(Written July 13th 2021- mcd, continue the dialogue. 400 words.)

What are you doing with that?!

With what?

That thing… in your hand! Don’t play innocent with me. That thing you are holding may cause the destruction of this whole world!

Somewhere on a bright neon planet, a man in a feathered hat was leaping through a dense jungle, somehow disguised in clothes shaded a similar jarring polychrome.

Carefully concealed in the palm of his hand was a small red crystal.

Jesus {Redacted}, how did you know? The shock of his friend suddenly intruding in his mind was enough to cause {redacted} to stumble and jump short, but he reached out and managed to catch the branch he had been aiming for, continuing the steady rhythm he had kept easily moments before. I made it invisible and everything.

It's what we came here for! I've been hunting for this for the past six months. You really think I wouldn't know if it just up and disappeared?

Somewhere on a bright neon planet, a cloak camouflaged a figure running along the forest floor, approaching a temple that seemed strikingly out of place. It was a dull shade of beige, the architecture plain, any signs of magic and life gone with the tiny octahedron. How have I ended up as the responsible one in this situation?!

Oh I'm sorry, were you going to be responsible with it? {redacted} snapped mockingly back, a touch hurt at {Redacted}'s mistrust. They had been working with each other long enough for this kind of miscommunication to not be a problem.

What did you think I was going to do with it? Blow the whole reality to pieces? The exasperation was almost audible through the mind link. It quickly faded into hurt as they both marveled at the brief moment of anger, something that had become almost non-existent at this point.

What possible motivation could you have for taking it, otherwise‽

I was going to destroy it!

… Really?

Of course, you imb-

Anyways, I don't think we can. Not here, at least. The quick connection was turning into a full-blown conversation, so {redacted} ended his traveling on a tree branch and interjected, grinning at the small tease.

You already tried? Did you use the-

Yep. Didn't work.

Dxmn. See, that's why I wanted to take it! If we can't destroy it here, we can take it with us and go dump it in a black hole or something. {Redacted} was now at the top of the temple, high above the canopy looking over the planet below. We should probably head off though, now that we have it. Here, hold on-

Briefly cutting off the connection, they opened their mind further and allowed their sense of self to expand outward, mingling with everything within a mile radius of the temple before pulling themselves back in.

Right, I know where you are now. With a quick step, {Redacted} teleported over to their partner. They briefly floundered on the unstable tree branch as it rocked back and forth, but the instability was expected and they quickly regained their balance. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” Grinned {redacted} in reply. “Last I checked, your only plan was ‘destroy it’. That doesn’t seem very specific, does it?”

“Oh, shut up.” {Redacted} smiled back, giving their friend a lighthearted shove in a response to the jab. “We’ll figure it out as we go on.”

“Because that’s so much better, is it?”

“Why you-” They shoved a bit harder this time, causing {redacted} to topple off the branch. At the last second he grabbed onto the hem of {Redacted}’s cloak, and they both went over, unable to contain their laughter.

As they neared the ground, the two got one last look at each other, smiling broadly, before they disappeared in a flash of light.

(+601 words, not including the original dialogue)

(Written July 14th 2021- MCD, comment four random words for someone to take as ingredients for a story. Then go pick four words from someone else. Write for 20 minutes and make their four ingredients play a significant part in your story. )

My words:
Windswept, starlight, serendipity, reflection.

@milkywaves':
forest | beach | news | present

Future:
On a beach that will one day be by a large, sprawling city. Two friends, one tall and one short, will: feel the grains of sand shift beneath their bare feet; feel the breeze rustle their hair; watch the sunset on that fateful day; share stories they didn’t get to experience together; wonder about the coming school year; joke and laugh and smile and
enjoy what will not last,
what didn’t last,
what has not lasted.

Nothing will last forever,
Nothing lasted forever,
Nothing lasts forever.

Past:
Through a forest situated closer to a wxr camp than one would have liked, a figure hidden by the shifting darkness of their cloak raced through the trees,
watching
watching
watching.

The massive deciduous was a perfect perch for any hoping to see the world from above, the new rays of the sunrise just beginning to filter in from beyond the horizon.

So they raced to it, pushing past the brush to reach, then climb and climb and climb until the peak of even the highest tree was naught but below.

Even from their high vantage point they could do nothing but look down, soaking in the grandeur of a yet unaffected forest before the loud din of gxnfxre would ring for the next 4 years.

What was yet to come, they must play no part in,
had played no part in,
play no part in.

Interfering will be a dangerous act,
was a dangerous act,
is a dangerous act.

Present:
In the crowded streets of Victorian London, the combined effect of smog and the clatter of horses’ hooves on cobblestone and the acrid tang of smoke is enough to overwhelm anyone’s senses.

The person standing in the shadow of an alleyway is oblivious to it all, letting all of the unnecessary information wash over them to instead read the newspaper they received from the stand of a newsie down the block. The filters they placed around themselves are effective, and they smile and pull down their hat to read the news in peace, free to ignore the clamor and chaos of the crowded city.

SHERLOCK HOLMES CATCHES KXLLXR IN THE ACT

The top headline catches their eye- this would certainly be considered sensational, wouldn’t it? The kind of thing that would stir up all those people on the higher end of the societal spectrum.

Perhaps this is the way they can catch him?

They have to go about it carefully,
they will go about it carefully,
They did go about it carefully.

Time tells,
Time will tell,
Time told.

(+428 words)

(Written July 16th 2021- mcd, write 250 words without using the same verb or adjective twice.)

God, THIS WAS SUCH A PAIN.


You see- this thing about crescendos: this way that they develop, rising uniquely every time- this growth really summarizes why I love music. Even when listening to the same recording on repeat, the exhilaration that arises from reaching the climax, the peak, feels breathtaking each time.

Even experiencing the small, slow growth of the more quiet crescendos also becomes rewarding in its own way.

The best way I saw it explained goes like this: Music = tension and release. You build the expectation, make the listener wait, and then when the payoff arrives it appears in one big amazing cathartic moment.

Maybe this principle explains why I find it hard to listen to music considered “conventional” and/or “popular”. I'm not trying to come off as disdainful to those who enjoy pop music or anything like that- Just as someone who grew up with a lot of different types of music in the house at once, music that sounds that similar to me seems repetitive, after a while.

Why repetitious, you ask? Well, chord progressions are the foundations of music. Standard chord progressions have been around for thousands of years, and though common, in the olden times these progressions elongated, playing out in long, elaborate phrases with dramatic, worthwhile endings. The pop music also uses chord progressions, but shorter versions which repeat in short sequences. You get the catharsis, but it doesn't resonate, nor hit as well.

Some pop music deviates from the normal four chord progressions or stretches them out, and plenty of music outside of that genre accomplishes this as well! And the average music shouldn't be called ‘bad’ or ‘simplistic’, either. It possesses its own merits, and I indulge in it all the same.

(+286 words)

(Written July 18th 2021- MCD, take some lyrics from a song and put it through Google Translate at least 5 times. Then write a short story based off of your new weird lyrics! 400 words.)

I’m using the song Wrapped In Piano Strings, by Radical Face.

Original lyrics, taken from genius.com:
I saw your father in the hall
His ghost is living in the walls
I heard him crying while you slept
I heard him breaking things after you left
I watched you crawl into my bed
With curses spilling from your head
You said, “We're just the walking dead”
So I pulled the trigger and we floated off

Into the air
Into the air
Into the air
Into the air
We're in the air
We're in the air
Up in the air
Up in the air

I used to worry about the time
That I lost my teeth along the line
So I carved the apple from my eye
And gave it to you before I went away
Blxxd ran into the kitchen sink
Your hand and arms are running pink
I sat and watched you as your ring
Slipped off and rolled across the kitchen floor

They cut your eyes wide open
And bore into your precious head
My reach don't go that far, dear
But please, oh please, don't let them in

I sank into the sea
Wrapped in piano strings
Few words could open me
But you knew them all
Now I just sleep beneath your floor
My ghost just tries to keep you warm
I've seen the end, I've lost the war
One day you'll join me here just like the rest

I hear the engines
They're roaring in our mouths
The smell of creatures
Are falling tooth and nail to get out
I see the airplanes
They're pouring from your chest
They fill the air
And burn and bury just like the rest

Translated into Russian, Japanese, Kannada, Scots Gaelic, Filipino, then back to English:
I met my father in the hall
His ghost lives on the wall
I heard him crying while you were sleeping
I heard he broke things after you left
I see you crawling on the bed
The curse pours from your head
You said, “We're just The Walking Dead.”
I pulled gravity and walked away.

In the sky
In the sky
In the sky
In the sky
We are in the air
We are in the air
In the sky
In the sky

I was worried about time
I lost my tooth on the line
So I took the apple out of my eye
And I gave it to you before I left
Blxxd flows in the sink
Your hands and arms are pink
I sat down and saw you wanted your ring
I slipped and rolled on the kitchen floor

It opened your eyes
And your precious head is pierced
Not far away from my range
But look, don’t mention

Drowned in the sea
Wrapped in piano wire
A few words might open for me
But you know them all
Now I sleep under your floor
My ghost is trying to warm you up
I saw the end, I lost the war
Someday you will come with me here like everyone else

I can hear the engine
They roast in the mouth
The smell of organisms
Flee from teeth and nails to get out
I can see the plane
They poured into your chest
They fill the air
And shoot like everyone else

(It should be noted that this is yet unfinished and the following is just my interpretation of the first stanza/the beginning of the story. I will finish this sometime, but not today. And since the rest will probably be published, I guess I'll just spoil the plot twist here: the protagonist is a dog. whoa.)


Another day.

I will have to be strong, if I want to get through this. I have made it this far, I am sure I can continue. For long enough, at least. Here I have food, and shelter, and there is warmth from the fireplace and a bed and- darkness and depression that you can’t handle and a neglectful-

… No. No, this is the place where I belong. I was born and raised here, this is the only place I’ve ever known, I’ve never been outside-

A small movement catches my eye, and I stop my pacing to look at the thing that’s startled me. I didn’t catch its scent before it entered the hall, which is strange but maybe it’s just-

It’s a ghost. It’s floating and see-through and scentless, so it must be a ghost. The fact that it’s my father confirms it. I’ve only heard him crying through the night for the past six months, so it’s strange that he’s chosen to show up now. Maybe he’s the one who’s been breaking all of the vases, the ones that I keep getting blamed for-

He speaks and his words reverberate in my ears, the wisdom only I can hear bouncing soundlessly through the halls
.
“Leave. Now, as I could not, before it’s too late to turn back.” The eyes of his painting on the wall swivel towards me, the impossible movement whispering to me in a chant I can’t shake out of my head.

Go. Go. Go. Go.

A door opens behind me, and I pivot around just as my father disappears in a flash of light and the painting resumes being a painting. This time I can smell the scent of the approaching figure, and my father’s warning sounds even louder in my ears as She beckons to me.

“Come on, Jeremiah. It’s about bed time now.”

No. No. It’s a bit early, I have to prepare myself! But She is beckoning, and so I must go. She will not be able to get through the night if I do not.

Must it be at my expense, though?

As I shuffle through the door She’s holding open, the sound of it closing behind me is enough to make shivers run down my spine. I have to do this.

… I have to do this, right?

She’s crawling into the bed now; there’s nothing I can do but jump into it after her. I flinch just slightly as She reaches out to pull me into her embrace, unable to tear my eyes away from the black that’s floating and pooling just outside of her head, the darkness that She cannot see.

The darkness that She’s about to share with me.

Getting her feelings out helps her a lot, I know- but I don’t think I can take them all. I don’t have anywhere to put my feelings, so how come She does?

… I wonder what would happen if I left. Maybe my father was right, maybe I should just- No, no. I couldn’t do that. Where would she be then?

… But maybe without me as her sponge she would finally get the help she needs.

The slow progression of the darkness towards me seals it. I cannot be the only way She can relieve herself of her feelings. There are other ways, I am sure of it.

I try to push my way out, but her grip is strong…
And so, panicking, I open my mouth wide and
bite her.

She wasn’t expecting that, and the momentary pullback is enough for me to leap out of her arms, charging through the door, and bounding through the hall, and out into the world.

Freedom.

(+619 words)

(Written July 19th 2021- Main cabin daily, revisit one of your previous writing pieces and pick out a short section of about 200 words. Read it over and pay attention to the sentence structures and lengths you used. Can the sentence structure use more variety, or be modified to fit with the pacing of the scene? Rewrite the passage you picked out. Rewrite 200 words.)

From the previous session, the first weekly-
Rain pouring down against the flimsy overhang of the coffee shop, {redacted character name :’)} sipped their hot chocolate slowly as they occupied one place of a two-seat table, not minding the lack of anyone else outside. Being alone was always preferable, even if it was only a fake feeling. Reflecting back on the strange look the barista had given them as a grown adult ordered a small hot chocolate, {redacted} harrumphed to themselves as they mulled over what they could have said in reply.

Coffee overloads my senses? It’s a bit dreary for something invigorating? They shook their head to clear it, berating themselves for spending even a little time thinking over something so pointless. Travelling in unknown cities is always hard when you don’t know the local customs.

But you used to live here. A small voice in the back of their head whispered. A long time ago.

Standing up and suddenly slamming their empty cup onto the table, {redacted} began to walk away from the cozy shop at a brisk pace, not really aiming for an end goal. Something from their previous time in the city must have stuck with them, though, because eventually they found themselves in front of the library.

Old habits dxe hard, I guess.

Rewritten:
The fat droplets of rain hit hard against the comparatively flimsy overhang of the coffee shop, taking their time to slide down along the thin plastic-covered fabric and splatter against the ground. Below the protrusion someone was sipping their hot chocolate. They occupied only one half of the two-person table, but {Redacted} didn’t mind; despite the slow traffic that was happening out on the road, the sense of solitude they felt anyways was real enough.

Their wandering thoughts lit upon the recent memory of the barista’s failed attempt to hide their judgement of a grown man ordering a small hot chocolate, to which {Redacted} emphatically harrumphed in response. How does one reply to a look like that? Coffee overloads my senses? It’s too dreary for coffee?

No, no. There was no reason to be thinking about that; they shook their head to get such pointless thoughts out. They were in a new city, that was all. Learning the norms of a place you have never been to before is difficult.

That quiet, suppressed voice in the back of {Redacted}’s head began to creep up again. But you have been here before. You used to live here, remember? A long time ago.

This unwanted wisp of thought was enough for {Redacted} to slam their empty cup onto the table, crushing the feeble paperboard and polyethylene ever so slightly as they simultaneously and abruptly stood up. They pushed their chair back and set off from the small business at a brisk pace. They didn’t really know where they were planning to go, but they knew it had to be anywhere but there.

Despite their forced wandering, however, {Redacted} eventually found their feet facing the public library,

and they knew something had stuck.

(+291 words)

(Written July 20th 2021- MC daily, based on the weather, write OUTSIDE a story with that weather. Make the mood of the story the opposite of that weather. 300 words.)

The lyrics in this piece are English translations of songs by the Japanese duo Yorushika, by EJ/bluepenguin. They are from Semi-Transparent Boy and Nautilus, respectively.



It is an interesting day today. The sun is shining, and the only clouds visible are the fluffy white ones in the distance, hidden behind mountains. The heat wave has only reached the midpoint of its duration, but the wind is blowing and the trees are swaying and the sky is almost entirely clear.

I wonder if anybody down below will go to the trouble of looking up…? I am a far ways above, granted. And yet- I am sure if anybody felt the sudden urge to look through a telescope into the clear blue, they would instantly notice the small pinprick that is the figure of a person standing in the empty air, far, far away.

Me.

I doubt anyone would, though. There is no obvious point in doing so, and even then there is no ready course of action for seeing a tiny dot in the sky that isn’t even that easy to identify.

I am entirely alone. There is an whole world below my very feet that I both know and don’t,
and I am alone.

I wonder what would happen if I were to fly down and just start blasting? Pull out all the stops and destroy everything in a maelstrom of fire and lightning. Would I consider it fun?

… That thought scares me. The fact that I’ve been playing god enough to think I have the right to eradicate whatsoever I choose.

The whole reason I come here every now and then is to remind myself exactly why I should never become an idealist, a “true hero” in the first place. Those who try to fix what is too broken only become a part of the problem, a cracked cog fitting into the fading music box.

And I am a powerful cog.

…

I feel like I’m going mad;
If I can’t see any love songs or world peace,
they’re transparent
Then they might as well not exist at all.

Coming here was a mistake; I’m only getting unpleasant memories and reminders of my inhumanity. I already know what I must be, I must simply make sure that I do not forget.

I will not make the mistake he did.

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

With a sudden resolution in their eyes, they step forward off their unseen platform, for a second falling
falling
falling,
then there is a flash of light, and they port away.

Somewhere below, someone is playing music.

At this speed I swim through today,
And if my hand finally touches you…
Come on, open your eyes
And see that I’ve forgotten you.


(+375 words)

(Completed July 24th 2021- Weekly of July 17th, create a choose-your-own-adventure story!
Edited Aug. 12th 2021- Noticed an error due to copy+pasting.)

Step 1: 353 words
In Choose Your Own Adventure stories, it's important to give a lot of detail surrounding where the character is, what's happening to them at the moment, how they're feeling and what their options are. Write a scene that could be right before a choice in your choose your own adventure story. 300 words.


Evening is falling; having finally reached the city after days of walking, you enter the first tavern you find: The Rearing Ram. The loud metallic shriek the door gives as you open it is a good sign of much use, but even it is not enough to muffle the sudden noise coming from inside- the mutter of numerous patrons in conversation, the crackle of a roaring fire, the clink of coins against the countertop. You take a deep breath and stride inside, preparing for your return to civilization after a week of hacking and slashing your way into the wild.

The onslaught of noise and smells and sights swamps you and causes your mind to reel briefly, but blinking your eyes is enough for you to regain your bearing in the face of the overwhelming sensory overload from what you can now see to be a crowded pub, with mugs of mead and tankards of ale sloshing about, bowls of beef stew and massive loaves of bread taking up the tables, and people everywhere. Chatting and stomping and laughing, all manner of adventurers and tradesmen and travelers mingling together.

Your stomach rumbles at the sight and smell of so much food after a week of measly rations at the same time your mouth salivates at the idea of finally having some good brew. You’re about to head to the bar to order some food and drink of your own, maybe talk to the bartender about the news they’ve heard, when you stop and notice a pair of cloaked strangers- hidden in the shadows of the corner farthest from the fireplace- staring intently at you from their cleared table. They could be focusing on anybody else in the room, but they’re fixated on you. From the little of their faces you can see, you don’t recognize them.

What do you do?

- Go sit at the bar alone and get a drink, try to talk to the bartender. (Proceed to A.)
- Go straight to the suspicious people in the corner, ask them who they are and what the heck they’re doing. (Proceed to B.)
- Get a meal and join some people at their table. (Proceed to C.)

Step 2: 229 words
Not all, but most choose your own adventure stories are written in second person. Write a 200 word scene in second person, focusing on portraying the main character in a natural way.

The soft rustle of the leaves as the breeze brushes past catches your attention. The only audible sound in a three-mile radius is the faint breath of the wind and the quiet chatter of birds in the background, so the gentle tickle of the whispering air followed by a rain of oak leaves is a welcome addition to the already beautiful landscape. The first few rays of the sun are just barely reaching above the hills to the east; they're bathing everything around you in a soft golden light.

Your home, the surrounding forest, the lake and the treehouse and the shed… It's almost as if the sun knows you are saying goodbye.

You've checked and rechecked your pack multiple times already, and your trusty ax has finally been secured to your belt with some rope.

You're set. You're ready. The only thing left to do now is head off. Take those first few steps. Leave behind the only home you've ever known.

… That shouldn't be too hard, right?

Deep breath in. Hold. Out. Repeat.

This is it. You can do it. You are prepared and the only thing to do now is make that one final leap of faith.

Once you set off, you won't look back.

Deep breath in. Hold. Out. Repeat.

“Mom, I'm going!”


You step forward into the unknown,

and you don't look back.

Step 3: 196 words
Make a diagram or plan of some kind where you plan out the rough scenes and choices in your story. Your story will need at least 4 endings, and the reader will need to make at least two choices no matter what path they take - so you'll need at least three choices.

I have this on paper, but cubeupload isn’t working. Here’s a rough transcript, I’ll update with the image if I can get it:

Start: Atop a mythical mountain, you finally find the stash of the legendary King _____.
- A) Inspect treasure chest
- B) Pull the sword from the stone

A- There’s a lot of your standard treasure, but also a weird dagger…
- C) Dagger’s probably not worth much, toss it out and head home
- D) Inspect the dagger

C- Well, you’re rich now. {End}

D- aaaand now an ancient eldritch being sealed within the dagger has latched onto your soul.
- E) Drop the dagger and put up all the mental/magical barriers possible.
- F) They don’t seem overly hostile… Negotiate?

E- Whew, seems they’re gone. {End}

F- Somehow, you’ve ended up eternally bound to serve this cosmic horror. Apparently they’re very good at negotiating. {End}

B- Well, according to some ghosts you are the long-lost heir to the fracturing kingdom.
- G) Nooope. Jam the sword back in.
- H) Good. The fiefs are in need of unity.

G- Oh wait, nevermind. {End}

H- Having descended the mountain, the barons are now arguing over your right to the throne.
- I) How dare they! Prove your authority through battle.
- J) This isn’t worth it. Leave them to their squabbling and found your kingdom somewhere else.

I- Well, it’s all out war now. Oops. {End}

J- Though it’s slow going, your new kingdom begins to prosper under your rule. {End}

Step 4: 1580 words
Write out your plan! 1000 words.

Start:
After much journeying and toil, you've finally reached the peak of the Mythical Mountain: the legendary location of King Armine's lost stash of treasure.

Getting there hasn't been easy; you have fought horrific monsters and scaled unimaginable heights, but standing where you are now, it all almost seems worth it.

The entire peak of the mountain is covered in gold and silver and rare jewels, a sea of treasure just waiting to be explored. Its shiny splendour is almost blinding.

There are two things that catch your eye, the only other objects in the room, despite the bright yellow glow; a sword lodged firmly in a stone in the center of the pile of coins, and a treasure chest sitting atop the mass of precious metals. Neither look particularly difficult to get to.

- Inspect the treasure chest. (Proceed to A.)
- Pull the sword from the stone. (Proceed to B.)

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

A- You wade your way carefully through to the chest where it sits above the coins, pulling out your lockpicks in anticipation of some obstruction.

When you get there, you see are partially correct: there is a lock, but it is old and rusted and worn from age. Gritting your teeth and squatting low is enough for you to be able to prise open the lid of the chest with the loud squeak of rusty hinges.

You find some interesting loot: the majority of the treasure inside seems to be your usual bejeweled chalices and the like, your standard treasure and the same as the treasure piled on the mountain, just conveniently placed in a package you can carry.

The strange thing is the dagger sitting at the very top of the chest's holdings. It is long and ornate, its hilt embellished with spiralized silver and its handle inlaid with gold.

What strikes you the most, though, is the massive, blinking eye in the center of its pommel.

- Dagger’s probably not worth much, toss it out and head home. (Proceed to C.)
- Inspect the dagger. (Proceed to D.)

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

C- The piercing stare of a dagger, of all things, is causing you to feel uncomfortable, and it only takes you a second to decide whether or not it's staying in the chest. You don't want to carry it around the whole journey down the mountain. It's not coming.

The rest of the loot certainly looks appealing, though, and hoisting the chest in your arms, you begin your way back down to your hometown.

Upon your return you are greeted warmly by the town, one because no one has thought you would return, and two because you've just brought a massive treasure chest into a small town with a slow economy.

With a bit of careful budgeting, the treasure allows you to live in comfort for the rest of your days.

{End}

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

D- There's something about the dagger that calls to you… the amber eye pierces into your soul, gazing intently up at you.

In the deep recesses of your stomach, you feel something latch onto your soul.

"Who are you to find my jail, child? No one has come to Shesith in 500 years…"

There is just the most gentle pull from the jaws attached to your life force, the smallest tug at what makes you human.

- Drop the dagger and put up all the mental/magical barriers possible. (Proceed to E.)
- They don’t seem overly hostile… Maybe talk for a bit? (Proceed to F.)

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

E- With a start, the dagger clatters onto the gold-covered floor as you leap back and slam all of the mental and magical barriers you know up into place. Nope. Nooope. You don't want to get into any of that “bound eldritch entity” business; it was enough just getting up this mountain.

Slowly, you realize the presence latched onto your soul has disappeared, and you breathe a quick sigh of relief now that it's gone. Magical monsters are the worst; getting ensnared in the world of the gods is a nasty business.

Well, if that's the only strange thing about the chest, now you can get back to looting.

{End}

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

F- "Hello?“ You reply tentatively, trying not to sound afraid in your own head. ”Uh- I'm ____, and I-“

Before you even know what's happening, this… Shesith is chanting in your own head, weaving a spell you can't quite make out.

”Uh, hey, what are you-“

”Release me.“ The chanting suddenly stops, replaced with the booming voice of this being in the dagger.

”What-“ you don't even know what you're doing, but suddenly you too are chanting and weaving something you can't even understand…

The dagger briefly burns red, before the eye in the pommel fades.

”Thank you, my servant."

Well, you've somehow ended up bound to serving an ancient eldritch being.

Oops.

{End}

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

B- You make your way through the coins to the center of the mountaintop, in awe of the beauty of the sword set deep in the round, smooth some. Its detailed hilt and engraved pommel are something you've never seen in a sword before, and they draw you to it as you reach to the handle that fits perfectly in your hand and you pull it out with ease.

“LONG LIVE THE HEIR TO THE THRONE OF HVISTENDEL! LONG LIVE THE KING!”

Deafening fanfare blasts from out of nowhere, ringing in your ears as you look blearily around for the source.

You are surrounded by a circle of ghosts, all wearing noble robes of some kind. One, a bald, bearded man, floats up to you, smiling widely.

“You have pulled the sword from the stone! As Marvin decreed it, so shall you be the next of the line of Hvistendel!”

“… Marvin?” You ask, unable to fathom any of the information a ghost has just dumped on you.

“The court mage of King Armine.” The ghost answers, impatient. “As he decreed it, so shall it be! Long live the king!”

- Nooope. Jam the sword back in. (Proceed to G.)
- Good. The fiefs are in need of unity. (Proceed to H.)

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

G- As quickly as you can, you jam the sword back into the stone with all your might. King? That means responsibility, and you’re… not quite ready for that yet.

In a flash of light the circle of ghosts disappears, and you are once again left to suffocate in the silence.

You wait a beat, and then two, and then three… It seems- maybe they’re gone for good? But… are you still king? You did pull the sword from the stone, even if you put it back.

Four, five, six… Nope, they’re definitely gone. That means… you don’t have to claim the crown, right? You can just go back to exploring the treasure?

Well, back to it, then.

{End}

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

H- “The king…” It’s a strange title for someone insignificant from a small town, but as you move the word around your mouth, it begins to sound… right. “King. Yeah, I can work with that.”

You walked through the entire kingdom to get to Mythical Mountain, and thus you know about the strife that has wracked the kingdom in the last few years. The bickering barons pay no mind to their people and instead argue about who should be king.

With the sword of King Armine in hand, you head down the mountain, prepared to take your throne and bring order to the crumbling kingdom.

To your dismay, your presence only brings about more arguing- few barons respect your claim to the throne and the others dismiss your sword as a fake, and whoever the heck that ghost guy was isn’t showing up to back you up now. Somehow, the situation has gotten worse.

- How dare they question your right to the throne! Prove your authority through battle. (Proceed to I.)
- This isn’t worth it. Leave them to their squabbling and start a new kingdom somewhere else. (Proceed to J.)

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

I- With the help of a few supporters and your friends, you manage to amass an army just barely big enough to face the army of just one baron. The odds don’t look good, but just as you’re about to fight your first battle, that bearded ghost guy shows up with an entire ghost army.

A bit late, much?

Better late than never, though, so you easily win this battle in front of you.

And then another. And then another.

Before you know it, you are waging an all-out war against the barons, fighting for control and dominance.

The people are still suffering, but now your hands are tied.

{End}

› ━━━━━〈⛥〉━━━━━ ‹

J- Though it’s slow going, your new kingdom begins to prosper under your rule.

The barons and their neverending yelling is enough to drive you crazy. Politics was never really your thing, but now you’re just going in circles. If you stay, the cycle will never end.

So you leave. You disappear one day, with some advisors and friends you trust, and set off to start a new kingdom of your own. Maybe you’ll have better luck somewhere else, starting from scratch.

And you do. Though it’s slow going and it takes some hard work, you’re able to get your kingdom off the ground. The ignored people of the barons begin to flock to your land as it becomes clear that you are better looking after your people, and over time your kingdom grows into your own prosperous and peaceful land, just as King Armine’s was.

{End}

(+2358 words)

(Written July 25th 2021- mcd, comment a bio for one of your characters, and then find someone else’s character and write a story using their character. 400 words.
Edited July 27th 2021- fixed a pronoun error.)

My character:
Shraen /\ Non-binary, they/them \/ Their appearance is that of a child/teenager, but they’re much older, around ~1000 years or so. /\ An owl-human shapeshifter, Shraen has a very light and carefree attitude towards life, but they also have a sharp and snappy side, especially if the wrong topics are brought up in conversation. They are a more neutral and calm personality. Along with their relaxed attitude, this means they are very nonchalant when it comes to most things in life. Shraen lives around the Mediterranean Sea, and has done so for a long time. They do not meddle with the human world much and spend most of their time as an owl, but to a select few humans, Shraen openly shifts. /\ As a human, Shraen can look however you want him to, though he retains the wings on his back, which are a mottled brown. Their voice is musical with an almost chordal feel to it, and as an owl they are a Little Owl with the same patterns. \/ If you would like an example of how to write them, I used them in a weekly last session: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/489768/?page=2#post-5059749

@AskWaterstar’s character:
Kiri Tia (Left Deer) - They/them - Chin length brown hair with a black eye on the left, and amber-orange eye on the right. They like to braid their hair, and have deer horns sprouting from their head, with elf-like ears. They have scars along their body and normally use black clothing. - They're a bold person who is pretty wild, and rough. Extrovert. - They're a full deer shapeshifter.


It really is a nice day.

The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the water in the nearby brook is running…

To any ordinary human, the absence of clouds, the silence of missing human interference, the preserved, untouched beauty that is this woods would seem… perfect. Rare. Mesmerizing.

Kiri Tia doesn't notice this beauty though; they're bored. To them, this is all old. The same birds are chirping, the same brook is bubbling, the same type of weather has occurred hundreds of times before.

Kiri Tia has been here, in this forest, for a long time.

And they are bored.

As they walk through the oak trees along the same path they have followed day after day, observing the same trees and the same animals, Kiri Tia can't help but huff a little at themselves.

Why are you still here? You've explored every nook and cranny of the woods. You know every inch like the back of your hand! Who cares about all those warnings from mother and father? The world out there can't be that horrible, right? Sure, shapeshifters aren't openly acknowledged and humans are destroying nature and whatnot, but I won't know until I see it for myself.

I have to leave.

Kiri Tia's antlers catch on a low-hanging branch while they're lost in their thoughts, and they mutter a curse under their breath as they're yanked back by the wood wedged between the intricate crown atop their head.

Without losing a beat, they shift into a human. Their braided brown hair is now caught in the tree too, but with the hands they now possess Kiri Tia reaches up and works the branch out, smiling once they're done.

“If the human world is really as bad as mother and father say, I can just come back, right?” There's no reply- they're not talking to anyone after all, just saying the words out into empty air to solidify that this is what they want to do. They've announced it. They can't turn back now.

“Right, then I'm off.” And Kiri Tia spins on their heels and shifts back into a deer, bounding off towards the forest edge. Not once do they trip over a stray log, or run into a shrub, or crash into a tree. They know this forest like the back of their hand, and now they are ready for something new. Something exciting.


Near the very outskirts Kiri Tia begins to stumble, but that's alright; They've explored this part the least, but now they are leaving, for real this time, to finally find out what lies beyond.

In a few strides they have crossed the forest boundary, now standing at the top of a hill overlooking a tall metallic grey city below, skyscrapers jutting out to the very heavens.

Kiri Tia doesn't know what this is yet.
They don't mind the uncertainty, though. They're about to find out.

As a human, they grin widely,
and set off down the hill.

(+496 words)

Eyo! P o g -
I love it

AskWaterstar wrote:

Eyo! P o g -
I love it

Aaa, thanks ^^

(Written July 26th 2021- MCD, pick a prompt to modify/extend: ‘Swimming through sick lullabies’ (Mr. Brightside - The Killers), ‘I’ll give them shelter, like you've done for me' (Shelter - Porter Robinson), ‘your apathy’s just like a wound in salt' (good 4 u - Olivia Rodrigo), or ‘And close your eyes, your soul flies high; I’ll sing you ashen lullabies’ (Symphony - @-Alocasia). Write a short story at least 300 words.

Prompt: “And close your eyes, your soul flies high / I'll sing you ashen lullabies” - From @Alocasia's Symphony {https://scratch.mit.edu/projects/495482004/}

(I started off with the prompt but Alba is so talented I ended up using the whole song as inspiration whoops- go listen to it it’s amazing)


Everything was burning.

That part wasn’t that surprising; two of the most powerful planeporters in the multimultiverse fighting would inevitably result in fire.

What was surprising was how… nonchalant the two figures in the eye of the storm were to the hurricane that was the sea of black, flickering flames around them.

The one in the cloak was more focused on the people caught in the inferno, those that were already dxxd, and the people they would have to push away from the dangerous chaos that had already swallowed the entire town. Dxmn it. To have any hope of saving the survivors, {Redacted} would have to get past {Яedacted}, and that would take a dxmn long time.

Dxmn it.

On the other hand, {Яedacted} was just enjoying this. If he was going to go out, he was going to go out with a bang.

A massive, dark, burning bang.



Something flickered in {Redacted}’s eyes, and {Яedacted} just managed to catch it before the blinding blue flash that was their magic obscured his vision and he felt the searing impact of lightning hitting his gut. Good, it’s all going according to plan so far.

He knew that {Redacted} would rush into this with absolutely no plan other than to save as many people as possible. {Яedacted} had spent the last few decades running around collecting the souls {removed} would need to tear reality apart, which left plenty of downtime to analyze exactly what went wrong every time he had managed to lose to his former friend. It had been the plan. Every single time, they would surprise him some way or another and {Яedacted} would be caught off guard while {Redacted} was already thinking twenty steps ahead.

The tables were turned, this time. He would make sure they stayed that way. Having to take lightning to the stomach was a necessary sacrifice, even if it hurt. A lot.

That would quickly be fixed though, wouldn’t it.

Because {Яedacted} didn’t need to see to be able to chant out the few words required to activate the dormant spell they had laid. The one that was set to focus on {Redacted}’s signature.

The light that obscured his vision faded, leaving{Яedacted} able to fully enjoy the picture that was the cloaked menace pierced through by multiple spikes of earth.

One beat later, and with a wave of his hand they flopped to the ground.

And now that {Redacted} was finally cornered and pinned to the ground after 500 years of fighting back and forth, {Яedacted} had a chance to say what he wanted to say.

He chose to savour the opportunity, to let them bask in the tense ambience of the dark flames crackling behind him, the red glow he knew his eyes were giving off, the black mass of magic swirling around him.

“Don’t you understand?” He rasped, voice hoarse from too many hours spent playing with fires, Metaphorical and literal.

“I loved you. I loved you.” {Яedacted} repeated himself, and for a moment, it seemed to {Redacted} like he was almost trying to convince himself of the person he had been.

“… I love you,
enough to let
go.”

Then it was gone, replaced once again by the grim-faced, red-eyed leader of a multimultiversal Darkporter ring.

With one last breath of resolve, {Яedacted} turned away,
and along with Redacted},
the world

burned.

(+562 words)

(Written July 27th 2021- mc daily, find a musical artist you’ve never heard of, and pick one of their songs. DON’T listen to it, but write a story based on the title of the song. At least 400 words for 500 points.)

I used Halcyon, by The Paper Kites.



You know that stereotype of the wild young generation who are all ‘yeah screw tradition, new things are cool!’ and whatnot? Yeah, that stereotype.

I hate it.

It’s so fundamentally untrue, and the psychology behind it is all wrong too- young people don’t hate traditions but the way they are enforced, and they push against it from a need for freedom and understanding of why the tradition is there in the first place. If it’s outdated of course they’re going to replace it, they won’t understand why it’s there. If it’s not, then they’ll leave it be once they realize its harmlessness.

Being a young'un myself, how do I know, you ask?

Well see, where I come from there’s this one tradition, clearly over extravagant and to us youth seemingly unnecessary,

until one year, we realized just how important it was.

It’s quite the story. Maybe then you’ll understand what I mean?


See, in our small little village, the sea was really important. It was our livelihood and the only thing that was beautiful about the location we’re in (and if you don’t believe me, you could talk to anyone in town and you’d find that they agreed). The traditions we had surrounding it, none of my friends (which was all the kids in town, I did say our village is tiny) minded that much. We could get through the father-son fishing trips and the annual shore expeditions, because we understood just how important the sea was in everything we did.

The one thing we couldn’t stand was the winter solstice celebrations- it all seemed so over-the-top and pointless. It wasn’t Christmas or New Year’s Eve or some other big holiday to celebrate, so why? The massive trays of food everyone would bring out into the village square, the crazy dancing, the time it took to plan everything and put up the decorations all seemed so unnecessary for a date so small.

The very first time this occurred to me, I was 11. The natural thing I did at that age was to ask my parents, so that night over the dinner table, I piped up:

“Hey… Uh, why do we celebrate the winter solstice?”

“…What do you mean? Like, why do we have so much food or…?” My father, always the talkative one, answered first after a beat of confused silence.

“No, I mean like why do we celebrate such a pointless date? I don’t think I’ve read-”

“Oh, you mean why do we celebrate on the winter solstice.” My mother interjected, the muted light of understanding flashing in her eyes. “We don’t celebrate the winter solstice itself, my boy, but what happens on it.”

I could tell even at 11 that my dramatic mother was baiting me for a grand reveal of some kind, but with no other way of finding the answer I begrudgingly asked- “And what do we celebrate on the winter solstice, Mom?”

“Why, the coming of the Halcyon, of course!” She grinned widely and flourished her arms, nearly whacking my father’s soup into his face.

“The Halcyon.” I repeated flatly. “Care to explain what that is?” (Yeah, I wasn’t very nice to my parents then, I know. I was a particularly angsty tween, I think I went into puberty early or something. Cut me some slack.)

“Haven’t you noticed the kingfisher that nests out on the sea every night during the solstice? My dad inquired, tilting his head. “I thought you would have, you’re usually quite observant.” (Can you understand why I was like that, though?)

“No.” I grumbled.

“Well, it does, and legend says that it calms the waters of the ocean so it can lay its eggs.” Of course my mother was getting overly excited. Of course. I moved back in my seat a little, so I could avoid flying soup if need be.

“Uh huh. A magical bird that controls the sea. Sure.”

“And yet somehow, we haven’t had a winter storm in this town in the last 40 years.” She winked, while my father noticed my movement and hastened to follow my lead.

“You mean the same halcyon has been coming to this town for the last 40 years?” My voice tended to pitch higher the more incredulous I got, which I hated then more than ever. “That can’t be possible.”

“Of course it’s not the same.” My father huffed, now safely out of range of flying soup. “Some of the more observant fishermen have noticed the markings have changed over time. It’s a different bird every few years or so, but they still come back.”

“So each solstice, we celebrate the halcyon that makes sure our entire village doesn’t get wrecked, and we waste a ton of food and time in the preparation.” I deadpanned, not wanting to continue this increasingly ridiculous conversation any longer. “Sure. Okay. Makes sense. I’m going to bed.”

And with a quick step out from my chair, I headed up the stairs.


Unbeknownst to me, however, my mother and father were continuing the conversation among themselves in hushed tones.

“Should we tell her?” My mother asked, just a bit concerned.

“You mean how the one year the halcyon didn’t show 40 years ago was because our generation was just as skeptical as she is?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think it’s alright.” My father moved his chair back into position. “I can alert the others that the halcyon probably won’t show up this year, and we can prepare for any storms that may come. They weren’t too big last time, after all. Best she learns from experience.”

And that is exactly what I did.

(+938 words)

preface: i really liked this! it was super pretty and hands down amazing. sorry if i was too harsh, but i went line by line with my critique and tried my best to only pick apart certain sentences (i have a weird, kinda specific, writing style)

Before a backdrop of nebulae and twinkling stars, someone drifts amid the primordial ooze and rubble that is the remains of a ruined universe.

“Plastered before…”
“Spread before…”

also - twinkling stars sort of contradicts ruined universe? i just think twinkling is really whimsical, but then you have like a said, ruined universe. (“stars, sprinkled against the void; barely shining yet still somehow alive”) conveys this sort of desecrated scene better?

His eyes are barely open; somewhere in the back of his fading mind {redacted} registers the beauty of his surroundings,

maybe i'm just going through and interpreting it all incorrectly, but it would be super cool to put like something about the elegance of destruction and how pretty it is that everything has an ending or something else along those lines

The connection is strained by the effort and skill required to reach across realities, but nevertheless {redacted} grasps it with his remaining strength and doesn't let go.

oooooooooooooooooo

Hey, what the heck happened? I was and still am a bit busy with something, but the signature was too big for me to-

you could make it more static? so it gives off a distorted connection that's fragile? no idea what i'm trying to say here lol - your writing is really pretty and i don't want to take it apart and bleh

There is a sudden jab of mental pain that {redacted} feels through the link, comparatively tiny to the chilling ache coursing through his body but enough for him to realize the struggle {Redacted} must be going through to fight and keep up a protected mental link at the same time.

perhaps.. more description of pain and also how small they both are in the universe? which would also do smfn here with their struggles and their relationships.. as in they're futile but they hang on anyway. idk, characterization - whoo!

Just as {redacted} closes his eyes, a figure in a blxxdied cloak appears next to him, huffing and puffing and

i think you could add more to show that this is his brother because at first (since death) you think its like .. yeah death or something. "huffing and puffing; stumbling as he tries his best to grasp on to show the other that, yes— he is here! They are here, together, they are—" (and then too late)

Somewhere in a ruined universe,

last prt is really nice :pleading_face: even more (specific) repetition (of the first sentence) would work well here

other thoughts: sigh this was really good and i feel like my critique is too specific to be helpful enough. honestly i just wanted to compliment you because i think it's so well written :"D

apart-- wrote:

snip

ah, thanks!

(Written July 28th 2021- main cabin daily, find between 200 and 500 words you've written this swc, then find someone else's writing and critique it. 200 words.)

I critiqued this piece (https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/532946/?page=1#post-5475729) by @_um_.



Okay so just a quick note before I start, but it's possible to format in the forums. The bar above the box where you type has bold, italics, underline, and strikethrough, you just need to reformat everything after you paste everything in. It's a bit of extra work, but it's worth it ^^

Alright, now to the critique! This is really good, so I apologize if some things seem overly harsh or nitpicky. I'm just trying to find things to critique! ^^'

If you have any questions, just let me know.

I remember.

I remember everything.

YOUR WHISPERS still taunt me.

It may just be a stylistic thing, but the choice to bold and capitalize YOUR WHISPERS confuses me a bit. I've seen this type of transition used before, but only at the beginning of a story.

To go into the mechanics of writing, there are two basic ways to start a piece: Either ease the reader into your world and characters slowly, or hit them over the head with heavy-handed information and force them to catch up. Both of these ways are effective, just in different ways, for different types of stories.

What's happening here is that you are using both in a way that doesn't quite fit. You start off slow in a way that catches the reader's attention but doesn't overwhelm them. This is good functional beginning, and personally the one that I think better fits your story, having read the whole contest entry.

The problem is is that you follow with large, aggressive formatting after a relatively slow beginning. It's sort of like the equivalent of starting a meal with a mild, comforting bowl of warm miso soup and then someone snatching that away and slapping you with a fish. One or the other is fine, together is jarring.

Echoes of your voice still dance to my ears, almost in a teasing way. Teasing me about me remembering you, even after three years. I should’ve moved on.

I can find no fault with these sentences except for a small clarity issue in the last one. In the context of the previous sentences, “I should've moved on” seems to imply that the teasing voice is the one saying this, but as this piece is in the first person it is still a bit unclear as to whether the writer is saying this or the voice. If it's the voice, consider changing it to “How I should've moved on.” If it's the writer, I suggest rewording it just a bit so it's more clear.

This is me, I laugh silently, talking to no one. Me thinking about you every single day. Me who still questions your existence.
Come back, my thoughts plead. I’m begging you, Aito. Please come back.
This is me, the girl who loved you like crazy.

Once again, just a small clarity point, as well as a personal grammar note. "This is me, I laugh silently, talking to no one.“ The wording of this phrase is a bit muddled. ”This is me“ is in italics, which means it is being thought and not said aloud, and yet the writer is ”talking to no one.“ If they're talking put it quotes, and if they're thinking perhaps change the end of the sentence a bit?

The grammar note is just a bit on how you, the author, would the like the story to be read. ”Me thinking about you every single day. Me who still questions your existence“ is very good line and it hits hard, but there are no commas placed. You may think that commas just are to break up sentences and give the reader time to breath, and you would be partially correct; however, commas are also used to place emphasis on certain parts of a sentence, and they can sometimes change the entire meaning (apologies if you already know this and this sounds patronizing, I'm just trying to figure out how to get thoughts across clearly because right now they are a jumbled mess).

Reading them aloud, which sounds right to you? ”This is me, I laugh silently, talking to no one. Me thinking about you every single day. Me who still questions your existence.“ or ”This is me, I laugh silently, talking to no one. Me, thinking about you every single day. Me, who still questions your existence." The first one puts emphasis on the action, that ‘me’ is doing ____, The second is putting emphasis more on ‘me’ by splitting the subject and verb apart– doing ___ is a part of ‘me’s' identity. Which do you prefer, and which one sounds right?

(Just as a general note, reading your work aloud is a great way to find discrepancies. If you pause somewhere and there's no comma, add one, etc.)

I stare at myself in the mirror. My boring wavy blonde hair is now down below my shoulders. I laugh. It’s an improvement I suppose. Better than my short haircut, at least. When it wasn’t even below my jaw yet. I brush my fingers against my now slightly tanned neck. The locket’s still there. I start to smile a bit. It's the locket that you gave me, Aito. The one you gave me just a few hours before you departed from this universe.

Just one last thing! The structure in these last few sentences are all the same. They're all short, bite-sized thoughts, with barely any commas. I understand that this is how the character is thinking, but maybe change it up a bit?


I hope this helped ^^'

(+776 words)

(I just realized I failed to post a daily that I didn't finish, so here it is, a bit late. Written July 21st 2021- Write a 200-word description-focused piece, about anything you like, from your character's perspective. Then, write a 200-word narration-focused piece. Take that same setting, and weave your character through a story with plot. Now, try to combine description and narration together, in another 200-word piece! 600 words. Unfinished.)

Description: 241 words
The twinkling stars are a good guide for the wayward of London tonight. There are no clouds to obscure the constellations, no smog to hide their light.

I don't find them necessary- I have a functioning inner compass, and I already know this city inside and out. Every nook and cranny, every hideout and hidden alleyway. Just in case.

Tonight though, I am free to enjoy the sound of the horse-drawn carriages on the cobblestone, the grand tolling of Big Ben, the dark smoke rising from the factories, the quiet chatter of those passing below on the sidewalk.

I am free and above it all, standing on the very edge of a brick pub, rocking on my heels. This whole world, this wonderful rooftop world, is mine and mine alone.

So I leap off and pull my legs, putting all my strength into it.

I'm climbing and climbing and climbing, until I reach the apex…

And time stops.

I can see everything from here; the warm glow of still-active fireplaces from behind windows, the round top hats and the deep river and the rise and fall of the skyline.

London is beautiful.

And then time starts again,

and I am falling and falling and falling towards the earth, relishing the wind against my face and my cloak streaming behind me as I hit the next rooftop and gracefully curl into a roll.

The possibilities are endless.

I set off running.

Narrative: 213 words
The footsteps behind me are faint, but the fact that I can hear them is warning enough. If they are this close, then I'm getting worse at my job.

To consider this option is not a possibility right now, so I grit my teeth and push harder. Hit the rim of the rooftop with the balls of your feet. Wind yourself up like a spring, then release and fly.

I know these movements like the back of my hand, and yet they are still not falling behind.

Frick.

So there is nothing I can do but turn and face them, sliding a dagger out into my left hand and crouching low.

They are enveloped in shadow, eyes glowing a pale red through the darkness misting around their eyes.

That's not the important part, though.

They're holding pistols.

Friiiiiick.

There is a bang, and it is all I can do to leap out of the way, though I take the opportunity to fully draw my sword from its sheath.

Before even a beat has passed, I've already pulled my arms back and shot into the air, reaching high with my sword and pushing all of the magic I can into the metal in my hands.

If this must be a fight, so be it.

Both:
oop.

(+454 words)

(Written July 29th 2021- main cabin daily, transport yourself to the future, in a couple hundred years. Write a short story that demonstrates what you think historical fiction stories set in 2019/20/21 will be like! 400 words.)

Liam Jameson
Grade 8 English/Social Studies
Ms. Lamethan
November 21st, 3020

Dear Diary,

And here I thought 2020 was the worst year of my life.

When the pandemic hit, I didn’t think I would be able to take it. Having to quarantine for an unknown amount of time, unable to see my friends? Online school sucked, I was becoming less healthy, and I couldn’t even go outside without worrying about masks and distancing and safety and whatnot. I know it’s necessary, but I can’t help but admit it’s also tiresome. I ended up watching the news with my parents every night, just because there was nothing else to do. Surely it would be great family bonding in such a stressful time, right?

… I should have suggested a TV show.

To think that my life before 2021 was blissful ignorance… I thought that the pandemic alone was bad enough, but turns out that nope, the world is also just a massive dumpster fire.

You know what’s the most annoying part? I can’t look away. No matter how bad the world seems and how much I just want to turn away, I can’t help myself. Now that I know what the world is like, each night we sit together I can only wonder what crazy crxp is gonna happen today?

They set the ocean on fire the other day, you know that? In the Gulf of Mexico, apparently an underwater pipeline burst, and the oil rose to the top of the sea and… somehow managed to get set on fire.

The ocean! THE FRICKING OCEAN. WHAT HAS HUMANITY COME TO‽

There were videos all over twitter and everything!

Oh yeah, and somehow I’ve ended up reading through twitter now. It doesn’t help.

I mean, all we get from the politicians these days is “oh yeah we’re working on climate change it’s very important” or “climate change is fake how dare you all think otherwise” and here we are now, decades after we first began to think about it, and THE OCEAN WAS SET ON FIRE.

That’s not the only thing, just the biggest frustration I had today.

It feels like I’m in this never ending cycle of hope and crushing, pessimistic despair; I’m too young to be thinking about the world ending, and yet here I am.

I can’t turn away.

And no matter how much I could try, I can’t turn the world off.

Right, I’m going to try to get to bed now– it’s late and I should be sleeping already, but I guess I’ll see how long it takes for the nightmares to ease up enough for me to fall asleep.

Sincerely,
Liam Jameson
July 11th 2021

Liam, though this is certainly an impressive and engrossing account, I am afraid I cannot give you full marks for this assignment. The instructions were to write a piece of historical fiction in the form of a diary entry. You have interlaced your setting with so much fiction it has ceased to be historical at all, and I am left wondering whether you were paying any attention in Social Studies. What is this about “setting the ocean on fire” and “twitter”? I understand that your imagination is difficult to reign in, and while your writing itself is wonderful as usual, please remember in the future to stick to the guidelines as given.

(+562 words)

(Written July 20th 2021- mc daily, write a story about how chaotic you think it is to host swc! 500 words for 800 points.)

I am of course exaggerating when I write this, I’m really sorry if this is offensive or negative in any way I just don’t know how to write authority figures ;-;’ Apologies to anyone who does not agree with the arguments they give here, I am not very familiar with the people by which the camp is run. If I’ve gotten any pronouns wrong don’t hesitate to tell me and I’ll change it, once again I’m not very familiar with everyone. ^^’



Deep in the Scratch forums, hidden betwixt posts on project collaborations and roleplays,
the leaders and hosts were arguing, talking over each other, growing increasingly louder as the discussion ping-ponged back and forth.

It was nearing 12 am in the eastern standard time zone, and yet the pace did not slow down.

“The proposals all have their own merits, but in case you guys haven’t noticed, we still haven’t decided what exactly we’re going to do!” Birdi slammed her fist into the hard wood of the rectangular table, instantly receiving the attention of the arguing leaders and hosts by the loud thump from the head of the table. “We have to get ourselves together and actually vote for something, otherwise we’ll be here all night! And as it seems most of you have forgotten, we all also need to sleep.”

The sudden iciness that permeated Birdi’s speech sent chills through everyone’s spine, but this only caused the arguing to resume, louder this time.

“The studios will barely be able to function anymore if the cos can’t edit!” Alyelle yelled angrily, glaring at Bakie from across the table. “We need to move to separate studios!”

“But if we move, that defeats the whole purpose of the cabin aesthetics!” Bakie replied with equal ferocity, eyes narrowed. “We have to–”

“But then we’ll need to-” Kat interjected, and with that everyone was back to yelling at each other. At last Birdi couldn’t take it and she pulled her gong out from under the table where she kept it, putting all of her strength into hitting it as hard as she could.

The resulting tone was deafening.

“I. WILL. HAVE. ORDER!” She finally allowed authority to seep into her voice, standing suddenly up from the table. “I do not care what you all decide to do individually. They are your cabins, discuss with your cos and do as you please. But I am leaving on a camping trip in two days, and I will not have disorder while I am gone! We are voting as to what we are to do with the main cabin, and no one is to speak unless you’ve raised your hand and I’ve called on you. AM I UNDERSTOOD?”

There was a low grumble of assent from everyone, and Birdi gave out a quiet sigh of relief. “Right, then. What proposals do we have as to what to do about the main cabin while I am gone and how to update cabin scores?”

At the back of the table, Alba sat quietly. She had been watching the conversation as it had dragged on, trying to put together the more well-argued points and ideas into a comprehensible plan, and now that no one else was putting their hand up, she slowly raised hers.

“… I think that we should have someone else manage a different studio while you’re gone, and when you come back you can update the original main cabin. I guess for cabin scores as a whole we can just host them somewhere else where we can all update it.”

Birdi facepalmed once Alba had finished, suddenly feeling very weary of this whole ordeal. “That seems like a perfectly logical solution. I wonder why we didn’t get to it before?” She muttered to herself, duly sarcastic. “Right, seeing as for some reason none of you can offer another idea, we’re just going to say that’s what we’re doing. No arguments, no vote. There’s nothing to vote on. GO TO BED, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.”

Once again everyone grumbled, but the dark circles under their eyes signified how much sleep they really needed, and finally Birdi realized why everyone had been so combative in the emergency meeting.

“I SAID BED.” She thundered, shooing everyone out the door.

(+626 words)

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

(Completed July 31st 2021- Weekly for the week of July 25th– Fanfiction!)

Step 1: 523 words
Write a piece of fanfiction that takes inspiration from your cabin in swc. Write a short story inspired by the theme of your cabin, or continue the introductory passage to your cabin. 500 words.

(Pre-written intro, by @caramelize vv)
“Do you think they're awake?”
“Maybe we should just-”
A boot jabs your side. Your eyes open slowly, seeing a cluster of people gathered over you. One reaches down and offers you a hand. “Welcome to the Fantasy Castle!” Says one, smiling brightly. As your eyesight focuses, you notice random details - the walls are crumbling, and a spider slowly makes it way across a dilapidated window. But there is still a certain beauty in the arching glass and towers.
“We hope you'll enjoy your stay here!”

(Continued by me vv)
Still groaning slightly from the impact of the boot, you slowly push yourself up to your feet and nod your thanks to the one who welcomed you. You're not quite sure who they are yet, but it seems you'll be here for a while so you'll certainly find out.

Now that you’re up on your feet though, you’re able to fully take in the failing grandeur of the architecture of your new home. As you walk around you gain an appreciation for the layout and structure; the walls are crumbling, and yet the castle still functions properly. There is a list for all of the citizens’ names, as well as pathways to all of the important places a citizen may need to go; there is memorial for all those who came before and made the castle as strong and persevering as it is and handy list of instructions on a wall for what to do in case of an attack, conveniently placed in the most passed-by wall in the castle.

Over the course of the next few days you learn much from the acquaintances you manage to make; of Queen Cara and the Princesses Piano and Alba, of the Great Mango War and the feud with the Dystopian City. You witness the shock of the graffiti on the castle walls, the rush and stress of battle with the other genres, and you begin to make your way towards the goal of ‘Most productive citizen’, the one with the most words.

You make friends– you laugh and cry and panic at 12 am and give up and yell at each other to not give up. You watch your word totals slowly increase. You praise the hosts of the session, you critique each other's' writing and read in awe at the many entries to the writing competition. You write even with Writer’s Block, you learn to bang out 500 words in 20 minutes, even when there are only 25 to go until midnight. You agonize at being only a few words away from the number required for the weekly, you shout at your parents from the castle walls that you’ll be out on August 1st and yes you have to keep writing until 9 or you’ll never finish. You write. And write. And write.

And when all is said and done, you write furiously until the very last moment SWC is over, when you’ll no longer be able to count your words towards a goal. After 12 am, est, they will not be worth more than the worth you give to them.

Somehow, you’re sad. Even after all of the stress and sleepless nights and agony over the quality of your work, you’re sad.

Because after 12 am, est, you will no longer be able to feel the camaraderie of those you were lucky enough to call your fellow campers, your fellow denizens of the Fantasy Castle. You will pass them by in the massive sea that is Scratch, sure– but you will not be able to write with them as you did this month.

The only thing you can do is wait until November.

Step 2: 892 words
Pick a character from a book, comic, movie, tv show, podcast, musical/theater performance or video game, and use them in a scene. Pick another character, be it an original character {oc}, one from the same fandom, or one from a different fandom. Write a scene where they interact doing an everyday/normal activity. 800 words.

The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexander Dumas) and my OC {Redacted} walk in the forest together, pondering on life and destiny and philosophy and whatnot.

The trees of France are most remarkable in autumn; the mottled red-gold of the leaves are a beautiful frame for the rugged bark of the trunk, swaying gently in the breeze against whatever backdrop the sky deems fit to provide. On some days it's a pale baby blue with some sparse, fluffy clouds– on others, the orange and purple of the sunrise remain, casting a warm light on all those outside.

Perhaps this is why the two individuals out in the forest have chosen this particular evening to walk together– today is one of the latter skies, the wind gentle and the sea quiet. This evening is magnificent enough for going out to be worth the many people gossiping about The Count of Monte Cristo seen walking into the forest with a stranger in a blotched green cloak.

Now that they are alone amid the trees, the absence of any human noise is notable enough for both Count and Cloak to breathe easier, now much less worried about prying eyes and attentive ears. They stretch this silence, this absence, enjoying the birds chirping and the breeze singing and the distant waves lapping for as long as they can until finally, they give in to the need that brought them out in the first place.

“… I must thank you for that, the other day.” Monte Cristo’s eyes remain locked on the canopy as they continue treading onward, unable to fully make eye contact with {Redacted}.

“Of course, though with all of those gossiping hens it must be much more than a few days, now.” The gaze of the taller man, however, is more focused on what is directly ahead of them, taking in the many signs of life before them as they pass by.

“Nevertheless, my thanks. I would not have been able to wile my way out of such a situation, and I have learned much as a result.”

A beat of silence passes as {Redacted} mulls over how to reply, unsure in how much they want to explain or discuss. They don’t know what exactly the Count is or isn’t aware of, and they are not one to play word games simply to discover one’s intentions.

Finally, they choose to change the subject. “Will you be exacting your revenge, as planned?”

Another beat passes, this time the Count of Monte Cristo unsure on how to reply. He doesn’t know what exactly {Redacted} is or isn’t aware of, but he is the kind of person to play word games simply to discover one’s intentions.

“… Yes, I think I will. There is still much to do, but there is plenty that is behind me, and I have all of the time and money in the world.”

The cloak swishes a bit as {Redacted} tilts his head and hmms in response, pulling apart the sentence in their mind and inspecting it from every angle.

“Do you ever wonder how much of your revenge is a part of God’s plan?”

This question, posed so innocently, catches Monte Cristo off guard: He hadn’t expected this quiet, yet somehow powerful stranger to be religious, much yet Christian. Unconsciously, he pauses mid stride and nearly trips over a log, a consequence of looking up.

“… At times, though I reassure myself that I would not have made it out of that infernal prison if not for His grace and assent.” The Count realizes his mistake and stops watching the sky, instead looking ahead and occasionally turning to his walking partner.

Any possible signs he could read to figure out {Redacted}’s reaction are not present. Either the man in the cloak is simply nonchalant, or they’re very adept at hiding their feelings. Either way, the Count grits his teeth a little and turns back to face forward.

Though they are aware of his shifting movements, {Redacted} briefly chooses to ignore the potential philosophy partner in their companion and instead become absorbed in their own thoughts, attempting to sort them based upon a scale of how much they think they should say them.

I wonder what would happen if I told him I met God? He probably wouldn’t believe me, but at least it would be entertaining.

At last the cloaked figure decides on something and turns to Monte Cristo, staring quizzically at him in a way that makes the Count feel as though the secrets of his soul are being revealed.

He doesn’t like it.

“You are sure you are right?”

“… Yes.”

“Then I will not make it my goal to stand in your way.”

The Count is once again taken aback, but this time he manages to reign in his reaction and feign nonchalance. {Redacted} catches it anyways, but chooses not to say anything.

“And why would you have made it your goal?”

“… Beware those dark thoughts that easily swallow the heart, Count. They twist and worm their way into the very center until their seeds are planted firmly, dormant until they know it is the right time to blossom and blacken the heart until one is fully absorbed in the one path they have chosen. Do not fall to the calls of righteousness. They are just as easily twisted as any other.”

Step 3: 1068 words
Pick a minimum of 2 fandoms to combine and write a fanfiction merging them. These fandoms must come from the same options as in the Character Interactions: a book, comic, movie, tv show, podcast, musical/theater performance or video game. 1000 words.

Apologies if my OC is mentioned a bit too much in this one, I tend to write very interconnected stories and I wanted this one to tie in as well.



In the company of a reality-hopping friend, the novice porters Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson find themselves in Middle-Earth preparing for wxr.

“I suppose now there is little we can do but wait.”

Two men stand at the very tip of the outlook, looking at the massive swarm of clouds out near on the horizon. The mass of darkness is daunting; having worked as consulting detective and assistant, they are experienced with gloomy tidings and preparing for danger.

And yet, neither Sherlock Holmes nor Dr. John Watson have felt clouds so looming and ominous before, so seemingly alive with crackling, malicious energy. Their hands are unconsciously brushing the other's, not quite holding but comforting in the small contact.

“… Yes, I think you are right. We should go prepare, should we not?”

They both know of what is traveling below the gathering storm– of the legions and legions of Orcs and Uruk-hai and goblins, stomping to the steady beat of their drums.

The two silhouettes can't see the army, but they could, if they tried.

They don't.


It takes grabbing on to each other's arm to wrench themselves away from the imminent, steadily approaching thunder, unable to fully resist the draw of simple waiting until the deafening sound of battle is on their doorstep.

But they know they can’t do that, so they give strength to each other and turn around, nodding to the guards around The White Tree as they walk through the Citadel of Minas Tirith and pass by through the White Tower of Ecthelion.

“Where’s {Redacted}?” Dr. Watson breaks the tense silence, not willing to have to have their walk overshadowed by the inevitable.

“I think they went out early this morning to scout, so…” Sherlock runs through the past day in his head, having to trust his mental clock in a place where there are otherwise none. “It’s been about 6 hours, they’re probably back in their room or wandering the lower levels of the city. Do you think we could try–”

“No.” Stopping in the center of the hall, John silently pivots on the heels of his black leather boots. “Gandalf said not to use any of our magic, and whatever we may think we are here to help him, and therefore we do as he and {Redacted} say.” The bright light pouring through the open gaps in the hall is a strange juxtaposition to the harsh and firm determination of the shorter man, now standing alone in the center of the hallway.

“I think {Redacted} is itching to use their magic just as much as I am,” Holmes replies calmly. He knows that if they make a scene the empty stretch will fill with curious guards, and that his friend’s counterargument is logical enough that he has no right to shout back. “And I that you also feel the frustration of not being of any use. We are nothing here without our magic, simply following {Redacted} wherever he goes. We cannot fight as well as the Men of Gondor with broadswords, we don’t know any strategy that would help in this kind of war. Magic is all we can do.”

“I do not think we should be so selfish as to presume that our magic will be of enough use to warrant risking the attention of an evil god, of putting Sauron on guard. We have our parts to play, even if they are small compared to that of kings and wizards and hobbits. Are you not content to do what little we can?” Watson tilts his head, eyes boring holes into the rebellion in the former detective’s soul.

Sherlock Holmes opens his mouth to reply, but there is little he can do but close it abruptly in the face of John’s argument. “{Redacted} could easily beat Sauron .” He mutters to himself, a bit sullen now that reality has now fully sunken in.

“Perhaps, but that’s not why we’re here.” His friend resumes a brighter tone, experienced enough with Sherlock’s moods to know how to react. “So shall we go and be useful?” Dr. Watson pivots once again and strides off towards their rooms, not having to look behind to know that his partner will follow soon after.

Upon entering the doctor immediately busies himself with donning the lightweight armor he had received from the blacksmith a few levels below, making sure the straps are tight and the gaps are places he can protect. When Holmes enters the room a few beats after, he understands and starts putting on his armguards, then moving on to his sword and so on. After a few minutes the two are fully prepared, appraising each other for anything they’re missing.

And with that out of the way they head out the door, walking towards the courtyard in the barracks to train while they can.

Or rather, that’s what they were planning to do, because they turn the first corner and nearly walk into Gandalf. The wizard is strangely imposing in his white robes, hand high on his staff as he turns to face the two porters.

“Sherlock, John? Have you seen {Redacted} recently?” It is immediately obvious to the acute senses of the duo that something is wrong, as he isn’t able to hide the small worm of worry in his voice.

“Not since this morning. Why, what is it?” Dr. Watson replies first, suspicious enough to take a step back with narrowed eyes.

“The forces of Mordor have arrived. The Rohirrim have not, and we need {Reda}–”

The White Wizard stops, seeing no point in continuing as Holmes shoots off through the hallway, disappearing in a blur.

“… Uh, I need to–” Watson shifts awkwardly and steps forward to follow, turning to Gandalf quickly. “If you’re looking for them, they’re probably aware and by the gates already.” With that he dashes after his friend, moving at an almost inhuman speed across the smooth floor.

It doesn’t take long for John to catch up; Sherlock isn’t moving very fast, and the doctor knows where his partner is going.
They meet once again at the outlook, observing the massive congregation of dark warriors gathered beyond the gates of Minas Tirith.

“And so the siege begins.” Sherlock Holmes whispers.

“Shall we go and do what we can?”


The duo smile as one, together stepping off the spur of rock to fall the long distance to the first level below.

(+2483 words)