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- 0lympiic
-
Scratcher
20 posts
swc megathread: march '25
Oly's SWC MARCH '25 THREAD
AAAAah I need to finish my schoolwork before SWC
AAAAah I need to finish my schoolwork before SWC
- -KenzieCamps-
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
To The Stars
About The Post
- points worth: 300
- words written: 324
- reason: Daily 2
- prompt:
Quick! Go to the comments of the main cabin and post five words of your choice for someone to use in a story. Then, pick someone else’s five words to use in a story of your own! Write 300 words to gain 200 points for your cabin, and an extra 100 points if you decide to share your lovely writing piece with us.
Astra gazed at the bright stars above her head. With the wet grass against her back and her warm, fluffy cat Hope laying next to her, she didn’t have very many cares in the world. Constellations dotted the sky and the space stretched endlessly above her.
After a while, a door opened from the small cottage that Astra called home. “Sweetie, it’s time for bed,” her mother called, “You’ve gazed at the stars long enough.”
Astra sat up, staring at the dark landscape greeting her. She always lost track when she was outside staring at the stars. She clicked her tongue to call Hope and the fluffy, white cat stood up with expectant eyes.
Being outside in the dark brought Astra lots of happiness just like it brought her brother joy to play with his toy cars. She ran alongside Hope down the hill to her cottage. Once inside, the bright warm light greeted her. Her mother was curled up on a light patterned armchair with a fluffy blanket and book next to the blazing fire.
Astra walked over and gave her mom a gentle hug, then went to her room. Inside of her room, her walls were lined with posters about NASA, space, and astronauts. Her favorite poster had a quote by Ron Garan which said “We are limited only by our imagination and our will to act.”
Her dream was to one day be an astronaut that would explore the moon and beyond. Her father said that it would be a miracle if she was accepted into a space academy since she came from such a poor family, but she believed that she would.
Astra put her hair into a lovely braid with a dark blue ribbon. Then, she climbed into her star-lined sheets. Once she closed her eyes, she dreamed of no gravity walks on the moon and flying through space. One day closer until she would travel past the stars.
Closing
Return to Kenzie's Library
// words: hope, stars, travel, miracle, happiness by Milkysplash (comment thread link)
// this daily was really fun to write!!
- DragonFyr
-
Scratcher
4 posts
swc megathread: march '25
Credit to @-Lunova- for words
Words: Fade, flame, skitter, wing, broken
TW: Mentions of being drunk, vague mentions of assault
You were once wonderful. Did you know that? I had watched you, just glances across the hall, and you were my everything. But now, look at yourself. You, who once seemed the only thing in my universe that briefly mattered, are just broken. A demon, sent from hell to torture my eyes for years before turning on me.
Why, you ask? Why!? I shouldn't have to tell you. But I guess, I will.
It was a dark and stormy night- You don't like that? It's too cliche? Ha. Since when do you get a say in anything I do? That night! So you do remember. Well. Back to how the love of my life, ruined it.
It was a dark and stormy night, but luckily, I was inside. No one could even hear the rain over the pounding music filling the mansion. I was talking with my friends, presumably about our crushes. We were half-drunk high schoolers, all twelve of us, and everyone else was as well. The beginning of the party is a blur, likely from all the wine. As were graduates in two days, some ‘mysterious little gremlin’ (one of us) had organized this. Everyone knew who it was, he even called himself a mysterious little gremlin, and was infamous for hosting the best parties north of Seattle.
That's right, it was you.
You stepped onto the balcony for your yearly speech about how amazing the year had been and how you looked forward to the next one. Oh wait, this year there isn't a next one.
“Well, that's something different!” Eleanor says loudly, red-faced and already laughing by the end of her sentence. Chuckles filled the room.
You fade out view, your sharp black suit blending perfectly with the darkness of the room. The normally bright marble walls are lit only by a few small chandeliers.
“Oi! Come back, you snazzy duke of Washington!” One of the boys yells, pumping his fist in the air.
You comply, reappearing at the bottom of a staircase lined with velvet. Jumbled applause fills the room, a hollow sound, somewhat like a group of cockroaches leaving with a skitter. You grab a glass of champagne, then call for silence.
“A toast!” Your deep voice resounds around the room, stopping the dancing of the few not originally listening. “In two days, we won't be high schoolers anymore. In two days, we are free!”
We all raise our glasses and reply. “We are free!”
“Shush, you crazy old bears!” The insult flies right past, dipping a wing in the gurgling chocolate pool before flapping out the window. We don't care about what you say, we're graduates! “A new milestone, in our short lives. So I have an announcement.”
A silence falls over us, and we seem to lean forward on non-existent seats.
“I have just learned something. Something disastrously concerning.”
Gasps rustle around the room.
“One of us, has a secret.”
I hadn't even for a moment thought it would be about me. You didn't even know my name! And yet, as you said your next words, it dawned on me. You weren't a beautiful flame, perfect as can be, you were a wildfire, destroying everything in your path as you rampaged across the world, ready to burn anything good.
“Victoria's adopted.”
Heads turn to me and my cheeks burn. It wasn't that bad, tons of us were adopted. And then, you continued.
“And her real father is a convicted criminal.”
Maybe it was the wine, or the silence, or maybe you were right, and I am just as bad as my father, but something made me run at you, and despite my short height, grab your collar.
“What the hell, Jordan!?”
“See? Her first thought is violence, just like her father, who,” You whispered the next part only to me, “Assaulted 5 policemen.”
I freeze. “How do you know that?”
You had smiled back, sickly and evil. “I had to pull a few strings.” You played with one of the frills on my purple dress as you said that, then pushed me away. Then, you spoke loudly, enough for the whole mansion to hear. “Now run, run little girl, back to your daddy in the jail cell where you belong.”
And I had run. Hadn't I, Jordan? I'd run, right back to my adopted dad and my adopted mom and my adorable adopted sister. They were kind, they told me to ignore you, that you didn't matter. And then I went to Harvard, I graduated law, and would you look at that! I'm the prosecutor in your sad, sad little case. Your criminal case. And Jordan? I don't intend to lose.
|776 words|
Karma y'all.
Words: Fade, flame, skitter, wing, broken
TW: Mentions of being drunk, vague mentions of assault
You were once wonderful. Did you know that? I had watched you, just glances across the hall, and you were my everything. But now, look at yourself. You, who once seemed the only thing in my universe that briefly mattered, are just broken. A demon, sent from hell to torture my eyes for years before turning on me.
Why, you ask? Why!? I shouldn't have to tell you. But I guess, I will.
It was a dark and stormy night- You don't like that? It's too cliche? Ha. Since when do you get a say in anything I do? That night! So you do remember. Well. Back to how the love of my life, ruined it.
It was a dark and stormy night, but luckily, I was inside. No one could even hear the rain over the pounding music filling the mansion. I was talking with my friends, presumably about our crushes. We were half-drunk high schoolers, all twelve of us, and everyone else was as well. The beginning of the party is a blur, likely from all the wine. As were graduates in two days, some ‘mysterious little gremlin’ (one of us) had organized this. Everyone knew who it was, he even called himself a mysterious little gremlin, and was infamous for hosting the best parties north of Seattle.
That's right, it was you.
You stepped onto the balcony for your yearly speech about how amazing the year had been and how you looked forward to the next one. Oh wait, this year there isn't a next one.
“Well, that's something different!” Eleanor says loudly, red-faced and already laughing by the end of her sentence. Chuckles filled the room.
You fade out view, your sharp black suit blending perfectly with the darkness of the room. The normally bright marble walls are lit only by a few small chandeliers.
“Oi! Come back, you snazzy duke of Washington!” One of the boys yells, pumping his fist in the air.
You comply, reappearing at the bottom of a staircase lined with velvet. Jumbled applause fills the room, a hollow sound, somewhat like a group of cockroaches leaving with a skitter. You grab a glass of champagne, then call for silence.
“A toast!” Your deep voice resounds around the room, stopping the dancing of the few not originally listening. “In two days, we won't be high schoolers anymore. In two days, we are free!”
We all raise our glasses and reply. “We are free!”
“Shush, you crazy old bears!” The insult flies right past, dipping a wing in the gurgling chocolate pool before flapping out the window. We don't care about what you say, we're graduates! “A new milestone, in our short lives. So I have an announcement.”
A silence falls over us, and we seem to lean forward on non-existent seats.
“I have just learned something. Something disastrously concerning.”
Gasps rustle around the room.
“One of us, has a secret.”
I hadn't even for a moment thought it would be about me. You didn't even know my name! And yet, as you said your next words, it dawned on me. You weren't a beautiful flame, perfect as can be, you were a wildfire, destroying everything in your path as you rampaged across the world, ready to burn anything good.
“Victoria's adopted.”
Heads turn to me and my cheeks burn. It wasn't that bad, tons of us were adopted. And then, you continued.
“And her real father is a convicted criminal.”
Maybe it was the wine, or the silence, or maybe you were right, and I am just as bad as my father, but something made me run at you, and despite my short height, grab your collar.
“What the hell, Jordan!?”
“See? Her first thought is violence, just like her father, who,” You whispered the next part only to me, “Assaulted 5 policemen.”
I freeze. “How do you know that?”
You had smiled back, sickly and evil. “I had to pull a few strings.” You played with one of the frills on my purple dress as you said that, then pushed me away. Then, you spoke loudly, enough for the whole mansion to hear. “Now run, run little girl, back to your daddy in the jail cell where you belong.”
And I had run. Hadn't I, Jordan? I'd run, right back to my adopted dad and my adopted mom and my adorable adopted sister. They were kind, they told me to ignore you, that you didn't matter. And then I went to Harvard, I graduated law, and would you look at that! I'm the prosecutor in your sad, sad little case. Your criminal case. And Jordan? I don't intend to lose.
|776 words|
Karma y'all.
- ziqing11
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
return to table of contents
Daily 2
“euphoria, silver, lantern, sever, secret” -@pages-of-ink
@_click_ & @silverlynx- and an irl friend for critiquing! I'm forever grateful for you guys <33
A gentle breeze travelled through the air, passing between the intertwined branches and making the last leaves of autumn rustle and fall to the ground in a graceful swirl of orange and red. Night had befallen the sleeping world, peaceful and quiet. The silver moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the figure of a handsome young man in the midst of the forest. The sound of crunching leaves was heard with every footstep, and though the moon's light was barely enough to distinguish the shadow of the trees, the young man made his way swiftly through the forest, as though he had taken that path a hundred times.
Upon approaching a small clearing, he pressed his trembling hand on his chest, as though wanting to suppress his fierce heartbeats. His eyes, used to the darkness of the night from his numerous nighttime wanderings, quickly scanned the open, moonlit space before them. He drew in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing. She was not there.
He walked further into the clearing, making himself visible, in case she was waiting in the shadows like she often did. He was not wrong. A mesmerising woman with dazzling hazel eyes and long brown hair flowing in the breeze appeared from the trees. She was carrying a lantern, its orange glow illuminating her pale face, but for whatever reason unknown to him, the light had not revealed the woman earlier on to her passionate lover. The sight of this woman brought tremendous joy to the young man - his features lit up with a glowing warmth and his lips split open to reveal a full hearted smile. By the way his entire body trembled with excitement, one would not doubt that this man was close to euphoria.
He hurried towards her, kneeling down to kiss the pale fingers he had pressed his lips upon so many times. He stood up, and gently slid his arms around her shoulders. They were freezing to the touch, abnormally so, but he paid no notice.
“I wasn't expecting you here this early”, he whispered tenderly in her ear.
She displayed a thin smile on her lips. “I wanted to meet you sooner”, she replied in the same loving tone, making warm flames of love glimmer in her eyes. Suddenly, so rapidly one could not have perceived the change, the shadow of a fierce lightning-like glare flashed through those bright pupils. The woman, alarmed by this unwanted change, quickly darted her eyes away from those of the young man, fearing he had noticed. Meanwhile, he, lost in a sea of oblivious and passionate love, remained blissfully unaware of the alteration.
The woman stared once again into the young man's eyes, her gaze returned to the soft glimmer, and the couple stood there, transported to a haven of their own. Then slowly, very slowly, to the point where the man couldn't notice the change, the woman's gaze shifted. This time, it was not a mere shadow. The warmth was replaced with bitter and harsh coldness, the glittering tears of love were replaced with some kind of indescribable hatred. She fixed the man so hard that it seemed like her horrible, unrelenting glare imprinted right into her partner's soul.
The young man never got the chance to notice the change in his mistress. His body was slowly turned into stone, every inch of his skin hardening into a dull, lifeless grey.
As she felt the hands on her shoulders stiffen and increase in weight, the woman stepped back, admired her work with an eerie satisfaction, and left, without even glancing back at the man she pretended to love.
(606 words)
Daily 2
“euphoria, silver, lantern, sever, secret” -@pages-of-ink
@_click_ & @silverlynx- and an irl friend for critiquing! I'm forever grateful for you guys <33
Oblivion
A gentle breeze travelled through the air, passing between the intertwined branches and making the last leaves of autumn rustle and fall to the ground in a graceful swirl of orange and red. Night had befallen the sleeping world, peaceful and quiet. The silver moon hung high in the sky, illuminating the figure of a handsome young man in the midst of the forest. The sound of crunching leaves was heard with every footstep, and though the moon's light was barely enough to distinguish the shadow of the trees, the young man made his way swiftly through the forest, as though he had taken that path a hundred times.
Upon approaching a small clearing, he pressed his trembling hand on his chest, as though wanting to suppress his fierce heartbeats. His eyes, used to the darkness of the night from his numerous nighttime wanderings, quickly scanned the open, moonlit space before them. He drew in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing. She was not there.
He walked further into the clearing, making himself visible, in case she was waiting in the shadows like she often did. He was not wrong. A mesmerising woman with dazzling hazel eyes and long brown hair flowing in the breeze appeared from the trees. She was carrying a lantern, its orange glow illuminating her pale face, but for whatever reason unknown to him, the light had not revealed the woman earlier on to her passionate lover. The sight of this woman brought tremendous joy to the young man - his features lit up with a glowing warmth and his lips split open to reveal a full hearted smile. By the way his entire body trembled with excitement, one would not doubt that this man was close to euphoria.
He hurried towards her, kneeling down to kiss the pale fingers he had pressed his lips upon so many times. He stood up, and gently slid his arms around her shoulders. They were freezing to the touch, abnormally so, but he paid no notice.
“I wasn't expecting you here this early”, he whispered tenderly in her ear.
She displayed a thin smile on her lips. “I wanted to meet you sooner”, she replied in the same loving tone, making warm flames of love glimmer in her eyes. Suddenly, so rapidly one could not have perceived the change, the shadow of a fierce lightning-like glare flashed through those bright pupils. The woman, alarmed by this unwanted change, quickly darted her eyes away from those of the young man, fearing he had noticed. Meanwhile, he, lost in a sea of oblivious and passionate love, remained blissfully unaware of the alteration.
The woman stared once again into the young man's eyes, her gaze returned to the soft glimmer, and the couple stood there, transported to a haven of their own. Then slowly, very slowly, to the point where the man couldn't notice the change, the woman's gaze shifted. This time, it was not a mere shadow. The warmth was replaced with bitter and harsh coldness, the glittering tears of love were replaced with some kind of indescribable hatred. She fixed the man so hard that it seemed like her horrible, unrelenting glare imprinted right into her partner's soul.
The young man never got the chance to notice the change in his mistress. His body was slowly turned into stone, every inch of his skin hardening into a dull, lifeless grey.
As she felt the hands on her shoulders stiffen and increase in weight, the woman stepped back, admired her work with an eerie satisfaction, and left, without even glancing back at the man she pretended to love.
(606 words)
Last edited by ziqing11 (March 23, 2025 15:25:00)
- Duckily_the_Great
-
Scratcher
54 posts
swc megathread: march '25
{Daily #2}
Words (from Yume, @yumeverse): llama, chaos, hero, seventeen, open
Word Count: 392 words
Notes: Sorry, it's kind of all over the place….
Scarlett scanned the room carefully. She didn’t want to set off any alarms. The seventeen-year-old had been training for this moment for years. Imagine failing. Headmaster Hero would be sorely disappointed in her. She scanned the room once more before starting walking, slowly, carefully, watching and waiting for the expected traps. They never came. Confused, Scarlett looked around once more. This unexpected twist was causing chaos in her brain. As she looked around yet again, she realized that something felt off. Extremely off. A slight sound from behind her tipped her off. As she jerked her head around to see what caused it, a blaring sound filled the room. Alarms. Scarlett had blown it.
Something odd was happening to her. Something strange. Scarlett typically had no reaction to loud noises- no more than the average person. Yet as the alarms continued to go off, she could feel her vision darkening. There must’ve been some high-pitched frequency, she knew, that was making her feel sleepy. Although she tried to resist it, within a few seconds, she had dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Scarlett awoke in a white room. There was nothing in the room, unless you counted the shiny silver door in the corner. Scarlett looked around, and used her arms to push herself off the floor. As she turned in the other direction, she saw something that made her scream. Standing in the corner of the room, watching her with judging eyes was…
A LLAMA.
Scarlett had always had an irrational fear of llamas. Those eyes with their long lashes. Those yellowing teeth. And the incredible ability to spit at people.
Scarlett shivered just thinking about it. She closed her eyes and waited for the large globule of spit to hit her in the face… but it never came. She opened her eyes a crack to see the llama standing even closer to her than before. She shrieked.
“Hello, Scarlett.” it said in an extremely deep voice.
“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” Scarlett said, running towards the door.
She waited for it to be opened, and by some miracle, it did open. Scarlett pushed out of the room and took a deep breath. When she looked up again, she was surrounded by more llamas.
“HELP!” Scarlett yelled, but it was too late.
“Begin the experiment.” a llama stated.
All went dark.
Words (from Yume, @yumeverse): llama, chaos, hero, seventeen, open
Word Count: 392 words
Notes: Sorry, it's kind of all over the place….
Scarlett scanned the room carefully. She didn’t want to set off any alarms. The seventeen-year-old had been training for this moment for years. Imagine failing. Headmaster Hero would be sorely disappointed in her. She scanned the room once more before starting walking, slowly, carefully, watching and waiting for the expected traps. They never came. Confused, Scarlett looked around once more. This unexpected twist was causing chaos in her brain. As she looked around yet again, she realized that something felt off. Extremely off. A slight sound from behind her tipped her off. As she jerked her head around to see what caused it, a blaring sound filled the room. Alarms. Scarlett had blown it.
Something odd was happening to her. Something strange. Scarlett typically had no reaction to loud noises- no more than the average person. Yet as the alarms continued to go off, she could feel her vision darkening. There must’ve been some high-pitched frequency, she knew, that was making her feel sleepy. Although she tried to resist it, within a few seconds, she had dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Scarlett awoke in a white room. There was nothing in the room, unless you counted the shiny silver door in the corner. Scarlett looked around, and used her arms to push herself off the floor. As she turned in the other direction, she saw something that made her scream. Standing in the corner of the room, watching her with judging eyes was…
A LLAMA.
Scarlett had always had an irrational fear of llamas. Those eyes with their long lashes. Those yellowing teeth. And the incredible ability to spit at people.
Scarlett shivered just thinking about it. She closed her eyes and waited for the large globule of spit to hit her in the face… but it never came. She opened her eyes a crack to see the llama standing even closer to her than before. She shrieked.
“Hello, Scarlett.” it said in an extremely deep voice.
“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” Scarlett said, running towards the door.
She waited for it to be opened, and by some miracle, it did open. Scarlett pushed out of the room and took a deep breath. When she looked up again, she was surrounded by more llamas.
“HELP!” Scarlett yelled, but it was too late.
“Begin the experiment.” a llama stated.
All went dark.
- euphoriafall
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
ii.
313 words
i'll be honest, this is horribly rushed and… not great. if i were to come back to this to refine it, it would end up looking very different. but this is good enough for now i guess.
my words, from WestEndLover15: “charm, gaze, flicker, light, moon”
The sun rises with the morning, its light
bathing the surface of the earth with
warmth and life. It burns with
intensity and fervour,
tendrils flaring over sunspots.
The sun is the beacon
without which earth would be lost,
a wandering, dark,
dead planet fated to wander
the lonely cosmos for
eternity.
Children run outdoors to play when
the sun shines itself upon
this side of the earth, its
charming light providing
comfort, happiness.
Our lights, they flicker and
diminish over time, but the incandescent
bulb of our sun will burn
for generations more,
expanding, growing, then–
suddenly nothing but a white dwarf.
And moon, the regal gaze,
pearly and hanging in the dark
night sky. A beacon of sorts, to
the quiet stargazer, crescent moon
points south when seen in the north.
In mythology it is beauty,
the hunt, purity. Its silken body
glows against its
midnight-deep backdrop. Its
face forever turned
towards us with a smile.
There is a reason why humans seem
drawn to exploring the heavens, the
night sky instinctively a
mystery to be solved, dissected
to its very core.
How is it that our stunning
world was made? Perhaps this only
represents the allure of the entire
universe, of which we still only
understand little, yet strive to
explore, discover, know.
We humans, we tend to rise with
the sun and set too
with it. Perhaps we should try to
notice the moon more
often and appreciate its beauty.
A small world in a sky of
infinite wonder, but this small
world is our world. Earth, moon, sun in an intricate
dance, eclipsing and turning for
years to come. And maybe we do not understand
all of it yet, but there is a beauty in wonder.
The myriad of other stars in
our universe may
glow brighter, or larger, but
none of these solar systems
contain our
home.
- taylorsversion--
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
↳ daily 2: march 2nd - 312 words ༉‧₊
the words were: twelve, all night, canned coffee, ink stains, three
the words were: twelve, all night, canned coffee, ink stains, three
It was twelve o’clock in the morning - midnight - when there was a loud bang outside. Eight year old Isaac woke up because of it and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Wondering what the sound was, Isaac came to the conclusion that he should get up and ask his mum, since, obviously, she knows everything.
Isaac slid out of bed, his fluffy socks padding on the cold wooden floor. Clutching his three stuffed toys, (Flopsy, Growly and Zig) Isaac treaded carefully up the stairs- being careful to look behind him, in case the monster under his bed was following him. (Not that he actually believed in monsters, uh, obviously. )
Isaac walked past his dad’s study on the way to his parent’s room, but then noticed a light creeping out from under the door and backtracked. Could it be that his dad was still working in there? Had he really been there all night?
Timidly, Isaac pushed open the heavy door and crept inside, half hiding behind a stack of ink stained paper and miscellaneous items. His dad looked up from where he was working at his desk and frowned. “Isaac, you shouldn’t be awake.”
Isaac peered out from behind some canned coffee and smiled a little. He hadn’t thought that his dad had noticed him there- perhaps he should practice more hide and seek.
“I know, I just wanted to know what the loud bang was. Sorry.” replied Isaac. “And I can’t sleep now.”
Isaac held out Flopsy as some sort of peace offering.
Patting the teddy’s head, Isaac’s dad replied, “Let’s get you back to bed then, since it was just a dust bin lid, that’s all.”
Isaac returned to his room and fell asleep promptly, just like how most eight year olds do when they don’t have worries to think about to keep them awake at night.
Last edited by taylorsversion-- (March 7, 2025 23:49:06)
- HippotheHippo
-
Scratcher
76 posts
swc megathread: march '25
The Wife, The Soldier, and The Dress - 472 words
words: candle, cholesterol, stitch, witchcraft, napoleon
The year is 1800. The time is 1:30 in the morning, and the scene is a small room in a French bakeshop with living quarters attached. It has a window looking out onto the city street and is furnished with a chair, a small table, all made of dark oak. A candle flickers in the window, which is opened slightly.
Catherine sits in the chair, her mouth set into a line of grim resignation. Her husband has been gone for seven weeks, serving under Emperor Napoleon, with no correspondence, and in the military this is never good news.
The candle in the darkened window flickers again and again. She watches it intently for a few seconds, as if it can answer all her questions and then some.
The candle flickers once more, then blows out on a gust of wind from the window. Catherine turns her attention to the sewing project on the wooden table next to her. It is a child's dress, long and white, for the baby she is expecting.
She forlornly stitches the small sleeves onto the dress. She wonders what has come of her husband, and if he will be able to meet their first child.
She hears the door to the bakeshop creak open. Concerned, she sets the dress onto the table and stands.
Before she can walk any further, the door to the room is shoved open. Catherine takes a step backwards.
It is her husband, but she does not recognize him now. The bright, young baker she married a year ago has turned into a madman. He is thin, with sunken eyes and a filthy uniform. His hair is matted and mussed, and his beard has grown to a length. There is a haunted quality to him, as if he is scarcely alive.
He staggers into the room, trembling. Catherine, scared but still hopeful, pulls the blue coat of his uniform off of his shoulders and hangs it by the door. “How was your time in-” she begins to ask him, but is cut off by the sight of blood on his shirt. She gasps.
“I have seen things you could not begin to imagine,” he whispers, still shaking. "Witchcraft. All of it.“
Catherine nods and waves to the chair. ”Would you like me to put on some tea, my love?“ She asks, hiding her fear well enough. She does not know who her husband has become, and she is unsure if she would still like him here.
That does not change the fact that he is her husband, however. He ignores her offer and repeats himself. ”Witchcraft. Something of the future, they called it. Pants… Anger… Cholesterol… You could not envision it all. I have been injured badly on my travels, my dear wife. I am sorry for what comes next.“
”Let me see about the dirt on this,“ Catherine says, taking the coat off the hook. She lays it on the windowsill, and it is warm with blood. She makes a face but continues to examine it, moving up to the collar and down the lapels.
”I mean it,“ he insists, looking at his wife for the first time in months. ”I am sorry."
His eyes close and he says no more. Catherine hangs the coat back up and picks up the baby's dress. She hangs it on a hook by the door, then exits the room.
The dress now has Catherine's bloody handprints on it. Her husband sits, still unmoving, below it.
words: candle, cholesterol, stitch, witchcraft, napoleon
The year is 1800. The time is 1:30 in the morning, and the scene is a small room in a French bakeshop with living quarters attached. It has a window looking out onto the city street and is furnished with a chair, a small table, all made of dark oak. A candle flickers in the window, which is opened slightly.
Catherine sits in the chair, her mouth set into a line of grim resignation. Her husband has been gone for seven weeks, serving under Emperor Napoleon, with no correspondence, and in the military this is never good news.
The candle in the darkened window flickers again and again. She watches it intently for a few seconds, as if it can answer all her questions and then some.
The candle flickers once more, then blows out on a gust of wind from the window. Catherine turns her attention to the sewing project on the wooden table next to her. It is a child's dress, long and white, for the baby she is expecting.
She forlornly stitches the small sleeves onto the dress. She wonders what has come of her husband, and if he will be able to meet their first child.
She hears the door to the bakeshop creak open. Concerned, she sets the dress onto the table and stands.
Before she can walk any further, the door to the room is shoved open. Catherine takes a step backwards.
It is her husband, but she does not recognize him now. The bright, young baker she married a year ago has turned into a madman. He is thin, with sunken eyes and a filthy uniform. His hair is matted and mussed, and his beard has grown to a length. There is a haunted quality to him, as if he is scarcely alive.
He staggers into the room, trembling. Catherine, scared but still hopeful, pulls the blue coat of his uniform off of his shoulders and hangs it by the door. “How was your time in-” she begins to ask him, but is cut off by the sight of blood on his shirt. She gasps.
“I have seen things you could not begin to imagine,” he whispers, still shaking. "Witchcraft. All of it.“
Catherine nods and waves to the chair. ”Would you like me to put on some tea, my love?“ She asks, hiding her fear well enough. She does not know who her husband has become, and she is unsure if she would still like him here.
That does not change the fact that he is her husband, however. He ignores her offer and repeats himself. ”Witchcraft. Something of the future, they called it. Pants… Anger… Cholesterol… You could not envision it all. I have been injured badly on my travels, my dear wife. I am sorry for what comes next.“
”Let me see about the dirt on this,“ Catherine says, taking the coat off the hook. She lays it on the windowsill, and it is warm with blood. She makes a face but continues to examine it, moving up to the collar and down the lapels.
”I mean it,“ he insists, looking at his wife for the first time in months. ”I am sorry."
His eyes close and he says no more. Catherine hangs the coat back up and picks up the baby's dress. She hangs it on a hook by the door, then exits the room.
The dress now has Catherine's bloody handprints on it. Her husband sits, still unmoving, below it.
- -vanillamochabear-
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
GHELP I HTINK I FORGOT HOW TO WRITe⋆ daily march 2nd: five random words (lament, lurch, lilt, listen, land, thanks @.sandy-dunes!!)
there is nothing left for her in this world. and yet, she waits.
waits until the night falls and she is somewhat safe under a soft cloak of darkness, legs tired from running, running, running. she’s not quite sure where to go or who to find, but follows that word in her head golden and bright: away. anywhere but here, because here is just dirt, rain, land torn to pieces like ragged slips of silk, and the graveyards of everyone she used to know. here, home, no longer exists. the hands that had shaped her being do not exist, yet she remained. (why?)
the night falls as it tends to, and she rests her head into the soil. the pounding rain is her blanket now, as are the hot tears steaming into the air. they water the land.
sleep comes. there, she drifts on her thin piece of wood through a foggy sea, and she sighs. every night, it’s this one, over and over. that’s fine, though - anything holding a semblance of rhythm she valued. so she lays back and watches the endless grey sky, listens to the wind howl, and feels the lurch of the waves. the saltwater, or was it still the rain? stings her bruises. waiting; this time, for morning. (if it decided to come, that was. she was fine either way).
you’ll find meaning soon, my child, a voice whispers, and the girl smiles softly in her sleep.
are you so sure? she asks, hopeful above all.
i promise.
the girl still remembers how to trust.
and there, the elements of her dreaming mind turn a little less hostile and if she squinted through all of that greyness, she could make out a couple of stars. somewhere out there in the real world there would be someone who cared about her. it was a promise, as they had said it so surely.
one last thing lingers on her mind. something she had been scared to ask maybe ever again.
can you sing me a song? the girl whispers to the wind, closing her eyes.
listening to the gentle lilt of the breeze, she’s so naively sure that tomorrow will be okay. whatever that would mean. her lament would finally be over.
she tries to push it from her mind that this is her hundredth night of useless wishing believing.
(394 words)
Last edited by -vanillamochabear- (March 2, 2025 21:04:01)
- ChueyTheCat
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
daily ii. smoke and mirrors || 800 words || back to table of contents: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/post/8417183/
Shatter, knife, match, trust, mirror (courtesy of the lovely Mouse <3)
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She’s surrounded by white and gray blurs, and as her vision clears they come into focus. Not blurs - snow. And something sharp - swords? No, enormous shards of glass. Mirrors.
The face that stares back at her from the one in front of her is not the face of the girl she knows. No scars. No tanned, weathered skin. Even her eyes appear wider, innocent. Unstained. She is flawless, beautiful.
The girl’s breath catches.
Imagine if I could just…wipe it all away.
She reaches out a shaking hand to touch her other self and meets a slick, cold surface.
There’s no jagged line down her cheek, no choppy, unkempt hair. Her cheeks are soft and unmarred with the slightest touch of softness, her hair descending down her back in gently rippling waves.
She’s willing to bet the mirror-girl has never even seen a knife fight. Maybe never even seen a knife. She probably woke up in the same bed every day, drank chocolate for breakfast, batted her lashes at handsome men.
The girl in the snow sticks out her tongue at the beautiful reflection, pretending it doesn’t hurt. She’d be bored to death living the life of a nobleman’s daughter.
Too bad you’re worse than bored, living the life of an assassin for hire.
She was done with this pointless train of thought. Standing, she looks for a way out of the circle, but the shards are too close together to allow her to squirm out without being lacerated.
She raises a foot to see if she can kick through it - her leather boots are sturdy - but it isn’t leather she sees on her foot but silk.
Mirrors only reflect what’s already there, right?
Her throat closes off as her hands fly to her face, searching for the familiar bumps and ridges.
No bumps. No ridges. Just soft, pliant skin.
The girl screams, a wail of heartbreak and anger and grief and she wasn’t even sure what else.
What am I doing here? What happened to me?
Sobs drag her back down to the snow, shaking her so ferociously she thinks she might be sick. She never cries like this in real life.
In…
…real life…
She can do whatever she wants in dreams.
Maybe if she can get rid of the snow, the ground will thaw enough that the shards will move. She knows she’s got to get out of the circle to escape this nightmare.
What melts snow?
She reaches for a familiar presence in her head, but it isn’t there, it’s slipping out of her grip. Confused, she lets it go, not understanding. There’s something missing, but she doesn’t remember what.
Either way, she still needs a heat source, and it looks like she’s going to have to go for a more traditional approach. Inhaling, she visualizes a matchstick, and doesn’t stop until she feels smooth wood in her hand.
Fire can’t ever be controlled, just contained.
She shivers, and the match flares to life. She tries not to think about what it means that she didn’t strike it first. It’s just a dream.
The girl crouches to hold the flame to the snow, but with a sizzle, the snow catches fire, sending her stumbling back, dropping the ashes of the matchstick.
It’s just a dream, just a dream, just a dream!
Gulping smoky breaths, she tries to reason it out. Logically, snow can’t catch fire, but nothing about this situation is logical. Like the way the fire is spreading much quicker than it should, and she’s now surrounded by a circle of hungry flames, and she is going to die (no, no you’re not, it’s only a bad nightmare), and the mirrors-
One of them appears to tilt a bit through the heat haze hovering over the fire, a gap wide enough for her to get through.
Coughing, she holds a hand out to the flames, hoping against hope they won’t really be hot.
No. Oh, no, they’re definitely hot.
She will not be a coward. She will not.
There’s a reason for this. A reason for the flames.
Bloody feathers rustle.
Trust the fire.
The snow kept her trapped. The mirrors are liars. The only way out, then, is through flame and ash.
She doesn’t give herself time to think, hurling herself towards a crimson wall.
A screech of triumph resounds through her spirit.
I am
Glass shatters, tearing perfect skin. Scars begin to reappear.
A phoenix
A thousand glinting knives whistle through the air like arrows, seeking a target in the fire. Blood spills down her cheek where one grazed her.
Rising from the ashes.
Gasping, she spills from the circle, panting and bleeding, and with a quiet hiss the flames disappear, leaving her in darkness.
I must trust the flames.
TW: blood, uhh idk kinda dark, weapons ig? (i love this character but she has major issues HAHAHA) also kinda terrible writing lol (idk what's going on with that ending save me) :>
Shatter, knife, match, trust, mirror (courtesy of the lovely Mouse <3)
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She’s surrounded by white and gray blurs, and as her vision clears they come into focus. Not blurs - snow. And something sharp - swords? No, enormous shards of glass. Mirrors.
The face that stares back at her from the one in front of her is not the face of the girl she knows. No scars. No tanned, weathered skin. Even her eyes appear wider, innocent. Unstained. She is flawless, beautiful.
The girl’s breath catches.
Imagine if I could just…wipe it all away.
She reaches out a shaking hand to touch her other self and meets a slick, cold surface.
There’s no jagged line down her cheek, no choppy, unkempt hair. Her cheeks are soft and unmarred with the slightest touch of softness, her hair descending down her back in gently rippling waves.
She’s willing to bet the mirror-girl has never even seen a knife fight. Maybe never even seen a knife. She probably woke up in the same bed every day, drank chocolate for breakfast, batted her lashes at handsome men.
The girl in the snow sticks out her tongue at the beautiful reflection, pretending it doesn’t hurt. She’d be bored to death living the life of a nobleman’s daughter.
Too bad you’re worse than bored, living the life of an assassin for hire.
She was done with this pointless train of thought. Standing, she looks for a way out of the circle, but the shards are too close together to allow her to squirm out without being lacerated.
She raises a foot to see if she can kick through it - her leather boots are sturdy - but it isn’t leather she sees on her foot but silk.
Mirrors only reflect what’s already there, right?
Her throat closes off as her hands fly to her face, searching for the familiar bumps and ridges.
No bumps. No ridges. Just soft, pliant skin.
The girl screams, a wail of heartbreak and anger and grief and she wasn’t even sure what else.
What am I doing here? What happened to me?
Sobs drag her back down to the snow, shaking her so ferociously she thinks she might be sick. She never cries like this in real life.
In…
…real life…
She can do whatever she wants in dreams.
Maybe if she can get rid of the snow, the ground will thaw enough that the shards will move. She knows she’s got to get out of the circle to escape this nightmare.
What melts snow?
She reaches for a familiar presence in her head, but it isn’t there, it’s slipping out of her grip. Confused, she lets it go, not understanding. There’s something missing, but she doesn’t remember what.
Either way, she still needs a heat source, and it looks like she’s going to have to go for a more traditional approach. Inhaling, she visualizes a matchstick, and doesn’t stop until she feels smooth wood in her hand.
Fire can’t ever be controlled, just contained.
She shivers, and the match flares to life. She tries not to think about what it means that she didn’t strike it first. It’s just a dream.
The girl crouches to hold the flame to the snow, but with a sizzle, the snow catches fire, sending her stumbling back, dropping the ashes of the matchstick.
It’s just a dream, just a dream, just a dream!
Gulping smoky breaths, she tries to reason it out. Logically, snow can’t catch fire, but nothing about this situation is logical. Like the way the fire is spreading much quicker than it should, and she’s now surrounded by a circle of hungry flames, and she is going to die (no, no you’re not, it’s only a bad nightmare), and the mirrors-
One of them appears to tilt a bit through the heat haze hovering over the fire, a gap wide enough for her to get through.
Coughing, she holds a hand out to the flames, hoping against hope they won’t really be hot.
No. Oh, no, they’re definitely hot.
She will not be a coward. She will not.
There’s a reason for this. A reason for the flames.
Bloody feathers rustle.
Trust the fire.
The snow kept her trapped. The mirrors are liars. The only way out, then, is through flame and ash.
She doesn’t give herself time to think, hurling herself towards a crimson wall.
A screech of triumph resounds through her spirit.
I am
Glass shatters, tearing perfect skin. Scars begin to reappear.
A phoenix
A thousand glinting knives whistle through the air like arrows, seeking a target in the fire. Blood spills down her cheek where one grazed her.
Rising from the ashes.
Gasping, she spills from the circle, panting and bleeding, and with a quiet hiss the flames disappear, leaving her in darkness.
I must trust the flames.
Last edited by ChueyTheCat (March 2, 2025 21:08:52)
- aviva_
-
Scratcher
93 posts
swc megathread: march '25
forgot to make a thread earlier sobbinf--
whoa #111 tho
✧ ❝swc thread - @aviva_❠ ✧
Rye/Milo/Chai, any pronouns
❝swc sessions attended❠ = ❝1 (this one)❠
❝cabin❠ = ❝bi-fi❠
——————————————————————————————————————-
✦ ❝dailies❠
✦ ❝weeklies❠
✦ ❝word wars❠
✦ tba if/when needed
✦ ❝other❠
✦ ❝total word count tracker❠
——————————————————————————————————————-
✧ dailies ✧
6/31
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✧ weeklies ✧
0/4
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✧ word wars ✧
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i'll fill this section in with writings for other events and stuff if/when necessary :3
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✧ other (ramblings, short stories, etc.) ✧
———————————————————————————————————————-
✧ ❝word count❠ = ❝4639/9870❠ ✧
✧ ❝most recent change❠ = ❝+1184, history project❠ ✧
whoa #111 tho
✧ ❝swc thread - @aviva_❠ ✧
Rye/Milo/Chai, any pronouns
❝swc sessions attended❠ = ❝1 (this one)❠
❝cabin❠ = ❝bi-fi❠
——————————————————————————————————————-
✦ ❝dailies❠
✦ ❝weeklies❠
✦ ❝word wars❠
✦ tba if/when needed
✦ ❝other❠
✦ ❝total word count tracker❠
——————————————————————————————————————-
✧ dailies ✧
6/31
❝lament, lurch, lilt, listen, land❠
❝daily #2 - write a story using 5 words someone else commented❠
Your last words, a lament.
You were awoken abruptly from your dreams. You curled into a ball, trying to return to that land. The one in your dreams… pulled from your memories… now just a faint ghost of what was once your home. But then you remembered. You sat up and your stomach lurched when you realized. It started today.
The competition… one winner. One survivor. This could be the last day you saw either of them, whether you lost or they did.
You met up with each other before it started. Xe flashed you a small smile–he was nervous, but that was to be expected. She didn't look nervous at all, as she pulled you into a hug. You leaned into her, your arms staying around each other for maybe a bit longer than necessary.
And then it's time.
You take a deep breath.
You didn't know the other contestants very well. Part of you regrets that, not getting to know them before it was too late, but part of you is relieved; there can only be one winner. And the rest of them will be gone. And the less you know them, the less you'll miss them. Does it make you a bad person? That you're relieved you won't miss them?
…Even if you probably won't be around to miss them much longer?
It's time. You begin.
First round, two people you barely know.
He's up next, against someone else you don't know, and xe did quite well. It seemed as though he was even beginning to enjoy himself. And then he was declared the winner, and you were proud of xem. Then you noticed the look in xyr eyes, as he was brought back next to you. Haunted.
You realized you'd all have to go through this.
The next round was her, against another stranger. She did amazing–although you might be a bit biased–and won as well. You were annoyed that you had to go last–you hate going last. But you were also relieved you didn't have to go against her, because then one of you would have to lose. And that would be goodbye.
And then it was the last round. Your turn.
You really didn't think you'd do that well. …Aaaaaaaand then you won.
Funny, how low your self-confidence was. Especially considering now, you're in the final final round. Idiot. As usual.
So in the end, you felt relieved. The three of you were still in, and none of you had to say goodbye. At least not yet.
It took you a while to realize you'd be going against her next round.
Put your whole heart into it. You have nothing left to lose at this point.
The next level of the bracket, you all felt more confident. You'd won last time, and you felt like you could take the world on.
Even if only two of you, at most, could win.
Not even, as it turned out. You're the only one left now.
You watched xem go against his opponent for the second round. And he did amazing, again. But apparently… it wasn't good enough. And xyr opponent won that time.
“Jasper!!” you screeched as you watched in horror, but it was too late, he was gone, he was gone, he was gone forever, and you'd never see xem again.
And of course right after that you had to go.
You start to shake, remembering. The memories have haunted you ever since this started. You try to get rid of it, but the memory barrels on, even as you stand there, in front of everyone.
You stood there next to each other. She put her hands on your shoulders.
“Keiki,” she said.
“Niamh,” you said to her. You looked her in the eyes.
“I don't want to lose you,” she whispered.
“I don't want to lose you either,” you replied. “So promise me. Whoever wins, wins, but promise me you won't just let me win. Promise me you'll at least try.”
She swallowed and blinked back the tears you could see glistening in her eyes. She'd always been protective of you. But you didn't want her to sacrifice herself for you.
“Okay,” she nodded.
You gave her a small smile. Then she pulled you into a hug–the last hug between the two of you.
“I love you,” she whispered. You felt her tears falling in your hair and could tell your own tears were soaking her shirt as you choked out, “You too.” She kissed your forehead and you both took ragged breaths. You listened to her voice, the lilts you knew so well, and decided to do your best to just enjoy your last minutes together.
It's all over now.
Again, you hadn't really been expecting to win. But again, you did.
And she was gone.
Gone, gone, gone, gone, gone… gone forever…
The words echo in your head as you remember.
You collapsed to the floor.
You collapse to the floor, just as you did then.
It's all over…
You look up at the screens. Your opponent won.
It is all over. You've lost.
I guess this is Keiki's end, I guess this is their goodbye, you think, and somehow, you're glad. Niamh's gone, Jasper's gone, and now you're about to be gone. This is it, this is goodbye, and you take a deep breath.
Your last words, a lament.
❝words❠ = ❝898❠
side note: this is sorta alnst oc fanfic except it's really vague and i never make it clear what the competition or whatever is because i felt awkward about it for some reason smhhhhh
❝robot, clock, kangaroo❠
❝daily #3 - write an ad for a portmanteau created from 2 of 3 words someone else commented❠
Hey chat!
We at JCJenson in SPAAAAACEE have noticed how some of you have been using our Worker Drones as house servants, which, although that wasn’t their original purpose, we’re chill with haha. Buuuuuuut… that has inspired us! That’s right JCJenson enjoyers, we are rolling out a new product!
Have you ever wanted a pet, but haven’t been able to get one? Are there allergies in your home? Do you live in an environment unsuitable for animals, but wish you could have some nearby? Do you like the build of sentinels, but are unwilling to attempt adopting one and keeping it as a pet due to their murderous tendencies, unlike some people*? If one or more of these applies to you, you are going to LOVE our new product!!
Are you ready?
Drumroll please…
Kangaroo Drones!
These little KangaBots have the build of a sentinel combined with a kangaroo, but a size closer to that of a medium-size dog, making them much more manageable**. They are robots, making it easy for your Worker Drones to understand them***. But then, they are also animals. Your children will love them****!
The new best household pet ever! Buy a KangaBot***** today******!*******
*Seriously, why are people doing that? JCJenson in SPAAAAACEE claims no liability for death, injuries, or other harm caused by attempted adoption of a sentinel as a pet. Stop doing that. Their whole point is to keep {classified} in the {classified} {classified} for the {classified} {classified} in line. They are NOT intended to be pets.
**This doesn’t mean they’re the easiest pet to manage. They definitely come with their challenges. If you want an easy pet, get a goldfish^.
***Requires a Kangaroo Drone to Worker Drone pairing chip for each Kangaroo Drone AND Worker Drone involved. Pairing chip not included. Will be for sale for the low price of $2,895,601 once we have actually developed them.
****JCJenson in SPAAAAACEE is not offering tips or comments on how to dissuade your children from getting one. Sorry, not sorry.
*****Experimental, sorry, forgot to mention that earlier!
******Costs only $35,013,947,039,572,093.48!
*******Please ignore how the footnotes and disclaimers are almost longer than the actual advertisement… ^^’
^Do NOT get a robot goldfish, though. This should not require further explanation.
❝words❠ = ❝380❠
this was so fun… hehe
❝daily #10…? sobbinf idk - write about an image❠
octopus at the grocery store
The octopus browses the shelves.
Who knows where it came from.
Who knows why it’s here.
But the octopus browses the shelves.
Searching.
Always searching.
For what?
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows where it came from.
Nobody knows why it’s here.
But here it is.
Who knows what it’s looking for.
Maybe there’s a certain taste
that can only be fulfilled
with specific ingredients.
And no matter how much it’s tried,
it can’t find them.
And yet it keeps
searching. because
it knows
the best things
are worth looking for.
Are worth spending so much time
trying to find them
until you do.
The most valuable things
are often the hardest things
to find
to keep
to trust in
to believe in
to hold onto
to continue seeking
to reach for
to protect
to risk yourself for.
The most important things
can so often not seem worth the
risk. but if you
keep
looking
who knows
you might find it.
the most valuable ingredients
those special flavors
and not just the flavors but the life
within
those flavors.
the special flavors,
or maybe what you’re
really
looking for
is the special
people.
maybe
the octopus
is looking for old memories.
The once-upon-a-time
of the happy life.
Maybe it had a happy life once.
Maybe it could have had a happy ending
but now that’s all out
of
reach.
But still
it keeps looking
because sometimes
hope
is the hardest thing to hold onto
is the hardest thing to keep
is the hardest thing to grasp
is the hardest thing
is the hardest
is the hardest
but sometimes
it’s all you have.
and no matter how hard it is,
no matter how much it hurts,
you have to keep going.
And hope is all you have to do that.
The octopus is searching for something.
Searching through the aisles of the grocery store.
Looking for something.
Nobody knows what.
Nobody knows why.
Nobody knows where it came from
or
why it’s here
or
if it will ever leave
or
if it will ever find
what
it’s looking for.
it’s looking for something
and nobody knows what
and nobody knows why
and nobody knows if it will ever find it
and nobody knows if it will ever give up
and nobody knows if it will leave
and nobody knows where it would go if it did
and nobody knows where it came from in the first place
and nobody knows anything
and nobody knows
and nobody knows
but still
the octopus
searches the aisles.
Looking for something
or someone.
Nobody knows what,
nobody knows if we ever will know,
all anybody knows is
it’s there
and searching.
Until it finds it
or
loses hope,
desperate,
and becomes like a shell
or a hollow being
despairing of the world.
Nobody knows where it came from
but what everybody does know
is that:
it’s here
it’s searching
it’s searching for something
it’s in desperate need of the something
and we don’t know what
but we know we’ll notice
when it’s gone.
❝words❠ = ❝508❠
❝hours slept❠ = ❝7.5ish❠
❝Will You Follow Me to the Sea?❠
❝daily #idk - write story based on title❠
Will you follow me to the sea?
I know I haven’t been all that open. I haven’t talked to you. I used to know you, but I closed myself off. I haven’t talked to you since I saw you here.
But maybe it’s time for me to open up to someone.
I don’t know.
I don’t know how to feel.
But I need to start somewhere, right?
Will you follow me to the sea?
I need to talk to someone. I don’t know what to do anymore.
Everything’s coming to a point.
It’s a delicate balance, and I think, no, I know everything is going to erupt soon. I can feel it.
You’ve changed.
I know I have.
It’s… interesting.
Shut up.
I’m glad to see you, though.
Yeah, right.
No, really! We were all worried about you when you disappeared.
Glad to see you’ve been doing well.
Well, I guess it depends on how you define well.
I just mean, you look alright. And you looked happy, I mean, back then when you were talking to your friends and stuff.
…
Okay, I guess that says something about me. And how I treated you or whatever back when we both lived together.
I guess it does, doesn’t it?
…
…
…I’m sorry.
Wasn’t too hard, wasn’t it?
…I’m sorry too.
It’s okay.
So.
I really need to talk to someone.
Please.
Of course.
You sure?
Yeah, of course, Lilia, I promise. You can talk to me.
Okay, thank you.
Chai.
Will you follow me to the sea?
❝words❠ = ❝258❠
❝daily #_ - description❠
.
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✧ weeklies ✧
0/4
❝weekly #_❠
.
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✧ word wars ✧
❝2-minute word war against @mikamillie❠
❝prompt❠ = ❝is now a bad time to tell you that i'm claustrophobic?❠
“Is now a bad time to tell you I’m claustrophobic?”
“SERIOUSLY, LUNA??” Mallory yelped. “We have to squeeze through this tiny hole in the ground, and it’s important to saving the world, and NOW you tell me you’re CLAUSTROPHOBIC??”
“Sorry!” Luna exclaimed. “I was hoping I could get over it… or like… not have it be a problem, or something… but uhm… it looks like it is going to be an issue–”
“Ugh, okay–” Mallory said “You really could have told me earlier, though.”
Luna sighed.
“Uhm so are you coming?” Mallory asked, trying to hide the exasperation.
“I–maybe…” Luna said, uncertain.
“This is about YOUR world, you know,” Mallory said. “Not MINE. I still want to help you out here, but it would work way better if you came…”
❝words❠ = ❝130❠
lost </3 oh well
❝5-minute word war against @essayist❠
❝prompt❠ = ❝none❠
little sneak peek of my weekly!
Annabel poked him. She wasn’t related to him, but she was almost like his little sister. She moved to look at his screen.
“YIPPEE!” she yelped when she saw the news. “I knew you could do it! I KNEW you could!”
Jaanu didn’t answer.
“Jaanu?” she asked.
“I’m in shock.”
Annabel poked him again.
“How did I even get in–I can’t believe it–”
“What’s all the yelping and ‘YIPPEE’ing going on in here?” asked Jaanu’s mom, coming upstairs.
“I–I got in–” Jaanu said. Words failed him again and he turned the computer to face his mom.
“You did?? Wow! Congrats, that’s amazing!” she cheered, grinning and ruffling his hair. “I guess we’re going to have to get you ready for a trip then!”
Jaanu smiled back. He knew it would still take their brain a while to fully process and accept that he’d really, truly gotten in. To VERDIGRIS INTERA, of all places.
Jaanu stared around. It was all sinking in. He was in Verdigris. For his tour. To prepare for going to Verdigris Intera. He’d really made it. It still all felt surreal, but they had finally managed to get used to the fact that they were actually going.
His fellow students were also standing there, looking as awkward as he felt. He was hoping they’d all be able to get to know each other by the end, but for now, he didn’t feel like approaching any of them, and none of them really looked like they felt like approaching anyone either.
“Hello!” a voice called out, and a woman walked up to their group. She had blond hair pulled back in a high ponytail on her head in a pink ribbon, and pink streaks in her hair. “I’m Lizzy Everett, and I’ll be your tour guide for today! Welcome to Verdigris!”
Everyone stared at her silently; nobody seemed to be in the mood for forming words.
“First, I’ll make sure everyone’s here!” Lizzy said, pulling out a clipboard. “…Velia? …Zera? …Axel? …Yunie? …Jaanu? …Tels? …Nuvii? …Euna? …Annah?”
❝words❠ = ❝340❠
yippee i won this time :>
didn't add to total wc tho, to make my life easier
❝5-minute word war against @surfdudewave❠
❝prompt❠ = ❝do you… really want to touch that?❠
“I dare you to touch it.”
Terra’s head jerked up, and she stared at me, and the guys standing next to me. We were looking at the starfall shooter.
“DON’T YOU DARE,” she yelped.
“Huh??” I was confused.
“Liam, don’t even THINK about it,” she said seriously. “…You’re thinking about it. Stop doing that.”
I was seriously considering it. The guys had promised to buy my snacks for the next 2 months if I did, and I mean, snacks were expensive. Not completely unaffordable, but seriously expensive. It honestly might be worth it.
“LIAM STOP DO NOT DO IT ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME LISTEN TO ME PLEASE LIAM DON’T FRICKING TOUCH IT,” Terra said.
But… the snacks…
Terra turned around and started digging through her bag or something. I looked at the guys and nodded.
“Whoa, dude,” one of the guys said. “You sure?”
“Not going to listen to your girlfriend?” asked the other guy, teasing.
“That’s–she’s not–” I said.
“I’m not his girlfriend–” Terra protested at the same time.
“Okay, sure,” the first guy said.
“I AM NOT!!” she yelped.
I shook my head, trying to ignore and hide my blushing. The truth was, I did kind of have a crush on her, but that didn’t make her my girlfriend or anything, especially since I really didn’t think she liked me back.
“LIAM SERIOUSLY LISTEN TO ME DON’T DO IT,” Terra said again. I wasn’t listening. I wanted those snacks.
“Do you… really want to touch that?” one of the guys asked.
“I’m doing this,” I replied. I reached forward, almost changing my mind, with trepidation at first, then just shot my hand forward and poked it, yanking it back immediately afterwards.
At first, nothing happened. Then a searing heat slowly grew up my arm. I yelped and fell down. “Ow ow owwwww!” I exclaimed.
“LIAM!! I fricking TOLD you!” Terra snapped.
“Whoa, dude,” said the guy again, mouth wide open.
“Ow…” I muttered, still on the floor. I squinted up at the guys. “You guys owe me snask now.”
❝words❠ = ❝342❠
won :>
❝“LIEAM SERIOUSLYL ISTEN TO ME DON’T DO IT,” terra said again. I wasn’t listening. I wanted those snask.❠ me when i'm speedwriting sobbinf
❝length, opponent❠
❝prompt❠
.
———————————————————————————————————————-
i'll fill this section in with writings for other events and stuff if/when necessary :3
———————————————————————————————————————-
✧ other (ramblings, short stories, etc.) ✧
❝brief bio that i wrote too late to be counted for daily #1❠
.
❝yapping about my alnst ocs to my friend❠
Never mind about the 10am thing, I was locked in for swc sobs so NOW it's yapping time >:3
So first off, we have Keiki. They're literally me, except lucky them, they get a way less confusing gender–enby, they/them. I found their name looking for a name for one of my other Alien Stage ocs haha–I was looking up masc names and Keiki came up, but then it said it could also be a fem name, so I was like “hey, gender-neutral!” and made that their name. They have swoopy short brown hair that has a style kinda like N's. They usually have two little braids, one on each side of their head, in the front, tho. They also love wearing hats. So I numbered the rounds going left to right on the bracket for this, because Alien Stage went 1-4-2-3 or something for whatever reason, I still have no idea anything about whoever's going against Mizi next round (I'm locking in tho, I can watch the blocked one TONIGHT!! yippee). So Keiki won round 3, and went on to win round 6, then lost the final. They were so close… They ALSO had to watch their best friends die so that's fun /sarc Also, they're a piano player, and I have no idea how plausible this is but they got to play piano during round 3. They're a silly short gremlin and they're with oc #2, Niamh. Oh, and their name is pronounced KAI-key apparently.
Niamh, she's a girl and uses she/her, and she's very much a lesbian, and with Keiki. Her name is pronounced “neev”. She has pretty long hair that she's dyed cyan, which is also her favorite color. She's very much the protective gf. She also loves wearing earrings and hairclips and stuff. She's kinda existed in the back of my mind for a while, but I never really had anything to do with her, so she had no story or whatever. Until now, I was thinking of Alien Stage ocs and I thought “hey, maybe that's what I could do with her!” So now she's an Alien Stage oc hehe. Niamh doesn't play any instruments. She won round 4 but then lost round 6… so I think you can guess what happened… yeah. I love her tho–
Finally, there's oc #3, Jasper, who uses he/xe pronouns! He's aroace so no relationship stuff for xem, but he's still really good friends with Niamh and Keiki. His name was originally Jamison actually, and his nickname was going to be Jam. But I had another oc whose name I couldn't decide on and decided to name him Jamison, and this guy Jasper. He's fairly nervous a lot of the time, but also super friendly. Xe won round 2 and ended up being kinda the fan favorite haha, but then xe lost the next round, 5. Xe did really good tho and it was a pretty close round </3 He has super floofy and wavy dark hair, and kinda has a babyface hehe. Also his favorite colors are pink and yellow, and xe play bass (fish /jjjjjj), and played it during his rounds.
That's all I've got so far–I really love these guys. Hyperfixation go brrrrrrrrr :3
❝words❠ = ❝541❠
i'm so normal about alnst (lies)
side note after watching the blocked episode: apparently I skipped something, everything makes more sense now–
———————————————————————————————————————-
✧ ❝word count❠ = ❝4639/9870❠ ✧
✧ ❝most recent change❠ = ❝+1184, history project❠ ✧
Last edited by aviva_ (March 17, 2025 15:17:16)
- FairyAyla
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Daily 2:
(words used: burn, home, count, fall, glitter) (words given by @KitVMH)
I watch from the hill as burning bits of glitter fall from the sky, home now a sparkling burning mess. I count the burning houses, one, two, three, four… they sparkle in the little sunlight that can be seen through the orange, smokey, glittery sunset. Who knew what was happening or what it was happening, or if the fire, was really even fire. My body inched to run down there, back into the burning valley, and watch the fire burn all around me, sparkling like the sun on the ocean. I wonder how many houses aren’t burning, if any are left not burning yet. My muscles tremble, inching to run. To where, is the question. Honestly, I don’t know, I just want to move, and run. But I probably shouldn’t, ‘cause of the smoke. Why not test it? The thought sprung into my head suddenly, and wouldn’t leave. It rattled around in my head. Nothing smells smokey anyway, and the air doesn’t feel that hot. So maybe… I could run. My muscles tense, ready to run. And I start running. Running, running, running. I breath in and out quickly, but I didn’t smell smoke. Soon I felt myself running down the hill, moving toward the burning town, sparkles flying. I run past fire, not feeling remotely hot at all. Then, I am running right toward the fire, I try to stop, but it’s too late, I run right into the fire, toppling over into the fire. Wait, I’m not burning? I stand up, looking around. I’m surrounded by fire, but I just feel a soft warm feeling. I walk around a bit, touching the fire, my finger tips warming nicely. Wow. Magic sparkly fire. Wait. How are the buildings burning? Then I look properly. They aren’t burning. They’re on fire, but not burning. I open up the door of one of the buildings. Is it illegal to go in someone else’s house uninvited if they’re not home and also the house is burning? I dunno. I look around. The whole building is on fire, but not burning, just covered in fire. I smiled, a tiny giggle coming from my mouth. Well, this is weird. But kinda fun.
367 words
(words used: burn, home, count, fall, glitter) (words given by @KitVMH)
I watch from the hill as burning bits of glitter fall from the sky, home now a sparkling burning mess. I count the burning houses, one, two, three, four… they sparkle in the little sunlight that can be seen through the orange, smokey, glittery sunset. Who knew what was happening or what it was happening, or if the fire, was really even fire. My body inched to run down there, back into the burning valley, and watch the fire burn all around me, sparkling like the sun on the ocean. I wonder how many houses aren’t burning, if any are left not burning yet. My muscles tremble, inching to run. To where, is the question. Honestly, I don’t know, I just want to move, and run. But I probably shouldn’t, ‘cause of the smoke. Why not test it? The thought sprung into my head suddenly, and wouldn’t leave. It rattled around in my head. Nothing smells smokey anyway, and the air doesn’t feel that hot. So maybe… I could run. My muscles tense, ready to run. And I start running. Running, running, running. I breath in and out quickly, but I didn’t smell smoke. Soon I felt myself running down the hill, moving toward the burning town, sparkles flying. I run past fire, not feeling remotely hot at all. Then, I am running right toward the fire, I try to stop, but it’s too late, I run right into the fire, toppling over into the fire. Wait, I’m not burning? I stand up, looking around. I’m surrounded by fire, but I just feel a soft warm feeling. I walk around a bit, touching the fire, my finger tips warming nicely. Wow. Magic sparkly fire. Wait. How are the buildings burning? Then I look properly. They aren’t burning. They’re on fire, but not burning. I open up the door of one of the buildings. Is it illegal to go in someone else’s house uninvited if they’re not home and also the house is burning? I dunno. I look around. The whole building is on fire, but not burning, just covered in fire. I smiled, a tiny giggle coming from my mouth. Well, this is weird. But kinda fun.
367 words
- KitVMH
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
March 2 daily
392 words
Have you been to the river? The one that flows past the village and through the forest? Have you walked along it, followed it into the woods and then kept following it until the you came out the other side, in some distant land or maybe just another village?
Did you set out to follow the river as far as you could, and pack for the voyage, or start following it on a whim and not pack a thing? Did you walk along the banks? Pick up an interesting rock along the way, or a not-so-interesting rock that you threw into the river as hard as you could to see how big a splash it would make?
You may be told not to waste your time on such things, but you musn’t listen; what would life be without a little whimsy?
Did you mean to keep following the river, when a beautiful fox caught your eye? A fox that didn’t flee, but stopped and stared at you? In its eyes, did you see such intelligence that you knew it was no ordinary animal?
Did the fox start walking, after a moment, away from the river and further into the woods? Did it pause and look back at you, as if waiting for you to follow, and did you oblige?
You may be told not to follow strange animals in the forest, but you needn’t listen; why obey fools with too little curiosity?
Did you keep following the fox as it led you deeper and deeper into the forest, stopping to wait for you whenever you fell too far behind? Did you follow it until it stopped at a boulder? A boulder with a door cut into it, a door carved more neatly than the one to your house?
Did you run your fingers along its frame while the fox waited, watching you expectantly? Did you turn to the fox to question it, or silently inspect the door? Did you touch the handle, find it carved of the same stone, yet smooth as metal?
Did you decide you shouldn’t mess with things you didn’t understand, or that it was almost sunset and you must be getting back before dark? Try to figure out which way you came and make your way home?
Or did you pull on the handle and open the door?
Go to the comments of the main cabin and post five words of your choice for someone to use in a story. Then, pick someone else’s five words to use in a story of your own! Write 300 words to gain 200 points for your cabin, and an extra 100 points if you decide to share your lovely writing piece with us.fox, whimsy, river, rock, door - KitCatYey
392 words
Have you been to the river? The one that flows past the village and through the forest? Have you walked along it, followed it into the woods and then kept following it until the you came out the other side, in some distant land or maybe just another village?
Did you set out to follow the river as far as you could, and pack for the voyage, or start following it on a whim and not pack a thing? Did you walk along the banks? Pick up an interesting rock along the way, or a not-so-interesting rock that you threw into the river as hard as you could to see how big a splash it would make?
You may be told not to waste your time on such things, but you musn’t listen; what would life be without a little whimsy?
Did you mean to keep following the river, when a beautiful fox caught your eye? A fox that didn’t flee, but stopped and stared at you? In its eyes, did you see such intelligence that you knew it was no ordinary animal?
Did the fox start walking, after a moment, away from the river and further into the woods? Did it pause and look back at you, as if waiting for you to follow, and did you oblige?
You may be told not to follow strange animals in the forest, but you needn’t listen; why obey fools with too little curiosity?
Did you keep following the fox as it led you deeper and deeper into the forest, stopping to wait for you whenever you fell too far behind? Did you follow it until it stopped at a boulder? A boulder with a door cut into it, a door carved more neatly than the one to your house?
Did you run your fingers along its frame while the fox waited, watching you expectantly? Did you turn to the fox to question it, or silently inspect the door? Did you touch the handle, find it carved of the same stone, yet smooth as metal?
Did you decide you shouldn’t mess with things you didn’t understand, or that it was almost sunset and you must be getting back before dark? Try to figure out which way you came and make your way home?
Or did you pull on the handle and open the door?
- HeIlo-World
-
Scratcher
2 posts
swc megathread: march '25
Using @KitVMH ‘s 5 words: burn, home, count, fall, glitter:
469 words
Flames licked my arms yet I didn’t feel any pain. It was a curious sensation, but not a new one. I struggled to keep my eyes open, to not fall into the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. I must get out of here, I thought. That was the only thing on my mind. I slowly shifted to a crawling position, the fire still dancing almost tauntingly on my arms. I had to get out of here. I had to… had to make sure that it was okay. Then I would have not truly failed. I felt broken glass under my fingers and palms, but I kept going as flames poured out of my hands. I must get out of here. My arms threatened to collapse. You can collapse, once we are out of here, I told them. Burnt wood slashed my knees. The flames on me grew until I could not see my arms, nor could I see anything else. This was my curse, I knew. I was the curse. As soon as I found a home, I would burn it down. As soon as I found someone to love, and someone who loved me, I would destroy them while I tried to show I love them. Because they were not like me. Not made of flame, not like me. I left myself ever-hungry, leaving me to count the times I showed myself, and hurt the ones I tried to protect. My palms hit almost-moist dirt, a relief to my splintered, cut-up hands. I spotted a glint of glitter up ahead. I almost collapsed with relief. This was the only thing that kept me from closing my eyes and never opening them again. It was the crystal of light. Back in the world of demons, I was royalty. The royal demons were the keepers of the crystal of light. The higher deities wanted to destroy all the demons, because they wanted to make the world purer, but the queen of the demons then, Queen Lumina, she loved her people, would not allow it. She knew that there can only be light when there is darkness. You see, the queen of the demons then, she was a kind person, much unlike the average demon. This was because she was the child of a demon and a higher deity. The only reason she became queen was because her father, the demon king, did not have any more children. She knew this. She knew she was the light, a combination of both light and dark, so she sacrificed herself. She became the crystal of light, and it can only be owned by those with her own blood. If the royal demon bloodline dies out, then the light disappears. I am the last living descendant of Lumina, and my name is Cindralith.
469 words
Flames licked my arms yet I didn’t feel any pain. It was a curious sensation, but not a new one. I struggled to keep my eyes open, to not fall into the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. I must get out of here, I thought. That was the only thing on my mind. I slowly shifted to a crawling position, the fire still dancing almost tauntingly on my arms. I had to get out of here. I had to… had to make sure that it was okay. Then I would have not truly failed. I felt broken glass under my fingers and palms, but I kept going as flames poured out of my hands. I must get out of here. My arms threatened to collapse. You can collapse, once we are out of here, I told them. Burnt wood slashed my knees. The flames on me grew until I could not see my arms, nor could I see anything else. This was my curse, I knew. I was the curse. As soon as I found a home, I would burn it down. As soon as I found someone to love, and someone who loved me, I would destroy them while I tried to show I love them. Because they were not like me. Not made of flame, not like me. I left myself ever-hungry, leaving me to count the times I showed myself, and hurt the ones I tried to protect. My palms hit almost-moist dirt, a relief to my splintered, cut-up hands. I spotted a glint of glitter up ahead. I almost collapsed with relief. This was the only thing that kept me from closing my eyes and never opening them again. It was the crystal of light. Back in the world of demons, I was royalty. The royal demons were the keepers of the crystal of light. The higher deities wanted to destroy all the demons, because they wanted to make the world purer, but the queen of the demons then, Queen Lumina, she loved her people, would not allow it. She knew that there can only be light when there is darkness. You see, the queen of the demons then, she was a kind person, much unlike the average demon. This was because she was the child of a demon and a higher deity. The only reason she became queen was because her father, the demon king, did not have any more children. She knew this. She knew she was the light, a combination of both light and dark, so she sacrificed herself. She became the crystal of light, and it can only be owned by those with her own blood. If the royal demon bloodline dies out, then the light disappears. I am the last living descendant of Lumina, and my name is Cindralith.
Last edited by HeIlo-World (March 2, 2025 21:33:02)
- Milkysplash
-
Scratcher
1000+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
★ other writing - march 2nd - redo of daily 2
✩ prompt
I used Zoe’s words: defenestration, complementary, vigilante, mango, hoodie
Erin ran through the building, checking her weapons were still on her. The self-proclaimed Super-Mango (urgh, what a stupid name) was doing something in this building, and her mission was to track them down. Whoever they were, they had caused enough damage to the city already.
Pushing the door open to the seventh floor, Erin found her target. Right there in front of her, wrestling some security guards out on the floor.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” Erin asked, raising an eyebrow and pulling out her weapon from her holster. It would only stun them, but it looked real enough to do some damage.
“Protecting the city,” Super-Mango replied, as they incapacitated the last security guard.
Erin held back a groan, and kept her voice even. “By destroying buildings? How can you consider that ethical, or heroic? At this point, you’re just an over-glorified vigilante.”
“There are villains running though this city and you wish to leave the citizens unprotected? Who do you work for, anyways?” The person retorted.
Erin bit her lip. “The government is doing a perfectly fine job of doing that,” she snapped. “And before you go, I’ll make sure to put you in custody, so you can’t hurt anyone anymore.”
The vigilante looked back at Erin. “I’d rather just defenestrate you,” they said.
No matter. Erin had a grappling hook, she could rescue herself just fine. But whoever this person was… they were certainly making her job harder.
“I am not in the mood for defenestration,” Erin growled, before firing a stun blast at the person. They dodged with incredible speed, that only left a scorch mark on an office desk.
“Suppose you’re going to try and arrest me the hard way?” The person teased, and Erin just knew they were smirking under whatever ridiculous mask they were wearing with their complementary hoodie. Not that she had anything against it. It just looked ridiculous.
Erin groaned. “You’re my target, if you haven’t figured that out by now,” she retorted, before engaging in hand-to-hand combat.
The person kept quiet, before grabbing Erin by the arm. “How about some defenestration, my friend?”
356 words
Last edited by Milkysplash (March 3, 2025 19:32:26)
- Dawnflower29
-
Scratcher
33 posts
swc megathread: march '25
wowzers daily 2 aaaa
321 words
“Shatter, knife, match, trust, mirror”
I made some lore for someone that was just lying around!! also kinda lazily made bc i have work to do siigh shakes my fist at my social studies teacher /lh
[]
Ana’s hand slowly relaxed, the handheld mirror that it was supporting falling to the ground, an oddly satisfying noise of glass cracking following. She didn’t look down to check on it, they knew what it would look like—broken, spiderwebs running along and through the glass.
That was okay.
The Goddess didn’t care anymore, did She? Not since She pulled out the on the priest. None of them did, did they? The Lord…they’d all turned on Him, humanity was a mess…burned at the hands of a pathetic government, like a child messing around with a match they shouldn’t have. Humanity…the world…life…all useless—Ana didn't trust at this point, the world was a terrible place, and she wasn’t afraid to admit it.
After all, nobody mattered.
The Goddess would just keep going with whatever she wanted, and who could stop her? Not Ana. She didn’t have the authority to, that wasn’t her job…all they had to do was work. 9 to 5, in a neat little row, like everything was okay.
But everything wasn’t, was it?
Everyone with half a braincell had left just after the Lord had perished. She was calling herself dvmb, she knew that, at least. But they had to stay. Mother and Father would cry, whimper as she’d announce their departure. And the mere thought of that was all that kept Ana going. Over and over and over and over, she played this game….of life. She never wanted to, they never asked to be born, a forced participant was all she was.
Life was overrated.
Ana glanced back down at the shards of glass near her feet. Their solemn face stared back at them, the gold hanging from her earlobes shining. A gift from her welcoming ceremony. She could practically hear the Goddess’ voice in her head.
You used to be perfect, didn’t you? You had a destiny as a Noble. What happened?
You.
321 words
“Shatter, knife, match, trust, mirror”
I made some lore for someone that was just lying around!! also kinda lazily made bc i have work to do siigh shakes my fist at my social studies teacher /lh
[]
Ana’s hand slowly relaxed, the handheld mirror that it was supporting falling to the ground, an oddly satisfying noise of glass cracking following. She didn’t look down to check on it, they knew what it would look like—broken, spiderwebs running along and through the glass.
That was okay.
The Goddess didn’t care anymore, did She? Not since She pulled out the on the priest. None of them did, did they? The Lord…they’d all turned on Him, humanity was a mess…burned at the hands of a pathetic government, like a child messing around with a match they shouldn’t have. Humanity…the world…life…all useless—Ana didn't trust at this point, the world was a terrible place, and she wasn’t afraid to admit it.
After all, nobody mattered.
The Goddess would just keep going with whatever she wanted, and who could stop her? Not Ana. She didn’t have the authority to, that wasn’t her job…all they had to do was work. 9 to 5, in a neat little row, like everything was okay.
But everything wasn’t, was it?
Everyone with half a braincell had left just after the Lord had perished. She was calling herself dvmb, she knew that, at least. But they had to stay. Mother and Father would cry, whimper as she’d announce their departure. And the mere thought of that was all that kept Ana going. Over and over and over and over, she played this game….of life. She never wanted to, they never asked to be born, a forced participant was all she was.
Life was overrated.
Ana glanced back down at the shards of glass near her feet. Their solemn face stared back at them, the gold hanging from her earlobes shining. A gift from her welcoming ceremony. She could practically hear the Goddess’ voice in her head.
You used to be perfect, didn’t you? You had a destiny as a Noble. What happened?
You.
- krm271krm271
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Daily 2
Words: ( @Zoahmer ) Turtle, Windowsill, Human, Extraordinary, Burnt
Piece: 482 words
Brief forward: 39 words
Brief forward:
This is another example of my obsession with writing about peculiar narrators. I've written another story with this narrator—I think I liked the other one better, actually—but this one is a little more focused and takes a different approach.
Daily 1:
I remember it only between flickers of light, blurry and fragmented, but I can tell you this for certain: the boy’s name was Turtle. I only have three certain memories of the boy. The first: he was Turtle, the boy by the windowsill.
I believe his face has swept away into the open air. His eyes, his hair, his face; all of it is lost to me. But I do not know.
Turtle sat by the windowsill each day. Often I accompanied him—outside peering in from a campfire circle, or watching him from the inside, beside the fireplace. I watched him, murmuring softly to himself, through the thickly smoked fog on the window.
Perhaps it was the dim lighting in his room that doused his smile, quenched his ambition. I’d never known Turtle to speak to anyone aside from his own parents—at least, not in any memory I retained. Turtle did not smile. Turtle sat, Turtle observed. I liked that about him. I liked that he was a little bit like me. Quiet and watchful. Even despite being human, Turtle was maybe just a little bit lonely, a little bit other. I like to think that I watched him, and he watched me, and maybe we understood each other a little bit. But I do not know for sure.
I do not remember the cause. Perhaps his mother knocked over a candle. Perhaps his science project had gone horribly wrong. Perhaps his father was cooking in the kitchen and fell asleep to the lull of music.
But I do recall the second certainty: his mother’s voice calling out to him. “Turtle!” she shrieked. Desperate, voice broken. (This certainty I sometimes wish I could forget.)
Perhaps the room was an inferno as I danced beside his portrait of his mother and through his notebooks of . Perhaps I stood by the door, waiting for him, waiting for him to run, but he never came. Perhaps I comforted him quietly as he shivered from the distorting heat.
At that moment, I had nothing. I was flickering, free. I was devouring. I was all consuming. I retain not a shred of memory from that portion, except my empty stomach.
I do not remember what he said, or if he said anything. I do not remember if he _. I do not remember the burnt room, if it shriveled unhappily or ignited into an extraordinary blaze under me. I do not remember, if in my primal rawness, I felt a shred of guilt as I engulfed the place he grew up, the room he had dwelled in for years. I do not remember if he hid beneath his green spotted blanket, or if he just sat by the windowsill and waited when I came. I do not remember much. But I do have one more memory of the boy.
The third memory: I was so, so hungry.
Words: ( @Zoahmer ) Turtle, Windowsill, Human, Extraordinary, Burnt
Piece: 482 words
Brief forward: 39 words
Brief forward:
This is another example of my obsession with writing about peculiar narrators. I've written another story with this narrator—I think I liked the other one better, actually—but this one is a little more focused and takes a different approach.
Daily 1:
I remember it only between flickers of light, blurry and fragmented, but I can tell you this for certain: the boy’s name was Turtle. I only have three certain memories of the boy. The first: he was Turtle, the boy by the windowsill.
I believe his face has swept away into the open air. His eyes, his hair, his face; all of it is lost to me. But I do not know.
Turtle sat by the windowsill each day. Often I accompanied him—outside peering in from a campfire circle, or watching him from the inside, beside the fireplace. I watched him, murmuring softly to himself, through the thickly smoked fog on the window.
Perhaps it was the dim lighting in his room that doused his smile, quenched his ambition. I’d never known Turtle to speak to anyone aside from his own parents—at least, not in any memory I retained. Turtle did not smile. Turtle sat, Turtle observed. I liked that about him. I liked that he was a little bit like me. Quiet and watchful. Even despite being human, Turtle was maybe just a little bit lonely, a little bit other. I like to think that I watched him, and he watched me, and maybe we understood each other a little bit. But I do not know for sure.
I do not remember the cause. Perhaps his mother knocked over a candle. Perhaps his science project had gone horribly wrong. Perhaps his father was cooking in the kitchen and fell asleep to the lull of music.
But I do recall the second certainty: his mother’s voice calling out to him. “Turtle!” she shrieked. Desperate, voice broken. (This certainty I sometimes wish I could forget.)
Perhaps the room was an inferno as I danced beside his portrait of his mother and through his notebooks of . Perhaps I stood by the door, waiting for him, waiting for him to run, but he never came. Perhaps I comforted him quietly as he shivered from the distorting heat.
At that moment, I had nothing. I was flickering, free. I was devouring. I was all consuming. I retain not a shred of memory from that portion, except my empty stomach.
I do not remember what he said, or if he said anything. I do not remember if he _. I do not remember the burnt room, if it shriveled unhappily or ignited into an extraordinary blaze under me. I do not remember, if in my primal rawness, I felt a shred of guilt as I engulfed the place he grew up, the room he had dwelled in for years. I do not remember if he hid beneath his green spotted blanket, or if he just sat by the windowsill and waited when I came. I do not remember much. But I do have one more memory of the boy.
The third memory: I was so, so hungry.
- Pixelated_Pickax
-
Scratcher
100+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Here’s my daily submission, it’s 340 words long, although I can’t seem to post it due to a blank error message that appears… So I’ll go ahead and post a screenshot of it instead.
Last edited by Pixelated_Pickax (March 2, 2025 22:46:56)
- IvyCreations
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
JASPER'S MAR. 2025 MASTERLIST
‣ ━━━ ▼ ▽ ▼ ▽ ▼ ▽ ▼ ▽ ▼ ━━━ ◂
my writing thread
my writing thread
dailies
01. missed
02. link | 713 | 300 points
03. link | 645 | 450 points
04. 1st word war, won
05. missed
06. missed
07. missed
08. missed
09. cabin wars !
10. no proof | 695 | 400 points
11. link | 830 | 550 points
12. link | 563 | 250 points
13. link | N/A wc | N/A points
14. link | N/A wc | N/A points
15. link | N/A wc | N/A points
16. link | N/A wc | N/A points
17. link | N/A wc | N/A points
18. link | N/A wc | N/A points
19. link | N/A wc | N/A points
20. link | N/A wc | N/A points
21. link | N/A wc | N/A points
22. link | N/A wc | N/A points
weeklies
01. link | 3,139 | 2,000 points
02. link | N/A wc | N/A points
03. link | N/A wc | N/A points
04. link | N/A wc | N/A points
word wars
01. link | 402 wordcount | 100 pts | with @129waterfall | no prompt
02. link | 782 wordcount | 125 pts | with @AhmadimuslimFOREVER | prompted
03. link | 327 wordcount | 125 pts | with @lychiez | prompted
04. link | 320 wordcount | 125 pts | with @essayist | prompted
05. link | 396 wordcount | 125 pts | with @-corrupteddata- | prompted
06. link | 437 wordcount | 100 pts | with @i_like_kotlc
07. link | N/A wc | N/A points
08. link | N/A wc | N/A points
misc
01. no proof | 524 words | outlining for an ao3 fic | mar. 2
02. link | 483 words | unofficial word war | mar. 2
03. no proof | 482 words | writing for my novel | mar. 2
04. no proof | 215 words | expository writing for my oc | mar. 4
05. link | 536 words | fifty-headed hydra for the cabin wars | mar. 9
06. link | N/A wc |
07. link | N/A wc |
08. link | N/A wc |
09. link | N/A wc |
10. link | N/A wc |
11. link | N/A wc |
12. link | N/A wc |
13. link | N/A wc |
Last edited by IvyCreations (March 12, 2025 21:27:09)
- 129waterfall
-
Scratcher
500+ posts
swc megathread: march '25
Waterfall's march 2 daily 378 words
Words: boom, arson, flames, chaos, scream
There once was a little duck named ducky. This duck lived a very peaceful life in his little ducky stick hut. But one night, he woke up to the smell of smoke. The ducky rubbed his eyes and looked around. The ducky then realized that his precious stash of mangoes was burning! With a scream, he tried to salvage his precious pile of mangoes. His futile attempts to save the mangoes only wasted time. Soon, the burning stick hut collapsed upon him! He raced out, watching flames consume his home and his mangoes. Once outside, he saw the evil Duckletta cackling away. She knew how hard he had worked to collect those mangoes and build the stick hut, but she wanted to see Ducky suffer. Ducky had beaten her in the great duck biathlon last fall. (A duck race where they have to run to the river, swim across, and collect the mangoes to win) Duckletta was so jealous that she had committed arson! Duckletta waddled away, and Ducky hung his head in sadness. But he knew he would have his revenge. The next week was the annual Spring Duckboating festival. Each duck built a boat or raft out of sticks and raced to the end of the river to collect mangoes. Instead of focusing on building his boat, Ducky was building dynamite and other explosives. After concocting his brilliant plan, he wrote an anonymous note threatening Duckletta in the upcoming Duck boat festival. When the race started, Ducky quickly lit his explosives and threw them into Duckletta’s boat. With a big boom, Duckletta’s boat was destroyed. Duckletta screamed, and had to bail out of her boat to survive. Unfortunately, the explosion was so big and powerful that it caught the nearby boats on fire! Chaos ensued as stick boats sunk and ducks swam frantically around. Ducky, however, just went home to rebuild his stick house even better than before, and he even took the mangoes from the Duckboating Festival that everyone had forgotten about to rebuild his stash. Duckletta was mad, but she learned to never sabotage Ducky again. Duckletta went on to be absolutely nothing, whereas Ducky went on to become famous after singing a song about asking for grapes at a lemonade stand. The end.
Words: boom, arson, flames, chaos, scream
There once was a little duck named ducky. This duck lived a very peaceful life in his little ducky stick hut. But one night, he woke up to the smell of smoke. The ducky rubbed his eyes and looked around. The ducky then realized that his precious stash of mangoes was burning! With a scream, he tried to salvage his precious pile of mangoes. His futile attempts to save the mangoes only wasted time. Soon, the burning stick hut collapsed upon him! He raced out, watching flames consume his home and his mangoes. Once outside, he saw the evil Duckletta cackling away. She knew how hard he had worked to collect those mangoes and build the stick hut, but she wanted to see Ducky suffer. Ducky had beaten her in the great duck biathlon last fall. (A duck race where they have to run to the river, swim across, and collect the mangoes to win) Duckletta was so jealous that she had committed arson! Duckletta waddled away, and Ducky hung his head in sadness. But he knew he would have his revenge. The next week was the annual Spring Duckboating festival. Each duck built a boat or raft out of sticks and raced to the end of the river to collect mangoes. Instead of focusing on building his boat, Ducky was building dynamite and other explosives. After concocting his brilliant plan, he wrote an anonymous note threatening Duckletta in the upcoming Duck boat festival. When the race started, Ducky quickly lit his explosives and threw them into Duckletta’s boat. With a big boom, Duckletta’s boat was destroyed. Duckletta screamed, and had to bail out of her boat to survive. Unfortunately, the explosion was so big and powerful that it caught the nearby boats on fire! Chaos ensued as stick boats sunk and ducks swam frantically around. Ducky, however, just went home to rebuild his stick house even better than before, and he even took the mangoes from the Duckboating Festival that everyone had forgotten about to rebuild his stash. Duckletta was mad, but she learned to never sabotage Ducky again. Duckletta went on to be absolutely nothing, whereas Ducky went on to become famous after singing a song about asking for grapes at a lemonade stand. The end.
