they started descending from their spaceship onto the land.
“Hello, aliens,” he said in a toady voice.
The aliens jumped as they saw Bufo, who was chilling in all of his toad-like glory.
“What may you be, creature?” the alien in the front said.
“I'm Bufo,” Bufo said happily. And toadily. Because he was a very toady toad.
“Glaxathor, WRITE THAT DOWN!!! The inhabitants of this planet are called Bufo,” the alien said eagerly to their companion, who obliged and scribbled down notes in a weird-looking alien notebook.
Bufo ribbited (do toads ribbit though??) and turned away, hoping that he was done with this whole thing.
“Not so fast, Bufo member,” the alien who had been speaking the whole time said to Bufo. “You shall come with us up into our spaceship.”
Bufo didn't think he had a choice. He tried to hop away, but Glaxathor scooped him up quite rudely, and the two aliens teleported back to their own spaceship.
“Now, you will stay here with us for further study,” the alien instructed Bufo.
But they kept them there for much much longer than he could tolerate. Time lost meaning, and Bufo quite honestly just wanted to be back in his little marsh. Unfortunately, the aliens were determined to keep him there, saying something about how they finally found a subject that was tolerable enough for keeping around and questioning endlessly.
Finally, Bufo had had enough.
He located an emergency exit of some sort on the spaceship, yanked it open, and was gone before Glaxathor could catch him.
In the vast expanses of space, he was turned into a constellation named after himself!! And there he sits to this day, happy to be free of the aliens but longing for his marsh all the same.



Aesthetic rawr

picrew used: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/165901
everything else is from google/pinterest!!



SWC fanfic

691 words omg so cool

SOOOO sandy and ceeslay hedaed out to the very slay place that they've heard about called the transable world. which sounded somewhat strange so sandy decided that it shall be called the transferable world!~~
“Because i think that was what I was referring to earlier,” she explained to ceeslay and the frog that they had encountered earlier in their adventures (whifhc, for anyone reading this alone for the weekly, there is a prequel to this that sandy had written during cabin wars!~~! you should check it out).
“oke dokie let's go to the transferable world,” the forg said happily
so the trio headed to the transferable world. true to be told, as the frog had told them the truth or whatever, there were indeed a bunch of frogs in the transeraberl world!!! there were chaotic arson frogs and mango frogs and mango marcsen who was actually not a frog but because he was very iconic he was still at the transferable world. in short, there were a bunch of sparkly iconic things in the transferable world!!
“omg this is literally so cool,” sandy said happily as she jumped around the tranferabler world because she wanted to copy the frogs who were jumping around cooly. unfortunately because sandy was not a frog she couldn't jump as cooly as they but she still did an okay job jumping around if she thought so herself
“yes we should go around and see more frogs” ceeslay said.
“does everyone said things here too??” sandy asked the frog
“yessir,” sandy said. I mean the frog said.
“erm actually don't misgernder me,” sandy said sadly.
“sorry but yessir sounds objectively better than yes ma'am” the frog pointed out.
“ok tea bee ache that is pretty fair!!” sand said.
“ok glad we got that sorted out,” forg said. “gender doesn't matter anyway!!@!!!!!”
“gender is a social construct,” ceeslay said in agreement.
“okie yes now we shall go around and-'
but before the frog could continue, there was a sudden interruption
”guys!!! IT'S BUOF!!!! bufo is back from the skies!!!!“ some frog priestess or whatever said.
”uhm actually bufo isn't a god or anything,“ the frog that sandy and cleeslay first met said to the frog not-priestess with a raised eyebrow. because i guess frogs in the transferable worlds have eyebrowS!!!!!!! wow that was literally so cool!!!!
”i'll have you know that we actually don't have eyebrows,“ the not-priestess said haughtily
”erm no that doesn't sound right i think we do have eyebrows,“ the og frog said.
they quickly got into an argument, and so sandy and ceesaly wandered off to do their own thing in the transferable world.
”like we on't need the og frog to show us around right??“ sandy said to ceeslay.
”i agree1!!“ ceeslay said brightly. ”we can do our own thing.“
so they just walked around happily unit they realized that they should probably get back home!!! to swc and all of their swc besties
unfortunately however without the og fro they coulnd't actually get out of here
”erm i think we are in a pickle here,“ ceeslay said.
to get out of the pickle they asked random frogs on the street to help them out, but the frogs couldn't help them because they had been there their whole life!!! the frogs, not sandy and ceeslay.
”oh no i don't think we can get out of here,“ sandy said worriedly
but then a big toad landed in front of them with a flourish
”you gusy must be sandy and ceeslay the humans that had come into the transferable frog world!!“ he said in greeting
”yeah that's right!!!“ sandy said in confirmation.
”see the thing is for AGES i've been wanting to go back home but i couldn't. now that i finally am back i don't want the same thing to happen to you guys~~“
sandy and ceeslay nodded.
”so you guys can go back now~!!!“
bufo with his very cool powers managed to send sandy and ceeslay back to their own world
”omg that was so epic,“ sandy exclaimed
”we should do this again next time,“ ceeslay decided
”cabin wars???“
”cabin wars!!!!"

THE ENDDDDD

3/14 – Same beginning & ending

632 words!!

“Is it over now?” he whispered, voice breaking.

“No, it’s not,” Germain insisted, but he didn’t sound quite sure. “I’ll see you again, and you’ll see me again.”

“But when?”

“Soon,” he said. It was becoming obvious that he was convincing himself more than Simon.

Silence. Their eyes met, and Simon could see something approaching terror in Germain’s. A cold winter storm.

And then he pulled Simon into a sudden embrace. “I don’t want you to go.”

But there was only so much his influence as a minor officer could do. It was a miracle how they could have gotten here without suspicion and without death, and yet it wasn’t enough.

So Simon didn’t respond to the question. “I love you,” he said simply, and waited until Germain let go.



Germain returned to a warm welcome. Or as warm of a welcome that could be received up in these mountains in winter, anyway; Foch had been reassigned away from France and to Italy after the disaster of the Somme. Now, he greeted his protégé with no trace of the frostiness that he had shown during their parting a year ago.

Despite his de facto exile, the marshal worked faithfully with the Italians. Sometimes Germain would ask him about the battles fought in his absence, as he had only received limited information in Verdun, and Foch always satisfied his curiosity.

“I was wrong,” he said once, without further elaboration. It was not until Germain waited in silence for a few seconds until he continued: “The principles, they were wrong.”

Germain remembered the unceasing attacks the two sides made against each other at the forts, the embittered impasse that fell upon the countryside.

He didn’t know how to respond.

During the days in Italy, Germain would think about Simon. Every single one of them. He would fantasize about him perhaps arriving in this country, somehow transferred between nations. He would dream of the end of the war, when they could perhaps tearfully reunite on a train station, all notions of violence and borders forgotten. He thought of Alinia, too, how she might return with a bullet lodged in her ribs and laugh about it all the same.

Of course, it was not long until Foch was reappointed in the wake of Nivelle’s failures, and Germain returned with him and the rest of his staff. The Americans have joined the war, and the Allies seemed poised on the brink of a great offensive, a great victory, as time marched into the next year.



“Simon Albrecht?”

Simon’s attention turned to the guard in front of him. He had been zoning out again, thinking about all of the delightful foods he would be eating soon. Of course, the camp wasn’t exactly starving its prisoners, but he wished he had more strawberries. Germain hated strawberries for some reasons, and he could never figure out why…

And he took the letter in his hands. Mama’s letter had just arrived yesterday; did she have urgent news?

But the letter strangely had no return address. He opened it cautiously, wondering who exactly sent it-

Germain.

It was his handwriting, and in his curving letters he explained how he wouldn’t know if Simon sent anything back. For his part, Simon didn’t really mind.



(huge time skip sorry don’t have time to finish rn) (the grammar sucks too oopsies)


“Captain, the photograph,” Desticker said to him.

Germain glanced over at the group of French and British officers all standing in front of Foch’s train car.

This was the end. This was the end?

“Coming.”



There were whispers between the prisoners and the guards, catching fire in the kindling that were tired souls.

Simon watched the countdown as one of the prisoners who owned the watch updated on the minute every… well, minute.

And then it struck 11.

Simon felt lightweight.

“Is it over now?” he whispered, voice breaking.

is it over now from the vault taylor's version

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

is it over now from the vault taylor's version

erm actualy i've never heard of that…………………………..

MC Daily 3/15 – Ides of March

420 words!! omg i wonder who this could be

The marshal was walking through the streets of the city when he was stopped by a strange cloaked figure.

“Sir,” he said, and the marshal thought that this person seemed quite familiar. Yet he couldn’t place him. “I have important news for you.”

At this point, the marshal was quite confused about why this couldn’t be delivered straight to his office. After all, he was the ambassador, and if this had anything to do with his position then it likely shouldn’t be something to be uttered in public.

But no, the figure leaned into the marshal’s ear and whispered: “Today is the last day of your life. Come sundown, you’ll be dead. It’s for the best.”

He drew away before the marshal could even begin to process what he just said. “Goodbye, sir,” the figure continued in a louder voice, and melted into the streets—but not before the marshal caught a glance of a red tuft of hair from under the cloak’s hood.

That was quite the confounding encounter. The marshal stopped and pondered what he had just heard. He’d be dead by sundown? Was there a plot to assassinate him? But why him? Yes, he served in his nation’s government, but it wasn’t as if he was the prime minister. It was true that this decade was filled with unstable politics and pitiful defense, but surely it wouldn’t warrant an assassination?

In any case, he had to find a safe place. He wasn’t about to let this go so easily.

And so he returned to his office and instructed his secretaries that he was to return home early that day. The entire country and beyond were abuzz with the rumors of war, however. He was not likely to get his wishes satisfied. And then the marshal wondered whether the warning had anything to do with the war, and whether it really was a genuine threat. It must’ve been just an empty scare tactic, was it?

He spent the rest of the day communicating with the government, but he knew they were less likely to be allies to his homeland than enemies. Oh well.

And so he began crossing the street as the sun dipped lower in the sky. If he hurried, he would be able to return quickly, and then this whole death business would be over. Right?

The marshal turned. A car rushed towards him.

It didn’t slow.

A monocle reflected the sunlight.

The last thing he saw was the fading light glinting on the driver’s red hair.

MC Daily 3/16 – Another SWCer

334 words yippee
wow the quality of this writing is so zany

One zany day in the sunny place where she lived, Misty woke up!!!

As per usual, Sandy had already gotten up and left, because she had an eight am class which was rather unfortunate. Although she did also get up early on Tuesdays and Thursdays as well.

Anyways, Misty got up and did her boring morning routine, because it was just another day of school. As she headed out Sandy was already clacking away on her laptop doing some boring work.

After Sandy headed off to school (where she would surely be two minutes or so late to her class), Misty continued eating until she FINISHED eating. She fortunately wouldn't eat the same thing for lunch, because she was a public schooler and she would eat the cafeteria food!!! Which she often complained about and which did taste kinda weird, but oh well, it was food and it would be good enough for her growth?? Possibly??

But that was later. First, Misty had to get to school, and she got off the car as it parked briefly in front of the back gate. Then she went in and made the walk to her first class.

After her classes of the morning, recess, and more classes, she did get to eat!! She sat alone at her little table because she didn't really have anyone to sit with, quite unfortunately. And then she had her classes of the afternoon. Finally, she headed out to get picked up and carted off back home.

Home was boring, but Misty faithfully did all her easy middle school homework and waited patiently for Sandy to get home so she could play Project Lazarus on her laptop. Come home Sandy did, and they listened to random Taylor Swift songs together in the car! Misty did the goofy anthro and math that her parents forced her to do so that she could get into the same program as Sandy, but not before she gamed for an hour, and then she slept!!!! Wow!!!!!

omg prequel

One day there was a frog that hopped around like the frog that it was. It was fery foggy and green and froggy not foggy but I suppose a frog wouc be able to be foggy somehow I’m not sure how!! Anyways this frog was frogging around when it suddenly cnencountered a sandy and a ceelsay!!
“Omg hi sandy and dceeslay” the frog says
“Omg hi frog,” they both said back because they were very salysies and existent and they looked frogs. No i kean they liked frogs but my google docs decided to autocorrect my misspelling to frogs.
“But you’re frogction” the frog said.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” sandy said
“Do i look like I care,” the frog replied
“No,” ceeslay said.
“We should stop said’ing” sandy said
“But you just did???” the frog said in confusion.
“No but that doesn’t count,” sandy sadi.
“We should really stop saying said@!!!” ceeslay cried out in a very slay manner. I’m not sure how that would work but it just does I guess.
“No I won’t be able to,” sandy said.
“Very unfortunately,” frog said.
“Omg guys please stop,” ceeslay said. “Nooo i’m infected with the said virus.”
The said virus is a super virus that was only transable through FROGS!! Even though transable isn’t a real world! I mean word not world. Of course there isn’t a transable world…. Right??
“Omg we should actually go to a transable world,” the frog said. “You know there are lots of frogs in the transable worlds??”
“Wait thee are multiple transable worlds??” sandy said questioningly.
“Yes indeed,” the frog said.
“That sounds so slay,” ceeslay said like the slay person that they were@!! Omg literally so slay am i right guys or am i right.
“YOU’RE RIGHT!!!” the frog said happily
“Okay then let’s get going to the slay place where there are frogs and slyaness btu actually not really stalying because that’s not very slay” sandy decided

MC 3/17 – Hozier Lyric

“The memory hurts / but does me no harm”
horribly speedran and repetitive oopsies!!
321 words

The train station. Now that it was all over, it was where everyone gathered for the news.

Some who would be here, had they had someone to receive, were not. But eager families gathered around, waiting, waiting, waiting.

For her part, Alinia's father couldn't make it. Business matters, apparently. No matter, he'd be back tomorrow, and a reception that was a day late was far better than no reception at all, or for that matter, no son arriving back from the trenches.

The sheer joy on this platform was suffocating. Alinia almost felt as if these unknown strangers were all receiving her brother, and her too, present in the war but in some much-overlooked position.

Overlooked it was, but it carried the burdens of dark memories too. The burdens of nightmares replayed in her mind, in her waking moments, the fear that same round that arrived in the tent would find its way to her too—or even worse, Gertrud.

The train whistle. It snapped her out of her thoughts, and the next minute was unreal as she waited-

And then the moment of weightlessness was over, when Germain crashed into her and enveloped her in a hug.

“You're okay,” he said, or she said. They weren’t sure who said what. And it didn’t quite matter: what did was that they were safe, and their loved ones were safe; perhaps the following years would be filled with nightmares among a nation failing to unite for the future, but it would all be fine.

For it was the past that chased for their minds, but it was the present that truly held it, and nothing would ever change the fact that at this singular point in time, they were alright. They were fine. And everyone else in this train station, bundled up in tearful reunions, were fine too. The memories would keep way for just this moment.

Just this moment.

Wasn’t it enough?

mc daily 3/19 – atmosphere

character: young, quiet, kind
setting: dark, damp, dangerous
thesaurus'ed character: youthful, peaceful, thoughtful
thesaurus'ed setting: darkened, humid, hazardous

haven't written a max fic in a while :eyes:
okay i was thinking of wwi trenches but now that dangerous turned to hazardous i’m thinking of the backrooms??????????????????? OKAY LET’S DO THIS
601 words

He wanders the Backrooms.

He is unsure why he is here, how he has gotten here, how long he has been here: but from one Level to another, he has traversed the planes of space in this strange and deadly dimension.

His name is Max Lutz.

Max remembers little of his past life, his life in the trenches with those he had once called friends. They will probably never come for him, he had realized long ago. They must have searched, they may be still searching, but they will never find him in the Frontrooms. And so he has long since stopped hoping they will come.

Yet memories resurface occasionally: when he sits in the empty tunnels of the Hub, when he walks the halls of the Neon Express. Klaus and Kurt and Simon and Reinhard. What a lovely band they made, among all of the misery surrounding them.

And it is on the day that he finds himself in the Level of the pools that he remniscences yet again.

He has heard warnings from fellow wanderers about the Level, yes. There is a certain danger in the calm, in the deep and the dark. But he sits on a staircase in the strange light, dipping his boots into the cyan waters. When he gets out of this he'd have to get dry clothes. But for now he only sits and looks over the waters. He'd have enough time to think here, unbothered by wanderers and entities and dangers of the environment. In the brightly lit and shallow portions of the Level, there is peace and little else to be found.

But he sees a strange sight off in the distance. Something that appears to be a row of showers.

For all he has heard about the Level, he doesn't remember anything about showers in the descriptions.

The cat-like curiosity in him takes over. Truth be told, he stopped caring about his life long ago, even before he arrived at the Backrooms, but since then he had seen that life is hopeless to pursue in this dimension. There is nothing left to live for; there is no way he will ever return to his family and his friends. He was youthful, but his youth granted him only his newfound boldness, not the promise of life.

So he swims over to the showers, steps on, and-

A new Level.

He tethers on the edge of something, but finds his footing. The fog is overwhelming. He could no longer hear the rippling of water, but he was certain that there was more water in this Level.

He shouldn't step blindly here.

But step blindly he does.

He sees a rippling indigo, and then he hits water.

Quickly he reorients himself, pushing himself to the surface of the water.

But then the voices come:

“Max!”

And Max sees Simon popping from below the surface of the water, reaching out his hand. This can't be real, this can't be real-

“Come on! We'll come back this way, I promise.”

“Simon!” he screams, and he swims over, thrashing in the water.

“You'll be home again, Max. No war, no trenches,” Klaus whispers in his ear. He sounds rather sad.

“Don't listen to them, Max,” his mother pleads. “You have to get out of the water.”

The voices come on, layering on top of each other, and then more and more ghosts emerge from his long-lost past. Max is overwhelmed, and he clings to the edge of the pool, frozen by all of this.

And then a sure hand drags him out of the darkness closing in.

whats the second level…………..

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

whats the second level…………..

37.2…

MC Daily 3/20 - Villain

445 words! i have to censor names because it'll be WAY too cringe if i share them (either way this is already incredibly cringe lol) - buuuuuuuut i want my proof points :p

F lowered his eyes. “I do everything to benefit me. And my nation.” He looked back up, glimmer of hope peering through his otherwise despondent expression. “But I- I promise, I will not harm you.”

P knew he had the vampire at his mercy, and naturally, he hesitated. One usually wished for an alternative when the only option was death. But there would be questions asked, no doubt. And for the second time, he stepped back.

This time, F stayed down for a moment as he surveyed the figure towering above him. And then he stood up. For some reasons, P had the feeling that he might be simply faking his inability to fight back—a test, perhaps?

“Why do you want to destroy me?” the vampire asked, sounding exceedingly cordial given what had just transpired a few moments ago. “We’re allies.” His expression was open, yet still clearly guarded.

“Because your kind are murderers,” P replied shortly, taking a step back, still wary of what he could do.

“We would not be murderers if it means anonymity,” he huffed in reply. “Do you believe we all wish to rampage and murder?”

“Some of you must do.”

F tipped his head—an act of confusion, or a challenge? “I see.” He leaned forward, and P took yet another unconscious step back. He had heard of L’s exploits in fighting these monsters, but even in his case they were not always quite violent. Besides, this was a foreign nation. Anything could happen here.

“Do you think I became one willingly?” F continued, voice taking on a harsher tone. P had a feeling he knew the answer. “I was young, I was alone outside at an inopportune time. It didn’t go quite right, and now I’m trapped between mortality and the lack of. My other option? Death. Now you tell me—did I do this willingly?”

The two of them were face-to-face now. There was a certain glint in F’s blue-gray eyes, and he seemed poised to strike; P was prepared to meet whatever blow that might come.

But none did. F took a deep breath, and his expression softened again.

“I don’t seek to kill,” he concluded simply, and brushed past P on the way out of the door.

“I understand,” P said quietly in response, but the vampire was already gone. So that was… it. All that he had heard from J, all of those false assumptions he had made from W’s appearance. He had thought that the vampire was to be feared. Perhaps not.

Either way, the truth was that it was rather difficult to be fearful of one’s ally if a war was to be won.

bro…………………

A-Sad-Invention wrote:

bro…………………

i bet you don't know who i wrote about!!!!!!!

mc daily 3/21 - poem about passion

okay so this took me loads of time but is still really unpolished and inconclusive and maybe even a tad thoughtless - it’s okay i like the basic idea!!
essentially: “i don’t want to talk about ww2 sorry sandy” - my friend this morning
and then i went on a ramble wondering why i was so interested in such depressing stuff! and the same friend suggested that we should have a history class with only positive stuff :’D honestly that would be so amazing

rambling aside 217 words!!

sometimes i wonder
why
i am so fascinated by
the tales of sorrow
of blood spilled

so knowledgeable about
crimes of
ambiguous figures and ambiguous causes

i understand the unwillingness to discuss such matters
on an otherwise typical
wednesday morning
(the fog at the base of the hill long since dissipated)

i do not understand
my willingness to do so

-

my professor once confessed
(coincidentally on november ninth)
that the day’s class was always the most difficult-
and after grayscale photos and gruesome details
i could see why

it is one thing to learn of suffering secondhand
it is another to experience it:
for the love of all that is good in the world
i hope i never will

and the figures are hidden shadows
with clear pictures but a mere facade
i try to find the flawless heroes
but none emerge
(who could blame them when humanity was what it was?)

-

perhaps there won’t be an answer
perhaps the only thing to do is to unearth
the memories upon memories
laid in a scaffold

perhaps i can learn to understand
how morality is never quite changed through time
perhaps i can live with
the inherently somber and the deep
(for the two are not irreconcilable)

i will continue—
the world needs more to study its roots

why u cringe

MC Daily 3/22 - Pathetic Fallacy

268 words!!

The leaves whisper among themselves as the figure passes by. The wind grazes his ear, trying to tell him a forbidden secret, but he simply draws his scarf more tightly around his face. There. Nice and warm.

He heads in the direction of the offices. Perhaps he can find who he is looking for there.

With a gentle yet evident creak of warning, the door nudges open under his firm push. There is only dust here, billowing up around his figure as he disturbs it.

The spring afternoon sunlight seems to all but dissipate in this confined space, forsaking him in favor of safer winds outside. If the good must flee this place, then be it.

He steps inside, and for a moment the world seems to tilt dangerously on its axis as everything shifts, everything is different, why-

“Captain,” the man in front of him says.

“Marshal.”

The marshal turns. In the absence of light, he seems to look far more sinister than the captain would have expected. But the dust sidesteps the approaching figure, and some pathetic sliver of sun falls upon his weathered face, restoring to some semblance of geniality.

(It was all but hidden by the climbing anxiety)

“Why are you here?”

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“Leave,” the marshal replies, voice taking on a dangerous shift.

All around the two of them, the dust flees from the wind blowing in from the now-open windows of the offices. Wails of pain emit from somewhere in the office, and the captain finally feels the danger buzzing all around him-

“LEAVE.”

And then all is black.